by Shouji Gatou
The work continued even after the park had closed for the day: the turf was scrupulously tended; medical supplies were stocked in the formerly empty infirmary; various sponsors’ advertising posters were hung up, here and there; lighting and disaster shelter tests were conducted; routes for pedestrian traffic were reviewed; and other jobs and negotiations continued throughout the night.
The park attendance was 3,573, mostly due to the Friday date. Almost nobody noticed that the number was a little bit higher than last Friday.
[Today’s park attendance: 3,573. (59,137 from goal) / 2 days left.]
It was Saturday, the day of the match.
The staff’s tireless efforts, along with the park’s all-night support, had somehow gotten everything ready to receive the crowds before noon. Every single member of the cast had stayed overnight. Isuzu herself had slept for just two hours, and hadn’t had a shower in twelve. She really did feel like she wanted to die.
The park opened, and attendance was good. The weather was nice, too. Moffle and the others met the guests in Entrance Square, and smiles abounded.
If you only looked onstage, it would have seemed like nothing more than a busier-than-usual Saturday morning for the park. It was hard to imagine that tens of thousands would soon be flooding through that gate.
Just after lunch, then, something strange began: A group of people in yellow and blue uniforms piled off a bus. These must be the Melody Shibasaki fans. They looked all around, saw the clearly marked guide signs, then headed through the front gate and towards the second park.
Some seemed to be griping about the sudden change of venue, but one could be overheard, saying with a smile, “It’s better than canceling it.”
“They’re here...” Muse said as she ran up to Isuzu, who was waiting near the gate.
“More will come,” Isuzu told her. “We need them to.”
More fans did come. Their numbers grew rapidly, faster and faster. They passed through the gate, and then followed the marked route towards the second park.
Dozens became hundreds. Hundreds became thousands. Every bus that they could get from the city was here, carrying fans from the special parking lots in droves. Groups of people in colorful shirts got off, split up into groups based on their teams, and whooped in excitement as they passed through the gate. Buses had also been sent to Kajinomoto Stadium to pick up any fans who hadn’t heard about the switch. Moving things just one city over had paid off, because there was almost no confusion at all.
“Incredible,” Muse said.
The staff and cast on crowd control duty shouted, and the baggage search team (deployed for saturation tactics) filtered the fans through swiftly. The front gate, quiet enough that morning that you could hear birdsong, was now consumed with an earthquake-like roar.
She was stunned. “I’ve never seen a crowd like this outside of Ariake...”
“I won’t ask what event you attended there,” Isuzu said to her, “but... this park probably hasn’t seen a crowd like this in over 20 years.”
The gate counter was ticking up at an incredible rate. Many of the fans had decided to spend the time before the match looking around the park, and the unprecedented number of guests had the cast at their wits’ end. The various concessions, selling out of food and drinks quickly due to the 30 yen campaign, were forced to tap into the next day’s reserves.
Every street was overflowing with people. The attractions were running at full tilt, with no time for anyone to rest. The health center—for guests who weren’t feeling well—was almost at capacity. This also led to a proportional increase in guest complaints, and the attempts to respond to them had led to sheer chaos.
Isuzu was constantly on the move. She had been hoping to find enough free time for a shower, but the moment just never appeared. She felt so sick she wanted to die, but—she also felt so motivated to live!
A brass band played on the grand avenue. Muse and the others danced to wild cheers. The children were kicking the hell out of Macaron. Tiramii had passed out. Wanipii was in a corner, skipping out on work. The rest of the cast were all running around, making merry.
Things onstage were so busy that most of the park staff didn’t have time to look in on the stadium itself. Then, all of a sudden, the people in the soccer shirts were gone, a sign that the match was about to begin.
The sun had gone low in the west, and the eastern sky had gone dark, when they heard the first sound of cheers and drums echoing from the second park. The stadium, which had sat stagnant and dark in the forest for twenty years, was now ablaze in the twilight. The match must have started without a hitch.
Having a free moment at last, Isuzu stood on the now-empty grand avenue, watching as the stadium brimmed with life from afar. She didn’t know how to describe what she felt. It wasn’t simple relief, or joy. It was a more complicated feeling—alienation, perhaps?
Like a child forced to watch at a distance while the other children played; that was the closest thing she could think of.
“All those people having the time of their lives out there... we’re not the reason they came, fumo.” Suddenly, Moffle was beside her. He’d been so occupied with stage shows and souvenir pictures in the House of Sweets that she hadn’t seen him all day.
He was also gazing at that distant stadium. “If this were a concert, we’d be the warm-up act. Right now, that’s the best we can offer to anyone. Nothing’s changed. ...Nothing’s changed at all, fumo.”
The next thing she knew, the rest of the cast were there, too.
They had all stopped what they were doing to stare silently at the stadium. In their eyes shone the same lonely light as Isuzu’s.
The match ended in a draw, 2-2: it had, apparently, been a good match. The fans went home satisfied, and the park closed. It was around midnight by the time they’d finished cleaning up the stadium.
Everyone was exhausted, but most of the cast had stuck around. That much was understandable; of course they couldn’t sleep until they’d learned the day’s attendance figure.
They’d been using the employee cafeteria as a staging area for the day, and the cast had dragged themselves there once again, exhausted. Latifah was with them.
A leaden silence hung over the room as Seiya entered.
“I have the results,” he began, then checked the paper scrap he’d written it on again just to be sure. “53,449. In other words, we’re just 5,688 people short. Tomorrow’s a Sunday, and there’s a zero percent chance of precipitation. Given our attendance this past week... it’s almost certain we’ll get what we need.”
As Seiya concluded, the group remained silent. It was like they hadn’t fully absorbed the meaning of his words.
“What’s wrong with you people?” he demanded. “It means the park gets to stay in business.”
There were a few more seconds of silence, and then nearly everyone rocketed to their feet, cheering in joy. Their cheers sounded like shrieking.
“We did it! We did it! We did it!” Muse and Latifah shouted, holding hands and crying as they jumped up and down.
“A miracle, ron! It really is a miracle, ron!” Macaron said, manly tears streaming from his eyes.
“I don’t have to say goodbye to the ladies, mii!” Tiramii cried out as he tapped on his smartphone.
“Kanie-san! I, Tricen, burst with admiration! I am compelled to hunch over in tears!” Tricen bowed to him, his shoulders trembling.
Wanipii was gazing up at the ceiling, tears streaking down his cheeks. Wrenchy-kun patted him on the shoulder and nodded solemnly. The rest of the cast was ecstatic: clapping their hands, banging on their chairs, dancing on the tables... a few were even doing backflips.
“Incidentally, the stadium attendance today suggests 43,217 of them were soccer fans. That means 10,232 people came here for the park itself,” Seiya commented offhandedly. “Even if it took bargain basement ticket prices, you still broke 10,000. You know... that’s nice work for a crummy amusement park.”
; A new, louder round of applause and cheers filled the cafeteria. In their excitement, someone suggested tossing Seiya into the air. Seiya awkwardly turned them down, then addressed the group again: “Okay, that’s enough! You’re all dismissed! We still have one day left, so go home and get some rest!”
He waved, but before leaving the cafeteria proper, he approached Latifah. She was standing there with Isuzu’s help, with a serene smile on her face. “Kanie-sama. I truly... I truly must thank you.”
“Come on,” he scoffed. “It was just a coincidence.”
“No,” she protested, “I am certain that it was—”
“A miracle? Sure, that’s what we’ll tell people,” Seiya said, then immediately regretted it.
Latifah’s smile vanished immediately. Her brows knitted in quiet sadness, as if she’d figured something out... but then she went right back to her original smile. “Yes, let us tell them that.”
“I’d better go now,” he excused himself. “Good work today.”
“Yes,” Latifah said gently. “I greatly appreciate all that you have done.”
Isuzu met Seiya’s eyes for a moment. She looked like she wanted to say something, but was choosing to refrain for now.
“You hear me? You people need to go home and get some sleep!” Seiya bellowed at the cast. He turned his back on the still ebullient cafeteria, but as he proceeded into the dark hall, he ran right into Moffle.
The mascot was leaning against the wall, a mournful air about him. “It’s over, huh, fumo?”
“Yeah. The fate of the park is in your hands again,” Seiya noted. “Do whatever you want with it.”
“Sorry,” Moffle said.
“Hey, no problem...”
Two men who had spent the last two days pensive and listless. Two men who weren’t in any kind of mood to celebrate the “miracle.” They both stood now in the otherwise empty hall, faces ashen.
Anyone who saw us like this would guess the truth immediately, Seiya thought. Which is that this wasn’t a miracle at all.
Seiya thought back on what had happened three days before.
●
There was no way to get them to their target number. Seiya had immediately come to that conclusion on the morning after he’d taken the job of acting manager.
Nothing they could do would change anything. Even if he made everything free, even if he dumped their entire budget into advertising, it simply wasn’t going to happen. There was no way to bring in the kind of numbers they needed in just two weeks.
He could put up a good fight, but that was all it would be; you would need magic to make something like that happen in such a short time.
The only reason he’d stuck around, groping for possibilities, was because he wasn’t emotionally invested in the park, yet. If he had been, he would have thrown in the towel immediately.
His first ray of hope had appeared the day Muse took him to see the stadium. It was a symbol of the wasteful bubble economy; a towering monument to excess, which lingered on in an age of recession.
He didn’t know what the park’s previous administrations had been like, but it seemed strange that they’d kept the stadium up and running all this time.
He returned to his office to look through his documents, and found an old contract with Kajinomoto Stadium. It was just a few lines of text—easy to overlook, under normal circumstances:
“In the event of an unexpected forced closure of Kajinomoto Stadium, we hereby offer the use of the stadium located in Amagi Brilliant Park’s second park (planned) free of charge,” it read.
What month was it now? March.
What Kajinomoto Stadium event was coming up soon? A J1 opening game. Melody Shibasaki, a team that had just advanced to the J1 League, would be playing the Kurawa Mets, a team that had placed highly in the previous season. It was a match that would draw a lot of interest.
They’d pull 40,000 people at least. If Seiya wanted the park to survive, he was going to have to take advantage of that.
That was why he’d tasked Wrenchy-kun to start fixing up the old stadium, holding firmly against any objections. He needed it to be ready to hold between 40,000 and 50,000 people at any time.
Now, all he needed was a “forced closure” at Kajinomoto Stadium, but he couldn’t count on a fire just happening to occur.
Most of Seiya’s internal conflict over the course of the next week was questioning how far he was willing to go—a battle with what little conscience he had left. It was in the kitchen, when Latifah was making her croquettes, that he’d shaken off the last of his hesitation.
On Wednesday night, Seiya returned home, stuffed the tools he’d prepared in advance into his backpack, then headed for Kajinomoto Stadium.
He’d spent the week memorizing the stadium’s layout, its electrical system, and more. He’d gone over various infiltration routes, then chosen the most reliable location and method. There would be a few locks between him and his destination, but those would be easy enough to break through with an over-the-counter lock picking kit.
Then, just a tiny bit of meddling with the electrical system would make it look like the fire had started naturally. Whether or not it would fool a professional investigator, of course, would come down to the luck of the draw.
The trouble was that, in order to use the route he’d chosen, he’d have to walk a fifty meter tightrope across an eight meter tall fence—and Seiya had acrophobia.
He made his move after midnight. He’d spent over an hour, inching his way over an unmonitored fence, in a pitch-black stadium—an hour that felt like an eternity.
After clinging his way over the fence, he finally arrived at the door to the electrical room... when, just then, he heard Moffle’s voice behind him: “Seems like you went to a lot of trouble, fumo.” Basically, it was only pure luck that kept Seiya from crying out in shock.
What is Moffle doing here? he wondered. What does he want? How did he get here? As Seiya’s mouth flapped in astonishment, Moffle thrust a paw at him. “I followed you, fumo. Simple business for a former member of Maple Land’s strike recon squad.”
You really do have some history... Seiya thought. And what the hell kind of squad was that?
“Wrenchy-kun told me about your secret work on the stadium in the second park, fumo. Then I found myself remembering that old contract,” Moffle explained. “I had an inkling of what you were planning, but I never thought you’d really be this stupid...”
“Nobody asked you,” Seiya told him.
Seiya pulled the lock pick kit out of his backpack and huddled up by the door to the electrical room. He’d bought himself a similar kind of cylinder lock, and had spent the last few days practicing on it. It might take a bit of time, but he should be able to break through...
“Stop this,” Moffle told him. “What you’re about to do is a real crime, fumo.”
“I know that,” Seiya said absently.
“It’s not just the stadium you’ll be making trouble for,” Moffle accused him. “It’s a number of companies, and all kinds of people. They’ll lose a lot of money over this. They’re not just going to let you walk away, fumo.”
“I know.” Seiya stopped for a minute, then laughed through his nose.
“No one’ll be happy to know that the park got saved this way. We’d be better off out in the street, fumo!”
“And then what will happen to her?!” Seiya grabbed Moffle by his bow tie and dragged him close, face to face.
Moffle seemed shocked by his sudden aggression.
“She told me everything,” Seiya snarled at him. “She can’t survive without the park. If this was just about keeping some crummy amusement park going, I wouldn’t go this far, either. I’ve been torturing myself about this. I tried thinking of other ways. But none of them were going to work, so this is what it has to be!”
“Moffu...”
“You told me not to do this,” Seiya continued, “but is that all you have to say? You say you care about her too, but what ha
ve you done to keep things from coming to this? Heh... working on your art? Giving your all to the guests? That didn’t work. It wasn’t enough!”
He must have hit him where it hurt, because Moffle immediately deflated. He took an unsteady step back, and lowered his eyes.
“Dirty tricks are what we need right now,” Seiya said flatly, then turned back to the lock. “I’m doing this rotten thing of my own free will, not asking for anyone’s permission.”
“Why do you care so much, fumo?” Moffle asked him.
“...I remembered.”
Ten years ago, Seiya had come to Amagi Brilliant Park. He had probably been about five or six. He’d visited the amusement park with his parents—back when they still got along—and enjoyed the various attractions. He didn’t remember Moffle, but there was one person in the cast that he did remember. Latifah. She had been a girl of 14 or 15 back then, just as she was now. Seiya had gotten separated from his parents, and somehow ended up lost backstage. Then, by coincidence, he had ended up straying into the rooftop garden.
She was there in a corner, crying. Why are you crying? he had asked her. He couldn’t remember what she had said in response. Probably something about her curse, or about being lonely... Then, he did a dance he’d just learned to make her smile, and he said to her: I’m with you. I will save you...
“...I met Latifah a long time ago,” Seiya said, still working on the lock. “I was just a little kid. She was in that rooftop garden, looking just like she does now, for some reason... I didn’t know what was going on, but the point is, I met her. And I made her a promise that I would save her.”
“I see, fumo...” Moffle breathed. “...I do remember an incident some time back. A child wandering into the rooftop garden... We’ve improved security since then, of course...”
“Then I guess my memory’s not wrong,” Seiya said flatly.
Almost there, he thought. The lock was almost open. He felt a satisfying click, and then carefully turned the tools. After a moment’s resistance, the cylinder popped open.