"Yeah, well. . He nodded, almost in defeat. "I know . . ."
Mitsuko smiled warmly at him. She looked him in the eyes and turned up the corners of her red, shapely lips. This wasn't like the smile she'd given Yuichiro during their more idyllic conversation. This was Mitsuko Souma's bona fide fallen-angel smile. Falling under her spell, Tadakatsu stared at her, his eyes glazed.
"Hey, Tadakatsu." Mitsuko resumed the face of a frightened little girl. When it was called for, she could switch her expression from virgin to whore, day to night. There's a movie title in that somewhere.
"W-what?"
"I know I said it before, but I'm just so scared."
"Y-yeah."
"So ..." She looked him straight on.
"So?"
Any trace of hostility or suspicion had vanished from his voice and his expression.
Mitsuko tilted her head and asked, "Can we talk a little?"
"Talk?" He scrunched his eyebrows in bewilderment. "Aren't we talking right now—"
"Silly," she said, talking over him. "Don't make me say it out loud, silly."
Without taking her eyes off him, she gestured to Yuichiro with her chin and said, "Not here. Okay? Somewhere a little away. I want to talk to you without Yuichiro around."
Tadakatsu cracked his mouth open and stared vacantly over at Yuichiro. Then he looked back at her.
She said, "Okay?" and stood, looked around, and found a suitable-seeming patch of bushes behind Tadakatsu. She walked up to him, gave him a tiny tilt of her head, then proceeded ahead. It all came down to whether or not he took the bait—but after a moment, she sensed that he had.
About twenty meters away from where Yuichiro was fast asleep, Mitsuko stopped inside a similar small glade.
She turned around to see Tadakatsu emerge from the thicket with those glazed-over eyes. But whether he was conscious of it or not, he still held the gun.
Without hesitation, Mitsuko lowered the zipper on the side of her skirt. The pleated garment dropped to the ground and her pale legs took in the faint morning light. Tadakatsu made an audible gulp.
Next she took off her scarf, and then her sailor top. Unlike the other girls, she didn't do anything so unsexy as to wear a T-shirt layered underneath, so with that, she was down to her underwear. Oh, wait, I forgot to take off my shoes. She tossed her sneakers aside and leveled her fallen-angel smile at the boy.
He spilled her name from his tense, slightly gaping mouth. "S-Souma . . ."
Mitsuko decided to make sure she had him. "I'm scared, Tadakatsu. So . . ."
Tadakatsu took one, then two awkward steps toward her.
Pretending to only just now notice, she dropped her eyes to his right hand and said, "Just leave that thing somewhere over there."
He raised his hand and squinted at it as if he'd never seen it before. Then he hurriedly set it down a little off to the side.
He stepped toward her once more.
She smiled at him warmly and reached her arms toward him, and quickly his neck was inside them. His body trembled, but when she offered him her lips, he took them and didn't let go. She followed along, breathing heavily.
After a while, their lips parted.
Mitsuko looked up into his eyes and said, "It's your first time, isn't it?"
"So what if it is?" His voice trembled at the end.
Then they fell to the grass, with Mitsuko on the bottom.
Tadakatsu's hand went immediately for her breasts.
Don't you know you should kiss me a little more before that, you idiot?
But she didn't say this—instead, she moaned. His rough hands pulled aside her bra and clutched at her exposed, ample breasts. Then he slid his face down there.
"Ahhh. Oh, yes . . ." she gasped, pretending to be turned on. (She played it up a little, like in a porno.) But meanwhile, her right hand was reaching to the right side of her panties, a little to the rear.
Her fingertips reached something hard and thin.
Most of the bad girls these days had likely abandoned such a cheap, unhip weapon. But it had been Mitsuko's weapon of choice for a long time now. In this kind of situation, a girl needed something she could hide inside her underwear.
Tadakatsu was still fumbling around with her breasts. The top of his head was beneath her eyes. His left hand reached between her legs. She moaned for him—and his eyes were focused entirely on her breasts.
Slowly, she moved her right hand to the side of his neck.
Sorry, Tadakatsu. But hey, at least you get to go out happy. Sorry for not letting you go all the way.
Her ring finger brushed against the side of his neck, the weapon between her pointer and middle fingers.
A bird chirped—and it came from her right side.
Startled by the noise, Tadakatsu looked up and over in its direction.
It had only been a bird's call, but Tadakatsu's eyes opened wide.
Right before his eyes, he'd seen the razor blade in her hand.
Shit!
Of all the timing, Mitsuko thought, but she swung the razor blade regardless.
Tadakatsu grunted and pulled away from her. The edge of the blade scraped his neck, but made only a light scratch—nothing remotely fatal. My, what fast reflexes. No wonder you're on the baseball team.
Tadakatsu stood, eyes wide open, and stared down at the rising girl. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
Mitsuko didn't concern herself with his reaction. Instead, she sprang to her feet. Her eyes darted to the revolver lying on the ground to her right.
But Tadakatsu's body flew past her in a headfirst dive. He scooped up the gun and spun around into a crouch. You might have taken Shuya Nanahara's position (Shuya's fame as the Little League's "ace shortstop" had reached even her elementary school), but our school's baseball team is still in good hands, isn't it? Well, you 're just lucky this happened before you took your pants off. That move would've looked ridiculous in the nude.
As soon as she recognized that he would beat her to the revolver, Mitsuko did an about-face and ran for the bushes. She heard a gunshot behind her but made it into the thicket unscathed.
She could hear him chasing her. He was catching up. That was no surprise.
She was out of the thicket. Yuichiro was ahead. He must have heard the gunshot and stood, and having noticed her and Tadakatsu's absence, was looking in all directions. When he saw her, his eyes went wide. (Well of course they did. I'm half naked and giving him quite a show, aren't I? Mitsuko Souma live, one night only! Well, morning now./
"Yuichiro!" she cried, running to him. She didn't forget the tears.
"S-Souma, why are—"
By the time Tadakatsu Hatagami emerged from the bushes,
Mitsuko had gone behind Yuichiro's back. Yuichiro was only four or five centimeters taller than her, so she couldn't completely hide herself behind him, but it would have to do.
"Yuichiro!" Tadakatsu howled. He stopped and held out his gun. "Move."
"W-wait," Yuichiro said in a panic. Having just awoken, he seemed not to have grasped what was going on. Mitsuko put her hands on his shoulders and pressed herself, half naked, against his back.
"What's going on?" Yuichiro asked.
"Souma tried to kill me—just like I told you she would!"
Hiding behind Yuichiro, Mitsuko said in a feeble voice, "N-no. Tadakatsu, he tried to—to force me ... He threatened me with that pistol. Please, Yuichiro, save me from him!"
Tadakatsu's face twisted in astonishment. "She's lying. It's not true, Yuichiro! Hey, yeah, look—look at this." Tadakatsu pointed at his neck with his free hand. A faint trace of blood ran from the tiny scratch. "She cut me with a razor blade!"
Yuichiro turned his head and looked at Mitsuko out of the corner of his eye. She shook her head (in a cute way, natch, and scared—she was back to the virgin), and said, "I. . . was desperate. I scratched him with my nail. Then Tadakatsu got mad—he tried to shoot me."
She had
already tossed the razor blade into the undergrowth. Even with a strip search (and she was nearly stripped already), Tadakatsu wouldn't come up with any proof.
Now Tadakatsu's face was flushed crimson with anger. "Move, Yuichiro!" he yelled. "I'm shooting her."
"Wait," Yuichiro said, trying to make himself sound calm. "I, uh . . . can't tell which of you is lying."
"What?" Tadakatsu snarled.
But Yuichiro stood firm. He held out his hand to Tadakatsu and said, "Give me that gun. Then we'll get to the bottom of this, okay?"
Tadakatsu's expression contorted. He appeared despondent and on the verge of tears. He cried out, "We don't have time for that! She'll kill you too if we don't take care of her now."
Mitsuko cried, "That's awful. I would never do that. Help me, Yuichiro, help me." She squeezed his shoulders.
Yuichiro patiently extended his hand. "Give it to me, Tadakatsu. If you're not lying to me, hand it over."
Tadakatsu's face twisted again.
But after a moment, he let out a deep sigh that lifted and dropped his shoulders, and he lowered the gun. With his finger in the trigger guard, he flipped the gun over grip first, and offered it to Yuichiro in surrender.
Though Mitsuko didn't drop her forlorn expression, a glimmer appeared in her eyes. Once the gun was in Yuichiro's hands, she'd have won. Taking it from him would be easy; she only had to decide how.
Yuichiro nodded and stepped forward.
But then—
It was the same move Hiroki Sugimura had pulled on her with the Colt M1911. The gun flipped around in Tadakatsu's hand like some magic trick. At the same time, he dropped to his knee and leaned sideways. The barrel pointed over Yuichiro's left shoulder and straight at Mitsuko. When he'd stepped forward, he left her exposed.
Yuichiro's eyes followed the line extending from the gun barrel and looked over his shoulder to Mitsuko.
Her eyes widened.
I'm dead.
With no hesitation, Tadakatsu squeezed the trigger.
A gunshot. Then another.
She watched as Yuichiro collapsed, seemingly in slow motion.
She looked beyond him to Tadakatsu, his face crumbling in dismay.
And she was picking up the sickle Yuichiro had set down while he slept.
She threw it. The sickle spun through the air, and its banana-shaped blade dug into Tadakatsu's right shoulder. He grunted and dropped his gun.
Not wasting a moment, she picked up the metal bat next and rushed Tadakatsu. She hurtled Yuichiro's prone body. Tadakatsu was tottering and clutching his right shoulder. She sprinted at him and put that momentum into a full-force swing directed at his head.
Look what we have here. It's your old friend, the baseball bat. I hope you like it.
CRACK. The end of the bat landed right in the center of his face. The cartilage in his nose shattered, several of his teeth broke off, and his jaw and cheekbones caved in. The impact of it all transmitted through the bat and into her hand.
Tadakatsu went down then and there. She brought the bat down on his forehead. His skull dented in. His eyes nearly flew out of their sockets, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. Mitsuko swung once more, aiming for the bridge of his nose again. Mitsuko Souma's special training—a marathon fungo session. Stay sharp, this next one's heading for center field.
The hit sent blood spraying from his nose.
Mitsuko lowered the bat. His entire face was drenched in blood. Thick rivulets of blood came dripping out from his ears and his buckled nose.
He was dead.
She tossed the bat aside and picked up the revolver lying to her left.
Then, she walked over to Yuichiro, who was face down on the ground.
Beneath him, a spreading pool of blood wove through the spaces between the leaves of grass.
He had shielded her in that split second.
Slowly, she knelt beside his body. She leaned in and saw he still breathed.
She thought for a moment, then moved over to where she would block Yuichiro's view of Tadakatsu's corpse. She grabbed Yuichiro by the shoulders and turned him over.
He groaned and opened his unfocused eyes. His school jacket had two holes, one on his left chest, and the other on his side, from which blood came pouring out, to be absorbed by the black fabric. Mitsuko held him up.
Yuichiro's eyes searched for a while, then saw her face. His breaths came short and intermittently, as if keeping time with his heartbeat.
"S-Souma ..he said. "What. .. what happened ... to Tadakatsu?"
Mitsuko shook her head. "After he shot you, he freaked. He ran away."
Since Tadakatsu had been trying to kill her, this answer didn't hold water. And she was glossing over which of them had been lying. But Yuichiro probably wasn't thinking very well anymore. He gave her a barely perceptible nod.
"Oh ..." His eyes didn't seem to be focusing on the same point. He probably wasn't able to see her very clearly. "Are ... are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."
Yuichiro seemed to smile. "I . . . I'm sorry. I. . . won't be able to protect you . . . anymore. I c-can't. . . move—"
Blood bubbled from his mouth. His lungs must have been punctured.
Mitsuko said, "I know." She leaned over and gently held him. Her long, black hair fell onto his chest, and the blood pouring from his wounds wetted its tips. Before she placed her lips on his, his eyes moved slightly, but then they shut.
This kiss was not at all like the whore's kiss she had given Tadakatsu only moments before. This was a soft, warm, sincere kiss— even though it did taste of blood.
Their lips separated. Yuichiro opened his glazed eyes and said, "S-sorry ... I think I'm—"
"I know."
blam! blam! bl am! came the three muffled gunshots, and Yuichiro's eyes opened wide.
Staring up into her face, and probably without having any idea of what had just happened, Yuichiro Takiguchi died.
Mitsuko slowly withdrew the smoking barrel from his stomach, and she held him again. She looked into eyes that no longer saw her and said, "You were pretty cool back there. You even made me a little happy. I won't forget you."
Almost as if she were reluctant to leave him, she closed her eyes and softly kissed him once more. His lips were still warm.
The sunlight was finally beginning to shine on the western slope of the northern mountain. Beneath Mitsuko's head, which shaded him from the light, his pupils rapidly dilated.
14 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Shuya Nanahara (Boys #15) suddenly opened his eyes. He saw the blue sky bordered by verdant grass.
He sat up with a jerk. There, beyond the patch of grass that surrounded him, bathed in the gentle sunlight, stood the familiar building of Shiroiwa Junior High.
On the school grounds, several students in gym clothes were playing softball and cheering each other on.
Shuya was in the garden at the side of the school's courtyard. The large leaves of a date palm tree fanned out overhead. He often napped here during lunch break, or sometimes when he skipped class.
He stood up and looked at himself.
He was completely unscathed. Small bits of grass had gotten on his school uniform, and he brushed them off.
A dream.
Shuya shook his head to clear his mind. Then he knew for certain:
It was a dream. It was all a dream. All of it.
As was always the case after having a nightmare, he was drenched in sweat. He wiped the back of his neck and his hand came back wet.
What a terrible dream to have—that we were all killing each other, and that we'd been chosen for that Program.
Then the realization came to him. Those students over there. . . Is that gym class?
He looked at his watch. It was well into the afternoon class period. I overslept!
Shuya hurried from the garden and trotted toward the school building. Today is. . . today is. ... As he ran, he checked his watch again and saw it was Thursday.
First period after lunch was Japanese. That made him feel a little better. He enjoyed Japanese class, and since his grades were all right, the teacher, Kazuko Okazaki, liked him more than most of the others. Shuya wouldn't be in any real trouble—an apologetic bow should be enough.
Words drifted across his mind with a deep and unidentified nostalgia.
Japanese. Like the class. Grades. Ms. Okazaki.
Shuya did enjoy studying Japanese. Even though pro-Republic slogans and the platforms of its ridiculous so-called ideologies pervaded the stories and essays in his textbook, Shuya discovered words he liked between the cracks. Words to him were of equal importance with music. After all, rock needed lyrics.
Lyrics. . . That reminded Shuya of Noriko Nakagawa, the best student in Japanese class. Her poems were beautiful. While he struggled to come up with lyrics for his own songs, she could always find the perfect words, vivid and gentle and kind, and yet with intensity and power. To Shuya, it was as if everything that encompassed what a girl was to him had been transposed into the realm of language. If nothing else, this part of her had caught his heart—despite the fact that his friend Yoshitoki Kuninobu had a crush on her.
Then Shuya remembered his friend was still alive. Though he knew the thought was silly, for a moment there, as he jogged to the school, he felt like he could cry with relief. Ridiculous. Yoshitoki dead? What kind of stupid dream was that?
And why was I with Noriko in that dumb dream? I know there must have been a reason. Does that mean I have just a little bit of feeling for her beyond liking her poetry? Come on now, that'll mean a big fight with Yoshitoki. That's trouble.
Lost in these idle thoughts, Shuya grinned despite himself.
Shuya entered the school. With the afternoon classes in session, the hallways were quiet and still. He bounded up the stairs two steps at a time to the third floor.
At the top of the stairs, he took the right-hand hallway. The second classroom belonged to Class B.
He paused in front of the door to prepare his excuse for Ms. Okazaki. I wasn't feeling well. . . No, I had a dizzy spell when 1 stood up. That'll do it. I had to lie down and rest a moment. Will she believe that story from me—a young man in perfect health? Yoshitoki will give me a theatrical shrug, someone like Yutaka Seto will say, "I bet you were sleeping," or some such, Shinji Mimura will snicker at me, Hiroki Sugimura will fold his arms and look vaguely amused, and Noriko will smile at me as I rub the back of my head out of embarrassment. All right. That's fine with me. I can live with a little embarrassment.
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