Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ My Unfortunate Whale Vision ❯ Chapter 10 ( Chapter 10 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

 

Chapter 10

 

 

Our peaceful days went on for a week before a client turned up. It was Hayato with Tobe the Headband. They both looked like exhausted salarymen. Whether this is their actual future or my brain continuing to be psychotic with its hallucinations I do not know.

 

“I kinda like Ebina,” Tobe explained, half ashamed to be explaining this to strangers. Hayato looked suitably embarrassed at his friend’s admission. Ebina Hina is a disaster. She’s into BL, boys love, and that means she’s a mental case. She isn’t girlfriend material. BL is for sexual deviants. I met Hayama’s gaze and I could see in his eyes that he understood the situation honestly. It was Tobe with the delusion here.

 

“I want to confess to her, but like, if she rejects me that would be so bad, you know?” he failed to explain further. I sighed. Yui sighed. Yukino sighed. Hayato sighed. Yukino glared at him. I sighed again.

 

“The class trip is coming up in a few days. Are you going to do it before then or on the trip?” I asked him.

 

“I mean… on the trip would be way more romantic, right? She couldn’t say no on the trip, right?” he begged.

 

“That would be bullying her into accepting. That’s kinda mean,” Yui complained. Her point was valid. “She might reject you just because of when and where you ask her.”

 

“Does Ebina have any particular opinion about Tobe?” I asked Yui. She turned her eyes to the side, clearly preparing a lie.

 

“She thinks he’s… nice,” she said with a deadpan and hopeless delivery.

 

“Ah,” I said.

 

“Yeah,” said Hayato.

 

“I see,” said Yukino.

 

“That’s good, right?” Tobe ignored us all, choosing blind optimism. I’ve read Voltaire. I know for a fact that Optimism was disproved in 1759 with the publication of Candide. Everybody still practicing it today is the philosophical equivalent of the Flat Earth society. Voltaire was kinda mean about it too. He enjoyed mocking the ignorant. Nice is actually an insult. It means: “easily misled, naive, stupid, clueless, dumb.” That word came from the same court of King Louis of France.

 

“Uh. Hmm. Well, this is an interesting conundrum. Hayama-san… do you have a way to explain?” Yukino asked him. He shrugged but kept silent. Coward.

 

“She’s not into you, Tobe. That’s what that means,” I said carefully.

 

“Ehh? How do you know?” Tobe responded, confused.

 

“I have a sister,” I answered simply. “She has explained that kind of thing.”

 

“He’s right. We… don’t like to reject so directly, Tobe. It isn’t a woman’s way,” Yukino lied to the hairband wearing dummy. His whiskered out of shape face belonged on a body that enjoyed potato chips and beer, and probably worked as a truck driver based on the posture. There is still demand for that job, all around Japan. It is a good choice for men without wives to slow them down, to demand physical and financial standards they won’t meet themselves, to rob them and overwork them to death. For all their misery, those bachelors are probably happier, if they remember the upsides of their lives.

 

“Oh? Oh. Man. Finding out like this is,” Tobe said, eyes watering. He was crying quietly in his chair. Hayato looks quite uncomfortable, his wrinkled sales face smile flat and pointless, what passed for empathy waiting for the situation to get better. Tobe sat there crying in humiliation for far longer than anyone felt comfortable, but we couldn’t ask him to leave.

 

The girls were their usual frowning watery selves, Yui showing far more sympathy than the others, but Yukino was her typical cold bespectacled self. She had more of a glare than sympathy, as if the entire world had offended her sensibilities. I wondered if there was something I should say to Tobe. Then I realized I was the only one who could.

 

“Ebina is a woman with specific tastes, and few would want to meet them. A one-sided love is sometimes said to be the best kind, because your own feelings cannot be diluted by her expectations, by attempting the partnership that fails 80% of the time. Almost no school romances survive graduation, after all, and things can’t exactly go as far as you’d both want to, what with us being in education, unable to earn money or buy a house to raise a family. If you’d gotten a yes and gone forward together, a few months from now you’d be forced to marry and trying to figure out money problems with a baby on the way. This is… better. You can love her as things are, as she is. Maintain that love until you get to college, maybe meet another woman who is more interested in your best points,” I suggested carefully. Tobe listened to this, and his tears stopped. He extracted his handkerchief and wiped his eyes, which were red rimmed, and looked thoughtful, which is an unusual expression for him. This was literally the first time I’d seen him do it. Actually thinking.

 

“So like, what you mean is there’s always another fish in the sea, right?” Tobe said, ignoring what I just explained for the most simplified TV version. It was used as a joke in romantic comedy shows. It wasn’t meant to be life advice. Yet, here we were.

 

“Sure. If you like,” I answered after a moment’s consideration. Hayato looked startled at this, then relieved. The girls were likewise nodding slowly. The two young men rose and bowed, then left quietly, shutting the door behind them. Not seeing their exhausted salariman bodies in front of me anymore was a relief.

 

“That was… awkward,” Yukino finally decided.

 

“Totally,” agreed Yui.

 

“I suspect we just avoided a very annoying future where we’d be trying and failing to get Ebina and Tobe alone in romantic situations in Kyoto. The effort would probably ruin our own enjoyment of it,” I decided.

 

“That would be annoying. What did you mean about one-sided love?” asked Yui.

 

“Something I’ve read about,” I denied, refusing to explain my uncomfortable history on the subject. Yui accepted this, but Yukino’s gaze was suspicious.

 

 

Two days later we were racing South and West on the Shinkansen. The trip to Kyoto was sponsored by the Yukinoshita family, backing the Soubu parent-teacher association, of which Mrs. Yukinoshita was the chairwoman. I haven’t met her yet, but her picture is on their website and she’s probably what Yukino will look like in 20 years. Oddly, because she was a mature adult in her final form she looked the same with my eyes wide open or normally squinting. For whatever reason, Yukino was still destined to chin wattles, frown lines, and further signs of a miserable life. It was mostly her own choices which brought that, but still. Luggage was handed off, so we traveled in our school uniforms. I noted that Saki was still beautiful, as unchanged as Yukino’s mother. Some people win the genetic lottery. And some are merely fray-adjacent. There’s good reason I don’t like to stare at myself in the mirror.

 

The Komachi, for that was the train we rode to Kyoto, tore silently through the air at 320 kph on state of the art electric powered rails, passing the flank of Fuji-san and to the southwest. The views at that speed were surreal, and a reminder of the one thing Japan got right in its efforts to modernize. Our transportation system is fantastic. Light poles and houses blurred past us, while towns and rice paddies further out were discernible for the seconds we could see them, then gone once more. Over all was the sea to the East and the looming solidity of Fuji-san, until it disappeared into our rear of our journey west.

 

I read that the Americans wanted to build a copy of this train in California, but they ignored the physical requirements, installing stops every few miles for passengers, and ended up building a few bulwarks but no track, no trains, and still managed to spend fifty billion of their dollars. The French built a functioning bullet train from Paris to the southern cities. The TGV, what they call it, was efficient, fast, and worked well. But none were as sublime as the Shinkansen of Japan.

 

A few short hours had us arriving in the single largest atrium on Earth, at Kyoto Station near Kobe. We offloaded, staring up and UP into the huge space, so big it could generate its own weather inside, and were directed to buses which took us to our hotel in Kyoto, a very fancy tour-group capable conference center and hot springs hotel in the oldest city in Japan. Kyoto was the old capitol of Japan.

 

Our country moves its capitol every few centuries, to keep from going stagnant. Before Kyoto it was in a rice field hundreds of kilometers from here, back when Japan resembled Korea or China, with straight swords, onmyoji, fortune telling, and fairly serious attention paid to Shinto. China may have a lot of hells, but Japan has a lot of gods.

 

Stepping out of the hotel to see some sights with my classmates, Yui and Yukino, Saki and Saika joining us, we visited a haunted house for a modest fee, something Yui pretended to like, Yukino ignored with derision, and Saika giggled over.

 

“I love horror houses,” he said, Miura clutching his arm. She’d caught up to us, or rather her boyfriend, and that means Hayato, Ebina, and Tobe and Ooka were trailing behind. Ebina eyed me speculatively, Tobe mooned over her, and Saki suddenly clutched my arm when a corpse in bandages suddenly lunged for her.

 

“Nope nope nope nope nope!” she started chanting and then sprinted out of the haunted house for the exit with a cute scream. I chuckled. Miura moaned in fear, clutching Saika tighter.

 

“So this is kind of a romantic place, isn’t it?” I commented to Yui.

 

“I prefer the more authentic locations of historical significance,” sniffed Yukino.

 

“I’m with you there. Any chance we can visit some of the temples and gardens?” I asked her. She raised an eyebrow.

 

“I didn’t take you for an aesthete, Hachiman,” Yukino remarked as we finally exited the haunted house into the sunlight. Saki was panting, bent over a park bench some short distance away. Saika called to her and she staggered our way, still dazed.

 

The next site on our walking tour was some spring with lucky water. Sensei was there trying to drink it in hopes of finding a husband. Her squat form was unflattering in its desperation for men she’d done her best to drive off through determined effort on her part. There is no helping some people. I wonder how her next school will take to her dominating personality? Yui helped herself to the water and passed me her cup hopefully. I dumped it and filled a fresh amount from the stream. Sorry Yui. I can see your future. You may be a nice girl now, but the bloated fat wife you are destined to become is not turning me on one bit. Only Saki still held her shape, of all those in my class. And I’m reasonably sure I don’t want to taste tobacco every time I kiss my woman. Sorry, Saki. Someone is out there for you. Probably another smoker.

 

I enjoyed walking through the narrow alleys of Kyoto, the many bits of artistic stone or wood or bronze in nooks and strange locations, maintained and not forgotten. We passed traditional sweets shops where adzuki beans were being stuffed into dough for baking, where mochi was pounded out of cooked rice to make the base of sweets, where griddles were making pancakes with buckwheat flour and smeared with mashed chestnuts as their filling, sold hot. I bought three of those, handing the others to Yui and Yukino, who proceeded to split them with Saki and Saika. I nibbled, savoring the nostalgic taste of historical Japan, before foreigners changed us forever.

 

“Okay, I am have a nice time now,” I announced.

 

“Should I ruin it for you?” offered Yukino.

 

“I am sure that if I say Haruno three times she isn’t going to appear,” I smugly responded.

 

“What are you implying about my sister?” Yukino bristled.

 

“Oh nothing at all. She’s challenging company, to be sure. She enjoys an argument, needling people, taunting them. I think she finds others delusions to be hilarious and uses them for ammunition,” I answered broadly.

 

“You’d know about delusions, wouldn’t you?” Yukino answered.

 

“Sometimes you look at us kind of strangely, Hikki,” said Yui in a quiet voice. “I don’t know what you’re thinking then, but your expression isn’t very nice.”

 

“Sorry if I cause offense, then, dear maiden,” I offered my apology to Yui, and nodded to Yukino who was glaring at the slight. No way was I going to explain my hallucinations. Having friends, even female ones with the Cat Lady future, was better than nothing.

 

“Why are you always so mean?” Yui managed to ask clearly.

 

“Most people are treated nicely because someone wants something from them. I respect you too much to ask anything from you, and I respect you too much to hide my true self. You can accept my honesty as a compliment,” I suggested. Yui blinked, thinking about them before frowning.

 

“Being mean is not a compliment,” she stamped her foot. On the whale vision her entire body jiggled from this seismic blow, though the ground did not, in fact, move. Damn my hallucinations.

 

“Perhaps someone treated him badly and he never got over it,” Yukino suggested, and I could see in her eye that she might know something. Or at least suspect the truth.

 

“Is that what happened to you?” I retorted. Yukino glared at me, a warning look in her eye.

 

“Fine. I’ll drop it. But don’t try to spoil my mood. I was enjoying myself before you started making threats,” I reminded her. I went back to absorbing the architecture, the decorations, the music rising over rooftops and out of courtyards, and all the weird old-world history the persisted in this strange historical city that the rest of Japan had left behind. I understand from many comments online that every Japanese visits Kyoto and nearly all of them hate it. Not for common reasons, because it is clean and well run and maintained, but because it is turning its back on the future, something Japan has pursued for the last century. True, this pursuit has bankrupted the country, and my generation will probably end up paying for it in a decade or two, but being here? It is beautiful. It is like time travel.

 

“You know, despite all her flaws, Haruno would probably be good company walking around Kyoto. Does she know as much history as you do, Yukino?” I asked my companion. Yui turned to regard our friend, also curious.

 

“Even more, though I enjoy it for different reasons. My sister tends to find humor in many things. I tend to be more respectful,” Yukino said after a minute of thought.

 

She gestured to another open courtyard where a flute sang arhythmically while a small audience in kimono and wearing inari masks listened, sipping sake from tiny thimble-sized cups of white porcelain. We passed the opening and the sound vanished, along with the surreal scene. The city was full of places like that. Where time felt broken, separated into little fragments, and you were intruding on them, on someone else’s universe, that you were the yokai in their tea party. Pass by with respect.

 

“Does anyone else find Kyoto kind of unsettling?” Yui asked quietly. Kawasaki, who was clutching her arm, nodded agreement, eyes wide. She was so scared she wasn’t smoking.

 

“Yeah. Lets find somewhere to sit down and rest our brains,” Yukino suggested. We followed her lead to the Mother and Cubs rock garden, one of the most famous Zen rock gardens in all of Japan. And being a rock garden it was empty at the moment. So we went there and sat, staring at the rocks until our minds relaxed again.

 

“Fox people aren’t real,” chanted Saki to herself.

 

“They were definitely not sitting in a garden courtyard listening to flute music and sipping sake from very tiny cups,” I added. I sipped from my Georgia Max Coffee. I rarely have this kind, but I kinda need the sugar. I hope I don’t regret this later.

 

“Certainly that was not something we witnessed, and it did not happen, and such things are not at all real, no matter how many stories we heard from our parents, or all the Shinto shrines we have visited, or the large number of Inari statues all over Japan. Because Fox people are not real,” insisted Yukino, tilting her glasses to sip at a cup of tea. When she got that I do not know, but she was sipping the steaming beverage just the same.

 

“Totally not real,” agreed Yuigahama. Kawasaki just stared at us with wide eyes.

 

“So you saw it too?” she whispered, then shuddered, hugging Yui tightly. Her arms sort of sank into and deformed the fat rolls on the aging matron that Yui would someday become.

 

“We should just go to the hotel. I think we need some dinner and distractions to help forget what definitely did not happen,” I suggested. The girls nodded together. We stood and made our way to our hotel, taking different streets to avoid whatever that courtyard was.

 

Back at the hotel we disrobed into our hotel clothing and sandals and headed for the hot spring, to soak a little while, then returned for dinner, which was a full set of all the specialties, all of it exquisite. It was so good I finished mine and then needed another soak, too buzzy from the caffeine in my coffee earlier to sleep or hold still. I was pondering what to do next in the lobby when I spotted Yukino in her favorite fur collar jacket disguise, She looked like a ski bunny, what they call a particular type of young athletic female of sufficient but not excess age who haunts ski resorts looking for a fit young man to keep her company for the evening. They are apparently common in Switzerland, Austria, the French Alps, Italian alps, and the American ski resorts. I am unaware of their exact financial requirements, but it is just one of those accepted things that few make any complaints over as long as they’re not bothering the other guests and keep their activities discreet. That’s what she looked like, tugging at a Pan San doll, special made for the hotel, a limited edition. I know she has a collection. Haruno, of all people. Sent me pictures of it after I forwarded her that video of Yukino playing with my cat. She may be a mad goblin of a woman, but she does love her sister.

 

Yukino spotted me, looking at her holding the plush toy and started to guiltily put it down, then picked it up again and beeped the payment kiosk before joining me with an austere look on her face. This once, she looked like a solemn child rather than an exhausted freedom fighter of women’s rights or whatever it is that drives her so hard.

 

“Good evening, Yukino-san. I am feeling rather full from our meal. I must pass along my gratitude to your Mother for arranging our accommodations. I am unused to such privilege.

 

“Not going to comment on my hobby?” she asked in a warning tone.

 

“Everybody needs a hobby. I’ve been learning about carburetors. Mine keeps having trouble idling. It is fine under acceleration, but then when I come to a stoplight the engine dies. I think it is the idle jet,” I answered by avoiding her question.

 

“You think I should give up childish things, don’t you?” Yukino accused. I looked at her.

 

“I was born in a Middle Class family,” I began. Somehow I feel like in a dozen years or so this will become a famous internet meme after getting abused by a politician with a painfully obvious drug habit.

 

It was then that sensei turnedup in a long brown coat, furtively looking around beneath her fedora and big black sunglasses. The sun went down three hours ago, so this was fairly attention grabbing. Yukino stared as well when my mouth just dropped open.

 

“Come with me if you want to live,” sensei insisted, threatening us both. We shrugged. She got a cab and we rode to some lighted rectangle with a curtain over the top foot of the doorway, and turned out to be a Kyoto ramen izakaya. Sensei bought us all ramen and she got herself a tall beer and a short sake in a box that was artfully poured over in a very symbolic fashion. She made happy “pushooo!” noises as she ate, almost like she was an anime character herself, and Yukino and I tried not to gawk at her as we ate our obligation food on already full stomaches. Japan is all about the obligations. I can see why so many salarimen promise to one day leave all this behind so they can retire to the countryside or some small town where they can do what they like and never deal with people unless they really want to. A life without obligations is true freedom.

 

It was then I saw something almost miraculous, enough to make me blink my eyes before I realized WHY I was seeing it. All the people looked normal. It was the low lights in the izakaya that had made me open my eyes wider, and I hadn’t noticed. Yukino was pretty, like she’d claimed. No glasses yet, no wattles. No worry lines. Just smooth youthful skin and the absence of her usual sneer.

 

Sensei herself looked thinner, still young and pretty enough to marry, even if she only had a few years left to get her 1.6 children, the current national average. Or 0.8 if we’re talking single mothers raising a child alone. I suspect that number will worsen in the next ten years, actually. Even if all goes well, the demographic problems of Japan are already being studied in our government, and they publish these reports, and I’ve read their short versions, and sometimes more.

 

“Do you think if I said Haruno right now she’d just appear?” I asked.

 

“Oh, Hachiman, I always come when you call,” a sensual voice breathed in my ear. I turned slowly and eyed the 10 I rarely glimpsed. The goblin mask was lost in the low light of the little bar.

 

“Tonkotsu ramen!” she called out.

 

“Hai!” answered the chef, getting to work.

 

“So you came on the train?” I asked.

 

“The day before. I am handling the accounts and verifying the reservations, insuring everything runs flawlessly. Surely Yukino did not leave you to imagine all of this splendid organization can be done entirely from Chiba City, did you?” Haruno laughed. She was glorious in this light. A ten, like I said. Many eyes glittered on old tired faces, in their own conversations, a few looking our way, then returning to their own concerns. A ramen bowl plopped down in front of her and she sat on the stool to my left.

 

“And spoil your surprise, neesan?” Yukino asked in her quiet voice, acerbic as ever.

 

“Well, you got me. I’m surprised. Our accommodation is the best, and I am impressed by this experience. How did you know to come here?” I asked Haruno as she began to eat. She made happy hums and chewed and slurped a while before answering.

 

“I arranged it with Shizuka. Meeting at ramen joints is our preferred venue for socializing,” Haruno explained. She lifted noodles and slurped them up.

 

“Beeru!” she called.

 

“Hai! One draft beeru, coming up,” the counter cook answered. He plopped the mug down for her and she lifted it to sip the foamy beverage with obvious gusto. After so long seeing fat ugly people, seeing beauty in such ordinary environs is refreshing.

 

Some tension in my shoulders released and I sagged over the course of several minutes. Maybe the caffeine is wearing off. I finished my ramen and passed the bowl up to the counter chef to clean. Sensei was still shifting between beer, sake, and ramen in obvious enjoyment. To eat food like this yet maintain her currently slim figure… all the fat must be going to her breasts, because she looks attractive. Her long hair down almost to the ground, her figure lazily perched on the stool. I suspect she’d be smoking if we weren’t here with her. The smell would be a problem on our return to the hotel.

 

“What’s wrong, Hachiman? I’m used to more of a fight from you,” Haruno asked me.

 

“Is that a complaint?” I asked back.

 

“Maybe. Your general feistiness is part of your appeal. You don’t go all doe eyed when I turn up, like all men. You don’t fall all over yourself to impress me. It makes you kind of unique, since you clearly aren’t gay,” she added.

 

“I’m not gay, but why did you feel the need to add that?” I asked her curiously.

 

“Its usually only gay men who don’t respond to my charms, but they tend to be really hostile instead,” she shrugged, reaching for her beer. She took a long drink from it.

 

“Why are they hostile? And understand, I suspect you are throwing a joke at me,” I warned.

 

“Caught me. Well, they don’t like me because I make the men on the fence straight, and thus I’m competition. They think I’m poaching on their feeding grounds,” Haruno smirked. Then she laughed.

 

“I see. Humble bragging, are we?” I accused her. She lifted her mug to me and then finished it off.

 

“Let me call you kids a cab so Shizuka and I can catch up without scorching your young ears,” Haruno offered. She did and we left the place a minute later, sensei promising to pay for our meals, something she’d already done before this all started. I noted that Yukino was still hugging her Pan San doll.

 

There was a half moon in the sky, and the light was enough to grant some weak illumination. There were street lights, but they were not high up, to maintain the visual fabric of the old city. The cab arrived and we got in, the driver announcing it was prepaid, and then we sat a few minutes, trying not to smell the chemicals used to remove the stench of vomit and cigarettes. We were let out in front of our hotel and I offered Yukino my hand to help her out. She took it, joining me on the sidewalk. The cab shut its door and drove away.

 

“So that was amusing, in a stalkerish kind of way,” I summarized.

 

“I knew she was standing behind you. You just HAD to say her name. You probably smelled her perfume subconsciously,” Yukino said. I paused and nodded. That was a pretty good explanation. Not nearly as suspicious as that other thing I am not going to remember.

 

“Shall I escort you in?” I offered. She looked at my hand in hers and released it.

 

“No. We’d make quite the gossip if you did that. They already hate me, and Sagami would flower with jealousy again. She already suspects me of poaching you from her,” Yukino sighed.

 

“Is she still infatuated?” I asked Yukino. Being back in bright light my eyes had narrowed and the respite of beauty was withdrawn once more, leaving my clubmate with glasses, wrinkles, wattled jowls, and frown lines. It was very sad. This is my life.

 

“Of course. And she probably will be until some other man tames her at least as strongly as you did,” Yukino smirked.

 

“Such misfortune. Fine. Go to your rest, woman. I shall give you time to hide our tryst,” I taunted. She flushed, then scurried away, which looks weird on a woman forty kilos overweight, but really isn’t. Egads my hallucinations are weird.

 

I waited a few minutes and reached the room. Many of the boys were still awake. I found my bag, brushed my teeth, and turned in while the other boys played cards or slept or gossiped about girls or told ghost stories.

 

The following morning was more guided touring, more history with assignments to photograph various locations on our list using our phones. We were to upload our pictures to our assignment website so sensei could review them and we’d receive school credit for it. We were able to walk to most of the sites, including the stepping stone bridge across the river through town, several famous temples, courtyards, and the famous stage with its long drop, facing the city below. It is photographed a lot.

 

We opted to visit the bamboo forest after dark, which Yukino said had inspired a number of important poems in prior eras. She read one out loud, which was a fine artistic approach until it was interrupted by a fleeing Ebina, crying, and a pursuing Tobe, crying.

 

“I thought he was going to stick to one sided love?” I complained, staring at the vanishing forms. Miura and Hayama brushed past us in slow pursuit, giving their friends a moment of peace before returning them to civil life, where they’d have to pretend this never happened and not cause discomfort in their close-knit group of friends in the back corner of the classroom. Considering that Ebina sat in the protagonist seat, was she heading somewhere to face destiny, or just dreaming it would show up someday like in stories? I really don’t know. I sat halfway down the first row from the door, on the inner wall. No views, no fun, and sensei liked to punch me in the gut. At least I’ve got a motorcycle to return to.

 

The next morning I bought a bunch of edible souvenirs, some facial blotting paper for mom and sister, and a pictorial calendar for Dad because he likes that kind of thing. Then it was pack up your bag, hop the bus to the train station, very organized and neat, and Shinkansen back to Tokyo, then another train to Chiba City. Perfectly enjoyable travel, even with Haruno opting to sit beside me and hum Citypop tunes from the 80s. Her goblin features were back, and she was definitely plotting something. Yukino stared at the two of us with a degree of barely concealed malice.

 

“So did you get me anything bro?” asked Komachi when I returned home. I passed out stuff and she grinned happily. She looked like Haruno. She looked like a goblin. I sighed. This day was inevitable, but I am sad. I patted her head, got some dinner going, ate, bathed, and called it an early night.