Amagi Brilliant Park - Volume 1 - Chapter 4

4: Someone Uploaded the Video of a Guest Getting Hit 
It had been three days since Seiya had taken up the position of acting manager. 
The morning after a sleepless night, he headed for school, eyes downcast. He’d taken too many days off already; if he didn’t start going to class once in a while, people would start getting suspicious. 
With nothing else to do on the crowded train, he booted up his smartphone and checked the hits on the video. “......?” He instinctively rubbed his eyes. The hits for the “Everything 30 Yen” swimsuit video were at 8,873. 
When he’d checked last night before he’d gone to bed, they had been at 218. From that to 8,873? It was hard to believe it could see a forty-fold increase in just one night. 218 hits to 8,873 hits? It made no sense. 
Holding back the butterflies rising in his stomach, he checked the hits again during the gaps between each class. After second period, they were at 12,031. During lunch, they were at 21,230. After sixth period, they were over 40,000 and rising so fast that each time he refreshed the data, the number had increased by the hundreds.

“It seems a different video went viral. Most people who watched the promotion video arrived there via a recommended link...” Isuzu informed Seiya as he arrived in his office at the park. He had run straight there after school. 
“A different video...?” he asked. 
“It’s the video of Moffle’s fight,” she told him. “Another guest must have filmed his attack on the father, and then uploaded the video to the Internet.” 
“What?!” Seiya tried accessing it with a nearby laptop. The limited information provided by his smartphone hadn’t made it clear, but now it was obvious. One of the “related videos” to Seiya’s swimsuit video had acquired over 190,000 hits. The title was “Theme Park Mascot Knocks Out Delinquent.” 
He clicked it, and indeed, it was a recording of Moffle’s fight with the guest family from the day before. One of the other guests must have shot it in the confusion, left before Seiya and Isuzu came running, and then uploaded it to the video site later. 
In terms of format, it was a lot like any other fight video you might see online; it started with the man shouting abuses at Moffle, who was outside the video frame. There was no explanation of what had led up to it. 
The man’s threatening rant lasted about ten seconds. It was quite an uncomfortable scene. 
The audio quality was poor, so it was hard to hear anything Moffle was saying. It just sounded like he was shouting “Fumomo, fumo, fumomomo!” 
Then, the man charged at Moffle. Just as tensions were at their peak, Moffle executed a precise sidestep of the man’s strike, followed by a perfect hook to his jaw. The hit took the man down, then Moffle punched the air with a swift one-two before striking a taunting pose. That was the end of the video. 
“Mmgh...” Seiya groaned. 
In reality, Moffle was equally at fault. But taken out of context, it looked incredibly thrilling. 
Most of the comments on the video were positive. 
One read, “Nice job. Really cathartic for us in service industries.” 
Another: “That hook was on point. Mascot’s hella strong.” 
Another: “What park is this? I gotta go see!” 
Of course, there were critical comments, too. For instance: “What kind of amusement park hits their own customers?” and “This is faked, it’s stealth marketing.” But far more of the comments seemed to find the fight entertaining than not. 
The hit count was almost 200,000. 
On top of that, the first link in the fight’s “related videos” was the promotion video, with its thumbnail of three beautiful girls in swimsuits. Well, at least it was serving its purpose of drawing the eye. 
In short, the Moffle fight video had gone viral, and it was channeling traffic to the promotion video. 
“The hits are still going up,” Isuzu observed helpfully. “This is a good sign, isn’t it?” 
“Hmm...” Seiya was noncommittal. 
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You don’t look happy.” 
“Well, it’s good news, but...” He was hesitant to celebrate. After all— 
“Moffu.” He looked up and saw Moffle, who was standing at the entrance to the office. He was leaning against the frame with an air of perfect smugness about him. 
“Moffle,” Isuzu greeted him. “Your video seems to be a hit.” 
“I know, fumo. I’ve been hearing about it all day. But... hah, I’m not AmaBri’s headlining mascot for nothing, fumo. I have that certain, you know... charisma?” 
That bastard, Seiya thought. I just knew he’d try to rub my nose in it. 
“It takes a certain star power to turn unfortunate circumstances to gold,” Moffle remarked casually. “I’m so talented, fumo, I even frighten me. I guess it goes to show... an amateur child might attempt to be clever, but he’ll always pale before real talent, fumo.” Moffle looked down his nose at Seiya, grinning nastily. ...In reality, Moffle was much shorter than him. Yet in this moment, he somehow seemed to tower over him. 
“Ngh...” Seiya turned his eyes down, shoulders trembling. 
Moffle continued, “So, hmmmm... Kanie-kun. How about that video of yours, fumo? The three girls in swimsuits? Hah, you put a lot of thought into that, didn’t you? You were so excited. But, too bad. Did you really think it was going to explode in popularity? The world doesn’t cater to such naivete. Heh heh heh...” 
Dammit. It was annoying. Really annoying. To make it worse, he couldn’t even say that Moffle was wrong. 
“It’s just a coincidence that it went over well,” Isuzu interrupted. “I don’t know who uploaded it, but you should be grateful that they edited it in such a flattering way. They could have just as easily made you out to be the villain.” 
“Moffu...” Her perfectly accurate observation caused Moffle to lower his eyes shamefully. 
“Now... I believe you had something to say, Kanie-kun?” she continued. “The petty competition aside.” 
“...I did, actually.” Seiya took a deep breath, shaking off his embarrassment and anger. “...There are about 50,000 hits on the 30 yen promotion video. It will probably peak tonight, and then the views will die off tomorrow. We’ll be lucky if it hits 100,000.” 
“Fumo...” 
“On top of that, there’s the fact that the people watching the video are all over Japan. Even if people in Hokkaido and Okinawa get interested in AmaBri, there’s no way they’re going to come here on a whim. So, how many people who watch a video like that will ever come here? One in ten? No—fewer than that. We’ll be lucky to get one in fifty.” 
In other words, two percent. And even that might be optimistic... 
“So, for instance, if 100,000 people see the advertisement, then that translates into 2,000 visits to the park. And it will probably be even fewer than that, given the geographical difficulties I mentioned—more like 1,000, or even less. What I’m saying is that just because the video goes viral doesn’t necessarily mean we can count on more guests.” 
“If that’s the case, why did you put us through that ordeal?” Isuzu asked him, her gaze understandably resentful. 
“Because I’d rather have 1,001 than 1,000,” Seiya responded resolutely. 
Moffle and Isuzu’s eyes went wide. 
“Get every single person that we can,” he told them. “That’s what we have to do, right now.” 
A brilliant scheme wasn’t just going to come out of thin air, after all. For now, they had to focus on getting every individual they could to the park. They needed to be willing to do anything to make that happen—that was the only way they stood a chance. 
“......” 
He hadn’t intended to express his desperation openly like this, but Moffle and Isuzu still seemed to take something from his words. “...I see what you mean, fumo,” Moffle said. He was no longer smug, nor was he smiling. “I’ll be going now. The guests are waiting, fumo.” 
Moffle left, leaving Seiya and Isuzu together in the office. 
“...I think Moffle just realized that you’re serious,” she finally said. 
“Did he?” 
“Yes. And more than that, I think he thinks you won this round.” 
“Won?” That’s a strange thing to say, Seiya thought. I was just describing my approach to the problem. 
“You’re trying to get every single guest you can,” Isuzu explained. “Meanwhile, Moffle slipped away from his onstage post to mock you... Remembering his duty likely sobered him up.” 
“Ahh... I see.” It seemed the rat had more than his share of pride in his work. He probably couldn’t bear to just stand around here after hearing something like that. 
Isuzu stuck her face out the office door into the hallway to make sure that no one was there. Then she turned around, closed the door behind her, and walked right up to Seiya. “Kanie-kun.” 
“Wh-What?” Her face was close. Her large eyes were peering straight into his. Seiya turned away instinctively. 
“I won’t complain anymore,” she told him. “If you ask me to go out in a swimsuit again, I will. If you ask me to strip naked, I will.” 
“W-Well...” he stuttered, “I don’t think I’d ever ask you to strip naked...” 
“...I see,” she said, after a pause. “Then we’ll take the nakedness off the table. Anyway, you’re a good commander. That’s all I was trying to say.” 
“Ahh...” he stammered idiotically, as he felt her words permeate straight through his heart. 
A good commander. Was he, really? It was hard for Seiya to agree. It was still far more likely that this was all going to end in tragedy. 
Isuzu turned away sharply, as if to convey that she had nothing left to say. “I’m going to go onstage, too,” she said. “Perhaps I can impress the guests with my sharpshooting prowess.” 
“Don’t accidentally kill anyone, okay?” he suggested dryly. 
“I’ll try not to.” Pulling out her usual musket, Isuzu left the office.

Afterwards, Seiya went about his duties: reading reports from various departments, giving out instructions, consulting with staff. He checked in on how maintenance was going, gave final decisions on advertising copy, straightened out inefficiencies, and more. Once he’d reached a stopping place, Seiya decided to see how things were looking on stage. 
“Let’s see...” He slipped on his park uniform, which was a tailored dark blue suit with gold aiguillettes and an arm band that read “acting manager.” He thought he looked rather ridiculous in it, but it had long been the rule that the park’s manager should wear it when he went onstage. 
He left the general affairs building and headed for the passage to the front plaza. It had gotten quite dark; close to closing time. Most of the guests were probably gone by now. 
“......?” When he came to the front plaza, Entrance Square, he found that things were surprisingly lively. 
It was far from packed, of course. Given the season and the time of day, it was unsurprising that visitors were rather sparse, but the guests who were there had stopped on their way to the gate to enjoy the performances of the cast. 
“Moffu! Moffu!” Moffle was juggling. Four balls became five, five became six. He kept them all in the air with great skill, adding in a spin here and there. That he was doing it with those stubby little arms of his made it all the more impressive. As he finished, four or five guests clapped, and Moffle responded with a low bow. 
“Ron! Ron!” Macaron was dancing. Early 2000’s hip-hop blasted from an old, musty CD player as he leapt and bounded furiously around on the street. Official park copy stated that Macaron specialized in ballroom dancing, but what he was performing now was hardcore break-dancing. He spun around and around on his head to the rhythm of an old Run-DMC song, prompting cheers from a handful of guests. 
“Mii! Mii!” Tiramii was doing a performance on stilts. Far from being a child’s toy, the stilts were about three meters tall. Since Tiramii was a conspicuously small mascot, this led to an especially disproportionate and precarious visual. Despite the impossible-seeming posture, Tiramii ran lightly all over the square, first skipping, then hopping on one foot, then even walking backwards. The guests walking along the road cheered him on. 
“......” Isuzu was there, too. She was wearing a blindfold and neatly sniping balloons from the mouths of nervous-looking mascots—including Wanipii and Tricen—with her musket. Each time she hit her target, the five or six guests watching applauded. 
Various other cast members were present, as well, doing their best to make the guests happy in ways large and small. So this is what the security guard meant when he mentioned laughter the other day, Seiya thought to himself. It certainly was a change from the usual. 
They were giving the guests a good show, doing everything they could to entertain them. And they, in turn, were enjoying interacting with the guests. 
Seiya remained standing at the passage exit, dumbfounded, for at least a full minute or two. “Why didn’t you always do it this way?” was the question that eventually drifted from his lips. 
“I fear they only could because of you.” He turned in surprise to see Latifah standing there. Muse was with her; she was, apparently, the one who had guided her here. 
“Latifah,” he greeted her. 
“Kanie-sama,” Latifah returned. She was smiling, her eyes closed. Muse, who was holding her hand, watched her with vague concern. 
“It is very clear to me... We have all changed greatly since your coming,” she continued. “We were so convinced that no future remained to us... and now, we are beginning to realize that we may have been wrong. Can you see my unc—forgive me—Moffle-san?” 
Having completed his juggling show, Moffle was now causing flocks of doves to fly out of his hat, inviting another round of applause from their guests. 
“Moffle-san has not worked so hard at anything in a very long time,” Latifah told him. 
“Hmm...” Seiya mused. It was true that there was something genuine about his performance. 
“His hard work, in turn, inspires the rest of the cast. Even if the park does close, he does not wish it to be under circumstances that would allow you to say ‘I told you so.’ I sense that motivation powerfully from him.” 
“You’re saying I gave them hope, eh?” Seiya asked. 
“Yes,” Latifah told him. “It is what many would call a miracle.” 
More miracles, huh? Give it a rest already... Seiya kept himself from speaking that thought aloud. 
So that was it; the mood was changing. But that didn’t mean it would be easy to get 100,000 guests. If the plaza was packed with people, it might inspire a little hope, but it wasn’t; it was just a family or two per mascot. 
Seiya wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to bring in every guest he could. But to get to 100,000 at this rate is— 
“Kanie-sama,” Latifah asked quietly, “Would you walk with me?” 
“...?” Curious, he waited for her to say more. 
“There is an hour yet until the park’s closing. If you would...” Latifah vacillated for a moment, her cheeks turning pink. “I should like you to accompany me... on a date.”

Seiya reassured the worried Muse, then took Latifah out for a tour of the park. 
Because she was blind, it was inevitable that he would end up holding her hand. Naturally, the cast members they passed looked on with shock, and even the guests, who didn’t know who they were, seemed to find them an unlikely couple. 
First, they stopped by “Moffle’s House of Sweets.” This was the attraction where you shot rats with laser pistols... not exactly an attraction designed for Latifah’s enjoyment. They just wandered through until they made it to the final room, where Moffle came to meet them and take a souvenir photo. On closer inspection, it was clear that this wasn’t the real Moffle, but a person in a costume. 
“Moffu!” 
The real Moffle was performing in Entrance Square right now, so they must have gotten someone to fill in for him. 
“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” emanated a man’s voice from within. “We’re so shorthanded, you see... they even have security guards like me chipping in.” 
Ahh... Seiya recognized the voice. It was the elderly security guard he frequently interacted with. 
“Thanks for helping out,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get paid overtime.” 
“Now, now. I’m doing this because I like it. And the guests seem to enjoy taking pictures with me more than I expected.” While he spoke, the old guard in the Moffle suit took a picture of Seiya and Latifah together. 
Just before the shutter went off, Latifah hugged Seiya’s arm tight.

They went around to Tiramii’s Flower Adventure, Macaron’s Music Theater and other attractions, offering more words of gratitude to the stand-in mascots they encountered there. 
After they’d been through quite a few of them, Seiya asked Latifah a question. “That’s about it for popular attractions in this area... Is there anywhere else you’d like to go?” 
Latifah responded, “Yes. I would like to ride the giant wheel.” 
“The Ferris wheel... huh?” 
The giant wheel. It was an old attraction, predating the bubble period of the 1980s. He’d heard that it was quite popular during the years of the earlier Showa period, when the area was known as “Amagi Playground.” She called it a “giant” wheel, but it was really quite humble compared to what they were building these days with modern technology—you’d probably get a better view from the roof of a local high-rise. Besides, Seiya had been hoping to avoid the Ferris wheel if possible. 
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do something else?” he asked hesitantly. “It won’t have much of a view. ...Ah.” Remembering about Latifah’s vision, Seiya stammered out a quick, “Er, sorry...” 
“You need not apologize; it does not concern me,” she reassured him. “I merely wish to ride the Ferris wheel.” 
“If you’re sure, I... I don’t mind.” he said, feeling sweat start to rise on his back. 
“Then, if you please,” she requested brightly. 
He took Latifah’s hand and guided her on board the Ferris wheel. The park was just about to close; there were almost no guests left. 
After the car doors closed, he spoke up. “I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but... You can’t see the view, right? Why the interest in the Ferris wheel?” 
“Ah. It is true that I cannot see the view...” she trailed off. “But I understand that there was a time when I could, although it was so long ago that I no longer remember...” 
“...?” He waited for her to say more. 
“Nevertheless,” she continued, “I take some small comfort in the sensation of this Ferris wheel swaying: the vibrations, the creaks, the hardness of the seat upon my backside... It is something that I wished to enjoy with you.” 
“Ah-ha...” Seiya felt as though some of the things Latifah was saying were going over his head. He ended up putting it out of his mind, with the thought that as a blind person, she would inevitably be motivated by things beyond his comprehension. 
Under normal circumstances, he might have been more curious, but— “We’ve gotten pretty high up, huh?” he whispered, rubbing lightly at his chest. 
The Ferris wheel wasn’t as tall as all that. Even so, they had roughly reached the height of a building’s fourth floor. The surrounding attractions were now just a collection of roofs, and those “vibrations” and “creaks” that Latifah had talked about weren’t helping. His heart had started to race. 
“How high might we be by now?” she asked. 
“Hmm? Uh... If it were a clock, we’d be at about 10:00?” He couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. 
Ah, dammit, he thought, We aren’t even at the top yet? We still have to go higher? Give me a break... 
“Kanie-sama?” Latifah asked, sounding concerned. “Are you all right?” 
“Uh? Wh-What do you mean?” 
“Your voice is trembling...” she told him. 
“I d-d-don’t think it is...” Seiya stammered back. 
While the Ferris wheel wasn’t anywhere near the size of huge modern ones, it sat on one of the highest points of the Tama Hills, which made the view surprisingly good. He could see the whole glittering skyline of western Tokyo. It was like jewels scattered in night. The sprawl of twinkling lights extended on to the horizon—so far-distant that he’d have to strain his eyes to see them. It was a view that couldn’t be replicated in pictures or videos. 
“How do you find it, Kanie-sama?” Latifah asked, eyes closed calmly. 
“Um... i-it’s very beautiful,” he admitted. “M-Maybe not a 100,000 dollar view, but... p-pretty good, y’know?” 
“Kanie-sama? Your voice is cracking...” 
Like I care! We aren’t even at the peak yet. If this was a clock, we’d still only be at around 11:30. We have to go even higher? Give me a break... 
“Kanie-sama?” 
How much longer was he going to have to sit here while they kept rising higher and higher? He couldn’t breathe, and his back was soaked with sweat. Each sway of the car caused his sanity to slip a little bit further. 
He couldn’t even imagine looking out the window now. No more. No more. Get me out of here! 
“Ah... Kanie-sama, are you afraid of heights, by chance?” Latifah inquired. 
“O-Of course not!” he protested in a strangled voice. 
Latifah seemed stunned for a moment, then slumped over. “Forgive me,” she apologized. “It was an insulting thing to ask.” 
“Oh, no... It’s okay, but... er, I... It’s just...” Seiya loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. To keep from looking outside, he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. 
His only choice was to distract himself by talking. What was the point of putting on airs now? It wouldn’t get him anywhere. 
“I’m not great with heights...” he admitted. 
Seiya’s acrophobia had first manifested around middle school. He hadn’t minded heights at all in the lower elementary school grades. He’d even engaged in a silly “test of courage” on the 10th floor of a local building with his friends. 
But at some point, he’d found he couldn’t handle them anymore. This came about during the period of his life when he was a busy child star acting at his parents’ whim, so it might have some connection to that. Whatever the cause was, though, there had come a day, in his sixth year of elementary school, that Seiya suddenly realized he couldn’t even bring himself to approach the rail around the roof of his school. 
It hadn’t happened overnight. For some time leading up to that, he’d noticed that his heart would start beating faster whenever he climbed up to a tall place. The distant ground below would seem to distort in his vision, and rise up at him. He’d lose his sense of equilibrium. 
It was that day in the spring in his sixth year of elementary school, then, that he knew it for sure. 
Even after he quit show business, the phobia hadn’t gone away, and he’d been afraid of tall places ever since. He’d even been hesitant to ride that silly roller coaster with Sento Isuzu the first time he came here. 
Seiya explained all this to Latifah, while she did nothing but listen and offer the occasional prompt to continue. “—And so, I... I’m still afraid of things like this. I-It’s not quite a panic attack... As long as I close my eyes and keep talking, I can bear it, so... so... you know. Guh, how far are we now? Dammit...” Despite what he claimed, he still couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. 
“At the moment... if this were a clock, we would be at around two o’clock,” she told him. 
“I see...” he said faintly, and then “Y-You can tell?” 
“Yes. I can tell from the sounds it makes and the weight of my body,” she explained. “Do not worry. We are descending.” 
Gently, her soft hand took Seiya’s; it was cool and smooth. For some reason, it caused a thrill to shoot through him, even more intense than the one he’d felt when she’d kissed him. 
“You are safe,” she repeated. Her voice, so kind, seemed to permeate his being. 
He realized that his legs had stopped shaking. 
“Take a deep breath and open your eyes,” she advised him. “Everything will be as it was.” 
“......” He did as he was told. 
She was right; he didn’t feel afraid anymore. He looked out the window and saw that the car was now fairly low to the ground. 
“Do you feel better?” she inquired gently. 
“Yeah... I’m okay.” Seiya felt a bit embarrassed, but this was far outstripped by his sense of relief. He felt like a fool to have ever put on airs around her. 
“I must beg your forgiveness,” Latifah apologized. “I asked for something terribly selfish, being unaware of your discomfort.” Her voice was hushed. 
Why was it that he was the one who wanted to apologize to her? “It’s okay,” he said. “I thought I could grin and bear it, so... Don’t let it bother you.” 
“I shall try,” she told him regretfully. “And yet... ah...” 
“...?” Seiya waited for her to finish. 
“No,” she said at last. “It is nothing.” 
“Hey, come on,” he protested. “Now I have to know. Tell me!” 
“All right. Only do not be angry with me for saying it...” Her smile was shy, but with a playful edge. “I thought you looked rather cute that way, Kanie-sama.” 
“......” For some reason, he didn’t dislike it. He felt a bit like a boy being patted on the head by a woman several years his senior. 

They toured a few more attractions, then he said goodbye to Latifah and went back to work. 
They must have responded promptly to his requests for improvements, because Seiya found each attraction far more acceptable than it had been on Sunday. 
The hospitality that Moffle and the others showed the guests had also clearly improved. They were acting out of desperation, but the guests didn’t seem to have noticed at all. That was another good sign; even if they were desperate, a good entertainer should never let that show. 
The park had improved markedly over the last few days. 
But wait—had it really? Was it that the park had improved, or was it just that his feelings about it had changed? In other words, was he biased? The first time he’d come to the park, he’d engaged in everything grudgingly because Isuzu had dragged him along. Today, his investment in the park was much higher because of the responsibility he’d taken on. 
Was it subjective feeling, or objective fact? At that moment, Seiya couldn’t be sure. 
He finished up his bookkeeping, and was about to head home when Isuzu came by to tell him the day’s attendance numbers: “2,928.” 
“What?” 
“2,928,” she said again. “Almost double what it was yesterday.” 
Today was Thursday. It wasn’t a day when you’d expect a large influx of visitors—you’d expect about the same amount that you’d had on Wednesday. Instead, attendance had doubled. 
“Incidentally,” she remarked, “this is also the best attendance we’ve had for a Thursday in several years.” 
“Yeah, I know.” Seiya had already gone through the previous years’ data. It was certainly an exceptional figure. 
“It appears the 30 yen promotion is having an effect,” Isuzu concluded. 
“Definitely. But... even for that...” Seiya hesitated. 
Even for that, these numbers are higher than I imagined, Seiya thought. I’d expected a 50% increase at best—is there something at play besides the 30 yen campaign? 
“What is it?” she asked. 
“No... it’s nothing,” he concluded. 
The improved performance among the cast wouldn’t be raising attendance so soon. Even if it caused guests to think positively about the time they spent here, encouraging them to come back and recommend it to others, it would take months for such word of mouth to get around. It wouldn’t manifest over just a few days. Better to chalk it up to the 30 yen campaign being more effective than expected. 
Even so, Seiya was compelled to ask Isuzu. “Sento—?” 
“Yes?” 
“Have you noticed a change in the work ethic of that... rat and his friends, these last few days?” 
Isuzu snorted, as if the answer was obvious. “Of course I have. I’ve never seen them work so hard before. And...” 
“And—?” he pressed. 
Isuzu hesitated. “I can’t fully explain it. But the feeling I sense most of all is that... they’re enjoying their work.” 
[Today’s park attendance: 2,928. (92,922 from goal) / 10 days left.]

The next day’s attendance was 3,411. Even taking into account that it was a Friday, it was still the best attendance they’d seen in years. 
The promotional video which they’d put on the internet had had a longer tail than Seiya had expected as well, and by Friday afternoon it was nearing 90,000 hits. 
That morning, a local news station in Tokyo sent their business team in to do a story. They took some footage of the hustle and bustle at AmaBri, which they were expected to use that night in a story about their 30 yen campaign. 
“To think we could get that show to give us coverage... I’m shocked,” Tricen of the PR department mused as the news team drove away. 
“I pulled a few strings,” Seiya murmured grudgingly. “There was a producer I worked for back in the day who’s pretty high up in the industry, by now. I never cared to see him again, but... desperate times and all. I decided to give him a call.” 
“Ahh. Is that so?” Tricen asked, his voice carefully neutral. 
“I have some dirt on him,” Seiya shrugged. “His romantic life and such.” 
“Oh-ho.” Tricen didn’t know about Seiya’s past, but he may have realized it was complicated, as he didn’t press him any further. 
Seiya continued, “We’ll have a few more news teams coming in tomorrow too, starting in the morning. You have the full schedule, right?” 
“Yes, I do, and I am prepared to give my utmost to the teams that arrive,” Tricen confirmed. “...Especially at 11:00, when the anchor Oishi-san arrives with her fabulous rack. I, the humble Tricen, shall hunch over more than ever.” 
“Maybe I’d better put you on trash pickup instead...” Seiya considered. 
[Today’s park attendance: 3,411. (89,511 from goal) / 9 days left.]

On Saturday, guest attendance increased dramatically. This was thanks both to the economic news report that had aired the night before and the brief variety show segment that had been dedicated to it that morning. The promotional video online, which was even now racking up hits, had likely played a part as well. Their newspaper insert advertisements had also gone out that morning. 
The clear increase in attendance lifted the morale of the various cast members. Tricen and the other department heads came by the office to offer reports, most of which were positive. Each time, Seiya plastered on an enthusiastic smile, nodded, and said “Let’s just keep it up.” 
There was one member of the cast who was less than pleased, though. Ashe, from the accounting department, looked sullen as she pointed out how much they were spending on advertising, sneaking in a few barbs about his short tenure there. Ashe’s concerns were understandable, of course, but he was in no position to accede to her requests; as he’d said countless times before, a drowning man couldn’t be picky about the beach he landed on. 
In turn, Ashe didn’t force the issue, but just before leaving, she muttered to him, “Attendance has gone up. But even at this pace, we won’t come close to our goal.” 
“Yeah,” he sighed, “Well... I know that.” 
“And... why, when we’re already struggling, are you diverting resources to restoring the unused second park?” she questioned. “We already ran maintenance on the stadium at the end of last year.” 
She was referring to the stadium that he’d seen with Isuzu and Muse a few days before; Seiya had personally ordered its maintenance and cleaning. 
“Don’t worry about it,” Seiya said bluntly. 
“But—” 
“I’m getting it ready for if we need it,” he told her firmly. “Don’t ask me any more than that. Don’t mention it to anyone else, either.” 
As Ashe left, looking pensive, Isuzu came to check in on him. “I see you held your own with Ashe.” 
“She’ll just have to suck it up for now,” he muttered. 
“I see.” Isuzu nodded readily and opened up the paper in her hand. “I have today’s attendance figures: 8,168.” 
It was over double that of the day before. At this rate, her eyes seemed to say, just maybe— 
But Seiya avoided her hopeful gaze as he responded, “I don’t know...” 
[Today’s park attendance: 8,168. (81,343 from goal) / 8 days left.]

As expected, things were even better on Sunday. Their advertising campaigns over the past week had probably paid off. Moffle and the rest of the cast threw even more of themselves into their interactions with the guests, and the guests clearly seemed to enjoy their time there. 
After finishing negotiations with a few transportation companies, Seiya decided to run his inspection of the park: It was clear that the cast were enjoying their work. Everyone he saw was smiling. There were still a lot of issues with the facilities, but the mood pervading the park suggested that even a long-failing park could still bring it when they had to. 
After closing time, Isuzu brought him the final attendance figures. They hadn’t quite broken 10,000, but they still managed an incredible 9,821 people. 
[Today’s park attendance: 9,821. (71,522 from goal) / 7 days left.]

The next day was Monday. The moment they were back into the weekdays, the number of guests dropped conspicuously. 
Seiya went from school straight to the park, and by the time he’d finished receiving status reports on the improvements being made to the various highly inefficient management systems, it was closing time. Isuzu came by to give him the numbers: “2,688.” 
“...I see,” he concluded. 
Inevitable, since it was a weekday. And it was a far greater number than last Monday’s... 
But... 
He still had to bring in 70,000 people, with just six days remaining. How could they accomplish that with 2,700 people a day? No matter how he played with the figures, it was utterly impossible. 
There just wasn’t enough time. Spread out over a longer period, the 30 yen campaign and advertising blitz might have worked. The cast’s hard work was gradually paying off, too. 
But they just needed more time for it all to produce real results—the situation wasn’t going to change in the mere ten-or-so days that they had. 
The numbers, which had been trending downwards, were now picking up. That was a considerable achievement by itself, but their circumstances wouldn’t wait. 
“It’s a weekday, so... it’s inevitable, I suppose,” Isuzu added. “I think that if we can maintain these numbers through the week, things will turn around again on the weekend.” 
“Yeah, maybe,” Seiya said in a quiet voice. “And other than that, we just wait for a miracle.” 
Isuzu knitted her brow at the words that were so unlike him. 
[Today’s park attendance: 2,688. (68,834 from goal) / 6 days left.]

Tuesday’s attendance numbers were even worse: down to 1,935. The hits on the 30 yen campaign video had slowed to a trickle, and their other promotion schemes had run equally dry. The cast were still throwing themselves into their work, but nothing they did for their guests was going to significantly raise the park’s attendance now. 
It really was impossible. 
The only thing keeping the park from sinking back into despair was the impressive work ethic of Moffle and the others; they were going to do everything that they possibly could. Not only were they working to please the guests, but they helped out on maintenance, worked diligently on online promotion, and did everything else they could think of, from heading up shopping trips to running traffic control. If a member of the cast had a breakdown, they did everything they could to cheer them up. 
Seiya was heading home in low spirits after finishing his office work, when he ran into a man standing in front of the passage exit: it was Kurisu Takaya, from Amagi Development. A visitor ID card hung from his neck. “Hey, there. We meet again.” 
I wish we hadn’t, thought Seiya. 
He was here, most likely, to check their attendance numbers. The attendance ticker at the entrance gate was strictly locked to prevent tampering. Checking could only be done under the mutual observation of Amagi Development and the park. In other words, it was impossible to lie about their attendance. 
“So you decided to work for them, eh?” Kurisu commented. “How eccentric of you.” 
“What business is it of yours?” Seiya asked dismissively. 
“Rock bottom prices, advertising... the park’s really pulling out all the stops. Too little, too late, of course. Would you be playing some part in that?” Kurisu probably wouldn’t know that the high school student Seiya was serving as acting manager. The man approached, leaning in close, as if to feel him out. 
“No,” Seiya lied. “I’m just doing odd jobs.” 
“Oh-ho?” Kurisu’s eyes were cold, yet intensely curious. Perhaps he knew that they had tapped one of Seiya’s old connections for publicity? “Oh, another thing... I saw a truck labeled ‘Yanokuchi Cleaning’ going down one of your service roads. I’m not familiar with them... do you know anything about it?” 
“No,” Seiya denied flatly. “Goodbye.” 
He tried to leave to put an end to the conversation, but Kurisu pursued, doggedly. “Don’t be like that. I just find it odd... The park’s usual cleaning service is a company called ‘Amagi Maintenance.’ It just seems a bit strange that a different cleaning company would be going into the park, don’t you think?” 
“I really wouldn’t know,” Seiya shrugged. 
“I see, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Kurisu agreed. “Do excuse me. Ha ha ha.” 
He was talking about the company they had hired to get the second park cleaned up and ready. Yanokuchi Cleaning had agreed to do the job for a much more reasonable price than the cleaning company contracted by the city and Amagi Development. Even if he criticized him over that, though, Seiya could probably stall by playing dumb... 
“Still,” Kurisu mused, “I just can’t seem to explain it. Since last week, it’s as if... there’s been a new spring in the step of the management here...” 
“Huh?” 
“It’s like someone very intelligent has been added to the management team. Kodama-kun—excuse me, Kanie-kun.” Kurisu checked the ID card around Seiya’s neck once again, then peered into his face. “Would you happen to know anything about it?” 
“...Are you suggesting that I put them up to this?” Seiya demanded. 
“Hmm, well, call it a feeling,” Kurisu mused. 
That’s a lie, Seiya thought. This is more than “a feeling.” 
The man was sharp. He hadn’t forgotten about Seiya, or the way he had run the “burden-per-family” math in his head that day in the conference room. He’d noticed the recent changes in the park, and he had his guesses as to who had made that happen. 
Seiya wished he hadn’t spoken so carelessly that day. But then, at the time, he’d had no intention of becoming the acting manager... it couldn’t be helped. 
But wait... 
What if someone in the cast was passing information to Amagi Development? Then Kurisu, knowing everything, might just be trying to trick him into revealing something. 
“I’m afraid you think a bit too highly of me...” Seiya said with an awkward smile. He was mimicking the sort of bashfulness a typical high school student might feel when receiving praise from an adult. 
While he went about his performance, he ran a swift calculation. Should I use my magic? No, not yet. For now, he should rely on his powers of observation to see their game of cat-and-mouse through. 
“I’ll leave it up to your imagination,” he told Kurisu. “Goodbye.” 
That line, too, was a performance—like he was denying it, humbly, while being privately flattered. It was unlikely to fool Kurisu, but at the very least, it should keep him from finding out what he was really feeling. 
Seiya walked away. 
[Today’s park attendance: 1,935. (66,899 from goal) / 5 days left.]

The next day’s attendance figure was similar. It was a little bit higher than the usual Wednesday for the season, but no more than that. 
In between his usual duties, Seiya checked things out onstage. There was a nice mood going on there: People working their hardest so they’d have no regrets; people cheering up others regardless of how they themselves felt; people believing in that last shred of hope... 
The zeal of the Maple Land cast was inspiring even the part-time workers to improve their attitudes. Of course, there were a few here and there who had given up hope, but Seiya moved them into backstage positions instead. 
“Everyone’s really working hard,” Seiya said to Latifah, in the Maple Castle kitchen, just after the park closed. “But... there’s no way we’ll meet our target attendance, at this rate. No matter what we do this weekend, we’re going to wind up about 40,000 short.” 
“I see...” Latifah whispered, pausing in the middle of her task. She had been mashing potatoes for croquettes, which were to be sold at the concession stands the next day. There was something very cute about the small girl dressed an apron, sleeves rolled up, holding that very large bowl. 
“If that is how you feel, Kanie-sama... then it surely must be so...” she whispered softly, eyes downcast. 
Restraining the urge to put his hands on her delicate shoulders, Seiya continued, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” 
“Yes?” 
“If the park closes...” he trailed off, “what’s going to happen to you?” 
“I cannot say,” she told him. 
“Come on...” 
“But I truly do not know,” Latifah said, then smiled. “We denizens of the various magical domains—including my own home of Maple Land—cannot survive without animus, the feelings of joy drawn from the people of the mortal realm. The reason that we run amusement parks is to gather enough animus to sustain us. And I... I require more of it than anyone.” 
“...?” After a pause, Seiya continued, “I don’t really understand...” 
“I am cursed,” she told him simply. 
“Cursed?” 
“Let me tell it to you as a fairy tale,” she prefaced, all the while focused on her cooking. “Long ago, Maple Land lived in fear of a terrible dragon. Armies rose to face the threat, but the dragon repelled them all. Then, one day, a magician appeared. He said to the king of Maple Land, ‘I shall slay the dragon for you. But in return, you must give me the princess’s hand in marriage.’” 
Seiya waited for her to continue. 
“The desperate king agreed to the bargain, and the magician kept his promise. He slew the dragon, then returned to the king, and he said, ‘Now, give me your daughter’s hand.’ But the king loved his daughter too much to surrender her. He broke his word and sent his armies to slay the magician.” 
A fairy tale princess was telling him a fairy tale. It was a strange feeling. But rather than make some oafish comment like “it’s the oldest story in the book,” Seiya simply urged her to continue. “So, what happened next?” 
“Maple Land’s brave general drove the magician to the edge of a cliff. Just before he fell, the magician said to the general, ‘I have placed a curse on your princess.’ Then, he plummeted into the darkness below. ...Soon after, the princess fell ill. The arms and legs with which she had once run and climbed through hills and fields now grew frail and thin; her eyes went blind; and day after day, she grew weaker.” 
“Was it the curse?” Seiya asked. 
“Yes,” she affirmed. “As I explained, we require animus to live, and the magician’s curse starved the princess of that animus. The king’s doctors were helpless to save her. They decided that the only way to save her was to send her to the mortal realm, to a place rich in animus, where she could rest and recover.” 
“And the best place to find animus would be...” 
“Yes. An amusement park.” Latifah stopped again and let out a sigh. 
The fragrant mix of mashed potatoes, ground meat, and special spices tickled Seiya’s nose. He gulped, but not because of the appetizing aroma. “You’re saying that the princess from that fairy tale... is you?” 
“Yes.” 
He frowned. “Then you’ll be in trouble if the park shuts down, right?” 
“You are correct.” She let out another sigh followed by a weak smile. “Perhaps I shall seek room and board, or even employment, at some other amusement park. Although, I am uncertain that I can work properly in my condition...” 
“Are... Are you okay with that?” he asked. 
“I have no other choice.” 
Just then, Seiya felt an urge to use his magic—his power, to read someone’s mind, that he could only use once per person. He wanted to know how Latifah really felt. 
How can you be so okay with this? he wondered. Aren’t you afraid? Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want to break down crying and cling to someone for support? How could he take on her burden unless he knew? 
It would be easy to do. He just had to ask her “how do you really feel?” and then use his magic. 
How long are you going to cling to that ammo? he thought to himself. If there’s a time to use a grenade, it’s now, isn’t it? There’s no point in holding onto it until you beat the game. Go on, use it. 
Seiya opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again—then at last, he said this: “When are you going to fry those croquettes?” 
He concentrated. He couldn’t hear Latifah’s voice. 
“...They are to be sold at the concession stands tomorrow, so I shall fry them in the morning,” she told him. “If you wish, I could fry a few now.” 
“...Sure.” Seiya answered vaguely, feeling a little disoriented. 
It seemed his magic wouldn’t work on Latifah. Or maybe he’d accidentally used up his one shot on her when she first gave him his magic? 
Well, either way, it was just as well. He’d been planning to waste his magic on an irrelevant question, anyway; he didn’t want to have that kind of calculation between them. 
“Kanie-sama?” 
“Right,” he said. “I’ll have two. I’ve gotten pretty hungry.” 
The indecision fogging his mind seemed to clear. In that moment, Seiya decided that he had to do everything he could. 
[Today’s park attendance: 2,102. (64,797 from goal) / 4 days left.]

It was Thursday. In his work routine, Tiramii took a bus to the park in the morning. He spent the trip fiddling around with his smartphone and reading news off of the Internet. A financial scandal with a member of the Diet, a traffic accident in some rural area, rioting in some foreign country, a Keidanren bigwig saying something stupid... He skimmed through one after another, until he came upon a small article in the local news section: 
<Fire at Kajinomoto Stadium> 
Kajinomoto Stadium was a well-known soccer stadium located in Amagi’s neighboring city, Chofu. Melody Shibasaki played there, and Tiramii had gone there to watch a few matches. 
He clicked on the article to read more. 
A fire broke out before dawn at Kajinomoto Stadium in Chofu City. The Chofu Fire Department responded quickly. The fire was small in scale, and quickly extinguished. There were no injuries. A fault in the electrical system is believed to be responsible for the fire, but investigations are ongoing.? 
It was a very short article. It had happened in the middle of the night, and nobody had been hurt. The fire had been small, and easily brought under control. 
It’s a pretty old stadium, so I guess it’s just showing its age, Tiramii thought. 
“Mii?” 
But wait a minute... 
It was the second week of March. Thursday. 
A bunch of J-League teams had their opening games this Saturday, and Melody Shibasaki was one of them. They were supposed to play at Kajinomoto Stadium against the Kurawa Mets. Tiramii remembered specifically because Macaron had offered to get him good tickets, but he was scheduled to work that weekend. And because it was probably the last weekend the park would be in business, he’d choked down his tears and turned down Macaron’s offer. 
A fire with an important match just two days away. Were they going to be okay?

“This is not okay at all,” the manager of the company that ran Kajinomoto Stadium lamented at the emergency conference that was called for the stadium’s affiliates. “The fire itself was small... but the firefighters used a lot of water putting it out. We can’t blame them for that, of course, but it flooded the stadium’s electrical facilities and several nearby installations.” 
A series of slides presented heartrending shots of the damage done: a worker, trying to pump out thigh-high water; a firefighter, in front of a charred-black electric panel, yelling “Get out of here!” at the cameraman. 
“We’ll have to replace all of the panels around it,” he concluded regretfully. “The parts themselves aren’t terribly expensive, but it’s an old facility, so it’ll take over a week to get replacements in, at the earliest. We’ll also have to run a full inspection of the undamaged parts to prevent a repeat incident... and there are only so many personnel who can do that.” 
“So, you’re saying...?” a representative from Kajinomoto Stadium’s biggest investor asked, rubbing his temples. 
“I’m saying there’s no way we’ll make it in time for the opening game in two days,” the manager said flatly. “The match starts after 5:00 PM, so we’ll need lighting, but we can only generate the bare minimum of electricity right now. In the unlikely event that we could get the grounds barely lit, we couldn’t do anything else, not even warming up the franks in the concession stands.” 
“This is outrageous...” the representative objected vigorously. 
“We don’t have a choice,” the manager told him. “There’s precedent for canceling matches due to hurricanes and earthquakes; we should write up an announcement to that effect.” 
“But it’s the opening match! It’s their J1 inaugural, and they’re facing a high-ranked team from last year...” the representative trailed off. “Everyone’s going to want to see it! There must be something we can do...” 
An uncomfortable silence hung over the conference room. 
The tickets were already sold. How much would it cost to refund all the ticket holders and prevent a riot? The fire insurance certainly wouldn’t cover it. 
“We’ll have to talk to the League and see if we can adjust the schedule,” the manager finally said. “I believe there’s precedent for weekday and back-to-back weekend matches.” 
The room flew into an uproar. 
“You can’t do that! It’s too hard on the players! We can’t put that burden on them!” 
“It’s one thing to do it for a hurricane, but for a simple fire...!” 
“We had to beg for that broadcast time slot! We can’t just...!” 
The conference had descended into a free-for-all, with everyone yelling out whatever was on their minds. 
“Um, excuse me.” Eventually, the legal adviser for one of the sponsors raised his hand. He normally didn’t speak very often, and the only opinion he ever offered when asked was “It sounds good to me.” 
Nobody was going to listen to him just because he raised his hand. 
“Um, excuse me!” he said again. 
At last, the group stopped arguing and turned their eyes to him. 
“What is it?” 
“I think we have an old contract for an eventuality like this. Hold on a minute, let me see...” The adviser began fiddling with the tablet in his hand. 
The older members scowled at the gesture, while the man’s peers craned their necks out in interest, curious to see what app he was using. 
“Ah... yes, here it is,” he finally said. “An advertising deal forged in 1993 between Kajinomoto Stadium, Chofu City, Amagi City, and Maple Enterprises...” 
“Maple Enterprises?” someone asked. 
“The company that operates Amagi Brilliant Park,” the legal adviser explained. “You remember them, don’t you? They’re an old amusement park in Amagi, one city over.” 
The majority of those present, perhaps remembering it from more prosperous times, gazed up at the ceiling and nodded. “Oh, I remember. They did have an amusement park, didn’t they?” 
“And it’s still running? Huh...” 
“I mean, we still had old posters for it in our stadium, didn’t we?” 
“Now that you mention it...” 
While the group murmured among themselves, the legal adviser continued: “Here’s the relevant part of the agreement. It appears that Amagi Brilliant Park has a stadium on its grounds, and according to the contract, if anything happens to render our stadium unusable, they’re supposed to offer us use of theirs for next to nothing. All we need to do is cover the cost of utilities. In exchange, we just had to offer them a discount to advertise in our stadium...” 
It seemed that they were allowed to use the amusement park’s soccer venue for free. The League representative did some more checking and found out that, surprisingly, the stadium was usable. Stadiums for official games were held to strict standards, but the park’s had passed those standards every year. 
And so, the Kajinomoto Stadium executives offered their opinions: 
“Now, just hang on a minute— Our stadium has a seating capacity of 50,000. And since it’s the opening day game, it’ll be nearly sold out. There’s no way some random amusement park venue can hold them all!” 
“But, according to the attachment, their maximum attendance is pretty much the same...” 
“Oh, please! I’ve never heard of a stadium that large in Amagi. It’s got to be an exaggeration.” 
The executives’ doubts were natural... But, what if it was true? One man in attendance, the team’s general manager, raised his hand. 
“But if it is usable, then it’s perfect,” he said. “It’s just one city over, after all. It would keep confusion to a minimum. Why don’t we just call Maple Enterprises and see?” 
“Well... fair enough,” one of the executives concluded. “...Go on, do it.” 
A secretary nodded, looked up the number, and placed the call. For a few minutes, the only sound in the conference room was the secretary’s voice, explaining about their dire situation and the contract to the person on the other end of the phone. 
As the rest of the group watched, the secretary spoke a ‘thank you’ and then hung up. “I spoke to the park’s manager.” 
“What did they say?” 
“We’re free to use it any time. They can even accommodate the whole crowd...”

About an hour after the call, a dozen or so Kajinomoto Stadium representatives stopped by Amagi Brilliant Park to investigate the venue. It would seem odd for the school-aged Seiya to introduce himself as acting manager, so they got a member of the cast named Wrenchy-kun to show them around instead. Wrenchy-kun, from the Mechanical Nation of Zola, was a member of the maintenance crew who typically kept the park facilities in working order. On orders from Seiya, he’d spent the past week cleaning and preparing the giant stadium for use. 
As his name would suggest, he basically looked like a giant wrench with arms and legs, but the Kajinomoto Stadium people didn’t seem to notice anything strange about him. This was, apparently, thanks to the power of the strange amulet that members of the cast wore to help them live their lives outside the park. 
Seiya and Isuzu, acting like part-timer clerks, followed after Wrenchy-kun. A group of men in suits walking around with a bizarre wrench monster in their midst—it was an utterly bizarre sight. 
Perhaps it was his craftsman’s spirit, but despite his cute-sounding name, Wrenchy-kun wasn’t the smiling type. His tone was gruff as he ran through his explanations: 
“Roughly speaking, there are four entrances,” he said. “We should be able to match the seating assignments on the tickets with just a few slight adjustments.” 
They went over the procedures for getting fans to the stadium, potential concessions and kiosk locations, the number of bathrooms, routes for bringing in equipment and materials, player facilities and lockers, the state of the pitch itself (of course), commentator and broadcast booths, electric displays, advertising equipment, lighting facilities, and everything else. 
“If we hire a mobile base station, we should be able to accommodate cell phone reception, too,” Wrenchy-kun told them. “It’s at least a 30 minute walk from the two train stations, so we’ll need to charter a lot of shuttle buses. ...That’s all.” 
It was more than an hour before Wrenchy-kun wrapped up the tour of the second park’s stadium. 
“It’s not perfect. It’s not perfect, but...” the club GM, who’d come along, mused, before sinking deep into thought for a few seconds. “...Ah, excuse me,” he said, apologizing for the unintended pause. “I think it could work, don’t you?” 
“The facilities certainly seem to be adequate. But I wonder if it would be too confusing to throw them into an unfamiliar stadium unprepared...” the League official, who’d also come along, added nervously. 
They were all worried. When facing a decision that had no precedent, hesitation was inevitable. 
“Anyway, we’re going to head back for now,” one of the visitors said. “This isn’t the place to make a decision.” 
“Of course,” Wrenchy-kun grumped. “But try to let us know as soon as possible.” 
The Kajinomoto Stadium representatives thanked the park representatives profusely, then hurried away. 
“Hey, kid... I’m not gonna push you on this, but...” As their car pulled away, Wrenchy-kun produced a cigarette, seemingly from nowhere, and lit it. It was a surreal sight, to be sure, but Seiya had grown accustomed to things like this in these past ten days. “...Did you know this would happen?” 
“Like I told you in the garden,” Seiya answered evasively, “I got magic from Latifah.” 
“Hmm... What was it, precognition? Well, never mind... If I’m gonna be busy, I’d better get things ready...” Wrenchy-kun walked away, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up. 
“I thought your magic let you read minds,” Isuzu said once they were alone together. 
“That’s right,” he confirmed. 
“So you couldn’t have seen the future,” Isuzu observed. 
“Maybe not,” Seiya said, his tone blank, and then swiftly walked away towards the general affairs building.

Less than an hour later, they received a call from Kajinomoto Stadium: “We want to use it. Let’s hold negotiations as soon as possible.”

Muse had finished her second performance of the day and was heading down the underground passageway for a late lunch at the employee cafeteria. Suddenly, Tiramii came running towards her from the opposite direction. 
“Big news, mii! Big news, mii!” He seemed agitated about something. 
He bumped into another member of the cast, spun into the wall, fell, then ran towards her again, rubbing his bumped head and shouting “Mii! Mii!”— It was rather forward, but also charming. 
At least, that’s what she would have thought if he hadn’t spent her first year at the park sexually harassing her. As a result, her response was merely polite. “Are you all right, Tiramii-san?” 
“You’re so kind, Muse-chan,” he praised her effusively. “Would you please rub my bruise, mii? Not the one on my head, the one on my stomach. Actually, it’s a little lower than that...” 
Creep, she nearly whispered out loud, but bit back that urge and simply asked: “Well, what’s the big news?” 
“Ignored again, huh, mii? ...Well, that’s okay,” he concluded. “Anyway, it’s huge, mii! Melody Shibasaki is gonna hold their opening match at the second park stadium!” 
Muse had little interest in soccer, but even she was surprised by this. “The J-League team? Why?” 
“There was a fire last night and they can’t use Kajinomoto Stadium, mii,” Tiramii bleated. “We had some old contract with them, so they’re gonna use our stadium instead! We’re like a pinch hitter, mii!” 
“Ahh...” Muse recalled that Tiramii was a fan of Melody Shibasaki. He was probably excited to have them playing at his workplace. 
Tiramii noticed Muse’s blank expression, and chuckled smugly. “You just don’t get it, Muse-chan. To get to our stadium, they’ll have to come through AmaBri, see? And it’s the opening match. We’ll be getting tens of thousands of visitors, mii!” 
“Wait, do you mean...” Grasping what Tiramii was saying at last, Muse’s eyes went wide. 
“That’s right!” he exulted. “We might hit our attendance goal, mii!” 
The word that Kanie Seiya had used back in the rooftop garden—“miracle”—flitted through the back of Muse’s mind.

That afternoon, there was a flurry of activity backstage: negotiating with the staff from Kajinomoto Stadium; planning the route to the second park; scheduling personnel increases to get the stadium fixed up; arranging shuttle buses to carry the fans from the station... 
They were all complicated tasks. Plus, they didn’t have much time—they had all of 48 hours to get everything done. 
Onstage, the cast were restless; while backstage, they were rushing this way and that, bellowing at each other, and trying to get everything in order to receive the crowds. 
They cooperated readily with the visiting stadium staff and worked together earnestly to solve the little problems. When a bigger problem arose, Kanie Seiya would run in, giving orders with aplomb: “Do this,” “Do that,” “We’ve got something ready for that,” and the like. 
Recently, Isuzu had been acting as Seiya’s secretary, which meant that she was around him often enough to notice something odd in his behavior: Has anyone else noticed that he’s a bit mechanical today? 
“Oh, right. What’s today’s attendance?” Seiya asked Isuzu later, just before midnight. Normally, attendance numbers would be the only thing he thought about, but now they seemed to have almost slipped his mind. 
“2,087,” she told him automatically. “Almost exactly the same as yesterday.” 
“I see,” he said, his eyes locked on the clerical work in front of him. He seemed neither relieved nor disappointed. In fact, he didn’t seem to be feeling anything at all. 
[Today’s park attendance: 2,087. (62,710 from goal) / 3 days left.]

The next day, things were even more chaotic. The game’s change of venue had been announced on all available platforms the night before, and there was no going back now. 
The backstage area was packed, not just with negotiating staff, but also with workers bringing in materials for the day-before preparations. There wasn’t enough parking for all the vehicles needed, either, which caused congestion issues. 
Despite all that chaos, the park still had to remain in normal working order. Even cast members who would have spent most of their time onstage were deployed to the stadium as “reinforcements” whenever they had a free minute. 
After giving out balloons to guests arriving at Entrance Square, Macaron returned backstage, only to be immediately ordered, via radio, to head to the stadium’s B-wing and help out Nakamura Construction. He ran over in a hurry, and one of the workers beckoned him over and asked him to help out with a kiosk they were building. 
“Why do I have to do this stuff?” he muttered to himself, while climbing the steps with a heavy appliance. There was a queue for the service elevators, so he’d been told to use the stairs if he could. 
“...Y’know, I’m happy for the help, kid. But couldn’t you lose the costume?” the elderly worker carrying the appliance with him asked. 
Ah, that’s right. I forgot to wear my Lalapatch Charm. If he’d had it on, he would have appeared as a regular human staffer, but unfortunately he’d left the amulet in the locker room. Well, it didn’t matter now. 
“Park motto,” he answered shortly. “There’s no one in the suits, ron.” 
“Listen to you, talking like you’re hot stuff,” the worker scoffed. “This ain’t Digimaland and you ain’t Mackey, y’know?” 
“I really hate hearing that name, ron.” 
He had just finished strenuously hauling the heavy appliance to the kiosk when he saw Tiramii tottering by. The little pink mascot was carrying a large coil of electric cable, and seemed ready to topple at any time. “Mii... mii... so heavy, mii!” 
Passing by in the other direction came Wanipii, who was pushing a cart. It was filled with cardboard boxes, which were, in turn, full of goods to sell. “Outta the way, outta the way! Get outta the way or I’ll kill you, pii!” 
It was one thing for Wanipii to be helping out—he never had much to do onstage, anyway. But to have headliners like himself and Tiramii splitting their time... would things really be okay in the park? 
Just then, Moffle himself walked past. Things had been so chaotic today that this was the first time Macaron had seen him. “Hey,” he said, by way of a greeting. 
“Moffu.” Moffle was carrying a clipboard, and seemed to be running some kind of inspection. Maybe he’d been put in charge of directing the support personnel which the park had provided? “That’s all we need from you, Macaron,” he said. “Go back onstage, fumo.” 
“I ran all the way here, carried one thing, and now you want me to go back? Give me a break, ron...” Macaron griped, but Moffle was unfazed. 
“Things are chaotic right now, fumo. Just ride it out until tomorrow,” he said, with all the ease of someone discussing the weather. 
“You seem a little subdued, ron.” 
“Do I, fumo?” 
AmaBri’s stadium would be taking over for Kajinomoto Stadium, which had been rendered unusable by a fire. If the people attending the game were being counted as park entrants, they would score tens of thousands of visitors in a single night. It was like a miracle had dropped into their laps. The entire cast was thrilled. Not even Macaron could stop his heart from fluttering in excitement. 
And yet, Moffle didn’t seem to share the sentiment. He just seemed to be walking through the work he was given, completely impassive. It didn’t make sense. 
They had known each other for a long time, of course, so Moffle seemed to guess what Macaron was thinking, and shrugged. “Well, we can talk about it another time, fumo. For now, just focus on your work,” he said simply, then left.

The work continued even after the park had closed for the day: the turf was scrupulously tended; medical supplies were stocked in the formerly empty infirmary; various sponsors’ advertising posters were hung up, here and there; lighting and disaster shelter tests were conducted; routes for pedestrian traffic were reviewed; and other jobs and negotiations continued throughout the night. 
The park attendance was 3,573, mostly due to the Friday date. Almost nobody noticed that the number was a little bit higher than last Friday. 
[Today’s park attendance: 3,573. (59,137 from goal) / 2 days left.]

It was Saturday, the day of the match. 
The staff’s tireless efforts, along with the park’s all-night support, had somehow gotten everything ready to receive the crowds before noon. Every single member of the cast had stayed overnight. Isuzu herself had slept for just two hours, and hadn’t had a shower in twelve. She really did feel like she wanted to die. 
The park opened, and attendance was good. The weather was nice, too. Moffle and the others met the guests in Entrance Square, and smiles abounded. 
If you only looked onstage, it would have seemed like nothing more than a busier-than-usual Saturday morning for the park. It was hard to imagine that tens of thousands would soon be flooding through that gate. 
Just after lunch, then, something strange began: A group of people in yellow and blue uniforms piled off a bus. These must be the Melody Shibasaki fans. They looked all around, saw the clearly marked guide signs, then headed through the front gate and towards the second park. 
Some seemed to be griping about the sudden change of venue, but one could be overheard, saying with a smile, “It’s better than canceling it.” 
“They’re here...” Muse said as she ran up to Isuzu, who was waiting near the gate. 
“More will come,” Isuzu told her. “We need them to.” 
More fans did come. Their numbers grew rapidly, faster and faster. They passed through the gate, and then followed the marked route towards the second park. 
Dozens became hundreds. Hundreds became thousands. Every bus that they could get from the city was here, carrying fans from the special parking lots in droves. Groups of people in colorful shirts got off, split up into groups based on their teams, and whooped in excitement as they passed through the gate. Buses had also been sent to Kajinomoto Stadium to pick up any fans who hadn’t heard about the switch. Moving things just one city over had paid off, because there was almost no confusion at all. 
“Incredible,” Muse said. 
The staff and cast on crowd control duty shouted, and the baggage search team (deployed for saturation tactics) filtered the fans through swiftly. The front gate, quiet enough that morning that you could hear birdsong, was now consumed with an earthquake-like roar. 
She was stunned. “I’ve never seen a crowd like this outside of Ariake...” 
“I won’t ask what event you attended there,” Isuzu said to her, “but... this park probably hasn’t seen a crowd like this in over 20 years.” 
The gate counter was ticking up at an incredible rate. Many of the fans had decided to spend the time before the match looking around the park, and the unprecedented number of guests had the cast at their wits’ end. The various concessions, selling out of food and drinks quickly due to the 30 yen campaign, were forced to tap into the next day’s reserves. 
Every street was overflowing with people. The attractions were running at full tilt, with no time for anyone to rest. The health center—for guests who weren’t feeling well—was almost at capacity. This also led to a proportional increase in guest complaints, and the attempts to respond to them had led to sheer chaos. 
Isuzu was constantly on the move. She had been hoping to find enough free time for a shower, but the moment just never appeared. She felt so sick she wanted to die, but—she also felt so motivated to live! 
A brass band played on the grand avenue. Muse and the others danced to wild cheers. The children were kicking the hell out of Macaron. Tiramii had passed out. Wanipii was in a corner, skipping out on work. The rest of the cast were all running around, making merry. 
Things onstage were so busy that most of the park staff didn’t have time to look in on the stadium itself. Then, all of a sudden, the people in the soccer shirts were gone, a sign that the match was about to begin. 
The sun had gone low in the west, and the eastern sky had gone dark, when they heard the first sound of cheers and drums echoing from the second park. The stadium, which had sat stagnant and dark in the forest for twenty years, was now ablaze in the twilight. The match must have started without a hitch. 
Having a free moment at last, Isuzu stood on the now-empty grand avenue, watching as the stadium brimmed with life from afar. She didn’t know how to describe what she felt. It wasn’t simple relief, or joy. It was a more complicated feeling—alienation, perhaps? 
Like a child forced to watch at a distance while the other children played; that was the closest thing she could think of. 
“All those people having the time of their lives out there... we’re not the reason they came, fumo.” Suddenly, Moffle was beside her. He’d been so occupied with stage shows and souvenir pictures in the House of Sweets that she hadn’t seen him all day. 
He was also gazing at that distant stadium. “If this were a concert, we’d be the warm-up act. Right now, that’s the best we can offer to anyone. Nothing’s changed. ...Nothing’s changed at all, fumo.” 
The next thing she knew, the rest of the cast were there, too. 
They had all stopped what they were doing to stare silently at the stadium. In their eyes shone the same lonely light as Isuzu’s.

The match ended in a draw, 2-2: it had, apparently, been a good match. The fans went home satisfied, and the park closed. It was around midnight by the time they’d finished cleaning up the stadium. 
Everyone was exhausted, but most of the cast had stuck around. That much was understandable; of course they couldn’t sleep until they’d learned the day’s attendance figure. 
They’d been using the employee cafeteria as a staging area for the day, and the cast had dragged themselves there once again, exhausted. Latifah was with them. 
A leaden silence hung over the room as Seiya entered. 
“I have the results,” he began, then checked the paper scrap he’d written it on again just to be sure. “53,449. In other words, we’re just 5,688 people short. Tomorrow’s a Sunday, and there’s a zero percent chance of precipitation. Given our attendance this past week... it’s almost certain we’ll get what we need.” 
As Seiya concluded, the group remained silent. It was like they hadn’t fully absorbed the meaning of his words. 
“What’s wrong with you people?” he demanded. “It means the park gets to stay in business.” 
There were a few more seconds of silence, and then nearly everyone rocketed to their feet, cheering in joy. Their cheers sounded like shrieking. 
“We did it! We did it! We did it!” Muse and Latifah shouted, holding hands and crying as they jumped up and down. 
“A miracle, ron! It really is a miracle, ron!” Macaron said, manly tears streaming from his eyes. 
“I don’t have to say goodbye to the ladies, mii!” Tiramii cried out as he tapped on his smartphone. 
“Kanie-san! I, Tricen, burst with admiration! I am compelled to hunch over in tears!” Tricen bowed to him, his shoulders trembling. 
Wanipii was gazing up at the ceiling, tears streaking down his cheeks. Wrenchy-kun patted him on the shoulder and nodded solemnly. The rest of the cast was ecstatic: clapping their hands, banging on their chairs, dancing on the tables... a few were even doing backflips. 

“Incidentally, the stadium attendance today suggests 43,217 of them were soccer fans. That means 10,232 people came here for the park itself,” Seiya commented offhandedly. “Even if it took bargain basement ticket prices, you still broke 10,000. You know... that’s nice work for a crummy amusement park.” 
A new, louder round of applause and cheers filled the cafeteria. In their excitement, someone suggested tossing Seiya into the air. Seiya awkwardly turned them down, then addressed the group again: “Okay, that’s enough! You’re all dismissed! We still have one day left, so go home and get some rest!” 
He waved, but before leaving the cafeteria proper, he approached Latifah. She was standing there with Isuzu’s help, with a serene smile on her face. “Kanie-sama. I truly... I truly must thank you.” 
“Come on,” he scoffed. “It was just a coincidence.” 
“No,” she protested, “I am certain that it was—” 
“A miracle? Sure, that’s what we’ll tell people,” Seiya said, then immediately regretted it. 
Latifah’s smile vanished immediately. Her brows knitted in quiet sadness, as if she’d figured something out... but then she went right back to her original smile. “Yes, let us tell them that.” 
“I’d better go now,” he excused himself. “Good work today.” 
“Yes,” Latifah said gently. “I greatly appreciate all that you have done.” 
Isuzu met Seiya’s eyes for a moment. She looked like she wanted to say something, but was choosing to refrain for now. 
“You hear me? You people need to go home and get some sleep!” Seiya bellowed at the cast. He turned his back on the still ebullient cafeteria, but as he proceeded into the dark hall, he ran right into Moffle. 
The mascot was leaning against the wall, a mournful air about him. “It’s over, huh, fumo?” 
“Yeah. The fate of the park is in your hands again,” Seiya noted. “Do whatever you want with it.” 
“Sorry,” Moffle said. 
“Hey, no problem...” 
Two men who had spent the last two days pensive and listless. Two men who weren’t in any kind of mood to celebrate the “miracle.” They both stood now in the otherwise empty hall, faces ashen. 
Anyone who saw us like this would guess the truth immediately, Seiya thought. Which is that this wasn’t a miracle at all. 
Seiya thought back on what had happened three days before. 
 
There was no way to get them to their target number. Seiya had immediately come to that conclusion on the morning after he’d taken the job of acting manager. 
Nothing they could do would change anything. Even if he made everything free, even if he dumped their entire budget into advertising, it simply wasn’t going to happen. There was no way to bring in the kind of numbers they needed in just two weeks. 
He could put up a good fight, but that was all it would be; you would need magic to make something like that happen in such a short time. 
The only reason he’d stuck around, groping for possibilities, was because he wasn’t emotionally invested in the park, yet. If he had been, he would have thrown in the towel immediately. 
His first ray of hope had appeared the day Muse took him to see the stadium. It was a symbol of the wasteful bubble economy; a towering monument to excess, which lingered on in an age of recession. 
He didn’t know what the park’s previous administrations had been like, but it seemed strange that they’d kept the stadium up and running all this time. 
He returned to his office to look through his documents, and found an old contract with Kajinomoto Stadium. It was just a few lines of text—easy to overlook, under normal circumstances: 
“In the event of an unexpected forced closure of Kajinomoto Stadium, we hereby offer the use of the stadium located in Amagi Brilliant Park’s second park (planned) free of charge,” it read. 
What month was it now? March. 
What Kajinomoto Stadium event was coming up soon? A J1 opening game. Melody Shibasaki, a team that had just advanced to the J1 League, would be playing the Kurawa Mets, a team that had placed highly in the previous season. It was a match that would draw a lot of interest. 
They’d pull 40,000 people at least. If Seiya wanted the park to survive, he was going to have to take advantage of that. 
That was why he’d tasked Wrenchy-kun to start fixing up the old stadium, holding firmly against any objections. He needed it to be ready to hold between 40,000 and 50,000 people at any time. 
Now, all he needed was a “forced closure” at Kajinomoto Stadium, but he couldn’t count on a fire just happening to occur. 
Most of Seiya’s internal conflict over the course of the next week was questioning how far he was willing to go—a battle with what little conscience he had left. It was in the kitchen, when Latifah was making her croquettes, that he’d shaken off the last of his hesitation. 
On Wednesday night, Seiya returned home, stuffed the tools he’d prepared in advance into his backpack, then headed for Kajinomoto Stadium. 
He’d spent the week memorizing the stadium’s layout, its electrical system, and more. He’d gone over various infiltration routes, then chosen the most reliable location and method. There would be a few locks between him and his destination, but those would be easy enough to break through with an over-the-counter lock picking kit. 
Then, just a tiny bit of meddling with the electrical system would make it look like the fire had started naturally. Whether or not it would fool a professional investigator, of course, would come down to the luck of the draw. 
The trouble was that, in order to use the route he’d chosen, he’d have to walk a fifty meter tightrope across an eight meter tall fence—and Seiya had acrophobia. 
He made his move after midnight. He’d spent over an hour, inching his way over an unmonitored fence, in a pitch-black stadium—an hour that felt like an eternity. 
After clinging his way over the fence, he finally arrived at the door to the electrical room... when, just then, he heard Moffle’s voice behind him: “Seems like you went to a lot of trouble, fumo.” Basically, it was only pure luck that kept Seiya from crying out in shock. 
What is Moffle doing here? he wondered. What does he want? How did he get here? As Seiya’s mouth flapped in astonishment, Moffle thrust a paw at him. “I followed you, fumo. Simple business for a former member of Maple Land’s strike recon squad.” 
You really do have some history... Seiya thought. And what the hell kind of squad was that? 
“Wrenchy-kun told me about your secret work on the stadium in the second park, fumo. Then I found myself remembering that old contract,” Moffle explained. “I had an inkling of what you were planning, but I never thought you’d really be this stupid...” 
“Nobody asked you,” Seiya told him. 
Seiya pulled the lock pick kit out of his backpack and huddled up by the door to the electrical room. He’d bought himself a similar kind of cylinder lock, and had spent the last few days practicing on it. It might take a bit of time, but he should be able to break through... 
“Stop this,” Moffle told him. “What you’re about to do is a real crime, fumo.” 
“I know that,” Seiya said absently. 
“It’s not just the stadium you’ll be making trouble for,” Moffle accused him. “It’s a number of companies, and all kinds of people. They’ll lose a lot of money over this. They’re not just going to let you walk away, fumo.” 
“I know.” Seiya stopped for a minute, then laughed through his nose. 
“No one’ll be happy to know that the park got saved this way. We’d be better off out in the street, fumo!” 
“And then what will happen to her?!” Seiya grabbed Moffle by his bow tie and dragged him close, face to face. 
Moffle seemed shocked by his sudden aggression. 
“She told me everything,” Seiya snarled at him. “She can’t survive without the park. If this was just about keeping some crummy amusement park going, I wouldn’t go this far, either. I’ve been torturing myself about this. I tried thinking of other ways. But none of them were going to work, so this is what it has to be!” 
“Moffu...” 
“You told me not to do this,” Seiya continued, “but is that all you have to say? You say you care about her too, but what have you done to keep things from coming to this? Heh... working on your art? Giving your all to the guests? That didn’t work. It wasn’t enough!” 
He must have hit him where it hurt, because Moffle immediately deflated. He took an unsteady step back, and lowered his eyes. 
“Dirty tricks are what we need right now,” Seiya said flatly, then turned back to the lock. “I’m doing this rotten thing of my own free will, not asking for anyone’s permission.” 
“Why do you care so much, fumo?” Moffle asked him. 
“...I remembered.” 
Ten years ago, Seiya had come to Amagi Brilliant Park. He had probably been about five or six. He’d visited the amusement park with his parents—back when they still got along—and enjoyed the various attractions. He didn’t remember Moffle, but there was one person in the cast that he did remember. Latifah. She had been a girl of 14 or 15 back then, just as she was now. Seiya had gotten separated from his parents, and somehow ended up lost backstage. Then, by coincidence, he had ended up straying into the rooftop garden. 
She was there in a corner, crying. Why are you crying? he had asked her. He couldn’t remember what she had said in response. Probably something about her curse, or about being lonely... Then, he did a dance he’d just learned to make her smile, and he said to her: I’m with you. I will save you... 
“...I met Latifah a long time ago,” Seiya said, still working on the lock. “I was just a little kid. She was in that rooftop garden, looking just like she does now, for some reason... I didn’t know what was going on, but the point is, I met her. And I made her a promise that I would save her.” 
“I see, fumo...” Moffle breathed. “...I do remember an incident some time back. A child wandering into the rooftop garden... We’ve improved security since then, of course...” 
“Then I guess my memory’s not wrong,” Seiya said flatly. 
Almost there, he thought. The lock was almost open. He felt a satisfying click, and then carefully turned the tools. After a moment’s resistance, the cylinder popped open. 
...Got it. Seiya packed up his kit, and then pulled out the wiring diagram and flashlight he’d brought along. The substrate of the distribution boards in the back of the room should be old and worn. It shouldn’t take much meddling to start a fire... 
But, just before he entered the room, he felt a hard strike from Moffle’s paw against the back of the head, and he toppled over. “Kanie Seiya. I just can’t let you do this, fumo.” 
“Ngh...” Seiya groaned. You damned idiot, he thought. Are you just going to abandon her, then? He tried to shout, but his voice wouldn’t come out. His arms and legs were tingling, but he couldn’t move them. 
“Let me tell you one thing, fumo,” Moffle said. “Latifah’s curse doesn’t just make her weaker. It’s something far worse than that, fumo.” 
A worse curse than that? But what on earth could it— 
“It resets her physical development and memories every year, fumo. She’s been 14 years old for over ten years now,” Moffle explained. “Every spring, she loses all memory of the previous year, fumo. So no matter what you do, she’s going to forget about you soon.” 
Ah... Seiya realized. So that was why the Latifah he remembered from his childhood looked the same as the one from now... 
Moffle let out a sigh. “I thought that even if the park closed, I could take Latifah with me and eke out a living as a street performer,” he confessed. “Maybe we wouldn’t have lasted long, but... it seemed to me, maybe that’s fate, fumo.” 
Seiya said nothing, and waited for Moffle to finish his thoughts. 
“But, I’ve changed my mind. To fade away gracefully is all well and good... but a little ungainly struggling isn’t the worst thing in the world. Before, you asked me... wasn’t there more I could have done before things came to this? You were right. Right on the money. I should have... we should have done something, fumo.” 
Moffle picked up Seiya’s tools and the blueprints. “Kanie Seiya. It’s wrong to make you pay our debts for us, fumo. So if ‘dirty tricks are what we need right now’... then I ought to be the one doing them.” 
Moffle headed for the back of the electric room. 
The work wasn’t anything too difficult. You just had to follow the marks he’d made on the diagram, contacting the batteries linked by the series to cause an overload. Then, the dusty circuit’s vinyl would start to burn, and the damage would quickly spread. Sparks began to fly in the back of the room, and a foul burning smell reached Seiya’s nose. 
“All right. Let’s make a break for it, fumo.” Moffle hefted the immobilized Seiya onto his shoulder, then took off with surprising swiftness. 
 
The cast, having ignored the command to go home, were still celebrating in the dining hall. None of them noticed Seiya and Moffle—the partners in crime—talking in the dark hallway. 
“The idea of resorting to dirty tricks... I’d been afraid it would cast a pall over my art, fumo,” Moffle confessed. 
“Well... that’s understandable,” Seiya said, sympathizing. 
“But what’s done is done, fumo. I’ll just have to keep doing my best,” Moffle said, then gave a finalizing shrug. “Well, will today be the end of it, fumo?” 
He was referring to Seiya’s time as acting manager. Seiya’s absence wouldn’t affect tomorrow’s attendance at all; his work here was done. 
“Good question,” Seiya mused. “Maybe I’ll spend tomorrow in my room working through my game backlog... No, no. I’ve come this far; I should at least be here for the end.” 
“Right,” Moffle agreed neutrally. “I’m sure they’ll all be happy to see you, fumo.” 
Seiya found himself wincing. “Well, good work today.” 
“Moffu. Thank you, Seiya.” 
They waved to each other, avoiding each other’s eyes, and then went their separate ways. 
[Today’s park attendance: 53,449. (5,688 from goal) / 1 day left.]

The next day was Sunday, and Seiya slept until noon. 
His Aunt Aisu was up then, for once, so they ate some pasta and spaced out, watching golf on TV. Seiya had thought about playing some video games, but he just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm for it. 
The weather outside was clear. It was still a bit chilly, given the time of year, but the sunlight was warm. 
Around the time that the evening ‘classic family anime’ aired, Seiya was getting ready to head out. Aisu, munching on a rice cracker, asked him, “Where are you going at this hour?” 
“Work,” he told her shortly. 
“Ahh,” his aunt responded, showing no further sign of interest. 
He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to catch a bus back or not, so he decided to ride his bike there; it only took him about 30 minutes. He passed through the employee entrance and greeted the now familiar face of the security guard. “How’s attendance?” 
“It’s great,” the security guard told him. “Looks to be higher than last week, I’d say.” 
Seiya was relieved to hear that. He’d had a nagging fear that they’d make some kind of mistake that would tank their attendance. 
He wandered around backstage, waving to the various cast members who called to him, smiling. It’s been a strange two weeks, hasn’t it? he reflected. We hated each other so much before, but look at us now... 
Seiya had never fit in at school. But now, after much trial and tribulation, he felt, for the first time, that he’d found a place where he could feel at home. 
Closing time would come shortly. The day’s attendance was an incredible 12,430, breaking 10,000 for the second day in a row. Once all the guests were gone, the news was broadcast over the park’s internal speakers. All the employees clapped their hands and cheered. 
Cast members whose names Seiya didn’t even know, but who happened to be standing nearby, asked him for handshakes. He obliged, and told them “great work,” with an awkward smile. 
Mission officially accomplished, he thought later, as he walked alone down the underground hallway. Just then, the sound of theatrical applause rang out behind him. Clap, clap, clap, came the empty, hollow sound. 
“Well, well. Excellent work.” Seiya turned to see Kurisu Takaya of Amagi Development standing in the hallway; he must have come to confirm the final day’s attendance for himself. There was a visitor’s ID hanging from his neck. 
“I can’t believe you really brought in 100,000 people,” Kurisu remarked. “I’m shocked.” 
“...Why are you talking to me about it?” Seiya asked him suspiciously. “You should be talking to whomever put the hard work in.” 
“Oh, please.” Kurisu smiled. “You might as well drop the act. The hard work was all yours, wasn’t it? Kanie Seiya-kun... Or should I say... the acting manager chosen by the revelation?” 
“......!” It was impossible for Seiya to hide his shock. 
He wasn’t especially surprised that Kurisu knew he was the acting manager; if he had an informant in the park, he surely would have heard about it. But to know about the revelation... 
Seeming to derive pleasure from Seiya’s reaction, Kurisu spoke up again. “You’ve successfully extended the park’s lifespan by one year. But that’s about all you’ve done... You can’t keep the discount campaign going for a whole year. All you’ve done is given a dying patient a shot of adrenaline.” 
“...What are you getting at?” Seiya asked him flatly. 
“The park will meet its fate eventually, one way or another,” Kurisu said scornfully. “And the cursed princess, to whom you’re so attached, will die a dog’s death.” 
He knows about Latifah’s curse? Seiya wondered to himself. Why? Who the hell is this man— 
“Who are you?” he asked out loud. Seiya argued with himself until the very last second over whether to use his mind-reading magic. But no, this wasn’t the time yet—using it now would be the wrong choice, his logical mind insisted. 
“Oh?” Kurisu mocked him. “Not going to use your magic, hmm? You have impressive self-control.” 
Seiya barely stopped himself from letting out a groan. What’s going on here? He knows about my magic! 
The man laughed. “If you know about her curse, then you can surely imagine... ‘The evil magician, cornered by the noble general, threw himself off a cliff...’ But nobody ever said that the magician was dead.” 
“Are you saying...” Seiya began to ask. 
Kurisu smiled. It was a cunning, wicked smile. “...To be honest, I’d been hoping to deliver the finishing blow this year,” he confessed. “But now, I’ve changed my mind. I won’t tell anyone about the stadium incident. For now, I’d like to sit back, watch and observe... how far can this rotten amusement park go with another year?” 
“This is crazy! She hasn’t done anything wrong! You just—” Seiya shouted angrily, reaching out to grab Kurisu by the lapels. As he did, the image of the man in the suit blurred. 
“If it makes you this angry, why not stay with it?” The air around them warped, and in the ceiling, lights flickered. “Unsightly decline and collapse,” his voice intoned in a low roar. “The irreversible flow of the era in which we live. You can attempt to defy them if you wish... but the ager which you’re protecting is fated to wither and die—and I wish to watch it happen.” 
The thing that flickered before his eyes, now, was not some company administrator. It was something else, grinning and mocking him—and them. 
“Kanie-kun, stand back,” a familiar voice commanded him. 
“Sento?” he asked, completely bewildered. 
At some point, Isuzu had arrived. She pushed Seiya out of the way and took aim with her gun. She fired, and there was a blinding flash. When it had faded, Kurisu Takaya was gone without a trace. 
“Ugh...” Seiya looked around, rubbing his throbbing head. 
They were alone now, but Isuzu kept her musket at the ready, her senses on high alert. “...He got away,” she lamented. 
“Who the hell was that guy?” Seiya wondered out loud. 
“At the very least, he doesn’t appear to be a mortal,” Isuzu mused thoughtfully. 
She must have also called for backup, because Moffle arrived a little bit later, knocking over trash cans and raging. “So it was him!” the mascot fumed. “Dammit! Next time, I’ll kill him, fumo!”

Several hours later, Seiya was talking to Latifah in the rooftop garden. “I’m going to stick with it,” he told her. 
She tilted her head in incomprehension. “...May I ask what you mean?” 
“The acting manager position,” he explained. “I’m going to stick with it through next year. And, actually... I think I’ll hang around until the problem is solved.” 
She probably had her curse explained to her every year, because she seemed to have realized what that meant. “Kanie-sama...” 
“Don’t look at me like that,” he told her. “It’s because I made a promise.” 
“A... promise?” she asked, her voice uncertain. 
“Yeah. I hope you remember someday.” A lonely smile appeared on Seiya’s face. 
[Today’s park attendance: 12,430. (6,742 over goal) / Term complete.]