DISCLAIMER: That's just a fic, so please don't stick needles in my woodoo doll. In fact, I like Keiko and her last cheeky smile. As for Kawada telling stories there, in clinic... does anyone remember that little flask? That's the answer.
*******************
"Number 8, head for the school building! Now!" The voice, coming from the loud-speakers, was echoing painfully in his head. He lifted his machine gun and fired a round at the device. It grunted, hissed and then fell out, but the other two were still translating orders: "Lay down your weapon and return! The game is over! Do you hear me?" Drawing in the air through his clenched teeth, he hoisted his gun again and tore the remaining loud-speakers to shreds.
"He's gone crazy," Takahashi muttered. "Nothing to be wondered..." "What shall we do now?" one of the officers asked. "It seems, we've to send a seizure squad there..." The officer was already turning to the mic to give an order, when Takahashi added, looking at his back: "Try not to hurt him. He's just a kid."
"Where's he? D'ya see him?" "No... hey, what's there..?" "Him?" "Who else?" The short automatic round broke the stillness of the warm afternoon and ended up with a fierce scream of a soldier. "Gotta seize him," his neighbour hissed, "before he shoots all of us down. Use neuroparalytic cartridges. That's gonna work..."
He lay on the ground, trying in vain to hear, what his adversaries were whispering about. His vision was clouded with red, fingers clasping desperately the machine gun's handle. He didn't know, what they intended to do, but in any case he wasn't going to let anyone seize him. Catching sight of a blued muzzle between the foliage, he began to crawl back slowly, and at the very moment something hit his shoulder. He shuddered, inhaling the air, which was filled suddenly with the strange chemical smell, and eventually felt his fingers becoming cold. The machine gun touched the ground with a slight thud, his limbs went numb, and he fell prone to the grass, knowing that he lost again.
"Here he is," the harsh voice came from above. "What a starveling, how did he ever manage to raise such a havoc..." "A starveling, huh," another one snorted. "Three days with no food. I wonder, what you would look like." Anaesthetized, he didn't felt them wrenching his arms behind his back; the numbness, that chained him even better than the handcuffs, didn't allow him to feel a thing. That was somehow a relief, for the first time in those days he wasn't gnawed by the pain, which dwelt in his numerous wounds. And yet it was no good; whatever the case, being captured meant something horrible... he couldn't put his finger on what exactly though. Actually, at that moment he couldn't think at all. They turned him over, laying him on his back, and he saw faces of five soldiers, which were bending over him. "Look... he's bleeding." "What a surprise, heh. Check, if that's a severe injury..." One of the soldiers squatted near him and reached out to unbutton his shirt, all crimson with blood. Feeling the paralyzed limbs coming back to life, he quivered weakly, trying either to bite the man, or to crawl back, but all was in vain. He had nothing to confront five soldiers with; he couldn't even move. He looked despairingly at the machine gun, which lay just two feet away from him, and twitched feebly again, trying to draw back from under the hands, which were undoing the buttons of his shirt. "Hold still, you moron!" the soldier grumbled at him. "You'll bleed to death, if the wound's left undressed..." "He reminds me of someone, you know," another one said thoughtfully. "Yeah, me too. A mad schoolboy." "That's not it... He looks like an entrapped animal." One, who was tending his wound, looked attentively at the winner's face and agreed: "He does. There's little of a human being left in him."
*******************
"Good afternoon, Kawada-kun. Please sit down..." He lowered himself in the arm-chair and looked at the stone paperweight, carved in a shape of a dolphin. After visiting this room for so many times, he knew every little feature of this cheerful animal and hated it as a symbol of his memories, which they had been talking about... for his good allegedly. "It's been a year, since you've been prescribed to pass the rehabilitation course of the psychoanalysis," Mihara said with his eyes boring the dolphin too. "I can't say, that the result is astonishing..." Kawada lifted his head and glanced at the doctor. The beginning of the conversation wasn't encouraging. "...but it's fine enough to consider you a stable member of society." Shougo relaxed his strained muscles a little. "I'm inclined to believe, that you don't need this course to be prolonged, and... and whatever you may think, you're an extremely lucky guy." The last sentence didn't sound in the same tune with Mihara's usual composed manner of speaking, and Shougo, who remained a paranoid despite all courses, began to worry again. "You outlived the Battle Royale," Mihara's piercing gaze was burning his skin, like a sunbeam caught in the lens. "You are in good health and you're normal. Today is the last time you're visiting me, and when you walk out through this door, you'll have the whole world to live in. That's a luxury, which dead cannot afford." Only then it dawned upon Kawada. Another Battle Royale was over during these days. Maybe, yesterday... or even today... "You lost someone," he said finally. "My daughter," Mihara answered. "And, moreover, I was appointed the doctor in charge of the winner's case. My daughter murderer's case, perhaps. I'll find it out in time." He was silent for a moment and then said coldly: "Good luck to you, Kawada-kun. And good-bye." Kawada rose to his feet and tilted his head slightly. "Good-bye, Dr. Mihara."
He walked out of the consulting room and stopped. Mihara's bitter words were still ringing in his ears. "You'll have the whole world to live in." Was that true? He didn't feel like it was. A year ago his world had shrunk to the size of a desolate island; a little later it had been contracted once again, becoming so small, that there had been enough room for it in Keiko's wide-opened eyes. And then - it had been blown up to atoms with a single shot. Feeling neither the pain, nor the grief was a luxury, which dead could afford. And all his suffering was rewarded only with an honorary title of the stable member of society. What if the whole world had nothing else to offer him? He was walking along the corridor, when he saw a group of the maintenance staff, crowding around a wheel stretcher. He approached them close enough to hear what they were talking about... "But he's injured physically!" that was one of the nurses. A young one and too scared with the sight to obey the system of seniority. "He should be in an ordinary hospital, not in a mental one! Is that a mistake?" "No, it isn't," the doctor replied. "He's insane either and must be kept under the permanent supervision. An ordinary hospital cannot provide enough security." Oh, man... here goes another lost soul. Maybe, Mihara was right, and he really was that lucky? Kawada sighed and walked further. On his way to the stairs he caught a fleeting glimpse of a boy, lying motionless on the stretcher. He was either unconscious or drugged, and his red tangled hair was the only color spot between the sheets, for the haggard face was as pale as those. The boy's case was definitely unusual, judging even from his presence in that part of the building. Before this time Kawada had never seen a new patient dragged here, in this wing; in fact, during the entire year he had never seen a single patient from those, who'd been condemned to stay there for an uncertain time. And what if this boy was that very winner... But did it make any difference?
*******************
(2 years later)
"I know, that he's under the government's supervision. But what was the point of the treatment, if he's ordered to take part in that bloodshed again!?" Mihara took the glasses off and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Actually," he said, "it was my idea." "What?.." "He will never recover, while he's here. He must fight his nightmare on the same battlefield, where it has driven him insane once." "Do you... do you really believe in what you're saying?" "Dr. Akamura, what I really believe in - and I have reasons to do so - is that you show exaggerated interest in this patient. And your interest can hardly be called professional." Sonoko knitted her brow and replied: "His case is unusual one." "Is that all?" "I'm not obliged to answer offensive questions." "Especially when you have nothing, that can go for a proper answer." Sonoko pressed her lips firmly and looked into Mihara's dark eyes. "It seems to me," she said finally, "that you take some interest in this boy too. A suspicious one, I daresay." "I'm afraid, Dr. Akamura," Mihara answered quietly, "this may cost you a job." Sonoko was still gazing in his eyes, and what she saw there scared her. The Battle Royale winner was insane; but Mihara had obviously lost his struggle against the madness either. "You seek revenge for your daughter's death," Sonoko spat out. Anger was growing inside her, and no self-control could help her to hold it back. "Don't feign, that you care for his well-being. Getting even with him is your only goal. Getting even with the defenseless boy!" "Good-bye, Dr. Akamura. I hope your next job will be well-paid." She left the room, closing the door with an angry slam, and stopped. She possibly lost her job, but it wasn't the main problem. What really ate at her heart was that she couldn't prevent the winner from taking part in the next deadly race. And he was recovering, whatever Mihara might say. He was. But on his arrival at the island everything would be ruined. And everything would be over once and for all, for she heard, that no one could win the Battle Royale twice.
Mihara settled back in the arm-chair and closed his eyes. Akamura hit the mark saying, that he was eager to take his revenge on the butcher. However, she couldn't do a thing to hamper the affair, and his plan would be carried out in the not too distant future. That was a perfect plan: a simple one and effective... The patient never knew that Mihara was his victim's father, and thus nothing hindered the doctor from clearing up the story. It was a hard work, because the boy was of a reticent kind; wild horses wouldn't drag a word from him, but Mihara managed to succeed. He had two years at his disposal to ascertain the main course of the battle events; although he realized, that he had inspected only the top of that iceberg, he knew enough to bet his head: in the nearest future the murderer would be awaited by nothing, but a nightmare. Ten years ago he was appointed the doctor in charge of the BR victor's case for the first time. The result of the treatment was amazingly fine, and since that time he was the first one in line to tend the tattered minds of the carnage survivors. But, although he heard enough sad, loathsome and sinister stories, none of those winners had gone such a winding and terrifying path, as the last one had done. There was the only thing that prevented Mihara from feeling pity for this boy. Just one thing. She had been a delicate blossom, a little silver bell. He couldn't believe, that she had changed there, on the battlefield. In fact, he believed none of what Kazuo Kiriyama had been telling about her, forcing one painful word after another through his set teeth.
*******************
While taking an envelope out of the mailbox, Kawada suddenly felt nervous shivers running down his spine. He knew the contents of this envelope, he didn't even have to open it and read an invitation... What if he had done a mistake signing up to BR as a volunteer? It was a common superstition about the only chance to win the battle, and before this time he had never bothered to reflect over it, but now... Come to think of it, was he really ready to die? During these years he again and again had been trying to rebuild his life, but in the end all his efforts turned out to be for nothing. He couldn't get rid of the memories and the sense of guilt, and even death wouldn't solve the problem. He should have died three years ago, letting Keiko kill him and survive. He hadn't done so, choosing to stay alive... and now he was going to join the deadly game voluntarily. But, speaking honestly, what did he expect from the new battle? Kawada sat down and laid the envelope on the table. The last question, which he had asked himself, demanded serious pondering. So, what did he expect... really? He spent half an hour trying to fool himself and create another beautiful lie, which would soothe the pain in his bleeding heart, but in the end the answer came. If he won, this would mean, that joining the battle was senseless and he had to find another way to bring peace to his devastated soul. If he lost... everything would be over to his relief. But somewhere deep inside he hoped, that he would meet someone, whom he could become a protector of... someone, whom he could shield from the cruelty of that bloodshed. Someone, whom he would die for, redeeming his former betrayal. "I'm pathetic," he said aloud. "But I'm not gonna back down." Anyhow, there was one more way: saving that someone and getting out of there together... Huh, Battle Royale wasn't supposed to arrange meetings of the lonely hearts. Kawada realized, that he was bordering on the insanity.
*******************
(a week later)
They led him to the shabby classroom, lighted up with last warm beams of the sunset, which forced their way through the blinds on the windows. It was the same classroom... in the same building on the same island. Suddenly Kawada felt something that one could call a nostalgia. That was a stupid and inappropriate feeling, and when after a moment of lingering it faded away, he thought that it might be his strained nerves playing a trick. "You'll be waiting here until the rest of participants arrive," one of his attendants said. "One of them will appear soon, but the others will be here approximately in two hours. Please be patient." Kawada nodded and went to one of the windows. Listening to the soldiers walking out and locking the door, he leant against the window, looking outside through the chink in the blinds. He could see only a little part of the grove, which, as he recalled, surrounded the building, but even that was enough to make him feel that strange nostalgia again. Anyhow, that grove was the last place, where he had ever seen Keiko... Suddenly he understood that he couldn't remember her; only the pure and chaste image, which he had been creating in his mind through all these years, was hovering before his inner gaze: an image, that could be anyone, but Keiko. Terrified with this idea, he tried to recall the way she had laughed or smiled, but all was in vain. Something blurred and wan... was that all that remained of her in his memory? He took an old scratched photo out of the wallet and looked at Keiko's grinning face. A strange thought occurred to him, and he wondered dully, why it had never come to him before. That very Keiko had tried to kill him, but the chaste spirit, which he had been mourning for, would never do this... And that was it. The riddle was solved even before the battle began. The dream girl never existed, and thus there was no sense in sacrificing his life to nothing. As for Keiko... Keiko was dead, because she had lost this game of chance. Speaking of chances... what was that superstition? Kawada was going to prove its groundlessness.
The sunset faded. Half an hour passed since he had entered the classroom, but another special guest didn't appear yet. What if something had happened to him, Kawada grinned. Some casualty, for a example... Huh, one problem less. Hardly had he smirked at the thought, his ears caught the sound of approaching footsteps. The key grated in the lock, and Kawada turned his head to look at the newly arrived contestant. This boy seemed familiar to him; he couldn't remember though, where he had seen him before. Shougo narrowed his eyes, shifting his gaze up- and downwards, looking at the slim boy, who walked several strangely slow steps and leant his back against the wall, as the soldiers left the room and locked the door again. In those few seconds, before the stranger lowered his head and froze motionless, Kawada caught sight of his peaked face and shuddered, recalling the wheel stretcher in the mental hospital's passage. "How the hell did you beat your way here?" he asked, pacing rapidly to one declared to be a dangerous psychopath. Shougo hardly realized, that he was either talking aloud or approaching the person, who should "be kept under the permanent supervision". The boy raised his head in a slow languid motion and looked at him blankly through the dangling strands of his red fringe. For the first moment he didn't seem to realize, that there was someone else in the room, but then his face changed its expression for a bit more lively one... but concurrently unsettling. And then, as the psycho's lips parted in a morbid smile, Kawada comprehended, that he stood a good chance to die a violent death even before the beginning of the game...