Chapter 3

The season is late fall. Christmas glimmers on the horizon, and the school festival marks the arrival of that dark time of year when confused men rush with obvious intentions to do incomprehensible things. The school festival is already such a big, wild stage, and we wander it haphazardly, ready to denounce our interest in it when the mood strikes. Soon we are seized by a self-centered tenacity: Just raise the curtain already—but make sure I look good when you do. And at that moment, we become circumstantialists. At the festival, with opportunists working behind the scenes, she unintentionally took on the lead role and raised the curtain on a chaotic play of epic proportions. That rarely seen feat she terms “God’s plot convenience.” Surely we and the gods are circumstantialists. How did we get this way? It was rare for me to attend, but that day, I showed up at the school festival. The autumn wind was blowing leaves around, and the festival felt a bit languid on its last day, but it was still pushing through. Whipped by chilly late-autumn gusts, I wandered down the paths of booths set up around the clock tower. This stupid festival fanned out with its main battlefields as Main Campus (particularly by the clock tower), dotted with school buildings, and Yoshida-South Campus across Higashi Ichijo Street… While distinguished individuals gave speeches or participated in debates in a large classroom in the law department, other people tried to cram food of questionable taste and sanitation into the mouths of passersby at the booths around the clock tower. On Yoshida-South Campus, too, underground student merchants listlessly waited for customers in booth after booth. But it wasn’t just students with strong commercial spirit. A flurry of singers and dancers took turns appearing on a special temporary stage, and kids obsessed with theater, producing their own films, or into some other hobby invited people passing by inside to the lecture halls to force their passion on them. What were they trying to impart to people at the booths, in the lecture halls, and on the stage? They displayed an excess of free time and futile enthusiasm, and there was nothing whatsoever interesting about that to outsiders; in other words, it was none other than despicable, raw youth. The school festival is a black market where youth is sold as a commodity! I thought as much while the cold wind whipped against me. Munching a rice ball I bought at a booth called Rice Fundamentalists, I looked up at the clock tower standing tall in the clear sky. Its valiant figure, paying no mind to the idiotic festivities happening at its feet and stretching resolutely toward the heavens in solitude, reminded me of myself as I stood there. Both the clock tower and I honorably isolated ourselves from the uninhibited ruckus. “Comrade! Are you standing at attention?” I called out to the clock tower. I’m a man who spends his days worried equally about his country and about his own future, constantly polishing his soul through deep introspection. Does a school festival have anything to do with an aloof philosopher earnestly hoping to be the sort of person who will be up on stage with the whole house applauding, beloved by all, in the not-so-distant future? If not, then why did I come here? Because I heard she was coming. I got that information from a reliable source. She’s a younger member of the club I’m in. From that first day we spoke, she had my soul in her clutches; her matchless charm is like the source of the Kamo River—gushing forth, never depleting. Once known as “the most hard-core man’s man in Sakyo and Kamigyo Wards combined,” I was now flailing about, trying to get her to notice me. I dubbed that struggle Operation HEM. That stands for “Operation Her Eyes on Me.” The idiots who rush straight for the inner citadel, impatient for a breakthrough, and inevitably die are too numerous to count. Sure, they’re lovable men. But though they have guts, they lack courage. What I mean here by courage is the bravery to possess the sense and conviction to control yourself and endure the long days of persistent effort to fill in the moat. Attacking the inner citadel comes after that. That’s why I tried to get her eyes on me as much as possible—on Kiyamachi and Ponto-cho that night and at the Kyoto Antiquarian Bookfair in the summer, as well as within the sphere of our daily activities. At the library, at the university co-op, in the vending machine corner, at Yoshida Shrine, at Demachiyanagi Station, at Hyakumanben Intersection, at Ginkakuji, on the Philosopher’s Walk—we had all sorts of “coincidental” meetings. We’d run into each other far more times than could be chalked up to coincidence—it had reached the point that anyone would agree, You guys must be bound by the red thread of destiny! Even I was beginning to find it suspicious. There was no way I could just happen to be standing on all those street corners at the perfect time. It was all too convenient. But there was a serious problem—namely, that she didn’t pay any attention to me. No reaction to my unrivaled charms or even my existence. And we were running into each other all the time… I’d said the line “I just happened to be passing by” so many times, my throat was raw, but she just kept replying with an innocent smile, “Oh, funny seeing you here!” A half a year of this charade had already gone by since we’d met. After expressing my deep affection for the clock tower, I left through the main gate, crossed Higashi Ichijo Street, and strolled onto Yoshida-South Campus. The dusty field in one part of it was lined with booths. In the northwest corner, a stage was set up, and a girl who appeared to be in an indie band was singing, “Piss off, Benzaiten, ya punk!” Next to the stage was a tent functioning as the headquarters of the group managing the event, the School Festival Office. When I peeked inside, staffers were milling around in the narrow spaces between tightly packed desks and administrative implements. In the back, one man wearing an armband was kicking back with a cup of tea, delegating. Behind him hung a huge map of the university grounds. It was as if he was proclaiming that he had the school festival in the palm of his hand. “You’ve really moved up in the world, Director.” When I spoke to him, he turned to look. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. We were both in the same department and had known each other since first year. He was a colorful fellow who exercised his talents doing odd jobs for the School Festival Office and participated in an easy-listening music club. His hobbies included everything from rakugo, traditional one-man comedy, to cross-dressing. He was most famous for using his peerless beauty (truly a waste on a man) for cross-dressing; he was notorious for popping in at the Drag Café on a whim and tempting many men down a futile path of love. Most people would think such a gorgeous man would be utterly corrupt, leading a debauched life on campus featuring affair after affair, but he was actually quite a man’s man. Which is why we got along. In our first and second years, he’d neglect his studies as the school festival neared and throw himself into his office work, getting all grimy and spoiling his handsomeness. His efforts were recognized, and in this, our third year, though he self-deprecatingly called himself the “general manager of odd jobs,” he’d acquired the title of director of the School Festival Office. He invited me into the tent and served me tea. “It’s rare to see you here. Let me guess, Operation HEM?” He was well aware I normally lived my life with no connection to the hubbub of festivals. When I nodded, he smiled. “So have you made any progress with her?” “I’m steadily filling in the moat.” “Isn’t it full by now? How long do you plan to keep that up? Are you going to plant an apple tree, build a cottage, and live on it?” “I need to be so cautious that I not only look before I leap, but make a detailed map of the terrain.” “Mm, no. You like living your carefree life atop the moat. Because you’re scared if you storm the inner citadel, you’ll get pushed back.” “Don’t cut right to the heart of things.” “I dunno, man. It seems like a waste of time. All you guys need to do is enjoy each other’s company.” “I have my ways. I’m not taking instructions from anybody.” “Why do you think of it like that…? You really are an idiot. I mean, that’s what I like about you.” I decided to change the subject. “Have there been any interesting issues?” “Oh man, so many. It’s quieted down a bit at the moment, though.” The director told me about the different things that’d happened since the start of the festival. A guy who got drunk, shut himself up in the bathroom, and wouldn’t come out; a religious group operating behind the scenes; a guy who was selling bizarre foods without permission against health codes. There was a band of thieves stealing signboards and lumber. Mysterious Daruma dolls were showing up here and there. It was a rash of incidents appropriate for a festival of fools. “The Speedy Kotatsu is also giving us trouble.” “A speedy kotatsu table?! How can a table be speedy?” “These strange people gather under the kotatsu and loiter on campus. We call it the Speedy Kotatsu because it appears out of nowhere and vanishes without a trace.” He pointed at the map behind him. Kotatsu-shaped stickers marked where it had appeared. They were all over campus, so apparently, the thing was worthy of the title. “If they’re just hanging out, couldn’t you leave them be?” “They invite people to sit with them and serve them hot pot. I can’t have them doing that without permission. If people got food poisoning, it would be a whole ordeal, right?” “What are all these other stickers?” “Those are related to the Crackpot of Monte Cristo case.” He explained that his two biggest problems were the Speedy Kotatsu and the Crackpot of Monte Cristo. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo. That was the catch-all title of a drama being performed in fragments around campus—a guerilla theater production, so to speak. When it opened on the first day of the festival, everyone thought it was just some inscrutable street performance. A single staging didn’t even last five minutes. But as the number of fragmentary performances increased, rumors snowballed, more pieces of information were connected together, and the big picture came into focus. In some corner of the school festival, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo and Princess Daruma had a fateful encounter. It was love at first sight, but they were suddenly ripped apart. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo’s eccentricity caused frequent misunderstandings with his friends. As a result, he’d gotten on the bad side of many different clubs. They finally trapped him, but he’d gone missing. With her love for the Crackpot of Monte Cristo in her heart, Princess Daruma was on a journey to avenge him by dealing out peculiar punishments to his enemies, such as stuffing marshmallows in their ears or pouring pudding down their shirts. The guerilla theater production The Crackpot of Monte Cristo had Princess Daruma as its protagonist and used real club names in a mix of fact and fiction. It was gathering a lot of buzz in part because it caused incident after incident, including fights between clubs who mistook the play’s events as reality and crowds of spectators falling like dominoes in narrow hallways. At some point, people started calling the mastermind behind the production the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, too. “Apparently, the ringleader is hiding out somewhere writing in real time. Judging by the fact that things that happened in the morning are in the play by afternoon, it must be true.” “It’s quite an elaborate scheme they’re pulling off.” “The School Festival Office considers him a terrorist.” “So how far has the story got?” “This morning it was revealed that the Crackpot of Monte Cristo is alive and confined somewhere on campus. So people are talking again. There are even students betting meal tickets on whether he and Princess Daruma will reunite. The odds are currently eight-to-two for a happy ending.” “If he’s eccentric enough to be called the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, there can’t possibly be a happy ending.” “I mean, they came up with a pretty fun event. I’m chasing them down because I have to, but I actually hope they get away with it.” The director smiled in a manner you could call dashing. “Not that I can go easy on them.” At that point in our conversation, an office member raced in, out of breath. “They’re performing The Crackpot of Monte Cristo out on the field!” he shouted, throwing headquarters into an uproar. The director dumped his tea out and grimaced dramatically. It was obvious he was enjoying this. “Do they think so little of this office?” And so they clamorously left the tent. Seems kinda fun, I was thinking, and when I walked out after them, the fleeing theater troupe and the office members were performing a pastoral arrest drama. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo group wore red armbands to show off the fact that they were performers. As I sipped some sweet red-bean soup I bought from a stand calling it “Man Juice” and enjoyed the spectacle, a woman who was running away raced toward—and then smack into—me. The piping hot soup splattered, and she shrieked, “Ow, hot, hot, hot!” as if she were doing martial arts or something. Then the office members pounced on her. She was the only one they caught. The actress, her long hair disheveled, was forced to sit in the middle of the field and the dust cloud that had been kicked up. Next to her, a Daruma the size of an apple was on the ground. The office director put a foot on that Daruma, haughtily puffed out his chest, and scowled down at her. According to him, she was playing the lead role, Princess Daruma. “Huh? If you caught the lead, aren’t they done for?” “We’ve caught the lead three times now, but another understudy always appears. It’s like a lizard’s tail.” “We have infinite understudies!” she boasted. “As long as the Crackpot of Monte Cristo keeps writing the script, the play will go on! I’ll never tell you where he is.” “Damn it all to hell. And we can’t torture her.” But I ignored the angry director. I was distracted. Why? Because I was fixated on a figure about to leave the field. At that moment, the tumult of the idiot festival receded, and the whole world converged on that single figure in my field of vision and pulsated. That petite frame, that glossy black hair trimmed short, that whimsical catlike gait… I’m the global authority on the view of her posterior, so how could I be mistaken? It wasn’t possible. Walking leisurely toward the exit was a girl whose moat, which seemed shallow but was actually quite deep, I had been filling in this half year, the silhouette I’d been following—her. Strangely, she was carrying a huge stuffed carp on her back. Seemingly oblivious to the curious stares, she walked resolutely forward, heading for the multipurpose building. “Well, see ya later. Keep up the good work.” I waved to the director and rushed after the girl. Why on earth is she carrying that thing around? I wondered. I’ll answer that question. I was carrying what was very obviously a red koi plushie. I won it at a shooting-gallery game called “I’ll Snipe Your Heart!” when I landed a shot in the bull’s-eye. I was always a lucky child. The reason such a naughty little girl like me survived through childhood without cracking my head open must be that I had double the luck of other people. It was I who, driven to self-destruction, mounted my tricycle as a young child and flew down a hill at speeds toddlers should never move at, causing my mother to faint. My sister calls these lucky breaks, saving my foolish bottom time after time, “God’s plot conveniences.” Hooray for God’s plot conveniences! Namu-namu! To get a huge koi fish the moment I set foot in the school festival for the first time—you’d think there’d be a limit on beginner’s luck. I wonder what kind of fascinating things await me here! It was quite natural that my excitement should rise past any ceiling. The shooting-gallery people offered to exchange the prize for something smaller, but I politely declined. After all, red koi fish are good luck, so if this one was so huge, it must have been even better luck. Yes, indeed. We had to have met for a reason; I couldn’t withdraw just because it was almost as big as I was. “Could I have some rope? I think I’ll carry it on my back.” It seemed for a moment as if my spirit might get overwhelmed by the koi on my back, but I took a deep breath, held my chest out to puff up a size bigger like a blowfish, and set off walking with confidence. When I left the field and entered the academic center, the lecture halls I usually frequented to study welcomed me with a completely different look. Appearing before me one after the other like a splendid scroll were the many booths that talented students formed with crystallized sweat and tears of their youth, tapped into their knowledge, and mustered their style to build. It was truly a theater and performance on young adulthood. It was my first time at the school festival, so I was entranced. Eventually, I found the Ethyl Alcohol Research Society. I love drinking, so I quivered with excitement, shaking the red koi on my back. Day drinking at school… The joy of immorality probably makes it taste even better. I’ll go in! That’s what I’ll do! And when I went inside, there was a little handmade bar stocked with a wide variety of brands—what a wonderful world of alcohol. I’d seen the woman sitting there, chatting with some student guys over drinks, before. It was Ms. Hanuki, the lady I met one night in the Kiyamachi area. “Hello, Ms. Hanuki. Funny seeing you here.” “Wow! Long time no see! Well, well, have a drink!” She took a hard look at me. “Why do you have a red koi on your back?” “Auspiciously enough, I won it at a shooting gallery.” “Well then! To that big red koi and your luck! Cheers!” Then I had a rum cocktail. “You’re not a student, Ms. Hanuki, so what brings you here?” “Higuchi told me to come take a look.” “Is Mr. Higuchi here, too? That’s wonderful.” “Want to see him? He’s on the landing of that staircase over there.” Mr. Higuchi is a man who wears a grubby old yukata garment and who claims his occupation is tengu. If you lined up the people I’ve met since starting university in order of how inscrutable they are down Higashi Oji Street north to south, Mr. Higuchi would be at the northernmost end. Was he at the festival because he was really a university student disguised as a tengu? Mr. Higuchi, who in the world are you? I wondered as I followed Ms. Hanuki. She led me down the hallway past the lecture hall and went down some stairs. On a landing where tons of posters were stuck to the walls was a kotatsu set up, and Mr. Higuchi plus two guys I didn’t know were picking at a hot pot. To leisurely eat hot pot in the middle of such an emotionally charged festival where the sweat and tears of youth were flying! Only someone who insisted on going their own way could pull that off, and I was impressed. “Oh! We meet again.” Mr. Higuchi smiled broadly. “Funny seeing you here.” “Okay, come eat your fill of this soy-milk hot pot with us.” As Ms. Hanuki and I sat down, I said, “It’s getting to be the right time of year for kotatsu, huh? Ahhh, so warm and cozy.” “Right? This one’s called the Speedy Kotatsu.” “How can a kotatsu be speedy?” “It moves around. Because the office makes such a fuss… Ohhh, right. Sorry, I should have introduced you sooner. This is Chief-in-Chief Underpants,” he mentioned, pointing to the man next to him. Perhaps taking a cue from Mr. Higuchi, “Chief-in-Chief Underpants” was also wearing an old yukata. He had a face with a bony brow that seemed to contain an indomitable fighting spirit, as well as an admirable physique; he sat up straight with confidence. In different times, he might have been a feudal lord. When he saw me, his big eyes stared, and he bowed without saying a word. “A year ago, as a result of certain circumstances, he made a vow, you see. He offered a solemn prayer at Yoshida Shrine. He swore he wouldn’t change his underwear until his wish came true. With real determination, not even the devil would get in the fool’s way, and he’d be able to accomplish anything he desired. He’s already set a historic record, beating out all the other clubs’ Chief Underpants and chosen to be the honorable Chief-in-Chief Underpants.” “Chief-in-Chief Underpants… Isn’t that more of a dishonor?” Ms. Hanuki asked. But Mr. Higuchi shook his head. “Do you not understand hopes and dreams?” “Who’d want to comprehend such unsanitary dreams?” “So you haven’t changed your underwear in all that time…?” I asked nervously, and Chief-in-Chief Underpants nodded gravely. Ohhh, God, please watch over this man who dares to never change his underwear! Protect him from all manner of diseases that affect the lower body! He noticed me inching my way out from under the table and held up a hand to stop me. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not under the kotatsu.” When I looked over, sure enough, he was sitting with perfect posture outside of the kotatsu blanket. I greatly admired him for keeping his chin up and pushing forward down his chosen path while not neglecting consideration for those around him. What a gentleman. “That’s just what a decent guy Chief-in-Chief Underpants is.” “Can a human being survive without changing their underwear like that?” “I got sick immediately.” He smiled affably. “But I’m still kicking.” The soy-milk hot pot was delicious, and it was fun to spend time with Mr. Higuchi, Ms. Hanuki, and Chief-in-Chief Underpants, but I was on a mission to use what little of the afternoon was left to see every corner of the festival. I bit back my tears and bid my farewell to the Speedy Kotatsu. With a wave, Mr. Higuchi said, “We appear out of nowhere and vanish without a trace, so with luck, we’ll meet again. I really am envious of that koi fish, though. That’s a great prize you won.” After leaving the Speedy Kotatsu, I went around to see the presentations in the various classrooms. If I were to list the memorable ones, I would certainly have to include the indie film by the film club Ablutions. It was a masterpiece called The Nose-Hair Man, which depicted, with a documentary flair, the fall of a man who loses his job and his sweetheart because his nose hairs grow three feet in a day. I watched with sweaty palms, wondering what I’d do if my nose hair ended up like that, and by the end, I couldn’t put down my handkerchief. Whoever made it is a genius. But the only person crying in the darkened lecture hall was me. Why was everyone laughing? Nose hairs that grow three feet long are no laughing matter. I did laugh till I fell out of my chair at a performance of a strange story called “Maiden Mountain” by the Rakugo Research Society, and I got so frightened in a haunted house that I threw a friendly punch at a strung-up piece of jelly meant to scare visitors with a slimy sensation. The Fine-Art Club said they’d draw my portrait, so I had it done with the red koi in the frame. When I saw the model the Keifuku Electric Railroad Research Society made of a triple-decker car that ran on a railroad connecting Kyoto and Fukui that may or may not have existed a long time ago, I was impressed with how weird it was. My one regret is that I wasn’t able to enter the Hall of International Treasures (a booth by the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division). “Hall of International Treasures” had a fascinating ring to it, which aroused my curiosity, but I was turned away at the entrance—“This isn’t for people like you.” I wonder what was wrong with me. I heard men inside giggling, so they must have been doing something amusing. Unable to suppress my interest, expanding as it was like a cloud of cotton candy, I attempted several times to infiltrate, but to my chagrin, I was driven back every time. While I had that setback, I had a fun time seeing all sorts of things for the most part. And then I encountered something I still can’t forget: Elephant Butt. Wise readers, it’s been a while. Now I’d like you to please imagine this. Say there’s a kindhearted maiden moved to tears by a movie about a guy whose nose hairs grow three feet a day who someone made for who knows what reason, and say she has the fight to confront a piece of jelly hanging in a haunted house with a friendly punch, that she’s so pure, she pays earnest attention to an absurd tall tale about a train running directly between Kyoto and Fukui, and that she’s an embodiment of such curiosity that she tries to force her way into a shady exhibit called the Hall of International Treasures. Not only that, but this maiden carries a red koi fish on her back, which clashes with her neat appearance. What kind of impression do you suppose she made? It goes without saying. She was extraordinarily conspicuous. No one who met her could forget her. Men especially were all idiots, and many of them seemed to have a simplistic mind-set that caused them to mistake her kindness and curiosity as affection for them personally. Whenever I asked about her, they murmured with dreamy eyes as if their romance was just beginning: “The girl with the carp? Yes, I saw her. She’s a great girl, just great.” My irritation mounting at the ever-growing swarm of instant rivals, I wanted to grab them all by the shoulders and shout, She’s not interested in you at all! but the double-edged sword came right back around. Dammit, she’s not interested in me, either! I groaned. Following the trail of this charming girl as she bounced like a skipping stone, I proceeded deeper into this festival of idiots, but though I heard rumors of her, I didn’t see her anywhere. Without managing to locate her, I came upon a weird exhibit called Elephant Butt. Thoughtlessly, I let slip, “What the heck is this nonsense?” and angered the girl manning the desk. She made some kind of smelly gas spray from the elephant’s butt on display. Well, it made sense for a butt to have that sort of gimmick, but it smelled awfully rank, so I got out of there as fast as I could. I just couldn’t get a break. I took it out on the hall as I walked away. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw an odd person dancing down the hall. From the back, I could tell it was my clubmate whom I run into around town fairly often. Usually, he was such a calm person, but today he was stomping and kicking on his way as if he was angry about something. He went down the stairs practically ripping his hair out. Looking down the hall, I saw a large sign with ELEPHANT BUTT written on it. Here was another name with something cute and charming about it. Compelled by my curiosity, I stepped inside. A beautiful girl brimming with melancholy sat alone at the reception desk. Behind her hung a dark curtain, so it was impossible to tell what sort of exhibit it might be. The receptionist was staring intently at her hands, moving them with a single-minded intensity to thread Daruma dolls onto a string. When I addressed her, she looked up. “Yes?” “What sort of exhibit might this be?’ “It’s an exhibit where you pet an elephant’s butt.” “Could it be? A real one?” A smile as gentle as a spring breeze caressing the banks of the Kamo River played across her face. “It’s not a real one; however, the feel of the real thing has been reproduced to every extent possible.” “Well then, I’ll try petting it.” When I entered the classroom, I noticed the windows were covered with dark curtains and something preposterously big and round was bulging out of the wall, bathed in electric light. It looked just as though an elephant in the next room had stuffed its bottom through the wall and gotten stuck. Despite the fact that it was artificial, petting it made me giddy with embarrassment. Blushing as I stroked, I was surprised to find the texture coarse and prickly, so much so that my hand might have started to bleed. When I exclaimed “Ouch!” in spite of myself, the receptionist called from behind the dark curtain. “Are you all right?” “Sorry, I’m fine.” Are elephant bottoms really so intense? I wondered. Its appearance was humorous, but this was a ferocious bottom that crushed any superficial notions and bared its fangs to snap at you. I petted it many times to teach my hands the harshness of reality. The reception lady peeked in from behind the dark curtain. “You’re quite enthusiastic, huh? You’re the first person to touch it with so much zeal.” “This was a wonderful idea. I’ve learned how harsh reality can be.” “Exactly. They really are that prickly. You can’t tell just by watching them on TV.” “Did you make this?” “Yes. It took so long.” “Well, it’s such a massive piece…” Then the two of us gazed up at the elephant bottom. “But you know, no matter how prickly they are, there’s something kind of great about elephant butts, don’t you think?” she asked. “I do. They’re so big and round. Big round things are good.” “Yup, and the earth is big and round, too.” We laughed. But really, what a novel, profound idea! To teach someone the bitter realities of life by having them pet a super-realistic reproduction of an elephant’s bottom! As I walked down the hall, leaving Elephant Butt behind, I was filled with admiration. Everyone thinks up such interesting things! Compared to them, I must be completely boring. Going forward, I’ll accumulate more significant experiences and become well-informed, and in the not-too-distant future, I’ll come into contact with a real elephant bottom! I’ll become a splendid enough adult to rival this red koi! And while I’m at it, I’ll get taller! Eventually, I made it back to the landing where the Speedy Kotatsu had been earlier, but there was no sign of it. It had vanished in a way worthy of its name. On the landing was a single Daruma the size of an apple. I locked eyes with it and thought, Daruma dolls are quite round as well. “Cuteness, thy name is Daruma,” I cooed, stroking it. Just then a bell started clanging right next to me. Next came strange shouts of “Hey-ho!” and “Steady as she goes!” as several students gathered in a busy hustle. They took out red armbands and wound them on without a single wasted motion. “The two o’clock show is about to start! Presenting The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” A girl’s shout echoed down the stairs through the hall as she struck the dish-shaped bell in her hand. “Act forty-seven!” Overawed, I retreated to the bottom of the stairs, clasping my hands in anticipation. A surprise-attack play in the hallway! Yet another novel idea. Upon hearing the announcement, students gathered around to watch, and in no time, a huge crowd had formed. Pushing through the crowd next to me came the people from the Ablutions indie film club. When the cameraman’s eyes met mine, he said, “Oh, it’s you. Thanks for before.” “Are you filming the play?” “We’re the Crackpot of Monte Cristo Tracking Squad.” The woman with the bell pulled a reel on her hip and extended a line across the landing. As she did that, other members of the troupe briskly set up an extendable pole and draped a black curtain for a backdrop. There was not a single extraneous movement. In the blink of an eye, the landing was ready for the performance. But just as they were about to begin, they all stopped. They huddled up and murmured, “Princess Daruma isn’t here yet” and “I guess she didn’t make it.” When one of the guys suggested, “Why don’t you do it?” the woman with the reel said, “I specialize in props.” Suddenly, she looked down at me. It seemed as if my koi fish caught her eye. She raced down the stairs, looking as if she were going to eat it, so I protected him. “Hey, do you wanna be an understudy?” A long time ago, I used to hold recitals by myself in the corner of a park or tatami room, so it wasn’t as if I had zero experience, but I wasn’t sure I could properly fulfill the request of professionals. I was lost for words when she said, “Hurry, read this!” and handed me a packet of script pages. I took a deep breath and puffed up like a balloon. I had only just learned the truth about reality by touching Elephant Butt and decided that I would experience lots of things to become an admirable adult. If I ran away with my tail between my legs now, I’d be a laughingstock for generations to come as a girl who said one thing, then did another. And I also figured there had to be some reason I was being trusted with such an important role at my very first school festival. I nodded, took the script, and looked over it on my way up the stairs to the landing. The prop lady put a cape over my shoulders. “Ready? We don’t mind if you read your lines from the script.” “I already memorized them.” THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO ACT 47 SETTING: LANDING ON THE STAIRS IN THE ACADEMIC CENTER His production meeting over, AIJIMA of indie film club Ablutions comes down the stairs carrying his camera and equipment. PRINCESS DARUMA blocks his way. DARUMA Are you Aijima of the film club Ablutions? AIJIMA How rude of you to call me by name from the shadows like that. First, reveal yourself. DARUMA The heavens call, the earth calls, the people call—they call on me to deliver divine retribution! If you want to know, I will tell you: I am Princess Daruma. Does the name “the Crackpot of Monte Cristo” ring a bell? AIJIMA Hmm, I have no memory of it. DARUMA Then I’ll have to remind you! Princess Daruma pounces and ties Aijima up. AIJIMA What violence! I’ll call the police! DARUMA Listen here. When the Crackpot of Monte Cristo was reading a smutty book at the invitation of the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division, someone filmed him and then screened it. How insulting! The proud Crackpot of Monte Cristo went to argue directly with the photographers, and no one has heard from him since. The Bedroom Investigation Commission coughed it up—that the contemptible photographer was none other than you, Aijima of the film club Ablutions! AIJIMA I don’t know what I don’t know. DARUMA Well then, how shall I deal with this? I happen to have a great many peas here. What if I shoved them up your nose, took a close-up shot, and screened it at the film festival with the title Funny Face? AIJIMA Ohhh, please, anything but that! Not my beautiful face! DARUMA Then you’d better give me the whole story. Where is my love, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo? AIJIMA I’ll tell you everything. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo has his own opinions where films are concerned, and when he came to the school festival film screening, he laughed off my film and called it “a shame of a film and a shame for Japan.” With my pride crushed, it’s only natural that I should hold a grudge. So I arranged with the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division in advance to get revenge by secretly taking compromising footage of him reading obscene materials. The plan went off without a hitch, the true-to-life footage energized the crowd at the screening, and I’m sure I’ll never forget how good it felt when he came at me, fists flying, veins pulsing on his forehead. But I don’t know what happened to him after that. The ones who dragged the Crackpot of Monte Cristo away when he attacked me were… He trails off. DARUMA Tell me the schemers’ names! AIJIMA I’ll tell you; I won’t leave anything out… It was the Sophistry Debate Club. Worse than brutes, they are—rotten university students, selfish bastards who are corrupt to the core, messing around with nonsensical sophistry like slimy, twisted, tricksy eels. Both I and the Bedroom Investigation Commission are nothing but their pawns. They’ve spirited the Crackpot of Monte Cristo off somewhere to get back at him for beating them at their own game. DARUMA I see! AIJIMA Please have mercy. DARUMA No, I won’t be forgiving you. You shall suffer the same indignity the Crackpot of Monte Cristo suffered. I’ll stuff these gorgeous green peas up your nose and expose your shame to all the world. AIJIMA Waaah. Please not my nose! My beauty, my sex magnetism… DARUMA (while stuffing peas up Aijima’s nose) The Sophistry Debate Club… I’ve burned that despicable name into my brain. When I finished the saying the last line, a black curtain came down. The immediate round of applause made my heart flutter with an excitement I hadn’t felt in a long while. I was glad the actor playing Aijima complimented me—“You were great!”—as he shot peas out of his nose. “It’s amazing you memorized all those lines so fast.” “Let’s do the next one together, too. I think act forty-eight will be at the north gate.” The troupe broke down the stage in the blink of an eye and removed their armbands. The prop girl shouted, “Break!” and everyone ran away in different directions. As if everything had been a dream, all that was left was the stairway landing. The audience also dispersed in small groups. The people from Ablutions packed up their equipment. “Wow, I can’t believe our club showed up in it,” one of them said. “Aijima’s probably gonna be pissed.” Just then I saw a Daruma doll that someone had kicked go rolling down the hallway. Cuteness, thy name is Daruma. I chased after it, but for some reason, it just kept rolling and rolling. “Nice rolling, thy name is Daruma!” “Hey, man, we’ve got some great stuff here. Exceedingly exciting.” In a dimly lit hallway with no one around, a sickly student sidled up to me. “We’re very proud of our collection. It’s a world of pink—for men only.” He took me to a corner of the building where the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division had quietly built the Hall of International Treasures. They’d hung dark curtains over the windows, and illuminated by lewd pink lights, materials from past and present, near and far, to do with men and women in all sorts of sexual acts were on display in the dimly lit classroom. It reeked with the odor of men. In the corner sat a sex doll (as an article on display) that the president of the group had bought with money he earned by setting off display fireworks for shows one summer. You could say here lay true idiocy. I found it honestly lamentable, as a fellow student, that they’d occupy a sacred classroom and hold such an obscene exhibition. I thought they should be ashamed of themselves. And so, I was examining the items on display in detail as an escape from the mortal world and to recharge when there was a sudden commotion near the entrance. Wearing armbands of the School Festival Office, a group of people pushed their way past the commission members who tried to stop them. The director of the office was with them. When he saw me, he exclaimed, “Whoa, whoa,” and grinned awkwardly. “So you’re a perv, too, huh?” Then he put on a serious face and scanned the pink classroom. He grabbed a nearby display item and flipped through it. “This is bad. It’s way too explicit. We have a problem,” he groaned. “You guys in the Indecent Investigation Commission need to tone it down.” “We’re not the ‘Indecent Investigation Commission’! We’re the Bedroom Investigation Commission!” “Either way. In any case, I’m going to have to have you guys pack it up.” The members of the Bedroom Investigation Commission’s Youth Division huddled for a little while to confer with one another, but eventually, they put a few photo collections in a bag and handed it to the director, wearing ingratiating smiles. “These are some new materials we’ve recently unearthed. How would you like to take them? I’m sure these sorts of things will come in handy for running the festival.” The director took the books with a dissatisfied look on his face and silently paged through them. After taking a closer look at the “new materials,” he pointed at another item on display and said, “That looks like it might be useful, too.” The commission members hurriedly handed it over. The director paged through the photo book and nodded. “Yes, with materials like these, ‘Hall of Treasures’ is a worthy name. Very educational.” The director exchanged firm handshakes with the members of the commission. “Continue keeping a sharp eye out for women and minors.” I left with him and sneered, “You evil bastard.” He smiled and replied, “It’s just one thing after another. Just a little while ago there was a Crackpot of Monte Cristo performance on that landing. By the time I arrived, it was over.” “Why don’t you just give up on them?” “I can’t. This is my job… How about you? Have you seen the girl yet?” “I can’t find her, so no.” “I guess we’re both having a hard time—you in pursuit of your girl, me in pursuit of the Crackpot of Monte Cristo.” “She’s carrying a big red koi on her back. Have you seen a girl like that around?” “Oh, her? I passed her near the north gate a bit ago.” Then he got a puzzled look on his face. “I think she was chasing a Daruma doll that was rolling away?” After parting with the director, who was on his way back to headquarters, I went north from the academic center. The north gate faces Higashi Ichijo Street, and there were tons of booths lined up there, too, and throngs of people. The sun was clouded over, so it’d gotten even colder. I sniffed the scent of a solitary winter. I’m sure I’ll catch a cold again this year after my naked soul is pummeled by the northern wind blowing down the drably colored streets. It happens every year. It’s a given. Then one day I’ll drag my feverish body to the convenience store, when some shamelessly buoyant revelers will streak by holding up cake and chicken as if they were portable shrines hoisted high. With my vision hazy from the high fever, the twinkling lights in the streets will look beautiful. Why are the streets so sparkly? I’ll wonder, and as I’m heading up the hill to my room, it will hit me: Ahhh, yes. Today is Christmas Eve… I was looking through some secondhand clothes with a mind to prepare for the seasonal struggle when I smelled something delicious from beyond them. When I went through the curtain of clothes, a familiar man in a yukata was sitting under a kotatsu eating hot pot. “Ah! Higuchi. What are you doing here?” “Oh, it’s you. Haven’t seen you since the used bookfair, right? Well, have some soy-milk hot pot.” I counted myself lucky and got under the kotatsu. With him were Hanuki—a lady and a big drinker—and a student I didn’t know. Hanuki was on her stomach sipping a cup of sake. When I sat down, she tried to lick my face, and I dodged. She cackled like a strange bird. The sun hadn’t even gone down, and she was almost completely plastered. “Welcome to the Speedy Kotatsu,” announced Higuchi. How ridiculous. “If there’s something shady going on, you’re usually the one behind it, huh?” “Hey now, don’t flatter me.” Then I ate some soy-milk hot pot and warmed up, but I was curious about the student who hadn’t said a word since I arrived. He was writing something with a frown. When Higuchi noticed me glancing at him, he slurped some Malony noodles and said, “That’s Chief-in-Chief Underpants.” I’d heard rumors of that school-shaking moniker. I looked upon the taciturn man with awe and kindness. “How did he become Chief-in-Chief Underpants?” “It’s a tearjerker of a story,” stated Higuchi, and he urged the man to tell it. Chief-in-Chief Underpants put down his pen and took a little Daruma doll out from under the kotatsu. Then he split it in half, folded the paper he’d been writing on real tiny, placed it inside, and then put the doll back together. He did all this without a word and then set the complete Daruma on the table. Finally, he turned toward me and began to speak in a solemn tone. “It happened last year at the school festival. I thought the festival was a stupid ruckus and had no intention of going, but a friend of mine in the same major was going to be in a play, so I reluctantly agreed to go. I had some time to kill before the performance was going to start, so I took a break in the law department courtyard. There was a dingy stage made of a collection of junk, so I was sitting absentmindedly on the corner of it. After a little while, a tired-looking girl came along and sat there like me. At first, I just thought, ‘Oh, a girl’s sitting there,’ but then it rained apples.” “It rained apples?” “Later, I heard that apparently a law professor was taking some apples he bought at a booth back to his office when he tripped and the apples flew everywhere—including out the window into the courtyard. Anyhow, all these round red things were falling, and when I stood up, wondering what the heck was going on, I looked at the lady. She looked at me, too. That instant we were looking at each other, apples hit both of us on the head and bounced off. That was the moment I fell for her, right when the apple bounced.” He had a far-off look in his eyes. “It was truly love at first sight.” I’ve seen a lot of lovesick men, but the utterly intoxicated look on this one’s face was something else. I didn’t even have the heart to rib him; he was in full-body love. “We both rubbed our heads and groaned for a little while, but soon we were laughing in spite of ourselves. After all, it’s not every day that two people see apples fall out of the sky and bounce off each other’s heads. That was how we started talking. I was flustered, so I don’t even know what I said. I remember her talking with a voice as clear as a bell about the Jindaiji Daruma Doll Fair. She said she loved Daruma dolls, that she loved small round things…” Then his face became sad. “But I didn’t know what to do. Our entire relationship was having apples bounce off our heads. It would have been rude to ask for her number. So all I could do was make trivial small talk, and eventually, her friend called her away, and she left. But ever since we parted, I haven’t been able to forget her. I thought I’d like to see her again, hear her voice, but I can’t seem to run into her on campus. I got more and more distraught until I finally made a vow and headed to Yoshida Shrine to pray: I vowed not to change my underwear until the day I met her again.” Higuchi crossed his arms and nodded with what seemed like admiration. “That’s how he earned the title Chief-in-Chief Underpants. It’s a wonderful story. He’s a man among men.” “He’s putting all his energy in the entirely wrong direction,” Hanuki whispered as she sipped her sake. His intentions were lovely—beautiful, but I got the strong impression he was running at full speed in the exact opposite direction of his goal. In praise of his full-throttle backward dash, I reached out to shake his hand. I couldn’t help but identify with his compulsive way of living. “I pray you’ll meet her again.” “I believe I’ll meet her today. That’s why I’m making my move.” I stood up. “Oh, that’s right. I can’t be sitting here cozily eating soy-milk hot pot. I’ve got to seize my happy ending—even if it requires some plot convenience!” Higuchi dove under the kotatsu and said, “You’re leaving already?” Hanuki yawned. Thus, I walked off once again—Where could she be? At that time, I’d gone back to the field to find a booth I saw earlier with the very intriguing sign MAN JUICE: BLACKGUARD. That blackguard turned out to be red-bean soup. Looking a bit ridiculous with red-bean soup in one hand, a Daruma in the other, and a koi fish on my back, I walked around the field. My tongue is sensitive to heat, so I couldn’t drink the soup right away. But the sun was clouded over, and a cold wind was blowing, so it soon cooled to a gentle temperature. My back was toasty, protected by the carp. In addition to food stands, there were people doing street performances as well as stress-relief booths. Everyone was harnessing their respective talents and coming together to make this weird festival a party. It was wonderful. After I finished my soup, I paid for a session at a stress-relief booth and tried serving some friendly punches to a sandbag. Once my body was all warmed up, I left the field and walked to the north gate. There were lots of shops there, too, selling sausages, grilled rice balls, and crepes, plus little gadgets, handmade accessories, and used clothes—it was brimming with black-market energy. As I sat fixated on a big Kamen Rider V3 figure, someone sat down next to me. They looked right at me and said, “Hello.” It was the girl who’d taught me the harshness of reality with her ground-breaking exhibit, Elephant Butt. “Funny seeing you here.” “It’s easy to spot you with that koi on your back.” “Is the elephant’s bottom all right without you?” “Yeah, I have a friend working the booth for me. Plus, we’re breaking it down soon.” “What? You’re taking it apart? What a waste.” “I mean, if an elephant butt was always in that classroom, you wouldn’t be able to hold lectures.” She was wearing a string of Daruma dolls. When I pointed at it and told her how splendid I thought it was, she nodded happily. “I picked up so many Daruma that I decided to try threading them.” “How novel. I love Daruma dolls.” “Me too. I love small round things.” When I showed her the Daruma I had picked up, she said she’d give me her Daruma string. I gratefully accepted it and wore it around my neck. “You’re so funny.” She laughed. Then we went around to different booths together for a while, and eventually, we found a shop where they had cardboard boxes full of apples. An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but I already had a koi fish on my back, a Daruma doll in my left hand, Daruma dolls around my neck, and a crepe that I’d bought in my right hand, so I wasn’t at liberty to buy any. As I was mulling this over, the student keeping the shop asked if I wanted to trade a Daruma for an apple. I had a lot of them, so her offer was perfectly timed. The doll in my left hand transformed into a shiny red apple. The Elephant Butt girl bought one, too. “What inspired you to create an elephant bottom?” She polished her apple on her shirt and looked at me with her pretty eyes. “It happened last year at the school festival. I went to the law department courtyard to meet a friend. Someone had made a stage there, but no one was using it, and a guy was sitting on it, so I decided to sit there, too. Then as I started spacing out, it started raining apples!” “That’s quite some mysterious weather.” “Someone scattered a bunch of apples out of one of the law department’s windows. Just as I stood up in surprise at all the red fruits falling down, I looked at the guy next to me. He looked at me, too. That instant, apples hit both of us on the head and bounced off. Those sorts of coincidences actually do happen. It really hurt, but…we both laughed in spite of ourselves and got to talking. He was a very interesting person. I don’t remember what I talked about, but…he told me about elephant bottoms.” She giggled and spun the apple in her hand. “My friend got there right after that, so we parted ways. The school festival ended, and life went on as normal. But every little thing reminded me of him. I was thinking about him and elephant bottoms all the time—because the only thing I distinctly remember he told me about is elephant bottoms. But I never saw him around campus. One day, I came up with the idea to build an elephant bottom for the next school festival, because you can forget painful memories while you’re making things…” “So it was a bottom built with love!” “I figured if there was a sign that said ‘Elephant Butt’ at the festival, he would find it interesting and pop in, you know? But it wasn’t that easy,” she murmured. What a beautiful, moving story. I’m a girl who’s lived apart from romance, so I couldn’t understand the pain in her heart, but I knew that if I were in love like that, I would have poured my soul into an elephant bottom just as she did. Yes, indeed. As I imagined her devoted to her creative work, thinking of him, I nearly began to cry. And that’s when it happened. The theater troupe came from the academic center and threaded through the booths in their red armbands. One of them, the girl with the reel on her hip, broke into a radiant smile when she saw me: “She’s here!” She waved a Daruma doll she must have found on the ground and cried, “You’re on, you’re on!” I wiped the corners of my eyes and stood up. “The three o’clock show is about to start! Presenting The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” Her voice echoed throughout the area. “Act forty-eight!” THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO ACT 48 SETTING: THE NORTH GATE After the 25th Sophistry Debate Club Meet, the captain, YUICHI SERINA, is walking. As he walks, he sings the “Song of Sophistry” with an earnest expression on his face. Princess Daruma blocks his way. DARUMA Are you captain of the Sophistry Debate Club, Serina? SERINA I am, indeed, captain of the Sophistry Debate Club, Yuichi Serina. You know me, but who are you? Tell me your name! DARUMA I am Princess Daruma. Even if you don’t know me, you must know the Crackpot of Monte Cristo. SERINA Hmm, no, I know no one with such an eccentric name. DARUMA Don’t play innocent with me! She pounces and ties Serina up. SERINA What violence! I’ll see you in court. DARUMA Listen to me. I captured Aijima of the film club Ablutions and persuaded him with all my heart. He confessed that you, the Sophistry Debate Club, held a grudge against the Crackpot of Monte Cristo and abducted him. Will you still feign ignorance now? SERINA I don’t know what I don’t know. DARUMA Well then, how shall I deal with this? I happen to have a pair of shamelessly pink briefs here. Perhaps it’d be fun to make you wear them and then drop you in the center of the Hyakumanben Intersection. SERINA Pink? And briefs, you say? Oh, is there no god or Buddha? DARUMA Then you’d better give me the whole story. Where is my love, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo? SERINA I’ll tell you everything. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo is one hard-core sophistry debater. The uninhibited eellike slipperiness he exhibits is enough to drain the color from even the faces of we who train night and day. In the school festival debate we organized, the Rice Fundamentalists vs. the Bread Alliance, he beat us so soundly we couldn’t manage a single peep. For the Sophistry Debate Club to be defeated in sophistry debate is an unendurable humiliation, so it’s only natural we’d hold a grudge. Our intention was to abduct him and shut that sophism-spouting mouth of his. But some other people stole him away from us… He trails off. DARUMA Tell me those schemers’ names! SERINA I’ll tell you; I won’t leave anything out. It was the School Festival Office. The natural enemy of students living with Sturm und Drang, they are operating under the principle of eliminating any and all sources of commotion. In order to bring the school festival safely to a close, they’ve taken the festival terrorist, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, and locked him up somewhere. DARUMA I see! SERINA Please have mercy. I’m a pitiable fellow who only ended up a villain by chance; it’s all a capricious trick played by Lady Luck. From now on, I’ll change my ways and swear loyalty to you. I’ll spare no effort in helping you rescue the Crackpot of Monte Cristo. DARUMA You are the very definition of a glib-tongued womanizer. I’m amazed you were able to play so infuriatingly dumb and then, in the same breath, say you’ll “spare no effort” to help. You delight in taking advantage of a coincidence, but then when things don’t seem to be going your way, you make excuses and blame Lady Luck. I’m sure these pink briefs will look great on a shallow fellow like you. SERINA Waaah. Please, I beg you, not that obscenity. DARUMA (Having forced Serina into the pink briefs, she stands and raises a fist). The School Festival Office… I’ve burned that despicable name into my brain. Once the curtain was drawn, before the applause even died down, the theater troupe broke down the set and dashed off like ninjas into the crowd. The almost ascetic way they worked was admirable, especially because they didn’t get carried away by their success. Before she left, the prop girl clapped me on the shoulder. “See you in a bit!” As I was sighing with relief after my performance, the girl from Elephant Butt came over. A smile opened across her flushed face. “That was my first time seeing The Crackpot of Monte Cristo.” She beamed. “You were awesome! Your voice sounds totally different up there.” “Thanks.” “Well, I’ll see you later. It’s too bad we have to split up, but I have to get back to pack.” Though reluctant, I parted ways with her there and went out the north gate. Then I crossed Higashi Ichijo Street to explore Main Campus. As I walked north through the main gate, the clock tower stood over the rows of crowded booths. When I headed toward the engineering department, I found a shop selling candied apples. Candied apples! That’s an orthodox festival booth food if I ever heard of one. I happily bought myself this treat. Round sweet things are good. As I walked along licking the candied apple, I sensed, faintly, some kind of tense commotion. Following that sound, I came across a cluster of people in a narrow alley between two engineering buildings. Everyone was staring up at the sky with bated breath. I looked up as well and got quite a surprise. A boy holding a long pole was slowly walking on a line strung from the window of one building to the other. When I asked a spectator, I learned that apparently this guy had walked between the two second floors, then the third floors, then the fourth floors, moving up step-by-step like that, and had finally reached the fifth floors. What a fearless, adventuring rogue. When the fellow made it across, everyone watching sighed with relief. I wanted to praise him, but at the same time, I was driven by a sense of mission to tell him that he mustn’t risk his life for mischief, so I entered the building he had crossed into. Then I went up the stairs, but I couldn’t reach the fifth floor—the reason being, a huge papier-mâché lucky cat was sitting in the stairwell, and I couldn’t get past no matter how I tried. I sulked a bit, but the cat was quite an elaborate construction and even larger than I was. I forgot my original purpose and poked its big soft belly with wonder. “I’m gonna eat your red koi!” the lucky cat suddenly said, and its eyes rolled. I can’t even describe how surprised I was at that moment. My determination to talk to Mr. Tightrope Adventurer Rogue about the preciousness of life suddenly evaporated, and I scurried away. How mortifying. And how terrifying. I furiously licked my candied apple to calm down and then looked around a used bookfair near the literature department. Looking at the secondhand textbooks, magazines, and records packed in cardboard boxes brought back happy memories of the summer bookfair and the things I’d found there. The candied apple and the good memories made my heart big and round again, so with renewed energy, I entered a law department building. Outside a lecture hall was a sign announcing a debate, and when I went in to watch, there were students wearing intimidating expressions lined up at the podium and a curtain with huge characters that read RICE FUNDAMENTALISTS VS. BREAD ALLIANCE. “People should be fed to dogs if they’re so behind the times they still eat rice balls!” “You like wheat flour that much? You’re Japanese! Eat rice!” The denunciations exchanged right off the bat surprised me, but the curses they flung at one another were like the purifying salt that sumo wrestlers throw before the competition. After that ritual to whip up their fighting spirits, the real debate began. I asked the person next to me, and apparently, the debate was being held by the Sophistry Debate Club. “It’s a bunch of people who don’t really care one way or another but are split into rice and bread factions for the debate.” By the way, I like both rice and bread. Sorry to be an opportunist. Eventually, the facilitator stopped the debate and asked the audience what they thought. The people watching had all sorts of fascinating opinions. At some point, the facilitator noticed my red koi and said, “And how about you, there? What do you think?” The person with the mic ran over and prompted me to speak. “Which side are you on, rice or bread?” Hrmmmm. I fell deep into thought. Having acquired testimony from the crepe-stand girl that a black-haired maiden wearing a red koi on her back and a string of Daruma dolls around her neck had walked toward the clock tower, I headed for Main Campus. As I entered through the main gate among the crowd of festivalgoers, the clock tower stood at attention in the slanted evening sun. I wandered around Main Campus trailing the girl who left glittering impressions in her wake. I heard she bought a candied apple, and the combination of her and a candied apple was so charming in my mind that I couldn’t help myself and bought one to lick as I meandered. When I passed the engineering department, I saw office members marching off some fool who’d been tightrope-walking between buildings. What an idiot, I thought. When I entered the law department, I heard another rumor about her. A petite girl and her red koi slipped into the Rice Fundamentalists vs. Bread Alliance debate put on by the Sophistry Debate Club and threw a wrench into the event by declaring, “You should all just eat Bisuko cookies!” But by the time I ran to the lecture hall, the debate was over. Instead, I found a panel of men who’d lived over twenty-five years without a girlfriend debating how to get along with women at an event called “A Quarter Century of Solitude.” I was deeply moved by their passionate discussion. In that frame of mind, I walked through the gap between the new and old buildings as a cold wind whipped by. But I had run out of leads, so the girl’s whereabouts were a complete mystery. I circled Main Campus once and returned to the main gate. It was three thirty in the afternoon, so the booths were already packing up. Twilight was stealthily encroaching. Near the clock tower, I found the Mystery Research Society at a long table selling something called The Crackpot of Monte Cristo Guidebook. The girl selling it was shouting, “It’s almost time for the final act! This one book is all you need to get caught up!” I bought a copy without much thought. It was a simple packet of printouts stapled together that summarized the first forty-eight acts of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo, introduced the clubs that appeared as villains, and provided a chart of the relationships between characters. “The Crackpot of Monte Cristo is structured in such a way that behind each mastermind is another mastermind, as the clubs who are the enemies of the protagonist, Princess Daruma, accuse one another of various misdeeds. It should be noted how, by using actual club names, this work moves beyond mere street performance and has spurred a lot of real conversation in both fans and critics. One could say the format of the performances and its knack for creating buzz are at the play’s core. We hope you will watch the conclusion with your own eyes. Will the fateful pair meet once again? Where is the Crackpot of Monte Cristo imprisoned? And if the Crackpot of Monte Cristo is to appear, what sort of character will he be?” I was absorbed in reading the booklet when a flyer blew into my leg. As I picked it up, I saw it was a preview for the final act of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo. “The ongoing guerilla theater production, The Crackpot of Monte Cristo, is about to conclude and sure to leave its mark. Witness this historic moment!” it announced in a dramatic font. In larger characters, it said, “New lead actress!” and when I saw the picture of who was playing Princess Daruma, I stood there dumbstruck. The new Princess Daruma, introduced with an illustration by an art student, was unmistakably the girl. Things have gotten intense while I was out of the loop, I thought. I was still on the other side of the bottomless moat, but now she was farther away than ever. Some whim of fate placed her in a major role, while I had to make do with getting blown on by the cold wind as a pebble by the wayside… I heard two guys who’d acquired a flyer talking. “I guess The Crackpot of Monte Cristo got a new lead actress.” “Oh, what’s she like? Pretty?” “She’s wearing a big koi on her back and a string of Daruma dolls around her neck.” “…What’s she supposed to be? A monster?” I’d run out of clues on Main Campus, but if she was going to play the lead in The Crackpot of Monte Cristo, she would surely show up at the performance. Thinking I’d gather some information on the play, I returned to Yoshida-South and popped into the festival office. But the whole place was in an uproar, so it was no time for asking questions. Staffers were running every which way, their hair disheveled. From a speaker on a table, a voice blared, “The Speedy Kotatsu is currently passing through the courtyard. Requesting immediate support,” but no one was paying any attention to it. The director was pulling a green net out of a locker in the corner of the tent and told me, “I don’t have time to play around with you,” even though we’ve been friends for a long time. Apparently, as the night’s final act approached, their problems had been multiplying. After hand-to-hand combat with the fearless adventure rogue tightrope-walking between engineering buildings, they’d captured him. From one of those engineering buildings came complaints of a giant lucky cat blocking the stairs. There was a string of odd robberies wherein sandwich boards or any junk placed next to a booth disappeared. The Speedy Kotatsu was still appearing out of nowhere and vanishing without a trace. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo had blown up in popularity, and the Mystery Research Society was even selling copies of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo Guidebook. There were people trying to make hot pot with a road-killed wild boar; for some reason, Daruma dolls were appearing all over campus; and a brawl had broken out at the idol video marathon. As his ship was reeling in utter chaos, buffeted by storm winds, the captain finally flew into a rage. It was the first time in my life I’d ever heard a flesh-and-blood human say, “Keeeeeegh!” The office director stood up and made a speech, though no one was listening: “You know, we aren’t saying ‘You can’t do this!’ and ‘You can’t do that!’ without reason! Isn’t the whole point of nagging everyone to make sure we can guarantee them a soft landing in reality after they rampage through their youth? Isn’t the point to bring the school festival safely to a close? So why?! Why doesn’t a single person—not one single person—appreciate us?! What an incredibly short end of the stick! Everyone and their mother is just doing whatever they want! Do they really think they can keep riding a stolen motorbike through the night with no destination in mind?! This isn’t a Yutaka Ozaki song!” He thrust a fist into the air and shouted, “Ahhh, dammit! I’m so jealous! I wanna be them!” After the passionate debate in the law department lecture hall, it was argued that a Bisuko cookie was a type of bread, so I became the Bisuko Faction of the Bread Alliance and joined the demonstration. It was my first time participating in anything like that, so naturally, I got very excited, and my hand held the sign with a lot of energy. Actually, though, the people who started the march didn’t really care one way or the other between rice and bread. The plan was to go up on the stage, set up on the field, and give speeches, but as we approached the main gate, everyone got bored, so only two other people besides me entered Yoshida-South campus. One of them fell in love at first sight with the girl selling crepes and left, and when I caught the other one snacking on a rice ball, she admitted, “Sorry. I actually like rice better, I guess,” and left with tears in her eyes. You can’t really call it a demonstration anymore with only one person. I was in low spirits and wandered between the academic center and the field. I looked quite whimsical with a koi fish on my back, a sign in my left hand and a string of Daruma dolls around my neck, but inside, a cold wind was blowing through my heart. The sun had started to slant, so I felt even lower and lonely. I wished I could see Mr. Higuchi, Ms. Hanuki, and Chief-in-Chief Underpants from the Speedy Kotatsu. I wished I could talk with the girl from Elephant Butt. Then I remembered that the Elephant Butt girl had said she needed to go break down the exhibit. I’ll go bid farewell to that great elephant bottom, I thought. Then, as I was crossing the courtyard near the multipurpose building, I noticed a little Daruma doll on the ground. Today is a day for frequent encounters with cute things. That moment, I heard the sound of a familiar bell. Theater troupe members with red armbands came running from all directions. The prop girl arrived and flashed me a smile as she rang the bell. She grabbed the Daruma and popped it open. There was a folded-up script inside. After glancing over it, she handed it to me and said, “You’re on.” “The four o’clock show is about to start! Presenting The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” Her shout echoed off the walls of the multipurpose buildings surrounding the area. “Act forty-nine!” THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO ACT 49 SETTING: THE ACADEMIC-CENTER COURTYARD Beaming because he’s just swindled the Bedroom Investigation Commission out of a pile of smutty books, the DIRECTOR of the School Festival Office exits the building. Princess Daruma blocks his way. DARUMA Are you the director of the School Festival Office? DIRECTOR The shameless, mischievous Emperor of Evil who rules over the entire school festival is me, yes. With a koi on your back and Daruma dolls around your neck, I see—you’ve done well to make it this far, Princess Daruma! DARUMA And you, the villain lurking deep within the festival, taking it easy while your minions slave away, absorbed in swindled smut, cross-dressing night after night, arrogantly lecturing students on the rules while exempting yourself, steeped in obscenities. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo rose up precisely to give you the punishment you deserve. DIRECTOR (cackling) What imprecations are these against someone who calls himself the Emperor of Evil? I hardly feel a spring breeze. You and the Crackpot of Monte Cristo are two peas in a pod when it comes to foolishness, brandishing silly justice and making a racket just like willow tits. School-festival terrorists? That’s rich. Justice is always on my side. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo is in the depths of a darkness he’ll never escape, a place where he’ll regret his choices in life. DARUMA So you’re the one who’s abducted him! DIRECTOR Yes, you are quite correct. DARUMA Tell me! Where is my precious one, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo? DIRECTOR In the deepest depths of a darkness, inescapable once you set foot inside. Covered by white smoke from the Cauldron of Hell is a terrifying fortress that smells most foul. Even Chief-in-Chief Underpants shrinks in fear of its filthiness, and even the Sophistry Debate Club members fall silent before its majesty. It is but a prison of four and a half tatami mats; its name, the Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds. DARUMA For the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, I would journey even to hell! I won’t be frightened off! DIRECTOR You’ve forgotten yourself in your foolish love! DARUMA That’s not nice! DIRECTOR It’s a futile dream with no prospect of coming true. Ending things once and for all right now is what I call mercy! OFFICE STAFFER 1 (runs over) That’s enough, Princess Daruma! OFFICE STAFFER 2 (spreads a green net) Besides wreaking havoc at the school festival, you’ve been bad-mouthing the office… We can’t take this lying down. I have no intention of being rough with you, but we’ll need you to come with us back to HQ. OFFICE STAFFER 3 Give up and come quietly! After some swashbuckling, the net is thrown over the theater troupe. Their resistance futile, they are taken away. DARUMA I will never bow to evil. I must see the Crackpot of Monte Cristo again! PROP GIRL Whither the fate of Princess Daruma, who has fallen into the mastermind’s trap?! SCENERY GUY 1 Will she reunite with the Crackpot of Monte Cristo? SCENERY GUY 2 Don’t miss the final act! The office staff marched us over to the corner of the field where their headquarters had been set up. The booths in the area were beginning to break down their tents, folding them up. Rays of golden light shone down, and the kind of autumn wind that makes you miss your hometown was blowing. It was heartbreaking to think such a fascinating festival was going to end and the university would go back to normal. My heart was steeped in the same sort of sorrow I felt as an elementary schooler when field day was over. And on top of that, I’d been caught by the office and wouldn’t be able to appear in The Crackpot of Monte Cristo anymore. Basically, the festival was already over for me. It was sad. The director glared at us. We went into the HQ tent and sat on folding chairs. “Please sit right here. I can’t have you wreaking any more havoc!” His tone was firm, but he was kind enough to serve us tea and sweet dumplings he’d bought at one of the festival booths. Sipping roasted green tea and biting into my snack, I relaxed. The director slumped into a chair and stared into space for a while. He seemed tired. He looked at the koi fish on my back and murmured, “That’s great…” I gazed up at the big map hanging behind him. “What’s that map?” “Oh, this? This shows where the Speedy Kotatsu and the Crackpot of Monte Cristo incidents have been happening, and—” He suddenly gasped. Standing before the map with his arms crossed, he looked like Sherlock Holmes, frowning with his pipe as he solved a case. “Why didn’t I realize until now? These all overlap… It’s like the performance comes right after the Speedy Kotatsu.” I saw the prop girl smile. When the director turned around, the smile disappeared like water soaking into sand. He narrowed his eyes at her. Then he clenched a fist. “So that’s what was going on!” he shouted. “The Crackpot of Monte Cristo is writing the script under the Speedy Kotatsu?!” That’s when it happened. A big elephant bottom came loudly crashing into the tent. The walls of the tent flipped up, the office desk tipped over, and the staff members fled in a panic. I ran into a corner with my sweet dumpling and teacup. The elephant bottom’s trampling had kicked up a huge cloud of dust, and the headquarters was in a terrible state, like the aftermath of an earthquake. The director was pinned between the elephant bottom and one of the tent walls and couldn’t move. “C’mon, gimme a break,” he groaned. As the staffers were trying to rescue him, the theater troupe skittered out of the tent and made their escape. They were probably headed for their final performance. From the shadow of the malevolent bottom in the middle of the tent, the Elephant Butt girl peeked out and immediately held out her hand. “Now let’s get out of here!” she commanded. “You’re going to perform to the end. You have to reunite with the Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” At the sound of her voice, my actress spirit perked back up. The spirit wasn’t only half a day old. I may not seem like the type, but I was obsessed with Glass Mask as a little girl, of course. I answered, “Right!” stood up, took her hand, and ran across the field. Oh, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo! I’ll finally be at your side! “I saw you get caught. It would be a shame not to perform in the final act, right? So I came to save you.” “Thank you, Elephant Butt girl!” When I said that, she winced. “My name’s Noriko Suda.” The way I had said it, it sounded as if she were an elephant bottom. To call a beautiful maiden in love an elephant bottom was rude, even for me. The people packing up their booths pointed at us and said, “Oh, it’s Princess Daruma!” Having my face remembered was both a great honor and a great embarrassment. When I looked back as we ran, I saw the office staffers rush out of the tent and head our way. Princess Daruma is in danger! I thought. Whatever will happen to her? Having wandered Yoshida-South campus after not finding any clues at the festival office headquarters, I sat in a corner of the area by the north gate where everyone was breaking down their booths. There’s a saying about doing all you can and then waiting for providence. I’d definitely done everything I could do. I watched the school festival end, and without any high points I could personally attest to, I thought, I could use some providence right about now. The students packing up bustled around. The haunted-house guys were carrying boxes of their supplies, but they were still wearing their monster makeup, so it was like a monster parade of Japanese legend. The members of the Bedroom Investigation Commission filed through the courtyard near the multipurpose building in an orderly fashion carrying boxes of explicit materials. As I was cradling my head in despair, I heard a pitter-patter of racing footsteps. I looked up without thinking, and what should I find but the girl with her red koi running hand in hand with a girl I didn’t know. The moment I stood up, thinking, Whoa, it’s actually providence! I got shoved aside by office staffers. I hit my elbow hard and writhed around like a shrimp. She ran across the bustling area screaming, “Please save me!” A dozen or so guys and girls in office staff armbands were chasing her. “The festival office is after Princess Daruma!” “The office was masterminding the whole thing!” “I heard they have the Crackpot of Monte Cristo locked up!” “That’s horrible!” The students shared misinformation in turns and blocked the staffers’ way. The haunted-house guys shouted, “It’s the girl with the red koi! Save her!” and threw yam jelly in the staffers’ faces. “You’ve got it all wrong!” “This isn’t the play!” “Wait, is this the play?” The sudden attack enraged the staffers, and they had no idea what was going on anymore. I finally stood up and went after her. The Bedroom Investigation Commission opened their cardboard boxes and dropped sexy materials in strategic locations. Several office staffers emitted screams from their souls—“Whoa, nice tits!”—and knelt in front of erotic treasure. She managed to gain some distance, about to fly out of the north gate and onto Higashi Ichijo Street. At this rate, I would lose her. I dodged the jelly the haunted-house guys threw at me, cried as I abandoned the erotic goods, and followed her through the gate. The director was on my tail. He wanted to safely lower the curtain on the school festival; I wanted to raise the curtain on my new future. Though we had different goals in mind, the object of our chase was the same. We ran side by side in silence. When we reached Main Campus, the Rice Fundamentalist demonstration was blocking the direction she ran in, and the whole area was crowded. The Rice Fundamentalists were chanting their slogan—“Japanese people should eat rice!”—and stuffing rice balls into the mouths of the office staffers one after another. “Get those guys out of the way! Don’t eat the rice balls!” yelled the director. I thought for a moment. She was running away from the office to perform the final act of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo. It was unclear what trick of fate landed her in that major role. All that was clear was that the director was trying to rob her of her dream. Her friend is my enemy. Her enemy is also my enemy. Yesterday’s friend is today’s enemy. As the director was trying to shove the Rice Fundamentalists aside, I told him, “Hey, your belt is twisted!” “What? Really?” I pretended to fix his belt for him but whipped it off instead. Then I pantsed him, pushed him over, and charged into the demonstration. Watching me go, he cried out in a pained voice, “What the heck was that? We’re friends, aren’t we?” “Sorry, my friend,” I quipped. “The girl takes priority.” I was lucky to run into the Rice Fundamentalists by the clock tower. To them, I was a debate opponent as a member of the Bread Alliance’s Bisuko Faction, but they cared more about seeing The Crackpot of Monte Cristo to completion than about our difference in opinion. “We’ll share our leftover rice balls with the office staff, so use that time to escape,” they responded. Noriko waited for the noisy collision of the office staff and the Rice Fundamentalists and then took the string of Daruma dolls from my neck and put it around hers. Then she put the red koi on her back. “This way, they’ll chase me instead of you.” “What a wonderful plan!” “Don’t stand here admiring it. Get going and find the next stage. I’ll definitely be there watching.” With that, she dashed off east of the clock tower toward the engineering department. After getting mixed up and running a circle around a big camphor tree, I made a wild guess and ran toward the university library. After all, I had no idea where the final performance would be. My only option was to run around randomly. But no matter how much I circled Main Campus, I couldn’t find any clues. Time was wasting away, and the area was growing darker and darker. Though a cold evening wind was blowing, I had beads of sweat on my forehead. I had run too much, and with stabbing side stitches, I finally couldn’t run anymore. “Oh, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” I wanted to cry. “Where are you?” It wasn’t easy, but I broke through the wall of Rice Fundamentalists and ran after her again. She was already disappearing between two engineering buildings. As the sun set, the only thing I could see clearly was the red koi on her back. She ran weaving through the booths as they were being torn down. I was immediately exhausted. Eventually, she hurtled into a gray building towering in the night. Following her light footsteps up the stairs, I went higher and higher, breathing so hard my lungs were creaking. I finally caught up to her on the roof. Exposed to the elements for thirty years, the concrete roof was like a barren wasteland. Below us, the school festival was fading into the darkness as it approached its end. In the west, some faint pink remained, but the sky was clear navy. Beyond the dark shapes of the school buildings, the clock tower stretched toward the heavens, its face illuminated. The wind cooled my sweaty body. She ran to the center of the roof, where I saw a familiar table. It was the Speedy Kotatsu. I had no idea why it was there. I can’t even describe how stunned I was the moment I ran to her side, saw her face, and realized she was someone else. “Who are you?!” I bleated under the twilight. “Noriko Suda!” she shouted. When I just stared back at her, she said, “You really hung in there through all that running, but you’ve got the wrong person.” Then she took off the Daruma necklace, proclaimed, “You win first prize,” and hung it around my neck. Higuchi called out to me from beneath the kotatsu, “Oh, funny seeing you here!” without a care in the world. Hanuki patted the space next to her and said, “It’s cold once the sun goes down. C’mon, get in here!” The top of the table was a messy heap of Daruma dolls and fireworks. I grabbed one of the fireworks and muttered, “Why do you have these?” “Because it’s almost time for the final act. Can’t have one without fireworks!” At that moment, I realized I’d meandered down a dead end and was stuck. Where is she? Where will the final act of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo be performed? Above all, where is my happy ending? Could it be I don’t get one? Will I have to make do as a pebble by the wayside until the curtain falls? As I was standing there in the cold wind, having lost my steam, office staffers came running up the stairs. The director was among them. They surrounded the Speedy Kotatsu and Noriko with the koi on her back. The director struck a forbidding posture and glared down at Higuchi. “I’ve finally caught you, Crackpot of Monte Cristo. You say it’s theater, but you’re just a terrorist throwing the school festival into chaos. In the name of the director of the festival office, I won’t let you stage the final act!” Higuchi looked back at him blankly and responded, “You’re barking up the wrong tree. First of all, I’m not the Crackpot of Monte Cristo. Second of all, the performance is about to begin.” The director brandished a fist and hollered, “Don’t play dumb with me! I know you’re the ringleader. Here’s what I’ve deduced: First, you write the script at the Speedy Kotatsu and somehow leave it at the scene of the performance. Then after the Speedy Kotatsu leaves, the theater troupe arrives, grabs the script, and puts on the show. So while the performance is happening, the ringleader is absent. It was impossible to know where the Crackpot of Monte Cristo was because he was on the move with the Speedy Kotatsu.” “I’m not the only one who was with the Speedy Kotatsu.” Then I shouted, “I’ve got it. It’s that guy, Chief-in-Chief Underpants. Where is he?” Higuchi laughed “Ho-ho-ho” like an aristocrat and pointed south. I ran to the southern edge of the rooftop. My momentum nearly tipped me over the edge, but when I looked out, I could see the rooftops of shorter buildings. One of them looked quite mysterious. Junk from all over campus—lumber, sandwich boards, grimy tents, blankets, bicycles, drainpipes, aluminum window sashes, liquid waste tanks, weathered lockers, experimental apparatuses that must have been taken from the science department’s garbage drop location, shady-looking electrical appliances—were put together to construct a strange, elaborate structure. A ton of chimneys jutted out of it, belching white steam that drifted across the navy sky. A light tracked back and forth as if to search for something, and illuminated the billowing steam in the process. A scarlet flag raised high flapped in the chilly wind. This had to be the place where the Crackpot of Monte Cristo was imprisoned, that fearsome fortress—the Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds. From our vantage point, it appeared that the opposite side had audience seating, which meant we were seeing it from backstage. Among the theater troupe members with their red armbands, calling the shots so the final curtain could rise, was the Crackpot of Monte Cristo—Chief-in-Chief Underpants. “They’re performing on the roof?! That’s far too dangerous!” The director, who had rushed over next to me, stomped his feet. “Go to the next roof and order everyone to disperse!” I had to get them to wait until I got there to begin. I waved the Daruma doll necklace and called out to Chief-in-Chief Underpants at the top of my lungs, but he was absorbed in preparing for the play. I lit the firework I’d taken from Higuchi. The director was about to rush away, but he turned to me and warned, “Don’t shoot that at them—someone could get hurt.” Just as I tried to turn and reassure, “I know,” my foot got caught on the concrete lip of the roof. And I fell over backward in slow motion. In my left hand, a lit firework; in my right hand, a Daruma necklace. In my left eye, the future I was about to lose; in my right eye, the last things I would ever see: the director and Noriko gaping down at me, Higuchi standing up from the kotatsu, Hanuki juggling Daruma dolls, and the office staffers racing away. They say when your time comes, your life flashes before your eyes, and it’s true that the human brain works in mysterious ways. I remember that scene with bizarre clarity. Slowly, calmly, I was leaving this Earth. I had tried so hard, but now I was falling, and she certainly knew nothing about it. Good-bye, despicable youth; good-bye, glorious future. As I fell from the roof, the firework in my hand went off. A red light drew its tail up into the navy sky, and I saw it burst. A red light drew its tail up into the navy sky, and I saw it burst. I felt instinctively that it had to be Over there! And I raced through the gap between the engineering buildings. If that firework hadn’t gone up, I probably would have missed the final act of The Crackpot of Monte Cristo. Running between dark trees and the school buildings, I suddenly encountered that big lucky cat standing at the entrance of a building. A sandwich board standing next to it said, THE FINAL ACT OF THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO IS ON THE ROOF! I saw a crowd of students going past the cat to climb the stairs. “Over here!” the lucky cat called. When I jogged over, out of breath, a window opened in the lucky cat’s stomach, and the prop girl peeked out. “Sorry. We had to escape the office staff so quickly that I forgot to tell you where the next performance was.” “I’m just glad I found you… I thought I’d never make it in time.” “What are you talking about? You’re fine.” She got out of the lucky cat, took my hand, and led me upstairs. “The Crackpot Castle is on the roof?” “We’ve been collecting materials and building it bit by bit throughout the festival.” She gave me the script plus some props—a walking stick and a big key. Before long, we reached the roof. A cold wind was blowing across the bustling, crowded rooftop. Beyond all the people, an eerie building towered. It seemed to be in ruins but also steam powered and like a castle. White steam shot out here and there. All who saw it were overawed by its majesty—I’d finally arrived at the Crackpot of Monte Cristo’s prison, the Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds. Aside from Hollywood stunts, it’s impossible for a falling person to grab hold of a window ledge and be fine. So how was I saved, then? Four strokes of good luck overlapped to make it happen. First: I was holding the Daruma necklace. Second: An exchange student from Singapore was hanging laundry in a lab, and the pole was jutting out from a window. Third: The line that fearless adventure rogue used to tightrope-walk was still up. Fourth: The moment the firework in my hand went off, Chief-in-Chief Underpants on the neighboring roof noticed me falling. Just as that girl said, god really does have a weakness for plot convenience. I was clenching the Daruma necklace in my right hand as I fell. That caught on the end of the pole jutting out from the lab window. For a moment, I dangled in the air along with the white coats, lamely suspended like a blockheaded student sleepwalking through life on his parents’ money. But even he’d eventually need to take his future into his own hands. The Daruma necklace had kept me alive a little longer but snapped at almost the exact moment I reached out and grabbed the laundry pole. The Daruma dolls scattered to the dark ground below. I had no idea how the pole was supported, but it was definitely starting to bend horribly. As I panted and held on to it for dear life, a graduate student walked into the lab with a cup of coffee, flipped on the light, and shrieked. In the next second, he’d grabbed the pole and shouted, “Anyone, come quick!” The director and the others must have been leaning out over the edge of the roof, because I heard them shout, “Don’t let go!” Not that I could have let go if someone asked me to. But the laundry pole wouldn’t hold out. It was clear that one scrawny-looking grad student wouldn’t be enough to support me. “It’s gonna break!” shouted Chief-in-Chief Underpants from the opposite roof, and he moved the spotlight to point at me. The light illuminated my feet. Chief-in-Chief Underpants was furiously shouting something. The grad student was shrieking. The pole swayed. The lab coats and shirts fell into the dark valley between the two buildings. “There’s a line below you! Look! Look!” I heard Chief-in-Chief Underpants cry. When I forced my eyes open and looked toward my feet, there was a thick line stretching out of a fifth-floor window. It appeared to be attached to the rooftop water tank of the building next door. Thankfully, it seemed as though I’d be able to reach it if I stretched. But to do that, I would have to let go of the pole and free-fall for a moment. Do you think I have those kinds of guts? I was stuck, unable to move, with a furious grimace on my face. Then it seemed the laundry pole had lost its support. From inside the lab came a crash and another shriek from the grad student. At the same time, I started falling again. Chief-in-Chief Underpants was shining the light on my lifeline—literally and figuratively—strung between the two buildings. I frantically grabbed it. It was truly a miracle. To think a guy like me, who never works out, would be forced to do a thrilling action scene that puts movie stuntmen to shame—and live through it. I clung to the thick line, waiting for the shaking to stop, and belatedly steeled my resolve. “I’m not about to die here!” Then, like a koala, I clutched the line with my arms and legs and moved my hands and feet little by little to cross the line to the Crackpot Castle. I knew Chief-in-Chief Underpants was watching. Having crawled with an indomitable fighting spirit back from the brink of an utterly meaningless death, nothing scared me now. There was more adrenaline rushing through my brain than ever in the history of my personal existence. I would hold the girl to my chest and seize a happy ending with these hands. I’d never struggled harder for something in my entire life. Eventually, I was climbing up backstage at the Crackpot Castle, and as Chief-in-Chief Underpants gave me a hand, he said, “Are you all right?” He looked flabbergasted. “Way to stay alive!” He had a cape on. Apparently, the Crackpot of Monte Cristo himself was going to play the Crackpot of Monte Cristo. I took a deep breath, suppressed the trembling of my agitated body, and wiped away a waterfall of sweat. An old drainpipe was sticking out at an angle into the sky, and a trickle of water flowed through it. I fell upon it and shook the scenery to pull it free. “Hey, don’t break the set!” Chief-in-Chief Underpants yelled. I took a page from a master wielding a staff weapon I’d seen on TV and took aim at Chief-in-Chief Underpants with the long drainpipe in a fighting stance. He’d been about to rush me, but he stopped in his tracks. Behind him, theater troupe members were watching with bated breath. Behind the Crackpot Castle towering in the twilight, wrapped in steam, we confronted each other. “Do you mean to keep us from performing the final act?” Chief-in-Chief Underpants scowled at me. “I’m not letting anyone stop us. I’ve put everything I’ve got into this play.” “I’m not trying to stop you.” “Then what are you trying to do?” “First, let me ask you something. How does it end? Is it a happy ending? An unhappy ending?” He didn’t say anything, so I shoved him in the chest. “Fine.” He groaned. “It’s a happy ending. I’m sure everyone will blush, it’s so happy.” “Good!” Wise readers, in order to obliterate the burning question on your minds—Why have you taken on such a major role?—I believe a few short words will suffice: I just happened to be passing by. I was going to get my happy ending—even if I had to become a circumstantialist! “Do you really think I came to get in your way?” “You didn’t?” “No. I insist that you put on the show. However…,” I proceeded, still wielding the drainpipe. “I’m playing the Crackpot of Monte Cristo.” Some of the people gathered were reading a booklet called The Crackpot of Monte Cristo Guidebook. There were people walking around selling leftover copies from the booth. A screen had been put up next to the stage, and the film club Ablutions was showing the previous act on repeat. Finally, the video cut off, and the loud voices of the chatting audience died right down. The fat chimney in the middle of the Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds shot white steam with a pshoooo! The spotlight at the top of the castle shone down on me in the crowd. “The five o’clock show is about to start! Presenting The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” The prop girl’s voice rang out. She put a cape over my shoulders. “The final act!” Everyone turned around and made way for Princess Daruma. After her fierce battle with the School Festival Office and the escape from their headquarters, Princess Daruma was injured. Leaning on a walking stick, she took her final steps toward the Crackpot Castle, where the one she loved was imprisoned. One step, then another… THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO THE FINAL ACT SETTING: THE CRACKPOT CASTLE OF WIND AND CLOUDS (ENGINEERING BUILDING ROOFTOP) The Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds towers in the twilight. Princess Daruma approaches, leaning on a walking stick. Office staff members pursue and try to catch her. The director arrives. DIRECTOR This rooftop is dangerous. Please halt the performance immediately and disperse! AUDIENCE MEMBER 1 What? Wait a second. AUDIENCE MEMBER 2 Isn’t it over after this? Just let them do the final act! The audience subdues the office staff, and Princess Daruma continues her approach. DARUMA The world has been trapped in darkness ever since the Crackpot of Monte Cristo went missing. But now my journey is at its end. With this key I stole from the school festival office director, I shall open the door to the cursed four-and-a-half-mat fortress and liberate the Crackpot of Monte Cristo from his long imprisonment. Oh, my dear Crackpot of Monte Cristo, soon I shall be beside you! Princess Daruma reaches the door of the castle and inserts the key. Steam spurts out. Eventually, the door opens. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo appears from inside. CRACKPOT I have been trapped in darkness for so long that my vision has gone. I cannot even see the palm of my hand. So do forgive me, but I cannot even see the face of my savior! DARUMA I’m sure you can recognize my voice. CRACKPOT Ohhh! DARUMA My chest is bursting at the thought of the suffering you have endured. But while you were in darkness, so, too, was my heart. CRACKPOT But, Princess Daruma, however did you get here? DARUMA I went around and questioned each of your enemies, sometimes humbly bowing, sometimes getting a bit rough. I followed clue after clue, fine as silk thread, and finally arrived here. CRACKPOT That must have been a long and difficult journey. I’m sorry! DARUMA Oh, let us not speak of such things! CRACKPOT I was forced into battle after fruitless battle for merely trying to walk the path I believed in. When, bruised and battered, I had exhausted my every means of resistance, I fell to my knees on this barren campus. I’m sure you remember last year, when we saw each other for the first time in a corner of the school festival. As if God were playing a trick on us, red apples fell out of the sky and bounced off our heads. Those apples made me realize that you were the light guiding my way as I wandered this idiotic wasteland. DARUMA Talking with you like this about how we met was a dream of mine. It’s strange to be here now, saying, “When you think about it, that’s how it all began.” The world is full of surprising coincidences, God’s mischief… THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO Now, let us go. Let us leave this cursed four-and-a-half-mat castle, put the deep darkness behind us, and seize our glorious campus life. The pair embraces. Curtain. After the curtain fell and while she was still in my arms, her flushed cheeks broke into a smile as she said, “You were magnificent.” I’d miraculously escaped with my life, but having her in my arms, even if it was according to the stage directions, was such a lethal dose of joy that I nearly died. I was so moved, I couldn’t come up with any smooth lines. But I had put my heart into the Crackpot of Monte Cristo’s. I was sure she must have felt something. Under the stars, the applause showed no signs of ending, and we bowed again and again. Eventually, Chief-in-Chief Underpants appeared, and the audience grew quiet. When she projected her voice to introduce him—“Here he is, not only the creator but the writer and mastermind of this historic guerilla theater production, The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!”—the applause started up again, and Chief-in-Chief Underpants bowed low. After that, the prop and scenery teams appeared and received applause. The members of the troupe shook hands with Chief-in-Chief Underpants one after another. The prop girl told him, “This project was really fun. You’d never believe we were almost forced to give up.” The office staffers were all shouting, “That’s it, folks. Please disperse in a calm, orderly manner!” and started ushering the audience away. “There will be a closing show on the special stage on the field!” The director strode over against the flow of the departing audience with a stern look on his face. He glared at me and then at the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, Chief-in-Chief Underpants. “Sorry for all the fuss,” the Crackpot said as he bowed apologetically. “…Well, anyhow, it’s over now. We got through it without any accidents,” noted the director. “But I won’t let it happen again.” Then he looked at me. “When you fell, I thought you were done for. My heart practically stopped.” “I’m still kicking.” “Don’t be so reckless. I mean, I get it, but…” The busy director sighed, cracked his neck, and stated, “I’ve got a lot to do. After this, I’m singing in drag for the closing show.” “I’m surprised you have the energy.” “You guys should come. I’ll knock your socks off.” He briskly left the roof. The theater troupe had started breaking down the Crackpot Castle, but Chief-in-Chief Underpants was still standing absentmindedly in front of it on the stage. I patted him on the shoulder. “You did good. It’s already admirable you’re Chief-in-Chief Underpants and the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, to top it off. I’m sorry I stole your role.” “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “It wouldn’t have made much difference even if I had played him. I whipped everyone into a frenzy for nothing.” “C’mon, don’t talk like that.” “Praying at Yoshida Shrine and becoming Chief-in-Chief Underpants, leading the theater group, and planning this ruckus—it was all to meet that girl again. I thought if my play was getting buzz, she might come to see it. And if she came to the final act? I’m sure she would have noticed the feelings I poured into it. I fantasized about it so many times: She’d realize in her seat how I felt about her and come backstage after the curtain fell. But now that I’m thinking more clearly, maybe I’m just an out-and-out idiot.” He looked up at the Crackpot Castle as it was getting torn down and groaned. “The plan was too roundabout in the first place!” “It’s a bit late to say that.” “Do you know what once in a lifetime means? Whether a chance meeting remains a coincidence or becomes destiny all depends on you. Our coincidence slipped away before it could become destiny. The privilege of someday reminiscing with her—‘When you think about it, that’s how it all began’—has slipped away from me. And it’s because I didn’t have the means or the guts to seize my opportunity!” “Hey, let’s go drinking,” I consoled him. “I can’t actually drink, but if there was ever a time to do it, it’s now. Some things get easier if you talk them out.” “I’ve had enough of that solidarity between men… I don’t need men. Men are worthless.” Just then, the girl listening to our conversation cheerfully called out, “Ms. Noriko!” When we looked out from the stage, a single girl stood on the roof as the cold wind whipped by. It was Noriko, the girl I’d mistakenly chased down before. She’d taken off the rope and held the koi fish in front, and she came over. “I’ll give this back now,” she said, and she handed it to the girl, who hugged it happily and replied, “Thank you.” She was so adorable, I couldn’t look straight at her, and I averted my eyes instinctively. Just then, I happened to see Chief-in-Chief Underpants’s face and noticed he was looking at Noriko in a daze. Oh! I thought and looked at Noriko. Sure enough, she was looking right back at him. Noriko went over to him and held out her hand. “Funny seeing you here.” Chief-in-Chief Underpants took her hand in silence. The Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds had been packed up in the blink of an eye, and we could see the roof of the building across from us. Hanuki and Higuchi were standing on the edge of it clapping. Higuchi set off some fireworks—pow, pow! Hanuki sat dangling her legs over the edge and suddenly screamed, “Finale! Finale!” I don’t know what she was thinking, but she had taken a bunch of the Daruma dolls from the top of the Speedy Kotatsu to throw them into the evening sky. The Daruma came flying lightly through the air across the gap and scattered around. Two of them bounced off the heads of Chief-in-Chief Underpants and Noriko. Honestly, I got teary-eyed. It was so beautiful, and I was so envious. “What the hell?!” moaned Chief-in-Chief Underpants. “There has to be a limit to plot convenience!” Daruma dolls fell out of the sky and bounced off Ms. Noriko’s and her friend’s heads. It was just like the apples from that day. I’ll never forget the deep emotion that permeated my entire body at that moment. I wiped my eyes. My clubmate standing next to me had moist eyes, too. “Are you crying?” “Me, cry? It’s just a little salt water coming out of my eyes.” “You don’t have to be embarrassed. This is such a wonderful ending.” I looked up at him as he held back his tears and thought, He’s a great guy. Eventually, we went to go see the closing show, mingling with the crowd on our way to the field. Darkness had fallen completely, and it had gotten even colder. November was coming to an end, so soon General Winter would get serious and cross the mountains from the direction of Lake Biwa. The school festival was broken down in the cold, smaller and smaller, until in the center of that lonely gloom, a stack of logs was lit. The fire blazed up and illuminated the faces of all the people who had come to the field. On the glittering special stage, the dazzlingly beautiful festival office director poured his soul into idol pop songs. Next to us as we clapped along, Mr. Higuchi and Ms. Hanuki were sitting under the Speedy Kotatsu. Chief-in-Chief Underpants and Ms. Noriko, along with the theater troupe, were all smiling as they watched the show. I had one of the Daruma dolls that had bounced off their heads in my hand. My clubmate had one, too, and he played with it in his hand, spinning it around. “Do you like Daruma dolls?” he asked. When I explained, “Yes, because they’re so small and round,” he laughed. I was happy to have had such a wonderful time at the school festival. I whispered “Namu-namu!” in thanks to God. “I never thought you were going to be the one playing the Crackpot of Monte Cristo.” He replied in a disinterested way, “Well, I just happened to be passing by.” “Your performance was so passionate and skillful. Do you have theater experience?” “No, not really.” “Anyway, it’s so funny seeing you here. I run into you pretty often, huh? Maybe this is another one of God’s plot conveniences.” “Yeah,” he mused, gazing at the fire. “I guess God and all the rest of us are circumstantialists.”