by Shouji Gatou
“I still don’t want to be in pain!” Seiya protested. “Stubbing your little toe on the dresser hurts a lot!”
“The point is, I was never going to kill you.” Isuzu stowed her gun again. “The park is already so desperate for competent people that they’ve been forced to employ me as a negotiator.”
“Why can’t you hire a lawyer or a professional administrator?” He wanted to know.
“We have, but we lost them. They all quit.”
“Why?”
Isuzu turned her eyes downward abruptly. “Because... I threatened them with my magical gun.”
“Hey!”
“I regret what I’ve done,” she admitted. “The only reason the police weren’t called in was because I used my magical bullets, ‘Forgotten Realm.’ It made them forget that I threatened them.”
Those bullets sound useful, Seiya thought. I wish you’d erase my memories of the last few days.
“It was Latifah-sama’s revelation that chose you, but I think you have even greater potential than she knows. Please think about it.”
Seiya let out a long sigh, and stood up.
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said bluntly. “Got a problem with that?”
“I want your answer,” Isuzu demanded.
“You know my answer. It’s ‘no.’” What good can I possibly do as a manager of a theme park with just two weeks left to live? Getting the books in order would be the upper limit. He left the conference room and strode down the hallway, with Isuzu in pursuit.
“Even though I’m begging you?” she asked.
“When did you ever beg me?”
“We gave you magic.”
“Which is something I never asked for,” he said acidly. “Oh, don’t worry—I won’t abuse it. I might use it to kill time on the train, at most.”
That much he meant sincerely; he didn’t want or need that power. Maybe he couldn’t quite land that 85,000 yen figure, but even without magic, he was smart enough to get close.
“Kanie-kun, you’re our last hope,” she begged. “Please, save us.”
“I will not.” Seiya pressed the call button for the elevator at the end of the hall, then turned around. “Close down the park immediately. Fire the staff. Use whatever money you have left to open up a croquette shop or something with that girl. That’s your most constructive option right now.”
The elevator arrived.
“Wait,” she pleaded. “At least see Latifah-sama one last time before you go.”
That smile. That beautiful, delicate girl’s smile... The fragrance of the black tea arose at the back of his mind and he felt a pang in his chest.
“...How many times do I need to say it? No.” He tapped B2 for the underground passageway, then held the “close doors” button.
The closing elevator doors seemed to form a wall between Seiya and Isuzu.
Turning down someone’s request like that didn’t feel great. With uncertainty still swimming in his mind, Seiya made the long walk down the park’s underground passage and arrived at the employee entrance. He handed in his visitor’s ID at the security center, slapped his signature on the sign-out sheet, then left the park.
He had just found the bus stop that would take him towards Amagi Station when he noticed a man standing in front of the sign. It was Kurisu Takaya, one of the men he’d met in the conference room—one of the men from Amagi Development. The two older men he’d been with at the time were gone now; he must have sent them on ahead.
The man had a cigarette in one hand and a portable ashtray in the other. His tie was pulled loose, and he seemed to be gazing at some point far in the distance. In this moment, he seemed like any ordinary businessman that you might find anywhere.
Seiya didn’t really want to get near him, but this was the only bus stop in the area. They had already made eye contact too, so he just gave the man a small nod and then stood beside him. According to the timetable at the stop, the bus should arrive in about five minutes.
They stood there for about a minute before Seiya realized that Kurisu was casting frequent, questioning glances in his direction. At first, he pretended not to notice, but it started getting under his skin after a while, until he finally snapped, “What?”
“Oh, well...” Kurisu peered more closely into Seiya’s face. “It might just be my imagination, but have we met before?”
“...No,” Seiya finally replied. “It’s definitely just your imagination.”
“Hmm, well, maybe we haven’t met, but I do feel like I’ve seen you somewhere. ...Oh, I know! Kodama Seiya! The child performer who retired five or six years back!”
“......” Seiya felt his stomach sink.
He’d grown since he was a child, and his face had changed a lot. He was taller, with a different hairstyle and a nastier disposition. His voice had changed (naturally) and he’d moved from a high-class residential district to the middle-class Tokyo commuter town of Amagi. He’d even changed his surname.
But despite all that, he was still recognized from time to time.
Even since entering high school, he’d been through this dance two or three times. It was usually an old lady behind the fast food counter, or a checkout clerk at the supermarket, or a door-to-door missionary for a new religion... never anybody at his school; always middle-aged women. Maybe raising their own children had given them an instinct for how a boy’s face would change over the years.
This, then, was his first time being singled out by a man like Kurisu.
“You’re mistaken,” he said dismissively, but Kurisu shook his head.
“No, no, I’m not mistaken. You’re Kodama Seiya. I even thought you looked familiar when we met earlier. So it is you!”
“It’s not,” Seiya rebuffed him, but the man’s expression of certainty didn’t waver. Realizing it was ridiculous to keep up the act, Seiya decided to stop denying it. “...but assuming I was him, do you have some business with a washed-up celebrity?”
“No, none in particular,” Kurisu admitted. “Just indulging my curiosity.”
“Leave me alone, then.”
“Hmm, my apologies. But... she said you were an intern, didn’t she? What are you doing here?”
“Good question. That’s what I’d like to know,” he snapped back, but Kurisu was unfazed by his hostility. “They said they wanted me to have a look at you Amagi Development guys... They wanted me to work there, I guess, but I already turned them down. I value my privacy these days. So could you please leave me alone?”
He wasn’t lying about feeling that way.
He didn’t care about the ins and outs of some failing amusement park. It didn’t matter to him what happened to Latifah or Isuzu. All he wanted to do right now was to go home and immerse himself in his video games.
The bus to Amagi Station was pulling up.
“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. But one point of caution, in case you get any foolish ideas—if you spend too much time with losers, you’ll become a loser. Be careful.”
“Sure, thanks,” Seiya replied dismissively. At the same time, he couldn’t keep himself from voicing a counter-argument. “...You’d know what you’re talking about, as the guy in charge of liquidating a failed amusement park in the backends of Tokyo.”
“Hmm, touche.” Contrary to Seiya’s expectations, Kurisu responded with a bright smile. It was unlike the polite smile he’d been wearing up to this point; a complicated smile, with a trace of self-recrimination in it.
The bus stopped in front of them, and the door opened. Kurisu got on board, but Seiya remained where he was.
“Kanie-kun, wasn’t it?” Kurisu asked. “Aren’t you getting on?”
“I’ll catch the next one. I’d rather not have to look at your face any longer.”
“Oh dear, dear. Did I hurt your feelings? Ah well, take care.” The door closed. The bus drove off, and disappeared around the gentle bends of the public road.
Seiya watched Kurisu Taka
ya’s bus leave, then checked the timetable again; ten minutes until the next bus arrived.
Even for a failing amusement park, it’s ridiculous for buses to only run to the front gate every ten minutes, he thought. This is the Tokyo suburbs, not some isolated spot in the country. Then again—maybe it’s an appropriate pace, given their typical attendance...
He looked around to see if there was anywhere to sit. There was nothing nearby, not even a plain old bench. He’d just have to wait for the bus while standing. Nowhere to sit for the parents and their children, tired from walking around the park all day...
Actually—
Quite a ways back from the stop itself, in the corner of an open area near the park gate, sat a few hand-made benches. They were over ten meters away from the bus stop.
Ahh, I see...
It was because the bus stop was on a public road. Even if the park wanted to put benches near the bus stop, the city probably wouldn’t allow it. That’s why the park had to put their handful of benches so far away—they had to be on their own property.
Seiya trudged over to one of the benches. As he sat down on it, it let out a dubious squeak. Who had made these things? They looked very cheap; probably made by a hobbyist craftsman in his spare time.
Their edges were rounded, with the corners carefully sanded down. Consideration for the children playing nearby, most likely—just in case they hit their heads. Then, perhaps to entertain the children bored from waiting, they had painted sloppy art of the mascots on the wall behind the benches.
If you have time to make stuff like this, why can’t you keep the entry plaza clean? he wondered.
Still, their hearts were in the right place. It was a humble bit of consideration for the people visiting the park, just like those croquettes.
What was it that that annoying man—Kurisu Takaya—had said? Their visitors were idiots. And just minutes ago, he had said something else: If you spend too much time with losers, you’ll become a loser.
I can’t exactly deny it...
Yes, he couldn’t deny it. The man’s comments, regarding the business side of things, were entirely correct. Normally, Seiya would have joined him in a laugh, and that would be that.
The people of Amagi Brilliant Park weren’t putting in the necessary effort. They were getting what they deserved. They had no right to complain about what was happening to them now. And yet...
Why am I sitting here on this lousy handmade bench, feeling upset about the situation? Am I angry that they’re the kind of people who call visitors fools and other people losers? Am I just uncomfortable with the idea of a world where people like them can throw their weight around?
In two weeks, this park would close. That was a natural thing. But was that really okay? Was there really nothing he could do?
About ten minutes passed as his thoughts chased themselves around and around in circles. The next thing he knew, the bus had arrived. A few people were getting on board. He was close enough that if he started walking right now, he could catch it.
But Seiya didn’t. He turned away from the bus, and walked back through the employee entrance he’d come out of.
After closing that day, an announcement over business channels said, “Real cast, meet up in the rooftop garden.” ‘Real cast’ referred to residents of Maple Land (and other magical lands) who were working here in the mortal realm. Moffle was one of them, as were Macaron, Tiramii, and Sento Isuzu. Employees from the mortal realm were simply referred to as ‘cast.’
So the time’s finally come, Moffle thought as he tidied up his attraction.
Latifah and Isuzu had an important announcement for the real cast? It was sure to be bad news.
On his way to Maple Castle, he ran into Macaron, the woolly sheep-like mascot, who was Moffle’s longest acquaintance in the park.
“Hello there, ‘Fairy of Sweets,’” Macaron teased.
“Shut your mouth. You’re the ‘Fairy of Music,’ fumo,” Moffle shot back.
It’s a pathetic thing to still be doing at your age, they both seemed to be saying.
“Fairy of Sweets” though he may be, Moffle had no real fondness for sweet things. If pressed, he’d say he liked salami and such—at which point he’d be told that that wasn’t a sweet, it was a drinking snack.
Macaron styled himself the “Fairy of Music,” but he had no interest in children’s songs. His favorite genres were funk and rap—particularly American gangsta rap, with its graphic descriptions of sex and violence. “I popped a 9mm cap in a rival gang leader with my Glock 19,” or “Let me tell you about this hottie with big tits,” and the like.
“You got pretty wasted last night. Everything okay, ron?”
“Hardly. It’s all a blank after the second bar, fumo...”
Last night, he, Macaron, and another of their associates—the “Fairy of Flowers,” Tiramii—had gotten drunk off their asses at an after-work party. They’d started out the night with inconsequential gossip, but the subject had soon turned to the future of the park, and then the mood had turned bleak.
Moffle had blacked out shortly after, only to awaken the next morning in his kitchen at home. For some reason, he’d been lying flat on the floor, covered in cold spaghetti. Fighting back the headache and the nausea, he’d washed himself off and was about to head for work when he’d found an empty package of ready-made carbonara sauce in his mailbox. Where’d the sauce go? he’d wondered. Into my own stomach, he’d figured. It had been a long time since he’d gotten plastered that badly.
“Moffle, you did nothing but talk about Latifah, ron.”
“Did I, fumo?”
“Part of it was about the curse, but then some stuff about her kissing the kid chosen by her revelation... you just went on and on and on... You were in tears by the end of it, ron.”
“Moffu,” he swore. “Was I?”
“You were,” Macaron said sympathetically.
“Well... I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble. I hope you can forget whatever I said, fumo...”
Macaron patted Moffle lightly on the back. “Moffle. We don’t mind it when you get drunk, because you never speak badly of people. When you’re drunk, you only speak well of everyone.”
“Do I, fumo?”
“You even said the kid had guts, ron.”
“I doubt that. I’d never compliment that little wimp, fumo.”
“Well, feel free to think that, ron.” His wool quivering with squeaky laughs, Macaron boarded the elevator to the rooftop garden, and Moffle followed him. Five or six other members of the real cast ran to catch it, and soon, the elevator was packed.
“Um... Moffle-san...” a girl with butterfly wings on her back addressed him hesitantly.
This girl, who wore a very revealing dress, was the fairy, Muse. She did a musical act in Sorcerer’s Hill, the same area where Moffle worked. She was a very hard worker, despite her youth.
“Yes, fumo?”
“They don’t usually call us all out together like this. Do you think... it’s bad news?”
The elevator fell deathly silent. Everyone was watching Moffle’s expression closely. Moffle was a veteran, related to Latifah, and had connections to the Maple Land royal family. His response would determine the mood of the rest of the real cast.
He glanced at Macaron, but his friend—who at once seemed to have intuited this, but also didn’t want to be bothered about it—just nodded back as if to say, “It’s up to you.”
“...I haven’t heard anything, fumo,” Moffle finally said.
“R-Really? But...”
“Well, it’s probably just what you’re expecting, fumo.” Those were his last words on the subject. When the elevator arrived at the top floor, the people on board filed out into the rooftop garden.
Once the anxious-looking Muse and the others had moved far enough away, Macaron whispered to Moffle, “Moffle. You could have handled that better, ron.”
“You’re one to talk, fumo. You shouldn’t have put it all on me.�
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“I know... but the young people are counting on you. You can’t be so cavalier, ron.”
“Sugar-coating the situation won’t change the park’s future, fumo.”
“Maybe not, but...”
The two proceeded into the rooftop garden.
Maple Castle’s rooftop garden was as beautiful as it had ever been. Most of the real cast had assembled by now, and nervous whispers could be heard here and there. It wasn’t all people born in the fairy tale-like Maple Land. Some had come here on transfer from other magical realms.
Moffle and Macaron staked out a corner of the garden and waited for the conference to start. Tiramii, the lecherous Pomeranian mascot, arrived soon afterward, and sat down next to them. He said, “Hey, good to see you guys, mii. You think tonight’s the night we throw in the towel, mii?”
“Probably. Well, 30 years isn’t a bad run for a failing amusement park, ron.”
“Not 30 years. It’s 29 years, fumo,” Moffle said in a strained voice.
This park, founded on the abundant wealth of the bubble economy of the 80s, would have been thirty years old next year. That would never happen, now.
“Attention! Attention!” A feminine voice echoed through the garden.
Sento Isuzu, dressed in the park’s uniform, was shouting down at them from a terrace one floor up. She was looking down on the cast in the garden like an actor on a stage.
“Attention, cast of the glorious Amagi Brilliant Park! First Princess of Maple Land, descendant of our nation’s founder, Slim, Priestess of the Revelation, and our esteemed manager, Latifah Fleuranza, will now speak! You will give her your full attention!” Her voice was penetrating, yet stately. Had the audience been members of the Maple Land military, they likely would have straightened their uniforms and stood at attention.
But the real cast around Moffle was unimpressed.
(She thinks she’s so hot...)
(Is now really the time for pomp and circumstance?)
(She’s just going to announce that we’re closing...)
There were a variety of reactions: some whispered, some grumbled, and some spoke up unashamedly. The brunt of their quiet antipathy was directed at Sento Isuzu.