According to the Hikigaya Classification of Riajuus (authored by yours truly), there exists a tier that cannot be given a specific value for its rank—it wasn't because it was something far beyond comprehension that riajuus themselves, ironically, could not fathom its existence, nor was it because it paled it comparison to the either tiers already existing (such as the deliciously dumb tier 6).
The reason for such a crisis is that there is no true way to ascertain the danger posed by tier ?: Nice Girls.
Existing samples belonging to this tier (they are also a species unto themselves, just to clarify) are paradoxical in simple nature alone—while their capacity to do good and spread their inherent pleasantness is as acceptable as plants giving off oxygen, their capacity to wound is conversely as debilitating.
Of course, one of you normalfags would sooner or later point out something like "How the hell should a girl being kind to you hurt you?!" And then all hell would break loose, with a faction declaring itself the representative for all that is good and loving of Nice Girls, and another, bloodthirsty group demanding that they be given back the innocence that was robbed from them by said subspecies of females.
Surely, though, not everyone campaigns to support the existence of these no-rank scrubs! [1]
Getting back to the point, the reason Nice Girls become so fearsome is that the longer you spend time around them, the more that your perspective on their kindness becomes skewed and narrowed—it reaches a point where you think you are the only target of their nature, and that this translates to affection, and that any other male receiving similar treatment to yours becomes a threat to your romantic plans. And thus, with such a skewed view from behind rose-tinted glasses, you move in for the kill, spill your heart, and ask them to wear yours around their neck like an accessory.
And because they are Nice Girls, who would rather everyone be friends and would not consider your feelings enough to move the mountains where their hearts stand, they would turn you down as you wait, holding out your heart as it bled dry in front of them.
It's stupid to generalize for all girls under this tier—you can never really say that a girl is nice for the fact that she just wants to appear nice. Such a thinking is too narrow-minded and fatalistic, anchored in the belief that an inherently kind person who is kind for the sake of being so does not exist anymore.
And this is the quandary presented by the tier of Nice Girls:
As dangerous as they are, there are a number of them who are genuine enough to be passable people.
As pleasing as they sound, there are a number of them who hide their intentions behind assumed roles and false facades.
On that related note, it's suffice to say that Orimoto Kaori is of the latter.
It was a whole week later, after I spent a little more time under the tutelage of my Sith master [2], that I had executed a carefully concocted plan in order to ascertain just what kind of tier Orimoto occupied within the boundaries of the Hikigaya Classification of Riajuus (for all intents and purposes of my mind's ease, this would be referred to as HCP in the future).
Thanks to the interference of my old man, and a few days of constant debate consisting of me defending my personal life and him drilling into my head the notion that Nice Girls wanted to take over the world (read: break hearts, worsen global warming, start World War III), the seed of doubt planted within me had grown into a young sproutling—and thus has my view on Nice Girls forever been skewed.
But then again, the fact remained that some girls were just nice to maintain an image; a falsification of their true selves in order to stay rooted within the upper echelon of the working society.
That same fact reminded me of why I had to fight down my doubts and think logically on this:
I hated lies—anything and anyone associated with the very act.
And this included girls who were nice for the sake of impressions.
Prior to this, I've always thought of Orimoto Kaori as perhaps a sister-like kind of person—one who would show concern over people with the barest of troubles, to the point that she would barge in and help. She did so without any care, too, sometimes. Cheerful, caring, helpful—what wasn't there to like?
Our interactions were sparse, and our conversations ever short. But for what small number of experiences we shared, I had deluded myself into thinking that I was somehow head over heels for Orimoto just for the fact that she, well, interacted with me—resident weirdo and loner for our class. That, and she was a prime example of a Nice Girl.
And because I had such a rose-tinted pair of glasses back then, along with a very outdated version of the HCP, I had thought that her subspecies and classification was one of the more positive ones.
After hearing my father rant about it, I wasn't so sure anymore.
So, I took a page out of my dad's set of 108 Nanashi skills in order to see for myself just what the real Orimoto Kaori looked like; if her kindness was really just a front.
"Fufufu, it was fortuitous for you, my comrade, to ask me for aid! O, blessed thy be by the gods!"
For such a plan to work, though, I had to look for help.
"For what quest do you undertake that you would be in need of this one's dark power?!"
No, sorry, I meant a had to acquire a bloody bait for the shark.
"Could it be, the prophet has foreseen the bleak future, and so we must band together to prevent it?!"
My bad. I needed a sacrificial lamb.
"But! Know that my services would require a hefty price!"
… I'm sorry Zaimokuza, but if even Jesus could forgive Judas, I hope you can look past this transgression. [3]
"Umu! Hachiman! I expect you to be the first to lay eyes upon my next masterpiece, and aid me in making it presentable enough to gods themselves!"
… You know what? I'll be the lamb. With the number of times I've used my fellow (loathe as I am to admit this fact!) chuuni, I owe him more debts than I have fingers on my hands.
I sighed. It seems that the plan will have to change a bit. Go figure.
20 minutes later, and Aleister Crowley would be so proud of how everything went according to plan. [4]
"I like you. Would you please go out with me?"
I delivered the line as convincingly as possible—well, for someone of my character, anyways. I doubt anyone else in class has actually interacted with me long enough to recognize how I would speak, stand, and look when doing certain things.
Like doing a "confession," for instance.
The plan had been simple, really—find a way to get someone to spill their heart in front of Orimoto Kaori in order to show what kind of person she was. Of course, her reply to the confession itself was important, but dad taught me that what came after would speak volumes more than the reply.
—It was the aftermath that was worth addressing.
In history, certain experiences during the occurrence of life-changing moment would imply that it would impact the way an individual would react to a repeated or, at least, a related event. Of course, relations with the Germans would be very tense after World War II—with all that had happened, such as Hitler and the Holocaust, it's a wonder why it took a long time before the global society's suspicion gave way to trust once more for Germans in general.
What I needed to test with this staged confession was the knee-jerk reaction Orimoto would take after I spill my guts. The rejection itself would not completely reveal her character (though it will give me a hint of what lay behind the mask), but what she chooses to do after would shed light upon the mystery that was her being a Nice Girl.
"… Eh? Hikigaya's… confessing? Really? Uh, um…"
The look of unease on her face did not mix well with the disgusted shock in her eyes.
I find myself wanting to burn every memory of actually dreaming about her eyes.
I find myself wanting to shred every memory of actually dreaming about her smile.
And I find myself wanting to have never met her in the first place.
But, all of these would have to take confirmation after I finish this… farce.
"… Wouldn't being friends be better, Hikigaya? Ehehe… I mean, you know…"
As much as I had steeled myself by preparing for the worst possible scenario, rejection at the hands of the person I've come to view in a most positive light made me want to go crawl in a hole and rot. I can assure all of you, sitting at home and watching this, that the experience will be something you will carry to your grave—perhaps even the afterlife.
I released a breath, calming myself before replying. I couldn't even bring myself to look at her.
"I see. My bad. I hope this changes nothing between us." What the hell, was there even anything between us? Oh, yeah, there's five feet of classroom floor and three desks between us. That won't change, obviously.
I kid.
God, I want this to end. Badly. Zaimokuza, you better be having perfect shots with those video cameras!
"Err… right. Well, um, I better… go? Ehehehe."
It's fine Orimoto, you didn't have to disguise your sprint as a brisk walk. Your tone and way of conversation just screamed "OMFG I might die of embarrassment if I spend a second longer around you."
Sigh.
"… Comrade, are you well? The witch has gone, and the memory of this day saved to the digital core you have lent me—the task is complete."
Zaimokuza. Don't look at me with such eyes. I might actually die of embarrassment. Again.
But then again, it was a sobering thought that I at least knew Zaimokuza wouldn't abandon me as easily as I did him a couple of times before.
"Yeah, it is complete. Thanks… comrade."
Huh. For a second there, Zaimokuza almost looked cool (not).
A brief exchange of nods, and I was soon on the way home. There was nothing else left to do, but wait for tomorrow.
And the way my gut sunk like a rock did not bode well.
[1] Ranks in League of Legends. If you play (like I do) and are a level 30 player getting a lot of flak for attempting provisional games as support main (like I am) because, apparently, no rank = n00bs#!t, then know that I totally feel for you. Truly.
[2] Star Wars. May the Force be with you.
[3] Bible, New Testament. Judas. Betrayal. Jesus captured after the Last Supper. 13 pieces of silver. 'Nuff said.
[4] To Aru Majutsu no Index. Crowley just loves keikaku doori.
Hey again!
After I'd uploaded the first chapter, my internet connection went to shit, and to spend the rest of my time I went and did this—the second chapter (apologies if it's shorter, but I wanted it like this, and it couldn't have turned any better than this!).
Now, finally seeing the result of what I thought was a shot in the dark with a weird idea in my head, I am honestly floored by the initial response. Very positive, too. I am thankful for the support as a newcomer, and I appreciate the feedback so far!
Garovel: Thanks! I hope to write as best as I can.
Sorashita Charyubi: I plan to take the Monster's evolution in a different light. And the romance thing? It'll be happening a little more later. :D
lanceamida09: Oooh, a fellow Filipino! Your support is inspiring! Maraming salamat!
Animeloverq8: Oh, I don't know about being one of the best, but do know that I will give it my best! Thanks for the vote of confidence, though. Really.
diceWW: HLYSHT. YOU REVIEWED. I mean, I've read your works and it wouldn't be a stretch to say they've inspired me to write. Wow. I hope to do great just as you have! :D
Angel-sama: Here it is, continued! You'll be seeing more of Nanashi later, too. Hehehehe.
ArmantusCumPinnae: Nanashi will be passing down more than just the 108 Skills. Trust me. And though "nameless" is the meaning I'm going for the name, there's also a reference there for a number (nana = seven, in Japanese) as another similarity with 8man. :D
hslippery: Well, men are men—whatever happens. I guess. Hahahaha. Thanks for the support, and I hope to you see around.
Leave a review, drop a line! See you guys for the next chapter!