by Shouji Gatou
Seiya protested her suggestion, naturally, but when he found a musket pointed at him on the station platform, he decided that agreeing with her was his safest bet.
After arriving at school, Seiya spent all day in class biting back his anger. Things were further exacerbated by the fact that someone, somehow, had leaked a rumor about him and Isuzu. He’d been eating his lunch in a lavatory stall when he overheard some students come in who were talking about it.
The account was that a first-year girl had witnessed Kanie Seiya and Sento Isuzu meet up in front of Amagi Station and get on a bus together. The report was that the bus was the one that went to Hotel Alamo. The fact was that the next morning, the two had walked to school together, looking “awfully friendly”—
You’ve got to be kidding me!
He wanted to burst out of the stall and yell at them, but he was stymied by the fact that he was eating his lunch in a bathroom stall. If he wanted to preserve any scrap of his reputation, he couldn’t afford to come out now.
You know, THE Kanie Seiya... With no friends! All alone!! In a toilet stall!! Eating curry bread!!—The thought was unacceptable.
After a few more teeth-gritting hours, Seiya ended up at Amagi Brilliant Park once again. Isuzu had been waiting for him outside school after class, and had mercilessly pulled him along with her.
“So?” Seiya asked after they’d passed through the cast entrance next to the gate. “Where are you dragging me off to today?”
Rather than answering, Isuzu was wordlessly pecking at her cell phone. She seemed to be checking her email, and typing out a short reply to someone. Her style of typing was incredibly slow and clumsy.
“Hey.”
“......”
“If you’re going to check your email while someone’s talking to you, you could at least say you’re sorry. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”
“......”
“No response, huh? I think I’ll go home, then.” Seiya turned on his heel and was proceeding towards the exit when he felt an iron hand on his collar. “Hey!”
“How do you create ‘emojis?’” Isuzu showed him her cellphone screen.
Re: They’re here, fumo
Understood. I’m at the first gate.
I’m bringing Kanie-kun.
From: Moffle
To: Sento Isuzu
The Amagi Development guys are here, fumo.
I’m sending them to conference room three, fumo. Get there ASAP
It was an email that raised quite a lot of questions, Seiya thought.
First, there was the fact that the email was from Moffle. That was the mascot he’d had the fight with the day before. Why was someone sending business emails under the mascot’s name? “Amagi Development guys” was an odd set of words, too. And that speech tic... “They’re here, fumo.” Why?
Shelving his various questions for now, though, Seiya decided to address hers. “...I don’t really understand any of this,” he told her, “but are you trying to put an emoji after ‘I’m bringing Kanie-kun?’”
Isuzu nodded.
“What kind of emoji?” he asked.
“I want one that looks like I’m smiling and waving.”
“Okay...” he told her, “hand it over for a minute.”
I’m bringing Kanie-kun. :)
“Will that do it?”
“Hmm... it’s passable,” she decided.
What kind of reaction was that? Seiya wondered. What kind of emoji would be better than “passable,” then?
But all that aside—
“So, where are you taking me?” he wanted to know.
“You saw the email, didn’t you? To conference room three.”
“Why?”
“To meet with the people from Amagi Development,” Isuzu explained.
“And Amagi Development is...?”
“Our enemy.”
There was a squat building on the other side of the amusement park.
Conference room three was on its third floor, and was a plain-looking room, with no distinguishing features. It housed a faded conference table, which was surrounded by folding chairs, and a dingy-looking whiteboard.
The so-called “enemy” Isuzu mentioned had already arrived.
There were three of them: Two unremarkable older men, with a younger man standing in between them. The attractive young man in the middle seemed to be in his mid-twenties, and was probably around the same age as Seiya’s aunt Aisu.
All three were wearing matching, tasteful gray suits that appeared to be very expensive. They carried themselves less like businessmen, and more like a squadron of soldiers who had just deciphered their enemy’s plan. The smiles they wore were smug and imperious.
The young man gave Seiya a glance, then introduced himself: “I’m Kurisu Takaya from Amagi Development,” he said as he held out his business card. It was a simple one.
Unfortunately, Seiya didn’t have any business cards. He introduced himself and bowed politely.
Kurisu’s smile remained firmly in place as he sized Seiya up. “Nice to meet you. What’s this student doing here?”
“He’s an intern. He’s here to take the minutes,” Isuzu explained.
“I see,” Kurisu said. “...An intern, eh? Where’s your manager, Latifah-san?”
Isuzu was the only park representative in the room. There was no one else there. Seiya had assumed that the (guy inside of the?) high-and-mighty mascot Moffle would be there, but it seemed he wasn’t.
Isuzu responded politely. “As I mentioned in our email, our manager is feeling ill and won’t be here today. As acting manager, I will be humbly standing in for her.”
“I see,” Kurisu said coldly. “Very well.”
Seiya was surprised to see Kurisu Takaya agree to this so readily—it wouldn’t have been out of line for him to complain about coming all the way out here, only to be forced to deal with the likes of Isuzu and Seiya. The other two men did seem to be thinking something along those lines, but one glance from Kurisu and they swallowed their grievances.
Kurisu seemed to be the one in charge, and after a moment’s pause, he spoke: “...So, acting manager Isuzu-san. I believe you’re aware of the circumstances that bring us here today? If you can’t meet the attendance quota within the next two weeks, ownership of Amagi Brilliant Park will transfer to Amagi Development.”
“...Yes,” Isuzu responded without a fragment of emotion.
“According to the contract our interests signed back in 1982, if you have five years with a park attendance below one million, the park’s management rights transfer to Amagi Development. Accordingly—”
Kurisu Takaya continued his explanation as he flipped through copies of the contract and business figures for the past several years. He talked on and on about commercial law and third sector regulations, and while it was quite long and boring, Seiya managed to grasp the general situation: in short, the amusement park was on the verge of closing.
Amagi Development was a major shareholder that the city and various companies invested in. They wanted to close the “dodgy” theme park, and according to the contract, if the park’s attendance fell below a certain number, management rights would fall to them.
The deadline was two weeks from now, and the park was 100,000 people short of the quota.
Though they were still undecided as to whether the park was to be replaced with a golf course or housing, either way, the park was definitely getting torn down.
100,000 people in just two weeks? It was an insurmountable task. Amagi Brilliant Park was going to close in two weeks, plain and simple, and this man, Kurisu Takaya, had come to discuss the process for making the transition a smooth one.
“Now, as far as I can tell... you haven’t made any preparations to close the park,” Kurisu was saying. “You haven’t announced the closing and you haven’t canceled your phone, internet, and water contracts. We can’t help but wonder if you’re really acting in good faith, here... Could you please prov
ide an explanation for this?”
“Well...” Isuzu muttered. “...It’s because we don’t know for certain that the park won’t meet its quota, yet.”
A strained smile appeared on Kurisu’s face. “Don’t know for certain? Surely you jest; you’re deep in the red. You’ve squandered your funding, and you’re dragging others down with you. Look... the time has come, that’s all. You should take this dying anachronism off of life support, and then focus on getting your assets in order and making up your losses in a productive way.”
“We are... aware of the situation,” Isuzu said stiffly.
“Are you really?” Kurisu sounded incredulous. “I know a lot about your kind—excuse me, about people like you. You think ‘accounting is boring, who cares?’ right? You think only ‘artistic’ endeavors have value. You think caring about profit is a crime in and of itself.”
“We aren’t saying that,” she protested.
“You effectively are. Even an amusement park is still a business, you know. Do you realize how much of a burden your business puts on people? Shall I explain it to you in no small terms? Yes, let’s take an example—” Kurisu picked up a fountain pen and started pecking at a calculator with it.
“Let’s take an average family of four that visits your amusement park on a given Sunday. They have a yearly income of about four million yen—a totally unremarkable modern family who’s just made it to the point where they can go to an amusement park a few times a year.”
“...So?” Isuzu scoffed.
“That’s our basic premise. Now, based on Amagi Brilliant Park’s attendance last year, how much would this family have to spend per visit to get you in the black? Let’s have a look—” The taps of the calculator echoed through the room.
Feeling otherwise bored, Seiya began to run the rough numbers in his head. Then, like he was watching a quiz show, he whispered his conclusion out loud: “85,000 yen.”
Kurisu, who had only just finished his calculations, widened his eyes. The men flanking him did the same.
“Excuse me?” he asked Seiya.
“85,000 yen,” Seiya mused. “It’s just a rough guess.”
Kurisu looked at Seiya with a newly penetrating gaze. “That’s just about right. 83,200 yen, specifically.”
“Huh...” He’d gotten it surprisingly close, though if he’d known whether the park generated any of its own power, he could have come up with a more precise number.
“Not quite on the mark, but still impressive, student,” Kurisu complimented him. “Why not give up your internship here and join us instead?” He said it in a way that made it hard to tell if he was joking or not. The men on either side of him knitted their brows, while Isuzu scowled.
“No,” Seiya said slowly, “I think I’ll pass...”
“That’s too bad. We could really help you make the most of your gifts.” Kurisu shrugged. “...Well, anyway, that’s the math. How much would your customers have to pay to support your little pastime? The answer is 83,200 yen per family. I think you’ll agree that it’s an absurd amount.”
Seiya had to agree; you could take a trip overseas for that money. No family would spend 80,000 yen a day at a dodgy amusement park like this.
“You’d have to be mad to place such a burden upon a budgeting family,” Kurisu accused. “...Now, here comes my next question—are you providing a service worthy of that kind of money?”
The answer to that one is obvious... Seiya was about to murmur, but caught himself just in time. Sento Isuzu just fixed her eyes on the ground, seemingly unable to reply.
“Well... if we could just... have a little more time, one last chance...” she whispered at last, haltingly.
Seiya looked over at her and saw that her expression was its usual sour one. Her voice didn’t tremble, nor did it make an appeal to emotion. For some reason, Seiya found it reminiscent of a commander in the field being scolded by his general over and over: “Why can’t you just break the enemy ranks?”
“...Well, if you insist,” Kurisu finally said. “The people who come here are all idiots, anyway.”
“......!” Isuzu gasped. She seemed to want to retort fiercely, but was somehow managing to hold herself back. Instead, she just lowered her voice and turned the question back on him. “Did you say... idiots?”
“Am I wrong?” Kurisu retorted.
Yes, this isn’t looking good at all... Just as that thought entered Seiya’s mind, Isuzu’s hand went to her skirt; she must have been going for that strange musket of hers. Before she could draw it, Seiya gently grabbed her wrist and leaned forward.
“I see. We definitely understand what you’re saying,” Seiya replied with an amiable smile on his face. “...You’re right to point out that we haven’t begun preparations for our closing yet. That’s because we were just about to begin them. ...Isn’t that right, Sento-san?”
Isuzu’s expression remained blank for a moment, but she came back to herself, and barely managed to nod.
Kurisu studied their expressions intently for a moment, then let out a small sigh. “That didn’t appear to be the case, so I just wanted to be sure. ...Well, if you’ll excuse us.”
The three men from Amagi Development tidied up their documents, and left the conference room.
Once the men were gone, Isuzu spoke. “Why did you stop me?”
“Stop you from what?” Seiya asked, though he was fairly certain he knew.
“That man insulted our guests,” she said heatedly. “I tried to pull out my magical gun, but you stopped me.”
“Yeah,” he retorted, “that’s common sense.” What are you even talking about?
“Ah... I suppose I was being rash. I couldn’t think of anything but blowing the heads off those Amagi Development people.”
“We’d be in real trouble if you had.”
“Yes...” Isuzu sighed. “...It would have been a lot of trouble to clean the conference room of three heads’ worth of scattered skull and brain bits. I’m glad I didn’t kill them.”
“That’s what you’re taking from this?” he asked incredulously. What is wrong with you? On top of that, it was hard to imagine what, exactly, she was so mad about.
“All that aside,” Isuzu admitted, “you intrigue me.”
“How so?”
“That number you reached. 85,000 yen—it was quite precise. Did you read Kurisu Takaya’s mind?”
“Certainly not,” Seiya smiled with a wince. Of course he hadn’t used that dubious “magic.” He’d just posited the number based off of things he’d heard earlier.
He didn’t know the park’s attendance figure from last year, nor their running annual costs, so he’d fallen back on a method proposed by physicist Enrico Fermi; it was a thought experiment known as the “Fermi Estimate.”
You could use it to come up with rough estimates by throwing together the numbers you did know. How many piano tuners there were in a certain metropolitan area, for instance—you couldn’t know the exact number, but you could make an educated guess.
(We’ll leave out a detailed explanation of where he got those numbers, since it would take about eight pages to go through it all, and it would also be boring.)
“I did a rough estimate, that’s all; it was just luck that it happened to be so close to his own calculation.”
“...I see.”
“Anyway, if I was going to read the mind of someone like that, I’d use it for something more important. That goes double since I can only use it once per person.”
“I see... Of course, you’re right.” Isuzu whispered, her eyes downturned. There was something timid in her voice.
“...So? Why did you want me to meet those guys, anyway?” Seiya asked.
“I wanted you... to know the enemy.”
“You’re still acting under the ridiculous assumption that I’m going to be your manager, then?”
“Yes. That’s why I brought you here.”
“Enough.” Seiya had hit the limits of his patience. He slamm
ed his hand down on the conference table and stared straight into Isuzu’s eyes. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, but kept her eyes forward, staring at a random point on the wall.
“You threaten me with that ridiculous gun, you steal my precious free time, including a whole Sunday...” he accused. “You even know what an inconvenience you’ve been to me, yet you have the nerve to ask me to help you out? Do you not realize how contemptuous that is?”
Isuzu had nothing to say.
“Let’s get it all out on the table, then,” he said flatly. “What happens if I say no? You’ll kill me?”
“Well...” Her voice was low and hard to hear, but she made no sign of reaching for her weapon.
An awkward silence hung over the conference room. Far in the distance, he could hear the clatter of the roller coaster.
At length, Isuzu spoke. “I was never... going to kill you.”
“Oh?” Of course she wasn’t. It would be ridiculous to kill someone over something like this.
“I was born into a long line of Maple Land soldiers,” she said stiffly. “I’ve spent my entire life undergoing grueling training so that I could join the royal guard and protect the royal family.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know how to ask a mortal like you for help.”
“Hence the gun?”
“Yes. Incidentally, the gun’s name is...” She reached under her skirt again and drew her musket back out. “The magical gun, Steinberger. It’s been handed down through generations in my family. It can fire magic bullets that have a variety of effects; right now, it’s loaded with rounds known as ‘Pain Bringer.’ Being hit by one will hurt about twice as much as stubbing your little toe on the dresser.”
“So, it just hurts?”
“Yes. Do you want to try it?”
“No.” Seiya drew back as he found the muzzle pointed at him again.
“It’s okay,” she encouraged him. “You won’t die.”