Free Will

I doubled over, breathing haggardly. My legs hurt. My arms hurt. Everything hurt.

We were back in the clubroom. It hadn't been easy to get there. We were chased around the school like antelopes, and by the time we made it back, it was basically dark out. Only a tiny, receding sliver of sun made its way across the sky, barely visible from our clubroom window.

Asako stood before that window, surveying the schoolyard and its dying light.

"We have done well, comrades," she said, not sounding weary in the slightest. "It was a brief thing,  but this rally has planted the seeds of revolution far and wide. I request a status report."

"I pinned up several posters," Hitomi huffed, just as tired as I was. Her tall figure leaned against the wall. "Two pamphlets were all I managed, though."

"I managed to hand out four of them!" Etsu chirped from the floor, where she lay on her back, chest rising and falling. "I wonder if we'll get some new members now?"

"I swung the flag around," the square-faced Yachi muttered, her voice a ghost.

Asako nodded. Abruptly, she turned to me. "New boy. You did well, carrying that box."

"Uh, thanks,” I said. “Can I ask a question, though?"

"Of course. You have earned the right."

"Why do you wear that thing?"

Asako chucked. She went on for quite a while, shaking her head. "I wondered when this would come up. Well, the fact that you have to ask shows you are not ready for that answer. Think of it as a metacommentary too nuanced for your current brain. A painting, but you do not have the eyesight. A poem, but you do not have the vocabulary. We will educate you in due time.”

“…I’d still like to leave this club.”

Asako continued chuckling, voice raising to an obnoxious pitch. I wondered if she was going to insult me, or maybe bring up democracy again. When she spoke, though, it was simple and declarative. “You do not.”

“Huh?”

“You do not.”

“But I really do. I mean, I'm glad I could help, but all this running around, all this shouting, all this 'metacommentary,' whatever that means… It's not really my thing. Like, I could be watching anime right now…”

“I could be watching anime right now.” Asako mimicked me, exaggerating each word. “My dear comrade, that is not your own volition speaking. You are living as a slave."

"Come on, we can stop with this now—"

"No! We mustn't! Were you even listening to my speech in the last chapter? We are cogs in the system. This 'anime' you enjoy is an elaborate bourgeois ploy to keep you suppressed and unrevolutionary."

I glared coolly. "It's actually pretty entertaining. There's nothing political about it."

"Yes, precisely! That's the problem. You live rooted to your couch, shovelling mass-produced, corporate media down your throat. It is brain-frying stuff—the psychic equivalent of fast food. You think you enjoy it, but only because you have been conditioned to wallow in its repetitive, indulgent, pornographic spectacle day in, day out. The impulse to consume this media is not your own fault, of course. It has been ingrained in your being. You are not free; your will is not your own." She cocked her head. "And do you know why that is?"

"...Capitalism, I guess?"

"Yes! Look at you!" She moved over and ruffled my hair. "You're finally starting to learn! See, Hitomi? I told you there was hope for this boy."

"I'm not convinced," Hitomi said stiffly. "He was more useful than I expected, though."

"Yeah, he was a huge help!" Etsu said, grinning at me.

"Of course," Asako said, "if you do wish to continue watching anime, you should do so. But that is something you will only be able to decide after the revolution. After you shed your chains."

"Right," I sighed, too exhausted to argue with her. "Either way, it's getting late, and I should probably be heading home—"

"Halt!"

"What?"

Asako shook her head. "You must halt. It would be so very awful of you to leave us before the main course."

"There's more?" I asked, horrified. I watched as Asako rummaged around in the box I had been carrying. What was she doing now? Grabbing her megaphone? Preparing for another rally? The other members gathered around their president, looking happy for some reason.

Lunatics, I thought. There's no end to their insanity. Every single one of them, all crazy—

But it wasn't the megaphone. I was surprised to see Asako nursing a small plastic container. She clipped it open to reveal a set of snow-white, aromatic rice balls.

"Comrade Yachi prepared these earlier today," Asako explained, nodding at Yachi, who seemed too shy to admit this fact. "Filled with salted salmon, pinched by seaweed… Truly, the work of a remarkable chef. Food for revolution!"

"Don't say all that, Asako," Yachi muttered.

"But I must! I am proud, so proud! And what do you think, Comrade Shinzo? It’s not all work under communism. There is always room for food and friendship.”

I raised an eyebrow. "You're calling me by my first name, huh…"

"Yes, yes. You’re a lovestruck boy, through and through. Ha! Please, as our first member, you can have the first bite."

"I-I honestly shouldn't."

"Hm? And why is that? Comrade Yachi gives you permission—she was, you'll remember, the creator of the food."

"Because… Well, I dunno. This is your food, and—"

"You're one of us, though!" Etsu chirped. "C'mon, you must be hungry. I bet you are.”

My stomach gurgled conveniently, revealing the fact that I was indeed hungry. But if I were to eat their food, surely that would indicate I was one of them. And I would be hopelessly indebted to them… Despite what you assume about me, I know the value of a good meal. More than just about anyone.

There were no objections, though. Even Hitomi watched me, somewhat impatiently, waiting for me to take the ball. "Go on," she said with only a shred of her usual condescension. "You earned it, like they said."

I reached out, then froze, still hesitating. "You're really sure this is okay?"

"Indeed, indeed." Asako laughed. "How polite you are! So full of surprises.”

I gripped the steamed rice with cautious fingers. It was warm, soft, slightly sticky… similar, I couldn't help but think, to the texture of Asako's cheeks.

I took my first bite.

❖❖❖

Approximately 484 kilometres south-west, just outside Nara's Yamato-Saidaiji Station, a different Shinzo lay prostrate across the sun-warmed bitumen, blood gushing from holes in his neck and chest.

He was rushed to a nearby hospital. At 5:03 PM, just as we sank our teeth into shared rice balls, the longest-serving Japanese prime minister was pronounced dead, sending a tremor of stunned, scatterbrained headlines out around the world.

Unbeknownst to us, the winds of change were stirring.