Chapter 07. The Revolving Rock

Part One

Before I knew it, I had gotten run down, both socially and emotionally; it was that kind of summer. Before I knew it, I had been locked in a kind of cage, with no hope for escape; it was that sort of July. I tried calling, “Help me!” Nothing—not love, dreams, hope, effort, friendship, or victory—could save me. I was in real trouble.

At least Yamazaki had some opinions about his future. Even though he was shouting, “Arghhh! Don't screw around with me”, at least he had some sort of ambition. He’d been thinking about his family’s business since he was little.

“I’ll get out of this shitty countryside and make a name for myself in the big city! Y-y-you hypocrites! Just watch and I’ll show you all! I have talent! I may not know what kind of talent, but I have it!”

Before I could confirm the existence of my own talent, it seemed as if fate would force me to return to the countryside, as well. The countryside, with its bizarre family ties, annoying smiles, redneck punks, roads made unnecessarily wide by local politicians, and only one convenience store… I was going to have to make a U-turn back to the awful, crappy countryside. I contemplated this destination with heartfelt regret.

I shouted in a beautifully manly way, too. “Waaaahhh! It’s terrible, terrible, terrible!” I didn’t know exactly what was terrible; for now, though, something certainly was terrible. In fact, so many terrible things were happening that I couldn’t see any way to fix them.

For one thing, my allowance from home finally stopped. Even so, for some reason, the will to work did not bubble up. Even though I had been worn down, I still couldn’t go outside. My title as a “high-level hikikomori” wasn’t just for show. However, I had to manage my living expenses at the least, or else I might be chased out of my apartment as early as tomorrow. I had to do something.

With my student credit card, I brashly borrowed money. Following that, I sold my furniture. I took my washing machine, refrigerator, TV, computer, kotatsu, and bed to a secondhand shop near my house. I also tried selling my entire library to a used bookstore. In this way, having managed to raise enough money to live on, I’d bought myself a little more time.

Slightly more secure, boredom became the main problem. Both Yamazaki and I became really bored. Alleviating it occupied most of our attention. “What should I do? I have nothing to do.”

I conferred with Yamazaki.

He seemed to be at the end of his rope. Lying face down on his apartment floor, he whispered unenthusiastically, “I’m not in as desperate a position as you, Satou—yet for some reason, I can’t calm down. Even if we are escaping from reality, I’d like to be able to do it in a rejuvenating way, if possible.”

Escaping from reality… Triggered by his words, a good idea came to me. “Speaking of escaping, that’s what people do in their fleeting youth, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And speaking of fleeting, that reminds me of rock.”

I shook Yamazaki’s shoulders back and forth. “That’s right, rock and roll! Sex, drugs, and violence!”

Yamazaki stood up, swinging his fist about wildly and bellowing loudly, “I see! That’s fantastic! Speaking of rock and roll, I really respect Jerry Lee Lewis.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s the lolicon rocker who, defying social convention, married his thirteen-year-old cousin, making him the so-called giant of the lolicon world. His way of life was truly anti-establishment! Great Balls of Fire!”

We decided that our theme from then on would be “sex, drugs, and violence.” If we steered our lives in that direction, we might be able to spend every day in a more energetic and happily youthful way. At least, that was our hope, and we clung to it.

Speaking of sex, it’s not for minors under 18. Speaking of “not for minors under 18”, erotic games! Even now, Yamazaki kept working on his erotic game. Why? No one could possibly know, but it seemed sad. It was lonely. That was all I knew. I had no idea why, but it made me want to cry.

Using the money I had secured from selling my furniture, I bought some serious drugs.

“These are all legal!” Yamazaki complained.

I hung my head. “What else can I do? There’s no way I could buy illegal drugs by mail. For a hikikomori, this is the best I can do.”

“Pathetic. That’s so lame.”

Finally, Yamazaki and I ended up fighting in my six-mat, one room apartment. In the middle of the empty room, we faced each other in fighting stances. I imitated Bruce Lee, whom I had recently seen on TV. Yamazaki used fighting games as his reference, adopting the crane pose.

Then, we tried to beat up each other. As soon as we started, though, I slipped on the floor and fell. I hit the back of my head as hard as possible. The pain brought tears to my eyes.

“This isn’t fun at all”, Yamazaki complained.

“Don’t say that.”

“It just makes me feel even more empty. I know! Should we do this at the park?”

“Beforehand, let’s do the drugs, as we already have them. Don’t make fun of them just because they’re legal. They still work pretty well. We’ll have a good time.”

Actually, the drugs did work. In fact, the trip was so bad, I thought I would die.

I thought that maybe I should die.

Part Two

However, I didn’t die.

I might be living a dismal hikikomori life. At the moment, however, I did, technically, have plans to meet someone. As evening fell and all traces of other people had disappeared outside my apartment, I filled my stomach with a late dinner. When it was dark, I set off toward the neighborhood park. The summer night breeze felt good.

I sat on a bench and looked up at the moon and stars in the sky. A black cat sauntered leisurely in front of me. His eyes flashed with the reflection of streetlights.

Ah, it’s night. It certainly was night.

Misaki materialized, there in the park.

“You’re late.” She had been creaking the swing back and forth when, noticing me, she energetically jumped off. The black cat crept over to where she stood, and Misaki picked it up. The cat meowed but didn’t struggle.

“Good girl. I’ll give you some canned food, okay?” Misaki pulled cat food out of the bag on her back. Apparently, she’d been feeding the cat every night. “Cats are great, don’t you think?”

“What’s great about them?”

“Cats just seem to be content wherever, whenever, even if they’re alone.”

I didn’t quite comprehend what she meant, but I tried to answer her appropriately. “Cats don’t really understand gratitude.”

“I know.”

“It’ll forget all about you soon, Misaki. Investing in cat food is such a waste.”

“As long as I give the cat what it wants, it’ll be fine. She’ll remember me. Don’t be cruel. You’ll come to the park every night, right?” She gently stroked the cat’s back as it gobbled down the food. When it finished eating, it slowly strolled away into the bushes.

We sat down on the bench. Misaki took her “secret notebook” out of her bag. And so, tonight, the first counseling session on escaping from hikikomori life began.

Misaki had called it “counseling.” From the very first, her actions and words had been more than strange, so I totally thought it was some kind of joke. However, it seemed she’d been serious.

“You’re late. It says in the contract that you'll come after eating dinner, remember?”

“I just ate dinner—“

“My family eats dinner at seven o’clock.”