Chapter 2: The Adults Squirm
Chapter 2: The Adults Squirm
May 3, Ikebukuro
Right around the time that Shizuo Heiwajima was being hit with a stun gun by an unidentified little girl, Celty Sturluson was herself thrust into the midst of the abnormal.
But in her case, it was part of her job.
Gone soft from peace, huh?
She leaned back into the pleasantly textured sofa, thinking about what her partner had said the night before.
That seems like the kind of thing that would never describe a black market doctor and a courier.
She was sitting in what might seem at first glance like a neatly arranged office.
But the interior of the office was exceedingly minimalistic, with just the barest necessities when it came to furniture. She understood that this was so the office could be closed up and removed at a moment’s notice or to allow it to be morphed into a different tenant altogether.
And such an occurrence would only happen when the police started to move in.
“We appreciate you taking the time to come visit today. Would you like a hot towel to clean off?”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Celty typed into her PDA, turning her attention to the man sitting across from her. He was around thirty years of age, and his name was Shiki.
This man brought Shinra a number of clients and had hired Celty to ferry around things on several occasions.
To outward appearances, he was the representative of a small art dealership—but as a matter of fact, he was only a member of a much larger group. In truth, he was an officer of a group of professional gentlemen known as the Awakusu-kai, working for the Medei-gumi Syndicate.
The art dealership’s office was merely a front for the group. In fact, there wasn’t even a single painting hanging up in the waiting room.
“I understand the desire to have some art on display just for appearances, but I can’t seem to acquire anything that suits my aesthetic,” Celty recalled the man saying once, but it meant nothing to her.
More concerning was the fact that whenever a new person entered the office, he would invariably tense up when he saw Celty.
“Um…I can’t help noticing some tension from the group.”
“Hmm? Oh, pardon them. There was someone dressed similarly to you in the office of our syndicate’s money-lending business the other day. They had some rather…rough words of complaint, shall we say.”
At the moment, Celty was wearing her black riding suit with the full helmet. She understood his meaning, was fed up with it, and typed, “Shall I change outfits?”
Fortunately, at times like these there was no way for them to see how weary she felt.
“No, you don’t need to feel so weary.”
Is he psychic?!
“Can you read my mind?”
“All you have to do is watch the subtle mannerisms. Any man who can’t pick up that sort of information without a face to read isn’t cut out for this line of work. Oh, but feel free to change. You could even remove your helmet if you want.”
…
“Are you certain?”
“Sure. Most people take theirs off when they go indoors.”
“You do know…what I am, don’t you?”
“Go ahead,” Shiki said, his gaze unflinching. Taken aback, Celty grabbed her helmet and lifted it straight off the base of her neck.
The next instant, the other few men present in the room froze still, and a young “employee” who happened to be passing nearby flinched and yelped, “Wha—?! M-monst…”
Instantly, Shiki leaped from the sofa and grabbed the young man by the collar. Without listening for an excuse, he rammed the man’s face into the corner of a nearby locker.
“Gahk!” the young man grunted, blood flowing from his mouth.
Shiki lifted the man by the collar, pressed his forehead against the man’s temple, and said flatly, “What kind of a man screams when he sees his guest’s face?”
“Agh…blrgh…”
“What did I just say? I just said that most people take their helmets off when they go indoors.”
“Um, wait,” Celty hurriedly typed into her PDA, confused at what was going on, but naturally Shiki was not looking in her direction and did not see the message.
“So why would my subordinate scream at her, after I just told my guest she could take her helmet off?”
“…S…szorry…szir…,” the younger man gurgled.
Shiki smiled coldly at him. “You’re apologizing to the wrong person. Why would you say sorry to me?”
Shiki was about to deliver another devastating blow when a black shadow twisted around his arm.
A literal shadow.
A shadow with mass, occupying three-dimensional space, writhing through the air like a tentacle to grab Shiki’s hand and hold it in place.
“…”
He turned around to see a freshly typed message on the PDA screen.
“Look, I’m not offended.”
The PDA screen with its large message was propped up by a different shadow from the one holding Shiki’s arm still. In fact, countless shadows were extending from Celty’s hands, much to the shock of the other employees watching the scene. Given what Shiki had just done to their cohort, they wisely held their silence.
Shiki slowly lowered himself into a chair, smiling as though nothing had happened, and said, “I see. I’m afraid we’ve presented a rather embarrassing spectacle.”
“Not at all.”
…These people really are scary. It’s just a different kind of scary from the motorcycle cops.
“I apologize for the disrespect. I was the one who offered you the opportunity to take off your helmet, but it seems my man here did not understand the meaning of my statement,” Shiki said, bowing deeply.
Celty felt a chilling pressure emanating from him. But…I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve ever taken it off around him, too.
True, this was the first occasion that the man named Shiki had ever seen what was under Celty’s helmet. But there was no panic or change in his expression. He hadn’t even taken an extra breath. Celty found that to be quite eerie.
Having that part of me totally ignored actually puts extra pressure on me…
To Celty, the screaming reaction of the young man now holding his broken nose and bowing was the normal one for a human being.
Because it wasn’t the physical shadows extending from her fingertips that was the eeriest part of the picture.
It was the fact that underneath her helmet, there was no head atop her shoulders.
Celty Sturluson was not human.
She was a type of fairy commonly known as a dullahan, found from Scotland to Ireland—a being that visits the homes of those close to death to inform them of their impending mortality.
The dullahan carried its own severed head under its arm, rode on a two-wheeled carriage called a Coiste Bodhar pulled by a headless horse, and approached the homes of the soon to die. Anyone foolish enough to open the door was drenched with a basin full of blood. Thus, the dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a herald of ill fortune throughout European folklore.
One theory claimed that the dullahan bore a strong resemblance to the Norse Valkyrie, but Celty had no way of knowing if this was true.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know. More accurately, she just couldn’t remember.
When someone back in her homeland stole her head, she lost her memories of what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that had brought her here to Ikebukuro.
Now with a motorcycle instead of a headless horse and a riding suit instead of armor, she had wandered the streets of this neighborhood for decades.
But ultimately, she had not succeeded in retrieving her head, and her memories were still lost.
Celty knew who stole her head.
She knew who was preventing her from finding it.
But ultimately, that meant she didn’t know where it was.
And she was fine with that.
As long as she could live with those human beings she loved and who accepted her, she could happily go on the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face and held this strong, secret desire within her heart.
That was Celty Sturluson in a nutshell.
Now this headless fairy rode all over Ikebukuro as a lowly courier, taking on odd jobs from a variety of people, paying no mind to whether the job was aboveboard or under the table.
In this case, it was clear that the job she was being hired for was way, way under the table.
“Sorry about him. He was working in debt collection for a financial agent of ours until recently, when he was reassigned to our wing for being a little too loud and a little too inefficient at his job.”
“Debt collection? You mean like what Shizuo does?” Celty wrote on a whim and then froze, realizing her mistake.
Shizuo would not take to a job of this sort. The thought of what might happen if Shiki’s organization honestly tried to recruit him sent a shiver down her back.
But Shiki’s response was surprisingly aloof.
“Shizuo… Oh, him.”
Shiki already knew about Shizuo Heiwajima. He looked away.
“He does collection for a call-girl service, right? They won’t have any connection to a business like ours. I did hear about some idiot borrowing money from us who also tried to shirk his debt to the call service and wound up in a heap of trouble.”
“I see.”
“…Do you really think any loan shark wants to use a well-known troublemaker widely recognized by the police for a collection bruiser?”
“I do not,” she had to admit.
In that light, she also had to admit that his dreadlocked boss must be quite skilled at handling Shizuo to keep him from getting into trouble with the police.
“But enough about him. Let’s get down to business,” Shiki said, pulling a photograph from his pocket. “This is not so much of a courier job…but a more unique request, much like the earlier job involving retrieving materials.”
“I see.”
Celty recalled another job she’d taken from this man about a year earlier. Some men who stole a gun were on the run, and they needed her to retrieve it before the police could and bring it back.
It wasn’t the kind of job she wanted to do, but when she learned that the thieves were the type to point a gun at innocent civilians, and given that she owed the Awakusu-kai a number of large debts from when she first came to Japan, she had no choice but to accept the job.
At the time, I tried to slip the gun to the police by pretending I failed to get it back, but this man showed up first…
Shiki was not a man to be underestimated, and this job would require careful consideration before she accepted. Her own well-being was one thing, but if the job threatened to affect Shinra and the other people of Ikebukuro she knew like Mikado, Anri, Shizuo, and Kadota in a negative way, she had to consider those consequences very heavily before accepting or declining.
Warily, she reached out to accept the photo. Examining it through her unique visual sense that involved no eyeballs, she saw a middle-aged man.
He looked to be somewhere from his midforties to early fifties. In the photo he was smiling in a friendly, gentlemanly way. There were reading glasses on his nose, and his outfit was formal, giving him the appearance of a company president, or perhaps the chairman of a private academy.
Who is this? I hope he’s not going to ask me to kill him.
For a brief moment she was going to type her statement about killing the man, but the thought occurred to her that the man might be a higher-up in the yakuza syndicate, so she stuck to a simple question.
“Who is this man?”
“Jinnai Yodogiri. The fellow who was representative director of Yodogiri Shining Corporation… Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”
Oh! From Ruri Hijiribe!
“Yes, I know.”
Ruri Hijiribe was the name of a massive star, an up-and-coming actress who had recently caused a stir when her relationship with male star Yuuhei Hanejima was exposed in the tabloids. She was a true actor’s actor, and both Celty and Shinra eagerly followed her career.
With the revelation of that affair came another bit of personal trouble.
Jinnai Yodogiri, president of her talent agency, Yodogiri Shining Corporation, went missing under mysterious circumstances, effectively releasing all of the agency’s talent into the wild. Without anywhere else to go, she found herself enrolled with Jack-o’-Lantern Japan, the agency representing Yuuhei Hanejima.
Rumor said that she got in because of the good word of her paramour, Hanejima, but the disappearance of the agency head was given bigger headlines, and after a month, the whole affair was in the process of being forgotten by society at large.
“So what happened to this showbiz president?” Celty asked.
Shiki tapped his right index finger on the desk. “As a matter of fact, we had our own personal dealings with him…and there were some differences of opinion between us.”
“Ah.”
“Naturally, we are doing our best with our own resources to search for him…but we could use all the help we can get right now. I’m not asking you to spend all your time on this, but given your job as a courier, you meet people from many walks of life. I was hoping you might be able to let us know about any information you come across…”
“I don’t know if I’ll be any help to you there.”
But even then, is this the kind of thing they’d call me for? And if I do somehow find him and let them know, I have a feeling this Yodogiri fellow will wind up feeding the worms in the mountains or the fish at the bottom of the sea.
Seeing that she was hesitant about the idea, Shiki smiled wryly and added, “Only if you happen to come across anything. There’s no need to overanalyze it.”
He saw through me again, she realized, suspicious. Based on the way he was talking, there naturally had to be some other job he wanted to ask her about.
“The thing is…there’s another thing we wanted to ask of you…”
“This also has little to do with your courier job…”
May 3, evening, near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building
Ahhh, I wish Celty would come back soon.
It was the luxury apartment where the headless fairy and her human companion lived.
In the midst of this vast living space, boasting over fifteen hundred square feet and five bedrooms, Shinra Kishitani was lounging atop a rug, waiting for his beloved to return home.
He was wearing his white doctor’s coat as he rolled idly on the floor, which only made him look like a weirdo. As a matter of fact, there was another white coat wrapped in plastic in the corner of the room, meaning that he had separate doctors’ coats for work and private wear.
But just the idea of wearing a doctor’s lab coat for a personal outfit was weird enough to begin with.
Shinra was a black market doctor who took in patients who couldn’t see an ordinary doctor for various reasons. But as he didn’t have X-rays or other fancy machinery, he was not in high demand.
Yet because he was a flexible freelancer, he did have certain regular clients. If he wanted to have a normal, upstanding position, he had the ability, the knowledge, and the qualifications. But he did not want that—he preferred to live his life dishonestly and spend his days with Celty.
She’s getting a job from Shiki. It’s odd because she tries not to take on jobs from those sorts nowadays. It was much less of a problem for her when she didn’t really care about humans. But I think Mr. Shiki understands that about her now.
Shinra did not think of Shiki as being good-hearted—he was a man who lived firmly on the underside of society. But because he was so familiar with what it took to do his work, he wouldn’t send the darker jobs to someone like her, whose personal morals were wavering.
He needed the right person for every job.
Shiki would send such work to others, people who were more predictable in their outlook. Shinra was reassured that Celty would be fine because he knew Shiki to be a pragmatic man at heart.
Of course, it was best not to associate with such people at all, but as Celty was not even human to begin with, she didn’t have the luxury of being picky about her income sources.
She’s the type of girl who would keep working a job for a sense of fulfillment, even after winning three hundred million yen in the lottery.
…If we had a baby, I wonder if she’d give up her job to be a housewife. I suppose I should find out if it’s even possible for us to have children first.
We could also take in a foster child. On the forms, it’d have to go down as Dad and my stepmother’s child.
Wait…I just envisioned myself as a househusband while Celty goes out and works.
Celty as a housewife… With an apron…made of shadow.
What? She’s naked under the apron?!
He rolled even harder on the rug, grinning at the image in his head. Shinra looked like nothing short of a freak, but his partner was nowhere in sight to make fun of him.
After spending about thirty minutes like that, the doorbell rang.
“Ooh! Is she back?” he wondered aloud, hopping up excitedly. The doorbell rang several more times as he raced over to the entryway.
“I wonder why she’s ringing the bell. Did she forget her key?”
He was so preoccupied with the thought of Celty that the possibility of anyone else being responsible for ringing the doorbell never even entered his mind.
He realized his mistake right as he was reaching the door, but it was too late to stop. When he opened it, he saw the very same bartender uniform he’d seen just last night.
“…”
At least it wasn’t a gun-toting hit man or a home invader, but in terms of potential danger, this visitor was a good match.
Shinra closed the door halfway and groaned. “Maybe I should move to a building that won’t even let you in the front entrance without a key.”
“Sounds to me like you wanna get socked,” Shizuo said.
Shinra grimaced and waved his hand. “Please don’t. Then I’d have to consider the very real possibility that I would die.”
“Can I come in?” Shinra’s longtime acquaintance mumbled, scratching his cheek.
The doctor said, “Fine, fine. What is it now? The kid you brought here yesterday already left; he was in good enough shape to walk again.”
“Yeah, I know. He was in town earlier, I hear.”
“Very lively fellow. Especially after taking several hits from you. It’s a wonder all his vertebrae were still in place,” Shinra noted, pulling the door back open to usher Shizuo inside, when he noticed—
“Huh?”
Shizuo was not the only person outside the apartment.
“Huh? Isn’t that your boss…?”
“Yeah, I’ve never introduced you two. This is Tom.”
“Yes, I understand that, but…”
Shinra was not looking at the man with the dreadlocks—but at a little girl of around elementary school age, clinging to Shizuo’s waist by his belt.
“Who’s the girl?”
At that moment, Raira Academy
Whether private school or public school, vacation is vacation.
Like the rest of society, the private Raira Academy, famous for its close proximity to Ikebukuro Station, was in the first day of the extended break.
But the school was overflowing with more people than one would expect. The athletic clubs were crowded onto the field, bellowing to be heard over the others, and the humanities clubs were each busy preparing for their artistic contests in June.
Mikado Ryuugamine was one of these students on campus during the break. He was considered a member of the Going Home club, as he didn’t participate in any extracurriculars. Instead, he was here for a student committee meeting about the class field trip.
Normally, this would have happened after school, but the meetings had been running long, and so they had to make it up by holding an extra one during the break. The school was reluctant, but since it was the students’ idea, the plan was approved to hold the meeting on campus during break and finalize plans once they’d collected the feedback of those class representatives who weren’t able to make it due to vacation plans.
“Whew, finally done,” Mikado groaned. He hadn’t expected that planning their own field trip would involve such fierce debate.
From over his shoulder a tiny voice called, “Nice work, Mikado.”
“Ah, Sonohara. Wasn’t that tiring?”
Standing behind him was Anri Sonohara, his classmate and fellow representative on the student committee. But he had known her well before that—they met on the day they started school here.
Mikado’s crush on Anri never left his own lips but was taken as public fact by everyone else, and Anri often interacted with Mikado, so the school essentially treated them like an official couple.
But neither Mikado nor Anri was aware of that. All they knew was that they were still friends, nothing more.
A part of Mikado wanted to confess his feelings and broach that gap, but another part of him wouldn’t let that happen until a different problem was resolved.
He envisioned the face of his close friend who had recently quit school: Masaomi Kida.
They grew up in the same town, and with the addition of Anri in high school, they led a fulfilling school life.
The problem was, each of the three kept a terrible secret.
Mikado Ryuugamine, founder of the street gang the Dollars.
Masaomi Kida, founder and leader of a rival gang, the Yellow Scarves.
And Anri Sonohara, a girl who bore within her an inhuman being much like Celty Sturluson.
After a recent incident, the three each learned a bit about the others’ secrets—and as a result, Masaomi Kida had left.
But neither Mikado nor Anri thought of this as a good-bye. They trusted that he would return, and therefore, neither attempted to pry into each other’s half-exposed secrets.
They would speak openly when Masaomi came back to them. That was what they decided.
And thus, the relationship between the two neither progressed nor collapsed but maintained an awkward balance as the days passed them by.
Until yesterday, when a new event threatened to topple that balance.
In the chat room where Mikado went by the name TarouTanaka and Masaomi went by the handle Bacura, Masaomi reached out to speak not to TarouTanaka, but personally to Mikado Ryuugamine.
But should I tell Sonohara about that?
It was too menacing a topic to serve as a wholesome reunion with Masaomi.
The Dollars were in danger.
Curious and worried, Mikado checked out the mobile-only chat room and message board for Dollars members but found no particular evidence of the claim.
But it was true that when it came to such matters, Masaomi had a sharper instinct and deeper connections than himself.
If he just outright told Anri, it might only cause her to worry. Or was it better to just be open and explain the situation to her?
He walked through the school building with Anri, unsure of how to proceed, when an excited voice entirely at odds with his own mental state rang out.
“Mr. Mikado! Ms. Sonohara! Nice to see you!”
They turned around to see a boy in the hall: Aoba Kuronuma.
He was new, freshly enrolled just last month, their junior at school.
Aoba looked even younger than Mikado, to the point that he could pass himself off as an elementary schooler if he dressed the part. He could also pass for a girl if he cross-dressed and didn’t speak.
He, too, was a member of the Dollars, one of the few who knew that Mikado was a fellow member—but since being dragged into a spot of trouble with Mikado and Anri last month, he hadn’t made any major contact with them.
“Hi, Aoba… What’s going on? First-years don’t go on the field trip, right?” Mikado asked. He was certain that Aoba had been traumatized by their recent experience and was avoiding him as a result, but the boy’s expression showed no sign of that—it was the same smile he’d seen a month earlier.
In fact, it was a little too carefree given that a violent biker gang had chased them—but Mikado Ryuugamine did not pick up on that.
“Nah, I’m here for my club. I’m in the art club.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
Was he here just for a little chat? Mikado prepared to respond appropriately. But before he could ask anything else, Aoba cut straight to the point.
“Are you free tomorrow?”
“Huh?”
“After what happened last month, you never got the chance to show me around the area! Since we have this extended break now, I thought the three of us could hang out for a day!”
“Er, well…tomorrow’s not…”
Normally, Mikado would have agreed on the spot. But Masaomi’s statement from the day before was bugging him.
“Don’t get together with the other Dollars for a while,” he had warned. Karisawa and Yumasaki were one thing, but did it really apply to Aoba Kuronuma?
Masaomi had said to just be a normal high schooler. And if he and Aoba didn’t talk about the Dollars, they really were nothing more than students at the same school.
Maybe it would be safest to just not go out? If something might happen to the Dollars, maybe I should stay home and try to gather intelligence so I can send a warning message to everyone. Okay, I’ll turn him down for now and make the offer again once this issue Masaomi mentioned dies down. I’d like to introduce Aoba to Masaomi, anyway.
After thinking it all through in his mind, Mikado shook his head sadly.
“Yeah… Sorry, I think I might have something going on tomorrow.”
“Aww, darn,” Aoba said, crestfallen. Right after, he picked his head up again and looked over at Anri. “What about you, Ms. Sonohara?”
“Huh? Me? I don’t really have anything to do…”
What?
Mikado was at a total loss for words.
“But I won’t be a very good tour guide…”
“Oh, it’s fine! I did some groundwork of my own, looking stuff up!”
“But I doubt I’ll be anything other than a bother to you.”
…What? What?!
If Mikado and Anri had officially been a romantic couple, or if Anri were a bit quicker and more observant of others’ feelings, she might not have reacted in the same way.
But since she was on the slow side when it came to recognizing normal romantic advances, she had no suspicions about what Aoba was asking her. She honestly wondered if he really thought she would be a good tour guide.
“That’s not true! Ms. Anri, you’re so beautiful, just having you around will make everything shine!”
Ms. Anri?! He’s already leveled up from calling her by her last name?! Without checking first?! That’s cheating! You’re a cheater, Aoba!
“P-please, don’t tease me.”
“No, I’m serious. So what time should I—?”
At that point, Mikado spoke up. He made the mistake of speaking up.
“Wait! Whoopsie, I got myself mixed up. Tomorrow’s open after all!”
“Oh, really?!” Aoba exclaimed, beaming innocently. That threw Mikado for a loop.
Wait…he’s happy about that?
So he really was just teasing Sonohara?
“But only during the day. All kinds of people come out at night when school’s out, and it gets dangerous after that.”
“Yeah, sure thing,” the boy said, his intentions still unreadable to Mikado.
And so it was that he made unexpected plans for the afternoon of the fourth. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the plans were made for him.
Once again, Mikado would find himself stepping into the extraordinary—without knowing whether this was a product of simple coincidence or the intentions of someone else.
Perhaps he had been stepping across that line ever since the moment he founded the Dollars. He just didn’t realize it.
Mikado Ryuugamine’s ordinary life was coming to a quiet, unheralded end.
Near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building
Shizuo sat on a sofa in the living room, drinking tea from a steel cup. He wondered, “So, Shinra…you even wear the lab coat at home?”
It was a perfectly natural question. Shinra puffed out his chest in mysterious pride and boasted, “Yes, because Celty’s always dressed in her black riding suit, of course. The stark contrast makes us look like light and shadow, right? Light and shadow are polar opposites but always attached—a hot couple, just like us! When they talk about the forces of darkness in comics and movies, it’s all just because the dark side is playing hard to get. Or maybe I’m just being possessive. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind being possessed by Cel-twah!”
“Shut up.”
Shizuo merely flicked Shinra’s forehead with his finger, but the doctor flew backward as though a blunt weapon had struck him.
“I don’t like your insinuation that you’re on the side of light. You’re way deeper on the dark side than Celty is.”
“If you want to be peaceful like your name suggests, try limiting your feedback to words alone.”
Meanwhile, Tom revealed his initial impression of the doctor under his breath. “Yeah, this guy really is a freak…”
“Hey! What do you mean, ‘really is’? What kind of awful slander has Shizuo been spreading around the workplace about me?! Well…either way, I don’t care. If talking about my love for Celty makes me a pervert, then a pervert I shall be. There’s a thin line between perversion and love!” Shinra boasted, holding his swollen, reddening forehead. He slowed down to gather his breath and asked, “Anyway, would you mind explaining about her already?”
He looked over at the little girl curled up in the corner with her arms around her knees.
“You hushed me up earlier when you brought her in, but you realize I can’t just ignore this, right? She looks scared out of her mind.”
Shinra let out a very long, deep sigh and fixed his old friend with a stern gaze.
“Why did you kidnap her?”
“We didn’t!” stated Tom.
He must have sensed that Shizuo was ready to snap and stepped in to deny it before anything happened. Sure enough, there was a vein bulging on Shizuo’s face, but it was in the process of easing as the blood flow returned.
Tom shot the relieved Shinra a glance to warn him not to utter any more provocation before explaining the situation.
Thirty minutes earlier, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street
“Drop dead.”
Huh?
Shizuo was on the tall side, so at first he couldn’t be certain of what the little girl said when she leaped onto him.
If anything, Tom heard her better than Shizuo did, his expression one of disbelief as he rushed to catch up. But Tom’s ears were working perfectly.
The girl thrust what she was holding against Shizuo’s waist, never letting her smile fade away.
Tom saw a pale-blue spark leap from the tool to Shizuo’s side, accompanied by a loud crackling sound.
“Yeow!” Shizuo yelped, instinctually brushing the girl’s hand away.
“Ah!” she cried, as a boxy tool that looked like a transceiver fell from her grip.
Shizuo hadn’t realized what had happened, and because he didn’t process it, he also didn’t instantly lose his temper like he usually did. Instead, he reached down to pick up what the girl dropped and examined it.
The black rectangular object looked like a walkie-talkie or a flashlight.
“…Damn, that hurt… What’s going on? What is this?”
There was a switch on the device, so he pressed it.
It crackled and burst, and a blue spark leaped from the metallic part at the end of the device.
“What’s this? A stun gun?”
He stood there in disbelief, his brain unable to process the combination of young girl and stun gun, when over his shoulder, Tom’s voice caused him to come to his senses.
“Hey, Shizuo…”
All around them, pedestrians stopped in their tracks, looking over to see what was happening.
A grown man holding a stun gun.
A little girl on her knees next to him.
Right as he was able to process how the scene looked to an objective onlooker, one of those very people from the crowd started running over to a police officer stationed outside of the arcade.
“Oh, crap. It’s the cop who came to arrest that shoplifter,” Tom said and grabbed Shizuo’s shoulder.
“We gotta go. You can’t talk yourself out of this situation.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Tom began to utilize the sprinting power he’d gained since he started working with Shizuo.
“…Wh-whaa—?”
Shizuo had no choice but to follow his coworker, the opportunity to fly into a rage completely gone now.
They should have gotten away, and the police should’ve found the strange girl and taken her into custody.
Instead, Shizuo realized that he felt heavier than usual as he was running. He turned back and noticed a bob of flapping hair out of the corner of his eye.
Shizuo’s monstrous strength was such that he never even noticed that the girl from a moment ago was clinging to his belt, dangling from his waist as he ran away from the scene.
“Can’t run…away… Die…just…die…!” the little girl grunted as she clung to Shizuo.
He didn’t understand what she was saying. He simply couldn’t imagine a scenario in which a little girl would be trying to kill him.
One time after having been shot, he remained calm until he belatedly realized the attack was intentionally malicious. This was similar to that situation.
“So what should we do about her, Tom?” he asked as they ran. Tom glanced over, saw the girl on Shizuo’s back, and shouted, “Arrgh, this is a nightmare!”
A moment later, he regained his cool and asked, “Do you know anyone who lives around here?! We’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb on the street!”
“Our office?”
“No, we can’t get our workplace involved! Oh, how about your brother’s place?!”
“He’s always getting staked out by reporters and tabloids.”
Eventually, a single face popped into Shizuo’s mind.
“…If you don’t mind a black market doctor, there’s one we can drag into this.”
“All right, I understand the situation now… For starters, I just have one thing to say,” Shinra said calmly after they finished telling the story. He fixed Shizuo with a level gaze.
“Why did you kidnap her?!”
Krunkl.
Shinra looked over to see the source of the odd noise and saw Shizuo’s clenched fist. Oddly, the steel cup that he’d been holding had vanished.
But the question was answered as quickly as it popped into his head. Shizuo opened his hand to reveal the object that had previously been a cup, crumpled into a ball like aluminum foil.
“Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”
“…No worries. I was just thinking about getting a new set.”
“No, I feel sorry for the manufacturers who made this cup.”
“Ah, if only you held the same regret in your heart for the poor guardrails and streetlights that you so frequently destroy—and as I’m saying that, I apologize for bringing that up—I’m so sorry. Of course you wouldn’t kidnap her. If you were going to stoop to that level for money, it’d be a lot quicker to just pry open a bank safe with your bare hands.”
Shinra looked over at the corner of the room with sweat trickling down his back. He noticed that the motionless little girl was trembling now.
“And you haven’t gotten any info out of her?”
“That’s the thing—she just keeps trembling like that. I know she was playing a dirty prank with this toy, but it still seems cruel to press her for answers,” Shizuo replied, tossing the stun gun to Shinra.
He caught the tool and muttered in relief, “I’m glad to know you at least have some human sentiment in your heart. It would be completely indefensible to beat a poor little child like this.”
The doctor walked over to the girl and crouched down to his knees to meet her eye level. “Are you all right? You’re safe now. It must have been hard, being dragged around by those big, scary guys. You can relax; I’m a man of love and peace, not like that weapon in human form.”
In the background, Tom was muttering to Shizuo, “Take it easy. The kid’s watching, okay? Okay?”
Meanwhile, Shinra favored the girl with a disarming smile.
“…”
But she was totally silent, glaring back at him in distrust. She put up a brave front, but the trembling was quite severe. In fact, for having told him to “drop dead” and not once attempting to run away, the girl seemed remarkably passive.
“…”
Sensing something odd about her reaction, Shinra reached out to touch the girl’s forehead. Instantly, the doctor’s expression tightened, and he ordered the two men, “Go into the closet in that room over there and pull out the guest blankets!”
“?”
“She’s burning up! We need to boil some water!”
With that, the apartment suddenly got very lively.
Whatever this change of heart in Shinra did to the girl, it caused her brittle tension to snap all at once, and she slumped over, completely unconscious.
Thirty minutes later
With the girl slumbering away on a bed in the back, Shinra finally sighed in relief.
He didn’t detect any signs of disease and came to the conclusion that it was probably just extreme tension and exhaustion, but you couldn’t be too careful.
He stood in front of a hidden cabinet and pored over a selection of prescription-only medications before noticing the presence of a weight in his pocket. He pulled out the stun gun that Shizuo had tossed to him during the earlier scene.
Shinra switched it on again, causing another bolt of electricity and loud crackle. The sight of the clearly altered stun gun’s effects brought the story of its use back to his mind.
“This thing’s clearly been upgraded to boost its output…”
“…And he took a shot from it and only said, ‘Yeow’? The guy really is turning into a monster.”
May 3, night, on the streets of Ikebukuro
Ahh, geez, Celty Sturluson lamented, trying to collect her thoughts. I took on a real pain of a job this time.
Celty was uncharacteristically gloomy in the midst of whatever job it was Shiki had given her. She was waiting at a stoplight on her lightless motorcycle, which emitted an engine roar that sounded oddly like whinnying.
Thanks, Shooter.
She stroked her partner’s handlebars, grinning inwardly.
…If this doesn’t go just right, I might not be home for several days. Maybe I should get in touch with Shinra now, while I have the chance. Either that or go home briefly to explain in person…
She noticed the signal for the cross street turn red. Celty waited on the left side of the two-lane road for the light to turn green, ready to send Shooter forward—but before the light changed, she sensed another motorcycle stop behind her.
Celty froze momentarily, terrified that it might be the usual cop, but when she trained her sense of vision backward, she saw that it was just an ordinary bike.
The rider had a full helmet like Celty’s and wore a black riding suit. It was the prototypical outfit of a high-speed biker, and Celty did not think anything of it—until her visual senses picked up something odd.
…?
Before she could process what was wrong, the light turned green, and she automatically started driving.
“Good evening, Halloween Knight,” the rear rider abruptly muttered.
Celty only heard it because of her heightened senses. It was probably meant for no ears but the speaker’s.
She picked up speed, not knowing what to make of the comment.
“Playtime is over. Too bad, very sad.”
Celty heard something resembling that coming from behind, and right at that moment—
A fierce shock ran through Celty’s torso.
She felt her body slam onto the road but had no idea what was happening.
“This is a bodyguard job.”
Through the dull pain, Celty heard what Shiki had told her earlier in the day.
“We don’t know where the target is now…”
“But in short, we need you to find and protect a certain target in secret.”
She’d had a bad feeling about it. Why ask her for protection?
But she couldn’t turn down the job.
“…Her life might be targeted right now. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than that…”
“I just want you to protect the person in this photograph.”
He showed her a picture. It was of a little girl, maybe ten years old at best.
Her expression was gloomy, but she was putting on a happy face for the camera.
“Her name is Akane Awakusu.”
“…She’s the granddaughter of our ‘company president.’”
“She’s currently running away from home. She doesn’t seem to approve of our ‘business model.’”
It’s not as if I like it, either, Celty thought. The pain came after a delay, bringing with it the confirmation that her bad feeling about this was correct.
She still couldn’t tell what had happened to her.
But clearly something had, and that was all she needed to know.
She had confirmed two very crucial facts.
Number one—the shock of the impact had knocked her helmet high into the air.
Number two—she was getting herself into some very bad business.
And so it was that Celty, the most unrealistic of beings, was forcibly entangled with the reality of humankind.
May 3, night, chat room
TarouTanaka has entered the chat.
TarouTanaka: Good evening.
TarouTanaka: Nobody’s around, looks like. Maybe they’re all out?
TarouTanaka: I know I showed up late, but if even Setton isn’t here…
Kuru has entered the chat.
Mai has entered the chat.
Mai: Good evening.
Kuru: And a most pleasant night to you, Tarou. Jumping right to the chat room on the first night of a vacation seems rather lonely to me, but on the other hand, the cyberspace realm knows no concepts such as vacations, holidays, day, or night. No one will condemn you here. But if you wish to be condemned, I can most certainly fulfill that role for you. The time has come to test whether you are the S or the M in S and M!
TarouTanaka: Oh, good evening.
TarouTanaka: Looks like you’re still the same.
Kuru: The time has come to be tested!
TarouTanaka: Why did you say that twice?
Mai: Sorry.
TarouTanaka: And why are you apologizing?
Saika has entered the chat.
TarouTanaka: Ah, good evening.
Mai: Good evening.
Kuru: Well, well, another wandering traveler on a day off. Spending your vacation all at home will prove to be fatal. It is a superstition that a rabbit will die of loneliness, but it really does happen to people.
Saika: i’m sorry
TarouTanaka: Why are you apologizing, Saika? lol
Kuru: …I don’t know how to respond to that.
TarouTanaka: No wonder, because you’ve done nothing to require an apology.
Saika: i’m sorry
TarouTanaka: Again?!
TarouTanaka: And what does this say about you, Kuru?
TarouTanaka: You’re here, too, aren’t you?
Kuru: No need to worry. Mai and I ventured out into the streets of Ikebukuro to savor the heady taste of life. After first destroying all the gyoza at Namja Town’s Gyoza Stadium, we enjoyed some shopping at World Import Mart and the Alpa mall, followed by the sight of a dashing gentleman stopping a robber along Sixtieth Floor Street.
Mai: The gyoza was yummy.
TarouTanaka: A robber? That sounds like quite a scene.
TarouTanaka: …If it was on Sixtieth Floor Street, was it either a black man advertising for a sushi shop or a man in a bartender’s outfit?
Kuru: Oh.
Mai: Shizuo.
TarouTanaka: Wait, you know Shizuo?
Kuru: Please pardon my brevity. Based on your chat messages alone, I would have taken you for a saint who could not kill a fly, Tarou, but you must have a wider social net than I realized if you know Shizuo as well. Perhaps if I were to meet you in person, you would turn out to be a great brute of a man, covered in tattoos and scars. Or a merchant of illicit pharmaceutical wares.
Saika: you mean shizuo heiwajima?
TarouTanaka: Sorry, there’s so much to say about that, I can’t even start.
TarouTanaka: Wait, you know him, too, Saika?
Saika: a bit
Saika: i’m sorry
TarouTanaka: Why are you apologizing? lol
Kuru: But sadly, it was not Shizuo whom we witnessed today. It was rather a playboy whose head was wrapped in bandages and an eyepatch. He was not a gentle fellow, but rather a finely muscled and sensual man.
Mai: He had a bunch of girls.
Mai: I was jealous.
TarouTanaka: Yes, very envious. And very impressive that he managed to stop a robber. He sounds like a policeman.
Kuru: Speaking of police, I just witnessed something interesting in town.
TarouTanaka: What was that?
Kuru: There were several dozen men congregated around a pedestrian bridge, shouting about something. They were completely packing the area.
Mai: Packed like sardines.
TarouTanaka: Ohhh.
Kuru: I believe they belonged to a motorcycle gang… Speaking of which, is everyone here aware of the Dollars? They’re a wonderfully wicked and terrifying field of evil flora, a demonic darkness making its nest in Ikebukuro.
Mai: Dollars.
TarouTanaka: Umm, okay.
Saika: i don’t really know
Kuru: Some say the name is short for “doleful callers,” or “gang of people who are only worth a dollar,” or “gang that will kill for a dollar,” or the “devastating, overwhelming, ludicrous, lascivious, apathetic, raucous squad,” but at any rate, the point is that they’re a very mysterious gang! Despite being a classic color-based street gang, they rep no color at all in order to blend in with the city! It’s an insane organization!
Mai: Really cool.
TarouTanaka: “Insane organization”? That’s a bit much.
Kuru: But they are nothing if not insane. I mean, they’re a group that has no discernable purpose or identity! If they were a typical street gang, they’d be taking out stress on the rest of the city, or doing it for money, or aligning themselves with a more formal yakuza operation—at least that would be fathomable. But the Dollars have no such thing.
Mai: No such what?
TarouTanaka: You’re thinking way too hard about this.
Kuru: The Dollars have no fixed form. After all, how is one to identify a member of the group? Perhaps even ordinary students or housewives might be Dollars. Even a friendly classmate who comes up to say hello on the street might secretly be one of the Dollars… And we don’t even know how many of them there are.
TarouTanaka: Well, yes, but…
TarouTanaka: But are you sure it’s not just like any old club? There are plenty of places where anyone can claim to be part of it. It’s like people who rep themselves as “Residents of Saitama,” or “Metropolitans,” or whatever.
Kuru: I believe you are misrepresenting the issue. The Dollars are not just a descriptor, but also a group; one must identify with the group in order to gain affiliation, and online or not, there is a type of community that they share. It may be a very loose network, but they are still gathered together under the Dollars’ name. Don’t you find that rather terrifying?
Mai: Scary.
TarouTanaka: Scary how, exactly?
Kuru: For example, it’s as if there are security cameras all over the city, only the cameras are the eyes of the crowd. And unlike an objective camera, the observer paints the scene with their subjectivity. Also, the subject being observed has no idea that their actions are under observation. One wrong step out in public, and the Dollars’ members watching you might detect and seize upon your most tender weakness.
Mai: Scary.
TarouTanaka: You’re thinking too hard. It’s not like that.
Kuru: …For now, I will choose to ignore the question of why you would so stridently take the side of the Dollars, a group no more important than a street gang. But how can you be so certain that the Dollars would never take advantage of unsuspecting people? They are a gang! Their very presence is antisocial in nature!
Mai: Gang up on the gang.
TarouTanaka: You’ve got a point.
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched.
TarouTanaka: But while they might be a gang, I’ve heard it’s more like a group that got together over a little joke on the Internet. Yeah, maybe they have IRL meetups every once in a while, but not to go on a rampage and terrorize people.
Kuru: I’ll ask you again.
Kuru: How can you be sure of that?
Kuru: Let’s say you are a member of the Dollars. Could you claim that no one else in the group has any ulterior motives just because you don’t? There are many people in the Dollars, and I hear that no one knows who the others are… But if that were the case, don’t you think someone could claim membership and use that to get away with something truly terrible?
TarouTanaka: Yes, you might have a point.
Saika: um
Saika: please don’t fight
TarouTanaka: Uh, first, we’re not fighting, lol.
Kuru: Of course not. I do not have a shred of personal hatred or anger toward TarouTanaka. The fact that we are members of the same chat room makes me like him enough to give him a kiss, in fact. Smooch!
Mai: Gross.
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched again.
Saika: i’m sorry
TarouTanaka: Seriously, why do you keep apologizing?
TarouTanaka: Anyway, I understand that there’s room to worry about that kind of stuff, but I haven’t heard any bad rumors about the Dollars raising trouble in Ikebukuro, and even if they were, it wouldn’t be any worse than the usual street fights that happen all the time.
Kuru: But that’s not the case. Madness spins wildly through Ikebukuro, and the power of centrifugal force ensures that the lighter, inferior parts wind up at the outer edge of the rotation.
Mai: Spinny-spinny-spin.
Kuru: I understand that members of the Dollars have been picking fights with people from other prefectures. In fact, it was less picking fights than forcing them. Pounding their victims’ faces to force the confrontation upon them, and whether they wanted to fight or not, they would beat and beat and beat and beat and beat their targets. It must have been quite a sight.
TarouTanaka: Huh?
Mai: I heard that, too.
Mai: That the Dollars beat up
Mai: some people in Saitama.
TarouTanaka: Is this true?
TarouTanaka: Do you have a source for that info?
Kuru: Are you familiar with the social media site “Pacry”?
TarouTanaka: I do have an account.
Kuru: What a fortuitous coincidence! Unlike with the site Mixi, one need only apply to register as a user. There is no need to receive an invite from a friend. Oh, pardon me—I did not mean that to sound as though you, TarouTanaka, have no friends. But I suppose that would depend upon your future actions. I cannot register, as I am below the required age for Mixi.
TarouTanaka: So where on Pacry is it?
Kuru: Oh! Please forgive me! I got carried away.
Kuru: If you do a community search for “Saitama Motorcycle Gang Problem,” you will find a group based on that topic. I would look there first.
TarouTanaka: I’ll do a search.
Kuru: One of the topics on that board should be titled “About the Dollars.” That is where you will find the information I gleaned, but if it turns out that the account was falsified, then I will have confused you for nothing, I’m afraid.
Kuru: If that is the case, I will apologize most profusely and present my body and mind to you as payment… My body is a meager thing, its value questionable at best, but I would be honored if you found it to be a physical comfort to you.
Mai: Naughty.
TarouTanaka: Hang on, I’m checking now.
Kuru: You ignore me? Why, I am shrouded in desolation and loneliness. You must make things right by me.
Mai: Naughty.
Kuru: Someone claiming to be the Dollars started a fight with a motorcycle gang in Saitama. If this is an act orchestrated by some conspirator, then it was facilitated by the lack of a gang color. After all, anyone can represent the Dollars and frame the group for a crime!
Saika: that’s scary
TarouTanaka: Sorry, I was just looking it up.
TarouTanaka: I’ve got some stuff to do after this, so I’ll be leaving now.
Kuru: In that case, I suppose we shall take our leave as well.
Saika: good night
Mai: Good night, then.
TarouTanaka: Thank you.
TarouTanaka: Oh, and I’m sorry, Kuru. I think I might have upset you.
Kuru: Not at all. Do not let it trouble you.
TarouTanaka: Thank you.
TarouTanaka: Anyway, that’s all.
TarouTanaka: So long, everyone.
TarouTanaka has left the chat.
Kuru: Good night to you all. Golden Week is only just beginning, so please do be careful out there… I notice that Setton, Kanra, and Bacura are not here today.
Mai: Good-bye.
Kuru has left the chat.
Mai has left the chat.
Saika: good night
Saika: i’m sorry
Saika: i was too late
Saika has left the chat.
The chat room is currently empty.
The chat room is currently empty.
The chat room is currently empty.
.
.
.
Interlude or Prologue B, Vorona (Crow) and Slon (Elephant)
Russia
A comment mumbled in Russian traveled on the breeze to eventually settle upon the land.
“…Strange… This is not right.”
A troubled man stood against the backdrop of endless fields.
He was not especially tall, but his figure was broad, and the thick, fleshy muscles that adorned his frame made him look larger than others his height.
The man was probably around forty years old. He wore a white coat over a white jacket, which gave him an appearance that a distant viewer might mistake for a polar bear. A number of scarves were wrapped around the top of his head and face, so that only a little gap was left, issuing periodic puffs of exhaust like a steam engine.
“Yep, not right. Oh dear, this could be trouble.”
There were about ten other men around him. One of them, an older man with glasses and a grave expression, asked, “What is the matter, Comrade Lingerin?”
“Hmm? Oh…ohh. Listen to this, Drakon. It’s all wrong.”
“What is it?” Drakon asked, looking down at the first man’s hands.
There were two round pots, with narrow openings. Lingerin had a hand stuck into the mouth of either one. “Look at this, Drakon.”
“…”
Lingerin lifted his hands to show the other man. His looked somewhat like a boxer.
Drakon’s calm expression never wavered. Without a drop of sweat, he asked, “What has happened, Comrade Lingerin?”
Lingerin waved his arms, his face deadly serious.
“My hands are stuck.”
Silence churned through the group. Drakon merely lifted his glasses and set them down again.
“This is…quite a turn of events.”
“I was trying to get the contents out, and then my hands got stuck. See?”
Anyone else would have scolded him for trying to tease or rolled their eyes at the bad joke, but Drakon gave him a perfectly serious answer—though it was given in resignation.
“Well, if it should come to it, you could always spend the rest of your life like that.”
“No, I couldn’t! How will I eat or use the toilet?”
“Nothing is impossible for Mother Russia. Throughout her vast lands there are surely those who would accept you warmly, Comrade, and give life to the seeds of a new generation.”
“Hmm…? Have I just been killed off? Why do I feel as if you have skipped over quite a lot of time, Drakon?” Lingerin asked.
Drakon fixed his glasses again and said, “I shall make my point directly, then. Please give up on life—both physically and mentally.”
“For being direct, that was certainly an indirect way to tell me to die. It’s giving me the willies!”
“It was a joke, Comrade Lingerin,” Drakon said without batting an eye, his features as placid as a wax figure. He decided to clarify his wishes.
“If you die, please wait until after we have overcome this challenge.”
Lingerin turned to face the rest of the group. Unlike Drakon, their ages were impossible to gauge.
The men wore titanium helmets with bulletproof masks, assault armor, and vests with an assortment of pouches. Some of them even had gas masks on, giving the group the overall appearance of a special assault team.
But there was no consistency to their equipment, all of them using whatever gear they preferred. Some of them were carrying automatic firearms. Their presence brought an eerie tension to the Russian forest.
Lingerin surveyed the group and cracked his neck. “So what’s the obstacle?” he asked.
“Thirty-seven armed illegals. It seems they were passing through the country to reach the west, and when we coincidentally became aware of their plan, they decided to come get rid of us.”
“Coincidences can be scary. You sure it was a coincidence?”
“If you call it a coincidence that you bugged a car you thought was owned by a business rival, overheard their secret plan, admitted it, then tried to make a profit by selling them weapons—then, yes.”
“You’re right. It is a coincidence,” Lingerin grunted, but the effect of his gruffness was lessened due to the pots stuck to his hands.
Drakon made no comment on his partner’s appearance or attitude as he continued mechanically, “It seems they intend to raid the village we are staying in to steal all our product. Based on the speed and determination of their actions, I believe they might have been planning all along to steal weapons somewhere along the way.”
“I see… So what you’re saying is, they’re like Thieves Without Borders.”
“Not in the least, Comrade, but you are stupid enough that it will have to do.”
“Good. Finding compromise is the mark of a valuable adviser, Drakon. I have full trust in you,” said Lingerin Douglanikov, the president of a small arms-trading company—though it was hard to tell if the two were properly communicating their thoughts to each other or not. He cracked his neck and waited for the arrival of their enemy.
“What a pain in the ass, I tell you. If they were here, I could lie back in bed and enjoy my sleep.”
“Are you speaking of our ex-employees Semyon and Denis? Or Comrade Egor, currently on leave?”
“No. Yes, they are all valuable men, but in this case, I am thinking more of certain specialists who will take care of such matters without even being asked,” Lingerin said, like a child boasting about his favorite superheroes. Coming from a grown man around forty, he merely seemed drunk. As a matter of fact, he had already emptied his morning bottle of vodka.
“And they’re the ones that Egor went on leave to find,” the drunk muttered.
For the first time, emotion played on Drakon’s features. “You mean Vorona and Slon.” That emotion was faint disgust. “Yes, they are experts in dirty work. But compared to you, Comrade Lingerin, Slon is even more…well, you know…”
“More what? More…handsome?”
“I retract my statement. It is a closer race than I thought,” Drakon said, his face placid once more. “As for Vorona, she possesses more beauty, grace, and knowledge than anyone else here…but at the same time, she is also more enthralled by a berserk need to fight.”
He paused, removed his glasses, and grimaced. Lingerin smirked at his partner and taunted flippantly, as if there wasn’t about to be a major battle, “Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were boasting about your own daughter, Drakon! If that was the point, why don’t you call her by her real name rather than Crow?”
Drakon kept his expression hidden. He said to his employer, “I cut our family ties ages ago.”
“And remember…they took our products with them when they ran off to Japan.”
May 3, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro
Right around the time that a shoplifter began to charge through the milling crowds…
“Что случилось?” (What happened?)
The question belonged to a white man who stood out even more than the shoplifter in a way. There were plenty of black men around advertising for various businesses; foreigners were not a rare sight in Ikebukuro. But this man stood six feet tall, with limbs like massive logs and a professional wrestler’s physique. With a sandbag-like sack slung over his shoulder, he looked just like a fighter preparing for a journey for training.
But the reason for the attention was the stunning contrast to the figure standing next to him.
“Нет проблем.” (No problem.)
The reply came from a Russian woman, approximately twenty years old, carrying a large paper bag. Her features were young enough that girl might have been more appropriate than woman. But her figure was most certainly mature, and fine musculature was visible on her smooth, slender arms.
Her short hair was pale blond and dazzling, and little pupils stood out in the middle of her sky-blue eyes like deep pits.
The look on her face was cold, and there were scar-like marks here and there on her skin. In combination with her plain black clothes, she cast a dark aura on her surroundings. But that darkness only served as a pleasing, fascinating accent on the woman’s finely chiseled features.
It was a veritable case of Beauty and the Beast.
Many in the crowd couldn’t help but watch the pair until the ruckus caused by the shoplifter drew their attention away.
The girl showed no recognition of the reactions from the crowd as she turned to her partner and said flatly, “Denial, Slon… We speak Japanese in Japan. That was the decision. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. That is the basis of hiding one’s body. I accidentally performed a Russian response. I will be more careful from now on. Both of us.”
“I’m sorry, Vorona. It was my mistake.”
“You stand out. We will enter our destination quickly. Please confirm.”
Her accent and pronunciation were perfect, but her syntax and choice of vocabulary were off-putting.
The woman named Vorona and the man named Slon headed off to their destination. They had no interest whatsoever in the shoplifter and did not dedicate a second thought to the scene after that.
As the crowd around them eventually trickled away, a muttered comment hung in the air.
“A tepid country drowning in its own peace. Half disappointment. Half envy.”
A few minutes later, inside a karaoke box
“I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m too curious to take another step.”
The pair entered a predesignated individual karaoke room, where they would wait for a certain contact to arrive—but as soon as they walked inside, the large man named Slon curled up and cradled his head in his hands.
Vorona, meanwhile, pulled a book out of her paper bag and began to read, flipping the pages rapidly. She said, “You are sitting. Deny your need to walk.”
“I just can’t help it… In the street back there, I saw a sukiyaki and a shabu-shabu restaurant. I just can’t stop thinking about beef,” Slon muttered, looking like the world was about to end. Vorona continued flipping the pages of the book without glancing at him.
“How…how do the cows grow so big when all they eat is grass?! It makes no sense that they can bulk up to that size from grass alone… I cannot undertake any jobs—I cannot even see a reason to live until I have solved this mystery!” he wailed, tears streaming out of his eyes.
Vorona continued turning the pages, but while her brain was totally fixated on the book, her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. “A cow’s stomach has special microorganisms, and the microorganisms react to the grass and saliva. They produce amino acids that the cow absorbs. Then, the cow grows. No problem.”
“…”
She had accurately, succinctly answered Slon’s question. Satisfied, his face shone with a brilliant light.
“Oh, I see! You’re so smart, Vorona! Of course! Now I can eat steak with reassurance once again! It all makes sense now!”
But then…
“And I can drink milk! Of course, the picture of a human sucking on a cow’s nipple is strange, but…but…oh… Now that I think about it…huh?”
A sudden thought caused Slon’s head to sink down into his hands once again over the menu sitting on the table.
“I can’t do it… I’m so curious I can’t even look at the menu… Thinking about cow nipples made me wonder—why do men have nipples? What possible benefit do they have to procreating the species…? Damn! I won’t move from this spot until I’ve solved the mystery of nipples! This is my war to fight!”
“There is a period in gestation when the fetus is neither male nor female. The sex is determined after the stage at which the nipples are generated. It is merely a leftover from that stage.”
“Oh…ohhh… It’s perfect! You’re perfect, Vorona!” Slon exclaimed to the expressionless woman. “But…that brings a new question…and if I don’t know this, I don’t know how I can live in this world! Why—why are you not ashamed, Vorona?! When a man and a woman are alone and speaking suggestively of nipples and procreation?!”
Vorona replied to his idiotic question by flipping more pages.
She flipped.
And flipped.
And flipped.
And flipped.
And flipped, and flipped, and flipped, and—
“Are you ignoring me?!” Slon cried out at last, as Vorona finished reading her first book.
She pulled out a second and looked ready to say something at last, but the door to the karaoke room opened at that very moment, and a man appeared.
“Ahh, hello, hello, please pardon me.”
An aging Japanese-looking man with a thoroughly friendly face looked through the doorway.
“Hello, hello, sorry about the wait. Hello,” the man repeated, beaming as he took a seat. “I hope you’ll forgive my haste, as I am a very busy man… I will get right to explaining your job.”
He smiled all throughout his speech and pulled out two photographs to show the Russians without waiting for a response.
“The truth of the matter is…I need you to abduct a child for me.”
“…”
The first photo was of a little girl with a doleful expression on her face. She couldn’t have been more than elementary school age. Slon took the photo with his brow furrowed, while Vorona continued to flip the pages of her book, despite being in the midst of a negotiation.
The aging gentleman did not react. He continued his explanation.
“This is the granddaughter of the local yakuza boss—ah, yakuza being the Japanese mafia, ha-ha. I want you to kidnap her without killing her, if at all possible. Ha-ha-ha, I’m sorry about this. I know, you’re usually hired killers rather than kidnappers. I know, I know.”
“You might be the client who brought us to this country, but our participation will depend on the money. We can perform this job without being identified, but making an enemy of the yakuza carries its own considerable price,” Slon said in quite fluent Japanese.
The man chuckled politely. “Well, you see, that is its own tricky problem. As it happens, they’ve hired their own bodyguard for the child. It is hard to imagine, but if the rumor is true, he is quite a dreadful fellow.”
Bodyguard.
The mention of that word was the only thing that could stop Vorona from flipping pages.
“Protection is powerful? Confirm or deny. Quick answer is desired,” she demanded.
The aging man smiled amiably at her and murmured, “Well, you see…it’s not even a matter of strength or weakness… This one is almost like a magician.”
“?”
“There was some footage on the Internet, so I downloaded it very hastily before coming here…”
The man had already produced a portable video player from his pocket and was playing a video on its small screen.
It was footage from a news program.
A group of what appeared to be criminals were on the run from a police car, as well as a mysterious figure on a black motorcycle swinging an enormous scythe at them.
“This is somewhat of an urban legend around these parts, known as the Black Rider… Who can say what sort of trick is being employed to create this effect? All I know is that if you try to mess with the girl in this photo, he will have something to say about it.”
The man lowered his face in apparent consternation—but his expression still contained a smile. He looked sidelong at Vorona, whose face wore an emotion she had not yet expressed here.
“I have one question.”
Vorona’s cheeks were flushed, and her mouth curved upward into a delighted smile. She did not bother to hide her excitement.
“Will you allow me to kill this biker?”
The question was meaningless.
Slon did not consider himself to be a smart man, but he knew something about his partner.
Vorona was born with an innate berserk desire for battle.
With the carrot of fighting a mystery foe dangling in front of her, there was no way she would refuse this job.
He also knew another thing about her.
No matter how their client, Jinnai Yodogiri, answered her question, Vorona was going to attempt to kill this biker.
With these facts in mind, Slon calmly decided: I don’t get it, so I don’t care.
And so the mysterious Russians, their abilities still kept hidden, willingly stepped into the realm of the abnormal.
But then again, to them, the present situation of unrest and unease could be considered perfectly normal.
The Black Market Doctor Gets Sappy, Part Three
Don’t worry. She’s fast asleep.
Internal medicine’s not my forte, but I had a feeling she had a case of acute pharyngitis.
Huh? Teething fever?
No, teething fever is something that only happens to babies, or toddlers at best. You know, just because we call it “knowledge fever” in Japanese doesn’t mean it’s caused by thinking too hard.
Then again, Shizuo, your brain is about equivalent to a toddler’s, so maybe it would apply to you— Bublagh!
…
Listen, your forehead flick does about as much damage as a normal person ramming their knee into my face, so be a little more judicial in how you use that, all right? How long did that concussion knock me out?
I never thought I’d have to adjust my own jaw back into place. It’s a good thing I have plenty of experience dislocating and relocating joints.
…Yeah, when my grandpa started choking on a mochi once, Dad dislocated his jaw so he could reach down and fish it out of his throat with his bare hand. That’s a technique reserved for emergencies, though.
But enough about that. What’s the deal with that girl? She didn’t have any identification on her.
…What do you mean, “You better not have done anything weird to her”?
Listen, before you even start accusing me of being a lolicon, can you imagine me trying to put the moves on any girl other than Celty? If that was Celty moaning with fever on the bed, you can bet I’d be using my own body as a blanket to keep her warm!
And if Celty didn’t exist, I’d probably be a hermit on some distant mountaintop, soaking in the majesty of nature. The only thing that can compare to Celty’s breathtaking beauty is the entirety of the earth… That’s my point. In fact, I still think Celty wins in that competition. What do you think?
…Hey, Shizuo, why does that guy Tom over there keep shooting me these pitying glances?
Why aren’t you saying anything?
Well, whatever.
Huh? Celty?
Celty’s out doing work for Mr. Shiki from the Awakusu-kai.
Yes, Shiki.
Their controlling operation, the Medei-gumi, is about to break bread with the Asuki-gumi, so it seems they’re quite busy right now… He had some very important job to ask of Celty.
…
Yes, well, I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t worried.
I mean, you know what kind of business the Awakusu-kai is involved in, right? A precious, gentle girl like Celty isn’t suited to that world of bullets and blood… Actually, I’m kidding. I think she’s perfectly suited to it.
A pitch-black rider weaving through a hail of bullets. Isn’t that cool?
But I digress—I am worried. I wish she’d just stay with me at all hours of the day, but sadly, I’d only drag her down.
Still, I’m reassured by her strength.
Celty is strong. Mentally and physically.
In fact, Shizuo, it’s kind of overlooked because you’re monstrously powerful, but Celty is actually quite strong in her own right. She can take one of those metal pipes and twist it just like that, too.
She can take a hit from a car and keep going. It does still hurt her, though, from what I understand.
But she could be surrounded by ten or so of your average thugs and be perfectly fine. Now if it were thirty, she might get a bit scared.
She has certain weaknesses: a fear of certain types of supernatural topics and police bikers, but I think the presence of weaknesses makes her more lovable as a girl.
More than strong, she’s cute. Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that great?
You can’t have her, Shizuo. She gets along with you—and that makes me jealous.
…Huh? It’s Tom, right? Why are you making that face?
Celty? Yes, that’s right. I’m talking about the Black Rider.
She was a girl all along…? You never explained that to him, Shizuo?
…Huh? You didn’t know that Celty was a girl until recently, either?
I can’t believe this!
Just look at her enticing center of gravity! Just a glimpse of her voluptuous outline beneath the shadow should be enough to entice physical desire, you cads!
Yes… If you don’t need a head to love a person, then you also do not need a head to desire them. In fact, when I was in high school, I didn’t feel a single ounce of desire for the normal girls. But Celty was different! When I was a kid, Celty was like a big sister I could count on, but now that I’ve grown to adulthood, she’s more like an adorable kitten. Though in that case, I might be a rat.
…Sorry, that got a little sappy. But I don’t regret it.
Let’s get back to the girl.
What in the world did you do to get a little girl you’ve never met before to tell you to “drop dead,” Shizuo?
I can see why you wouldn’t know, though. You’re the kind of guy who accumulates grudges without realizing it.
Let’s say that one day, you pull out a tree lining the boulevard to use in a fight.
Let’s say there was a girl who lost her mother years ago, and that very tree budded from the ground on the very day the mother died… So when you pulled that tree out of the ground, you were tearing out the memento of her dear departed mum, and thus you earned her eternal ire… You never know.
That’s just an example, though.
I certainly think it’s more likely than the possibility that this sweet little girl is a wanton, indiscriminate killer.
Saika?
No, not that. Her eyes weren’t red, for one thing.
But whatever the reason, it’s a good reminder that people can be murderous toward one another for the smallest reasons. That’s a fact, whether you can imagine that reason or not.
It just happens to you out of the blue.
Sometimes, misunderstandings and misguided revenge are involved.
However, even at the point you realize you’re angry because someone is trying to kill you over a misunderstanding…doesn’t change the fact that they’re trying to kill you. You just have to overcome that situation.
Besides, maybe it’s not a mistake.
Trivial things that you did in the past can turn the lives of others insane. It happens all the time.
And then, there are people who do those “trivial things” on purpose.
Like Izaya.
Ooh, that got a real nasty look on your face.
Why can’t you two just kiss and make up already?
…Or wait, were you ever on good terms?
Ahh, that takes me back. High school!
For being our green, inexperienced youth, it sure was red all the time.
It was always blood, blood, blood around you and Izaya.
But thanks to you, I got a lot better at setting bones and sewing stitches, ha-ha.
I don’t hate Izaya, as a matter of fact.
He’s just very honest about his desires. The same way you’re honest about your emotions.
In Izaya’s case, it would have been so much easier if the target of his desires were straightforward, like money or women.
Instead, he had to get involved with “human observation,” whatever that is.
Watching other people and feeling superior to them is such an infuriating hobby, don’t you think? It just makes him arrogant.
He was clever enough to be aware of his situation, so he didn’t rub too many people the wrong way—but he would use his findings to say the one thing that will shock and unnerve a person the most, without drawing their hostility.
…That Tom fellow seems to want to say something. What is it?
…You think I’m observing people and basking in my own superiority more than anyone else? Oh, geez. Looks like I was the one who rubs people the wrong way after all.
Well, as long as Celty still loves me, I don’t really care.
Gosh, I wish the three of us could hang out again, just like we did back at Raira Academy.
Standing back at a safe distance while watching you and Izaya try to kill each other was, like, my daily routine.
Speaking of which, I wonder how it is for the students at Raira now.
Um, well, I don’t really know them, but at the big hot-pot party, Celty knew a boy there named Mikado Ryuugamine. Oh, and I know the girl named Anri Sonohara. You met her once when you were here with a gunshot wound, remember? Also…do you know Seiji Yagiri and Mika Harima? You were there at the party, right?
Huh? You know Seiji?
He stabbed with you a pen? What?
Well, anyway… For the most part, they seemed pretty well-behaved.
Mikado and Anri are like perfectly ordinary modern kids who would never get into a fight.
They seem to be sharing some kind of secret with Celty, but the thing about secrets is, with little kids and girls, they can be alluring. The mysterious beauty. The mystery children. It’s nice, like a movie subtitle. A big sweaty guy with a secret is just a suspicious creep up to no good.
…Why did you look at me when I said the word creep?
Well, anyway…
I wonder how youth is for kids growing up nowadays.
Back when we were in high school, you and Izaya pretty much ruined it for me, except that I was happy because I had Celty to go home to each and every day.
It’s a nice thing, having a home to return to.
It is a bit worrisome that they seem to know Izaya, though.
Youth is a writhing thing.
It squirms and wriggles in the mud.
Youth is considered to be the “springtime” of one’s life… But spring is not always some fanciful fairy-tale time.
It’s also the season when all the bugs and squirming things that people hate come crawling out of the earth.
Perhaps that youth might turn out to be one of the worms or grubs in that swarm.
They all hope that they don’t turn out that way, but as I said earlier, you never know when you might be earning the hatred of someone else.
In Mikado’s case, just being an acquaintance of Izaya means he’s treading in very dangerous waters.
And of course, meeting you at the hot-pot party means they’re now officially treading into a hellish hot pot of troub— Blrrgfh!