After a day like that, it never occurred to him that the very next day he would be in serious danger of being crushed to death in his own room.

Crawling out from under the shelves, Tomoya found himself confronting a perfectly symmetrical face.

"I'm not a ghoul or a goblin or the Loch Ness Monster. I'm not going to hurt you. I've got my complaints, but I can't have my maker up and die on me. Oh, and my name's Kanako. Okay?"

The human-like figure calling herself Kanako rattled this off very rapidly. Tomoya barely understood half of what she'd said, but faced with her intensity, he just nodded.

"As long as you understand."

She stuck out her chest and assumed a triumphant expression, as if satisfied with this transaction. The skin peeking out under the sailor suit was pure white, with no visible seams.

There was no doubt about it, though: she was the capsule figure Tomoya had assembled.

The black capsules spewed from the machine at Nakano Broadway had all contained parts for a two-thirds scale figure of a real girl, and real girls were apparently expected to be 150cm tall. It wasn't any character he'd ever seen in manga or anime, but he'd spent the whole night putting it together and then stuck it in the closet. At that point it had definitely been just a figure. There was no warning label stating that it might move around or start chattering or pummel its maker.

As if to dispel Tomoya's confusion, Kanako was constantly moving around, almost hyperactive.

What to do?

He'd been putting together capsule figures for a long time but had never considered what to do if the figures started moving around. Call the police. The National Consumer Affairs Center. The FBI. The Men in Black. Words came to mind, but nothing that seemed practical. All he could do was follow Kanako with his eyes as she inspected the wreckage of his shelves and figurines.

Eventually his gaze fixed on one thing.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"What?"