Murderer in the Flower of Death (2 page)

Her small voice was thunder in the silent, bloodstained classroom, and with a flick of the wrist, she brought the iron pipe up and then down again, showering nearby students in slick gore. “Any questions?”

In the midst of this nightmare tableau, where anyone sane would have curled silently into a fetal ball, the older girl to Kyousuke’s left spoke a bored “No, ma’am” and continued applying tiny rhinestones and Swarovski crystals to her vermilion nails.

Aside from her, all were silent; even the atmosphere of the room had been beaten to death.

“Well, then,” the teacher continued, unfazed. “I think a little self-introduction is overdue. My name is Hijiri Kurumiya. Starting today, I’ll be your homeroom teacher for the year. My favorite words are
submission
and
domination
. My least favorite words are
brat
and
pip-squeak
. I may look young…,” and she fiddled again with the ends of her bobbed hair, “but I’m in the bloom of my twenties.
Nice to meet you.
”

It was not, in fact, nice to meet her, but nobody was stupid or suicidal enough to say so. Satisfied with the mute response of the class, Kurumiya continued, “Okay! Now, I know just now there was some idiot laughing…” Nobody dared look toward Mohawk’s crumpled, broken remains. “…so I waaas planning to thoroughly break you all
in, but…wouldn’t that be unfriendly? Heh-heh…it might not be as satisfying, but for now I guess I’ll give you passing marks.”

As she spoke, Kurumiya slowly surveyed the classroom, scrutinizing each student’s face in turn. After she had stared into Kyousuke’s trembling eyes for what seemed like an eternity but was probably closer to ten or twelve seconds, she suddenly relaxed, her cruel excuse for a grin gave way to a beaming smile, and in a singsong voice she recited a refrain like a requiem.

“Welcome to Purgatorium Remedial Academy—you murderers!”

Kyousuke Kamiya was a totally normal boy. He looked normal and dressed normally, got normal grades, had normal motor reflexes. His totally normal hobbies included music appreciation and games. He had normal plans to graduate from the local middle school in half a year, and his academic aspirations were completely unremarkable: His sights were set on the nearby central public high school. And it was this completely normal fifteen-year-old student who…

“…”

…had found himself in an old storehouse that was halfway to being a mausoleum.

Kyousuke, whose bed head–tousled hair was as black as his hoodie, jammed both hands into his pants pockets and silently took stock of his surroundings with tense eyes and a severe expression. One, two, three, four…there must have been twelve in total. Hooligans, street rats, and delinquent youths in flashy clothes surrounded Kyousuke, brandishing a nasty assortment of metal bats, crowbars, chains, and hefty bits of lumber.

One of them, a youth sporting a pompadour and wearing an embroidered satin jacket, scowled at him. “So, yer the Kyousuke Kamiya we’ve heard rumors about, eh, ‘Slayer’? Or is it ‘Megadeath,’ huh?”

“…No, that’s not it at all. I’m just a normal Kyousuke Kamiya.”

“Normal?! You said you’re normal?! Hah!” Pompadour laughed through his nose. “Save the sleep talking for when you’re actually asleep!”

The rest of the hoodlums joined in with shouts of “That’s right!” and “Tell ’im!” Kyousuke silenced the lot of them with a long, slow glare, a grimace so full of icy menace that even the bravest among them were left struggling not to tremble. A couple of the less courageous looked to be fighting back tears.

They seemed unreasonably terrified. Pompadour raised his voice in strained bravado. “Y-y-you assholes! Wh-what’re you so scared of?! He’s just one guy! …Even if it is Kamiya, from the Sonic Syndicate, with all of us here, we can—”

“Sonic Syndicate?” Kyousuke retorted. “You mean
that other gang I crushed a while back
? Don’t lump me in with those assholes, you idiot!” Almost lazily, Kyousuke swung a careless fist, catching Pompadour just below the shoulder.

“Gyaaaaaah! My arm!” Pompadour roared, clutching the place where Kyousuke’s blow had landed. “My aaaaaarm!” He dropped to the floor, rolling around on the dingy asphalt and screaming.

Kyousuke glanced down. “Hey, would ya look at that…? It came right out.” Dumbass was definitely playing it up, having a real time of it, too.
Like it could even be that bad. I barely touched him!
Unfortunately, not everyone agreed.

“Mobuuuuuu!! Wha…? Of all the—! He took down Mobu with one hit?!”

“H-his arm is just barely…what power! Is this guy really human?!”

“Hey, you idiots, pile on him all at once! He’s Mobu’s rival. Beat him up, kill ’im!”

The rest of the thugs, turning away from Pompadour’s cheap pity-party, seethed with anger, thirsty for blood-soaked revenge. They were quite a happy bunch.

“…Tch, what a pain,” Kyousuke snorted. “And here I didn’t want to have to get too violent, but what can you do?” Pompadour continued to moan and sob on the floor as Kyousuke began stretching each muscle in turn. “I guess we’ve gotten this far… Nothing to be done, eh?” He warmed up his legs with deep lunges. “But if we’re going to do this, I hope you don’t mind if I go all out?” Back, shoulders, neck…while
rolling them around in order, he took in a view of the hoodlums surrounding him.

There were seven with weapons in hand and four more brandishing clenched fists, while he was alone and unarmed…hardly a fair matchup. Not that he minded such overwhelming odds; it just meant that he’d be able to finish this quickly.

As Kyousuke leisurely finished his warm-up exercises, he began to chuckle. “…Well, what’s the hold up? Come at me! I’ll take you all on at once!”

“Really, big brother?! You said you were just going out for a run, but you were fighting again, weren’t you? You know I can tell… Are we going to have to ban you from leaving the house?”

“…Sorry, Ayaka.” Kyousuke hung his head dejectedly. Standing in the entryway of his home, he realized that he must look like a mess. Face covered in scratches and bruises, once-black jersey now pale with dust and grime… Of course she was mad at him, coming in looking like this. “But they were the ones who picked a fight in the first place! They were hanging out in front of the convenience store, and I tried to ignore them, I swear, but then they started in with the whole ‘Hey, how about lending me some money?’ bit, and then—”

“Don’t make excuses to me, of all people!” Metal ladle met bruised forehead with a dull
thunk!
and Kyousuke quickly shut up. Ayaka Kamiya, Kyousuke’s little sister and the one thing he truly valued in the world, stared up at him, hands on hips, smooth cheeks puffed out in frustration, eyes full of accusation. Thirteen years old this year, she wore her pigtails tied in purple-checkered ribbons and sported a matching apron. “Really…I was so worried about you, you know? That convenience store is less than five minutes’ walk away, and you were gone almost an hour! I thought you were over all that fighting, but here we are…”

She gazed up at him with tearful eyes, and Kyousuke grew flustered. “M-my bad…I’m sorry! Really I am! I’ll act better from now on, so…”

“Uh-huh. You said that last time, remember? When you burst in alone on that huge biker gang meet. Big brother, how much will you
make me worry before you’re satisfied? No matter how tough you think you are, if you keep getting into these crazy fights…someday you’re going to get in over your head, and you won’t be coming back here for me to scold! Don’t you understand?!”

Her unusually firm tone struck a soft spot in Kyousuke’s heart. “I’m sorry, Ayaka. Really, I am.” His apology was genuine this time, and he cast his eyes down at the floor. “From now on, I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Ayaka sighed. “Well, it’s fine. At least you came home in one piece…even if your whole body is covered in cuts.” Her tone was gentle, and when Kyousuke lifted his gaze to meet hers, Ayaka was smiling sweetly.

Suddenly embarrassed, Kyousuke unconsciously turned to look away. “Nah, they’re just scratches. Rub a little spit on ’em and they’ll be fine.”

“Oh, really? Then, I guess I should—”

Lick.

“Wha—?! What the hell, Ayaka? J-just licking my cheek out of nowhere…?!”

“If I rub some spit on it, it’ll heal, right? And what’s with the surprise? How adorable!”

“…Shut up.”

Kyousuke put his hand to the cheek she had licked, looking at her with reproachful eyes. But that glinting look that shook up the hooligans was completely wasted on an opponent like his little sister.

Ayaka returned a mischievous wink, and stuck her pink tongue out at him, saying, “By the by, big brother. You have to properly sterilize your cuts, you know? And wash your clothes… Ah, do you want to get in the bath first? And then dinner? …A-and then, some Ay—”

“Don’t say it!! —‘Some Ayaka’? If that’s what you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear anything about it!!”

“Eh? What are you saying, big brother? I was gonna say, ‘Have some
ice cream
.’ Do you really want to make out with your sister that much? Heh-heh.”

After dramatically tilting her head, Ayaka laughed weirdly.

“…Hey, come on. I totally got you! You’re so embarrassed!”

Kyousuke turned his mouth down into a slight frown, but otherwise took his younger sister’s ridicule in stride. Whenever he came home after a fight, she found a way to teach him a lesson.
Oh, Ayaka… I may not be able to avoid these pointless fights, but I still hate to make her worry.
Kyousuke’s hand clenched into a tight fist.

With these fists, he would protect his family from everything wicked in the world. Any snotty brats who might tease Ayaka…any arrogant punks who might catcall her…just like he’d crushed those hooligans earlier, Kyousuke would use these hands to strike down anyone who dared to cross him.

He wasn’t exactly sure when he had started to be called things like “Slayer” and “Megadeath.” It took a real bunch of geniuses to pick such trashy nicknames, that was for sure, but even so, once word got around, Kyousuke had found himself something of an outcast, feared and distrusted by normal people…and especially by girls his own age, it seemed. The only girl in the world who dared to get close to Kyousuke without hesitation was his little sister.

“…Well, then. I guess I’ll head back to the kitchen.” Ayaka, retying the strings of her apron, snatched up her ladle, her whole demeanor growing cheerful in an instant. “Mama and the others are still gone for a while on their trip overseas…so I have to do my best! Big brother, why don’t you go take care of your wounds? Dinner will be done soon, so you’d better get moving!”

“O-okay.” Kyousuke frowned. “Sorry you always have to take care of me.”

He was no match for his little sister, who was always so grounded despite her young age. With their parents constantly occupied at work, Ayaka managed to keep the household running like clockwork while still attending school.

She was completely different from her worthless older brother, who did nothing but get in fights. But Ayaka was…

“Ah-ha-ha, you really are a handful. You’d lose your head if it weren’t for me, you know… But I need you, too! You keep me safe, so I can live with a smile on my face! Stay by my side forever, and let me take care of you, ’kay?” She flashed him an innocent grin.

Kyousuke felt his cheeks flush. Apparently Ayaka needed him after all. So he would… “Of course! I’ll always be by your side, and I’ll give you plenty to worry about.”

Days like these were precious, and he wished they could continue on forever.

“And on to our next item…,” the news anchor said. “Just after six
PM
tonight, the bodies of several young men, all of them appearing to be around twenty years old, were discovered in an abandoned warehouse in the eastern district of Otsuki town. Reports indicate that the police are treating this as a murder case.”

The dining room was immaculately clean, decorated in soft uniform shades of white and beige. Kyousuke, who had been gleefully enjoying Ayaka’s homemade stuffed cabbage, choked in surprise.

“Big brother?! Hey…a-are you okay?! Don’t tell me there was something wrong with my cooking!”

“N-no, but…,” Kyousuke coughed, “the news…on TV…” Doubled over, he pointed shakily at the television.

Ayaka rushed around the table, knocking over a chair in her haste. “Huh? The TV news? What’s on the news…?” Her eyes followed Kyousuke’s finger to the screen.

Displayed there was a clearly abandoned warehouse, barely standing it was so old and ruined. It was the same place that Kyousuke had been taken by the hooligans just a few hours earlier. They said there had been a murder there?

“Altogether, twelve corpses were discovered,” the anchor continued. “The victims appear to have succumbed to extreme blunt force trauma. Investigators say that a large number of weapons, including metal bats and iron pipes, were scattered about the scene and are believed to have been used in the crime. The police will be conducting a full investigation, but cannot rule out the possibility that these young men were involved in some kind of gang violence.”

“N-no way!” Staring intently at the screen, Ayaka gave voice to her surprise. “That’s close to home, right, Kyousuke? Yeah, it can’t be more than a short walk from here…”

Kyousuke remained silent, trying his best to make sense of the
situation. A place he’d been just a few hours before…a bunch of punks he’d just beaten down…the same weapons they’d tried to use on him…and now, they were all a bunch of corpses?! Ridiculous! But the way it looked, it was like…

Like he had gathered them up in the warehouse, sealed it off, and slaughtered each and every one of them.

“…Hey, big brother…what’s up? You look pale.” Ayaka’s voice was heavy with concern. “Could it be…? Don’t tell me
you
had something to do with this?!”

“No! I don’t know anything about it!” Kyousuke’s voice came out so loud that it even surprised him.

For a moment, Ayaka recoiled from his frightening expression. However, she immediately stood back up straight, taking hold of her confused brother.

“Calm down, Kyousuke! What are you so worried about? It’s not like you were involved…right?”

Kyousuke remained silent.

“Please…just tell me,” Ayaka pleaded softly. “Did you go to that warehouse today, big brother? What happened there? You don’t have to tell me all at once, but just talk to me, okay?” As she spoke, Ayaka gently rubbed Kyousuke’s tense shoulders, and gradually his heart rate returned to normal.

The anchor on the TV was already reading another news story.

“A-ah…sorry. I’m fine, Ayaka, really…I’m just…sorry.”

“I know, I’m not worried,” she assured him. “I just…I want to hear about it.”

“You’re sure? All right…I’ll tell you, Ayaka.” And Kyousuke did.

He told her about the abandoned warehouse where he’d been taken, about how he had turned the tables on the twelve hooligans by himself. How he had done it all with his bare hands, not using a single weapon. And how he had definitely not killed any of them, leaving the hooligans beaten and battered—but alive—as he fled the scene.

As Kyousuke finished his story, Ayaka’s face took on an unusually serious expression. “So then, do you think that after you left, somebody went to the exact same warehouse, and…and murdered those
people? Is that what you’re telling me?” Kyousuke nodded. “I’m sure if you talk to the police…I’m sure you can clear this up.”

“Hmm…I guess…I guess you’re right.” Kyousuke fished his cell phone from his pocket, flicking through his contacts in search of a particular name. “First, I’ll talk to Zenigata.”

Zenigata was a detective, a veteran of the force, who was always looking after Kyousuke, even though it often got him into trouble. He was one of the few people who understood Kyousuke, understood how he all too often found himself on the receiving end of a misunderstanding. With a deep breath, Kyousuke prepared to push the call button.

“Huh? Who is that at this time…? Maybe a package from Mom?” The faulty doorbell continued to ring, as though it were breaking down for good, and in that moment, a chill ran down Kyousuke’s spine. He had a
very
bad feeling about this.

“Wait, Ayaka!” Kyousuke managed to stop his little sister, who was turning toward the entryway. “I’m…I’m going out. You wait here. Got it?”

“Big brother…? Y-yeah…I got it.”

He left Ayaka standing in the dining room with a worried expression and headed toward the door. As he advanced down the hallway, the terrible feeling settled into his gut, growing stronger, thicker, heavier.
Could it be? With timing like this?

“Excuse me for calling so late at night. You must be Kyousuke Kamiya?” A well-kept man wearing a neat black leather jacket—clearly a policeman—stood in the entryway, several subordinates in shabby suits shuffling behind him. He closed the notebook he was carrying and turned his stern gaze on Kyousuke. His eyes were predatory, the eyes of a hunter accustomed to catching its prey.

He had a menacing aura about him that was quite at odds with his friendly tone and polite speech. He seemed nothing like the other cops that Kyousuke knew.
Criminal Investigation Unit 1.
They handled high-profile murders. The dark feeling in his guts began to squirm.

Kyousuke cleared his dry, sticky throat. “Y-yeah…I’m Kyousuke Kamiya. But—”

“Do you have a moment?” The detective cut him off sharply.

“Y-yes. That is, I don’t mind. I-in fact, I was just about to call the police about an incident that happened in a nearby abandoned warehouse a little while ago……”

“Hmm…in that case, this is perfect.” The detective didn’t smile. “Why don’t you come give a statement down at the station?” As he spoke, he drew a pair of handcuffs from his belt, snapping them around Kyousuke’s wrists with a cold, metallic click.

“Eh…?”
This didn’t make sense.
The policeman’s eyes seemed to bore right through Kyousuke, as though he were looking past a pile of garbage. “D-detective! What the hell kind of joke is this?”

“Kyousuke Kamiya,” the man recited his name, practically spitting the syllables. Kyousuke thought of his accomplishments, the peaceful times he’d treasured, the happiness he had managed to hold on to up to this point. The detective’s next words swept all that away.

“With regard to the incident in which twelve young men were murdered inside an abandoned warehouse in the eastern district of Otsuki town—
I am placing you under arrest as a suspect
.”

“…And that’s how it is,” Kurumiya continued. “The sixteen of you are gathered here in the first-year Class A at Purgatorium Remedial Academy because you are all killers. Take a look around, eh? Everyone you see is the same: a murderer. The tough-looking ones…the ones that seem harmless…all the same! Heh-heh-heh…you should definitely take this chance to get as buddy-buddy as you can in the next few hours.” She finished with another childish giggle.

Kyousuke clenched a fist under his desk, resisting the urge to stand, to shout, to flee. He was trapped.
Get friendly…? As if I could get friendly with these scumbags! What a joke!
He kept his head low, shaking only slightly.

Fifteen murderers, all in the same room with him…it was almost too much. And then Kyousuke realized that no, there weren’t fifteen,
not anymore, anyway. As Kurumiya had been speaking in her oppressive yet sweetly lisping way, people in white medical garb had come and fished Mohawk out from the ocean of blood, carrying his mangled, nearly unrecognizable form away on a stretcher with a practiced manner.

He wondered if Mohawk had also committed murder. He shuddered, thinking that he had gone and picked a fight with someone like that. If Kurumiya hadn’t shown up, Kyousuke probably would have been the one carried out on a stretcher. A school where juvenile convicts were gathered—he’d heard about it and thought that surely it was a place like a reform school; clearly, he’d been naive. A whole class full of murderers…it seemed unreal.
This is bad…this is really bad. A place like this, I’ve got nowhere to turn.
There was no way that in this schoolhouse full of lunatics there was another normal person like Kyousuke.

Even though he had been arrested as a murderer, even though he had been found guilty, even though he had been forced into this madhouse of a school…there had to have been some mistake! This wasn’t right, this couldn’t be!

And yet, there was nothing he could do. Just by being here, enrolled in this school, Kyousuke was a murderer in everyone’s eyes but his own. Kurumiya, his classmates…he might as well have been one of them.

I feel like a sheep thrown into a wolves’ den.
If word got out that he was just a normal teenager…would he be laughed at…humiliated? Or worse, he might be killed on the spot!
I guess I don’t have much of a choice… I’ll have to pretend that I’m a murderer, too.
Faced with the threat of a gruesome death at the hands of his classmates, Kyousuke steeled himself.

“Okeydokey, then,” Kurumiya was saying. “I’ll have you each come forward, one by one, and give us all a little self-introduction. Tell us your name and age, how many people you killed, how you killed them, your motives and so on…and make it good, ’kay?” She grinned menacingly. “You each have three minutes. We’ll go in seating arrangement order. Oh, and if you try to screw around or crack jokes…I’ll make you puke blood.”

Hefting the still-sticky pipe over one petite shoulder, Kurumiya stepped away from the lectern. Within such easy reach of that lethal
weapon, the pressure to give an acceptable self-introduction was palpable.

Kyousuke, however, was facing a unique difficulty. He would be expected to explain the method of his killings and his motivation, but he had never killed anyone in the first place. Clearly he’d have to make something up, but every one of the other students listening was an experienced murderer. Shuddering under the weight of anxiety, Kyousuke wondered how he could possibly get through this alive.