Boogiepop Returns VS Imaginator Part 1

by Kadono. Kouhei

  “Anything.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything we can.”

  “. . . . . . . . .”

  “You're strong, Masaki. You can become Boogiepop.” She stared at me intently.

  Overwhelmed, I fell silent.

  Her gaze suddenly shifted away. “I'm sorry. I know I have no right to ask something like this of you. . .”

  She hung her head. Her shoulders shook.

  Deflated like that, she looked so small. I felt like my chest was being torn apart.

  “So if I. . . become this Boogie -- whatsit, will that. . . make you happy?” I asked, unable to bear the silence.

  She looked up. “Will you?”

  “Sure, I'll do it. I don't know what it is I'm doing, but I'll do what I can.”

  “Really. . . ?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, too embarrassed to add, 'If it makes you happy.'

  “I'm sorry, Masaki,” she buried her face in her hands. “I really am. This is too much to ask. . .”

  “I said it was okay. We're friends, aren't we?”

  “I'm so sorry. . .”

  She always seemed so sad. She apologized so often that I felt I had to do something. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd taken a step into some strange new dimension.

  ***

  At that time, I was unfortunately still unaware that Boogiepop wore such an embarrassing outfit.

  Orihata bought a huge swath of black cloth, almost like a theater curtain, at a do-it-yourself fabric shop, and fashioned a cloak and hat out of it. I was appalled when she showed it to me. It was hideous.

  “You want me to walk outside. ..in this?”

  “You will change before you 'appear.' Until then, it can remain hidden. . . in a sports bag or something.”

  She produced a big Nike bag from out of seemingly nowhere.

  “W-wait, I. . . I really have to put this stuff on?”

  This was like what a street performer would wear from some long forgotten decade.

  Despite my concerns, Orihata simply said, “That's how it goes. “

  I took the cloak, the decorations clattering, thinking again that this was a step I shouldn't be taking.

  It was well made. She'd sewn it carefully, and the fabric was doubled over. It was really thick. You would never think for a minute that it was handmade, which made it all the more serious. . . and more embarrassing to boot.

  “But what if someone I know sees me?” I asked, still underestimating my predicament.

  Orihata answered that one easily. “Don't worry. You'll be wearing make-up. No one will ever recognize you.”

  ***

  This all brings us back to the here and now, with Boogiepop roaming the streets.

  The first thing we tried was to have Orihata walk down back roads at night and try to attract would -- be molesters, which I would then proceed to beat the ever-loving crap out of. As heroic as it sounds, I felt like I was working some sort of con. Still, if someone tried to attack Orihata, I wasn't about to just stand there and let them have their way with her.

  “I thought you could do it. You're really strong,” she said.

  I am a guy, after all, so I can't say that hearing that didn't make me happy.

  So, we kept it up, like today.

  Until I started doing this, I really had no idea how dangerous this town really is. Don't believe what people tell you. Japan isn't nearly as safe a place as the government and media leads you to believe. The proof was in how easy it was for Orihata -- our “bait” -- to lure in prey.

  If you must know, my karate master had been forced to leave Japan after an epic bout of violence, but a man with as powerful a sense of justice as he had could hardly have lived in Japan without getting mixed up in stuff. I was no different than my master at this very moment. Which is why if he only knew his student was following in his footsteps. . . he'd be furious!

  But why exactly Orihata wanted me to do this; that was something that I couldn't for the life of me figure out. The most worrisome thing of all was the more that I did it, the more I found myself enjoying this little “game.” And not just because I was with Orihata. . .

  “School's going to start up again pretty soon. What then?” I asked, as I stood there in a back alley, letting her apply my Boogiepop make-up.

  “. . . . . . . . . . . .” She didn't answer.

  After covering my face with skin cream, she began patting white foundation all over it.

  “Be honest, how long can we really keep this up?”

  “. . . . . . . . . .” She said nothing, calmly applying my eyeliner.

  Her face was inches from mine. Her lips were slightly puckered, as if she were about to kiss me.

  “What do you say?”

  “. . . . . . . . . .”

  Boogiepop's face was apparently very, very pale. Below the eyes there were black lines, or blueish shadows. Then on top of that, he wore a hat that covers his eyes, making him look inhuman -- like a ghost. If I met him on some darkened street at night, I'd probably wet myself.

  “Well?” I kept asking.

  She looked away, and then I heard her say, “Masaki. . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there anything you want me to do?”

  “That came out of the blue. . .”

  “I’ll do anything. Ask me anything at all. Anything you want to do, Masaki. . . we'll do it.” She never looked at me, but the words burst out of her.

  I was stunned.

  “I know it won't be enough. But if there's anything I can do. . . I'll do it. . . anything and everything you desire, Masaki. I'll do everything you want from me. . .”

  I'd never seen her so desperate.

  Her profile trembled. She seemed so wretched. I felt a pain in my chest, like it was on fire. I felt a surge of misdirected emotions.

  “In that case, I'll play Boogiepop as good as I can,” I said, shoulders slumping.

  Her head snapped up, and she stared at me. It was her usual response, “Why?”

  “Well. . . to tell you the truth, it's getting kinda fun.” It wasn't a lie. I'd only recently come to that very revelation myself.

  “Masaki. . .” Her hands reached towards me. . . then stopped, flailed around in the air a bit, and dropped limply to her sides. “You're an idiot, Masaki,” she whispered.

  “I know,” I grimaced.

  Call it irresponsible, but whatever happens, happens.

  ***

  That day, they caught nothing. Aya went to dangerous spot after dangerous spot, but nobody came after her.

  “I'm a little relieved,” Masaki said. “If you got attacked every time, that'd be pretty crazy. Not to mention, scary.” He took off his outfit, and handed it to Aya, like always. It was her job to look after the outfit. She would patch up any rips or tears, but today there weren't any.

  “Masaki, how do you. . .” Aya started to ask, standing on the darkened night street.

  But Masaki was busy wiping the make-up off his face, and didn't hear her.

  “Uh, what'd you say?” he asked, rubbing cleansing cream over his skin.

  “Nothing,” Aya said, letting the question remain unspoken. She had almost asked, 'How do you feel about me?' But no matter what the answer might've been, Aya could do nothing about it. . . because she was lying to him.

  “I'll take you home then.”

  “No need.”

  “Don't be silly. After all the times you've been attacked, I'm not letting you go anywhere without me,” Masaki smiled. They had this exchange every time.

  They went to the bus terminal near the station, got on a late night bus, and headed towards her apartment.

  They said nothing as they rode.

  Aya couldn't figure out what to talk about, and Masaki felt no need to talk. Aya glanced over at him from time to time, and every time his eyes were always there looking at her with a smile on his face. It was as if just being with her was fun enough.

  Whenever Aya saw that carefr
ee grin, her chest hurt.

  She didn't know what to do.

  “I'm sorry. . .” she whispered, inaudible above the noise of the bus.

  He leaned in, “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

  At length, the bus reached their stop.

  They got off, and Masaki walked her all the way to the elevator door.

  But that was all. He followed her no further.

  “Night.”

  “Good night.” Aya could think of nothing else to say.

  With the Nike bag containing the Boogiepop outfit slung over her shoulder, the elevator doors closed, and headed upwards.

  She bit her lip.

  Something moved inside her jacket. Her phone was ringing.

  She jumped, and answered, “Orihata.”

  “Camille?” This voice was always hostile.

  “Y-yes.”

  “You still haven't caught him?”

  “At. . . at this point, there has been no contact,” Aya's voice trembled slightly.

  “Hmph. I thought a fake was too cheap a gambit for him. . . so we need to put a bullet in this plan.”

  “Which means. . . ?” Aya felt her backbone turn to ice.

  The malevolent voice continued, “We've got a different use for Taniguchi Masaki. Time for you to cut him loose.”

  “. . . . . . . . . !”

  “Soon enough, we'll need to sterilize the area. I'll have further instructions for you. Until then, keep things going.” He hung up.

  “. . . . . . . . . !” Aya stood frozen in horror.

  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened, but her legs were shaking so much that she was frozen in place. Seconds later, the doors closed again in front of her.

  V

  It is easy to become carefree.

  All you have to do is lose your soul.

  -- Kirima Seiichi (VS Imaginator)

  When he first set eyes on the individual who had just transferred into his third year junior high class, Anou Shinjirou felt like someone had grabbed him by the heart. It was love at first sight.

  “My name's Taniguchi Masaki. It's nice to meet you all,” the new boy said, and gave a gentle smile. Shinjirou thought he was going to fall into those eyes. He could barely breathe; his throat was dry.

  But a moment later, all the girls in class shrieked, and he was jolted back to reality.

  (What am I thinking. . . ?)

  Until that moment, Shinjirou had believed himself to be just a normal ordinary boy. No sirree, nothing particularly unusual about him, which is why he didn't understand the feelings being born inside him at that very moment.

  “He's not so great. . .” the guy behind him muttered, watching Taniguchi Masaki grin weakly back at the lovesick squealing girls.

  Shinjirou quickly exclaimed, “Y-yeah, I hate him already.” The moment the words left his mouth, he was certain they were true. He hated the guy. That was all.

  And yet every time he looked at Masaki, his chest began to pound. What could that mean?

  Taniguchi Masaki was still bowing, saying “Hello,” and giving everyone a vague, embarrassed smile. Shinjirou didn't think it suited his handsome features at all, but all the girls just kept yelling stuff like “Oh, wow!,” and “He's so cute!”

  He couldn't stop himself from feeling immensely irritated. The very sight of Masaki giving his feeble little friendly smile was unbearably unpleasant for him.

  Shinjirou shouted inside himself, 'Stop doing that! Stop smiling!! It's not right!!!' An incomprehensible urge to strangle Masaki fluttered deep in his heart.

  Taniguchi Masaki was soon idolized by almost all the girls in the school.

  For starters, the boy should have been going to a much better school than this one. On top of that, everyone was right in the middle of exams, so the girls bombarded Masaki all at once with pleas to check their homework. He hardly ever refused, and as a result, he was almost always surrounded by throngs of ladies whenever he was at school.

  (shit. . . )

  Shinjirou spied the action all from the desolate safety of his far corner seat. It was clear that every glare he gave in Masaki's direction was always filled with icy anger and resentment.

  If only he could talk to Masaki like that. . . he found himself thinking.

  “Doesn't he just piss you ofl” the guy next to him would ask.

  “Mm?” he started, turning towards his classmate.

  The guy nodded, “I know how you feel, man. Guy pisses me off to no end.”

  “Y-yeah. . .” Shinjirou had, somehow, become the boy in school who hated Masaki the most. Despite never having actually fought with him, he'd somehow earned that reputation.

  And thus, all the girls hated him.

  “What the hell is Anou's problem?”

  “Oh, he's just jealous.”

  “Never heard of anything so pathetic.”

  Their whispers were easily overheard, and only served to direct his anger even more.

  Even Masaki thought Shinjirou hated him. That blow was the one that hurt Shinjirou the most.

  But he still didn't understand his own feelings.

  He couldn't work out why Taniguchi Masaki preyed on his mind like this. The conscious knowledge that they were the same gender prevented him from grasping the true nature of his all too obvious emotions. His previous lack of interest in other men besides Masaki was another big reason for his sudden confusion.

  His environment didn't give him the latitude to work things out. Even if he had understood the true nature of his feelings, there was nowhere and no one he could ever go to where those feelings would be accepted.

  If his classmates found out, he would be shunned. They didn't even like him much as it was now, but if they knew. . . he would be considered less than human.

  If his parents found out, they'd disown him or worse. . . haul him off to a psychiatric ward.

  Shinjirou's mind was a thunderstorm of confusion and doubt. Fear of the unknown meant he couldn't act on his feelings. And as a result, he made no real attempt to ever sort things out.

  But despite his ignorance, the feelings kept surging up inside him, unconsciously causing him pain.

  He wanted to talk to Masaki. He wanted to be near him. He didn't know why, but he knew he had no choice.

  (Aahhhhhhh. . . !!!)

  Miserable, he began yelling at people for absolutely no reason, he would disobey his teachers at every turn, and he would get into full-blown fist fights over the most trivial things.

  Then one day, the pressure got too much for him, and he managed to convince all of his club's kouhai into mounting an assault on Masaki. They all had a grudge against “Study Abroad” -- Taniguchi Masaki -- to begin with, so they didn't need much persuading.

  “Heh heh, let's do it.”

  “That asshole's been on my shit list for a while.”

  “We'll show him how far his pretty face can take him.”

  “Good,” Shinjirou grinned, but in fact, he was planning to burst onto the scene and rescue Masaki.

  He wanted to make friends with him. If this gave him a chance to do that, then he didn't care what crap he had to take from his kouhai afterwards -- his emotions left him no choice.

  This 'strategy' went into motion a few days later after school.

  They followed Masaki on his usual trip home, and when Masaki ducked into his usual back alley shortcut to the train station, Shinjirou signaled to his five kouhai, “Go for it.”

  The five boys quickly snuck into the deserted alley. By the time Masaki realized he was being followed, it was too late. . . he was already surrounded.

  “So, Mr. Study Abroad. You've been doing pretty well for yourself, haven't ya?” It was obvious they were trying to sound tough.

  But things didn't progress as Shinjirou had originally hoped. He had been so sure that Masaki would be scared out of his wits that he never considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Masaki would instead take the scenario in stride a
nd be totally calm and collected. “Right. . . I’ll be more careful,” Masaki replied, just standing there and accepting their aggression.

  They threatened him, they pushed him, but no matter what they said. . . his response was completely serene.

  (--------?)

  Watching this from the sidelines, Shinjirou started to fret. Ladies' men weren't supposed to act like this.

  Eventually one of his kouhai lost his temper and let loose, punching Masaki in the cheek.

  (Ah -- !)

  Shinjirou almost shrieked. He had never planned to let it go that far. He quickly stepped forward, intending to intervene. . .

  But something happened.

  A girl appeared, entering the alley from the side opposite to where Shinjirou was hiding.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice empty, dispassionate. “What is your purpose? What failing of his caused this behavior?” She talked like a windup doll.

  (Wh-who the hell is she?)

  Shinjirou gaped at her, completely blowing the timing of his entrance.

  “Hey, this guy thinks he's Don Juan,” his kouhai snarled, switchblade in hand. “Looking like this, tricking girls into falling for him.”

  “Huh. . . so, he stole your girlfriends, then? The cause of your anger is sexual frustration?” What in the world was this girl's problem?!

  “Uh. . . what? What did she say?”

  “I'm asking if this attack is a way of forgetting that your sexual partners all hate you.”

  “You. . . .bitch!”

  The situation was rapidly spiraling in a sinister direction. Shinjirou didn't know what to do, and he couldn't force himself out of hiding.

  As if things weren't confusing enough already, the girl suddenly tore her own shirt off and stood there bare-chested.

  “If you have frustrated desires, I can fulfill them,” she said in the most deadpan voice. This girl was out of freaking control.

  “Uuuum. . .”

  “H -- hey. . .”

  “Whoa! Wait a minute,” Masaki yelped, flustered. He had been totally unfazed when he himself was in danger, but once the girl got mixed up in it, his attitude changed.

  Watching this, Shinjirou thought, 'Oh, crap!'