Takashi Rika's trembling fingers struggled to fit the small silver key to the door's lock in the fading light. Finally, after a quick twist, the heavy door swung open. Rika flipped the light switch nearest to the door, and the lights in the hallway flared to life. Her bare feet slid silently across the tile floor; the straps of her delicate high heels clutched in her right hand, the heel of the left shoe completely broken off.
Stopping in front of the third door on the left, Rika tested the handle. The door slid open - obviously the cleaning crew hadn't yet arrived - and Rika entered, placing her broken shoes on the desk. She swiveled her stylish computer chair towards the monitor on the desk, and sat down heavily, tapping the power button with a chipped fingernail. A bluish glow filled the darkened room and she heard the steady hum of the computer booting up.
Rika winced as the monitor's light revealed the latest issue of the Tokyo Press, Rika's own opinions column featured front page. When it had come out just under a week ago, Rika had been so proud to see her own name and picture next to the giant headline emblazoned "Sailormoon: A Mediocre Heroine", but now the issue just made her feel ashamed.
Tossing the paper aside, Rika opened her word-processing client. The next issue went to print in just twenty-four hours, and she'd been so high on her previous column's success that she'd written nothing. Meant as an exposé on a phony super heroine, her previous column had been nothing but theories and supposition, but now that Rika had actual substance to report, she found she wasn't sure where to get started. Deciding it would be better just to get started and edit unnecessary bits out later, Rika began typing furiously.
June 24th
Mediocrity and Misconceptions
No good deed goes unpunished; that's how the saying goes. Until today, I didn't understand what it meant. Until today, I was proud of myself. I was proud of where I've gotten and what I've achieved. Last week, I finally got my opinions column onto the front page of the Tokyo Press, a feat that I had never even dreamed I might accomplish, and I was very proud of that. But as of today, the one thing in my life I most wish I could undo is that very article.
You see, in writing that article, I managed to victimize one of the few people in this city who genuinely does good work for nothing at all.
I guess I'll start at the beginning. I left work early today. It was only about four o'clock when I walked out the front door. I stopped by the coffee shop to get a piece of cake and a latté, and walked over to the local park. I had to walk through a grove of trees to get to the bench I usually sit at. It was when I emerged from them that I saw the youma. It must have been fifteen feet tall, and it was covered in spikes that it somehow shot at its opponent - a small, blonde girl in a sailor suit.
Even though I wrote such terrible things about Sailormoon, I'd never before seen her in person. Somehow I imagined she must have been so much taller, so much more intimidating...I don't know what I imagined exactly, but it certainly wasn't a child less than five feet tall facing down something three times her height and easily twenty times her weight.
I won't say she was the most graceful thing I've ever seen, but she dodged the spikes well enough to live to tell the tale.
I was rooted to the spot with fear and fascination. I couldn't scream or call out...all that I did was drop my coffee and cake. The lid on my coffee popped off, and it splattered noisily on the ground. Both Sailormoon and the youma looked over at me, and without thinking about it, Sailormoon dove for me. She knocked me over, and because of that, I escaped becoming a human pincushion. I lost my shoes right there. The heel of one broke, and they both fell off when she knocked me over.
In the next instant she was up, grabbing my hand, and yanking me along behind her. She hid me in the hollowed out trunk of a tree, out of the youma's sight. "You'll be okay," she told me, "as long as you stay here. Don't come out until I come for you, okay?"
I must have nodded, because she smiled. But just as quickly, it faded. She recognized me.
"You're Takashi-san, aren't you," she asked. I thought about lying, but I couldn't. Not to her. She deserved to know what kind of person she'd saved. I said yes.
But instead of sacrificing me to the youma (which I must confess, I briefly thought she might), she just smiled at me again and said, "Well, I guess I'd better do a good job then, Rika-chan".
And she left. I didn't see the fight. I didn't hear anything else for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes. I was huddled up against the back of the hollow, wondering if I would be sitting there until night fall, with my legs covered in the ants which also inhabited the hollow tree when she reappeared. She was still smiling. A little battered, but altogether healthy and hale. She had a few cuts on her legs, and a slightly deeper one across her right cheek, but she still offered me her dirt-smudged hand to help me out of the hollow.
"It's okay, now. See? I brought your shoes back," she said, offering me the broken heels she had clutched in her hand. I took them and cautiously emerged from my hiding place. She leaned down and brushed the ants from my beige slacks. "You're covered in ants, Rika-chan. I'm sorry, I should have found a cleaner place to hide you," she said.
"Why did you hide me? When you knew who I was, why didn't you just let me fend for myself," I asked. I don't know why I asked it. I don't think I even really wanted to know the answer. She thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"I didn't ask for this job, Rika-chan, but now that I've got it, I just have to do my best, right? There are people that depend on me to keep them safe. It's not for me to judge who's worthy and who's not. It's just my job to save them. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, as long as I keep doing what I have to do."
I'm not sure if I started crying then, or if I had been crying before and didn't notice it, but she asked if I wanted a handkerchief.
"I'll write a new article. I'll write the truth this time," I said. At that point, I wanted nothing more than to make it right, to correct the wrong I'd done to that young woman.
"It doesn't matter," she said, smiling brilliantly. "It really doesn't. It's enough that you know, okay? Let's be friends, Rika-chan."
I couldn't help laughing a little at that. The idea that such a young girl would want to be friends with me, when I'm over a decade older than she is, was laughable.
"Okay," I said, "give me your name and phone number, and I'll call you sometime."
"I can't do that," she laughed, "you'd know who I am! What's the mystery in a heroine if everyone knows who she is?"
"That's a good point," I responded.
"I'll look out for you, Rika-chan. Don't worry, okay?" She turned around and dashed away faster than I'd thought possible. I think we both knew that I'd never see her again. But I know she'll keep her promise and look out for me.
From there, I went straight back to the office to write this, my newest column. My opinion of Sailormoon has changed drastically.
As I mentioned in my previous article, she isn't Superman. She doesn't have laser vision, and she does get hurt in her fights sometimes. But Tokyo couldn't have a better heroine. We don't need invincibility. We need a girl in a sailor suit willing to fight evil for all of us, good and bad. If Sailormoon is a mediocre super heroine, I dream of one day achieving mediocrity.
Along with that, I have some advice for you. Don't let me, or anyone else for that matter, make up your mind for you. What's right for me may be wrong for you, so please...make your own opinions, and don't let the opinions of those who don't know the truth decide what's fact or fiction.
I was wrong. I admit it wholeheartedly. I hope you will accept my apologies for my foolish thoughts in my previous column.
And if you ever see Sailormoon, please tell her that Rika-chan says 'thank you'.
The printer spat out a few sheets of paper. Rika collected them, smiling as she paper-clipped them together and jotted a short note to the editor. She left her office, placed the article on the editor's desk, flipped the light switch, and locked the darkened building.
Two days later, the newest issue of the Tokyo Press hit the stands. Takashi Rika enjoyed an even greater success than she had with her previous issue, and for the right reasons.
She was getting ready to leave for the day when a note was slipped under her door. She opened the door quickly, just in time to catch a glimpse of golden hair disappearing out the front door. Curiously, she picked up the small, pink slip of paper.
It read, "You're welcome, Rika-chan."