His hands by his waist, Shuya gripped the corners of the table covered with the vinyl tablecloth. Shogo continued smoking, squinting his eyes.
“I think Yoshitoki was a lot more mature at that point already. I was just a silly kid. And ever since then, Yoshitoki, even since we entered junior high, and I fell for someone,” this was Kazumi Shintani, “he never brought it up. That kind of worried me.”
Another gurgling sound.
“But then one day he told me he liked Noriko. I acted like it wasn’t a big deal, but I was so happy for him. And that was, that was…”
Shuya looked away from Shogo. He knew he was about to cry.
Once he managed to hold back his tears, he said without looking at Shogo and continued, “That was only two months ago.”
Shogo remained silent.
Shuya looked at Shogo again.
“So you see, I have to protect Noriko to the very end.”
After staring back at Shuya for a while, Shogo only said, “I see,” and rubbed out his cigarette out against the tablecloth.
“Don’t tell Noriko. I’ll tell her about Yoshitoki once we’ve gotten out of this game.”
Shogo nodded and replied, “All right.”
43
Five hours had passed since the Macintosh PowerBook 150’s connection to the internet had been cut off with a warning beep. Shinji Mimura scrolled through a document in one of the windows on the display monitor of the 150 that was now reduced to a word processor.
He’d worked on the phone, checked the connections, and rebooted over and over but the gray monitor responded with the same message. Finally, after disconnecting all the modem and phone cords, he came to the conclusion his cell phone had completely broke down. Without a phone line he couldn’t even access his home computer. And of course, calling all the girls he’d ever gone with and sobbing over how he was, “About to die, but I loved you the most,” was out of the question. He still believed he could get to the bottom of this and considered taking apart his cell phone—but then stopped.
A chill ran down his spine.
It was obvious now why he wasn’t able to dial in anymore. The government had managed to locate the line test number used by the DTT technician, the number used for the special phone with the counterfeit “Second ROM” he’d painstakingly built. They’d cut off all connections including this one. The question was, how had they managed to do this? His hacking had been flawless. He knew that much.
The only way he could imagine the government discovering his hacking was through some method outside their computer’s internal security system, their warning system, and other manual monitoring systems. And now that they knew—
The moment Shinji realized what it was, his hand went for the collar around his neck.
Now that the government knew, it wouldn’t be all that surprising if the bomb went off, would it? They probably wouldn’t spare Yutaka either.
Thanks to this realization, the government-supplied water and bread they had for lunch tasted even worse.
After Yutaka saw Shinji turn off the laptop, he asked for an explanation. Shinji only replied, “It’s no good. I don’t know why, but it’s not working. Maybe the phone’s broken.”
Ever since then Yutaka’s mood became gloomy, and he slouched back to the way he’d been earlier that morning. Other than the occasional gunshots and brief exchanges it remained silent. Shinji’s great escape plan that mesmerized Yutaka had completely fallen apart.
But—
I’ll still make them regret they didn’t kill me right away. No matter what.
He thought a little, then dug into his pants pocket and pulled out an old pocketknife he carried around with him ever since he was a kid. There was a small tube tied to the keyring on the knife. Shinji examined the scratched up tube.
His uncle had given him the knife a long time ago. And the tube was, like the earring on his left ear, another memento from his uncle. Like Shinji, his uncle had kept it chained to a small knife and always carried it around.
The thumb-sized tube, with its rubber ring under the cap, was a waterproof case used by soldiers. It was normally used to hold a document with name, blood type, and history of illness in case of injury. Others used it as a matchbox. Until his death, Shinji assumed his uncle kept that sort of thing in it too. But after he died, when he opened the tube, Shinji found something completely different inside. In fact the tube’s casing itself was carved out of a special alloy and contained two smaller cylinders inside. Shinji took out the two cylinders. He had no idea what they were. The only thing he could tell was that their contents were supposed to be mixed.
The thread of the screw from one of the cylinders fit perfectly into the other one. The reason why they were kept apart was that it was risky to connect them. And once he found out what they were for, after some research (no wonder they were separate—otherwise, you couldn’t carry those cases around), he still had no idea why his uncle carried this around wherever he went. It served no particular purpose. Or maybe like the earring Shinji wore, his uncle had merely held onto it to remind himself of someone. Anyway, it was another piece of evidence from his uncle’s past for Shinji to ponder over.
Shinji turned the squeaky cap and opened it. He hadn’t opened it since his uncle died. He dropped the two cylinders into the palm of his hand. Then he opened the seal of the smaller cylinder.
It had been stuffed with cotton to make it shockproof. There was the dull yellow of brass underneath the cotton.
After examining it, he returned both cylinders back into the larger container and screwed the cap back on. He’d thought that if he ever had to use this, it would be after they escaped the island, or after messing up the school computer. It might have been handy after they equipped themselves and attacked Sakamochi and the others—but now this was all they had.
He flipped out the blade from his pocketknife. The sun had moved west, and the bushes reflecting against the silver steel were dark yellow. Then he pulled out a pencil from his school coat pocket. It was the pencil they all used to write the phrase, “We will kill,” before the game began. Because he’d used it to mark the forbidden zones and check off the names of dead classmates, its point was now blunt. Shinji sharpened the pencil with his knife. Then he pulled out his map from another pocket and turned it over. It was blank.
“Yutaka.”
Yutaka had been hugging his knees and gazing at the ground. He looked up. His eyes were shining. “Did you come up with something?” he asked.
Shinji wasn’t exactly sure why Yutaka’s response ticked him off. It might have been the tone of his voice, or maybe the words. Shinji felt like saying, what the hell—here I am banging my head against the wall trying to come up with an escape plan and all you’ve been doing is sitting on your ass! You swore you were going to get back at them for Izumi Kanai, but you haven’t done squat. You think this is a fast food restaurant where I’m working the register? You want some fries with that?
But Shinji restrained himself.
Yutaka’s round cheeks were sunken and his cheekbones stuck out. It was only natural. He must have been worn out by the pressure of this game that could end at any moment for them.
Ever since he was a kid Shinji was always the best athlete in the class. (Although this changed in his second year in junior high, when he was joined by Shuya Nanahara and Kazuo Kiriyama. He could beat them in basketball, but he wasn’t sure about other sports.) His uncle had taken him mountain climbing ever since he was a kid, and he was confident in any competition that required stamina. But not everyone was built like The Third Man. Yutaka was a poor athlete, and when the cold season came he was often absent. Fatigue must have been overwhelming him, and it might be numbing his thinking too.