Volume 1
Chapter 2 Part
2
Translator : PolterGlast
I thought the first
day of school being September 1st was only in fiction. As I passed through the
school gate, just barely on time on the morning of August 24th, I thought that.
I hate getting up
early. During summer vacation, I usually slept until ten, so it was impossible
to suddenly get up and be at school by eight.
Thinking about the
two-stage lecture I would get after school today for being late and not
finishing my homework, I felt annoyed. Should I just go home?
There was no one else
on the way to the entrance hall. It must have just been that kind of timing.
Even though it was
morning, the end of August was still in the midst of summer.
The lingering heat
tormented my skin, and sweat was seeping down my neck. Humanity isn't kind to
nature, and nature isn't kind to humanity either. As a human, I can't even be
kind to humans. The cicadas chirping seemed to be lamenting this terrible
world.
On my way to the
entrance hall in the worst mood, I saw a figure in the bicycle parking lot.
In the bicycle parking
lot with a row of old, almost collapsing roofs, there he was in a spot that was
out of my sight.
"Eh?"
I was startled for a
moment and my shoulders jumped, but I quickly realized who that person was and
that he was waiting for me. Tall stature, ear cuffs on both ears, and a neatly
styled wolf cut. There's only one student like that in this school.
"Hikaru?"
"Good
morning."
Leaning against the
pillar, Hikaru approached me quietly as soon as he noticed me.
I had a lot of things
to say, and I asked the first thing I noticed.
"Why aren't you
wearing your school uniform?"
He was in casual
clothes.
"Because I'm not
going to school anymore," Hikaru said as if stating an immutable fact.
"Huh? What do you
mean?"
"It's hot today.
It's really getting annoying."
Hikaru didn't answer
my follow-up question and turned his face to the morning sky, which was still
pale, squinting his eyes as if annoyed. His center-parted bangs flowed smoothly
to both ears, exposing his beautiful forehead and eyebrows to the sun. His
eyes, shaded by long eyelashes, were as still as if he were gazing at the
horizon, and he had a strange sense of resignation.
A sense of
incongruity.
I thought I had a
pretty good understanding of him by now, having known him for about a year.
Sometimes he would
have this expression—like the one I saw last summer. With eyes that seemed to
have given up on the whole world, he would fix his gaze somewhere distant,
stripping all emotion from his face. I knew him like that.
Still, it's arrogant
to think you can understand everything about a person. I knew that there were
many things I didn't know about him—but something about the current Hikaru was
off.
"What's
wrong?" I asked.
The subtle difference
from his usual disturbed me.
I stared at Hikaru.
Our gazes met.
"I killed my
mother," he said in a terribly calm voice.
Was he serious? Was he
just kidding me? But I knew Hikaru wasn't that kind of person.
Even so, murder is
something I cannot believe.
I forced a smile.
"That's a
terrible joke," I said, trying to brush it off lightly. "I'm going
now."
As I was about to
leave, Hikaru said, "Give me your hand." Obeying without hesitation,
Hikaru placed five small, plastic-like pieces in my palm.
"What are
these?"
Small, thin,
mysterious objects painted a bright red. They were lightweight and slightly
distorted in shape. They weren't cut by a machine. Looking closely, the paint
was uneven. They felt strangely warm for plastic. And the shape—
"...Fingernails?"
As soon as I said it
out loud, I got goosebumps. My body trembled violently, and the objects
scattered on the ground. The eerie red of the nail polish gained a slight
saturation in the sunlight.
Looking at my palm, I
saw a dry, powder-like substance that looked like blood. A shiver ran down my
spine. I rubbed my hand against my skirt. I couldn't afford to worry about
getting my clothes dirty. I just wanted to get rid of this discomfort as soon
as possible.
"These are
fingernails, right?"
Did he peel them off his
mother's fingers? I was sure he had done it before she died because there was
no reason for him to go to the trouble of removing them after he had killed
her. It was like torture. Slowly inflicting pain and then taking her life. Was
that how he cruelly killed his mother?
I don't know anything
about Hikaru's mother other than the fact that she was extremely strict about
his studies.
Hikaru's face was
illuminated white. He was smiling. It was a quiet smile, as if he had gently
lifted the corners of his mouth. His appearance seemed almost mystical, and I
held my breath quietly.
"Let's run
away," Hikaru said, holding out his hand.
I think there's
probably a right word to say in a situation like this, and saying that word
would be the best thing for both him and me. But I didn't know that word.
"It's August. And
you're eighteen, right? It's perfect for running away."
So all I could do was
take his hand.
Sei Shōnagon said that
summer is night, but I think summer is morning.
I love the morning
hours of summer. The air, slightly heated, burns my skin, and the scent of
fresh greenery rushes straight into my nostrils. The white light that pours
down on the entire outdoor space feels cool somehow, even though the
temperature is hot. It's always this air that I miss when August ends and
autumn arrives.
Skipping the opening
ceremony, I grabbed Hikaru's shoulder as he pedaled his bicycle, watching the
scenery drift by.
"This is my first
time riding a bike with someone."
"You don't have
any friends, huh?"
"That's rude. I
have a few."
"Just
Misaki-chan, right? Who else?"
I felt like I was
experiencing the expression "cutting through the wind" anew. The
bicycle that a tall guy was pedaling seemed to have a different horsepower than
ordinary people, and it was going at a speed that didn't seem possible for a mamachari (a slang term literally means
"mom's bike"). The lukewarm air touched my nose, and I sneezed.
"That's gross," he snapped, so I gave his back a light punch.
We used a bicycle that
was left unlocked at the edge of the bicycle parking lot without permission.
Hikaru and I both commuted to school by train, and we didn't want to cause
trouble by using someone else's bicycle without permission.
The bicycle, which
hadn't been used by anyone for a long time, wasn't very comfortable to ride.
Following his advice
that we would stand out in our uniforms, we first stopped at a clothing store
and bought a complete set of clothes.
"Sorry for making
you pay. I'll pay it back later."
"Don't worry
about it, I'm the one who dragged you with me after all."
Hikaru paid for me
since I only had enough money for a juice. Apparently, he had taken a credit
card from his mother's wallet.
Besides the wallet,
Hikaru was also dressed neatly today. His hair was styled, his clothes were
simple, and he had that "clean" look that girls talk about. I guessed
that he had left the house this morning in a reasonably calm manner.
We got on our bikes
again and continued west. Buildings gradually decreased, and the greenery of
trees increased.
We didn't know our
destination. In fact, a runaway doesn't need a destination.
"What kind of
novels do you like, Rin?" Hikaru asked loudly.
"I think I've
told you many times," I replied, also raising my voice more than usual.
"I want to hear
it again."
"Dark
boy-meets-girl stories. It's even better if they involve death, crime, or
something gloomy."
I had told him this
many times since we started chatting on LINE. I remembered clearly how angry I
felt when he said I had bad taste, but at the same time, I was happy because it
felt like a compliment. For a person with gloomy tastes, "bad taste"
can sometimes be classified as a compliment.
Why is he asking me
that now?
"What else?"
"Stories that
start and end without anyone knowing."
"What else?"
"Those with
summer as the setting."
As I answered, I
realized his intention. I felt a little resentful and my voice volume lowered.
"A summer
escape," I blurted out, almost defeated.
I could somehow tell
that Hikaru was smirking.
That's right, the
situation I'm in now is just like the stories I love.
Hikaru, a boy who killed
someone. And Rin, a girl who has a strange relationship with Hikaru. I had
written a novel with a combination like this in the past.
However, there's one
crucial difference from novels, and that's that "I'm not Hikaru's
accomplice."
"Let's run away,"
Hikaru said. It wasn't "Since we're running away, just follow me." In
the latter case, I am an accomplice, but in the former case, I am a mere girl
who got caught up in it.
I'm neither Hikaru's
accomplice nor anything else, I'm just a girl who got caught up in it. I'm not
Kaito.
I understand why
Hikaru wants to run away. I can kind of imagine who would chase him: the
police, Hikaru's relatives, teachers, and so on. —What am I running away from,
then?
Hikaru called it a
runaway. It's a youthful escape story, like the ones I've seen countless times
in movies and novels.
"Does Hikaru want
something from me?"
In novels and movies,
this escape would probably be depicted as an opaque, adolescent, yet somehow
exhilarating tale of a summer between a boy who has committed a crime and a
girl who, for some reason, accompanies him.
They would be alone
together, sometimes clashing, and running away from "the enemy."
Gradually, the boy develops special feelings for the girl, but at the end of
the story, the "real reason" why the girl accompanied him on his
escape would be revealed—I could imagine such a template.
But reality isn't that
wonderful. I'm only here because I was invited by Hikaru, and I don't have any
"real reason." Even when he says, "Let's run away," I have
no reason to run because I don't have any "enemies."
We're just people who
have similar interests, more than acquaintances but less than lovers, though a
bit different from friends. That's us. I think it perfectly reasonable to
assume that the reason he took the trouble to bring me along was because he
wanted something from me. Of course, it's not impossible to think that he just
wanted to play out a novel, but neither Hikaru nor I are that childish.
What does he want from
me? For example, one thing that came to mind―to help dispose of the body.
"I don't need
anything," Hikaru said casually.
"Huh? ... So you
just wanted to play getaway?"
"That's not it
either."
As we reached a
downhill slope, Hikaru stopped pedaling. The bike accelerated according to the
laws of nature.
"You'll find out
the reason later anyway, so let's talk about something else now."
"...But there are
so many questions I'd like to ask."
My brain is full of
questions. Why did he kill his mother? Even if there were many reasons and conflicts,
what was the final trigger that led him to commit murder? How did he kill her?
What does he plan to do from now on? — I could go on and on.
In the end, I didn't
ask anything. Those questions weren't meant to blame or comfort Hikaru. They
were born out of my petty curiosity and suspicion, and I hesitated to provoke
his nerves for such self-satisfaction.
Murder. It's something
that high school students who live peaceful lives are unfamiliar with.
The boy who said he
killed his mother looked no different than usual. Can people who have committed
murder look so composed? When I first met him this morning, I did feel that he
looked a little worn out, but his words and actions since then have been no
different from when he was playing games at my house or complaining about my
novels. I think he must have had his own struggles and determination, but even
so, he's so casual about it.
It reminded me of a
case I saw on the news two years ago.
A girl who had been
abused by her mother for a long time had killed her mother. Her sister's
testimony reported that "the girl seemed calm throughout the
incident,"' but in Hikaru's case, the phrase "calm" does not
even begin to cover it. He was just like his usual self. It's as if he
considered killing his mother and eating breakfast to be on the same level.
Even after killing his mother, he seemed to remain within the framework of
everyday life.
Well, there are
probably things I don't understand because I've never killed anyone. Thinking
so, I stared intently at my hand resting on Hikaru's waist.
I knew that something
terrible had happened. Murder isn't something that should happen very often.
Even so, it's true
that I'm excited about this extraordinary event that has come along just before
the start of a dreary second semester.
The bicycle continued
towards the cumulus clouds at the end of the country road. Gazing at the
boundary between the blue sky and the clouds, I muttered to myself, "It's
like a movie."
Well...
Honestly, I think I
shouldn't be looking for a narrative in reality. Just because I like novels
about juvenile crime stories and youthful escapes doesn't mean that when I
think about doing the same thing in real life, I'm not concerned about the
danger and feasibility more than the thrill. So, if I were asked if I wanted to
experience it myself, I would definitely hesitate. I can tell the difference
between fiction and reality.
That's why I was
thinking, maybe I should enjoy the thrill of the escape to a certain extent and
then gently suggest that we turn ourselves in. I don't know if that's cowardly
or brave.
However, my naive
thoughts were soon shattered.
He hadn't taken me
along with such a casual attitude as I thought.
The bike kept moving
forward, but the clouds were still far away. The wind blowing on my cheeks was
still lukewarm. The sunlight was getting stronger and sweat was beading on
Hikaru's neck.
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