Takako gripped her ice pick. The tension between them mounted.
He was probably fifteen centimeters taller, twenty kilograms heavier. Takako was probably the number one female athlete in her class but she had little chance of winning. On top of this, her right leg was pretty badly injured. But she couldn’t lose, no matter what.
Suddenly, Kazushi made a move. He came forward, swinging the nunchucks down!
Takako blocked them with her right arm. One of her two bracelets flew into the air (it was made by South American Indians, it was a favorite, damn). She felt a sting run up her arm up to the center of her skull. Despite the sting though, she thrust the ice pick upward. Kazushi grimaced as he stepped back, dodging it. Once again they were two meters apart.
Takako’s left arm was stinging now. But she was all right, nothing was broken.
He resumed his attack. This time he swung the nunchucks with the motion of a backhand tennis swing.
Takako dodged them by crouching down. The nunchucks skimmed her long, streaked hair—several strands flew into the air. Takako quickly swung her ice pick at his right wrist. She felt it wound him slightly as Kazushi groaned a little and stepped back.
They were apart again. Kazushi’s wrist, the hand holding the nunchucks, was red. But the cut didn’t seem severe.
The wound on her right leg was throbbing. She could tell the entire leg below her thigh was covered with blood. She wouldn’t last much longer like this. She also noticed a panting sound. It came from her lips.
Kazushi once again swung his nunchucks. She could see he was aiming at the left side of her head and her shoulder.
Takako stepped forward. She suddenly recalled something Hiroki, who was a martial arts expert, had taught her, “You can defeat your opponent by throwing his timing off. Sometimes, taking a bold step forward can be crucial.”
The nunchucks hit her shoulder, but just as Hiroki had said, it was only the chain, which hardly hurt her. Takako leaped into his chest. Kazushi’s face, his eyes wide open in dismay, was right in front of hers. She thrust the ice pick upward.
Kazushi shoved Takako away with his empty left hand. Takako lost her balance from her wounded right leg and fell forward.
Barely escaping her stab, Kazushi rubbed his unharmed chest with his left hand. “You’re really something,” he said.
Kazushi quickly swung his nunchucks down at Takako, who was slow getting up. This time he was aiming at her face!
Takako blocked the blow with her ice pick. Along with the metallic clang, the ice pick flew into the air and landed in the dirt. The only thing left in her hand now was intense pain.
Takako bit her lip. She glared at him as she stepped back.
Kazushi grinned and slowly came forward. Undoubtedly this guy was mentally disturbed. He had no qualms about beating a girl to death. In fact, he was enjoying it!
Kazushi swung his nunchucks again. She dodged them by bending back—but the nunchucks followed her instead. Perhaps he’d gotten used to them. This time Kazushi managed to extend his reach.
She felt a sharp thud against the left side of her head. She began to sway. A warm liquid came flowing out her left nostril.
She was on the verge of falling. Kazushi must have looked like he was sure he’d won.
Still swaying, Takako’s pretty, sharply curved eyes squinted.
As she fell, she stretched out her long legs and with all her might kicked Kazushi’s left knee from the right side. Kazushi let out a painful moan and fell on his left knee. His body floundered and rotated halfway on his knee. Now she saw his back.
Had she tried to take the ice pick, Takako might have lost. But that wasn’t what she did.
She leaped onto Kazushi’s back.
She clutched onto his head as if riding on his shoulders. Her weight forced him to fall forward.
If a thought occurred to her it was in choosing which fingers she should use. Her index and middle. No! The strongest combination would be her middle finger and thumb. And Takako had always taken good care of her nails. No matter how many times her team coach Mr. Tada scolded her about them she refused to shorten her nails.
Hanging onto Kazushi, Takako grabbed hold of his hair and yanked his head back. She could tell where they were.
Kazushi must have suddenly realized her intentions. She saw him shut his eyes.
It was useless though. Takako’s right middle finger and thumb tore through his eyelids and dug into his eye sockets.
“AIEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Kazushi screamed. He fell on his arms, got up on his knees, dropped his nunchucks, and tried to brush off her hands. His body moved frantically as he tried to get rid of her.
Takako held tightly onto Kazushi and refused to let go. She pushed her fingers in further. Her thumb and middle finger dug in up to their second joints. As she dug in, she felt something pop and realized it was his eyeballs. She didn’t expect eye sockets to be this small. Takako didn’t hesitate to bend her sharp fingers inward. Blood and a semi-transparent slimy liquid came oozing down his cheeks like weird tears.
“ARRRRGH,” Kazushi cried as he got up and swung his arms around frantically. He tried to pry her right hand loose from his head with both of his hands and pulled at Takako’s hair.
Takako leaped off Kazushi, who ended up with what felt like several strands or even a bundle of hair. Well, she couldn’t be worried about that now.
She looked for her ice pick and found it. She snatched it up.
Kazushi moaned and swung his arms at the (literally) unseen enemy. Then he fell back on his rear end. His eyes were open, but his eyes were completely immersed in a sea of red. He resembled an albino monkey now. Takako dragged her right leg and limped toward him. She lifted her wounded right leg and stomped down onto his unprotected crotch. The purple-striped white track sneaker was now red, soaked with Takako’s own blood. Underneath its sole she felt a squashing sensation as if she were crushing a rodent. “URGH,” Kazushi moaned. He held his crotch and turned on his side, balled up like a fetus. Now Takako began stepping on his throat with her left leg. She put her weight on it. Kazushi reached out, trying to move her foot, hitting it feebly, trying to free himself.
“Hel—” Kazushi uttered. It sounded like a tiny draft of air because his throat had been crushed.
“Help…”
Yeah right, Takako thought. She could tell her mouth was breaking into a grin. She realized she wasn’t angry anymore. She was actually enjoying this. She was sure about it. So what? She never claimed to be Pope John Paul II or the 14th Dalai Lama.
On her knees now, she thrust the ice pick into his mouth (she saw several cavity fillings). His arms which were struggling to pull at her leg suddenly froze. Takako pushed further. It sunk into his throat without much resistance. Kazushi’s entire body, from his chest down to his toes, then went into convulsions as if swimming the submariner. Then it stopped. The albino eyes still remained open, surrounded by a spider’s web pattern of gooey blood like running paint.
She felt a sudden surge of pain in her right leg and fell on her back by his head. She was panting now the way she did after doing the 200-meter dash twice for physical tests.
She’d won. But she also felt empty. The actual fight might have lasted less than thirty seconds. She wouldn’t have survived a longer fight. In any case… she won. That’s what mattered.
Takako held her blood-soaked right leg as she looked down at the corpse of Kazushi, who resembled a traveling magician attempting to spit out an ice pick from his throat. Now ladies and gentlemen, I shall spit out what I just swallowed—
“Takako.”
The voice came from behind her. Still seated, Takako turned around. She reached out and pulled out the ice pick from Kazushi’s mouth (which resulted in Kazushi’s head rising a little and then falling to the ground).