While these thoughts ran through my mind, three minutes passed in what felt like a matter of seconds.

My ramen was ready.

Just then, it happened.

At the very moment that I was about to thrust my disposable chopsticks into the noodles, my doorbell's resounding “ding dong, ding dong” interrupted the entire process.

Who could it be?

Naturally, I didn't panic. The unexpected visitor disturbing my breakfast was probably just a bill collector, coming to pick up my electric utility payment. As I would be in trouble were I to lose my lifeline, I obediently put down my chopsticks and headed toward the door, still clad in my pajamas.

I flung open the door and quickly said, “Oh, electricity! The electricity, right? I can pay you now. Um, I'll pay right…”

My words trailed off. Alerted by the smile plastered across the visitor's face and the subtle aura emanating from her entire body, I realized there was no way this middle-aged woman possibly could be the bill collector for the electricity company.

“Please, forgive us for interrupting your busy schedule”, said my visitor. The woman's face was lit by the morning sun. “We're actually handing out these pamphlets”, she beamed, passing me two small pamphlets.

Printed on the cover was: “Awaken! Tower of Druaga.”[13]

A refreshing spring breeze blew in through the open door. Outside, the mild, April morning was calm and cheerful.

Part Two

At Mita House's[14] room 201, the door separating the inside of my apartment from the outside was now standing open. The woman on a religious mission and me—nothing separated us any longer.

Then, I saw it. Diagonally to the right, behind the woman with the bottomless evangelical smile, stood another woman.

Did they plan to use two people to recruit me? Were they tipping the balance of power, two against one? How cowardly!

Then, further realization dawned. I noticed just how young the other religious recruiter was.

For some odd reason, even on this serene April morning when the sun shone so gently, she shaded herself with a pure white parasol. Although I couldn't see her face, which was hidden by the parasol, I could tell nevertheless that she was young, particularly compared to the middle-aged woman. In fact, it was obvious that she was even younger than me.

Holding her parasol, draped in a plain, light-colored, long-sleeved dress, she gave off a sanctified, pure air. As if guarding the older woman, she stood calmly, clean and quiet.

Without my even realizing it, tears had sprung to my eyes, unbidden. This young girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen by my estimate, was being taken advantage of by some idiotic cult. Just thinking about it, I couldn't help but feel compassion. I mean, come on, what is this?!

I was sure she was at that age when she would much rather be having fun. The age at which she'd rather put on some nice clothes, walk around Shibuya, and try to have impure, heterosexual relations, instead. But religions have strict commandments, such as “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” She had to be suffering. It must be painful, painful, painful.

I imagined her not knowing how to deal with her feverish body each night. God is watching, so we can't do something like this. But… but I… I can't suppress my excited emotions. Ooh, why am I such a naughty girl? And even though God is watching… I confess, Heavenly Father!”

Those sorts of things, where commandments and sexual desire merged into one, constantly had to agonize her. Because the erotic book about nunneries I had read recently mentioned such issues, my reasoning had to be correct.

An idea suddenly hit me. If everything I surmised was accurate, then in that way, the existence of religion might not be such a bad thing after all. In fact, surprisingly, it might not even be an exaggeration to call it quite wonderful, instead.

Oh yes, it was actually obscene. Mulling it over carefully, I saw that its obscenity made it extremely wonderful indeed.

For example, an image popped into my mind of a young girl being spanked by a strict, older nun. This image was followed by salacious scenes from the witch trials that would later occur. And finally, a violent torture session took place in a stone-floored basement. The inquisitor would say, “I'll find out if you are really a witch”, and then he'd prepare the triangular punishment horse! “With a whip?!” Smack! Smack! Smack! “Not yet?! Not yet?! Not yet?!” Smack! Smack!” Ahhh! I beg your mercy! Spare me! Please, forgive me!” However, no one listens to her appeals, and this seemingly endless banquet of indignities keeps escalating and escalating without end!

Fantastic!

Satisfaction!

A standing ova—

“Urn …”

Suddenly, I realized that the older woman standing right in front of me was staring at me. She anxiously inquired, “Are you all right?”

My runaway fantasies about the religious girl had hijacked my attention, not to mention my emotions. For a little while, even casual observers could see how absentminded and odd I was.

What the hell?

I desperately tried to shift to a resolute attitude.

“Ahem, ahem.” I cleared my throat.

Then, like a very, very normal young person, and without letting my ryes drift in the wrong direction, I gave the older woman as intelligent a glance as I could manage.

Sure, I was clearly shaken. This, I admit.

However, having already regained emotional control, there were no longer any cracks in my armor left open to attack. After all, there was no need for me to be so flustered. I had only to reply, “Yes, I'm fine”, as I shoved the two pamphlets back at her, and this whole thing would be over.

But because of my extremely long time as a hikikomori, my ability to communicate with others had deteriorated to nearly the lowest level possible, which was the real reason I was so shaken by all this.

Calm down. Calm down! Say it. Just utter that one phrase, “Yes, I'm fine.” Right. I'll say it in just a second. Yes, this time I'll really say it.

Most likely, it had been so long since I'd talked with anyone that my voice would sound rather hollow. The words coming out of my mouth, at least, would probably sound hollow. It was even possible that I might stutter accidentally. But why should that matter, anyway?

After all, it wasn't likely that I would ever meet this woman or the girl again. Whatever they thought of me shouldn't matter. Who cared if they found me odd or disturbing? That's why I needed to say it. I needed to refuse their conversion outright!

Just say, “Yes, I'm fine!”

I'll say, “Yes, I'm fine!”

“Yes, I…”

At that second, my line of sight casually passed over the word “Awaken!” decorating the cover of the pamphlet I held in my right hand.

On that same cover, in black, gothic letters, was printed: “The hikikomori life is attacking our youth. Are you safe?”

The woman, noticing my gaze, further brightened her pious smile. “This is our special report for the month. We're investigating the hikikomori issue from a Biblical standpoint. Are you interested?”

It would be downright impossible to fully express the fear that ravaged me then.

Could they see through me? Was it possible this woman already knew that I was, in actuality, a hikikomori, myself? Was that why she'd gone out of her way to give me this pamphlet? It was an extremely frightening idea.

The thought that I was already identified as a worthless hikikomori by people who didn't even know me incited violent fear, chills, shakes—culminating in a confusion that was terribly hard to endure. Regardless, I had to calm down.