Was Noriko the one who sent that letter? He remembered observing how the writing resembled hers, and how the poetic style seemed similar too. So then…
Shuya thought of asking her about the letter, but decided not to. This wasn’t the right time. Besides, he had no right to bring it up. After all he was so hung up over another girl, Kazumi Shintani, who would never, to take the phrase from that love letter, “turn to him,” other girls and that love letter were of little concern to him in comparison. The most important thing now for him was to protect “the girl Yoshitoki Kuninobu adored,” not to find out “who had a crush on him.” Then he recalled the bashful look Yoshitoki gave him when they had that talk. “Hey Shuya, I got a crush on someone.”
Noriko asked him, “What about you, Shuya? Aren’t you afraid of me? No, wait, why then did you help me?”
“Well…” Shuya thought of telling her about Yoshitoki. Come on, my best friend had a crush on you. So if I’m going to help anyone, it’s got to be you, no matter what. I mean, really, come on.
He decided against this too. They were better off discussing this later, hopefully when they could take the time to, assuming that is, there would be any time later.
“You were injured. I couldn’t just leave you alone. And besides, I trust you. I’ll be damned if I didn’t trust someone cute as you.”
Noriko broke into a slight grin. Shuya did his best to return the smile. They were in a horrible situation, but he felt slight relief in forming a smile.
Shuya said, “In any case, we’re lucky. At least we’re together.”
Noriko nodded. “Yes.”
But what were they supposed to do now?
Shuya began packing his bag. If they were going to rest in order to come up with a strategy, they needed to find a place that offered visibility. Again, they had no idea what the others were up to. At the very least they had to be extremely cautious. That was what it meant to be realistic in the face of horrific circumstances.
He kept the map, compass, and flashlight by his side. This was the world’s worst orienteering game.
“Can you still walk?”
“I’m all right.”
“Then let’s move on a little more. We have to find a place to rest.”
11
Mitsuru Numai (Male Student No. 17) proceeded cautiously between the grove and the narrow moonlit beach that was approximately ten meters wide. He was carrying his issued day pack and his own bag on his shoulder. He held a small automatic pistol in his right hand. (It was a Walther PPK 9mm. Compared to the other weapons that had been issued in this game, this one ranked high. Along with most of the guns used in this program, this mass-produced model was imported cheaply from Third World countries that had remained neutral towards both the nations of the Republic of Greater East Asia and the American Empire and its allies.) Mitsuru was familiar with a model-gun version of the pistol, so he didn’t need the accompanying manual. He even knew there was no need to cock the pistol before pulling the trigger. It came with a cartridge of ammunition which he’d since loaded into the gun.
The gun in his hand made him feel somewhat secure, but he held something even more important in his left hand, the supplied compass. It was the same cheap tin model Shuya had, but it did the job. Forty minutes prior to his departure from the classroom, his great leader, Kazuo Kiriyama (Male Student No. 6) had passed him this note: “If we’re really on an island, then I’ll be waiting at the southern tip.”
Of course everyone was an enemy in this game. That was the fundamental rule. But the bond in the “Kiriyama Family” was absolute. It didn’t matter that they were labeled thugs. They were thick as thieves.
Furthermore, the bond between Mitsuru Numai and Kazuo Kiriyama was special. Because… in a way it was Mitsuru who made Kazuo Kiriyama into what he was now. If there was one thing he knew, that the other more square students like Shuya Nanahara didn’t, it was the fact that as far as Mitsuru knew, Kazuo Kiriyama, at least until junior high, was no “delinquent.”
Mitsuru’s memory of his first encounter with Kazuo Kiriyama was so vivid it remained unforgettable.
Mitsuru had been a bully ever since elementary school. But he was never needlessly cruel. Brought up in a generic family, he wasn’t particularly bright, nor did he display any other gifts. Fighting was the best way he could prove himself. “Strength” was the only standard he had, and he never fell short of it.
So it was only inevitable, on his first day in junior high, he’d do his best to discourage any competitors coming from other elementary schools in his district. Of course, judging from the strength of kids he’d encountered in the local hang-outs, he knew the kids from the other elementary schools hardly presented a threat. Not everyone might have heard of him, though. There should be only one king— that was the best way to maintain order. Of course he wouldn’t have thought to put it this way, but he knew this was what was going on.
As expected, there were two or three competitors. It all happened after the entrance ceremony and class introduction, after school, when he was in the process of taking care of the last one.
In the deserted hall by the art classroom, Mitsuru grabbed the kid by the lapels and shoved him against the wall. The kid was already bruised above the eye. His eyes were brimming with tears. It was a cinch. It’d only taken two punches.
“Got it? So you don’t mess around with me.”
The kid nodded his head frantically. He was probably just begging to be released, but Mitsuru wanted verbal confirmation.
“I’m asking you! Did you get that!?”
He thrust the kid’s body up with his left arm. “Answer me. Am I the baddest guy in his school? Am I?”
Mitsuru became irritated because his opponent wasn’t responding. He lifted him up higher, when he suddenly felt those eyes on him.
He let go of the kid and turned around. The kid fell to the floor and scrambled away, but there was no way Mitsuru could go after him now anyway.
He was surrounded by four guys much taller than him. The badges on their worn out collars indicated they were third-year students. You could immediately tell what they were. They were just like him.
“Hey, kid,” the pimply faced one who had a creepy grin said. “You shouldn’t pick on the weak.”
Another one with orange-tinted hair down to his shoulders pursed his abnormally thick lips and continued, “You’ve been naughty.” His “faggoty” voice made the four of them crack up, laughing, “HEEEE,” as if they were all insane.
“We’ll have to teach you a lesson.”
“Yes, we must.”
Then they screeched again, “Hee hee!”
Mitsuru tried a surprise kick at the pimply faced one in front of him, but he was immediately tripped by the one on his left.
As soon as he fell back, the pimply one kicked him in the face, knocking out his front teeth. The back of his head pounded against the wall that he’d been busy using on his classmate. He felt dizzy. Something hot oozed down the back of his head. Mitsuru tried to get up on all fours, but then the one on his right kicked him in the stomach. Mitsuru groaned and puked. One of them said, “What a fucking mess.”
Damn, he thought. Bastards… fucking cowards… I could take on any of them if it was just one on one….
But there was nothing he could do now. After all, he’d been the one who deliberately chose a deserted place to intimidate his classmate. There wasn’t a chance a teacher would appear.