Amagi Brilliant Park: Volume 1 Page 4
Wait, wait... this is a beautiful mood and all but... at least give me some kind of explana—
With a feeling as if he’d been struck by lightning, Kanie Seiya lost consciousness.
●
The strains of Hotaru no Hikari drifted through the air as the amusement park sank into twilight.
Moffle had entertained 28 guests at his attraction today. A mere three of them had taken the souvenir photo with him, one of those being that arrogant child, Kanie Seiya.
So damned few, and on a Sunday at that... In the old days, they’d have had more guests than they could count, all climbing over each other to get into Moffle’s House of Sweets. Crowds of children with smiling faces... the excitement, the shrieks, the laughter... That was all in the past now.
“Moffu...” He shut off the lights for the attraction, then did a little basic clean-up. They didn’t have the money to hire a maintenance crew to work overnight, so disinfecting the water pistol-shaped laser pointers with medicinal alcohol, checking to make sure they still worked, and changing the batteries were all things he did himself. It was also his job to repair and touch up any animatronics that might have broken down over the course of time, as was checking the fire systems and locking up after.
Once all the work was done, Moffle, Fairy of Sweets, would stop in with the part-time cast member who worked with him. “Time to close up shop, fumo.”
“Thank you, sir,” the part-timer would respond brusquely, then head straight for the cast service door.
Not a single word of small talk. The boy was under the impression that Moffle was a company employee who did his work in a mascot suit because they were short-handed. Ah, well. Let him think what he likes. What good would it do to tell him that the manager at his part-time job is an honest-to-goodness fairy from a magical realm called Maple Land?
Moffle plodded his way down the underground passage, returned the Moffle’s House of Sweets key at the security center, signed it back in with the time of return, then punched his time card.
“Moffle-san. How did things go with the guests today?” The elderly security guard—this one knew what he really was—asked him in a kindly voice.
“Typical, fumo. Though one had a chip on his shoulder, and we got into a bit of a scuffle.”
“Ah, I see,” the security guard sympathized. “I know it’s hard, but try to hang in there.”
“Thanks, fumo.”
Normally, this would be when he’d leave the park behind and go fill himself up at a yakitori restaurant with his mascot friends. But today he had something else on his mind, so Moffle turned back.
The old security guard, who had been prepared to check his belongings as per their usual routine, called to Moffle as he walked away. “You’re not leaving yet?”
“Nah.”
Typically, when employees left work for the day, they had to undergo a token search of their belongings. There were so many of them, after all, and they weren’t under the illusion that there was no one in the park who might try to smuggle merchandise or equipment and sell it off somewhere. Inspections like that were standard in most department stores and amusement parks. Of course, the dedicated full-time employees hated it, but—
“I’m gonna speak to the manager, fumo.”
“Latifah-san, eh?” The security guard said with a smile. “Say hello to her for me, would you?”
“Right.” Moffle recalled that the old security guard was a fan of hers. Not an uncommon trait among the full-timers—it was one of the few things that kept the fading morale there hanging on by a thread.
Moffle wouldn’t say he was a fan, himself. He had an affection for Latifah, surely enough—but that was because she was his niece. And while she cared for him too, the feelings were entirely platonic.
After a trip through the underground corridors in an electric cart, Moffle arrived at Maple Castle’s rooftop garden. Latifah came running immediately, her expression joyful. “Uncle!”
He’d told her time and again that it wasn’t safe for her to run...
He embraced her tightly. She’s lost weight again, Moffle thought. She feels so light. But of course, that curse is still eating away at her...
“Did you meet the Kanie boy?” he asked.
“I did,” she told him. “The Bestowal of Magic caused him to lose consciousness, so I asked Isuzu-san to see him home.”
“Is that so, fumo...”
So she’s kissed him, then. Moffle felt a small prick in his chest, like his heart was being stuck with a needle. With a kiss, a woman of Maple Land’s royal family could bestow magic on a man chosen by her divine revelation.
No one knew what kind of magic it would result in, as it was different for everybody. Generally speaking, though, it would be whatever kind of magic the man needed. A man chosen during a time of battle would learn battle magic. A man chosen during an epidemic would learn healing magic. It was all up to the whim of the goddess Libra. That was what the elders of Maple Land said, at any rate. He couldn’t vouch for it himself.
“...We went a few rounds together when he stopped by my House of Sweets,” Moffle said. “Not much of a man, by my estimation. I doubt he’ll be much use in saving the park, fumo.”
“Really?” Latifah said doubtfully. “But have you not read the profile that Isuzu-san wrote about him?”
“I have, fumo.”
This was the last paragraph of the report written by the aforementioned elite member of the Maple Land royal guard:
...Given this information, we can ascertain that the Kanie Seiya indicated by the revelation is possessed of a dual nature; one side is that of a rational commander and level-headed strategist. The other is that of a passionate artist and entertainer who understands the needs of the people. To make use of both at once will be challenging, and he seems possessed of an internal conflict about this aspect of himself, as well.
In my own humble opinion, I believe that the herculean task of revitalizing Amagi Brilliant Park can only be achieved by a mortal with this dual nature.
First Royal Guard of Maple Land, Yisuzurch Saintlucia.
Moffle just chalked down the reasoning on behalf of the girl (her Japanese name was Sento Isuzu) to her youth: of course she’d want this Kanie Seiya to be their savior. Of course she’d want him to be someone who could turn around their failing amusement park. But the situation they were in wasn’t nearly so forgiving.
“Isuzu may have a high opinion of him, but I’ve got my doubts, fumo. A man’s character can’t turn around a slumping economy.” Whether it was a business or a country, when a community stagnated, there was always a reason for it. A systematic reason that couldn’t be fought. Even if this boy happened to be a genius, there was nothing any one man could do about it.
“...Then you believe that there is nothing to be done, and that we should simply allow it to fall?” Latifah asked sadly.
Moffle was at a loss for words. “I didn’t... say that, fumo...”
“There must be a reason why the guests have abandoned us,” she protested. “Some reason that is beyond our comprehension. If the guests are mortals, then, why not leave the park’s management to a mortal? ...That is my proposal.”
“I hear you, fumo...” But, despite his answer, Moffle still thought... It’s not going to be that easy.
They had a mere two weeks left. To get the necessary number of people—approximately 100,000—to visit the park in that time was just not possible. They’d have to maintain a pace of over 7,000 visitors per day. Even on a Sunday, their most popular day of the week, their total attendance rarely broke 3,000.
The cast were doing everything that was in their power to do. But, despite all that, no one was coming. There was nothing to be done about that.
Then, if the park couldn’t reach its goal, they were going to get the run of the place. They’d close the park. They’d fire all the cast. They’d tear down all the structures and put up some chemical-smothered golf course. And then, Latifah would...
“In the interest of caution, I have asked Isuzu-san to spend the night with him,” Latifah said. “She will handle any problems that might occur.”
“...You know the age that boy’s at, fumo. Isuzu’s a royal guard with a nice body. I hope there won’t be any mishaps, fumo.”
“What do you mean, ‘mishaps’?”
Moffle snorted in response. “Latifah, there are things in this world that you don’t understand. Men are wolves, fumo. They’ll shift into ‘beast mode’ at the drop of a hat, fumo.”
“Ah, I beg your pardon...” Latifah said apologetically. “What exactly is ‘beast mode’?”
There was a brief moment of silence. Moffle decided to ignore the question.
“Well,” he concluded instead, “any Lupin-type that tries to go after Isuzu will get a taste of the magic gun Steinberger, fumo.”
“Ah, forgive my repeated questions, but... What exactly is a ‘Lupin-type’?”
Another brief silence.
“You’ll understand when you grow up, fumo. Er...” Moffle let out a sigh. “Sorry, fumo. I didn’t mean...” There was a tone of deep melancholy in the chief mascot’s voice. The idea that Latifah might ever grow up was a pipe dream.
“Not at all,” she said optimistically. “It may not be possible this year, but it will happen, some day. I am certain of that. And I have a feeling that Kanie-sama may just make something work out...”
There’s no way, Moffle thought.
Not unless a miracle happens.
And the reason we call them miracles is because they never, ever do.
[Today’s park attendance: 2,866. (100,121 from goal) / 14 days left]
Suzuran Shopping Street, Amagi Station North Entrance
Well, talking with Latifah about the fate of the park may be important, but it’s no reason to skip out on a drink after a hard day’s work. Moffle passed through the park’s service gate, caught the last bus of the night, and then walked another ten minutes from his final stop. He was heading for a small yakitori bar near the north entrance of Amagi Station.
The people he passed on the street paid him little mind. He got about as many glances as a foreigner wandering around in Roppongi. He owed that to the magical item provided to him by AmaBri: the Lalapatch Charm. As long as he wore that charm, any mascot—no matter peculiar-looking—would be treated like any other man on the street. Those charms were what let Moffle and his fellows buy lunches at convenience stores, splurge their earnings at pachinko parlors, and buy figures in Akihabara without arousing suspicion.
An older lady closing up her cigarette shop for the night called out to Moffle as he passed. “Oh, Moffle-chan. Running a bit behind tonight, aren’t you?”
“Moffu. I had a few things to see to, fumo.” He waved his plush hand in greeting.
“By the way, my little brother and his wife sent me some pickled radishes, and I have more than I can eat. Would you mind taking some?” she asked.
“Thanks, fumo.”
“Wait right there, Moffle-chan.” She withdrew into the back of the store. Moffle was left waiting for a fair while before the woman came back with a cold pack-readied plastic bag.
“Make sure that you eat them as soon as you can,” she instructed.
“I’ll do that.” He gave her a stiff bow, then continued on his way.
Three storefronts down from the cigarette shop was the yakitori bar, “Savage.” It had been in business for a bit over 20 years. Always that same enticing aroma wafting out from the ventilation fan, he thought nostalgically, and that same glass door, sticky with oil.
When he entered the bar, he found Takami, the part-time worker, filling a pitcher with beer from the tap right next to the register.
“Oh, Moffle-san. Come right on in,” Takami said, her tone lacking in affectation when it came to their regulars. “Your friends are already in the back, drinking away. You want your usual Hoppy?”
“Moffu.” AmaBri’s physician had recently advised him to stay away from purines. Gout was a surprisingly common affliction among mascots in the industry—hence the Hoppy. He was trying to avoid beer as often as possible.
“While I’m here, Takami-chan, do you want some pickled radishes? They’d make a fine appetizer, fumo.”
“Oh, I already got a bunch from the lady who runs the cigarette shop...” Takami said, wincing as she saw the plastic bag dangling from Moffle’s hand.
“Ah, I thought so. No big deal, fumo.”
He passed by the counter and made his way to the small, cramped tatami room in the back. His comrades from Amagi Brilliant Park—Macaron and Tiramii—were indeed already there, drinking. It seemed it would just be the three of them tonight.
Macaron’s mug was about half empty of beer, as was Tiramii’s. They were going to town on shichimi spiced heart and chicken-and-scallion skewers.
“Munch munch... This’s great, ron! This place’s got the best chicken-and-scallion skewers in the business, ron!” Macaron declared.
Macaron was a woolly white mascot who looked like a three-heads-tall bipedal sheep. He had an adorable little face, which was currently stuffing itself with yakitori and guzzling down beer, to be followed by a deep sigh and a rapturous puff off of a cigarette. His brand, incidentally, was Marlboro—each time the cigarette tax went up, he would go on a tear about the government and Japan Tobacco.
“Just delicious, mii! That’s the flavor of hard work, mii,” Tiramii added.
Tiramii was another mascot; he looked like a sweet little Pomeranian in three-heads-tall form. He was covered in pink fur that seemed very soft, and wore both a flower ornament by his ear and a small pouch over his shoulder. All in all, it was impossible to look at him without getting a warm-and-fuzzy feeling inside.
At the moment, he was gulping down shochu on the rocks and bitching about the day’s guests. “The kid tried to kill me five times in five minutes, mii. When a five-year-old hits you for real... sheesh, you just can’t understand unless you’ve felt it, mii! It freaking hurts! I should have hit him back. No court would convict me!”
“Yeah, I hear you, ron...”
“But oh, oh—here’s the part I really want to talk about! The kid’s mom, mii!”
“Oh-ho?” Macaron chortled. “What was she like?”
“Hot pants in mid-March. Long legs, porcelain white. Massive rack. Tears in her eyes, falling all over herself with apologies. An exquisitely aged thirty-something, mii.”
“Sexy, ron?”
“Hella sexy, mii! She’d get MILF roles in the AV industry in a heartbeat. And she was giving me all kinds of signals.”
“You’re gonna get shot down again, ron.”
“But she gave me her email, mii. See? ...I don’t mind older women, as long as they’re hot. And banging a kid’s mom is the best revenge, mii.”
“You’re a real creep, ron.”
The two adorable animal mascots—fluffy Pomeranian and the woolly sheep—were spewing vulgarities with beer mugs in hand. It certainly wasn’t anything they’d want a guest to overhear.
At last, the two realized that Moffle was there. “Hey, it’s Moffle, ron.”
“Took you long enough, mii!”
They raised their mugs in greeting.
“Moffu.” Moffle gave his clipped response, slipped off the fur slippers he wore as outdoor shoes, then stepped onto the tatami and knelt down. Incidentally, even with his shoes off, his feet were covered in the same fur as his shoes. ...The fact of the matter was, he’d had the outdoor shoes designed to look like his real feet. ...But then his feet were also quite large, so the shoes had to be as big as handbags to cover them, and thus, wouldn’t fit inside the usual shoe cabinets.
“...Listen up, you two. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: Keep your conversations out of the gutter, fumo. The walls have ears and the doors have eyes... What if someone overheard you and started a play-by-play on Twitter, fu
mo?”
Yes, a rumor like that—“I’m here in Amagi yakitori bar ‘Savage’ and two AmaBri mascots are howling about trying to score with married women”—would be horrible if it got out. Opinion of AmaBri would plummet on the spot (although some might say it had no lower to go).
“Aw, this bar’s cool, mii. Besides, we’ve got the Lalapatch Charms,” Tiramii countered.
“You can’t even get wireless LAN or 3G signal here, ron,” Macaron added, holding up his smartphone. Both bars read “No service.”
“Be that as it may—” Moffle protested.
“Besides, our guests don’t even tweet, ron. You know how many followers I have? 128, ron.”
“......”
128 followers. Even for a mascot of a highly unpopular amusement park, the number seemed egregiously low. Though, he’d heard it was because Macaron’s account was mainly him tweeting out “pearls of wisdom,” which caused most of his followers to eventually get annoyed and unfollow...
“What about you, Tiramii?” Moffle asked.
“I forget, mii. Probably about 200. I get blocked a lot for some reason, mii!”
In stark contrast with his cute Pomeranian-like appearance, Tiramii loved dirty jokes. And the moment he learned one of his followers was a woman, he’d start hitting on her immediately. As a result, the story went, he too had been largely abandoned by his followers.
“What about you, Moffle?” Macaron asked.
“I don’t do Twitter anymore, fumo.”
He’d made an account on the others’ recommendations, but he’d barely touched it. He’d tried following friends and others he knew too, but even that he quit after less than a month. He’d quickly grown sick of watching Macaron’s lectures and Tiramii’s ill-advised come-ons, and the others’ accounts weren’t much better.
Furthermore, reading things on Twitter was a depressing experience for him. It was just a bunch of individuals rattling off the trivial events of their lives, yet seeing all those happy tweets day in and day out made him feel like... how to put it? Like “My life is so boring compared to theirs.”