Maybe we should cover religion while we’re at it. In fact this country, under a unique system of national socialism ruled over by an executive authority called “the Dictator” (Shinji Mimura once said with a grimace, “This is what they call ‘successful fascism.’ Where else in the world could you find something so sinister?”), had no national religion. The closest thing to religion was faith in the political system— but this wasn’t paired up with any established religion. Religious practice therefore was permitted as long as it remained moderate and at the same time wasn’t guaranteed. So it was only practiced in private by dedicated followers. Shuya himself never really had any religious inclinations, but it was thanks to this particular religion’s institution that he managed to grow up relatively unscathed and normal. He thought he should appreciate that much. There were state orphanages, but apparently their accommodations and programs were poorly run, and from what he heard they served as training schools for Special Defense Forces soldiers.
Shuya turned around and looked back. The group of delinquents that included Ryuhei Sasagawa (Male Student No. 10) and Mitsuru Numai (Male Student No. 17) was sitting on the wide seat at the back of the bus. There was… Shuya couldn’t see his face, but he could see between the seats the head with the oddly styled, slicked-back, long hair poking out by the right window. Though on its left side (well, it seemed Ryuhei Sasagawa had left two seats open in between) the others were talking and laughing over something dirty, the head remained absolutely still. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Or maybe like Shuya he was watching the city lights.
Shuya was completely baffled by the fact that this boy— Kazuo Kiriyama (Male Student No. 6)—would actually participate in a childish activity like a study trip.
Kiriyama was the leader of the thugs in their district, a group that included Ryuhei and Mitsuru. Kiriyama was by no means big. At best he was the same height as Shuya, but he could easily pin down high school students and even take on local yakuza. His reputation was legendary throughout the entire prefecture. And his father being the president of a leading corporation didn’t hurt. (There were rumors though that he was an illegitimate child. Shuya wasn’t interested, so he never bothered to find out more.) Of course that wouldn’t have been enough. He had a handsome, intelligent face, and his voice wasn’t particularly low, but there was something intimidating about it. He was the top student in Class B, and the only one who barely kept up with him was Kyoichi Motobuchi (Male Student No. 20), who studied so hard he didn’t get much sleep. In sports Kazuo was better and more graceful than almost anyone else in the class. The only ones at Shiroiwa Junior High who could compete with him seriously were, yes, the former star shortstop, Shuya, and the current star shooting guard, Shinji Mimura. So in every respect Kazuo Kiriyama was perfect.
But then how could someone this perfect end up a leader of thugs? That was really none of Shuya’s business. But if there was one thing Shuya could tell, it was a sense, almost tactile, that Kazuo was different. Shuya couldn’t say exactly how. Kazuo never did anything bad in school. He’d never bully around someone like Yoshio Akamatsu the way Ryuhei Sasagawa did. But there was something so… remote about him. Was that it? At least that’s how it felt.
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.”