by Shouji Gatou
Even though Lalapa will be here in one hour! Macaron fumed.
Seiya had been sitting quietly at the foot of the table, but he may have picked up on Macaron’s irritation, because he chose that moment to try to get them to the core issue. “By the way, regarding Eiko-san...”
“Now, now,” Papa Adachi chided. “There’s no need to rush things, is there, Toride-san?”
“Er? Ah, of course not. I, the humble Toride, fully share your opinion, Doctor,” Tricen agreed cordially.
And so the small talk continued. After another fifteen minutes or so, Papa Adachi stood up. “Well, now... I think I’ll have that tour, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly. We’ll show you all around our park and your daughter’s place of business!” Tricen stood up, briskly.
“All right, Magiwa-kun!” said Papa Adachi. “Show me around!”
“Of course, sir. This way, please.” Macaron led the group out of the room, fighting the urge to go into a sprint.
Macaron’s annoyance was crystal clear to Seiya. It was 2:30 PM, after all— His daughter, Lalapa, would be arriving in just thirty minutes.
Of course, for now, he was keeping up the image of a soft-spoken young man, showing the group all around the park’s backstage area, and explaining the ins and outs of the various jobs. “...This is the wardrobe section. It’s where we design, produce, and adjust the costumes and props used by the various cast members.”
“Well, well,” Papa Adachi said, “it looks very clean.”
“We just opened it last month,” Macaron was saying. “Prior to that, we were having the person in charge of each attraction handle their own costumes... but that was inefficient, and it resulted in a lack of uniformity. So now we have specialists on staff to manage and coordinate everything.”
“How many staff?”
“It’s still in the trial stages, so only five at the moment,” Macaron told him. “We outsource the cleaning of the costumes.”
“Did you ever consider outsourcing all of it?” Papa Adachi questioned. “That might be cheaper.”
It was a rather mean-spirited question— Seiya was about to answer, but Macaron stopped him and continued his explanation. “You’re absolutely right that it would keep costs down. But our costumes and props—just like our structures and music—are deeply connected to the park’s image. We could hardly keep that image consistent if we outsourced it to some company that doesn’t know what we do here. It would complicate rights issues, as well, so in the long run, it’s actually riskier.”
“Hmm...”
“To put it in hospital terms, it would be like outsourcing the selection and maintenance of your medical devices and drugs,” Macaron pointed out. “Surely you want to be in charge of your own tools, don’t you, Dr. Adachi?”
“Ah... well, yes, certainly.”
“We feel the same way. It’s just more comfortable for us to put them in the care of someone on-site, with whom we can achieve an immediate understanding. It helps us do our work better.”
Tricen stared in disbelief. So did Isuzu.
Even Seiya found himself dumbstruck; Macaron had managed to say exactly what he’d been about to say, himself. Where the hell did that come from? he wondered. Is this really Macaron? He didn’t just trade place with some hot guy in that casket?
“I see. That makes perfect sense.” Dr. Adachi folded his arms and nodded appreciatively. Then, with some abashment, he said, “...Ah, excuse me. Could you tell me where the bathroom is?”
Tricen chimed in, “Yes, sir! Right this way!” and left, leading Papa Adachi behind him. It seemed like an odd duty for the “vice president” to be performing, but Seiya wasn’t about to stop him.
“......” As Tricen moved into the distance, Macaron let out a loud click of his tongue, unable to hide his irritation any longer. “That guy really gets my goat, ron. Why does he care about our new wardrobe department? Guhhh, I want a smoke!”
“I’m sorry,” Isuzu told him apologetically, “but you’ll have to refrain.” I am curious, though, how you managed to explain all that... Even Dr. Adachi seemed surprised by it.”
Macaron just shrugged. “What’s that supposed to mean? You thought I was stupid or something, ron?”
“Yes,” she told him bluntly.
“Roooon! I might not have much education, but even I could figure that out! I’m still an entertainer, you know! You think I can’t handle a little ad-libbing?”
“...Is that how that works?”
“Isuzu-chan, try to catch a variety show some time,” Macaron said exasperatedly. “Entertainers need to think on their feet to make a living. It’s a talent called ‘communication!’”
It was true; Seiya could vouch for that from his own past experiences. Macaron seemed to have spotted Seiya’s astonishment and grinned, his eyes narrowing. Even though his appearance had changed, those were the eyes of the ovine Macaron he knew.
“What is it, Kanie-kun?” Macaron asked innocently. “Are you impressed by me? Ron?”
“Shut up. ...Besides, if you know all that, why are you always sleeping and goofing off during our meetings?!”
“Rooon...” Macaron turned away indifferently and started whistling. His attitude just made it all even more infuriating.
Yeah, that’s Macaron, Seiya thought. I won’t doubt it again...
“Ridiculous...” Isuzu scoffed. “Anyway, what time is it now? You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?”
“Th-That’s right, ron!” Macaron suddenly turned pale, seeming only now to remember that his daughter was on the way. “I have less than thirty minutes, ron. What’ll I do?! I promised I’d be waiting at the front gate with flowers!”
“Of course you’d promise something like that...” Seiya muttered.
“Looking like a sheep, of course!” Macaron said, beginning to panic.
“Well, I guess that is your default...”
“Ugh... Lalapa! Lalapa!”
“Calm down, Macaron,” Isuzu told him. “We’ll have someone else meet her at the gate. They can tell her you’re busy with work and have her wait a little while.”
“But, but...!”
“What is your duty right now?” Infuriated, Isuzu pulled out her musket and pressed the barrel against his chest.
“Er... to make the old fart like me, ron...”
“It might not be going perfectly, but you could still succeed,” she said. “You’ve managed it this far, you know? You need to remember the position you’re in.”
“Ron...”
“Ah, sorry about that!” Papa Adachi announced his return, causing the group to lock up, startled. “What are we all talking about?”
“Th-That was fast...”
The three were standing there: Macaron (human form) with a gun pointed at him, talking about ‘the old fart’ and ‘duty.’ It seemed like a difficult situation to justify, but Seiya did so instantly. “Ah, you see... This is a... a rehearsal for a show we’re starting next month.”
“Yes, yes! That’s what it is, ron!”
“Ron?” the doctor asked.
“Oh, sorry. ‘That’s what it is,’ I meant to say,” Macaron amended. He straightened up, struggling to hold onto his cool.
“I see,” Papa Adachi said agreeably. “...Well then, Magiwa-san, I’d love to see your place of business.”
“B-Business?” Macaron stuttered.
“You know. Ah... Macaron’s Music Theater, wasn’t it?”
“Ah, yes...”
“You play so brilliantly, it’s hard to believe you’re just a man in a costume. The violin, the flute... I saw it on a video site. I’d love to see a live performance.”
The old man had done his research. They had underestimated him.
“He’d be happy to give you one,” Seiya said. “Let’s go,” and led him along readily enough.
This was trouble, though. Macaron was currently in human form, and his performance in those videos was physically impossible for a mere person in a cos
tume. In other words, he couldn’t just put on a Macaron suit and perform the way Papa Adachi was expecting. Which meant...
“No, no, no, ron!” Macaron cried. “I’m never transforming again, ron!”
They went straight to break room B-3. Isuzu and Tricen had remained onstage to entertain Papa Adachi, while Moffle and Tiramii pinioned Macaron (human form) and pushed him into the Iron Phore. He thrashed and struggled so hard they had a hard time getting the lid on.
“Kanie-kun, you’re a monster, ron!” he howled. “This is a violation of my human rights!”
“What do you want me to do?!” Seiya demanded. “He researched us in advance! We can’t show him a half-hearted performance!”
“But still—!”
“Just start it up!” Seiya ordered.
“Rooooooon!”
Working together, the three of them managed to shove the lid closed, then initiated the “Express” transformation.
“Gyaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! It hurts, it hurts, rooooon! It hurts, I... hahaha, hahaha! Ahh, bring it on! Yeah, give it to me! I-It hurts... naw, it don’t hurt, ya friggin’ jackass! C’mon, just try an’ take me! What’s wrong, huh?! Why don’t you put your back into it?!?!”
“I think he’s found a groove,” Seiya observed.
“Yeah. I’m impressed, fumo.”
Three minutes passed. The “Iron Phore” let out a clank as the lid opened. Steam rose from the casket, and Macaron crawled out in his familiar sheep form.
“Whew... It’s annoying, but I really do feel better this way, ron. I’m taller in human form and it’s so disorienting...”
“Mr. Adachi’s waiting,” Seiya reminded him. “Let’s hurry.”
“Uggh... I wanna kill that old man...” Dragged along by Moffle and Tiramii, Macaron hurried to the Music Theater.
After various renovations, Macaron’s Music Theater had at last settled into a venue that was primarily about concerts. The 20-person cars remained in place, but they had cut out half of the “World Music” section and used the extra time and space to hold live shows starring Macaron. Macaron came by personally to play live music several times a day, while at other times they used holograms and actors in costumes to muddle through. Those performances were perfectly enjoyable, but Macaron’s playing was the real draw.
He had dedicated fans who would try to time their visits just to catch Macaron’s occasional personal performances. The times when the “good Macaron” (in other words, the real Macaron) would be appearing were kept tightly under wraps. Some days you’d see him three times a morning, while other days he barely showed at all. It was a bit like a loot crate strategy, and it got them repeat business, so they had kept it up. The result was that the Music Theater was now second in popularity only to the House of Sweets.
“I’m here, ron! Welcome to my Music Theater!” Macaron called out grandly from the stage. “Now, let’s all have some fun!”
Papa Adachi was sitting in the car that provided the spectator seats, with Isuzu and Tricen sitting on either side of him.
Incidentally, when interacting with guests outside of their attractions, the mascots generally weren’t allowed to say anything except “Moffu” and “Ron” and the like; but within their attractions, that prohibition was lifted. They could just pretend as if it was a voice actor working through a speaker, after all.
“We have a special guest today!” Macaron announced. “He’s the director of our park’s good friend, Amagi Hospital! Let’s give him a round of applause!”
The guests clapped, and Papa Adachi waved, grinning awkwardly.
“So if you get overstimulated and pass out during my concert, don’t worry, ron! We’ve got a doctor right here!” Macaron declared, and the guests roared with laughter. “Now, let’s get this party started!”
The music began.
Today’s show would be a thrash metal assault. Macaron started with a throbbing guitar, then he pounded the drums. He slammed the bass drum hard and fast, channeling Lars Ulrich. You see that, Papa Adachi? I can play percussion, too. That violin and flute stuff you saw on the site was just a hobby. Although my real passion isn’t music, but rap... Even though no one lets me do it, for some reason...
“Rooooooooon!” As if to cast away his frustration, he capped off the performance by tossing the cymbals with all his might.
It was such a violent performance that most of the guests were stunned. But after a moment, they erupted in thunderous applause.
“Thanks, ron! Come back and see us again!” He waved, then ran backstage where Seiya, Moffle, and Tiramii were waiting. They immediately tied him up again.
“Mr. Adachi is going to come backstage soon,” Seiya explained.
“Ron. You can’t mean...”
“You need to go back to your human form and put a costume on before he gets there. We can’t prove it was you playing unless you take it off in front of him,” Seiya said, sounding like the cool-headed leader of a secret police. “Hurry.”
“Moffu! Forgive us!”
“R-Ron!” Macaron resisted, but Moffle and Tiramii held him tight and dragged him back to the break room. He was cast once again into the Iron Phore.
Three minutes went by on “Express” mode, followed by a ding.
“Gyaaaaaaaaaaaah! It hurts, it hurts, it hurts (abridged)... Hehehe, that tickles! Dammit! Yeah, bring it on, do yer worst, dammit!”
The transformation was complete; Macaron was back to his mild-mannered human form.
Tiramii proffered the standard employee Macaron costume to the exhausted man. “Here you go! Your costume, mii! Put it on so you can take it off in front of Papa Adachi, mii!”
“Rooon... There’s something physiologically revolting about wearing a costume of myself, ron... How can you do this to me?”
“Like I care,” Seiya scoffed. “Hurry up!”
While Macaron tottered around in the unfamiliar suit, they quickly pulled him along to the Music Theater’s backstage area.
Dr. Adachi was already there, waiting. “My, what a wonderful performance!” He clapped enthusiastically. He really seemed to have enjoyed Macaron’s playing.
“Er... I’m honored,” Macaron (human form) responded, taking the head off the suit.
“It was hard to believe you were a man in a costume,” Dr. Adachi told him earnestly. “How exactly does it work?”
“Well, that’s... err...” Seiya struggled for words.
“The performance uses a combination of cutting-edge technologies,” Macaron spoke up quickly. “The costume uses a semi-Master/Slave system. It has a number of actuators mounted inside.”
“Actuators?” the doctor questioned.
“Conductive shape-memory polymers,” Macaron told him. “They allow for far subtler motions than servo motors. The sensors read the movement of the person inside the suit and execute their intentions perfectly. It’s like how your smartphone has the ability to predict your kanji conversions when you’re inputting Japanese text, you know?”
“I see... what remarkable technology,” Dr. Adachi said thoughtfully.
“It’s expensive and hard to maintain, so we can only prepare one for each mascot.” Macaron’s ad-libbing was truly impressive. Had he seen it in some anime or novel? He’d said he liked building Gunpla, so perhaps he had acquired some knowledge about the field of robotics from that.
Mr. Adachi’s eyes glinted. “But... from this angle, it appears to be an ordinary costume. Could I have a look inside?”
“Ah, no, I don’t think...” Macaron stammered and stepped backward.
That was right. The costume he was wearing right now was still the standard one. The only thing it had inside was a battery to run the cooling system during the summer. If Adachi got a close look at the internals, he would immediately realize they were lying.
Seiya cut in between them. “Very sorry, but that’s a trade secret. We can’t reveal it to outsiders.”
“I see... excuse me, then.” Mr. Adachi backed off politely.
&
nbsp; “Now, let us continue! Our park has many more wonderful attractions to offer!” Tricen suggested, forcing his tone into a cheerful one. Mr. Adachi showed no signs of offense and walked along obediently with Tricen and Isuzu.
More wandering around? Seiya was hoping that after seeing the show, he’d be satisfied and willing to get on with negotiations. However, it seemed Mr. Adachi was extremely interested in “observation.”
“Er, excuse me,” Macaron said to Mr. Adachi. “I have a few minor tasks I need to take care of. Could you go on without me? I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll see you then.” Mr. Adachi smiled at him brightly as he left the backstage greenroom.
“...What are you doing?” Seiya asked him in a whisper.
Macaron hissed back as he threw off his costume, “I can’t take it anymore! My daughter is going to be in Entrance Square, ron! I have to go see her!”
It was currently 2:51—eight minutes until their promised meeting time.
“Wait. You’re supposed to entertain Mr. Adachi—”
“I know, ron! I really will be right back!” Macaron sprinted for the break room.
“Y-You really wanna do this, mii?” Tiramii asked.
“Just do it, ron!”
This was no time for whining. Macaron (human form) leaped into the Iron Phore, shut the lid, and ordered Tiramii to hit the switch. “Gyaaaaaaaaaaah! Yeah, bring it on, dammit! That don’t hurt a bit, ya stupid bastard!” He endured the pain, screaming his way through. The magical needles pierced mystical pressure points in his body, extracting great pain as a price for the changes they induced.
There was a ding, and the transformed sheep appeared from within. “Huff... whew...”
“Macaron. You okay, mii?”
“The manual says to limit transformations to three a day, fumo,” Moffle warned him. Even he was starting to get concerned at this point.