by Shouji Gatou
“Did you see it?”
“Naw, I didn’t see it,” Wrenchy-kun-san admitted. “It was... ah, back in March. You remember the stadium in the second park?”
“Yes, I do.” Of course I did. Using that stadium to host a soccer game was what had gotten us to our minimum attendance quota, allowing us to survive for another year. The land of the second park had since been sold to a mega-corporation called Malmart, but that stadium was AmaBri’s savior in a way.
“Something happened when we held the soccer game there... Something that don’t quite add up.” Wrenchy-kun-san went on to explain: Just before the soccer game, there had been a problem with the lighting. They’d spent all night working, and early in the morning, the lighting went out; it wouldn’t respond to any of their efforts to get it back on.
Naturally, Wrenchy-kun-san and the rest of the stadium staff tried desperately to find the source of the problem, but it was an old facility, and progress was grueling. While they tried one thing and another, the park opened its doors. That meant there were eight hours left until the match started.
“I do remember that...” I mused.
“Had us in a cold sweat, I tell you. Just before noon, we finally found the source of the trouble in the control room PC...” The PC was an extremely old model, which Wrenchy-kun-san explained was beyond even him. “It wasn’t even a Windows system. It was a PC-98, y’know? Ever heard of it, girlie?”
“Oh... From NEC?” I guessed.
“Oh... so ya do know it,” said Wrenchy-kun-san, sounding surprised.
Before Windows PCs became popular, such machines were used widely throughout Japan. There was even a time when the country was dominated by NEC’s PC-9800 series, but that was about 25 years ago.
“The company that made the control system folded ages ago, and nobody knew how to use PCs from that era... so what were we supposed to do?” Wrenchy-kun-san’s gaze became distant. “I went at it about thirty minutes. Then I left for a bit, and when I came back a little bit later, I found it fixed, right there.”
“Ahh...”
“I’m telling you, two or three lines of code were rewritten,” he insisted. “Seemed like it was an issue with the number of lights and their output... after testing, see, we’d swapped out about 50 old light bulbs, and that’s what was causing the problem. But there’s no way that anyone but me knew about it.”
“So, you think it was a fairy?” I asked.
“What else could it be? Stranger things’ve happened. Anyway, those’re the kind of things they’re talkin’ about.”
“I see. That is quite mysterious.” I tried to sound neutral, without a trace of sarcasm, but Wrenchy-kun-san still seemed hurt by my phrasing.
“What, girlie, you don’t believe me?”
“No, I do...”
“That’s a pretty indifferent response if ya do,” he mumbled.
“I’m sorry. This is just how I am.” I was able to smile when I was on stage, but generally speaking, I’m fairly inexpressive. My second most common expression is probably looking put out when Salama-san and Sylphie-san go too far.
“Well, never you mind. ...Sorry to bother you with an old man’s shaggy dog stories.”
“It didn’t bother me,” I insisted. “It was very entertaining.”
“You don’t look so entertained to me... But, well, so long.” Wrenchy-kun-san left, sighing to himself.
I heard a similar story about the “fairy” that same day from Sento Isuzu-san, while I was taking a breather after having finished my day’s work. I’d parted ways with my colleagues, and had just ordered a baked fish lunch in the employee cafeteria when I saw her. She had already finished her meal and was enjoying a cup of tea while she fiddled with a laptop; she seemed to be working.
Normally, I’d have sat down in a seat far away from Isuzu-san and limited our interactions to casting her a smile any time our eyes met. But Wanipii-senpai was also present, sitting in his usual seat, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to him today.
It’s not that I don’t get along with Wanipii-senpai... Things were just a little awkward between us. We’d been at a cast drinking party the other day; Wanipii-senpai happened to be sitting at our table, and Salama-san was teasing him, asking him which of the four girls of Elementario was his type. Wanipii-senpai was pretty drunk, and he ended up saying “If I have to name someone” and choosing me. It wasn’t anything that serious; at the time, I just laughed it off as silly small talk.
I respect Wanipii-senpai a lot. It took someone really special to stay in this kind of work for so long, and there’s a lot a reserved person like me could learn from someone like him. But as a romantic partner... well, I’m sorry to say it, but... maybe if I lowered my standards a lot, it wouldn’t be out of the question, but generally speaking, I wouldn’t go for him. After all, he was the kind of person who would spend six figures on his favorite idol, and if he found out she had an overnight partner, he’d valiantly sweep in to defend her honor. He just took it so seriously. I couldn’t take it.
Maybe it’s because I read lots of manga about beautiful characters that people get the wrong idea, but I’m not actually very superficial when it comes to real-life people. Wanipii-senpai was okay for me, looks-wise. It’s just...
I’m sorry. I know it’s the height of arrogance for a plain-looking spirit like me to act picky about men. Forgive me. I’ll watch myself in the future.
Anyway, that night in the cafeteria, I was a little hesitant to sit next to Wanipii-senpai, so I just shot him a nod and moved in Isuzu-san’s direction. I thought it would look like a very natural gesture. Wanipii-senpai would probably think, “Oh, she has to talk to Isuzu-chan? That doesn’t bother me, pii.” He actually just kept his eyes cast downward, skewering the hamburg steak on his plate again and again, but I was sure he understood.
“Kobory. Are you finished for today?” Isuzu-san asked. Her eyes were locked on her screen.
“Yes,” I said. “Are you working, Isuzu-san?”
“Yes, I’m making a want ad. But I’m afraid it’s going poorly... None of the adjustments I make to the design seem to work out,” she sighed. “I wonder why...”
“May I see?” I asked her.
“Yes,” said Isuzu, handing her laptop to me. “I’d appreciate a candid opinion.”
The laptop felt heavy. That was natural, since it was such an old model, but for some reason, Isuzu-san was able to hold it very easily... That strength must have served her well when she was pointing that bulky musket at Moffle-san and the others.
“......” I didn’t know what to say. The want ad’s design was almost completely identical to the one they had used in April. One could say it was a reliable design... One could also say it was boring. They hadn’t even adjusted the copy; ‘If you’ve got what it takes, come join us!!’ and such. It made it sound like they were hiring people for a blue collar bar. “Er, can I ask... What part were you adjusting?”
“Well...” Isuzu-san sounded less than confident “...previously, it said, ‘Come join us if you’ve got what it takes.’ I reversed it to try to make it sound more catchy, and I also added two exclamation points.”
In other words, it went from “Come join us if you’ve got what it takes” to “If you’ve got what it takes, come join us!!” And that was it.
“You... really worked hard on this, then?” I hazarded a guess.
“Yes,” she told me. “But Kanie-kun and Tricen’s reactions were less than favorable. Even though I strengthened the illustration as well...”
“You mean, this image of Mirai-kun’s face?” I asked. There was an illustration of Mirai-kun in the corner of the want ad. He was a veteran member of the fairy cast who looked like a globe with arms and legs. He was a very minor character, who I don’t think many people recognized.
“That’s right,” Isuzu agreed. “I thought about using Lord Moffle, but since this is what we used before...”
Anything but Mirai-kun, I thought. His expression in t
he illustration looked like he was mocking the reader, too—which was, in fact, a good reflection of his actual personality, but... it didn’t put AmaBri in a good light.
Isuzu-san seemed to be aware of this, too, and I guess that’s why she looked so depressed. She whispered, with a sigh, “I wonder if the fairy will save me again.”
“Fairy?” I asked.
“Ah. Forgive me... I’m just venting,” she admitted. “It was inappropriate.”
“I see,” I said neutrally. “Could you tell me more about that?”
“About what?”
“About the fairy,” I clarified. “Wrenchy-kun-san mentioned it, too. There are apparently rumors going around.”
“Well... it has nothing to do with the advertisement.”
“Right, but you seem to have hit a creative wall,” I pointed out. “Banging your head against it won’t bring out better ideas. You need to get your mind off of it.” To be honest, I wasn’t really very interested in the fairy. I’d just pushed the topic because it sounded like a good way to get her mind off of her problem.
“I see... I suppose you have a point. Allow me to explain.” Isuzu closed her laptop and straightened up. I hadn’t expected it to be anything that serious, but... “Do you remember when we were recruiting people in April? We received quite a few applicants then. Over thirty, starting with Adachi-san and the others. But since May, we’ve had less than ten. It was as if, in April, we had someone’s help.”
“Someone’s... help?” I asked.
“Yes. All that I did was upload the hiring information to the park’s official page and put the want ad up on several job recruitment sites. But that by itself had very little effect.” But starting a few days later, she explained, it had ended up posted to various message boards, with links and videos all over social media, which far increased the scope of the ad. “I still don’t know who did it.”
“Ahh...”
“The recruiting notice video was also redone. The copy was left intact, but the design was fixed to be prettier, easier to read, and more eye-catching... At first I thought that Kanie-kun had done it, but he appeared to be as ignorant as I was. It’s surely someone in the park, but...”
“You think that the ‘fairy’ was behind it?”
“That’s what I tentatively choose to call it,” she told me. “Since the one behind it hasn’t named themselves, I’m sure they merely did it on a whim... It’s hardly something I can count on, is it?”
“Yes... I suppose not,” I agreed.
“I’ve heard similar stories from others, and they all simply refer to it as ‘the fairy,’” Isuzu said. “Have you ever had such an experience?”
“Well. Elementario might have...” I said doubtfully. “I don’t really know.”
“I see.”
“Well... did talking about the fairy help?” I asked after a while. “Did it get your mind off of things?”
“I’m not sure...” she sighed. “It may have just made me feel even more incompetent.”
“I see... I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“......” I didn’t know what else to say.
“......” Isuzu-san fell quiet and returned to work. I silently went back to my meal as well.
Things felt a little awkward.It was hard to eat dinner next to someone you weren’t that close with and couldn’t really talk to. The baked fish was my one salvation; the need to eat it all neatly, by removing the small bones and skin, helped to fill the empty space.
Isuzu-san apparently came from a highly ranked noble family in Maple Land, which made her seem unapproachable for a commonplace spirit like me (though Muse-san didn’t seem to mind much at all). Even Isuzu-san’s use of language suggested nobility; You didn’t see many women who talked the way she did, nowadays. Most women sounded a little pretentious when they used words like “merely,” or “quite,” but Sento Isuzu-san worked them into her speech very naturally. She was always completely sincere; a very rare breed.
By the way, I was born in a small magical realm known as the Elementium Republic. My family lives in a hot springs town where they’ve run a traditional-style inn for generations, and I have two older brothers and a little sister. My parents and grandparents all told me to quit this starving dancer business, come home, and find a husband, but I don’t really want to. After all, they live deep in the country, over three hours away from the nearest manga store. They don’t have fiber-optic Internet, either. And when you order things online, it takes at least three days for them to reach you.
In contrast, my current apartment is thirty minutes from Shinjuku, and fifty minutes from Akihabara or Ikebukuro. I could order something at night and have it sitting in my delivery box when I got home from work the next day. The mortal city of Amagi was really the perfect environment for me. So for as long as AmaBri stood and I was still employed there, I wasn’t going to let it go.
Sorry, I sort of got off the subject... The point is, it’s awkward for a workaday spirit like me to spend a lot of time sitting in silence, picking at baked fish, across from a celebrity like Isuzu-san.
“All right,” Isuzu-san said suddenly.
“Huh?” I asked, caught off-guard.
“I understand why I’m frustrated. It’s... 9:00 pm. It’s been over eight hours since my last bath. That simply won’t do.” She closed her laptop and stood up.
“You’re going to take a bath?”
“Yes, a bath,” Isuzu-san said, placing her damp, pre-meal hand towel on top of her head. Apparently Isuzu-san was from a family of kappa, so maybe she found this gesture soothing... at least, that’s what I assumed. “Thank you for your help, Kobory. I’m going to take a bath and then approach the design with fresh eyes.”
“Ahh...”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Isuzu-san cleaned up her work tools, bussed her teacup, then left.
Once she was gone, I noticed that Wanipii-senpai was looking at me. Oh, but he immediately looked away... What an awkward person. A person has 200 degrees of sight, so even without turning my eyes directly to him, it was easy for me to tell which way he was looking. Most women know when someone’s looking at their skirt hem or at their cleavage, by the way, so watch out for that.
I probably should have just talked to Wanipii-senpai, but my baked fish was now down to the bones, so I decided not to. I just finished off my lukewarm tea and left. “See you tomorrow,” I said to him.
Wanipii-senpai just grumbled, “Ah... pii,” with his eyes focused downward. There was something a little bit cute about the gesture. Very educational.
I probably would have felt better if he had asked me, “Kobory-chan, what were you talking to Isuzu-chan about, pii?!” but he didn’t. Of course, I’m just a plain Jane spirit, and it was probably awkward for him, too. I felt very apologetic about it. I’m sorry.
I had stopped by my locker in the women’s changing room and was getting ready to go home, when I got a text message from Dornell-senpai. 《Kobory-chan. Are you still in the park? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you...》
Dornell-senpai was a Fairy of Flowers. Many years ago, he’d been the host of the Flower Adventure attraction, but since then he’d spent ten years as a NEET living under the second park, and he’d only recently come back to us. Since the Flower Adventure was now hosted by Tiramii-senpai, he hardly ever appeared in front of the guests anymore, but it somehow turned out that he was a talented stage director, so he was now handling the park’s live shows. He’d helped Elementario out with our staging a few times as well, so I respected him a whole lot.
I replied right away. 《No problem. On my way now.》
《Thanks a lot, nell. I’m in the central stage’s MCR, so meet me there, nell. I can’t seem to get a hold of Muse-chan, nell.》
Muse-san was our attraction’s leader, but she used a certain smartphone service which frequently put her out of range. It was fine when she was in the park, but it was impossible to get in touch with her while
she was on her commute back home. That was probably why he was having trouble.
I hurried to the central stage’s MCR (Master Control Room). You can’t see it from the spectator seats, but it’s located on one of the middle floors of Maple Castle and gives a perfect view of the stage. All facets of a show can be controlled remotely from there, and we really couldn’t put on a show without it. It’s a little like the control tower at an airport.
I jogged down the underground passageway and took the Maple Castle elevator up to the MCR. I found Dornell-senpai there, apparently in the middle of a fight with some equipment, connecting and disconnecting a true spaghetti of wires.
“Dornell-senpai?” I questioned.
“Ah, there you are, nell,” he said, untangling himself from the wires. He sounded exhausted and dejected.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m having trouble with the sound system again,” he admitted.
“Again?”
“Yeah. Just like during Golden Week...”
“Ahh...” I remembered. The park had been set to unveil a huge new live show in April, at the start of Golden Week. It had the baffling title of ‘A (AmaBri) Fight Begins! The Moffle that Fell to Earth!’ While it sounded like a ripoff of the first episode of some 90s anime, they had actually put a lot of effort into the show itself, which had been really impressive. It had all come together after days and nights of rehearsal, and we’d put our hearts into it, hoping to show everyone what the “new” AmaBri was all about.
But just before the first live performance, we’d had some trouble with the sound system... Every minute we spent forcing the guests to wait was nerve-wracking. Fortunately, thanks to part-timer Chujo Shiina-san’s beautiful voice, we’d managed to buy time to get the machinery running again... But that nightmare of a first show still hung over us all.
“After today’s performance, I ran multiple tests with the machinery... and there’s a new issue I can’t figure out,” Dornell said. “I’m still looking into it, but... at this rate, we might need to change some aspects of the new show we were planning to open next week.”