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I think he was a classmate, Sugiyama... no, was it Sugita? I think I remember seeing him next to Inazawa—who appeared as a minor character in volume three of my autobiography—so I guess that makes him part of the drama club? ...Whoa, getting some weird signals.

He moved near the gym entrance, stopped for a moment, then slid toward the ball's predicted landing spot to catch it as it began to fall. Around then, most people had stopped paying attention. The boy tried to catch the ball with his arms curled inward, but... "......" it just hit the floor.

The gym was still filled with chatter and the squeak of gym shoes on the floor; for most people, nothing 'out of the ordinary' had registered yet.

At the entrance, which had been opened at some point without anyone noticing, stood someone who wasn't a student or a teacher.
Despite it being the rainy season, he wore long sleeves, and based on the frame beneath the hood he'd pulled up, it was a man.
Green shoes were slung over his shoulder, sharing the same drenched pattern as the man himself.
He had a large build with fairly broad shoulders. His posture was straight as if a ruler were held against his back, and he looked to be about 180 centimeters tall. The bangs peeking out from under the hood were light brown.
His lips were pressed together, drawn in a straight line, unopening as if exempt from breathing.
Come to think of it, a lot of people I know have good posture.
Though usually, such people end up turning from victim to perpetrator and disappearing from my life.

In the man's right hand was a long, thin object. It was covered by a crimson cloth, making the contents opaque, but it was hard to mistake for an umbrella.
His clothes and atmosphere didn't quite fit in at school, nor in society for that matter.

*Tap, tap, ta-ta-tatata,* the ball bounced in small hops.
The surrounding clamor was swallowed by the darkness the man's hood seemed to bring.

As if guided by the dripping rainwater, the man moved.
The cloth was whipped away, revealing— *tch* —
the long, thin object.
In that fleeting moment, I strained my eyes.
Watching, wary, enough to make my eyeballs feel like they'd flip backward.
In the man's hand was a rifle, the kind that looked like it could be used for hunting.
He adjusted his footing twice on the floor, finding a firm position.
The ball rolled across the floor.

He raised the rifle, his mouth still set in a straight line.
He shook his head once, flicking water from his hair, then...
The gun pointed toward the clueless people nearby—

The shocking first shot—

One girl in a group near the entrance was shot in the right thigh. She completed a full rotation before even screaming. Like a top spun incorrectly, it was an unsteady, almost apologetic rotation. She collapsed to the floor without breaking her fall, and only then—
A scream—no, a shriek. And keeping pace with it, bloodshed.

But more vivid than that, the sound of *something* ricocheting rapidly off the floor reached the backstage area first. Sugita, frozen right beside the girl, his voice trained in the drama club, also played a part in the distorted atmosphere of the scene.

A teacher, who'd been neglecting his class, burst out of the PE faculty room. But he stopped instantly, falling silent—ah, sorry, my info's delayed—the teacher was shot in the left leg and cried out in pain.
The chorus documenting the victims' raw feelings was now a duo.

Most students were still trapped in a world where time had stopped, unable to adjust. As far as I could see— "Hm?" Mayu, unable to witness the situation due to her position, tilted her head, while Nagase, reacting slightly faster than the other petrified students, had already lost strength in her legs and crumpled to the floor. She's got *some* tolerance for the 'abnormal,' huh, that one. Adapts quickly... For some reason, my mind got caught on that instead.

The man, possessing neither hesitation nor confusion by virtue of being the mastermind, fired again, guiding the girl writhing on the floor toward further localized dieting.
A piece of the substance composing the girl was easily gouged out, becoming a chunk of flesh making its solo debut into the outside world. Her shriek, no different from a boy's, denying reality echoed through the gym. That agony... I can't even describe it. Having never experienced a bullet piercing my body.

And then, time started moving again.
The situation was finally grasped, permeating the space.
In that instant, people divided along a clear line, like red and white or black and white, into passive and active.
Those whose legs froze, and those whose legs tried to live.
Those unable to move from the spot, and those who tried to flee the spot.
Naturally, the former were the majority; the actions of the minority were easy to follow by eye.

As if attacked by giant ants, people scrambled, trying to escape the nest.
A flight of quality over quantity, like the roles of insect and human reversed.
"'H-Hogyii,' maybe I should broadcast that from behind the scenes like the amateur radio club? I debated it for two seconds, but decided against it.
Still, that escape method isn't very smart.
They can't head for the main entrance, so they have to make another escape route.
Everyone must have thought the same thing.

There are four doors in the gym, but three of them aren't normally used; they're just for show. No one could charge the man with the rifle at the remaining, usual entrance.
So they lost their chance.
The gym windows are on the second floor, up the side stairs, and then the small ones lining the bottom of the walls.
But the lower ones are meshed to stop stray balls, so nothing larger than a small animal can pass through.
It's not a very large gym.
Their intended destinations are too obvious,
and they lack the leeway for animalistic curves, moving only in straight lines.

Shooting them must be terribly easy.

The man calmly sniped at those trying to gain distance. He seemed to be aiming for limbs, not directing the muzzle toward potentially fatal areas like the torso or head. ...Hmm.
He's used to it. Handling the gun, shooting people. Clearly, this isn't his first time.

Assuming that rifle is a hunting rifle, didn't you need a shotgun license for ten years before you could get one? It's just book knowledge, so I'm hazy on the details, but considering that, I doubt it's his own weapon. Which means carrying it without a license and firing it... No, wait, shooting people in Japan is illegal from the get-go, isn't it?
It's not like it's a human hunt. Well, I'm sure *he's* aware it's a crime.
Or maybe he considers his actions outside the scope of 'crime,' which would be even worse.
What does that silent attitude signify regarding the shooting, I wonder?

Each time someone was shot, the screams escalated. Along with the non-fatal stench of blood.
The man unreservedly shot students trying to flee into the equipment room or restrooms. After dealing with those heading that way, he paused, reached into his pocket with his left hand, and pulled out a key ring. He aimed it, along with the gun's muzzle, at the dazed male student... Sugita, I think it was. Then, with his chin and eyes, he indicated the equipment room and changing rooms. Wait... are those keys to the various rooms in the gym?
Slowly, tearfully obeying the perpetrator's command, Sugita finished locking the PE faculty room first.

Next, the equipment room where the vaulting horses and mats are stored. Good thing I decided against skipping class there just because it's dusty; a rare good judgment call on my part.
Besides the stairs to the second floor, a few foolish students ran to the remaining three exits. But since those doors aren't normally used, they obviously wouldn't open. Students who didn't realize this struggled, rattling the doors up and down, their efforts sounding brave at least.
If human strength alone could defeat a lock, the attacker would have surely taken some countermeasure beforehand. Given that he has the keys, he must have some level of planning. Judging by how calmly he's proceeding, this must be within his expectations.

While gently covering the mouth of Mayu, who was clinging to me, I adjusted our position and angle on the mat. To reduce the chance of the man at the entrance spotting us.
"*Mmmph, mmmph.*" Sighing, I held down the protesting, flailing Mayu, trying to keep quiet. To prevent us from being directly drawn into whatever was about to start. We were hidden behind the stage-wing curtain, treated as non-participants; we had to capitalize on this lucky break.

...Still, aren't we cursed or something?
It feels like the standard definitions of ordinary and extraordinary have been swapped for us.
The gunshots continued. But I wouldn't carelessly observe the scene.
Until the continuous sound stopped, I just 'played' with Mayu.
If anyone deserves to be shot dead without complaint, it's definitely us, huh?

The sound effects meant to destroy normalcy paused surprisingly quickly. Probably because among the sixty or so students, not that many actually tried to escape. He seemed to have finished processing them quickly.

Mayu and I, like insects, took care to move with sounds unlike human ones, shifting to the wall adjacent to the mats in the stage wing. From there, we could just glimpse the attacker at the gym entrance by peeking around the right edge, and it was a good spot where he was unlikely to notice us unless he paid extremely close attention. During the move, I no longer needed to cover Mayu's mouth. The sound of the rain could mask not only screams but our whispers as well. Besides, while the shooting was ongoing, I'd told Mayu, "I'll grant you like thirty wishes when this is over," adding, "So be quiet, okay? Promise." Her education was already complete. Mayu stayed quietly beside me, her eyes gleaming like a little girl's as she mulled over her wishes. Like a baby given a toy so it wouldn't feel lonely.
Well, whether Mayu and I will still be alive when this is over is debatable, though.

I moved the dark curtain slightly with my fingertips, exposing only the area around my left eye, trying to grasp the situation.

Nagase was still trembling at the edge of the court, same as before; seemed okay. She was frantically shaking her head left and right, clearly searching for something. I recognized what she was looking for, but I avoided facing reality by just thinking, "Hope you find it."
Because for me to find what Nagase was looking for, I'd need a mirror.

Also, Inazawa... something-or-other, from Mayu's class (hey, hey), was in the passive group and still unharmed. Now's the time for that "can't know until you try" spirit, go on a rampage, be everywhere at once... well, that's asking too much, but just like that one time, he's not one to take action, is he? Just kidding.
Inazawa was rushing over to an injured student near him, trying to offer aid.
No wonder we don't get along, I thought.

"...Ah." Come to think of it, I couldn't spot Fushimi's whereabouts from my position. I wonder if the notebook maniac from Mayu's class (my, my) is okay. She showed off a brand-new notebook to me the other day. Her boastful look was rather endearing, so I called her "Yuzuyuzu" three times, and she instantly used up six pages of the pristine white paper. I feel slightly guilty. Just kidding.
Anyway, putting that aside, she's the club president who nourishes her soul by consuming chicken, so she probably hasn't been damaged yet. At the same time, she has the face of someone destined for misfortune, so whether 'from now on' can take over from 'up until now' is uncertain. Though she wasn't actually injured in the incident two months ago either; maybe she has wickedly good luck.

Near the stairs in the corner of the gym leading to the second floor, quite a few people who'd struggled in terror lay scattered. Witnessing others nearby shot down for attempting the same action seemed to have sapped some students' will to move, so the number wasn't large. Several boys and girls had collapsed onto their behinds midway to the stairs, looking like they might start foaming at the mouth.

The students have suffered deep emotional scars... not that it's any of my concern.
But, well, pausing to observe the situation...
It somehow feels like... I might have to be the one to do something to change this situation.
No one's likely carrying that tool of civilization, the cell phone, during PE class. Well, the purpose of PE is to improve oneself as a tool, rather than relying solely on the power of civilization. That's fabricated, though. The only one likely to have one, the PE teacher, seems thoroughly incapacitated. Should I commend the planning in that regard?

...Alright, shall I finally face this problem I'd rather have nothing to do with?
I looked directly at the new criminal holding his position near the entrance.
The attacker took off his hood as if taking a breath, revealing his face without obstruction.
...He looked normal.
Like a pleasant young man you might find working at a local cafe, complaining about his hourly wage while making yakiudon. His cheeks were a bit gaunt, though. If he weren't holding a deadly weapon, he'd just be a trespasser. Obviously.
His outward appearance was ordinary, but he definitely gave off an unpleasant vibe. Goosebumps prickled my skin, and more than anything, the shape of his earnest-looking face exuded an impression strikingly similar to that stupid kidnapper who died years ago.
He had white earphones in, apparently committing this act as a side activity while listening to music. If he introduced himself as "a prep school student stressed from exams and suffering a nervous breakdown, here to shoot my future rival applicants," I could almost believe it.

Loading bullets, pulling at his wet clothes sticking to him with a grimace, the man banged the side of his fist against the door to gather everyone's attention. ...Wait, is that really necessary? I thought for a second, but then—ah, it's for the injured. Of course. For them, the pain in their bodies likely outweighs the terror before their eyes.

"Line up!" the man ordered the students, his voice easy to hear but with trailing ends to his words. His voice was high-pitched for a man, carrying a languor like someone who enjoys operating the remote with their toes.
The PE teacher looked shocked that his line had been stolen. Though his eyes were still bulging.
Repeating "I said line up," so everyone could understand, was also overflowing with kindness. Which is precisely why everyone was so openly terrified of him, feeling the hopeless distance between them.

No one tried to move. They exchanged glances with nearby classmates, speaking with their eyes.
This is bad, I feigned serious concern. But a conviction gnawed at the pit of my stomach.
That type of person, afflicted with a mental deformity, tends to be extremely selfish. One hundred percent, in fact.
And they often show a tendency to prefer instruction via hands-on violence before words.
The PE teacher shielding students got shot again.
—Even if that's a lie, it's a fact that the teacher, who had edged closer to the attacker's feet attempting even slight resistance, was now bouncing on the floor from two more of the attacker's bullets, reduced to mimicking a failed breakdance maneuver. Is that what they call "dancing with misfortune"? I couldn't help but stare, captivated. Though it's bad taste, obviously.
A new famous spot called the "Blood Pool Hell" was about to be born in front of the PE faculty room.
However, the example made of the naughty child who wouldn't listen was kept strictly at the 'kept alive but suffering' level. The PE teacher, though three of his four limbs were crushed, could still writhe like a bloody wheel; he wouldn't die.
Maybe, if we could discuss why the attacker left his right hand intact, we could become friends, I thought. What would I do then? I could almost hear imaginary viewers retorting.

"'If you don't want to end up like this, crawl here, even if you're injured—'" the attacker benevolently gave this awful instruction even to the opponent he'd defeated in a one-sided firefight. But that composure feels like something born purely from his opponent being defenseless.
He's probably the type who's put violence to sleep deep inside—like glass that would easily shatter itself if touched even once, enough to leave a fingerprint, then attack and intimidate with the shards.

At that, the students who had merely been cowering and those banging on the doors realized, not just in their minds but with their bodies, that obeying the dangerous individual was crucial for their own safety. Except for the PE teacher lying face down without even screaming, movement began.
Noise filled the gym once more. However, it was only the inorganic sound of footsteps, devoid of chatter.
Everyone assembled with far more agility than in any normal PE class.
The actions of the students closest to the attacker were precise, hurried by terror.
Those whose legs had been broken by gunfire couldn't walk on two feet and crawled, seeking the attacker's instruction. They wriggled across the floor with movements and speed like a cross between an inchworm and a pill bug. Additionally, their dragged, scraped wounds drew distorted blood lines on the gym's wooden floor.
Somehow, this reminded me of drawing the white lines for sports day; I must really be crazy. Full marks. Just kidding.

"Mii-kun, Mii-kun, Maa-chan has a problem—"
Maa-chan, who never hesitates to interrupt the mood even at times like this, pinched the flesh of my elbow and asked her question.
"What is it?" I asked, turning back to Mayu for the briefest moment before returning my gaze to the gym.
"I counted my wishes, and I have thirty-one... Oh, now it's thirty-two. What should I do?"
"Ah, well... Let's talk about it later, okay?"
"What kind of answer is that—" Mayu grumbled at my curtness, then finally seemed to notice the current situation. Following my instruction to 'be quiet,' she brought her mouth close to my ear and used a whisper, which made me want to pat her head and say "Good girl, good girl." Not even slightly kidding. She seems a bit more docile than before since I got out of the hospital.

"What's wrong? Is class over?" she asked, resting her chin on my shoulder and peeking into the gym. Seeing everyone starting to line up as if fitting onto the basketball court, she murmured her deduction, then licked my ear for good measure. I take back what I just said. And doesn't this kid even recognize the teacher's face?
...Whoa, not bad, Nagase. She's actually walking on her own two feet. Though she's half-crying, still shaking her head left and right, and nearly falling over repeatedly.
See? She doesn't need my support at all! A sense of accomplishment, and then loneliness, constricted my chest. That's a lie.

"Yeah... Looks like our school got chosen again to provide material for a local TV show."
Naturally, I kept my voice down too. Specifically, by having my larynx crushed and my nose pinched— "Hurts, Maa-chan."
"You're such a handful, aren't you~" What's with that smug look? What kind of help does she think she's providing?
Slipping into mild respiratory distress, I reassessed the situation with my oxygen-deprived brain.
It seems that on the extension of today's ordinary life, a worthless, ultimate reality has come to visit again. Treading a fine line between misuse and proper application, hunting rifle in hand.

...This incident. It feels strange for me to say this, currently being in the position of a bystander, but...
If all the students attacked that man together, this incident would already be over, wouldn't it?
The so-called human wave tactic. Comparing the number of bullets he can load with the number of people on our side, I can declare with certainty that the probability of being wiped out in a counterattack is zero. The perpetrator could fire maybe two or three shots.
Of course, the ones with a chance of dying from those bullets are those in the front line. Meaning, the ones who take the first step.
Therefore, this strategy is invalid. Other animals might adopt this plan.
Humans...
Humans sure do love taking the difficult path, don't they?

Just observing the danger as if it were someone else's problem. Now, how long can I stay uninvolved in this incident?
I hope it's over by lunch break—our time of rest (though not really).

Oh, spotted Yuzuyuzu in the crowd. The shadow on her expression doesn't quite match a citrus fruit, though. She doesn't seem injured, so it's surprisingly hard to imagine she'll ripen eventually. Quite troublesome, really.

"Okay, line up, line up—" the attacker tossed out instructions that, while fitting the rainy season, felt incongruously lukewarm for the situation. Since he used the gun in his gestures, his instructional ability was outstanding. His leadership, too, could be considered passing, if you overlook the emotional direction used as the string to bind people's hearts. So-called "domination."
My classmates clustered roughly in vertical lines before the attacker. About sixty in total, with a ratio of injured to uninjured around 1:2. If it were salt and sugar, would that be too sweet? A slightly mad thought floated up alongside.
After gathering, everyone's movements became sluggish, typical of indecisive students. Their hunched-over posture resembled slaves in stories, driven to labor without adequate food.

They were looking at each other's faces, trying to figure out how they should line up. And their gazes inevitably were drawn to the mirror-like glint of the muzzle. *[TN: The original text uses 鏡 (mirror), the meaning here is unclear, possibly metaphorical or referring to the gun's reflection.]* And finally, their eyes turned to the exhibit of fate: the PE teacher who had forgotten how to move.
They felt a deep-seated terror at the fact that he was alive, yet covered in blood. Because being dead but bloody doesn't involve suffering.

Eventually, though not ordered by height or name, the lineup was completed in the basic six rows used for joint PE classes. Perhaps because it wasn't perfectly orderly, looking at it from the side made a fog sprout in my head. That's a lie.
This order... if I had to say, maybe it's arranged from front to back by who values their own life the most? It's ironic that the girl shot first and Sugita, who was near her, are in the front row, expressing the preciousness of life with their entire beings.

"Alright, alright, good, good."
The attacker added three claps to his line, as if soothing animals.
Then, he removed only the left earphone.

"Uhm, first off, let me say," he began, lightly raising the rifle.
"I have no intention of inflicting pointless harm on any of you here."
A high-pitched voice, as if his voice change had completed a cycle and returned to boyhood, dominated the gym.
For a moment, everyone there was likely overcome with sheer astonishment, overriding the emotions dictated by their situation.
The PE teacher, whose status was descending to the reptilian level, probably wanted permission to drag the attacker into the guidance room for a simultaneous lecture and make-up lessons.
Was he declaring with a serious face, "Not *no* harm, but I'll do it if it's *beneficial* harm"?
This person seemed to have a well-established brand of nastiness bubbling up next to his blood vessels.
He seemed to blurt out something else after that, but it didn't reach us.

Next, the attacker opened the bag slung over his shoulder and turned it upside down.
A large quantity of rope flowed out of the bag in clumps.
After tossing aside the bag that had finished its job, the attacker gestured and spoke instructions to Sugita, as if continuing his turn on duty. I gather he's telling him to tie up the other students with those ropes. He doesn't seem foolish enough to overestimate his weapon and position by doing everything himself, thus inviting trouble.

Sugita seemed to say something, and the attacker bent down slightly. The attacker then whispered something too and pressed the gun's muzzle against Sugita's forehead. There was no hesitation in his movements. No sign of resolve *not* to kill, nor any resistance to killing—just a natural expression. Sugita's slumped shoulders and trembling limbs told the story that no choice remained.

Sugita was forced to participate in driving his classmates into danger with the ropes he was given. He bound their hands and feet tightly for self-preservation, carefully restricting their movements. If any leniency crept in, the mercy would vanish from the index finger resting on the trigger behind him.
Even the students being bound without resistance didn't dare openly express their resentment.