by Shouji Gatou
The clear increase in attendance lifted the morale of the various cast members. Tricen and the other department heads came by the office to offer reports, most of which were positive. Each time, Seiya plastered on an enthusiastic smile, nodded, and said “Let’s just keep it up.”
There was one member of the cast who was less than pleased, though. Ashe, from the accounting department, looked sullen as she pointed out how much they were spending on advertising, sneaking in a few barbs about his short tenure there. Ashe’s concerns were understandable, of course, but he was in no position to accede to her requests; as he’d said countless times before, a drowning man couldn’t be picky about the beach he landed on.
In turn, Ashe didn’t force the issue, but just before leaving, she muttered to him, “Attendance has gone up. But even at this pace, we won’t come close to our goal.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, “Well... I know that.”
“And... why, when we’re already struggling, are you diverting resources to restoring the unused second park?” she questioned. “We already ran maintenance on the stadium at the end of last year.”
She was referring to the stadium that he’d seen with Isuzu and Muse a few days before; Seiya had personally ordered its maintenance and cleaning.
“Don’t worry about it,” Seiya said bluntly.
“But—”
“I’m getting it ready for if we need it,” he told her firmly. “Don’t ask me any more than that. Don’t mention it to anyone else, either.”
As Ashe left, looking pensive, Isuzu came to check in on him. “I see you held your own with Ashe.”
“She’ll just have to suck it up for now,” he muttered.
“I see.” Isuzu nodded readily and opened up the paper in her hand. “I have today’s attendance figures: 8,168.”
It was over double that of the day before. At this rate, her eyes seemed to say, just maybe—
But Seiya avoided her hopeful gaze as he responded, “I don’t know...”
[Today’s park attendance: 8,168. (81,343 from goal) / 8 days left.]
As expected, things were even better on Sunday. Their advertising campaigns over the past week had probably paid off. Moffle and the rest of the cast threw even more of themselves into their interactions with the guests, and the guests clearly seemed to enjoy their time there.
After finishing negotiations with a few transportation companies, Seiya decided to run his inspection of the park: It was clear that the cast were enjoying their work. Everyone he saw was smiling. There were still a lot of issues with the facilities, but the mood pervading the park suggested that even a long-failing park could still bring it when they had to.
After closing time, Isuzu brought him the final attendance figures. They hadn’t quite broken 10,000, but they still managed an incredible 9,821 people.
[Today’s park attendance: 9,821. (71,522 from goal) / 7 days left.]
The next day was Monday. The moment they were back into the weekdays, the number of guests dropped conspicuously.
Seiya went from school straight to the park, and by the time he’d finished receiving status reports on the improvements being made to the various highly inefficient management systems, it was closing time. Isuzu came by to give him the numbers: “2,688.”
“...I see,” he concluded.
Inevitable, since it was a weekday. And it was a far greater number than last Monday’s...
But...
He still had to bring in 70,000 people, with just six days remaining. How could they accomplish that with 2,700 people a day? No matter how he played with the figures, it was utterly impossible.
There just wasn’t enough time. Spread out over a longer period, the 30 yen campaign and advertising blitz might have worked. The cast’s hard work was gradually paying off, too.
But they just needed more time for it all to produce real results—the situation wasn’t going to change in the mere ten-or-so days that they had.
The numbers, which had been trending downwards, were now picking up. That was a considerable achievement by itself, but their circumstances wouldn’t wait.
“It’s a weekday, so... it’s inevitable, I suppose,” Isuzu added. “I think that if we can maintain these numbers through the week, things will turn around again on the weekend.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Seiya said in a quiet voice. “And other than that, we just wait for a miracle.”
Isuzu knitted her brow at the words that were so unlike him.
[Today’s park attendance: 2,688. (68,834 from goal) / 6 days left.]
Tuesday’s attendance numbers were even worse: down to 1,935. The hits on the 30 yen campaign video had slowed to a trickle, and their other promotion schemes had run equally dry. The cast were still throwing themselves into their work, but nothing they did for their guests was going to significantly raise the park’s attendance now.
It really was impossible.
The only thing keeping the park from sinking back into despair was the impressive work ethic of Moffle and the others; they were going to do everything that they possibly could. Not only were they working to please the guests, but they helped out on maintenance, worked diligently on online promotion, and did everything else they could think of, from heading up shopping trips to running traffic control. If a member of the cast had a breakdown, they did everything they could to cheer them up.
Seiya was heading home in low spirits after finishing his office work, when he ran into a man standing in front of the passage exit: it was Kurisu Takaya, from Amagi Development. A visitor ID card hung from his neck. “Hey, there. We meet again.”
I wish we hadn’t, thought Seiya.
He was here, most likely, to check their attendance numbers. The attendance ticker at the entrance gate was strictly locked to prevent tampering. Checking could only be done under the mutual observation of Amagi Development and the park. In other words, it was impossible to lie about their attendance.
“So you decided to work for them, eh?” Kurisu commented. “How eccentric of you.”
“What business is it of yours?” Seiya asked dismissively.
“Rock bottom prices, advertising... the park’s really pulling out all the stops. Too little, too late, of course. Would you be playing some part in that?” Kurisu probably wouldn’t know that the high school student Seiya was serving as acting manager. The man approached, leaning in close, as if to feel him out.
“No,” Seiya lied. “I’m just doing odd jobs.”
“Oh-ho?” Kurisu’s eyes were cold, yet intensely curious. Perhaps he knew that they had tapped one of Seiya’s old connections for publicity? “Oh, another thing... I saw a truck labeled ‘Yanokuchi Cleaning’ going down one of your service roads. I’m not familiar with them... do you know anything about it?”
“No,” Seiya denied flatly. “Goodbye.”
He tried to leave to put an end to the conversation, but Kurisu pursued, doggedly. “Don’t be like that. I just find it odd... The park’s usual cleaning service is a company called ‘Amagi Maintenance.’ It just seems a bit strange that a different cleaning company would be going into the park, don’t you think?”
“I really wouldn’t know,” Seiya shrugged.
“I see, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Kurisu agreed. “Do excuse me. Ha ha ha.”
He was talking about the company they had hired to get the second park cleaned up and ready. Yanokuchi Cleaning had agreed to do the job for a much more reasonable price than the cleaning company contracted by the city and Amagi Development. Even if he criticized him over that, though, Seiya could probably stall by playing dumb...
“Still,” Kurisu mused, “I just can’t seem to explain it. Since last week, it’s as if... there’s been a new spring in the step of the management here...”
“Huh?”
“It’s like someone very intelligent has been added to the management team. Kodama-kun—excuse me, Kanie-kun.” Kurisu checked the ID card around Seiya’s neck once again, then peered into his f
ace. “Would you happen to know anything about it?”
“...Are you suggesting that I put them up to this?” Seiya demanded.
“Hmm, well, call it a feeling,” Kurisu mused.
That’s a lie, Seiya thought. This is more than “a feeling.”
The man was sharp. He hadn’t forgotten about Seiya, or the way he had run the “burden-per-family” math in his head that day in the conference room. He’d noticed the recent changes in the park, and he had his guesses as to who had made that happen.
Seiya wished he hadn’t spoken so carelessly that day. But then, at the time, he’d had no intention of becoming the acting manager... it couldn’t be helped.
But wait...
What if someone in the cast was passing information to Amagi Development? Then Kurisu, knowing everything, might just be trying to trick him into revealing something.
“I’m afraid you think a bit too highly of me...” Seiya said with an awkward smile. He was mimicking the sort of bashfulness a typical high school student might feel when receiving praise from an adult.
While he went about his performance, he ran a swift calculation. Should I use my magic? No, not yet. For now, he should rely on his powers of observation to see their game of cat-and-mouse through.
“I’ll leave it up to your imagination,” he told Kurisu. “Goodbye.”
That line, too, was a performance—like he was denying it, humbly, while being privately flattered. It was unlikely to fool Kurisu, but at the very least, it should keep him from finding out what he was really feeling.
Seiya walked away.
[Today’s park attendance: 1,935. (66,899 from goal) / 5 days left.]
The next day’s attendance figure was similar. It was a little bit higher than the usual Wednesday for the season, but no more than that.
In between his usual duties, Seiya checked things out onstage. There was a nice mood going on there: People working their hardest so they’d have no regrets; people cheering up others regardless of how they themselves felt; people believing in that last shred of hope...
The zeal of the Maple Land cast was inspiring even the part-time workers to improve their attitudes. Of course, there were a few here and there who had given up hope, but Seiya moved them into backstage positions instead.
“Everyone’s really working hard,” Seiya said to Latifah, in the Maple Castle kitchen, just after the park closed. “But... there’s no way we’ll meet our target attendance, at this rate. No matter what we do this weekend, we’re going to wind up about 40,000 short.”
“I see...” Latifah whispered, pausing in the middle of her task. She had been mashing potatoes for croquettes, which were to be sold at the concession stands the next day. There was something very cute about the small girl dressed an apron, sleeves rolled up, holding that very large bowl.
“If that is how you feel, Kanie-sama... then it surely must be so...” she whispered softly, eyes downcast.
Restraining the urge to put his hands on her delicate shoulders, Seiya continued, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“If the park closes...” he trailed off, “what’s going to happen to you?”
“I cannot say,” she told him.
“Come on...”
“But I truly do not know,” Latifah said, then smiled. “We denizens of the various magical domains—including my own home of Maple Land—cannot survive without animus, the feelings of joy drawn from the people of the mortal realm. The reason that we run amusement parks is to gather enough animus to sustain us. And I... I require more of it than anyone.”
“...?” After a pause, Seiya continued, “I don’t really understand...”
“I am cursed,” she told him simply.
“Cursed?”
“Let me tell it to you as a fairy tale,” she prefaced, all the while focused on her cooking. “Long ago, Maple Land lived in fear of a terrible dragon. Armies rose to face the threat, but the dragon repelled them all. Then, one day, a magician appeared. He said to the king of Maple Land, ‘I shall slay the dragon for you. But in return, you must give me the princess’s hand in marriage.’”
Seiya waited for her to continue.
“The desperate king agreed to the bargain, and the magician kept his promise. He slew the dragon, then returned to the king, and he said, ‘Now, give me your daughter’s hand.’ But the king loved his daughter too much to surrender her. He broke his word and sent his armies to slay the magician.”
A fairy tale princess was telling him a fairy tale. It was a strange feeling. But rather than make some oafish comment like “it’s the oldest story in the book,” Seiya simply urged her to continue. “So, what happened next?”
“Maple Land’s brave general drove the magician to the edge of a cliff. Just before he fell, the magician said to the general, ‘I have placed a curse on your princess.’ Then, he plummeted into the darkness below. ...Soon after, the princess fell ill. The arms and legs with which she had once run and climbed through hills and fields now grew frail and thin; her eyes went blind; and day after day, she grew weaker.”
“Was it the curse?” Seiya asked.
“Yes,” she affirmed. “As I explained, we require animus to live, and the magician’s curse starved the princess of that animus. The king’s doctors were helpless to save her. They decided that the only way to save her was to send her to the mortal realm, to a place rich in animus, where she could rest and recover.”
“And the best place to find animus would be...”
“Yes. An amusement park.” Latifah stopped again and let out a sigh.
The fragrant mix of mashed potatoes, ground meat, and special spices tickled Seiya’s nose. He gulped, but not because of the appetizing aroma. “You’re saying that the princess from that fairy tale... is you?”
“Yes.”
He frowned. “Then you’ll be in trouble if the park shuts down, right?”
“You are correct.” She let out another sigh followed by a weak smile. “Perhaps I shall seek room and board, or even employment, at some other amusement park. Although, I am uncertain that I can work properly in my condition...”
“Are... Are you okay with that?” he asked.
“I have no other choice.”
Just then, Seiya felt an urge to use his magic—his power, to read someone’s mind, that he could only use once per person. He wanted to know how Latifah really felt.
How can you be so okay with this? he wondered. Aren’t you afraid? Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want to break down crying and cling to someone for support? How could he take on her burden unless he knew?
It would be easy to do. He just had to ask her “how do you really feel?” and then use his magic.
How long are you going to cling to that ammo? he thought to himself. If there’s a time to use a grenade, it’s now, isn’t it? There’s no point in holding onto it until you beat the game. Go on, use it.
Seiya opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again—then at last, he said this: “When are you going to fry those croquettes?”
He concentrated. He couldn’t hear Latifah’s voice.
“...They are to be sold at the concession stands tomorrow, so I shall fry them in the morning,” she told him. “If you wish, I could fry a few now.”
“...Sure.” Seiya answered vaguely, feeling a little disoriented.
It seemed his magic wouldn’t work on Latifah. Or maybe he’d accidentally used up his one shot on her when she first gave him his magic?
Well, either way, it was just as well. He’d been planning to waste his magic on an irrelevant question, anyway; he didn’t want to have that kind of calculation between them.
“Kanie-sama?”
“Right,” he said. “I’ll have two. I’ve gotten pretty hungry.”
The indecision fogging his mind seemed to clear. In that moment, Seiya decided that he had to do everything he could.
[Today’s park attendance: 2,102. (64,797 from go
al) / 4 days left.]
It was Thursday. In his work routine, Tiramii took a bus to the park in the morning. He spent the trip fiddling around with his smartphone and reading news off of the Internet. A financial scandal with a member of the Diet, a traffic accident in some rural area, rioting in some foreign country, a Keidanren bigwig saying something stupid... He skimmed through one after another, until he came upon a small article in the local news section:
Kajinomoto Stadium was a well-known soccer stadium located in Amagi’s neighboring city, Chofu. Melody Shibasaki played there, and Tiramii had gone there to watch a few matches.
He clicked on the article to read more.
《A fire broke out before dawn at Kajinomoto Stadium in Chofu City. The Chofu Fire Department responded quickly. The fire was small in scale, and quickly extinguished. There were no injuries. A fault in the electrical system is believed to be responsible for the fire, but investigations are ongoing.》
It was a very short article. It had happened in the middle of the night, and nobody had been hurt. The fire had been small, and easily brought under control.
It’s a pretty old stadium, so I guess it’s just showing its age, Tiramii thought.
“Mii?”
But wait a minute...
It was the second week of March. Thursday.
A bunch of J-League teams had their opening games this Saturday, and Melody Shibasaki was one of them. They were supposed to play at Kajinomoto Stadium against the Kurawa Mets. Tiramii remembered specifically because Macaron had offered to get him good tickets, but he was scheduled to work that weekend. And because it was probably the last weekend the park would be in business, he’d choked down his tears and turned down Macaron’s offer.
A fire with an important match just two days away. Were they going to be okay?