Dear Diary...
I think, at some point in the past, a human snuck into the heavens and took a huge crap in the celestial spirits' rice pot, ran away and pissed off all the spirits. In retaliation, they devoted themselves to making humanity's life a living excrutiating hell. That would explain why my life is one long unending stream of horrendous episodes.
I swear, if I find out that I'm the main character in some hackneyed reality TV show, where people can watch my face of a life on a big screen, I will personally travel to America to denut Carrey-san.
I walked into the atrium this morning - a space usually reserved for admiring Mother's grotesque modern art collection - only to find Saori's lower half protruding from a freshly drilled hole in the drywall like some deranged jack-in-the-box. Mother stood beside her, flushed and panting, still clutching the industrial drill she'd clearly used to create this architectural abomination.
"Morning, darling!" she chirped, wiping sweat from her brow. "We were just experimenting with spatial intimacy!".
Saori's muffled cries echoed from inside the wall cavity. "My Queen! The studs are pinching my..."
"Quiet, my diminutive petal of passion," Mother cooed, slapping Saori's bared, and now reddened, rump affectionately. "Emiko-chan will help extract you.".
"I wish I could extract both of you from this house and put you two in a zoo!" I grumbled..
I spent the next hour elbow-deep in drywall dust, pulling while Mother lubricated Saori's hips with cooking oil. Each tug felt like dragging a stubborn cork from a rancid wine bottle. By the time Saori popped free - landing in a heap of plaster fragments and oily limbs - my uniform was ruined, my knuckles scraped raw, and my stomach revolting at the scent of canola oil mixed with Saori's floral perfume. I quickly changed and then fled the scene without breakfast, for fear of losing it right afterwards.
Arriving thirty minutes late to Kazuko-sensei's literature class felt like walking into a firing squad. The teacher - a woman whose mere posture screamed "I iron my own spine" - paused mid-sentence about Basho''s haiku. Her glasses slid down her nose as she eyed me..
"Why Princess Elizabeth, welcome!" she drawled, voice colder than a freezer-burned onigiri. "Did the gravitational pull of your highness's ego finally slow Earth's rotation? Couldst thou lower thyself to be in our lowly presence. Good God, Princess. Could you be anymore inept without drug or political aid?".
Snickers erupted. Before I could retort, she raised a hand..
"Enough. Iiiiiiiin other news, I do have the misfortune of informing your narrow minded twits that we have a new transfer student. Please note, and I must be clear on this matter, please do observe Rule Zero: no murdering her or trying to convert her to a new world order, fanatical cult OR, even worse, the anime club." She gestured to the door. "Enter!"
In bounced Hanzo Yuriko - who also happened to be that infuriating dark-skinned bitch from yesterday - wearing a smile sharper than a sushi knife..
"Hiiiiya allllllll! I'm Hanzo Yuriko! Let's all be the bestest of besties there ever was!" She waved like a malfunctioning metronome overdosing on a thousand chocolate bars and a half gallon of Red Bull..
Then, her eyes locked onto mine. Recognition flashed. Her grin curdled. "Oh for the love of stale tampons. *You!!!!!!!*.".
"Hanzo-san," I said, voice flat as a taxidermied flounder. "What a *delight* to see you again. Did you get lost on your way to a circus?".
Yuriko's smile turned predatory. "Nah, just following the stench of desperation. Guess it led me straight to you, Blondie.".
Before I could retaliate, Kazuko-sensei blurred between us like a flinty-eyed tornado. Her bony hands seized our skulls. Next we each heard a thundering CRACK and then, darkness swallowed me whole.
When consciousness finally dribbled back, my forehead throbbed sympathetically with the quadratic equations on the board. Across the aisle, Yuriko rubbed her own lump, shooting me a glare that promised slow eventual dismemberment, which at that moment, would have been a God send.
At lunch, she cornered me by the vending machines..
"Duel. After school. Behind the gym," she hissed, breath smelling faintly of stale seaweed crackers..
I shrugged, took a massive bite of my garlic croissant, leaned in - and unleashed a resonant, onion-scented belch straight into her nostrils. Her eyes rolled back like malfunctioning slot machines before she crumpled to the linoleum.
"Victory," I announced to the horrified onlookers, dusting crumbs off my blazer. "Science triumphs once again. You may all bow to me...".
Many did indeed bow, though to be honest, some of it may have been due to the intense garlic smell still lingering in the air..
After lunch, I found sanctuary in the library with Arisawa Yuki. My dear friend sat tucked away in our usual corner, surrounded by towers of manga volumes and textbooks. Her long, ink-black hair curtained her face as she scribbled notes, large round glasses magnifying her earnest eyes..
"Yuki-chan," I sighed dramatically, collapsing into the plush armchair beside her. "I swear Kazuko-sensei has a vendetta against me personally. And that new transfer - Hanzo Yuriko - She's like a cockroach dipped in glitter. Impossible to ignore yet impossible to crush.".
Yuki looked up, her expression soft as fresh mochi..
"Oh, Emiko-san," she murmured, setting down her pencil. "You're always so brave facing troubles head-on.".
She offered me a wrapped strawberry daifuku from her bento box - a peace offering sweeter than any apology..
"Y'know...maybe... maybe this Hanzo-san just needs a friend? Many people find it hard to make friends...".
I snorted, tearing into the rice cake. "Friend? That gremlin wants to duel me behind the gym! She's as friendly as a hornet in a soda can!" Still, Yuki's quiet optimism was infectious. Like finding a single intact teacup after an earthquake. We spent the next hour studying trigonometry. Or rather, Yuki studied while I doodled Kyosuke's name repeatedly inside heart-shaped quadratic formulas..
The bell shattered our peace. "Library closes in five minutes!" hissed Mrs. Tanaka, appearing like a specter between the shelves..
We scrambled to gather our things. Outside, twilight painted the corridors in bruised purples..
"Shall we...walk home together?" Yuki asked softly, adjusting her glasses..
Before I could answer, a shadow detached itself from the vending machine alcove. Hanzo Yuriko leaned against the wall, arms crossed, chewing gum like it owed her money..
"Well, well," she drawled. "If it isn't Belch Queen, Burpina the IVth, and her four-eyed dorky court jester."
Yuki froze. Her gaze dropped to her worn loafers, shoulders curling inward as if struck. At that moment, something inside me snapped - a sound like piano wire breaking. This cockroach hadn't just insulted me; she'd scraped her cockroach filth over the one actual pure thing in this cesspool school (I mean, other than the gorgeous and lovely Kyosuke).
"Yuriko," I whispered, voice colder than liquid nitrogen on a Vanilla Ice CD. "Meet me on the rooftop. Five minutes. Bring your dental records, police will need them to identify you.".
"No!" Yuki gasped, clutching at my sleeve desperately. "She's not worth it!"
But Yuriko was already vanishing down the hallway like smoke. I shook Yuki off gently. "Stay here," I ordered, already sprinting toward the stairwell. Kyosuke's sweet face flashed in my mind?*later*, I promised him silently. Right now, this cockroach needed exterminating.
The rooftop wind slapped my cheeks raw as I shoved the heavy door open. Yuriko stood silhouetted against Tokyo's neon blush, chewing gum with vicious snaps..
"Took you long enough, Princess," she sneered. "Thought you'd hide behind your little nerd girl?"
My knuckles tightened around the strap of my bag. Kyosuke's sweet face swam before me, his shy smile, chocolate-stained cheeks. *Just walk away*, whispered reason. *Find Kyosuke-sama instead*. But then Yuki's crushed expression flashed - the way her shoulders had curled like crumpled origami paper. "You shouldn't have insulted her," I said, voice low as broken down suburban subway rumble.
Yuriko snorted. "Oh? Gonna cry for your nerd pet?"
The rooftop wind tasted of exhaust and impending rain..
"You keep insulting her," I growled, knuckles whitening around my bag strap. "I guess even YOU have tired of your existence infecting this planet. Well, let me help you rectify that, squirt!".
Yuriko spat her gum onto the gravel. "Bring it, Bitch. Let's see if that big head's really just hot air.".
She cocked her fist, her knuckles scarred like a garment made of silk and lace. I mirrored her, the image of Kyosuke's shy smile flickering. *Later, my love. This cockroach needed crushing first.*
We lunged and swang our-.
"*Erlauben Sie mir, Sie zu unterbrechen!*."
The stone-cold noble high-pitched voice cut through the rooftop wind like a scalpel through silk - low, resonant, and utterly devoid of warmth.
Between Yuriko and me, the air shimmered violently. Then *she* materialized: a silhouette carved from midnight velvet. Her outfit clung like liquid shadow - a gothic Lolita dress slashed to mid-thigh, fishnet stockings vanishing into thigh-high boots with stiletto heels sharp enough to puncture concrete. Ebony hair cascaded past her waist, framing a porcelain face obscured by a black Victorian masquerade mask adorned with glowing white sigils that pulsed like dying stars. Twin katanas, longer than her legs, hissed as she drew them from thin air. The blades sang with a sound like ice cracking.
Before either of us could scream, she moved. Not a step- a veritable teleport. One instant she stood five meters away; the next, her sword sliced downward where Yuriko's neck had been. I acted without thought - shoving Yuriko sideways. The blade whistled past, slicing through the strap of Yuriko's bag instead. Fabric parted like wet paper. If there had been any question if the blades were real or fake, the jury sure wasn't hung on the point any longer!
"*Du törichter Narr!*," the girl hissed, her voice echoing as if from the bottom of a well.
She pivoted toward me in a second's glance, sword raised for her killing thrust. Terror froze my lungs solid. My life passed before my eyes and I didn't have a chance to be cynical...this was it!
*SLAM!!!*
The rooftop door crashed open. Kazuko-sensei stood framed in the doorway, her glare sharper than any blade. She didn't shout. Didn't flinch. Heck, she didn't even move towards us. She just stared at that noir creature with the intensity of a scalpel dissecting a corpse. And it, in turn, glowered back in rage. The silence stretched, thick as tar.
Distant footsteps pounded up the stairwell told us an alarm had been sounded, teachers were coming.
The female's masked face snapped toward the sound. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled a small obsidian sphere. It shattered at our feet, vomiting darkness that swallowed light, sound, even gravity. When it cleared seconds later, she'd vanished.
Only Kazuko-sensei remained, dusting chalk from her sleeves. She glanced at us - two trembling heaps on the gravel - almost sympathetically and a small touch of concern, before her face hardened again. Then, she walked away without a word.
The arriving teachers found Yuriko retching into a drainpipe while I clutched my torn blazer, shaking so hard my teeth chattered. Their questions buzzed like distant flies.
"Fell," Yuriko croaked, wiping her mouth.
"Tripped." I nodded mutely, the lie sour on my tongue.
They escorted us down, their confusion a tangible fog. No one mentioned the darkness. No one mentioned *her*.
At home, I didn't slam the doors upon my return. I didn't shout. I just walked past Mother and Saori, who had just been attempting synchronized origami with edible rice paper panties, and made straight for the bath. The water scalded, turning my skin lobster-pink. After rinsing, I went into the tub. I sank deep into the water until my ears filled with liquid silence, watching the steam curl like phantom blades.
Footsteps padded outside - hesitant, uncharacteristically quiet.
"Emi-chan?" Saori's voice, stripped of its usual breathy submission, sounded almost... human.
"Are you.... okay, my darling?" Mother murmured something indistinct, worry threading a tapestry of concern through her words.
They didn't barge in. However, they also didn't joke. They just lingered, lingered like hovering ghosts by the door.
I stayed submerged and said nothing. The memory of those glowing sigils pulsed behind my eyelids - a lighthouse in a nightmare sea. What if she found Yuki next? Sweet, fragile Yuki, who flinched at raised voices? Or Kyosuke... innocent Kyosuke, who still tasted of chocolate and sunshine? The thought punched through my numbness.
NO!!!
My bathtub drain gargled like a dying man choking on marbles - a fitting soundtrack for the evening.
Outside, Saori's muffled voice drifted through the steam: "Mother, Shouldn't we...?"
I could barely hear Mother's mother reply. "Not tonight, my love. Let her be. Hopefully she'll talk tomorrow."
Meanwhile my fingers just pruned deeper. When I knew they had finally left, I snuck out of the tub, dried off and crept up to my room to try to sleep.
Try was the operative word here. Which is why I'm writing to you now.
I can't allow her to touch them! I have to stop her! I will stop her! I won't let my family and friends and husband live in fear of their lives. I will bring her down.
God only knows how I will be able to do that though. I need a miracle.
