Battle Royale

Even if we try though, there's no way to tell them apart from the others. If we tried to help everyone, an "enemy" would eventually sneak into our group, and that would mean certain death. Noriko and Shogo would get killed too.

Shuya let out a deep sigh. He racked his brains. No matter how many times he went over it, he came to the same conclusion. There was nothing they could do. He could only hope they'd somehow come across Shinji Mimura and Hiroki Sugimura. But what were the chances that would happen?

"Hey," Shogo said as he lit another cigarette. Shuya looked at him.

"Stop thinking too much. It's no use. Just concentrate on yourself and Noriko."

Shuya lifted his brow. "Are you psychic?"

"Sometimes. Especially when the weather's this nice." Shogo took another drag. Then, as if the thought had suddenly occurred to him, he added, "Is it true?"

"What?"

"What Sakamochi said about you. That you have dangerous ideas."

"Oh, that." Shuya looked down and nodded.

"What'd you do?" Shogo looked at him mischievously. Shuya returned the look.

There were two things he'd done. The first was how he quit the baseball team. That's right, when he entered junior high school, he joined both the baseball team and the music club, but he was turned off by the baseball team's military-style discipline and win-at-all-costs attitude. (It wasn't surprising. Baseball was the national pastime. It was the sport the nation endorsed for international tournaments. Unfortunately, baseball was also popular with the American imperialists, so if the national team lost to them in the Olympics, the Baseball Federation directors would all have to commit harakiri.) On top of that, the team's coach, Mr. Minato, would get on the case of players who weren't very good, even if they loved the game. So by the second week, Shuya was completely fed up and announced he was quitting in a four-letter diatribe against Mr. Minato and the Baseball Federation. And that was how the golden rookie of Shiroiwa Junior High School embarked on a different path towards becoming a different kind of star (according to him)—a rock 'n' roll star. At any rate, this incident didn't look so good on his school record. But Sakamochi was probably referring to the other thing.

"Nothing," Shuya replied. "Sakamochi was probably referring to my listening to rock. He was hassling me for being in the music club."

"Ah," Shogo nodded, wanting to know more. "You play guitar, right? Is that how you started listening to rock?"

"No. I heard rock, and that was how I started playing guitar. I was at the orphanage...."

Shuya recalled the middle-aged handyman who worked at the Charity House. He was upbeat and his thinning hair was slicked back, sticking up at the nape of his neck. ("It's called a duck's tail.") Now he was in a forced labor camp on Sakhalin Island. None of the kids at the orphanage, including Shuya and Yoshitoki, knew the details. When he said goodbye to them, he didn't offer an explanation and only said, "I'll be back, Shuya, Yoshitoki. For a while though, I'll be swinging a pickaxe and belting out 'Jailhouse Rock.' " Then he gave his old auto-winding wristwatch to Yoshitoki and Gibson electric guitar to Shuya. It was Shuya's first guitar. Was he doing all right now? He heard that workers at the forced labor camps often died from overwork and malnutrition.

"Someone gave me a tape. He also gave me his electric guitar."

"Hmm." Shogo nodded. "Who do you like? Dylan? Lennon? Or Lou Reed?"

Shuya stared back at Shogo. He was taken aback. "I'm impressed."

It wasn't easy getting your hands on rock in the Republic of Greater East Asia. Foreign music was strictly monitored by an organization called the Popular Music Judiciary Committee, and any kind of music that remotely resembled rock would never make it through customs. It was treated like an illegal drug. (He'd even seen a poster in the prefectural civil office with the same red-circle-and-diagonal-line pattern placed over a photo of a sleazy-looking long­haired rocker. It read, "Stop Rock." Great.) Basically, the Republic didn't like the music's rhythms, not to mention the lyrics, which might agitate the people. Bob Marley was one of them, but an obvious example would be Lennon's lines, "You may say I'm a dreamer/But I'm not the only one/I hope some day you'll join us and the world will be as one." How could the nation not consider that a threat?

The only music you could find at record stores was domestic, mostly trite idol pop. The most extreme imported music Shuya came across was probably Frank Sinatra. (Although "My Way" might have been appropriate song for this country.)