Finally, the first lecture ended. In summation, this was its message: The decay of this world is spreading visibly. Political corruption is unending, disputes break out ceaselessly around the world, and brutal urban crime just goes on and on. Youths are addicted to licentious relationships, adults seek only material worth, and morality falls further and further by the wayside. In short, this is Satan’s doing. Those in this world ruled by Satan are unaware that they do his bidding, and this is precisely why Armageddon draws near. Before Armageddon arrives, we must save as many people as possible from damnation. This is the goal of our mission.

Apparently, an antagonism between God and Satan existed, and those without faith would fall into hell.

The student lectures that followed seemed to have similar themes. “Praise God, hate Satan” appeared to be the general policy. They all seemed to have practiced quite a bit for this day and skillfully referenced passages from the Bible, speaking without hesitation. I could see some signs of nervousness; even so, they spoke proudly. Each time the bell rang, marking the end of the allotted six minutes, everyone clapped. I clapped, too. Continuing in this way, eventually, the young people’s speeches ended.

Next… Yamazaki and I exchanged glances: Misaki’s turn had come.

I was expectant. I wanted her to use ridiculous lines like those I heard each night at counseling. I wanted her to make me laugh and feel cheerful.

However, Misaki, at the podium, was shaking slightly, her face pale. During the entire time, she had nothing interesting to say. In a vague, flat monotone, she merely gave a passable speech about the Bible, staring at her shoes the entire time.

She seemed to be in pain. Her demeanor reminded me of a girl who, from elementary school on, everyone had bullied.

Missionary school ended.

After a ten minute break, a “service meeting” was scheduled. During the break, everyone chatted amiably—a group of housewives, boys, and young men. Each group gathered together, talking and smiling happily.

“Kazuma is in Bethel—“

“—servants volunteering—“

“Anyway, in the reclamation work we did before—“

“—the Satomi sisters finally were baptized.”

Specialized, technical terms were used often, so I couldn’t really follow the conversations well.

I looked toward the corner of the meeting hall where Misaki sat alone, stooped over on a steel chair. She was making herself small, trying as hard as she could to not stand out. There, in the corner of the room, she was destroying any trace of herself. She really was pale. Each time someone passed her, Misaki looked downward. It appeared as though she feared someone might try to talk to her. During the break, no one spoke to her. That seemed to be what she wanted.

In the friendly meeting hall, she alone stood out from the surroundings.

“Let’s go home.” I nudged Yamazaki toward the door.

“What are you saying, Satou? The service meeting is about to start!”

Yamazaki’s eyes were bloodshot, and I had some idea why. In the technical terms we were most familiar with—that is to say, in the vocabulary of erotic games—service was defined as “a special type of loving massage that a maid in an apron performs for her master.”

“This is a service meeting! Those girls over there will perform their services for us!”

“There’s no way that’s going to happen!”

Putting the angry Yamazaki into a full nelson, I muscled him outside. As we approached the building’s main exit, a voice called out from behind, “Hey, you!”

It was the younger of the two solicitors we’d encountered earlier, the middle-school-aged boy. His hands thrust in his blazer pockets, he glared at us. “You guys are really here just to make fun, right?”

Suddenly, Yamazaki took off. He ran away without even glancing back. Once again, I was left alone.

However, the boy didn’t yell at me. In fact, we started walking along the dark road together. Even though it was already summer, the night wind was unseasonably chilly. The boy was smoking a cigarette. He exhaled, “Ah…”

“That’s against the commandments, I think.”

Forestalling me, the boy drew a Zippo from his pocket and lit another cigarette with what seemed to be a practiced hand.

Walking on my right side, he explained, “Sometimes, people like you want to see something weird, so they come to observe the meetings. Stupid students, like you guys. Well then, what did you think? Was it funny?”

I didn’t say anything.

“I’m not doing this religion thing because I like it, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s my parents. Both my mom and dad love religion. In our house, I’m the only one with a decent head on his shoulders. If I ever said that I wanted to leave the church, what do you think would happen? I once said to my mom, ‘I want to join a school activity, and I want to play at friends’ houses.’ When I did, that old hag started screaming, ‘You devil!’ She wouldn’t even make me lunch for days.”

The boy laughed. “I go along with my parents enough for them not to get mad; and then, when I’m outside the house, I do what I want.”

He spent his time at school like a normal kid, I concluded, and while at home, he lived as a devout, religious person. He was living a double life.

“What I’m saying is, you guys should be sure not to make the mistake of joining up.” He sounded serious. “Everyone made a fuss over you today, right? Everyone seemed happy, right? You probably thought something dumb like, ‘maybe I could get along with nice people such as these’, right? You’re wrong. That’s their trick. They’re not acting out of any kind of selfless love. It’s a way to get you to convert.

“Once you’re on the inside, it’s just like any other normal society. Everyone wants to be the leader. Everyone wants to go to the holy land. My father is desperately trying to set things up for himself to advance—sending presents to the leaders, trying to raise his position, no matter what. It’s really idiotic. You saw what happened today, didn’t you? That girl who presented last was just a nondescript researcher until recently, but her family kept telling her to enter missionary school until, finally, she did. When she, a family member, presents at the missionary school, her aunt gains status.”

I fished for more information about Misaki.

“Eh?” The boy blinked. “Well, that girl just recently became a researcher. She’s a normal girl—an adopted child, or some kind of ward of that older woman. The uncle seems to have no interest in religion, which might prove to be a saving grace. No, I guess she’s torn between two things, which is even harder. She always seems troubled, for some reason.”

I was deeply grateful to the boy for this inside information.

When we parted, the boy admonished, “Like I said, don’t do it. You absolutely must not convert. Well, I don’t really care if you convert; if you do, though, don’t have kids.”

I nodded slightly and returned to my apartment.