Durarara!! - Volume 10 - Chapter Pr2

Interlude: Loser

Where did I go wrong? the young man asked himself, over and over.

There was no answer.

Until just a few hours earlier, he’d fancied himself the “king” of a little community.

More accurately, he was assuming the authority of a king who did not actually exist—until just hours ago, when the entire world upturned.

The man’s name was Hiroto Shijima.

He was both a college student and a drug ring executive.

And as of this day, he had earned two new titles.

He was a new member of the gang called the Dollars.

And he was a loser.

In an attempt to take over an underground gambling ring called Amphisbaena, he had considered making use of an info broker named Izaya Orihara. His attempt was rebuffed, and that made him a loser.

Hiroto clenched his fist and his jaw, trying to grapple with this new reality. His fingernails dug into his flesh, destroying his body rather than his world. He was aware that this act was meaningless in the long run, but he was also powerless to contain the urge.

In the end, he had only the strength to scrape his nails and skin together a bit. The best he could do was draw a tiny bit of blood from his palms and fingertips.

Hatred and fear clouded Hiroto’s brain. He didn’t know what he ought to do.

Did Izaya Orihara beat me?

No. No. That’s not true. It was those red-eyed people… Who the hell were they?

At the moment that Izaya Orihara played his hand and took control, rolling their entire organization into the Dollars, Hiroto witnessed something that was beyond his belief. He, too, became involved with that…something…without having a moment’s time to consider what it might be. It put all his potential lifelines within Izaya Orihara’s grasp.

Unable to escape, he’d wound up at his family home, a short distance away from Ikebukuro. In a spacious mansion in this expensive neighborhood, a glaring indication of his family’s fortune, Hiroto was relieved in some small measure to see the place he’d grown up, just the same as it ever was.

That’s it: Dad!

I bet Dad or Grandpa could solve this for me. Yeah, they’ll be pissed about the drugs, but they’ll still help keep it under wraps. Grandpa’s got that connection in the Diet. That Yokoi guy.

That’s the key. Power. However creepy those red-eyed people were, they’re not operating out in the open. That means they don’t have true power.

Under calmer, more rational circumstances, he would have discarded this conclusion as a stupid one, but now that he was in hell, Hiroto Shijima was going to cling to the faintest spider’s thread if it could get him out.

That’s right. I haven’t lost yet. I’ll get back at him. I’ll spin us back to where this started.

Yeah, it’ll make Dad and his folks look bad, but what else can I do? If I get arrested, they’re gonna be in trouble anyway.

He was even willing to use his own family as a tool, a means to an end. Hiroto strode to the door and walked inside.

A number of shoes were present at the entrance, suggesting guests. Hiroto ignored them and headed down the front hall.

He heard voices from the parlor. It sounded like both his father and grandfather were in there. But who were they talking to?

The question brought a sudden chill down his spine. It wouldn’t be…Izaya Orihara, would it…?

It seemed like the worst possible outcome: Izaya Orihara attempting to take over the power that his family as a whole possessed. Hiroto imagined his family with red eyes, and his backbone creaked with horrible unease.

He told himself that this was impossible—impossible!—and pushed his way through the door to the parlor.

He didn’t see Izaya in there, just a number of visitors who looked perfectly normal. Hiroto exhaled with relief.

“Why, Hiroto!” his father exclaimed. “You didn’t tell us you were coming home. What’s the occasion?”

“Uh…I just…wanted to see you,” Hiroto said, realizing he couldn’t explain any of this when other people were present.

“Ah. Well, I suppose some introductions are in order,” Hiroto’s father said with a polite smile and motioned to him for the benefit of his guests. “Mr. Yodogiri, this is the chip off the old block, my son, Hiroto.”

Yodogiri? The name sounded familiar. A business partner of Dad’s or Grandpa’s?

He turned to his father and subconsciously sensed that something was wrong. His father and grandfather were powerful men, yet they were beaming obsequiously—clearly these guests were also quite powerful. But the look in his family’s eyes was of something entirely different.

Fright. Unease. Terror.

Probably the same look his own eyes had held moments earlier, when he realized that Izaya Orihara and his cohorts had completely screwed him over. Who was this guest named Yodogiri?

Hiroto turned to him, and before he could properly introduce himself, the other man bowed and said, “Hello there. I know you quite well, Hiroto Shijima.”

There were two guests. An old man he’d never seen before and a young woman in a suit who appeared to be an assistant. The man spoke, but the woman stayed silent, giving him a piercing stare.

“My name is Yodogiri, and this unfriendly secretary of mine is named Kujiragi.”

“O…kay…”

He wasn’t sure how the old man knew his name, so the fellow smiled to put him at ease and continued, “You see, I’ve made it my business to keep connections in as many areas as I can—but even I never imagined that the grandson of Ichirou Shijima himself was working to my benefit.”

“?”

“Oh, pardon me. I don’t mean to insinuate I’ve been controlling your actions from the shadows. What I mean, Hiroto, is that the actions you’ve been taking have ultimately been to my benefit.”

“Um, I don’t…I don’t know…what you mean—?” Hiroto stammered.

The older man cut him off, his kindly voice filling the room. “Is it…Izaya Orihara?”

“?!”

“I know a number of people in my radius who have been connected to him in one way or another. But you’re the only one who has been ingested into his operation in the way that happened earlier today.”

Why did he mention that guy’s name?

…Huh?

Wait, no…no, no, no! What the hell?!

Yodogiri continued, “As a matter of fact, you’re in quite the juicy position at the moment, Hiroto Shijima.”

“…?”

“Izaya Orihara thinks he’s got you completely within his grasp. You’ve worked your way in extremely close to a number of ‘things’ I seek. And now you and I are connected. It’s a wonderful orchestration of fate, don’t you think?”

He spoke with all the reassurance of a salesman working his pitch, controlling the room and ensnaring the young man with his words. But who was this elderly man, and why did he know so much about Hiroto’s situation?

There was a different kind of fear creeping over him now, but he remembered that his family possessed the kind of strength he truly believed in—the authority through which society viewed them—and he looked pleadingly at his grandfather.

His grandfather stared at him and nodded. “Hiroto.”

“G-Gramps…”

“I’ve heard about everything you’ve been doing,” he said, cold sweat running through the lines of his cheeks. He kept that petrified smile from leaving his face as he reassured, “I will handle the matter with the Awakusu-kai. You don’t need to worry about them.”

“Gramps!”

I knew it! Awesome! Grandpa’s powerful enough that even the Awakusu-kai can’t stop us!

Hiroto felt pure, trusting relief. Such was the faith in his grandfather that even this creepy visitor wasn’t going to have a negative effect on the family.

This absolute trust in his grandfather’s ability to provide lasted all of a few seconds.

“So I want you to go ahead and do what Mr. Yodogiri says, Hiroto.”

“Wha…?”

“Got that? You must meet his expectations for you!” ordered his grandfather, with obvious fear in his voice.

That was when Hiroto Shijima understood.

He hadn’t just become a loser earlier today. That had started long, long ago, perhaps from the moment of his birth. He had been fated to live his life as loser to some other party.

So the young man with no inkling of how to overturn that fate had no counterargument to this conclusion.

He just gave up.

Yodogiri smacked his forehead and shook his head. “Oh no, no, it’s not really such a huge deal. I’m just going to ask you to do a few things for me, Hiroto. In other words, I’d like you to assist me not coincidentally but intentionally. And you’ll find that I can be quite generous.”

“…Um, uh, what should I…?” Hiroto stammered and trembled, more worried about his own future than the identity of the other man.

“Oh, pardon me. You see, I’ve had a running curiosity for a while,” said Yodogiri, the strange old man with the gentle smile.

“About this very fresh and vibrant group called the Dollars.”