Episode № 4. Master of Ceremonies.
- The incomparable Maiji Kuiper — only today and only for YOU — performs in YOUR City! A one-man show like no other! Don't miss the exclusive event from the Genius of Speech and the Shaper of Destinies! Turn your weekend into a true celebration — with HIM and only HIM!-
Staring at the brightly colored billboard, where a smiling man jabbed his scepter at random bystanders and car drivers, Maiji was seriously inspecting the photoshopped image of himself — and there it was, a tiny little wrinkle under his chin the web designers forgot to edit out! What a bunch of parasites. He'd explicitly told those wet blanket morons to airbrush every single pixel of his noble profile, and these lazy oafs just went and half-assed it. Sure, they didn't technically work for him, but they were gonna be fired anyway! He swore by the Holy Name of Saint Marc Jacobs!
Speaking of fashion — how do I look, darlings? That question was already voiced aloud, and the two brownnosers, Casey and Stacey, immediately sang their praise to their Glorious Leader:
Oh, Sire, you're flawless, like an ostrich feather gliding through a packed chicken Damn – The Great Man grinned, – but how many times do I have to repeat myself: not sire, Messir. Always capitalize the title. Always.
They folded their middle and ring fingers downward, forming the sacred -M- for Maiji. Some madman once told him the gesture came from the hip-hop scene and meant something about a coast or whatever, but the Master never borrows — the Master transforms.
Frankly, he was getting too distracted by these blockheads, and you should never trust flattery. So it was time for him to assess his outfit personally, as the true Paragon of Precision and Attention to Detail. Of course, there were never flaws in his appearance — but still, the flock must be rewarded with his royal posture and divine clothing. Yes, yes, they didn't deserve it, but sometimes even fools should be spoiled.
Now then: his elegant, slender legs were dressed in blue painter's canvas trousers, symbolizing hard work and commitment to the cause. On his feet: brand new slip-ons with a diamond pattern — clearly signaling inner freedom and a love of quality leisure.
And what's that draped over his fine muscular torso, blessed with just a hint of charming pudge? Naturally, a tailcoat with elongated flaps, silver embroidery, and chunky tin buttons — the very embodiment of limitless creativity, gallantry, and sophistication. He was a dandy, not some donkey! And tying it all together — the most elegant and subtle accessory of them all: a head bandana, making a bold statement about determination and unshakeable confidence.
Bellissimo.
Everything he needed for the first part of his weekend ensemble — check. He'd change into something else later, but this was a perfect opener. That miserable, joyless Casey had begged him to add something that showed respect for Japan, but the Maître rejected the idea with a firm and unarguable argument: -I am a Supra-Worldly Being and belong only to the Almighty Cosmos that birthed me.- The pitiful fool shut up the second he heard that capital-A Argument.
His pre-show evening ritual was wrapping up, and Messir Kuiper decided to guide his beautiful legs toward the hall where his first Training in Japan — in Shizuoka — would take place. His lackeys flittered around his coat tails while he strutted boldly toward his chufus — his devoted fans. On the way, his eyes flicked back to the billboard, and he nearly choked with rage. No, no, no, think of something else!
His tour would both begin and end right here, today, because the Central Church of Religious Technology had sternly informed him that funding was being cut, and he should cool it, since his antics were apparently -casting a shadow on the Church's reputation.- What did they know? Since when could Art and Business, united in his one glorious person, just be shut down like that? Who else could bring the Truth to the masses, if not him? His followers — oops, listeners — needed him!
But the bank accounts were locked, leaving only a thin financial trickle, just enough for new outfits, billboard rentals, the venue, lighting guys, and other peasants. His dear Casey and Stacey weren't
getting paid, nor was sweet ol' Vinny — but they'd manage, because personal jets don't buy themselves.
With a frustrated sigh, he kicked open the back door, and his assistants, instantly sensing his mood, began massaging his arms and legs. He stood there a couple of minutes, savoring the calming rhythm of their grips and rubs, then shot off toward the dressing room to put on makeup and powder up. Just a touch — after all, true Beauty doesn't need a second opinion…
… – GREATNESS has a name, and that name is MAÎTRE MAIJI KUIPER! Give it up!
The thousand-seat hall exploded in applause. Everyone jumped to their feet, whooping, hopping with excitement, folding their fingers into the iconic shape of the letter -M.-
Slightly parting the curtain, Maiji inhaled the refreshing aroma of Worship and closed his eyes, listening to the Sonata of All-Consuming Love.
After the sacred ten minutes had passed—just enough time for the crowd to steep like overbrewed tea—he stepped into the spotlight with solemn calm. He waited, of course, not to bow to the audience, but for them to bow to him. Only then, only then, could the ceremony begin.
He gazed into their ecstatic, twitching faces, and a tremble brushed his heart. He pitied them—his little, helpless, spiritual peasants. A crystalline tear shimmered in his eye as the Hunter of Human Desires spoke with a broken voice:
My babies… my little chufuses…
The hall roared again, morphing into a multi-limbed monster of limbs, torsos, and screaming throats:
Maiji! You're here! Finally!
He gestured for them to continue with their fanboy/fangirl genuflections, and the chorus chanted again—not to the heavens, sadly, but to the ceiling tiles and dusty air ducts:
Wa-WÁ! Gua-WÁ!
As the last echo faded, the Great Orator turned philosophical:
Do you even know what that means? Of course not! A mollusk doesn't ponder the killer whale about to devour it—it just floats. Like all of you: empty, floating shells.But know this, my .. These were the words used to greet the Sumerians—our great Teachers, who descended from the celestial spheres! They called themselves the Titans. And we cherish their guidance, nurturing each fragment of their wisdom in our collective, underdeveloped minds.
What else did the Teachers say, Wise One?! — Cried out a woman, a child already on her lap and another one clearly gestating under her concert tee. Ah… they gave us a single But oh, what a word! That word… is Affirmations.
Seats creaked under people squirming in unfiltered exaltation. Some groaned. A young man with a pink mohawk and teary eyes seemed on the verge of spiritual combustion. Maiji raised his divine hand above this river of unstable emotion and declared:
You can reinvent yourself—anytime, anywhere—by collecting tiny, seemingly meaningless
pieces. Your clothes, your speech patterns, your thoughts, even your teeth… all of it changes how you're perceived. That's crucial in the first stage of your awakening, because you haven't yet
reached the level where you can become…
He paused, whispering into his hidden mic:
Is that dork Casey ready?
A gleeful voice chirped back:
Hahaha! Yeah, Uncle, he's Stop tickling me, Stacey!
Maiji squinted. Why must he deal with such inferior grains of sand? His reflections were cut short as a new figure stepped out: wrapped head to toe in black velvet embroidered with the entire Solar System in glittering thread.
The assistant stood beside the orator, stretched out his arms, and began to spin slowly, like a celestial microwave plate. Maiji explained to the utterly uncomprehending crowd (not that they ever understood anything):
Behold: you can become him—*The Cosmic Man™, the All-Seeing, the Mindfulness is your only path. Only the enlightened mind transforms into a beam of higher energy, leaving behind the physical form to soar toward the Worlds of the Teachers. Around each of their planets spin rings, like Saturn's, but made from the shimmering remnants of human consciousness. These spirits float forever—mute, barely sentient—mere faded echoes of the little nobodies they once were. The Teachers… use them as Occasionally scooping up handfuls of soul-glimmers into their plasma sacks to illuminate their interstellar stations.
Do you want that fate? Do you want to become a dim flicker of your own identity? Do you want to die… with no hope of eternal life?!
This was it. The Moment. The Peak. The Gospel Drop.