“And?”
“No one else can die. That includes Kenji.” His voice was flat, his gaze fixed on the wall.
I pushed myself up on my elbows, studying him. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. Sensing my gaze, he turned slightly to look at me. He looked exhausted.
“I mean it,” he said, quieter now. “The odds are too great now. We all have an equal one-in-three chance of being the one to go. It’s better if we all survive the next two challenges. If we all survive, it forces Chef Sakamoto’s hand to pick a winner. The two that aren’t picked walk away with their lives.”
I couldn’t argue with the logic. The alternative was to gamble with our lives.
Jiro reached down and took one of my feet in his hand, massaging it absentmindedly, just like he used to when we were dating. His thumb pressed into the arch of my foot, firm but soothing, and despite myself, I felt my muscles relax.
He wasn’t looking at me; his focus remained on the wall, and his expression was unreadable. His hands were moving on memory alone.
“I’ve thought this through from every angle,” he continued in a low voice. “This is the only way forward.”
Even though I could hear Jiro, I was fixated on his massaging my foot. It was so familiar that I didn’t know what to do for a moment. Should I pull away? Make a joke? Or just let it happen?
But more importantly, why did this massage make me feel vastly different from the one Kenji had given me?
In the end, I let it happen. Maybe I needed the comfort, or perhaps I just wanted to pretend, for a fleeting second, that things between us were still simple.
“That’s a radical solution,” I said finally. “Especially since none of us have been able to predict a challenge.”
“It is,” he admitted. “But the alternative is taking your chances with dying.”
“But are the odds really equal?” I pressed. “It’s not just chance, is it? These challenges test skill, cunning…and maybe something else we don’t even realize. If one of us has an edge, or if someone sabotages another, those odds shift.”
“If we start thinking like that,” he said slowly, “turning on each other, measuring who’s weakest, it’ll tear us apart.”
“It’s already happening,” I said sharply. “Kenji turned on us. He killed Taka and Dori. If we play the game your way, and he doesn’t, doesn’t that give him the advantage?”
Jiro was silent for a moment, his fingers stilling against my foot. “You’re not wrong,” he said finally. “But that’s why we need to stick to the plan. All three of us make it to the end, even if Kenji attacks us.”
I paused. Could I do that to Kenji? We were best friends as kids, inseparable. And while he’d turned into something else now…was I now capable of the worst?
No one deserved to die here. Not Kaiyo, not Miyo or the others, not even Taka and Dori, as much as I despised those two. And though I feared Kenji, he didn’t deserve to die. At least not by my hand.
“I know you’re feeling conflicted about Kenji,” Jiro said. “I get it. He was a big part of your life when you were young.”
Jiro lifted my legs off him so that he could slip into the space between me and the wall. He lay on his side, his entire body pressed up against my back.
It happened so fast. I was still processing. Was he cuddling?
A second later he’d wrapped his arms around me, entwining them with mine. And just like that, we were spooning, like we always used to do during the conversations we’d have late into the night.
“But you’ve also known me for quite some time too,” he continued, his warm breaths tickling the side of my face. “I mean, we both know you, in different ways. But if I may be so bold, I think I have an edge on Kenji.”
Why was I not bucking him off me?
Every second without objection said this was okay. I should have already moved away.
And yet I hadn’t.
I should have been disgusted by his warmth. But I wasn’t. Nor was I afraid of what he might be thinking.
Was I seriously enjoying this?
Apparently, because the five-second rule has passed. Throwing an elbow into him and demanding he unspoon you is impossible now. It’ll be awkward and paint you as a waffler.
