"Kotonoha?" I yelped, pronouncing the name as best as I could. No, impossible, maybe she just looks alarmingly like her, huge eyes, unnaturally dyed hair and all.
"Ah!" she squeaked. The once subtle flush of her face now vibrant and alarming. She took a step back, her violet orbs avoiding my stare. "D-do I know you?"
The pieces fell into place and a few questions met with resolve. Everything looked enigmatic and synthetic, colors digitized like an anime. Whether I was dreaming or not, this universe contained the characters of School Days, or one of them at least. This girl with eyes the size of Texas, a tortured soul marked as one of the two main love interests of the main protagonist, whom I have not yet had the opportunity to bump into.
"No, um, I'm new here," I stumbled, keeping my distance. When the glare of the sun leaves her eyes, people die. "I think I, er, heard someone call your name the other day? While I was visiting the school." I mentally kicked myself for making statements in a questioning tone.
Damn wait, this is Japan. First names are for close friends and relatives, what was her family name? I usually have a hard enough time remembering the full name of the hero in the shows I watch. She looks so scared, am I that intimidating? No, of course, her history with other men wreaks of indecent looks and lewd words. She remained wary all the way up to high school, even of her future boyfriend, who lacked the proper patience with such a fragile flower. Complete ponce.
"Anyway," I muttered, slightly disturbed by the silence. I had no idea people more reserved than myself could possibly exist. "Are you headed for the train station?"
I took the slight millimeter movement of her head as a nod. Instantly, I abandoned all thoughts of finding the nearest call box. This mysterious situation called for personal investigation, I needed to scout out for the other characters. If this universe truly encapsulated the story of School Days, I could change history, observe these large-eyed beings and uncover their inner clockwork.
"Alrighty, um, ladies first," I grinned, the charming grin of a raving lunatic bent on tweaking with the lives of high school kids like lab rats. She never made eye contact, and as she passed, snagging my nostrils with the sweet blossoms of her perfume, I began to wonder. Am I entering the story from the beginning? So many alternate story lines, what continuity am I following? The manga? The show? One of the many routes in the game, or perhaps something different altogether? Ah, I'm giving myself a headache with all this potential evil. Under most circumstances, I pride myself in representing a morally sound man on a corrupt and chaotic planet. I could never purposely damage another person without proper reason, and even then it would take a severe amount of provocation. Unless one triggered something that particularly ground my gears, such as via adultery.
Our mechanical steps along the silent road pierced the misty morning air like pin pricks through a sheet of plastic foam. I made certain to leave a respectable ten feet between Kotonoha and myself, knowing that she took great discomfort in my presence. My wandering eye encountered difficulty in avoiding the small of her back, encased in her deep, plum splashed hair. How could a girl like her possibly feel secure wearing such a short skirt? An uncomfortable span of time dragged out before our first footsteps onto the station platform.
While Kotonoha expectedly knew how to handle acquiring a ticket for the train, my experience left me with slight mental scarring. How convenient that the Matrix style method in which I could speak fluent Japanese did not account for literacy. After discovering a handful of yen in a wallet hiding in the pocket of my backpack, I underwent a scene of trial and error as the ticket vendor sat there, it's mechanical facade judging my flustered fumbling. Thankfully, I managed to catch a glimpse of Kotonoha working the proper ticket method. Had she a train pass in her possession, like the few business suits that marched by, my illiterate self would be dumbly sitting here, quite a ways up a river of fecal matter, lacking any sort of aquatic maneuvering utensil.
Now we wait. I stood a few yards down the edge of the platform away from the anime heroine, chancing half-second peeks at her proper posture. She took no notice, her attention fully fixed on a flip cell phone. I almost produced a loud, ungentlemanly snort at the ancient design of that thing. I forgot this story took place around six years ago. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone else watching her, wearing the smallest smile, having an effect on me similar to punching my uvula. My neck prickled like a startled cat.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the indecisive hero of School Days, Makoto Itou. I thank the creators that his simple name remained easy enough to remember, the only name I could fully recall. The cesspool of contradicting emotions erupting from my core at his presence brought me to physically flinch and clench my teeth. This guy could arguably take all the responsibility for the tortured minds and bodies of multiple women, innocent Kotonoha leading the herd. He may not have personally wielded a weapon, but he drove them to violent insanity with his incessant cheating.
Time to activate my reconnaissance powers. I backed away from the platform edge, to the point where I faced everyone's backs, and paced inconspicuously over to the unsuspecting protagonist. If, by chance, I had fallen into the beginnings of this story, this creep with the earphones would soon aim his primitive cell phone at Kotonoha and capture her unassuming innocence, utilizing the photo as his phone's wallpaper for some sort of ridiculous charm. I silently snickered at the thought. According to the new-age myth in the show, if you plant a photograph of the object of your affections as your phone's background and keep it out of sight from anyone for a length of time, your feelings would not go unrequited. Silly, blissful kids, and now I was one of them.
I stood a few feet behind my prey now, observing like some sort of safari expert on the savannah. I just needed an oversuspicious, dome-shaped tan hat and my presence would be complete. A large white mustache would be cool too. An exclamation of excitement came dangerously close to fruition when Makoto elevated his phone and took a snap of the girl. Sneaky bastard, not a single person noticed. Would I be considered a person in this world, or an alien?
So now I knew the feeling of watching an anime in person, from the sidelines. An unsettling feeling, seeing these familiar events unfold minus the subtle ambient music and character narration. At that moment, my mission smacked me with an overwhelming fist of cobblestone. Ensuring these kids on a proper path with little pain and no bloodshed without taking the shape of an ever-present cameraman deemed a task edging on the impossible. Direct intervention would be inevitable, much to my chagrin. I would need to associate myself with these crazies. That meant potential conversations, which in turn hinted at possible friendships, leading to unwanted relationships, and likely ending in my untimely death at the hands of someone on a passionate, vengeful rampage. Wow, I could die a gut-splattering, blood-spewing death, an uncommon revelation. I should probably feel less manic about this.
The cement beneath my feet began to rumble and the handful of people previously waiting idly began huddling around the platform's edge. I acted quickly, ensnaring my subject in my line of sight. The train screeched to a halt, the sliding doors gave way, and the passengers filed in. Just another day at the office worker production factory. Vibrant advertisements blanketed the entire train, and I could not read a single one. Inside, the compartment I entered seemed reasonably populated, forcing me to remain on my feet. There were a few free seats, but a wall of statued businessmen guarded them. My unsteady limbs cursed their mundane presence.
As luck would have it, I ended up in an agonizing position, smushed against a wall next to my quarry. Direct contact did not actually occur between anyone and myself, but having so many people less than five feet around me sure felt crowded. When the hell did the story add the rest of Japan to its character list? I weighed this as a good chance to strike up a conversation with this kid, hopefully his earphones would not provide too much of a problem.
"Excuse me," I approached, prodding the spiky-haired teen on the shoulder. He turned to me and quickly retracted a plug from his ear. The sight of his huge amber eyes flashed a few scenes in my mind, notably images of them staring, unseeing and fish-like, blankly into infinity. My mission will be to try to keep that from becoming a reality.
"Hi," I chimed in a voice unintentionally too high. "I'm new to the area, you wouldn't happen to be a student of Sakakino, would you?"
"Oh, um, hello," he replied, not even attempting to hide his surprise. "Yeah, I'm a student there." He visibly looked back and forth between our matching uniforms, trying to point out the obvious to my feigned thickheadedness.
"Rupert Hudson, pleasure to make your acquaintance," I sang, holding my hand forward in a friendly gesture. Why did I feel so empowered over this situation? Wait, remember where you are, idiot? Last names first.
"I mean Hudson, Rupert," I repeated. As funny as it would be, I did not care to hear myself addressed as 'Mr. Rupert'.
Makoto eyed my hand with slight apprehension before awkwardly replicating my motion. I took his hand and enacted a firm shake., forgetting for a moment that handshakes did not dominate introductions in this country.
"Itou Makoto," he muttered uneasily.
"Sorry," I lied. "I should start practicing my bowing. Keeps slipping my mind that I'm not exactly in Kansas anymore."
"Haha, no problem," he chuckled nervously. "I've only ever seen that in movies, so it's kinda cool. What year are you in?"
"Uhh."
Huh. That thought never crossed my mind. Quickly, Hudson, think. Has anything alluded to my academic position in this school? I reached into the side pocket of my backpack, containing the life saving wallet from earlier. My identification stared back at me, a blank, dark haired head surrounded by all kana lettering; scribbles. I cannot begin to describe the strange feeling of seeing recent pictures of yourself in which you seem fully aware that they are taking place, but still trigger no recent memory banks.
Thank the powers that be for the universal number system. Between all the unrecognizable symbols, I could read "1991_07_21". If my previous knowledge, stating that this all indeed took place six years prior, is to be trusted, then I am currently fifteen years of age. If I had to guess, I would rate myself as physically belonging to the freshman year, but I think Japanese high schools arrange their grades differently. I never actually took the time to read up in depth on their schooling system.
After my brief investigation, I grew conscious of the fact that I had perpetrated the personal information digging in front of the quiet bachelor, who wore a mask of utter confusion at my antics. I began picturing this entire ordeal as a very involved science experiment, curious as to what quizzical responses I could achieve from further erratic behavior. Everything would be forgiven under my label as a foreigner, I could get away with animalistic outbursts. Would anyone fall for it if I stated that by bleating like a goat, I was exclaiming my love for hamburgers? An apologetic smile creeped along my features as I pocketed the wallet nonchalantly.
"Heh, just wanted to make sure they printed that correctly on my student I.D." I laughed in a plastic manner. Before he could question what a student I.D. was, I interrupted his train of thought with my answer. "If I'm fifteen, what year would that make me?"
"Ehh," he hummed, apparently disregarding my strange lack of knowledge. "I think we would both be in the same year. I thought I heard something about a transfer student to my class, that must be you."
"Chance encounters like this don't get any slimmer than that," I joked. "Hey, they're not gonna make me introduce myself in front of class, are they?"
The atmosphere between us eased up as I loosened his jaw with question after question, soaking up as much information as I could about this unfamiliar setting. According to Makoto, we belonged to first year's class three. I voiced my concern over not knowing how to read hieroglyphics, and in return he warmly proposed that he and a friend assist me with homework. The offer took me by surprise, I never would have predicted that this guy held kindness for anyone without a feminine physique. Were school work an actual concern, I would glow with sincere gratitude.
During the conversation, however, his attention would sidetrack every minute or so, his eyes darting to an area off to the side toward the center of the rail car. I decided at that moment to question him about the cute girl with the long hair, well aware of the entire situation. In a coy manner, he whispered that her name was Katsura, and that he knew little about her other than the fact that she belonged in class four. I did not press him on his feelings for her, I needed to gain his trust, not give him the impression that I stalk.
I just barely kept my footing as the train began scraping to a stop. My companion's shifting revealed this stop to detail the end of our travel, and I followed him out as the doors ground open. More student uniforms crowded the sidewalk we trailed, and after a brisk ten minute stroll, I found myself in a sea of black suits and blouses, standing outside the entrance of Sakakino Academy. My mouth slacked slightly, impressed at the professional presentation of the tall structure. I had no idea a high school could appear so clean and sophisticated. I took note of the gated rooftop. If I recall correctly, someone had been driven to suicide off of it in one of the game's realities.
Makoto instructed me on my locker, indicating what I should keep in my pack and what to stow away for later. Mainly, the locker would hold my P.E. clothes, which I had no prior knowledge of owning, and my lunch. He informed me that teachers came to the classrooms as opposed to my idea of the typical American school where the students inherited the exercise. I liked this place already. I've had my fill of walking for the day.
"I guess you can sit there," Makoto pointed distractedly from his seat at the back of the class. His eyes glued to his phone, and I knew why. I nodded in reply and pulled out a chair from the empty desk directly in front of him. Normally, I would wonder why the seat next to him would not be preferable, but I already knew the answer to that. The other girl.
"Makoto!"
And speak of the devil. Even from the other side of the room, that piercing greeting could cause anyone's leg to instinctively reflex and bang a shin against a desk. I chanced a look around the room as I massaged my bruised leg, hoping no one noticed. The owner of the cry skipped over and planted her belongings on the portion of Makoto's desk opposite of his end. Her smile shined a few watts more than the sun as she approached her classmate. After a few minutes of their bickering over the boy's phone, I almost decided to initiate my introduction when she finally noticed me.
"Hey," she called. "I've never seen you before."
"Ah, I nearly forgot," replied Makoto, saving the girl from an unnecessarily sarcastic rebuttal from my end. "This is Hudson Rupert, a new student from the United States. Hudson, meet..."
The final portion of the School Days love triangle. If you refrained from blaming everything on Makoto, then you probably poured some of it on her. As Makoto's closest friend, the brunette hid deep, painful feelings from him, caring for him deeply from the start yet, understandably, lacking the courage to disclose them. The poor girl had unintentionally discovered his crush on Katsura by checking his phone's wallpaper, which I believe transpired just now. She helped the boy gain the idol of his affections as a girlfriend, even when it hurt her and squeezed the tears from her eyes. Then she decided to start up a braver act, seducing Makoto into a more libido benefiting relationship, behind his girlfriend's back. Talk about high school drama.
"Saionji Sekai, a close friend of mine."
I decided at this moment that I should finally inherit a little cultural sensitivity and bulk up on my Japanese etiquette. Pulling myself from my seat, I made a curt bow in the girl's direction. No clue as to how far I should bow, I settled on bending until I strained at my limit, narrowly missing their desk. I fear I garnered one or ten curious looks from around the room, the students suddenly aware of the new face among their numbers.
"It is truly an honor to meet you, Miss Saionji." I brown nosed, eyes staring straight down at the simple tile. Is that an eraser? When I looked up, she was elbowing her friend in the side.
"Makoto," she teased. "You could learn a thing or two from this guy about how to talk to a lady."
"Yeah, too bad I don't know any," he grinned back.
As I laughed at their head punching and friendly bickering, I realized how strong their compatible aura would shine from the view third party. They clearly cared for each other, how had this guy not fallen for her in the first place? He loved with his eyes of course, but Saionji's looks could easily compete with any pretty girl I have seen. I shook my head slowly, these blissful kids had no idea what to look for in a partner, not that I have ever found it.
Time in the bustling classroom seemed to freeze when a man, who looked like the other starched coat wearers on the train, schlepped in, a suitcase and papers crowding his arms. A couple students clambered to his aid and guided him to the front desk. From the verbal sighs and crying chairs echoing around the room, I judged that class would soon begin. My heart pounded, I sincerely hoped formal introductions would deem unnecessary. Talking in front of crowds always set my stomach on edge.
"It seems we have a new student," declared the sweaty looking professor, wiping moisture from his glasses. "Please, stand and introduce yourself," he caught me like a mindless deer before an oncoming truck in the dead of night.
Why did my intuition have to be right? I shot up awkwardly, forgetting about the chair I sat on, sending it wobbling back a whole foot. Let me tell you how that whole 'imagine they're all in their underwear' routine never worked for me. Does it honestly work for anyone? Hopefully I can keep the stuttering to a minimum, but this was an exceptionally unnerving situation. Holy hell, their eyes poked icicles into the core of my soul. It didn't help that they rivaled dinner plates in their size.
"H-hello," so much for keeping down the stuttering. "My name is R-Hudson Rupert, and I am from the United States of America."
A few quiet comments reached my ears, something about my hair being messy, reflectively sending one of my hands to smooth it out. I cut the action off faster than if my hair were on fire when I heard someone admire my looks. Did they call me cute? Compliments turn me into a huge sucker. Do not betray me now, facial blood vessels. I nudged an eye over to the teacher, making the biggest effort to telepathically alert him to my social distress. I wiggled my eyebrows, scrunched my cheeks, but nothing got to him.
"Tell us something about yourself, Mr. Hudson," smiled the teacher, a cheesy, manure-devouring set of teeth unlike any I have ever seen. "Interests? Hobbies?"
My opinion of this man leveled off somewhere around my distaste for people that wear department store brand trilbies and v-necks. I thought people here held privacy as one of their highest attributes. Do we not have class work to get to? He probably just needs time to set up, that desk is sagging under that pile of white discord.
"Eh," I could not disclose my nerdy hobbies, I needed to keep in a favorable light in this school. I scanned the room in a frantic attempt at an idea, and I glimpsed the open phone of a bored student. "Pictures!" I exploded, probably dropping my hypothesized I.Q. a few hundred points.
"I-I mean, I love photography," I corrected, earning a few raised brows. "I used to have a camera that I took everywhere with me, but it was lost in the airport luggage system." I cannot recall having voiced such a fat, unimpressive lie.
"I'm sorry to hear that," replied the teacher with a voice dripping of insincerity. "Perhaps you should look into joining the photography club. You may take your seat."
I almost fell and broke my tailbone on the hard floor when I forgot my seat had flown out of range. The next hour could have embroidered itself as the most boring class period ever to numb my brain, especially with the drone of useless knowledge and unreadable textbooks, but I managed to occupy myself with the neighboring sights. Was it just me, or did the show seem to drastically exaggerate the ratio of girls to boys? The black suits nearly matched the girls in number, yet nearly every character in School Days is female. I guess I'm over analyzing it. I think I spotted another one of the secondary characters among the suits, but I could not for the life of me remember his name.
During these intervals of monotone lectures would suffice as the ideal time to think up a strategy to tackle this tangled romantic jungle. First things first, who should I lean Makoto toward? Would it even be that easy? Even now, Katsura loves him, an undying affection that I cannot fathom. She proved it in every outcome I have witnessed. When she becomes aware of his cheating nature, she either blames the other girl or herself, never her unfaithful boyfriend. In fact, both of the main heroines hold legitimate feelings for him, though Saionji can and will blame him for his misdeeds. If the events so far are any hint, this will be the day she decides to help him pursue his feelings for Katsura. In fact...
A shuffling of paper on the desk to my six o'clock perked my ears. Of course, the silent written notes between Makoto and Saionji, discussing how to deal with the lovestruck fool's feelings. That argument they held when she first came in, that must have been when she saw his phone, uncovering his secret crush. But according to the show, everything up until now supposedly transpired on the first day of the school semester, but seeing as these two already know each other so well, the setting has been slightly altered. Even still, for some reason Makoto still knows nothing about Katsura, so that means Saionji has yet to set off on her journey to acquire information for him. Crap, that means the lunch between the three of them is today, but it's not set in stone just yet. Should I try to stop it?
"So soon!?" shot a female voice, blowing a hole in my ear from behind.
"Is there a problem?" asked the disturbed teacher.
"Eh, no, sorry."
That would be Saionji's reaction to Makoto informing her the she had uncovered his cell phone wallpaper the first day of the charm. Now she would start playing the role of cupid. I feel the strong inclination to keep this guy away from Katsura, and I believe Saionji fits his impatient personality more snugly. I'll let the story unroll a little further before I decide to jump into action, maybe I can join the lunch as a fourth wheel. Before I knew it, class had ended and the room suddenly burst into life as the teacher left, some students standing and walking out the door. I turned to the duo behind me.
"What's going on?" I asked. "I thought we stayed while the teachers moved?"
"Ten minute break between classes," Makoto replied cheerfully.
"I see," I stood up. "I'm gonna go look for the facilities and get used to the layout of this place, you two try not to flirt too hard while I'm gone."
I cherished the looks of surprise and outbursts of "what are you talking about?" before turning on my heels and squeezing passed the class and out the door. My bodily functions had gone completely unnoticed until now, an unrelenting pressure building in my lower abdomen. The halls bustled with life, kids taking every advantage they could of their break. I received many side glances from students I recognized from my class. My search shifted into a frantic frenzy of running when five minutes ebbed away without any sign of the restroom. Am I running in circles? I needed to ask directions, but most of the students had already returned to class. I turned another corner and sighed at the sight of a group of girls chatting loudly outside if a classroom.
"Excuse me!" I called, running down the hall toward them. I found it amusing how they all mechanically turned in unison to my voice. Oh, more recognizable faces from the anime that I could not put names to. This girl with the ponytail, I think she provided much more to the story then the other three girls, but no time for pondering that now.
"Hello, um, can you tell me where the restroom is? I'm new here," I tried my best to ignore the rapidly intensifying pain.
The ponytailed brunette locked eyes on me while the other girls giggled, likely at my twitching legs.
"You have a weird accent," she stated, not answering my dire question. "Are you from another country?"
"Yes, I am from the U.S.," I replied with a deteriorating calm. "My name is Hudson. Toilets? Please?"
For a second, I thought she had finally decided to grant my wish, until one of her pointy-haired friends popped with another question. "Hey, what year and class are you?" called the girl with the yellow headband. What is their deal? No way on this sunny earth would I get back to class on time now.
"Year one, class three. Would you care for anything else? Social security? Credit card number? Shoe size?" I grumbled sarcastically. My temper always remained in check around complete strangers, but when I found myself in a hurry, I sometimes become blinded to my actions.
"Sorry," the girl laughed dismissively. "Otome here likes foreign guys. Bathrooms are down that hall on the first right."
"Uh, thank you."
Great, now my bladder aches and I'm blushing. I scuttled down the hall, cries of embarrassment echoing from the girl with the ponytail. A fleeting memory bank in my mind renewed as I found another name to add to my list of encountered characters. If I recall correctly, Otome was the name of another girl with a heart burning for Makoto's embrace, but she received much less attention in comparison to the other two heroines. An odd turn of events considering that she knew Makoto before high school, Saionji and Katsura having only met him this year.
Hmm, she likes foreign guys? I don't remember that ever being said. They were probably just teasing her. Ah, there you are you beautiful, overly hidden room of porcelain relief.
When I exited the stall, my feet clung to the tile at the sight of the short figure standing by the sinks. For a moment, I thought a girl had mistakenly walked in, or worse, I had chosen the wrong restroom. The student stood at the sink, washing a pair of perfectly circular glasses that measured even larger than the eyes they aided. I trudged closer to the mirror, trying my hardest not to stare, and failing miserably. I don't think I'll get used to floundering into these familiar faces that once graced my thoughts as only fiction. This kid just might be the answer I have been searching for, the long awaited key to this dangerous teen angst puzzle, and all I needed to do was provide my guidance.
AN: Holy jeez, thanks for those reviews guys! Positive reinforcement to the max. By the way, my accuracy to actual events in the School Days universe may be a bit muddled. I watched the show years ago and have only recently reviewed clips, so blame all inconsistencies on Rupert's presence, heheh.