All Seasons: Wisemon’s
Actual Ending Series
Part 4: Don’t Download This Song
By Wisemon
Digimon
is the property of Toei Animation. This
series is intended mostly as a release for a burning plot idea, and for an ending
that I find far more relatable than that of my Alternate Ending Series. So, the dialogue will be a bit less frequent
in this one. To save time, on occasion,
there will be some he said/she said type narratives. As is my style, this is all in the past
tense, like a fairy tale, a really fucked-up fairy tale. Because I put so much thought into each word,
my interests lie mostly in poetry now, which is why I was reluctant to even
start this series. Unfortunately, poetry
can’t satisfy my love of foreshadowing.
This series will be absolutely loaded with foreshadowing, but you’ll
have to find it yourself this time around.
In the last story,
the spirits of steel and earth were dished out to Henry and Kenta,
respectively, and I delved into the fates of the other Tamers. Junpei and Izumi
received the new prophecy from Bokomon, and Kenta and Junpei became
acquainted (or reacquainted). For this
story, we shift to the alternate dimension.
This story contains sexual suggestions, adult language, adult ideas, and
other stuff not meant for young readers.
If you’re under 18, find something else to read, something less
educational.
It had been right
after their non-date, right after Miyako
had decided that they would be a “cute couple.”
The next day, Miyako made a new decision. If Daisuke could’ve recalled it word for
word, it would’ve looked like this:
“You said that we
have so much potential, and I agree completely.
That’s why I think it would be for the best if we wait until we are
adults before we start a relationship.
We both have short tempers, and if we start dating now, we might
eliminate our best opportunity for love.
Logically, we should save each other for when we are more mature.”
So, Miyako dated other guys while Daisuke waited for
adulthood. He continually asked her if
they were “ready yet.” The reply was
either, “Not quite yet,” or, “I’m seeing somebody.” Miyako encouraged
Daisuke to follow her example, to explore other women. As much as Daisuke wanted to date other
girls, he felt like he would be cheating on Miyako. “How do people not tear their hair out in
these open relationships?” Daisuke asked himself. “Does this even count as an open
relationship? She’s saving me for
last…but she’s not really saving anything, so why am I saving myself?” Daisuke kicked the back of the seat in front
of him. The ass that filled it stood up
to protest, but fortunately, the psychology professor shooed the student back
into his seat.
Unfortunately, the professor also heard
the kick. “Mr. Motomiya,
were you paying attention? Would you
care to explain to the class Ivan Petrovich Pavlov’s
conditioning theory?”
Daisuke snapped
into student mode. “…Pavlov did
associative behavior experiments on dogs.
He conditioned them to salivate to a metronome by getting them to
associate the sound with feeding. It’s
kind of like when I almost got eaten by a giant spider. Now I immediately step on every spider,
regardless of the fact that they eat other bugs, because I’m afraid that the
little spider could become huge at any moment.”
“Well, that first
part was correct.” Daisuke’s professor
frowned. “Mr. Motomiya,
you have been in college less than a month, but you must have gotten pretty
drunk already to start seeing giant spiders.”
On cue, the class chuckled politely.
“No Prof, I don’t
drink,” Daisuke replied. “You know what
though? My response has probably less to
do with the giant spider that almost ate me and more to do with the giant
spider who could disguise herself as a witch.”
“That must have
been some spider,” Daisuke’s
professor commented mockingly.
Daisuke knew
firsthand. “She’d bite your head off.”
It was later that
evening, around 7:30 P.M., about the time that Daisuke would’ve been vacuuming DemiVeemon’s skin flakes, except DemiVeemon,
and every other partner Digimon, had returned to
their own world five years earlier. It
was agreed that it was for the best. There
was no need for the Digimon to be in the human world,
and the Digimon preferred the Digital World. So they all went home, but their partners
still visited on occasion. For a brief
moment, on this Friday night, Daisuke considered paying his old friend a visit,
but he knew that he’d regret the decision.
Visiting his partner was a necessary formality of friendship, but
Daisuke’s faith in friendship was waning:
“And I got the
crest of friendship. Gennai
would be happy to know that the irony wasn’t lost on me. I’ve got one human friend left, and she knows
that I want to be more than friends, so what kind of friend is she?” Daisuke corrected himself. “There’s also that kid who talks to me
through my D-3, but I’ve never even met him in person. I have no idea what Tomoki looks like. I just know that he’s a DigiDestined
in another dimension who listens to rock music.
Other than that, without a face, he might as well be unknown.”
Daisuke reassessed
his situation. He was just getting used
to living in his dorm room. It was
spacious enough for the furniture it came with, but unable to contain much
else. Officially, Daisuke had a
roommate, but the roommate was always sleeping over in his girlfriend’s dorm
room. Most of the time, Daisuke had the
little broom closet to himself. He spent
most of his free time online, downloading both Japanese and American punk
music. Recently, his tastes had shifted
to hardcore punk bands. His frustrations
seemed to imbue an affinity for screaming and machinegun drumming. “Miyako likes punk
too, but I doubt that she’d like what I’ve been listening to lately. So, I’ll send her an MP3 attachment by email,
and knowing Miyako, she won’t hold back her honest
opinion.” Daisuke went to his computer
and began composing an email. He
attached “The Killing Tree - Counting to Infinity.mp3” and sent the following
message:
“Miyako,
Tell me what you think of this song. While you’re at it, tell me when you think
you’ll be ready to start that relationship we keep talking about. I’ve got nothing planned for tonight, and I’m
ready when you are.
Catch you later,
Daisuke”
Then
Daisuke checked his inbox, and he found one new message. When he saw the solicitation warning, along
with the sender’s fan boy nickname, he immediately deleted the message. “It’s just another solicitation from that Wisemon dude. You
defeat one ambitious tyrant with a little blue dragon, and suddenly, every Digimon merchandiser expects you to buy their Agumon wallets and Patamon
bedspreads. This is like the fifth
non-replied email I’ve gotten from this guy.
Some people just don’t know when to quit.” Daisuke typed a new search into his P2P
connection as he awaited his response from Miyako.
Miyako Inoue had started her second year at a prestigious
public university as a computer science major.
She found that being a girl in a science major made her a pickup line
target for every guy in her class, and at first, she loved it. After years of feeling like she didn’t get
enough attention from her family, nor from the boys in her high school class,
finally, Miyako was getting the attention that she
deserved. After a while, it got
annoying. She quickly came to realize
that none of the guys were actually interested in her or what she had to
say. All they cared about was the fact
that she had a vagina. Initially, this
infuriated Miyako, and she rejected every smarmy
hook. Eventually, she resolved a way for
the used to become the user. In her
male-dominated major, in a male-dominated world, men had all the knowledge, and
they were only willing to give up so much in order to keep her gender
subservient. Miyako
found that if she asked nicely, men were willing to divulge a little bit more
than they would otherwise. Since guys
were constantly in competition with each other, they didn’t share with each
other. So, their information, tips,
tricks, etc. had to be pooled into Miyako’s mental
database. It was an effective strategy,
a fast way to learn. The only problem
was that the most knowledgeable of men also knew what their knowledge was
worth, and they had to be questioned in the nicest of ways:
“Professor
Watanabe, could you please tell me about your research on converting vibrations
into chemical storage energy?”
“Miss Inoue, it’s
really quite simple. I start with a
strip of aluminum fastened on one end to…You know, it is rather late to be
discussing this in my office. It’s
Friday night, and I want to go home to my wife and kids.” Professor Watanabe was right;
“I understand;
I’ll ask you about it again on Monday, and I’ll choose a more reasonable
hour.” Miyako
bowed and began her exit from Professor Watanabe’s office, but she knew what
would happen.
“Miss Inoue, I
just remembered; the school forbids me from sharing the details of my research
with anyone outside of the faculty. If I
breach the confidentiality, we could lose our patent.”
Miyako returned to facing Professor Watanabe. “You refuse to tell me anything? But I’m just a lowly undergraduate; what harm
could I possibly do?”
“I’m sorry, but I
must abide by the school’s policy.”
“Are you
absolutely positive that you cannot reveal any of your research?” Miyako removed her
Coke-bottle glasses and flipped back her lavender bangs.
“Well…perhaps we
can work something out.” Professor
Watanabe reached into his pocket, took out his keys, and unlocked the bottom
drawer of his desk. Inside the drawer,
he had a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a box of condoms.
As a live bootleg
completed its download, as Daisuke lost another game of solitaire, he gave up
on receiving a reply from Miyako on the same
night. “It’s Friday night; she’s
probably out partying, like she’s been telling me to do. For once, maybe I’ll take that advice…if only
I knew where to find a party.”
Fortunately, Daisuke knew someone
who knew where to find a party. He
switched to his roommate’s computer and checked the instant messages that were conveniently
left on the screen. After some sifting,
he found a party location, and he wrote down the residence and room
number. “We’re ready to party; we’re
ready. I hope you brought lots of
spaghetti. Come on in; come to the place
where fun never ends. Come on in; it’s
time to party with Garfield and Friends.
Now why do I have that song stuck in my head? Sometimes Daisuke, I swear; if you weren’t
decently athletic, you could’ve been a fine young dork.”
Miyako’s sexual history was a sad one. When she was fifteen, she had taken her own
virginity with a vibrator. After
receiving years of free computer and programming lowdown from Koushiro, she had begun to talk like the adopted son. When she turned sixteen, Koushiro
stopped giving out his expertise for free.
Technically, they were each others’ first time, but there was nothing
romantic about it. Koushiro
called it a “quid pro quo,” claiming that Miyako had
been taking advantage of his “generous nature” for far too long. Her first year of college, Miyako dated and screwed two graduate students in order to
gain better knowledge of their research projects.
This time, Miyako knew that she might’ve gone too far. Professor Ken Watanabe was more than twice
her age, and he wasn’t exactly the Japanese Tom Cruise. He had less than a centimeter of turf
remaining on the back of his scalp, and a long graying mustache that connected
to a goatee on his face. Then again, the
sex, and consequently, the sex appeal, never meant anything to Miyako, possibly because she had yet to achieve an orgasm,
or possibly because sex fell very low on her list of priorities, and likely,
the two reasons were related. So, she
stood bent over Professor Watanabe’s desk, questioning the professor on his
research and taking down notes in her notebook.
Behind her…she tried not to think about what was happening behind
her. She just kept asking questions:
“When you connect
the mechanical oscillator to the program chip and the battery, what type of
circuit do you use?”
Professor Watanabe
had offered Miyako some wine, but the ambitious
student had insisted on staying sober.
He admired Miyako’s dedication, but he
would’ve preferred to enjoy the perks of his position without having to answer
her questions. Nonetheless, as was his
end of the bargain:
“Parallel, with a
feedback mechanism that shuts down the program when the battery is fully
charged.”
Miyako drew a diagram in her notebook. “Fascinating, and what types of applications
could this battery be used for?”
Professor Watanabe
was feeling an incredible tightness, like the way he felt with his wife before
she had their children. He was so close,
but every time he felt his orgasm approaching, Miyako
gave him another annoying question.
“Just about anything, though I would say that the large voltage and
charge storage would be ideal for portable electronic weapons (PEW’s).”
Miyako understood the implications. The military would pay the school quite
handsomely for the technology, and Professor Watanabe would get a cut. “So let’s say, hypothetically, that I wanted
to make a PEW. How would I go about
connecting a weapon to the battery?”
“The same way you
connect any other battery; positive to positive, negative to negative, and…Ahhhh!” Professor
Watanabe finally released, but the pleasure was a little too intense. “Ahhhh! Ahhhh! My heart!
My heart!”
Professor Watanabe clutched at his chest and fell to the floor.
Miyako turned around and watched as the professor kicked
and screamed on the floor of his office.
Unsure of what to do, she guessed a diagnosis. “Professor Watanabe, are you having a heart
attack?”
“Yes…” Then Professor Watanabe stopped moving.
Miyako checked for a pulse, and sure enough:
“He’s dead…sucks
to be him.” Miyako
checked her D-3 for the time. “Time of
death,
At approximately
A few seconds
later, the door opened. A blonde boy in
khaki shorts and a t-shirt with a mall shop’s insignia stood before
Daisuke. The boy’s outfit was topped off
with a familiar white hat. “Daisuke…is
that you?”
“Takeru, dude, I didn’t know you went to this school.”
“This college was
just as good as any other. I’m majoring
in anthropology.” Takeru
opened the door wider, allowing Daisuke to enter. “I’m a little surprised to see you in
college. What happened to your dreams of
selling noodles?”
“Just like when we
fought MaloMyotismon, I couldn’t escape from
reality.” Daisuke looked around Takeru’s room.
Compared to his own dorm room, Takeru’s room
was huge, large enough to hold four students, and all their stuff, with some
leftover space. To be fair, Takeru did have
three roommates, and they were among the party’s participants. Daisuke saw a few other trendy looking guys,
including his own roommate. Takeru’s party wasn’t just a kabob fest; he had just as
many girls in attendance, and there was one girl Daisuke really didn’t want to
see.
Hikari took her spot standing beside Takeru. “Daisuke, you’ve got a lot of nerve showing
up here! Takeru,
don’t you remember what happened on the soccer field? That little punk completely embarrassed us,
and he never apologized. Now you’re just
letting him into our party?”
“Hikari, that was years ago,” Takeru
replied. “What happened is in the past,
and I’m not one to hold grudges.”
Hikari looked as though she was about to protest, but then
she smiled. “Fine, Daisuke, you can
stay. In fact, make yourself at
home.” Hikari
pointed towards a large white cooler atop Takeru’s
nightstand. “We’ve got plenty of
beer. Why don’t you have a few?”
Daisuke knew that Hikari was scheming something, and he knew that he had to
keep his wits. “I suppose a few beers
couldn’t hurt.” Daisuke approached the
cooler, but he didn’t take anything out of it.
He turned back to make sure Hikari wasn’t
watching him. Thankfully, her attention
was on Takeru, as she whispered into the blonde’s
ear. Daisuke grabbed two empty beer cans
that had rolled under one of the beds, and he began to mingle with the rest of
the party.
Hikari finished explaining the plan to Takeru. “…And once he’s completely shit-faced, we get
him naked, write on him, piss on him, and throw him out.”
Takeru didn’t like the idea. “Hikari, that’s
really cruel. Can’t we just put a ‘Kick
Me’ sign on him?”
“If we pull this
off, I promise you a blowjob every day for a week,” Hikari
offered.
“Make it a month.”
“For a month, you’d
better give him some cuts and bruises.”
Takeru became apprehensive again. He searched the room for the cue chalk blue
vest, and he saw Daisuke taking practice swings with a roommate’s Mizuno MZB271
bamboo bat. “He must be drunk already;
doesn’t he know that he’s indoors?” Takeru watched as Daisuke narrowly missed his laptop. “That idiot might break something!”
“So we have a
deal?” Hikari gathered.
Takeru stuck his thumb sideways. “It’s a pop fly to the outfield, and Motomiya’s out of here.”
Daisuke put down
the bat and re-grabbed an empty beer can.
“Did you see that swing?” Daisuke asked a girl in his immediate
vicinity. “When I got thrown off of my
soccer team for my overly aggressive style of play, I tried out for the
baseball team. I didn’t make the
baseball team, but the coach said I had a great swing. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Um, okay, I have
to go over here now.” The girl pointed
to a random spot elsewhere in the room, and she walked away.
“She totally dug
me.” Daisuke took a sip of beer-flavored
air. “Dude, how do people drink this
shit? This smells like my dad’s breath…oh, right. I’d
better take another one to make it believable.”
Daisuke went back to the cooler.
Concealing his actions between the cooler lid and his body, Daisuke
dipped his empty can into the cooler, and he came away with a can full of
slush.
Hikari tapped Daisuke on his shoulder. “How many beers have you had so far?”
“Five, maybe
seven, I lost count.” Of course, Daisuke
knew exactly how many alcoholic servings he’d taken, mostly because he hadn’t
taken any.
“Are you feeling
adventurous yet?” Hikari asked with a devilish grin.
“You know me; I’m
always up for an adventure. So where do
you want to go?
“I was thinking
somewhere closer, like Takeru’s bed.” Hikari took a seat
on the edge of Takeru’s bed, and she patted the spot
beside her, inviting Daisuke to have a seat.
Daisuke warily
took the indicated spot. “An adventure in bed?
No offense, but that sounds kind of lame.”
Hikari put her hand on Daisuke’s thigh. “Oh, I think we can have lots of fun in bed.”
Slowly, the
implication sunk in for Daisuke, but he had to be sure. “Hikari, what are
you saying?”
“Duh, I’m saying
that I want to fool around with you. You
do want me, don’t you?”
“Well,
I…what about Takeru?”
Hikari directed Daisuke’s attention to the opposite edge of
the bed, where Takeru was making out with another
girl. “We hook up with other people
whenever we can. That’s how we keep
things interesting.”
“Swell, but what
if I don’t want to be a part of that?”
Daisuke stopped to question himself (silently). “Daisuke, what are you saying? You’ve wanted Hikari
since you were ten! Right, but not like
this, some drunken fling at a party, when you know she’s going right back to
banging Takeru afterward. Dude, this is the best you can do; take it or
leave it. No! This isn’t the best you can do. If you hold out a little longer, things will
start to look better, and you’ll find something meaningful.” As Hikari’s hand
began to make its way toward Daisuke’s crotch, Daisuke batted the hand
away. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I
can do this.”
“You just need to
drink some more,” Hikari suggested.
Daisuke chugged
his can of cooler slush. “No, it’s still
not working.”
“You just need
something stronger. One of Takeru’s roommates keeps a forty of malt liquor under his
pillow. That’ll get you nice and loose.”
“No matter how
much I drink, there will never be anything between us. Hikari, you were a
sunbeam for a subway, a dream for insomniacs.
I accepted it a long time ago.
What you’re offering me right now, it isn’t real.”
Hikari pressed her body into Daisuke’s. “Does that feel real enough to you?”
Daisuke felt it,
but it wasn’t nearly enough to change his mind.
“That’s not what I meant. You can
never live up to the girl I thought you were.
She was the girl I was infatuated with.
She was an angel. You, you’re
just a slut.”
Hikari pulled away, though she seemed un-offended by
Daisuke’s remark. “It’s a shame; we’ll
have to do this the hard way.” Hikari stood on Takeru’s bed,
nearly ramming her head into the ceiling.
“May I have the attention of every guy in this room?! Do you see the little jerk in the vest
sitting below me? I want every guy here
to start beating him down, and then we’ll strip him naked and throw him out.”
“What’s in it for
us?” one of Takeru’s roommates questioned.
Hikari sucked her index finger, and then she wiped the spit
on her shirt. “The
usual.”
Daisuke saw the
swarm coming, all at once, ten boys his own age, all motivated to kick his
ass. Daisuke leapt from Takeru’s bed and tried to get to the door, but seven of the
boys were standing in between him and his exit.
The other three boys positioned themselves behind Daisuke, cutting off
his opportunity to leap out of a fourth-story window. Meanwhile, the eleventh boy, Takeru, was 69-ing a girl in his bed. “Okay Daisuke, how are you going to get
yourself out of this one?” Daisuke
shuffled sideways, and he dove to grab an equalizer, the Mizuno MZB271 bamboo
baseball bat.
The boys tried to
get to Daisuke before he was ready to swing, but by the time they were close
enough, Daisuke was coiled. An unfortunate
glory seeker was swatted clean in the gut, and he doubled over and dropped to
his knees. Then his head hit the ground,
and blood began to pour from his mouth.
The rest of the boys wisely backed away.
“Internal
bleeding…sucks to be him,” Daisuke commented.
“Well, I’m ready to rock if anybody else wants a piece of me.” Daisuke checked the faces. Nobody wanted a “piece.” “Come on, you were all so gung-ho a second
ago.”
“You ruin
everything!” Hikari shouted. “The whole point of letting you drink our
beers was so you wouldn’t be able to pull any stunts.”
Daisuke juggled
the bat between his left hand and right hand.
The move wasn’t all that fancy, but it required coordination. “Funny thing about that, I didn’t actually
drink any beer.”
Hikari sighed, and her tone switched from angry to exasperated. “Just
go; get out of here. Daisuke, I never
want to see you again.”
The partygoers
parted like the
As Daisuke crossed
the threshold of Takeru’s room, Hikari
gave him one last farewell present:
“I hope you know;
you’re never going to score.”
Daisuke raised his
bat in triumph. “I already hit a
homerun, just not the sort that you waste your life obsessing about. I’m better than you. I’m better than all of you. I’ll say it like
I said it last time: hardheaded, fuck you all.”
Daisuke exited with a wooden bat—and his dignity.
By
Miyako scraped her palms together, mentally washing her
hands of the incident. “I certainly hope
I never have to do that again. Now, who
will carry on Professor Watanabe’s research?
As far as I know, the man worked alone.
He was probably paranoid; ambitious grad students will stoop to
plagiarizing.” Miyako
sat down at Professor Watanabe’s computer.
“I, on the other hand, will give the man his dues.” Miyako opened the
professor’s “vibration to chemical storage energy” programming routine,
conveniently left as a desktop icon.
“When I write my master’s thesis on making PEW’s,
Professor Watanabe will get his name in my list of references.” Miyako inserted a
USB storage key (jump drive) into the computer and saved the professor’s
program. “One man’s life’s work; it all
comes down to a fraction of what this key can hold. Am I wrong to take it as a reminder of our
insignificance in the universe? Am I
wrong to think that, in the end, a man is measured in kilobytes? Daisuke’s the psychology major; he may have a
comforting theory relating to human potential.”
With the program saved, Miyako grabbed her USB
key and exited Professor Watanabe’s office.
As Miyako descended the steps of her campus’s computer science
research building, a whim possessed her to check her email. She popped open her D-Terminal,
and she read the message that Daisuke left for her. “Intriguing, he sent me a song too, but I’m
unable to download it at the moment. He
wants to talk about a relationship again, right when I have just acquired the
key to what will most likely be an all-consuming side project. I doubt that he will like what I’m going to
tell him.” Miyako
put away her D-Terminal and pulled out her D-3.
“The sooner he knows, the better it will be for both of us.”
Daisuke walked
back to his dorm room with his head held high.
As Hikari had so bluntly pointed out, he had
failed to “score,” but Daisuke saw the bigger picture. A cheap lay, even Hikari,
got him nowhere:
“I still would’ve
left that shindig by myself, but I would’ve regretted giving in. Miyako and I have
been friends for all these years. If I
wait a little longer, I’m bound to have something strong, something
permanent.” On cue, Daisuke’s D-3
beeped, and he picked up. “You’ve
reached the party line, 230 yen the first minute, 115 yen every minute after
that one. My name is Daisuke, and I want
to party with you.”
“Daisuke, that
joke is getting old,” Miyako told her DigiDestined teammate, though she inwardly chuckled a
little still. “I got your email, and I’ve
got good news and bad news. Which do you
want first?”
“I’m feeling good
tonight; start with the good news.”
“I just saved a
program onto my USB key that will occupy my extracurricular research
requirements for the next several years.
It’s a fascinating program with numerous application potentials.”
Whether or not he
understood, if it was important to Miyako, then
Daisuke cared. “Alright, so what’s the
bad news?”
“That’s also the
bad news. See, I’m about to start a
project that is likely to consume all of my free time, meaning that there won’t
be time for ‘us.’ I’m truly sorry,
Daisuke.”
“It’s alright,”
Daisuke assured weakly. He tried to find
the brighter side. At least the issue
wasn’t another guy, but the notion of waiting more years, entire years, it was
too much. The back of his mind screamed
for progress, and this time, he let it escape from his mouth. “No, it’s not alright! Miyako, we’ve known
each other for seven years. We helped
each other to beat Armageddemon. We helped each other to beat college
admissions tests—and everything in between.
We’re practically married already.
There’s just one thing missing.”
“Daisuke, this is
what I meant when I said that we needed to wait until we’re more mature. I know what your ‘one thing’ is. Like a typical man, you’re obsessed with sex.”
Daisuke was
somewhat offended. “Okay, make that two things. I’ll
have you know; I was talking about trust.
I tell you everything, but I know that you don’t tell me everything.
I know you’ve done some things that you’re not proud of, and you’re
afraid that I’ll think less of you if I knew.”
The words struck Miyako hard. It was
as if Daisuke knew, and perhaps he did.
Daisuke was cursed with an ability to see through deceptions. He didn’t always accept the truth when he saw
it (like with Hikari), but push always came to
shove. Miyako
was the one who encouraged Daisuke to use his gift to pursue a psychology
degree. She never thought that she’d be
on the other end of his ability.
“Daisuke…I…I’m going to be very busy in the next few years. I understand if you don’t want to wait for
me. Perhaps it would be for the best if
you moved on.”
Daisuke was
silent.
“There’s one other
thing I wanted to ask you.”
Just short of tears,
Daisuke’s voice became a monotone.
“Let’s hear it.”
“How do you
measure a man?”
Daisuke searched
for an answer across the grain of his new baseball bat. “A man is measured by his choices. Every time he chooses the long-term solution
over the quick fix, every time he takes the long hard road to success over the
shortcut, every time he does what he knows is good and true, he earns a
point. The more points he earns, the
more of a man he is. The same is true
for women; just replace the word ‘man’ with ‘woman.’”
“Familiar dogma in
terms a sports enthusiast can understand…I believe the philosophy to which
you’re referring is called existentialism.”
Miyako knew she hadn’t done enough to
ameliorate the wound she inflicted.
“Daisuke, I know you’re upset right now, and I know how you get, but
please, don’t do anything stupid. I
still want to be your friend, but if you get arrested…I’m sorry; I should have
more faith in you. Occasionally, I
forget that you’re not the derelict we all thought you’d become…just disregard
the last few sentences. I’ll see you
soon—oh, and thanks for the song.” Miyako hung up.
“Like
you’ll listen to it anyway.”
Daisuke put away his D-3, and he kept walking back to his dorm. He needed a place where he could be alone
with his thoughts. “Come on Daisuke,
just you and me, we’re going to sort out this mess tonight. Who am I kidding? Nothing’s getting solved tonight. I’m just left with more questions.”
Daisuke’s D-3
beeped again, and Daisuke picked up. “Miyako, are you going to tell me that was a really belated
April Fools’ Day prank, because if it was–”
“–Daisuke, it’s
me,” Tomoki cut off Daisuke’s farfetched hope.
“Wisemon asked me to call you because you’re
not answering his emails. You’ve been
chosen among past DigiDestined to become a new
legendary warrior, just like me.”
“Dude, what are
you talking about? Earth and the Digital
World are safe now, at least until the next nuclear holocaust. I’m retired from the hero biz.”
“My Earth and digital world aren’t safe,
so you’re getting pulled out of retirement.”
“Come on Tomoki,
I’m in college now. I don’t have time to
go running around Podunk Digimon villages, coaching Veemon (as if I really made much of a difference in those
fights), dodging digital fireballs, and acting like I have unwavering
self-confidence. No, those days are
over. Besides, I already rolled over my
401K into an IRA.”
“Uh, I don’t think
Veemon is going to be joining you on this one, but I
can’t say for sure. If you want the full
details, start reading those emails from Wisemon, and
tell Miyako to do the same.”
Daisuke knew the
implication. “You’re saying Miyako was chosen for this team too? So if we both agree to do it, it’s something
we’ll have to do together. Well, now
you’re speaking my language. And as
legendary warriors, we would both get elemental spirits, like how you have the
spirit of ice?”
“And
the spirit of darkness for some reason.
Yes, you would both get spirits and spirit suits to go with them. Your spirit would be the spirit of wood.”
Daisuke lightly
tossed and caught his “new” bat.
“Alright, I’m pretty good at handling wood…no masturbation joke
intended. What about Miyako?”
“She’s getting the
spirit of water.”
The top of
Daisuke’s head was suddenly dampened. Seconds
later, he was pelted with drop after drop of the last April shower. “Swell, this night just keeps getting
better.”
“So I guess Miyako rejected you again?” Tomoki assumed.
“Well, not
exactly…I wouldn’t say ‘rejected,’ but we’re not making progress. How about you and Suzie?”
“Hmm, I hadn’t
really thought about it, but now that you mention it, my situation is pretty
much the same. Seems like I should be
getting somewhere, but I don’t feel like I am.
Last month, for her birthday, I gave her a piece of quartz again, and
all that got me was a ‘thank you’ and a handshake. The more I think about it, the more I want to
download a hundred unheard alternative metal songs to my computer. So I know what I’m doing tonight.”
“Dude, I like free
music as much as the next guy, but you really ought to support the artists and
buy a CD every once in a while. Still,
it’s good to have a friend who appreciates hard rock and hard times.” The rain began to beat down on Daisuke
harder. “You want to know what happened
to me tonight?
I learned a couple of lessons.
Lesson 1: The fire of courage isn’t found in a can or a bottle. The fire is nerves, and even if everyone I
used to know kills their nerves, I’m not letting my fire die. Lesson 2: The storm of friendship is
refreshing, but true friendship is constant, and it feels like I barely need an
umbrella.”
“Whoa, I think you
need to chill. It’s alright to be mad,
but once you start talking in heavy figurative language, you’ve got real
problems. That’s how Junpei
used to be, but then he settled down and had a kid, and all of that crazy angsty stuff disappeared.”
“Good for him, but I’m not in a position to
start having children.” Daisuke struck a
nearby fence with his bat. “Tonight, I
had a chance to ‘chill,’ but I’m not about keeping my cool, as much as I try to
deny it. I’m about staying on fire, and
I believe the best of us are time bombs.”
The next morning,
in another dimension, on an apartment building rooftop, on a two meter by two
meter gym mat laid across the gravel-embedded bitumen, two young men were wired
for self-improvement. Henry was dressed
in his white gi fastened with his green belt. Henry’s pupil, Kenta,
wore gray spandex-polyester pants and an orange t-shirt. A month of attempting to get Kenta into shape had tried Henry’s patience. Not to say that Kenta
wasn’t making progress, but the progress was slow. Quite frequently, Henry had to remind Kenta how to do a technique that had already been taught:
“Damn it, Kenta, keep your head tucked on that forward roll!”
Kenta questioned his sensei’s choice of educational
material. “Why do I gotta
know gymnastics? You’re ‘sposedta be showing me how to fight, right?”
“No, you already
know how to fight. My job is to get you
into shape so that you can use those grappling techniques again, and maybe show
you some new moves along the way.”
“Gee, I appreciate
your confidence in my abilities, but I ain’t the same
guy who picked apart the leader of the Menthols. I mean, I’ve been trying to remember the
Brazilian Jiu-jitsu stuff, but it’s been so long.” Kenta attempted the
somersault again, and this time, he avoided landing on his head. “Maybe if we roll for a while, it’ll start to
come back to me.”
“You mean you want
me to grapple on the mat with you?”
Henry devised a new motivational tactic.
“You’ve still got another five kilos to lose. If you drop that weight advantage, I’ll try
jogging your jiu-jitsu memory. Have you
been sticking to my diet?”
“I’m sorry, but
your hardboiled egg white and high fiber cereal diet is even crazier than the
salsa salad diet that Junpei told me to use. I ain’t eating that
stuff every day. I’d be on the can
constantly.”
“I eat salad too,
and other assorted vegetables, but you have to get your protein from somewhere,
and hardboiled egg whites are nature’s most perfect source. They have few calories, no fat, and no
cholesterol. They’re just hunks of
protein, perfect for growing minds.”
Henry caught something that he missed.
“Wait a minute, who’s this Junpei? Kenta, you’re my
responsibly, and you’re going to follow my instructions, and only my instructions. That was part of the bargain I made when I
replaced Ryo with you. Now, stand up,
and we’ll go through kicking and blocking routines again.”
“But Henry, I’m
tired, and I’m sore, and it’s Saturday morning…I’m missing a new episode of
Power Rangers: Vice Squad. Couldya just call it a day?”
“Sure, just as
soon as the D-Reaper agrees to leave peacefully. Now get off your ass and get ready to block
some kicks.” Henry approached Kenta and got into a striking stance.
Reluctantly, Kenta got to his feet and got ready to block. “I don’t see how this helps me prepare for
the D-Reaper.”
Henry aimed a left
roundhouse at Kenta’s cheek, but Kenta
blocked the kick before it could connect.
“Our spirit suits are resistant to the D-Reaper’s attacks, but we didn’t
get helmets, so you have to be ready to protect your head. Now do you get it?”
“I guess, but–” A roundhouse from
the right side cut Kenta short. Kenta fell to his
knees, holding the side of his head.
“Kenta, you’ve got to pay attention! If I were kicking you at full strength, you
could have a concussion right now, or worse.”
“I’m just glad I ain’t wearing my glasses this time. The old frames are already pretty twisted,
but that kick would’ve—that wasn’t full strength?” Suddenly, Kenta was
genuinely eager to learn, and the Power Rangers were overshadowed by Henry and
his roundhouse. “You think you could
teach me to kick like that?”
“That’s what I’ve
been trying to do for the past month, but you keep quitting these lessons
early, claiming that you’re too tired to continue. We’ve got less than a week until the team
meeting. Until that time, do you have
what it takes to complete a quintessential crash course?”
Kenta sprang to his feet.
Mentally, he declared his determination to the next task at hand. No matter what direction the attack came
from, he would block it. “Just try
kicking me again.”
Two hours later,
despite Kenta’s earlier claims of fatigue, the
training session was still in progress.
At this point, it was Henry’s turn to block while Kenta
practiced his striking techniques. Kenta was unable to kick as quickly and as crisply as
Henry, but Henry assured that continual practice would improve Kenta’s execution. Kenta’s punches were even weaker than his kicks. On the whole, Henry had no trouble blocking
anything that Kenta threw at him. Eventually, Henry became bored, and he
demanded a challenge:
“Are you trying to
hit me, or are you just going through the motions? Kenta, I need to
practice here too, so don’t waste my time.”
Henry’s
encouragement echoed in Kenta’s brain. Moving at a speed he reserved for entering a
toy store, Kenta stepped in with his left foot, and
he nailed Henry in the stomach with his right knee.
Henry jumped back
and clutched his stomach. He almost fell
to his knees, but not quite. “Wow, that
was impressive—really, a very nice shot.
I just wish you’d told me we were going to be practicing with
knees. I was under the assumption that I
only had to guard against punches and kicks…”
Henry’s tone suddenly switched from congratulatory to peeved. “…because I explicitly said either punch me or kick me.”
“I thought you
karate guys were ‘sposedta be ready for anything?”
“Black belts have to be ready for
anything, but I never became a black belt.”
Henry took a seat on the mat.
“Let’s take a little break so I can recover from that folly. Can you grab the water bottles over by the
air conditioning duct?”
Kenta grabbed his white water bottle and Henry’s green
water bottle and took a seat on the mat across from Henry. Then he handed Henry the designated water
bottle.
Henry took a sip
of water. “So Kenta,
how are things going in tech school?
Have you built any engines yet?”
Kenta took a sip of water.
“I ain’t built shit. I’ve been told that I don’t get to build
anything until my last year. Until then,
it’s all theoretical. They’re trying to
become more like a public university so they can attract a better crop. I guess I ain’t
what they had in mind.”
Henry took a sip
of water. “I’ll admit it; public
universities aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. So, what made you decide to throw that knee?”
Kenta took a sip of water.
“Dontya watch the dubbed over Ultimate
Fighting Championship events? I figure
if the best fighters in the world use knees, so should I.”
Henry took a sip
of water. “Kenta,
those guys are professionals, and we just dabble in our free time. Engineers are drawn to martial arts for the
stress release, the chance to unleash the aggression created by intricate
problems and demanding bosses.”
Kenta took a sip of water.
“Gee, I thought you were gonna say something
about sexual frustration.”
Henry stood up. “Sure, I suppose that’s a factor too. Are you ready to get back to training?”
Kenta stood up.
“Sorry, but I kinda gotta
take a leak.”
“You know, I could
also use a restroom. It’s too bad we
have to go inside. Now that you’re
actually trying, I was starting to enjoy being your sensei.”
The compliment
sparked Kenta’s creativity. “Henry, we’re on a rooftop, and there’s
something that I’ve always wanted to try.”
Kenta walked to the edge of the roof.
“Kenta, what are you doing?”
Kenta pulled down on the front of his pants, pulled out his
pisser, and let his urine fall forty stories onto the streets of
Henry took the air
urinal next to Kenta.
“We’ll call this the engineering solution.”
“If that’s what it
takes to excuse this last April shower.”
Kenta’s piss reached its completion, and he
allowed his stretchy pants to snap back to concealment.
“We’re into May
now,” Henry corrected. “April only has
thirty days.” Henry’s urination also
concluded, and he re-tucked his wang. Rather than immediately heading back to their
training, they took in the Saturday morning skyline. Some buildings had satellite dishes well
below their line of sight, while other buildings extended upward farther than
their heads could tilt back to see. “Kenta, this is our home.
A year from now, I’d like to still have a home.”
“Yeah, homes are
nice,” Kenta haphazardly seconded.
“The industrial
sector is almost half gone. It won’t be
long before the D-Reaper gets into the residential areas. My dad says that Hypnos
is working on something, but ultimately, you know that it’s going to come down
to us.”
Kenta knew, but he wanted to know more. “But how are we ‘sposedta
fight that thing without our Digimon?”
“A good engineer
always comes up with something.”
“Henry, I ain’t much of an engineer,” Kenta
admitted. “I’m barely surviving in my
classes. Don’t expect me to build
anything that’s gonna help anyone. While you’ve been living in this city, I’ve
been living in fantasy worlds. All the
time I could’ve spent learning about robotics, fuel cells, nanotechnology,
teleportation, time travel…I wasted it all in some simulated jungle or castle.”
“You haven’t
missed that much. Reality isn’t all it’s
cracked up to be.” Henry’s gaze shifted. “Reality is cruel, and sometimes, it’s
illogical, far more illogical than any fantasy.
Sensei used to say, ‘Life is suffering.’
That’s one of the tenets of Buddhism.
I didn’t want to believe it. Dad
used to say, ‘Inaction is action.’
That’s one of the tenets of Taoism.
I hated that one even more because it promotes complacence, like
‘Everything Zen,’ or ‘Moumantai.’ Taken together, the sayings add up to a
terrible truth. Suffering is for those
who take action, and peace is reserved for the apathetic.” Before long, Henry was staring all the way
down. “Ever hear the story about the boy
who wanted nothing more than to find a soul mate? He disciplined himself as best he could,
under the assumption that the karmic forces of the universe would reward him.”
“No, I ain’t heard that story.
How’s it end?”
“The boy realized
that he had forged himself with an intensity that would never be matched,
making the existence of a soul mate impossible.” The street was too far for Henry’s
perception. All he could see
was…infinity.
Author’s Notes:
I don’t like doing too much
Japanese cultural stuff because I’m trying to keep this series relatable for
American audiences. However, it’s
important to note that in
Musical Inspirations:
Daisuke’s “Load” theme: “2 x 4” by Metallica
Daisuke’s song for Miyako: “Counting to Infinity” by The Killing Tree
Daisuke’s Friday night pining: “Somebody
to Shove” by Soul Asylum
Daisuke and the angels: “Ty Cobb” by Soundgarden
Takeru
and Hikari’s main theme: “Slither” by Velvet Revolver
Henry and Kenta’s
rooftop training session: “Halfway There” by Rise Against
Literature Inspirations:
I found “Life is suffering” to be a
nice summation of Buddhism in Yoga: Discipline of Freedom by Barbara Stoler Miller.
Cinematic Inspirations:
“Bite your head off” was taken from
the pre-elevator scene in Ghostbusters.
Ken Watanabe is a major actor in
Television Inspirations:
Having Daisuke sing the theme to
Garfield and Friends was a nod to Lorenzo Music, the late voice actor for
For Kenta,
I had one UFC guy in particular in mind: Luke Cummo,
from The Ultimate Fighter 2 reality show.
The comic-reading, weird-food-eating, Jedi-nicknamed dork was the last
guy picked, but he made it to the finals.
In my personal opinion, he also won the finals, but the judges saw it
differently.
Personal Inspirations:
“There’s also that kid who talks to
me through my D-3, but I’ve never even met him in person. I have no idea what Tomoki looks like. I just know that he’s a DigiDestined
in another dimension who listens to rock music.
Other than that, without a face, he might as well be unknown.” These lines were dedicated to my good friend,
UnknownH.
More than once, I have seen a
beautiful girl in an openly affectionate relationship, and I’ve been insanely
jealous. Then I’ve had that same girl
hit on me while drunk, and I’ve had to turn her down. It takes a very mature and responsible person
to know that it’s not what it seems.
There’s a difference between the affection in a relationship and the
grabbing in a mistake. I don’t make
those sorts of mistakes.
I abstain from alcoholic beverages;
I’m straightedge, or in the phrasing of the term’s inventor, I’ve got straight
edge.
I never carry an umbrella.
Like Kenta,
I’ve been taught theoretical stuff as an engineer, but I wouldn’t trust me to
build anything that’s not made out of Legos.
My diet includes salads, assorted
vegetables, high fiber cereal with skim milk, fruit, bananas (technically a
starch), and hardboiled egg whites. I am on the can constantly.
©2005 by Benjamin Wiseman (the
title was changed in 2007)
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