I can't tell her that Mikoto informed me about her; otherwise, she'll know I'm investigating her. Or worse, she might target Mikoto for leaking her personal information.
"Let's be honest, the name of an exchange student isn't exactly confidential. I accessed the teachers' updated attendance lists," I reply.
Finally, she removes the sole of her shoe from my head, and I can get up.
The absence of that weight is a massive relief. For a few seconds, I thought I was going to die under such pressure.
"My real name on the attendance list? Impossible. However, continue explaining your intentions," she says.
She won't even give me time to catch my breath? Fine, I'll get straight to the point.
"As I was saying, initially, I sought your support. I have the impression you know more about what this game entails. Besides, you seemed like an excellent choice to form an alliance. But looking at the situation closely, it's quite a coincidence that all this chaos began shortly after your arrival. And then there's the firearm." I pause, locking eyes with her. "Tell me, are you responsible for the recent murders? Or do you have any connection to this game?"
"I told you to explain your intentions. I don't recall permitting you to ask me any questions," she retorts, glaring at me.
She can't be serious. Am I going to be reprimanded for every sentence? What's wrong with this girl? What's so bad about including a question in my explanation?
"I apologize. That was my explanation. However, depending on your intentions within this game, my purpose for seeking you out becomes meaningless. That's why I questioned you. So, will you grant me permission to ask?"
"Fine. I understand your supposed objective, but that doesn't mean I believe it. As for your question: yes and no."
"What do you mean? Are you partially involved?"
"Indeed, I can't deny being an assassin. The gun in my hand proves that. However, a professional assassin would never do such sloppy work. So don't ever compare me to that amateur again. As for the game... I'm not entirely sure about my involvement."
A professional assassin? I feel like I should be more surprised, but no profession in the world fits her personality better.
"Not sure?"
"'I don't remember' might be a more accurate phrase. It's too long a story to explain now, and I have no intention of delving into it. For now, as you can see, I'm a player. That's all I can say."
The more I learn about the nature of this game, the more confusing it becomes. I don't think I'll get any deeper information from her for now.
"So, now that we've laid our cards on the table, what do you intend to do with me? Since you can't kill me, will I be your prisoner of war?" I partially turn to see her reaction.
"Good question. I don't have a protocol for circumstances like this." She places her finger on her lips, thinking for a few seconds. "Johann, right? You came to propose some kind of alliance, correct? Very well, perhaps it would benefit me to have one of the other two players under my control."
"Oh, what an honor that you remember my name," I say, turning fully to face her.
She looks back at me with a hint of surprise.
"Your face is filthy. Maybe I should call you 'Mistkerl' instead."
Dung-face, huh? Now I'm being insulted in my native language? And what does she expect after grinding my face into the floor?
Strangely, it feels familiar. Has someone called me that before? It's as if I've heard it ages ago and recently as well. The more our dialogue develops, the stronger the feeling that I know her from somewhere.
Wouldn't it be surprising if we were childhood friends? It's a shame that's not the case; I can easily remember the names of all my childhood friends. Of course, they were all from a negative upbringing.
I try to recall my childhood in Germany, but I don't remember hearing that insult in my past. Still, this isn't something to dwell on right now; more urgent matters must be addressed.
"So, can we officially say we're allies?" I ask, feeling somewhat relieved.
She sits on a table in the storage room, crosses her legs, and thinks for a few seconds before responding reluctantly.
"Yes, but I need to clarify a few points. If I sense any betrayal on your part, I'll kill you. If you withhold any crucial information, I'll kill you. And if it's convenient to abandon you, I won't hesitate to do so."
What kind of conditions are these?
"Doesn't that seem a bit one-sided to you?"
"You came to me, so you're subject to the consequences of following me here. Those are my terms. Take it or leave it."
"Still, can something so one-sided even be called an alliance?"
"If you find the word unsuitable, it doesn't matter. Call it whatever you like. Submission, for example."
At least it's semantically accurate. Well, I guess I have no choice. As she said, I stepped into a one-way street when I entered this den. It's better to become a temporary lackey than a prisoner.
"Fine, I accept. After all, you can't kill me anyway, so it's not such a bad deal."
"'Kill' is just a figure of speech. During my work as an assassin, there were victims I needed valuable information from before disposing of them. I resorted to methods that would make you beg the heavens to allow me to kill you."
The more I talk to her, the more a chill runs down my spine.
"With our alliance established, can I assume we have the same goals?"
"If by that you mean surviving the game, then yes. To do that, we need to eliminate the killer as a potential threat and, of course, get rid of the third player somehow."
Good point. We still need to find the third player. I hope it turns out to be the killer, as it would be tragic if it's another innocent person like me, dragged into this game against their will and needing to be eliminated.
"Do you already have a strategy in mind?" I ask.
"I did, but the game's dynamics have changed with your appearance. I need to rethink my plans."
Finally, I agree with her conditions for cooperation and share everything I've discovered in recent days, particularly Takashi's suspicious behavior, which has led me to suspect he might be the killer.
6:17 PM
We're sitting in awkward silence as the topic I came to discuss has been exhausted quickly. Should I say something? I glance at her, and she continues tinkering with her gun and ammunition as if my presence is irrelevant.
I've never had the chance to learn how to use a revolver, but I can tell she's incredibly skilled with such equipment.
I spot a half-open suitcase near her weapons. However, its contents are quite different from what one would expect of an assassin. A skirt and tights? Well, actually, that's reasonable. Exchange students are expected to wear school uniforms.
"What are you snooping at?" she finally breaks the silence after almost an hour of no interaction.
"Nothing. I just caught a glimpse of your luggage," I reply nervously. "But since you brought it up, is there any particular reason you've refused to wear the school's female uniform?" I ask.
"Isn't it obvious? I'd feel ridiculous wearing that. Besides, pants are more comfortable and practical for movement," she replies curtly.
In most Western schools, pants are the standard uniform for both genders. At first, I thought it might be a matter of habit. Now, I see she prefers a more masculine look, which is consistent with her personality. Only her long blonde hair is an exception.
Her extraordinary feminine beauty contrasts amusingly with the masculine aura she exudes. It's literally the personality of an ogre manifested in the body of a princess.
I decide to comment to break the tense atmosphere.
"If the idea was to blend into the school, maybe you should try the standard uniform. Why not give it a shot? I think it would suit you well," I suggest.
She stops loading her revolver, glares at me hostilely, and then hesitates. I almost feel like she's about to pounce on me like a lion locking eyes on a poor antelope but ultimately returns to her task.
I let my impulse get the better of me. I definitely don't want my face pressed into the dusty floor again.
Then something surprising happens. A loud bang echoes through the school.
Was that a gunshot?
Ailiss's eyes widen. Without saying a word, she runs out of the hideout, and of course, I follow her. I struggle to navigate the labyrinth of debris but manage to keep up with her.
However, she's not heading toward the sound of the shot but in the opposite direction.
Where is she going? Well, follow first and ask questions later.
We arrive at the far end of the school courtyard.
"What are you doing? I thought you were heading to the source of the gunshot," I ask.
"What would I gain from going there? Are you trying to fall into a trap? What matters to me is not the consequences of the shot but its possible cause," she replies.
She lifts a loose tile from the sidewalk and glares angrily.
"Scheiße!" she exclaims, irritated.
What happened?
I approach to see what's under the loose tile.
There's nothing. Maybe that's the problem.
"Those bastards stole my machine gun," she mutters, staring at the empty space.