"The Eve of Destruction"

By the next day, everything’s in place. I spent enough time and far too much money in Soga’s electronic and hardware stores with Yuka; I have a university fund of 10,000 yen, and we spent 30,000 yen. I can hear my wallet groan.

“It’s okay,” Yuka reassures me. “I’ll speak to my father and have him reimburse you.”

She says it so confidently and charismatically that I can’t help but relent. As we wait for the train, our bags filled with supplies, I end up scratching my head. “Weren’t you a nervous wreck like…yesterday?”

A breeze blows her black hair along. “Daisukes are always nervous. But we cover it up with smooth-talking. And this crisis…I guess it awoke something in me. No matter how much I want to throw up, I have to see this to completion.”

I wonder how nervous Daisuke gets before his speeches. If Yuka were to slick back her hair, the resemblance would be uncanny.

As for Shizuko - she spent the day getting a yukata, because this is a summer festival, after all. When Yuka and I get back to the ryokan, I’m finally freed from the normal button-up and slacks. No, today, Shun Shunsuke is a new man - a polo shirt and cargo shorts! I can actually feel the wind on my legs and arms for once!

Yuka gathers up her supplies in a big backpack and takes a deep breath. “Wozniak knew,” she repeats. “Alright, Shunsuke. I’m…I’m off.”

“Best of luck,” I say. But then I say some more. “Maybe it was the little song or whatever, but…you know what? I think you can do it. Go make that miracle happen.”

She gives me a confident nod which contrasts neatly with the way her legs tremble. When she leaves the room, she bumps into Shizuko, who's dressed up in a yukata. She pats Yuka on the head.

“Your dad's proud of you, you know?”

Yuka pouts. “Yeah, I know. He's my dad. That’s why I have to do this.”

She slips away, bag in tow, looking like a hobo about to ride the rails. Once she leaves, it’s just Shizuko and I, and then we head out for the festival. Night has already settled in by the time we walk toward the city hall plaza with the skyscraper and where the festival starts. Maybe it’s just the carnival-esque atmosphere, but there seems to be less sand and gravel in the air, more stars in the sky. Maybe it’s Shizuko in her yukata - she has a dark blue one on, purple flora designs running up and down it. Maybe it’s the nape of her neck against the collar of the yukata, or the way her half-natural, half-dyed hair shines beneath orange streetlights. I pass by a glass window to a store and see my reflection - I’m smiling wide. I’m smiling like a fool.

When did this happen? When did she become so important to me? I wrack my brain, trying to come up with that singular moment, but I’ll have to think about it later, because Shizuko’s smiling like a fool, too, and I’d rather think about that. We don’t say anything on the walk, because nothing needs to be said; all we hear is the click-clack of her geta against the asphalt. As we get closer to the plaza, distant sounds drift over to us, and crowds of people start forming, all of them heading toward the shining beacon - the huge skyscraper, rising over the surrounding buildings, comes into view. It’s lit up in red, though the huge screen remains dark.

We timed it so, if everything went right, Yuka would be able to fix the screen and turn it back on right as Daisuke announced the opening of the festival. Would she even be able to make it to the screen's internal circuitry? Certainly, cops would be guarding it, but considering said cops would likely be Daisuke cousins…a member of that family never leaves a fellow Daisuke in the cold. As we enter the plaza, huge crowds gather, lining the pathways through stalls, their faces pointed upwards toward the stage at the back of the plaza. 

Daisuke hands down hair ribbons to a group of children at the edge of the platform. He’s an okay guy, that Daisuke. Well-meaning, at least. If only somebody or something could point that energy in the right direction. Better him than-

“What’s the deal with airlines?” Mayor Takeuchi says into a microphone on the stage. He’s not tethered to a podium this time - he paces around on that big wooden platform set up right before the skyscraper where the big taiko drums will later be played, giving everyone a view of him. Red curtains hang behind him; off to the side, the Hawk stands in his shades and brown suit with his arms crossed. After helping the last child in the group, Daisuke returns to his seat, waiting for his turn to make his speech and open the festival. I check my phone; it’s almost time for Takeuchi to hand over the mic.

Takeuchi motions with his free hand. “You pay more for worse service. What’s up with that? Same with candy. You pay more for less chocolate pieces nowadays. And movie tickets! When did movie tickets get so expensive? Taking your family out for a day at the cinema can cost you over 10,000 yen. And what movies are you going to see there? The latest schlop out of Hollywood?”

He shakes his head. “We need more ninja movies! Yakuza movies! Not this superhero crap. And remember when the whole family would sit around the lone television? Now everybody has their own phones in their own rooms. Whatever happened to predictability? The whole family would come home and watch game shows. My second wife used to have dinner ready for me when I got home. Why did we let women leave the kitchen? Nowadays, I gotta hire somebody to cook for me.”

The Hawk gives a stoic nod.

“Where did the spirit of this nation go?” Takuechi continues. “Was it when we switched from cel animation to computer animation? I remember…”

He goes on and on for a long while. Too long, in fact. I check the time; he should’ve passed the microphone over by now. Daisuke gets antsy, but Takeuchi’s not giving it up, and none of Daisuke’s staff is willing to speak to Takeuchi when that big lumbering mass known as the Hawk stands close by.

Two familiar faces emerge before me. Ayako, rather than a yukata, wears her black director’s beret and discount military fatigues, while Kentaro’s just dressed like I am. They look oddly serious for a festival; curiously, so does Shizuko. I mean, I’m concerned about Yuka as much as the next guy, but I’m not trying to show it. These three wear their emotions on their faces.

Kentaro gets a phone call. As Takeuchi continues his spiel on the stage, the glow of the phone illuminates Kentaro’s grim face as he speaks. “...is everything ready? Do it.”

End call. Kentaro looks at me, and Ayako has her camera out, filming the confusion on my face. She stoically sets the scene for her future audience. “We, as members of Yoshiaki’s youth looking for change, expected this on-stage development. Takeuchi, no doubt, plans on forcing Daisuke himself to awkwardly take over the microphone, or even open up the festival himself. Such a power move will go a long way towards people’s perception of this upcoming election. But don’t worry. We have a plan.”

She turns the camera toward Kentaro. “I told you when we first met,” he declares to me, jabbing a thumb at himself. “That-”

“That we’re gonna change this prefecture,” Ayako butts in, hip-checking Kentaro out of the way. “And let’s go!”

On one of the midrises surrounding the plaza, there’s a crackle of light, sound, and fury. Sparklers pop and blow on the roof, lone fireworks blast into the sky, directing the entire crowd’s attention that way. Takeuchi is interrupted mid-speech; he glares at the source of the disruption.

I shouldn’t be surprised. From that rooftop, a big banner unfurls from the railing, rolling down, displaying in all its red glory-

TSUKAMOTO GUERILLA THEATER TROUPE