Battle Royale

0

As the bus entered the prefectural capital of Takamatsu, garden suburbs transformed into city streets of multicolored neon, headlights of oncoming cars, and checkered lights of office buildings. A group of well dressed men and women stood talking to each other in front of a streetside restaurant while they waited for a taxi. Tired, squatting youths smoked in the clean parking lot of a convenience store. A worker on his bicycle waited for the lights to change at the crossing. It was chilly for a May evening, so the man had put on his worn out jacket. Along with these other drifting impressions, the worker disappeared behind the bus window, swallowed by the low engine rumble. The digital display above the bus driver’s head changed to 8:57.

Shuya Nanahara (Male Student No. 15, Third Year Class B, Shiroiwa Junior High School, Shiroiwa Town, Kagawa Prefecture) had been staring outside, leaning over Yoshitoki Kuninobu (Male Student No. 7), who had the window seat. As Yoshitoki dug through his bag, Shuya stared at his own right foot, which was sticking out in the aisle, and stretched out his Keds sneakers with his toes. It used to be that Keds weren’t hard to find, but now they were extremely rare. The canvas of Shuya’s shoes were torn on the right heel, and the stray threads stuck out like cat’s whiskers. The shoe company was American, but the shoes themselves were made in Colombia. At present, 1997, the Republic of Greater East Asia hardly suffered from a shortage of goods. In fact it was rich with commodities, but imports were hard to come by lately. Well, it was only to be expected in a country with an official policy of isolationism. Besides, America—both the government and the textbooks called them “the American Imperialists”—was an enemy state.

From the back of the bus, Shuya watched his forty-one classmates, who were illuminated by dull fluorescent lights fixed in dingy ceiling panels. They were all in the same class from last year. They were all still excited and chatting away, since hardly an hour had passed since their departure from their hometown of Shiroiwa. Spending the first night of a study trip on a bus seemed a little cheap. Worse yet, it felt like they were going on a forced march. But everyone would calm down once the bus crossed the Seto Bridge and got on the Sanyo Highway and headed towards their destination, the island of Kyushu.

The loud students at the front who were sitting around their teacher Mr. Hayashida were girls: Yukie Utsumi (Female Student No. 2), the class representative who looked good with braided hair; Haruka Tanizawa (Female Student No. 12), her volleyball teammate who was exceptionally tall; Izumi Kanai (Female Student No. 5), the preppy whose father was a town representative; Satomi Noda (Female Student No. 17), the model student who wore wire-rimmed glasses which suited her calm, intelligent face; and Chisato Matsui (Female Student No. 19), who was always quiet and withdrawn. They were the mainstream girls. You could call them “the neutrals.” Girls tended to form cliques, but there weren’t any particular groups that stuck out in Shiroiwa Junior High School’s Third Year Class B, so categorizing them didn’t seem right. If there was a group, it was the rebel or—to put it more bluntly—the delinquent group led by Mitsuko Souma (Female Student No. 11). Hirono Shimizu (Female Student No. 10) and Yoshimi Yahagi (Female Student No. 21) rounded out that bunch. Shuya couldn’t see them from where he was sitting.

The seats right behind the driver were slightly raised, and popping up above them were the two heads of Kazuhiko Yamamoto (Male Student No. 21) and Sakura Ogawa (Female Student No. 4), the most intimate couple in the class. Maybe they were laughing, because their heads shook slightly. They were so insular, the most trivial thing could have been entertaining them.

Closer to Shuya, lying in the aisle, was a large school uniform. It belonged to Yoshio Akamatsu (Male Student No. 1). He was the biggest kid in the class, but he was the timid type, the kind of kid who’d always end up the target of pranks and insults. His big body was crouched over, and he was busy playing a handheld video game.

Also in the aisle were the jocks Tatsumichi Oki (Male Student No. 3, handball team), Kazushi Niida (Male Student No. 16, soccer team), and Tadakatsu Hatagami (Male Student No. 18). They were all sitting together. Shuya himself had played Little League baseball in elementary school and was known as a star shortstop. Actually he’d been friends with Tadakatsu, but they’d stopped hanging out. Partly this was because Shuya had stopped playing baseball, but it also had to do with the fact that Shuya had started playing electric guitar, which was considered an “unpatriotic” activity. Tadakatsu’s mother was uptight about that sort of thing.

Yes, rock was outlawed in this country. (Of course there were loopholes. Shuya’s electric guitar came with a government-approved sticker which read, “DECADENT MUSIC IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.” Decadent music was rock.)

Come to think of it, Shuya thought, I’ve changed my friends too.

He heard someone laugh quietly behind big Yoshio Akamatsu. It was one of Shuya’s new friends, Shinji Mimura. Shinji had short hair and wore an intricately designed ring on his left ear. By the time Shuya and Shinji became classmates in their second year, Shuya had already heard of him. Shinji was known as “The Third Man”—the team’s first-string shooting guard. His athletic skill was equal to Shuya’s, though Shinji would have said, “I’m better, bro.” Together on the basketball court for the first time in their second-year class competition, they made for a deadly combo, so it was only natural they’d hit it off. There was a lot more to Shinji than sports, though. His grades in subjects other than math and English weren’t great, but his breadth of real world knowledge was incredible, and his views were mature, way beyond his peers. He somehow had an answer for any question about overseas information that couldn’t be obtained in this country. And he always knew the best thing to say when you were down, like, “You know it, I’m the man.” But he was never arrogant. Instead he’d smile and crack a joke. He was never full of himself. Basically Shinji Mimura was a good guy.

Shinji appeared to be sitting next to his buddy from grade school, Yutaka Seto (Male Student No. 12), the class clown. Yutaka must have cracked another joke, because Shinji was laughing.

Hiroki Sugimura (Male Student No. 11) sat behind them. His tall, lanky body barely fit into the narrow seat. He was reading a paperback book. Hiroki was reserved and studied martial arts, so he projected toughness. He didn’t hang out with the other guys much, but once you got to know him a little he turned out to be nice. He was just shy. Shuya got along with him. Was he reading that book of Chinese poetry he liked so much? (Chinese books in translation were fairly easy to obtain, not surprising considering the Republic claimed China as “part of our homeland.”)

Shuya once came across a line in an American paperback novel he’d dug out from a used bookstore (he managed to get through it with a dictionary): friends come and then they go. Maybe that’s how things were. Just as he and Tadakatsu were no longer friends, there might come a time when he wasn’t friends with Shinji and Hiroki anymore.

Well, maybe not.

Shuya glanced at Yoshitoki Kuninobu, who was still digging through his bag. Shuya had made it this far with Yoshitoki Kuninobu. And that would never change. After all they were friends ever since they wet their beds at that Catholic institution with the bombastic name, “the Charity House”—where orphans or other children who, due to “circumstances,” were no longer able to be with their parents. You could say they were almost cursed to be friends.

Maybe we should cover religion while we’re at it. In fact this country, under a unique system of national socialism ruled over by an executive authority called “the Dictator” (Shinji Mimura once said with a grimace, “This is what they call ‘successful fascism.’ Where else in the world could you find something so sinister?”), had no national religion. The closest thing to religion was faith in the political system— but this wasn’t paired up with any established religion. Religious practice therefore was permitted as long as it remained moderate and at the same time wasn’t guaranteed. So it was only practiced in private by dedicated followers. Shuya himself never really had any religious inclinations, but it was thanks to this particular religion’s institution that he managed to grow up relatively unscathed and normal. He thought he should appreciate that much. There were state orphanages, but apparently their accommodations and programs were poorly run, and from what he heard they served as training schools for Special Defense Forces soldiers.

Shuya turned around and looked back. The group of delinquents that included Ryuhei Sasagawa (Male Student No. 10) and Mitsuru Numai (Male Student No. 17) was sitting on the wide seat at the back of the bus. There was… Shuya couldn’t see his face, but he could see between the seats the head with the oddly styled, slicked-back, long hair poking out by the right window. Though on its left side (well, it seemed Ryuhei Sasagawa had left two seats open in between) the others were talking and laughing over something dirty, the head remained absolutely still. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Or maybe like Shuya he was watching the city lights.

Shuya was completely baffled by the fact that this boy— Kazuo Kiriyama (Male Student No. 6)—would actually participate in a childish activity like a study trip.

Kiriyama was the leader of the thugs in their district, a group that included Ryuhei and Mitsuru. Kiriyama was by no means big. At best he was the same height as Shuya, but he could easily pin down high school students and even take on local yakuza. His reputation was legendary throughout the entire prefecture. And his father being the president of a leading corporation didn’t hurt. (There were rumors though that he was an illegitimate child. Shuya wasn’t interested, so he never bothered to find out more.) Of course that wouldn’t have been enough. He had a handsome, intelligent face, and his voice wasn’t particularly low, but there was something intimidating about it. He was the top student in Class B, and the only one who barely kept up with him was Kyoichi Motobuchi (Male Student No. 20), who studied so hard he didn’t get much sleep. In sports Kazuo was better and more graceful than almost anyone else in the class. The only ones at Shiroiwa Junior High who could compete with him seriously were, yes, the former star shortstop, Shuya, and the current star shooting guard, Shinji Mimura. So in every respect Kazuo Kiriyama was perfect.

But then how could someone this perfect end up a leader of thugs? That was really none of Shuya’s business. But if there was one thing Shuya could tell, it was a sense, almost tactile, that Kazuo was different. Shuya couldn’t say exactly how. Kazuo never did anything bad in school. He’d never bully around someone like Yoshio Akamatsu the way Ryuhei Sasagawa did. But there was something so… remote about him. Was that it? At least that’s how it felt.

He was absent a lot. The idea of Kazuo “studying” was completely absurd. In every class Kiriyama remained quietly seated at his desk as if he were thinking of something that had nothing to do with class. Shuya thought, if the government didn’t have the power to enforce compulsory education on us, he probably wouldn’t come to school at all. On the other hand he might just show up on a whim. I don’t know. In any case, Shuya thought, I expected Kazuo to skip something as trivial as a study trip, but then he promptly shows up. Was this on a whim too?

“Shuya.”

Shuya was staring at the ceiling panel lights wondering about Kiriyama when a perky voice interrupted his thoughts. From the seat across the aisle, Noriko Nakagawa (Female Student No. 15) offered something wrapped in crisp cellophane. The bag sparkled like water under the white light, and it was filled with light-brown discs—cookies, probably. On top was a bow tied with a gold ribbon.

Noriko Nakagawa was another girl who was neutral like Yukie Utsumi’s group. Other than her kind eyes, which were noticeably dark, she had a round, girlish face and shoulder-length hair. She was petite and playful. In short, she was an average girl. If there was something particular about her, it was probably the fact that she wrote the best compositions in literature class. (This was how Shuya got to know Noriko. Shuya would spend break periods writing lyrics for his songs in the margins of his notebooks, and Noriko would insist on reading them.) She usually hung with Yukie’s group, but because she’d showed up late today, she had no other choice but to take an open seat.

Shuya half extended his hand and raised his brow. For some reason Noriko became flustered and said, “They’re leftovers from the ones my brother begged me to bake. They’re best fresh, so I brought them for you and Mr. Nobu.”

“Mr. Nobu” was Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s nickname. Although he had bulging, friendly eyes, the nickname seemed appropriate for someone who could be, oddly enough, mature and wise. None of the girls called him by that name, but Noriko had no problem calling the boys by their nicknames, and the fact that this hardly offended any of them indicated how uniquely disarming she was. (Shuya had a sports-related nickname, the same name as a famous cigarette brand, but in the same way that Shinji was referred to as “The Third Man” no one called him by this to his face.) He’d already noticed this before, Shuya observed, but she’s the only girl who calls me by my first name.

Yoshitoki, who’d been listening in on them, interrupted. “Really? For us? Thanks so much! If you made them, I bet they’re delicious.”

Yoshitoki snatched the bag from Shuya’s hand, quickly untied the ribbon, and took out a cookie.

“Wow, these are awesome.”

As Yoshitoki praised Noriko, Shuya grinned. Could he be more obvious? The moment Noriko sat next to Shuya he’d been repeatedly glancing over at her, sitting upright, completely nervous.

It was a month and a half ago during spring vacation. Shuya and Yoshitoki had gone fishing for black bass at the dam reservoir that provided the city its water supply. Yoshitoki confessed to Shuya, “Hey Shuya, I got a crush on someone.”

“Huh. Who is it?”

“Nakagawa.”

“You mean from our class?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one? There are two Nakagawas. Yuka Nakagawa?”

“Hey, unlike you, I’m not into fat girls.”

“What the…? So you’re saying Kazumi is fat? She’s just a little plump.”

“Sorry. Anyway, well, uh yeah, it’s Noriko.”

“Huh. Well, she’s nice.”

“Isn’t she though? Isn’t she?”

“All right, all right.”

Yes, Yoshitoki was totally obvious. But in spite of his behavior Noriko seemed oblivious to Yoshitoki’s feelings for her. Maybe she was slow with stuff like this or something. It wasn’t surprising, given her personality.

Shuya took a cookie from the bag still in Yoshitoki’s hand and examined it. Then he looked over at Noriko.

“So they lose their flavor?”

“Uh huh,” she nodded. Her eyes strained, oddly. “That’s right.”

“Which means you’re sure they taste pretty good.”

He might have learned this form of sarcasm from Shinji Mimura. Shuya often used it lately, to the dismay of other classmates, but Noriko just emitted a happy laugh and said, “I guess so.”

“Come on,” Yoshitoki interrupted again. “I told you they were good, didn’t I, Noriko?”

Noriko smiled. “Thanks. You’re so nice.”

Yoshitoki all of a sudden froze up as if he’d jammed his finger into an electric outlet and turned mute. Staring silently into his lap, he proceeded to devour his cookie.

Shuya grinned and ate the rest of his cookie. The warm, sweet taste and smell spread through his mouth.

“These are good,” Shuya said.

Noriko, who’d been observing him all this time, exclaimed, “Thank you!” He could be wrong, but somehow the tone of her voice was different than when she thanked Yoshitoki. Well, wait… true, she was staring at him while he was eating the cookie. Were they really leftovers from the batch she’d baked for her brother? Maybe she’d baked them for “someone else.” Or maybe he was just plain wrong.

Then for some reason Shuya thought of Kazumi. She was a year ahead, and a fellow music club member until last year.

In the Republic of Greater East Asia, rock music was strictly prohibited in school club activities, but

when their adviser Ms. Miyata was absent, music club members would play rock on their own. That was the kind of membership the club attracted in the first place anyway. Kazumi Shintani was the best female saxophone player. When it came to rock saxophone though, she was the best in the entire club. She was tall (almost the same height as Shuya, who stood 170 centimeters) and plump, but with her remarkably mature face and her hair bundled by her shoulders, she looked awesome with her alto saxophone. Shuya was thrilled by the sight. Then she taught Shuya how to play difficult guitar chords. (She said, “I played a little before I started playing the saxophone.”) From that point on Shuya spent every spare minute he had practicing his guitar, and by his second year he was the best player in the club. It was all because he wanted Kazumi to hear him play.

Then one day, when the two of them happened to be alone in the music room after school, Shuya played and sang a version of “Summertime Blues” which impressed her. “That was so great, Shuya. That was so awesome.”

That day Shuya bought a can of beer for the first time in his life and celebrated with a private toast. It tasted great. But three days later when he asked her out, confessing, “Um, I really like you,” she responded, “I’m sorry, I’m already going out with someone.” She graduated and went to a high school with a music department, along with her “boyfriend.”

Which reminded Shuya of his conversation with Yoshitoki at the dam over spring break. After sharing his feelings for Noriko, Yoshitoki asked him, “Are you still hung up on Kazumi?” Shuya answered, “Yeah, I think I’ll be hung up over her the rest of my life.” Yoshitoki looked stumped. “But she has a boyfriend, right?” Throwing the silver lure with all his might as if throwing a ball in from the outfield, he answered, “That doesn’t matter.”

Shuya took the bag of cookies from Yoshitoki, who was still staring down into his lap. “Aren’t you going to leave some for Noriko?”

“O-oh yeah, I’m sorry.”

Shuya returned the bag to Noriko. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s all right. I don’t mind. You guys should take them all.”

“Really? But we shouldn’t be the only ones.”

Shuya took his first glance at the guy sitting next to Noriko. Wrapped in his school uniform, Shogo Kawada (Male Student No. 5) leaned against the window with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. He might have been asleep. His hair was cropped so short he looked like a monk. His slightly stubbled face reminded Shuya of a punk racketeer at a carnival. Wow, facial hair, everyone! Doesn’t he look kind of old for a junior high school student?

Well, there was one thing he knew. Although Class B consisted of the same students as it did last year, Shogo Kawada had transferred last April from Kobe. And due to some circumstance, an injury or illness (he didn’t look like the bedridden type so it must have been an injury), Kawada had to stay behind a year because he was unable to attend school for over six months. In other words he was one year older than Shuya and his classmates. Shuya himself never told anyone this, but that was what Shuya had heard.

In fact he hadn’t heard good things about Shogo. There was a rumor that he’d been a notorious thug at his last school and that his hospitalization was a result of a fight. To support this rumor, his body was covered with scars. A long scar from what appeared to be a knife wound ran over his left brow, and when they changed in the gym lockers (this was besides the point, but Kawada’s body was built like a middleweight boxer’s), Shuya was shocked to find the same kind of scars covering his arms and back. There were two round scars next to each other on his left shoulder. They looked like gunshot wounds, but that was unbelievable.

Every time he heard these rumors about Shogo, someone would inevitably suggest, “He’s probably going to end up fighting Kazuo.” Right after Shogo transferred to their school that fool Ryuhei Sasagawa tried to intimidate Shogo. The exact details of what followed were only hearsay, but apparently Ryuhei turned pale, retreated, and went crying for help from Kazuo. Kazuo looked indifferent though, and only glanced at Ryuhei. He didn’t even say a word to Shogo. So at least for the time being they’d managed to avoid a confrontation. Kazuo didn’t seem interested in Shogo. Shogo didn’t seem interested in Kazuo. As a result Class B remained peaceful. They lucked out.

Everybody avoided Shogo because of his age difference and the rumors. But Shuya didn’t like judging people on rumors. Someone once said, if you could see for yourself then there’d be no need to lend an ear to what others said.

Shuya pointed his chin past Noriko toward Shogo.

“I wonder if he’s sleeping.”

“Hmm…” She glanced over at Shogo.

“I didn’t want to wake him up.”

“He doesn’t look like the type who’s into cookies anyway.”

Noriko chuckled, and as Shuya was about to, they heard, “No thanks.”

Shuya glanced back at Shogo.

The strong, low voice echoed in his head.

Although Shuya wasn’t familiar with the voice it obviously came from Shogo, who still kept his eyes closed, though he didn’t seem asleep. Shuya all of a sudden realized he’d rarely ever heard Shogo’s voice, even though Shogo had transferred to their school over a month ago.

Noriko glanced at Shogo and then looked at Shuya. Shuya shrugged in response and crammed another cookie into his mouth.

He continued chatting with Noriko and Yoshitoki for awhile but…

It was almost ten o’clock when Shuya noticed something strange.

Something weird was happening inside the bus. Yoshitoki, who was on his left, had suddenly fallen asleep and was softly breathing. Shinji Mimura’s body was slouching into the aisle. Noriko Nakagawa was also asleep. No one seemed to be talking. Everyone seemed to be asleep. Well yeah, anyone excessively health-conscious might be going to bed now, but still, this was their long awaited trip. Wasn’t it a bit early to fall asleep right after leaving? Why doesn’t everyone sing or something? Doesn’t this bus have one of those atrocious machines Shuya hated—karaoke?

Worst of all, Shuya himself was overcome with drowsiness. He looked around in a daze… then he couldn’t even move his head, which felt heavy. He slouched against the seat. His eyes drifted through the narrow space to the rearview mirror at the center of the large windshield fading in the dark___He managed to make out the tiny image of the driver’s upper body.

The driver’s face was covered with what appeared to be a mask. A hoselike tube extended downward from the mask. Thin straps were wrapped around his head, strapped above and below his ears. What was that? Except for the hose extending downward, it resembled an airline emergency oxygen mask.

So we can’t breathe inside this bus? Ladies and gentlemen, this bus will be making an emergency landing due to engine trouble. Like, please fasten your seat belts, wear your oxygen masks, and follow crew member’s instructions? Yeah, right.

He heard a scratching sound on the right. Shuya had to struggle to catch a glimpse over there. His body felt so heavy. It was as if he were immersed in transparent jelly.

Shogo Kawada was standing up and struggling to pry open a window. But whether it was jammed shut from rust or a broken lock, the window refused to budge. Shogo slammed his left fist against the glass. He’s trying to break the glass. Why all the fuss?

But the glass didn’t break. The fist ready to strike the glass all of a sudden went limp and clumsily dropped. His body collapsed into the seat. Shuya thought he heard that low voice he’d only recently familiarized himself with faintly gasp, “Damn.”

Almost immediately Shuya fell asleep too.

At approximately the same time, students’ families in Shiroiwa were visited by men in black sedans. Alarmed by the late night visit, the parents must have been shocked when the visitors presented them with documents stamped with the government’s official peach insignia.

In most cases the parents would silently nod as they thought of their children whom they most likely would never see again, but there were those who frantically protested, in which case they would be knocked out by an electroshock baton, or in the worst case, be pummeled by fresh bullets spat out from a submachine gun, one step ahead of their children in departing from this world.

By then the bus assigned to Shiroiwa Junior High School’s Third Year Class B’s study trip had long since branched off from the rows of other buses and taken a U-turn towards the city of Takamatsu. After returning to the city it wove its way through various roads before it finally stopped and quietly turned off its engine.

The man in his forties whose hair was peppered gray looked like a typical nice bus driver. Still wearing the oxygen mask that was digging into his slightly sagging chin, he turned towards the Class B students with a faint look of pity. But as soon as another man appeared under the window, his face stiffened. He gave the Republic’s idiosyncratic salute. Then he pressed the switch to open the door. Shuya glanced outside as the masked men in battle gear came rushing in.

Under the moonlight, the bluish-white concrete pier gleamed like bone, and beyond the pier the ship that would transport “the players” was swaying sluggishly in the wide open black sea.

1

For a moment Shuya thought he was in a familiar classroom.

It wasn’t the usual Third Year Class B classroom of course, but there was a lectern, a worn out blackboard, and on the left, a tall stand with a large television. There were rows of desks and chairs made of plywood glued onto steel tubes. On Shuya’s desk someone had carved anti-government graffiti into the corner with a pen: “the Dictator loves women in uniform.” Then he noticed everyone at their desks, the boys clad in buttoned up school uniforms and the girls in their sailor suit school uniforms, all forty-one classmates who’d only moments ago (at least that’s what it felt like) been riding the bus together. The only thing was—-either sprawled over their desks or slouched back in their seats—they were all completely asleep.

From beside the frosted window on the side of the hall (assuming this building had the same layout as his school), Shuya surveyed the rest of the room. He seemed to be the only one awake. In front of him to his left and towards the middle of the room was Yoshitoki Kuninobu. Behind him was Noriko Nakagawa, and beyond Yoshitoki was Shinji Mimura. They were all sprawled on their desks, sleeping deeply. Hiroki Sugimura surrendered his large body to his desk (that was when it finally dawned on Shuya that the seating assignment was identical to the one they had at Shiroiwa Junior High School) by the windows on the left side. That was also when he began to realize why the place felt odd. The windows beyond Hiroki’s body appeared to be covered with some kind of black board. Steel sheets? They provided an icy reflection of the dull light from the rows of fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. The frosted glass windows on the side of the hall seemed to be draped in black. Maybe they were boarded up too. It was impossible to determine the time of day.

Shuya looked at his wristwatch. It read one o’clock. In the morning? In the afternoon? The date read “Thurs/22,” which meant that, unless someone had tampered with his watch, either three or fifteen hours had passed since he had that strange attack of drowsiness. All right, let’s just assume that’s the case. Still…

Shuya looked at his classmates.

Something felt off. Of course the whole situation was strange. But there was something in particular that disturbed him.

Shuya immediately realized what it was. Face down on her desk, Noriko had above her collar a silver metal band wrapped snugly around her neck. Because of his buttoned up collar Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s band was barely visible, but Shuya managed to see it. Shinji Mimura, Hiroki Sugimura, everyone had one on their necks.

Then the thought occurred to Shuya. He reached for his own neck with his right hand.

He felt something hard and cold. The same thing must have been wrapped around his neck.

Shuya tugged at it a little but the fit was so tight it refused to budge. The moment he became conscious of it, he felt like he was suffocating. Steel collars! Steel collars as if we’re dogs, damn!

He fidgeted with it for a while with his fingers, but then gave up. He wondered instead what happened to the study trip? Shuya noticed his sports bag sitting by his feet on the floor. Last night he’d casually tossed his clothes, towel, school field trip notebook, and a bourbon flask into it. Everyone else also had their bags by their feet.

Suddenly a loud noise erupted from the front entrance, and the door slid open. Shuya looked up.

A man came in.

He was stocky but well built. His legs were extremely short, as if they served as a mere appendage to his torso. He wore light-beige slacks, a gray jacket, a red necktie, and black loafers. They all looked worn out. A peach-colored badge was pinned to the collar of his jacket, indicating his affiliation with the government. His cheeks were rosy. What stuck out most though was the man’s hairstyle. He wore it down to his shoulders like a woman in her prime. It reminded Shuya of the grainy Xeroxed tape cover of a Joan Baez tape he’d bought on the black market.

The man stood at the lectern and surveyed the classroom. His eyes stopped at Shuya, who was the only one awake (assuming this wasn’t a dream).

The two stared at each other for at least a full minute. But perhaps because the other students were waking up, with their nervous breathing gradually spreading through the entire classroom, the man looked away from Shuya. Their voices woke up other classmates from their deep slumber.

Shuya looked at the rest of the classroom. As they woke up their eyes remained out of focus. Everyone was clueless. His eyes met Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s as his friend turned back. Shuya pointed at his collar, tilting his neck slightly. Yoshitoki immediately touched his neck. He looked shocked. He shook his head left and right and turned to the lectern. Noriko Nakagawa also looked at Shuya with a dazed look. Shuya could only shrug in response.

As soon as everyone seemed awake the man spoke up in a cheerful voice, “All right, everyone awake? I hope you all slept well!”

No one replied. Even the class clowns, Yutaka Seto and Yuka Nakagawa (Female Student No. 16), were speechless.

2

Wearing a broad grin, the man with long hair continued behind the lectern, “All right, all right. Then I shall proceed with the introduction. First of all, I am your new instructor, Kinpatsu Sakamochi.”

The man who introduced himself as Sakamochi turned towards the blackboard and wrote his name in large vertical letters with the chalk. “Kinpatsu Sakamochi”? Was this some kind of joke? Given the situation, maybe it was a pseudonym.

Suddenly the female class representative, Yukie Utsumi, stood up and said, “I don’t understand what’s going on here.” Everyone looked over at Yukie. With her long hair neatly braided into a pair of pony tails, she looked pretty wound up, but her voice remained assertive. Nonetheless, Yukie probably had to delude herself into believing they’d been through a traffic accident or some other event that caused them all to lose consciousness.

Yukie continued, “What’s going on here? We were all in the middle of our study trip. Right, everyone?”

She turned around and looked at everyone, setting off an avalanche of cries:

“Where are we?”

“Did you fall asleep too?”

“What time is it anyway?”

“Was everyone asleep?”

“Damn, I don’t have a watch.”

“Do you remember getting off the bus, coming here?”

“Who the hell is he?”

“I don’t remember a thing.”

“This is terrible. What’s going on? I’m scared.”

After observing Sakamochi quietly listening to them, Shuya slowly surveyed the room. There were several others who remained silent.

The first one he noticed was sitting at an angle behind him in the back row in the middle. It was Kazuo Kiriyama. Beneath his slicked-back hair his calm eyes were staring at the man at the lectern. His look was so calm, it didn’t even resemble a glare. He paid no attention to his circle of followers addressing him: Ryuhei Sasagawa, Mitsuru Numai, Hiroshi Kuronaga (Male Student No. 9), and Sho Tsukioka (Male Student No. 14).

Then there was Mitsuko Souma, sitting in the second row by the window. She was the one who looked jaded. Her seat was separated from the rest of her “group,” which consisted of Hirono Shimizu and Yoshimi Yahagi. Of course none of the other girls, nor boys for that matter, would even attempt to talk to her. (On Shuya’s left, Hirono and Yoshimi were speaking to each other.) Even though Mitsuko had the gorgeous looks of a pop idol, she always wore a strange, listless expression on her face. She stared at Sakamochi with her arms folded. (Hiroki Sugimura sat right behind her, talking to Tadakatsu Hatagami.)

Shogo Kawada sat at the second to last row by the window. He was also silently staring at Sakamochi. But he took out a piece of gum, then began chewing it, continuing to stare at the teacher as his jaw moved.

Shuya looked to the front of the class. Noriko Nakagawa was still staring back at him. Her dark eyes were trembling nervously. Shuya glanced over at Yoshitoki, who was sitting in front of her, but Yoshitoki was busy talking to Shinji Mimura. Shuya immediately glanced back at Noriko, tucked his chin in slightly, and nodded. It seemed to have a calming effect on her. Her eyes seemed to relax a little.

“All right, all right, please be quiet.” Sakamochi clapped his hands together several times to get their attention. The clamor suddenly subsided. “Let me explain the situation. The reason why you’re all here today then…”

Then he said: “…is to kill each other.”

Now no one responded. Everyone remained frozen, like figures in a still photograph. But—Shuya noticed—Shogo continued chewing his gum. His expression hadn’t changed. But Shuya thought he’d caught a glimpse of a faint grin flash across his face.

Sakamochi continued smiling and resumed, “Your class has been selected for this year’s ‘Program.’”

Someone shrieked.

3

Every junior high school student in the Republic of Greater East Asia knew what the Program was. It was even covered in school textbooks from the fourth grade on. Here we will quote from the more detailed Republic of Greater East Asia Compact Encyclopedia:

The “April Speech” is required reading in the first year of junior high school. Here are some excerpts:

Enough already. (Right outside the train station the middle-aged Special Forces recruiter would approach potential candidates with the catch phrase, “How about we go get some pork rice?”)

Shuya first heard about the Program before becoming a fourth grader. It was when he finally got used to the Charity House, where he was brought by a friend of his parents after both of them died in a traffic accident. (All his relatives had refused to take him in. He heard it was because his parents had been involved in anti-government activities, but he never confirmed this story.) Shuya thought it was when he was five. He was watching television in the play room with Yoshitoki Kuninobu, who’d been at the Charity House before Shuya. His favorite robot anime show had just ended and the current superintendent of the institution, Ms. Ryoko Anno (the daughter of the former superintendent; at the time she was probably still a high school student, but everyone who worked there was called Mr., Mrs., or Ms.) switched the channel. Shuya was just gazing at the screen, but as soon as he saw the man in a stiff suit addressing him, he realized it was only that boring show called “The News,” the program they showed on every channel at various times.

The man was reading from his script. Shuya couldn’t remember exactly what he said but it was always the same and probably went something like this:

“We have received a report from the Special Defense Forces and the government that the Program in Kagawa Prefecture ended yesterday at 3:12 p.m. It has been three years since the last Program was conducted here. The subject class was Third Year E Class from Zentsuji No. 4 Junior High School. The undisclosed location was Shidakajima Island, four kilometers away from Tadotsu-cho. The winner emerged after 3 days, 7 hours, and 43 minutes. Furthermore, with the retrieval of the corpses and autopsies conducted today, the causes of deaths for all 38 students killed have been determined: 17 from gunshot wounds, 9 from knife or blade wounds, 5 from blunt weapons, and 3 choked to death…”

An image of what appeared to be “the winner,” a girl clad in a tattered sailor suit uniform came on the screen. Pressed between two Special Defense Forces soldiers, she looked back at the camera, her face twitching. Under her long messy hair, some dark red substance stuck to her right temple. Shuya could still clearly recall how her twitching face occasionally formed what appeared to be, strangely enough, a smile.

He realized now that this was the first time he had seen an insane person. But at the time he had no idea what was wrong with her. He only felt inexplicably afraid, as if he’d seen a ghost.

Shuya believed he had asked, “What is this, Ms. Anno?” Ms. Anno only shook her head and replied, “Oh it’s nothing.” Ms. Anno turned away from Shuya slightly and whispered, “Poor girl.” Yoshitoki Kuninobu had already stopped watching a while ago and was preoccupied with eating his tangerine.

As Shuya grew older, this same local report, given at the rate of once every two years at any time without any warning, felt more and more ominous. From a pool of all third-year junior high school students, fifty classes were issued an annual guaranteed death sentence. That was two thousand students if each class consisted of forty students, no, more accurately, that was 1,950 students killed. Worse yet, it wasn’t simply a mass execution. The students had to kill each other, competing for the throne of survivor. It was the most terrifying version of musical chairs imaginable.

But it was impossible to oppose the Program. It was impossible to protest anything the Republic of Greater East Asia did.

So Shuya decided to give in. That was how most of the third-year “reserves” from junior high school dealt with it, right? Okay, our special conscription system? The beautiful homeland of Vigorous Rice Plants? How many junior highs were there in the republic? The birth rate might be declining but your chances were still less than one in eight hundred. In Kagawa Prefecture that meant only one class every other year would be “chosen.” Put bluntly, you were just as likely to die in a traffic accident. Given how Shuya never had the luck of the draw, he figured he wouldn’t be chosen. Even in the local raffle he’d never win more than a box of tissues. So he’d never be chosen. So fuck off, man.

But then sometimes when he heard someone in class, particularly a girl in tears, saying something like, “My cousin was in the Program and…” that dark fear choked him up again. He was angry too. I mean, who had the right to terrify that poor girl?

But within a matter of days the same girl who’d been so gloomy would begin smiling. And Shuya’s fear and anger would gradually wane and disappear too. But the vague distrust and powerlessness he felt towards the government nonetheless remained.

That’s the way things went.

And when Shuya entered his third year in junior high school this year, he along with his other classmates assumed they would be safe. Actually they really had no choice but to assume this.

Until now.

“That can’t be.”

A chair fell as someone stood up. The voice was shrill enough to make Shuya glance over at the desk behind Hiroki Sugimura. It was Kyoichi Motobuchi, who was the male class representative. His face was beyond pale. It had turned gray, providing a surreal contrast to his silver framed glasses, resembling one of those silkscreen prints by Andy Warhol illustrated in their art textbooks as “the decadent art of American imperialists.”

Some of his classmates might have been hoping that Kyoichi would provide some adequate rational form of protest. Kill the friends you were hanging out with yesterday? It was impossible. Someone’s making a mistake here. Hey rep, can you take care of this one for us?

But Kyoichi completely let them down.

“M-my father is a director of environmental affairs in the prefectural government. How could the class I’m in be selected for th-the Program?…”

Due to his shaking, his tense voice sounded even more wound up than usual.

The man who called himself Sakamochi grinned and shook his head, his long hair swinging in the air. “Let’s see. You’re Kyoichi Motobuchi, right?

“You must know what equality means. Listen up. All people are born equal. Your father’s job in the prefectural government doesn’t entitle you to special privileges. You are no different. Listen up, everybody. You all have your own distinct personal backgrounds. Of course some of you come from rich families, some from poor families. But circumstances beyond your control like that shouldn’t determine who you are. You must all realize what you’re worth on your own. So Kyoichi, let’s not delude ourselves that you’re somehow special—because you’re not!”

Sakamochi bawled this out so suddenly, Kyoichi fell back into this seat. Sakamochi glared at Kyoichi for a while, but then his smile returned.

“Your class will be mentioned in today’s morning news. Of course because the Program must be conducted in secret, the details will remain undisclosed until the game ends. Now let’s see, oh right, your parents have already been notified.”

Everyone still seemed lost in a daze. Classmates slaughtering each other? Impossible.

“You still don’t believe this is happening, do you?”

Sakamochi scratched his head with a troubled look. Then he turned to the entrance and called out, “I need you guys to come in!”

In response the door slid open and three men came rushing in. They were all wearing camouflage fatigues and combat boots and tucked under their arms steel helmets bearing the peach insignia. It was immediately obvious they were Special Defense Forces soldiers. They had assault rifles strapped over their shoulders, and Shuya could see automatic pistols holstered onto their belts. One of the soldiers was tall with strangely kinked hair, giving the impression of someone frivolous, the other was medium height, with a handsome, boyish-looking face, and the last one wore a slight grin, but was eclipsed by the charisma of the other two. They were carrying a large, thick nylon sack resembling a black sleeping bag. Various parts of the bag poked up as if it were stuffed with pineapples.

Sakamochi stood by the window and the three men placed the bag on the lectern. Both sides of the bag protruded over the lectern, particularly the side facing the window, and dangled down, perhaps because the contents inside were soft.

Sakamochi announced, “Let me introduce these men who will be assisting you for the Program. Mr. Tahara, Mr. Kondo, and Mr. Nomura. Now why don’t you show them what’s inside?”

The frivolous one, Tahara, approached the lectern from the side of the hall, placed his hand on the zipper, and pulled the bag open. Something drenched in red liquid…

“AIEEEEE!”

Before it was fully open, one of the girls in the front row screamed and was immediately followed by the others. As the desks and chairs made a clattering sound, other voices asked, “Whaaat?” and a soprano chorus swelled up.

Shuya held his breath.

He could see the body of the teacher in charge of Class B, Masao Hayashida, inside the half open bag. No, he was now their former teacher. Or in fact he was now the former Mr. Hayashida.

His flimsy blue-gray suit was drenched in blood. Only half of his large black glasses that earned him the nickname “Dragonfly” remained. What could you expect, only the left half of his head remained. Underneath the remaining lens the marblelike, crimson eyeball gazed absently at the ceiling. Gray jelly, what must have been his brains, clung to his remaining hair. As if relieved to be released, his left arm, still wearing a watch, poked out of the bag, dangling in front of the lectern. The ones sitting in front might have actually seen the second hand ticking away.

“All right, all right, all right, quiet now. Be quiet. Silence!” Sakamochi clapped his hands, but the girls’ shrieking wouldn’t subside.

Suddenly, the boyish looking soldier named Kondo pulled out his pistol.

Shuya expected a warning shot into the ceiling, but the soldier instead grabbed the bag containing Hayashida with one of his hands, and dragged the bag down from the lectern. He snapped Hayashida’s head up to his face. He looked like a hero in a sci-fi flick fighting a giant bagworm.

The soldier pumped two bullets into Mr. Hayashida’s head. The rest of Hayashida’s head flew apart. The high powered bullets tore apart his brains and bones which formed a bloody mist and splattered all over the faces and chests of the students in the front row.

The echoes from the gunfire subsided. There was hardly any trace of Hayashida’s head. The soldier tossed Hayashida’s body to the side of the lectern. No one was screaming.

4

Most of the standing students timidly returned to their seats. The uncharismatic soldier on the far side dragged the bag containing Hayashida’s body to the corner of the classroom, then joined the other two standing by the lectern. Sakamochi returned to his position behind the lectern.

Once again the room turned silent, but that silence was soon broken by the sound of someone groaning in the back, followed by the damp splash of vomit splattering against the floor. Shuya could smell it.

“Listen up everyone. As you can see, Mr. Hayashida vehemently opposed your class’ assignment to the Program,” Sakamochi said, scratching his hair. “Well, it was all so sudden, we do feel bad about it, but…”

The room grew silent again. Everyone now knew. This was real. It was no mistake, nor was it a prank. They were going to be forced to kill each other.

Shuya desperately tried to think clearly. The unreal situation had put him in a daze. His mind was spinning from the horrible corpse of Hayashida and the role it played in this horror show.

They had to escape. But how?… first he’d meet with Yoshitoki… Shinji and Hiroki… but how was the Program actually conducted? The details were never publicized. Students were given weapons to kill each other. That much was known. But could they talk to each other? How did the government monitor the game?

“I… I…” Shuya’s thoughts were interrupted. He looked up and opened his eyes.

Yoshitoki Kuninobu half rose and gazed at Sakamochi, unsure, it seemed, whether he should continue. He looked as if his words were beyond his control. Shuya’s body tensed up. Don’t provoke them, Yoshitoki!

“Yeeees? What is it? You can ask me anything.”

Sakamochi offered a friendly smile, and like a puppet Yoshitoki continued, “I… don’t have parents. So who did you contact?”

“Ah ha,” Sakamochi nodded. “I remember there was someone from one of the welfare institutions. So you must be Shuya Nanahara? Let’s see, according to the school report you were the one with dangerous ideas. So…”

“I’m Shuya,” Shuya interrupted, raising his voice. Sakamochi glanced at Shuya and then back at Yoshitoki. Still in a daze, Yoshitoki glanced back at Shuya.

“Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry. There was one more. So you must be Yoshitoki Kuninobu. Well, I contacted the superintendent of the institution where you were both raised. Yes… she was very pretty,” Sakamochi said and grinned. While his smile appeared to be cheerful, there was something disturbing about it.

Shuya’s face tensed up. “What the hell did you do to Ms. Anno?”

“Well, like Mr. Hayashida, she was very uncooperative. They both didn’t accept your assignment, so in order to silence her, well, I had to…” Sakamochi continued calmly, “…rape her. Oh, don’t worry. It’s not like she’s dead.”

Shuya flushed red with anger and leaped up, but before he could say anything, Yoshitoki said, “I’ll kill you!”

Yoshitoki was standing up. His expression had changed, though. He’d always been so friendly to everyone. No matter what happened, it was impossible to imagine him getting angry. His expression now was something he saved for those rare times he was truly enraged. No one else in class might have ever seen him like this, but Shuya had seen him this upset twice. The first time was when they were fourth graders and a car ran over the Charity House’s pet dog, Eddie, right in front of the gate. Frantically, Yoshitoki chased after the fleeing car. The second time was only a year ago, when a man had been using the school’s debt as leverage to come on to Ms. Anno. After she managed to pay back the money, and thereby rejected his advances, the man cursed her out right in front of them, as if he wanted all the Charity House’s residents to hear him. If Shuya hadn’t stopped Yoshitoki, the man would have lost his front teeth, though Yoshitoki would have also been severely injured. Yoshitoki was extremely kind, and even when he was insulted or picked on he usually laughed it off. But when someone he truly loved was hurt, his response was extreme. This was something Shuya admired about Yoshitoki.

“I’ll kill you, you bastard!” Yoshitoki continued, screaming, “I’ll kill you and dump you into a pile of shit!”

“Hmm.” Sakamochi looked amused. “Are you serious, Yoshitoki? You know one must be responsible for the things one says.”

“Give me a break! I’m going to kill you! Don’t you forget it!”

“Stop it, Yoshitoki! Stop it!” Yoshitoki paid no attention to Shuya’s screaming.

Sakamochi spoke in a strange, kind voice, as if to appease Yoshitoki. “Look, Yoshitoki. What you’re doing right now is voicing your opposition to the government.”

“I’ll kill you!” Yoshitoki didn’t stop. “I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you!”

Shuya could no longer contain himself and right when he was about to scream again, Sakamochi shook his head and waved his hand at the three Special Defense Forces soldiers standing by the lectern.

They resembled a chorus group, like the Four Freshmen. The men in fatigues, Tahara, Kondo, and Nomura, all lifted their right hands in a dramatic, emotionally charged pose. But their hands were holding guns. Now the chorus would have been something like, “Baby please, baby please, spend this night with me—”

Shuya saw Yoshitoki’s bulging eyes open even wider.

The three automatic pistols exploded all at once. Just as he was stepping out into the aisle, Yoshitoki’s body shook as if dancing the boogaloo.

It happened so quickly that Noriko Nakagawa, who sat right behind Yoshitoki, along with the rest of the class, didn’t even have time to duck.

The gunshot sounds hadn’t even died down before Yoshitoki slowly tipped over to the right and crashed in between his desk and Izumi Kanai’s on the right. Izumi shrieked.

The threesome stood with their right hands extended. Thin smoke from each of their barrels simultaneously trailed upward. Shuya then saw in between the legs of the desk the familiar face turned towards him. The bulging eyes remained open, fixed on a point on the floor. A bright puddle of blood began oozing out onto the floor. Yoshitoki’s right shoulder began twitching down to his fingers.

Yoshitoki!

Shuya stood up to run to him, but Noriko Nakagawa, who was sitting closer, was quicker. “Yoshitoki!” she screamed and crouched down beside him.

Now Tahara, the frivolous one, aimed his gun at Noriko and pulled the trigger. Noriko tumbled forward as if she were swept off her feet and collapsed on top of Yoshitoki, who continued to twitch.

Tahara immediately pointed his gun at Shuya. Shuya’s mind was racing now but his body was frozen. Only his eyes moved. He saw the blood spurting out of Noriko’s calf.

Sakamochi said to Noriko, “You will not leave your desk without my permission.” Then he looked over at Shuya, saying, “The same applies to you, Shuya. Now sit down.”

Shuya did his best to take his eyes away from Noriko’s bloody leg and Yoshitoki underneath her. He looked Sakamochi directly in the eye. His neck muscles had tensed up from the shock of the scene.

“What the hell is going on here!?” Tahara still pointed his gun at his forehead. Shuya remained still, bursting out, “What the hell are you doing!? We have to get some help for Yoshitoki… and Noriko…”

Sakamochi grimaced and shook his head. Then he repeated, “Forget about it and sit down. You too, Noriko.”

Noriko, completely pale from looking at Yoshitoki lying underneath her, slowly looked up at Sakamochi. She seemed overwhelmed with anger more than she was with the pain she must have been suffering from. She raised her eyes and glared back at Sakamochi. “Please get some help.” She spoke each word deliberately. “For Yoshitoki.”

Yoshitoki’s right arm continued to twitch. But while they watched over him the twitching subsided. It was evident his injury would be fatal unless he was treated immediately.

Sakamochi sighed deeply, then addressed the frivolous one, “Then Mr. Tahara, will you please take care of this.”

Before they could figure out what he meant, Tahara pointed his gun downward and pulled the trigger. BLAMM. Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s head bounced up once, then something from his head splashed onto Noriko’s face.

Dumbstruck, Noriko’s mouth hung open. Her face was covered with a dark red substance.

Shuya realized his mouth was hanging open too.

Although part of his head had been blown away, Yoshitoki’s eyes still remained focused on the same part of the floor. He was no longer twitching, though. He was motionless.

“See?” Sakamochi said. “He was already dying. Now then, please return to your seats.”

“Oh…” Noriko looked down at Yoshitoki’s deformed head, “…my…”

Shuya was also stunned. His eyes were glued to Yoshitoki’s face, lying between the legs of the desk. His thoughts were completely paralyzed, as if his own brains had been blown to bits. Memories of Yoshitoki flashed through his dazed mind. The little adventures they took, camping or walking down the river, a rainy day spent playing an old board game, mimicking “Jake and Elwood,” the heroes who, like themselves, were orphans in the American movie The Blues Brothers (amazingly, it was a dubbed version, although the voice actors were horrible), which had become a blackmarket hit, and then just recently, Yoshitoki’s face when he said, ” Hey Shuya, I got a crush on someone.” And then…

“Are you two deaf?” Sakamochi repeated. Yes, Shuya was deaf to his words. He just stared at Yoshitoki.

Noriko was no different. If they hadn’t moved, they would have followed in Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s footsteps. Right beside Sakamochi, Tahara pointed his gun at Noriko, while the other two pointed theirs at Shuya.

But it was thanks to a calm, in fact light-hearted voice calling out, “M-m-m-mister Sakamochi,” that Shuya was brought back to his senses, at least enough to gaze numbly at the caller.

Beyond Yoshitoki’s empty seat, Shinji Mimura had his hand raised. Noriko slowly looked at him too.

“Hm? Let’s see. You must be Shinji Mimura. What is it?”

Shinji put his hand down and spoke, “Noriko looks injured. I was wondering if I could help her get back to her seat.”

Despite the extremity of their situation, Shinji spoke in the usual voice of The Third Man.

Sakamochi raised his brow slightly, but then nodded.

“All right, go ahead. I really want to get things moving.”

Shinji nodded, stood up, and walked towards Noriko. As he approached her, he took out a neatly folded handkerchief out of his pocket and leaned between Yoshitoki’s corpse and Noriko. He first wiped Noriko’s face, which was covered with Yoshitoki’s blood. Noriko hardly reacted. Then he said, “Stand up, Noriko,” and put his hand under Noriko’s right arm to help her get up.

Then, with his back facing Sakamochi, Shinji looked at Shuya, who remained half-standing. Under his sharp, well defined brows, his eyes which always had a mildly amused look were now dead serious. He raised his right brow and moved his chin, shaking his head slightly. His left hand pushed down, as if he were making a pressing motion. Shuya didn’t understand this signal. Shinji made the same move again.

Although he was still dazed, Shuya finally understood that Shinji was telling him to calm down. He looked back at Shinji… and slowly eased his way back into his seat.

Shinji nodded. After returning Noriko to her seat, he turned around and returned to his seat.

Noriko sat down. Blood poured out of the wound in her right leg dangling from her seat. Her white socks and sneakers were soaked in red, as if she were wearing Santa Claus boots, but only on her right foot.

Noriko was coming to her senses a little too. She seemed to be making a gesture to thank Shinji. But as if he could see out the back of his head Shinji shrugged his shoulders to stop her. Noriko withdrew and saw once again Yoshitoki’s body lying below her right hand. She stared at him without a word but her eyes seemed to be brimming with tears.

Shuya also looked again at the corpse, his view partly obscured by the desks. Yes, it was a corpse. There was no doubt about it. It was hard to comprehend, but Yoshitoki had become a corpse, the corpse of someone with whom he had shared ten years of his life.

As he looked at Yoshitoki’s gaping eyes, Shuya’s anger became more pronounced and clear, like a throbbing pulse. The anger rushed through his entire body so powerfully that it almost made him shake. His feelings, which had been muted by the initial shock, were beginning to surface. Shuya turned and bared his teeth towards Sakamochi.

Sakamochi looked amused by Shuya. Shuya would never forgive him for this. He was going to kill the bastard.

Shuya had been on the verge of blowing up the way Yoshitoki did. But then…

Shinji Mimura had intervened at the crucial moment, telling him to calm down. Shuya immediately recalled how he got the signal from him only moments ago. Of course if he blew up now he would end up like Yoshitoki. And more importantly… now the girl whom Yoshitoki adored so much was severely injured. If he were to die now… what would happen to Noriko Nakagawa?

Shuya tried his best to tear his eyes away from Sakamochi. He looked down at his desktop. He felt wretched, as if his heart were being crushed from anger and sadness that had no outlet.

Sakamochi quietly laughed. He looked away from Shuya.

Shuya clenched both of his fists tightly under the desk in order to calm down his body which was shaking uncontrollably. He clenched them tighter and tighter. It was no easy feat to control his emotions though, with Yoshitoki’s corpse lying right in front of him.

This was incomprehensible. How could it be? How could you lose someone… someone so close?

Yoshitoki has always been with me. It doesn’t matter how trivial our experiences were. What about the time we played in the river, and I saved him from drowning? Or when we got our kicks collecting tons of grasshoppers, stuffing them into a small box, and how they died as a result? We both felt really bad about that. Or when we fought for that dog Eddie’s attention? Or when we pulled a prank in school and ended up hiding in the faculty room attic? We almost got caught, but after we managed to escape, we had a good laugh—Yoshitoki and I were always together. It was a fact. He was with me.

So how could he be… gone now?

Shinji raised his hand again, “I have another question, Mr. Sakamochi.”

“You again? What is it?”

“Noriko is injured. I understand we will be participating in the Program, but doesn’t this make the game unfair?”

Sakamochi looked amused.

“Well, perhaps, yes. So what is it?”

“Which means she should be treated, which means the Program should be postponed until her recovery, no?”

Shuya had barely managed to hold back his anger, so he was amazed by the contrast in Shinji Mimura’s calm conduct. It was a bit strange that Shuya could actually afford to be impressed. Yes, Shinji Mimura was a lot calmer than Shuya. Shinji was right. If Shinji’s request was granted, that might buy them some extra time. Then they might be able to escape.

Sakamochi’s face contorted into laughter. “That’s a very interesting suggestion, Shinji.” Sakamochi instead offered an alternative solution, “Then shall we kill Noriko Nakagawa now, and make the game equal?”

Noriko herself along with the rest of class suddenly froze up again. Shuya could see Shinji’s back underneath his school uniform stiffen as he immediately responded, “I take it back, I take it back. Come on, I was just kidding.”

Sakamochi burst out laughing again at Shinji’s humorous tone. Tahara, whose right hand had been on his holster, quickly returned it to the strap of his rifle hanging off his shoulder.

Sakamochi clapped his hands again.

“All right then, listen up. First of all, each and every one of you differ according to your intelligence, physical dexterity, etc., etc. We’re born unequal. So we will not treat Noriko Nakagawa—over there!! No whispering!” Sakamochi suddenly yelled. He threw a white object where Fumiyo Fujiyoshi (Female Student No. 18) was in the process of whispering something to the female class representative Yukie Utsumi, who was sitting next to her. Shuya wondered whether it was chalk for a moment, but of course that was absurd, given the circumstances.

The object made the thumping sound of a nail being pounded into a coffin. A thin knife was planted in the middle of Fumiyo Fujiyoshi’s wide, fair-skinned forehead.

Yukie stared at the sight, her eyes open wide. A stranger sight though was Fumiyo herself raising her eyes, struggling to locate the knife planted in her forehead. Her head arched back in this attempt.

Then she collapsed to the side. As she fell, her left temple hit the corner of Yukie’s desk and nudged it.

Now there was no room for doubt. Who could survive a knife planted in one’s forehead?

No one moved. No one spoke a word. Yukie took a deep breath and stared down at Fumiyo. Noriko was also gazing at her. Shinji Mimura kept his lips pursed as he looked at Fumiyo collapsed between the desks just like Yoshitoki.

His throat dry, Shuya held his breath and thought, “He did that on a whim! A whim! Damn it! Our lives are totally at the mercy of this asshole Sakamochi!”

“Oops, I did it. I’m so sorry. The instructor killing someone, that’s against the rules, huh?” Sakamochi closed his eyes and scratched his head. But his face became serious again and he said, “I need your undivided attention. Impulsive actions are strictly prohibited. That means whispering will not be permitted. It’s hard on me but if you whisper, I’ll toss another knife at you!”

Shuya clenched his teeth. He told himself to be patient and repeated this over and over to himself while two classmates were sprawled dead on the floor. Still, he was drawn to Yoshitoki’s face and couldn’t help but look at him. He felt he was about to cry.

5

“Allow me to explain the rules.”

Sakamochi returned to his cheerful voice. The classroom began to reek of Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s fresh blood, an odor entirely different than that of the dried blood of their instructor, “Dragonfly” Hayashida. Shuya couldn’t see Fumiyo Fujiyoshi’s face from his seat, but it seemed like there was very little blood coming out of her.

“I think you all know how this works. The rules are simple. All you have to do is kill each other. There are no violations. And,” Sakamochi wore a wide grin, “the last remaining survivor can go home. You even get a nice card autographed by the Dictator. Isn’t that wonderful?”

In his mind, Shuya spat to his side.

“Now you may think this is a horrible game. But in life the unexpected is bound to happen. You must at all times maintain self-control in order to respond properly to accidents. Consider this an exercise then. Also, men and women will be treated equally. There will be no handicaps for either side. I do have good news for the girls, though. According to Program statistics, 49% of past winning survivors have been girls. The motto here is, ‘I’m just like the others and the others are like me.’ There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Sakamochi made a signal. The camouflaged trio went into the hall and began to haul in the large, black, nylon day packs. The packs formed a pile right beside the body bag of Mr. Hayashida. Some of them were lopsided, as if they might contain a pole-shaped object inside trying to poke out.

“We will have you leave one by one. Each one of you will take one of these bags prior to departure. Each pack contains food, water, and a weapon. Let’s see, as I said, every one of you differs according to ability. So these weapons will add another random element. Well, that sounds complicated. In other words, it will make the game all the more unpredictable. You will each end up with a randomly selected weapon. As you leave in order, you will take the pack on top of the pile. Each pack also contains a map of the island, a compass, and a watch. Are there any of you who don’t have watches? You all do? Oh, I forgot to mention this, but we are on an island with an approximate circumference of six kilometers. Its never been used for the Program. We had the residents evacuate the island. So there is absolutely no one else here. So…”

Sakamochi faced the blackboard and grabbed a piece of chalk. He drew a rough diamond shape next to where he had written his name, “Kinpatsu Sakamochi.” On the top-right he drew an arrow pointing upward and the letter “N.” He wrote an “X” inside the diamond, right of its center. With the chalk still pressed against the blackboard, he turned towards the students.

“All right then. We’re in the school on this island. This is a diagram of the island, so this indicates the school. Got that?” Sakamochi tapped the symbol with his chalk. “I’m going to be staying here. I’ll be overlooking your efforts.”

Sakamochi then drew four spindle shapes scattered to the north, south, east, and west sides of the diamond.

“These are ships. They are there to kill anyone attempting to escape by sea.”

Then he drew parallel vertical and horizontal lines over the island. The diamond shape indicating the island resembled a warped grill now. Starting from the top-left, Sakamochi wrote markers in each grid, “A=1,” “A=2,”…in order. The next row read, “B=1,” “B=2,” etc.

“This is just a simplified diagram. The map inside your packs will look something like this.” Sakamochi placed his chalk down and clapped his hands to clear off the dust.

“Once you leave the premises, you are free to go anywhere. However, announcements will be made across the entire island at the hours of twelve and six, in the morning and at night. That’s four a day. I’ll be referring to this map when I announce the location of zones that will be forbidden after a certain time. You must examine your maps closely and check your compasses against them. If you are in a forbidden zone you must clear out of the area as soon as possible. Because…”

Sakamochi put his hands on the lectern and looked at everyone.

“…of the collars around your necks.”

Until he had made this remark, several students had failed to notice the collars. They touched their necks and looked shocked.

“That device is the result of the latest technology developed by our Republic. It is 100% waterproof, antishock, and uh-uh, no, no, it can’t come off. It won’t come off. If you try to pry it loose…” Sakamochi took a small breath, “…it will explode.”

Several students who had been fingering their collars immediately released their hands.

Sakamochi grinned. “The collar monitors your pulse in order to verify signs of life and transmits this information to the mainframe at this school. It also pinpoints your exact position on the island for us. Now, let’s return to the map.”

Sakamochi swung his right arm back and pointed to the map on the blackboard.

“This same computer will also randomly select forbidden zones. And if there are any students left in the zone after the designated time—of course dead students won’t matter—the computer will automatically detect anyone alive and immediately send a signal to his or her collar. Then…”

Shuya knew what he would say.

“That collar will explode.”

He was right.

Sakamochi paused for a moment to examine everyone. Then he continued, “Why would we do this? Because if everyone huddled up together in one spot, the game wouldn’t proceed. So we will make you move. Simultaneously, the area you can move around in will shrink. Got that?”

Sakamochi called it a game. No wonder. It was fucking outrageous. No one said a word but everyone appeared to understand the rules.

“All right, so that means hiding in a building will do you no good. Even if you hide in some hole you dug in the ground the transmission will reach you. Oh and by the way, you are free to hide in any building but you won’t be able to use the phone. You won’t be able to contact your parents. You have to fight on your own alone. But that’s how the game of life is anyway. Now I did say that the game will begin without any forbidden zones, but there is one exception: this school. Twenty minutes after your departure this school will become a forbidden zone. So please first get out of this area. Let’s see, you must be two hundred meters away. Got that? Now, in my announcements I will also read off the names of those who have died in the past six hours. Each announcement will be made regularly at six-hour intervals, but I’ll also be contacting the last remaining survivor by announcement as well. Oh… and one more thing. There is a time limit. Listen up. A time limit. A lot of people die in the Program, but if no one dies within twenty-four hours then your time’s expired, and it won’t matter how many students are left….”

Shuya knew what he would say.

“The computer will detonate the collars of the remaining students. There will be no winner.”

Again he was right.

Sakamochi stopped speaking. The entire classroom had become silent. The room was still reeking with the heavy stench of Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s blood. Everyone remained in their collective daze. They were scared, but this situation, where they were about to be thrown into a killing game, seemed beyond their comprehension.

As if responding to their general state of mind, Sakamochi clapped his hands. “Well, I’ve covered all the tedious details. Now I have something more important to tell you. A piece of advice. Some of you might be thinking that murdering your classmates is impossible. But don’t forget there are others willing to do it.”

Shuya wanted to scream, you’re full of it! But with the Fumiyo-Fujiyoshi-executed-for-whispering incident only moments in the past he could only stay put.

Everybody remained silent, but something had suddenly changed and Shuya knew it.

Everyone was looking around, glancing at the others’ pale faces. Whenever anyone’s gaze met, their eyes would nervously turn toward Sakamochi. It only happened within a matter of seconds, but their expressions were exactly the same: they were tense and suspicious, wondering who was already ready to take part. Only a few, like Shinji Mimura, remained calm.

Shuya clenched his teeth again. You’re falling into their trap! Think about it, we’re a group. There’s no way we can kill each other!

“All right then, I need to make sure you get my point. You’ll find some paper and pencils in your desks.”

Everyone timidly took out their paper and pencils. Shuya had no choice but to follow his instructions.

“Now then, I want you to write this down. To memorize something, it’s best to write it down. Write this. ‘We will kill each other.’ Write it three times.”

Shuya heard the pencils scribbling against the paper. Noriko too held her pencil, looking morose. While Shuya wrote out this insane motto, he glanced at Yoshitoki’s body, which remained lying between the desks. He recalled Yoshitoki’s warm smile.

Sakamochi continued, “Okay then. ‘If I don’t kill, I will be killed.’ Write this down three times too.”

Shuya also glanced over at Fumiyo Fujiyoshi. Her white fingers poking out of the cuffs of her sailor suit uniform gently formed a bowl. She was the nurse’s aide. She was quiet but very caring.

Then he looked up at Sakamochi.

Fucking bastard, I’ll stab you in the chest with this pencil!

6

“Now then, let’s see, every two minutes one of you will be leaving the classroom. Once you go through this door and turn right down the hall you’ll find the school exit. You are to leave immediately. Anyone loitering in the hall will be immediately shot. Now, who do we start with? According to the Program rules, once we determine the first person, the rest of the order will correspond to your classroom seating assignments. Male, female, male, female, got it? Once we reach the last seat number, we start over from the first number. So…”

At this point, Shuya recalled that Noriko’s seating number was 15. It was the same as his. Which meant that he and Noriko could leave almost simultaneously (unless she was chosen first, which meant he would be the last one to leave). But… could Noriko walk?

Sakamochi took out an envelope from his inner coat pocket.

“The first student is selected by lottery. Hold on a second…”

From his pocket Sakamochi produced a pink-ribboned pair of scissors and ceremoniously cut open the end of the envelope.

That was when Kazuo Kiriyama spoke up. Like Shinji Mimura, he also sounded calm. But his voice sounded cold with a harsh ring. “I was wondering when the game begins.”

Everyone looked back to the last row, where Kiriyama was sitting. (Shogo Kawada was the only who didn’t turn. He just continued to chew his gum.)

Sakamochi gestured with his hand, “As soon as you leave here. So you all might want to hide out to cook up your own strategies… since it’s night right now.”

Kazuo Kiriyama didn’t respond. Shuya finally confirmed it was midnight, or 1 a.m.—no, it was already near 1:30 a.m.

After cutting open the envelope Sakamochi pulled out from it a white sheet of paper, and he unfolded it. His mouth formed an “O” and he remarked, “What a coincidence! It’s student No. 1. Yoshio Akamatsu.”

Hearing the announcement, Yoshio Akamatsu, who sat at the front row of the column near the windows (steel plates), looked shaken. He was 180 centimeters tall, weighing 90 kilograms, so he was large, but he couldn’t even catch a fly ball, nor could he run a full lap around the track. Yoshio was always bumbling through gym class. Now his lips were pale blue.

“Hurry up, Yoshio Akamatsu,” Sakamochi said. Yoshio held the bag he’d packed for the study trip and staggered to his feet. He made his way forward and received his day pack from the camouflaged trio, who now held their rifles at their waists. He stood at the open door and faced the darkness. He looked back at everyone with a terrified face, but then a moment later he vanished beyond the door. Two or three footsteps turned into the pounding sound of his running, which then faded away. It sounded like he fell once but then it sounded like he dashed off again.

In the quiet room several students took a deep, restrained breath.

“Now we will wait two minutes. Then the next one will be Female Student No. 1, Mizuho Inada—”

This routine continued ruthlessly on and on like this.

But there was something Shuya noticed when Female Student No. 4 Sakura Ogawa got up to leave. Sakura sat two seats behind Shuya, in the very last row. As she made her way to the exit, she touched the desk of her boyfriend Kazuhiko Yamamoto and left a piece of paper behind for him. She might have dashed off a message on that sheet of paper on which they’d been instructed to write, “We will kill each other.”

Shuya might have been the only one who saw this. At the very least Sakamochi didn’t seem to notice. Kazuhiko snatched the scrap of paper and clenched it tightly under his desk. Shuya felt a wave of relief. They weren’t all consumed by this insanity yet. The bonds of love had yet to be severed. But… what was her message? Shuya wondered as she left the classroom.

Maybe—he glanced at the map Sakamochi had scrawled on the blackboard—she’d designated one of the areas for a meeting? But that map on the blackboard was too crude, and there was no guarantee at all it’d correspond to the maps they were given. Maybe she indicated a general direction or distance. Besides, the fact that they wanted to secretly meet only meant they didn’t trust anyone else and they were certain others would try to kill them. Which in the end meant they were falling into Sakamochi’s trap.

Shuya thought, I have no idea what lies beyond this room but I should at the very least be able to wait outside and talk to the students after me. None of Sakamochi’s rules prohibit me from doing this. Everyone might be panicking from suspicion, but if we can just get together and discuss the situation then I’m sure we can come up with a plan. Plus, Noriko was the one who came immediately after him (could she walk though?). Shinji Mimura also came after him. Hiroki Sugimura would leave before him though….

Shuya considered passing a note to Hiroki but his seat was too far. Besides, if he tried anything he could end up like Fumiyo Fujiyoshi.

Hiroki Sugimura was up next. His eyes met Shuya’s briefly right before he exited the room’s sliding door… but that was all. In his mind, Shuya sighed deeply. He could only hope Hiroki had the same idea and would be waiting outside. If he could talk the others into waiting too…

In front and behind him, the quiet ones, Shogo Kawada, Kazuo Kiriyama, and Mitsuko Souma, left one by one.

Chewing his gum, Shogo exited with an indifferent look on his face, completely ignoring Sakamochi and the camouflaged trio. Kiriyama and Souma left the same way.

Of course. When Sakamochi said, “There are others willing to do it,” the rest of the class must have immediately suspected these three students. Because they were “delinquents.” They might not think twice about killing the others in order to survive….

But Shuya doubted Kazuo Kiriyama would. Kazuo had his own gang. On top of that, his gang was a lot tighter than your typical group of buddies. Hiroshi Kuronaga, Ryuhei Sasagawa, Sho Tsukioka, and Mitsuru Numai. The rules of this game turned everyone else into your enemy, but the five of them killing each other was unimaginable. Besides— Shuya made a careful note of this—when he left, his boys looked disturbingly calm. Kazuo probably passed around a note to the others. He’s probably planning an escape for the five of them. Kazuo was more than capable of out-maneuvering the government. Of course, this also meant that Kazuo wouldn’t trust anyone besides his gang.

Mitsuko Souma had a similar kind of group. Her seat was too far from the others, Hirono Shimizu and Yoshimi Yahagi, for her to be able to pass them notes. But… Mitsuko Souma was a girl. There was no way she would play this game.

Shogo Kawada was the only one who troubled Shuya. Shogo Kawada had no group. In fact he didn’t even have a single friend. Ever since he transferred to their school, he hardly spoke to anyone in the class. On top of that, there was something elusive about Shogo. Even if he ignored the rumors, there were those wounds covering his entire body…

Could it be that… Shogo might be the only one willing to participate in this game? It was certainly possible.

But Shuya knew the moment he turned suspicious he was giving into the government, so he immediately dismissed the thought… though he had trouble dismissing the thought entirely.

Time passed.

Many of the girls were crying as they left.

Although it felt incredibly short, an hour must have passed according to his calculations (of course with Yoshitoki Kuninobu the elapsed time was reduced by two minutes). Female Student No. 14 Mayumi Tendo vanished into the hall, and Sakamochi called out, “Male Student No. 15, Shuya Nanahara.”

Shuya grabbed his bag and stood up. He thought, I did all I could before leaving the classroom.

Instead of heading directly to the exit, he took the aisle on his left. Noriko turned around and watched Shuya approaching her.

Sakamochi raised his voice, “Shuya,” and his knife. “Wrong direction.”

Shuya stopped. The three soldiers had their rifles cocked. His throat stiffened. Then he said nervously, “Yoshitoki Kuninobu was my friend. The least I could do is close his eyes. According to the Great Dictator’s education policy, we’re supposed to respect the dead.”

Sakamochi hesitated for a moment, but then he grinned and put his knife down.

“You’re so caring, Shuya. All right then.”

Shuya took a small breath, then stepped forward. He stopped in front of Noriko’s desk, where Yoshitoki’s corpse was lying.

Although he’d demanded the right to close his friend’s eyes, he couldn’t help but freeze up.

Now that he was up close he saw, courtesy of the frivolous one, thin, red flesh and something white in Yoshitoki’s blood-stained short hair. He realized it was bone. Thanks to the bullets wedged inside his head, Yoshitoki’s big eyes bulged out even further. He looked stupefied with the upturned eyes of a starving refugee waiting to be fed. Pink, slimy liquid consisting of blood and saliva dripped out of his mouth, which opened slightly. Dark blood poured out of his nostrils. It flowed down his chin and into the pool of blood pouring out of his chest. It was horrible.

Shuya placed his bag near him and leaned over. He lifted Yoshitoki’s body, which was lying down face first. As Shuya lifted him, blood came pouring out of the chest of his blackened school uniform, which was torn in three places, and splashed onto the floor. His lanky body felt incredibly light. Was it because all that blood had been drained out of him?

Holding Yoshitoki’s light body, Shuya’s head cooled down. More than sadness or fear, it was anger that overwhelmed him.

Yoshitoki… I’m going to avenge your death. I swear to you that I will.

There wasn’t much time. He wiped the blood off Yoshitoki’s face with the palm of his hand, then gently closed his eyes. He laid his body down and clasped his hands on his chest.

Then as he pretended to fumble over picking up his bag, he leaned over to Noriko as close as he could and quickly whispered, “Can you walk?”

That was enough to provoke the camouflaged trio to reach for their rifles, but Shuya managed to get a nod from Noriko. Shuya turned to Sakamochi and the trio, clenched his fist for Noriko to see, and pointed his thumb to the exit to indicate: I’ll be waiting. I’ll be waiting outside.

Shuya didn’t look back at Noriko, but out of the corner of his eye he looked beyond Yoshitoki’s desk, where Shinji Mimura stared ahead, faintly smiling with his arms folded. He might have seen Shuya’s signal. Shuya felt all the more relieved. It was Shinji. If Shinji’s on our side, we can escape, no prob.

But Shinji Mimura may have been more aware of their situation than Shuya was. He might have been saying with that grin, “Well, this may be adios amigos, Shuya.” The thought didn’t occur to Shuya at the time though.

He continued to walk. He took a moment to think before he received his black day pack, and he did the same as he approached Fumiyo Fujiyoshi’s corpse, shutting his eyes. He wanted to remove the knife from her forehead, but decided against it.

When he stepped out of the classroom, he felt a pang of regret, wishing he had removed it for her.

7

The hall was unlit. Only the light from the classroom shone on the floor planks. The windows on the side of the hall were also sealed with sheets of black steel. They provided protection against attacks from rebellious students like Shuya who might decide to escape the game. Of course, as soon as they were off, this area would already be forbidden.

He looked to his right. There was another room, then another, both identical to the room he’d just exited. And then at the end of the dark hall there was what looked like a double-door exit. At the end of the hall there was another room on the left.

Was it the school’s faculty room? The door was open and the lights were on. Shuya looked beyond the door, where a legion of Special Defense Forces soldiers were sitting on steel folding chairs behind a wide desk. Twenty or thirty? No, there were as many soldiers as there were students.

In fact, Shuya was hoping that if his day pack came equipped with a gun (it was possible—along with “knife wound” and “choking,” “gunshot wound” was listed as a cause of death in the Program reports), or if some of the others waiting for him were equipped with guns, then they could use them against Sakamochi and his men before everyone departed, in other words, before the school became a forbidden zone. But this hope was immediately extinguished. The three men with Sakamochi weren’t the only soldiers accompanying him. Of course, that wasn’t at all surprising.

One of the soldiers tilted his head and glanced up from the mug in his hand at Shuya. Like the faces of the trio in the classroom, his also lacked any expression.

Shuya took to his heels and hurried to the exit. He rushed impatiently. So now… now the only thing they could do was unite. But… maybe there were soldiers stationed outside to prevent them from waiting for each other? Still…

Shuya quickly ran through the dark corridor and went through the double doors. He descended several porch stairs.

Under the moon, an empty athletic field the size of three tennis courts spread out beyond the building. There were woods beyond the field. To his left was a small mountain. His field of vision expanded on the right. A pitch-black darkness spread out—the sea. Small points of light twinkled beyond the ocean. It must be the mainland. The Program officially took place within the prefecture of the selected junior high school. Sometimes the location was a mountain surrounded by high-voltage fences, or abandoned prison houses that hadn’t yet been demolished, but for Kagawa Prefecture the Program was usually held on an island. According to the local news reports he’d seen (of course, in each case the location would only be announced after the game was over), every game in Kagawa took place on an island. This time was no exception. Sakamochi didn’t mention the name of the island, but once Shuya checked its shape on the map he might be able to tell. Or maybe a building would reveal the name of the island.

The soft breeze blew in. He could smell the sea. It was cold for a May evening but it wasn’t unbearable. He’d have to be careful when he slept not to tire himself from exposure.

But first…

There was no one. There weren’t any soldiers, but Shuya was disappointed to find none of his classmates there. As Sakamochi had anticipated, everyone was hiding out. Even Hiroki Sugimura wasn’t there. Only the soft breeze mixed in with the smell of the sea came drifting through the athletic field.

Damn it. Shuya grimaced. If we scatter like this, we’ll fall into the government’s trap. It might be all right if you were forming groups with your friends. Sakura Ogawa and Kazuhiko Yamamoto might be meeting somewhere, likewise Kazuo Kiriyama’s gang. But anyone hiding alone would eventually have to confront someone… Who knew what would result from that kind of chaos? Wasn’t chaos essential to the progress of the game?

Well at least I’m going to wait here for the others. First I have to wait for Noriko.

Shuya glanced back at the dark interior of the school building. They were told anyone loitering in the hall would be immediately shot, but the soldiers in the room at the end of the corridor didn’t pay any particular attention to Shuya. They weren’t exactly chatting up a storm. They just sat around, unarmed.

Shuya licked his lips and decided it was best for him to move away from the door. He looked outside again.

That’s when he noticed it.

He didn’t see it last time because he was too preoccupied with the overall view, but this time he saw something that looked like a garbage bag lying at his feet.

Shuya wondered whether it was someone’s day pack, dropped by accident, but then his eyes widened.

It wasn’t a garbage bag, nor was it someone’s day pack. There was hair growing out of one end. Human hair.

It was a human being. Wearing a sailor suit school uniform. The body was in a V-shape, lying on its side, face down. The single pony tail tied with a wide ribbon looked familiar. No wonder. He’d just seen her off only three minutes ago. The stiff body belonged to Female Student No. 14, Mayumi Tendo.

Right beside her lobster-shaped braided hair, a dull, silver, twenty-centimeter stick poked out of the back of her uniform, diagonally, like a transistor radio antenna. There were four tiny flaps resembling a fighter plane’s tail at the end of the stick.

What the… hell was this?

What he should have done was immediately seek cover. Instead Shuya stood there, stunned.

He recalled Sakamochi’s reply to Kiriyama, who asked when the game began: “As soon as you leave here.”

It was unbelievable—who could have done this? Did someone return to kill Mayumi Tendo just as she left the school?

Shuya stopped speculating and cautiously crouched down and checked the premises. For some reason… there was no sign of the attacker. No arrows had flown at him when he’d been standing in a daze. Why? Satisfied with killing only Mayumi Tendo, did the assailant leave the premises? Or… was this some engineered “provocation”? Did the soldiers at the end of the hall kill her to convince everyone that some of their classmates were already willing to play the game? But if that were the case…

All of sudden Shuya realized Mayumi Tendo might still be alive. She might be unconscious from the shock of her wound. In any case, he should look at her.

If he hadn’t realized something odd and restrained himself from taking a step forward a split-second later, Shuya would have dropped out of the game early. In other words…

A silver object whizzed right by Shuya’s eyes. Yes—it came directly down, from above. Another antenna was planted in the ground.

Shuya shuddered. If he hadn’t been standing at the exit, waiting for Noriko, he would have been immediately shot down. The assailant was on top of the building.

Shuya clenched his teeth, snatched up the arrow, and ran to his left. He moved impulsively but in an erratic way that eluded the assailant. He turned around and looked up. Under the dim moonlit sky, a large, dark shadow loomed above the gabled roof of the single-story school building.

Could that be… not Shogo…

He had no time to think. The shadow pointed its weapon at him.

Just to surprise him Shuya threw the arrow at the shadow. But thanks to Shuya’s gifts as a star shortstop, the arrow flew at incredible speed and traced a fine arc right at the shadow. The shadow groaned, held its face, hunched over, and then began to sway. Then it fell.

Shuya stepped back and watched the shadow fall from a height of at least three meters and land with a thud on the ground. The object in the assailant’s hand fell with a metallic crash.

Light leaked through the building exit. The large shadow was lying face down, wearing a school uniform. It was Yoshio Akamatsu. He was motionless now, perhaps because he was unconscious. A hybrid between a bow and rifle—were they called bow guns?—was lying by his hand. The day pack that had fallen by Yoshio’s feet was half open. Shuya saw a stack of silver arrows inside.

Shuya felt a sudden chill. It was true. He was participating! Yoshio Akamatsu was in on this game. Yoshio had taken his weapon, returned here, and killed Mayumi Tendo!

Someone was coming from behind.

Shuya turned around. It was Noriko, who’d taken the situation in as she held her breath in surprise. Shuya’s eyes went from Noriko’s face to Mayumi Tendo—he ran over to Mayumi and touched her neck to check her pulse. She was dead. There was no doubt.

His brain felt like a fuse fizzling out. Others might be in the same state of mind as Yoshio. And one of them might just suddenly return this time, perhaps with a gun.

Shuya had no choice but to change his attitude toward the game now. So this was it. When Sakamochi said, “As soon as you leave here,” this was what he’d meant.

Shuya stood up and ran to Noriko. He took her by the hand.

“We’re running! Do your best, you have to run!”

Shuya began running, half-dragging Noriko, whose leg was injured. Which way though?

He couldn’t afford to deliberate over his decisions. He headed towards the grove. First they’d hide in the grove, then they could, no—he dismissed the thought. Given Noriko’s condition, they were defenseless against any attack. Staying near the area was too dangerous.

Waiting in front of the building for the others was completely out of the question. He rushed Noriko, and they entered the grove. Tall trees mixed in with short trees, and the ground was covered with fern.

Shuya turned to yell some warning to the remaining eleven students coming out (in their class of twenty-one pairs of boys and girls, there should have been twelve students following Shuya’s and Noriko’s seat numbers, but Fumiyo Fujiyoshi had to be counted out), but he gave up on the idea. Shuya reached the somewhat forced conclusion that they probably weren’t as foolish as he was, so they’d flee the moment they emerged from the building anyway, especially once they saw Mayumi Tendo’s corpse. For a moment he thought of Shinji Mimura—but he gave up on this idea too. Once again he forced himself into believing that there had to be some other strategy, another way for them to meet up. In any case, they had to leave.

Holding Noriko Nakagawa tightly, he haphazardly led their way into the grove. A bird cried out, “kaw kaw,” and ruffled its wings as it flew away. He couldn’t see it, but it didn’t matter. He had no time to observe it anyway.

8

Yoshio Akamatsu regained consciousness almost immediately, but because he’d been knocked out cold by the blow to his head he felt as if he were coming out of a deep slumber.

He first noticed how his head was throbbing. He felt out of it. What was it? Was it from playing video games yesterday way past midnight?… which meant that yesterday was Saturday, or was it Sunday?… then today must be Monday which means I have to be in school… but what time could it be… it’s still dark, maybe… I can sleep a little more….

As he sat up, the sky and earth rotating ninety degrees, an empty field unexpectedly spread out in front of him. There was a mountain beyond the field, shaped like a bow, darker than the night sky.

All of a sudden, everything came back. Sakamochi, Mr. Hayashida’s corpse, Yoshio’s departure, discovering the bow gun in his day pack once he found some shelter in a small shack, his returning here, observing Takako Chigusa (Female Student No. 13) whose face was a little severe but beautiful, looking tense now as the track team’s best runner dashed away at full speed, him struggling up the thin steel ladder by the side of the building in order to reach the roof. Then how, due to the trouble he had loading his bow gun with an arrow, Sho Tsukioka (Male No. 14) also managed to escape his reach. And then…

Yoshio turned around and saw the girl in the sailor suit uniform lying there.

It didn’t exactly come as a surprise to Yoshio. What he felt now in conjunction with his memory wasn’t guilt over killing one of his classmates so much as it was fear. It might have resembled a gigantic billboard sign standing in the middle of a wasteland inside his mind. On the sign were letters in blood that read, “I’m going to kill you!” In the background all his classmates held weapons like axes and pistols, attacking Yoshio, who stood in front of the sign as if it were a 3D movie.

Of course killing your classmates was wrong. And besides once the game time had expired they were all going to die anyway so it might have been absurd to fight at all. But that was just too rational. The fact was that Yoshio simply did not want to die. He was petrified by any of his classmates who’d bare their teeth at him. Just think about it, you’re surrounded by a swarm of assassins.

And so his choice to reduce “the enemy” as efficiently as possible wasn’t motivated by rational thoughts but instead from a deeper, primal fear of death. There was no need to discern your allies from your enemies. Everyone had to be an enemy. After all when Ryuhei Sasagawa used to pick on him, everyone looked the other way.

Yoshio scrambled to his feet. First, Shuya Nanahara, who’d been in front of him. Where did he go?… The bow gun. I have to get the bow gun. Where did it?…

Yoshio felt a blow against his neck as if he were struck by a club.

He fell forward with thud. His body twisted into the shape of a V, and his face scraped against the moist soil. The skin of his forehead and cheeks peeled away, but this no longer mattered to him. He was already dead by the time he had fallen.

The same kind of silver arrow which he had shot Mayumi Tendo with was now planted in the back of his neck.

9

Kazushi Niida (Male Student No. 16) emerged from the building two minutes after Noriko Nakagawa. He stood at the exit for a while, shaking. The bow gun lying next to Yoshio Akamatsu’s body was still loaded with an arrow. Although Kazushi had picked it up, he had no intention of shooting Yoshio. But the moment Yoshio stood up, he reflexively pulled the trigger.

Kazushi did his best to overcome his panic. The first thing was to get out of here. That was the priority. What he should have done in the first place was ignore Yoshio Akamatsu and Mayumi Tendo completely and run away. Given the circumstances, he had no other choice but to kill Yoshio. Yoshio Akamatsu had obviously killed Mayumi Tendo. So Kazushi hadn’t done anything wrong.

Kazushi was very good at making excuses. Once he thought like this, the numbness in his head began to wane.

As he lowered the bow gun, he automatically grabbed Yoshio’s day pack, which was loaded with arrows. Right before he moved on though, he stopped and picked up Mayumi Tendo’s day pack too. Then he hurried off.

10

Had they been running for ten minutes now? With his arm still wrapped around Noriko, he signaled they should be still, and they both stopped. Under the hazy moonlight shining through the branches overhead, Noriko looked up at him. Their heavy breathing echoed like a giant wall of sound, but Shuya tried his best to listen beyond the wall for other sounds in the area enveloped in darkness.

No one seemed to be chasing them. They were too short of breath to sigh, but they could relax a little now.

As he dropped his bags, a sharp pain ran through his right shoulder. He was in poor shape. An electric guitar was heavier than a bat, but it wasn’t something you swung around. After putting the bags down, he placed his hands on his thighs and tried to rest.

Shuya urged Noriko to sit in the dark grove. After he checked again for any other suspicious sounds, he sat down next to her. The thick grass underneath them made a crunching sound.

He felt as if they’d covered a good distance, but given how they’d been zigzagging, and how they’d lost all sense of direction climbing the mountain, they might have only been a few hundred meters away from the school. At least the light leaking out of the building was no longer visible. This might have just been due to the thickness of the grove or the gentle slopes, though. Anyway it felt safer deep inside the dark grove. His decision was impulsive, but he was certain it was safer than the wide open seaside.

Shuya looked over at Noriko and whispered, “Are you all right?”

Noriko murmured, “Yes.” She nodded slightly.

Shuya felt the urge to stay here for a while, but that wasn’t an option. First he opened up the day pack. He dug into it, groping around, and found an object that felt like a bottle of water.

Shuya pulled it out. The sheath felt like leather and a leather grip poked out of it. It was an army knife. Sakamochi said that the day pack was equipped with a weapon. Was this it? He searched the bag a little more, but nothing else inside resembled a weapon. Only a bag that seemed to contain bread and a flashlight.

He unfastened the sheath and removed the knife. The blade was approximately fifteen centimeters long, and after checking it he returned it to the sheath and tucked it under his school uniform belt. He unfastened the lowest button on his uniform to make the grip immediately accessible.

Shuya grabbed Noriko’s day pack and opened the zipper. He knew he wasn’t supposed to go through a girl’s things, but Noriko didn’t pack this bag.

He found something strange. It was a curved stick approximately forty centimeters long. It had the texture of smooth, hard wood. Was this what they called a boomerang? A weapon used for fighting and hunting in primitive tribes. An aboriginal village hunting hero might be able to knock down an ailing, sluggish kangaroo with this thing, but what use could it possibly have for them? Shuya sighed and returned it to Noriko’s day pack.

They finally stopped heaving like drown victims gasping for air.

“You want some water?” Shuya asked.

Noriko nodded and said, “Just a little.”

Shuya took out the plastic bottle from his day pack, broke the seal of the twist-off top, and sniffed the contents. He spilled some on his hand and licked it cautiously. Then after taking a sip, making sure he had no abnormal reaction, he handed it over to Noriko. Noriko took the bottle and only swallowed a small mouthful. She probably knew that water was precious. Each bottle only contained approximately one liter, and they’d only have two. Sakamochi said they had no access to telephones, but what about the water system?

“Let me take a look at your leg.”

Noriko nodded to Shuya’s request and stretched out her right leg, which had been tucked in under her skirt. Shuya took out the flashlight from his day pack. He cupped it carefully with the palm of his hand to prevent its light from leaking out and pointed it at her leg wound.

The wound was on the outer calf. A section of flesh approximately four centimeters long and one centimeter deep had been scraped off. A thin stream of blood still flowed out of the ends of the pinkish flesh wound. It looked like she needed stitches.

Shuya quickly turned off his flashlight and grabbed his sports bag instead of his day pack. He grabbed the bourbon flask and two clean bandannas he’d packed for the trip. He uncapped the flask.

“This is going to hurt.”

“I’ll be okay,” Noriko said, but once Shuya tilted the flask and poured the bourbon to disinfect her wound, she let out a small hiss. Shuya pressed one folded bandanna onto her wound. He opened up the other one, folded it, then began wrapping it around her leg tightly like a bandage. This would stop the bleeding for now.

After wrapping her leg, he pulled at both ends of the bandage tightly, tied them together, and mumbled, “Damn…”

Noriko whispered, “You mean Nobu?”

“Yoshitoki, Yoshio. Everyone and everything. I’m not into this. I am so not into this.”

As he moved his hands Shuya glanced at Noriko. Then he looked down and finished tying his knot. Noriko thanked him and tucked her leg in.

“So Yoshio was the one who killed…” her voice was trembling, “…Mayumi?”

“Yes. He was above the exit door. I threw the arrow at him and he fell.”

Now that he thought about it, Shuya suddenly realized he hadn’t taken care of Yoshio. He’d instinctively assumed Yoshio would remain unconscious for a while, but for all he knew Yoshio might have woken up immediately afterwards. Which meant he might have taken his bow gun, climbed up on the roof, and continued his slaughter.

Was I being too naïve again? Should I have just killed him over there?

With this thought Shuya checked his watch under the moonlight. The old, domestically manufactured Hattori Hanzo limited-edition diver’s watch (along with most of his belongings, it had been donated to Shuya through the orphanage) read 2:40. Everyone might have left by now. At most there were only two or three students left, regardless of Yoshio Akamatsu’s state. Shinji Mimura had already… Shuya was nearly certain Shinji could easily escape Yoshio… By now he’d already left too.

Shuya shook his head. Now he felt foolish believing they could unite against their situation.

“I never thought someone like him would actually try to kill everyone else to survive. I understand the rules, but I didn’t think anyone would actually participate.”

“You might be wrong about that though,” Noriko said.

“Huh?” Shuya looked into Noriko’s face, too dark to discern under the moonlight. Noriko continued,

“You know how Yoshio was always timid. I think he was scared. That must’ve been it. I mean you have no idea who might turn against you. He might have been convinced everyone was coming after him. I think he was really scared. And that if he didn’t do anything he would end up being… killed…”

Shuya sat down against the nearest tree trunk and stretched his legs out.

The ones who were terrified might try to kill each other… The same idea had occurred to Shuya, but he had also thought the ones who were scared would basically hide out. But if they were terrified out of their wits, they might actually take their own initiative.

“I get it.”

“Yes,” Noriko nodded. “It’s still horrible that he started killing indiscriminately.”

They remained silent for a while. Then Shuya came up with an idea. “Hey, you think if he’d seen the two of us together he wouldn’t have attacked us? Wouldn’t it prove we’re not playing the game?”

“Well yes, maybe.”

Shuya started thinking. If as Noriko said Yoshio had just been overwhelmed by paranoia…

That moment back there was when he first realized someone was willing to play. That was why he fled. But maybe that was wrong. How could they possibly kill each other? It was outrageous. Then should he have waited for the others, leaving aside what he should have done with Yoshio?

Either way, it was too late now. Everyone would be gone by now even if they went back. Besides, did Yoshio do that simply out of fear?

He was getting confused.

“Hey, Noriko.” Noriko lifted her face.

“What do you think? I fled from the school grounds the moment I realized there might be others like Yoshio. But… if he really did it out fear… in other words, do you really think any of us would actually participate? What I mean is that… I’m thinking of gathering everyone together to escape from this game. What do you think?”

“Everyone?”

Noriko fell silent and tucked her knees under her skirt. Then she said, “Maybe I’m not as generous.”

“Huh?”

“I couldn’t handle some of them. I could trust my friends….” Noriko mentioned the name of their class representative, Yukie Utsumi. Shuya knew Yukie since elementary school.

“Like Yukie. But I don’t think I could trust the other girls. There’s no way I could be with them. Don’t you think? I have no idea what was going through Yoshio’s mind, but I’m afraid of everyone else too. I mean… I just realized I don’t know a thing about everyone else. I don’t know what they’re really like. I mean… you can’t see into someone’s mind.”

I don’t know a thing about everyone else.

She was right, Shuya thought. What do I know about this group that I spend the day with at school? He suddenly felt like there was an enemy out there.

Noriko continued, “So I-I’d be suspicious. Unless it was someone I really trusted, I’d be suspicious of them. I’d be afraid they might want to kill me.”

Shuya sighed. The game was horrible. But it also seemed flawless. In the end, it was a bad idea to invite everyone indiscriminately to form a group unless you were certain about them. What if—let’s just say what if—they betrayed you? It wasn’t just his life but Noriko’s too he’d be endangering. Yes—it was only natural the others before him had immediately fled the premises. That was more realistic.

“Hold on a sec,” Shuya said. Noriko glanced up at Shuya. “Then that means us being together won’t necessarily prove we’re harmless. The others might suspect that I plan on killing you eventually.”

Noriko nodded. “Yes, I’ll be suspected too, just like you. A classmate might avoid us once they see us together, but I also think anyone we invite will turn away. I mean it would depend on each person.”

Shuya held his breath. “It would be scary.”

“Yes, it’s really scary.”

So the ones who fled from the school premises might have been right. But what mattered to him was protecting Noriko Nakagawa, the girl Yoshitoki adored. Maybe he should have been content with the fact that at the very least Noriko Nakagawa was safe by his side now. He had done the safest thing. But…

“But,” he said, “at the very least I wanted Shinji to join us. I think he’d come up with a really good plan. You’d be okay with Shinji, right?”

Noriko nodded and said, “Of course.” Given the amount of time she spoke with Shuya at school, she had many occasions to talk to Shinji Mimura. Beside, Shuya recalled how Shinji had helped her up and how he’d signaled him to calm down. He realized now that if Shinji hadn’t done those things, he and Noriko would have remained dazed and been shot down like Yoshitoki.

As if she were thinking along the same lines that led to the inevitable, she looked down and quietly said, “So Nobu’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Shuya answered quietly, as if it were a bizarre fact, “I guess so.”

Then they fell silent again. They could reminisce but now was not the time. Besides, Shuya couldn’t bring himself to take a stroll down memory lane over Yoshitoki. It was too heavy.

“I wonder what we should do.”

Noriko stiffened her mouth and nodded without a word.

“I wonder if there might be a way to gather the ones we trust together.”

“That’s…” Noriko considered it, then became silent once again. It was true—there was no way. At least for now.

Shuya sighed deeply once again.

He looked up and saw through the twigs the gray night sky dimly glowing under the moonlight. So this was what it meant to be in a “no-win situation.” If they simply wanted everyone to join, all they had to do was walk around and shout. But that would be an open invitation to get themselves killed by any of their opponents. Of course he hoped there weren’t any opponents but… in the end, he had to admit he was scared too.

The thought led to an idea, though. Shuya turned to her and asked, “But you’re not afraid of me?”

“What?”

“Didn’t you wonder whether I’d try to kill you?”

Under the moonlight, he couldn’t see well, but Noriko’s eyes seemed to widen a little. “You would never do something so horrible.”

Shuya thought a little more. Then he said, “But you can’t know what someone’s thinking. You said yourself.”

“No,” Noriko shook her head. “I just know that you would never do that.”

Shuya looked at her face directly. He probably looked dazed. “You can… tell?”

“Yes… I can. I…” She hesitated, but then continued, “I’ve been watching you for so long now.” She might have delivered these words more stiffly in a normal situation, or at least one that was a little more romantic.

That was how Shuya recalled the anonymous love letter he’d received written on light blue stationary. Someone had put it inside his desk one day in April. This wasn’t the first love letter the former star shortstop and current self-proclaimed (sometimes by others as well) rock and roll star of Shiroiwa Junior High had received, but it made enough of an impression on Shuya for him to hold onto it. There was a poetic quality to the letter that touched him.

It read, “Even if it’s a lie, even if it’s a dream, please turn to me. Your smile on a certain day isn’t a lie, it’s not a dream. But having it turn to me might be my lie, my dream. But the day you call my name, it won’t be a lie, it won’t be a dream.” And then, “It’s never been a lie, it’s never been a dream that I love you.”

Was Noriko the one who sent that letter? He remembered observing how the writing resembled hers, and how the poetic style seemed similar too. So then…

Shuya thought of asking her about the letter, but decided not to. This wasn’t the right time. Besides, he had no right to bring it up. After all he was so hung up over another girl, Kazumi Shintani, who would never, to take the phrase from that love letter, “turn to him,” other girls and that love letter were of little concern to him in comparison. The most important thing now for him was to protect “the girl Yoshitoki Kuninobu adored,” not to find out “who had a crush on him.” Then he recalled the bashful look Yoshitoki gave him when they had that talk. “Hey Shuya, I got a crush on someone.”

Noriko asked him, “What about you, Shuya? Aren’t you afraid of me? No, wait, why then did you help me?”

“Well…” Shuya thought of telling her about Yoshitoki. Come on, my best friend had a crush on you. So if I’m going to help anyone, it’s got to be you, no matter what. I mean, really, come on.

He decided against this too. They were better off discussing this later, hopefully when they could take the time to, assuming that is, there would be any time later.

“You were injured. I couldn’t just leave you alone. And besides, I trust you. I’ll be damned if I didn’t trust someone cute as you.”

Noriko broke into a slight grin. Shuya did his best to return the smile. They were in a horrible situation, but he felt slight relief in forming a smile.

Shuya said, “In any case, we’re lucky. At least we’re together.”

Noriko nodded. “Yes.”

But what were they supposed to do now?

Shuya began packing his bag. If they were going to rest in order to come up with a strategy, they needed to find a place that offered visibility. Again, they had no idea what the others were up to. At the very least they had to be extremely cautious. That was what it meant to be realistic in the face of horrific circumstances.

He kept the map, compass, and flashlight by his side. This was the world’s worst orienteering game.

“Can you still walk?”

“I’m all right.”

“Then let’s move on a little more. We have to find a place to rest.”

11

Mitsuru Numai (Male Student No. 17) proceeded cautiously between the grove and the narrow moonlit beach that was approximately ten meters wide. He was carrying his issued day pack and his own bag on his shoulder. He held a small automatic pistol in his right hand. (It was a Walther PPK 9mm. Compared to the other weapons that had been issued in this game, this one ranked high. Along with most of the guns used in this program, this mass-produced model was imported cheaply from Third World countries that had remained neutral towards both the nations of the Republic of Greater East Asia and the American Empire and its allies.) Mitsuru was familiar with a model-gun version of the pistol, so he didn’t need the accompanying manual. He even knew there was no need to cock the pistol before pulling the trigger. It came with a cartridge of ammunition which he’d since loaded into the gun.

The gun in his hand made him feel somewhat secure, but he held something even more important in his left hand, the supplied compass. It was the same cheap tin model Shuya had, but it did the job. Forty minutes prior to his departure from the classroom, his great leader, Kazuo Kiriyama (Male Student No. 6) had passed him this note: “If we’re really on an island, then I’ll be waiting at the southern tip.”

Of course everyone was an enemy in this game. That was the fundamental rule. But the bond in the “Kiriyama Family” was absolute. It didn’t matter that they were labeled thugs. They were thick as thieves.

Furthermore, the bond between Mitsuru Numai and Kazuo Kiriyama was special. Because… in a way it was Mitsuru who made Kazuo Kiriyama into what he was now. If there was one thing he knew, that the other more square students like Shuya Nanahara didn’t, it was the fact that as far as Mitsuru knew, Kazuo Kiriyama, at least until junior high, was no “delinquent.”

Mitsuru’s memory of his first encounter with Kazuo Kiriyama was so vivid it remained unforgettable.

Mitsuru had been a bully ever since elementary school. But he was never needlessly cruel. Brought up in a generic family, he wasn’t particularly bright, nor did he display any other gifts. Fighting was the best way he could prove himself. “Strength” was the only standard he had, and he never fell short of it.

So it was only inevitable, on his first day in junior high, he’d do his best to discourage any competitors coming from other elementary schools in his district. Of course, judging from the strength of kids he’d encountered in the local hang-outs, he knew the kids from the other elementary schools hardly presented a threat. Not everyone might have heard of him, though. There should be only one king— that was the best way to maintain order. Of course he wouldn’t have thought to put it this way, but he knew this was what was going on.

As expected, there were two or three competitors. It all happened after the entrance ceremony and class introduction, after school, when he was in the process of taking care of the last one.

In the deserted hall by the art classroom, Mitsuru grabbed the kid by the lapels and shoved him against the wall. The kid was already bruised above the eye. His eyes were brimming with tears. It was a cinch. It’d only taken two punches.

“Got it? So you don’t mess around with me.”

The kid nodded his head frantically. He was probably just begging to be released, but Mitsuru wanted verbal confirmation.

“I’m asking you! Did you get that!?”

He thrust the kid’s body up with his left arm. “Answer me. Am I the baddest guy in his school? Am I?”

Mitsuru became irritated because his opponent wasn’t responding. He lifted him up higher, when he suddenly felt those eyes on him.

He let go of the kid and turned around. The kid fell to the floor and scrambled away, but there was no way Mitsuru could go after him now anyway.

He was surrounded by four guys much taller than him. The badges on their worn out collars indicated they were third-year students. You could immediately tell what they were. They were just like him.

“Hey, kid,” the pimply faced one who had a creepy grin said. “You shouldn’t pick on the weak.”

Another one with orange-tinted hair down to his shoulders pursed his abnormally thick lips and continued, “You’ve been naughty.” His “faggoty” voice made the four of them crack up, laughing, “HEEEE,” as if they were all insane.

“We’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

“Yes, we must.”

Then they screeched again, “Hee hee!”

Mitsuru tried a surprise kick at the pimply faced one in front of him, but he was immediately tripped by the one on his left.

As soon as he fell back, the pimply one kicked him in the face, knocking out his front teeth. The back of his head pounded against the wall that he’d been busy using on his classmate. He felt dizzy. Something hot oozed down the back of his head. Mitsuru tried to get up on all fours, but then the one on his right kicked him in the stomach. Mitsuru groaned and puked. One of them said, “What a fucking mess.”

Damn, he thought. Bastards… fucking cowards… I could take on any of them if it was just one on one….

But there was nothing he could do now. After all, he’d been the one who deliberately chose a deserted place to intimidate his classmate. There wasn’t a chance a teacher would appear.

They pressed his right wrist against the floor. One of them carefully pried Mitsuru’s index finger back and tucked it under his leather shoe. For the first time in his life Mitsuru experienced real fear.

No… this can’t be.

It was. The sole of the shoe came down as Mitsuru’s finger made a horrible cracking sound. Mitsuru shrieked. He’d never been in such pain. They kept laughing, “Hee hee hee!”

Mitsuru thought. These bastards… they’re insane… they’re not at all like me… they’re crazy…

They were preparing his middle finger.

“S-stop…”

Without an ounce of pride left, Mitsuru begged for mercy, but they ignored his pleas. The same cracking noise came. Mitsuru’s middle finger was ruined now. Mitsuru screamed again.

“Let’s have one more then.”

That’s when it happened.

The door to the art classroom suddenly slid open.

“Can you guys keep it down?” The voice was quiet, though.

For a moment Mitsuru wondered if it was a teacher. But a teacher would have intervened a lot sooner, and besides, a request to keep it down would have been strange.

With his back still pressed to the floor Mitsuru glanced over at the door.

He wasn’t too big, but he was incredibly good looking. He was holding a paint brush.

He’d seen him at the class introduction. He was one of Mitsuru’s classmates. His family seemed to have recently moved here. No one knew who he was, but since he was quiet and appeared obedient Mitsuru didn’t pay much attention to him. Given how his looks were so refined, he probably came from a nice family. Someone like him would do his best to avoid fights, so he was nothing to worry about.

But what was he doing in the art classroom? Probably painting, but wasn’t that a little strange on the first day of school?

The pimply guy went up to the boy. “Who the fuck are you?” He stood in front of the boy. “Who the fuck are you? First year? What the fuck are you doing here? Huh? What was that you said?”

He knocked the paint brush out of the boy’s hand, and the dark blue paint from the brush splattered against the floor.

The boy slowly looked up at the pimply guy.

The rest needed little explanation. The small boy beat up the four third-year students. (They were all lying on the floor, completely paralyzed.)

The boy approached Mitsuru. After looking him over he only said, “You should have your hand examined at a hospital.” Then he went back inside the classroom.

Mitsuru gazed at the four bodies lying on the floor. He was completely stunned by something so completely unprecedented. He felt in awe of the boy, like a rookie boxer doomed to mediocrity upon suddenly encountering a world champion. Mitsuru saw genius.

From that point on Mitsuru served that boy—Kazuo Kiriyama. He had no need to acknowledge it. Kazuo Kiriyama had beaten up four guys at once when Mitsuru could have only taken them on one on one. There should only be one king, and those who weren’t should serve under him. He reached this conclusion a long time ago. The idea probably came from his favorite boys’ manga magazine.

Kazuo Kiriyama was a mystery.

When Mitsuru asked how he managed to learn how to fight so viciously, he’d only respond, “I just learned.” Kazuo would only ignore any further attempts to find out more. Mitsuru would then try to coax more out of him by suggesting he must have had a reputation in elementary school, but Kazuo only denied it. Then maybe he’d been a champion in karate or something? Kazuo denied this too. Another odd point, Mitsuru learned later, was the fact that Kazuo had broken into the art classroom to paint the day they met. When Mitsuru asked why he did that, Kazuo only replied, “I just felt like it.” This was how Kazuo’s strange persona contributed to Mitsuru’s attraction to him. (Furthermore, the quality of the painting depicting a view from the classroom of the empty courtyard far exceeded the first-year junior high level, but Mitsuru never got to see this painting, because Kazuo had tossed it into the trash after completing it.)

Mitsuru showed Kazuo around. The small town, including the cafe where his friends hung out, the place he stashed stolen goods, the shady dealer who provided illegal goods. Mitsuru’s talents were in fighting, but he did his best to show him every place. he knew. Kazuo always appeared calm. He came along maybe out of curiosity. Eventually he took on upper class students besides the ones he’d beaten up, bullies from other schools, or sometimes high school students.

Without exception Kazuo had them instantly writhing on the ground. Mitsuru was crazy about Kazuo. It was perhaps no different from the joy a trainer feels in training a champion boxer.

Kazuo wasn’t only strong, though. He was extremely smart. Quite simply, he excelled at everything. When they broke into the liquor store’s warehouse, it was Kazuo who came up with the brilliant plan. Kazuo saved Mitsuru from numerous jams he got himself into. (Since he got involved with Kazuo, he never got arrested by the police.) Furthermore, his father was supposedly the president of a leading corporation in the prefecture—no, the entire region of Chugoku and Shikoku. He was fearless. Mitsuru believed some people were destined for greatness. He thought, this guy is going to be someone so extraordinary I can’t even imagine what he’ll become.

Mitsuru made him the leader of his gang, which continued to stir up trouble. Mitsuru only wondered once whether it was right to get Kazuo involved. Kazuo strictly prohibited (he never said so, but that was the vibe he gave off) Mitsuru and the others from visiting his house (in fact it was a mansion), so Mitsuru had no way of telling whether Kazuo’s parents were aware of their son’s activities. He was concerned his gang might be a bad influence on Kazuo, who was so obviously well bred. After thinking about it a lot, Mitsuru finally shared his concerns with Kazuo.

But Kazuo only said, “I don’t care. This is fun too.” Mitsuru decided it was all right then.

And so, he and Kazuo had been through a lot together. The king and his loyal advisor.

Even though they were now in an extreme situation, this was why, while killing other classmates was possible, it was out of the question when it came to the members of the Kiriyama Family. After all, Kazuo himself had passed them notes. Mitsuru was certain Kazuo had already planned out a strategy to deal with this situation. He’d outwit Sakamochi, and then escape. If he really wanted to, Kazuo Kiriyama could take on the entire government, no prob.

These were Mitsuru’s thoughts as he left the school and walked approximately twenty-five minutes southward. He saw only one person the whole time. The figure who vanished into the residential area southeast of the school was probably Yoji Kuramoto (Male Student No. 8). That made Mitsuru nervous, of course. He’d already encountered the corpses of Mayumi Tendo and Yoshio Akamatsu lying outside the school when he left. The game was well on its way.

Mitsuru’s priority was to get to the place assigned by Kazuo as soon as possible. The others were irrelevant. What mattered was how his group would escape from here.

As he moved south, Mitsuru became increasingly tense as any shelter he could hide behind grew sparse. Underneath his school uniform, his entire body was drenched in cold sweat. Sweat oozed out of his short, permed hair and dripped down his forehead.

A little bit further ahead the coast curved right and left, and somewhere in the middle of this curve a rugged reef extended eastward from the hill and sank into the ocean like a buried dinosaur only revealing its back. The reef was much taller than Mitsuru, blocking his vision beyond it. Glancing at the sea, he saw islands and other small lights that indicated a larger piece of land beyond the dark, vast, horizontal expanse of water. This had to be an island in the Seto Inland Sea. That much was certain.

Once he surveyed the area, Mitsuru crossed the border between beach and woods. Exposing himself under moonlight, he walked toward the reef. He clung to the steep rock and began climbing. The rock was cold and smooth and with his right hand holding a gun and his bags strapped around his shoulders it wasn’t an easy climb. After the climb, he found the reef was approximately three meters wide, and the beach spread out beyond the rocks. As he prepared to climb down the other side of the reef, a voice all of a sudden addressed him: “Mitsuru.” Mitsuru almost jumped. He turned around and raised his pistol.

He sighed with relief. Then he lowered his gun.

Kazuo Kiriyama was in the shadow of a bulging boulder. He was sitting on a protruding rock. “Boss…” Mitsuru said with relief.

But…

Mitsuru noticed three lumps lying at Kazuo’s feet.

His eyes squinted in the dark… but then they immediately widened.

The lumps were humans.

The one facing up, glaring at the sky, was Ryuhei Sasagawa (Male Student No. 10). The one lying on his side, scrunched up, was Hiroshi Kuronaga (Male Student No. 9). It was undoubtedly them, the other members of the Kiriyama Family. The third one was wearing a sailor suit uniform, and because she was face down it was hard to tell, but she looked like Izumi Kanai (Female Student No. 5). And… there was a puddle under their bodies. It looked black, but Mitsuru knew of course what it was. If the sun were shining on them now, the color of this puddle would have been identical to the color of the national flag of the Republic of Greater East Asia—crimson red.

Completely confused, Mitsuru began to shiver. What was… what was this?

“This is the southern tip.” Under his slicked-back hair, the perpetually calm eyes of Kazuo looked up at Mitsuru. He wore his coat over his shoulders like a boxer draped in his robe after a fight.

“Wh-wh-wh-what—” Mitsuru’s trembling jaw made his voice shake. “What’s going on here—”

“You mean this?” Kazuo nudged Ryuhei Sasagawa’s body with the tip of his plain (but nice) straight-tip leather shoe. Ryuhei’s right elbow, which had been resting on his chest, traced an arc and splashed into the puddle. His pinkie and ring finger disappeared into the puddle.

“They all tried to kill me. Kuronaga and Sasagawa… both. So I… killed them.”

That can’t be…

Mitsuru couldn’t believe it. Hiroshi Kuronaga was a nobody who tagged along with the group, so he was all the more loyal to Kazuo. Ryuhei Sasagawa was more arrogant, always putting up a front (sometimes it got to be a hassle to stop him from picking on Yoshio Akamatsu), but Ryuhei had been extremely grateful ever since Kazuo pulled some strings to stop the cops from arresting his younger brother for stealing. These two would have never betrayed Kazuo….

Mitsuru caught a whiff in the air. It was blood. The smell of blood. The odor was far more intense than the smell of Yoshitoki Kuninobu’s blood back in the classroom. The difference was in the quantity. There was enough blood splashed around here to fill a bathtub.

Crushed by the smell, Mitsuru’s trembling chin dropped. Come to think of it… it was impossible to know what someone’s true thoughts were. Maybe Hiroshi and Ryuhei were so afraid of being killed that they went nuts. In other words, they just couldn’t deal with the pressure. They showed up here at the assigned location, but they tried to ambush Kazuo.

But Mitsuru’s eyes were glued to the other corpse. Izumi Kanai, who was lying face down, was a cute, petite girl. She was the daughter of a town official (of course in this kind of ultra-centralized, bureaucratized society, being a town official or council person was just an honorary post without any influence), and although she wasn’t in the same league as Kazuo she probably came from one of the five richest families in town. She wasn’t stuck up at all, though, and Mitsuru thought she was kind of cute. Of course, given how different their backgrounds were, he wasn’t stupid enough to get hung up over her.

And now she was—

Mitsuru somehow managed to say something. “S-so boss, Izumi… how about…”

Kazuo’s calm, cold eyes stared at him. Intimidated by the look he gave him, Mitsuru searched for an answer on his own. “So I-Izumi tried to kill you… too?”

Kazuo nodded.

“She just happened to be here.”

Mitsuru hesitated, but then forced himself to believe what he said. Well, maybe it was possible. I mean, that’s what the boss said. He spat out, “I-I’m all right. I would never think of killing my boss. Th-this game is bullshit. We’re going to take on Sakamochi and those bastards from the Special Defense Forces, right? I’m totally up for it—”

Of course they couldn’t approach the school now, because it was a forbidden zone. That’s what Sakamochi said. But knowing Kazuo, Mitsuru was sure Kazuo had already come up with a plan.

He stopped speaking. He noticed Kazuo was shaking his head. Mitsuru moved his tongue, which had now turned gooey, and continued, “Then we’re escaping? All right then, we’ll find a boat—”

Kazuo said, “Listen.” Mitsuru stopped again.

Kazuo went on, “I’m fine either way.”

Although Mitsuru clearly heard him, he kept on blinking. He didn’t understand what Kazuo meant. He tried to read Kazuo’s thoughts from the expression in his eyes, but they just calmly shone in the shadow over his face.

“Wh-what do you mean, you’re fine either way?”

Kazuo lifted and pointed his chin at the night sky, as if he were stretching out his neck. The moon shone brightly and cast a gloomy shadow on Kazuo’s well-defined face. He kept this pose and said, “I sometimes lose track of what’s right and wrong.”

Mitsuru was even more confused. That was when an entirely different thought occurred to him. Something was missing.

And then he realized what it was.

The Kiriyama Family consisted of Mitsuru, and Ryuhei and Hiroshi, whose bodies were lying there, plus Sho Tsukioka, who was missing. He’d left before Mitsuru. So then why…

Of course Sho Tsukioka might have lost his way. Or he might have been killed by someone else. But… Mitsuru felt the truth was more ominous than that.

Kazuo went on, “Like now. I just don’t know.” The sight of Kazuo going on like this seemed, strangely enough, sad. “Anyway.” Kazuo looked back at Mitsuru. Then, as if he were following a musical score that had suddenly switched to allegro, he began speaking rapidly, as if it were beyond his control.

“I came here. Izumi was here. Izumi tried to escape. I held her back.”

Mitsuru held his breath.

“That’s when I tossed a coin. If it came up heads I’d take on Sakamochi and—”

Mitsuru finally understood, before Kazuo finished talking.

No, it can’t be…

He didn’t want to believe it. It was unbelievable. Kazuo was the king and he was his loyal advisor. It was supposed to be about absolute, eternal loyalty and service. Even Kazuo’s hairstyle. Right around the time Mitsuru’s broken fingers healed up, he’d been the one who insisted on it to Kazuo. “It looks good. You look so bad, boss.” Kazuo kept the hairstyle after that. It was a silly little detail, but for Mitsuru it symbolized how close they were.

But, Mitsuru finally realized, maybe it was too much of a hassle for Kazuo to change his hairstyle. He might have been too preoccupied with other stuff to fuss over his hair. Then there were other things he realized. Mitsuru had firmly believed his relationship with Kazuo centered around a sacred team spirit, when in fact Kazuo might have just been in it for kicks or just “just”—yes, just an experience, just an experience to be had, no feelings attached to it whatsoever. Kazuo himself had once said, “This is fun too.”

All of a sudden the one thing that had disturbed Mitsuru from early on returned with full force. Mitsuru thought it wasn’t such a big deal, so he’d done his best to ignore it all this time: Kazuo Kiriyama never smiled.

Mitsuru’s next thought might have been touching on the truth: and it always seemed like a lot was going on in his head. Which was probably the case. But maybe there’s something incredibly dark going on in Kazuo’s mind, something so dark it’s beyond my imagination? Maybe it isn’t even something dark, maybe it’s just an absence, a kind of black hole—

And maybe Sho Tsukioka had already sensed this about Kazuo.

Mitsuru had no more time to think. He was completely focused on his index finger (one of the fingers broken that fateful day) on the trigger of the Walther PPK in his right hand.

A sea breeze blew in, mixed in with the odor rising from the puddle of blood. The waves kept crashing in.

The Walther PPK in Mitsuru’s hand quivered slightly— but the school coat draped over Kazuo’s back was already moving by then.

There was a mildly pleasant rattling sound. Sure, it was different, but something about the pulse of 950 bullets ignited every minute resembled the tapping of an old manual typewriter you’d find in an antique store. Izumi Kanai, Ryuhei Sasagawa, and Hiroshi Kuronaga were all stabbed, so these were the first gunshots to echo through the island since the game began.

Mitsuru was still standing. He couldn’t see under his school uniform very clearly, but there were four finger-sized holes running from his chest down to his stomach. His back for some reason had two large can-sized holes. His right hand holding the Walther PPK was trembling by his waist. His eyes were staring up towards the North Star. But given how bright the moon was tonight, the star probably wasn’t visible.

Kazuo held a crude lump of metal resembling a tin dessert box with a handle. It was an Ingram M10 submachine gun. He said, “If the coin came up tails, I decided I’d take part in the game.”

As if he’d been anticipating these words, Mitsuru crashed forward. As he fell, his head hit the rock and bounced back up five centimeters only once.

Kazuo Kiriyama sat still for a while. Then he got up and approached Mitsuru Numai’s corpse. He gently touched the bullet ridden body with his left hand, as if checking for something.

This was no emotional response. He didn’t feel anything, no guilt, no grief, no pity—not a single emotion.

He simply wanted to know how a human body reacted after it was shot. No, he merely thought, “It might not be such a bad idea to know.”

He removed his hand and touched his left temple—to be more accurate, a little further behind his temple. Any stranger would have thought he was merely straightening out his hair.

But that wasn’t it. He did it because of a strange feeling he had—not pain, not an itch, but something elusive and infrequent, occurring only several times a year, when he’d reflexively touch the spot which, along with the feeling, became quite familiar to Kazuo.

Kazuo’s “parents” had provided him with a special education. But in spite of learning what there was to know about the world at such a young age, Kazuo himself had no idea what caused this feeling. It was inevitable. Any trace of the damage had almost completely disappeared by the time he was old enough to recognize himself in the mirror. In other words, he knew nothing: the fact that he’d almost died from a freak accident which caused the damage when he was still inside his mother’s womb, of course, the fact that his mother was killed by the accident, the conversation his father and a highly reputed doctor had concerning the splinter digging into his skull right before his birth, the fact that neither his father nor the doctor who boasted the operation was a success knew that the splinter had gouged out a cluster of very fine nerve cells. Every one of these facts were from another time. The doctor died from liver failure, the father, or more accurately, “his real father,” also died from complications. So there was no one left to share these facts with Kazuo.

One thing was absolutely certain—it was a given for Kazuo. Although he might not have particularly realized it, or more appropriately, perhaps because he was incapable of coming to such a realization, this was what it came down to: he, Kazuo Kiriyama, felt no emotion, no guilt, no sorrow, no pity, towards the four corpses, including Mitsuru’s—and that ever since the day he was dropped into this world the way he was, he had never once felt a single emotion.

12

On the northern side of the island, opposite from where Kazuo and the others were, a steep cliff hung over the sea. It was over twenty meters high. On the cliff was a small field with a crown of wild grass. The waves crashed against the cliff and exploded into mist that drifted into the mild wind.

Sakura Ogawa (Female Student No. 4) and Kazuhiko Yamamoto (Male Student No. 21) sat together at the edge of this cliff. Their legs hung over the edge. Sakura’s right hand gently held Kazuhiko’s left hand.

Their day packs and bags, along with their compasses, were scattered around them. Just as Kazuo had assigned the others to meet at the southern tip of the island, Sakura had scribbled “at the northern tip” on the piece of paper (right beside “We shall kill each other”) she passed on to Kazuhiko. At least they were lucky enough to meet somewhere that didn’t coincide with Kazuo’s meeting place. Despite their circumstances, they were lucky enough to spend some time alone. There was a Colt .357 Magnum tucked into Kazuhiko’s belt, but he already knew he wouldn’t be using it.

“It’s quiet,” Sakura murmured. Beneath her hair, which was cut short for a girl, her pretty profile, beginning with her wide forehead, seemed to be forming a smile. She was tall, so she looked slim, and as always, she sat up straight. Kazuhiko had only recently arrived. As they hugged each other, her body trembled slightly like a wounded little bird.

“Yeah, it is,” Kazuhiko said. Aside from the bridge of his nose, which was slightly wide, he was good looking. He turned away from her to look at the view. The dark sea spread out under the moonlight, the black outlines of the islands scattered, and beyond them there was land. The lights were shining brightly on the islands and what appeared to be the Honshu mainland in the distance. It was a little before 3:30 a.m. In between those lights floating in the dark most people were sleeping peacefully. Or maybe there were kids like him studying late into the night for their high school entrance exams. It didn’t look terribly far, but it was a world beyond their reach now.

Kazuhiko confirmed the existence of the small black dot approximately two hundred meters out at sea. It appeared to be one of the ships “there to kill anyone attempting to escape by sea” that Sakamochi had mentioned. Although the Seto Inland Sea was always busy with boat traffic, even at night, not a single ship passed by to send out its lights. The government prohibited all traffic here.

It was chilling. Kazuhiko peeled his eyes off the black dot. He’d seen the corpses of Mayumi Tendo and Yoshio Akamatsu when he left the school. He also heard the sound of gunshots in the distance before he arrived here. The game had begun, and it would continue until the end. He and Sakura had already observed this, and this too no longer seemed to matter anymore.

“Thank you so much for this.” Sakura was looking at the tiny bouquet of flowers in her left hand. On his way over here Kazuhiko had found several clover-like flowers which he then bundled together. At the top of the long, thin stems, the small petals were bunched together like a cheerleader’s pom poms. They weren’t the most impressive set of flowers, but this was all he could find.

Kazuhiko did his best to smile. “Oh, you’re very welcome.”

Sakura looked down at the small bouquet, then finally said, “So we’ll never be able to go home together. We won’t be able spend time together walking around town, eating ice cream, and doing anything else anymore.”

“Well…”

Sakura interrupted Kazuhiko. “It’s futile to resist. I should know. I heard my father was against the government, and then one day…”

Kazuhiko could tell from her hand that she was trembling.

“The police came and killed my father. No warrant, nothing. They just came in without a word and shot him dead. I can still remember it clearly. We were in the kitchen. I was still small. I was sitting at the table. My mother held me tight. Then I grew up and ate my meals at the same table.”

Sakura turned to Kazuhiko.

“It’s no use resisting.”

It was the first time she had ever told him about the incident, even though they’d been going out for two years. The first time they slept together, just a month ago at her house, she hadn’t mentioned it.

Kazuhiko felt there must be something else to say, but all he could muster up struck him as incredibly trite. “Wow, that must have been hard.”

But Sakura broke into a smile. “You’re so kind, Kazuhiko. You’re so kind. That’s what I like about you.”

“I like you too. I love you so much.”

If he weren’t so inarticulate, Kazuhiko could have said so much more. How much her expressions, her words, her gentle manner, and untainted pure soul meant to him. How important, in short, her existence was to him. But he wasn’t able to put it in words. He was only a third-year student in junior high, and worse yet, composition was one of his worst subjects.

“Well.” Sakura closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, as if a little relieved. Then she breathed out. “I really wanted to make sure I saw you.”

Then she went on. “Horrible things are going to happen. No—according to what you said, they’ve already begun. Just yesterday we were all friends—and now we’re going to kill each other.” Putting this thought into words, she trembled again. Again Kazuhiko could tell from her hand.

Sakura gave him a weary smile that betrayed fear along with the terrible irony of the fate awaiting them. “I couldn’t take that.”

Of course not. Sakura was kind. Kazuhiko didn’t know anyone else kinder.

“Besides,” Sakura spoke again, “we can’t go back together. Even if by some miracle one of us could go back, we still wouldn’t be together. Even if… even if I were to survive… I couldn’t bear being without you. So…”

Sakura stopped. Kazuhiko understood what she was getting at. So I’m going to kill myself here. Before anyone gets me. Right in front of you.

Instead of finishing what she had to say, she said, “But you have to live.”

Kazuhiko smiled grimly, then squeezed her hand tightly and shook his head. “No way. I’m with you. Even if I were to survive, I couldn’t stand being without you. Don’t leave me alone.”

Tears came streaming out of Sakura’s eyes which were fixed on Kazuhiko’s eyes. Sakura turned away from Kazuhiko. Wiping her eyes with her left hand that was holding the bouquet of clovers, all of a sudden she blurted out, “Did you see the final episode of Tonight, at the Same Place, which airs every Thursday night at nine?”

Kazuhiko nodded. It was a TV drama broadcast by the national DBS network. It was a superfluous love story produced by the Republic of Greater East Asia Television Network, but it was quite good, topping TV ratings for the last several years.

“Yeah, I saw it. You wanted me to watch it.”

“Yes, I did. So what I was thinking…”

As she spoke, Kazuhiko thought, this is exactly how we’d always talk. It was always about something really ordinary and meaningless, but there was something so blissful about these conversations they had. Sakura wants us to stay the way we’ve always been.

The thought suddenly made Kazuhiko want to cry.

“Well, I was all right about the two main characters ending up together. That’s how it’s supposed to be. But I don’t know about Miki’s friend Mizue, the one played by Anna Kitagawa. How could Mizue have given up on the guy she loved? I know I would have gone after him.”

Kazuhiko grinned. “I knew you’d say that.”

Sakura laughed bashfully. “I can’t hide anything from you.” Then she said happily, “I still remember when we became classmates in junior high. You were tall and good looking, sure, but the thing that really got me was how I thought, ‘This guy would understand me, he would understand me down to the core of my heart.’”

“I don’t know how to say this very well but…” Kazuhiko twisted his tongue a little and thought for a moment, then continued, “I think I felt the same way.”

He said it well.

Then he leaned over a little, towards Sakura. With his left hand still clutching her right hand, he wrapped his other hand around her shoulder.

They hugged in this position and exchanged kisses. Was it just a few seconds? Was it a minute? Or was it eternity?

In any case, the kiss ended. They heard a rustling sound. They sensed someone in the bushes behind them. That was their signal: all aboard. The train is departing, so you better get on board.

They had nothing left to say. They could have fought against the intruder. He could have taken his gun and aimed it at the person behind them. But she wouldn’t want that. What she wanted was to leave this world quietly before they got sucked into this horrible massacre. Nothing was more important to him than her. There was no room for compromise. If this was what her trembling soul wanted, then he would follow her. Had he been more eloquent he might have described his feelings as something like, “I’m going to die for her honor.”

Their two bodies danced in the air beyond the cliff, the black sea in the background, their hands still clasped together.

Yukie Utsumi (Female Student No. 2) poked her head out from the bushes a little. She held her breath and watched them. She had no intention whatsoever of harming anyone, so she had no idea that the noise she made signaled their departure. She was simply stunned by the sight of the No. 1 couple in class vanishing beyond the grassy cliff. The sound of waves quietly brushing up against the sheer rock face continued and the small clovers Sakura dropped remained lying on the grass.

Even when Haruka Tanizawa (Female Student No. 12) approached her from behind and asked her, “What’s wrong, Yukie?” Yukie just stood there trembling.

13

Megumi Eto (Female Student No. 3) sat in the dark, hugging her knees while her small body shook violently. She was inside a house slightly removed from the island’s most populated area on the eastern shore. The lights might have worked, but Megumi didn’t dare try them. The moonlight coming through the window didn’t reach under the worn out kitchen table she was hiding under. It was almost pitch black, so she couldn’t check her watch, but two hours had probably passed since she sat down here. It was probably almost 4 a.m. Was it one hour since she heard that distant, faint sound that sounded like firecrackers? No, Megumi didn’t even want to think about what that really was.

She raised her face and saw, silhouetted against the moonlight, the cupboard and kettle right above the sink. She was aware the government probably relocated the island’s residents to some temporary housing units, but the remaining traces of someone’s life in this house was unnatural and creepy. It reminded her of the ghost story she’d heard as a child, about the ship Marie Celeste whose entire crew suddenly vanished into thin air, leaving behind their meals and possessions in mid-use. She became even more terrified.

Immediately after her departure she had no idea where she was headed. Next thing she knew she was in the middle of this residential area. The first thought that occurred to her was that there weren’t too many students out yet. She was the sixth to leave the school. Five were already out… but only five. There were fifty or sixty houses in this area, so the chances of encountering one of them were close to nil. And as long as she locked the door and kept the place to herself… then she would be safe at least until she had to move. The collar that would explode if she remained in one of the forbidden zones was oppressive, but there was nothing she could do about it. Sakamochi had warned that, “If you try to pry it loose, it will explode.” In any case, the important thing was to make sure she could hear Sakamochi’s announcement of the time and location of each forbidden zone.

So Megumi had tried to enter a house, but the first one was locked. So was the second one. She went to the backyard of the third one and broke the sash window with a rock she found on the ground. It made such a huge sound, she ducked under the veranda. No one seemed to be in the area, though. She entered. There was no use locking the sash now. She had to laboriously close the storm door. Once it was shut, the inside turned pitch black, and she felt as if she’d wandered into a haunted house. She managed to pull out her flashlight though and searched the house. She took two fishing poles and used them to jam the storm door shut.

And now she was under the kitchen table. Killing each other was out of the question. But what if… just what if this area (checking the map, she found the whole area was almost completely inside sector H=8) never turned into a forbidden zone, then she might end up surviving.

But… Megumi continued shaking as she continued to think. That was terrible. Of course… according to the rules of the game, everyone was your enemy so you couldn’t trust anyone. That’s why she was shaking right now… but, but even if the game ended and she turned out to be the sole survivor, then that would also mean everyone else had died: her friends (like Mizuho Inada and Kaori Minami), as well as Shuya Nanahara, who made her heart flutter every time she thought of him.

Megumi pulled her knees in and thought of Shuya in the dark. What she really loved about him was his voice. That slight rasp that was neither too high nor too low. He apparently loved censored music called “rock,” so he always looked really unhappy in music class when they had to sing songs praising the government and the Dictator, but he sang incredibly. The sound from his guitar when he played improvised passages was superb. Its unfamiliar rhythm made you want to dance. And yet there was also something graceful about the sound, not unlike the sound of bells chiming in a beautiful church. And then there was his longish permed hair (Shuya once said, “I’m imitating Bruce Springsteen,” but Megumi had no idea what he was talking about), not to mention his slightly drowsy looking, kind eyes with double eyelids. Also he moved so gracefully since he’d been a star Little League player ever since elementary school.

Her shaking subsided a little when she thought of Shuya’s face and voice. Oh, if only Shuya Nanahara were with me right now, it would be so wonderful…

So then, why didn’t she ever tell Shuya how she felt about him? By love letter? Or by sending someone to bring him, so she could confess to him directly? Or by phone? Now she’d never get the chance.

That’s when it occurred to her.

The phone.

That’s right. Sakamochi said we wouldn’t be able to use phones in the houses. But…

Megumi grabbed her nylon bag, which was lying next to her supplied day pack. She pulled open the zipper and shoved aside her clothes and personal effects. She touched a hard square object and grabbed it. It was a cell phone. Her mother bought it for her for this trip in case something (well, this wasn’t just something) happened during her trip. It was true she’d been envious of the other one or two classmates who owned one, and there was something thrilling about the feeling of having your own private link, but Megumi also thought her parents were being overprotective, and that her mother was neurotic. She wondered, “Why would a junior high school kid need this?” when she put the shiny phone into her bag. She’d completely forgotten about it until this very moment.

Megumi flipped open the phone with her trembling hands.

The phone automatically switched from receive mode to send mode and the small LCD panel and dial buttons lit up with a green glow. Her knees under her skirt and bags were now visible. But more importantly, there, without a doubt, was the antenna and air wave symbols lighting up on the display panel, indicating it was ready for a phone call!

“Oh… God…”

Megumi frantically pressed the dial buttons, the numbers for her home in Shiroiwa-cho. 0, 8, 7, 9, 2…

After a moment of silence, the phone on the other end began to ring in her ear, and her chest filled with hope.

One, two, three rings. Please answer it. Dad, Mom. I might be calling at an unreasonable hour, but you must be aware your daughter is in an emergency situation. Hurry!

The ringing was interrupted by a voice answering, “Hello.”

“Oh Dad!” In her cramped position Megumi closed her eyes. She thought she would go crazy from relief. I’m going to be saved. Saved! “Dad, it’s me! Megumi! Oh Dad! Please help me! Please, save me from here!” She shouted into the phone in a frenzy, but she came to herself because there was no response. Something… was wrong. What… why won’t Dad…? No, this was…

Finally, the voice at the other end spoke, “I’m not your dad, Megumi. This is Sakamochi. I told you the phones wouldn’t work, Megumi.”

Megumi shrieked and tossed the phone to the floor. Then she hurriedly slammed the “END” button.

Her heart thumped frantically. Once again Megumi was overcome with despair. Oh, no… so it failed… so I am going to die here… I’m going to die…

But then Megumi’s heart leaped.

…it was a shattering sound.

The sound of broken glass.

Megumi turned towards the origin of the sound. It came from the sitting room which she had checked to make sure it was locked. Someone was coming. Someone. Why, though? Of all the houses here, why this one?

Megumi panicked and closed the cell phone panel, which had been still glowing green. She put it in her pocket, took the weapon from her day pack, and pulled the double-bladed diver’s knife from its plastic sheath. She gripped it tightly. She had to escape as quickly as possible.

But her body was frozen and she couldn’t move. Megumi slowed her breathing. Please, please, please God, make sure they can’t hear my pounding heart.

She heard the sound of a window opening, then closing, then the sound of careful, quiet footsteps. They seemed to be moving around the house, but then they headed directly towards the kitchen and Megumi. Megumi’s heart pounded even louder.

A thin ray of light shot through the kitchen. The ray glided over the kettle and cupboard above the sink. Someone sighed with relief and said to herself, “Good, there’s no one here.”

The footsteps entered the kitchen. As soon as Megumi heard the voice, though, Megumi was aghast. Any minuscule hope that she could work something out in case the intruder turned out to be a friend had been completely shattered. Because… it was the voice of her, Mitsuko Souma (Female Student No. 11), the meanest girl in the entire school. Even though she had the cutest, most angelic face, a single glance from her was enough to intimidate any teacher.

Mitsuko Souma was more frightening to Megumi than any of the ill-reputed boys, Kazuo Kiriyama and Shogo Kawada. It might have been because, like Megumi, Mitsuko Souma was a girl, and also, yes of course, because Megumi herself had been harassed by Hirono Shimizu, who was in Mitsuko’s gang, when they first became classmates in second-year. If they were in the same hall, Hirono would trip her or slash her skirt with a razor. Lately, maybe because she’d simply lost interest in Megumi, Hirono had stopped harassing her. (She was still disappointed though when she learned that her third-year class was to be the same as her second-year class.) Mitsuko herself didn’t pick on Megumi, but Mitsuko was someone even Hirono couldn’t defy.

Mitsuko Souma would relish killing someone like her.

Megumi’s body began trembling again. Oh, please no, don’t shake. If she hears me… Megumi wrapped her body tightly with her arms to keep her arms from shaking.

From beneath the table Megumi could see Mitsuko’s hand holding a flashlight and the belt of her skirt glowing behind it. She heard the sound of Mitsuko rifling through the drawers of the sink.

Please hurry… hurry up and get out of here. If you could at least just get out of this room… then I could go to the bathroom. I could lock it from inside and escape through the window. Please hurry…

BRRRRIING. The electronic signal rang, and Megumi felt her heart leap out of her mouth.

Mitsuko Souma also seemed to quiver, slightly. The beam from her flashlight suddenly disappeared along with the belt. She seemed to be approaching the corner of the room.

Megumi realized the sound was coming from her pocket. She frantically pulled out the cellular. Her mind went blank and she automatically flipped it open and randomly pressed the buttons.

A voice leaked out, “Hey, it’s Sakamochi again. I just wanted to remind you, Megumi, to turn off your cell phone. Otherwise, if I call you like this, everyone will know where you are, right? So…”

Megumi’s fingers found the “End” button, cutting off Sakamochi’s voice.

The suffocating silence continued for a while. Then she heard Mitsuko’s voice, “Megumi?” She asked, “Megumi? Is that you?”

Mitsuko seemed to be in the corner of the dark kitchen. Megumi carefully placed her cell phone on the floor. The only thing in her hands now was her knife. Her hands were shaking even more, and the knife felt like a fish wiggling loose, but she gripped it as tight as she could.

Mitsuko was taller than Megumi, but she couldn’t have been much stronger. Mitsuko’s weapon—could it possibly be a gun?—no, then Mitsuko would have aimed it over here and fired. If Mitsuko didn’t have a gun—then Megumi might have a chance.

Yes, she had to kill. If she didn’t kill, Mitsuko would surely kill her.

She had to kill.

There was a clicking sound, and once again the flashlight beam appeared. It lit up the bottom of the table, and Megumi squinted for an instant. Now was the time—all she had to do was get up, run toward the source of the light with her knife out.

But Megumi’s intentions were about to be abruptly undermined by an unexpected turn of events.

The flashlight beam fell on a lower spot, and Mitsuko Souma sank down on the floor into the light, staring at Megumi. Tears were streaming down Mitsuko’s cheeks.

“I’m so glad…” her trembling lips finally parted, and she managed to say in a feeble voice, “I’m… I’m… I’m so scared….” Mitsuko’s voice was half shrieking. She thrust both of her hands forward as if seeking Megumi’s protection. Her hands were empty.

Then she continued, “I can trust you, right? I can trust you. You wouldn’t think of killing me, would you? You’ll stay with me, won’t you?”

Megumi was stunned. This was Mitsuko Souma crying. She’s asking for my help. Oh… as the shaking in her body subsided, Megumi felt an indescribable emotion well up inside her.

So that’s how it was. It didn’t matter how bad her reputation was, Mitsuko Souma was just another third-year junior high school student like her. Even Mitsuko Souma couldn’t take part in something as horrible as killing other classmates. She was just lonely and scared out of her wits.

And… oh, how terrible, I’d actually considered it. I thought of killing her.

I’m so… I’m so horrible.

Megumi burst into tears, overwhelmed by self-loathing along with the security that she now felt she was no longer alone, she was with someone.

The knife slipped through Megumi’s hands. She crawled on the floor, emerged from under the table, and held Mitsuko’s offered hands. As if a dam inside her were bursting, she blurted out, “Mitsuko! Mitsuko!”

She knew she was shaking this time from a different kind of emotion. It didn’t matter.

“It’s all right. I’ll stay with you. We’ll stay together.”

“Uh-huh.” Mitsuko scrunched up her tear-stained face and squeezed Megumi’s hands in return, nodding and repeating, “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

Megumi held Mitsuko like this on the kitchen floor. She felt the warmth of Mitsuko’s body and she felt all the more guilty as her arms felt Mitsuko’s body trembling helplessly.

I-I was really thinking of doing something horrible… so horrible… I was actually trying to kill this girl…

“Hey…” Megumi began to blurt out, “I-I…”

“Hm?” Mitsuko lifted her teary eyes up to Megumi.

Megumi pursed her lips tightly to stifle a shriek and shook her head. “I-I’m so ashamed of myself. For a moment, I was trying to kill you. I thought of killing you. Because I was… I was so scared.”

Mitsuko’s eyes widened when she heard this—but she didn’t get upset. All she did was slightly nod her face which had been scrunched up from crying hysterically. Then she offered a warm smile. “That’s okay. Really. Don’t get too upset. It’s only to be expected. In this awful situation. Really, don’t get upset. Okay? Just stay with me, please?”

After Mitsuko said this, she gently held Megumi’s face with her left hand and pressed her left cheek against Megumi’s cheek. Megumi could feel Mitsuko’s tears.

Oh, Megumi thought, I was so wrong about her. It turned out Mitsuko Souma was an incredibly kind girl. She managed to forgive someone who tried to kill her with such a kind response, “It’s okay.” Didn’t our teacher, Mr. Hayashida, who’s already been killed, warn us how wrong it is to judge people just by their reputations?

With these thoughts, Megumi felt something well up inside her again. She held Mitsuko’s body even more tightly. That was all she could do for now. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I am such a horrible person, I am really—

The slashing sound Megumi heard sounded like a lemon being cut. It was a nice sound. The knife must have been really sharp and the lemon fresh, the way they are on television cooking shows, as in, “Today, we’ll be cooking lemon salmon.”

It took her a few seconds to realize what had occurred.

Megumi saw Mitsuko’s right hand. On the left side under her chin. Her hand held a gently curved, banana-shaped blade that reflected dully against the flashlight beam. It was a sickle—the kind used to harvest rice. And now its tip was stuck in Megumi’s throat.

Her left hand clutching the back of Megumi’s head, Mitsuko dug the sickle in further. It made another crunching noise.

Megumi’s throat began to burn, but it didn’t last very long. She couldn’t say a word and lost consciousness as her chest warmed over with blood. She expired, unable to form any idea of what it meant exactly to have a blade stuck in her throat. Betrayed in the arms of Mitsuko, she died without any thoughts concerning Shuya Nanahara or her family.

Mitsuko let go of Megumi, who collapsed onto the floor right beside her.

Mitsuko quickly turned off her flashlight and stood up. She wiped away the annoying tears (which she could produce any time. It was in fact one of her special talents). Holding the sickle in her right hand up to the moonlight, she whipped the blood off onto the floor. The blood drops made a splattering sound against the floor.

Not bad for starters, Mitsuko thought. She was hoping for a knife that was easier to use, but it turned out a sickle wasn’t so bad. She hadn’t been careful enough though in entering a house that might already be occupied. From now on I’ll have to be more careful. Looking down at Megumi’s corpse, she spoke slowly and quietly, “I’m sorry. I was also trying to kill you.”