"H-H-H-HELLOO! This is Porno Graffiti Music Hour, "Love up station"! Stay tuned..."

I'd like to believe I'm a morning person. I don't require an alarm. I wake up at around seven or eight. I like the bit of peace and quiet. I'm a morning person.

Of course, then my few moments of tranquility have to be shattered by guitars and screeching coming out of the radio at full volume, right beside me. Why is that even there?

This blaring and ridiculous music coming out of the alarm clock-radio is not necessary! Rock music in the morning is not necessary! This... this stupid radio Music Hour...!

As I tried to kill the machine with my bare hands, and without the aid of my glasses, I could hear something die at the foot of my bed.

"Five...five more... minutes... Mick... I'll... hug you to death...!"

What was-!?

Oh. Wait. It's just Elemendorf fast asleep, half dressed on the floor, face down. And her hands are attached to the rungs of the ladder of the bunk bed.

She fell asleep in the middle of getting into bed. Wow. Then again, last night was pretty hectic.

Wow. Look at the time.

...Holy crap, how did it get so late in the morning!? I'm... I'm a morning person!

No, wait, don't answer. That was a rhetorical question. Honestly. I'm in the middle of fighting for my life to make it to classes on time. Even if they are music classes which I hate. Alas, waste not, want not.

Tripping over unpacked boxes, throwing my clothes off so I could jump into the first feasible outside wear I could find.

Oh yeah, I'm not a happy camper. Can't even eat breakfast. And my stuff's strewn all over the place-

ELMENDORF! STOP SLEEPING SO BLISSFULLY! HOW DARE YOU...!

"Ten more minutes..."

Dah! Nevermind! At this rate I'm going to be late no matter what, even if I ran. How am I supposed to get there in-

Oh, wait.

Oh, no.

Oh, yes.

...Oh, god.

"Er, Elmendorf?"

"Fifteen... moore..." She crooned in front of me, her face still down. It looks a little bit like a giant porcupine shivering, if you ignored the rest of the body attached to the head.

"Look, Elemndorf, get up or we're going to be late."

"...Twenty more minutes, ma mere..."

Elmendorf. Get up and DRIVE US TO CLASS WITH YOUR STUPID BIKE, YOU INSANE STUPID ROCK DEMON WHATEVER!

"Gah! Who kicked me!?"

Nobody.

My foot slipped.

At any rate, it got the psychotic rocker wannabe up, yawning with those pretty shark teeth of hers, and cracking her neck. She established eye contact, and after a few seconds:

"..Hi."

Okay, Chisame. Keep your cool. You can do this. She's up. Don't freak out again. Yet.

"Look, Elmendorf. Just get dressed and get us to school already. You're the one with the bike."

"Alright, alright. But I want steak first. Last night was hard work-"

"CLASS FIRST!"

Alright, looking at that demon machine that's sitting in the dorm car park right outside, maybe this was a bad idea.

I mean, I don't care about music class that much, after all. It was just to keep a good attendance, just for the sake of completeness. But if one doesn't really care about something they're doing... they don't really have to try... right?

Oh, who am I kidding? Kagurazaka would probably whine about putting your best effort in. And Miyazaki. Maybe Nagase, or Ku. Sensei, of course. He'd probably do it with a good speech.

Elmendorf just decides to do it by smacking me on the back really hard.

"Dah-!"

"Don't worry, chica! The Coyote Smith doesn't bite, nyo ho!"

Grinning Elmendorf, back in her usual get up that begs to be stuck by lightning, slinging another guitar and goggles over her eyes, while she rummaged around in the bags on the sides of the bike for what I hope is another helmet and not yet another twisted idea.

"Is that thing even safe to drive?"

Did you just give your bike a name? What the hell?

"Oh, come on! It's safer than safe!"

"And the rocket boosters?"

"Oh, don't worry, those are just mock ups. For fun!"

"...For fun."

"Yeah."

"And the Gatling gun?"

"Yeah, don't worry, that's fake too."

"Alright, and just to be extra clear on this, last night wasn't a dream, right? You actually own a laser sword, and you fought Mick Rastly."

Elmendorf scratched the back of her head, like she was embarrassed or something. Which I hope she is, with all the crap she's putting me through, and what I know she'll put me through in the future.

"Well, yeah... but it's technically designated a Beam Katana'tar, and Mick is... complicated. So I'll talk about it when we have lunch, yeh?"

Oh. Wait, don't make plans without me agreeing to this-Gagh!

Elmendorf had already tossed me a helmet and jumped onto her "Coyote Smith".

"Come on, Chica!"

Dah, fine. Fine. Just remember, because we're short on time doesn't mean we have to ruuaaaRGGGGHHHH!

The rest was a blur.

Zahir Elmendorf Presents:

"Zahir Saving The World From Robots. Evil Ones. From Space. Yeah."

A Power Epic in 26 Parts.

Life Tale Garnished and Composed by Zahir Elmendorf.

02: "Would you believe me if I said that we're in the middle of a totally awesome war?" - By Zahir

"See?"

"Uoowwhhh...!"

That was the reaction of my intro music class, along with some scattered applause, as we waited outside the classroom for the prior class to finish up and clear out.

As for my reaction, I was giving more of a look that gave off a, "Are you insane!? What the hell!?"

It's not everyday that you see someone throw a knife into the air and catch it on the way down with the sheath. Or someone even wanting to try.

"Well, after all, there are only some things you can only learn in Canada!" Asakura Ryoko explained, with what was supposed to be a knife, but for some reason seemed to me more reminiscent of some ancient roman gladius. I mean, forget opening a tin can, Asakura what were you planning to do with that? Fillet an 18-wheeler!?

"YOOOSHAA! LET'S LEARN SOME MUSIC!"

"Fool! Be gone! Lelouch vi Britannia commands you, with all your-"

"H-hey, guys, can't we just get along...?"

"Yare Yare Daze..."

Oh, and most of the males in my class apparently share the same zeal and passion for showing off their eccentricities as much as Class A. Ugh. Well, as long as they don't start busting out... laser guns and whatever else.

At least the girls in my class seem otherwise normal. Save Asakura, who apparently learned some very strange things in Canada. Oh, and Sonozaki. I'm not quite sure what it is about her, but it seems that every time I see her getting along with Asakura, this chill goes down my spine. So there's something probably going down.

"Chica! That's totally awesome! That was brutally awesome!"

Ugh, Elmendorf. How can you manage to have so much energy? I mean, just a few hours ago... that can't be normal. Or even legal. I'm still tired, myself. I hate you so much.

I really wish "A few hours ago" really was a dream. My world view keeps getting messed up, at this rate. It's bad enough with my high school, but now this!?

If I'm not making myself clear on this issue, you really need to just see what happened for yourself.

"WHAT THE HELL!?"

"...Hey, chica!"

"Don't just 'hey' me! What's going on around here!? Why are you here!? What's with him!?"

Elmendorf's cheerful grin turned in an inquisitive stare, as she leaned in my direction, tucking the hand holding her "Beam Katana'tar" under her armpit, leaving the glowing implement to buzz behind her back, while she rubbed her chin with her overly sharp finger nails, staring at me.

I had a feeling that if she were closer, she her leaning forward would have involved invading my personal space, just because.

Also, Elmendorf, ignoring the scientific impossibility of that weapon you're carrying, you do realize how dangerous it is to hold it like that?

"Ooh... that is a good question. Why are you here?"

"Don't answer my question with the same one!"

She reared back, frantically waving, "Look, look, look! It's a bit complicated right now, so can we just like... well, I'll just get back to you later, I'm in the middle of something, till then!"

"Hey, wait-!"

Oh, yeah, like that's going to happen. Wow, that was one hell of a back flip onto the stage. Really. I'm about to watch Zahir Elmendorf fight Mick Rastly, who was until five seconds ago, talking like a robot. What's this world coming to?

And why is my brain continuing to insist this... pocket universe... thing, is somehow cyberspace?

"DOOORRYYAAA! Metal prevails, you insult to the music industreeee! OCeeeeee!"

Elmendorf screaming, waving her laser sword around with some surprising finesse.

"Honey! Chill out! You're nothing but a square now!"

And that's Rastly taunting, while still in character, dodging backwards from the spinning martial frenzy of Star Wars sound effects and Elmendorf's heels, his torso and head ducking under and twisting away from each blow, while his coat was conveniently billowing out in all these dramatic patterns. Well, to be fair, Elmendorf's own coat was showing off, too.

That was when Mick suddenly moved inside the crux of Elmendorf's arcs, and laid a one-two-three into her, a left-right into her chest, before meeting her face in another left. His fists made a crunch that certainly didn't quite seem possible for just bare fists.

Regardless. Ow.

"J-Jeez! Are you okay!?"

So yes, sue me for actually being concerned. Elmendorf just went rolling across the stage like a sack of potatoes. She also quickly went rolling into one handed somersault back onto her feet. So maybe my concerned was a little unfounded.

Where did she learn these moves? I sure couldn't see her doing gymnastics. Hell, imaging her in tights hurts enough already. If it were for real, we'd be having new reports of entire stadiums going blind.

"Don't worry, Chica! This is nothing for a Demon God of Rock! In Training!" Elmendorf shouted back to me with another of those gaudy thumbs up, but...

"Uh... Elmendorf. You're bleeding."

"W-What!? No, that's nothing!"

"Profusely from your mouth."

"O-Oh, that! He probably knocked out a tooth or two! Don't worry, they grow back pretty fast!"

'Grow back pretty fast'!? You only change teeth once in your life, you idiot!

"Look! Seriously! I don't know what that pop star is packing, but he's making you bleed! Wouldn't it be better if you-"

"Nup! I told you already! There's iron in blood! UP THE IRONS! RAAAGGH!"

And she charged back into the fray. Wow. She's stupid.

Mick Rastly also seemed to catch onto this, as amazingly, past his boyish charms that caught the hearts of many ditzes across the world, he sneered:

"More iron, baby!? Don't worry, I never turn down a girl's request-!"

And... holy crap, is he a lost relative of Karakuri!? How the hell did his arm turn into a Gatling gun!? I'm not talking about that B-Movie mock up Elemendorf had on her bike when she took me screaming to school tomorrow morning, I mean...

A fully. Working. Anti-Air. Rotary. Gun. The feed belt just disappears under the remains of his torn coat sleeve.

Elmendorf charge turned into a stumbling screech, "Oh crap!"

"Come on, baby! I'm the last love song on this little planet! You know you wanna hear me sing!"

Elmendorf leapt off the stage before his 'singing' ripped her heart out, but instead got a lot of air, torn up floor board, and the scaffolding on the opposite end of the stage melting into a puddle of goo.

Now I would be normally relieved at the safety of another human being. Or someone that looks relatively like one.

But she jumped into the bleachers. Where I am. Mick Rastly's still tracking her with his gun. Where I am.

Oh... Crap-!

Alright, I can't quite describe what happened here, but know that just as I hit the ground, most everything exploded around me in a series of thundering 'krak-pow's that nearly left. It sure did leave me dazed for several seconds.

Naturally, after I got the dust out of my lungs, the first thing that came out of them was a bellowing:

"ELMENDORF! SAVE YOURSELF IN A MANNER THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE KILLING ME!"

She easily landed on one of the seats on all fours, the handle of her laser sword between her sharp teeth. She sheepishly saluted in apology.

"A-Ah! Scchoowee!"

Cue serious look of professionalism, just before she jumped right up into the air to avoid another cone of lead (which is, in fact, not iron, Mick Rastly) chewing up where she was just crouching.

Wow. That explains how she's managed to stay alive so far. She can really jump. I mean, just vertically, I think she's already clearing about six meters. Now translate that into to a jump through the air towards Mick Rastly, while she narrowly avoiding the glow of cinematic tracer bullets just slicing under her feet. That's a lot of air time.

Okay. It's confirmed. Forget normalcy, Zahir Elmendorf is about as human as anyone in my old high school class. Great.

You'll notice me still doing this in deadpan, rather than hysterically freaking out, and dragging my lower jaw across the ground. That's because I ran out of "Jaw dropping" points about four years back. I was used up for the rest of my life, after I went through that year's annual Festival the third time.

That aside, Elmendorf finally jumped Rastly. Grabbing his head tight between her thighs momentarily, I was actually caught off guard when she threw her only weapon high up into the air. After that, she apparently flourished before an audience that existed only in her mind, as she flung out both her hands, formed into horns at the back wall. Then, locking her knees underneath Mick Rastly's armpits, she proceeded to swing underneath him, grab him by the back of his thighs while she was upside down, and the result momentum of her body slamming into the back of his knees, while her legs were simultaneously pulling him down, sent him flying head over heels, in a magnificently loud crash that left Elmendorf on her butt, while Rastly had landed on his shoulders and neck.

And that was how Zahir Elmendorf did a wrestling take down on Mick Rastly, who apparently was several hundreds of kilograms of mechanics.

Then again, it makes sense, weirdly enough. Muscles strong enough to propel a person some dozens of kilograms in weight, six meters into the air without much effort, should be able to toss a pop star with a Terminator Gun for an arm onto his back with sufficient force.

In short, Mick Rastly landing like that mustn't have been healthy. As if to drive the point home, Elmendorf's sword, which had been thrown into the air a few seconds ago, now conveniently and perfectly landed pointy end first into Mick Rastly's chest, sending him into convulsions as the laser blade sank into him, with sparks and smoke flying about.

Yeah. Mick Rastly, heartthrob of the pop music scene is a robot, for sure now. Or an "OC", whatever took to Elmendorf's pea brain for her to come up with that term.

That seems a lot less shocking, now that you think it aloud.

"Hey, chica! Did you like the show? Nyo ho ho!" Elmendorf hollered back my way, while she twisted her energized guitar neck free of the unmoving robot.

I refuse to answer straight to that. You're too weird.

"I don't care if he's a robot. You just killed the biggest pop star in the world. Tomorrow's going to be insane."

"Ah, don't worry about it. People won't even remember there was a guy supposed to be called Mick Rastly, when tomorrow comes!"

"...Are you part of some sort of musical conspiracy? This 'Demon God of Rock' business?"

The Mexican stood on the stage for a little bit, face scrunched up in thought. I prodded again. I think I even tapped my foot, with arms crossed.

"Well?"

"...Can I recharge my sword first? It's nearly out of batteries."

My tapping foot hit a loose pebble, making me nearly pitch forward into the next row of seats below me, if I wasn't flailing to regain balance. My head was also racing.

"Excuse me!?"

Elmendorf repeated with ridiculously sincere look, "My Katan'tar wasted most of its energy in the fight."

"Will anything really bad happen if you let it run out?"

"Well, no. I just don't like it to run out. It makes me feel irresponsible." Was, again, her sheepish response.

"...Ah, fine. I can wait that much longer-DAH! Behind you!"

I'm surprising how resilient technology can be these days. I heard of iPocks surviving lots of abuse, but seeing Mick Rastly get back up without a figurative sweat, given what his chest took, is really quite surprising. Elmendorf sure seemed off guard, as she managed to swivel around with her much dimmer sword in both hands, stopping Mick Rastly's machine gun arm from pounding in her head, though it seems they were pretty trapped like that, Elmendorf keeping Mr. Pop Star from pressing down anymore.

"Oh, you're pretty good, baby," Rastly managed to say, what with that sparking hole in the center of his nice black shirt, "But why you gotta break my heart?"

"Uh... did I? I mean, you're still kinda walking around. Normally, you guys break down for good when you're hit there."

"Oh, we improved."

"...Oh."

Well, I can see Elmendorf's just brimming full pithy comebacks. It's probably better this way. I'm not sure if I could take my roommate also being a smarmy wise ass on top of everything else she is already.

"Honey, if you really don't want me, then I've gotta just give my all to make you understand!"

Something happened then. I'm not quite sure of the process, but since we were in a pocket universe thing, the end result was a clean rectangular block of stage magically separating itself from the otherwise entirely solid ground of the amphitheater stage, driving straight upward into Elmendorf's abdomen.

She gave a rather unceremonious "Urk-", before she went flying up into the sky.

...That's not good. I don't care if she can survive jumping six meters. That is not six meters into the air, and she is certainly not recovering from that.

Crap. She really is falling. She's definitely going to die from that.

My instinct is still insisting I'm in the middle of cyberspace. The entire next part is me acting on instinct.

"Adeat!"

I unfortunately was forced to finally admit my whole participation in the world of the bizarre, once more. With my card out of my pocket, it was already giving off its brilliant flash as it transformed into what is, at first glance, a staff fit for a character from Mahou Shoujo anime. Thank god my Pactio actually has some utilitarian uses.

"Sceptrum Virtuale!"

Mick Rastly managed to look shocked, for a robot, "What!?"

I know I repeated this instinct business twice, like I already understood what was going to happen, but still seeing holographic computer screens and keyboards materialize about me and a suspended Sceptrum Virtuale, and my eight spirits buzz about elatedly, while I'm still in my physical body, is still rather jarring, given my previous experience.

But I'll freak out about that later. Right now I'm trying to reverse the "Zahir Elmendorf Street Pizza" situation. My fingers were already racing across the glowing pads about me. Another surprise. For temporarily rewriting the physics of the local area, the process was as mundane as just writing code for a web page.

Surface Placidity: 0000

Save.

Zahir Elmendorf crashed into the ground, sending dust up everywhere. The sound was definitely wince worthy. She landed right beside her parked bike. It toppled on top of her.

"Dah-OW!"

Wince again.

Meanwhile, Pop Star was being his usual annoying self.

"Honey! I never composed about love triangles! This can't be!"

Rumbling behind me. My electronic array and I swirled around to find seats being flung in my direction with no visible source as to why. Child's play.

Velocity Angulation: 0020

Ducking slightly for caution, chairs went wide above me and around me. One even went into Rastly's unassuming face at full speed, bowling him over again.

"Dude! Chica! You can do the same things as them!?"

Look, let's not get into this...

"Well, anyways, we need to get out of here!"

Uh, what? "Weren't you all gungho about beating down Mick Rastly five minutes ago?"

"Hey! I can't fight him anymore as he is! He's messing with reality and stuff like that! You want me to fight that!?"

Uh...

Mick Rastly was getting up.

"Point taken."

Elmendorf had already pried herself out from under her own bike, and was already seated atop it. Also, somehow, without me noticing, she had already gotten her "sheath" back for her sword, the whole thing neatly clipped together on her back in the imitation of a guitar. She waved to me.

"Come on, Chica! We gotta go!"

Dah, fine. Fine. Just remember, because we're escaping doesn't mean we have to ruuaaaRGGGGHHHH!

The rest was a blur.

That brings us up to now. Myself fairly unamused, while Elmendorf was walking around all gaily like nothing happened last night, while we walked to one of the local cafes for lunch.

"Ah! It's a good thing you came when you did, chica! You sure saved my butt out there!"

I was there the entire time, anyways. It should have been the other way around.

"That aside, can you tell me what exactly is going on, Elmendorf!?"

"I guess I can't put it off anymore. Ah, here!"

It was a nice day today, so the cafe, being all excessively Parisian like Mahora was able to afford, had open doors, tables out in the middle of the sidewalk, parasols set up, and fresh air blowing by the counter where the 'bar keep' was.

"Hey! Bar keep! Us two want drinks!"

"What'll it be?"

"Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a Kina Lillet. Shake it over ice, and a thin slice of lemon."

"...Kina Lillet doesn't exist, anymore. Even if it did, we don't sell alcoholic beverages here."

"Oh... Guava juice, then?"

Me, I'll just have a glass of water. And Tylenol if you have any.

By the time we got our drinks and found a table for two, Elmendorf was tapping her forehead, thinking very hard.

"Hmmm... where do I start?"

"With what exactly, is a Demon God of Rock, and what do they have to do with killing multi million dollar music icons?"

"What!? You make it sound like they're evil or something..." Elmendorf snorted, folding her arms.

Though, please think about it. They explicitly named themselves as demons. Not to mention my current reputation of them exists solely as this frenetic psychopath. I digress.

"Look, what are they?"

"Demi-Deitic, Supernatural purveyors of the universal elements that binds this universe together by the catharsis and domestication of aggressive, chaotic elements, thereby achieving the calming of planes of galatic energy, and assisting the betterment of human being! We are druids and bards of the steeeel!"

Hard to be impressed when it sounds like she just randomly took words out of a dictionary. Demi-Deitic?

"What, so you're saying you're training to be a god?"

Elemendorf waved that thought off.

"Nah, nah. The most lowly beings like us can hope to achieve in our current lives is to be a Natural DGoR. Though maybe if I'm lucky, I can achieve enlightenment and become Supernatural! But it seems like all usually do is tour the universe and dimensions."

She actually believes all of this.

"I know, I know. Hard to believe. But they update their blogs frequently. You can read them at Diespace."

I reiterate. She believes blogs of garage bands across the world are communique with a pantheon of beings that tour the universe, holding rock concerts. What the hell.

"I have a hard time believing you."

"Hey! You were in another dimension just yesterday night, chica!"

"Yeah. But I was actually there. That's entirely different from believing someone on the Internet, particularly if they're taking a supernatural stance. One thing at a time please."

"Ah, fine, fine..."

"Diespace is some sort of networking site for DGoR?"

Elmendorf seemed ecstatic I made the leap in logic. Probably because there's one human being in all of Japan who's bothering to try and understand her.

"Oh yeah, I mean, DGoRs across the world, talking together."

"And taking bounties for robots, which you haven't told me about, yet."

"Oh, them. Yeah. You ever played that old video game, "Snatcher"?"

"Kind of."

That is to say, I simply watched someone play the entire game on Yo-Tube.

Still, "What about it?"

"You really wanna know the truth?"

"Just spit it out."

She beckoned me to close in, across the table. Somehow I know I'm going to regret this. I'm going to hit her if she suddenly shouts into my ear. Regardless, she cupped her hand, connecting her whispering mouth to the side of my head.

Elmendorf answered quietly, with all due sincerity and seriousness, "...We've been invaded by aliens from outer space. Some of us think they're French."

Ugh. At least my deadpan is still functioning at its most droll.

"...What?"

Elmendorf slid back into her seat, "Look, I know it's a big surprise, especially with them being French, but hear me out."

This is me trying very hard. Ugh. (French!? What the hell?)

"Now, Mick Rastly never appeared in person, right?"

"Right."

"Though he appears all over the Internet, right?"

"So?"

"Don't you think it's curious? A person who's never appeared in person? All we have are pictures and songs."

Elmendorf grinned, folding her arms and legs while sitting, "You should understand! You use Photoshock!"

Wait a minute.

"...What, you're saying Mick Rastly is a figment of the Internet?"

"An imaginary icon created by the French aliens, in order to inspire fannish devotion! They're invading through the music industry!"

Oh, that's so bullocks. I wish it were so bullocks.

"Elmendorf, before my brain shorts out from how much crap your spewing out, just say it. Now."

"You sure?"

"My brain is about to hemorrhage."

The DGoR in training shrugged.

"Alright... when the aliens put up one of their cheap music icons, something about their websites and their music, and everything related to the guys like Mick Rastly, produce some sort of brainwashing thingy, given that you listen to it enough. But it's not just like brainwashing. It's like... messing with reality itself, so that it becomes the norm that everyone worships the ground Mick Rastly is on, even though he actually doesn't exist. This brainwashy thing we call an Origin Override Code."

"What's with the robot, then?"

"That's the finishing touch, in order to bring about total world domination! An Organism Cybernetique! With enough people attending an actual concert by a robot, a huge, real life Code envelopes the world! DAMN THE FRENCH! DAMN THEM AND THEIR FLYING PYRAMIDS!"

I groaned. Elmendorf just had to pronounce that last line with standing on her chair. People are looking at us. People are noticing I'm associating with her. Not the mention her story. Somewhere, the god of subtlety is dying as gracefully as Monty Python killing Mary, Queen of Scots.

Elmendorf was oblivious to the world, as she got back down and looked me in the eye.

"And taking over the world is something we Demon Gods of Rock stand in the way of! Across the world, the many of us are fighting valiantly to prevent these guys from taking over the world! We're here to protect real music!"

You mean, protect heavy metal.

"That's why, I've decided Chica! For world peace, I'll take you on as my partner!"

...What?

...WHAT THE HELL!?

Nevermind the wording, she was on her knees, holding my hand with this bubbly look in her eyes! With people looking this way!

Naturally, my chair upended in the opposite direction.

"DRUUAGGAh-WHAT!?"

Ow, my head.

"Come on, Chica! We're roommates, anyways! For world peace!"

"W-what are you talking about!? Why me!?"

Does someone out there hate me that much!?

"Look! You saw that fight last night! Even though I'm good, an OC still has total control over places where the Origin Override Code is! But you can do the same thing, right? And you obviously didn't listen to enough of Mick's music to get all brainwashed! I usually can't fight once he gets all serious like that, but with you at my side, we're unbeatable!"

I managed to get up, in spite of this sudden bombshell trying to wipe out my attempt to reboot my life.

"Please, no."

"Aw, come on, Chica-"

"No! Look! I just want to go to university and get on with my life! Not do all this stuff again!"

"Again!"

"The point is! It doesn't really matter if the world gets changed like that! It happens all the time, right? Society resets it new standards of normalcy every once in a while, right? You guys are just... rebelling against the inevitable!"

Elmendorf pouted, hands on her hips.

"Well if the new norm involves crappy music, I don't want to be a part of it!"

"Fine."

"But what about you? Think about the Code! Everybody's going to change! Imagine the sweetest girl becoming the exact opposite!"

Okochi Akira roared at her swimming team.

"You idiot! You call that swimming!? Don't make me laugh! MATSUDA! You're not some cat drowning in a puddle! SWIM! SWIIIIIIM! I'll show you how it's done, so watch closely! YOU SLOW PIECE OF SHIT!"

She moved on, regardless of the member in question breaking down into tears.

"In freestyle, pull your arms out of the water, elbows first! Then take that arm and reach out in front of you! Make sure you extend all the way! Don't forget to breath!"

Akira wheezed for a second at that

"Then dip your finger tips into the water and follow through with your entire arm! DON'T SLAP THE SURFACE OF THE WATER LIKE SOME PATHETIC TWAT! WATER RESISTANCE IS HUGE! Then! Part the water with all your strength! This is where you accelerate! Everything will be decided by how much strength you put into this motion! CRAWL WITH ALL YOUR STRENGTH! WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT! As if your life depended on it! Go for gold in the Beijing Olympics!"

She plunged into the pool, head first, thrashing.

"UN! DEUX! TROIS! DO IT WITH ME EVERYBODY! UN! DEUX! TROIS!"

Amidst the foaming at the mouth, along with the water, one of the students meekly piped up.

"...She didn't explain how to kick..."

...Okay, so maybe there's that, but I'll get over it. All that really matters is just going on, quietly, and my website-

"That's right, Chica! You love your website, right!? But you're being shut down by the aliens!"

Wait, hold the phone.

"But, if you help me get rid of the OCs that appear, then all their online stuff disappears like it never existed!"

Ugh.

"So you're saying if I help you, it'll get my ratings back?"

"Is that what you want from your website? I mean, I'm no good with online stuff..."

Oh, I hate this universe so much now.

"Fine. FINE! I'll help you for now. If this is what it takes to get my website go where it should be. As long as this stuff doesn't get in the way of my school!"

Elmendorf was already upon me, grabbing my hand and viciously shaking it.

"Chica! You won't regret this! I promise! Let's go tonight and win victory!"

"No. I need a few days to work this out in my head."

"But Mick's concert is then! We can't wait!"

"We're waiting. We have class."

"...We still have class?"

"Yes. We do."

"Well, as long as there's music in our hearts...!"

And so on and so on. Obviously, I did something wrong, somewhere in my life. But, if this gets my ratings back...!

"By the way, Chica..."

"What?"

"I noticed you're taking the news pretty well. I'm guessing normal people usually freak out?"

"...I've had some practice getting used to bad news."

You can think of life like Toilet Paper. It just keeps on going, and it has multiple uses. You can use it for rope, or fling it at someone. Sometimes you meet good toilet paper with lots of layers, sometimes you meet bad ones which only have one layer, or are simply too thick. I think toilet paper and messages are the same. Once you get all of it out, you can get to the real fun.

Next up, "In the end, dashing good looks are only a door to desire. The follow through is entirely your own effort." By Nao.