Endless Thirst: Above 4

OCTOBER 10, 2022 ~ CTRLDEVIL

Three years ago 1

He stood, and averted his eyes from the graffiti on his desk.
Already the bell had rung indicating that homeroom time was over and that it was time to leave school. It was a sound of liberation.
He grabbed his bag and left the classroom as quickly as possible. Without incident, he stepped out into the hallway. Naturally, his back stiffened. He held his breath on reflex. With his head hanging down, he walked along the side of the corridor.
Sometimes they teased him for looking like a dirty, homeless person. He, too, knew he was unsightly. But it had become a part of him, down to his very core. In the past few months, he had been completely ground down into the dirt. The stares in the hallway hurt. And whether they were looking at him or not, it seemed people were always beating the shit out of him. They beat him when he so much as crossed paths with them. They kicked him. They hit him. He was always on guard for it.
And when nothing happened, he would breathe a sigh of relief, and then he would be overcome with exhaustion. Such was his daily routine.

This marked the end of another day in hell. But when would it stop? The reddish sun shone on the entrance to the school. He stood there and sighed deeply.
His sneakers weren’t in his shoe box. A feeling of tedium and gloom crept into his mind. He looked in every direction. Outside the doorway, under the steps, and so on. He kept looking, thinking someone just tossed them somewhere on a whim.
A group of girls, one by one, began to filter through the entrance hall. They were laughing and frolicking, as if there was some kind of inside joke. Soon there were more and more people, and he wandered through them. He checked in nearby restrooms and classrooms. Still no luck. By then, the thought of giving up and walking home with no shoes crossed his mind. But he had to stop and think of what would happen next. He didn’t want his parents to find out anything unnecessary. They must have thought that he was still a junior high school student enjoying a normal school life.

The girls on their way out of school looked at him suspiciously as he stood there, at a loss. Embarrassed, he turned his head to the side. Not knowing where to go, he saw a group of people laughing at him out of the corner of his eye.
These people were from his class, once. He couldn’t remember all of their names because he had just switched classes in April. A was a big guy with long hair, and B was a fat guy with a half-cropped head who seemed to be in the judo club. Then there was Shimazu, who, unlike the two men with the smirks on their faces, was glaring at him with a fierce, upturned look in his eyes. “Give me back my shoes,” the boy told them. A beckoned to him.
“Come here. Where do you think you’re going all of a sudden?”
“Give them back.”
B was picking at his earwax. Shimazu spoke as if he was ready to puke his guts out.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man.”
“You’re messing with me… you just tried to stop me from leaving.” As he stood still for a moment, A pointed with his chin to some classroom. An empty workroom.
He shook his head.
“C’mon, maybe you’ll find them? Don’t be such a pussy, hurry up.”
The three of them quickly walked to the workroom. B turned his head over his shoulder and grinned broadly at the boy. His legs had no choice but to move.
“If you don’t follow suit, it’s gonna be the incinerator…”
What they did to those old beat-up sneakers didn’t matter at this point. Regardless, going home in just socks would be tough. The three of them entered the workshop.

B barked into his ear. His breath stank.
“You must have brought it, right?”
He did not answer and remained silent. There was no way he could have said a word, and his neck was locked in a vise so tightly that he could not resist. His consciousness was crystal clear, and he felt as if he were on the verge of spewing out the contents of his stomach.

“Well?!”
B barked in his ear. There was a smell that one could only assume was rotting gums. The tension around his neck loosened. Coughing, he fell to his knees on the floor. His uniform was stained white from shoulder to toe with dust. The wallet in his hip pocket was pulled out. He moved his arms to get it back, only to have it fly out of his hands. However, the wallet was almost immediately thrown back with a click of the tongue. Inside it was nothing but coins.
A stepped on his thigh. He shook his head.
“So you think that’s good enough?” B questioned him. He was serious. There was not a shred of guilt in his voice. It was the voice of someone who firmly believed in his own judgment.
Shimazu was staring down at him. His eyes were glistening, as if they had been anointed with oil. He knew what it meant. All he could sense was pure hatred, without scorn or mockery.
“Traitor…” he muttered, in a low voice. Then he started to repeat those words that had become a theme of his life.

“You think you could just walk out on your own and… quit without any kind of goodbye?”
The boy could only keep shaking his head.
“I told the manager a long time ago that I was leaving.”
“Shut up.”
“I──”
“Shut up.”
Shimazu growled low and looked around as if he were examining the boy’s body. And then it was time for another theme.
“Your hair’s gotten longer.”
He reached out and ran his fingers through his bangs.
“You’ve gotten kind of girly, haven’t you? Pansy.”
His other hand touched his cheek, and the other two started to laugh. Shimazu’s cheeks twitched, and he laughed too.
For the past two years, that sickening smile has been a daily sight for him. He, being himself, had almost replaced the person in question’s sight, the so-called Shimazu referred to. Shimazu moved his face closer. His breath landed on his face.
“I don’t want your money. How about you just die instead? Chase that pansy’s ass in the afterlife.” The three burst into laughter again.
As he spoke of that guy, his face flashed through the boy’s mind.
His cheeks were so white that you could almost see his veins through them. And, just like a girl after school, his lips were so bright red that one had to guess he had put lipstick on them. It was the well-dressed face of Seiichi Ogata, who had died after stirring up all the boys’ ardor in the darkness.
Both legs, which should have been weak, were kicking the floor. Folding deeply at the waist, he slammed headfirst into Shimazu’s stomach like a rhinoceros. The hard buttons of his uniform hit his forehead, and he was pierced by a pain that made tears well up in his eyes. Shimazu let out a short yelp and winced as he clutched his stomach.
He looked at the scene in dismay. Stunned by what he had done, he wondered whether he should apologize to them or run away as fast as he could. In the end, he was frozen in place, unable to do anything.
He put his hand on his forehead. There was a small smear of blood on his palm. The wound on his forehead was small, he hoped. The faces of his homeroom teacher, who would look at him awkwardly, and that of his parents, whose expressions would harden as they tried to question him, flashed across his mind.

“What the hell are you doing?!”
“You fucker!”
A and B shouted at the same time. They said it as if they were trying to scold him, but their faces were full of surprise and impatience, as if they had been betrayed or hurt by something. They looked as if they had been bitten by a cat or a puppy. There was sadness on their faces.

B pinned him down with overwhelming force. As he was unable to move, A swung his fist at him with a furious red face. There was no more room to move, and the punch made a cracking sound as it connected with his cheeks and forehead. His lips, cut by his teeth, ached as if they were burning.
The taste of blood like rusty metal filled his mouth, his cheekbones burning hot from the impact.　And then Shimazu. His face was twisted up like a wraith who had crawled out of hell.　Shimazu did not hit him. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out.
“I’m gonna kill your ass.”
A silver, feather-like object popped out of his hand. When he realized it was a switchblade, it was as if he had just been put on the executioner’s table. A’s eyes widened in astonishment. The force of the clasp loosened a little.
“Oi…” B’s despondent voice came from behind him. Shimazu’s hand holding the knife was trembling slightly. It seemed like he was serious. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

But Shimazu clicked his tongue and quickly folded the knife back into his pocket. The door opened and a gray-haired teacher entered the classroom. He stood there as if startled and turned his eyes to look at the bloodied boy.
Somehow, he thought he caught a glimpse of an expression of regret on his face.
“What the hell are you guys doing?”
“Not much.” A’s expression disappeared.
“We haven’t done nothin’.” B’s voice changed from cheerful to flat. It was the kind of eerie tone that adults feared.
That was enough. The teacher was no longer looking at him. Shimazu was glaring in the boy’s direction, as if to say, ‘Say something and I’ll kill you!’
“Hurry up and go home.” With that, the teacher retreated. Even closed the door properly.
B exhaled the breath he had been holding. “Wasn’t that trouble? Did he see us?”
“It’s no big deal, probably.” A’s face stiffened. Shimazu looked again at the blade of the knife, and A shook his head.
“That’s enough. Just put it away for now.”
Shimazu raised the knife to the boy’s eye level. As if fascinated, he brought the blade close to his cheek. A’s voice raised.
“Oi! That’s enough!”
Breathing hard, he let go and folded the blade regretfully. He growled, low like a badly trained dog.
“You traitor…”
“You probably don’t even remember our names, do you, ex-ace?” B said, as if he were hanging onto that detail. “Just in case this turns into a sticky situation later.”
“Ah─”
The air seemed to have emptied. His body, which had been pinned down, was released and he fell to the floor. The heat in his cheeks and lips, the pain in the back of his nose, and his breathlessness were all too much to bear. There was blood on the collar of his shirt. He was afraid to look in the mirror later.
“Don’t forget to bring it. Next time, if you don’t have 10 thousand yen in your wallet, I’ll kill you.”
A and B’s footsteps moved away. Shimazu leaned over and spat on him. He spat onto his uniform; which made shame slide down his spine.

After they left the room laughing, he stood up slowly, brushing the white dust off his uniform. Then he wiped the saliva off his shirt. There was no guarantee that someone would walk in on him like before. In that case, he didn’t even know how to act, anymore. He let out a sigh so deep that the air in his lungs drained out of his body without his intention.

His sneakers had been left next to the teacher’s table. They were torn up so much that one could see them from a distance, and the cotton inside was exposed. The wounds were all aching persistently, so much that he thought blood would start to pour out at any moment. He picked up his sneakers. It was like he was holding a dead puppy.
He left for the hallway. A few girls passed right in front of him. They broke off the lively conversation they had been having and walked quickly away. Just like that teacher, they looked as though they had seen something bad. He threw his sneakers into the trash can in the hallway. They were not something he could wear, and there was no way he could take them home.

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With each step, blood dripped from his nose and onto the floor. He didn’t want to be called out to by anyone. Although it was hard to believe that there would be anyone who would be interested in talking to him anyway.
Walking out of the classroom, he headed to the opposite side of the building. He wanted to go somewhere where no one knew him. When he found running water in the hallway, he washed his face. The cold water felt good against his hot, burning skin.

He felt heat rise to his eyes and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Tears. Don’t! Don’t come out, he mumbled to himself. Please don’t put me through any more misery. He prayed, he wished, but they kept trying to get into his nose and mouth.
The water slapped against his face repeatedly. Desperately, he took deep breaths, trying to somehow regain his composure. As his head lay still, he suddenly saw his face.
Just like he was now, he was washing his face under the tap. It was the face of Ogata, who was in the same class with him. That’s right. There he was then, his eyes bright red, banging his fist on the faucet. “Damn it,” he kept repeating, his red lips trembling.
“Damn it… damn it…”

It was many months ago. It was late, well past dusk, after practice, he thought. He had just come back in to pick up something he had forgotten from the classroom when he saw him.
He was pounding his fist like a hammer and shaking the water pipe. The knuckles of his hand were splitting and blood was mingling with the flowing water. Ogata noticed him just watching in silence and embarrassedly ducked his head. He looked ambiguous, as though he could have been crying or laughing.
“I’m sorry you had to see something so unpleasant.”
His reaction was no different from that of Ogata’s, who looked at him with an ‘oh shit’ look on his face. He walked past the other without saying a word.

Why did he get so riled up when he heard Ogata’s name? It was the first time in his life that he had ever been violent like that. He resembled some hot-blooded protagonist, mad over an insult to a friend. Embarrassed, he splashed water on his face again.
He had only been in the same classroom with him, breathing the same air. If he were to say that they were friends, Ogata would surely come crawling out of his grave and try to question him.
　He pulled the back of his head up out of the running water. Droplets of water dripped from the long hair on his head, soaking his shoulders. It seemed that the fits of tears had finally subsided. That didn’t make it any easier. Images of their lecherous smiles, the graffiti, and ripped sneakers kept flickering back and forth, threatening to bring tears to his eyes.
He looked out the window. On the field, the members of the club that he used to be in were playing catch for warming up.
Some were throwing the baseball to each other like shooting stars. Others, perhaps tired, were drawing parabolic lines with broken form. Soon Shimazu would be ready, eager to join them.

In the spring, there were some new, young faces in the club, probably due to the arrival of the first-year students. However, most of them were familiar faces. It would not be strange to call them friends.
He could watch no longer. Wringing out his handkerchief, he gripped his wet hair and patted it dry.
Suddenly, something soft fell on the nape of his neck. Reflexively, he braced himself and turned around. A blue sports towel peeled away from his shoulders, and landed on the floor. Standing there was a girl with a blank look on her face. The face… he knew it. But he couldn’t think of her name at once.
“…What?”
A trembling voice came out of his mouth. Why now, of all times, did he have to make such a sound? With a feeling of heat burning through his face, he turned his head to the side. He was completely frightened.

“Here, use it.”
She picked up the towel that had fallen and handed it to him. At last he remembered her name. It was Kanako Fujishima. They had been in the same class in the second year. If it had not been her, the name would never have come to him so quickly.

“T… Thanks.”
As he hurried to reach out and pick up the towel, he looked at her face, which he hadn’t seen in a long time. And how spellbindingly beautiful it was. Rounded, delicate eyebrows. Light brown eyes, like candies spun from honey. Small, round cheeks and a slightly pointy chin. Her body was so thin that it even looked a little bony. She was taller than him. You would never guess that she was in junior high school.
She was the type of girl that gave a long lasting impression. Maybe it was just a prejudice, but he always thought that girls were creatures that acted in groups, especially at school. He had heard from his cousin, a college student, that they would feel insecure otherwise. That made him easily nod his head in understanding. After all, being alone is the worst for many reasons.

Despite that, she was alone most of the time. During break or after school, she was either reading a book or a comic book without trying to join a circle of people, or walking who knows where. To him, she looked like an adult who had mistakenly jumped into a group of boys and girls.
“I’ll lend it to you,” she said, then turned away.
“Wait, hang on!”
“Hm?”
“…Why?”
She zipped up the bag she was carrying and lifted her eyebrows as if he had just asked the most obvious question in the universe.
“You were soaking wet. It’s a shame I don’t have any bandages. You should go to the hospital soon. If you leave it alone, the wound might get infected.”
Then she pointed to the area around his forehead. True, that all that did seem like common sense. He could only nod his head.
“Yeah, but…”
“If blood gets on it, don’t worry about giving it back.”
“…Oh, um, okay.” Frustrated by the inability to engage in a proper conversation, he wiped his wet face with the towel.
“See you.”

Through his now clearer vision, he saw her smiling faintly. Instantly, his breath caught in his throat. He could do nothing but watch her silently as she walked away. If he had tried to say something, he was afraid he would have made an even bigger fool of himself.
He looked quietly into the mirror. How awful. Dried blood was caked from his nose to his lips. One cheek was swollen and red like an overripe peach. His eyes were red and moist. With a deep sigh, he shook his head. Maybe I look a little like Ogata. Thinking so, he looked at his own face, but he was convinced that he had made a terrible mistake.
Ogata, who died, was not a friend or enemy of his.
But what was he to Kanako Fujishima? Friend, companion, lover… what kind of words would be used to describe them?
He saw them, once. They were walking together in front of Ikebukuro station on a holiday. That time, she had an innocent smile on her face. It wasn’t the bored, expressionless face she wore at school.
He pressed the towel against his head. It had a sweet scent, different from that of ordinary laundry detergent. As he wiped his hair, he thought back again and again to that smile she had shown Ogata.

 

T/N:
Shimazu refers to the protagonist as okama (オカマ), which is a derogatory slang for male homosexuals, but because of the various words it can be translated into that shouldn’t really be typed out, it became “pansy”

the reason for the font change is because in the book:

I can’t change the font, so it ended up like this.

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