In any event, that was her impression of him. And in this game, where her classmates were dying one by one, he absolutely terrified her. But then . . . this happened.
He closed his eyes again and said, "It's all right." He was smiling. He looked happy. "I was going to die soon anyway."
Finally Kayoko noticed another wound in his right side, thoroughly soaked in a liquid that wasn't rain.
"So ... go now," he said. "Please."
She began to sob. She gently touched his neck. "Let's . . . let's go together. Okay? Stand up."
Hiroki opened his eyes and looked at her. He seemed to be smiling with his eyes too.
"I'm fine now," he said. "I just wanted to see you. That's enough for me."
"What?"
Kayoko opened her teary eyes wide. What? What was that? What did he say?
Her voice trembling, she said, "What. . . what do you mean?"
He exhaled deeply, as if to help endure the pain—or maybe it was just a long sigh.
"If I tell you, will you go?"
"What? Tell me what you mean."
He told it to her plain and simple. "I love you, Kayoko. I've always loved you."
She still couldn't process it. What is he talking about?
Looking up at the rain, he continued, "That's all I wanted to tell you. Now hurry—run."
Kayoko's next words tumbled from her lips almost without her knowing it. "But. . . you . . . and Takako ..."
He gazed into her eyes one more time. "I love you”
At last she understood. The truth crashed into her mind with a tremendous impact, like getting struck by a wrecking ball.
You love me? You wanted to tell me? You weren't searching for me, were you? If you were, then what have I done?
Several times she tried to speak, but her voice came as only air rasping through her throat. But then finally words came.
"Hiroki! Hiroki!"
"Hurry," he said, and then he coughed out a mist of blood that sprayed Kayoko's face. He opened his eyes again.
"Hiroki. . . I... I... I. . ."
The lack of drinking water had left her thoroughly dehydrated, but her tears kept coming and coming.
"It's all right," he said gently. He closed his eyes. "Kayoko ..." He said her given name, which he'd never dared use before, as if it were a precious treasure. "If I die because of you, I don't mind at all. So, I'm begging you, run away from here now. Or else—"
As the tears streamed from her eyes, Kayoko waited for him to continue. Or else what?
When Hiroki didn't say anything, she reached out for him. She took hold of his shoulders and shook.
"Hiroki! Hiroki!"
When people died in television shows, they would always stop midword, like "Or el—" But Hiroki had managed to say, his voice pained but distinct, "Or else." He must have had more to say. Or else what?
"Hiroki! Come on, Hiroki!"
She shook him once more and finally realized he was dead.
And the instant she did, the dam inside her restraining her torrent of emotions suddenly ruptured. She felt a cry force its way out her throat.
Then the cry became a wail. Kneeling on the ground beside him, she fell over him and wept.
He loved me. He ignored everything but his feelings, and searched for me, putting himself at risk of becoming someone else's target. What hardships had he faced? Anytime he ran into someone else, they could have attacked him. That's why he had that wound in his side . . . and the one in his shoulder. . . Because he was looking for me.
But that wasn't all. For a moment, Kayoko's gasping sobs ceased.
I attacked him—at the very end, just as he'd finally realized his goal.
She shut her eyes tightly and wept more.
He loved me. Just as I wanted to tell my love how I feel about him, so did Hiroki. And he went looking for me. A boy in my class cared for me that much. But I. . . but I. . .
Suddenly, a memory came back to her. During the student cleaning period after the last class of the day, Kayoko was wiping down the blackboard with a damp cloth. When she couldn't reach the top, Hiroki—who had been slacking off, resting his chin on his hands atop the end of a broom handle—said, "You're short, Kayoko." Then he snatched the cloth from her hand and wiped the blackboard for her.
Only now had she remembered it.
Why hadn't I recognized his nice side? Why hadn't I noticed his feelings, when he loved me so much?
If I'd only tried to think about it, I would have asked myself why, if he wanted to kill me, he hadn't shot me right away. But I didn't understand that. I couldn't understand that for you. I'm so stupid.
Another memory came to her.
Talking to her friends in class, she was squealing over her crush, when Hiroki, who was looking out a nearby window, muttered, "You're making a fool of yourself." That made her mad at the time, but he had been right. She was a fool. And yet he'd told this foolish girl, I've always loved you.
She couldn't stop crying. His cheek still felt warm against hers as she wept and wept. He'd told her to run, but she couldn't bring herself to even try. I'm going to keep on crying—crying over the sincere dedication of the boy who loved me (I wouldn't trade that for anything), and crying over my own stupidity (I really am such a child—how could I have ever thought I'd be a match for someone six years older). I'm just going to keep on crying right here—even if it's suicidal in this game.
A voice whispered in her mind. "So you're planning on a murdersuicide?"
"Yes, yes I am," she said aloud to herself. "I'm going to die with him—with his love for me, and with my stupidity."
Then someone else said, "All right then, go ahead."
A shiver ran through her. She looked over her shoulder, and Mitsuko Souma (Girls #11), with her long, beautiful, black, wet hair, looked down at her—holding a gun.
With a dry-sounding bang bang, two holes opened in Kayoko's right temple, and her body slumped over that of Hiroki Sugimura.
Blood slowly flowed from the holes in her temple. As if in defiance against the washing rain, it kept coming and coming and trickled down her face.
Mitsuko lowered the .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson Model 19 she'd taken from Tadakatsu Hatagami. Then she said, "You really were a fool, Kayoko. Why couldn't you understand him?"
Her eyes landed on Hiroki's face. "Long time no see, Sugimura. You got to die alongside your love. Are you happy now?"
She shook her head in disgust. She started walking toward the Smith & Wesson Model 59 Kayoko had dropped, and the Colt Ml911 Hiroki had tossed aside (that had been in Mitsuko's possession earlier).
Mitsuko glanced down at the two bodies and put a finger to her lips. "Now what was that about building a fire?"
She shook her head again. Kayoko's skirt was covering part of the M59. Mitsuko kicked the cloth aside and was reaching down for the gun, its metal surface gleaming blue in the rain, when she heard the typewriter-like brattattattattattat.
6 STUDENTS REMAIN.
At the same time, several impacts jolted Mitsuko's back. The front of her sailor blouse was shredded, and her blood sprayed out. She staggered, and a burning sensation quickly spread through her body, like smoldering embers had been pressed into her.
She didn't feel so much surprised or confused by the pain as she felt indignant. How could I not have heard him sneaking up on me through all this mud?
Though she had already taken more than one person's share of bullets, Mitsuko managed to turn around.
A boy in a school uniform was standing there. He had long, slicked-back hair, grown out in the back, a handsome, well-defined face, and those clear, frigid eyes. Kazuo Kiriyama (Boys #6).
Mitsuko tightened her grip on the Ml911 in her right hand. The muscles in her back were all but useless now, but she mobilized whatever strength she had left and tried to raise the gun.
But then, amid this life-or-death battle, her thoughts suddenly plunged into another time and place. It all might have lasted but an instant.
She had told Hiroki Sugimura, who was now lying at her feet, "I just decided to take instead of being taken."
When did I start living that way? Was it like I told him—when I was nine and those three men raped me? When I was in that shabby apartment in the run-down district at the edge of town, where they had that video camera, and they raped me? Or was it when my own drunk mother (she never had a father) brought me to that room, then took a fat envelope from those men and left before they began? Was that when it started? Or was it not until the one elementary school teacher who I trusted came to me, after the terrible trauma had left me feeling dead inside, and when I finally told him what had happened the look in his eye changed and he raped me too? Was it there, in the dark, confined archival room? Or was it when my best friend saw it (or at least part of it), and instead of comforting me, she spread rumors about it (and the teacher went away)? Or was it three months later, when my mother tried to take me to do that again, and I resisted her and accidentally killed her? After I got rid of all the evidence and knew to make it look like a burglary, and I was sitting alone on a park swing? Or was it after that, when I was taken in by my distant relatives, and their daughter did nothing but bully me, and when she slipped and fell from the roof of an old, tall building, and her mother accused me of killing her because I was there with her? Or how about when her father intervened and defended me, but then a little while later, he too started molesting me? Or was it after that, when—
Little by little—no, a lot by a lot—they all took from her. No one gave her anything. Mitsuko became a hollow shell.
But none of that matters.
I am right. I will not lose.
Strength filled her arm, and she raised her pistol. The tendons of her wrist rose up and looked like violin strings. And then she squeezed the—
With a brattattattat, flames erupted from Kiriyama's Ingram MAC-10. From Mitsuko's chest to the middle of her face, four holes opened in a vertical line. Blood spurted from the split in her upper lip, and she bent back.
But even after that, Mitsuko smiled. She stood up straight and squeezed the trigger, again and again.
Each one of the four bullets she had left went into his chest.
Though his body made tiny jerks, he remained unperturbed. Mitsuko didn't know why. Then his Ingram spat fire one last time.
Her once-beautiful face exploded, and she looked like she'd been hit with a strawberry pie. This time, her body was flung backward, and she landed in the mud. By now she was dead. She might have been dead for a while now—physically, a few seconds before; spiritually, a long, long time ago.
Kazuo Kiriyama walked up to her and calmly pried the gun from her fingers. He also picked up the Ml911 lying by Hiroki Sugimura's hand, and then the Model 59 Kayoko had discarded. As the rain beat down on the three corpses, he didn't give them a single glance.
5 STUDENTS REMAIN.
Mizuho Inada (Girls #1) peeked out from the shade of the bushes. The ceaseless rain had plastered her neatly trimmed bangs to her forehead.
Beyond the bushes was a small planting field. Through the gauze of rain, she could see the back of a uniformed boy in the middle of the field. Like hers, his slicked-back hair was also wet. It was Kazuo Kiriyama (Boys #6).
Kiriyama had formed two piles of various branches. He was sitting in front of one of the piles, shaping it.
Mizuho steadied her breathing. She was cold and tired, but she didn't mind it much. After all, the time had come for her to carry out her greatest mission . . .
... as an anime space warrior.
The voice of the God of Light, Ahura Mazda, came to her.
ARE YOU READY, WARRIOR PREXIA DIKIANNE MIZUHO?
The voice seemed to emanate from the spindle-shaped mystical crystal Mizuho wore around her neck. (Actually, the mail-order item was glass, but Mizuho believed it was a crystal.)
Of course, Mizuho replied. I saw the demon walk away from where he killed Yumiko Kusaka and Yukiko Kitano. I lost track of him for a while, but I just now found him again. And I saw him kill that other demon, Mitsuko Souma, who killed Kayoko Kotohiki. He is an enemy who must be defeated. And now I've followed him here.
SATISFACTORY. AND YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR MISSION?
Of course. I received your message from the fortune teller—that I was destined to battle evil for the sake of the planet. At the time, I didn't understand what you meant. But now I know.
SATISFACTORY. ARE YOU NOT AFRAID?
No. I follow your guidance and have nothing to fear.
SATISFACTORY. YOU ARE THE LAST SURVIVOR OF THE HOLY TRIBE DIKIANNE. YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE. THE LIGHT OF VICTORY WILL SHINE UPON YOU. . . . HM? WHAT IS IT?
Oh, no, it's nothing. It's just. . . O Great Ahura Mazda, my fellow warrior Lorela Lausasse Kaori died. (Kaori Minami, who sometimes hung out with her in class, always had to stifle a yawn whenever Mizuho told her she was "the warrior Lorela." But anyway.)
She—
SHE FOUGHT TO THE END, MIZUHO.
Oh. Oh. I thought she would have. But. . . but she lost, didn't she—to the evil.
AH. WELL. YES, SHE DID. UMM . . . BUT YOU SEE, THE THING ABOUT THAT IS, UH, SHE WAS ONLY OF COMMON BIRTH. YOU'RE DIFFERENT. ANYWAY, DON'T FUSS OVER THE DETAILS. THE IMPORTANT THING IS FOR YOU TO FIGHT. DO IT FOR HER SAKE AS WELL. AND WIN, MIZUHO. UNDERSTOOD?
. . . Yes.
OKAY THEN. IT'S TIME FOR THE LIGHT. BELIEVE IN THE COSMIC LIGHT—THE LIGHT THAT ENVELOPS YOU.
Light filled her with the warm cosmic power that engulfed all things.
Finding her inner peace, Mizuho nodded. Yes. Yes. Yes.
She unsheathed her double-edged knife (she had found it in her daypack and considered it an appropriate weapon for a warrior) and held it in both hands in front of her face. A white light filled the bluish blade. She looked through that light at Kiriyama.
His back was turned. He was defenseless.
NOW. NOW IS THE TIME TO SMITE YOUR ENEMY!
Yes!
Mizuho weaved through the bushes so as not to make any noise, then she sprinted at Kiriyama. The light sprang out from the fifteen-centimeter-long blade, and the knife transformed into a meter-long sword of legend. The sword of light would pierce straight through the evil monster with a single thrust.
As Kiriyama straightened the branches with his left hand, he drew his Beretta 92F with his right. Without turning to look, he extended his arm behind his back and squeezed the trigger twice.
The first shot hit Mizuho in the chest, stopping her, and the second caught her in the face.
As she fell backward, blood spurted, tracing gentle curves of red in the air. The rain immediately began washing away the blood. The warrior Prexia Dikianne Mizuho's soul transmigrated to the Land of Light.
His back still turned to her, Kazuo Kiriyama put away his gun and continued arranging the branches.
4 STUDENTS REMAIN.
The rain continued. Shuya was slumped against the wet rock wall as he watched the raindrops dripping from the edge of the thatched canopy. About twenty minutes ago, he'd heard a lot of gunfire. Then five minutes ago, two single shots rang out. Neither of these had sounded nearby, but they hadn't seemed very far either. They had probably come from somewhere else on the same northern mountain where Shuya's group of three were keeping watch.
A large raindrop slid from a leaf of their shelter's would-be roof. The bead of water landed on the ground right next to Shuya's extended right leg and sent up a muddy splash on his Keds sneaker.
Noriko had said, "Maybe Hiroki's in love with Kayoko. If I were him ... I'd do the same thing." She glanced at Shuya. "I'd look for the person I cared about."
Is that true about Hiroki? Is he in love with Kayoko Kotohiki? He was always with Takako Chigusa, the hottest girl in class, so why would he fall for a girl as utterly plain as Kayoko?
Well, I guess falling for someone can work like that. After all, Billy Joel sang of loving a girl just the way she was.
Shuya wondered who was inv
olved in those two shootouts— though the latter had seemed more like one student shooting another.
Including the gunfire that came soon after leaving the lighthouse, he'd heard shooting on three separate occasions since midnight (not counting what happened with Yukie Utsumi's group). The reasonable assumption would be that at least three others had died. That would mean only five were left.
Which three had died? Or had no one died at all, and everyone had managed to escape the various confrontations? Then there'd still be eight students remaining.
Shuya, Noriko, and Kawada were sitting next to each other along the rock wall. From the far side of Noriko, Kawada asked him, "Are you tired?"
Shuya looked over at the two.
"Maybe you should sleep a little," Kawada offered.
"No." Shuya gave him a smile. "I slept all the way till the afternoon. I bet you're the one who hasn't slept."
Kawada shrugged. "I'm fine. But Noriko—she didn't sleep at all, waiting for you."
Shuya looked at Noriko, but she waved her palms at him, and with a smile, she said, "That's not true. I'm pretty sure I was dozing off. But Kawada—he stayed awake all night for me."
She looked at Kawada, who grinned and shrugged. He put his hand to his chest in a dramatic salute and said, "I shall always guard you, Your Highness."
Noriko grinned at this, then put her hand over his and said, "Really, thank you, Kawada."
Shuya's eyebrows raised a little as he watched the two of them. He found it strange how close Noriko and Kawada seemed. When they first met Kawada after the start of the game, she had only talked to him through Shuya. But now everything was completely different—the two of them made a good team on their own. Shuya figured that was only natural, though, since the two had spent over half a day together while he was gone.
Kawada suddenly pointed at Shuya and said, "Hey, look, Nanahara is getting jealous 'cause we're acting friendly."
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