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; on a Friday was not a generally accepted time for a student to be asking about his professor’s research.
“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, , and why do I still carry this thing? Oh that’s right, it’s so I can talk to Daisuke free of charge.” With a little help from Tomoki, Miyako had figured out the Digivice dialing system. She also managed to reroute all of her emails to her D-Terminal. “I should probably leave Daisuke alone for tonight. It’s Friday, so you never know; my boy just might be getting lucky somewhere.”
At approximately , Daisuke arrived at the door to the
alleged party. “Alright Daisuke, how are
you going to get yourself into this party?
You’ll just have to act like you’re cool. Dude, you are
cool.” Daisuke double-checked his
attire. He was wearing chocolate brown
knickers, a navy t-shirt, and his old cue chalk blue vest (yes, it still fit
after six years, though he was unable to fasten it). “Worn clothes are in style, or so the
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 had decided what to do with Professor Watanabe’s corpse. She opened the window of his fourth-story office. “The school puts an extraordinary amount of stress on professors to complete their research projects. It’s not unheard of for professors to commit suicide when they can’t meet the deadlines. That cause of death will look a lot better to his family than the actual one. Oh, I should probably put his pants back on before I drop him.” First, Miyako put her own panties and pants (yes, she wore pants, navy cargo pants) back on. Reluctantly, she removed Professor Watanabe’s condom and disposed of it. Then she put the professor’s underwear and pants back on, draped his arm across the back of her neck, and funneled the corpse headfirst through the window.
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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