"When a person commits a certain moral act, he is not yet virtuous; he is only virtuous if this mode of behavior is a permanent feature of his character."
Sometimes Hegel, despite his rather peculiar research and theses, actually spoke relatively correct thoughts. Or, more accurately, he repeated and complicated the words of those who lived long before him. Though every person, to one degree or another, has engaged in pouring from the empty into the void.
For instance, Democritus had a similar saying, but one far more understandable to the common man: "One should accustom oneself to virtuous deeds and actions, not to speeches about virtue."
Simply put, it's not enough to be good once when it's convenient for you. To be truly good, you are obliged to prove it time and time again through your actions.
And that, at times, is very, very exhausting. Especially when you are a pubertal teenager in the prime of your life.
"So, you're sure you don't have any problems?"
Taking my eyes off the window, where spring was in full bloom, I turned my attention to the young woman sitting opposite me.
She looked about twenty-five, likely a fresh university graduate. Long hair tied in a high ponytail, pretty facial features, and large green eyes. Perhaps one of her parents or ancestors was from Europe. Add to the mix a pleasing figure, emphasized by a black top under a white lab coat, and it becomes clear why few male students skip her consultations.
"Nothing specific, Shimizu-san," I said, shaking my head slightly while maintaining eye contact. "Just a bit nervous about the upcoming exams, and well..."
Pretending to be embarrassed, I glanced to the side, piquing the psychologist's interest. She leaned forward slightly.
"What is it? Don't be afraid, you can speak freely," she cleared her throat. "Everything said within these walls stays within them."
"Sometimes it's hard for me to concentrate because of... well..." I awkwardly scratched the back of my head. "Distracting factors."
As if unable to control myself, I stole a glance slightly below Shimizu-san's face. Once I was sure she caught the direction of my gaze, I looked away again.
To her credit, the woman didn't laugh. She merely shook her head understandingly.
"There's nothing wrong with that. You're entering the age where 'such' things start to become attractive. The main thing is not to let them take control over you, keeping in mind that desires must sometimes remain strictly desires." She curved her plump lips into a kind smile.
She didn't give specific advice, sticking to general directions while softly marking the boundaries that shouldn't be crossed. Or rather, an imitation of boundaries that, with enough diligence, could be pushed back.
"Thank you for the advice," I bowed in gratitude, trying to hide a hint of instinctive disappointment.
It would be a lie to say she didn't attract me. She did, of course. Just like most of my female classmates who were starting to gain curves in the right places.
I'm a guy, after all, without any serious problems regarding libido or orientation. It's normal that my gaze constantly falls where a decent person wouldn't look. Or rather, where they would pretend not to look, since primitive desires are inherent to all primates. We, as the higher species, simply know how to mask it under a thick layer of self-deception mixed with societal norms.
"You're very welcome." Considering her work done, the girl flipped a page on her tablet. "Be a good boy and call the next student in."
Nodding, I stood up, taking one last look at her slender legs before heading for the exit. At the last moment, just as I was about to turn the handle, I stopped at the sound of the psychologist's voice.
"Shinji-kun." Turning around, I saw her flash a wide smile and pump her fist in the air. "Don't worry about the exams. You're a smart boy; you'll pass everything without any trouble!"
Involuntarily smiling back, I gave her a thumbs-up and walked out of the office with a much peppier gait.
A good way to lift the mood, I approve. First, act like a professional teacher-student, then, at the very end, briefly switch to familiarity to show closeness and grant a sense of being "special."
"Finally!" Without waiting for me to move away, a guy from a parallel class pushed past me and burst inside. "Shimizu-san, I'm here! Did you miss me?"
"Toshiro-kun, behave yourself!" the psychologist's stern voice echoed from within.
Shaking my head, I passed the line of waiting "patients" and headed down the stairs to the first floor, toward the lockers.
I disapprove of such behavior from a peer. I won't deny that compared to our female classmates, Shimizu-san looks like a true goddess; nevertheless, one must understand that she requires an appropriate approach. I'd say a unique one, since she is not only biologically older but also knows far more about life than teenagers burdened by explosive libidos.
It wasn't that I specifically wanted to enter into a sexual relationship with her (though I won't completely deny the thought). Rather, the psychologist interested me as a conversationalist. I wanted something deeper, not this "doctor-patient" role. Perhaps something like a pleasant late-night meeting tête-à-tête over a cup of green tea in a dark kitchen, discussing topics usually impermissible in the light of day.
And did I mention that by all standards, she's a real beauty? What in the world is better than a lady with a pleasant appearance and a developed brain? Nothing, come to think of it...
But dreaming isn't harmful. What's harmful is not dreaming at all.
---
"You're back?" My uncle was sitting on the sofa as usual, feet up on an ottoman, reading a newspaper. He didn't even turn his head at my arrival, completely absorbed in the news.
"Yeah." Dropping my backpack and taking off my shoes, I walked past him toward the most important place in the house.
Opening the fridge, I grabbed a carton of orange juice and realized with horror that it was almost completely empty.
"Saya stopped by." As if sensing my indignation in the Warp, the man flipped a page. "I warned her it was yours. But... you know my daughter."
I knew. I knew all too well.
Glaring with displeasure at the cut corner of the carton, which bore a teasing smudge of lipstick, I poured the remaining liquid into the sink and tossed the empty container into the trash.
I wasn't squeamish.
I just didn't like it when someone deliberately tried to annoy me without a valid reason. What was my crime? Is she still offended that her last boyfriend was "accidentally" caught red-handed by the police while trying to sell illegal substances?
That wasn't my fault; the idiot was to blame. He shouldn't have stuck his nose where it didn't belong or talked about things he shouldn't have.
Or at least, he should have made sure the person he was talking to didn't find out.
But I found out.
"By the way, a letter came for you." My uncle lowered his newspaper slightly. Apparently, they were working him to the bone at the office; look at those dark circles under his eyes.
"From who?" In the absence of juice, I settled for a glass of cold milk. Calcium is good for your health. And health, in principle, is useful (thankfully, I wasn't genetically lactose intolerant).
"From Gendo."
"An actual letter-letter, or an email?" Putting the dirty glass in the sink, I returned to the living room and sat down next to my uncle.
Without looking at me, like a magician, he plucked a classic paper envelope out of thin air and handed it to me.
"He never changes his traditions. Supposedly a prominent scientist running an entire organization, yet he uses such primitive methods." Shaking my head, I tore open the envelope and pulled out the message. "Hah, so it's easier for him to print text and send it by mail than to just send a file electronically?"
My uncle chucked softly.
"Gendo is a very strange man. However," he glanced at me, not hiding a faint smile, "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I snorted back, reading the text.
What I like about my father is his dislike for meaningless pleasantries, a trait I entirely share. Dry, to the point, without a ton of filler or dancing around the bush.
Nevertheless...
"He's asking me to come," I said, folding the paper in half, putting it back in the envelope, and pulling out a train ticket. "And urgently, at that."
"When?" My uncle raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
Checking once more to ensure my eyes weren't deceiving me, I let out a chuckle.
"Tomorrow."
Sighing, my temporary guardian folded his newspaper and massaged the bridge of his nose.
"Gendo..."
That single name carried so much emotion that it was more than enough to understand what he felt about such news.
I, however, treated the surprise with much more optimism.
Given my father's character and line of work, the reason for the summons was clearly no trifle. Accordingly, something potentially interesting was on the horizon. Certainly better than attending dull classes like Classical Japanese Literature.
And I hate Classical Japanese Literature.
---
One gym bag was enough to hold my belongings. A change of clothes, a player with headphones, my favorite mug with a print of a sickle and hammer against an orange... and a couple of actual oranges. A daily dose of Vitamin C is necessary for full vital functions!
My uncle dutifully drove me to the station—I felt a bit guilty that he had to get up so early—and after a sparse goodbye, set off for work.
My guardian had always been like this: in all the years of living with him, we never developed a strong emotional attachment. I never poked into his life, and he never poked into mine, thereby giving me relative freedom of action. The same couldn't be said for his daughter, who, to my relief, had started university six months ago and only appeared at home in occasional raids.
Some might consider such an environment unfavorable for a growing teenager, but for me, these were ideal conditions. Minimum restrictions, maximum opportunities (at least those available to a regular student). I never noticed a strong longing for parental love and affection in myself. True, due to this early self-sufficiency, I ended up in unpleasant situations a couple of times that landed me in a child psychologist's office, but that's all in the past.
Now, I am the paragon of a normal guy in his prime with excellent self-esteem. If bouts of narcissism occur, they happen exclusively in private in front of a mirror...
And behind a locked door. That last rule arose thanks to the aforementioned daughter of my uncle.
She really loved to forget that other people's personal boundaries existed.
Stretching, I looked around.
I was in solitary splendor on the platform; there wasn't a soul around.
A light sea breeze blew from the nearby coast. The rising sun hadn't yet managed to scorch the air. And the faint signal of a railroad crossing echoed somewhere in the distance.
Thinking it over, I decided not to take out my headphones, instead sitting on the bench and closing my eyes.
After all, sometimes in life you need to catch a moment of shaky, fragile balance with nature, letting it immerse you in the sweet bliss of serenity. No anxieties. No worries. As if the whole world belongs exclusively to you and you alone.
Nevertheless, if you constantly close yourself off from your surroundings, it's very easy to become withdrawn and surrender to internal negative thoughts, creating an impenetrable dome that is quite difficult to escape later. Often, many people cannot do it at all without support from loved ones.
Raising my palm and squinting, I looked at the sky through my splayed fingers.
It is much harder to repeatedly find something good, something positive, something that gives even the slightest meaning to life. And why?
It can be compared to the choice of standing on a slope and realizing that there is still a long way to go to the summit, scrambling over ledges, while the sloping path down is so tempting. And never mind that there is an impenetrable abyss at the end of that path. Of course, many will immediately try to dash upward toward the desired goal, but at some point, they realize that every step becomes harder than the last.
And what do you do then?
Overcoming yourself and ignoring the fatigue to keep climbing, or loosening your grip and letting gravity drag you down?
As far as I'm concerned, both options are mediocre, because there is a third, much more suitable one.
Find a good spot, rest, gather your strength, and only then return to conquering the mountain called Life. The main thing is not to relax too much, because stagnation always follows progress and regress like a shadow.
And, oh gods, sometimes it is the most tempting of all, seducing you to forget all your problems and just spit at the ceiling, abandoning all ambitions and desires, living like a stone in a riverbed.
Sighing, I fished an orange out of my backpack and, with movements refined to the point of habit, peeled it, revealing the inviting orange flesh that I just wanted to sink my teeth into, spraying sweet-and-sour juice everywhere.
Which is exactly what I did, taking advantage of the lack of people around.
Having completely annihilated the fruit and wiped myself down with wet wipes, I smiled contentedly and leaned back, feeling my mood steadily rising.
There is nothing better than a good session of reflection followed by a snack.
It would be nice to read something appropriate, too. Nothing too heavy, but not trashy pulp either... pity nothing suitable has come my way lately.
Well, it happens. An unreachable ideal is unreachable precisely because it's impossible to grasp.
---
"Next stop: Tokyo-3," a pleasant female voice announced over the train's speakers.
Opening my eyes, I winced slightly and tried to sit up straight, immediately grimacing at the needles of pain in my cramped limbs. I know full well that sitting with my legs crossed is a bad idea, yet I do it constantly. Now I have to wait for the numbness to fade.
There was no one else inside the train, which evoked mixed emotions.
On the one hand, it was nice; you could sleep peacefully without worrying about someone seeing you drool from an open mouth.
On the other, there was a persistent feeling that my father had gone out of his way to buy out all the seats, pre-emptively ramping up the tension. I mean, I'm not exactly an important enough person to warrant such actions. You start thinking: what if there's a catch in all this?
Kami-sama, and my mouth is bone-dry. Should I use my tactical reserve of oranges?
I rolled the thought around in my head, weighing the pros and cons, before reaching for a bottle of plain water. The taste was mediocre, of course, but it was better to save the precious citrus resource.
Hmm, am I getting a bit too obsessed with these fruits?
Nah, it's fine. There are people who can live on nothing but hamburgers, and they don't seem to suffer any pangs of conscience.
Waiting until the train came to a stop, I spent another ten seconds staring at colorful advertising posters and then, with a sigh, stood up abruptly.
I immediately grabbed the back of the seat, narrowly avoiding a faceplant on the floor as my knee treacherously buckled, failing to handle the sudden load.
Hobbling, I stepped out onto the platform and squinted immediately as the bright rays of the sun hit my face.
In his letter, my father had provided the contact details of the woman who was supposed to meet me and take me to him.
So, the next question: should I call this Misato Katsuragi right now, or walk around for a bit?
Hmm...
Stretching my leg and making sure it was listening to me again, I pulled out my cell phone with a sigh. Fun is fun, but first I had to deal with pressing problems without giving in to the squeaky urges of procrastination.
I know myself. First a walk, then a snack, and then I'll want to sleep. Snap your fingers and that's it—the whole day wasted.
As they say, a lazy person tries to do everything quickly and correctly, while a workaholic will stretch the process out almost indefinitely.
I considered myself a truly lazy person.
With those thoughts, I dialed the number on the note and held the phone to my ear, waiting for the ringing to stop.
After about twenty seconds, it stopped, and a pleasant female voice answered:
"Hello?"
Double-checking that I had read the name correctly, I responded:
"Good afternoon. This is Katsuragi-san, correct? My name is Shinji Ikari and..."
I didn't get to finish because, upon hearing my name, the girl practically screamed into the receiver, momentarily deafening me.
"Shinji-kun?! Wonderful! Where are you right now?"
I looked at the display board above my head.
"Platform three."
"Great! Come on out then, I'm already waiting for you by the phone booth! Don't be late!" And without listening for a reply, she hung up.
Twirling the phone in my hands, I shrugged and put it back in my pocket.
What an interesting and, at first impression, extremely energetic individual. I'm actually curious to see what she looks like in reality. Hopefully not too bad—I didn't harbor negativity toward unattractive people, of course, but I preferred to spend my time in the company of those who were easy on the eyes. Or, at the very least, easy on the ears, since sometimes a person's charisma completely eclipsed defects like a missing eye, half a missing cheek, or a pimple the size of a forehead.
Regardless, why guess when I'll see for myself shortly?
Tossing my bag over my shoulder, I headed for the station exit at a brisk pace, not wanting to waste any more time.