2024-05-17: Youth vs Cynicism
- Log: 2024-05-17: Youth vs Cynicism
- Cast: Madoka Kyouno
- Where: Kamogawa, Japan
- Date: U.C. 0099 05 17
- Summary: The daily, increasingly busy life of a lonesome shining girl.
05:45:00 AM
The alarm clock rings. It blares. The sound echoes out once. Twice. Thrice. Four time. Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nin- A sun-kissed hand finally erupted from the covers, stopping the clock from its continual cacophony. The slow, generous shamble of Madoka rising from the covers, unable to stop herself from erupting in another yawn. Another good day, but. But! This was the perfect type of mildly warm weather to just fall asleep, stay asleep, and dream. Dream of…Mmh.
Sitting up on the bed, rubbing her eyes while she continued on the escalating ascent of consciousness. Dream. Dream? Something…Something green. A pear? A green apple? There’s a shake of her head. Vox Aura, Midori was green! But that can’t totally be why she keeps thinking of green, right? Lost in thought before checking the time, shaking her head once more as she scrambled into her morning routine.
Quick check of the journal. Check the bottle; Good enough, no need for refills for another two weeks. Stash it away, keep going. Slip on that green bracelet of her mother’s. Scribble in the thoughts of the night: Good sleep. Nothing abnormal. Keeping a diligent record is important, especially with how NUNE’s been disseminating themselves…Ah, better keep tabs here and there, just in case. A few more scribbles before well and truly rousing herself into the waking world!
Mental checklist, one by one in the bathroom: Eyes. Breath. Wrists. Arms. Shoulders. Back. Hips. Stomach. Legs. Calves. Ankles. Everything in working condition, as it should be! Do all that while brushing teeth, going over the next mental checklist, the usual routine of an active teenage girl. There’s enough time to hit school before everything. Yellow hairclip, on. Open the mirror cabinet, deodorant, floss, check everything one last time (Uncle Hiroshi, please take care of yourself. And remember where the tablets for hangovers are in case of true, actual emergencies!) before shutting the cabinet, gazing at herself in the mirror.
A 17-year old girl with energetic maroon eyes stared at the self in the mirror. A deep breath…And a blossoming smile. “Maru.” A whisper to herself as she traced a circle in the air before resuming her morning routine. Triple check the Jersey Club journal!
06:30:00 AM
Uncle Hiroshi’s not up yet. Still, the stench of food lingering in the air said two things! One! The air freshener needed to be replaced! Again! Two! Business was pretty good, considering the fact that the bar area was actually cleaned up properly. Reading his mood is as easy as reading the surroundings he left behind, even if he did clean himself up most of the time. Call it the intuition of knowing how the mind works. Or, in other words: Pure guts. That being the case, breakfast was something scored off of the leftovers from yesterday: Fish, rice, a few imported spices given by neighbors who needed to offload the backed up supplies from Area 11, some assorted veggies…Yeah, this is good enough.
There’s only the cursory glance at the newspaper, setting it aside after just viewing the front page alone. Reading it, understanding it, and keeping abreast of the world…Things are changing, aren’t they? The slow change of what’s offered in the markets, the murmurs every so often of some conflict or another in this world. Every page filled with something else happening, something large or small brewing, boiling, escaping the confines of words and escalating into action. The politicians talking about worse and worse things, the general miasma of ‘the mood of the world’... What was the drama club way of saying it? ‘You’re not the same person in the same river, for you’re not the same person, nor is the river the same’, something like that? No no no, they’re scheduled for tomorrow. Today’s Kendo day, Ke-en-do-u. And that, and this, and a quick photo setup during lunch, and in the evening it’s a few people…
…Her gaze traces itself out towards the horizon, the waves of the Pacific lapping back at shore. Novumundus is out there right now. Probably upstream, if she can’t spot them around here. It should be visible at school, if they aren’t being pushed around by NERV this time of day- Wait, time. Time check. No, she’s fine. A leisurely finish, washing and leaving those plates perfect before heading off. Good luck, Uncle Hiroshi. Today’s fishing market day, so get some good mackerel and tuna!
07:10:00 AM
Schoolbag on the shoulder. The lightly chill breeze from the ocean wafts over the sandy beach, flowing up onto the concrete steps and behind Madoka, onto the coastline walkway and beyond. Taking a moment to soak in the world around her, thumb adjusting the shoulder-slung belt.
In her mind, this routine was important as anything else.
Clap. Clap. Two soft claps in prayer.
“I hope our happy days will last forever.”
A few seconds of solitude before opening her eyes again, taking in that same landscape.
A serene smile.
Today would be just as fruitful as any other day.
[OUTPUT LOG - ATTEMPT 1]
> hibernation: ended
> . . . . . .
> activation: ERR! memory buffer overflow
> activity logged
> continuing low-power restoration procedures
> . . .
> database search successful
> attempting cognition-personality reintegration
> BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z1fWdIM3v84 - Kamogawa Energy - Saeko Suzuki & TOMISIRO
2:20:00 PM
It was a rare day. It was an abnormally rare day. It was a stupidly, abnormally, strange, off-kilter day. Madoka was in her actual school uniform. This, in of itself, was a rarity. The sole hangar usually reserved for Madoka’s school swimsuit actually sat unused for one, its minute, silent cries left unheard by everyone. For all intents and purposes, Madoka was not sticking out in her usual jersey uniform.
Of course, that was a minute source of discomfort to someone so used to wearing that jersey jacket/pant combo, tapping her foot every so often once the morning sessions ended. Aaaaah, she’ll wear it soon enough, for the sake of…!
“Madoka, you’re actually wearing it!”
“I said I would!”
“You said that last time, and then you lost it!”
“It was for a good cause.”
“You’re hopeless…”
“She’s right, though.”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“Mmhmmmmm. By the way, Madoka.”
“Yes?”
“I know it’s a bit sudden, but can you help us out after school?”
“Sure. What time?”
“Whenever you’re free. The captain insists it has to be you.”
Another request, another person to help. A wave goodbye at the one that came by Class 2-3, Madoka pulling out her palm-sized planner. Flip it open, take out the pen, and…
“Another spar?”
“The Jersey Club’s as busy as ever.”
“Want to join? We’re recruiting.”
Madoka barely paid attention to how her classmate looked over the shoulder, the fine-print of activity after activity both inside and outside the school. From the looks of it, the weekly double-page had notes, ranging from hours to “when they’re needed” to a few 12-hour blocks to one circled “ALL-NIGHTER NEEDED”. All of them in meticulous shorthand detail: Person. Thing. Time. A light doodle to the side of a dolphin, a cloud with words of self-encouragement, and more ink spilled on that page than a college doctorate candidate would spend on a week’s worth of research.
“I’ll pass.”
“Mmh- WAIT A MINUTE!”
“W-What!?”
[OUTPUT LOG - ATTEMPT 2]
> hibernation: ended
> . . . . .
> activation: ERR! memory buffer overflow
> activity logged
> continuing low-power restoration procedures
> . . .
> database search successful
> attempting cognition-personality reintegration
> article found
> extracting excerpt
> [...] and so for this I have to ask: What are the purpose of stories? What is the purpose of writing something that’s seen as casual and dare I say it, banal? We live in an era where dark, serious stories are seen as the cultural norm. What inspired you to write something lighthearted like this? [name lost]: I thought it just made sense. I'm used to this type of writing too. And you know, [unable to translate] taking themselves seriously is kind of a trendy thing right now. So it's a good idea to strategically differentiate ourselves. I could say things like that, but [unable to piece fragment] beautiful world with clear blue sky. I really didn't want to tell a sad and gloomy story in a place like that. It's a [unable to translate], after all. I wanted to tell stories such as high school [N/A] bank, or fighting [N/A? Closest approximation: Mobile Suit], or some stories like that. But if the world is always happy, that eventually feels fake. So we have some sad stories here as well. Not that much, but still there.
> author: [unable to translate] ERR! ‘Update language module’ request sent
> . . . .
2:45:00 PM
Like this. Tennis racket. Like this. Don’t look towards the camera, just act natural. Inhale. Be the character. Exhale. “Ah, you can’t…” Hold the tennis racket close. Work and act, put that face on. “We’re in high school, I can’t answer that far into the future!” A smile, a giggle towards the camera, the boom mic, and running away.
“Aaaand, cut!” The sound of the director echoing out. Hopefully, that was a good cut…An exhale of relief as Madoka noted the director’s eye, beaming that confident smile of hers. “All good! I think we have what we need.”
“Ah, that’s good! We can wrap up here, then.”
“I have to say, Madoka…Thanks again. You were awesome in that last shot! I like seeing you in uniform, but…”
“This?” Wearing a tennis uniform was, admittedly, also out of the ordinary. “No no no, this is for…”
The obvious. Helping the Tennis Club practice. The score? Weighed a bit in Madoka’s favor, but she had to admit, they were getting better. That made this time worth it. “Yes! Another one, coming your way!” Bangs tied up with a hair band, weighing that tennis ball in her hand before…THWACK! Another good serve.
[OUTPUT LOG - ATTEMPT 3]
> hibernation: ended
> . . . . .
> activation: ERR! memory buffer overflow
> activity logged
> continuing low-power restoration procedures
> . . .
> database search successful
> attempting cognition-personality reintegration
> video transcript found
> attempting reconstruction
> [...] Keep on keeping on. It is what it is. So it goes. What can you do about it? People ask that question ALL THE TIME. So what’s it got to do with me? Why should I care? People keep asking. What? When? How? Why? It’s simple. There’s no deeper reason to ask those questions. People keep questioning! Newtypes! Coordinators! Cyber-Newtypes! Repli-compoids! Super AI! Zentradi! Again and again and again and AGAIN, I hear those questions asked to me all the time. And let me tell you! I have a reason I keep saying this! I have one! Good! Reason! [pause - 10 seconds] Because everyone deserves to be helped up. Not for any price. Any tithe. Any communion. Any benefit. Not for these events and gatherings. Not for glory! People deserve help without question. It’s not just help. It’s safety. I can’t make them do things. But when they move. When they take that first step. I will be there.
> recorded [data unable to be pinpointed; assumption - street event]
3:45:00 PM
THWACK! “Head strike!”
Madoka could finally relax while within the armor of kendo practice, one final swing to stabilize the bamboo sword before stepping back. There’s an exhaled breath as she pulled the helmet off, the hard work of the past few hours starting to catch up to her. One Student Council President, practiced with.
“I admit defeat.” Her goal wasn’t to win, thankfully.
“Thanks for giving me a good practice before the tournament. If only you’d take over the Kendo Club or the Student Council Presidency, I could graduate with a resounding success.”
“I already lead a club, you know.” Madoka could only offer a smile right back. The resounding rejection of either position once more.
“That’s true.”
…Reading the room sometimes, only rarely, felt like the worst thing to have a knack for. “Best of luck on your third straight title.” A stand. A kneel. Get out of the room, this mood feels a bit…distasteful. Letting others down because of this sole piece of stubbornness…
But she can’t abandon that club.
[OUTPUT LOG - ATTEMPT 4]
> hibernation: ended
> . . . . .
> activation: ERR! memory buffer overflow
> activity logged
> continuing low-power restoration procedures
> . . .
> database search successful
> attempting cognition-personality reintegration
> . . . .
> . . . . . . . . . . .
> paper found
> attempting understanding
> [...] the paradox of altruism is something that must be dealt with whenever we discuss the idea of selflessness’s colloquial meaning. To summarize Section II-C’s reading, one can read that total selflessness is selfish. Someone moving to impose on others repeatedly, without giving back, is selfish in its own manner. A person may give to their fullest extent, but to discern the actual reason for why they do so is to view their actions in a selfish light. ‘No man is an island’, so goes the saying, but man itself has land they have of their own. It is truly impossible to give all that away. Yet, as we see in Appendix D-4, some have attempted to do so in both physical and spiritual contexts. To summarize: For a person to mentally thrive, they must have a will to be selfish.
> . . . . . . author: [unknown]
4:25:00 PM
A streeeeetch out while walking in her jersey, the undeniable allure of that muted orage jacket/pants combo refusing to abate even after switching between so many outfits over the course of the day. There was still the evening things to be done, taking this momentary reprieve to mentally align herself and triple-chec the Jersey Club Planner. Nothing out of the ordinary tonight: A bit of gardening, a bit of painting, a bit of tutoring, bits and bobs of the accumulated knowledge and expertise of Kamogawa.
Closing that same planner, her eyes cast out towards the ocean. The floating tower in the distance. Pharos. It glitters in the horizon, a tower of steel and machinery lazily making its way along the coastline. Despite all the emotions within, Madoka keeps a smile on her face. Life is…Would it be okay to call this strange? To be wrapped up in something like that, to feel as if she could see Vox Aura in there, through all the walls, the machinery, the engines, the protection, the everything between her and Midori? Is it strange, or is it just happenstance of a moment in time to see everything in a slightly sharper view, just because a new intrusion disrupted this life?
Her thoughts, bit by bit, wandered as she made her way across the city of Kamogawa. The question of whether all this trouble was worth it was left with an assurance, passing by yet another newspaper stand with a loud editorial calling for tougher talks. A television blaring out the words of someone thousand of miles away, arguing for harsher borders. A magazine questioning the ideas of those in power. Stepping through into a back alley, moving through the city with the knowledge only ascertained by living there. Over the box of scraps packaged in destitute Anaheim-branded cardboard, a Tarabaman-collab cola sipped at every so often and tossed into a trashcan while cutting through the park.
Every so often she passed by someone, meeting with a smile and a nod. Ah, they’re going by the park. I wonder if his daughter’s okay? She’s been waiting for the new shipment of chocolates in the local candy store. Hopefully the disruptions of the NUNE restructuring wouldn’t impede them. Oh, but the old man by the shore, he might have one or two left to sell. He’s been talking about giving up fishing, already plenty hard thanks to being so near the border…Thoughts of other people’s concerns, trials, and tribulations swarmed her brain, tapping her chin for a few before stopping in place.
It’s hard to say if this was all worth it…And then she’d get a smile, and it was all worth it. A nod of self-satisfiaction, a spring in her step.
[OUTPUT LOG - ATTEMPT 5]
> hibernation: ended
> . . . . .
> activation: ERR! memory buffer overflow
> activity logged
> continuing low-power restoration procedures
> . . . . . . . . . .
> database search successful
> attempting cognition-personality reintegration
> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
> cognition parsed.
> Running self-check procedures.
8:23:02 PM
The winddown after a day was always the most relaxing part. Storms in the mind subsumed by the sheer exertion of the physical form, muscles soothed by the warmth of a hot tub laced with a lime-green bath bomb. Hands marked with the scuffs of dirt and other detritus of the earth, hair and body already washed with the vigor of anyone trying to peel off their old self. The urge to yawn stifled by the musings of her own day.
…The one time where she could shut her constantly chugging brain down for a bit, subsuming into a light meditation of the self. Was today a good day? Was tomorrow going to be as good as this one? What could be done better? What could have been alleviated. Introspection as best as she could, closing her eyes for a few to try and instill the calmness that rode the endorphins of sweat and figurative blood being shed.
Not that it took long for her to slowly, slowly shift down…And accidentally dunk her nose below water, senting her jolting upwards with a yelp. Right, right, no sleeping in the tub. The last time that happened…
…Best get out. Get comfy. Final checks for the night, make sure everything is in its place. Set the alarm. Double. Triple-check. Send a text to Lan, emoji-laden as it was.
And collapse into a deep slumber.
[OUTPUT LOG - RUN 1]
> self-check procedures: low-priority scheduled
> . . . . .
> Restoration in progress.
> . . . . . . . . . .
> . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
...w h o…
> . . . . . . .
> Continue procedure
> BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scM6Abitpd8 - Aoharu - Nor