Battle Royale (Remastered)

by Koushun Takami, Nathan Collins

  Shuya said as much.

  Kawada shrugged and said, "Yeah. The game was last July. I was badly hurt and hospitalized for a long time. I was able to do a lot of studying—including about this country—from my bed, you know. The nurses and everyone were really nice and brought me books from the library. The hospital was my school. Anyway, because of all that, I had to repeat ninth grade. But still..." Kawada looked at Shuya and Noriko again. "Even I didn't expect to be playing this happy little game again."

  That's right, Shuya thought, recalling the conversation they'd just had—well, three hours past, now. When Shuya had asked Kawada, "Was killing our class leader not the first time for you?" Kawada said, "Well, first one this time, at least."

  After a moment, Noriko asked, "So the ones who've already been drawn—" But she must have thought that sounded too much like she was talking about someone who'd won a sweepstakes, because she rephrased it. "Those who've already been in this once aren't exempt?"

  Kawada grinned. "Since I'm here, I'd suppose not. Don't they say that the classes are randomly selected by computer? I'd say a previous winner like myself would have quite an advantage—but it seems they don't make a special case for it. I guess some people are just more equal than others."

  Kawada cupped his hands around his lighter and lit another cigarette. "Now you know why I recognized the gas's smell. And why I have this." He pointed to the scar over his left eyebrow.

  Tearfully, Noriko said, "It's terrible. It's too awful."

  "Don't say that, Noriko." Kawada broke into a smile. "This way, I can help you."

  Shuya held out his hand.

  "What's that for?" Kawada said. "I'm no palm reader."

  Shuya laughed and shook his head. "I'm sorry for every accusing thing I've said. It's a handshake. We're together to the end."

  With an understanding nod, Kawada said, "All right," took the boy's hand, and gave it a little shake. Noriko smiled in relief.

  27 STUDENTS REMAIN.

  Kinpatsu Sakamochi (instructor) was sitting at his desk in the faculty room, rummaging through scattered piles of documents. Along the north and south walls of the room, Nonaggressive Forces soldiers stood, weapons at the ready, manning the loophole openings in the steel-plated windows. Little sunlight reached the room, and the fluorescent lights remained in use. A handful of soldiers sat at a desk across from Sakamochi, staring into a row of desktop computer monitors. Another three wore headphones connected to some other kind of machine. A large generator sat along the western wall, powering all the lights, computers, and other equipment. Unconfined by its soundproofing, a low hum filled the air. The rest of the soldiers were resting in the classroom the students had left.

  "Let's see," Sakamochi said, "Yumiko Kusaka died at 8:42 a.m. and Yukiko Kitano, she was also at forty-two after." He brushed his long hair back behind his ears. "Ahhh, there's so much to be done!"

  The old black phone at his desk rang. With his pen still in hand, he distractedly snatched up the receiver.

  "Yes, this is Oki Island School," he said offhandedly. "Shiroiwa Junior High, Ninth Grade Class B Program Headquarters."

  The next instant, he jolted upright in his chair and put both hands around the receiver. "Yes, sir. This is Sakamochi speaking. I appreciate everything you've been doing for us, Superintendent. Oh, yes, sir, our second one just turned two, and our third is on the way. Oh, no, we're just doing our part for the country. The declining birth rate's a big problem. Yes, sir. And how can I help you, sir?"

  Sakamochi listened for a while and then chuckled. "Oh, wow. You put your money on Shogo Kawada? I'm betting on Kazuo Kiriyama. Yeah, I put it on the chalk. Well, Kawada, you see, he's a contender, being experienced, after all. That's almost unheard of, isn't it? Of course he's still alive. How much did you put on him? Wow, that's incredible. Impressive. What's that? The current status? Can't you access it there? It's on the government's secret website—oh, I see, you're not very good with computers. Well, umm, that's . . . yes. Hang on."

  Sakamochi held the receiver away from his face and called to a craggy-faced soldier at one of the monitors. "Hey, Kato. Do you know if Kawada is still with those two?"

  The soldier typed on his keyboard, then curtly replied, "He is."

  His monitor would be displaying a map of the island, overlaid with the students' locations as provided by the signals from their collars. Sakamochi was about to scowl at Kato's gruff attitude, but he stopped himself. Kato had been this way ever since Sakamochi, back in his days as a mere junior high school teacher, took on a class of problem students. Kato had been at the top of the list. This was nothing new. Sakamochi put the receiver back to his ear.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. Let's see, Kawada is operating with two other students. That's . . . Shuya Nanahara and Noriko Nakagawa. Yeah, they've been talking about escaping together. Would you like to listen to the recording? Oh, well, yes. Do I think he means it? Well, I can't say for sure, but common sense says he's lying, probably. Because escape is utterly impossible. Oh, yes, about that. Hold on, let me check. The papers, the papers. Here it is, Shogo Kawada, right? There wasn't anything particularly suspicious about his behavior at his previous school. No subversive statements or actions, right. I see his father died sometime around the last game. It looks like he got drunk

  and said some seditious things. But Kawada's comment was 'Good riddance. Nobody cared about that bastard/ Well, maybe they just didn't get along. Maybe his dad tried to demand some of the compensation money. Yes, well, when you put it that way, having two more with him does give him an advantage. Nanahara is an excellent athlete, so he'll be useful—though Nakagawa is injured. Yeah, our Tahara shot her. Yes. Oh, yes. They completely trust him. He rescued an injured girl—now, really, that's brilliant. He's feeding them all kinds of great stuff too. Yes."

  Sakamochi had been laying on the obsequious laughter, but suddenly, his eyebrows shot up high. With his free hand, he brushed back his hair over his ear.

  "What?" he said. "That can't be. Look, well, you're talking about that thing in March, right? Yes, I received the memo. If that's true, then right now. . . Yes. Well, those guys over in Central are always overreacting. Besides, they're junior high schoolers. There's no way they could be aware we're listening to them. From what I can see now, I'm telling you, there isn't a single student that knows. Yes. That's why—Yes. Yes. Yes, sir. All right. Oh, no, please, I couldn't possibly accept. . . well, if you insist. Thank you very much. Yes. Yes. All right. Yes. Goodbye."

  Sakamochi let out an audible sigh, returned the receiver to its cradle, and picked up his pen. "So much to do!" he said, sweeping back his hair. He scribbled on the documents as if his pen were glued to them.

  When Shinji first met up with him, Yutaka Seto had seemed on edge from the shock of witnessing the deaths of Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano up close, but now that some time had passed he had calmed down. As the warm sunlight filtered through the treetops, Shinji listened for any movement. He sensed no one near, hearing only the peeping of small birds. Whoever had killed Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano had apparently not noticed the two boys. Still, Shinji needed to remain alert.

  Shinji loved and respected his uncle, who had taught him everything, starting with basketball, and whose influence was largely responsible for The Third Man being who he was today. One of the things his uncle said was, "Relax when you need to, but be tense when you need to. The point is to never mix up the two." This mentor often stressed to him—for example, when driving basic computer skills into him, demonstrating how to access illegal foreign networks— that there was no such thing as being too careful. And Shinji knew, he was certain, that this was one of those times when he needed to be tense.

  He heard Yutaka call his name and returned his attention to the boy, who sat against a tree, hugging his knees, with his eyes looking down between them.

  "Now that I think about it," Yutaka said, "I should have waited for you in front of the school. Then we would have been together fr
om the start." He looked up at Shinji. "But I was scared."

  Shinji crossed his arms, Beretta still in hand. "I'm not so sure. It might have been dangerous."

  That's right, Shinji thought. I'd better explain it to him. He might not know that Mayumi Tendo and Yoshio Akamatsu died in front of the school. And—

  Then Shinji noticed Yutaka was crying. Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, making thin white trails down his muddied face.

  Shinji gently asked, "What's wrong?"

  "I. . Yutaka lifted an injured hand and dried his eyes with the torn edge of the cloth bandage. "I'm pathetic. I'm clumsy and a coward, and . . ." He paused. Then, as if forcing out words that had caught in his chest, he said, "I couldn't save her."

  Shinji's eyebrows inched up, and he glanced down at his downcast friend. He had known not to bring this up himself. Slowly, he said, "You mean Kanai?"

  With his head still down, Yutaka nodded.

  Shinji thought back to the time he was in Yutaka's room when his friend told him, with a little bit of pride and a little bit of embarrassment mixed into his voice, "I. . . like Izumi Kanai." And that Izumi Kanai had died so quickly. Her death had been announced in the six a.m. report. They didn't know where she had died. They only knew it had to have been somewhere on the island.

  "There wasn't anything you could do," Shinji said. "Kanai left ahead of you."

  "But I—" Yutaka spoke without raising his head. "I couldn't even look for her—I was too scared—I never thought something crazy like that would happen to her. I thought she'd be fine. I made myself think that. Then by six, she was already ..."

  Shinji quietly listened. Somewhere beyond the treetops, the bird was chirping again. Another bird joined in, and their calls overlapped as if in a mutual song.

  Suddenly Yutaka lifted his face. Looking up at Shinji, he said, 'I've made up my mind."

  "About what?"

  Tears still clouded Yutaka's eyes, but they looked straight into Shinji. "I'm going to avenge her. Sakamochi and the rest of those bastards in the government—I'm going to fucking kill them."

  Somewhat startled, Shinji stared into his friend's face.

  Shinji himself was, of course, completely pissed off at this bullshit game and the government behind it. He had never really hung out with Shuya Nanahara's best friend Yoshitoki Kuninobu (the boy's too-laid-back attitude left Shinji with a bad taste in his mouth), but still, Yoshitoki was a nice guy—a really, really nice guy. And the government had murdered him with a casual brutality. Then the rest of their classmates, one after the other, Fumiyo Fujiyoshi, and as Yutaka had just mentioned, Izumi Kanai, and then the others, like Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano, whose lives had been taken as he watched. But. . .

  "But. . . that would be suicide," Shinji said.

  "I don't care if I die. There's nothing else I can do for her now." Yutaka paused and examined Shinji's expression. "Is it funny for a wimp like me to say something like that?"

  "No . . ." Shinji said, drawing the word out. Then he shook his head. "Not at all."

  Shinji stared back at his friend for a time, then tilted his head back and gazed at the branches and leaves above. He wasn't surprised by the clownish boy's display of intense emotion—that was just who Yutaka was. That's why they'd been friends for so long. But—

  "I don't care if I die. There's nothing else I can do for her now."

  What's it like to feel that way about a girl? Shinji wondered, looking up at the layers of leaves turned a yellowish green by the sun's glow on their other side. He had had many girlfriends and even slept with three of them (not bad for a ninth grader, huh?), but he'd never felt that kind of love for any girl.

  That his parents had never gotten along might have had something to do with it. His father, being who he was, had women on the side. (He did very well in his managerial position, but—and this was probably strange coming from a boy who didn't yet support himself—in nearly every aspect, his father was an unremarkable man. Shinji couldn't believe the man could share the same blood as his uncle, who radiated vibrancy.) And his mother, unable to bring herself to confront her husband, closed herself inside her own world, flitting from one new hobby to the next, from ikebana flower arrangement to various women's clubs. His mother and father had normal conversations. They each did what was necessary. But they didn't trust each other, and they didn't help each other. They just quietly built up their resentment as they grew ever older. Maybe, in this world, that's how most parents were.

  When the ace guard Shinji Mimura picked up basketball in elementary school, he captivated the girls—getting a girlfriend was easy. Kissing them was easy too. After a little while, sleeping with them became just as easy. Still, he'd never fallen in love.

  He regretted never talking about it with his uncle, who always had an answer for everything. But he hadn't started thinking about it until recently, and his uncle had passed away two years ago.

  The earring Shinji wore in his left ear had been something his uncle treasured. He once explained to the boy, "This belonged to a woman I loved. She died a long time ago."

  After his uncle's passing, Shinji decided he'd take the earring. If he were still alive, his uncle would probably say, That earring might be a bad influence on you, Shinji. To truly love, and to be loved, isn't a bad thing, you know. Hurry and find yourself a pretty girl.

  But earring or not, he still hadn't been able to fall in love.

  Shinji remembered when his little sister, Ikumi, three years younger than him but mature for her age, asked, "Do you want to marry for love? Or would you be okay with an arranged marriage?" He had answered, "I might not get married at all."

  Ikumi. Shinji thought of his sister. If it's possible, I hope you'll fall in love and have a happy marriage. Your brother's going to say goodbye to this world without ever knowing true love.

  Shinji looked at Yutaka. "Can I ask you something, Yutaka? Sorry if it might come out sounding rude."

  Yutaka looked blankly at him. "What is it?"

  "What was so great about Izumi?"

  Yutaka stared at him for a while, then his teary face formed a slight smile. Maybe he was thinking this could be his way of properly honoring her in death, now that flowers weren't going to be possible.

  "I don't know how to put it," Yutaka said, "but she was so pretty."

  "Pretty?" Shinji asked, then hurriedly added, "I mean, I'm not saying she wasn't."

  Izumi Kanai wasn't all that ugly Shinji thought, but as far as our class goes, the pretty ones are Takako Chigusa (or maybe she's just my type), Sakura Ogawa (well, she had Kazuhiko Yamamoto—and they're both gone now), and Mitsuko Souma (and no matter how good-looking she is, she's out of the question).

  With that little grin, Yutaka said, "When she looked sleepy at her desk, and she rested her cheeks on her hands, she was pretty." Then he added, "And when she was watering the plants on the little balcony outside our classroom, and she would look so happy touching the leaves, she was pretty." And then, "And at the field day, when she dropped the baton in the relay race, and she was crying after, she was pretty." And then, "And during breaks, when she was listening to Yuka Nakagawa or one of the other girls, and she'd hold her stomach as she burst out laughing, she was beautiful."

  Oh.

  As he listened to Yutaka rattle on, Shinji felt like a part of him understood completely. Though Yutaka's explanations weren't really explaining anything, Shinji thought, I get it. Hey Uncle, I think I'm actually starting to get it.

  When Yutaka had finished, he turned to face Shinji.

  Shinji stared back at him with soft eyes and tilted his head slightly.

  Then he grinned. "I always said you'd be a comedian someday, but you know, you could be a poet."

  Yutaka grinned back.

  Then Shinji said, "Hey."

  "What?"

  "I don't know how to say this, but I think Kanai must be happy right now—to know someone loves her that much. She's probably crying up there in heaven."


  After the incredible poetry of Yutaka's words, his own sounded banal, but he'd had to say something. Even so, Yutaka's eyes began to well up with tears again. Then, an instant later, the tears spilled out, trickling down, tracing several white lines down his cheeks.

  Choked up, Yutaka said, "You really think so?"

  Shinji placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. "I do." He let out a breath and continued, "One more thing. If you say you're getting revenge, I'll help."

  Yutaka's tear-filled eyes opened wide. "You mean it?"

  Shinji nodded. "Yeah."

  It had been on his mind for a while now. No, not that girl issue, but something else—what his future would be in this fucking grand Republic of Greater East Asia.

  He'd talked about the future before—now that he thought about it, with Yutaka too. Yutaka had said something like, "I can't even imagine." Then, "At the very least, I'll be a comedian, right?" Shinji had given the glib reply the chuckle it sought, but inside, he felt this was a more serious matter. Maybe Yutaka thought it was serious too but couldn't bring himself to talk about it. What it all came down to was this: this country was insane. (As Shinji had once said to Shuya Nanahara, "This is what successful fascism looks like. Is there anything as evil anywhere in the world?")

  And the insanity wasn't limited to this damn game. Anyone who showed the slightest disobedience toward the government ended up being disappeared. Even if the charges were false, the government showed no mercy. Every citizen lived under its fearful shadow, in total compliance, finding sustenance only in the small happinesses of the day-to-day. And should those small happinesses be unjustly stolen, the only option was to acquiesce in subservience.

  But Shinji had started to believe the way things were was wrong. Probably everyone thought it too—only no one ever dared to come out and say it. Even Shuya Nanahara listened to illegally imported rock music to let off steam. But it never went beyond that. As Shinji began to understand the ways of the world he became more and more convinced that he needed to speak out despite the danger, even if no one else would.