Tomonao Takayabu, a compatriot of mine since our club days, had been relentlessly inviting me to visit his research lab in the Graduate School of Engineering. He was eager to arrange a private screening of some program called Kaiketsu Zubat.
One particular night, I had finally caved and agreed to head over with Shikama.
To be quite honest, Takayabu was far too diligent for his own good. He’d moved on to graduate school and now toiled away on mysterious research projects that defied common comprehension. The lab to which he associated with was located in Building No. 4.
When Shikama and I began our trek across campus, it was already past nine. The trees were spears of pitch erupting from the earth. Florescent light spilled from the windows of Takayabu’s lab, lending a dew-kissed glimmer to those leaves closest to the building.
I knew from past visits that his lab on the second floor was crowded with all manner of scientific apparatuses, desks, and computers. As I said, I couldn’t begin to fathom what sort of research was being carried out there. I had a vague memory of hearing something about assembling a micron-scale facade of the Phoenix Hall at Byodo Temple in Uji, fashioned entirely out of individually arranged atoms of some specific metal. I wasn’t sure whether to believe the story. We lived in an age when two labs could exist side by side in the same department and not have any clue what the other was up to at any given moment. It would be unfair to expect me to understand the contents of Takayabu’s research.
Shikama and I walked in to find the desks already pushed aside to make space for the night’s screening. A projector sat in the middle of the room, facing one of the white painted walls. Takayabu expected this setup would afford us a viewing atmosphere that a domestic television set could never hope to replicate.
“Good! You’re here!” he exclaimed.
I knew from experience that Takayabu was smiling under his beard, though the thick tangle of whiskers made it hard to discern.
Shikama and I set out two lab stools, sat, and immediately crossed our legs, assuming poses of judgment. Shikama opened the aluminum attaché case he carried with him and produced two satsumas, one of which he handed to me. The two of us began to peel and eat the fruit in silence as we glared at Takayabu. Takayabu, for his part, appeared somewhat taken aback by our behavior but ultimately shrugged and returned to prepping the projector.
The lab’s lights were extinguished, and the night’s feature set in motion. A man clad in a most peculiar costume appeared on the white wall and set about saving the day. It was just then that I felt Shikama’s finger poke my side.
“I spotted Mizuo yesterday.”
“Where?”
“A neighborhood convenience store. She was all alone and grinning to herself the whole time. That’s the sign of a nutcase, you know.”
“Hmm.”
“I talked with her a bit, too.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Yes. And I learned something about our dear Mr. Endou in the process.”
“What’s that?”
“As we both know, he’s been following her around. But it turns out he’s doing so without her knowledge. She hasn’t the slightest clue.”
This surprised me. I glanced sideward, but Shikama’s eyes remained fixed on the superhero’s antics. He casually popped another piece of fruit into his mouth, now on his second satsuma. His face was more sullen than usual in the harsh white reflection cast by the projector.
“You mean to say she never requested his protection? He’s stalking her?”
“It’s all him. He’s playing a one-man game.”
Shikama burst out laughing, unable to contain himself any longer.
He continued, “You know, I thought I sensed something strange going on when I first began following him. But I decided not to say anything until I was certain.”
I groaned.
Shikama peered over at me and added, “Yesterday’s foe is today’s friend, or so they say. I must admit I was a bit stricken with grief to hear that my compatriot had been insulted by such a pathetic specimen of a man. A bit tickled, too.”
“He won’t get away with this,” I growled. “Unbelievable. All that arrogance, and he’s even worse than I am!”
“In essence,” Shikama said, “this means I’ve been stalking him, who’s been in turn stalking you on account of your stalking her, all while he’s also stalking her on the side. What a terrifying city we live in, my friend. It’s an artist’s hellscape depicting the horrors of love and hate.”
“Just to be clear, I’m not stalking her. And I never was. I’m merely conducting research, so I’d appreciate it if you’d not group me in with that lovesick degenerate.”
“You aren’t, hmm? And you believe that claim would hold up under police scrutiny?”
“Obviously not.”
“I can’t understand why you didn’t simply ask her about Endou in the first place.”
“Does it sound like I was in any position to contact her? I’ve got her presumed goon hounding me, threatening to call the cops! I have my pride, you know. I thought for certain he was acting on her orders.”
“Hmph. You’ve still got a long ways to go in your quest for a logical mind. You need to redouble your efforts. Eventually, you’ll be able to strike down your irrational emotions and maintain perfect control, just as I can.”
Takayabu leaned forward to whisper, “Psst! What’re you guys talking about? I want in!”
His eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“Silence!” I hissed.
Takayabu looked terribly stung by the reprimand. I almost felt bad for him.