The Empty Clubroom
Storm crashed on the window. I found the clubroom empty. After staying in my classroom for the counseling Okabe offered, I was late for the meeting. The bell drove the remaining students out into the storm, and the clubroom was surprisingly empty. No Haruhi was yelling out commands, Itsuki did not smile at me behind a game board, Asahina-san(this was my greatest disappointment) did not offer tea, and Nagato was missing from her usual spot by the window. The clubroom was dark, an oddly lugubrious tint of grey shadowing the empty desks. My mind was prompting me to return to home, but for some reason, I sat on my usual spot.
The empty clubroom. It was a rare opportunity to see. The computers Haruhi seized from the computer club members lay abandoned. A particularly battered computer was by the window. It was Nagato's. Perhaps her inhuman typing skill worn out the poor computer.
My mind suddenly drifted back to the abnormal world Nagato created last December. No Haruhi existed in Kita high, and Nagato was only an ordinary student. She had held me back from leaving her house…… I touched the sleeves where she gently held, like she would have held a baby hamster. An expressive Nagato—the concept surpassed my imagination. Why couldn't the Integrated Data Entity create Nagato like Asakura Ryoko, the sociable girl? Nagato could have been an ordinary student, talking with her friends about her philosophy books and sometimes invite the SOS brigade to her home. She could have held me once more with her gentle grasp, and could have smiled awkwardly. Yet I chose her former self. Why?
I am not logical. I could not exactly recall the reason behind my actions. Nagato might. Good for you, Nagato. No, that is not saying that I am as impulsive as you, Haruhi. At least I am rational. But the scene where Nagato was cowering under my gunpoint was disconcerting. The girl was not Nagato Yuki. The real Nagato Yuki would have simply dodged the gun, and would calmly ask my motives.
But was this what Nagato Yuki wanted herself wanted to become? The invincible humanoid interface wanted to be a reclusive, shy girl who relied on me. I realized that I always silently relied on her. She silently protects us from the dangers. Without speaking, she became the inseparable member of the SOS brigade. The clubroom without her reading was unnatural. The abnormality was the reason that I stayed at the clubroom today, and that I am now sitting on her seat. Perhaps she wanted to rely on me for a change. Maybe she wanted to become like Asahina-san, who relies on me. I have seen Nagato staring at her from time to time.
Then, why did I chose the silent Nagato? Her silence reassured me. When Nagato was silent, no extraterrestrial beings disrupted the peace. She was the protection of the SOS brigade. Most importantly, I found her smile artificial. The smile was not Nagato's. I have grown accustomed to interpreting her minute differences. When her true, valuable emotions, the sole, definite proof that she was human, shone through her expressionless face, I felt warm commitment and satisfaction. The shy Nagato did not give me that emotion.
The reminiscence suddenly brought forth another scene. The scene of reclusive Nagato hurriedly erasing the files on her computer caught my attention. If Nagato in that world writes fictions, would the real Nagato write, too?
She was the first to enter the clubroom, and the last to leave the room. Perhaps when no other members were in the room, she would have been typing in her computer…
Excitement pounded within me, and I turned the computer on. A resolutely blank screen blinked in the screen.
Password:
Of course. The Nagato Yuki would not leave her files unprotected. I clicked on the hint. Nagato's writings appeared on the screen.
Nothing snows down from a night sky. Yet we glance upwards. Upwards, towards the deep black above. Kites float in the distance, or is it mere illusion? Illusion created by my emotions?
8-5-9-13-10
I blinked. I had been expecting complicated graphs and charts, or questions that only the Integrated Data Entity could answer. The interface writing poems… I shook my head in disbelief. Maybe she might even be writing romance novels in her computer.
The five numbers puzzled me. 8-5-9-13-10? Is it a form of an unknown number sequence? Pity that I have slept during math classes. Haruhi would have known. I could visualize her shouting, "Oh! Isn't that Fermat's arithmetic sequence?", whatever that was. I read the writing again.
Yet we glance upwards. Upwards, towards the deep black above. The sentences seemed unnatural. It was as if Nagato intentionally divided the sentence into two parts. Wait. Did the numbers stand for something in each sentence? Yet we glance upwards, Yet we glance upwards…… The sentence was five syllables.
Good work, Kyon, I praised myself. You don't need to pay attention during math classes to solve this question. Ha, I bet Haruhi wouldn't have solved this one, too.
As I was mentally celebrating, I wrote the writing down, and separated the sentences into 8, 5, 9, 13, and 10 syllables.
Nothing snows down from a night sky.
Yet we glance upwards.
Upwards, towards the deep black above.
Kites float in the distance, or is it mere illusion?
Illusion created by my emotions?
I cried in delight. The first letters, N, Y, U, K, and I were standing blaring through the lines. N.YUKI. The initials that she used on our conversation in Haruhi's isolated space. What did she say then?
"Back to the Library…"
She wanted to return to the library with me. She must have wanted to read books with me. I imagined her staring at my sleeping form. Oh, why did I have to sleep at that moment? I could have made the visit more interesting to her. She never complained. The hidden efforts and toils were unnoticed, and she always sat at the corner without speaking. My face prickled in discomfort. I hurriedly typed NYUKI on the screen.
The computer was turned on. A folder in the side seemed interesting. I opened it. Dozens of documents were inside folder. I gasped. When did she write all this? They were all poems. She did not name her writings, like her three stories. They were all named observations. I clicked at observation 19.
Observation 19
Alone, my shadows reach to nowhere, nothing, even past
The fields and classrooms, Lone within the setting sun, I stand.
Is this the way that I surpass my shadows, coiling fast,
Behind myself, and destined time is flitting past the land.
Is this a poem about the Integrated Data Entity? The rhythm sounds similar… Is this the iambic meters that I learnt in the English class? Fitting. The mechanical meters would have appealed to the humanoid interface.
Yet she feels emotions. She was human, I repeated to myself. She would have seen the members of the SOS brigade walking away from the empty clubroom. I continued to read her poems.
Observation 11
Are humans free? They lightly dance on Earth,
Content and eager, singing, skipping time,
I fathom lives, yet fail to grasp the souls
Yet soar in gentle grace. They smile, I smile.
Observation 23
Today he asked me, Spirits do exist.
I gazed into his eyes, yet not replied.
Forbidden Data, Human, whispered I.
The crickets cried more loudly, Fall had come.
Observation 49
My will refuses Data, erroneous logic overwhelms
What shall I trust, what shall I miss, What shall I cry, decide.
The morning stars hadn't shone today, yet I had gazed outside.
He glanced into my book, his eyes are shadowed by the elms.
Will he miss me?
A sudden sound of books dropping made me turn my head. Nagato Yuki was standing on the door, her eyes widened. Shock was apparent in her features, her small hands were trembling erratically. She seemed as pale as she was during her illness in the winter mansion.
"Ah," was all that I could muster at this point. I hastily closed the computer file. She won't kill me, would she? No! I haven't even seen Asahina-san's new costume that Haruhi was making! Wait. If Nagato murdered me in this room, then I would meet Asakura Ryoko, right? She wouldn't seriously—
Nagato bent down, and for a moment, I believed that she was picking up a knife to slit my throat. She picked her books up, and sat next to me, returning to her expressionless self.
"I do not recall giving you permission to read my writings."
"Um, yeah. Sorry. Er…" Oh, please, if anyone out there can help me escape, then please do so. Anyways, my words seemed to be slurred and nonsensical. Perhaps she might take pity on me. Or, she might think I am drunk!
While I was wrestling to produce coherent sentences, Nagato suddenly broke the silence.
"I permit."
"Huh?" What have I learnt during language classes? She repeated again.
"I permit you to read them, if you wish."
Was I seeing Nagato Yuki blushing? Her pale face seemed to have a tint of red. Her fingers were fidgeting under the desk. It had, in overall, a rather queer resemblance to former shy Nagato Yuki that I met last December. Yet, her face retained its blankness.
Rather puzzled by her sudden change, I reopened the file. I opened the last observation.
Observation 50
The stars are glowing past the distance, their discordant tunes
Are blowing past, unearthly, quite mysterious, past the boy
Who stands besides me, gazing boldly upwards, fists are clenched,
And I direct my gaze to whom I miss, and whom I love.
The storm was battering the clubroom's windows. I gazed at the pale girl beside me. The silent girl, the irresponsive girl who silently labored for our protection was incredibly expressive in her poems.
She loved me…… I felt blessed to be loved by the humanoid interface. Her first ineffable, tender emotions were directed to me, a normal individual. Perhaps I was no longer considered as ordinary. Ever since I entered the SOS brigade, the world invited me to engage myself with supernatural beings. And to be loved by a humanoid interface, no, a girl.
Lightening flashed outside, and Nagato's face shone in the light. She approached closer and closer, until our face was inches apart.
"Nagato, I –"
And that day, I realized that the humanoid's lips were made of flesh, not plastic and steel.
My thoughts were incoherent. Maybe Yuki's logic could have been unclear at that moment, too. Or perhaps not. When we broke apart, I felt another towering wall that blocked my speech from becoming coherent.
"Back to the library," Nagato whispered.
I nodded. The windows were rustling from the gales, yet the clubroom was nonetheless warm.
"Back to the library."