← Back to overview

The twist of the mind

The Gentleman and the Garbage Man

The dust had barely settled on the great "Boy-Chasing Crisis" of Tomobiki. Ataru Moroboshi was back to his usual, miserable, skirt-hunting self, and the male population of the town had finally begun to crawl out from their reinforced bunkers. Life, in all its chaotic, slapstick glory, had returned to the status quo.

Or so it seemed.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and the air in Class 2-4 was thick with the scent of chalk dust and impending disaster. Ataru was currently pinned to the floor by a heavy textbook, courtesy of Shinobu, while Lum hovered above him, her cheeks puffed out in a pout that promised a high-voltage reprimand.

"Darling! You promised you’d stop trying to look into the girls' locker room!" Lum cried, her hair beginning to crackle with blue sparks.

"I wasn't looking! I was observing the architectural integrity of the ventilation system!" Ataru shouted, his face squashed against the linoleum. "It’s a matter of public safety, Lum!"

"You’re a liar, Darling!"

Lum’s patience, never a particularly sturdy thing, snapped like a dry twig. She raised her hands, her eyes glowing with a supernova’s worth of indignation. A massive, jagged bolt of lightning tore through the air, aimed squarely at Ataru’s twitching backside.

At that exact moment, Shūtarō Mendō decided to make his grand entrance.

"Moroboshi! I have found the receipt for the—"

Mendō stepped through the sliding door just as the bolt arced. In a freak accident of timing and physics, the lightning missed Ataru’s head by a fraction of an inch and slammed directly into Mendō’s chest. The heir to the Mendō Zaibatsu didn't even have time to scream. His body turned into a glowing silhouette of bones and expensive silk, vibrating with enough intensity to rattle the windows of the neighboring middle school.

"SHŪ-CHAN!" the girls of the class shrieked in a horrified chorus.

Mendō collapsed in a heap of smoking white fabric. Lum gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "Oh no! I hit the wrong one!"

Ataru scrambled to his feet, dusting off his pants. "Well, that’s one way to end a conversation. Good job, Lum! Maybe now he’ll stop complaining about my 'lack of breeding' for five minutes."

A long, low groan emanated from the charred pile on the floor. Mendō’s fingers twitched. He slowly pushed himself up, his movements fluid and strangely graceful despite the soot covering his face. He shook his head, and the frizzled black hair settled back into a perfect, shimmering mane.

"Mendō?" Shinobu asked, leaning over him with concern. "Are you okay? Do you know where you are?"

Mendō opened his eyes. They weren't their usual sharp, arrogant self. They were soft, swimming with a liquid tenderness that made the girls in the front row swoon. He looked around the room, his gaze passing over Shinobu, Lum, and Sakura without a single flicker of interest.

Then, his eyes landed on Ataru.

A radiant, angelic smile spread across Mendō’s face. He didn't reach for his katana. He didn't call for his private army. Instead, he stood up, brushed a stray flake of ash from his shoulder, and took a deep, theatrical breath.

"Moroboshi," Mendō breathed, his voice a rich, velvety baritone that seemed to vibrate in the very floorboards.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a commoner, I’m filth, I’m—"

Before Ataru could finish his usual defensive rant, Mendō was across the room. He didn't punch Ataru. He didn't shove him. He reached out and gently took Ataru’s hand, bowing low until his forehead almost touched Ataru’s knuckles.

"Please, forgive my tardiness," Mendō whispered, looking up through his lashes with an expression of pure, unadulterated devotion. "I was bringing you the finest silk handkerchief from the Mendō vaults. I felt that your brow looked a bit damp from your... strenuous architectural observations."

The silence that hit Class 2-4 was so heavy it felt like a physical weight. Onsen-Mark dropped his chalk. Megane’s glasses cracked.

"Mendō?" Ataru asked, his voice cracking. "What are you doing? Is this a prank? Are the Black Glasses guys hiding in the ceiling with a net?"

Mendō stood up, his hand still firmly holding Ataru’s. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shimmering, hand-embroidered cloth, gently dabbing at a tiny smudge of dirt on Ataru’s cheek.

"A prank? My dear Ataru, how could you think so meanly of me? I have spent far too long hiding behind the veil of rivalry. But that bolt of lightning... it cleared the fog from my soul. I see you now. Truly see you."

"You see a guy who needs five yen for a soda?" Ataru asked, trying to pull his hand back. Mendō’s grip was like velvet-covered steel.

"I see a diamond in the rough," Mendō sighed, his eyes tracing the line of Ataru’s jaw as if he were studying a masterpiece at the Louvre. "A wild, untamed spirit that refuses to be broken by the mundane world. You are the storm, Ataru. And I... I am merely the harbor seeking your return."

Lum’s jaw hit the floor. "Wait a minute! This is the same thing that happened to Darling! Mendō’s brain got scrambled!"

"It isn't scrambled, Lum-san," Mendō said, glancing at her with the polite, distant kindness one might show to a stray cat. "It is refined. I have spent years chasing the shadow of beauty, when the sun was standing right in front of me, wearing a slightly wrinkled school uniform and smelling faintly of stolen snacks."

He turned back to Ataru, his expression becoming intensely focused. "Ataru, my dear friend... no, my dear *everything*. Why are we wasting our time in this dusty classroom? My private jet is fueled and ready. We could be in Paris by dinner. I want to see the sunset reflected in your eyes while we dine on the finest caviar."

"I like beef bowls, Mendō," Ataru said, his eyes darting toward the exit. "And I like girls! Remember? Girls? Soft, round, smell like flowers?"

Mendō let out a light, musical laugh. "Girls are but a distraction, Ataru. They are the appetizer. You... you are the main course. The feast. The legendary banquet of my heart."

He leaned in, his face inches from Ataru’s. "Tell me, what can I do to win your favor? Do you want a mountain? I have several. Do you want a moon? I can have the Mendō aerospace division begin construction on a replica immediately."

"I want you to stop looking at me like I’m a piece of wagyu beef!" Ataru yelled, finally wrenching his hand free and scrambling behind Onsen-Mark’s desk.

Mendō didn't look offended. He simply adjusted his cuffs, his smile never wavering. "Ah, playfulness! I adore that about you. The chase is half the pleasure, is it not?"

***

By lunchtime, the Mendō Zaibatsu had been redirected to serve a single purpose: the comfort and adoration of Ataru Moroboshi.

The cafeteria was no longer a place of cheap noodles and rowdy students. It had been transformed into a five-star dining hall. A red carpet had been rolled out from the door to Ataru’s usual table. A string quartet played softly in the corner, and a dozen men in black suits stood at attention, each holding a silver platter.

Ataru sat at the table, looking like a man awaiting execution. Lum sat next to him, her horns glowing a dangerous shade of red, while Shinobu watched from a distance, clutching a chair leg so hard it was beginning to splinter.

"Please, Ataru," Mendō said, standing over him with a bottle of vintage sparkling cider. "Try the truffle-infused ramen. I had the chef flown in from Hokkaido this morning. He was told his life depended on the broth being exactly to your liking."

"Mendō, this is weird," Ataru said, poking a truffle with his chopstick. "You usually try to kill me when I sit this close to you."

"I was a fool," Mendō admitted, placing a hand over his heart. "I was blinded by social expectations. But why should I fight you when I could be fanning you? Why should I draw my sword when I could be drawing you a bath?"

He snapped his fingers. Two guards immediately stepped forward, holding a silk robe and a pair of gold-plated slippers.

"Ataru, your shoes look uncomfortable. Please, allow me."

Mendō knelt on the floor. The heir to the most powerful family in Japan reached out to unlace Ataru’s scuffed loafers.

"STOP IT!" Lum screamed, her electricity finally erupting.

The bolt hit the table, vaporizing the truffle ramen and sending the string quartet scrambling for cover. Mendō didn't even flinch. He simply used his own body to shield Ataru from the sparks, taking the stray voltage with a grunt of stoic satisfaction.

"Are you harmed, Ataru?" Mendō asked, looking up with genuine concern. "That girl is quite volatile. Perhaps I should have her relocated to a charming villa in the Swiss Alps? Somewhere with very thick walls?"

"You can't relocate me, you pompous octopus-lover!" Lum shrieked. "Darling is mine!"

"He belongs to the world, Lum-san," Mendō said, standing up and smoothing his hair. "But he shall reside with me. Ataru, I have had your room at the Moroboshi house duplicated inside my mansion, but with gold-leaf wallpaper and an automated snack dispenser. Shall we go?"

"I’m not going anywhere with you!" Ataru shouted, jumping onto the table. "I’m going to find a girl! A real, live, non-Mendō girl! Shinobu! Sakura-san! Anyone!"

Ataru bolted for the door. Mendō didn't run. He didn't yell. He simply pulled a golden whistle from his pocket and blew a sharp note.

Suddenly, the hallway was filled with rose petals. A team of Mendō security guards appeared, not with batons, but with baskets of expensive chocolates and handwritten poems.

"Block his path!" Mendō commanded, his voice ringing with authority. "But do it gently! If a single hair on his head is ruffled, you are all fired!"

Ataru found himself surrounded by a wall of men in black suits, all of them bowing and offering him truffles.

"Mr. Moroboshi, please consider this haiku written by Master Shūtarō," one guard said, holding out a scroll.

"Mr. Moroboshi, Master Shūtarō has noticed your socks have a small hole. Please accept these cashmere replacements," said another.

Ataru was trapped in a sea of aggressive politeness. He looked back to see Mendō walking toward him, his cape billowing in a non-existent breeze.

"You see, Ataru? There is no escape from my devotion," Mendō purred. "I have more resources than you have bad habits. I will spend every yen, every hour, and every breath making sure you know how truly magnificent you are."

"This is a nightmare," Ataru whimpered. "I want the guy who tries to slice me in half back! At least I knew how to handle that!"

"That Mendō is dead," Shūtarō said, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind Ataru’s ear. "In his place is a man who only wants to be your footstool."

***

The situation reached its breaking point by the end of the day. The entire male population of Tomobiki High was watching in hushed awe as Mendō followed Ataru toward the school gates, holding a lace parasol over Ataru’s head to protect him from the "harsh afternoon rays."

"Mendō, the sun is setting!" Ataru yelled.

"The twilight can be just as damaging to a complexion as delicate as yours," Mendō insisted.

Lum was hovering above them, her eyes narrowed. She had been consulting with Ten all afternoon, and they had come to a conclusion.

"Ten-chan, is the device ready?" Lum asked.

Ten held up a small, circular alien gadget. "It’s a polarity-reversal induction coil. If we hit him with this and a fresh shock at the same time, it should flip his brain back to its original setting. But we have to be precise."

"I’ll be precise," Lum growled.

She dove.

"SHŪTARŌ MENDŌ! TAKE THIS!"

Lum slammed into the parasol, her hands glowing with a blinding white light. Ten triggered the device. The resulting explosion was a kaleidoscope of colors—pink, blue, and gold—that lit up the entire street.

Ataru was thrown into a hedge. Mendō was caught in the center of the blast, spinning like a top before slamming into a telephone pole.

Silence returned to the street. Ataru popped his head out of the hedge, leaves stuck in his hair. Lum landed softly, her chest heaving.

"Did it work?" she whispered.

Mendō stirred. He sat up, rubbing his head. He looked at his ruined uniform, then at the soot on his hands. He looked at the parasol lying in the gutter.

His eyes sharpened. The liquid tenderness vanished, replaced by a cold, aristocratic fury. He looked at Ataru, who was still tangled in the hedge.

"MOROBOSHI!" Mendō roared, his voice returning to its usual arrogant pitch. "Look at what you’ve done! My bespoke silk uniform is ruined! You led me into an ambush! You baseborn, low-class, foul-smelling degenerate!"

Ataru let out a cheer that could be heard three blocks away. "HE HATES ME! HE REALLY HATES ME! OH, THANK GOD!"

Mendō reached into his ruined jacket and pulled out his katana, the blade singing as it cleared the scabbard. "I’ll have your head for this! I’ll have you ground into fertilizer for my family’s rose gardens!"

"That’s the spirit, Shū-chan!" Ataru laughed, jumping out of the hedge and beginning his familiar sprint down the street. "Try and catch me, you pompous windbag!"

"I’ll do more than catch you! I’ll erase you from the census!" Mendō screamed, sprinting after him with his sword raised high.

Lum watched them go, a small smile on her face. "Finally. Everything is back to normal."

"Normal for this place, maybe," Ten muttered, sucking on a lollipop.

As the sun set over Tomobiki, the familiar sounds of a high-speed chase filled the air—the clashing of steel, the insults being hurled back and forth, and the occasional crackle of a lightning bolt.

Ataru Moroboshi was being hunted by a man with a sword, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, he felt like the luckiest man alive. He was no longer a diamond in the rough; he was just the neighborhood pervert again. And to Ataru, that was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Hey, Lum!" Ataru yelled over his shoulder as he dodged a swing from Mendō. "Did you see the girl at the bakery? I think she liked my new pomade!"

*ZAP!*

"DARLING! YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO LOOK AT OTHER GIRLS!"

"Ah, home sweet home," Ataru wheezed, smoking as he ran.

The gentleman was gone, and the garbage man was back. All was right in Tomobiki.