Battle Royale

by Koushun Takami

  "Those are the rules."

  Hiroki squinted and shook his head. "Not everyone's playing by them." Mitsuko tilted her head again. Then she said, still smiling warmly, "Hiroki." It sounded so plain and friendly, the way a girl who ended up sitting next to her crush would call him, looking for some topic to bring up before homeroom began.

  "You're probably a good person, Hiroki," she said.

  Hiroki didn't understand and knit his brows. His mouth might have been open. Mitsuko continued, lightly, as she were singing, "Good people are good. In some respects. But even those good people can turn bad. Or maybe they end up being good their entire lives. Maybe you're one of those people."

  Mitsuko looked away from Hiroki and then shook her head.

  "No, that's beside the point. I just decided to take instead of being taken. It's not a question of good or bad, wrong or right. It's just what I want to do."

  Hiroki's lips trembled. They were twitching uncontrollably.

  "…why though?"

  Mitsuko smiled again. "I don't know. But if I have to come up with some explanation. Well, for starters…" She looked into Hiroki's eyes and then said, "I was raped when I was nine years old. Three guys taking turns, three times each, oh, wait, one of them might have done it four times. One of you did it. Although they were middle-aged men. I was just a skinny kid back then, my chest was flat, and my legs were like sticks, but that's what they wanted. And when I started screaming that only excited them more. So even now when I'm with perverted men like that I still pretend to cry." Hiroki stood frozen as he stared at Mitsuko who'd just revealed so much but continued wearing her pleasant smile. He was shocked by this devastating story.

  It was—

  Hiroki might have been on the verge of saying something. But before he could, a silver light flashed out of Mitsuko's hands. Hiroki realized Mitsuko had managed to reach behind her back with her right hand, but by then the double-bladed diver's knife (this used to be Megumi Eto's weapon) was already planted in his right shoulder. Hiroki let out a groan, and although he still held the gun, he staggered back in pain. Mitsuko instantly got up, ran past Hiroki, and into the woods behind him. Hiroki quickly looked back and caught a glimpse of her…as she vanished into the dark. He knew if he didn't kill Mitsuko Souma now then Kayoko Kotohiki might be the next one to fall into her trap. But Hiroki couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he pressed his left hand against his right shoulder where the blood from the knife wound began to soak through his school coat. He stared into the dark where Mitsuko had disappeared.

  Of course…Mitsuko might have made up that story to stall him. But Hiroki couldn't buy that. Mitsuko told him the truth. And he'd only heard…part of it. Hiroki had been puzzled over how a third-year junior high school girl his age could be so merciless. It turned out she had acquired the psyche of a grown adult a long time ago. A twisted adult's, no, maybe it was more accurate to say a twisted child's psyche?

  The blood oozed down his sleeve then down the Colt .45 and began dripping from the tip in a thin line, landing onto a pile of moldy leaves by his feet without a sound.

  17 students remaining

  54

  Slightly past 3:30 a.m., Toshinori Oda (Male Student No. 4) left the house he was hiding in. Immediately after he hid there, he surmised it was inside sector E=4. Sakamochi had announced the sector would be forbidden at 5 a.m.

  Before he opened the back door to leave, he glanced over at Hirono Shimizu's body, which he'd dragged into the corner. All he did was glance at the body lying face down. He didn't feel particularly sorry for her. After all this was a serious competition. You get what you deserve. Hirono Shimizu didn't even think twice about shooting him the moment she saw him. Of course, he'd been the one who snuck up behind Hirono to choke her.

  Although he wasn't sure where his next resting spot should be, Toshinori finally decided to move east towards the residential area. The area on the map was approximately two hundred square meters. According to the map, the narrow flat land extending outward from the residential area turned into farm fields spotted with houses. Once he was well beyond this zone then all he had to do was hide in one of these houses. After all, he came from a privileged family and lived in what was probably the nicest house in the prefecture (Kazuo Kiriyama's house was probably the nicest, but Toshinori would never admit this). Hiding in bushes was beneath him. Entering a house was dangerous, given how someone might already be hiding there, but he wasn't worried. Now he not only had a bulletproof vest (with a certificate of high quality) but the revolver he'd taken from Hirono. Furthermore…

  …he was now wearing a full-face motorcycle helmet he'd found inside the house. A thin cloud appeared in the sky. Its tip was already slowly beginning to cross the low full moon. After checking the chin guard of his superdeluxe helmet, he crossed the yard and made his way down the edge of the narrow field next to it.

  He could see the flat land continuing down to the eastern shore. It wasn't completely flat, though. It went up and down. Most of the area was covered with farms visible by their various moonlit shades. On the left, a hundred meters away, was a house by the base of the northern mountain. There was another house another hundred meters to its right. Further left were two more houses. There were no other houses in the vicinity. Three to four hundred meters away were farms spotted with houses. He couldn't see very well because his view was blocked by a hill and the woods, but this geography seemed to continue out to the residential area on the island's east side. The flames from the intense explosion that came immediately after Sakamochi's midnight announcement were located immediately to the right of the hill. But the flames must have gone out, because now the area sank back into darkness.

  On the south side, to his right, were two adjacent houses.

  But this was—if you assumed the blue dots indicated residential houses—on the borderline between sectors E=4 and F=4. Behind him the northern and southern mountains were connected—or to be more accurate, the base of the northern mountain stretched out like a cliff along the western shore without any houses in sight. According to the map though, there were supposed to be a couple houses up in the mountain.

  Unless he'd misread the map, he'd be outside the forbidden zone if he got to the third or fourth house to the east. But if he found out they were dumps, then he might have to consider moving further on. First of all, he couldn't stand dirty houses, and second of all, he was certain a vulgar place would only attract vulgar people.

  Toshinori decided to move over there.

  He crouched down and walked cautiously along the field ridge of the farm. But he was appalled at the sensation of dirty soil. The dull pain he felt from Hirono Shimizu's shot in the stomach area of his bulletproof vest only infuriated him more. Why did he have to be thrown into this coarse game and writhe around on the ground with the "vulgar masses"? (This was an expression his father, who ran the largest food company in the eastern part of the prefecture, often used at home, but it was a favorite phrase Toshinori himself used to express his scorn for the "vulgar masses." Of course, he was well bred, so he could never say it out loud.)

  Whether he had a right to claim it or not, it was true he possessed a unique gift, unique even among his talented classmates who ranged from being star players of their teams and clubs to being leading delinquents, or even being queer (this one was dead now, he was a very vulgar queer too). In fact, it was unique to the entire school.

  He'd started private violin lessons when he was four years old, and now he was one of the leading junior high school players in the entire prefecture. He wasn't a genius, but he wasn't mediocre either. Arrangements were made for him to enter a highly distinguished high school in Tokyo that had its own music department. As for his future career, he thought he'd at the very least become the prefectural government symphony conductor.

  This gave him—so he believed—all the more reason not to die. He would attain the status of conductor, marry a beautiful, refined woman, and mingle with rich, elegant people.
(His older brother Tadanori was going to inherit the company. Of course, the thought of making a lot of money as president was attractive, but I don't need to deal with food products, yuck. I'll let my vulgar brother deal with that.) He was different from his loser classmates. Their deaths wouldn't mean a thing, but he was gifted. He was precious. And even in biological terms, the superior species was destined to survive, right?

  At first he only had this bulletproof vest, oddly supplied as a weapon, so all he could do was sneak away and hide, but now he had a gun. He was going to be merciless. What's this about the noble soul of a music lover? That's totally naive! It was true he was only fifteen, and he hadn't seen much of the world, but he knew what the music world was like. For those who weren't geniuses it was all about money and connections. It was all about crushing other competitors to survive.

  Whether this was objectively true or not, this was what Toshinori Oda believed. Of course, he had no close friends in Third Year Class B that was filled with the vulgar masses. In fact, he despised his vulgar classmates. Especially Shuya Nanahara.

  Toshinori did not take part in the Shiroiwa Junior High Music Club, which was filled with vulgar masses who were especially vulgar. All those losers played was popular music (apparently the club office was cluttered with music sheets of illegal foreign music). That's right. Especially Shuya Nanahara. Toshinori was vastly superior to him in term of music ability, given his ear training and understanding of music theory. And yet, in spite of that, the vulgar bitches in his class would scream out indecently at the sound of Shuya Nanahara plucking out kindergarten-level chords on his guitar (I mean come on those bitches who listen to Shuya Nanahara playing during the short break before music class, they might as well have printed on their foreheads in thick Gothic font: "Oh, Shuya, do me now, right here"). In contrast, they'd only politely applaud when Toshinori finished playing an elegant passage from an opera at the music teacher's request.

  For one thing, those loser bitches could never appreciate classical music, and for another, it was only because Shuya Nanahara was good-looking (although Toshinori would never admit it, deep down inside he couldn't stand his own ugly face).

  Fine. That's what women are like anyway. They're just a different species. Just a tool to produce children (and of course to provide pleasure for men when they need it), and if they were good-looking then they were just ornaments to place beside successful men. Yes, it all came down to…money and connections. And my talent is worth the investment of money and connections. Therefore…

  …1 deserve to be the survivor.

  He heard gunfire at times throughout the night, and there was that amazing explosion to top it all off, but now the island was immersed in darkness and silence. Toshinori quickly circled the first house, passed it, and approached the second one. He could tell it was pretty old even though he could only make out its silhouette. The house was surrounded by a circle of trees, and on the west side in front was an extremely large broadleaf tree, its branches spread out. Its circumference was four to five meters, and it was seven to eight meters tall.

  There shouldn't be anyone…here.

  Toshinori gripped his gun and slowly moved forward, cautiously checking the house as well as the tree. Of course he didn't forget to stop and look in all directions. You never knew where the vulgar masses might show up. Just like cockroaches.

  After spending a full five minutes passing by the side of the house, he looked over his shoulder and checked the house, which was surrounded by trees of various sizes. There were no suspicious movements that he could see through his open helmet's square window.

  All right.

  He could see the third house, the one he wanted, nearby.

  Toshinori turned around one more time.

  He thought something round and black stirred near the ground between the trees surrounding the house. It was…

  …someone's head, he realized, but by then he was aiming his gun over there. But this one was wandering in an area that would become a forbidden zone soon. Who could it possibly be?…

  It didn't matter.

  He pulled the trigger. Holding the Smith & Wesson Military & Police's wooden grip, he felt a sudden jerk in the palm of his hand. The gun popped with an orange flash, sending a sting down Toshinori's spine. Although he despised the ignorant, vulgar masses, he had a hobby that wasn't so refined, much less refined than playing the violin. He still had his model gun collection. His father owned several hunting rifles, but he was never allowed to handle them, so this was the first time he'd ever pulled the trigger of a real gun. It was real. Damn, I'm shooting a real gun!

  Toshinori shot twice and his opponent crouched down, unable to move, it seemed. The person didn't shoot back either. Of course not, if he had a gun he would have shot me from behind. That's what let me pull the trigger in the first place.

  Toshinori slowly approached the figure. It shouted, "Stop!"

  He could tell from his voice it was Hiroki Sugimura (Male Student No. 11). That tall guy (Toshinori by the way hated tall guys too. His height was only 162 centimeters and next to Yutaka Seto he was the shortest guy in their class. He couldn't stand: [a] good looking guys, [b] tall guys, and [c] all-around vulgar guys) who practiced that vulgar karate-like sport. He was supposedly going out with Takako Chigusa who tastelessly dyed her hair and wore all that gaudy jewelry—oh, that's right, she was also dead now. She wasn't bad looking though.

  Hiroki continued, "I'm not fighting this game! Who are you? Yuichiro?" Hiroki had guessed it was Yuichiro Takiguchi (Male Student No. 13), who was the next shortest guy to Toshinori. Yes, since Hiroshi Kuronaga had died a while ago, the only ones left alive who were his height were Yuichiro and Yutaka. In any case, Toshinori wondered for a moment, what's this about not fighting? Impossible. Not playing this game would be tantamount to committing suicide. Is he trying to fool me? Even if he was, as long as he doesn't have a gun…

  Toshinori changed his course of action. He lowered his gun.

  With his left hand he pulled down on the chin guard of the helmet and said, "It's Toshinori." Then he thought, oh, I should probably stutter a little. "S-sorry I did that. A-are you hurt?" Hiroki Sugimura slowly got up, revealing his large frame.

  Like Toshinori he had his day pack on his right shoulder. His right hand held a stick. His right sleeve was missing, maybe it was torn or maybe he'd torn it off. His shirt was missing underneath and his right arm was bare. A white cloth was wrapped around the shoulder. With his bare right arm holding the stick he resembled a naked primitive tribesman. A vulgar naked tribe.

  "I'm all right." Then he asked, looking at Toshinori's head, "Is that a helmet?"

  "U-uh yes." As he answered, Toshinori came forward, stepping onto the farm soil. All right, three more steps.

  "I-I've been so scaaaared." Before he finished saying "scared" Toshinori raised his right hand. Five meters away, he couldn't miss.

  Hiroki's eyes opened wide. Too late, too late, you vulgar karate bastard. You're going to die a vulgar death, end up in a vulgar grave, and I'll offer you the most vulgar flowers I can find. But Hiroki wasn't there at the end of the muzzle of the exploding Smith & Wesson. A split second before the shot, Hiroki had unexpectedly ducked to his left—Toshinori's right. Toshinori of course had no idea Hiroki had used a martial arts move, but in any case…he was incredibly fast. From this crouched position, Hiroki held up, instead of the stick in his left hand, a gun in his left hand (Toshinori also had no way of knowing that—although, in contrast to Shinji Mimura, he had "fixed" it—Hiroki was originally in fact left-handed). So he already had a gun…then why didn't the fool use it in the first place? Before this thought barely crossed his mind a small flame exploded. The gun was suddenly gone from his right hand. The next moment he felt a searing pain and his right ring finger exploded. Toshinori shrieked. He fell on both his knees and held the painful stump with his left hand…and realized his ring finger was gone. Blood spurted out. He might have been wearing a bulletproof vest and a
helmet, but his fingers were unprotected.

  Argh…that bastard…my finger…my right finger that elegantly guides the violin bow is!…that can't be…in the movies fingers never get blown away in gun fights!

  Hiroki approached him, gun in hand. Toshinori held his right hand and gazed at it, his eyes inside his helmet terrified and delirious. His face was getting clammy from the sweat breaking out under his helmet. Hiroki said, "So you're totally up for this. I don't want to shoot…but I have no choice. I have to." Toshinori had no idea what Hiroki meant at all, and although he was in terrible pain, he still felt confident. Because…the gun was pointed at his chest. Of course, it would be. He wore the helmet not so much because it was bulletproof but because it would force his enemy to aim at his body instead. And under his school coat he was wearing the bulletproof vest. As long as his vest stopped the bullet, then all he would have to do is wait for a chance to retrieve his gun and then—since his index finger was still working— he could pull the trigger and win.

  His gun was by his feet.

  With Toshinori glaring at him, Hiroki Sugimura still paused a few moments…but Hiroki pursed his lips tightly and calmly squeezed the trigger. Toshinori recalled his fight against Hirono Shimizu and considered how he should play "dead."

  But it ended much more than abruptly than he'd expected. Hiroki's gun only made a small metallic click. Hiroki looked confused. He nervously cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. Again, click. Toshinori's lips twisted into a smile hidden under the helmet. Karate bastard. That was a dud. With that automatic you'll have to pull the breechblock and reload the chamber.

  Toshinori went for his gun by his feet. Hiroki immediately responded with the stick in his right hand but instead—maybe he thought it was too far—he turned around and ran toward the mountain beyond the house.

  Toshinori picked up the gun. His crippled hand ached, but he still managed to hold it. He fired. Because his hold on the grip wasn't tight he couldn't fix his aim on Hiroki, but he could tell he hit him in the thigh, right near his butt. Did it only scrape him? In any case, Hiroki suddenly tottered, but he didn't fall. He continued tunning. Toshinori also started running and fired another shot. This time he missed. The recoil of the gun so pleasurable only moments ago now sent a sharp pain through his injured hand which infuriated Toshinori. He shot again. He missed again. In spite of being shot in the leg, Hiroki was faster than him.