Welcome, Comrade

“I’m here to join the anime club.”

That was how it started. I stood there grimacing, grumbling, running a furtive hand through my hair, hating the way my voice sounded. I heaved out a sigh, considering turning my back on the closed door and heading home.

“…Let me rephrase. I’m… hoping to join. If there’s a spot free. Or whatever. I’m Shinzo Watanabe, Class 1-A, in my third year. Been watching anime for a while now. My favourite is Neon Genesis Evangelion, produced by Studio Gainax in… Ah, I sound like an asshole now. Dammit, I mean… I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here, at this stage of my school life…”

I shifted my feet, trailing off. My eyes stuck reluctantly to the door in front of me: just another one of those brutalist slabs of wood they used to block off the classrooms in this school. This specific one was more interesting than the others, though. It was decorated with cut-out manga panels that, arranged on the wood, spelled 'MORITOMO HIGH ANIME CLUB' in hiragana characters. Peeling and unshapely, they looked like they had been glued there by a child.

So what was I doing, an icy-hearted third-year, joining such a juvenile club? Well, I’d made a promise, first of all, that I would give it a go. And I begrudgingly agreed it would be cool to finally meet people who were into the same stuff I was… So it wasn’t such a big deal, I convinced myself. There was no need for an elaborate introduction. I just needed to go straight in, without thinking too much.

“Pardon the intrusion!” I called, pushing open the door.

The room was in constant motion. People were marching around, dressed eccentrically with wigs and tights and makeup. They carried large posters and banners and flags, fit for some type of festival. Voices were raised. Furniture was pushed to the side. Colours swam before my eyes. 

Desks were all stacked against the blackboard except for one—the teacher’s desk—which was in the middle of the room, facing a window that shone with afternoon light. At that desk, so it would seem, was a cosplayer: some girl with her back to me, hunched over a book so her long blonde hair, styled in two dango-like balls, faced me in the doorway. She wore a white-and-blue leotard, along with a blue skirt and knee-high boots.

No one noticed my arrival.

I took a tentative step inside, almost colliding with three students at once. One of them carried a particularly gigantic cardboard sign, almost as big as the windowpane, which looked too heavy for her bony arms.

“Need some help?” I asked, smiling awkwardly. “O-Oh! You’re Hitomi, right? From my class? I didn’t know you were into anime! Hah, what a coincidence…”

Hitomi hovered in place, one foot in front of the other, looking vaguely annoyed. She observed me with her long neck twisting around the cardboard, blinking sharply through her spectacles. Hitomi was tall for a girl—taller than me even—so I really felt looked down upon there, like she was about to flatten me with whatever outrageous sign it was she carried, so bright and red it hurt my eyes.

She sighed impatiently. “Watanabe, isn’t it? Why are you here? Of all people?" 

“Because… uh, anime? I wanted to join, and, erm, my favourite is Neon Genesis Evangelion… Lately, I’ve been getting into VTubers—”

“Oh,” Hitomi said, cutting me off. “So that’s how it is. Etsu! We have another prole. Take care of him when you’re free.” And she was gone, just like that, marching away to pin the sign down on the floor, where she began scribbling away at it with a marker.

I didn’t have time to dwell on whatever she was doing. I was confronted by a girl with a bright-blue wig and curiously sunken, sallow cheeks, gingerly pushing a pamphlet into my chest. I took it from her tiny hands. “Oh, thanks…”

“Please read through that!” she chirped. “I’m Etsu, by the way.”

“Etsu… Nice to meet you.” She was probably a year below me. I was meant to be looking at the pamphlet, but I kept looking over it, down at her face.

“You’re Watanabe, right?”

“…You know me?”

“Of course! There’s no way I couldn’t know you. To think you’re here!" 

“I know, I know. This was a bit impulsive. What’s going on here? Are you moving rooms? H-Hey, watch out!”

I stepped to the side. Another student was passing, carrying a pile of books so large and awry that it swung from side to side as she moved, threatening to tumble all over me. She murmured an apology, producing a tinkling sound as she walked along. I noticed a bell choker around her neck, along with a pair of cat ears attached to her hair band. 

I shook my head, exasperated. “Were they manga she was carrying? They looked a bit thick… Uhh, hey, I might take my leave. It clearly isn’t the best time to join.”

“No, no! It’s the perfect time!” Etsu placed a hand on my arm. “Please don’t be put off by all of this. It’s just a busy period. In fact, we’ve been struggling to get any new members recently.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I said dryly. “Well, you seem nice, at least. I’m Shinzo, as you know. Class 1-A. My favourite anime is Neon Genesis Evangelion, my favourite character is probably Rei, but I like everyone, really. Um…”

Etsu was shaking her head slowly. A small, sympathetic smile had bloomed on her face. “Ah. This happens from time to time.”

“…This?”

“We get people coming in here, thinking it’s actually an anime club.”

“It is an anime club. I checked the school directory. And the door. And aren’t you dressed up?”

“No, it’s…” She sucked her sallow cheeks in, perhaps chewing on the inside of her lip. “It’s… ahh, this is just a façade. You really should just read that pamphlet, ‘kay? I typed it up for this very situation.”

I looked down. There were a whole bunch of words in a minuscule font, so I couldn’t really read it without my glasses. I could, at least, see a few images. There was an old man, some black-and-white photograph, and, in the middle of everything, a hammer and sickle atop a red background.

Wait a second…

“You could just ask our pres,” Etsu was saying. “It’s a bit wordy, I know. Asako, we have a new member! Hey!”

“Hold on, I should probably leave, honestly. This might not be for me.”

“Nah, you should definitely meet the pres. Asako, come say hi!”

“I’m telling you, we’ve had a misunderstanding—”

The blonde cosplayer—still hunched over her desk—began to turn around, revealing her face for the first time. It was then that I saw it. That face. I mean, there were some other things that didn’t make sense about her appearance, but the face was impossible to ignore. And impossible to forget.

It was large, first of all. Disproportionate. Forging an absurd contrast with the seventeen-year-old body it occupied some face-sucking alien. Stretched into a wide, greedy sneer, its skin was shrivelled and wrinkly, belonging to someone ancient and artificial. Save for flabby bits around its eyes, every inch shone with an orange glaze, as if the girl had smothered her face with fatty batter, stuck it in a hellish deep fryer, and emerged as human tempura. It was also unmistakably familiar. I had seen this face countless times on social media, stretched and memed and caricatured, but never in person. Not on my island nation! 

That face belonged to the forty-fifth president of the United States. 

I had no idea what to think.

In fact, I was so perplexed that I did not notice the girl close the book, stand up, and walk over to me. When I saw her there, I had no idea what to say to Asako Asanuma, president of this secret society, meeting me eye-to-eye, mind-to-mind, face-to-mask.

“Welcome, comrade,” she said, extending a hand. “You have arrived at the Moritomo High Communist Club. Together, we will bring about a world revolution.”