He touched his forehead in an attempt to assess the situation.
'Ouch!' he cried out reflexively as an intense pain suddenly shot through him.
At the same time, from the center of his forehead, he felt a pulsing sensation.
It was a bit like the drunken feeling he'd experienced when Grandfather Shigekuni had given him a little alcohol—but he hadn't touched a drop of booze.
Naota's face turned pale as he examined the bulge more gently.
As he'd imagined, it was a single, hard, long bulge—about five inches long, it extended straight out from his forehead. If he grasped it firmly, the part connected to his head hurt.
Then, Naota remembered that the Vespa girl had hit his head with her guitar that afternoon. Mamimi had said they should go to the hospital; after all, a bike had hit him. Although nothing seemed wrong, he really should have gone to get checked out by a doctor. He had ignored her, saying that all he had were bruises. With Mamimi there, he had played up his 'Cool Mint' image.
Naota turned on the light and put on his glasses.
No, it wasn't a dream: There really was something sticking out of his head. A dark blue object projected straight from his forehead. The object actually was less swollen than it was angular. In fact, 'horn' was a more suitable description than 'bulge.'
He recalled the diseases described in horror comics—like those in the beginning of 'Black Jack' — rather than any conditions found in more realistic media.
Naota was overcome with anxiety.
Then, he received another shock: With each pulse, the horn grew a little bigger.
This was no a joke!
Naota panicked and pushed down on the growth. Unexpectedly, the horn easily retracted into his skull. At the same time, the throbbing pain eased, as well.
In the silent room, the only sound was the ticking of the clock.
After he'd pushed the horn back in completely, everything seemed to have been merely a bad dream. Had he been asleep, after all?
Yes, he must have been dreaming. Logically speaking, that was the best explanation.
Fearfully, he removed his hand from his head.
Apparently, God was not in a good mood that night. Left alone, the horn kept growing.
The next day, Naota stuck a bandage over his forehead.
One of his female classmates, Eri Ninamori, called out to him as he neared the school gates. 'Morning, Naota!'
'Hey,' he answered indifferently, quickly heading toward the entrance.
He'd used an extra-strength bandage on his forehead to make sure his horn didn't burst out. He'd made doubly sure of this by adding a few additional drops of superglue. (Imagine the horrors he'd face when the time came to peel it off.)
Anyone who thinks that maybe he'd gone a bit too far obviously hasn't known the distress caused by having a horn sprout from one's head. However, Naota Nandaba did have a strange horn growing from his head.
Naota, the devil.
He couldn't let anyone know the terrible truth. It certainly wouldn't fit his persona. However, his bandage was pretty noticeable, as it was stuck right in the middle of his forehead.
He knew what would happen: Making such an effort to hide something would, of course, paradoxically generate interest and attract prying eyes. If only they would appear less interested… a bandage itself was commonplace enough. Perhaps people would think he'd grazed himself and then covered the wound with a bandage—nothing extraordinary about that.
Naturally, that wasn't the way things would go.
'What happened to you?' Ninamori asked.
'Huh?'
'The bandage.'
'Oh, that…' began Naota. 'Um, yesterday, my grandpa and a door-to-door solicitor had a massive fight. I tried to stop it, and I ended up with this!'
Naota related the story he'd prepared in advance. He'd been worried that if he claimed to have bumped into a lamppost or something like that, it would sound suspicious, thus further heightening people's curiosity. Although it didn't really matter if people discovered that some girl had hit him with her Vespa, it was an outlandish tale. He'd decided describing a realistic-sounding story was better than describing the unbelievable actual reality.
In this world, there always will be meddlers who, seeing through the camouflage, feel they must stick in their noses. And thus, here was Ninamori, a perfect example of this type of person. Because her father served as Mabase's mayor, she remained aware of her 'princess' persona. She was class president, the sort of person who unfailingly would help out her friends with any problems whatsoever, and who delighted in her teachers' approval. (Indeed, she was also the first to report a schoolmate for skipping classroom cleaning duty.)
Most troublesome of all, she seemed to treat Naota with a strange sense of camaraderie because of his excellent grades. She often sought to confer with him, no matter how run-of-the-mill a matter might be.
'That looks awfully strange. It doesn't suit you,' opined Ninamori, looking at Naota's bandage. 'You sure you're not hiding something?'
She had unusually good intuition.
It was still early, but Gaku was already in the classroom. He and Naota had been in the same class since the third grade. He was a hot-blooded guy with a clean-shaven head and horn-rim glasses. Stretched out, he was reading an 'Adults' Illustrated Weekly.' As expected, upon seeing the bandage, Gaku asked if Naota had injured himself; then, he let the subject drop.
'Anyway, did you hear, Naota? That light-speed Vespa showed up again.'
'Light-speed Vespa?' Naota repeated.
