Chapter 5: Chapter Five: High School Student Hijacks Plane?

Fujihiro Shoji and Ishinori Ken are pilots at the Hamamatsu Base.

Though both are young, barely in their early thirties, they are Hamamatsu Base’s top pilots.

They have carried out numerous missions with outstanding results and are regarded as future elite candidates of the Japan Air Self-Defense Force.

Precisely because of this.

For this investigation into the NH137 hijacking—a mission of such gravity—Hamamatsu Base decided to assign it to these two.

High above, white clouds and blue sky.

Two fighter jets streaked across the heavens like meteors, each leaving behind a trail of white vapor—breathtakingly brilliant.

En route to the airspace where NH137 was located, Fujihiro Shoji asked through the comm mic to Ken Ishinori, who piloted the other jet:

“Ken, wanna make a bet.”

“What about?”

Two tigers cannot share one mountain. As Hamamatsu Base’s top pilots, neither would admit being inferior to the other; every mission became a contest to determine who was the base’s number one pilot.

This mission was no exception.

Fujihiro Shoji grinned. “We both just reviewed the passenger and crew manifest. We know roughly who’s onboard. Let’s bet on who the hijacker is.”

“Done!” Ken Ishinori answered without hesitation.

For them, competition had become routine—there was no such thing as backing down.

As they spoke, their jets tore through the sky at blistering speed, nearing NH137 in mere moments.

In that brief span, Ken Ishinori rapidly recalled the onboard personnel data he had studied before takeoff.

“There are too many people onboard. Guessing one person is too easy to get wrong. Let’s guess a general age group.”

“Fine, I’ll go first—I bet it’s someone aged 35 to 40.” Fujihiro Shoji spoke first.

Japan is one of Asia’s economic powerhouses, yet also a nation with a large population but very little land.

This has led to fierce social competition and a high-pressure society.

The pressure is constant.

Their workdays are long, stretching from morning until eleven or twelve at night.

Many office workers routinely work overtime, sometimes even spending entire nights in the office.

And under such intense pressure, their rewards rarely match their effort.

This causes immense mental strain, often leading to psychological overload, even schizophrenia—this is why Japan’s suicide rate is so high.

Fujihiro Shoji’s theory was simple.

Japanese society has always been high-pressure, especially for middle-aged men whose careers show no progress; they are prone to suicide.

“Then I’ll guess 25 to 35,” Ken Ishinori replied immediately.

In recent years, Japan’s suicide rate has not declined.

On the contrary, the age of suicide victims has been trending younger.

The reason lies in Japan’s extreme emphasis on academic credentials, believing they determine one’s future.

Thus, if a Japanese student fails to enter a top university, their future is doomed. And those aged 25 to 35 are precisely the ones just graduating and entering society.

At this stage, fresh graduates face society’s brutal “crushing.”

If their mental resilience is weak, nine out of ten either become hikikomori or head to Aokigahara Forest to kill themselves.

“Ken, even though we’re betting on age groups, do you have a specific hijacker in mind?”

Fujihiro Shoji, ever the chatterbox, asked Ken Ishinori.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Captain Hasegawa.”

“Hahaha, you think the same as me! Hijacking is hard to pull off—the easiest way is to recruit the captain. If the captain himself is the hijacker, it’s even easier.”

Fujihiro Shoji laughed heartily—just then, the endless white clouds ahead finally shifted.

A commercial airliner appeared.

It was NH137.

Following their prearranged plan, Fujihiro Shoji maneuvered his jet to one side of NH137, positioning themselves to observe the airliner from both left and right.

Meanwhile, Fujihiro Shoji, expertly piloting his jet, continued:

“Ken, you agree with what I just said, right? You’re thinking the same thing… Huh? Ken, why aren’t you answering?”

At this moment, the two jets hovered—one on each side of NH137.

“Ken?”

Fujihiro Shoji was puzzled.

One moment they were joking, the next—silence.

You might think it’s because they’re nearing NH137 and need to focus—but that’s impossible.

He knew his partner well: even during missions, Ken Ishinori never fell silent; he always chatted and joked while working.

Just as Fujihiro Shoji was about to speak again—

A voice crackled through the comm mic.

“Hey, Shoji, look—look at NH137’s cockpit.”

Hearing Ken Ishinori’s voice, Fujihiro Shoji froze slightly.

It wasn’t what Ken said that stunned him.

It was the tone of his voice.

It wasn’t Ken’s usual tone—it was strange: shocked, trembling, filled with disbelief.

Like he’d seen a ghost.

“Look at the cockpit?”

Curious and uneasy, Fujihiro Shoji turned his gaze to NH137’s cockpit.

In an instant—

His pupils dilated violently.

Fujihiro Shoji screamed aloud.

“I fucking—!”

A chill shot straight up his scalp.

Fujihiro Shoji stared, utterly dumbfounded.

He was so shocked he blurted out a foreign curse.

He felt as if he’d seen a ghost in broad daylight—his expression horrified, completely stunned by what he saw.

In his line of sight—

The man seated in the captain’s seat of NH137 was not Captain Hasegawa… it was someone else.

Why did Fujihiro Shoji know this?

Not because he’d seen a photo of Captain Hasegawa—but because he knew for certain: no captain could look like that.

Because the man in the seat was far too young!

Too young to possibly be a captain.

Eighteen?

No!

He might even be seventeen.

Fujihiro Shoji stared fixedly at the face of the man in the captain’s seat, his mind reeling.

“He’s definitely not Captain Hasegawa. Where is Hasegawa?”

A seventeen-year-old captain? Possible?

Impossible!!

Not just in Japan—even worldwide, no captain could be seventeen.

Just then—

“Shoji, look—look at what he’s wearing.”

Fujihiro Shoji immediately understood who Ken meant and snapped his gaze over.

The sight made him jerk violently—he nearly lost grip of the control stick.

“That’s… a high school uniform??” Fujihiro Shoji’s voice dripped with disbelief.

As he spoke—

He realized a question far more shocking than any action movie:

NH137 had 231 people onboard… and the pilot was a high school student…

What did that mean?

It meant 231 lives were being gambled on a high school student.

“Ken, is this really a hijacking? Or is it a mass suicide involving 231 people?”

Ken Ishinori’s mouth twitched; he was speechless.

Fujihiro Shoji’s words struck him exactly where he thought.

He’d been thinking the same thing.

Beep~

The communicator received a reply from Hamamatsu Base.

“Fujihiro Shoji, Ishinishi Ken, have you reached your destination?”

“Reporting to General Suzuki Kū, we have arrived at the destination,” Fujihiro Shoji and Ishinishi Ken said in unison.

This is not the time to consider the high school student issue—the mission is paramount.

General Suzuki Kū, who had established contact with Hamamatsu Base and connected the communication channel, nodded and sat in his office at the Air Self-Defense Force Headquarters, then spoke.

“Report to me everything you’ve observed about NH137. I need the most detailed intelligence.”

“Got it!”

Immediately after.

Fujihiro Shoji and Ishinishi Ken turned their gaze to NH137’s cockpit, seeing clearly through the cockpit window.

They supplemented each other’s observations and delivered their report.

“General Suzuki Kū, the cabin is in disarray—the overhead bins are all open, luggage has fallen, oxygen masks have dropped. I see many injured, but no deaths yet.”

“The left wing of NH137 is damaged; judging from the marks, it was likely caused by ice buildup at high altitude.”

“I see the flight attendants—they appear to be speaking to the passengers, likely calming them down and apologizing.”

His gaze shifted away from the cabin.

“General Suzuki Kū, the front windshield of the cockpit is shattered, and there’s a bird carcass inside—likely a bird strike.”

“Bird strike? Not a hijacking?”

General Suzuki Kū looked bewildered.

Hijacked—and then hit by a bird.

NH137 is just that unlucky—every bad thing that could happen to an aircraft has happened at once.

“Yes, I saw a bird carcass, but I can’t tell what kind—it’s too bloody and mangled to identify.”

“Understood. Continue.”

“Got it!”

Ishinishi Ken and the other man resumed their report.

“Aside from the front windshield being shattered, all movable windows have been opened.”

“The co-pilot is injured—seems to be his eyes.”

“Also, there are three people in the cockpit.”

“Three?” General Suzuki Kū’s eyes suddenly lit up: “Who is the third person? Clearly identify his appearance.”

Clearly, General Suzuki Kū assumed the third person was the hijacker.

Not just him—all senior officials listening, from the Metropolitan Police Department, Hamamatsu Base, and Tokyo Air Traffic Control, all believed the third person was the hijacker.

Some even imagined in their minds the third person holding a gun or knife to the captain and co-pilot, forcing them to fly.

“...General Suzuki Kū, no—the captain isn’t among the three,” Fujihiro Shoji said awkwardly.

General Suzuki Kū froze.

What does that mean?

The captain isn’t among the three? Then who’s flying the plane? The co-pilot?

If so, where is the captain? And are the other two in the cockpit, besides the co-pilot, the hijackers?

“Understood. Tell me the appearances of the two people besides the co-pilot who is flying.”

Giving the order, General Suzuki Kū extended his hand, ready to have his subordinates compare the descriptions against the aircraft’s passenger records to identify the hijacker.

But.

His hand had just extended…

“General Suzuki Kū, the person flying the plane isn’t the co-pilot,” Fujihiro Shoji said, voice trembling.

He kept contradicting General Suzuki Kū—would the general get angry and make his life miserable?

“Huh?”

General Suzuki Kū’s cheek twitched several times; he was momentarily speechless.

Not the co-pilot?

Then who’s flying the plane?

All senior officials listening—including General Suzuki Kū—were stunned and alarmed.

This must be a planned hijacking.

To ensure the captain wouldn’t resist, they’d pre-positioned a replacement pilot.

“Tell me the appearance of the hijacker flying the plane, and the other hijacker.”

“Got it!” Fujihiro Shoji replied seriously: “The pilot has a very refined face, short hair, and is wearing a high school uniform—around seventeen or eighteen years old...”

“Wait! Wait!!”

General Suzuki Kū interrupted, leaping abruptly from his chair.

At the same moment, all senior officials reacted identically.

“Fujihiro Shoji, I asked you to describe the pilot’s appearance.”

From Fujihiro Shoji’s description, it sounded exactly like he was describing a high school student.

“Reporting General Suzuki Kū, I am describing the person flying NH137. Based on appearance and uniform, I can confirm he is a high school student.”

Dead silence.

Tokyo Air Traffic Control, the Metropolitan Police Department, Hamamatsu Base, and the Air Self-Defense Force Headquarters—all fell utterly silent.

General Suzuki Kū and all senior officials sat frozen, dazed, as if their heads were spinning.

Did I just hear that right?

A high school student flying a plane?

“Whoa!”

A sharp intake of breath erupted beside General Suzuki Kū.

General Suzuki Kū turned to his subordinate.

The man’s eyes were wide with horror: “General Suzuki Kū, NH137 has been hijacked by a high school student!”

His voice was loud, transmitted through the communicator.

The already silent departments—Air Traffic Control, Police, and others—grew even quieter.

A silence as deep as death.

…

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