I had no idea she was about to drop a huge spoiler. Fortunately, it seems I’ve avoided the various punishments.
“But none of us are really in the mood to celebrate,” she continues.
“I’ll ask again,” I say. “And?”
“See? That right there. That’s what pisses people off.”
“I’ll apologize right now if I offended you. I’m sorry.”
“You’re making fun of us, aren’t you? You must be.”
I don’t know what she means. What does this woman want from me? Isn’t she embarrassed, acting this way toward a child?
“I’ll cut to the chase. I want you to go home. Now. Make up a reason—maybe you’re feeling sick. Then stay at home for the next few days. I’m sure stuff like that comes naturally to an introvert like you, Kareki.”
“……”
I suppose this means some people don’t want Ochiba Kareki to win, or they want to take her place. Physically, I’m a child. They probably see me as weak. Maybe they thought they could make me do whatever they wanted if they had enough people.
The whole thing seems immature, but they’re risking their careers on this, so they must be pretty desperate.
I’ve often had grown adults come after my life in isolated spaces. Plenty of kids die there, too. It taught me that when fighting for your own interests, age doesn’t matter. A little ploy like this would never make me cede my now-certain victory.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Acting like a big shot now? Look around you.”
“I think that’s my line.”
“What a little brat. God, you piss me off.” She huffs, incensed.
A moment later, her attention shifts to the minivan parked in the road. She reaches out and lightly raps on the rear door window. What is that supposed to mean? I don’t see any response from inside the car.
“I hope you won’t regret ignoring us.”
All the women move to leave. That must have been intended as a parting shot. They head for the main road, back toward the studio.
I stand there, watching, not doing anything. What was all this about?
Just as I ask myself that question, though, I get an answer.
The door of the black minivan slides open, and two people step out. They’re both large men, about two heads taller than I am. One is in his twenties, wearing a jet-black down jacket and jeans; the other looks to be in his forties and has on a long black coat over a suit and pants.
Their tattoos are of particular note. I can see lines of ink peeking out on almost every visible patch of skin. They look like criminals.
“Excuse me,” I say. “Do you need something from me?”
“Wanna take a little drive with us, missy?”
“We’ll get you home before next week. Promise.”
Their responses are what I expected. Clearly, those other second-strings want to force Ochiba Kareki to lose by any means necessary. The woman from earlier must have called these men here as soon as she saw the director’s script. I find her decisiveness impressive—skills like that are crucial for surviving the proxy war. I ought to take a page out of her book.
“I apologize,” I say. “I still have work, so I’ll have to turn you down.”
“Well, not like it matters. We’re taking you either way.”
“You’d better do as we say—unless you wanna get hurt.”
If they were carrying guns like Makeup does, this might have been dangerous. But for now, they’re both unarmed. They see me as a weak child and casually walk right up to me.
I quickly decide to use the powers granted to me by a certain ill-natured demon. When the younger man grabs my arm, I strike.
“Rrgh… Wh-what the hell is this…?” he stammers in surprise as he feels the change in his body.
His knees give out, and he collapses to the ground. He doesn’t even twitch.
It’s all right—he’s not dead. He’s only unconscious. I did it to my mom all the time back when she was alive, so I’m really good at holding back just the right amount. I bet the scene would really scare a bystander, though.
I pretend to be shocked; then, as if to deny I had any part in this, I ask, “Excuse me, are you all right?”
The other man, who until now had been calm and collected, looks utterly baffled. “Hey! What…? What happened?!”
No answer.
“Um, shouldn’t you call an ambulance?” I suggest.
“Did you do something, kid?” he demands.
“How could I do anything? He might have had a stroke. Or maybe he’s been taking some dangerous drugs. Either way, I don’t think you should leave him like this.”
“……”
The man goes quiet, as if he’s thinking, Actually, you might have a point. I almost want to laugh.
The older man bends down and reaches for his fallen partner’s neck, probably to take his pulse. While his attention is diverted, I go behind him and glance at my partner. Abaddon nods, and I touch the older man’s neck.
“Ngh…”
He loses consciousness and crumples to the ground, too, right on top of the other one.
Not a moment later, I hear a deep male voice. “Hey! What’s goin’ on over there?!” as another man climbs out of the minivan’s driver’s seat.
This one is probably around thirty. His hair is tapered at the sides of his head but long in the back and gathered up in a round loop. I think they call this style a “man-bun.” His sunglasses make him look like a real tough guy, and his arms and face are covered in tattoos.
“You brat! What did you do?!” he shouts.
“Urk…”
The man pulls a knife and thrusts it toward me. He’s even more short-tempered than the first two.
I hastily pull out of the way. At the same time, I reach over to touch his outstretched arm. I manage to get the timing just right, and my fingertips brush the back of his hand as his arm is fully extended.
The moment I touch his skin, he drops his knife. Then he falls to the ground faceup.
I look to the side. Abaddon is hovering very close to me, ready to jump in if things go south. I didn’t notice, but he has his palm out, as if to block the tip of the knife before it hit my shoulder. Fortunately, the blade stopped just a few hairs away.
“Wow. That was amazing for someone who doesn’t like to exercise.”
“I get regular training, thanks to the proxy war.”
Lately, I’ve started following other people’s movements with my eyes, even casual ones. It’s probably because I’ve been blessed with so many opportunities to go up against people with blades and guns. I think back to the foul-mouthed grade-schooler we fought on Miyakejima.
“I’ll have to subtract a few points for not considering there might be another guy, though.”
“I agree. I’ll do better next time,” I say as I check the minivan.
They don’t seem to have any other allies. Now that I’m safe, I check to make sure there are no security cameras or other people within view. The woman probably picked this place to avoid being seen. I’m grateful to her for that. Now we won’t have to trouble my neighbor.
Feeling lucky, I reach for the pockets of the fallen men.
✦ ✦ ✦
As originally planned, I buy a drink at the convenience store and go back to the studio.
When I enter, some of the second-string members, including Tenth-Place, look at me in absolute shock. A single question is written on their faces: How are you here? Several others are also clearly surprised.
Wearing a mask of nonchalance, I walk over to the chief culprit. I don’t like always letting others set the pace. Plus, I need an excuse to give my neighbor.
“I’m sorry for sending you back early when you were nice enough to invite me. The person behind the register was just so slow. I could’ve used the self-checkout, but my phone wallet is nearly empty, so I had no choice.”
“Huh? Oh, uh… No, it’s fine.”
I speak loudly enough so my neighbor can hear my made-up story. I don’t want him to wonder why we came back separately. Then I lower my voice to a whisper.
“This will not happen again, Miss Noriko Satou.”
“…Urk!”
Tenth-Place blanches.
Seeing her so obviously panicked satisfies my thirst for revenge. But maybe I should have considered our surroundings and toned it down a little. I’d gone out of my way to whisper, and yet we were still getting a lot of attention.
“…Y-you… How did you…?”
“You were in their smartphone’s call history, so I noted down your name and phone number. I don’t know what your relationship is, but letting them photograph you in such an indecent state seems rather reckless, don’t you think?”
“Wha…?”
That should be enough of a threat to hold her off for the time being.
I decide not to report her to the police. Otherworld Productions probably wouldn’t appreciate it, and my neighbor would worry. I have all the men’s personal details, courtesy of their smartphones and ID cards. It’s so convenient how phones these days let you unlock them with just a fingerprint.
Aside from their call histories and phone numbers, I found several photos and videos on their phones’ internal storage showing Tenth-Place having sex with them. Looking at them disgusts me, but I copy the data to my phone anyway.