Battle Royale (Remastered)

by Koushun Takami, Nathan Collins

  Almost utterly overwhelmed by despair, Yoshimi pictured the face of a certain boy. That face had remained in her mind since the game's start. He had told her that he didn't care that she hung out with Mitsuko Souma, he loved her anyway. He kissed her gently on the bed and softly reproved, "Don't do anything too bad." He made her believe that she might be able to change.

  She had thought he might wait for her outside the school, but when she left, no one was there. The reason was obvious. Mayumi Tendo's and Yoshio Akamatsu's bodies lay at her feet, and anyone who lingered risked meeting the same fate. (Yoshimi wondered where their killer had gone.)

  The boy in her thoughts was somewhere on the island. But where? Or. . . is he already. . .

  Yoshimi felt a sharp pang in her chest. Tears blurred her vision.

  She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sailor top and proceeded to the outer edge of the thicket. But she had a little farther yet to go.

  She tightened her grip on the pistol and looked about for the next patch of cover. To her right stood a group of tall trees with dense undergrowth beneath.

  Again she sprinted across the field. Tiny branches scratched her face as she dove into the underbrush. Cautiously, she stood into a crouch and looked around. The thick layers of foliage partially blocked her view, but she didn't see anyone near.

  Still ducking, she continued deeper into the copse. It's all right, it's all right. There's no one here.

  Yoshimi reached the edge of the thicket. Straight ahead, she could now see the greenery of the southern mountain, with trees large and small set behind a dense grove of what looked to be bamboo. She would find plenty of places to hide there. Okay, I got this. Just one more time. Just once more, and I'll—

  Suddenly, a rustling noise came from behind. Her heart leaped straight up.

  Quickly she crouched down. Gripping her Colt Ml911, she cautiously turned around. The hair on the back of her neck stood.

  Between the trees a mere ten meters away, she caught a flash of black—a school uniform. Her eyes widened in fear. There! Someone's there!

  Clenching her teeth to quell her fear, Yoshimi ducked her head. Her heart pounded, its pace quickening.

  Again she heard the rustling sound.

  She was sure that no one had been in the copse. Whoever this was had entered the bushes after her. Why? Was I seen? Was Hollowed?

  Her face turned pale.

  No, that's not the only possibility. Whoever it is might simply be on the move, like me. If I was seen, then he—or she—would be coming straight for me. I haven't been seen. So ... so I'll just wait. Wait, and let the other pass by. I can't move. For now, just don't move.

  With another rustle, the intruder moved again. With her head low, Yoshimi saw through the crowded leaves the figure flitting from tree to tree. From her position, the person moved from right to left, revealing his profile.

  Yes! Good, he's not coming this way—

  She was about to let out a sigh of relief when she jolted her head up.

  The figure had passed into the trees and out of sight. The rustling sound gradually receded into the distance.

  She couldn't have seen wrong. Had this just been a panic-induced hallucination? No, this was no trick of the mind.

  Yoshimi bolted up into a standing crouch and moved toward the noise. After a few meters, she stopped again in the shade of the overgrowth and listened. The leaves blocked most of her view, but she caught sight of the school coat.

  Her hands moved without thought, pulling in to her chest. If she hadn't been holding the pistol, she would have looked like she was praying.

  Which, at that moment, she was. If this incredible coincidence had been an act of some god out there, that's the god to whom she was praying. She had no particular religion, but whichever god it was, she didn't care. She offered her prayer of thanks. Oh, God, it's really true! I love you, God!

  She stood, and the name tumbled from her lips. "Yoji!"

  Yoji Kuramoto (Boys #8) trembled for a moment, then slowly turned around. His face had a vaguely Latin air, and his thick eyelashes moved as his eyes widened and then returned to their normal size. For the briefest instant, his expression seemed to go blank, but Yoshimi was positive that must have been her mind playing tricks on her. A smile blossomed on his face—that familiar smile of the boy who loved her more than anyone else.

  "Yoshimi—"

  "Yoji!"

  With the daypack still over her shoulder, and the Ml911 still in her right hand, she ran to him. She felt her face scrunch up, and tears came to her eyes.

  In a tiny clearing amid the thicket, he caught her in his arms, his embrace tender yet reassuring.

  Without another word, Yoji softly placed his lips on hers. Then he kissed her eyelids and then the tip of her nose. His kisses hadn't changed at all. This may not have been the right time or place, but her body filled with joy.

  When their lips parted, he gazed into her eyes and said, "You're all right. I was worried about you."

  Still snug in his arms, Yoshimi replied, "Me too. Me too." Tears spilled out the corners of her eyes and traced down her cheeks.

  When Yoji left the classroom, he had glanced back at her. On the verge of crying, she watched him go. Then, from the moment she'd left, through the night and this morning, she'd felt so scared. But now, she'd met the person who she thought she'd never live long enough to see again.

  As if the surprise had only now caught up with him, Yoji said, "This . . . what were the chances?"

  'Yeah, it's incredible, right? I thought—I thought I'd never see you again. Not in this . . . this horrible game."

  As Yoshimi cried, Yoji gently ran his fingers through her hair. "It's all right now," he said. "Whatever happens, we'll be together."

  His words were comforting, but Yoshimi felt her eyes tear up even more. The rules say only one will survive, but for now, I can be with the one I love most. We'll stay together until that time limit comes. If anyone attacks, Yoji will protect me. Oh God, please tell me this isn't a dream. Right, God?

  Yoshimi thought back to all that had happened since she met Yoji, when they became classmates in eighth grade. It all really began on a day in the fall of that year, when they chanced upon each other on the street and went to a movie together. On Christmas, they split a strawberry shortcake in a cafe, and then kissed that night. For New Year's, she dressed up in a long-sleeved kimono for the first temple visit of the year. (The fortune she drew was a "Small Blessing," while Yoji got a "Great Blessing"—which he exchanged with hers.) Then, a night she'd never forget, on Saturday, the eighteenth of January, she spent her first night at Yoji's house.

  Yoshimi asked him, "Where have you been?"

  Yoji pointed toward the village. "I was in one of those houses. But you know, this collar—at eleven, it was going to explode. So . . ."

  His expression was serious, but Yoshimi thought it was all funny. We were so near. This whole game I've been wondering where he was, and he's been so near all along!

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "I was there too. I was hiding in one of those houses. We must have been right by each other."

  They both grinned. She watched his smiling face, savoring the happiness of being able to share a smile with someone she loved. It may have seemed such a trivial thing, but it wasn't at all. Nothing was more important. And now, she had reclaimed that happiness for herself.

  Yoji gently loosened his embrace. He looked down to her right hand, finally noticing it, and Yoshimi realized she was still holding the gun. She gave him an embarrassed smile and laughed. "I totally forgot."

  He returned the smile. "That's a fine weapon. Look at what I ended up with."

  He showed her what he'd been holding. She hadn't noticed the weapon at all. It was a sheathed tanto short sword straight out of an antique store. The cord wrapped around the grip was frayed, and the oval-shaped guard had taken on a patina. Yoji revealed a bit of the blade, spotted with rust. He slid the blade back into its she
ath and tucked it under his belt.

  "Let me see yours," he said.

  Pointing the barrel to the side, Yoshimi offered him the pistol. "Here, just take it. I don't think I'd be very good with it, anyway."

  Yoji nodded and took the Colt Ml911. He held the grip and checked the safety. He pulled back the slide and exposed the chambered round. The hammer was still cocked.

  "Got any ammo for this thing?"

  With the magazine already fully loaded, Yoshimi nodded, searched through her daypack, then gave Yoji the cardboard box of ammunition. He took it with one hand, flipped open the lid with his thumb, and looked inside. Then he stuffed the box into the pocket of his uniform.

  Then, the next moment, Yoshimi couldn't believe what she was seeing. Completely unable to comprehend the reason for what was happening, she stared at his hands as if watching him perform some baffling magic trick.

  Yoji was pointing the Colt M1911 at her.

  "Yoji?"

  She stood there in shock as he took a few steps back.

  "Yoji?" she repeated.

  Finally, she perceived that his face was no longer his own. It had contorted. The parts were all the same—those long eyelashes, the large, hooked nose, the wide mouth—but that face, with the twisted mouth and bared teeth, was one Yoshimi had never seen before.

  From that contorted mouth, he spat out, "Go. Get the fuck out of here."

  For a moment, Yoshimi couldn't understand his words.

  Irritated, he continued, "I don't care where. I said go!"

  Still stunned, Yoshimi heard her mouth form the word "Why?"

  The irritation in his voice grew stronger. "You think I can stand to be with some bitch like you? Get the fuck away from me!"

  Something inside her began to crumble, first slowly, then faster. "Why?" Her voice trembled. "Did I . . . did I ... do something wrong?"

  Keeping the gun pointed at her, Yoji spat to the side. "Don't make me laugh. I know you're a worthless bitch. You've been arrested by the cops. Better yet, you've been sleeping with guys old enough to be your dad. Did you think I didn't know? Do you expect me to trust a bitch like you?"

  Yoshimi's jaw dropped. She gaped at him.

  What he said was . . . true. She had been arrested several times for shoplifting and for blackmailing a high schooler with her friends. And then there was the prostitution. It had happened a long time ago, but she had slept with some middle-aged men Mitsuko Souma had introduced her to. She'd only done it a few times. The money was good, and everyone else was doing it. Besides, at the time, she was fed up with her life, so she didn't hate putting on the unfamiliar makeup, acting like an adult, and being with those men who were generous in their own way. She had assumed Yoji knew all this about her.

  And she had put an end to all of that on that autumn day when they started dating. She still hung out with Mitsuko Souma and Hirono Shimizu, and she couldn't suddenly pretend she was a good student, but at the very least, she stopped selling herself, and she did what she could to keep herself out of trouble. And so she believed that Yoji had forgiven her and loved her despite her past.

  She believed that the whole time.

  A single tear rolled down her cheek. "I—I don't do that kind of thing anymore." Now she cried tears very different from the ones before. "I wanted ... I wanted to be the woman you deserved."

  For a moment, Yoji stared at her, looking as if he'd been struck.

  But then that twisted expression returned. "You lie! Stop pretending to cry!"

  Yoshimi stared at him with her teary eyes. Again her words came tumbling out. "If that's how ... if that's how you think, why did you go out with me?"

  His answer came immediately. "I thought a slut like you would be an easy lay. Why else? Now go! Get out of here. Fuck!"

  Something overcame Yoshimi, and she rushed toward him. Maybe it was because she didn't want to hear him say another word, or maybe it was because she couldn't deal with the reality that he was pointing the gun at her.

  "Stop it!" she yelled through her tears. "Please stop it!"

  She tried to grab the gun from his hands.

  He dodged to the side and shoved her away. Her daypack slid down to her arm, and she fell on her back in the grass.

  Then he was on top of her.

  "What the hell are you doing!" he yelled. "Shit. You're trying to kill me, aren't you? Fuck! I'll kill you right here."

  He pointed the gun at her, and she frantically grasped his wrist with both hands. Then he added his other hand to the weapon, and the pistol inched downward until it was almost to her head. The rushing of her blood pounded in her ears.

  Pushing as hard as she could, she yelled, "Yoji! Please! Stop, Yoji!"

  Yoji said nothing. His bloodshot eyes glared down at her. His arms came down on her with a steady, mechanical force. Five centimeters left. Four centimeters. Three centimeters. If he fired now, the bullet would graze her hair. Two centimeters, and . . .

  The sadness and fear tore her apart. But suddenly, a thought pushed through the fractures.

  She understood everything now. She didn't want to believe it, but she knew that the person she had so loved had only been an illusion.

  And yet, it was a wonderful illusion. She had believed that with him, she could have started a new life. No matter what he was, Yoji had given her that dream. Without him, she never would have thought it possible.

  She thought back to the time they were eating ice cream at the only burger stand in Shiroiwa. She got ice cream on the tip of her nose, and he said, "You're so cute." She thought that, at least, hadn't been a lie.

  She had loved him.

  Yoshimi relaxed her arms. The gun snapped down to aim at her forehead. His finger was on the trigger.

  She gazed up at him, and quietly she said, "Thank you, Yoji. I was happy when I was with you."

  His eyes went wide as if he'd finally realized something important, and he froze.

  "It's all right," she said. "Shoot me."

  She smiled and closed her eyes.

  He was still pointing the gun at her, but his arms began to tremble.

  She waited for the hot bullet to bore its way into her head. But as long as she waited, the sound of the gunshot never came.

  Instead, she heard a scratchy whisper. "Yoshimi..."

  Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  Their eyes met. Through the blur of the thin layer of tears, she saw Yoji's eyes return to the familiar ones of the boy she loved—only now, they were tinged with shame and regret.

  Oh!

  He understands! Yoji, is this real?

  A sudden thunk noise sounded satisfying, though slightly disturbing and wet, like someone had stomped their heel against a damp wooden floor.

  Almost simultaneously, Yoji's finger pulled the trigger—not that he had meant to. It was only a reflex. The gunshot, like an exploding firecracker, made Yoshimi shriek. But Yoji had already pointed the gun away from her, and the bullet lodged into the grass above her head, sending up a little cloud of dirt.

  Yoji's lifeless body toppled over onto her, then was completely still.

  As she scrambled out from under him, Yoshimi looked over the shoulder of his black uniform and saw a smiling face. It was her longtime partner in crime, Mitsuko Souma.

  Yoshimi didn't understand what was happening. Though she didn't know why, the smile on that sweet, beautiful, angelic face brought on a deep-seated terror.

  Mitsuko asked, "Are you all right?" took her hand, and pulled her free from Yoji's body.

  There in the tall grass, Yoshimi rose unsteadily to her feet. Then she saw it. Planted deeply in the back of Yoji's head was an extremely sharp sickle. (A sickle! As a city girl, atypical for Shiroiwa, Yoshimi had never seen one before.)

  Leaving the sickle where it was for now, Mitsuko went for the Colt M1911 in his hand. His muscles had stiffened, so she pried up one stiff finger at a time. Once she had it securely in her grasp, she grinned.

  Yoshimi just stood there, looking
down at Yoji's body—just an empty shell now—and trembled. She shook, and she shook. She had lost someone so important so easily. She felt like she had when she was a small child (back when she was more innocent), and her favorite glass figurine fell and shattered on the ground—though the scale of her emotion couldn't be compared.

  Yoshimi's senses returned, back on earth from somewhere high above the sky. She saw Mitsuko (she had been seeing this whole time, of course, but the visual information hadn't reached her consciousness) put both hands on the sickle in the back of Yoji's head and start to wriggle the weapon free. His head shook along with it.

  "No!" Yoshimi screamed and shoved Mitsuko aside. The girl fell back onto the grass, and the hem of her pleated skirt shifted up to her thighs, revealing her well-formed, beautiful legs.

  Heedless of Mitsuko, Yoshimi shielded Yoji's body. The sickle remained planted in his skull. Teardrops fell from her eyes. The sickle was telling her, Shaking me won't bring me back to life. Don't shake me. This thing's stuck in me—can't you see it hurts?

  Giant waves of emotion swept through her. She was drowning in the feeling that the world was coming apart. Her mind came to the reason for all her pain, and with tear-filled eyes, she glared fiercely at Mitsuko. She tried to kill her with her stare. Any awareness of the game, and concerns over who were her friends and who were her enemies, had vanished from her thoughts. If anyone was her enemy, it was Mitsuko Souma, who had stolen from her the one she loved.

  "Why did you kill him?"

  Yoshimi's words sounded hollow to her own ears. She had nothing left inside—she felt like an empty pit in the shape of a human. Yet still she managed to speak. Humans were capable of such strange things.

  "Why? Why did you kill him? You're cruel! You're too cruel! You devil! Why did you have to kill him? Why?"

  Mitsuko scrunched her lips in dissatisfaction. "He was about to kill you. I saved your life."

  "No! Yoji understood. He understood me! You're the devil. I'll kill you! I'm going to kill you! Yoji understood me."

  With a shrug and a shake of her hand, Mitsuko pointed the Colt at her. Yoshimi's eyes widened.

  And so Yoshimi heard that dry firecracker pop one more time. She felt as if an entire car had crashed into a single point high on her forehead. That was all there was.