#ch.02

Everyone responded to new things differently—it was a lesson that had been imparted to Toto when he was very young, but he had never seen the truth of those words quite so clearly as he did aboard this ship. As the newly-decorated Dot beckoned them all through the foyer, her guests dispersed, some still wearing frowns from the night before. Everyone responded to new things differently—so was this focus in their eyes? Did these slow steps forward come from the kind of excitement that was almost too much to bear? Toto could feel it too. His heart was drumming in his chest, and his glee was electric. The more he thought about the hesitation and the quiet of the passengers around him, the more he understood them. Anyone would be overwhelmed by what lay ahead; a flowing fountain, red trees, walls of paintings like Bal du moulin de la Galette and Nympheas—and all on the third floor of a cruise ship. With a toothy grin that announced his impatience, Toto rushed forward. He was through the gallery and out of sight in an instant, but the lively sound of his footsteps could still be heard.

- 

When someone came upon him in the Practice Room an hour later, Toto did not notice them right away. Music blared from the sound system, dense and punchy and several notches too loud—so loud that anyone who stepped inside those four walls would be able to feel the bass in their bones. In the centre of the room, Toto was a storm of energy, sharp and sweeping. He moved without pause, each motion snapping to the next with seamless elasticity. Toto danced with the kind of control that only came from experience, but there was a wildness in it, a spirit of freedom that could not be learned. The fire that moved Toto’s body was something that only a love to dance could achieve.

Hinged to the rhythm, Toto danced and danced, not stopping even when he locked eyes with his fellow passenger through the mirror. His coat billowed behind him as he spun around, and when he finally spoke, his voice managed to cut through the noise.

“Haha! Come dance with me!”

Toto danced over to the other guest, beckoning as if to reel them in by magnetic force. He gentled his movements just a little as he crept closer, and then a few steps away again; a wordless invitation to join in.

Contrary to what some might have assumed, the snack wrappers and fruit peels left haphazardly around the new gym floor were not the work of Valentina, but of one littering bodyguard. 

As he had mentioned in the trial room, Eita was hungry and had spent hours after Gugalanna’s execution gorging himself on snacks. There had been many to choose from, as most of his classmates did not seem to have an appetite—Eita had no idea why. 

He was finishing the last of a banana nut muffin as he stepped into the Golfing Simulator room. Eita’s face lit up at the opportunity to try something new—he had never played golf before, but he remembered seeing it on his father’s television a few times.  

After letting the muffin wrapper fall to the floor, Eita took up a golf club and readied his swing. With a swift tap, the ball rolled a few feet across the stretch of green. The flag marking the hole was a long way away, Eita noticed—he must have been playing this all wrong!

As he rode the ski lift, Sekai covered his eyes as he always did, both puppets blocking off the sight of the ground that drifted steadily further from his dangling feet. He dawdled on his way into Floor B, as if to prolong the inevitable, but the crowd that had gathered at the Break Room was hard to miss. His steps slowed until he was all but pulling himself forward in long, drawn out shuffles, his eyes wide and weary. A wall of backs and shoulders stood between Sekai and the doorway. He heard gasps and mutters, but one pained outcry pierced the rest. The puppeteer weaved around two classmates to see Tim at the front of the crowd, but it was the knife in his arm that he noticed first. 

“Wh . . . wh—?”  In the commotion that followed, Sekai was given a clear view of the Break Room.  “Nakama . . . -san . . . ?” He drifted forward, stopping just short of the open doorway. 

“Hey, hey! What’s nee-chan doing lyin’ around on the floor?”

Sekai stared ahead at Eri with slowly widening eyes, not even sparing a glance at Felix. He swayed unsteadily on the spot before crumpling to his knees. 

“Why . . . ? Why does this keep happening . . .?” Sekai brought his puppets close to his chest. Rather than panicked, his voice was dreary and defeated. In the corner of his eye, he saw someone take a step forward into the room. 

“W-wait–!” he cried out, weakly reaching out a hand. His voice was so quiet it could scarcely be heard. “You can’t go in there, you’ll . . . there are knives . . .” Sekai turned his attention to Tim before shuffling away from the Break Room, moving until the hallway wall came up behind him. He drew his knees up to his chin.  As the commotion swelled and the crowd began to disperse, Sekai slid sideways until he was sprawled across the floor, still tucked up against the wall so as to take up as little space as possible. 

A lot had happened to the students of Vault Mamori in the last day. They had been made to investigate a murder, made to witness the execution of their classmate, and made to watch a video that seemed personally designed for their despair. Yuta had seen it all through with an eerily placid expression. As he all but glided out of the trial room, the impression of indifference he left behind was likely not a favourable one. This uncaring air was not helped any by his decision to sculpt in the newly opened dance hall the following day. He had a small semblance of materials in his room, but decided to make himself available should anyone need anything from him. So far, his sculpting had gone uninterrupted. 

“Aah, a bit more off the side? My apologies.” 

Yuta had shaped a ball of clay into a distinctly human shape. Deftly, he moulded on pieces of clothing—shoes, a long coat, a necktie—all the while speaking to the sculpture in a buoyant tone unbefitting of his flat expression. “I wonder, is the coat too long? What do you think?”

Once the base was complete, Yuta began the detail work. He was so absorbed in crafting the sculpture that it had taken him a full ten seconds to realize that the door to the dance hall had opened.