The Surgeon General's Warning:
Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. WARNING: there is some content ahead that might trigger an unexpected diabetic shock. You have been warned.
Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm
Chapter 14:
Doctor N. and The Karma of Consecutively Bad Events
An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards
Karma could be such a cruel slave driver. Doctor N. Springfield admitted he had been a very naughty boy today, well, more like as of late, but The Doctor would not be The Doctor, if he could not bloody well operate on his patient could he? Negi thought it most unreasonable that he be punished for his sloth, when there was no opportunity to step forward with his better foot, nor was he willing to risk the death of his muse by exploring all avenues. The condition of hope, a precariously frail creature on better days, was of vital importance to his continued well-being, lest he perish from insufferable boredom
At the moment, however, Negi Springfield wagered he would die first from his back giving out. He could readily imagine the unfortunate messy accident wherefore the elegant bones of his debonair nose would be driven by table (or floor) straight into his brain. Maybe, The Doctor ought to do his out of control orderlies, who had somehow become the patients (or was it the other way around?), a favor by arranging for the accident himself. It would take a lot of work, people to notify, the correct procedure for disposing of the body in triplicate format, flowers, picking a day, so much work as to make positively nauseated and scrub the idea (whatever).
"Ah~... Nobody knows~ the trouble I saw~ / Nobody knows~ my sor~row~!" Negi hung his head low, as he listlessly graded papers at his temporary desk.
The spare staff room across the hall, where an enterprising hall monitor could hunker down for a stake out, was well-to-do enough by Mahora Academy standards (read: luxurious compared to everywhere else), with all the comforts one could ask for short of a TV. Then again, in the media saturation of the Internet age, Wi-Fi and-or some other connectivity alternative made television more and more a throwback to the 20th century. Hence, The Doctor found himself slaving away on a humming laptop, while CNN International droned on in a tiny background window, compared to his predecessor who would have done the same over a typewriter and the tele.
Alas, there was still nothing to be done about the egregious paper trail that followed intellectuals, bureaucrats, and accountants everywhere they went, but some innovative entrepreneur will come up something as long as the perpetual engine continued to tick. And tick it did, the analog wall clock, a simple round-faced construct with a red framed, reminded him every second of his misery, like the Headsman's toll. In reality, it might have only been five minutes since he changed peaceably into a pair of swim shorts, which Negi did not even realize he owned, until the idea got proposed to him.
Bottom-line, a not so friendly suggestion from Kommissar Anya hinted preciously that he ought to prepare himself...just-in-case, and the boy professor knew better than to interpret such omens as a mere warning. Oh no, her words and the persisting electric itch in his palms proved to be the final confirmation that the situation had already gone to DEFCON 1. Why the staid twenty minute walk over to the girls' dormitory where a full welcoming reception, composed of a starry-eyed class representative Ayaka Yukihiro and a handful of others, spoke of a full-blown conspiracy!
Something had happened, and Doctor N. Springfield did not have a clue as to who, what, when, where, how, or why, such a dastardly turn of events would come to bite him in the arse now. He suspected strongly that his secretary knew a lot more than she let on, and may have had her dirty fingers in more place that should not be named in good company than good people should fathom to wager. Ethics be damned; Negi wanted to know. He wanted to know, badly.
He did not like being blind-sided, especially when the level of play appeared to be well within his influence and might. Had The Doctor known of the plot, he could have headed off the beast and switch the detonator, long before the perpetrators had to wonder why their fabulous fireworks show had just ejaculated prematurely, in their own holes. Dohohohohoho!
Alas, it was not meant to be, and Mammon of Greed was enjoying every last morsel of his stewing consternation, lapping up the heat waves of anxiety, like a thirsty alcoholic to beer.
"Oh~! A troubled Lord Springfield is fine~ too~!" cooed the voluptuous Stake of Purgatory, caressing her beatific person sensually in, no doubt, sadomasochistic euphoria. Indeed, so perfect was she, the enlightening experience on wanton display could be downright frightening for the average laymen. "Mammon can't get enough. Mmm~, this shameful Monmon! More dread. More fear. More suspicion. More vengeance. More! More, Master~!"
The novelty of which had not worn off on Doctor N. Springfield, a mercy he was grateful for, but did little to detract from his imminent doom. Even the soothing attentions of oh-so-soft "pillows" squirming against the nape of his neck, with every shiver and breathe from Leviathan of Envy, did little to take the bite off his gloom.
"You filthy, lewd girl, enough spouting such worthless, dirtying words already! Don't you care that our lord is about to be dragged off and ravaged by those rapacious harpies? Why, just thinking about it...eeeeeeeeee! Nevernevernevernevernever...ABSOLUTELY! Never~! I, Leviathan of Envy, would sooner perish than hand our lord and master over to them!"
Unfortunately for the green-eyed homunculi, her younger sister being a wretched creature cut from the same cloth, cruel and beautiful, Mammon gleefully created a misunderstanding out of a clearly spoken outcry.
"Than bite off your tongue and die~ already, useless Levia-nee, hehehehe-KY~AH~hahahahahahaha!"
With a pop of displaced air rushing in to fill the vacuum left behind, mostly Leviathan shoulder tackling the impertinent brunette straight through the walls, the Stakes of Purgatory went on their merry way to settle another blood feud. He had little doubts the screaming contest would soon devolve into a too hot for television event, complete with hair pulling, pinching of unmentionables, slapping, and general dirty cat fighting. How The Doctor wished sometimes to be a being who could shift between corporeal and incorporeal forms at will, and could regenerate everything from blood to articles of clothing, easy as breathing. It would be an awfully convenient, carefree life style, he imagined.
But it would also be incorrigibly boring, which was part of the reason why the Sisters of Purgatory fought all the time. Boredom was the soul killer, and in handicapped situations like his present predicament, they were quite powerless to assist, unless otherwise permitted, so Negi could forgive their callowness. The boy professor was up against his students, and it would be in bad taste if he used every available tool at his disposal. Besides, he would rather not advertise of his expertise in the Dark Arts just yet.
Having pacts with dark elementals was one thing, but the ability to summon the malevolent agents of Inferno was a different matter altogether. The young magister magi did not require "Demon Worshipping Pratfall King" added to the list of his growing infamy. After all, the whole point of his exercise here in Mahora Academy was to build up his "street cred", as The Master so succinctly phrased to him. Never mind Negi could use the fabled gates of damnation (read: abandon all hope, ye who enter here) right about then, rather than the sorry excuse for a door, all that stood between him and the inevitable embarrassment.
And to think tonight, I would have been... thought The Doctor, before he was rudely interrupted by bad omens, his itching palms burning in a sudden climax that he made him bolt up from his seat.
"Fuwhaa! He's here-aru. Honored Teacher Springfield really came!" came the familiar lisp of Kuu Fei, along with the courteous addendum to his name in her native Mandarin. Oh, and he must not forget the racy white two-piece she wore, too, that made him fear the worst for what the media was doing to today's youth, while laying to rest the final nail in the coffin.
Yes, it was a conspiracy. Now, if only the perpetrators would line themselves up in good order already, so The Doctor could burn them all to the ground with a plasma induction torch. Why plasma one might care to ask? His answer: napalm was too cheap, and promethium too messy, plus he wanted the carbon scoring (read: scorch marks) to serve as a permanent reminder to the next bunch of conniving ruffians. After all, there was always more where their ilk came from, and Vlad the Impaler was not a totally bloody krazy basterd, with a kapital "K", some of the time.
Psychological warfare does have its merits against people with an iota of self-preservation, which the Turks took a rank in spades, after the literary inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula paraded their dead and anyone else he did not like on the ends of grossly phallic wooden pickets. Deep down to their quivering bowels, they understood that being made to have something big and huge slide up somewhere it had no business entering was a mortifyingly grisly way to go meet one's maker. The fact, it was achieved ingeniously only by the shear force of gravity, likely, made a few reconsider the queerer legalities of not-so-surprising sodomy and recreational copulation, but that's a thought for another time.
"Kyah, kyah, kyah~! It is, it is him!" gushed Sakurako Shiina, appearing in the doorway hereafter. What a novel statement there, Miss Mistress of the Obvious, but where one member of the Cheerleading Trio went, the rest of her compatriots were never far behind.
"Eeeee~! Isn't it great?" agreed Cheerleader B, whom he was being jerk towards on purpose by not naming her.
"C'mon, let's get him over the bath. We don't want to keep every~one waiting now, do we?" suggested the husky-voiced, Cheerleader C, with a rueful wink.
Suffice to say, none of them were dressed any better than Kuu Fei, much to The Doctor's rising ire. Verily, he should have launched into a passionate outcry on observing proper decorum, but there was a slight hitch in the plan, namely... His back.
Owowowowowowowowo-Oh GOD, my back! thought Negi in overriding agony, like cool, frigid ice water dripping down his spine that numbed and burned all at once. Why, why, why, why must it be...? My bloody back~, a-gain!
He was rooted to the spot, unable to move, much less lift a reprimanding finger, but his pride as an English gentleman refused any outward display of weakness! Alas, his second nature reaction to exquisite pain in the face of the foeman was to freeze his expression in the rictus of an enigmatic smile, whose meaning held a thousand different hooks. Unfortunately for him, the girls took it as a wordless blessing on his part that it was permissible to accost him on their merry way.
"Kyah~! Let's go, let's go! Take him away, girls!" Sakurako cheered, blissfully ignorant of how wrong her statement sounded otherwise.
"Oh!" came the resounding cry of agreement from the impromptu gang.
Doctor N. Springfield very much wished to voice his disapproval, except he was rather preoccupied by the emergent flavors of impeding suffering.
Huh? I cannah move, but the girls can move me? Hng! Hng, hngh, hngh, hngh~! Nghhh! It's no use! Huh? H, Hey, this c-c-c-ouldn't be THAT, could it? thought the magister magi in ever deepening dread, as his giggling students herded him towards the girls bath hall, arm in arm from all sides. Kanashibari, ergo "Sleep Paralysis", b-but that's makes no sense. I, I dunnah remember pissin' off no foul spirits as of late. So, um, it cannah be kanashibari? Can it? H, Heh. Heh!
Yes, Negi must just be imagining things. After all, his back was in a lot of pain, and... Eh? B, But, what if it is some foul spirit? N, N, n, N-No way, I'd remember doin' something important like making a ghost's very, very bad day. He, heh, hehehehe! Yeah, I'd remember. A, an, and I'm not scared in the sl-slightest; e, even like this, I'm the bloody protagonist in my life story! Heh, heh, h, hehehe!
Indeed, what was there for an accomplished English gentleman like Negi Springfield to fear? E-E-E-Even as a mere apprentice, he had accomplished numerous feats of heroism. Like, erm, "V" for victory! Heh, he, heee, hehehe. There was no way Negi was frightened of just how powerless he was at the moment. Eh heh, ha, hahahahahah!
Oi~! Nevertheless, The Doctor realized in a deepening pallor of sweat that he should be worried because his vocal cords were not responding either. It was as if he was prisoner in his body. I swear, I'm-ma speaking but no voice is-a comin' out! Oi~! Oooiiii~! Hah. Hwueghhh...!
Wait, was he choking? Wh, why it is rather hard breathe at the moment, is it not? Heh, hah, hahaha. It was not as if he the slightest bit interest in the adolescent wenches escorting him to his doom. Ha. Ha! Hahahahha! B-But, what if his helpless condition really is the doing of a foul spirit? Heh. Heheheheh...
Ah, what a pain, Negi supposed he had no choice but to enact his Plan B: grovel.
OOooooiiiii~! Hey-hey~! Is someone there? Mister, Miss, or Missus Spirit, are you there? Um, it's startin' t'get real~ dark. Darker than Black! I think, I'm swooning from lack of oxygen, so if you can understand me, p-p-please, unbind me! I entreat thee, earnestly! Rea~lly! I'm truly sorry for not remembering how I earned your ire, b-but please, release me! Please? P-Pretty please? With tea and honeyed scones on top? Huh? huh? ...Some-BODY, PLEASE, SAVE ME~! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~!
Oh, Doctor N. Springfield admitted it was maddeningly pathetic, but well-timed comic relief had saved his and The Master's collective hides more than once. In fact, their dynamic duo routines could turn the tides of battle even, as they found out, costing their enemies dearly for a moment's side-splitting guffaw. Was it dastardly? Ab-SO-lutely. Did he relish the spectacular results every time, anyways? Oh yes! Verily yes!
So when the proverbial lights and cameras came back on, from his brief case of the thousand yard stare, Negi was quite put out that his tormentors still had the last laugh. The girls' bath hall was every bit as flowery he expected (read: smelled the part too), with faux palm trees and painted vistas, but its shear scale and luxury seemed more fitting in a well-to-do health spa. Ostentatiously, it went to show, once more, the prestige of Mahora Academy that they could spare their considerable affluence to even spice up a communal bathing area.
The intended residents of such a space were preoccupied deep in rambunctious conversation about some matter that implicated him, but had not seen it fit to include his input for whatever reasons. Thankfully, they were all reasonably clothed in their unreasonable degrees of what amount to swim wear, although in The Doctor's opinion, an unacceptable number of his patients treading the line of indecent exposure in public. A thong does not qualify as civilized clothing in the greater majority of the illuminated world, which he could be certain of, and would be happy to reiterate until nausea set in.
Bloody hell, it certainly was not appropriate attire to greet one's teacher in, so could somewhere here kindly clue him in on what was going on? Or would he have to do things the hard way?
"Mou, Class Rep, you're trying to hog all the good parts again!" somebody giggled aloud teasingly, from the gaggle across the way. "Guess we all know who's most determined to be by Springfield-sensei's side for the Culture Fest, huh~?"
"I, I'm doing no such thing!" came Ayaka's flustered, and wholly unconvincing retort. "A-A-As the organizer of the event, I think I'm well within my rights to make the official-"
Negi smelled an opportunity, and why bother standing for a matter that was way out of his hands, when his shivering, aching back longed for the pool? "Why, yes, thank ye very much, but while ye girlfolk debate that touchy matter, may I go soak meself in ye flowery, hot jacuzzi pool yonder? ...If that's not too much to ask?"
His sudden counterattack, using his more earthly tongue, got him a good word in edgewise, judging by the string of gasps that followed from the motley assembly of 3-A's rascals, more of which were filing in by the minute. Few of the girls hesitated upon noticing the source of the brouhaha, namely himself, and if anything, were more embolden to succeed in whatever task that was about to occur. The fact he, the star attraction, could be relegated to background noise while the top conspirators sorted themselves out, showed how serious the not-so-merry-for-him occasion was to the girls.
Naturally, this meant escape would be easier said than done for the debonair Doctor N. Springfield, and Kommissar Anya of sour tempers thought it fine to make his life worse.
"I was wondering when you'd speak up, O-Nii-san."
Words were not necessary to describe the dripping darkly venom in her voice that came from his left. Negi could feel his complexion drying out already, in spite of the pleasant humidity from the effervescent hot baths. But, more importantly, what in the bloody hell had Her knickers in a twist? Had she not been on the fun since the beginning? Or was she, gasp, displeased he was not putting up more of a fight?
Well, the boy professor would hate to disappoint his good secretary, so he turned his attention towards her, only to have his words die stillborn in his throat.
"...Whuffghh?" Negi choked, wide-eyed in shock.
Sure, there was nothing to see, unless one happened to be a lolicon (read: pedophile), but he never dreamed he would be, erm, unlucky enough to witness the precocious Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova, in a swimsuit. Thankfully, she had better sense to wear a modest one-piece, topped with a tasteful windbreaker. All the Ruskie needed now was a megaphone and a pair of sunglasses to complete her image, as the pint-sized director behind the entire madhouse production.
Oh, right, he ought to stop gawking, and get on with the dog and pony show.
"Ahem!" Negi licked his lips, and then flashed her, his best wry smile, as if he knew all along of her deceit. "Says the person who helped mastermind the plot; now, would you care to explain what the devil has possessed you all this time?"
"We're holding the first Class Three-A Beauty Contest," chirped Misa Kakizaki, Student No.7, enthusiastically from the excitable crowd, "to see who will be your presenting partner for The Prince of Mahora, sensei!"
Of course, he trusted one of the Cheerleading Trio to be able whip her audience back into a frenzy of giggling and cheers on short notice, such was their specialty. Still, it did not make The Doctor any less miffed, much to his private chagrin, that the Japanese girls were hard of hearing the irony in his glib tongue. Ah, how frustrating, but he must not dwell too long, especially when the nature of his pitfall had just been revealed.
"...I beg your pardon?"
It could not hurt to hear it again, could it? Maybe, he heard it wrong the first time, yes? The girls were happy to clear away any miscommunication he may have perceived in literal tidal wave of information.
"Yeah, yeah! Kazumi-chan brought the newest issue of the Mahora News with her to class today."
"Like, oh my gosh, I was so shocked!"
"We totally didn't expect you to be in the running, sensei!"
"Kyah~! I wanna be on stage with, Springfield-sensei."
"I'd be so~ perfect!"
"Oo! Pick me. Pick me, sensei!"
Okay, he found one of his missing shoes, but where was the other part of the mess?
"Ahem!" Ayaka cleared her throat, temporarily boosting herself ahead of the pack, "Which was when Asakura-san lamented to us that you didn't have a partner yet!"
And then the wave crashed in a loud climax of girlish squeals and giggling, such that even Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova had to roll her eyes in long-suffering exasperation. What on Earth ever convinced her that going along to earn her fair measure of retribution, with this fool-headed plot would be worth...
"Erm, come again?" the Earl-to-be smiled...innocently(?).
On second thought, maybe it was not such a big waste of time. His flock of sheep might not have noticed, but Anya could tell per her experience of being a constant in his daily living: Negi Springfield just swallowed a lemon, and he hated it. If only she were not in front of her classmate, the redhead swore she would have broken out into song and dance. HA! Take that bourgeoisie!
The ensuing maelstrom of The Doctor's internal fury went something to this effect:
THAT CONNIVING CAT-PAPARRAZZI WENCH! I thought we had an agreement? Hell, it was why I chose you right from the get go, you knackered trollop, so we could avoid a spectacle. Like this! THIS is exactly what I was-HO GOD! My back. Ho GAWD, my back!
Elsewhere, the soon-to-be unfortunate Kazumi Asakura shivered, like something furry and adorable had just rolled over and died in an 8,000 kilo African Bush Elephant's butt crack. The effects of which is multiplied another thousandfold, after the said elephant performed the last rites via "The Mother of All Buttflops"; truly, an unpleasant omen, Oh, and look, whoever talked bad about Kazumi also made her press a key by accident on her typewriter! Noooo~! Now, she would have to retype her report all over again. Why~? Uuuu, such misfortune!
Had he known the subject of his imminent revenge was not faring so well herself by no more than the karmic outcry of his fury, Negi might have felt better, but his troubles were just beginning.
"Although I'm sure it's a fact that does not bear repeating," Ayaka Yukihiro trumpeted herself up with the terminus of the opening ceremonies, meaning it was time for trash talking. "With my beauty and intelligence, not to mention good upbringing as a proper young woman in society, it is clear that I'm eminently qualified to walk by your, Springfield-sensei!"
Well, if it is a fact that does not need to be told again, thought The Doctor as he felt a proverbial sweat drop sliding down the back of his head, why did you do it anyway, you foppish trollop?
The indignant outcry from the rest of 3-A's passionate contestants was predictable, too.
"WHAT THE!"
"Kya~n! A surprise attack already?"
"No fair!"
But there were some who had been anticipating such a dastardly maneuver since the beginning, and now that the blue blood had given away her hand, Haruna Saotome (No. 14) could not help but start her counter-battery fire.
"Ho ho, pretty sneaky there, Class Rep, but doesn't it just bring doubts on how pure your motives really~ are? Heh heeh~?"
The blonde-haired heiress of the Yukihiro zaibatsu gave a start, as 155-millimeter, high-explosive dual-purpose canister shells, came screaming in from the sky. Mercilessly, they shattered the positions of her emplaced field guns behind Hill-47 in unabashed flaming "Shock and Awe", but before Ayaka could even think to make an order, there was another salvo already in the air, leaving tell-tale burning streaks in the night. Rockets, but from who?
"Being womanly-like sure is tough-aru," Kuu Fei bemoaned briefly, much to the surprise of all, including The Doctor, before her troubled expression split into a beaming grin. "Kuu Fei could learn a soft three or thing from honored Yuki-san, but, y'know, Kuu Fei thinks that a good woman can do more than hide behind her man too. Shoves come to push, Kuu Fei will carry Springfield-laoshi on her shoulders-aru!"
Negi's palms...itched. He did not need to be told twice that if Kuu Fei of all his pupils was getting serious about a beauty pageant, then his brilliant intellect and suave grace must be brought to the fore to defuse the situation, post-haste! Unfortunately for the boy genius, his secretary had other plans.
"Oh dear me," Anya sighed, exhaling deeply as if she had taking a sultry drag from an elegant Victorian-style smoking pipe, gilded in gold and fit for a lady, "to use a local expression around these parts, 'Yare, yare; how troublesome.'"
Just like that she stole the limelight away from the would-be quarreling hecklers onto herself, taking center stage, with the crowd hanging on to the edge of their seats, for her next words.
"With that level of conviction only, all of you girls still have a long ways to go before you can even hope to walk in Onii-chan's shadow."
The brouhaha came right on schedule, plowing straight through the stage, but his favorite poison pink polka dot chihuahua was already long gone, riding the wires up to the VIP booths, like some mysterious caped crusader.
"Hueehhh!"
"No way!"
"You're kidding!"
But as mad as they were, not all reason had escaped from the girls, and Ayaka Yukihiro very much wished to regain her lost initiative.
"Wh, what do you mean, Coco-san?"
Alas, she stumbled a little bit in her haste, earning a cool, level stare from Kommissar Anya that cut deeper than any lash. Chastened, the older girl squealed and made to apologize, as hurriedly as she began her brazen venture, but the Ruskie was a fair though ascetic mistress. If the masses wanted the truth, then who was she to deny them how harsh reality could be? Dohohohoho!
"Fuu~... It's not Coco-san; it's Cocolova-sama to you, amateur! Now, watch and learn how a pro does things. Behold: the strength of my resolve!"
Doctor N. Springfield swore she must have used sorcery, for without a doubt he had the edge over Anya in height by a healthy margin. Nevertheless, in a single leaping bound, not unlike a twirling ballerina, his secretary appropriated his glasses without a fuss. He could not help but be grateful for the built-in biometric verifiers that immediately shut off all functions, turning the A.R. glasses into nothing more than an ordinary pair of prescription lenses, which with a final flourish, looked quite adorable on the petite magistra magi.
"To be with Negi-nii, you've got to do it like this," Anya drawled suavely, even imitating his characteristic quirk of pushing up his glasses by the bridge, before adding her own bombastic one-liner in English. "You. See?"
He had to agree with the crowd, mostly.
"Fuwhaaa! A-mazing!"
"So cool!"
"Kya, kya, kya~!"
It was a nice trick, though to be one the conservative side Negi would award her 88-points. Fundamentally, she had only forestalled the problem, not extinguished it at its roots. Ugh. What he would give for an opportunity right about...
"Hey, what's all this ruckus about-dwegh!" an evidently surprised Asuna Kagurazaka decided to crash the party, in a perfectly sensible t-shirt and shorts, and for the life of him, the boy professor could never be more thankful to her. "Wh-what is THAT GUY doing here?"
She was just the distraction he needed so desperately, and it gets better.
"Hnn, what's..." Chisame Hasegawa also chose the same moment to appear, wearing only a towel and her idiosyncratic glasses.
Standing side by side with 3-A's resident "Freedom Fighter", the two of them possessed, truly, an uncanny resembled to one another. If it were not for Kagurazaka's heterochromia, they could have passed for sisters, effortlessly, but Negi was digressing. Namely, a familiar electric itch that had just barely subsided some moment's ago at Anya's intervention, now returned with a burning vengeance, the source of which he could only pinpoint towards the possible net idol in disguise.
But how much worse could this delightful honey trap situation get? Suffice to say, Doctor N. Springfield should not have tempted his ol' chap of a friend, Murphy's Law. Whenever he showed his ugly five o' clock shadow, the one in a million chance for disasters ceased to be the oddball. They became reality.
"EHHHHH?" Chisame shrieked as she suffered an abrupt, unwanted, and uncalled for wardrobe malfunction, exposing to the world at large, too hot for the tele, full frontal nudity of the personal kind.
Had it stopped there, The Doctor felt he could have managed to salvage some of his dignity, which had just incurred a mortal wound by aneurism. Woe be to him, however, because Murphy was not close to satisfied yet. More cries ensued after the first, as strings, straps, thong songs followed suit, snapping, breaking, loosening, after the irately flustered Miss Hasegawa's example, not even Kagurazaka's shorts were spared.
Naturally, pandemonium erupted, and through all the shrill noise and flighty sashaying, Negi turned redder and redder, until he could flush no more. What an embarrassment! How could he be caught dead in such a place at a time like this? Was this part of Asakura's plan, too, go around sabotaging all the girls' swimsuits in advance?
Ha! Now, the magister magi was just being paranoid, and he knew it because Negi could almost perceive the true culprit. By his reckoning, it was a small, shadowy blur, swift and nimble that glittered, as the things systematically stripped his class one by one of their modesty. Too miniscule to be a human, obviously, but if he concentrated hard enough...
Is that a bloody ermine with tribal tattoos and a mohawk? pondered The Doctor with an incredulous frown. Oh, and it wears bling, too, like some-
"Kyaa~! A mouse! A mouse is in here!" somebody cried out shrilly, adding more fuel to the burning bedlam.
Negi would have corrected her, but since the instinctive feminine impulse in such a hysterical scenario involving mice, men, and nudity happened to trigger classical the fight or flight reflex, his intervention proved unnecessary. Thrown Buckets and bars of soap provided covering fire for the less inclined to fight, who were vacating the scene in a hurry, with what scraps of dignity they had left. Unfortunately for the boy professor, he had no such luxury given to him, since Negi found himself in the most disadvantageous of positions: caught right in the middle of the free fire zone.
It did not take long for Missus Pink Bucket to visit a cool plastic kiss to his face. Normally, such an insult would be an insignificant blow for The Doctor, thanks to his extensive training and experience that taught him to ride the momentum of physical strikes, not fight them. Being flexible and loose, similar to a spring, made the difference time and time again against what would have otherwise been a knockout fist to his face.
But today was not to be one of his triumphs, thanks to a torturingly strained back, Negi took the hit stiff as a rock, triggering a catastrophic whiplash of crossing aches and pains that only spelled his doom. He swooned, vertigo switching his ups and downs as all the blood seemed to drain from his head into vivid blackness. In fact, gravity was all too happy to offer the same complimentary service it did for Takamichi T. Takahata to him, as he stumbled backwards, careening out of control. His arms flailed wildly like he was Neo in a hilarious slow-mo fall that was supposed to be conducive to dodging bullets.
Ha! What a bunch of rot.
Doctor N. Springfield felt, quite frankly, it would be more productive, and courteous by far... if someone could please catch... or otherwise, mitigate his fall, as having his skull... Cracked open upon the ceramic tiles would be very... Ugh.
Magistra Magi Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova did not deem it fit to provide him with a straight answer of what transpired in the girls' bath hall hereafter of him losing consciousness. Although judging by the gossip he heard from the rest of Class 3-A, she had been personally instrumental in resolving the crisis, catching the slippery dastard of a weasel with her bare hands. Thus, his secretary was elevated to new heights of stardom, to which she already had a fair start, being associated to him as his cousin, after all.
Of course, it did not hurt that all the competent help had been preoccupied in saving him. Why, it as the only detail she had parted with, grudgingly at that too, after he harangued and toyed all the way to school in the morning. A team effort, according to her account, Sakurazaki Setsuna, of all people, came out of nowhere, like a bat out of hell, to establish the first link in the chain gang. Chain links being weak on their own, then Kuu Fei had to step in to throw her weight around, followed by an unassuming bemused Kaede Nagase (No. 20), and a even stranger character, still, Mana Tatsumiya (No. 18) threw her lot into the luckless pot.
Alas, the valiant efforts of the four idiot heroines was for naught, and they all ended up in the pool anyways, having grossly underestimated the physics involved with the rescue attempt. What happened thereafter, Anya refused to comment on, and explicitly forbade any additional overtures as to why exactly did he wake up on the bed in HER bedroom. By all stretches of common sense, should he not have been the mage camped out on the couch, and not the prince in a girlish bed?
Negi was so intrigued by the whole ordeal that appeared to end well, despite beginning horribly, Kazumi Asakura's punishment got put on the backburner. The mystery demanded his attention, and he would be remiss to ignore it. Already the boy professor had suffered once, with his short-sightedness, and he was eager to renew his alert vigilance, for his time here at Mahora Academy had clearly made him soft.
Well, so was his initial intent, but upon settling in the classroom, and a feeling a little better than the day prior, the reality of his imminent and dangerous mission set in once more. Again, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell had defied him, clearly having not learned her lesson the first time. It vexed him, rather excruciatingly, but The Doctor knew better than to repeat his vigilante justice so soon, considering he was all penniless of good will, in regards Kommissar Anya.
If he abandoned his post this time, judging by the baleful glowering look she shot his way, which evoked howling winds and thunderclouds, the red-headed girl would shoot him in the back, no questions asked. Good grief! Negi could only lament. What a stiff, even as the rascals of 3-A's teased her, if she would take charge again, today, since Miss MacDowell was still playing at truancy.
Nevertheless, though he was not without an ulterior motive entirely, the boy professor decided to conduct business as usual, and put off his hunt for another day. With any luck, some normalcy would soothe his dear Anastasia's sour mood, loosen her lips, and before anyone was the wiser, Negi would have that ratty-haired street urchin, Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, delivered on a silver platter before the entire class. Kukukukukuku! Oh, how he was going to enjoy trussing that mongrel amateur of a vampire up like some savory hog at a banquet!
Thus, Doctor N. Springfield strived to bring his day to a ordinary close, which was for "Good" by the common man's reckoning. And although it might seem like an old hand, good things never do happen to occur consecutively, despite one's best intentions. Bad things, alas, do, and it all began with a seemingly innocent offer.
"Here," Anya presented him a bottle of water nonchalantly, as the school bell tolled in the afternoon, marking the end of classes.
Well, more specifically, his adorable poison pink polka dot chihuahua did not so much present the bottled water, as she did plant the "gift" with great vehemence, before the entire gawking class. Then, Anya left, apathetically sniffing at the air, her head held high primly. She could not have been out of an ear shot, before the gossip and cat calls came streaming out from the resident rumor engines, scandalizing the gesture in misunderstanding, faster than Negi could laugh at misfortune.
He was in the doghouse, quite so, but if there was any mercy to be hand, his girls would not trash their fond memories of last night's embarrassing morsels. Many were already leaving, but some of the key players had yet to make their move. They were living gold mines of answers the boy professor intended to mine, and he was not going to get them if the veins ran dry. So, behaving as ineffably suave as ever, Negi twisted open the bottle and downed his just deserts, fully expectant of his squealing audience's rapt attention.
If only The Doctor knew how right he was about dressing up some bottled water, he would have never partaken in its rotten contents. His first and only warning was a sudden warming in his stomach and chest that made his eyes water and swim. Last Negi checked, he drank water, not an alcoholic depressant, so immediately red flags got triggered in his head, as the stricken boy tried to shake its heady effects by massaging his temples.
The action always seemed to be effective in relieving his nausea, placebo or not, but by the time Negi returned to his senses, he had already lost much precious time. The jaws of the trap were closing in, and the teeth looked hungry. Very. Hungry.
"A-Anou, N, N-N-Negi-sensei," Nodoka Miyazaki (No. 27) assaulted his impromptu barricade, with barely concealed lusty boldness. The understatement he only spared in her case, thanks to that incredulous fringe of hers, which still has not been trimmed. Was she averse to sunlight, or were some hair clips to keep her curtains in check way outside her realm of mousy thinking? Oh, and who gave her permission to break with decorum and use his first name, huh?
Bah! He certainly did not allow for such a concession in public spaces, last he reckoned, but nevertheless, The Doctor ignored the slight and played along, cooly, as he gauged his dwindling options, "Yes, Miyazaki-kun?"
Foewomen encroaching from all sides? Check.
"Um, I-I always wanted to say this, um, I mean... I, I-I-I dunno, sensei. The longer I stare at you, the more handsome you become, um, is what I th-th-think!"
Out of character behavior? Double checked.
"Why, and I imagine some hairclips or some clippers taken to your bangs to actually style them would do wonders to bring out an unexpectedly bold side of you as well, Miyazaki-kun."
His native girls still failing to appreciate the irony of his words? Priceless. For everything else, there was a plan, and all The Doctor require now was a moment's hesitation.
"Huwhaa...!" Nodoka swooned breathlessly, a dreamy sentiment that seemed to shared by the entire thrall, poised to strike at any moment. Some of them were even positively drooling.
It was not ideal, but it was high time for him to go, and he would just have to make do. With a breath for luck, Doctor N. Springfield rose from behind his desk in one suave motion, unfurling his necktie in an alluring rustle of satin. "Ahh, but I do wonder: girls-girl~s, is it me, or is it rather H-O-T in here?"
Popping his collar to tease with his neckline and high definite collarbones, guaranteed to increase fangirl squealing output by two-hundred percent might have been overkill, but the boy professor needed every advantage he could get. The honey trap was closing in, and he needed an exit, post haste. Besides, his riveted, breathy audience certainly appreciated the sight, judging by the several spontaneous nosebleeds, which disturbed the hell out of Negi, but he could not afford to falter at such a critical juncture. Grasping the mournful necktie, he twirled it about like a sling to be sure the building hiss of rotation caught the girls' lusty-eyed looks, no different from a grave robber to glittering gold coins.
Good. Just like that. Now / Pull it, pull it / Pull the TRI~GGA~! the magister magi sang bombastically in his head for courage, as he let the bait fly overhead to a resounding chorus of gasps. "Oh my gosh, I appear to have dropped my necktie. Goodness gracious! Would someone be a dear~ and fetch it for me?"
Anyone in their right minds would have known Negi threw it away on purpose, wearing a smug smirk on his face no less, but the outright primal outpour of scrambling squeals and cries confirmed his worst fears. The girls of Class 3-A, at least those present, were in the thrall of some manner of malign influence, one that had completely slipped under the notice of his A.R. glasses' passive-active scans for extranormal phenomenon. Magic, of course, was part of that extraordinary category, so how had it been done and who was the perpetrator?
Anya? His beloved poison pink polka dot chihuahua? Ho ho, heh, hehahahahhahahah! Now, why in the world would she concoct a spell that apparently made individuals and acquaintances, whom her employer rubbed shoulders with on a daily basis, madly infatuated with him? Ha. Ha ha ha ha! It was madness.
Absolute madness, which was Negi was busy making himself scarce from the school building, after an unfortunate run in with the ever macho Fujita-san, a P.E. Teacher, whom he had just confessed his fondness for The Doctor's savvy good looks. How flattering...really, but did the spell have to work on both grown men and adolescent girls? Had he been in better health, he might not have minded the intellectual challenge of bluffing his way past a slavering horde of lovestruck fools hell bent on monopolizing his fickle attention span.
Negi, alas, was very much inconvenienced, and even with the aid of pain killers to dull the pain, his back would give out long before his persistently squealing pursuers would give up their affections. He needed to hide. Certainly, giving the slip to dust devil kicking horde behind him was within his powers, but where would he seek shelter in the meantime, and better yet, whom with?
Even if Kommissar Anya was intent on ruining on perfectly normal day for him, it did not mean the boy professor had to accommodate her green ambition and sulk away, like a cat stuck up a tree. As beneficial the experience could prove to inferring the proper premises behind his sad state of affairs, Negi would rather go have a good time, preferably at someone else's expense. In fact, he knew just the individual he had been dying to pay a visit to, and could be relatively certain of her immunity to whatever phenomenon that was stirring many of his admirers from afair into persistently disturbing stalkers.
"I, Doctor N., Savvy-was-He, Wot's-it-Springfield, charge you, thus," the magister magi declared his decree in a boastful drawl, before prostrating himself with all the servile veneration of a repentant sinner. And who could possibly doubt his sincerity when there were tears manifest in his handsome puppy dog eyes?
"Please! I entreat you! Puh~lease, hide me, Hasegawa Chisame-danna! They've gone mad, I tell ye. All mad! And they're after me, trying t'jump me bones they are!"
Well, there was one person who could, and Hasegawa Chisame twitched. Karma sure had a funny way of working out. The shrewd shrew, embarrassed just the night prior by one of the worst indignities any girl could suffer, that is to be seen naked by a male of strange relations, was now confronted by another absurdity. Never in her wildest dreams could the net idol imagine that she could be made the victim of bad things happening consecutively in a row!
Still, the ball was in her court, and Chisame would be utterly remiss, if she did not try to make the best of a bad situation. Besides, revenge was a dish best served cold, and there was nothing like a little guilt tripping to make a (vainglorious) girl feel better. Fu fu fu fu fu...OH HO HO HO HO HO!
"Get in. Now."
It was exactly the words Doctor N. Springfield wanted to here. Trick-or-Treat; he came to play, and there was plenty of tricks and treats in his trauma kit to shock all the twisted normalcy out of poor Chisame Hasegawa's narcissistic neurosis. Or...should he say? Chiu-chan, the amateur teen idol sensation that has taken the internet by storm. Adored by hackers and enthusiasts just about everywhere, all men kneel before her: She, the undisputed Queen of the Net.
And today, The Doctor would treat that self-serving delusion by administering a desperately needed dosage of a reality check.
To be continued...
Production Notes:
Sorry for the wait. This episode really became a lot more ambitious than I planned. At first it was going to be pretty straightforward, but as some discerning folks can tell, I ended up going back to do some more house keeping. Yes, there is stuff in here all the way back from volume 1 and 2, except with a definite Springfield, Ph.D. twist, so I hope it was not too unbearable.
On the bright side, at least Chisame finally got her time to get one screen, and Nodoka got to make another cameo. Oh, and I promise most of the dangling plot bunnies from this episode will get rounded up next time. Like who in the world is That Ermine with Tribal Tattoos, Bling, and a Mohawk? What will Kazumi's delicious punishment be? Will The Doctor's back pain abate? And are we going to get on with the rest of the Evangeline arc already?
Dohohoho! Simmer down, my young friends. Everything will get done in due time, believe it.
That said, plenty of nods and homages as always. Oh, and I hope you all can dig the character progression in this episode, too.
Hnnn, what else? Guess that's about all I got. Thanks for tuning in once again this week, and a round of applause to the reviewers who made their voices heard. Please, do continue to do so, as your feedback is this project's lifeblood. Telling an awesome tale is a two-street of MANLY! TRU-LUV, ya hear? It's like a Dew-mocracy, or something to that effect.
See y'all at the next gig.
Peace.