The Dissociation of Haruhi Suzumiya Read online

  “Gotta say, though, I like ‘Kyon’ better. It’s got a nice ring to it. Is it cool if I call you that? Or should I propose a different moniker? Seems like you’re not a huge fan of your nickname.”

  How did Sasaki know I didn’t like my nickname? I wanted to know.

  “Because you respond more quickly when called by your real name than by your nickname. About point two seconds quicker.”

  That was because the only time people called me by my real name was when they had serious business with me. Like when a teacher called on me in class to answer a question or when someone who didn’t know me well—especially a girl—talked to me… and anyway, I asked, point two seconds? How could she even tell the difference?

  “That’s about how long it takes for your brain to process information and take action. When someone uses your name, you respond instantly. But when someone calls you ‘Kyon,’ you’re that much slower, perhaps because of some deep-seated psychological reason. It made me wonder if subconsciously you really don’t like the name.”

  Thinking back, I’m pretty sure I’d never been subjected to so much psychobabble in my life.

  Cram school classes happened three times a week, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and always in the evenings.

  Not counting the Saturdays on which there was no school, I got accustomed to making the trip on Tuesday and Thursday with Sasaki. The cram school was near the biggest train station in the area, and to walk there from our middle school, the tedium of traversing the distance would’ve bored us to death. The bus route was circuitous and lengthy. The quickest way to get there was to ride directly there by bike, which took a mere fifteen minutes.

  My house was along the direct route from school to the cram school, so the most logical plan was to get the bike out upon returning home and pedal to the cram school. And since Sasaki was already with me, it became habit for me to have her ride on the back. It saved her the bus fare, for which she was grateful.

  Though we were in the same classroom at cram school, it wasn’t as though we had free time every day for pointless chatting. The surrounding atmosphere ensured we both studied seriously. That might have been why the gently decreasing curve of my grades during my second year of middle school started to come back up, which I was thankful for—and it certainly provided some relief to my mother, whose dismay at the grand countdown that had been my grades had prompted her to take serious action and toss me into cram school.

  It would’ve been even better if it had gotten her to stop saying stuff like, “If you don’t improve your grades more, you’ll never be able to go to the same college as Sasaki.” I didn’t understand why I had to go to the same college as her.

  Once class at the cram school was out, the world had fallen into night. I’d look up at the celestial zits that were Earth’s natural satellites as I pushed my bike home, Sasaki following just slightly behind me. We’d walk to the nearest bus stop, since she took the bus the rest of the way home.

  “See you tomorrow at school, Kyon,” she would say as she stepped into the bus, and then I would ride straight home.

  Okay, enough reflection.

  “I can hardly believe you’d already progressed so far,” said Koizumi, his middle finger pressed to his brow. “It’s like a page out of an innocent middle school love story.”

  He could say that if he wanted to, but Sasaki and I didn’t have anything like that kind of pleasant boy-girl relationship. For it to be “pleasant,” it would’ve had to exist in the first place, I pointed out.

  “Oh, certainly. If that’s what you think, I’m sure that it’s true. But I wonder about the people around you. What did they make of the pair of you, do you suppose?”

  I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. Now that he mentioned it, Kunikida and Nakagawa had both gotten the wrong idea about it…

  “I’d probably get the wrong idea about it too, if I’d heard the situation from someone else. And I’m certainly not the only person who’d think so. It’s entirely possible that Asahina and Nagato are thinking likewise. But both of them have some knowledge of your circumstances, so it would probably remain an empty concern on their part, but I can think of one person who’s supremely unlikely to let this slide.”

  “… And who’s that?”

  Koizumi’s smile took a turn for the malicious. Something in his eyes looked distinctly critical of me. “If we’ve gotten this far and you still don’t know, then we may have to cut your head open and write the name directly on your brain.”

  I knew whom he was talking about. “Can’t really believe it, though.” I felt strange, as though there was a large mass of caterpillars on top of my head. “So Haruhi saw Sasaki, heard her refer to herself as my close friend, then got all fuzzy-headed for some reason? Is this her subconscious again?”

  “You’re familiar with the concepts of closed space and , but of late their behavior has changed. Closed space is as it always was, but the have been so placid it’s unsettling. Though they still appear, where they would usually be actively destructive, they’re now listless, at loose ends. Only occasionally do they bother striking a building, as though suddenly remembering what they’re supposed to do.”

  So those blue monsters were finally acting rationally. What was the downside? I asked.

  “As far as we in the Agency are concerned, it matters little. We must destroy the to eliminate closed space.” Koizumi continued: “We have to conclude that the —and consequently, Suzumiya’s subconscious—are at a loss. It’s as though she doesn’t even know what she’s thinking or what she should be thinking. Her subconscious is wandering, lost.”

  Freud would laugh in his grave. I’m sure he never imagined his theories would be used so frequently to analyze someone like Haruhi.

  “For my part, it seems quickest to assume that Suzumiya is feeling some jealousy toward Sasaki.”

  I was gonna have to object to that statement—if for no one’s sake but Haruhi’s. “She’s the kind of girl who thinks of romance as a mental illness, you know.”

  “So let me ask you this: do you think Suzumiya is such a keen psychological observer that she’s an authority on the various ways men and women relate to each other?”

  Not even remotely, I said.

  “Nor do I. She may seem to understand, but she often does not in fact understand. In any case, her heart is no more mature than other girls of her age. From that perspective at least, she is a normal girl. She just assumes rather contrary positions at times.”

  You’re one to talk, I told him. Koizumi had no shortage of contrarianism in him.

  “You think so?” Koizumi smiled as though having removed a mask, then put his finger to his cheek theatrically. “I must not be making enough effort, for you to so easily see through me.” He spread his hands and shook his head. “To analyze the situation, I would say that Suzumiya has discovered that you have a friend from your past who she never knew about and couldn’t have even imagined up to this point, and it’s causing her to feel things she has trouble articulating. The word ‘jealousy’ is an oversimplification—it’s a more basic, fundamental emotion. Let’s call it ‘surprise.’ Of course you have one or two old friends, and maybe even a girl among those—even Suzumiya understands that much. But for Sasaki to refer to you as her ‘close friend,’ well, nobody would expect that. Not even me, who already knew of her existence.”

  “I don’t really get it… No, I don’t get it at all, in fact.”

  “During middle school, Suzumiya was mostly isolated, or perhaps even lonely, so hearing the words ‘good friend’ may have caused her to feel a certain pang.”

  “But that’s what she wanted. She’s so aloof.”

  “And yet still. For example, suppose I had a friend of the opposite sex you knew nothing about, and she suddenly appeared. What would you think?”

  “What, do you?” I pushed. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if this guy turned out to have had a secret gi
rlfriend all along.

  Koizumi smiled, chagrined. “Perhaps that was a bad example. Let’s not talk about me. What if Asahina had a male friend from her past who was acting overly familiar toward her?”

  It would bug me, of course, but—“That’d never happen. Asahina and Nagato did not come to this world to play around.”

  Honestly, it wouldn’t kill either of them to play around a little more. And anyway, Asahina’s past was our future.

  “This is merely hypothetical. If there were such a situation, how would you feel? I am only guessing, but I’ll bet you’d feel a strange emotion, difficult to put into words. Neither jealousy nor uneasiness. For one thing, Asahina has never appeared particularly aware of the fact that her friend is of the opposite sex, and on the surface seems the same as she’s always been. So being suspicious of her friend is ridiculous. Thus, erasing these feelings from your subconscious is the best course of action. Now consider this situation, but replace Asahina with you, and you with Suzumiya.”

  Across the courtyard, a small cheer went up. Evidently a new freshman had decided to join one of the clubs.

  Koizumi looked up. “But elements outside our ordinary consciousness are not so easily changed. Thus her unconscious frustration gives rise to closed space and these sluggish . While the root cause may seem clear, it is in fact not so, which is why there is no obvious means to counter it. Although such means may yet exist—” His eyes got narrower still.

  “Kyon! Koizumi!” Haruhi strode toward us with heavy footsteps, as though she were trying to break the cobblestones of the courtyard, her body pressed against Asahina’s.

  “Wah, whaaaah—!” Asahina’s feet got tangled, owing to Haruhi’s half-again-as-long stride, but Haruhi ignored this and dragged her along like so much captured prey.

  I figured she’d bring back some unlucky lemming of a freshman, but much to my surprise, she was empty-handed. So the tag team of maid and Chinese dress hadn’t hooked a single one, eh? It looked like this year’s crop of freshmen was full up on common sense.

  Haruhi stopped in front of the monitor that was looping the trailer. “Have there been any interesting applicants? What about with you, Yuki?” she said, still holding on to Asahina.

  As I was deep in thought, I got the sense that Nagato shook her head minutely.

  “We walked all over the place, but it was totally no good. The guys who started leering at the mention of being able to drink as much of Asahina’s tea as they wanted were obviously disqualified. Whenever we went up to girls, they just ran away, so I guess this year’s just a bad crop.”

  Or maybe they’d been mistaken for the cosplay club.

  “But I’m sure there’s at least one suitable person somewhere; we just haven’t found him or her yet. Not yet. Kyon! In middle school, did you know any interesting students younger than you? There definitely weren’t any in my school, so anybody from East Central is out. I forgot to mention that until now,” said Haruhi loudly. Her face—

  —Her face was shining with a brilliance like the nuclear fusion of a triple star system.

  I don’t think it could’ve gotten any brighter.

  We strolled back to the room with no results to show for the day’s efforts.

  Asahina looked relieved as she straightened her posture and, still in her maid outfit, set about putting the kettle on the portable burner and preparing to make tea. Koizumi and I set about putting away and replacing the tables and cables.

  Nagato, being Nagato, crumpled up the literature club flyers and tossed them into the trash bin like so many used tissues, then carefully put the club newsletter sample back on the shelf as though it was some sort of treasure. She then sat mechanically in the corner of the clubroom and opened a hardcover book. Though she was a moderate distance away, I couldn’t imagine she hadn’t heard the conversation between Koizumi and me, but she had the same mutely cool expression and demeanor that she’d had a year ago, which for some reason made me feel better.

  Haruhi sat at her desk and rested a finger atop the point of her pyramidal “Brigade Chief” plaque, rattling it around. “There just weren’t any freshmen with a spark. Maybe we’ve gotta expand our search area. All the real talent’s probably going to the athletic clubs. They’re not going to come to us if we just wait. It’s always better to cast your net more, and in a bigger sea.”

  Her legs emerging from the Chinese dress, Haruhi wore an impish expression, like a clever child deciding on her next prank. She was excited.

  For my part, I thought you’d catch better fish by using a pole than by dredging with a net, but I had no intention of sharing my ideas and thereby being complicit in her plan to entice new members.

  “I’m not gonna let the big fish get away either. In fact, I’m thinking of having a look around all the other clubs, like I did last year. I definitely want to stop them from snatching away potential members. With so many students, as least one of them has to be tasty.”

  And just what flavor of freshman did she want? I asked. One we could cook and eat would be nice.

  “Someone cuter than Mikuru, more obedient than Yuki, and politer than Koizumi—someone like that.”

  That was a heck of a hurdle. For one thing, Asahina was the only member she’d had a good reason for bringing in. Statements like “glasses are a turn-on” aside, Nagato was only here as a bonus, since she’d been in the literature club when we took over the room, and Haruhi’s only attraction to Koizumi was because he was a transfer student. I hoped she wasn’t planning on snagging the next student to transfer in around May, I said.

  “Our transfer student spot’s already filled by Koizumi, so we don’t need any more. He’s a great lieutenant brigade chief, and we don’t need another character like him. It’s gotta be someone more interesting. The SOS Brigade admits only a select few.” Haruhi booted up the computer and clicked the mouse, her chin cupped in one hand. “I was careless.”

  Her carelessness was not a new development.

  “Last year we should’ve gone to all the middle schools in the district and recruited promising students early. It’d be a shame if all the best potential members went to other schools. Maybe we should start a satellite brigade in another school. Or establish a prep brigade in a middle school.”

  Haruhi’s fancies flew free. I sighed. “Why do you care whether we get more members? Are you trying to field a football team?”

  “My SOS Brigade has to go worldwide. Isn’t computer memory increasing all the time? Our goal is the globe! We’ve got to advance along with the rest of the globalizing world!”

  So first was computerization, then globalization? I was rather fond of my quiet life. I was a high school student with no special status at all. I knew my place, and I had no intention of trying to shake up the world.

  For her part, Haruhi should just start her own school, set herself up as principal, and call it the SOS Academy. She could force every student to join the SOS Brigade. Although now that I thought about it, that was horrifying.

  “Ha ha! You’re so stupid, Kyon. I don’t want to set up a corporation,” said Haruhi, laughing it off. “We’re not doing this as a commercial venture!”

  Perhaps this was progress. She was talking big, but the Haruhi of last year would’ve forced people to attend an explanatory lecture about the brigade, printed huge numbers of flyers, and foisted them off on absolutely everybody. Maybe it was the glare of the student council president, but this year she seemed to be taking a more underground resistance–style approach.

  It seemed she didn’t have any interest in founding new branches or recruiting just anyone into the main brigade. If I had to guess, I’d say she was hoping for someone to come along with some kind of mysterious phenomenon—someone who’d been abducted by aliens, or a time jumper from the future who’d suddenly woken up in the past, or a superpowered human battling evil from another dimension—something like that.

  Those were tales I’d once wanted to hear myself.

  Now
I had no use for them.

  I thought about it as I played go with Koizumi, wetting my throat with Asahina’s tea, glancing at a straight-backed Nagato reading her book.

  The SOS Brigade couldn’t get any bigger, I thought.

  Even if people like our honorable adviser Tsuruya showed up, or we got more clients like Sakanaka, or we even wound up messing around with more people like we did with the computer club, it didn’t seem like anyone other than the five of us could start hanging out in the clubroom the way we did.

  That was just my guess, though. I didn’t have any reason for it, and the only people who’d be able to explain why my subconscious had settled on that conclusion were the late Doctors Freud and Jung.

  As it would turn out, my premonition was half right and half wrong. The clichéd old phrase “Little did I know” applies.

  Nobody could’ve guessed how much of a problem was going to develop. Not Koizumi, probably not Nagato, and perhaps not even Asahina the Elder.

  And as for the person responsible, well, who else could it be?

  It was Haruhi Suzumiya.

  CHAPTER 1

  The next day was Friday.

  Ever since she was a freshman, Haruhi’s habit was to leave the classroom during breaks, and despite the new school year, this did not change—so when fourth period ended, our fearless brigade chief bolted out of the room, and I was left to eat lunch with the usual combination of Taniguchi and Kunikida.

  Never mind Taniguchi—when I saw Kunikida’s guileless face, it reminded me of Sasaki, who I’d seen a few days earlier. Despite my efforts to the contrary, he noticed me looking.

  “What’s up? Do you care that much about eel omelets?” asked Kunikida easily, just as Sasaki would’ve done.

  “No, it’s nothing,” I hastily replied. “I was just thinking I’m surprised we all wound up in the same class.”

  “Yeah, really.” Kunikida stopped pushing his condiments around and looked up. “I’m really happy about it. When I first saw the class sheet, I could hardly believe it.”