The Wavering of Haruhi Suzumiya (2 page)

We took our place at the end of the line, and Tsuruya directed her smile at us free of charge as she spoke.

“Pay up front, if you please! We’ve got yakisoba and water on the menu—the noodles are three hundred yen, but you can down all the water you want for free!”

Upon seeing my coupon, she added, “Hmm, so there are three of you, right? We’ll say five hundred yen for the lot of you! Big discount!”

She put the coins we gave her in her pocket and then shoved three yakisoba tickets into my hands.

“Alrighty then, just wait a teensy bit! Your turn’ll be up in no time!” she said, then returned to her place behind the desk at the classroom’s entrance. Once she disappeared at the head of the line, Kunikida spoke.

“She’s got energy, that’s for sure. You’d think she’d get tired, being like that all the time.”

Kunikida sounded impressed as he spoke. Taniguchi lowered his voice and added this:

“Kyon, I’ve been wondering about this for a while—what’s with her? Is she in your and Haruhi’s gang or what?”

“Nope.”

Tsuruya wasn’t in the club. Just like Taniguchi and Kunikida, she’s a special guest we bring in when we’re short on numbers. And yet somehow, she keeps turning up.

Tsuruya’s notion of “no time” turned out to be about half an hour. After waiting for thirty minutes, we finally made it to the front of the line and were allowed to enter the room. Incidentally, the line behind us grew constantly longer, and it was all guys—unbelievable. Though I suppose we could hardly complain. After all, we were in the line too.

Half of the classroom was devoted to cooking, while the other half had tables for seating customers. Several hot plates sizzled
away, cooking piles of yakisoba. Some white-aproned girls manned the hot plates, while others chopped away at ingredients with cooking knives, and suddenly I wondered where all the boys in this class had gone.

Later, I heard from Tsuruya that the poor boys had been drafted into running errands for the girls—going to get ingredients they were running low on or fetching water and rinsing vegetables. Alas, there was nothing to be done. The Age of Aquarius was truly nigh.

Tsuruya showed us to our table.

“Okay, just sit right there at that table. Hey! Three waters over here!”

A charming reply came in response to Tsuruya’s call.

“Coming right up! Oh, welcome!”

Surely I needn’t mention who the perfect waitress was who now came, bearing a tray with three cups of water on it.

After she finished placing the three cups of water on our table, she clasped the tray in both hands and bowed politely.

“Welcome, and thank you for coming to our shop!” she said with a beatific smile. “Kyon, and your, er—the extras from the…”

My two companions reacted instantly.

“Taniguchi!”

“Kunikida!”

“Hee hee. I’m Mikuru Asahina.”

I could see why there was a handwritten sign dangling from the ceiling that said
PLEASE REFRAIN FROM TAKING PHOTOGRAPHS
. If they were to allow pictures, there’d be no avoiding a minor stampede.

That’s just how lovely Asahina was. Unsurprisingly, my consciousness went winging away to some far-off place, and surely no more words are necessary to describe her charm. To see her and Tsuruya both wearing the outfit that itself rated a Best
Costume Design award, well—it’s hard to imagine a finer sight. Heaven must be a place where such views are commonplace.

Asahina held the tray under one arm as she tore the yakisoba tickets in half, leaving the stubs on our table.

“Please wait just a moment,” she said.

She hurried back to the kitchen, monopolizing the gazes of all the boys in the room.

Tsuruya smiled and explained.

“Mikuru’s taking tickets, clearing plates, and serving water. That’s all we let her do! Can’t have our main attraction tripping and spilling yakisoba everywhere, after all!”

Wise words, Tsuruya.

A different second-year waitress brought us our food. In exchange for giving extra cabbage, they seemed to have skimped on the meat, and as to whether or not the food was good, well—it tasted like normal yakisoba sauce. Asahina was kept very busy as she jumped robinlike from table to table, putting out paper cups of water and tearing tickets, and it was all she could do to stop by our table once to provide refills of not particularly cold water. Tsuruya shuttled between the classroom and the shop front, smiling all the while, and I felt a bit uncomfortable staying for much longer.

So after finishing our yakisoba in about five minutes, we left, putting the place behind us, though we didn’t feel particularly full, nor did we have anywhere else to go.

“So, what next?” It was Kunikida who’d asked. “I kind of want to see the film that Kyon and his friends made. Plus, I need to see how I look in it. What about you, Taniguchi?”

“I’ve got no interest in seeing that thing,” said Taniguchi flatly, taking a festival schedule pamphlet out of his uniform’s pocket. “That yakisoba wasn’t nearly enough. My plan is to head over to the science club’s barbecue party, but before that…” He grinned.
“This is a rare and golden opportunity—for picking up some chicks! The trick is to go for girls wearing street clothes. Surely we can spot a group of three all walking together. Chat ’em up a little, and my experience indicates that they’re surprisingly likely to go along with whatever you say.”

What experience? What good is the experience of a guy whose success rate is just about zero? I shook my head immediately.

“Forget it. You guys go on without me.”

“Hmph.”

Taniguchi smiled unpleasantly, and Kunikida nodded with a self-satisfied smile, which grated on me, but I couldn’t find a retort. It wasn’t that I was afraid I’d be spotted by somebody inconvenient if we started hitting on girls, it was just, uh… just because.

“Fine by me. That’s just the kind of guy you are. No, don’t bother with excuses. I guess that’s friendship for you.”

Taniguchi sighed dramatically, and Kunikida spoke up to mollify him.

“Actually, Taniguchi—I think I’ll pass on the girls too. Sorry, but if you have any luck on your own, could you introduce her friend to me? That’s friendship for you, after all,” he said, sidestepping the issue. “See you later, okay?”

Kunikida walked briskly away. As Taniguchi stood there staring like an idiot, I decided to follow Kunikida’s example.

“See you later, Taniguchi. You can tell me tonight about your success rate—that is, if you succeed at all.”

So, where to go next?

If I went back to the clubroom, there’d either be nobody there or I would bump into Haruhi, and if we wound up walking around the school together, no doubt she would do something insane that would destroy my reputation, so my feet naturally took me in another direction. If she had kept conducting her PR
campaign at the front gate in that bunny girl outfit, someone might have stopped her by now, and she could well be sulking all alone in the clubroom. Please, just let me do something else today! My mom and sister were coming the next day, and I could just imagine Haruhi crashing the proceedings.

I took another look at the program. There wasn’t much of interest. I wasn’t interested in the results of the school survey, nor did I have any intention of spending time on ridiculous displays about things like research into the distribution of local dandelion varieties. I’d well and truly had my fill of the kinds of movies each grade seemed to have made one or two of, and I did not care about amateurish art displays or cardboard labyrinths. Was there any point in a handball tournament against other schools’ teams? Only our homeroom teacher, Okabe, seemed to be excited about that.

“The best thing for killing time would be…”

My eyes lit upon it. The sole event with any kind of ambition to it—they’d probably been preparing for it more than any other group. Now that I thought about it, I’d recently heard the trumpets blaring away late into the night.

“The orchestra concert it is, then.”

I checked the pamphlet again. Unfortunately they wouldn’t be performing until the next day. Lots of groups seemed to have signed up to use the auditorium. The drama club and the chorus club were the next day too. Today, the space was booked up by—

“The pop music club and other registered bands, eh?”

It was pretty standard for a school festival, and although it would probably be mostly cover bands, taking in some live music isn’t a bad thing once in a while. They had probably put in a hundred times the effort and enthusiasm that I’d put into making that movie. I’ll go listen to the results of their labor and just kind of space out, I thought. At the very least, I’d be able to put the terrible film I’d made out of my mind.

“A man needs time to himself sometimes.”

So I told myself, having no idea that my notions were about to be blown to smithereens.

I was naive—I thought there were limits in this world. Even though I knew there was a being who could ignore such limits as she pleased, I’d somehow forgotten that. Despite the maelstrom of chaos I’d experienced just a few days previous, I suppose this was what the limits of the common-sense man were. The extraordinary events I was plunged into showed me my own shallowness. I’d like to leave this as a lesson to future generations. Let’s not worry about whether or not such lessons would be taken seriously.

The auditorium doors were wide open, and from within boomed a terrific racket, as though the god of thunder had decided to hold a concert. It was a bit cheap as venues for the soul of rock go, but so long as the spirit is there, worrying about issues of technique is like quibbling over condiments on your natto. It’s not better without condiments, but the natto is a strong fermented soybean—it’s the main event, so to demand it with stuff on it without even tasting it first seems a bit rude.

Perhaps a sixth of the auditorium was full, and most of the people seemed to be the organizers. Onstage, an amateur band did their best with a straight-up cover of a pop song that sounded vaguely familiar. You know it’s bad when you can tell they’re “doing their best,” but the broadcast club’s mixing seemed like it might have been part of the problem.

The lights were concentrated on the stage, leaving the rest of the space rather dim. I searched for and found an empty row of chairs and took a seat at the row’s edge.

According to the program, the participating groups were the pop music club’s band and two other groups. At the moment it was the pop music club performing. Only the people in the very front row of chairs were standing, and while a few of them moved
their bodies to the music, I decided they had to be either fellow club members or plants. And anyway, the volume was pumped up way too high for the kind of laid-back listening I had in mind.

I clasped my hands behind my head and watched as, during an interlude of their last number, the vocalist rhythmically introduced the other members of the band, and I learned that they were five second-year pals from the pop music club—information I would surely forget within a few days.

My knowledge of music wasn’t deep enough to say anything on the subject, and without any particular interest in the performers, it was the perfect situation for lulling me into complacency.

As a result, I actually started to relax.

And then, as the five members of the current band exited to scattered applause and the next band took the stage—

I couldn’t help but rub my eyes in disbelief.

“Guh—”

I could feel the atmosphere of the auditorium change in an instant. The sound of the audience drawing nervously away from the stage became a sound effect that echoed within my head.

“What the hell is that idiot doing?!”

The figure that now walked on from stage left carrying a music stand wore a certain familiar bunny girl costume and a certain familiar expression as she stood there, awash in the stage lighting.

Bunny ears bouncing and figure scantily clad—I could tell you who she was even if you plucked my eyes out and gave them to somebody else.

It was Haruhi Suzumiya.

And she was now standing in the middle of the stage with a serious expression on her face.

And if that had been all, it would’ve been okay—but no.

“Hnng!”

Upon seeing the figure that appeared behind her, the air in my lungs escaped with a groan.

It was a sometimes evil alien sorceress, sometimes black-clad, crystal ball–wielding fortune-teller.

“…”

I could no longer make a sound.

Yuki Nagato was standing there in that black hat and cape I’d long since gotten sick of seeing, only for some reason she now had a guitar slung over her shoulder. Just what the hell is going on here?

I might have been relieved if Asahina and Koizumi had shown up after that, but the third and fourth people to take the stage were female students I’d never seen before. From their unfamiliar faces and somehow adult aura, I guessed they were third-year students. One had a bass guitar and the other sat down at the drum set. There didn’t seem to be any further band members.

Why? I wanted to avert my eyes at the sight of Haruhi and Nagato in their festival costumes. But why—why were they part of a band that was supposed to be made up of members of the pop music club, and why was Haruhi holding the mic like she was the band leader?

As the questions fought each other in my head, all four members of the mysterious group seemed to have taken their places. The audience murmured, and as I looked on, dumbfounded, the bassist and drummer nervously tinkered with their instruments; Nagato did not so much as move to play her guitar. Her face was as expressionless as it usually was.

Haruhi placed what looked like sheet music on the music stand in front of her, then looked slowly over the auditorium. Given the darkness in which the audience sat, I doubted she saw me. Haruhi tapped the mic to make sure it was on, then turned around and said something to the drummer.

There was no introduction and no stage patter. The drummer counted off the beat on her drumsticks, and the band was suddenly playing. The intro alone was enough to blow me away. Nagato’s
guitar technique was up there with Mark Knopfler’s or Brian May’s. And I’d never heard the song before. No sooner did I think
What is this?
than Haruhi began singing, as if to deal me a final blow.