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  He was absent a lot. The idea of Kazuo "studying" was completely absurd. In every class Kiriyama remained quietly seated at his desk as if he were thinking of something that had nothing to do with class. Shuya thought, if the government didn't have the power to enforce compulsory education on us, he probably wouldn't come to school at all. On the other hand he might just show up on a whim. I don't know. In any case, Shuya thought, I expected Kazuo to skip something as trivial as a study trip, but then he promptly shows up. Was this on a whim too?

  "Shuya." Shuya was staring at the ceiling panel lights wondering about Kiriyama when a perky voice interrupted his thoughts. From the seat across the aisle, Noriko Nakagawa (Female Student No. 15) offered something wrapped in crisp cellophane. The bag sparkled like water under the white light, and it was filled with light-brown discs—cookies, probably. On top was a bow tied with a gold ribbon. Noriko Nakagawa was another girl who was neutral like Yukie Utsumi's group. Other than her kind eyes, which were noticeably dark, she had a round, girlish face and shoulder-length hair. She was petite and playful. In short, she was an average girl. If there was something particular about her, it was probably the fact that she wrote the best compositions in literature class. (This was how Shuya got to know Noriko. Shuya would spend break periods writing lyrics for his songs in the margins of his notebooks, and Noriko would insist on reading them.) She usually hung with Yukie's group, but because she'd showed up late today, she had no other choice but to take an open seat.

  Shuya half-extended his hand and raised his brow. For some reason Noriko became flustered and said,

  "They're leftovers from the ones my brother begged me to bake. They're best fresh, so I brought them for you and Mr. Nobu."

  "Mr. Nobu" was Yoshitoki Kuninobu's nickname. Although he had bulging, friendly eyes, the nickname seemed appropriate for someone who could be, oddly enough, mature and wise. None of the girls called him by that name, but Noriko had no problem calling the boys by their nicknames, and the fact that this hardly offended any of them indicated how uniquely disarming she was. (Shuya had a sports-related nickname, the same name as a famous cigarette brand, but in the same way that Shinji was referred to as

  "The Third Man" no one called him by this to his face.) He'd already noticed this before, Shuya observed, but she's the only girl who calls me by my first name.

  Yoshitoki, who'd been listening in on them, interrupted. "Really? For us? Thanks so much! If you made them, I bet they're delicious."

  Yoshitoki snatched the bag from Shuya's hand, quickly untied the ribbon, and took out a cookie.

  "Wow, these are awesome."

  As Yoshitoki praised Noriko, Shuya grinned. Could he be more obvious? The moment Noriko sat next to Shuya he'd been repeatedly glancing over at her, sitting upright, completely nervous. It was a month and a half ago during spring vacation. Shuya and Yoshitoki had gone fishing for black bass at the dam reservoir that provided the city its water supply. Yoshitoki confessed to Shuya, "Hey Shuya, I got a crush on someone."

  "Huh. Who is it?"

  "Nakagawa."

  "You mean from our class?"

  "Yeah."

  "Which one? There are two Nakagawas. Yuka Nakagawa?"

  "Hey, unlike you, I'm not into fat girls."

  "What the…? So you're saying Kazumi is fat? She's just a little plump."

  "Sorry. Anyway, well, uh yeah, it's Noriko."

  "Huh. Well, she's nice."

  "Isn't she though? Isn't she?"

  "All right, all right."

  Yes, Yoshitoki was totally obvious. But in spite of his behavior Noriko seemed oblivious to Yoshitoki's feelings for her. Maybe she was slow with stuff like this or something. It wasn't surprising, given her personality.

  Shuya took a cookie from the bag still in Yoshitoki's hand and examined it. Then he looked over at Noriko.

  "So they lose their flavor?"

  "Uh huh," she nodded. Her eyes strained, oddly. "That's right."

  "Which means you're sure they taste pretty good."

  He might have learned this form of sarcasm from Shinji Mimura. Shuya often used it lately, to the dismay of other classmates, but Noriko just emitted a happy laugh and said, "I guess so."

  "Come on," Yoshitoki interrupted again. "I told you they were good, didn't I, Noriko?" Noriko smiled. "Thanks. You're so nice."

  Yoshitoki all of a sudden froze up as if he'd jammed his finger into an electric outlet and turned mute. Staring silently into his lap, he proceeded to devour his cookie.

  Shuya grinned and ate the rest of his cookie. The warm, sweet taste and smell spread through his mouth.

  "These are good," Shuya said.

  Noriko, who'd been observing him all this time, exclaimed, "Thank you!" He could be wrong, but somehow the tone of her voice was different than when she thanked Yoshitoki. Well, wait…true, she was staring at him while he was eating the cookie. Were they really leftovers from the batch she'd baked for her brother? Maybe she'd baked them for "someone else." Or maybe he was just plain wrong. Then for some reason Shuya thought of Kazumi. She was a year ahead, and a fellow music club member until last year.

  In the Republic of Greater East Asia, rock music was strictly prohibited in school club activities, but when their adviser Ms. Miyata was absent, music club members would play rock on their own. That was the kind of membership the club attracted in the first place anyway. Kazumi Shintani was the best female saxophone player. When it came to rock saxophone though, she was the best in the entire club. She was tall (almost the same height as Shuya, who stood 170 centimeters) and plump, but with her remarkably mature face and her hair bundled by her shoulders, she looked awesome with her alto saxophone. Shuya was thrilled by the sight. Then she taught Shuya how to play difficult guitar chords. (She said, "I played a little before I started playing the saxophone.") From that point on Shuya spent every spare minute he had practicing his guitar, and by his second year he was the best player in the club. It was all because he wanted Kazumi to hear him play.

  Then one day, when the two of them happened to be alone in the music room after school, Shuya played and sang a version of "Summertime Blues" which impressed her. "That was so great, Shuya. That was so awesome." That day Shuya bought a can of beer for the first time in his life and celebrated with a private toast. It tasted great. But three days later when he asked her out, confessing, "Um, I really like you," she responded, "I'm sorry, I'm already going out with someone." She graduated and went to a high school with a music department, along with her "boyfriend."

  Which reminded Shuya of his conversation with Yoshitoki at the dam over spring break. After sharing his feelings for Noriko, Yoshitoki asked him, "Are you still hung up on Kazumi?" Shuya answered, "Yeah, I think I'll be hung up over her the rest of my life." Yoshitoki looked stumped. "But she has a boyfriend, right?" Throwing the silver lure with all his might as if throwing a ball in from the outfield, he answered,

  "That doesn't matter."

  Shuya took the bag of cookies from Yoshitoki, who was still staring down into his lap. "Aren't you going to leave some for Noriko?"

  "O-oh yeah, I'm sorry."

  Shuya returned the bag to Noriko. "Sorry about that."

  "That's all right. I don't mind. You guys should take them all."

  "Really? But we shouldn't be the only ones."

  Shuya took his first glance at the guy sitting next to Noriko. Wrapped in his school uniform, Shogo Kawada (Male Student No. 5) leaned against the window with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. He might have been asleep. His hair was cropped so short he looked like a monk. His slightly stubbled face reminded Shuya of a punk racketeer at a carnival. Wow, facial hair, everyone! Doesn't he look kind of old for a junior high school student?

  Well, there was one thing he knew. Although Class B consisted of the same students as it did last year, Shogo Kawada had transferred last April from Kobe. And due to some circumstance, an injury or illness (he didn't look like the bedridden type so it must have been an injury
), Kawada had to stay behind a year because he was unable to attend school for over six months. In other words he was one year older than Shuya and his classmates. Shuya himself never told anyone this, but that was what Shuya had heard. In fact he hadn't heard good things about Shogo. There was a rumor that he'd been a notorious thug at his last school and that his hospitalization was a result of a fight. To support this rumor, his body was covered with scars. A long scar from what appeared to be a knife wound ran over his left brow, and when they changed in the gym lockers (this was besides the point, but Kawada's body was built like a middleweight boxer's), Shuya was shocked to find the same kind of scars covering his arms and back. There were two round scars next to each other on his left shoulder. They looked like gunshot wounds, but that was unbelievable.

  Every time he heard these rumors about Shogo, someone would inevitably suggest, "He's probably going to end up fighting Kazuo." Right after Shogo transferred to their school that fool Ryuhei Sasagawa tried to intimidate Shogo. The exact details of what followed were only hearsay, but apparently Ryuhei turned pale, retreated, and went crying for help from Kazuo. Kazuo looked indifferent though, and only glanced at Ryuhei. He didn't even say a word to Shogo. So at least for the time being they'd managed to avoid a confrontation. Kazuo didn't seem interested in Shogo. Shogo didn't seem interested in Kazuo. As a result Class B remained peaceful. They lucked out.

  Everybody avoided Shogo because of his age difference and the rumors. But Shuya didn't like judging people on rumors. Someone once said, if you could see for yourself then there'd be no need to lend an ear to what others said.

  Shuya pointed his chin past Noriko toward Shogo.

  "I wonder if he's sleeping."

  "Hmm…" She glanced over at Shogo.

  "I didn't want to wake him up."

  "He doesn't look like the type who's into cookies anyway."

  Noriko chuckled, and as Shuya was about to, they heard, "No thanks." Shuya glanced back at Shogo.

  The strong, low voice echoed in his head.

  Although Shuya wasn't familiar with the voice it obviously came from Shogo, who still kept his eyes closed, though he didn't seem asleep. Shuya all of a sudden realized he'd rarely ever heard Shogo's voice, even though Shogo had transferred to their school over a month ago. Noriko glanced at Shogo and then looked at Shuya. Shuya shrugged in response and crammed another cookie into his mouth.

  He continued chatting with Noriko and Yoshitoki for awhile but…

  It was almost ten o'clock when Shuya noticed something strange.

  Something weird was happening inside the bus. Yoshitoki, who was on his left, had suddenly fallen asleep and was softly breathing. Shinji Mimura's body was slouching into the aisle. Noriko Nakagawa was also asleep. No one seemed to be talking. Everyone seemed to be asleep. Well yeah, anyone excessively health-conscious might be going to bed now, but still, this was their long awaited trip. Wasn't it a bit early to fall asleep right after leaving? Why doesn't everyone sing or something? Doesn't this bus have one of those atrocious machines Shuya hated—karaoke?

  Worst of all, Shuya himself was overcome with drowsiness. He looked around in a daze…then he couldn't even move his head, which felt heavy. He slouched against the seat. His eyes drifted through the narrow space to the rearview mirror at the center of the large windshield fading in the dark___He managed to make out the tiny image of the driver's upper body.

  The driver's face was covered with what appeared to be a mask. A hoselike tube extended downward from the mask. Thin straps were wrapped around his head, strapped above and below his ears. What was that? Except for the hose extending downward, it resembled an airline emergency oxygen mask. So we can't breathe inside this bus? Ladies and gentlemen, this bus will be making an emergency landing due to engine trouble. Like, please fasten your seat belts, wear your oxygen masks, and follow crew member's instructions? Yeah, right.

  He heard a scratching sound on the right. Shuya had to struggle to catch a glimpse over there. His body felt so heavy. It was as if he were immersed in transparent jelly.

  Shogo Kawada was standing up and struggling to pry open a window. But whether it was jammed shut from rust or a broken lock, the window refused to budge. Shogo slammed his left fist against the glass. He's trying to break the glass. Why all the fuss?

  But the glass didn't break. The fist ready to strike the glass all of a sudden went limp and clumsily dropped. His body collapsed into the seat. Shuya thought he heard that low voice he'd only recently familiarized himself with faintly gasp, "Damn."

  Almost immediately Shuya fell asleep too.

  At approximately the same time, students' families in Shiroiwa were visited by men in black sedans. Alarmed by the late night visit, the parents must have been shocked when the visitors presented them with documents stamped with the government's official peach insignia.

  In most cases the parents would silently nod as they thought of their children whom they most likely would never see again, but there were those who frantically protested, in which case they would be knocked out by an electroshock baton, or in the worst case, be pummeled by fresh bullets spat out from a submachine gun, one step ahead of their children in departing from this world. By then the bus assigned to Shiroiwa Junior High School's Third Year Class B's study trip had long since branched off from the rows of other buses and taken a U-turn towards the city of Takamatsu. After returning to the city it wove its way through various roads before it finally stopped and quietly turned off its engine.

  The man in his forties whose hair was peppered gray looked like a typical nice bus driver. Still wearing the oxygen mask that was digging into his slightly sagging chin, he turned towards the Class B students with a faint look of pity. But as soon as another man appeared under the window, his face stiffened. He gave the Republic's idiosyncratic salute. Then he pressed the switch to open the door. Shuya glanced outside as the masked men in battle gear came rushing in.

  Under the moonlight, the bluish-white concrete pier gleamed like bone, and beyond the pier the ship that would transport "the players" was swaying sluggishly in the wide open black sea. 42 students remaining

  1

  For a moment Shuya thought he was in a familiar classroom. It wasn't the usual Third Year Class B

  classroom of course, but there was a lectern, a worn out blackboard, and on the left, a tall stand with a large television. There were rows of desks and chairs made of plywood glued onto steel tubes. On Shuya's desk someone had carved anti-government graffiti into the corner with a pen: "the Dictator loves women in uniform." Then he noticed everyone at their desks, the boys clad in buttoned up school uniforms and the girls in their sailor suit school uniforms, all forty-one classmates who'd only moments ago (at least that's what it felt like) been riding the bus together. The only thing was—either sprawled over their desks or slouched back in their seats—they were all completely asleep. From beside the frosted window on the side of the hall (assuming this building had the same layout as his school), Shuya surveyed the rest of the room. He seemed to be the only one awake. In front of him to his left and towards the middle of the room was Yoshitoki Kuninobu. Behind him was Noriko Nakagawa, and beyond Yoshitoki was Shinji Mimura. They were all sprawled on their desks, sleeping deeply. Hiroki Sugimura surrendered his large body to his desk (that was when it finally dawned on Shuya that the seating assignment was identical to the one they had at Shiroiwa Junior High School) by the windows on the left side. That was also when he began to realize why the place felt odd. The windows beyond Hiroki's body appeared to be covered with some kind of black board. Steel sheets? They provided an icy reflection of the dull light from the rows of fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. The frosted glass windows on the side of the hall seemed to be draped in black. Maybe they were boarded up too. It was impossible to determine the time of day.

  Shuya looked at his wristwatch. It read one o'clock. In the morning? In the afternoon? The date read

  "Thurs/22," which meant that, unl
ess someone had tampered with his watch, either three or fifteen hours had passed since he had that strange attack of drowsiness. All right, let's just assume that's the case. Still…

  Shuya looked at his classmates.

  Something felt off. Of course the whole situation was strange. But there was something in particular that disturbed him.

  Shuya immediately realized what it was. Face down on her desk, Noriko had above her collar a silver metal band wrapped snugly around her neck. Because of his buttoned up collar Yoshitoki Kuninobu's band was barely visible, but Shuya managed to see it. Shinji Mimura, Hiroki Sugimura, everyone had one on their necks.

  Then the thought occurred to Shuya. He reached for his own neck with his right hand. He felt something hard and cold. The same thing must have been wrapped around his neck. Shuya tugged at it a little but the fit was so tight it refused to budge. The moment he became conscious of it, he felt like he was suffocating. Steel collars! Steel collars as if we're dogs, damn!

  He fidgeted with it for a while with his fingers, but then gave up. He wondered instead…

  What happened to the study trip? Shuya noticed his sports bag sitting by his feet on the floor. Last night he'd casually tossed his clothes, towel, school field trip notebook, and a bourbon flask into it. Everyone else also had their bags by their feet.

  Suddenly a loud noise erupted from the front entrance, and the door slid open. Shuya looked up. A man came in.

  He was stocky but well built. His legs were extremely short, as if they served as a mere appendage to his torso. He wore light-beige slacks, a gray jacket, a red necktie, and black loafers. They all looked worn out. A peach-colored badge was pinned to the collar of his jacket, indicating his affiliation with the government. His cheeks were rosy. What stuck out most though was the man's hairstyle. He wore it down to his shoulders like a woman in her prime. It reminded Shuya of the grainy Xeroxed tape cover of a Joan Baez tape he'd bought on the black market.