Following the ghastly encounter with the angel Leliel and the temporary suspension of the two pilots responsible for bringing it down, the subsequent few days would pass mostly without incident. Once they'd both received clearance from Dr. Akagi and the remainder of the medical staff, Asuka and Shinji were summarily released back into the custody of Major Katsuragi. Her apartment, Shinji deduced at first glance, hadn't been cleaned or tidied up since he'd last scrubbed the place himself. A stockpile of food-encrusted dishes had assembled in the sink, the stench rank enough to cause an ordinary and unaccustomed visitor to pass out. Rough estimates placed the amount of empty beer cans dappling the dining room table at somewhere near two dozen; there was more than likely half again as many that hadn't been entirely finished. In addition, the refrigerator-freezer combination unit was mostly empty save for a few rotten vegetables, a varied assortment of microwaveable dinners, and, quite naturally, more liquor. A frilly, plum-colored bra with a white lace trim hung dangerously off the back of one of the chairs, a twisted clasp the only thing keeping the garment from falling to the floor. The bra was far too ornate and provocative to be one of Asuka's. Not to mention the size differential.
"This is absolutely revolting," Asuka groaned, hoisting her shirt collar up over her nose. "It's not even fit for pigs to live in."
Shinji nodded. "She may be hopeless in this particular area, you're right."
"Well of course I'm right, knucklehead! Just look at this place!"
Shinji closed the door to the apartment, leaving Asuka to rummage fruitlessly through the fridge. He walked his way over to the dining room table, then gingerly moved some of the beers aside, clearing himself a space. He plopped Asuka's slender-but-shapely buttocks down onto a chair, folding one arm over the other before resting his head atop them with a sigh. After a moment, he watched Asuka discreetly while she rambled incoherently, occasionally spouting off a string of German obscenities while tossing horrifyingly unidentifiable objects over her shoulders and onto the kitchen floor.
How much longer, Shinji found himself wondering, will we be stuck like this? It was a question that had been on his mind a lot lately, and more so now than ever before. He had, in fact, confessed to Asuka, even if she had been completely unconscious at the time. Perhaps, he reasoned, that was what had given him the very courage to do it. Even now as he continued to replay the events of that day in his own mind, the third child still couldn't say with any authority why he had done what he'd done, or why he'd truly chosen that precise moment to do something as outrageous as confessing his mess of a feeling for Asuka.
"Beer, rotten vegetables, some extra firm tofu… and… and this… I don't even know what this is." The second child held up a bizarre, blue-brown, root-shaped object with a quizzical look on her face showing it to Shinji—she sniffed the tuber quizzically as she dangled it before her face—then scowled. "How are this woman's tits so big if she doesn't eat any food?" she sighed exasperatedly.
Shinji reddened slightly at the comment about Misato's anatomy. He slyly combed over the dimensions of the bra hanging off the back of the seat beside him. While discussions about the female figure were typically awkward and embarrassing to the junior Ikari, now that he actually had a female body, it made him feel not only uncomfortable, but remarkably self-conscious. Misato's breasts were, for a woman of her size and ethnicity, large and ample, where Asuka's were, appropriately enough for a lean and athletic girl her age, small and perky. And while Shinji Ikari had, by this point, seen both pairs numerous times, he had begun to feel something he'd never felt before. And just as he wasn't sure why he'd suddenly confessed to a girl whom he was certain hated his guts unconditionally, he wasn't sure why he felt so much more self-conscious in the body of a girl than he did in the body of a boy. What worried him most was that he suspected a part of the feeling was competitive.
"Um… Asuka?" Shinji murmured shyly.
The second child slammed the refrigerator door shut with her foot. "Yeah?"
"Listen… um… I… we… can we… you know… talk?"
"We're talking right now, numbskull. What is it?"
Shinji scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "About earlier… back at NERV…"
"I don't want to talk about it," Asuka snapped suddenly. Then a look of surprise briefly arrested her face before being nearly instantly supplanted by annoyance. "Yeah, look, I'm… uh… sorry about the hospital gown thing… um… yeah."
"No, that's not what I want to talk to you about."
"Then what?"
The junior Ikari stared at his small hands which, now folded in his lap, were fidgeting nervously. "Misato gave me her credit card earlier… said that while we had some time off, away from NERV, we could go… um… like… get some food… do some shopping… you know, like, uh, normal people stuff. Off campus."
Asuka blinked. "What?" she stated flatly.
"She said we could spend whatever we liked. Within reason, of course. I—uh… she… thought it might do us both some good if we just… got away from things." Then he added suddenly, "It wouldn't be anything as serious as a date, of course! D-don't get the wrong idea!"
"Yeah I guess," Asuka shrugged, leaning her back against the refrigerator and sliding to the floor. "I am famished and Katsuragi's got nothing in the fridge. Plus… if I'm gonna be stuck in your body any longer than this, I can't stand another day being so unfashionable. As long as it's on her dime, I'll play along."
Shinji grinned sheepishly, recalling the exact moment that Misato, clad in nothing but a bath towel, had called him over to her bed whilst she blow-dried her hair after a shower, explaining to him brusquely that if he was "serious about asking Asuka out, you ought to do it properly, and like a man should."
"L…like a m-man should?" Shinji stammered, blushing deeply and casting his eyes directly floorward. Misato appeared nonchalantly indifferent to his embarrassment.
"Eeeeeverybody else at NERV got to hear it over the comms, Shin-chan," the older woman groaned, "Everybody at NERV got to hear your confession. Everybody but her."
"I… I know," the third child mumbled timidly.
"Right, so, you can't just go announcing to the world—during an active protocol no less—that you're sweet on the second child and not make good on your promise. Your promise to… what was it you said?... take care of her?"
The tips of Shinji's ears became pastelled with carnation pink. "Yeah… but… how can I make that promise to Asuka? How could I keep such a promise? I… I'm trapped inside a completely unfamiliar body but that hasn't changed the fact that I'm still a failure of a human being. I can't protect the people I love, Misato. Asuka almost got killed and I was powerless to stop it. I… I don't deserve somebody like that. Somebody like Asuka."
Misato switched off the hair dryer, placing it down beside her on the bed, then turned to face the junior Ikari. She took his small, delicate hands in her larger ones. "Look Shinji, now's the time to 'man up', so to speak. When you switched bodies with Asuka, you were tested. Just like you've been tested dozens of times before. Like you've been tested in Ritsuko's lab. Like you've been tested out in the field fighting Angels. Like you've been tested whenever you stand before your father. The fact is, this is just another test. A test of your courage. Of your character. A test of will. When you switched bodies, it was like you had a chance to be reborn. To change yourself and your character. To better yourself." She stared past him for a moment. "You probably haven't noticed, but… this whole incident… it's tested others as well." A momentary image of that night she'd nearly raped a teenage boy trapped in the body of a teenage girl flashed through her mind. That image was quickly supplanted by a vision of Kaji standing over a patch of watermelons. The nozzle of the garden hose spewed forth not water, but blood. The roguish young spy gazed back over his shoulder at her, a painted smile on his face that betrayed an ocean of sadness and regret. She flinched at the thought. "The fact is, Shin-chan, that nothing that came before matters. You have the chance to make things right. To change your destiny, once and for all." The woman rose from the bed, walking over to the bureau. "I'm going to give you my credit card. Take Asuka into Tokyo-3's downtown. It's a weekend, and there are a few conventions in town, so all the shops will be open." She pressed her finger to her lips thoughtfully. "Check out Nyuu Shibuya-ku¹. It's especially popular amongst teenagers, but I still shop there from time to time. Stop by Four Square—they're having a sale—and have a peek inside Goldie Rocks—Asuka likes that place. There's also a new Violette Eastwood boutique opening up, but if you buy any of their high-end stuff, I will personally end you."
Shinji narrowed his eyes, muttering under his breath, "How does she know all this stuff about shopping and fashion? I never see her go out anywhere or do anything socially outside NERV…"
"Shin-chan, did you say something just now?" Misato queried, eyes glowing fiercely, devil's horns rising forth from her head.
"N…nothing," Shinji blurted.
"Buy food if you get hungry," Misato continued, "but try not to spend too too much—I am on a limited budget, after all. And if it gets late, you can just take a taxi back to my flat. Try not to let Asuka sucker you into wasting my entire paycheck for the month, if you would be so kind."
Shinji was roused from his reverie back to the present by the sudden thud of Asuka's messenger back down upon the flat of the seat opposite him at the table. Asuka stretched, grunting pleasurably as a muscle somewhere between Shinji's neck and shoulder popped, releasing more of the stiffness brought about by her three day slumber. "I wonder how much Katsuragi makes in a month," Asuka was saying. "Probably wouldn't take too much effort to burn through her entire paycheck." Then she looked directly at him, instantly renewing the blush in his cheeks. "What kind of things did you want to buy anyway?"
The third child reddened. He couldn't tell if the question was truly innocuous, or if it was bait. He chose his words carefully. "W… well… I wouldn't mind uh… buying a few more clothes… to start with."
Asuka stared at Shinji hard, however her expression was too complex an amalgam of emotions to read. The junior Ikari simply stammered on. "Uh, I mean… well… when everything, er… got switched… you took the majority of your clothes and put them into lockdown. You only left me with a couple of things to wear… so… um… I don't know, I guess I thought some variety wouldn't hurt. Especially if I chose them… I mean not that I don't think your own taste in clothing isn't good! That isn't at all the case! I j-just mean that… I'll probably have an easier time with everything if I wear something… I feel comfortable wearing."
The second child opened her mouth as though to say something, but her jaw simply hung there and the words she had intended to deliver never arrived. Instead, she reeled her jaw back in, and sighed. "Yeah, fine, whatever," she said at length.
Shinji's expression registered no fewer than seven different shades of relief. "Really? You're OK with it?"
"Well yeah. Why wouldn't I be? I'm not your mother or something; I'm not going to tell you what to wear. As long as you don't do anything perverted."
"You're not worried I might make you look... I don't know… not up to your standards?"
The third child folded her arms across her chest, turning her head to the side to obscure the rosy hues that had spilled into her cheeks. "God, you are so dense!" she sneered. "Anta baka! It's not like I'm worried that you'll make me look ugly or something… I mean… not that that's even remotely possible, being the rare and exotic flower that I am here in Japan… but… you know, Ikari-kun… I… I trust your judgment enough, I guess."
Her last few words impacted Shinji with the force of a bullet train colliding at peak acceleration with a dead leaves. In his mind, the very fact that Asuka trusted anything about him was a giant step forward. That, he had decided, would be enough. If no further progress was made in their budding relationship by the end of that day, knowing that the girl he had a crush on valued his opinion on anything would be enough.
"T…thank you very much," he replied with excessive formality.
"But you're much too polite and congenial. It's kinda disgusting."
A bead of sweat formed upon his brow. And so I was stabbed after all, he thought, becoming more playful as he relaxed. Though he hated to admit it, not only had he grown used to Asuka constantly berating and belittling him, he'd somewhat grown fond of it.
A recently popular manzai² duo famously described Nyuu Shibuya-ku—New Shibuya ward—as a "neon clusterfuck of commercial excess, the last refuge for a dying breed of pre-21st century capitalism where any and all grim thoughts of humanity's future were checked at the door, momentarily forsaken for a few carefree hours of corporeal revelry." The boke of the comedian pair who'd made the observation would then be slapped upside the head by the tsukkomi, who replied that, "Akiba-ku is nothing so sinister. The Japanese wallet will always open for ramen and robots, and as both coincidence and convenience would have it, Akiba has plenty of both." Needless to say, both interpretations were strikingly accurate.
Although the majority of the world had always viewed Tokyo as an ultra-modern metropolis of futuristic enterprise, few were truly privy to the fact that the city itself possessed a long—and often turbulent—history. In ancient times, it was Edo, and it endured several centuries of warring shogun clans. And though much later during World War 2 it didn't sustain the same level of atomic destruction that befell Hiroshima and Nagasaki, more than half the city was leveled to the ground by auxiliary bombing, killing as many as 200,000 people. Then, on September 20th, 2000, just seven full days after the Second Impact, half a million more Japanese lost their lives during the detonation of a yet-unidentified weapon of mass destruction, completely irradiating the entire sector. Today, there was Tokyo-3. The point was that the Japanese really loved their Tokyo.
Incidentally, the new site of Tokyo wasn't anywhere remotely close to the now-inhospitable region of Old Tokyo, but had been built instead over the former location of Hakone, Kanagawa prefecture. Even so, it truly bore the likeness of both its predecessors in every conceivable way, right down to its overpriced, glitzy fashion and electronics districts. A microcosm of neon and chrome, Nyuu Shibuya-ku was a vertical sprawl that extended several dozen levels upward, connecting each of the giant skyscrapers with long, elegant walkways of bulletproof glass and reinforced concrete—should the city ever come under siege by a giant extraterrestrial being from another planet, plane or dimension, of course.
Most of the eateries coagulated in or around the food court which occupied both the first two levels. The narrowest, windiest alleyways would occasionally produce a rare find such as a retro-style ramen shop fully equipped with cantankerous old man with scouring pads for eyebrows and the most exquisite okonomiyaki³ anywhere in the entire city. The smell of starch and cooking oil was so thick at ground level that in some areas, one could practically breathe rice. Fortunately, Shinji noted, someone had the good sense to strategically install giant, industrial fans which routinely ventilated the steam, smoke and car smog out of the maze-like and claustrophobic streets every fifteen minutes. A pleasurable view of the Kanagawa skyline hadn't exactly been very high on the priorities list when billions of dollars had been spent to finance the construction of hundreds of thousands of tons of ferro-concrete, arc-welded smartsteel and duraplane glass, engineered to be retractable in the event of an angel attack by the most sophisticated hydraulic actuation systems ever conceived by man. All that unbelievable technology, Shinji thought, and we still feel the need to build fashion malls?
Asuka, on the other hand, was in her element. For several weeks now, she'd been stuck in Shinji's body, but strolling leisurely through the most densely populated—and highly rated—consumer district in all of New Tokyo saw the unequivocal revival of her inner woman. There were shoe stores—dozens of them—and clothing stores selling all the latest trends that she'd always struggled to stay one step ahead of. Before the incident, naturally. Yet once more she opened herself up to that feeling she was in danger of forgetting—the feeling of reckless and deliriously unjustified want. The feeling of extending her ownership and collection of things to daring new places. But most of all, that addictive euphoria that always hit right at the moment she was walking out of a store after a large and exciting new purchase, store bag gripped with whitening knuckles tightly in hand. She was a girl, after all. Even if she couldn't currently prove it to any authority outside NERV or her local circle of schoolmates.
"Shinji," she mused spontaneously. "What would you say to the idea of doing something a bit more fashionable with your hair?"
"W… what did you have in mind?" the other replied apprehensively.
"Well, you wear it so casually and never style it, but it has good enough texture I guess. Maybe some highlights, particularly with the fringe. It's a popular look amongst rock stars lately."
Blood drained from the third child's face. "I'm not really sure I have the right features for something that radical," the junior Ikari admitted.
Asuka frowned, gnawing at the takoyaki she'd just purchased from a street vendor. "You never know until you try, Shinji-kun. Why don't you ever want to try something new? Man, I'd ask if you had any balls at all, but sadly, I already know the answer."
Shinji turned beet red. "W…w-well if you think it'll look good… I'm sure it'll turn out OK."
"I won't do it if you're solidly against it," she offered.
"No, really, it's fine. Earlier you said you trusted my judgment. I also trust your judgment, Asuka."
The second child twitched at the comment, tensing her shoulders awkwardly. She rolled her eyes defensively and scowled, ever the tsundere. "Look… just forget about that for now, OK? Look… you… like, eh… you don't have terrible features or anything… what I'm saying… basically… I just think that you'd look heaps better if you paid a little more attention to your appearance, is all. Maybe… maybe even a little cute. But just a little!" She finished quickly. The second child spared a quick glance at the other who was staring agape directly at her in disbelief. "Baka!" she croaked out, unable to find a retort more suitable.
"Ummm… Misato did recommend a few places… but if you've got some idea where we could start…. Or maybe a hair salon… I'm certainly open to suggestions. I've never been here before. This sort of place… I feel very… out of place here. I'm not too great with large crowds and lots of noise."
"You're telling me you can fight angels but you can't fight your way through a crowd of Japanese people who are, for the most part, terrified of coming without ten meters of a white-skinned foreigner?"
"You might have a point there," the junior Ikari laughed, despite himself.
The bar—if one's vision of a bar were truly low enough to call it that—was little more than a hole in the wall in Tokyo-3's oldest and most decrepit district. It was remarkably well-suited to imbibing large quantities of alcohol to the brink of mental retardation without any fear of judgment or cynicism. It was the perfect place to scrub a tail if one was carrying sensitive information and thought he was being pursued. It was just the kind of place he liked.
The man at the bar turned his attention from the dusty shot glass in his hand to the four-piece jazz ensemble in the dim corner of the room. Through a murky haze of both smoke and partial inebriation, the man at the bar could just barely discern the striking features of the half-African, half-Japanese lounge singer. After his eyes roamed lecherously over her plump, glossy lips, her fascinatingly long dreadlocks, her curvaceous hips and toned thighs, he decided that it was impossible for such a woman not to be absolutely extraordinary in bed. As the woman belted out a sultry rendition of Bart Howard's Fly Me to the Moon, he reckoned that her breath control was equally legendary.
So caught up was he with the lounge singer's performance that he hadn't even noticed when the contact he was meeting sat down at the bar just beside him. By the looks of things, his contact wasn't Japanese, or not entirely anyway. Chinese, possibly Singaporean. He was wearing a recently-pressed, navy blue suit jacket that was one or two sizes too large for his wiry frame but no tie. His trousers were pleated, and obviously expensive. Standing five feet five inches at best, sitting beside the man at the bar, the contact looked more spoiled child than inside informant. He looked at the ash tray sitting in front of the other, noting the small pile of cigarettes that lay there stamped out, and put his client at having been there for about an hour. Forty-five minutes if he was a chain smoker.
"I'm not late, am I?" he wondered aloud.
"Hardly," the man at the bar replied easily.
"Campari with ginger ale," the contact said to the bartender, pressing two fingers down upon the counter before him. "And a lime twist."
"You'd be better off with sake in a place like this," the other cautioned him.
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do?" the contact mused.
"Something like that."
"But you of all people should know that a man of true refinement must never ignore his predilections, particularly in our line of work. We could both very well die tomorrow, and I'm not sure about you, but I'd rather my last drink be something worth drinking."
The other grinned, scratching at the stubble on his chin while eyeing the bartender carefully as he returned with the contact's beverage. "You might have a point. What should we drink to?"
The contact picked up the glass, holding it at eye-level for a moment and squinting at the concoction dubiously for a moment. He proceeded to take a quick sniff of the liquor's bouquet, satisfying him enough to bring a smirk to his lips. "To all the secrets we peddle and the secrets we keep," he said at last, raising his glass.
"Kimi no unaji ni kanpai!" the man at the bar forced a smile. Cheers to your nape. It was an old joke shared between the two which had something to do with the fact that individuals in their chosen profession often made a habit of looking back over their shoulder. Or perhaps it meant that it was a good thing they'd both managed to keep their heads attached to their shoulders for as long as they had. The joke had been alive over a decade, and the memory of its creation had become shrouded in the haze of years long past.
The two drank from their glasses in silence for a moment. Just then, the jazz band finished their latest number, and announced they would be taking a fifteen minute recess. The two of them took that as their cue to get down to business.
"This information was hardly easy to acquire," the contact stated flatly, the implication that there was going to be a price hike for his services fairly obvious.
"Good thing you're a man that enjoys a good challenge then," replied the man at the bar, subtly entering into the negotiation. "That's why I chose you for this assignment."
The contact took another sip of his drink. "Was it really that, or was it because you couldn't find anyone else willing to take these sorts of risks." The negotiation continued.
He shrugged. "Maybe a bit of both. Maybe I'm just feeling nostalgic and wanted to see a face from the old days again."
The contact's smile broadened into a cynical grin. "Ah, but we both know that isn't even remotely close to the truth. Is it… Ryouji Kaji?"
Everyone's favorite triple-agent bristled uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. He gave a short chuckle. "Alright, you got me."
"But really," the contact continued, drumming his fingers upon the unmarked vanilla folder on the counter in front of him. "Why are you looking into this? What possible reason could you have for gathering this information that potentially has the power to destroy your employers? Both of them."
"Is it reliable intel?" Kaji asked, artfully dodging the question.
The contact scowled, taking another drink. "Honestly, that you even have to ask that…"
"Sorry," Kaji offered. "So what did you find?"
"All sorts of things," the other replied. "Secret bank accounts… encrypted wire transfers… recordings of conversations made from unregistered sat-phones… bizarre work orders and requests for technicians of varying specializations… interesting facts about a certain expedition to the Antarctic."
Kaji sneered, suddenly feeling a slight irritation and nervousness forming someplace in the back of his consciousness. "I could have done all of that myself. You said you had something big."
"Of course I do," the contact snapped, straightening the collar of his oversized suit jacket fastidiously. "I always come through, don't I?"
"Most of the time. So what is it?"
The contact's fingers stopped drumming on the envelope. He finished the rest of his drink in a single gulp. "People died for this information. Good people."
"Then I'll make sure it's being put to good use. What is it?"
Both his body language and hesitancy to voice the results of his endeavors seemed to indicate that he might not give Kaji the information he'd asked for after all, but after a moment, he pressed his fingers down upon the vanilla folder and slide it across the surface of the bar in Kaji's direction.
"Listen to me very carefully," the contact warned with absolute severity. "If they know you have this… if they even suspect that you are in possession of this information… they will kill you. Without hesitation."
The triple agent stared at the envelope, his curiosity mounting. "By 'they' I assume you're talking about—"
"Yes, yes, obviously I'm talking about them," the other blurted out apprehensively, suddenly looking around the room suspiciously. "Keep your voice down."
Kaji snorted. "It's safe here. Trust me. Nobody from NERV or anyplace else even knows this cesspool exists."
The contact pointed a finger upward at the ceiling. "Satellites," he said. "Always watching."
"Get to the point. I want to know what sort of information costs five million yen."
"I should have charged you more," the other said with a hint of regret. "After all… I'm sure there are dozens of parties who would sell me a small country for the identities of all fifteen of SEELE's shadow council."
Kaji blanched, a chill racing down his spine that nearly caused him to spill his drink. "You… you're kidding me… right?"
The contact told him everything he needed to know with a single glance. Kaji gazed back at the envelope.
"Remember," the contact concluded, "if you're caught with this…"
"Right. This meeting never existed. You don't exist."
The two of them nodded at one another, the closest thing to a handshake they'd ever permit in a public place. "The account number is 00474926336. Hyposwiss Private Bank in Zurich. I sent the details to your pager. I expect the other half of the funds will be wired within 48."
"Plus a fat bonus," Kaji said, still shocked that he'd received far more than he'd bargained for.
The contact smiled. "Until next time," he said, once more resuming his playful gait.
"See you," Kaji replied, taking the envelope and hiding it inside his own jacket. He waited for a few minutes before slapping a wrinkled ¥1000 bank note down upon the bar counter and turning to leave. As he made for the door, the bartender called out to him.
"Excuse me, sir! You've forgotten your change!"
"Where I'm going, I won't need it," Kaji replied.
The original concept had sounded brilliant in theory. The third child knew that if he wore virtually anything that showed even a millimeter more skin than was necessary, the spitfire German EVA pilot would unleash the hounds of hell upon him. To counter this, he dressed as he had when he'd still been a boy—conservatively and without any regard to the accentuation of a physique. This resulted in an ensemble which consisted of one of his own t-shirts—light gray with a black print of the Hyrule logo—a loose-fitting pair of Asuka's blue jeans, and Converse sneakers. He did nothing particularly fascinating with her hair, opting simply to tie it back in a ponytail while clipping her fringe to the side with a stylized pin of a tanuki⁴. He'd thought it perfect, but for some reason he couldn't fathom, it seemed only to infuriate her further.
"I juuuuuuust can't believe you dressed me like some freakin' otaku while we're in Tokyo's kitschiest district. God you are unbelieeeeeevably baka, Shinji."
"I'm sorry," he blurted autonomously, his mind too busy internalizing the critique to really focus on what the girl was saying. I thought she'd like it if I dressed very plainly. Why does she seem so pissed off? This isn't good… I need to softener her up before I tell her about the confession.
"I guess I just hadn't realized such an utter fashion failure you really are since we hardly ever spend time together outside school and NERV and Misato's place," she rambled on. "That's actually kind of funny, isn't it? That like… literally our lives are pretty much nothing more than school, giant machines of war, and sleep. How utterly depressing."
"I understand," Shinji said quietly, trailing behind Asuka as they neared the salon. "Things were pretty depressing for me too when I first arrived at NERV. Seeing my father again after all those years only to have him say to my face that he didn't have any use for me being around if I didn't pilot EVA… it was the final, suffocating stone. I… I wasn't sure I was going to make it… I had lost all faith in everything and everybody. But then…" He faltered. Asuka, who hadn't really been listening, keyed in on the fact that his monolog had stopped.
"Yeah, well, like the Americans say, Life's a bitch."
Before Shinji could say more, the duo had reached the hair salon that Asuka had set her sights on. As they entered, the fumes of chemical solvents, dyes and aerosols burned his nostrils causing his eyes to water.
"Ack! That smell!" he groaned as Asuka grabbed his wrist and dragging him up to the sales counter.
"Oh, grow up," the second child retorted, then, turning to face the secretary, "Yeah. I'd like to get my hair cut, colored and styled. Something a bit edgy and feathered… maybe a few highlights… then a few lowlights… with a punk flair. Like Shou⁵."
The girl at the desk—a total shibuya-kei—nodded, smiling. She began to talk, but Asuka zoned out, thinking to herself, I can't believe I'm actually getting the chance to look like some badass rocker. How unbelievably brutal is that? I feel like I should go and pick a fight some random guy on the street after this and be like, 'Oi! Yeah, you, punk! I don't like the way you looked at me just then! What? Well why don't you shut up then! What are you, stupid?'
As Asuka reveled in her daydream of being a bad boy street punk, Shinji suddenly became cognizant of the fact that while the salesperson was reciting the style packages to Asuka, the girl was actually staring at him. Though she was wearing brightly-colored circle-lenses that made her eyes look oddly glaucomic, he felt as though her gaze was penetrating. Analyzing. Judging. He shyly repositioned himself directly behind Asuka whose frame was at-present larger, out of view of the salesgirl.
"I'll take package C," Asuka said. "The one with the cut, color, style, and eyebrow treatment. Not my dime, so I don't really care if it's the most expensive."
"Excellent choice," the salesgirl replied robotically. "And will your girlfriend be getting a cut and style today too as well?"
Both of the Evangelion pilots turned beet red, beads of sweat forming as the awkwardness quotient of the situation rose sharply.
"Eew, God, oh no you've totally got the wrong idea, he's not my—uh, I mean… eh… she isn't my… girlfriend. We're not… together… yeah, that's what I'm trying to say."
"We're not dating!" Shinji stammered over Asuka's reply. "We're just good friends, really, that's all. Although… um… I wouldn't mind a regular cut. But without anything fancy or colors. I… uh… don't think I'm ready for anything quite that dramatic."
The two exchanged glances.
"Baka!" Asuka seethed through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry!" the third child offered.
"I told you to stop apologizing so damn much!"
"I'm trying!"
"Honestly, though, Shin-chan, you really are baka."
"I know."
The salesgirl grinned broadly. "If you don't mind my saying so… you two do seem like quite a match for each other. I certainly can't speak that frankly and openly with my boyfriend. Your Japanese is also really good for a gaijin."
Of course it is, Shinji thought. What he actually said was, "Thank you very much. I studied very hard overseas."
You mean I studied hard overseas, Asuka fumed in embarrassed silence. And what does she mean with that 'frankly and openly' thing, anyway?
"I'm sorry if I was being indelicate, but you two just seem very natural around each other so I had to say something. Anyway, we'll get started on your cuts right away." The salesgirl regarded Shinji directly. "Your friend's job will take much longer because of the coloring, but there are some nice clothing shops right next door that you can browse through while you wait."
"Thank you very much," he replied courteously, formally bowing. Asuka jammed her elbow into his ribs.
"Seriously, are you like some old man out of the Taishou Period? Stop being so formal all the time. You're making me look retarded."
"I'll do my best," Shinji said. Formally.
¹ Based on present-day Shibuya, a special ward located in Tokyo Metropolis, Japan. This area is known as one of the fashion centers of Japan, particularly for young people, and as a major nightlife area.
² A traditional style of stand-up comedy in Japanese culture. Manzai usually involves two performers (manzaishi)—a straight man (tsukkomi) and a funny man (boke)—trading jokes at great speed.
³ Japanese savory pancake containing a variety of ingredients.
⁴ A subspecies of the raccoon dog native to Japan. They are irresistibly cute.
⁵ Lead singer and front man of the Japanese rock band, Alice Nine.