Tatsuhiko Takimoto - Welcome to the NHK!

“Great Creator, who made the heavens and this Earth, too, along with us humans, may praise and glory be returned to your great name.” Everyone looked forward, listening attentively to his prayer. No one looked at us.

It was going as planned.

Or so I thought. As he was finishing his prayers, the important man at the podium said something like, “Thanks to the aid of the Holy Spirit, you were all able to gather here again today. Many children, as well as new people…”

New people? Who? Who are they?

They were us.

Everyone’s gazes immediately turned toward us. I pulled the tulip hat even farther down over my eyes. Yamazaki, as though competing with everyone else, flashed his insane smile.

At the edge of my peripheral vision, I could see Misaki. She was in front of me, in the seat closest to the pedestal. She hadn’t realized we were there. Relaxing, I stopped Yamazaki, who was trying to wave to everyone.

“Well then, we give you all our thanks in the name of the Son, Lord Jesus Christ, and give you our prayers.”

“Amen.” The congregation spoke as one. Only our duck voices stood out terribly in the chorus.

The purpose of this meeting was to improve proselytizing techniques. This was why it was called “missionary school.”

First, a veteran male follower stood at the podium and spoke as an example to follow. After that, the missionary students expounded on various subjects for six minutes at a time. At the end, the “director” gave a three-tiered assessment (“good”, “work harder”, or “needs improvement”) to each student’s discussion.

At least, that's how the housewife sitting next to me explained it.

Bowing politely to her, I casually assessed the scene. Even though it was a weekday evening, a decent number of people had gathered. What caught my eye first was the huge number of housewives. They were all extremely normal, middle-aged women, like the kind you’d find shopping at any nearby supermarket. In addition, there were businessmen, coming straight to the assembly on their way home from work. Finally, there were young people on their way home from school. A wide variety of people had gathered in this meeting hall.

The more senior male followers wore serious expressions at the podium, and I was fascinated by their discussions. Some people even wrote down the contents of these lectures in their notebooks. The speeches once again contained the sort of vocabulary that made normal peoples heads hurt. “Armageddon” and “Satan” and other such wonderful terms kept coming up, and so my stomach began to ache.

At any rate, I was certain that there were about one hundred people gathered here, and that they were all very, very serious.

“The birth of mankind was six thousand years ago.”

“Noah’s Ark is on Mount Ararat.”

“Satan’s war will begin soon.”

“According to the Book of Revelations…”

Are you all from Gakken Mu?! [25] Gakken Mu is a group of people obsessed with the supernatural and strange, based around the magazine of the same name. I wanted to yell, but Yamazaki and I were vastly outnumbered.

Finally, the first lecture ended. In summation, this was its message: The decay of this world is spreading visibly. Political corruption is unending, disputes break out ceaselessly around the world, and brutal urban crime just goes on and on. Youths are addicted to licentious relationships, adults seek only material worth, and morality falls further and further by the wayside. In short, this is Satan’s doing. Those in this world ruled by Satan are unaware that they do his bidding, and this is precisely why Armageddon draws near. Before Armageddon arrives, we must save as many people as possible from damnation. This is the goal of our mission.

Apparently, an antagonism between God and Satan existed, and those without faith would fall into hell.

The student lectures that followed seemed to have similar themes. “Praise God, hate Satan” appeared to be the general policy. They all seemed to have practiced quite a bit for this day and skillfully referenced passages from the Bible, speaking without hesitation. I could see some signs of nervousness; even so, they spoke proudly. Each time the bell rang, marking the end of the allotted six minutes, everyone clapped. I clapped, too. Continuing in this way, eventually, the young people’s speeches ended.

Next… Yamazaki and I exchanged glances: Misaki’s turn had come.

I was expectant. I wanted her to use ridiculous lines like those I heard each night at counseling. I wanted her to make me laugh and feel cheerful.

However, Misaki, at the podium, was shaking slightly, her face pale. During the entire time, she had nothing interesting to say. In a vague, flat monotone, she merely gave a passable speech about the Bible, staring at her shoes the entire time.

She seemed to be in pain. Her demeanor reminded me of a girl who, from elementary school on, everyone had bullied.

Missionary school ended.

After a ten minute break, a “service meeting” was scheduled. During the break, everyone chatted amiably—a group of housewives, boys, and young men. Each group gathered together, talking and smiling happily.

“Kazuma is in Bethel—“

“—servants volunteering—“

“Anyway, in the reclamation work we did before—“

“—the Satomi sisters finally were baptized.”

Specialized, technical terms were used often, so I couldn’t really follow the conversations well.

I looked toward the corner of the meeting hall where Misaki sat alone, stooped over on a steel chair. She was making herself small, trying as hard as she could to not stand out. There, in the corner of the room, she was destroying any trace of herself. She really was pale. Each time someone passed her, Misaki looked downward. It appeared as though she feared someone might try to talk to her. During the break, no one spoke to her. That seemed to be what she wanted.

In the friendly meeting hall, she alone stood out from the surroundings.

“Let’s go home.” I nudged Yamazaki toward the door.

“What are you saying, Satou? The service meeting is about to start!”

Yamazaki’s eyes were bloodshot, and I had some idea why. In the technical terms we were most familiar with—that is to say, in the vocabulary of erotic games—service was defined as “a special type of loving massage that a maid in an apron performs for her master.”

“This is a service meeting! Those girls over there will perform their services for us!”

“There’s no way that’s going to happen!”

Putting the angry Yamazaki into a full nelson, I muscled him outside. As we approached the building’s main exit, a voice called out from behind, “Hey, you!”

It was the younger of the two solicitors we’d encountered earlier, the middle-school-aged boy. His hands thrust in his blazer pockets, he glared at us. “You guys are really here just to make fun, right?”

Suddenly, Yamazaki took off. He ran away without even glancing back. Once again, I was left alone.

However, the boy didn’t yell at me. In fact, we started walking along the dark road together. Even though it was already summer, the night wind was unseasonably chilly. The boy was smoking a cigarette. He exhaled, “Ah…”

“That’s against the commandments, I think.”

Forestalling me, the boy drew a Zippo from his pocket and lit another cigarette with what seemed to be a practiced hand.

Walking on my right side, he explained, “Sometimes, people like you want to see something weird, so they come to observe the meetings. Stupid students, like you guys. Well then, what did you think? Was it funny?”