I imagine that everybody has his or her own method for detecting the shifting of the year’s seasons. In my case, over the past six months, the most obvious changes have been in the movements of my calico cat, Shamisen.
Shamisen has stopped crawling into bed with me in the middle of the night, which tells me that the region’s most legitimately praiseworthy months have arrived, but it occurred to me that more responsive than any cat to the changing seasons should be the flora, with their finer sensitivity to changes in environment—and indeed, the cherry blossoms seem to be on the verge of blooming, as though having conferred and decided upon a schedule. The early April sky is so blue it looks as though it’s been colored with a crayon, the sun shining with such brilliance that it must be trying to get in shape for summer. Yet despite the warmth of the sunshine that falls upon the ground, the wind that cascades down from the mountain is still a chilly wind indeed, reminding me that my current location possesses a respectably high altitude.
With nothing better to do, I looked vaguely up at the sky and uttered a statement so utterly pointless that the fact of its utterance can only be attributed to my total boredom.
I didn’t particularly require a response to the statement, but if the person beside me sensed that fact, he nonetheless decided to reply.
“It is without a doubt spring. And a new year for students has begun—a new calendar year and a new academic year. A new year for my heart, as well.”
I supposed his excessively pleasant tone was well suited to spring and autumn. It would’ve been too much for summer, and in winter the only person I’d want close enough to me to hear such a whisper would have been Asahina.
Whether or not he noticed me switch into total-inattention mode, he continued.
“This is our second spring as high school students, though I am unsure as to whether I should say that it has ‘finally’ arrived or ‘already’ arrived.”
Was that really worth agonizing over? I asked. In English, you’d use “yet” either way. I hardly remembered every moment of the past year, so if I were to think back, it would seem to have passed rather quickly, and since there was no way to know what was going to happen in the future, it didn’t really matter whether they happened “sooner” or “later.” As for what I was experiencing at a given moment, it would feel more or less brief depending on whether or not I was having fun. That was all there was to it. Seriously, get a clock. They just tick off the seconds without any complaint—although sometimes your alarm clock will fail to go off even though you don’t remember silencing it, which makes you want to chuck it over a wall. Especially on Monday mornings.
“That is indeed true. A clock’s hands are one of the few things in life that tell us something truly objective. But for humans, who can only experience time subjectively, it is but a guideline. What’s more important is what one thought and enacted within a given span of time.”
“Oh, brother.”
I stopped gazing at the shifting shapes of the clouds and looked beside me.
Next to me was one Itsuki Koizumi, smiling like always. Unlike the airplane contrail I’d been looking at, his face was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, merely normal, and there was nothing to be gained by gazing at it. I looked forward once again.
“In my humble opinion,” I began. As the image of the courtyard fell upon my retinas, Koizumi seemed to wait for me to continue. “I’d say spring is finally here.”
As my eyes followed the forms of the freshmen in their brand-spanking-new uniforms that were gathered there, my brain played back nostalgic scenes from the past year.
And I had to wonder.
Last year, had the second-year students looked down on me with this same feeling?
I’d ended up in this particular high school thanks to the school district, and no sooner had I met the anomalous entity that was Haruhi Suzumiya than I’d heard her unbelievable self-introduction and, reeling, had been dragged into Haruhi’s world and the mysterious organization known as the SOS Brigade, thereby meeting actual aliens, time travelers, and espers. That would’ve been crazy enough on its own, but each alien, time traveler, and esper had his or her own associated events in which I was forced to participate, not to mention Haruhi’s constant wild schemes. There was no telling how much XP I’d earned over the past year. I was pretty sure I could take a mini-boss down with a single hit now.
“The force of habit is powerful indeed.”
I’d become totally accustomed to the uphill walk that made school attendance such a pain, and as a result, I’d started getting up later, scheming to prolong physical exercise until the last possible moment. And I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten used to school—Haruhi had undergone a similar transformation, like a carp swimming up a waterfall to become a dragon.
I seriously wanted to show a photo of the current Haruhi to last year’s Haruhi. This is what you’re gonna look like a year from now, I’d inform her.
But even if I could do that, I wouldn’t.
“I quite agree.” Koizumi half closed his eyes, pursing one corner of his mouth and crossing his arms and legs. “Regarding habit—the adaptability of humanity can be easily observed by noting the many places on Earth in which they live. But I’ve lately begun to wonder if there might be a drawback to that. Once one becomes accustomed to a circumstance, it might become more difficult to adapt to sudden, unforeseen changes.”
What was he talking about, I wondered. If he meant Haruhi, she was being sudden and unforeseen most of the time, I pointed out.
“Yes, that is true, but…”
For once in his life, Koizumi seemed at a loss for words—and this was the guy who was constantly offering his opinion whether you asked for it or not. If I inquired further, I wouldn’t be able to endure the terrible jargon-laden speech I’d be subjected to.
Koizumi looked like he wanted to say something, but I turned away in order to break free of his gaze. He looked in the opposite direction. “…”
Speaking of wordlessness, a certain school-uniform-clad paragon of silence on the level of a Buddhist statue was there, the breeze gently stirring her hair.
It goes without saying that it was one Yuki Nagato, the SOS Brigade’s own secret alien weapon, though at the moment it was more fitting to refer to her as the literature club president. Like Koizumi and me, she’d brought her desk and chair out to the courtyard, and she was situated a few meters away, silently reading. It seemed to be something about a philosopher, an artist, and a musician forming a golden braid of some kind, and as usual for Nagato, it was as thick as a concrete block.
I looked up at the clubroom building from the courtyard. Haruhi still hadn’t returned from her errand to the clubroom; neither had Asahina, whom Haruhi had dragged along. At this rate I would’ve been perfectly happy to go the rest of the day without them returning—an outcome that would’ve been ideal for everyone—but I doubted I’d be so lucky.
So, then.
I’ve been slow in explaining the current circumstances, so here’s a quick breakdown. It’s after school, a few days after the beginning of our second year in high school. We’d brought our desks out to the courtyard, making a space for ourselves in one corner. Many other second- and third-year students had done similarly, though by no means all of them.
I could see members of the computer club among them. They’d set up several computers on a long table and were running some kind of CGish something-or-other on the monitors. It wasn’t the space battle sim from before, but rather some kind of pastel-hued fortune-telling software, it looked like. Jumping at an opportunity, eh, Mr. Computer Club President? The fact that he was there made it clear that he’d managed to progress on to the third year of high school, though I didn’t actually know if he was still serving as the president of his club. It didn’t really matter to me. I’d just ask Nagato later.
Looking elsewhere, I could see various other groups I didn’t recognize busily jostling around. Among them were clubs and associations whose names I’d never even heard before, and the more I looked, the less I cared about any of it. There was absolutely no reason why we should be participating in this kind of event.
The only one of us with even a tenuous reason to be here was Nagato, honestly.
I gave her another look; she was as still and silent as if made of china.
Taped to the front of her desk—which itself was situated away from the main group—was a sign on which was handwritten LITERATURE CLUB in stark serif letters. The paper fluttered in the capricious spring breeze, as did Nagato’s short hair, untouched by the hands of any beautician. Her eyes never left the pages of her book; she was so silent she seemed to be trying to disconnect herself from the surrounding world.
I’m sure you get the picture by now.
School clubs—especially the smaller, weirder ones—must recruit new members and explain their activities.
This was exactly what was happening here and now in the courtyard. The sports teams and clubs were set up in the gym or playing field, and the brass band and art club, who didn’t really need to actively recruit in order to get new members, had set up shop in their respective dedicated classrooms. Here in the courtyard were the rest—the various clubs and societies whose existence and activities would be completely obscure without sufficient explanation.
Whoops, I almost forgot to mention it, since it goes without saying, but all the members of the SOS Brigade had most auspiciously made it to their next year of high school. Haruhi, Nagato, Koizumi, and I were all now second-year students, and Asahina was a third-year. I can’t claim I didn’t experience the tiniest tug at my heartstrings in saying farewell to good old classroom 1-5, but I doubted that much would change here in my second year. I should say that I am once again in the same class as Haruhi, and during the opening ceremonies when I met the rest of my classmates, there she was right behind me, every bit as arrogant as ever, though her arrogance was complicated by a strange expression, as though she were trying to mimic the sound a platypus makes.
“What’s this?” she announced, glaring at her classmates haughtily. “There’s practically no change from last year? I figured they’d shuffle things up, but no!”
I wanted to ask her whether she was happy or upset by that, but in any case, for once I agreed with Haruhi. We’d been placed in class 2-5, as had Taniguchi and Kunikida, and to top it all off, our homeroom teacher was still the famously concerned-for-his-students Okabe. Here and there were a few students whose faces I recognized but whose names I didn’t immediately remember, but the bulk of the class seemed to be composed of students from last year’s 1-5. I’d heard that this year there were barely enough science-track students to make up a whole class, so class 8 had been used to accommodate them, while the refugees from the previous class 8 were sprinkled around among the other seven classes. Also, a handful of students had simply been shuffled about from class to class. It was probably out of consideration to that minority that Okabe was making us do our self-introductions all over again.
Of course I quietly had my doubts about the outcome of the class sorting, and I voiced those doubts to the individuals I knew to be capable of such manipulation.
I received several answers:
“No,” said Nagato succinctly. “It is a coincidence,” she further elaborated.
“I haven’t manipulated a thing. It must have been the decision of the school administration. At the very least, the Agency has taken a hands-off approach to this situation,” said Koizumi with a pained smile. “It must be a coincidence.”
That seemed to be the truth.
I did know of one girl who had the ability to make coincidence into inevitability, but I wasn’t going to quibble.
I wondered if Asahina and Tsuruya were classmates again. If so, it could very well have been due to the Tsuruya family’s machinations, but I wasn’t going to make any noise about that either. Whatever our differences in class or year, we’d all wind up in the same place after school anyway.
What I was worried about—what I had good reason to be worried about—was something else entirely. Who lurked among the new freshmen I was currently looking at?
I personally knew an alien. I had known an upperclassman from the future. I couldn’t escape the fact that the classmate I’d spent the most time talking to was an esper.
However.
That day, that fateful moment, Haruhi’s self-introduction had stunned the entire class, save for those who knew her from East Middle School. Of all the entities that she mentioned in her speech, I cannot forget that there is still one who has yet to make an appearance.
Sliders.
Yes. Of course, while I have no desire for such an entity to appear, she might very well be feeling their absence. And as all of us have successfully moved on to our next academic year, one might very well be even now taking a seat as a first-year high school student…
“Geez.” I moved my head to loosen my stiff shoulders, then commenced observation of the freshmen.
If you see anybody with potential, secure them immediately—thus had our fearless brigade chief ordered. I couldn’t help but wonder what easy-to-spot traits amounted to “potential” in Haruhi’s view.
Incidentally, I may as well say that when class 2-5 held its self-introductions, Haruhi did not repeat her stunt from the previous year. Instead, she was refreshingly simple.
“I am Haruhi Suzumiya, chief of the SOS Brigade. That is all!” was all she said, with a bold smile that stirred the hair on the back of my head.
She clearly considered that more than enough introduction.
And to be fair, for our classmates, it was enough. Not a one of them was ignorant of Haruhi Suzumiya and her SOS Brigade.
If anyone was ignorant—
I gazed vaguely at the school-branded uniform shoes of the students who now milled about the courtyard.
If anyone was ignorant, they would be among these students.
There beside the cherry trees that were just starting to show their leaves, Koizumi and I (with Nagato a short distance away) were idly passing the time when I saw a figure moving effortlessly through the crowd of students, like Moses leading his people out of Egypt.
I remembered his face; in a way, he was the reason I’d wound up out here killing time. The sleeves of his blazer fluttered jauntily, and as he walked through the falling petals, he was the very image of phony influence and power. It made me feel as though I were on a cut-rate stage with a cheap background.
“It has been a while,” said the student council president in a severe voice, stopping in front of us.
Unfortunately, it had not in fact been “a while.” I wasn’t going to forget the face that had subjected the entire assembled school to a lengthy speech during the opening ceremony.
“My regards,” he said, unnecessarily adjusting his glasses as though following a script, then regarding us unpleasantly, like a leader displeased with his disciples. “Where is the brigade chief? I’ve taken the trouble of coming over to address one or two complaints I have, yet nowhere do I see your leader.”
Indeed, wherever might she be? I wasn’t her secretary nor her agent, I said, and I had no idea of the whereabouts of any classmate as restless as she was.
“I suppose it cannot be helped. I will put it to you, then: what exactly are you doing here?”
I’d hoped that if I kept my mouth shut, Koizumi would reply instead, but for whatever reason the pretty boy of the SOS Brigade only smiled beatifically.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I shot back.
His Excellency the President looked down at us, his expression an iron mask. “Indeed it is. I know where we are, and I know what you are, so the answer is quite clear. I am here because I suspected that, however slight the chance, you were planning something quite beyond my imagination. But you are not. In which case, you surely know what I am about to ask next.”
That was because his actions never differed one iota from expectations. Honestly, the conversation probably would’ve gone smoother if Haruhi had been here…
But wait a sec. Why was the president maintaining his haughty act, despite Haruhi not being here? Wasn’t he just a puppet, propped up by Koizumi’s Agency?
Or could it be—was it for the benefit of the other students in the courtyard? Our little corner was removed from the rest, though, and so long as nobody was trying to eavesdrop, it seemed unlikely that our conversation would be overheard. The only person who might hear was Nagato, who sat a few meters away, but anything that would actually worry her was probably something only the CIA or NORAD knew about.
“Then I am done here. My inspection of the humanities clubs is complete. Miss Kimidori, go on ahead to the playing field. I’ll be just a moment.”
“Understood.”
The brief statement from the girl caused me to notice her presence for the first time. I managed to stifle an exclamation of surprise, instead spitting out my recognition.
“… Kimidori?”
“Yes,” she replied, bowing courteously.
Prior to hearing her voice, I hadn’t noticed her at all. I couldn’t hide my shock at that fact. It was as though she’d been concealed in the president’s shadow, revealing her form only when she spoke—that was how sudden her appearance had seemed.
Miss Emiri Kimidori, first-ever client of the SOS Brigade and one-time girlfriend of the computer club president, smiled the smile of the well-brought-up lady, giving another brief bow. I was so taken aback that I couldn’t help but bow in return.
… Ah-ha, so this was the cause of the president’s conceited manner. He was hiding his true nature from Kimidori, though I doubted there was any need to do that.
In any case, where’d the custom of the president always appearing with the secretary come from? He oughta give the treasurer or vice president a shot once in a while, I told him.
“If that is your wish, perhaps I shall,” said the president, pushing his glasses up again. “However, if the treasurer wished to speak with any one of you, it would be with the president of the literature club.”
As far as that went, a little birdie named Koizumi had told me about it. It had been last year, when by the order of the student council, each club had to submit an operating budget. Despite having but a single member, the literature club was technically still a club, and its representative attended the budget meeting. That representative was obviously not Haruhi, but one Yuki Nagato. Right up to the last minute, Haruhi kept offering to go in Nagato’s place or to go along with her, but if the ringleader of the group that was illegally occupying the literature club’s room showed up at that meeting to stir up trouble, things would have really gotten out of hand.
In the end she sulked and pouted, but she listened to Koizumi’s and my pleas, eventually letting Nagato go alone, silently watching her leave like a general sending a hostage to an enemy nation.
Nagato returned about an hour later, budget funds in hand—quite an accomplishment, since the literature club barely had enough membership to even qualify as an inactive organization.
The rumor going around was that nobody had any idea what had happened, what methods she’d used. All Nagato had done was quietly take her seat at the table and stare wordlessly at the student council treasurer. The annual budget meeting was always a disorderly affair, but apparently this time it had been concluded smoothly and quietly.
Sounding self-congratulatory, the president spoke.
“Of course, it’s a meeting in name only, as Kimidori and I had already decided upon the budget. Although—I had my expectations, but the literature club was the only irregular one. It’s a bit late to quibble. So long as you use the budget for club activities, I’ll make no complaints. If you don’t, I will. That’s all there is to say.”
Having silently listened to the president, Kimidori suddenly spoke up. “If that will be all, Mr. President, I’ll be going.”
“Good work, Miss Kimidori.”
Kimidori gave us one last bow, smiling freshly before heading off to the playing field, leaving behind the faint scent of lilies.
The entire time, there had been not a single moment of eye contact between Nagato and Kimidori. Perhaps they were similar enough to be able to communicate without words. Or perhaps it was just because Nagato hadn’t bothered to look up from her book.
“Moving on to the main reason for my visit, then,” said the president, removing his glasses and letting them dangle from his fingertips. “There’s no point in a discussion unless she is here. When will she be back?”
Soon, I said. I doubted that an Asahina costume change would take too much time.
“Fine. I’ll content myself to wait.”
The president was really hamming it up. It was like he’d been president for three years, I said.
“In spite of my best efforts. I assumed that student council work would be nothing but a pain, but…” The president grinned, finally showing a glimpse of his true self. “It’s actually pretty fun. When I’m playing the president in front of the faculty or administration”—he slapped his own cheek lightly—“sometimes I forget which is the real me. Sometimes being somebody else ain’t half bad.”
“It’s fine to be assuming a persona,” said Koizumi seriously, finally speaking up. “But don’t let the mask you’re wearing consume you. How many tomb raiders have become mummies themselves?”
“An archaeologist raiding a tomb doesn’t turn into a mummy—he turns into a corpse.” The president revealed a predatory smile, wiping his glasses lenses on his shirt sleeve, then replacing them on his face. “Don’t worry, Koizumi. I’ve got it covered. Just remember…”
Having replaced his glasses, he’d become once again the perfect student council president, and it was hard to tell which was the real him.
“… Keeping a leash on that insane girl of yours is your job.”
The president’s gaze fell on the entrance to the clubroom building, from which our glorious brigade chief emerged, face full of cheer like a wild animal joyful over the arrival of spring, accompanied by the SOS Brigade’s official maid, the very incarnation of sunshine and warmth.
Haruhi emerged with a cardboard box in one hand, dragging Asahina along in the other, a satisfied grin on her face. But no sooner did she glimpse the student council president than she knit her brows in obvious irritation.
“Hey, hey!” Haruhi strode forward purposefully, not letting go of Asahina, who flailed behind her. “Ah-ha! I knew it. Just as I thought. I leave for one second, and guess who shows up? Well, too bad for you. We’re not doing a single thing that the student council can complain about!”
I wondered about that, actually. Just what was it that she was planning to instigate here in the courtyard, for starters?
“Oh… the president.”
I didn’t care that Asahina was wearing her maid outfit as she blinked her eyes rapidly; that was no more surprising to me these days than seeing weeds growing in a vacant lot.
“Hey, Haruhi,” I said. “What’s with your getup?”
It was the first I’d seen of it. When had she had time to get her hands on that thing? I asked her.
“What, you got a problem? Is there something wrong with wearing a cheongsam?”
Just as she suggested, Haruhi was wearing a long scarlet dress that sported a Chinese dragon gaudily executed in lamé and embroidery. A slit ran down the side to flatter her legs. It was even sleeveless, for crying out loud.
Having so raucously burst upon the scene, Haruhi was now the focus of the gathering students’ attention. Similarly, Asahina the Maid had also wound up the object of many stares, and the sight of her fidgeting awkwardly at their gazes was one I would’ve rather monopolized, anti-trust legislation be damned.
“If you were at a party, then no, there’d be nothing wrong with it. But this is school, and you’re in front of a bunch of new students to boot. Would it kill you to consider being appropriate?”
“I did consider that! That’s why I’m wearing this!” said Haruhi in response to my reasonable logic. “What I really wanted to wear was the bunny-girl outfit, but I knew everybody would just complain, so I went for the China style. You should be thankful!”
She seemed to want to point at the president confrontationally, but then realized that both of her hands were full. She let Asahina go and dropped the cardboard box on my desk. Her hands now free, she pointed grandiosely at the president.
“You should be thankful!” she repeated.
The president, however, was unperturbed. “Your ‘consideration’ is nothing of the sort. As a president sworn to uphold student morality, I cannot accept this. I presume you’re familiar with the phrase ‘six of one, half a dozen of the other.’ Your choice of dress amounts to the same thing.”
“What of it? You’re saying they’re all the same, then?”
“No, I am merely trying to avoid confusing the students who come here full of hope for their futures. I cannot allow things that would inflame the boys’ passions.”
“Inflame their passions? That’s ridiculous. Listen—guys who get worked up by that stuff are going to get just as worked up by school uniforms and gym clothes. Or are you saying we should just come to class naked?”
There was a limit to how much one was willing to argue, and the president seemed to have reached his. “This is pointless,” he spat.
“Is it? I’d hope that you’d learn to respect student independence. Once school’s over, we should be able to wear what we want. It’s not like I’m going to wear it to and from school, right? Don’t you think so, Mikuru?”
“Oh, um, yes, I don’t think I’d want to walk home in—” Asahina shook her head slightly, her voice tiny. She looked at Haruhi’s cheongsam-ed form and sighed, sounding somehow envious. Had she wanted to wear it?
Still, compared with last year when they’d both worn bunny-girl outfits and passed out flyers next to the school’s front gate, this was progress. Certainly the percentage of exposed skin had fallen. Still, I wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea for second- and third-year students to be getting in costume in front of first-years, especially not when there was no real point to it, I said.
“There is too a point! I mean, c’mon, look how much we stand out!”
Yeah, but what point was there in standing out for no good reason? I asked.
Haruhi took a good hard look at me. Just as I was starting to feel like a piece of tiny krill in front of an oncoming whale, Haruhi popped up behind Nagato, who was still silently reading.
“Kyon, have you forgotten exactly what we’re here to do? You have two seconds to answer.”
Umm.
“Time’s up!” she declared, giving me essentially no time to answer. She shook her finger in my face, then rested it on Nagato’s shoulder, who was so motionless she looked freeze-dried. “We are here to help Yuki. This is not about recruiting new SOS Brigade members. Try to understand that much, okay?”
This last part was directed at the president. The girl in question, Nagato, only turned the page of her book.
“Hmph.” The student council president did not so much as flinch. After adjusting his glasses with his finger, he spoke. “So, Suzumiya, you are saying that despite not being a member of the literature club, you are assisting that club in recruiting new members.”
I appreciated him articulating Haruhi’s motivations so clearly.
“Yup.” Haruhi puffed out her chest even more proudly, then pointed to the desks where Koizumi and I were. “See, those two are just sitting there with their desks doing nothing, right? There’s no paper saying ‘SOS Brigade,’ and Kyon looks even more out of it than usual.”
That last line wasn’t necessary.
“Oh ho.” The president tucked his chin down, his glasses reflecting pointlessly. “Well, then, Suzumiya. What is in the box you just brought out? Some sort of sign, perhaps?”
“It’s a sign.” Haruhi grabbed the stave that was sticking out of the box, pulling it out decisively.
At the end of the white-painted wooden stick were affixed two pieces of plywood, also painted white, upon which had been written LITERATURE CLUB in Haruhi’s handwriting. It went without saying that the menial tasks of cutting the wood, assembling the pieces, and painting the sign had fallen to me.
“See, it says ‘Literature Club,’ right? I’m going to make Mikuru carry it around. After all, if we left it to Yuki, she wouldn’t make any active appeals.”
This was the truth. The first-year students had time in their schedules set aside for club introductions, and that had evidently happened yesterday. I say “evidently” because the SOS Brigade had no opportunity to intervene, as the only person invited had been the president of the literature club, one Yuki Nagato. The students had assembled in the gym, and there in front of them Nagato had, in the voice of a TV news anchor reading off the weather forecasts for major world cities, presented a talk entitled “A Neurological Perspective on the Insufficiency of Verbal Discourse between Individuals.” Obviously this had nothing to do with the literature club, and as a bonus, it managed to put half the first-years to sleep. Thanks to the pseudo-hypnotic speech she delivered, if there had been any students who were interested in joining the literature club, the boredom that suffused the gym that day would’ve effectively purged such notions from them. Yuki Nagato was a force to be reckoned with.
But it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Left to her own devices today, she would’ve probably just gone straight to the clubroom and commenced reading. But Haruhi did not leave her to her own devices.
The prospect of recruiting new members would be too tantalizing for Haruhi’s invisible antennae to pass up.
But wait just a second. To be clear, the SOS Brigade was an unsanctioned organization, and even now was operating illegally within the school. We couldn’t recruit overtly. Once Haruhi might’ve gone for that anyway, but this year the student council president’s eye was on us. So what fun could be had today?
The cash register bell in Haruhi’s head had gone off, and thus on this day—one of those chilly spring days worth their weight in gold—the brigade had been drafted as volunteers for the literature club and were now killing time in the courtyard.
—So that’s the story of how we got here, but every story has its flip side.
The student council president seemed easily able to sense that.
“May I see the other side of that sign?”
“Sure.” Haruhi grinned and flicked her wrist. On the reverse of the sign that said LITERATURE CLUB it said… LITERATURE CLUB. Obviously it didn’t say SOS BRIGADE.
“You seem eminently prepared. Very well, then. I cannot claim there is no logic to what you’ve said.” The president pushed his glasses up by their bridge. “Though it is not in my nature to compromise, it is better than causing a needless conflict. So long as you do not interfere with the other clubs, you may quietly stay here until the day is out. I will be busy with inspections. Forcible recruiting is absolutely forbidden.”
He should’ve told that to the athletic clubs, I said. This was a dreary public school, and every club was short on promising new recruits.
“You’re quite right. I’ll do that. And now, one last question. It is all well and good for you to recruit new literature club members. But should you succeed, what will you do? Will you turn the clubroom over to them?”
“That’s none of your business!” Haruhi’s habit of speaking her mind to upperclassmen hadn’t changed since she’d become a second-year student herself. Haruhi sniffed and looked askance.
“Hmph. That is all, then. Good-bye.”
His Excellency the President looked sharply at Haruhi and Asahina, as if to burn the image of the cheongsam and maid outfit onto film, then calmly followed Kimidori and left.
What had he come here to accomplish? Didn’t he realize standing in front of Haruhi and telling her “no” was practically begging her to do whatever it was you didn’t want her to do? Haruhi’s face was even now splitting into that high-spirited grin of hers.
“Well, that went well. Easy as pie. Tasty, tasty pie.”
Haruhi waited for the president to be out of sight, stuck the pole of the sign she held into the ground, and peeled the veneer from the sign’s surface. As I regarded the construction, I was unsurprised. The poor LITERATURE CLUB lettering was now so much litter, and there was no doubt about what the second layer of the sign now proclaimed—
SOS BRIGADE.
Last May—what day had it been, anyway?—the “Save the World by Overloading it with Fun Haruhi Suzumiya Brigade” had been formed, and it seemed that the name would be remaining in good health for some time to come.
The cardboard box Haruhi had brought contained more than signs.
Haruhi foisted one sign off onto Asahina, then like a magician’s assistant produced item after item from within the box, the skirt of her China dress aflutter.
First was an LCD monitor; then a series of cords, cables, and adapters; followed finally by a new college-style notebook and writing implements.
“C’mon, set it up!” Haruhi ordered me. “Get the monitor working.”
There were no electrical outlets in the courtyard, but Haruhi had anticipated the problem. There would be no point in trying to resist, so I did as I was told, dragging the power cable over to the computer club’s booth.
“Sorry, but could we borrow your power?”
“Sure.” It was the computer club president who replied. Evidently he was still president, since it was written on the ID badge that hung on his chest. “The other members wouldn’t let me go,” he said, sounding vaguely proud of it. “So I said I’d do it for one semester. I have been thinking about my replacement, though. Whoever it is, I’m gonna have to train him or her carefully—”
This speech seemed like it was going to take a while, so I wished he’d have done it later. At this rate, his fellow members were going to start hoping he’d retire.
“Hey, actually,” said the president, lowering his voice and speaking rapidly past the back of his hand, which was raised conspiratorially to his mouth. “I’d like Nagato to have concurrent membership in both our clubs, so she can become president of the computer club too. She’s the most talented computer programmer I’ve ever seen or heard of. No matter the bug or error, she can magically fix it, as easily as flipping a switch. Every time she stops by the club she finds a new way to surprise me. We’ve got a custom-built machine set aside for her, and in practically no time she wrote a new OS that would blow the original manufacturer away. Nobody but her can even begin to understand or use the source code either. It’s perfectly compatible with every piece of hardware and software we tested it with, but we just don’t know how she did it—”