Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ My Unfortunate Whale Vision ❯ ELEVEN ( Chapter 11 )

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

 

Chapter 11

 

 

Motorcycling to school is pretty wonderful. Yes, I’m wearing the full safety suit and because I have to change clothes at school and warm up the bike before I ride it, it ends up taking the same amount of time as riding a bicycle, or actually about five minutes longer. I don’t arrive exhausted, however. Instead I arrive exhilarated and grinning.

 

“Ugh. Hikki is smiling again. That’s so creepy,” complains Sagami from the back of my row. Her idiots make similar noises.

 

I examine the classroom full of middle aged floppies, fatties, wrinkles, and sags.

 

I grin wider. “It is a beautiful day,” I insist. It is overcast and sweaty and getting hotter by the minute.

 

“You’re crazy Hikki,” accuses one of the nerds. They don’t like my smile.

 

“You smile like one of those deep-sea predator fish,” accuses a flunky. I turn to regard the nobody girl, so unassuming I haven’t even given her a nickname. The protagonists watch this drama without commenting, since half of them owe me favors and the other half are enjoying the entertainment. This classroom is full of unattractive people. They are ugly and unappetizing. Except for one.

 

Only Kawasaki remains a glittering jewel of feminine appeal. For whatever reason she seems to have quit smoking. Maybe she got scolded by her little sister over the stink? The future wrinkles are gone. The sags are gone. She looks this good well into her future, and no other woman at this school can match that. She is dateable now. She is so attractive I’m really fighting my instincts. And I might lose and invite her for a ride on my motorcycle. I’ve already promised three women. One more I’m actually attracted to?

 

There is one thing holding me back. Saki is still very much invested in her college ambitions, and studies nearly as hard as I do, only she mostly is studying contract law and computer spreadsheets. I point her to some good resources to teach those and she is after specific formulas used in finance, since success in fashion is not just sales, but profitability. Making nothing from really popular fashion is pointless.

 

Classes continue with the usual nonsense, though history is finally into the Abe period, and his policies which have had direct and profound impact on the nation since 1989, following the major crash. The Japanese economy was a bubble, and in 89 it popped. People lost their shirts. Corporations downsized most of their employees. Lifetime employment died. The Zaibatsu system finally fell apart. The only remaining ones are in cars, like Toyota, and they took a beating then too because the Americans lost their shirts as well, so weren’t buying new cars. Economics is everything. A business leader who does not steer his company through hard economic times will see his business fail, and be staring at the seppuku sword and his second waiting to finish the job properly. Boards of directors are not amused at failed CEOs.

 

“I’m sure that someday you’ll live long enough to understand the appeal of a brisk morning and the joy of prayers to Our Lady of Blessed Accelleration. Amen,” I grinned and crossed myself. Saki snickered, as did Ebina, but the rest were very confused. I found my seat and waited for sensei’s arrival. Her blundered in, spotted me grinning and recoiled back half a meter in shock.

 

“Hikigaya, see me after class,” she ordered.

 

“Right you are, sensei!” I waved merrily. The class devolved into whispers.

 

Classes were the usual. When lunch came around I followed Sensei to the teachers office and she shut the door.

 

“So?” she asked with a smile.

 

“Its awesome. And so cheap. I swear sensei, motorcycles are amazing. Its like a bicycle, but faster, and you don’t have to pedal, so you can actually look around without wheezing,” I explained. She was rapt.

 

“I always wanted a sports car, but I can’t afford one, much less the insurance or the parking space certification requirements. I rent, and in a year I’ll be moving to wherever the national school agency sends me. It could be Fukuoka for all I know. Or Sendai. Or Toyama. It might be somewhere that pays less than here but only has a few trains. Going by bus takes hours of waiting sometimes. And its slow.”

 

“You just roll past the buses, you keep up with the taxis. You have to change clothes when you arrive, but we’ve got our gym locker rooms for that. So far it has been great. I feel so alive,” I said. She was grinning too, and much of the ugly fat and tired eyes were melting back into the true younger face of this woman who cares too much and works too hard for far too little money.

 

“And you know once you get skilled enough, there are bikes which are faster than a Lamborghini Diablo,” I explained.

 

“Really?” she asked, breathless.

 

“Ever heard of the Hayabusa?” I asked her.

 

“Isn’t that the name of one of the bullet trains?” she asked, confused.

 

“That too. But there’s a motorcycle called the Hayabusa. Its 170 horsepower, and zero to 140 kph in eight seconds. Top speed is… well, you can’t afford the tickets for the top speed, but there are videos on WePipe. There are bikes for 700K yen that will pull wheelies, climb any mountain pass at speed, and do it for 60 km per liter of fuel. You do have to ride the slow bike first unless you can pass the A2 test right away. I’m under age so I have to do the A1 riding log, but you’d probably pass for the A2.”

 

“How much does the gear cost, and the school?” sensei asked, eyes gleaming with avarice.

 

“Its around 30K yen for the suit, boots, and helmet and gloves, And around 30K yen for the school, which is north Chiba, just south of the airport. Spend some weekends there and learn to ride, take the tests and then you can get a 450cc bike or maybe bigger,” I explained.

 

“Yes. I could put my savings towards that and have money left over for the bike, Should I get used or new?” she asked me.

 

“You should get new, sensei. It will cost more, but will have warranty, and I don’t see you with grease under your fingernails,” I pointed out. She looked at her hands and her functional manicure then nodded agreement.

 

“Its true. I don’t know how to use a torque wrench,” I she admitted. “Thanks for telling me. Go get your lunch and return to class on time,” she said, opening the counselling door.

 

“Yes sensei,” I agreed, looking contrite for the teachers paying zero attention to us.

 

I noticed over following weeks that sensei’s hair was flattened rather than fluffy, which she tied up to conceal, and she smiled more than previously.

 

The events of Iroha the annoying and fluffy sempai the patient were a group effort to handle. Both Yuigahama and Yukino ran for president to oppose Iroha, who did not want the job but was too cowardly to bow out and take the loss of face in what was a prank in the first place. I couldn’t be bothered with her point of view, because I could see her future as a lady of uncertain loyalties and many binding garments to hold her falling parts into some kind of shape.

 

I spent a little money to get a helmet that would fit a passenger and Komachi actually got the first ride pillion, as they call passenger position on a motorcycle. We rode out around the various orchards bordering the edges of the high end golf courses. It was very peaceful, and not much traffic out there. A 125 is not a fast bike, and its even less fast carrying two people, but it was fun and Komachi hooted with joy, giggling and laughing as we bounced along out to the sea coast. I bought her an ice cream cone at a seaside cafe, and got an iced coffee for myself. We enjoyed the view, took some pictures and headed back. By that evening I had demands for rides from Saki, Yui, and Yukino, with Haruno turning up first thing the next morning at the crack of dawn with donuts and coffee for us as a bribe.

 

“Son, who’s this?” Dad asked on my leading Haruno into the kitchen.

 

“This is Yukinoshita Haruno. She’s the elder sister of my clubmate Yukino. She asked for a ride on my motorcycle,” I explained. We sliced the donuts in half so everyone would get a piece with their miso and rice and saury (fish) for breakfast.

 

“Let’s see if I can get that helmet to fit,” Haruno smiled brightly drifting to the front door and stepping out so I could be dressed down for dating a girl three years my senior.

 

“I don’t like the look in that girl’s eye. You be careful on your bike. Don’t be afraid to pull over if she gets handsy. I know what girls are like on motorbikes,” mom warned, and went to the sink to clean up. I could tell she was angry. Dad leaned forward and tucked a packet into my hands.

 

“Son, its NEVER a safe day. Wear this if things escalate. We’re not ready to be grandparents,” he warned. It was several condoms. I don’t know where he got them from, but I nodded assurance that I would treat this with proper respect.

 

I pulled on my riding gear and stepped out the door to Haruno. I changed some padding and got the helmet fitted onto her head properly. I kick started the bike and adjusted the choke as it warmed up. We rode out that foggy sunday morning, up north to the second largest freshwater lake in Japan, Lake Kasumigaura. We stopped there for fuel and a lunch at a sit down restaurant, then we motored around the lake to take in the views before heading out to the coast and followed the coast road south, stopping several times for pictures and to stretch our legs. Haruno’s white leather pants gained some black soot marks but they wiped off easily enough, and action she did in front of me so I was sure to notice how supple she is. As she is in a good mood, the goblin look is mostly missing, and her body was trim and healthy. Something about riding agrees with her. That or the several convulsions she had during certain RPMs during the ride agreed with her. I am not sure what that was about, but she held me very tightly then and her front is quite soft.

 

We returned home late Sunday afternoon and I dropped off Haruno at the gates of a mansion in the nice part of Chiba.

 

“We should do this again sometime, Hachiman. I had a nice time with you,” she promised with a truly salacious smile, kissed my cheek, and sauntered through the gates with a huge smile on her face.

 

I blinked. I returned home to stares from my parents, who had prepared a fancy dinner for my guest who was no longer attending.

 

“Sorry. She asked to be dropped at home,” I explained.

 

“Its fine,” said mother. It was not fine.

 

“Listen to your mother,” said Dad, returning to watch the incredibly terrible Japanese television that nobody watched.

 

I went to the bathroom to clean up and found there was a huge kiss mark on my cheek from Haruno’s lipstick. I sighed. I washed it off my face. My parents argued for a while so I opted to leave that alone. Komachi was out on a date with Taishi and returned in time for dinner, which was full of tension.

 

“Wow,” she said when it was all over and the two of us were cleaning up and dad was consoling mom in their room with music playing.

 

“Yeah,” I agreed. Komachi went for her bath, and I headed for some homework I wanted to read through before bed.