AN: I've returned to my old story to give it a facelift after years of neglect. I tried to adopt canon from the novel and manga, although diction and characterization is decidedly focused closer to the manga. Let me know if it's any good at all; reviews and comments are very much appreciated.
"Boy number seven! Kuninob – sorry, nevermind that…!"
Takako Chigusa maintained her trademark stony exterior, struggling to conceal the turbulence in her mind. What the fuck was Fumiyo playing at? You don't interrupt your instructor in class – especially if he's holding a knife. And Yoshitoki, that smiley cheerful kid, chose quite possibly the worst possible time to grow a sack. Same for Shuuya and Shinji. Idiots, all of them. How Shuuya and Shinji escaped joining Yoshitoki and Fumiyo as early casualties of The Program defied her logic. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but quietly respect their brazen courage in stepping up; but guts need brains to back them up, and now the brains of boy number seven oozed out of the bloody hulk that once had been a face.
Perhaps the news of Class 3-B's sacrifice in The Program should not have come as a great surprise to anyone. After all, the Republic of Greater East Asia deeply integrated the policy and its reasons for existence into numerous aspects of the nation's education and culture. Belying that fact, a requirement for graduating elementary school mandated that all students recite the purpose of The Program in front of the provincial education oversight committee.
One of the core subjects in the standardized first year curriculum was centered on The Program; state-owned media outlets broadcasted stories about The Program, especially when in progress. Commentaries, analysis, and speculation concerning the hapless students supplanted matters of foreign and domestic policy. More perceptive citizens believed, not unreasonably, that that was by design. Every May, jaded students simply accepted The Program as a fact of life in the Republic.
But facing the remote possibility of being selected for the Program and actually being selected for the Program were very different things. And as the seriousness of the situation began to dawn on every student in Class 3-B with the unexpected passing of two of the class's own, an uncomfortable silence spawned from collective terror and grief took hold in the classroom.
Mayumi Tendo, her tears ebbing down her cheeks and dripping onto the surface of her paper upon which she had written nothing, convulsed uncontrollably in the seat next to Takako's. Mayumi's single tightly-woven pigtail bobbed and her sobs redoubled in strength, as she had just connected again with Fumiyo's unseeing eyes.
Get it together, thought Takako, too doggedly stubborn to surrender to despair. In addition to her reserved and confident personality that her classmates perceived as aloof and haughty, she at heart tended toward defiance. Far be it from her to concede defeat in anything.
But then she followed Mayumi's gaze to Fumiyo's dilated irises – just minutes ago, those same eyes looked down with morbid incomprehension at Yoshitoki. Now, glazing over, they framed a thin and bloody trail that seeped from the knife embedded in her forehead.
Fumiyo worked as the nurse's assistant during happier times. The previous fall, Takako lost her footing on a loose patch of gravel while at a dead sprint and scraped her knee on the resulting fall. Those deep wounds would remain forever scarred into her skin until her death, but that thought was secondary to the searing pain that left her unable to move under her own power. Hobbling into the school clinic with her old friend Kahoru at her side and muttering curses, she was thereafter attended to by Fumiyo, who while applying disinfectant to her injuries would not fucking stop humming the most annoyingly catchy songs! Like, I was just sitting there in agony while she's still all sunshine and butterflies.
Snapping back in the present, Takako could stare no longer as every thought she had once entertained of Fumiyo, even the most trivial, flooded back into her memory at once. That Fumiyo incessantly clicked her mechanical pencil against her temple whenever she became stressed about an assignment. That she never cursed, at least so far as Takako could tell. That she winded the strands of her hair around her finger whenever she found something boring, and then spent an amusingly long time untangling the knots upon realizing what she had done. She had her own flaws and quirks. Her own aspirations and dreams. But most importantly, she was an irreplaceable human soul with her own understanding of what it meant to live. Until now.
Takako grasped the desk legs with her hands and gripped tightly to prevent from losing herself to the overpowering gravity of all that had occurred. Clenching her eyes shut as hard as possible, her eyelids tingled with fatigue. Her will would not break as quickly as Mayumi's. I will not break. The Battle Royale Act was instated in 1947 as a national initiative to remind the citizens of the Republic that sacrifice for the greater good of the nation is the greatest virtue of all, and unquestioning discipline to the supreme authority of the government is expected from every man, woman, and child. Right. No country that embraces senseless slaughter of its own citizens is worth defending. My story will not end now, it won't end tomorrow, and it sure as hell won't end because of this game. It won't.
"Boy number eleven! Sugimura!"
Takako snapped out of her intense meditation and gravely watched her closest friend stand and shoulder his bag. Hiroki Sugimura collected his provisions, sent her a furtive, anxious look, and exited the room. The only person in Class 3-B who had the great privilege of her unwavering trust, he had known her since their childhood days. She saw in him a caring soul of the highest moral character, who constantly preached self-betterment. Though she embraced her own independent nature, his years of training in the martial arts nevertheless provided an appreciated layer of security.
But most importantly, he had become the only person who had become intimately attuned to her every thought and need (except for her feelings for him, but that was arguably an ambiguous topic for them both). Therefore, she was shaken that she couldn't discern what his abstract glance meant. Preoccupied with her own emotions, she had completely forgotten about him until the instructor called his name. Had he been trying to communicate with me all this time? Was he looking at me or at Shuuya?
"Girl number eleven, Mitsuko Souma! Boy, her looks can kill! Get it? Get it? Understand?"
"Y-yes…?" Chisato's uncertain voice rang out alone.
"Ah, excellent, Matsui. You students are becoming so bright nowadays! Almost makes me regret what has to happen. Not that it would mean anything if I did. I have absolutely no hand in the result of this year's exercise. More pure that way, wouldn't you agree?"
No one ventured an answer this time.
Takako once again retreated to the inner recesses of her mind, quickly reflecting on her relationship with Hiroki. We met when we went to rival elementary schools. Got him to stop crying over some cheap comic books. Told him to toughen up. Didn't see him much until Shiroiwa, but he matured well during that time. Haven't seen him cry since I met him, except for when his grandfather died. He can get a pass for that.
"Yutaka Seto, boy number twelve. Now, now…this is no time to be breaking down!"
He never exactly became confident, but you know he can take care of himself. We talked for a while first day of first year, hanged out with him regularly after that pretty much every single day. Got lucky to be placed in the same class last year. Been even closer ever since. Kind of replaced Kahoru last year in a sense…always felt bad about that. They really couldn't be more different. Kahoru and I, we'd always agree to catch up and meet lunch. But we never follow through. It's almost a formality at this point...
"Oh my, girl number twelve might have trouble hiding anywhere on this island. Haruka Tanizawa!"
There's no one else in class I trust more than him. He won't play; of that there can be no doubt. But will he be interested in looking for me? He has other friends he might try to team up with. Shuuya. He might have been looking at him instead of me when he left, actually. There's Shinji too. No shortage of balls in that group, but given their stunts so far they need someone with half a brain who can settle them down with logic and restraint. Like Sugi.
"And the otaku. Boy thirteen, Takiguchi. Why are all the male students so nervous? Be strong for the women! Set an example."
But would he wait outside for me? We're good friends now, to be sure. Does he consider me important enough to risk his life with so many others coming out after him? Especially Mitsuko? He's always been as independent as me…it seems impossible that he would ever need anyone to survive, let alone a spunky girl with some pretty gnarly brace-
"Ah, this is more like it! The bodacious and beautiful Chigusa, girl number thirteen!"