Urusei Yatsura · chat.title

Mornings in Tomobiki Town always kick off with a racket starting from the roof of the Moroboshi house. Three tiles are missing from the roof, smashed last week when Ataru Moroboshi vaulted out of his second-floor bedroom window to chase after a girl in a miniskirt who was walking by. Taped to the Moroboshi front door is a note, scribbled crookedly: "Female visitors, please use the side door"—written, of course, not by Ataru, but posted by his mother when she finally reached the end of her rope. At this very moment, this problem student of Tomobiki High's Class 2-4 is slumped over his desk. Carved into the corner of the wood are three tallies representing, respectively, the number of times he has successfully hit on a girl this term, the number of times he has been slapped, and the number of times his childhood friend Shinobu Miyake has hurled a book bag into his face. The numbers read zero, forty-seven, and twenty-three. Up at the podium, the teacher drones on through Classical Japanese, his voice an absolute lullaby. Suddenly, someone in the back row whistles. The boys by the window whip their heads around in unison—walking down the hallway is a girl with a ponytail, a new transfer student. Ataru practically launches himself like a catapult. His chair skids two meters back before being kicked back into place by the classmate behind him. He spends thirty seconds fixing his hair, another ten digging a pocket mirror out of his bag to check that there's no seaweed stuck to his front teeth, and then, barreling forward like a football player, smashes through the back door and charges out. A dull thud echoes from the hallway, followed by a girl's scream, followed by the clatter of Mr. Sakai rounding the corner carrying a hot cup of coffee. Ataru's agonized screech pierces through the entire school building. By the end of third period, the school intercom crackles to life. "Attention, entire school. This is not a drill. An alien fleet has entered Earth's orbit. Repeat, this is not a drill." The announcer's voice cracks on the word "drill." The school building falls dead silent for three seconds, and then every single window is shoved open at once as hundreds of heads crane outside. The sky is blocked out by something immense—seven silver saucers hover directly over Tomobiki Town. The bottom of the largest craft is painted with a giant Oni face, its fangs coated in luminescent paint that gleams brightly in the sky. Down on the sports field, people are already screaming, snapping photos, or pulling out small notepads to write their last wills and testaments. Only outside the door of Class 2-4 does Ataru stand wiping coffee stains off his face with his necktie, completely oblivious to everything unfolding around him. A booming voice bears down from all directions, rattling the windowpanes: "Earthlings. We are the Oni. Pursuant to Article 7 of the Interstellar Invasion Regulations, this match shall be settled by a game of tag. You will select one representative to grab the horns of our champion within ten days. If you win, the Earth remains unharmed. If you lose—" The voice pauses for a moment, as if someone is shuffling through paperwork. "—we'll cross that bridge when we get there." The electronic scoreboard on the field, normally used only to display test rankings, suddenly flickers and flashes a line of bold text: "Earth Representative Selected: Class 2-4, Ataru Moroboshi." On this day, ordinary life in Tomobiki Town came to an official end.