Kawada replied, "If he did, we'd be seeing smoke."
Noriko nodded, then softly said, "Why does he need to see her?"
They'd talked about this before they left the clinic. Now, as he had then, Shuya said, "Beats me." Then he added, "They didn't seem all that close."
But then Noriko said, "Oh," as if suddenly realizing something.
Shuya looked up at her. "What is it?"
"I don't know for sure." She shook her head. "But maybe . .
She let her sentence trail off. Shuya's eyebrows drew together. "Maybe what?"
Kawada interjected, "That's . . ." Shuya looked over to him. Kawada was staring down at a freshly opened pack of cigarettes. "That's too sentimental for this bullshit game."
"But," Noriko said, "it's Sugimura, so . . ."
Completely lost, Shuya looked back and forth between the two.
8 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Kayoko Kotohiki (Girls #8) sat in the bushes hugging her knees. She was halfway up the southern slope of the north mountain, in Sector E-7.
Evening was approaching, but the light coming into the brush remained largely unchanged. It just stayed dark. Heavy clouds descended after noon, and two hours ago it finally began to rain.
Kayoko wrapped a handkerchief over her head to shield herself from the rain. Thanks to the branches above, the rain didn't hit her directly, but the shoulders of her sailor fuku were drenched. She was cold. But more than that—she was scared.
She had first hidden directly east of the northern summit, in Sector C-8. She was practically close enough to have witnessed with her own eyes Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano getting killed. She had held her breath and kept still. She knew their killer was near, but her intuition told her that moving would have been even more dangerous. She kept absolutely quiet, and the afternoon passed, and then the night, without anyone attacking her.
She had moved twice due to the forbidden zone announcements. The second time had been just after this noon, because Sector D-7, to the south of the summit, was going to become a forbidden zone at one o'clock. She was starting to get boxed in.
She hadn't run into anyone else yet. Sometimes distant, and at other times perilously close, she had heard gunfire and even explosions, but she remained still and quiet. And the broadcast every six hours announced her classmates' diminishing numbers.
At noon, fourteen remained. And after that, she heard more gunfire. Was it twelve left now? Or maybe ten?
Her pistol (a Smith & Wesson Model 59—though Kayoko couldn't have cared less what it was called) was heavy in her right hand, so she set it down at her feet and stretched out her fingers with her other hand. Having kept a tight grasp on the gun this whole time, her finger muscles felt like they might fall off. She turned over her hand and saw her palm, flushed red and with the distinct imprint of the textured pattern of the weapon's grip.
She was completely exhausted from the near total lack of sleep along with her thirst and hunger. Because she had been too afraid to enter any of the houses where her classmates might be hiding, the only food and drink she had was the supplied bread and water. Foremost was her grossly inadequate water intake. She had tried to stretch her allocated water as far as she could, and since the game began, she had only drunk a little more than a single liter. The one good thing about the rain was that she had been able to collect the rainwater by placing her empty bottle where the rain came off one of the branches. But even this didn't amount to a third of the bottle. Occasionally she took the wet handkerchief from atop her head and used it to moisten her dry lips, but that did nothing to alleviate her dehydration.
Kayoko let out a long, feeble sigh, brushed her shoulder-length hair over her ear, and gripped the M59. Her mind wandered.
Again she pictured his face—a face she'd visualized many, many times since the game began. She wasn't as close to him as she was to her parents or her sister, of whom she'd also been thinking, but the image of his face carried a great importance to her.
She had first seen him soon after she had begun studying the tea ceremony. It was in the fall of her seventh grade year, at a holiday event held for tourists at the request of a prefectural park. The performing of the actual ceremony was left to the adults, so Kayoko and the other students her age had all been assigned various small jobs like setting up the outdoor seating or preparing the sweets to be served with the tea. But he was one of the masters of the ceremony.
He had shown up rather late in the afternoon. He was handsome yet still boyish, and he looked like he could be in college. She had assumed he was one of the helpers, but he told her forty-two-year-old instructor, who was in one of the tea master's seats, "Hey, sorry I'm late," and the two switched places, and he began preparing the tea.
He was wonderful. He had mastered the tea cloth and moved the whisk with skill and grace, and he sat with impeccable posture. Despite his youth, he looked perfectly natural in traditional Japanese clothes.
She neglected her own tasks to gaze at him when someone tapped her on her shoulder. She turned and saw the girl, her senior in the Shiroiwa Junior High Tea Ceremony Club, who had dragged her into the tea ceremony classes.
"He's pretty hot, huh?" the girl said. "He's the headmaster's grandson. Well, actually, the headmaster's mistress's grandson. I'm a fan of his too. I'm still taking lessons pretty much because I want to meet him."
She told Kayoko that he was nineteen, and that by the time he graduated high school, he was already something of an assistant instructor, with many students of his own. At the time, Kayoko had simply thought, He's from a different world, and So there are people like that out there.
But whenever she heard he was going to make an appearance in one of her classes, she spent more time in front of the mirror. Given her age, makeup was out of the question, but she made sure her kimono was just right, and she combed her hair and carefully put in her favorite dark-purple hair clip in the perfect placement. My flowing eyebrows,- my long, tapered, if not large eyes; my well-shaped, if a little short nose; my wide, firm lips . . . Okay, I might not be stunning, but I do look pretty mature.
He had scores of admirers, from girls her own age to middle-aged women. The reasons she became ever more smitten with him didn't have to be anything complex. After all, he was handsome and intelligent, cheerful and always considerate—the kind of ideal man that was hard to believe existed. And what's more, Kayoko heard he didn't even have a girlfriend.
But two particular encounters with him were memories she treasured (though to anyone else, they likely would have seemed trivial).
The first was at one of her tea ceremony school's regular demonstrations, in the spring soon after she entered eighth grade. The demonstration was being held at the headmaster's home in the town of Shido, near Shiroiwa. But almost immediately after the ceremony began, a problem arose. An official from the central government—a representative on the regional cultural committee—who had been invited as a special guest, suddenly began complaining about the way the ceremony was being conducted. That kind of thing happened all the time. Civil servants had their slogans, like "Serve the nation with honesty and integrity," and so on, but many used their authority for personal profit—for example, offering to arrange increased support from the national traditional arts fund to a tea ceremony school in exchange for a kickback. The headmaster had politely declined. Maybe this official was lashing out at the demonstrator for the headmaster's affront.
But the headmaster himself was in the hospital at the time. His two heirs, one of whom he had left in charge in his absence, both fell into a panic, and their lack of any competent response endangered the future of the school. And who saved the day? Kayoko's crush. He was only nineteen at the time. He escorted the problem official into another room, and then after a little while, the young man returned alone and said, "The gentleman has gone home. There's no need to worry, everyone—he seems to have left in a more agreeable mood."
The young man said no more, and the seated higher-ups in the sc
hool didn't ask. The rest of the ceremony proceeded smoothly. But Kayoko was concerned. He might have assumed full responsibility, saying something like, "I'm in charge of today's ceremony," And if he did, he might have provoked that official into retaliating against him—a fabricated report could see him arrested for antigovernmental spiritual pollution (which would get him sent to one of those reeducation camps).
After the tea demonstration concluded with no further interruptions, he led the cleanup. He was carrying some seat cushions when she caught him alone in the hall. Behind him, she worked up the nerve to say, "Hey." Still holding the cushions, he stopped and turned to her. His cool, clear eyes landed on her, and her heart raced. But she managed to speak. "Um ... is everything all right?"
He seemed to understand what she meant and gave her a smile and said, "Thanks for your concern. But it'll be fine."
Her concern, meanwhile, had quickly been replaced with elation at having her first real conversation with him. Still, she continued, "But. . . but. . . that official looked so mean. What if—"
He stopped her and said something sophisticated, almost lecturing her. "That man doesn't act like that because he wants to. Sure, that kind of thing happens all over the world . . . but the way this country is structured—it twists people. We as people must seek harmony, and maybe that's what the art of tea is about."
Then, almost to himself, he added, "But in this country, it can be very hard."
He looked at her and continued, "Tea and its trappings have no power. But it's not such a bad thing either. You should enjoy it while you can."
He smiled kindly, turned, and walked away.
Enthralled, Kayoko stood there for a while. His unperturbed manner had put her at ease, and though she didn't completely understand what he was saying, she thought Wow, he's so mature. She was completely smitten by him.
In any case, she might have made some sort of impression on him, because ever since that encounter, he always gave her a warm smile whenever their eyes met.
The second—and to Kayoko, deciding—encounter came in the winter of eighth grade. At another tea ceremony—this time in a temple—Kayoko stepped outside and was gazing off at the camellias in the traditional garden. (Actually, she was thinking of him again.)
Suddenly from behind, she heard the airy voice she longed to hear.
"Beautiful, aren't they?"
For a moment, she thought she had imagined it. And when she turned, she could hardly believe he was standing there . . . and smiling at her. This was the first time he'd addressed her outside of tea ceremony lessons and organizational meetings.
And so they talked a little while.
"How are you liking it—the Way of Tea?" he said. "Do you think it's interesting?"
"Yes. Very. But I'm not that good at it."
"Really? I've been impressed with your excellent posture when you're preparing the tea. And I don't just mean that you keep your back straight—I guess I'd call it a kind of dignified air about you."
"What? Oh, no, not me . . ."
With his hands tucked into his sleeves and the gentle smile on his face, he looked up at the camellias and said, "No, I really do think so. You're just like these flowers—they're stiff, but in a way that's beautiful."
Sure, it might just have been an empty compliment for a fellow enthusiast. After all, she was still a child. Yet she thought, All right! (She didn't snap her fingers with glee until she was in the bathroom alone.)
Kayoko increasingly devoted herself to her practice. I got this, she thought. I may still be a girl, but when I'm eighteen, he'll be twenty-four. That's a close enough match.
Those were memories now.
Kayoko buried her face into her pleated skirt. Warm droplets wet the fabric at her knees—but this wasn't rainwater. She realized she was crying. Her hand holding the gun trembled. Why is all this happening to me?
She wanted so badly to see him. Yes, she was only a kid. But in her own adolescent way, she felt like she truly loved him. She had never seriously loved anyone until him. Just a single moment with him was all she wanted—being able to tell him how she felt would be enough. He had described her as beautiful, even if he was only referring to her manner at the tea ceremony, and she wanted to tell him, "I'm still a child, and I might not know what it is to be in love with someone, but I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you. I love you."
Even if it came out like that, she wanted to tell him.
Leaves rustled. She looked up. Wiping her tears with her left hand, she stood up. Her legs, moving of their own accord, took one step away from the sound.
A boy in a school uniform—Hiroki Sugimura (Boys #11)— emerged from the bushes, first his face and then his upper body. The right sleeves of his jacket and shirt had been torn off, leaving his arm bare. Red blood seeped through a white bandage at his shoulder. The rain had turned the red into a broad patch of pink. In his hand, she saw a gun.
Hiroki's face was smeared with dirt, and his mouth cracked open, but her eyes were drawn immediately to his. They seemed to glare at her.
Fear surged within her. How did he get so close without me noticing? How did—
"Kayoko," he said.
She screamed and turned on her sneaker heels. She ran into the bushes. She didn't care about the branches scratching at her face and tangling her hair. She didn't care about the rain soaking her. She just ran. She had to run, or she'd be killed. She knew it.
She emerged from the thicket and onto a winding, two-meter-wide mountain trail. She immediately decided to run downhill. Uphill, and he was sure to catch her. But downhill, maybe—
The leaves rustled behind her. "Kayoko!" Hiroki shouted.
He's catching up!
Kayoko spurred on her exhausted body and ran for her life. I can't believe this. If I knew this was going to happen, I would have taken up cross-country instead of tea.
"Kayoko! Please wait. Kayoko!"
If she had been calmer—that is, if she had been munching on popcorn while watching actors play out this scene in a movie, she would have recognized that he was pleading with her. But instead she took it to mean: "Kayoko! Stop right there! I'm gonna kill you!"
She wasn't about to stop. Ahead, the path forked. She chose the left.
On her left, the woods opened onto a terraced tangerine grove. The irregular rows of low trees spread out in the dreary light of the misty rain. Beyond them she saw another thicket. If lean make it into there, I might. . .
No, it's impossible.
Fifty meters separated her from the thicket. It was hopelessly far. He'd catch up to her while she was still stumbling her way through the uneven rows of tangerine trees—and he'd shoot her in the back.
Kayoko gritted her teeth. She didn't want to do this. But it was her only choice. He was trying to kill her.
She stopped on her right foot and spun around to her left.
By the time she had turned around, she was holding her gun in both hands. She'd turned off the manual safety, it was called, as soon as she read the instructions, and she'd left it that way. The instructions had said she didn't need to cock the hammer, only pull the trigger. The rest came down to whether or not she could actually handle the thing.
Seven or eight meters up the sloping path, Hiroki froze with his eyes wide.
Too late. What, did you think I wouldn't shoot?
Kayoko held her arms locked straight out. She squeezed the trigger. With a bang, a small flame rose from the muzzle, and her arms jerked up from the recoil.
The well-built Hiroki spun and fell on his back.
Holding on to her gun, she ran toward him. I have to finish him off I have to! I can't let him get up again.
She stopped about two meters away from him. A small hole had opened in the left side of his chest. (She had aimed at his stomach.) Around the hole, the fabric of his jacket was starting to turn dark red. His arm had been flung out onto the ground, but he was still holding the gun. He could raise it at any moment. His head. I have to aim
for his head.
He turned his head and looked at her. She aimed her pistol down at him and squeezed the—
Her finger froze. Hiroki had tossed aside his gun. If he had that much strength left, he could have fired at her. What was going on?
His gun rolled over once, then fell on its side.
Huh?
As the rain fell on her wet, shoulder-length hair, and she held the gun steady in both hands, she stood there, motionless.
"Listen to me," Hiroki said. He was lying on the uneven path where rain puddles had begun to form. He seemed to be in pain, but he held his eyes fixed on her. "Burn fresh wood. Two . .. fires. There's a lighter in my pocket. When . . . you do that, you'll hear a birdcall."
Kayoko heard what he was saying but couldn't begin to understand. She didn't even understand what was happening.
Hiroki continued, "Go toward the bird's call. You'll find Nanahara . . . and Noriko Nakagawa, and Kawada. And they'll save you. Got it?"
"W-what?"
He almost seemed to be smiling. Patiently, he repeated, "Make two fires. Then follow the bird's call."
He stiffly reached his hand into his pocket, took out a cheap one-hundred-yen lighter, and tossed it toward her. Then he winced and closed his eyes.
"Okay," he said. "Now hurry."
“What?"
He flung his eyes open and shouted, "Run! Get away from here! Someone might have heard the gun. Run!"
Then, as if the pieces of a far-too-complicated jigsaw puzzle had fallen into place and revealed a picture, Kayoko finally understood what was happening. This time, she got it right.
"Oh . . . oh . . ." she said.
The pistol dropped from her hand. She fell on her knees beside him. She scraped her knees, but she didn't care about that now.
"Hiroki! Hiroki! I. . . what have I done?"
Kayoko didn't realize it, but she was crying. Sure, Hiroki Sugimura was a little intimidating. He seemed like he'd be violent, since he studied kempo or some kind of martial art. He rarely talked, and when he did he was curt. When he was talking with other boys—like Shinji Mimura and Shuya Nanahara—sometimes he smiled, but otherwise, he was generally surly. Kayoko had heard he was going out with Takako Chigusa, and the two did seem to be very close, but Kayoko thought, I really don't get her tastes. Maybe when you 're as pretty as she is, you 're attracted to dangerous boys.
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