My name is Yuki Nagato. At the suggestion of my best friend, Kiyoshi Kujo (simply known as 'Kyon' to others), I am starting a journal. The reason he suggested this is because he has suspected for a while now that something is troubling me emotionally. The reason I have taken his advice is because he is correct in his suspicion.

To put it in the simplest terms possible, the reason I am writing this journal is because I am in love.

…

It would appear that merely writing this much has already proven more therapeutic than I had expected. However, I am far from finished.

The subject of my affections is a time traveller by the name of Mikuru Asahina, who, making matters more difficult, appears to be afraid of me. I have wondered what to do about this for years now, despite the Data Overmind's constant insistence that I ignore the subject altogether. This is but one of many reasons I have struggled to find a solution for my problem, but I am hoping that this journal will somehow be a step towards such a solution.

Anyway. As much as I have been obsessing over this, there is still a limit to how much I can write about it. If this journal is to live up to its description, then I must write in it about my daily life.

Entry 1
December 10th, 2004

There is little to write about in regards to life at home. I live alone, and my time is typically spent reading a book until it is time to depart for school. Most of the more interesting books I read are kept at home, but I still quite enjoy the books at school. Speaking of which, now is an appropriate time to leave.

Upon arrival, I am almost immediately greeted with the sight of Mikuru Asahina. As you may have guessed from reading the journal up to this point, I consider this to be a pleasant sight, but I am sure that I would enjoy it far more if I were able to express how pleasing it is to see her. Though I suppose that writing these feelings down is a step towards that.

One of the traits I envy most in humans is how easily expression comes to them. If they wake up one morning and look outside to see a pleasant sunrise, they cannot possibly forget to smile. When something frightens them, a number of involuntary movements show this. Mikuru Asahina was one of the first humans I ever met, and to this day she continues to be a prominent example of what I love seeing from humans, but especially from her.

"G-good morning, Miss Nagato," she says. She appears to be forcing a smile, but it is still beautiful to see.

"Good morning." I nod, as is a habit of mine. Judging by her sudden haste in entering the school building, my response marks the end of this brief conversation. To anyone who knew how we normally behave around one another, this interaction be considered progress. Speaking of one such individual...

"Hey Nagato," Kiyoshi says. "I don't usually see you this early. You oversleep or something?"

"I have not," I say.

He looks at me and frowns slightly. Based on past experience, it is likely that I have mistaken a joke or a sarcastic comment for a sincere question. This has lead to many an awkward situation (for him, anyway) in the past, although I may be able to do something about this if I quickly change the subject.

"I have started writing a journal, as you suggested," I say. "It already seems to be doing a great deal of help."

"That's great." He smiles. "Can I see it?"

"At the moment, there is little to see," I say. "I have not yet amassed enough data for an entire entry."

He does not immediately reply, but his facial expression suggests that he has an issue with my statement, but isn't sure where to begin. Eventually, he speaks again.

"A journal isn't really about collecting data and writing it down," he says. "It's more about... It's more about what you're feeling. If it's helping you like you say it is, then you're probably already doing that, but it should be your first priority with this thing, okay?"

I nod.

"And another thing," he says. "You don't have to show it to me. If you want, it can be confidential. It's your decision."

I ponder this briefly. "So far, there is nothing in it that I would mind you reading."

"If you say so." His smile returns. "I don't want to be too intrusive. I might stumble on some secrets mankind was not meant to know or something."

Although I cannot say for certain, this appears to be a joke. Although, considering my inability to laugh or smile, being aware of this makes little difference.

"Anyway, I'll see you later." He departs, and I follow, our paths only diverging when we reach our respective classrooms.

During my first year attending this school, none of the work given to me posed any sort of challenge, and the only ones who could match me intellectually were fellow interfaces, all of whom have since transferred from this school. This year, however, there is a boy known as Akira Hirano, who often comes close to my level and sometimes even manages to outdo me in some areas. If I were petty enough, I might consider him a rival, but as I do not, I pay little attention to him. But today, I find my attention drawn to him, or more specifically, what he has recently been eating.

To put it bluntly, he appears to be in the process of digesting human tissue.

I try to keep in mind the possibility that he ate without realizing what he was eating, and advise anybody reading to consider the same. However, as I am thinking about this, he unexpectedly turns to look me in the eye and smiles maliciously, as though he knows something that he should not logically know unless I were to inform him of it. This leaves me feeling disturbed for the rest of the day, and as a consequence, I am unable to concentrate on my work. At the end of the day, I consider heading towards the Literature Clubroom, as I normally do, but after some consideration I instead decide to confront Akira Hirano.

"Excuse me."

"Yes?" He turns towards me, wearing a smile considerably more innocent than what I saw earlier."

"When you looked at me this morning... Were you trying to convey a message?"

"You looked at me first," he says. "I suppose if I was trying to say anything, it must have been a simple 'hello'."

I am hesitant to believe him, and he seems to be aware of this.

"Listen," he says. "I know you and I have never really spoken to each other before, but I still feel an air of uneasiness when we're together."

I suppose you could call it that.

"I was pondering the matter this afternoon," he continues, "and I had a magnificent idea. Yuki Nagato... Would you like to come to my house for dinner this evening?"

My answer comes slowly. "...I am not sure."

"That's understandable." He shrugs. "Maybe you should consult with your friends? I'm sure they can offer some advice."

Without another word, I depart and follow his advice.

As I describe my situation to the rest of the SOS Brigade, I am met with a number of differing reactions. The first I notice is Mikuru Asahina's, who appears to be unsure in regards to how she feels about what she's been told. Kiyoshi appears undecided, and Itsuki Koizumi seems indifferent. Finally, Haruhi Suzumiya has an uneasy expression on her face, but does not seem to be as worried as Mikuru Asahina is.

"Akira Hirano..." She speaks slowly, as if chewing something with an unpleasant taste. "...Ah. I remember now. He's the president of the Supernatural Phenomena Research Society. Or he was, anyway."

"I remember them," Kiyoshi says. "You said they were a bunch of occult freaks. You think they've changed much since then?"

"How should I know," she says. "Still, if he's inviting you to dinner, then maybe he's a little nicer than I thought. A little. Or maybe he's just a pervert."

This suggestion in particular seems to worry Mikuru Asahina, but she remains silent.

"I'm sure Nagato can handle herself if something like that happens," Kiyoshi says. "You can go if you want to."

Haruhi nods. "If there's any trouble, just give me a call! Anyway, now that that's out of the way, I have an announcement to make!"

The rest of the brigade looks mildly intrigued, simply waiting for her to continue.

"For Christmas this year, Tsuruya is taking us to Canada!"

Kiyoshi appears impressed by this at first, but realization soon hits him, and he shudders noticeably. He repeatedly opens his mouth to speak, but keeps hesitating until he is finally able to voice his concerns.

"You're not expecting to meet Asakura there, are you?"

"Of course not," Haruhi says. "Canada's a big place. Do any of us even know where she's living?"

Kiyoshi quickly says "no," and the rest of us soon follow.

"There we have it then," she says. "We'll be going to Quebec, for anyone wondering. I haven't heard anything suspicious about where we're staying, but that's suspicious enough for me, so keep your eyes peeled! First prize goes to whoever finds a yeti!"

Having been, in Haruhi's words, 'pumped full of excitement' for the journey, we are dismissed, and I soon meet with Akira Hirano once more.

"Have you reached a decision?" he says.

I hesitate one second before answering. "I will go."

"I'm glad to hear it." He turns around, gesturing for me to follow him.

Akira Hirano's house is fairly large, with the interior resembling that of a manor in 19th century England. In the main hall, there is a very large bookcase, which I find to be convenient, as one can easily determine somebody's character based on what books they own.

I scan the shelves in a matter of seconds, and some titles that catch my attention include numerous stories by Howard Phillips Lovecraft, A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess, The Catcher in the Rye by Jerome David Salinger, and most notably, Red Dragon and its sequels by Thomas Harris. For those unfamiliar with the last title, it may help to know that among the sequels in question is The Silence of the Lambs, which I am sure needs no introduction.

"It surprises me," I say, "that I have not found Mein Kampf on these shelves."

He laughs in a manner that, from anyone else, might sound charismatic. "Are you serious? Hitler may have been a very influential man, but from what I've heard, his book is horrible. No, I choose the books you see here very carefully. If I don't like what I read, I burn it."

If I were able to express my disapproval through a change in facial expression, I would do so, but instead I decide to change the subject. "Are your parents home?"

"Oh, they're dead," he says casually. "But they left me in the care of some very talented servants. Speaking of which, please excuse me..." He retreats into an unknown room, returning after a few minutes. "Dinner's ready."

I follow him into the dining room, where I find what appears to be two steak dinners, but closer inspection reveals otherwise.

"Do you realize what this is?" I ask.

"I suppose there's no point in being subtle anymore," he says. "Yes, I do. And I quite enjoy it."

Despite having expected an answer to this effect, I remain unable to reply for almost a minute before speaking again.

"You eat human beings as though they were cattle..."

He chuckles dismissively. "The cattle I eat behave far more human than they do."

Again, I am temporarily rendered silent. When I am able to speak once again, I decide to change the subject.

"Earlier, you said that there was an air of uneasiness whenever we are together. I believe I have managed to reach a more specific conclusion. I cannot speak for both of us, but when I'm in your presence I feel a strong nausea."

He laughs, this time more loudly. "Are you confessing to me, Miss Nagato?"

I vomit on him, mostly out of spite but partially because I genuinely feel the need to. Before he is able to respond, I leave the house as quickly as possible and return to my own home.

After what I have seen today, I feel that I must go to bed, but before I can do so there is something I must do. I pick up the phone and call the police, informing them of what I have seen and where I have seen it, and as soon as they agree to investigate, the conversation ends, and I am about to get some rest when the phone suddenly rings.

"Good evening, Miss Nagato," Akira Hirano says. "I just wanted to say that I forgive you for what you did before you left earlier, but also, there's a question I'd like you to answer."

I consider hanging up the phone, but before I am able to do so he resumes speaking.

"If the Data Overmind is able to modify data, but isn't able to create it from scratch, then where did your physical body come from?"

I try to move, but something is preventing me from doing so.

"Oh, and by the way," he says, "I know your true identity. Good night!"

He hangs up the phone, and due to my inability to do the same, I instead drop mine. Slowly, and yet with little hesitation, I crawl into bed, eager for this day to end.