Small Fandom Big Bang, Battle Royale 2, Collatoral Damage, Part 4/4
Later, much later, Nao would swear that it seemed to take forever.
In reality it didn’t take long, not at all, before Shugo got better, though admittedly it took months before he was strong enough to run around again. It didn’t seem, in any way, that Shugo would ever play rugby again, but then which one of them would ever want to? For a while however, a few days, it seemed like he would die, it seemed that - despite the fact that they’d somehow survived and were safe - the game would still claim one last victim. It seemed strange to think like that but Nao suspects that’s because there’s only supposed to be one survivor, so nobody ever faces something like this.
Later, when they make it to her hiding place, Noriko will tell her about Kawada.
She’d tell her of her good friend who’d made sure she and Shuya survived, who got them off the island, who almost made it but died anyway. And Nao, who’d been so glad they got this far, became afraid that despite him getting better Shugo - or one of the others - would die anyway. A thought that didn’t even make sense, but then nothing had for the last few days so why should this be different? But Shugo had gotten better and they’d all rejoiced, especially when he started to run around again, and nobody mentioned that Taku and Shibaki might be dead already, even if that knowledge was in all their minds.
After they’d gotten to safety and Shugo had recovered they made an inventory of what they owned.
It wasn’t much, it never could be, for all their stuff was still in their bags which - unless they’d been thrown away - could still be found on the bus or scattered across rooms they would never see again. And Nao, despite not wanting to think about it, acknowledges that they’ve probably thrown everything away or, if they can bring up that much compassion, given it to the family that was left behind. All that was left in the end was Asuka’s notebook, Shibaki’s knife and a handful of other stuff nobody really wanted to talk about, stuff they were all amazed could still be found in their pockets even after all the running around.
That was what was left of all their lives; it was nothing, just like she suspects they’re viewed now.
Like nothing.
After they’d done that, a few days or maybe more after, Haruya had somehow made it to a computer and spend some time printing out all the pictures he could find. A long time ago someone, she can’t remember who - and that’s the thing really there are things Nao remembers but could never say who did them or things she can’t remember at all because they didn’t seem important at the time, and really they weren’t not then - made a website. Nao had loved the pictures of her and Asuka and the rugby team picture - they looked so innocent in it, so full of life, like they had a whole future in front of them - and she knew that Taku, when he came back, would be grateful for the pictures of Shintaro.
Later, weeks later when they’re all together again, Haruya would go back to the site only to find it gone.
Someone had deleted it, gotten rid of all the evidence that any of them ever existed. And she wonders, briefly, if this is what they do, if this is how it’s done, if after the game ends and the winner is announced there is someone who spends their time getting rid of all the evidence. Perhaps this is the way for it to end, perhaps this is the only way they can go on, this way they can pretend they had never been there, that they’d never lived. This way they - the government - can pretend like the death toll isn’t high, they can pretend they didn’t ruin lives.
It isn’t fair, not at all, but then nobody promised life would be.
*~*
Nao had been afraid she would end up forgetting them.
That one day she’d wake up and her classmates would be nothing but a blur, a memory from long ago, a story she could remember but of which the details had long since faded. She’d never been afraid to forget her friends, because they’d been such a big part of her, but the others, the ones that had been there but had never really been her friends. She doesn’t want to forget them, not any of them because they all deserved to be remembered, but she is afraid she will. Not how it all ended, not the terror and the death, not even the class but the people in it.
Someday they might be nothing but victims, one of the many who died in the chaos.
It’s already a part of her life, she remembers them all but she can’t figure out who died when, who went first and how many suffered. Before the island, when she can actually tell who died when, only Asuka stands out, crying out her name in terror - and in the dark of night she can still hear her scream. Asuka was, and always would be, her best friend so it makes somewhat sense, but the others had mattered to, and it seemed so wrong that she couldn’t even tell how they died.
Noriko tells her not to worry, that because of how it all ended she’ll never forget.
She tells her, briefly and only once that she still remembers them, still remembers all of them, even those that hadn’t been nice. She speaks of the crushing feeling - pain and guilt and loss - when her teacher, Kitano - and Nao wonders, idly, if he’s related to Shiori, before she realizes that that doesn’t even matter - read of the names of those that had died. And Nao could remember how she felt that one time that Takeuchi read of the names of those she had once known, so filled with life, and she’s grateful it had only happened once.
Noriko’s kind words help somewhat but they don’t make the feeling go away.
They’re all afraid of that, this she knows, the once who’d been her friends in the before - Haruya and Shugo - and the ones who really hadn’t been her friends but whom she’d at least liked - Risa, Kyoko and Mayu. They looked at her, for some reason, to lead them, as if they thought she knew what to do next - besides waiting for Taku to return - and she thinks part of it is because once upon a time, not even that long ago, they’d elected her class president. It doesn’t matter she supposes, none of them would know what to do and if they wanted to listen to her well it was better than nothing.
All they can do is wait, she tells them, wait and hope that Taku - and perhaps some of the others - will return.
They’ll wait forever, even if they know he’s not coming, because they need to.
One dark night, when the fear of forgetting takes over, she takes out Asuka’s notebook, flips to the last pages - far past Asuka’s last letter for one day Nao will write a response, even if she knows it will never be read - and writes down the names of all her classmates. Next to each name she writes something she knows about them, even if it’s a ridiculous fact, so that even if she one day forgets she can open the notebook and even if she’s forgotten everything else she’ll remember one thing.
It’s not much, it’s not enough, but then nothing will ever be.
Years later, after they’ve rebuilt their lives, Nao will spend weeks writing everything down, they will all write it all down. Everything they can remember, small anecdotes, tests, teachers and fights, everything; they’ll write them down, even if their memories contradict each other. It will be the history, the story; of what the Shikinatorido Junior High School Class 3B had once been, filled with nostalgia and hints of what they could have been. They’ll all be in it, even if it’s a story about several students together, because she refuses to leave someone out, to leave anyone, not even Takeuchi, forgotten.
Kyoko is the one who says they should stop with the memory of getting on the bus.
But Taku, who’d never ever talked of how it all ended, who’d never spoken of how their friends died - except once and only to Haruya who’d wanted to know how his best friend, (and how his sister, but he’d asked Shuya for that story), died - had said they should write down everything down, even the things they didn’t want to remember. Because they deserved it, they deserved to be remembered; even the way they died should not be forgotten. And so they sat, around a campfire, trying to make sense of the chaos that followed, trying to figure out how it all went down.
They didn’t speak of the wild seven, beyond acknowledging that they were there.
They didn’t know how, despite the passage of the years they still didn’t know how to even approach that, how to even describe their feelings for any of them, not even Haruya could say how he felt about his sister at the end. She doesn’t hate them, she suspects none of them really do but she’s never asked so she can never be sure, and she’s never - nor will she ever - forgiven them. Not even Shuya who had, at the end, made sure that Taku had survived, not even years later when she counted him, strangely, as her friend.
She, they, know he doesn’t expect forgiveness.
They never speak about it again after they’re done, the pages of the manuscript are hidden away, they’ll never forget but after writing it all down they might be able to move on. It isn’t over, it never will be, the games, despite all that happened, still continue. One would hope that everything that happened would be enough to put a stop to it but nothing ever does, every year a class is chosen, every year one will join them in their hiding place. Nao and the others try to help them, try to guide them through their new lives, but in the end there is not much she, or anyone else, can do about it.
She knows that in the end they - Junior High School Class 3B - are the odd ones out.
They’re the ones who ended up in the game yet aren’t a part of it; they’re the only ones who survived the madness without killing each other. They’d never lost friendships or turned on each other like others did both before and after them.
They’re the lucky ones.
She doesn’t feel that way, not at all.
*~*
‘We’re all here now. We all wanted someone to know.’
*~*
In the end none of it even mattered.
Not what they had gone through to get here, not what had been done to them, nothing. And that, Nao figures, is the worst part of their story, the worst of everything that happened to them. That crushing knowledge, even if they try to deny it, that it doesn’t matter, that they don’t matter. Not Shintaro, standing up for what he believed in, nor Kazumi, tied to the wrong person; not Asuka, dying in the chaos, nor Kurosawa who had been so broken, so shattered, so destroyed at the end of it all. Not Shiori, who had died defending a cause she probably didn’t even believe in, and definitely not the ones who actually survived,
None of them matter, perhaps they never did.
Because at the end of the day, after all is said and done, nobody is ever going to remember them. They’ll remember Nanahara Shuya and the Wild Seven, they’ll remember Tokyo and the games and the video; they’ll speak of the things the Wild Seven did and the things that had happened to them. They’ll speak of Battle Royale, of how it started, of the classes that played, of the winners that went crazy and started a war against all adults. They’ll speak of bombs and necklaces; they’ll speak of murder and death.
But nobody is ever going to speak of them.
They’re not even going to think about the unfortunate class that got caught in the middle, most of their names lost in the chaos.
Because when it’s all over, when the story has finally ended, they are nothing.
In the end no matter who tells the story, from whichever point of view it will be told, it will still be the same. Whether they tell it - the victims the ones who somehow managed to survive - or the government - who started the entire thing in the first place - or the families that got left behind. Or even the ordinary people who would be told what had happened but never really know. The story would still be the same.
They’d still be nothing.
At the end, when it’s all said and done, she, her classmates and friends, would never be anything more than what they were. Nothing more than an unforeseen consequence.
Collateral damage.
An (almost) acceptable risk.