The Wavering of Haruhi Suzumiya Read Free Page A

thunder had decided to hold a concert. It was a bit cheap as venues for the soul of rock go, but so long as the spirit is there, worrying about issues of technique is like quibbling over condiments on your natto. It’s not better without condiments, but the natto is a strong fermented soybean—it’s the main event, so to demand it with stuff on it without even tasting it first seems a bit rude.
    Perhaps a sixth of the auditorium was full, and most of the people seemed to be the organizers. Onstage, an amateur band did their best with a straight-up cover of a pop song that sounded vaguely familiar. You know it’s bad when you can tell they’re “doing their best,” but the broadcast club’s mixing seemed like it might have been part of the problem.
    The lights were concentrated on the stage, leaving the rest of the space rather dim. I searched for and found an empty row of chairs and took a seat at the row’s edge.
    According to the program, the participating groups were the pop music club’s band and two other groups. At the moment it was the pop music club performing. Only the people in the very front row of chairs were standing, and while a few of them movedtheir bodies to the music, I decided they had to be either fellow club members or plants. And anyway, the volume was pumped up way too high for the kind of laid-back listening I had in mind.
    I clasped my hands behind my head and watched as, during an interlude of their last number, the vocalist rhythmically introduced the other members of the band, and I learned that they were five second-year pals from the pop music club—information I would surely forget within a few days.
    My knowledge of music wasn’t deep enough to say anything on the subject, and without any particular interest in the performers, it was the perfect situation for lulling me into complacency.
    As a result, I actually started to relax.
    And then, as the five members of the current band exited to scattered applause and the next band took the stage—
    I couldn’t help but rub my eyes in disbelief.
    “Guh—”
    I could feel the atmosphere of the auditorium change in an instant. The sound of the audience drawing nervously away from the stage became a sound effect that echoed within my head.
    “What the hell is that idiot doing?!”
    The figure that now walked on from stage left carrying a music stand wore a certain familiar bunny girl costume and a certain familiar expression as she stood there, awash in the stage lighting.
    Bunny ears bouncing and figure scantily clad—I could tell you who she was even if you plucked my eyes out and gave them to somebody else.
    It was Haruhi Suzumiya.
    And she was now standing in the middle of the stage with a serious expression on her face.
    And if that had been all, it would’ve been okay—but no.
    “Hnng!”
    Upon seeing the figure that appeared behind her, the air in my lungs escaped with a groan.
    It was a sometimes evil alien sorceress, sometimes black-clad, crystal ball–wielding fortune-teller.
    “…”
    I could no longer make a sound.
    Yuki Nagato was standing there in that black hat and cape I’d long since gotten sick of seeing, only for some reason she now had a guitar slung over her shoulder. Just what the hell is going on here?
    I might have been relieved if Asahina and Koizumi had shown up after that, but the third and fourth people to take the stage were female students I’d never seen before. From their unfamiliar faces and somehow adult aura, I guessed they were third-year students. One had a bass guitar and the other sat down at the drum set. There didn’t seem to be any further band members.
    Why? I wanted to avert my eyes at the sight of Haruhi and Nagato in their festival costumes. But why—why were they part of a band that was supposed to be made up of members of the pop music club, and why was Haruhi holding the mic like she was the band leader?
    As the questions fought each other in my head, all four members of the