Battle Royale

He pulled the trigger. Holding the Smith & Wesson Military & Police's wooden grip, he felt a sudden jerk in the palm of his hand. The gun popped with an orange flash, sending a sting down Toshinori's spine. Although he despised the ignorant, vulgar masses, he had a hobby that wasn't so refined, much less refined than playing the violin. He still had his model gun collection. His father owned several hunting rifles, but he was never allowed to handle them, so this was the first time he'd ever pulled the trigger of a real gun. It was real. Damn, I'm shooting a real gun!

Toshinori shot twice and his opponent crouched down, unable to move, it seemed. The person didn't shoot back either. Of course not, if he had a gun he would have shot me from behind. That's what let me pull the trigger in the first place.

Toshinori slowly approached the figure. It shouted, "Stop!"

He could tell from his voice it was Hiroki Sugimura (Male Student No. 11). That tall guy (Toshinori by the way hated tall guys too. His height was only 162 centimeters and next to Yutaka Seto he was the shortest guy in their class. He couldn't stand: [a] good looking guys, [b] tall guys, and [c] all-around vulgar guys) who practiced that vulgar karate-like sport. He was supposedly going out with Takako Chigusa who tastelessly dyed her hair and wore all that gaudy jewelry—oh, that's right, she was also dead now. She wasn't bad looking though.

Hiroki continued, "I'm not fighting this game! Who are you? Yuichiro?"

Hiroki had guessed it was Yuichiro Takiguchi (Male Student No. 13), who was the next shortest guy to Toshinori. Yes, since Hiroshi Kuronaga had died a while ago, the only ones left alive who were his height were Yuichiro and Yutaka. In any case, Toshinori wondered for a moment, what's this about not fighting? Impossible. Not playing this game would be tantamount to committing suicide. Is he trying to fool me? Even if he was, as long as he doesn't have a gun... Toshinori changed his course of action. He lowered his gun. With his left hand he pulled down on the chin guard of the helmet and said, "It's Toshinori." Then he thought, oh, I should probably stutter a little. "S-sorry I did that. A-are you hurt?"

Hiroki Sugimura slowly got up, revealing his large frame. Like Toshinori he had his day pack on his right shoulder. His right hand held a stick. His right sleeve was missing, maybe it was torn or maybe he'd torn it off. His shirt was missing underneath and his right arm was bare. A white cloth was wrapped around the shoulder. With his bare right arm holding the stick he resembled a naked primitive tribesman. A vulgar naked tribe.

"I'm all right." Then he asked, looking at Toshinori's head, "Is that a helmet?"

"U-uh yes." As he answered, Toshinori came forward, stepping onto the farm soil. All right, three more steps.

"I-I've been so scaaaared." Before he finished saying "scared" Toshinori raised his right hand. Five meters away, he couldn't miss.

Hiroki's eyes opened wide. Too late, too late, you vulgar karate bastard. You're going to die a vulgar death, end up in a vulgar grave, and I'll offer you the most vulgar flowers I can find.

But Hiroki wasn't there at the end of the muzzle of the exploding Smith & Wesson. A split second before the shot, Hiroki had unexpectedly ducked to his left—Toshinori's right. Toshinori of course had no idea Hiroki had used a martial arts move, but in any case...he was incredibly fast.

From this crouched position, Hiroki held up, instead of the stick in his left hand, a gun in his left hand (Toshinori also had no way of knowing that—although, in contrast to Shinji Mimura, he had "fixed" it—Hiroki was originally in fact left-handed). So he already had a gun...then why didn't the fool use it in the first place? Before this thought barely crossed his mind a small flame exploded.

The gun was suddenly gone from his right hand. The next moment he felt a searing pain and his right ring finger exploded. Toshinori shrieked. He fell on both his knees and held the painful stump with his left hand...and realized his ring finger was gone. Blood spurted out. He might have been wearing a bulletproof vest and a helmet, but his fingers were unprotected.

Argh...that bastard...my finger...my right finger that elegantly guides the violin bow is!...that can't be...in the movies fingers never get blown away in gun fights!

Hiroki approached him, gun in hand. Toshinori held his right hand and gazed at it, his eyes inside his helmet terrified and delirious. His face was getting clammy from the sweat breaking out under his helmet.

Hiroki said, "So you're totally up for this. I don't want to shoot...but I have no choice. I have to."