The Worst Day in the Life of Makoto Neagi

Section Five

The passengers sat, trembling in silence, just waiting for everything to be over⁠—all of them except one.
With one eye half-open, he watched the events on the bus unfold, waiting patiently for the bus-jacker to let his guard down. His chance would probably come when the driver finished gathering the jewels, thought the bearded old man. He was almost positive that the robber⁠—who was currently watching his surroundings like a hawk⁠—would direct his attention to his loot once it came back to him.
A second later, the driver, on his hands and knees, muttered up to the thief, "Umm, I've got everything..."
Hearing that, Jutarou twisted the corner of his lips up and yanked the bulky backpack from the driver's hands.
Now! thought the old man. His eyes shot open, and he leapt from his seat with a swiftness unbelievable for his age.
"Wha⁠—" uttered Jutarou as he lost his balance. The old man had latched onto his back.
"You fool, showing your back to me. I'm a fifth-dan in kendo!"
Somehow managing to keep his footing, Jutarou spat back at the old man, his previously calm and collected tone of voice gone without a trace. "Wh-What the hell does kendo have to do with anything?! You're just holding onto my damn arms!"
Jutarou had a point, but there was no denying the old man's fearlessness and quickness to act was the result of many years of martial arts.
The bearded man grabbed Jutarou's right hand⁠—the one with the army knife⁠—with both of his hands, squeezing tight and not letting the thief get free.
"Graaaaaaaah! Let go, goddammit!" he wailed, twisting and struggling with all his might.
Sitting at the front of the bus, listening to the screaming, Makoto's body trembled convulsively⁠—not in fear, though, but the exact opposite.
I have to help him! I have to help the old man!
In that instant, an intense drive boiled up inside him. His eyes were no longer those of the timid, abnormally normal high-school boy everyone usually saw, but those of someone who was prepared to fight to the bitter end, no matter how tough things got or outmatched he might be. Before his mind had the chance to shift into gear, his body was already in motion, driven entirely by instinct⁠—the very core of what made him Makoto Naegi.
He placed his hands on something beside the driver's seat, and he planted his feet firmly on the ground, rising from the seat.
Something didn't feel right.
And a moment later, the whole world was rushing past him.
In his hurried attempt to stand, Makoto had placed his hands on the bus's gear stick, and his foot on the gas, shifting the bus into drive and sending it barreling forward.
Makoto shouted in surprise⁠—and so did the rest of the passengers. The inside of the bus echoed with a cacophony of screams and cries.
As the bus steamed forward, Jutarou struggled to catch his balance, but he only managed it for a second. He and the old man on his back were soon on the ground and separated from one another.
"Wh-What are you doing, son?!" the man shouted toward the front of the bus.
"I⁠— I don't⁠— I don't know!"
Anyone observing the scene would have placed the blame for the blunder squarely on Makoto's shoulders, but to him, it seemed like nothing more than another stroke of bad luck. He'd never driven a car before⁠—how was he supposed to know that the thing he just happened to rest his hands on was the gear stick and the area he just happened to set his feet was where the gas pedal was? Besides, wasn't the driver supposed to set the emergency brake anytime he got up out of his seat?
Normally, yes, but the situation they were in was anything but normal. In the pressure of the moment, the driver had forgotten to set the E-brake when Jutarou forced him out of his seat, resulting in the day's chain of bad luck continuing unbroken. The misfortune shattered his determination like a baseball crashing through a window, catching not just him, but everyone on the bus in its crossfire.
The bus continued to rocket forward, the outside world nothing but a blur through the windows. The roar of the engine, the howling of the wind, the screams of the passengers. A single voice rose up above the noise.
"The brakes, son! Step on the brakes!" cried the old man, bringing Makoto back to his senses. He lifted his foot off the gas, then slammed it back down on the pedal beside it. The bus screeched to a halt, and Makoto could have sworn the back end had risen into the air ever so slightly as it did.
Makoto shrieked as the bus threw him from the driver's seat and into the aisle. On his way out, though, his hand hit something⁠—a button on a panel beside the driver's seat. As soon as he realized what he had done, a woman's voice filled the bus.
"The doors are about to open. Please watch your step."
The intercom clicked off, and then the bus's door slid open.
Jutarou was the first to react. Jewel-filled bag in hand, he dashed to the front of the bus and leapt through the door.
"What are you doing, son?!" the old man shouted, still on the floor. "Go after him!" His face contorted in pain⁠—evidently he wasn't able to stand himself. He must have hurt something when he fell.
Makoto, who was lying on his back beneath the bar separating the driver's seat from the aisle, could see the old man looking straight at him, but it took Makoto a few seconds to realize the man's words were directed at him.
"Get moving, son!" the bearded man said, and it finally clicked.
"Huh? Me?"
"Yes you! Who do you think let him get away?!"
Who do I think let him get away? Does he mean me? he thought, perplexed. The passengers were all looking at him expectantly. Makoto was dumbfounded. They seriously want me to go after him? He desperately looked around the bus, trying to find the driver. He figured that if anyone would go after the thief, the driver would, but the driver was unconscious, slouched against the back seat. He must have hit his head when Makoto had slammed on the brakes.
This was seriously not Makoto Naegi's lucky day.