Battles are decided by force, but we could not take on the Moai head-on, so first we needed to gather more intel on our enemy. Ever since I left, I had had no connection with them, and in fact, had only a hazy awareness of the group. I would need to do more concrete research into their current activities and their internal organization. To that end, Tousuke tagged along to my place after we left the karaoke bar.
First, we decided to check their homepage. Upon seeing the overly simplistic lettering and images that appeared on the screen, Tousuke, who had kept his distance from the group purely because he hated them, let out an “Ugh” behind me. Given his displeasure, I took over the task of checking the page.
Displayed in large lettering atop their streamlined front page was a summary of the group’s major activities. I had already had some idea about them having become a job-hunting organization, but it also seemed that the scope of their activities had become a lot more solidified than when I was part of the group. I continued reading the fine print.
Moai, at present, was chiefly a networking group. Naturally, that was a separate activity from the horsing around Tousuke had seen them doing in the rented party room at the karaoke bar that evening. Clearly, that had been a gathering of all the self-centered job seekers who had come together under the group’s banner to celebrate their shared victories under the guise of a meet-up. These meet-ups, which consisted of Moai members, university alumni, and the professionals they were affiliated with, were billed as an exchange of knowledge and creativity. Apparently, students and professionals would be put into groups together to discuss such big ideas as “true independence” and “dealing with differences,” but judging by the fact that they had posted up the personal histories and companies of those professionals, as well as students’ intended career paths, the important part here was the connections.
“So basically, they’re all just trying to network with people for their own gain,” Tousuke sighed bitterly behind me. Apparently, this so-called meet-up was an incredibly popular, large event that brought together fifty or more Moai members, and as many working adults. The home page was covered in images of an unnecessarily large event hall and students putting on serious faces while listening to other people talk. Here and there I glimpsed faces of people that even I, with my immensely narrow school social circles, was familiar with. I looked at the upcoming events to see that they intended to book the hall again for another such meeting the week after next.
If you’re wondering how I felt about this, all I can really say was that I was sure that this was not what “becoming your ideal self” meant. I also felt bewilderment that such a drastic shift in philosophy could happen in just a few years.
There were apparently a number of small discussion groups and lectures that were held more frequently than the mixers, but there were very few pictures of these gatherings, as though perhaps they were really more of an afterthought.
I returned to the front page and looked at the menu. Following from there, I was able to read about their group philosophies, and the companies that graduates were headed for employment at and so forth—but none of this was particularly valuable information to me. Perhaps aware of the fact that no one was interested in the individual members, there was no specific information about them.
“Hmm, guess an evil organization would never hand over the intel you want that easily,” said Tousuke as he peered at the screen, crunching into an umaibo stick he had purchased. “Hey, what’s that? A blog?”
“No pointing snacks at the screen,” I chided, but then I looked at the corner of the screen he had indicated. There was a banner with the label “Moai Diary.” I clicked on it, wondering why it was called a diary and not a newsletter, and was greeted by a page with an overly florid look, accented with a background of an image of the blue sky, which I supposed would be a bit much for a newsletter.
I scrolled down and read the latest post.
“Howdy, Ten-san here!”
As I read that line, I heard Tousuke mutter, “Wonder if that guy’s in our department.”
“You know them? I’m assuming Ten is a nickname.”
“Ah, yeah. There’s an underclassman I know pretty well who’s in the group. Not sure if I’ve heard of him or not though.”
“I see.”
I was somehow relieved to know that Tousuke didn’t hate the players as much he hated the game, though perhaps that was not the most apt metaphor.
I continued reading the blog, skimming an article that seemed to be alluding to the launch of some kind of event or something, spelled out in emoji. Well, that’s charming, I started to think, a weary Tousuke reading my mind and sighing, “Charming. They really stole your Moai away.”
“Well, I’m sure they don’t think of it like that.”
“So the victim feels like bullying was going on, but not the offenders. How pleasant.”
“Aha…” I nodded in agreement and scrolled further down the blog, finding that several people seemed to be taking turns keeping it up to date, but all that was written was a bunch of miscellaneous info. No useful intel at all—neither for our purposes, nor for anyone who even might have come here seeking information on Moai for innocent reasons.
“Wait, so you mentioned having a kouhai who was in Moai. Do you not hate them too?”
“Well, y’know,” he replied. “She’s a good kid. Pon-chan, from Ehime.”
“Pretty auspicious nickname there. You know, ‘the Pon in Pon Juice is the Pon of Nippon,’” I quipped, referencing the slogan of a popular drink from Ehime.
“Really?! Thought it was like a ponkan orange.”
I was surprised at the fact that he’d be caught by a joke like that at this juncture.
“Anyway, I don’t see anything from that Pon-chan here on this blog.”
“Ah, she said that she’s only involved with Moai because she’s got a friend in the group. I think she just joined because she thought it’d be an easy way to meet alumni. To be honest, I don’t usually respect half-assed decisions like that, but other than that, she’s a pretty swell gal.”
“You’re really talking her up here. You got your eye on her or something?”
“No way! Apparently, she’s got some boyfriend she’s been with since high school, anyway. Cute girls are always already taken when you meet them,” he sighed mournfully, and then, as though overtaken by some impulse, started chugging a bottle of lemon tea.
I continued on for a while looking for information on Moai, eventually having checked every corner of the group’s home page. Having gotten little results, I decided to open up YouTube, when Tousuke, who had been messing around on his phone, suddenly offered, “Oh, hey, you wanna meet her? Pon, that is. We might be able to ask her about the members.”
“Ah, yes, the girl who was taken.”
“Shut up! She’s a good kid, and she just sent me a message about a seminar. I guess her supplemental lesson ran long.”
“Oho.”
I decided to press a bit more about this proposal. “If we meet her and tell her that we’re looking to overthrow Moai, won’t the jig be up?”
“It should be fine. I don’t think she’s all that invested in Moai, and we don’t have to go into it acting like Moai is our objective. We just let it come up during the course of our conversation.”
“I see…” The sense of worldliness that I had cultivated over the past three years had somehow managed to overtake my own personal philosophies. “That makes sense. Sure, wanna set it up, then?”
“Can-deedily-do.”
I left the arrangements to my reliable pal, who set us up to meet sometime on the following Monday. Tousuke’s social circles were so much wider than mine; thanks to him, we had a shortcut right into Moai that I never would have found on my own. I really had to thank him.
While my buddy set up the meeting, I searched Moai on social media. I found a number of accounts indicating, in their display names, that the owners belonged to Moai, cringing again as I peeked at some of the feeds, full of nothing but photos and comments that would give the impression that they were living their university years with some kind of noble-mindedness. Moai’s activities were not supposed to be the sort of thing you’d want to show off to others.
I continued my search, finding some posts that spoke out against Moai as well. Most of them were from students from our university, but a few of them even seemed to be from working adults. It felt like the wind was blowing in my favor.
Tousuke and I had already vaguely discussed after karaoke the notion of how an individual might take on an organization. The swiftest ideas we came up with were a scandal or a scorched earth attack. There were plenty of stories of groups going up in flames after a single tawdry exposure, and it was easy to conceal the source of that spark. What was crucial here, I realized, was that there were enough people around to keep pouring oil on the flames—but what I was seeing might do the trick. These were the thoughts I had as I looked on, unable to distinguish what about the organization that I myself had founded was a lie and what was the truth.
Though, the badmouthing did start to get to me, ever so slightly.
Regardless, I had decided my course of action. Tousuke and I played some games for a while until we grew bored, and then Tousuke went home.
Then, the following week.
I entered a coffee shop a short walk from the university to the sound of a ringing bell that imparted a peculiar sense of nostalgia, finding Tousuke seated at the very back. I could only see the back of her head from where I was, but there was a short girl seated across from him. That had to be Pon-chan.
I had come to this shop many times before at Tousuke’s invitation. It was a regular haunt of his, and the sort of place that suited perfectly both Tousuke’s surprising fascination with the Showa era and my own desire to run into other students from our school as infrequently as possible. It was, incidentally, also close to where Pon-chan lived.
I held a hand up, approaching them. Tousuke waved back. I have no idea whether or not it was rude of me to think that I suddenly understood why Tousuke thought her name was the “pon” of a ponkan orange when she noticed this and turned around, looking at me through big, round eyes in an oval, childlike face.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said.