Murder Princess and the Summer Death Camp

by Mizuki Mizushiro

  “Hey, you bastard pigs!” The Lolita’s lisping voice resounded through the spacious, graffiti-covered gymnasium.

  The teacher with a bobbed haircut and charmingly childish face—and a very small brand-name suit—gazed down upon the gym floor from atop the stage. Her name was Hijiri Kurumiya, and she narrowed her eyes with a sinister laugh.

  The coed class of thirty-one stood assembled in formation, looking up at a teacher who could have been a grade-schooler. The students, clad in black-and-white striped tracksuits, answered Kurumiya’s address with a unified “Yes, ma’am!”

  Rather than a teacher and her students, they looked just like a jailer and her prisoners…

  “Already three months have passed since you enrolled here at Purgatorium Remedial Academy. Even you bitches, who were nothing but garbage when you first arrived…haven’t you been beaten into a fine shape? If we exclude that piggy who hasn’t matured at all—the trashy bastard with the Mohawk hair—no one was even late today. A fine performance. Hee-hee-hee… For now, I think I’ll give you passing marks.”

  As she finished speaking, Kurumiya swung the iron pipe she had resting on her shoulders in a downward arc, spraying stuck-on gore upon the cheeks of a male student in the front row—Kyousuke Kamiya.

  However, Kyousuke did not move. Without changing their facial expressions in the least, he and the other students called out in unison, “Thank you, ma’am!” and weathered Kurumiya’s violent gaze.

  After a scornful laugh, Kurumiya replaced the iron pipe on her shoulder with an indignant snort. “But that’s, how do I say…uninteresting. Obedience is good, but there are those who think you have become too docile. You assholes almost certainly think so, too, hm? With us teachers as your opponents, you’re thinking, ‘If I shut up and keep obeying orders,’ ‘If I don’t defy them,’ ‘If I abide by the rules,’ it’ll be fine. That attitude isn’t wrong. It’s absolutely correct. And yet—”

  Suddenly, Kurumiya’s whole demeanor changed. The playful joy disappeared from her face, and coldhearted anger ignited in her eyes.

  “That approach, that way of thinking—it’s halfhearted. If you just do this and that, you’ll be fine… Is that what you think? You mustn’t go too far in that direction, or you’ll spoil and rot. Such an attitude is nothing but superficial servility. Looking in your eyes, it’s immediately obvious; your eyes, looking at me: the fear and awe suspended in them is diluted. It’s a far cry from when you first came here, that much is clear! As your respect for me weakens, so, too, will your feelings of loyalty. Though you wear the outer shells of good boys and girls, if you don’t change at the root, we can’t say that you are truly reformed. As such, I now have the pleasure of opening this special event!”

  From some hidden pocket, Kurumiya produced a 7-by-10-inch booklet. On the dark red cover, scrawled in exaggerated print, was:

  Purgatorium Remedial Academy

  Prison Camping Trip Guidebook

  Not regular camping—“prison camping.” Departure for this two-night, three-day off-campus school excursion was the reason that Kyousuke and the other first-year students had been ordered to gather so early in the morning—they had been assembled in the gymnasium since 5:30 AM.

  Behind Kyousuke, a very sleepy yawn floated through the air.

  “The purpose of this camping trip is to grind away at your resolve in a harsh environment, to plant the roots of fear in your pathetic hearts, and to instill some loyalty into you bastards who have gotten used to daily life at the academy and begun to slack off. For the next three days, commanding you piggies will be me, the instructor for first-year Class A, and—”

  “Me, the instructor for first-year Class B, Kirito Busujima.”

  Opening his mouth to interrupt Kurumiya was an unattractive middle-aged man in a shabby suit. His jacket was worn out and his shirt was wrinkled, and he had bags under his eyes. This man Busujima, who had appeared quietly from offstage, self-consciously stroked the stubble on his chin as he spoke.

  “So sorry, Miss Kurumiya… My dear ‘friend’ got off to somewhere… I was searching for him. Oh, I do hope to find him safe and sound! That’s why, well…how much have you explained so far? I wouldn’t want to make you do all the talking, so I’ll take it from here. After all, you are my senior in age and rank. Please, leave the rest to me, your junio—”

  “—Commanding you will be me, the instructor for first-year Class A, and the members of the Public Morals Committee here at Purgatorium Remedial Academy. We’re really going to drag you about, so prepare yourselves!”

  “Oh my, are you ignoring me? How cruel. What’s more, I was just excluded without hesitation, wasn’t I?” Busujima’s expression glazed over. Not only his proposal but his very existence had been coldly dismissed.

  After glancing at the man in irritation, Kurumiya continued as if nothing had happened. “The Public Morals Committee at this school is composed of high-achieving students from the upper classes, a select committee—in other words, elite and model prisoners. During this campout, they will act as our eyes and ears and assist us in your training. Well, then, allow me to introduce them—the ones looking after you first-year bastards—without delay: the members of the Public Morals Committee.”

  As soon as Kurumiya finished speaking, the uniformed figures of several young men and women stepped onto the stage from the wing opposite Busujima.

  Each wore the regulation summer uniform: short-sleeved shirts and vests, with black-and-white striped ties for the boys and ribbons for the girls. But affixed to the left arm of each student was a yellow armband reading “Public Morals Committee.”

  Standing at the ready behind Kurumiya, the students lined up next to one another, eight in total. There was a slim, slit-eyed young man, and another who was large and muscular. There was a young woman wearing silver-rimmed glasses with her hair in braids, and a tough-looking girl whose skirt extended down to her ankles.

  One stood out from all the others: the pretty female student standing to the far right. She had long, honey-colored hair; emerald-green eyes; and deathly, snow-white skin. This lovely girl, whose appearance made one think of a high-quality bisque doll, took one step forward from the line and slowly bowed, her movements elegant and refined.

  “How do you do, new students? I am Saki Shamaya of third-year Class A at Purgatorium Remedial Academy—and the chair of the Public Morals Committee. Born abroad and raised in Japan, I have a French-American mother and a purely Japanese father. I am seventeen years old. Lovely to meet you all.”

  Shamaya smiled gently as she finished her polite self-introduction. She seemed to be every bit the lady—it was as if countless flower buds had burst into bloom, surrounding her at their center.

  The male students were a given, but even the female students were fascinated, totally captivated. Kyousuke also unintentionally let slip an expression of wonder: “…Ohh.”

  It was unthinkable that, at this institution filled with the helplessly abnormal, one could find the owner of such a radiant smile. It was like finding a diamond in the rough, or meeting Buddha in hell.

  Her emerald-colored eyes, clearly given to her by her mother, were so beautiful one could mistake them for actual jewels, and her looks, coupled with the air of feminine modesty that she engendered, gave one the acute sense that she possessed a sound, intelligent mind.

  But at the same time, I can feel something terrifying at my back—

  “…Tch.” Behind him, someone clicked their tongue audibly.

  Could what I keep feeling be bloodlust…? But I don’t understand why that would be…

  Shamaya’s fluent speech reached Kyousuke’s ears through h
is confusion. “As the Public Morals Committee, our duty is to act as support for Miss Kurumiya. However, we committee members absolutely never engage in violent conduct. We will be working to ensure that all of you first-year students are able to enjoy the prison campout a bit—as well as to help each of you reform quickly, day by day. We will work earnestly, and with wholehearted devotion. Should you have any concerns, please do not hesitate to consult with us!” The hearts and minds of the freshmen were utterly enraptured as Shamaya laughed gently and smoothed her hair.

  Not a single student was looking at Busujima, crouched on the edge of the stage grumbling complaints to himself. “Support for Miss Kurumiya… Wait, what about me? Where’s my support? Why is everyone excluding me…? Isn’t it cruel?” He really was a pitiful teacher.

  Shamaya had completely seized the atmosphere. Her juniors gazed passionately up at her from below the stage, and she flashed them her charming smile until all were satisfied—or she would have, had she not been interrupted.

  “Oh, I almost forgot… You freshmen bastards should follow Shamaya’s example verrrrrry closely! If you need a reason, it’s because she is the psycho serial killer who boasts the highest kill count in her year, feared as the inhuman ‘Murder Princess’ since she first enrolled here—once a problem child even among problem children. Hee-hee-hee!”

  This announcement from Kurumiya brought everyone’s thoughts to a screeching halt.

  …Top of her year? Psycho serial killer? What the hell?

  “Employing varied methods, selecting varied targets, and acting in varied locations…she’s a diversified serial murderer. With hardly any commonalities to link each individual incident, her crimes were not thought to have been committed by the same person. Her twentieth and twenty-first victims were her very own father and mother. After Shamaya was arrested for this act of parricide, it came to light that one incident after another was carried out by Shamaya’s own hand. At the time of her arrest, she was thought to have killed only two people, but in reality it was ascertained that she was a rare, bizarre serial killer who had murdered twenty-one people! Considering that the culprit was an adolescent girl who had yet to turn fourteen, that fact was deemed too sensational. Consequently, the truth was never made public, and she was consigned here at this academy under a veil of total secrecy.”

  Wait a minute, what did she just say? Twenty-one people?

  No matter what Kurumiya said, that seemed impossible. Even Kyousuke’s supposed kill count of twelve people was unimaginable, but Shamaya’s was nearly twice that. Surely this had to be some kind of joke. There was no way that this beautiful upperclassman was the Murder Princess who had murdered twenty-one people.

  Shamaya herself spoke then, shocked:

  “You mustn’t lay it all in the open like that.”

  …She acknowledged it like it’s an ordinary thing.

  The image of Shamaya that Kyousuke held in his mind—of a tenderhearted senior with a warm smile—was smashed to smithereens.

  The other students evidently felt the same way, as some ducked down and clutched at their chests, or tore at their hair, or restrained their left arms, shouting, “Gaaaaaahhh!! Calm down! Calm down, Azrael!” and so on; they were overwhelmed with shock. Somewhere behind Kyousuke, someone could be heard muttering, “…Pathetic, you idiots.”

  Undaunted by the uproar, Shamaya pulled out a megaphone and raised her voice. “Just a—Everyone, calm down! P-please calm down! It is certainly true that I once killed twenty-one people with my own hands. That is the unmistakable truth. —How. Ev. Er! I have made a fresh start in life. I have reformed! The person you see before you was able to become a noble lady! All of this is thanks to the teachers’…no, to Miss Kurumiya’s diligent discipline, by which my mind and body have become clean and upright!” Shamaya’s eyes sparkled as she brought her hand to her chest for emphasis.

  From the wings, the voice of Busujima, who had disappeared offstage without anyone noticing, was audible. “…A teacher addressed her just now, so why did she go out of her way to correct her? Could this be bullying?” No one paid any attention.

  Kurumiya watched with a grin as Shamaya frantically tried to explain.

  The other members of the Public Morals Committee, on the other hand, were altogether unresponsive. With straight backs they stared rigidly ahead, standing at attention, barely even blinking. In that state they looked just like statues. Like mannequins, they gave off an uncanny, intimidating air.

  “So please, everyone, be at peace! No matter how many people you may have killed…there is a path back! It is possible to take responsibility for the crimes you have committed, and keep walking! Yes, it’s true…no matter how many people you many have killed!”

  —And then, suddenly, Kyousuke’s and Shamaya’s eyes met.

  “……?!”

  As Shamaya smiled, she narrowed her emerald eyes at the open-mouthed Kyousuke. Her tender expression seemed to be trying to convey the following:

  You needn’t worry, Mr. Kamiya! Even I, who killed twenty-one people, was able to reform. You can certainly do it, too! Do your best, together with us!

  “……”

  Feeling dejected, Kyousuke averted his eyes from Shamaya’s intense gaze. From behind him, someone spoke up. “…Isn’t that great, Kyousuke? You’re so popular.” When Kyousuke looked over his shoulder, the beautiful girl with rust-red colored hair and eyes, who was glaring reproachfully, quickly turned her face away and forced out a yawn.

  Purgatorium Remedial Academy—an abnormal school built to house underage murderers. Kyousuke, thrown in here on a false accusation of being the Warehouse Butcher, responsible for the mass murder of twelve young men, had little hope of finding any peace in this mad prison school.

  Drawn like flies to a crime he hadn’t even committed, sick, strange people worked their way into his life, one after the other.

  And with that welcome, they embarked on the two-night, three-day prison camping trip.

  I’m sure this will be nothing but trouble—again, Kyousuke lamented, already looking to the heavens for aid.

  Gothic Sick Amplifier

  CONCERNING THAT LADY, THE SERIAL KILLER

  DAY ONE IN HELL

  Purgatorium Remedial Academy was a boarding school built on a distant, solitary island.

  Ordinarily, students were absolutely restricted from leaving, and a band of thick forest stretched out beyond the concrete walls and fences that surrounded the school grounds. Down a well-worn forest path packed with the green of trees on all sides as far as they could see, Kyousuke and the others kept running, huffing and puffing. Forced to carry heavy rucksacks, they were headed for the camp accommodations—the House of Limbo.

  “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooooo! Look lively, piggies! Any of you bastards fall behind my pace, I’ll give you a good whipping! Run, run, ruuuuuun until you puke blood!”

  Bringing up the rear, Kurumiya brandished her iron pipe, spurring the students on.

  Running a good distance ahead of her, Kyousuke stared at the backs of the members of the Public Morals Committee, who led the students. In all there were four of them, running along indifferently without even breathing hard.

  Saki Shamaya’s figure was not among them.

  Most likely, she was behind Kyousuke and the rest of first-year Class A, alongside the Public Morals Committee as it led first-year Class B. “Killing twenty-one people is too awful! And a Public Morals Committee chairperson… She must be the top killer at the academy,” Kyousuke mumbled to himself, temporarily relieved by the thought of the distance between them.

  “…I know, right? She’s got to be one of the top ten killers in the world!” Kyousuke’s grumbling was immediately answered. When he looked, the female student running next to him, with her rust-red ponytail swinging—Eiri Akabane—was twisting her mouth downward in a frown. “…Moreover, she’s a serial killer, right? If she was a mass killer or a spree killer, that would be one thing, but a serial killer who took o
ut twenty-one people? She’s gotta be in the top five.”

  —As Eiri had said, among murderers who kill large numbers of people, supposedly three types exist:

  First are the mass murderers. These are the killers who murder a large number of people all at once and in one location. The false accusation that Kyousuke had been saddled with and shooting rampage incidents qualified as this type.

  Next are the spree killers. These killers carry out murders in two or more locations within a short period of time. The name spree means “merrymaking,” and likewise, these crimes are transient. Many of these killers are also indiscriminate in their targets.

  And lastly, there are the serial killers. These killers carry out their murders one at a time rather than all at once, and they blend in with the rest of society between kills, appearing to live otherwise normal lives.

  Though many of these psychopaths manage to hide their twisted dispositions and bizarre obsessions, in most cases some common feature links their victims and methods. It’s said that the shorter the interval between kills, the easier it is to catch the culprit, especially because, unlike with mass murderers and spree killers, the number of victims a serial killer claims often decreases over time.

  “But the association between the incidents that that girl caused was too tenuous, so the investigation must have been rough going. Plus, she was extremely practical about it. The idea that such a girl has killed twenty-one people… Even now, I halfway can’t believe it. She’s not all that much older than me, and she has the air of an amateur—”

  As she spoke, Eiri grasped the cords of her rucksack tightly. Eiri, who was known as the Scarlet Slasher, was in reality not just a murderer, but a professional killer—an assassin. Despite that fact, she was unable to kill people, so to Eiri, Shamaya—who had been able to kill twenty-one people as an ordinary citizen—must have been a difficult creature to understand. In Eiri’s severe eyes floated the lights of suspicion and fear, envy and aspiration.

  In an effort to cheer up Eiri, Kyousuke replied in the most lively voice he could muster: “B-but wait! She’s already completely rehabilitated, so we should be fine!”