Foreword
EYES. SO MANY EYES. HUNDREDS OF THEM. ALL crammed into the Tsuwabuki gymnasium like sardines and trained on the dork up on stage.
I gripped the mic stand and gulped. Yanami and Komari flanked me on both sides. “We’re the, uh, literature club. We read books. And stuff. And write things sometimes.”
The new first-years listened quietly, not because I lacked impact, but because we Tsuwabuki High Schoolers were well-mannered like that. A cut above the rest. This was their orientation, after all. Yeah, that was it.
Komari was up next. I glanced at the tiny girl twiddling her thumbs at my side. Our vice president had come a long way, and I had full confidence in her ability to nail this.
She nodded, then promptly scuttled behind me. Betrayed.
“Say your line,” I hissed at her.
“I-it’s yours now.” She clutched my blazer with trembling fingers.
I had foreseen this possibility, of course, and so cleared my throat. “We, err, upload what we write on Bungou ni Narou. Sometimes print them into anthologies or journals and, uh, yeah.”
Another flawless showing, if I could say so myself. Next was our club’s secret weapon—“secret” because she was a danger to society and “weapon” because, well, she was a danger to society—Yanami Anna.
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, and robotically began to read. “Soba dog: five stars. Can never have too much yakisoba. Highly recommended. Ogura sandwich: five stars. Cheap and can never have too much anko. Highly recommended. Cream—”
“Yanami-san,” I interrupted. “What are you doing?”
“Whuh?” She blinked, then started digging through her pockets in a panic. “Sorry, wrong one! Nukumizu-kun, where’s my script?”
“What am I, your secretary? And stop littering!”
Wrappers fluttered from Yanami’s person, one after the other. Of all the people to have stage fright, she was the last girl I’d expect.
As I scurried to clean up after her, I sensed a dark, ominous presence. I looked up. An anomaly stood in the wing. A girl in a track uniform and a bag on her head was (presumably) staring this way. What the actual hell was Yakishio doing? She did some light stretches, then crouched down.
No. She wouldn’t…
That bag on her head blinded her. Her position was all wrong. If she rocketed off like that, this comedy would become a tragedy real fast.
“Yakishio, sto—”
Yakishio did not stop. On the contrary, my words were her starting pistol. She rocketed off just as I feared she would, no doubt with the intention of coming up to the mic to give her introduction. What actually ended up happening, though, was she barreled straight into me, sending us tumbling over.
Gasps and shouts filled the gym. The mic fell right in front of me. I reached out and grabbed it.
“We meet after school in the west annex! First floor! Come see us, thanks!”
When the harsh, ear-splitting feedback keen died, only silence remained. Real polite bunch, these kids.