Chapter 1: The Fighting Puppet Subtly Frets

May 3, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro

Sunshine 60 Street, one of the most famous in Ikebukuro.

Commonly called “Sixtieth Floor Street,” it heads from the east exit of the train station toward the Sunshine building, a stretch of shops that is one of the biggest destinations for visitors coming to Ikebukuro by train.

It’s a shortcut from the station to the Sunshine building and is occasionally lumped in with the adjacent Sunshine Street, but they are in fact separate roads.

The time is Golden Week, the cluster of holidays within a week of each other in the spring.

Given the start of the long holiday, the foot traffic on the street was more bustling than usual.

Families on their way to Sunshine City, couples headed for one of the countless movie theaters in the area, youngsters seeking new clothes, hungry salarymen, Akiba nerds heading to specialty shops like Toranoana and Manga no Mori, women on their way to Animate or the butler café Swallowtail—people with varying destinations crossed paths on the sidewalks, where they were set upon by barkers of similarly varying stripes: handsome men from host clubs, women hawking art, even towering foreigners.

Along this street, right as you enter from Ikebukuro Station, there is one spot that draws the attention: the Cinema Sunshine building with its massive street-facing monitor and gaudy movie posters.

The video arcade on the first floor has numerous entertainment machines on display, most notably a line of “UFO catcher” crane games at the entrance, where youngsters like to hang out and kill time before their movie starts.

“Hey, Rocchi! Get that one next! That one, the plushie!”

“Aww, no fair! He already got one for you, Non!”

At the entrance to the arcade, a group of girls was congregated around a UFO catcher, their squeals of delight setting the peaceful and lively scene.

“Hey, Rocchi, I wanna try it, too.”

“Oh, then while Kanacchi’s playing it, let’s go and buy some drinks, Rocchi.”

“Wait a second, you’re just going to leave me here all alone?”

“Yeah, why not? You’ve got a Yukichi today, Kanacchi. Why don’cha cash it out and do your alien thing surrounded by Hideyos? Ew, I just brain scanned that image! What a freak factory. Total GB.”

“…Um, Kiyomin, what did she just say?”

“If you want it translated into Japanese, she said, ‘Kana, you brought a ten-thousand-yen bill today, so just change it for smaller bills and play the UFO catcher and get left out by the rest of the group. I just imagined it. It was a very weird picture to imagine. I got goose bumps.’ …Or something along those lines. Creepy. I wish she’d just speak in Japanese.”

“Eww, Kiyosuke, don’t translate it all weird like that. It’s such a buzzkill. And, like, if anyone’s being an alien, it’s you.”

With that rather typical conversation, the group of ten or so left the arcade behind—but then the ordinary scene was pierced by an unordinary sound.

“Move it, damn you!” snorted an agitated man among the paradise of pedestrians.

The crowds automatically turned to look in the direction of the disturbance and saw a middle-aged man wearing a hat, trying to race down the street and pushing aside anyone standing in his way.

The crowds weren’t as dense as a station platform during rush hour, so with a bit of well-considered coordination, he could have darted and slipped his way through cleanly, but he was so agitated that it was essentially a straight beeline down the concrete.

Far behind him, a woman was in pursuit, limping and shouting something after him. What she was yelling was unclear, but she appeared to be wearing a retail uniform. Based on the desperate look on her face, it seemed likely that the man had committed a robbery or had shoplifted.

The people milling around were paralyzed with confusion in the moment, but as understanding sank in, a few tried to block the man’s path.

“Outta the damn way!” he slurred, frantic and out of breath. He bowled his blockers over; up close, he was not tall, but quite muscular, and charged through anyone in his way like a football linebacker.

“Whoa, crap! Look out!” “Where’s Shizuo and Simon when you need them?”

“Let’s get outta here!” “Call the cops!” “He’s coming this way!”

“Hey, snap a pic!” “Come on, have some respect!”

 “No, I mean to get a shot of his face for evidence!” “Oh, right.”

“Yikes, it’s too late!” “Who is that, Daddy?” “Stay close to me.”

“Что случилось?” (What happened?)

“Нет проблем.” (No problem.)

“Huh?! What’s this, Kuru?! What’s going on?!”

“Silence.”

“I didn’t notice because I was busy reading a dirty mag. What’s the commotion?”

“Quiet.”

Wildly different voices collided and intersected, creating an instantaneous buzz throughout the street—the perfect stage for another abnormal figure to appear.

The group of girls just leaving the arcade pulled backward so as not to get stuck in the uproar, and a single man emerged as he strode forward.

At first glance, he seemed like any other young man. He wore a number of thin, light layers, like a fashion model who sprang right out of the pages of a magazine. His style was more mature and less wild, more fitting of the Daikanyama or Omotesando neighborhoods than Ikebukuro—but what set him apart was his face.

It was not particularly notable for its beauty or lack thereof. If anything, it was hard to tell which of the two his visage would be considered.

In the shade of the straw hat, bandages covered his forehead, their surface blotted with red blood. There was a medical eyepatch covering one eye, the kind used to cover up a sty, and a large Band-Aid on his cheek. A dark bruise extended from the edge of the bandage. He looked like he’d either been hit by a bat or tumbled down the stairs and smacked his face on the ground.

“Umm, Rocchi? Watch out, you’re already hurt,” one of the girls started to stay, but the man named Rocchi was already walking straight into the escape path of the barging tackler.

“I told you, get the f—” the muscular man bellowed, lowering himself and speeding up to overpower the youth.

But the injured young man only lifted up a foot to kick at his assailant.

The move was a “yakuza kick” in pro wrestling parlance, in which the bottom of the attacking foot is planted firmly on the target. There was once an old-school giant wrestler who called it the Size 16 Kick, a flashy attack that knocked the target backward.

If the kicker’s foot made contact with the charging man’s shoulder, it should have thrown him off-balance and tossed him backward. In fact, everyone present assumed that the young man on one leg was going to be hurled off his feet.

But they were wrong.

An ugly scraping sound rent the air.

The source of the sound was evident after considering the young man’s new position several feet back, still in the same pose—and a black line extending from the tip of his grounded foot.

The young man had stopped the muscular man’s charge with the bottom of his raised foot and merely slid back a short distance. The shift in momentum that had occurred within his body must have been tremendous.

The instantaneous, phenomenal transfer of force left a line of black, charred shoe sole on the asphalt. The trail was practically smoking.

And the tackling man did not attempt to take another step.

If he’d planted one more step at his original speed, he could have tossed the youngster aside, as everyone imagined. But right at that last step, the point at which he’d have put the most power into his charge, he couldn’t.

The young man’s kick had thrown his heel directly into the mouth of the charging man, flattening it into his face.

“You just knocked over three women?” the young man growled coldly, but the man could hardly have heard the words.

“Grgh…guh.”

His front teeth were no doubt broken already. He could only groan in uncomprehending pain, the heel of the shoe jammed into his mouth.

The young man’s good eye narrowed.

“Three times.”

He swiveled his toes left and right thrice, all his weight pressing on the man’s face. He was stepping on the man, trampling him as he stood.

With fine little cracking sounds, the man’s nose turned like the knob on a gas stove.

“Aaaa— Aaa— Aaa— Aaaah! Aaah! Aaah!”

The fresh wave of pain must have brought him to his senses. The man screamed and wailed helplessly, covering his gushing nose and rolling on the pavement.

The young man looked down at him as if he were a mosquito felled by bug spray.

Meanwhile, the group of girls looking on from a safe distance did not seem particularly shocked or surprised.

“Why’s Rocchi so fired up?”

“Didn’t you see the employee chasing after that guy was a woman?”

“Another woman. It never ends with him.”

“Well, what are you gonna do? Rocchi’s a womanizer.”

“It’s part of what makes him so charming.”

“Exactly.”

But Rocchi was more focused on the female employee approaching him than the conversation of the girls behind him.

“Th-thank you… He was shoplifting from our store,” the uniformed employee panted. Her voice was trembling, either from the exertion of running so long and hard or from fear of the young man standing over his bloodied victim.

The young man doffed his hat and gently took her hand, murmuring, “Not at all. I only did what anyone would do.”

His voice was so soft and sweet, it was almost silly. The facial features peeking out from behind the eyepatch and bandages softened into a smile, and he was suddenly an entirely different person from the one who had just kicked a grown man to the curb.

The suddenly benign young man glanced down at the woman’s leg with concern.

“Why, miss. Your leg is scraped.”

“Huh…? Oh, er…that happened when I tried to stop him, and he pushed me…”

“…”

Without removing the pleasant smile from his face, the young man spun around on his heel—and leaped.

“?”

The woman flinched, momentarily bewildered by his action.

But she understood what he was doing right after.

Right at the point where his feet landed was the attempted shoplifter’s leg, still lying on the ground. He landed directly on the man’s knee with all his weight.

The ugly crunching sound was only briefly audible before the man’s scream drowned it out.

“Dabaaah! Ah! Dah! Aaaga-ga-ga-ga-a-ga-da-da-da-dah!”

“Shut your mouth, scumbag,” the young man commanded in a chilling tone. He kicked the man hard in the crotch.

“!!!”

“I’m assuming that even you have a wife, or a daughter, or a mother, so for their sakes, I’m not gonna kill you right here and now. But what kind of man attacks a woman at all? Am I right?”

“! !!”

The shoplifter twitched in agony on the ground, all the air expelled from his lungs.

All the helpless onlookers crowding around the scene felt time stop around them, but the young man merely returned to his gentle smile and remarked, “Don’t worry. Everything’s all right. I’ve taken the liberty of enacting your revenge for you.”

“…”

The woman was still stunned into silence. He continued casually, “Vengeance doesn’t suit a beautiful lady like you. For real. Er, seriously. Just let me handle all the dirty work—”

He was interrupted by a different woman’s voice.

“Rocchi.”

“Oh? What is it, Non?”

He spun around to see the shortest of the group of girls that he came with. The girl named Non tugged on Rocchi’s sleeve and said frankly, “Kiyo says we ought to take off now because that was excessive self-defense.”

“Oh. Really?”

He turned back to the unconscious shoplifter twitching on the ground, then glanced at the store employee.

She was blinking in silence, but there was less gratitude in her gaze than sheer terror.

“…Uh-oh, Non. I seem to have frightened her.”

“I told you, we gotta run. Look, the police are coming.”

“Ooh, you’re right.”

Across the massive intersection in the direction of the station, police uniforms could be spotted among the crowd waiting for the light to change.

“Well, pretty lady, I’ve got to get going. You don’t want to develop a limp, so go to a doctor to get your leg checked…”

“Come on, Rocchi! Hurry up!”

“H-hey, wait… Non! When did you get to be such a selfish…? Fine, fine! I’m coming, I’m coming! Oh, and miss! If that guy wakes up, tell him something for me! I can usually be found riding highways all over Saitama, so if he’s got a problem, he can find me there… Owww! I’m coming! Just stop pulling on my ear, Non! Nonnn!”

The young man was dragged back to the group of girls, who took off running with him in tow.

Some of the crowd left behind after the scene had tried to snap pictures with their phones, but the young man was hidden among the group in no time, so the only photo evidence they could collect was of the shoplifter, who seemed like both the criminal and the victim in this case.

After the hubbub, the crowd was left curious about the identity of the young man.

“And here he is,” muttered a man sitting inside a Lotteria fast-food joint, who had witnessed the entire exchange. “Ugh, this is gonna be a pain.”

The bespectacled, dreadlocked debt collector grimaced. Another man, who was wearing a bartender’s uniform for some reason, approached and said, “Got you some coffee, Tom… What’s wrong?”

“Oh, thanks. Just…saw a familiar face, that’s all.”

Shizuo Heiwajima, the man in the bartender’s outfit, sat easily across from his supervisor, Tom. Either the commotion from moments earlier hadn’t drawn his notice or he didn’t particularly care about it either way.

“You saw a friend?”

“No, I wouldn’t call him that,” murmured Tom, who sipped his black coffee. “If anything, he’s probably here for you.”

“?”

“Remember how you beat up that biker gang from Saitama last month? Walloped them, really.”

“…Yeah. The ones who ripped my clothes…”

Tom noticed Shizuo’s expression darkening and chose to tread carefully to avoid angering his partner.

“I just saw the leader of Toramaru, that very biker gang.”

“…”

“His name’s Chikage Rokujou. Normally, he walks around with—well, gets dragged around by—a group of girls during the day. But he’s still a gang leader. He ain’t the kind to set your house on fire, but you oughta watch out for him all the same.”

Shizuo remained silent for a time, reflecting on Tom’s words, then asked, “Is he the guy with a leather jacket and some kinda white heart mark on it?”

“Oh, you’re familiar? Yeah, that’s kind of like their uniform, so he only wears it at night.”

“He showed up yesterday.”

“Huh?” Tom gawked, holding his coffee in front of his face with an arched eyebrow.

Shizuo chewed on a mouthful of burger and described the previous night’s events.

“Well…I was on my way home when this guy on a motorcycle came up.”

The previous evening, Ikebukuro

“Yo, how’s it going?”

“?”

He turned around at the sudden greeting and saw a motorcycle stopped nearby, with a young man standing in front of the idle vehicle.

“You Shizuo Heiwajima? Yeah, I figured. You don’t see many guys wandering around dressed like bartenders. I hear you’re a pretty big deal around here.”

“…?”

“I hear some members of our team got a beatdown, courtesy of you.”

“Team?”

Chikage Rokujou chattered amiably, “Look, I’ve heard they were carryin’ on where they shouldn’t, so I’m takin’ that into account; it’s their problem. But you hospitalized ’em all. Even if it was our fault, I think I’ve got a right to be a bit upset here, don’t you?”

The young man, half a head shorter than Shizuo, smiled cockily and leaned in until they were a breath apart.

“What do you suppose they said to me from their hospital beds? That you pulled a streetlight out of the ground and swung it around. I thought they musta taken a bad blow to the head, but today I come and see a streetlight paved into a brand-new patch of concrete.”

“And…?”

“Given my position, I’m naturally feeling curious about what you can do. Oh…by the way, you got any women who would cry over you?”

“Huh?” Shizuo grunted.

Chikage shot him a toothy grin. “I’m just saying, if you did, I’d be fine with dropping this whole thing. It’s not my style to make women cry.”

Anyone who knew Shizuo would assume that by now he’d reach the boiling point and throw that monstrous fist of his. But instead of looking furious, he had an expression of sudden understanding.

“…Oh, I see. It makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“You’re picking a fight with me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Chikage mumbled, surprised that the conversation had taken a few steps backward.

“Gotcha, gotcha. Haven’t had such a straightforward approach since high school. Speaking of, I’m a fully grown adult now, but you’re just a kid, a teenager still. Even if you did beat me, you wouldn’t get to brag about it at school.”

“What does age have to do with a fight? Did you learn how to chat working as a bartender?”

“If only,” Shizuo chuckled. He cracked his neck. “I actually kinda like it when people are so straight with me, in fact. But the best option is not coming after me at all.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Oh, and there’s one thing I should say.”

They were standing quite close to each other, but right as Shizuo was going to tell the other man something—

No sooner had Shizuo removed his glasses than his field of vision was filled with shoe soles.

With a heavy thud, both of Chikage’s feet slammed into Shizuo’s face.

The instant Shizuo had opened his mouth to speak, Chikage used the sidewalk fence nearby as a launching pad to throw a full-body dropkick, more of a pro wrestling move than an actual street-fight technique.

However, right as he thought, Got him!—Chikage realized something felt different.

Huh?

Why won’t he go down?

It felt like that one time he’d leaped off an especially thick stalk of bamboo, and a terrible chill ran through his entire body.

Chikage managed to maintain his balance as he landed, and he used the full momentum to bounce off the ground and up into a fierce punch.

Even so, something was wrong.

…

…Huh?

…Did I punch the ground just now?

There was indeed a sensation of soft flesh at the end of his fist, but whatever the material was, it did not yield. His fist just stopped short, as if he were punching straight into the ground. Chills and question marks swirled within Chikage’s head.

Shizuo repeated, “There’s one thing I should mention… Like my name says, I just want to live in peace and quiet.”

“…What?”

Chikage’s eyes went wide. Yes, his fist was touching the other man’s cheek.

But at best, it tilted Shizuo’s face and hadn’t changed the man’s expression in the least. He was acting as though he hadn’t even been touched.

“So I need you…”

“Wha—?!”

The skin-colored mass burst straight through the accomplished street fighter’s guard.

“…t o   g o   t o   s l e e p .”

Unlike with Chikage’s punch, this fist hit its target and buried itself deep into the flesh.

“…And then you sent him to Sleepytown, like always,” Tom noted, sipping his coffee. Meanwhile, Shizuo tugged at the straw of his vanilla shake.

“Yeah. Well, I took him to a doctor I know.”

“Really? You took someone to the doctor?”

“Didn’t want him to end up dying. Also, I didn’t really hate the guy. If he was a total fleabrain, I’d have finished him off for good.”

“Then again, a single punch from you is basically fatal as it is,” Tom noted wryly.

But Shizuo interjected, “Four.”

“Huh?”

“He kept getting up until the fourth punch.”

“…Seriously?” Tom murmured, the sugar packet falling through his fingers.

“I think the last thing he said before I could punch him a fifth time was, ‘I got a girl who will take care of me in the hospital, aren’t you jealous?’ But he broke a tooth, so it was kind of hard to make out—maybe I misheard. Anyway, that’s when he fell over.”

“…I mean, I knew he was tough, but still.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised. The foreign guy who showed up a while back took several shots, too.”

“Yeah, well, the world’s a big place… It’s also wild that he’s up on his feet and walking around today. But I guess they’re just facial wounds…”

“To be honest, I actually am jealous that he has a girl to take care of him.”

“Right, you don’t have a girlfriend. Well, when you’re just hanging around eating lunch with a dude all the time, it does feel kinda empty. Would be nice to have a more gentle relationship to engage in, ya know? I guess even you could want something like that, yeah?” Tom asked. Maybe because of how far back they went, Tom dared to ask Shizuo a personal question. Most people familiar with Shizuo would be too scared to ask such a question, but Tom had been with him long enough to understand his boundaries and what made him angry.

Sure enough, Shizuo simply nodded and grunted in the affirmative before complaining, “The only person who’s ever said she loved me might not even count as a woman.”

“Huh? Why, you go to gay bars or trans pubs or something?”

“No, I’m not talking about them. I don’t even know if she’s human…more like a blade…”

“Okay, you’ve totally lost me there,” Tom said, baffled.

Shizuo thought back on the days of his youth. “Girls have pretty much never wanted anything to do with me. Part of it is my own personality, but I also hung around with that fleabrain and the four-eyed freak in school. Fleabrain would trick the girls into going with him somewhere, and the crazy one was so creepy that none of them ever bothered to approach.”

“You talkin’ about Izaya and that…doctor guy you mentioned earlier?”

“Yeah, he was real logical and fussy, too, so I would snap on him all the time, but I guess we were just destined to sort of hang around together. But I do wish that fleabrain would just rot away and die already. At any rate, I don’t seem to have much luck with human women.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You could get a girlfriend anytime you want. You look a lot like your brother, and he’s a superstar,” Tom ad-libbed.

Shizuo merely looked surprised and wondered, “You think we look that alike?”

Up until this point, it was just another ordinary day for them—for Shizuo Heiwajima in particular.

The incident with Chikage Rokujou should have been nothing more than a momentary spice to liven up the very mundane day.

But when it ended, it took the mundane part with it.

Abnormal, extraordinary occurrences were by their very definition rare, so when the ordinary came to an end, it was always abrupt.

But in the moment of this particular shift, neither man realized it had happened.

Because the dawn of this extraordinary occurrence to Shizuo Heiwajima appeared as anything but.

“Since we had Lotteria for lunch, maybe we should balance it out with McDonald’s for dinner… Wha—?” Tom squawked abruptly.

Shizuo looked up, a question mark floating over his head.

“What’s the matter?”

“Behind you.”

“?”

Shizuo was sitting at a table with his back to the window that faced out on Sixtieth Floor Street. Tom directed his attention over Shizuo’s shoulder toward the street.

“What’s behind—?” Shizuo started to say, then closed his mouth.

Squish.

That was the best way to describe the scene before him.

A girl was on the other side of the store window. The small figure had both palms and her forehead flattened tight against the glass, staring intently at Shizuo.

“…”

For a second, Shizuo thought it was Kururi or Mairu, two girls he knew. He couldn’t imagine any other girls flattening themselves against a window, staring at him, smack in the middle of Ikebukuro.

But this girl’s face was different, and she was clearly too young to be Mairu or Kururi. If anything, this girl seemed to be no older than elementary school age, ten years old at best.

“…?”

The girl was staring hard at Shizuo’s face. She dropped her gaze momentarily to a scrap of paper she was holding and then went back to gazing at the young man in the bartender outfit.

Her features bloomed into a flowery smile.

It wasn’t a polite smile or a shy smile, but the innocent beaming of a child that just got a toy it wanted.

The girl tottered back and forth like a wind-up figurine, spinning around in front of the store as she stared at Shizuo.

“…Is that a relative of yours?”

“…Nope. Not ringing a bell.”

“And that wasn’t the look of someone who saw a rare outfit and wanted to gawk.”

“Nope. I’ll go out and see what’s up,” Shizuo said, getting to his feet to find the answer to this mystery.

“Wait, really? What if she starts off with ‘Papa!’ or ‘Darling’ or something?”

“This is real life, not one of Yumasaki’s fantasies.”

He cleared his tray and headed outside, where the girl was still watching him with sparkling eyes. Many parents liked to praise their children for having features “like a doll,” but if anyone was worthy of the phrase, it was this girl.

Her shoulder-length black hair shone in the sun, and her cutely bobbed bangs bounced, covering her eyes one at a time as her head tilted left and right.

Despite the warmth of May, she had a double-breasted jacket on. It was a formal child’s outfit of foreign style, and despite the gaudiness of the gold buttons, it was rather chic in appearance.

But the way her hair always covered one eye gave her a strangely gloomy appearance overall, even with the smile.

The girl stared straight at Shizuo and trotted over to him without hesitation.

Trotted closer.

Trotted closer.

   Trotted, trotted

      Trotted trotted trotted

          trot trot trot trot trot

             trot-tot-tot-tot-tot

Something feels wrong.

An unfathomable, indescribable wave of unpleasantness ran down Shizuo’s back.

There’s something about the way she’s smiling.

If you called that “innocent,” it would sound so nice.

But this one’s an awful lot like those worn by kids who stomp on lines of ants…

The words that tumbled out of the girl’s mouth confirmed his suspicion.

“Drop dead.”

And then, the girl drove a modified stun gun straight into Shizuo’s midsection.

The next instant, there was a terrific crackling sound in the air as electricity jumped—

And Shizuo Heiwajima was gently pulled into the realm of the extraordinary.

Chat room, one night earlier (May 2)

Setton has entered the chat.

Setton: Evenin’.

Setton: Oh? No one’s here.

Setton: I’ll just wait.

Setton: Hang on, my partner’s calling me, so I’m stepping away for a moment.

TarouTanaka has entered the chat.

TarouTanaka: Good evening.

TarouTanaka: Is it just you, Setton?

TarouTanaka: Oh, no response.

TarouTanaka: I guess you’re still busy with whatever it is. Sorry.

TarouTanaka: I’ll just wait.

Kuru has entered the chat.

Mai has entered the chat.

Kuru: Forgive me for intruding when you are so occupied with your waiting. Tarou waits despite knowing that the other is around, and Setton has left, not realizing that there are now others to speak with anew. Is it a hint of romance I detect? Oh, but I do not know either of your genders. Perhaps the male moniker “Tarou” in fact belongs to a woman. And the name Setton

Mai: ?

Kuru: Pardon me. I hit the character limit. Anyway, the name Setton is not innately gendered. By the way, it is a very curious username to have. Where does it come from? I just did an Internet search and found it is the name of a piece of traditional Korean clothing. Is that it? Or did you borrow it from the movie producer Maxwell Setton?

Mai: It’s a mystery.

Setton: I’m back. Evenin’.

Setton: Wow, very intense people.

Setton: Oh no. My username is just a play on my actual name.

Kuru: My goodness, I did not realize it was such a simple reason. Oh dear, I just called you simple. Please accept my deepest apologies and recognize that it was a harmless mistake. But do you realize that you have given us an angle to decipher your identity? What wrinkle did you use to hide your original name? You could be Sanpei Seto… Anna Setouchi… You have made yourself an even greater mystery to me.

Mai: Jiro-Saburo-Tonpei Serata.

Setton: Tonpei?

Mai: —(This message contains an inappropriate word and cannot be displayed)—

Mai: Huh?

Setton: Whoa, what function is that? I’ve never seen it before.

Setton: …And seriously, what did you think my username was short for?

Mai: —(This message contains an inappropriate word and cannot be displayed)—

Mai: Oh, you can’t type that word.

Mai: Ouch.

Setton: ?

Mai: I got pinched.

Kuru: Please forgive me. We are using separate computers next to each other, and I noticed that Mai was entering a terribly rude word and took it upon myself to punish her in real life for soiling the mood. Please be reassured that I am in control.

Setton: You two seem to get along.

Bacura has entered the chat.

Bacura: ’Suuup.

Kuru: Oh, it’s the playboy who plays the recorder.

Mai: Good evening.

Bacura: Are you still on about the recorder thing?!

Setton: Evenin’.

Saika has entered the chat.

Bacura: Ooh, just one minute off.

Setton: You’re in sync.

Saika: good evening

Bacura: Did Tarou already fall asleep?

Bacura: It’s only ten o’clock still,

Bacura: How much of a healthy little mama’s boy is that guy?

TarouTanaka: Whoa, I was on the phone and went to the bathroom, and now everyone’s here!

TarouTanaka: Good evening, everybody.

Bacura: Speak of the devil.

Setton: It’s synchronicity.

Bacura: In Japanese that sounds like the last level of a video game: Shin Kuroni City!

TarouTanaka: I honestly couldn’t care less.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Mikado.

<Private Mode> Bacura: We need to talk.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Uh…

Setton: Kuroni City, huh?

Saika: what does it mean

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Masaomi…is that you?

<Private Mode> Bacura: …That doesn’t matter now, does it?

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Well, I’ve been following your lead and pretending not to recognize you for the past two months…

Kuru: One wonders what possible thought process could have produced that comment from Bacura… The human mind is truly an unfathomable thing. Perhaps the human mind is in sync with countless forms of madness. I only hope that madness does not threaten all mankind.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Sorry, when I said I couldn’t possibly care less, I was just joking around.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Look, I don’t know what to say, but I didn’t expect that I’d be talking to you in open acknowledgment of your identity. I just didn’t think you’d be so angry about it. Of course I care about you, Masaomi! That Shin Kuroni City joke was great and super-funny.

<Private Mode> Bacura: No, I’m not talking about that.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Oh, hang on a second.

Mai: Scary.

Setton: See, you shouldn’t have picked on him.

Setton: Now Bacura’s gone silent.

Bacura: Oh, sorry.

Bacura: I’m going to fix some dinner for a bit.

Bacura: I’ll be in the chat, I just won’t be able to respond for a while.

Setton: Have fun.

<Private Mode> Bacura: There, that should buy me some time to focus on this convo.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Very polite of you. Oh, it looks like you’re fixing that habit of ending lines after every bit of punctuation.

<Private Mode> Bacura: At any rate, there’s a reason that I want to talk to you as Mikado rather than TarouTanaka today. You could say I was waiting for you.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: You could just call me, you know. My number’s the same.

<Private Mode> Bacura: No, I’ll pass. I feel like my resolve will waver if I hear your voice right now.

Kuru: By the way, does anyone here have plans for their extended vacation coming up? We are surprisingly domestic, so we prefer to stay indoors and cherish our love.

Setton: Love? Are you and Mai married or something?

Mai: Secret.

Saika: i will be at home

<Private Mode> Bacura: I’m talking to Kuru and stuff, too.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Are you going anywhere for Golden Week?

Setton: I’m guessing I’ll be playing video games with my partner.

Kuru: Oh, you have someone with whom to grow your love, too, Setton?

Mai: Together.

Setton: Er, uh, love… Well, I guess you could say that, lol.

Saika: love?

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: No, I have no plans! So if you want to meet, I’m open!

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I know your dad is completely hands-off with you, so he might not care if you quit school, but everyone else is worried about you. Even Mr. Satou is concerned.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Even Anri really wants to see you.

<Private Mode> Bacura: …No, sorry, that’s not what I’m talking about.

Kuru: If we were to leave, we’d probably just walk around Ikebukuro. Nothing more exciting than shopping at Parco and seeing a movie on Sixtieth Floor Street.

Mai: I want to see a movie.

<Private Mode> Bacura: You going anywhere during your extended vacation?

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Huh? No, I’m just going to school tomorrow for some student committee stuff.

<Private Mode> Bacura: I see… Listen, Mikado, this is a warning.

<Private Mode> Bacura: During your vacation, I wouldn’t go out alone at night.

<Private Mode> Bacura: On top of that, don’t get together with the other Dollars for a while.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Huh?

Setton: Oh, but sometimes I wish I could go riding through the forests of my old home with my partner.

Kuru: Well, we have this vacation coming up. Why not take the opportunity to visit home?

Setton: Unfortunately, it’s too much distance to just stop by.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Just be a normal high school student with no connection to the Dollars for a little while.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: What do you mean?

Setton: Are you going anywhere, Tarou?

<Private Mode> Bacura: I don’t really know the specifics, so I can’t go into any detail.

<Private Mode> Bacura: A hunch. Let’s just say it’s a hunch.

<Private Mode> Bacura: I have a bad feeling right now.

<Private Mode> Bacura: That the Dollars are in danger. Yes, a bad feeling that the Dollars are in danger.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: The Dollars are?

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: All right, whatever’s going on, I’ll be careful.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Your hunches are never wrong, Masaomi.

Setton: Oh, no response. He must be afk.

Setton: Oops, it looks like I’ve got a visitor, so I’ve got to go.

Kuru: Oh, I suppose that will be our parting for this evening. I am exceedingly sad to see you go, but I choose to savor the loneliness that is fate’s work. For I am certain that I am not the only one to sip that bitter liquid now. Have a pleasant holiday, Setton.

Mai: Buh-byes, Setton.

Bacura: So long.

Saika: thank you

Setton: Saika, I haven’t done anything that deserves thanks, lol.

Setton: At any rate, so long, everyone.

Setton: Night!

Setton has left the chat.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Thanks, Mikado.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Be careful.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Thanks to you, too, Masaomi. Really, thanks for so much.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Don’t be so formal.

Bacura: Well, folks, I’ve got some business to take care of. Gotta go for today.

Bacura:

Bacura has left the chat.

Kuru: Good evening. May the true Kuroni City appear in your dreams.

TarouTanaka: Good night.

TarouTanaka: Huh? Setton’s already left.

TarouTanaka: Oh no, now it looks like I totally ignored Setton.

TarouTanaka: I’m sorry.

Saika: i dont think setton minds

Kuru: Oh, what a twist of fate. At the start of this chat, TarouTanaka was beleaguered by the missing Setton, and now it is Tarou who has left Setton out to dry… What is it that the cyberspace purports to teach us, one wonders!

Mai: To love each other.

Kuru: I would appreciate it if you didn’t respond out of mindless reflex, Mai.

Saika: love?

TarouTanaka: …Gosh, I’m sorry.

TarouTanaka: That reminds me. Kanra didn’t show up today.

Kuru: He is very busy with his wicked plottings. If only he were always wasting time in this chat room, the world would be a much more peaceful place.

Mai: Evil bastard.

Saika: kanra doesnt seem bad to me

TarouTanaka: Have you met Kanra in person, Saika?

Saika: only here, sorry

TarouTanaka: Well, I don’t think he’s a bad person, just a little eccentric.

Kuru: Alas, it seems that even here, we have more unfortunate souls taken in by Kanra’s honeyed lies…

.

.

.

.

.

Interlude or Prologue A, Chikage Rokujou

May 3, night, Itabashi Ward, a certain place

On a pedestrian crossing bridge over Route 254, also known as the Kawagoe Highway, stood a young man wearing a medical eyepatch, surrounded by a flock of young women, watching the car lights coming and going below.

“Hey, Rocchi, does it still hurt?”

“It hurts like hell. But as long as I’m with you all, I feel amazing. The breath of hot girls is like an anesthetic that melts me into goo,” Chikage said, rubbing the bandage on his cheek.

One of the girls looked at him with deadly seriousness. “Hey, Rocchi.”

“What is it?”

“That’s creepy.”

“Wha…?!”

He stumbled and lurched as if he was traumatized but did not seem particularly upset. He smiled at the group of women.

“Listen, thanks for showing me around Ikebukuro today. It’s been a huge help.”

“It’s totally fine, Rocchi. I know you’ve hardly ever left your hometown.”

“But you scared me, the way you showed up so badly hurt like that!”

“You shouldn’t get in over your head, Rocchi. You know you’re bad at fighting.”

Chikage grimaced at their comments and retorted, “No, I’m not.”

“Did you win, then?”

“…No, I lost.”

“See? I knew it.”

The girls sighed. He grumbled back at them.

“Only because the other guy was way too tough. But it was the first real, straight-up fight I’ve had in ages. He turned out to be nicer than I thought, actually,” he said wistfully.

The girls were not amused.

“I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.” “Why would you fight him if he’s so nice?” “Guys never grow out of being children…” “And you’re especially childish, Rocchi…” “He’s only adult below the waist…” “That’s gross.” “And who invites eight women out on a date at the same time?” “You know he actually asked about ten more?” “Most of them got mad and left.” “Yeah, it’s sickening.” “Why are we even hanging out with this philanderer?” “Because we’re weird?”

As the onslaught of chirped insults and slanders jabbed Chikage, he scowled and looked away.

“You girls say whatever comes to mind, don’t you? Well, the other day I saw a thing on TV about a nobleman who loved, like, thirty different maids. At least I’m better than him, right?”

“Really? You said you were super-jealous of him.”

“…Look, just forget about that. Take care on your way home. Stick together until you get to the train station,” he said, eager to change the subject.

The girls rolled their eyes but gave him smiles.

“We know, we know. You’re such a worrywart, Rocchi.”

“So long.”

And with that, the girls trotted away down the bridge.

After sending the girls off with a smile, the young man returned to gazing at the highway alone in the dark of night.

Chikage stood there silently for several minutes in the breeze. When he spoke at last, his monologue melted in the sound of the traffic below.

“Still, it’s the first time I’ve been beaten to a pulp so solidly like that. And he even helped me get to a doctor. Total defeat. Weird doctor, though.”

“You, losing in a fistfight? Go figure.”

The voice came from straight behind the young man.

It was a rough, blunt man’s voice, nothing like the chirping of the young women who had just been there.

Chikage did not turn to face the voice. He continued watching the lights of the city.

“Yeah… But he wasn’t human. I never wanna fight him again.”

“That dangerous?”

“Well, it was our guys who started it by picking a fight with him in the first place, so there’s no need to do anything more. It’s more of a selfish desire of mine.”

“It’s not like Heiwajima was our goal for coming here to start with.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Chikage chuckled. He spoke to the expanding aura gathering around him. “Shizuo Heiwajima was nothing more than a bonus. The ones we’re about to face tonight are the real reason we’re here.”

He looked up slowly, pulling his eyes away from the center divider of the highway and looking around him at last.

He saw a lineup of familiar faces.

Glares.

A crowd of piercing glares shot through Chikage Rokujou.

But the hostility of all those eyes was not directed at Chikage himself.

There were a few dozen men all around in leather jackets and biker uniforms.

Despite being obviously underage, there was a powerful foreboding in the image that seeped into the air around them.

There were so many that they couldn’t all fit on the walkway, so some of them gathered on the stairs and the sidewalk below.

Chikage Rokujou let himself fuse with the aura of the menacing group around him, his words growing sharper by the moment.

“An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. An obligation for an obligation… If they play dirty, then we’re more than happy to stoop to their level. It was our idiots who started it all by causing trouble in Ikebukuro, and I forced ’em to make things right…but what happened next ain’t cool.”

“Three more of us got knocked out yesterday. It was a total ambush,” one of the young men reported.

“…Tsk! So I guess none of the rules apply with these guys, huh?” Chikage spat. He gritted his teeth—then grinned. “We ain’t exactly saints, either… Who says we gotta play fair against pieces of shit like them?”

And Chikage Rokujou—leader of Toramaru, biker gang from Saitama—spoke with quiet menace of the dark emotions that ran through him.

“I understand wanting payback, but I take offense at their methods. Coming all the way to Saitama and ambushing not only us, but also others who had nothing to do with anything. If they’d stuck to just attacking our team, that would make sense, since we started it.”

The leader stretched and cracked his neck before finally identifying their target.

“I don’t know how people see ’em here…but it seems to me like these Dollars are a real sick bunch.”

“It don’t matter who these guys are,” said one of his followers. Despite their leader’s admission that he lost his fight, their resolve had not diminished in the least. These were not the ones who had gone on a joyride rampage through Ikebukuro—they were bound by firm determination and camaraderie.

“Well, these Dollars, or whatever stupid name they call themselves, are gonna find out what we’re all about now,” Chikage announced to his silent squad.

Dark flames began to burn within them, rising to face a singular purpose.

Revenge.

An unknown gang had ransacked their neighborhood.

Their pride had been crushed.

Perhaps their friends or family outside of the gang had been hurt.

Chikage Rokujou faced the crowd with thick rage waiting in its throat and uttered the words that unleashed the fury into the air.

“The Dollars are gonna get a lesson…about which gang is truly crazy!”

A wave of roaring anger rippled through the night.

The gathering broke up at once, the members trickling into the night before they could draw more attention.

Chikage continued watching them from his spot on the bridge.

Unlike when he had fought Shizuo, he wore a truly cruel and villainous smile now.

“Oh, and I’m sure all the guys in my personal group know this already,” he added, just in case.

“But anyone who hits a woman, Dollars or not…is gonna get his skull personally bashed in, courtesy of me. Keep that in mind.”

The Black Market Doctor Gets Sappy, Part Two

Hey, Celty. Sorry about the wait.

It’s been quite a rush around here, hasn’t it?

It looks like you had to cut off your chat session. Is everything okay? I know you like checking in regularly. The chat room with that Saika girl, right?

Well, Shizuo just showed up out of the blue with this bloody kid in tow.

Seems like he had a fight.

Honestly, it’s been ages since he’d actually brought me someone he hit himself.

Probably not since high school. At the time, emergency first aid was about the best I could do. You were out working at the time, I think.

Back then, I hardly ever told you about school, but it was actually pretty rough.

Shizuo and Izaya fought like dogs and cats from the moment I met them. Or more like…vampires and werewolves.

Speaking of which, have you ever met a real vampire or werewolf, Celty?

Oh, I see.

So there are all kinds, even when it comes to vampires and werewolves.

But you’ve hardly seen any vampires since coming to Japan. Well, that makes sense.

If anything, you’re the most visible spooky thing around here.

…But you’re still afraid of the Grays?

Uh, Celty? Celty?

Do you still believe the theory that the Grays were what wiped out the dinosaurs?

…

No, listen, Celty, the photon belt isn’t some gigantic life-form. You realize that, right? I’ve never heard anyone before say, “We might get eaten by the photon belt.”

…

No, no, no! We’re not going to be overrun by beings from the fourth dimension!

Look! No matter how hard Yumasaki tries, a three-dimensional person cannot simply become two-dimensional! So it’d be similarly hard for a fourth-dimensional person to get here! It’ll be fine! What? You’re scared of tesseracts? Have you been reading that sci-fi manga again? That’s not the same as reality!

It’s funny how you don’t mind ghosts or goblins in the least, but you cannot handle anything like aliens. You know, they always have those debate specials on TV, but you never see people who believe in ghosts but not in Venusians. I wish they would jump around more between pro and anti with that stuff.

…What did that TV show just remind you of?

…

It’s fine! Nothing to be scared of with that prophecy!

Remember how nothing happened in 1999? So 2012 will be perfectly safe, too!

That reminds me, back in June of 1999, you were terrified by the thought that your missing head was the great king of terror prophesied by Nostradamus.

What? The Mayan calendar ends in 2012?

Then how far ahead should the Mayans have constructed their calendar?

The year 3000? The year 500,000,000?

How much work do you demand those poor Mayans do?! You have no idea how much work it took for them to create a year’s worth of calendar! For that matter, neither do I.

On that note, the calendar in my pocket organizer only covers up to 2009. Are you going to start saying you’re afraid of 2009 now, Celty?

Plus, you’re not even considering the possibility that humanity could be wiped out by nuclear war or a meteorite before 2012 arrives.

If you’d spread that story around about the year 1800, people would probably have said, “That means we’re totally safe until the year 2012! Yahoo!” And the rest would ignore you.

But most “prophets” are really just people who are skilled at taking very loose evidence and twisting it to suit their story. Not that I’m saying they can’t be real.

Let’s take…Izaya, for instance.

He has qualities that make him close to a prophet.

You know how he talks as though he can see through everything that’s happening?

Whenever trouble arises, he wafts in afterward and acts like he caused it all—and then reaps the benefits after the fact. Even though he did nothing up to that point.

It’s like when false prophets claim they foresaw actual events of the past, long before they happened. It’s Izaya Orihara’s style to get people to believe him when he says that.

In fact, if you treat him very calmly and rationally, the things he says aren’t ordinarily believable… What he does is tell you the worst possible thing at the worst possible moment to rattle you and make you vulnerable.

If Izaya got on TV calling himself a prophet, he’d be quite a hit, I bet.

Though knowing him, once he found himself with a following of believers, he’d get bored, proclaim something about Japan sinking into the ocean, then disappear and leave chaos in his wake.

Ever since school, he was always good at leading people on.

That’s what he was good at—leading people on, not out and out fooling them. He had a pointless knack for it.

And that’s why my high school time was so miserable. Shizuo was ferocious, Izaya was fishy, and not a single girl wanted anything to do with me. Of course, I was living with you, so I didn’t need any girls.

At any rate, you cannot let Izaya lead you astray. Unlike the false prophets, he doesn’t have a shred of goodwill. Not that I would want to be told fake prophecies for a good cause.

Huh? What would I do if I were a true prophet who saw a future vision of the world destroyed?

…You do realize I was just talking very fervently about how Izaya in real life is more dangerous than any prophecy, right? Shall I assume you were just ignoring that whole part?

That makes me kind of sad, but I find that aspect of you endearing as well, so I’ll let it slide.

If I could predict the future, and I knew that humanity could escape calamity through its actions as a whole, then I’d make, like, ten billion yen gambling, blow it up to a few trillion through the stock market, use the money to prove and publicize my powers of foresight, then tell everyone about the future. If that takes until there’s only three days left until oblivion, I’ll just give up and hold you tight instead!

…Weird. I figured that would be the point where you get overcome with emotion and leap into my arms.

You know, a proven prophet is something like a time machine when you think about it. It’s like a time machine that can only send information from the future into the past.

…

Celty, please don’t start talking about how scary an out-of-control AI would be.

It’s so strange how you can be confident and brave, but as soon as the topic of aliens and the like comes up, you switch into scaredy-cat mode. It’s super-cute, though!

…

…You’re not going to pinch me or poke me with your shadow?

Look, I’m not a masochist or anything, but when you don’t do your usual thing, it’s a bit worrying for me…

“I’m calm now, thanks”?

You must have really been terrified.

It’s fine; you can cry in my arms. Then, we’ll go to bed. We can engage in some pillow tal— Ah-ah-ah-aah! That’s a bit more like your usual sel-el-el-el-elf! Ouch! Ow…owww!

Ooh, that hurt. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.

And just so you know, I’m not a skeptic of supernatural phenomena. I’m a proponent, if anything.

I mean, I have the miracle of your presence, Celty.

I called you spooky earlier, but I take that back now.

You’re not a fairy or a goblin or a ghost.

You’re a miracle of love.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a fairy, or a demon, or an angel to me.

As the saying goes, “You can find a fruitful tree by its flowers,” but in your case, it would be more like “You can find the sweetness of honey by its dapple shade.” From the moment I met you, I understood what an enchanting person you were! All on my own!

…Hmm?

Oh no, not now!

Sorry, Celty. The kid Shizuo brought here is awake.

I need to go explain the situation. Don’t want him to go all berserk in here.

Whew, thanks for waiting.

He’s up and walking now, so I sent him back home. Since Shizuo hit him, I told him about another unlicensed doctor working at a place that can actually do a brain scan. He’ll need that kind of help.

It really is inconvenient not having, for example, an MRI machine. So I got this doctor’s info from some people at Dad’s company last month.

Speaking of Shizuo, he shouldn’t be relying on me so heavily, just because I cut him a good deal.

He seems to think that our little love nest is a Red Cross tent.

It’s an insult to all upstanding legitimate doctors to associate a black market doc like me with their work.

Speaking of which, have you ever had any war experience, Celty?

…

So your memory of that time is still vague.

You think it’s in your head…? Come on, Celty. You can’t start with the head search thing again.

As long as you’re here in this city, you won’t have any connection to war, I’d say.

As they say, Japan has gone soft from its peace, but I’m grateful for the conditions that created that softness. It just means things are quiet for you and me.

But you never know when that peace might come to an end, so we ought to foster as much love together while we still can!

So let’s continue what we were— Er-er-er-er-ow-ow-ow-ow, ouch, ouch! That hurts! It hurts when you use your shadow to lock both my arms to-to-to-to-to— Give! Give, give! I give…!