Ordinary C: Collection Rhapsody

At first, the rumors were absolutely true.

“Hey, did you hear?”

“You mean Shizuo Heiwajima?” “It’s Shizuo.” “Him.”

“Walking around with a girl.” “Shizuo Heiwajima.”

“Maybe nine years old.”

“Heard he fought with yakuza.”

“Climbed a building with his bare hands.”

“Heard he kicked a car.” “Got stabbed by a girl.”

“But the knife wouldn’t sink in; it just clattered onto the ground!”

“They saw him jump from the car carrying a girl.”

“He threw a bike one-handed.”

“Dude’s crazy.”

The rumors spread through the Internet, phone calls, and even word of mouth.

Of all the events taking place during May’s weeklong holiday, there was a clear, odd pattern.

The topic of one man’s extraordinary feats stood out from the others, as though he were rampaging here and there throughout Ikebukuro without rest.

By default, he was a notable sight in Ikebukuro by virtue of being the “man around town in the bartender’s outfit.” Normally, that could also apply to street barkers and the like, but because he also featured blond hair, sunglasses, and a dreadlocked partner, he was always immediately identified as a man to stay away from.

However, the more someone got to know him, the more their approach and assessment of his character changed.

“Shouldn’t be approached” could turn into “Do not approach at any cost,” “Nicer than I thought,” “Run at first sight,” “Get down and beg,” “Give up,” or any number of other options—varied but always extreme.

In the same way someone might describe a monster that no one else had ever seen, these extreme opinions led to equally extreme rumors, placing severe stress upon the actual facts of the matter.

“Hey, did you hear?”

“You know that Shizuo Heiwajima guy?”“That monster.”

“I heard he died.”

“Got smashed by a car.”“Trying to protect a girl.”

“Hit by a dump truck.”“Shizuo.”“It was him.”

“Ran into a motorcycle.”“The yakuza pushed him off a rooftop.”

“He died from getting stabbed by a woman.”“No shit.”

“He has a kid.”

“Isn’t that crazy?”

All of it was nonsense.

And in terms of extremes, the one phrase—“Shizuo died”—was so shocking to most that it spread with incredible speed.

As that message outpaced the rest, the rumors underwent corrections.

Would Shizuo Heiwajima die from being hit by a car?

Clearly not, according to the people who knew Shizuo best or followed rumors about him the most.

Shizuo Heiwajima would not die from something like that, they knew, which necessitated a correction to the rumor.

Through the logic, biases, and desires of a great many people, the rumors were buffeted and sanded down to one unified form.

A rumor that has spread too far can become an urban legend.

And when an urban legend gains the clarity of form, it spreads even further and deeper.

For example, among young delinquents at a club.

“…Hey, you hear?”

“’Bout what?”

“Shizuo Heiwajima.”

“…What about that monster?”

“He…got hit by a truck, and he’s really hurt.”

“…For real?”

“Yeah. He was on the run from the yakuza, jumped off a building, and then…wham.”

“So…he’s all torn up right now, huh?”

For example, among drug dealers hoping to eliminate Shizuo and gain notoriety for themselves.

“But I heard he’s still up and walking around like normal.”

“I don’t care how hurt he is—I ain’t gonna pick a fight with him while he’s still got all his limbs.”

“I ain’t afraid, I’m just sayin’, you gotta be sure you can kill him…”

“In that case, I got something else for ya.”

“What’s that?”

“He got himself a girl.”

“No way?!”

“I hear he’s been walking around the city with a girl.”

For example, among the remnants of a street gang Shizuo once crushed.

“…If you ask me, Shizuo being weakened is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity…”

“You don’t know, he might have just been showing that girl around town…”

“No, get this! Turns out that chick is damaged goods.”

“Huh?”

“I’m serious—Shizuo’s got a kid! A kid old enough to be in school!”

“Are you crazy?!”

“I mean, how old is that guy?!”

“I bet he went out with her back in high school, when he was the biggest player. Then she shows up after a few years and goes, ‘The kid is yours!’”

All of it was nonsense, but in the end, they’d all believe the rumors.

And that was because those rumors stimulated a desire deep within their hearts. It was less that they firmly believed the stories than that they clung to them, in their wish for them to be true.

Because the ultimate desire of all those who believed the rumors was…

“…Do you think…right now…”

“…we might have a shot at Shizuo Heiwajima?”

The rumors had only been around for a single day.

But they succeeded at spurring certain people into action.

Action that could only lead to their downfall, according to those who knew the truth.

May 5, day, Ikebukuro, old apartment

Loud rapping upon the front door disturbed the quiet of the apartment, a shabby place at least thirty years old.

“Mr. Sugawa? I know you’re there, Sandayuu Sugawa,” came a young man’s voice between the rhythmic pounding of the fist. After a brief pause, the door opened up, revealing a very sickly face.

“Good afternoon. I think you know why I’m here,” said the man with dreadlocks, grimacing, running through his protocol. Behind him, a man in a bartender’s uniform yawned. He had blond hair and sunglasses, making him look just like a bodyguard.

As the terrified young man stared out at them, the one who knocked said, “Well, let’s get that money, shall we?”

Tom Tanaka was a debt collector.

But it wasn’t for shady black market lenders. He belonged to a company that had contracts with a wide variety of slightly more reputable businesses: brothels, sex hotlines, singles websites, rental video shops.

Such businesses sometimes needed to collect late fees or unpaid bills from their customers, and so Tom’s company was called on to perform this step—all within legal boundaries.

Of course, some types of debt collection could only be performed through a lawyer, and as far as the video rentals went, they didn’t know if the shops actually had the permits required to do that business. So Tom operated in a kind of gray zone that was actually not that ambiguous in the least, much like the unsavory loopholes exploited by pachinko parlors to function as gambling dens.

If it was the type of job where they took money from seniors without families, Tom and the bartender-looking man with him, Shizuo Heiwajima, would have quit ages ago. But there was no common sympathy for those who failed to pay for their sex hotlines and porn tape rentals.

Perhaps if someone tried the hackneyed, old “I’m trying to find my long-lost sister” excuse for calling the hotlines, they would at least do their due diligence in trying to determine the truth, but Tom had never run across someone attempting to use that line.

They didn’t try to pretend that it was a social good they were performing, but otherwise, it was like pretty much any other job.

On the other hand, some of those late on their payments never intended to pay up, and out of that group, there was always a percentage engaging in illegal activities, so the job was not without its risks. Therefore, Tom regularly performed his duties with his bodyguard-slash-assistant, Shizuo Heiwajima.

“Listen, if you want, we can take this to court and have the whole matter cleared up. But neither of us have time for that, do we? We’re not ripping you off; we didn’t charge more than was explained to you. And come on, man—the money’s one thing, but at least return the tape, yeah? It’s two hundred yen per day, so how many tapes did you borrow to rack up one hundred fifty thousand in debt?!”

“W-w-wait, wait! I never said I wouldn’t pay up! I have the tapes I copied up in an online auction now! Once I get the money for that, I can pay you back!”

“Are you dubbing our—? All right, cut the shit and stop messing with the business model. Listen, I’ll ignore that for today, but I need one or the other: money or tapes.”

Tom got tired of arguing and tried to wrap up the process, realizing that he was dealing with a more miserable scumbag than he figured. He started to step inside, but the man pushed him back and wheedled, “W-w-wait, please! All right! I’ll pay, I’ll pay!”

“That’s better. And if you’re short, you can take out a high-interest loan to make up the difference.”

Wow, he sure broke quickly, Tom thought. But then the creep smirked over Tom’s shoulder toward the man standing out in the apartment hallway.

“Hey, what about you? Why don’t you pay the late fee for me, Shizuo Heiwajima?”

“Wait, don’t—” Tom panicked.

“What?” Shizuo asked icily, turning his head with an eyebrow raised.

Oh, shit. This can’t be good, Tom thought, sensing that Shizuo could explode in mere seconds. He stepped away from the door, sidling up to his partner and asking, “Let me just ask…do you know this guy?”

“Nope…never seen him before in my life,” Shizuo replied brusquely.

The man inside smirked. “You’re a famous guy—everyone knows you. I could tell immediately from the outfit.”

“Oh yeah…?” Shizuo said, clearly getting angrier. Tom inched farther away from the two.

The oblivious debtor was paving his own path to hell. “You’re Yuuhei Hanejima’s brother, isn’t that right?”

“…!”

Don’t—! Tom nearly screamed. …Wait a second, why have I never heard that?

“Oh yeah…? And what if I am his brother?”

“He’s superrich, isn’t he? I bet you get a little tiny cut of that fortune. You must have a little chump change lying around.”

Damn, if I knew this guy was suicidal, I would’ve had Shizuo wait farther away!

Tom retreated down the apartment steps until he had evacuated to the ground level—right around the time the man delivered his clinching remark.

“So if you don’t want all the tabloids to find out that he’s got a thug of a brother like you, you’d better pay my—”

The only thing it clinched was his own downfall, however.

There was the hollow sound of some piece of a whole being removed, right at the same time that the man stopped talking. Shizuo had grabbed the man’s face with one hand and instantly separated his jaw.

“…What was that about money?”

He let go, and the indebted man’s jaw hung loose. The mouth was gaping wide enough to fit a fist inside. His jaw quivered in the air like a cat’s cradle; he reached up to touch it but seemed not to understand yet what had happened.

“Ah, agagagah, agah?”

“I’ve heard enough from you. Now shut your filthy mouth.”

“Ah, agaaa! Agagagagah!” the man stammered, unable to actually close his mouth. Shizuo took a step forward.

“…I said…shut it!”