Breaking the siren.
If I could break the equivalent of the siren in this world, then I was sure there was a good chance the untouchable siren in Chika’s world would break too.
I thought about the question of whether our shared influence was between Chika and myself or between the places we were in. That had become a hot topic of debate between us. I’d been a proponent of the place theory. But now that I considered the leg injury, the hole in the sock, and the most recent room incident, I began to, rather haughtily, agree that it might in fact be the two of us that connected our worlds. If that were the case, then just as with Allumi, it should be simple for me to find this world’s version of the siren.
There was only one thing that I heard, day after day, that governed my actions: The bell. The school bell.
I was afraid that I would be committing another sin by going through with this plan. Still, breaking the bell wouldn’t kill anyone. On the contrary, doing it might save lives.
It would take me a day to get the tools together, then two more days to attempt to sneak into the school and observe the guards and the teachers who stayed late to do overtime. I was fully aware that I would be found, apprehended, and rebuked for this, so I should have just gone into action immediately, but the operation would be fruitless if I were interrupted before achieving my goal—I couldn’t skimp on preparations.
I didn’t see Chika again before the day of the mission. My days were cookie-cutter copies of one another. In the meantime, I investigated how to break broadcast devices, but I also looked into the punishments that had been given to idiots who had attempted similar things in the past.
Essentially, Chika was always on my mind, and that was all I could have hoped for. I hadn’t the slightest illusion that what I was about to do was wrong. Still, I felt rather sorry for my family. My boring but well-meaning family had no idea that their weak-hearted son was about to cause a commotion at school. There would be, if nothing else, calls from the school, and harsh warnings, and the inquisitive gazes and distrust of this son would soon turn my family’s way.
This was no cause for happiness.
Thinking about it, though, it was no different from what had happened with Allumi. Only in this case, the family being disrupted was my own. Humans lived by causing trouble for others, by hurting others. I had to accept that, move past it, and achieve what I set out to do.
All for the sake of something much more important.
“Thanks for the food,” I said as I finished my dinner that night and stood up from my seat.
My mother replied with the standard response for when her children thanked her: “You’re welcome.”
I naturally returned an “mm-hmm,” my brother’s voice lagging slightly after. It was a perfectly routine day. I thought it strange that everyone was fine with carrying on every single day like this when no one truly found it entertaining.
“Oh, right, Kaya,” my mother called just as I headed to my room. I looked back to see her gazing at me, mackerel nanbanzuke pinched between her chopsticks. The TV was switched off. Music flowed from the radio in the background. “I talked to your grandma on the phone today. She really wants to see you. She’s worried about the war, but she still wants us to come out for Obon or something.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s not really something you should have to think about,” she said with a weary laugh, biting her mackerel. “It’s good to show a little respect for your grandmother now and then.”
Respecting my elders was not one of my top priorities, but I got the feeling that if my grandmother knew what I was about to do, she wouldn’t want to see me anyway. I said “I’ll think about it” once more, then started up to my room. I heard a “You must get that from me!” called out from behind me. While I was thankful to her for raising me, I had my doubts about how much heredity and DNA really defined a person.
After resting for an hour in my room, I went out, as always—empty-handed this time. I would be sneaking back out in the middle of the night when it was time for the mission to properly begin. I walked to the bus stop as I always did and confirmed that Chika wasn’t there. Instead, I just sat silently alone in the shelter.
Well, not just: I was thinking about Chika. I wasn’t thinking about who she was or about the reason I had met her. I was just thinking about her.
The time passed quickly, and I returned home without anything notable occurring. At the stroke of midnight, once silence had fallen in my home, I once more stepped out of my room, a bag full of tools on my back. The hallway was quiet. I wondered if my brother might still be awake, but there were no lights on in his room.
I made my way down the stairs and headed straight for the front door. I’d intended to set right out from there, but as I reached my foot out for my sneaker, something suddenly popped into my head.
I was lost. I hadn’t accounted for this. However, just in case there was even the slightest possibility, I turned toward the living room. There, by my family’s usual gathering spot, was my radio from elementary school. I picked it up and headed back to the front door. This time, I put my sneakers on and slipped out the door, careful not to wake my family.
I had a feeling someone was going to call out from behind me, but this turned out to be a groundless fear. I stepped outside and locked the door.
The night air slowly filled my lungs. My body felt light. That feeling raised my spirits even more.
I put the backpack and radio into my bike basket and set off. Along the way, I stopped by a dumping ground behind one of the abandoned houses. I smashed the old radio on the concrete, certain by how the parts flew out of it that it was broken. It made a loud sound, but I hadn’t seen anyone else passing by. I once again mounted my bike.
It really was lucky for me that our high school was an older public school, its security systems not at all up to date. Obviously, breaking a window or something would instantly set off an alarm, but my work would be over in a flash. Specifically, I would climb over the back fence behind the first-floor broadcast room, smash a window, and break the broadcast equipment.
That was all there was to it.
I was fully prepared to face the alarms and the security cameras; I didn’t intend to run from my crime. I was doing this for someone important to me. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It was fine if what I was doing was considered a crime in this world.
I hadn’t even the slightest inkling that stopping the war in her world would stop the war in mine. That much didn’t even matter to me. Instead, I moved my body, thinking only of Chika.
I followed the fence around the school and reached my intended destination. I parked my bike, took a small hatchet out of my pack, and flung it onto the school grounds, then hopped over the fence. I picked up the hatchet and checked my watch.
I had no idea if this would all go according to plan. I might even make some grievous error. Still, I was going to follow through. I couldn’t help but feel elated.
I faced the window and readied my hatchet. I was not at all nervous about sneaking into the school at night, breaking a window, and doing something worse from there. There was one thing, only one thing in my heart right now. Something that excited me.
Something I desperately hoped and wished for.
I might just get to be Chika’s hero.
Reflected in the window, under the moonlight, I saw my own bright smile.
And then, I brought the hatchet down.