Fundraiser
By Jologs, Inc.
A/N: Okay, we (there's two of us. Jai and Kitri) don't expect as many reviews as the more established writers here in the GTO section, say, Luna Stop Swearing, Miguel Artadi, or Allence of the Weed, but we hope you guys like our fic just the same. It may be a little 'out there,' but hey, so are we.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. GTO is owned by blah blah blah, and we own elephants who prance around in our backyard with 12 monkeys.
Prologue
It began like any other day.
The sun rose, as usual. Clocks all over Japan made their little trademark noises, from the subtle beeping to the continuous, persistent, bleed-your-ears-off ringing, signaling the start of yet another schoolday. Or work day, if you were one of those child-corpses, or in layman's terms, an adult. People did their early morning routines, getting out of bed, rolling off of it, getting pushed off of it by someone who they'd unknowingly slept with the night before, taking a bath, eating breakfast, and reading the paper, or maybe all three at the same time-- all different. Traffic spilled onto all the major highways and intersections, roads leading to the schools and business establishments; a melange of noise pollution. Schoolgirls giggled as they walked to school, chattering excitedly to each other about Gackt's upcoming dorama with Chiaki Kuriyama, Karena Lam, Kwon Sang Woo, and Yosuke Kubozuka, production and casting rumors typically gossiped about by airhead teenagers. Teachers immersed themselves in meaningless conversation, if only to fill the vast vacuum of silence which made them uncomfortable; others spent their time more productively by smoking on the roof. All in all, it was a normal day, just like any other. Crimes were committed before 7 am, babies were born, people died. Yes, it reeked of normalcy. It was achingly, disgustingly, normal.
Okay, maybe for one vice principal, it was not.
Vice Principal Uchiyamada was in his office, sitting at his desk, perusing the fax that had just arrived from the school's board of directors. By his appearance, it looked as if he'd been in his office for several hours already, probably stayed there overnight. What was left of his hair was unkempt, looking quite similar to Albert Einstein's everyday hair. He had discarded his stuffy overcoat, and was now wearing his white polo shirt, the top two buttons undone to let him breathe better. Despite the cool air drifting in from the windows, his forehead and neck were sweaty. His hands were clammy. The man was very very different from the usually cool and composed, menacing vice principal that stalked the hallways.
Uchiyamada-sensei,
The financial situation of Seirin High School has steadily become worse over the past three years, and your school has been subjected to several extreme budget cuts owing to this. We regret to inform you that because of lack of proper funding and because of the board of directors' decision to no longer invest in education, Seirin High will be sold in one (1) month to an American agency, Apple Computers, who will shape the future of Seirin High. Our sincere regrets and apologies.
Dr. Ieyasu Tokugawa
Director, Seirin High School Administration
He still couldn't believe it. Of course, he'd known that Seirin was struggling financially, but he didn't think it would come to this: selling the school to a Western company who would allegedly shoulder all the monetary aspects of the school. But what if in return, they turned Seirin into one of those sweatshops and made the students work to make rubber shoes? Disguising the school as a sweatshop? He mopped the sweat on his forehead with his already damp handkerchief, trying to erase the thought. Or what if those American businessmen turned the school into a sex parlor? From the American movies he'd seen, he'd gathered that these gaijin were a pretty kinky bunch. He'd been vice principal long enough to accept the job, if not love it. He simply didn't want his school at the hands of foreigners. But what could a mere vice principal do? He couldn't pay the salaries of the teachers and maintenance crew. He couldn't pay for the upkeep of the entire school.
So he went to the person he knew might be able to do something about it.
"The door's open," the matronly voice called from the inside.
"Commissioner Sakurai," he murmured, bowing his head.
"There's nothing I can do about it, Uchiyamada-san. Like you, I'm just another pawn in the education system. Have a seat."
He obeyed and eyed an identical copy of the fax he'd received that morning, sitting in front of the principal, as if taunting him to shred it to bits. "Why exactly have the board lost interest in funding education?"
"Stock market," the woman answered, rolling her eyes. "There's more money to be made in Dow Jones than in students who don't even want to be educated anyway."
"Can't we do anything? I mean, Commissioner, it may seem like I absolutely detest by job, but... it's my life. I don't think I could do anything else."
"I know what you mean," she sighed softly, folding her hands on the table and then staring at them. "Well, maybe there is a way, but it's by a long shot. I don't think we could do it anyway."
"What is it?"
"I spoke to a very eccentric gentleman after the last meeting with the board of directors. Hiroichi Toyotomi ring any bells?"
The middle-aged man vaguely recalled being introduced to a Toyotomi several weeks before. What pricked his memory was that the man was wearing the traditional samurai gi and hakama. He also carried a samurai zakabatou with him, which made it hard to forget the man. Even his language was that of feudal Japan, punctuating his sentences with de gozaru yo. When Uchiyamada first silently passed judgment onto the man, he thought that it was as if the man had stepped out of a time machine into a new age. Or that he was just incredible crazy. Later, though, the Commissioner whispered to him that Toyotomi was just trying to preserve his family's traditions, his ancestor being the famous shogun, Hideyoshi Toyotomi. Hiroichi Toyotomi, however, was a businessman by heart. He owned a printing house, one of the most advanced computer companies in the world, and a fast food chain, the epitome of gazillionaire. His daughter was an actress, his son was the lead singer of the band The Local Art (Uchiyamada was well-acquainted with Haru Toyotomi, as his face was plastered on the walls of his daughter's room), and his wife was a well-known social butterfly. What, the vice principal thought, could such a man want from a deadbeat school like ours?
"Yes," he replied weakly.
"We spoke extensively about the school going bankrupt. He talked to me about the future of the students, saying that he saw hope in them-"
Uchiyamada-sensei took the opportunity to disguise a laugh as a cough. Commissioner Sakurai gave him a stern look.
"As I was saying... Toyotomi-sama talked to me about the future of the students after the rest of the directors had left. He quoted a famous Renaissance man, who said that the youth were the hope of the future. He said that he never wanted the school to go bankrupt, and if ever we needed help, to contact him."
"There we go! A rich slightly nutty old man will play benefactor! No-"
"I already called," the Commissioner interrupted.
"And?"
"In return for his help, we have to prove that the students are not a bunch of Battle Royale candidates." Upon realizing that the vice principal was horribly out of touch with society and had not scene the gory movie about students killing each other on a desert island, she explained, "We have to prove that the students will be, in fact, the hope of the future."
"And how do we plan to do that?"
The Commissioner blanched. "He wants us to raise 30 million yen by the end of the month."
The vice principal nearly fell off his chair. As if telling a secret, he leaned forward and said, "How does he expect us to do that?"
"The exact answer to that is beyond me. All I know is that this man will fund our school for many, many years to come, and his descendants possibly will long after he's gone. I also know that we have a deadline. And that deadline is 30 days away. Which means that we should start collecting money as soon as possible."
"But... 30 million yen? In 30 days? Impossible!"
Commissioner Sakurai gave him a tired, earnest smile, which she probably used quite often. "Ah, that is where you are wrong, Uchiyamada-san. Nothing is impossible."
"But 30 million yen!"
"Oh ye of little faith, Uchiyamada-san," the Commissioner said with a twinkle in her eye. "I told you, nothing is impossible."