Either way, it was too late now.
Kazushi stopped with around four or five meters between them. He was relatively tall and solidly built, with broad shoulders. His hair was long, as was popular with soccer players these days, and silky, though it was now disheveled, as if he'd just stepped off the pitch after an intense overtime matchup. Aside from bad teeth, his was a handsome face. And right now, it wore an ambiguous smile.
Takako watched him, wondering, What does this jerk want?
He might not mean her harm. He might be thinking he'd finally found someone he could trust.
But Takako didn't have an especially high opinion of the boy. She hated his particular brand of chumminess. His cockiness didn't help things either. The two had been classmates since seventh grade (Hiroki became her classmate in eighth), and he did fairly well in his studies and his sports without putting in much effort. Whether it was because of this, or completely unrelated, he possessed a striking lack of maturity. He was always trying to act cool, and whenever he screwed up, he'd always have some plausible excuse at the ready. And though it was hardly worth mentioning, back in seventh grade, for some reason, a mmor had spread that Takako and—the admittedly handsome, as far as it goes—Kazushi were dating. (Junior high kids liked to gossip. Well, let them say what they want.)
When that was going on, he had come right up to her desk, placed a hand on her shoulder (the nerve!), and said, "People are talking about us."
Putting on a demure act, she had pivoted free of his hand and gently parried him, saying, "Oh, I'm flattered," but on the inside, she was scoffing. Nice try, creep. How about you take another hundred years to work on your lines? But she had the feeling that that level of approach wasn't going to cut it right now.
Now, Takako chose her words carefully. She needed to get away from this guy as quickly as possible. That was what it came down to.
"Don't shout, stupid," she said.
"Sorry. But I only had to because you ran off."
"I'm sorry too," Takako replied straight away. Keep it short and get to the point. That's what I do best. "But I don't want to be with you." She fixed her eyes on his face and managed to shrug her tense shoulders. "Wouldn't it be best for both of us if we just split?"
Not satisfied with that, Kazushi frowned and asked, "Why?"
Inside her mind, she clicked her tongue at him. Because you put on this naive, little-boy act.
Aloud, she said, "I think we both know why. Got it? See you."
Takako went to turn around, but her trembling knees told her how unsure she was.
She stopped.
Out the corner of her eye, she saw the weapon in Kazushi's hand, pointing at her.
Slowly now, she turned back to face him. Her eyes were fixed to his finger on the crossbow's trigger.
Takako asked, "What do you think you're doing?"
As she spoke, she casually slipped her daypack off her left shoulder, taking the strap in her hand. Would the bag be able to stop one of those arrows?
"I don't want to do this," Kazushi said. The way he spoke to her was exactly what she despised about him. His words were apologetic, but in fact he was putting himself in a position of power over her. "So how about you stick with me."
Now that pissed her off. But even in her anger, she noticed something. Back when she was hiding in the abandoned house, her skirt had snagged on a broken door and tore a long split up one side, like the slit on a Chinese dress. Kazushi had glanced down at her exposed thigh. She caught an unidentifiable gumminess in his gaze. It gave her the creeps.
She shifted her footing to hide her leg from him as best she could. Then she said, "You've got to be kidding. No way I'm going to stick with you when you're pointing that thing at me."
Typically arrogant, Kazushi said, "So you're not going to run?" He hadn't lowered the crossbow.
Takako summoned her patience. "Please just put that down."
"And you're not running away."
"Are you deaf?" she said sharply, and Kazushi reluctantly lowered his weapon.
Then, taking an oddly smug tone, he said, "You know, I've always found you attractive."
Takako raised her well-defined, elegantly arched eyebrows.
She'd had enough. What, you think I'll just forget how you threatened me?
Kazushi's eyes fell to her leg again. This time, his gaze lingered, a little brazen, looking her up and down.
Takako lifted her chin slightly and asked, "What of it?"
"It means I'm not going to kill you or anything. Just stick with me."
She shrugged again, this time too angry for the gesture to feel stiff. Flatly, she said, "I told you already. I'm not interested."
Then she said, "See you."
She almost turned around again but thought better of it, instead keeping her eyes on him as she backed away. Kazushi immediately raised the crossbow. His expression was that of a child in a department store begging for a toy. Mom, I want it, I want it.
Quietly, Takako said, "Don't do this."
"Okay, then stay with me," he repeated. The tilt of his head betrayed an attempt to rein in his escalating anxiety.
"I told you I don't want to."
Kazushi didn't lower his crossbow. For a time, they glared at each other.
Losing her patience, Takako said, "What are you after? Come on, say it. You're not going to kill me right away, and you're insisting I stay with you even when I say I don't want to. Why?"
"I..." Kazushi held her eyes with that lecherous gaze. "I want to protect you. So stay here. The two of us will be safer together, right?"
"You have to be joking," Takako said, the outrage edging into her voice. "You can't point that thing at me and say you're going to protect me. I can't trust you. Get it? Can I go now? I'm going."
"Move and I'll shoot." He held the crossbow aimed straight at her chest.
By vocalizing the threat, Kazushi stepped free from the last shackle that held him within the bounds of reason (as far as the bounds had been pushed already). Keeping the weapon pointed at her, he said, "Know your place, girl. Women should listen to what men tell them."
Takako was absolutely furious. But Kazushi hadn't finished speaking yet.
Casually, as if asking her sign, he said, "You're a virgin, aren't you?"
Takako was speechless.
What? What did this dumbass just say?
"Am I wrong?" he asked. "Sugimura doesn't have the balls to sleep with a girl."
Kazushi must have mistakenly believed, along with most of their classmates, that she and Hiroki were dating. But what he said pissed her off on two levels: one, that he made that baseless assumption about her and Hiroki's relationship; and two, the contempt that oozed from his voice when he said Hiroki's name.
Takako felt her lips twist into a smile. She had the habit of grinning when she was furious.
Turning that smile on Kazushi, she said, "And you think that's any of your business?"
Possibly misreading her smile, he gave her a twisted grin back. "Sure."
Still smiling, she glared back at him. Yes, sir, you're absolutely right, sir. Despite, as you can see, the way I dress, lam indeed a virgin, sir. A blushing fifteen-year-old virgin, sir. But what the fuck kind of business is that of yours, asshole!
Kazushi went on, "You see, both of us, we're going to die anyway. Don't you want to do it once before you die? I wouldn't make for a bad partner."
Though driven to the utmost extreme of rage, for a moment she just stared at him, dumbstruck. Her mouth might have hung open. If her disgust existed in an area around her, its field would have previously been within arms' reach, but now extended beyond the horizon. Land ahoy, Captain Columbus. It looks like San Salvador Island. Okay now, there're savages. Beware the savages.
Takako dropped her eyes. Then, without thinking, a quiet laugh slipped from her lips. This was ridiculous. No, really, it was the smash hit comedy of the year.
She raised her head. Despite the furious glare she leveled at
him, Takako deigned to permit him one final chance.
"This is the last time I'll say it," she said. "I don't want to be with you. Be a good boy and put that thing down, and leave me alone. If you don't, I'll have to assume you mean to kill me. All right?"
Kazushi didn't lower his crossbow. To the contrary, he raised it as high as his shoulders and threatened, "And this is the last time I'll say it. Do as I tell you, Chigusa."
Maybe it was something in her innate personality that she felt something of a rush as their exchange reached this crucial junction. She couldn't be held responsible for whatever happened next.
Whatever it took, it was time for her conversation with this shithead to end. She took one step forward.
"I see. So you want to rape me, do you? That's it, right? You think you can do whatever you want just because you're going to die anyway, yeah?"
He glared at her. "I never . . . said that."
Didn't you? On the inside, she sneered at him. Let me guess what's next—first you'll say you don't want to rape me, and then you'll tell me to take off my clothes.
Still smiling at him, Takako calmly tilted her head. "You know, at a time like this, you might want to worry more about your life than your little dick."
From his neck to his face, Kazushi turned crimson. His mouth twisted, and he exploded, "You think I'm joking? You really want to get raped?"
Takako grinned. "The truth comes out."
"You think I'm fucking joking? I could kill you too, right now!"
He sickened her. Only moments ago, he'd tried cajoling her, saying, "I'm not going to kill you or anything."
Kazushi paused before adding, sounding proud of himself, "I already killed Akamatsu."
This startled her a little, but she raised her eyebrows and said, "Huh." Even if what he said was true, the way he'd been cowering in the bushes, he'd probably bumped into the terrified boy and killed him. Then, worried that someone more capable than himself might come along, he hid. And if by running and hiding he survived to the end, and his only remaining opponent was weaker than him, he'd say something like, "I don't have any other choice, do I?" and kill without a second thought.
What Kazushi said next confirmed her suspicions. "I thought it through and decided to consider this a game." Then he added, "So I Won't hold back."
Still wearing that smirk, Takako kept on staring at him.
Aha. Now she understood everything. So, with or without my consent, you were going to fuck me and then, when the time came, kill me—when everyone else had been killed, and all I had to do was die for you to survive? I see. And did you work out how many times you could fuck me before then?
Her spine tingled with disgust and fury.
"A game?" Her lips curled into a wide smile. "But aren't you ashamed to go up against a girl?"
For a brief moment, he looked as if he'd been struck, but his harsh expression quickly returned. His cold eyes flashed. "Do you want to die?"
"Go ahead, try and shoot me."
Kazushi hesitated. Takako didn't miss her chance. She threw the handful of pebbles she'd snuck from her pocket at his face. As he raised his hands to shield himself, she spun around, dropped her daypack, and sprinted back the way she had come, ice pick in hand.
She thought she heard him cursing behind her. Just as she thought she'd cleared fifteen meters with her star track-runner's start, her right leg was blown forward, and she fell onto her face. Sliding on the dirt, she felt an exposed tree root scrape her cheek. This facial injury enraged her even more than the sharp pain from her leg that followed. This asshole ruined my face!
Takako twisted onto her back and sat up on the ground. A silver-colored bolt had pierced through the back of her skirt to impale itself on her right thigh. She could feel the blood coursing down her well-toned muscles.
Kazushi caught up with her. Seeing her sitting there, he dropped the crossbow, letting it clatter to the dirt. From his belt he pulled out two wooden sticks connected by a short chain—nunchucks. As he wielded them in his right hand, their chain hung down, rattling in the air. (He had found the nunchucks inside Mayumi Tendo's daypack after he'd killed Yoshio Akamatsu. His own weapon, for some bizarre reason, was an ordinary three-stringed shamisen of absolutely no use. It wasn't even big enough to smash over somebody's head, like a guitar. Takako knew none of this, however.)
Takako glanced at the discarded crossbow and thought, You're going to regret dropping that.
A little out of breath, Kazushi said, "This is your fault. You provoked me."
Still sitting on the ground, Takako glared up at him. Even now, he continued to search for excuses. She didn't know how she'd put up with being classmates with him for more than two years.
"Please wait," she said.
As Kazushi frowned at her, she rose to her knees, reached her hand behind her back, gritted her teeth, and yanked the bolt free. She felt her flesh rip and the blood begin to gush. Her skirt tore again. Great, now my skirt's in two pieces.
She tossed the arrow aside and stood up, glaring at Kazushi. She was all right. The pain was fierce, but she could still stand. She shifted the ice pick to her right hand.
"Give it up," Kazushi said. "It's no use."
Takako held the ice pick level and pointed it at his chest. "You said this is a game. Fine. I'll be your opponent. I'll never lose to some punk like you. I'll give everything I have to stop you. You got that? You understand me? Or are you too stupid?"
But Kazushi's expression remained confident. He probably thought he couldn't lose against her, an injured girl.
"I'll say it one more time," Takako said. "Don't even think about beating me half to death as a way to rape me. Look, little boy, you should worry more about your life than your prick."
Kazushi's face contorted, and he raised the nunchucks as high as his head.
Takako gripped her ice pick. Tension hung in the air between them.
He stood nearly fifteen centimeters taller than her and weighed probably twenty pounds more. Even as likely the best athlete among the Class B girls, she thought she had little chance of winning. Even worse, that gash in her leg was severe. But losing was not an option.
Suddenly, Kazushi made a move. He came forward, swinging his nunchucks down.
Takako took the strike with her left arm. One of her two bracelets sailed into the air (handmade by a South American Indian, the bracelet was a favorite, damn), and a wave of numbness shot from her upper arm to the middle of her brain. Undeterred, she raised her ice pick. Kazushi grimaced and dodged backward. Once again they stood two meters apart.
Her arm throbbed, but she was all right. Kazushi hadn't broken anything.
His second attack came. This time he brought the nunchucks up in a backhand tennis swing.
Takako ducked her head and twisted to the side, dodging the blow. The nunchucks grazed her long, highlighted hair, tearing out several strands and sending them flying. Swiftly Takako swung her ice pick at his extended wrist. She felt it hit home, and Kazushi grunted and stepped back.
They were apart again. Takako saw a streak of red on the wrist holding the nunchucks. But he didn't seem badly hurt.
The gash on her leg pounded. She felt the blood covering nearly her entire leg from the thigh down. She didn't think she could last much longer. She heard the sound of panting breath, then realized it came from her own lips.
Once more Kazushi came swinging. Takako could see he was aiming for somewhere between the upper left side of her head and her shoulder.
She stepped forward. She had remembered something that Hiroki Sugimura, who attended a martial arts school, had once taught her: An attack aimed at the wrong distance will lose most of its effect. Sometimes you need to bravely step forward.
The nunchucks struck her shoulder, but only by the chain, which hardly hurt. Takako threw herself into Kazushi's chest. His stunned, wide-open eyes were directly in front of hers. She swung the ice pick up.
Kazushi shoved her away with his off hand. Her inj
ured leg buckled, and she toppled onto her back.
Rubbing his nearly injured chest, he looked down at her and said, "What kind of girl are you?"
When Takako slowly pulled herself up, he came rushing at her, swinging the nunchucks down. He aimed for her face.
Takako raised the ice pick to block the attack. With a metallic clang the ice pick was gone, rolling to a stop on the dirt beside her. Only the intense pain remained in her hand.
Takako bit her lip. Her eyes glaring at him, she backed away.
Kazushi twisted his mouth into a grin and took one step forward, then another. Shit, this guy's a total psychopath. He showed no compunction about beating a girl—with a weapon, even. Rather, he was enjoying it.
Again Kazushi swung the nunchucks. Swiftly, Takako bent back to dodge them, but they came after her. In a fluid movement, he had extended his reach. Maybe he was getting used to the weapon.
CRACK! The nunchucks struck the left side of her head. Her body lurched. A warm liquid began to gush from her left nostril.
Takako was about to drop. Kazushi's expression might have been one of victory.
Still swaying, Takako narrowed her lovely, long, tapered eyes.
As she fell, she thrust out her long leg and kicked the outside of his knee as hard as she could. He let out a guttural moan and dropped onto that knee, losing balance, and pivoting halfway around on it—leaving his back half exposed to her.
Had her thoughts only been on retrieving her ice pick, she might have lost. But that wasn't what she did.
She leaped onto Kazushi's back.
As if riding piggyback, she clasped her arms around his head. Her weight sent him toppling forward.
In that instant, she had a decision to make—about her fingers. My pointer and middle finger? No, no, the thumb and middle finger are the strongest ones. Takako had always taken good care of her nails. No matter how many times her track coach, Mr. Tada, scolded her, she'd never trimmed off her sharp, pointed nails.
Mounted atop his back, Takako grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. She couldn't see exactly where to put her hands, but she could make a guess.
Battle Royale (Remastered) Page 24