Soldier (Kenji)

Soldier


The door slams behind him. Kenji takes a moment to scan the corners of his room, left and right, for anything that might have changed in his absence. The major details are still there, the familiar, fuzzy outlines of his desk, his bed, his computer. Everything beyond that is out of range and out of sight, damn, damn. Someone – some thing even – could be lurking just out of his vision, exploiting his weakness, waiting for the right moment to strike.

He could die. This could be it, just like that, the last, best hope for the male students of Yamaku could be snuffed out in an instant. He frowns bitterly, but sets down the bag he had carried through the halls of the boys' dormitory, turning to re-bolt the multitude of locks on his door. Here you are, he thinks to himself, and to the assailant that may be lying lying in ambush, just in case they're telepathic. Here's my back, this is your moment. Go on, take it.

The last lock clicks into place, and Kenji whirls around, prepared to dramatically catch a throwing knife or poison dart, but nothing comes.

Well, that's just fine. He's a cornered tiger after all, everyone knows those are the most dangerous ones. No one would dare try to take him on here, in his stronghold. No, the feminist forces only stand a chance out there, out in the open. And here he is, fully restocked and prepared for anything.

Satisfied that his room hasn't been compromised in his absence, Kenji moves to the small mini-fridge in the corner and begins putting away the rations he had just risked his life to acquire. He used to stock up on canned food, before realizing that he didn't have a can opener. And the only ones he could find at the convenience store came in that impossible to open, clam-shell packaging. Kenji scowls at the memory of having to buy a special opener to open the packaging on his can-opener... only to find that the clam-shell opener also came in the same packaging. This had been one of the times that even Hisao had to admit that a conspiracy was at work.

The thought of his friend and brother in arms across the hall makes Kenji stand up. Hisao has been pretty scarce lately, spending far too much time with that girl, which one was it? It was... Kenji can't remember. It's been a long day. He'd already endured a pop quiz in class and risked life and limb for these precious supplies, thank god it's Friday. Saturday classes are an abomination and a feminist plot to prevent men from enjoying their Friday nights, so he doesn't bother going. That means that now is the perfect time to shore up his defenses with a little whiskey and plan his next move. And seeing as how Hisao was one of the only people he would even contemplate trusting at this school, why not invite him over for some brainstorming? Kenji still hasn't been able to show off the puppets he'd put so much time and effort into, and two heads are better than one. It makes snipers hesitate about which to shoot first.

Hisao just might be able to take a bullet for him and keep on ticking, though. He had ignored Kenji's advice and still gone out the day of the festival, and here, months later, he's alive to talk about it. Pretty impressive, but Kenji knows his friend is playing a dangerous game. The girls at this school don't take prisoners, they play for keeps.

Girls... Kenji muses on the subject as he again begins to unbolt his door. There aren't enough of those these days, not around here at least. Real women, that is, not feminists. Those are hard to come by.

He opens the door and steps into the hallway, lost in thought. He had a woman to call his own, once. Suddenly, the last time he held someone in his arms feels like a thousand years ago, and all this time, he's been keeping on, fighting the good fight. Trying to keep Yamaku safe for men like himself, and like Hisao. He strides forward to bang on the door across from him. It's a good thing that Hisao came along, he was sure that the feminists were closing in by slowly eliminating the other students in the hallway. “Changing rooms”, they'd called it. “Blackmailed and probably trying to save the lives of their families”, he'd called it.

He waits a few minutes, but there's no reply. Damn, he must be out with that girl again, doing dating things or something like that. All a feminist trap, be strong, Hisao, you have to make it through. Ignore their womanly charms, their crocodile tears! They're only trying to get close enough to strike!

Unless. Unless they're not. Maybe... Kenji thrusts one hand into his pocket, a pensive expression on his face. Maybe Hisao has managed to find one of the few real women on campus? And he's not being indoctrinated or spying undercover, but actually having fun? Doing fun things, like bowling, or eating dinner together, or...

Enough of this, every moment he wastes in the hallway gives the feminists more time to build one of those machines that's the perfect size of the hallway, with a big drill on it, that just drives down the center and smashes anything in front of it. He'd seen it in a movie once, and if he'd seen it, the odds are good that the resident drill expert on the Student Council had too. So he couldn't afford to stand out here in the open, reminiscing.

Keni turns to withdraw inside his room again, but stops, noticing a small envelope wedged under his door. He must have completely missed it before, which isn't a surprise, as it's only a brightly colored blob until further investigation reveals its true form. He carefully picks it up, testing the weight to make sure it doesn't contain explosives.

Hmph. The Student Council must be getting lazy, to not even bother fully pushing it under his door like this. Kenji is sure that if it were run by men instead of just being a feminist front, things like this wouldn't happen. As it is, the letter could have been tampered with, if it wasn't sent by an enemy of his to begin with. Who is it from, anyway? He brings the envelope up to his face.

Oh, it's from his mother. Well, that rules out the enemy theory. But still, it could have been compromised. Forgetting all about drilling machines and hit squads, Kenji carefully rips open the top of the envelope. He sniffs, testing for powdered poisons, but can only detect the faint scent of strawberry bubblegum. So the drilled one had delivered it after all. Behind his thick frames, Kenji's eyes narrow.

Deciding that his mail is safe to read, he pulls out the envelope's contents, a letter from home. It's rather brief, but Kenji finds himself slowing down to read the last few lines again and again.

“I hope you're doing well at Yamaku, Kenji.” It says, in a carefully penned hand. “The greatest gift a son can give to their mother is to be happy.”

Still holding the letter carefully, Kenji lets his hands fall to his sides. To be happy. Hmm.

No, mother, he decides. He doesn't have time for such frivolous matters, he has to focus on staying alive, and keeping one step ahead of the feminist agenda. It takes a lot of time and effort, being him. No one else would know that, because no one else is him, that would defeat the purpose if he was someone else. He's not like Hisao, he has no time to waste on girls and dates and things like that, even as the memories of last year float back to him. Their warmth only makes the passage of time between then and now feel that much colder. And he's plenty cold enough, night has fallen and it's time to warm up. With whiskey.

Still holding the letter in one hand, Kenji starts once again at the locks on his door, but the sound of movement draws his attention towards the stairs at the end of the hallway. It's the drill machine! Damn, he should have known better than to sit around being sentimental, now he'll pay with his life! Kenji frantically works at the locks, but as the sounds get closer he discovers them to be only footsteps. Squinting at the approaching blob, Kenji finds... he finds...

“Hey Kenji.” He finds Hisao! Relieved to not be drilled into oblivion and also cheered by the arrival of his comrade, Kenji smiles.

“Hey dude.” He replies, turning from his door to face his friend. “What's up?”

Hisao makes some kind of face, but he's a little too far away for Kenji to make out exactly what the expression is. “Not much, just some crap.” Hisao says at last, breathing a long sigh.

“Women troubles, huh?”

Hisao makes that face again. Kenji squints hard and leans a little closer, finally able to make out the mixture of fatigue and discomfort the other boy wears. Yup, women troubles, must be.

Hisao looks like he's holding onto sensitive information, and is debating whether or not he should divulge it. He could invoke the fifth amendment if he was in America, but he's not, and good thing too because if he was the feminist movement there would have already replaced his medication with candy. They have a death grip over there.

“What's that?” Hisao asks, pointing at the letter.

“Oh this?” Kenji shrugs. “War correspondence.” He tries to keep up the smile, but the envelope's contents, and the memories they've drug up, begin to eat at him.

“Women troubles?” Hisao cocks his head to one side. Kenji frowns.

“It's always women troubles.” He replies. “You may have escaped with your life this time, but you never know if that 'girl' if yours could just be after your DNA. And once she gets it, she'll take it to a secret laboratory underneath the school, where they'll use it to make a clone of you, but as a girl.” Kenji gets louder as he goes along, throwing himself into his speech. Hisao has to be warned about these kind of things! What would happen if he just didn't come back one day?

Who would give him money for pizza? Fetch things from the post office?

Who would talk with him?

“We men have to stick together.” Kenji nods passionately. Seeing that his warnings are mostly being ignored again though, he sighs.

“Women are crazy though, yeah.” He says.

Hisao sighs as well, and then looks around, as if checking for witnesses, or maybe ninjas. “Amen to that.” He says finally.

The moment hangs between them there, a simple connection struck, a common wavelength found.

“Do you want to come in? I have whiskey. It's Friday night, man.” Kenji offers. Hisao squints past him at the mysterious, maximum security door.

“You're not going to make me watch that puppet show, are you?” He asks.

“Nah, man. There's more to life than puppets. Come on, I've got glasses and pretzels and napkins and everything. Let's talk about stuff.”

“Stuff, huh...” Hisao frowns, but then sighs again. “Fine, fine. I hope you've got enough whiskey, it's been a hell of a day.”

“You know it. Come on, it's never too late for a picnic.” Kenji's smile returns, wider than before. He finally succeeds in unbolting his door, throwing it open and gesturing for his friend to come inside. “Did I ever tell you about my ex-girlfriend?”






“Soldier” is a song by Ingrid Michaelson.