No, there’s more. Kayoko stopped sobbing for a moment.
I was the one who attacked Hiroki. At the very end, when Hiroki managed to achieve his goal.
Kayoko shut her eyes and cried again.
He loved me… just like I wanted to tell that guy how I felt about him, Hiroki was thinking the same thing about me, looking for me. Someone in my class cared for me that much. And yet, and yet…
Suddenly, Kayoko recalled a scene. It was when they were doing their cleaning tasks. Kayoko was wiping the blackboard with a wet rag and when she couldn’t reach the top, Hiroki, who had been slacking off, rested his chin against his hands that were holding the upright broom as if it were a cane, and said, “You’re too short, Kotohiki.” He took the rag from her and wiped the area she couldn’t reach.
The scene came back to her.
Why didn’t I see how kind he was? How could I not notice how someone loved me so much? If I’d thought about it, I would have realized if Hiroki wanted to kill me he could have immediately shot me with his gun. But I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t able to understand. I am so stupid. I—
Another memory came flashing by.
When she was telling some of her classmate friends about “that guy,” Hiroki, who was nearby looking out the window, muttered, “You’re being foolish, getting so worked up like that.” It made her mad at the time, but in fact he was right, she was being foolish. And yet… and yet Hiroki told her he’d cherished this fool.
She simply couldn’t stop crying. She pressed her cheek against his warm cheek and continued to sob. Hiroki told her to go, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. I’m going to keep on crying, I’m going to cry over the dedication (it was irreplaceable) of this boy who loved me and my foolishness (I was such a kid thinking I was actually in the running for “that guy”), I’m going to keep on crying. Even if it was suicidal in this game.
You plan on dying with him? A voice whispered to her in her thoughts.
Yes, I’m going to die with him. I’m going to die for the sake of Hiroki’s love for me and my foolishness.
“Then why don’t you go ahead?” the voice said.
Kayoko suddenly trembled and turned around. She saw the long, beautiful, rain-drenched hair of Mitsuko Souma (Female Student No. 11), gazing down at her, gun in hand.
BAM BAM, two dry pops formed two holes in Kayoko’s right temple. Kayoko’s body then landed on Hiroki Sugimura’s body.
Blood slowly began flowing out of the holes in her head. The blood continued flowing down her face against the rain washing it away.
Mitsuko lowered the Smith & Wesson M19 .357 Magnum and said, “You really were a fool. You should have understood him.”
Then she looked over at Hiroki’s face.
“Long time no see, Hiroki. Are you glad you got to die with your beloved?”
She shook her head, disgusted, and proceeded to walk forward to pick up the Smith & Wesson M59 Kayoko dropped and the Colt Government .45 (which had been Mitsuko’s) Hiroki had tossed aside.
She looked down at the intertwined bodies and put her finger against her lips.
“Now what was that about building a fire?”
Then she shook her head. With her foot she brushed away Kayoko’s skirt covering part of the M59 and reached for the blue gun, when she suddenly heard the rattling sound of an old typewriter.
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Her back was pummeled, repeatedly. Her chest burst open with blood. She staggered and felt something hot expand inside her, like burning embers.
She didn’t feel so much the painful shock as she felt dismayed. How could she not have heard someone sneaking up behind her in this mud?
The bullets had done enough damage, but Mitsuko managed to turn around.
There was a boy in a school coat. The unique slicked-back hair, the well-defined face, the gleaming, frigid eyes. It was Kazuo Kiriyama (Male Student No. 6).
Mitsuko squeezed her right hand holding the M19. Her muscles were nearly disabled, but she summoned all her remaining strength and attempted to raise the gun.
Suddenly Mitsuko’s thoughts—despite the fact that she was in a life-or-death confrontation—slipped into another dimension. It only lasted for a split second.
When I spoke to Hiroki Sugimura I said:
“I just decided to take instead of being taken.”
That’s what I said.
When did I become like that? Was it after the time I told Hiroki about, when I was raped by three men? That day I was raped by those men with the video camera in a rundown apartment room in the shabby outskirts of town? Or maybe the moment my drunken mother (I never had a father) left the room when she received the thick envelope (it couldn’t have been that thick) after taking me to that room before “it” happened? From then on? Or… was it after my elementary school teacher, the one person I thought I could trust, kindly addressed me, nearly numb from trauma, and I finally told him exactly what happened, when the look on his face changed, and it happened again? From that point on? In that small, dark reading room after school? Or after my best friend saw it (at least part of it) and instead of offering consolation, spread a rumor (which led to the teacher leaving the school)? Or was it three months later when I resisted my mother, who was trying to take me to do “it” again and accidentally ended up killing her? After getting rid of all the evidence and doing everything to make it look like a break-in, I sat on a swing in the park. From that point on? Or after being taken in by distant relatives, I was repeatedly harassed by their kid, and when the kid accidentally fell from the roof, the mother accused me of killing her since I was with her? From that point on? The father intervened and defended me, but then after a while, this father started fooling around with me. From that point on? Or…
Little by little—no, more like in big chunks, everyone took from Mitsuko. No one gave Mitsuko anything. And so Mitsuko ended up an empty shell. But…
…that didn’t matter.
I am right. I will not lose.
Her arms were suddenly strengthened, and she lifted the gun. The tendons in her wrist rose up, resembling violin strings. Then she pulled the—
The rattling Ingram M10 in Kazuo Kiriyama’s hands fired away a row of four holes that ran from her chest up to the middle of her head. Blood sprayed out of Mitsuko’s mouth. Her upper lip tore. She bent backwards.
Still Mitsuko managed to smile. She regained her footing and pulled the trigger. Over and over.
The four bullets from the chamber struck Kazuo Kiriyama’s chest.
But Kazuo remained calm as he staggered only slightly. Mitsuko didn’t understand why. Kazuo’s Ingram then fired away again.
Mitsuko’s face, once so beautiful, was torn up as if a strawberry pie had been flung into her face. This time her body was blown back—and the next moment she fell back onto the wet ground. By then she was dead. In fact, she may have been dead a while ago. Physically, several seconds ago, mentally, ages ago.
Kazuo Kiriyama walked up to her slowly, and then calmly removed the gun from her hand. He also picked up the Colt Government .45 lying by Hiroki Sugimura’s hand and the M59 Kayoko Kotohiki had tossed aside. He didn’t even bother glancing at the three rain-drenched bodies.
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