This story was written by you rising Japanese writer Shokichi, and so the content of this story and the copyright goes to rightful owner and posted in here for non-profit purpose only. The raw resource of the story came from Japan Web Organization (an affiliate culture promotion by Japan embassy). This story posted in Timo'sPaper a sister blog from SPN, we put disclaimer of it's copyright and no harm intended. This stroy translated by John Brennan and compiled by Sprucefir. Picture illustration by Tamaoki Benkyo.
Episode 1
He woke up in his room, which reeked of paint.
Surrounded on three sides by a desk and shelves in a cramped, dimly lit six-mat apartment.
The clock said it was already ten in the morning. Time to get dressed, eat something, and go to school.
Takahashi Tomoya got out of bed under the steady gaze of the countless capsule figures that lined his shelves. Visiting friends frequently claimed the staring figurines made them uneasy, but he didn't mind.
He grabbed the closet door handle and pulled with all his might. It was a cheap apartment, and the closet door had always stuck.
The door opened.
There was a girl inside.
Sitting there hugging her knees, she looked up at Tomoya, her improbably big eyes brimming with big tears. As if on cue, Tomoya's alarm clock started beeping. He started babbling.
"It's, ah, . . . oh, sorry, should've knocked."
Suddenly, the girl's face twisted in rage. She clenched her fist and walloped him.
"It was really dark in here! And cold!"
Tomoya went flying back into a corner of the small room and fell over. From the sting of the punch, he finally woke up.
Episode 2
The same figurine, third time in a row.
No fortuneteller needed—today was the worst kind of unlucky day. Standing in front of the vending machine, shoulders drooping, Tomoya sighed.
The anime theme song playing in the shop tried to encourage him: "Don't let hard times get you down; if you don't give up there's still hope." His backpack was stuffed with doubles and repeats. No room for hope in there. He left the shop muttering.
"Maybe next time."
As always, the low-ceilinged corridor was filled with a peculiar hubbub. To Tomoya, it was the sound of Nakano Broadway breathing.
A four-storey structure built about 40 years ago, it was anything but spacious on the inside. You could see at a glance that it was a shabby old shopping pavilion, but Nakano Broadway was an unusual place. Its floors were crammed with small shops laid out like puzzle pieces, most of them catering to an otakuclientele. There were row upon row of miscellaneous anime shops; dojinshops, which sell manga memorabilia and self produced comics created by manga fans; maid cafes; and rental showcase establishments. Some people called it the Otaku Mall.
Tomoya rode the escalator to the first floor. The second, third, and fourth floors were packed with otaku-oriented shops, but on the first floor there were drugstores, fast food restaurants, clothing stores, and other businesses serving the general public. On a weekday evening it was bustling with housewives and high school students on their way home from school.
Tomoya hunched his shoulders and headed quickly for the exit on the Waseda side.
"This thing weighs a ton."
The backpack, crammed with capsules, bit into his shoulders as he walked. The pack and its contents were all he had to show for the money he'd spent; he felt like tossing it away then and there.
Ten meters from the exit he stopped short, almost involuntarily. There, on a stairway landing, stood a lone capsule vending machine.
Episode 3
After a day like that, it never occurred to him that the very next day he would be in serious danger of being crushed to death in his own room.
Crawling out from under the shelves, Tomoya found himself confronting a perfectly symmetrical face.
"I'm not a ghoul or a goblin or the Loch Ness Monster. I'm not going to hurt you. I've got my complaints, but I can't have my maker up and die on me. Oh, and my name's Kanako. Okay?"
The human-like figure calling herself Kanako rattled this off very rapidly. Tomoya barely understood half of what she'd said, but faced with her intensity, he just nodded.
"As long as you understand."
She stuck out her chest and assumed a triumphant expression, as if satisfied with this transaction. The skin peeking out under the sailor suit was pure white, with no visible seams.
There was no doubt about it, though: she was the capsule figure Tomoya had assembled.
The black capsules spewed from the machine at Nakano Broadway had all contained parts for a two-thirds scale figure of a real girl, and real girls were apparently expected to be 150cm tall. It wasn't any character he'd ever seen in manga or anime, but he'd spent the whole night putting it together and then stuck it in the closet. At that point it had definitely been just a figure. There was no warning label stating that it might move around or start chattering or pummel its maker.
As if to dispel Tomoya's confusion, Kanako was constantly moving around, almost hyperactive.
What to do?
He'd been putting together capsule figures for a long time but had never considered what to do if the figures started moving around. Call the police. The National Consumer Affairs Center. The FBI. The Men in Black. Words came to mind, but nothing that seemed practical. All he could do was follow Kanako with his eyes as she inspected the wreckage of his shelves and figurines.
Eventually his gaze fixed on one thing.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
"What?"
Episode 4
"Sir, can I ask you about something?"
"If it's about your order, it hasn't been delivered yet."
The manager looked up from his sports paper and smiled lazily.
Tohodo. A figure shop in Nakano Broadway, it was Tomoya's favorite haunt. The place was crammed with capsule vending machines and figures new and old, and it seemed to be run with no particular policies or preferences in mind. It never attracted more than a modest number of customers.
"No, right now I'm trying to find something."
"Looking for a rare item? You'd be better off searching the Net than looking in here. Online auctions and such."
"I mean I'm looking for something I lost. A capsule figure. It's a jet-black thing."
His voice gradually faded as he spoke.
The manager's hand made a rasping noise as he dragged it over the stubble covering his cheeks and chin.
"Tomoya-kun, you know how many capsule figures get sold at Nakano Broadway in one day?"
"I know it's a stretch. It might have been thrown away already, too."
There was agitated motion inside his backpack. Seemed as though someone might be unhappy back there.
"Something wrong?"
"No, nothing."
He reached back and trapped the backpack between his elbows, squelching the motion. Couldn't afford to be found out, not here.
"By the way, on a totally different subject . . ."
"Hm?"
"They don't make figures that walk and talk by themselves, do they?"
"There are plenty of action figures that can be operated indirectly, but I've never heard of a self-animated figure. They sell figures that move wirelessly, but that type of thing is more like a robot."
"How about one that looks like a girl, moves freely, and can carry on a conversation? Being secretly developed somewhere, maybe?"
"When you're my age, and I'm an old geezer, maybe you'll be able to buy one then. There'll probably be a market for them too."
That was the limit—the moving thing inside his backpack went berserk. Tomoya managed a forced smile and said, "There probably will." Then he made his way out of the shop, fleeing the scene like a fugitive
Episode 5
"Thank you for the polite welcome."
Charmed, Tomoya answered her goofy smile with one of his own.
A very peculiar atmosphere descended on the space where they stood; he didn't know what to say next.
She seemed to be even more flustered, though, and launched into an explanation that sounded more like an excuse.
"Oh, no, I don't work here. It's because of this showcase, because it's mine, and you're looking at it."
She seemed to be trying to say that she was the tenant of showcase No. 56 and had greeted him as a prospective customer viewing her work.
"Excuse me! Sorry for just coming right up to you like that! Here, this is me!"
Moving with uncalled-for briskness, she took a business card from her bag and presented it. Tomoya automatically took it.
"Shinjo Ena?"
"Yes!"
Shinjo Ena nodded as though very pleased. It seemed reckless, handing over her card to some man she'd never laid eyes on before, but maybe this was an online nickname, not her real name. The card showed only the name, an e-mail address and the URL for Ena's website.
"Um, my name's Takahashi, Takahashi Tomoya. I haven't got a card."
Smiling, she said his name.
"Tomoya-san!"
Everything she said came out loud. Sensing some kind of pressure, he said, "Well, see you later," and started to leave. Ena immediately hollered, "Tomoya-san! Do you have a little time? For a cup of tea or something?"
Tomoya ended up going to a coffee shop with Ena. Looking back, he realized that in all his 20 years he'd never gone to a coffee shop with a girl before. He felt inordinately nervous.
One question kept coming up: Had he just been picked up by a girl? Couldn't happen, he told himself, but as he was denying it, a different suspicion arose.
He'd heard of this: a woman approaches a timid-looking otaku on the street, invites him to have a cup of tea with her, and then talks him into buying her expensive jewelry or artwork. He was sure he looked like an easy mark and couldn't imagine another reason why a woman would go to the trouble of introducing herself.
"The Kyokuyodo Hot Tech series is so well done. I wish I could make something that good. Tomoya-san, are you going to exhibit in the Wonder Festival? This will be my fourth time . . ."
Then again, it seemed unlikely that a woman trying to peddle expensive artwork would go on and on about her own fascination with capsule figures.
Listening to the one-sided conversation, he more or less figured it out. Ena was just happy that someone had come to see the figures she made. Tomoya knew the feeling, too. When you make a figure, you always want to know what someone else thinks of it. Ena must have overcome her shyness and summoned up all her courage to do this.
"Sorry, I'm doing all the talking."
An artwork-peddling schemer? Far from it. By now she seemed kind of cute. Tomoya smiled and picked up his coffee cup. Then he was kicked in the shins and very nearly spilled the coffee.
Trying desperately to look unconcerned, he glanced down. The backpack that had been left unattended for the past hour sat there in moody silence.
"Sorry, I should get going."
Squeezing the squirming backpack, Tomoya rose from his seat.
Episode 6
When they got back to Tomoya's room, Kanako unleashed a stunning low kick. Her leg, which appeared to be made from resin, was hard as stone. Tomoya clutched his thigh, writhing in pain.
"That's how my heart aches—but worse!"
After spending half a day crammed into a backpack, Kanako was infuriated. Her long hair was a mess.
"Sorry, tomorrow I'll do a better search."
By way of a reply, she delivered an uppercut to the chin.
Within minutes of their return, Tomoya's room lay in ruins. In addition to the shelves that had been toppled that morning, two sets of shelves that had survived the morning were now casualties of Kanako's resin fist. Someone who didn't know any better would have thought the place had been bombed.
"Tomorrow you're going to do it right."
"All right, I will. Don't wreck anything else."
Tomoya collapsed on the floor, arms and legs outstretched. Splinters of wood from the shelves pricked his back painfully, but he couldn't even bring himself to move. He felt like an idiot, the ultimate fall guy. Here he was after wasting a whole day mixed up with a mad doll, and to top it off his room now looked like it had been through an air raid. Closing his eyes, he was aware of a slight headache.
"Can't you get by with one arm?"
As soon as he said it he knew he shouldn't have. Fearing the worst, he peeked over to check her reaction.
Kanako looked as though her own father had stabbed her in the back. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She did this several times before finally managing to say,
"No."
"Sorry."
"Absolutely not."
"Very sorry. I'll look for it.
Kanako didn't answer, just turned her back. She picked up something that had fallen on the floor and started playing around with it.
He would have liked to escape into another room, but in a one-room six-mat apartment there was nowhere to go. He rolled over to face away from Kanako, and shut his eyes. Instead of her back, he was confronted with his own guilty conscience.
Episode 7
A week passed and still they had no leads. He'd known this would be difficult, but with nothing at all to show for his efforts, Tomoya was at the end of his rope.
Kanako seethed. When they weren't roaming around Nakano with Kanako crammed in the backpack, she mostly parked herself in a corner of his room and sat there scowling. Tomoya understood how she felt but found this a bit excessive. He had to be careful about what he said and did in her presence. When he was lugging this bundle of joy around on his back, he found welcome relief in chatting with people who were unaware of his situation.
Today they were once again hanging around Nakano Broadway when Tomoya's phone began to vibrate. It was Ena.
"Sorry, got a few minutes?"
"I guess so, sure."
Tomoya shrugged and headed for the usual meeting place. Since their first encounter he'd seen Ena fairly often. She evidently hung out at Nakano Broadway, too, and he ran into her there several times. He'd been summoned by phone before, too. Kanako, who might have seen this as a way of letting him blow off a little steam, hadn't made too much fuss about it lately.
* * * * * *
The day ended, and again the search had been fruitless. It was a ten-minute walk from Nakano Broadway to Tomoya's place. Lately Kanako had gotten into the habit of poking her head out of the backpack on the more deserted stretches. A piercingly cold wind swept through her long hair as she looked back at the scenery flowing by.
"You're seeing Ena a lot lately."
"I'm sorry, but I just can't seem to find it."
Kanako had spoken without reproach, but Tomoya took it to mean she was blaming him for not finding her right arm. He hung his head. Hoping to raise his spirits, Kanako assumed an unnaturally cheerful tone.
"Do you like Ena?"
"She's . . . all right."
"You're pathetic."
That much he knew without being told. All he ever did was sit there wearing a sappy grin and making agreeable noises while Ena talked. He never tried to make his move. Sure, there was no big hurry, but he was also vaguely aware that if he kept putting it off, their acquaintance was liable to come to an end without anything ever happening.
Headlights: a car was coming in the opposite direction. Kanako ducked back inside the backpack. The car passed, but she didn't put her head out again.
"Am I a burden?"
This from inside the backpack. Tomoya quickly turned to answer but realized that she couldn't see him. Voice cracking, he said,
"No, not a bit."
Kanako didn't speak again. They went home and turned in for the night.
Episode 8
Wherever he went, Ena came along.
She came along when he went looking for Kanako's right arm, which made the fruitless search all the more somber. Somehow, two whole weeks had passed since the search began.
"Sorry, do you mind? I won't be too long."
"It's all right. There's plenty of time."
This had become a common occurrence: a whispered exchange with Kanako about sparing some time to see Ena. Tomoya was 20 years old, and she was his first girlfriend—he was on top of the world. He felt indebted to Kanako, but to tell the truth, it seemed like a waste of time looking for her arm.
Today again Kanako was parked at his feet while he spent time with Ena. They left the coffee shop and walked the deserted corridors, the pack on his back feeling heavier than before by about a third. To ease his conscience he looked from side to side, pretending to search for the missing arm. Ena was watching him.
"What are you looking for?"
It was a perfectly natural question, but there was no possible way to tell her he was looking for the right arm of a girl who happened to be a capsule figure.
"Nothing. I'm not looking for anything."
The backpack stirred.
"But you are, aren't you? You keep looking around."
The agitation inside the backpack increased. He quickly reached back and gave the pack a squeeze, but it wouldn't calm down.
"I look like I'm looking around? I must be weird, huh?"
A major earthquake occurred inside the backpack. Tomoya was rocked from side to side along with it.
"Not weird, but what's going on? That backpack's moving around, isn't it?"
Kanako had finally reached her limit. The backpack popped open and she stuck her head out.
"If you don't want me around, why don't you say so!"
That was it—game over. Tomoya sank to his knees and let out a groan.
Episode 9
Eleven o'clock. In the room where one person and one figure now resided, an uneasy silence prevailed.
<>
<>
As he conversed with Ena by e-mail on his cellphone, he gazed out the window. Clouds were sweeping across the sky; it was expected to snow late that night.
Another day of fruitless searching. When they got home Tomoya had gone straight to his desk and started trimming a half-finished capsule figure. Kanako wasn't really doing anything, just sitting in a corner staring off into space.
He spoke to her over his shoulder
"Can I ask you one thing?"
"What?"
"What's going to happen after we find your arm?"
"What do you want to happen?"
That was the worst possible reply. He pretended to be searching his mind, but she pressed him for an answer.
"Well?"
Tomoya considered the prospect of living with Kanako for the rest of his life. He wondered if she even had a life, a life span. Eventually he'd get a job, get married, grow old, and die. When he was an old man, Kanako would still be just as she was now. She'd probably be there at this side, weeping, when her master breathed his last.
For some reason Ena's face popped into his head.
"Let me guess what you're thinking."
Her voice took on a sadistic edge.
"If only she'd been an ordinary figure."
Unconsciously, he clenched his fist around the utility knife he was using. If she saw the look on his face right now, some of his furnishings were bound to be destroyed.
Stifling his emotions, he tried to seem calm and in control.
"No way."
"Oh really? So if Ena asks, ‘Who's more important, me or the doll,' you'll say ‘The doll'?"
Kanako was turning on him in a very nasty way. He understood she was impatient to find her arm, and he felt guilty about spending time with Ena, but Kanako had no right to speak to him this way.
"Why do you have to bring up Ena?"
"Because."
The blade of the utility knife snapped in two. He tried taking deep breaths to calm himself down, but his breathing was shaky. Just then his phone started vibrating—an e-mail.
<>
That was it. If he stayed here with Kanako another minute he'd lose all control and say something disastrous. He'd have to make up an excuse and leave. He stood up.
Episode 10
A cold, bone-chilling wind was blowing.
Tomoya loaded the limp Kanako into his backpack, got on his bike, and pedaled as fast as he could. His heart was pounding harder than it ever had before.
Finally, the familiar silhouette of Nakano Broadway rose up ahead of him. He got off the bike, tossed it aside as though abandoning it, and ran toward the entrance. It was after midnight; the shutter would be down. He'd pry it open if he had to—he was going inside.
But in front of the building he slowed and then stopped. Ena was standing at the entrance.
"Never got an answer to my e-mail. Might have come over here, I thought."
She seemed to be talking to herself, making excuses, but her eyes were fixed on Tomoya and his backpack.
For a moment he was dumbstruck. It was unbelievable: she'd been waiting for him out here in the middle of the night, not even knowing if he'd be coming or not.
"Sorry, I have to hurry."
He had no time for Ena now. He had to find that arm right away. He walked past her, but after a moment he realized she'd been holding something in her hand.
"Looking for this?"
With a wan smile, Ena waggled the item in her hand. Once it was attached, it would fit Kanako's arm perfectly. It was her missing right arm.
"How did you . . . ?
"I just happened to find it."
As if drawn to the piece, Tomoya was unconsciously moving closer to Ena.
"Stay away."
Episode 11
He had no recollection of how he'd gotten home.
Kanako was lying on the bed. Now and then she regained consciousness, but most of the time her eyes were closed. Her face was a vivid crimson, and her forehead was warm to the touch. Outside the window daylight arrived, and eventually it got dark again.
He touched his chin and felt stubble. He wasn't hungry, wasn't sleepy, hadn't even used the bathroom. All this time he'd been gazing at Kanako's profile.
Kanako came to again. She glanced up at the ceiling with a dubious look in her eye. She had clearly grown weaker since the previous night.
"I'm sorry."
It was something he'd felt he shouldn't say, but it slipped out. Saying he was sorry would only make them both sad, yet somehow he felt it had to be said now.
Kanako looked him in the eye and spoke haltingly, as if biting off each word.
"I wasn't supposed to have a right arm."
Keeping her eyes on Tomoya's puzzled expression, she went on.
"It must be that there just wasn't any part for my right arm in the first place, but even without one I was perfectly cute. I had a good time, considering."
"But if we just had that right arm, you'd be complete . . ."
"Tomoya, let it go."
She sighed, but with a smile.
"I never had a right arm—let's just leave it at that."
Her words had the ring of a prayer.
"But why did you make me look for it?"
She stole a glance at the figurines on one of his shelves and closed her eyes.
"I was just . . . hoping."
A roaring gust of wind beat against the window. Neither of them spoke; a stillness descended.
|
Episode 12
It was Sunday, and Nakano was jammed. Nakano Broadway, rising up like a giant castle, was swarming with people, each on his or her own particular errand.
With so many people around, there might well be others walking around looking for lost parts for capsule figures, as he was. One or two of the searchers might even be capsule figures themselves.
Tomoya shook his head to clear away this pointless daydream and looked around. He quickly spotted the person whose call had brought him there.
"I didn't think you'd come."
Ena looked distressed. Tomoya offered a noncommittal smile. Somehow or another he'd shown up here—that was about all he could say. Ena's e-mail message had arrived the night before, three days after Kanako had stopped moving.
"What did you want to show me?"
"Let's go."
Without answering the question, Ena turned her back on him and started walking. Tomoya followed. They rode the escalator and then walked down a corridor, and their destination came into view. He still had no idea what Ena had in mind.
They arrived at the rental showcase shop. Ena led Tomoya inside and stopped in front of showcase number 56. It was her showcase, the one he'd admired so many times.
Inside was Kanako's arm.
"You can have it."
"How did . . . ?"
He replayed scenes he'd hidden in a deep corner of his memory. Ena had smashed a right arm that night. Kanako, still missing an arm, had grown increasingly weak, until finally . . .
"That was a copy. I made one that looked like Kanako's right arm, just as a spare. This is the real one."
Under the lights Kanako's arm gave off a milky glow.
~ Fin ~
p.s. there will be another update about visual novel tutorial when ever SPN finished to construct VN Tutorial Page.
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