[Puchi Pura Midori!] - 11 - FINAL

" Puchi Pura Misaki!

/ Minna Daisuki na Sayonara "

But she is not in school.

No, when Miyazawa Misaki runs out the clubroom door, she finds herself …

… Outside.

Blood-orange sky above.

She knows this place.

Of course, she does.

It was the setting of the mandatory Baseball Episode (TM).

Season 1, Episode 8, to be precise.

Umehara Middle's very own baseball diamond.

Facing her, on the pitcher's mound, is the doll Lotte, grinning madly, gripping a baseball bat.

The doll slams the bat on the ground.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

"Batter up!!!!" screams Lotte (Fake), as she approaches Misaki.

Misaki, ignoring the urge to point out to the crazed doll that it was the one on the pitcher's mound, so that comment, as threateningly as it was delivered, didn't really make that much sense, scrambles around the dugout, for any kind of defensive item.

She grabs a bat lying on the ground, (wow, who'da figured, very original), and begins swinging it wildly in front of her.

"Get away!" screams Misaki. "Or I'll …"

Lotte (Fake) grins. "Or you'll what? You can't do anything. You've never been able to do anything. You couldn't even hack it as a mediocre voice actress."

"Shut! Up!"

"Not like Ri-kki," hisses the doll. Dragging out the cute nickname of her castmate. "Remember the first big role she got after PuchiPura? Oh, you and the others held that celebration party for her. Yakiniku, if I recall? And you tried to be happy for her. Because back then, you still had hope. In the back of your mind, you were thinking … Just wait. Next time, you'll be the one being celebrated."

Misaki continues swinging at the air, though weaker now.

"… And as the years passed, the more roles Rikki got. She started appearing on variety shows. On primetime, even. And then came the awards. One after another. … And all you could do was watch. 'Supporting' your friend, if you could call it that."

Misaki, in tears now. Barely swinging anymore. "Shut … Up …"

"What should have been yours, Miyazawa Misaki."

"… No …"

Lotte (Fake) steps close to Misaki. The doll smiles wide, baring her razor sharp, crooked teeth. "… What do you intend to do about it?"

Misaki grips the bat tight. She closes her eyes, screams.

She winds up.

And then—

CRACK!

Sound of aluminum on skull.

Misaki opens her eyes.

Lying in front of her, the lifeless figure of what is no longer a straw and fabric doll, but—

—Rikitake Rika, voice actress extraordinaire, bleeding from her head, dead eyes turned to the eternal dusk.

Misaki steps backwards, aghast.

She drops the bat, which clatters to the ground. Hollow, metallic.

"I … I don't …"

Horrified, she runs away.

*

How long she runs for, she doesn't know.

All she knows now is, she's no longer outdoors.

Misaki is now in a dark hallway of a familiar home.

Despite it being nearly pitch black, she knows where she is.

… Of course she knows where this is!

Why, it's the Tanigawa household, where Lotte has intruded upon Tomoe's faux-resigned hospitality (oh, that tsundere) for many a sleepover. (See Season 2, Episode 12.) Aren't childhood friends just such a great trope?!

Misaki walks slowly through the hallway. Feeling around for a light switch, finding none.

A snarling, from behind.

She turns around, and sees the silhouette of the Tomoe doll, holding back a deformed doll-dog, the hellhound that is Alouette (Fake), on a leash.

Tomoe (Fake) smiles, the sharp teeth gleaming in the non-light of the hallway.

She whistles, clicks her tongue.

"… Go get her, boy!"

And releases the leash.

The un-dog lunges toward Misaki.

… Misaki runs.

*

She runs, runs, runs, into the first open door she sees.

… But what should have been Tomoe's own bedroom (because Misaki knows the layouts of the show's settings like the back of her hand, see; like she says in all her SNS vlogs, in that disingenuous, fake voice of hers: 'I may be the voice behind Midori, but I'm first and foremost a Puchi Fan, just like all of you out there!!!!'), is instead Hidamari Hanako's bedroom, which is up on the second floor, not the first. (Refer to the non-existent Season 3, Episode 5, if you need a refresher.)

Misaki slams the door to Hanako's room, presses her back against it.

Slam! Slam!

Alouette outside, snapping at the door. Misaki can almost feel its hot, putrid dog-breath against her, despite the wooden barrier.

But that's the least of her concerns.

Because sitting on the bed in front of her, facing her, is Hanako (Fake), blindfolded, bloody bandages wrapped over her eyes.

The false Hanako rises, bloody scissors in her hands, which the doll opens and closes, menacingly.

The doll closing in on Misaki.

"Okay," begins the doll, "so the whole voice actress thing didn't work out. Why didn't you give it up, focus on your personal life? Find a husband. Become just a normal housewife, raise a kid, live a normal life, like everyone else on this planet? Horiguchi Hina did the same. And she's happier than any stupid success in this wretched industry could've made her. You've seen how she is with her triplets."

"Don't … come any closer …" warns Misaki, through gritted teeth. Pushing back against the door.

The doll laughs. "What, you thought you could push through? If you just kept pursuing your dream, you'd be rewarded in the end? Reality check: Effort doesn't get rewarded, MiMi. It's necessary, sure, but there's so much out of your control. Luck, circumstances. … And plus, let's face it. … Maybe you're just not that talented. You ever consider that!? Did you think you were special? Everyone does, at some point. And some are. … But not You. Never You."

The doll, inches away now from Misaki, whispers in her ear: "… Never You."

She raises the scissors high, and stabs down—

—but manages only to lodge the instrument of defenestration (jury still out on whether or not this term is being applied correctly here), as Misaki dodges out of the way, just in time.

As the doll tries to free the scissors wedged into the door, Misaki scrambles around the bedroom, looking for something, anything, she can use as a weapon.

The writing desk, the nightstand. Nothing.

She stumbles over to the bookshelf.

She looks for the thickest tome she can find, one of Hanako's doorstoppers, and grabs it.

Just as the doll manages to dislodge the shears from the door, Alouette still biting from the other side, Misaki runs over, and swings the book, hard, before the doll has a chance to even turn around.

But what collapses to the floor is not the doll.

It's Horiguchi Hina, sprawled out, twitching, as though having a seizure.

Sad eyes, looking back at Misaki, not understanding. … Not understanding what has happened to her.

And as the life behind those eyes fade away, rolling up into the back of her head—

—the door breaks open, both Tomoe (Fake) and her straw/fabric pet rushing in.

The dog pounces on Misaki, knocking her to the ground, her head hitting the floor.

Misaki's vision blurs, a ringing in her ears.

But the world comes back into focus, CHOMP!, sharp, painful focus, as the dog latches on to her arm, its eldritch, rotting teeth sinking deep into her left arm.

Misaki howls with pain.

The dog bites down on her arm even harder, as Tomoe (Fake) cackles in the background, unseen.

Misaki, beginning to black out, stretches out her right arm, for what she doesn't even know, grasping blindly for something, anything, until—

—until her fingers find purchase on cold steel.

The scissors.

She clumsily grabs them, brings them close to her.

With whatever strength she has left, she drives the shear into the dog's eye.

Squelch.

The vice-grip bite of its jaw loosens.

Misaki goes slack, sighs in equal parts relief and anguish.

She pushes the dog's carcass off her, and immediately prepares to face the cackling doll-Tomoe.

Misaki staggers to her feet, still wobbling, wielding the shears in front of her like a knife, ready for a fight.

… But there is no cackling.

The false Tomoe is nowhere to be found.

Misaki glances down, and where Alouette's carcass once was, she sees only another one of her friends.

Takeuchi Tsukasa.

Mouth open like a dead fish. One eye gone, gouged out, nothing but a gaping hole in the side of her head.

Misaki drops the scissors.

Her lips tremble, her hands shake.

She clutches her head, and walks as though in a trance, stepping over the twin corpses of Hina-tan and Tsuka-chan, as she exits out of the bedroom …

*

… and into the gym equipment room of Umehara Middle.

The smell of stale, sweaty rubber mats and wooden balance beams.

And in the center of the room, tied to a chair, is, who else but, Sana (Fake).

Grinning darkly.

"Well?" teases the doll. "… You've come this far. It's time for the climax of the story, MiMi. Why don't you make it a good one?"

Misaki sniffles. Still trembling.

Sana (Fake): "Oh, come off it. We all knew this was the inevitable conclusion. … And let's face it—you're enjoying yourself, aren't you? This was all the audience wanted to see, wasn't it? The horror, the spectacle. Gotta make it worth the price of admission! They paid good money, better deliver the blood and guts!"

Misaki says nothing.

"How will you deliver the grand finale? You have so many options in front of you."

The doll nods to the side, where, laid out on a table, is a wide assortment of torture instruments. Sharp, blunt, spiky. Hot and cold. Manual, automatic. The whole she-bang.

"… And plus, we saved the best for last, haven't we?"

Misaki, balling her fists. Still silent save the occasional sniffle.

"… Sasahara fucking Shiina. The Great Sasa-shi. Oh, just hearing that name drives you up the wall, doesn't it? The way the entire country chants her name like they're a buncha dumb cult worshippers. … And every time you take the train, seeing her face plastered all over billboards. Advertisement deals up the wazoo. Seeing her name at the top of the charts every single day. Constantly trending on social media. It's not fair, is it, MiMi? You'd be happy—well, okay, maybe not happy, you're just not constitutionally cut out for that—but validated, at least, with just a modicum of her success. And here she is, so far beyond anything you could even hope to accomplish in your pathetic life."

Misaki, gripping her fists so hard that her fingernails draw blood.

"Say it out loud, MiMi. It's not fair. It's. Not. Fair."

Misaki glares at the false Sana.

And then—

Her lips begin to form the words.

"It's," says Misaki. "Not. Fair."

The false Sana cackles. "Good! Good!"

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" screams Misaki, teary-eyed. "SHE DOESN'T DESERVE IT!"

Misaki falls to the floor, on her knees.

"It's not fair! I worked harder than any of them! I suffered more than any of them! None of them deserve any of it! … It should've been me! I'm sick of Midori! I hate that it's the only thing I'll be for the rest of my life!!!! I hate that the only thing I got out of all these years was a stupid, revival series!"

Sobbing now. Upright, fetal position. Clutching her knees to her chest.

"… It's not fair. I never became anything."

"No," says the doll. "And you never will."

Misaki looks up, from her knees.

A long, long silence.

"… So what now?" asks Miyazawa Misaki.

"What now? … Why, you finish it. … What else would there be, at this point?"

Slowly, Misaki rises.

She shuffles over to the table, where the tools of her vengeance await her hand.

… She picks the one she likes most.

Weapon in hand, Misaki walks over to the false Sana, who is no longer the doll, but whose true identity has been revealed.

After all, they're no longer in the equipment room.

*

On the tatami floor of the ryokan room, Misaki stands over her last, remaining friend.

("Mi … Misaki … Micchan. … Please. Don't. Ple—")

And then she ends it.