It is much easier to observe people when they think that you are a vapid, blithering idiot. It is also easier for those idiots to keep friends. Takao Kazunari learns many lessons in the first few weeks that follow his vow and he concurrently begins to inwardly despair for the state of humanity. He has to admit, however, that it is nice to be sought out and laughed with rather than ignored. Sometimes he has to laugh at himself, at the person he lets himself become on the outside. Sometimes he has to laugh at the ease with which everyone around him has accepted the new Takao Kazunari.

It really is too easy, Takao thinks. He wonders uneasily how repellent his previous personality had to have been for those around him to accept a total stranger in his place without comment. Or perhaps, Takao hopes, there is just enough similarity between the old Takao Kazunari and the new one (or Bakao, as he has taken to calling him) that his "refreshingly, new take on life," is not so glaringly different. After all, his outward appearance hasn't changed. He may smile a bit more than he did before, pout winningly like he'd seen in teen magazines, and, perhaps his eyes squint a bit more in mock confusion than is strictly necessary, but he is still him on the outside.

There are times wheneven Takao's outward appearance reveal to much, when his mask slips and he reverts to the old Takao. It is extraordinarily taxing, after all, to play a role every hour of everyday. Takao is still new to his part, as well. He smiles a bit too widely sometimes and laughs a bit too often at others and even, on one terrifying occasion, slipped back into the old Takao and lectured one of his friends on the chemical process of spider-web production. On these days, when he has broken character, he goes home and puts his head in hands and questions and analyzes and researches. He reads more teen magazines than his older cousin Hanako, listens to more pop music than young idols, watches more internet videos than the all of the Media Club members combined. He swears that he hears Naan cat in his sleep. He thinks about his goals before turning off the light every night (make sure to widen your eyes innocently when spoken to, ensure that your face is in Default Smile until lunch when it is appropriate to look grouchy and hungry, be sure to flirt with the girls in chemistry lab) and feels a small—just a tiny, minuscule—part of himself begin to hate Bakao. But, he seems to be the only one to experience this sentiment.

So every morning, when sleep has washed away the squirming feeling in his stomach from the night before, he looks at himself in the mirror every morning and smiles winningly. And, with every stroke of gel into his hair, he repeats, "Simple, keep it simple. It's for them, not for you. Simple, keep it simple" in a strong, clear voice. Surprisingly (to Takao, at least), it works.

Takao has always considered himself rather amusing, but Bakao is dubbed hilarious by the junior high hierarchy and becomes immensely popular. It would seem that all that had been holding him back was his habit of bursting into a room and ranting about the the inner workings of the combustion engine or the way a zit was really just an army of white blood cells fighting an infection. Takao would much rather talk about the combustion engine (or even zits—come, on, who knew, right!?) than the gossip and drivel he spouts now, but if this is what people need to hear, then he will give it to them. That is what he has promised, after all.

This is not to say that Takao receives no benefits from his new persona. It is, he would say, a mutually beneficial arrangement between himself and the world. In exchange for his silence, Takao gains a better vantage from which to study complications. People are much more open with Bakao than they ever were with Takao. He supposes they must feel safe in telling the rambling airhead their secrets; Bakao, they assume, he wouldn't even understand what they're telling him, let alone be smart enough to use that information against them.

Takao does understand. In fact, he understands their problems and emotions better than his companions themselves. This is not because of any innate intelligence, he admits to himself. Rather, it is because, while his companions sit there dithering and trying not to think about their conundrum, he considers and analyzes all the factors of their situation, how those factors interact, the contexts that could affect possible solutions, etc., until he can chart at least five different ways to resolve the situation to his companion's satisfaction. Sometimes he tells them his strategies, quietly, in a whisper, so that they almost think it was they who had the idea. It has earned him a new reputation as a confidant and respected guide that is totally at odds with his guileless persona. Takao laughs at this paradox, as well. If explaining why Mori-chan finds Suzuki-kun attractive and confessed to him despite their fury-filled interactions or how Kato-kun should go about healing his relationships with his teammates on the soccer team after a spectacular incident that led to a red card and subsequent loss is helpful (and allows him to share a just a bit of his hobby while still keeping his vow), then he'll do it. It also makes him feel a little better secretly studying his classmates.

A very little bit.