Durarara!! - Volume 3 - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: That’s Why I’m Here.

Apartment building, Shinjuku

Izaya opened the door and immediately spotted something out of place.

A pair of leather shoes that did not belong to him were left in the entranceway. Namie’s heels were next to them, so it seemed she had welcomed a visitor. But he hadn’t heard a word of it from her, and the shoes were far too big to belong to the girls like Saki or the Goth Lolis that made up his retinue.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he considered just leaving. But that tension was immediately swept aside by a muffled voice from the center of his apartment.

“Don’t you think that fate is a very convenient word?”

He couldn’t hear the owner of the voice, but it was clearly directed at him.

“A variety of coincidences reframed as if their existence was inevitable… A process both logical and illogical… Which brings me to ask a man like you: Should the concept of fate be considered inevitable…?”

“You know, playing up the word fate doesn’t actually make you sound cooler or smarter, Shingen Kishitani.”

“Oh ho! How did you know it was me? Did you remember my voice?”

Izaya proceeded in the direction of the voice toward the guest room, where he saw a man wearing a white gas mask and, next to him, an exceedingly grumpy Namie.

Shingen, the man in the gas mask, had a pistol in his left hand that he had pressed into Namie’s side. With his right hand, he was busy solving the crossword puzzle that Izaya had left open on his desk.

Izaya was not stunned or frightened by the scene in the least.

“Sure, the mask-muffled voice was one thing…but you’re also the only person I know who speaks in such a bombastic manner.”

“Ahh… I have to say, this crossword magazine does like its obscure answers. This one is a person’s name: ‘artist and herbalist who claimed to heal God’s illnesses through paint.’ That would be…uhh…I don’t remember. Starts with ji, ends with ta. Hmm…pass. Then, there’s this horizontal clue: ‘German artist from Gloerse Island.’ That sounds familiar, but I can’t recall it. Ka…Kar… Do you know that one? Go ahead and answer, and I’ll listen.”

“Would you mind not trying to complete my half-finished puzzle?” Izaya asked, grabbing the magazine away and sitting down on the sofa across from Shingen. “That’s quite a nimble trick there, doing a puzzle with one hand and pointing a gun with your other… But why are you pointing a model gun at Namie?”

“Oh ho… Well spotted.”

“?!”

Namie’s expression shifted wildly. Clearly, she had believed he was training a real gun on her.

“…Liar!”

“Hah! How would a normal civilian like me get a gun here in Japan? The law against owning a gun is much stricter than you imagine! But because Miss Namie did me the courtesy of being fooled, I was safely able to break through your apartment’s security system.”

“Good for you. So long now,” Izaya quipped lightly.

Shingen chuckled through his mask, unfazed in the least. “Please don’t be so cold to your old classmate’s father. I remember how you and my Shinra and little Shizuo used to get into trouble, hanging out together. Given how Shinra grew up to be so twisted, my analysis says that it was because he was trapped between the ultimate bad influences—you and Shizuo. What do you think of that?”

“So you think you have nothing to do with it? Plus, I don’t ‘hang out’ with Shizuo.”

“Ah, that’s right. Shinra always had to be the middle presence in between you two. You got along like cats and dogs.”

“So…to what do I owe the pleasure?” Izaya prompted Shingen flatly, in no mood to reminisce about the past.

Shingen noted his attitude and put the model gun away in the inside pocket of his lab coat. “Well, you should already have an idea, just from my presence here…”

“Where did you put Celty’s head?”

Ruined factory, outskirts of Ikebukuro

The yellow writhed.

Amid the gray factory interior with rusted highlights, the swarm of youths wearing yellow bandannas writhed eerily. The factory building was stuffed with even more members than a typical meeting, and in the center was a small space where well-known officers like Horada and Higa were living large over the rest of the group.

Horada sat on a leather desk chair they’d brought in, staring at the rest of the group like he was their king.

“What should we do with the Dollars’ boss, Mr. Horada?”

“We’ll just crush ’em one by one, starting with Kadota’s group and going up. Get rid of them and Shizuo, and the rest are nothing. We can take our time putting the screws to this Ryuugamine guy.”

Horada laughed crudely, the bandages still wrapped around his head, as he played with the black piece of metal in his hands. It looked like a cheap toy in Horada’s hands, but it was undoubtedly a deadly weapon.

Everyone in the building was unpleasantly aware of the fact that the gleaming black barrel was not that of a model gun, but a real, authentic pistol. Some of them had witnessed it in action yesterday when he shot Shizuo, and most of the others had realized by now that the other day’s convenience store robbery was achieved through Horada’s tool.

The reason that no one had bothered to report on him was that there was no hard proof and that he ran with a very large group, the largest faction within the Yellow Scarves at this point.

The faction would fall apart if Horada was arrested, but that would weaken the Yellow Scarves as a whole. Given that they were about to embark on a war with the Dollars, many assumed that such a loss would be fatal to the group—not to mention the fact that anyone with the conscience to snitch to the police probably wouldn’t have been in a gang like theirs in the first place.

Then again, the rest of the gang wasn’t exactly unanimous in support. When Horada told the group that Masaomi had betrayed them, those who knew Masaomi the longest didn’t believe him—but they were not present now.

Higa’s team had ventured out in the morning to crush them and steal their phones. They got Masaomi’s number that way, which was how Horada gave him the news about their little revolution.

As he hung up on the call, he stared out at the mass of Yellow Scarves under his command, drunk on his newfound power. As the new shogun of the Yellow Scarves, he mocked the gathering. “Is this the Yellow Scarves you all wanna be?”

He brandished his gun for effect and smacked it against the empty drum can next to his chair. The sound was not as impressive as he hoped, and the palm of his hand stung terribly, but Horada hid the pain by giving a speech.

“Listen up! We ain’t just a buncha scrubs like the Dollars! We’re a unified, organized force! So we’re gonna go and crush ’em and get revenge for the crap they’ve been pullin’ with the slasher!”

No one in the Yellow Scarves doubted him when he proclaimed that the Dollars were responsible for the slasher.

“If we take out the Dollars, we’ll be the kings of Tokyo itself, not just Ikebukuro! Can you imagine it?! Everyone in the entire city under our complete control!”

Of course, just being the top gang of delinquent fighters did not make them the equal of higher powers. There were the police, the bosozoku motorcycle gangs, and the yakuza, all of which would come down hard on them if they stood out, but Horada’s dream would not be suppressed.

He played tough on the outside, but on the inside, Horada was terrified.

He only hoped to forget that fear by growing drunk on power.

He knew the stories about Shizuo and thought he understood the danger the man posed. But as long as they could take him down, even if it required ambushing him with a group, they would be infamous. So he went after the man with a hit squad of twenty, which seemed like overkill.

It was not.

Half of Horada’s goons were wiped out in an instant, and he sensed impending and certain death from Shizuo’s approach—so in his fear, he pulled out the gun he intended to use for security and yanked the trigger.

About a year earlier, someone he knew had a plan to smuggle guns out of the Awakusu-kai, and Horada got him drunk enough to pry the weapons’ temporary hiding place out of him. He then snuck a single gun and a case of bullets out and snitched the location to the cops. The guys plotting the scheme went on the run from the Awakusu-kai and police both, and no one was any the wiser that Horada had pinched a single gun for himself.

Just as he had hoped, Horada was able to get up to all kinds of mischief using it as a tool to threaten others. It wasn’t until last night that he had actually shot someone with it.

The first shot tore a hole in the side of the bartender shirt, surprising him with the force of the recoil. He unconsciously lowered the gun slightly before firing the second shot, and it shattered against the asphalt, but the third one sank into Shizuo’s leg.

Shizuo lost his balance and fell forward onto the street. A man who had just been exhibiting superhuman strength had collapsed onto his face before him.

I killed him.

Certain of that fact, Horada instantly felt cold sweat on every inch of his body. He pried his trembling hand off of the pistol and spun around to survey the situation, only to see that the other unharmed Yellow Scarves were staring at him with shock and fear.

The gazes that had been trained on Shizuo just seconds ago were now on him. That was the point that he first realized there was no going back. The possibility that the gunshots might have attracted attention caused a fresh wave of cold sweat to break out.

Can’t stay here now, he thought to himself.

The man who seemed to be Shizuo’s coworker closed in, saying, “Wait a damn second… You sure you aren’t gettin’ yourself in hot water with that gun?”

“You want someone to blame? How about the guy who gave me the orders and the gun? Masaomi Kida’s your man!” he made up on the spot, then ran from the scene.

The rest of the boys picked up their comrades felled by Shizuo and scampered away. The man with the dreads was tending to Shizuo and wasn’t coming chasing after them.

Just as he was considering going on the run and into hiding, Horada’s phone got a call from an unfamiliar number. He answered, terrified of the possibility that it might be the police or the Awakusu-kai.

Instead, the person on the other end told him about the connection between Masaomi Kida and the boss of the Dollars.

That led him to the current point.

It was a lifeline to Horada when he needed it most. By using information and power together, it was all too easy to seize control of the Yellow Scarves. And if he could swallow up the Dollars next…

That’s right. With this many people, I can handle a few cops or yakuza barging onto our turf.

A few days was all he needed. If he could maintain his power, he could patch things up with the Awakusu-kai and “produce” the culprit who killed Shizuo Heiwajima for the police.

Horada even considered pinning the pistol on Masaomi Kida and burying him in the mountains somewhere. He glanced at the gun in his hand, grinning madly.

Suddenly, a rustling came from the entrance.

Is it the cops already?!

Horada scrambled to his feet and made to give orders to Higa and his other pawns. But he stopped with shock when he saw who had arrived.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Standing at the entrance was the very boy he’d just sentenced to exile and death, panting and wiping away sweat.

Masaomi Kida looked from face to face until he quickly identified the figure at the center of the group. Once he had caught sight of Horada, he glared with all of his power.

“Huh? This makes no sense. I just told you you were fired, and you’ve got a death sentence tomorrow.”

“Which means…I’ve still got today!” Masaomi said quietly, a confident smile playing across his lips. “I don’t like this revolution you’re throwing. If I’m going to be treated like a traitor, I’d like to at least get my ass kicked by the old-school members who remember me…”

He surveyed the gathering of youths again and boldly opined, “What’s going on here? I barely recognize anyone in this mob.”

He didn’t see any of the members whose cell phones he’d tried to reach just a little while ago. Masaomi wasn’t stupid enough not to understand what that meant. The smile slowly faded off of his face, and his voice got deeper.

“Unless…you’re telling me…”

The few people he did recognize were all shuffling at the back, looking uncomfortable, while those who eagerly surrounded him up close were all unfamiliar. Horada, pleased with his tactical advantage, stayed right where he was seated in his chair, confidently looking down on Masaomi. “It’s strange; everyone who was against me taking over got ambushed last night and sent to the hospital for some reason. Their phones were busted and everything.”

A spiteful sneer spread over Horada’s face. He wasn’t even pretending to hide the truth anymore. “Ooh, ain’t that scary? Must be those Dollars at work again! Right, boys?”

He raised his hands, and the Yellow Scarves surrounding Masaomi laughed together.

“So…what’s your plan?”

“Huh? Well, first we’re gonna jump you… And then I suppose we’ll use you as bait to lure your little buddy out.”

“You son of a…”

“Hah! What an idiot. Maybe you thought you were coming to help your friend out, but all you really did was turn yourself into a hostage! Maybe I should try what Izumii did way back when! I’ll break your arms and legs and say, ‘Here’s your question!’”

Masaomi went still.

“What…did you just say?”

“Huh? I said I’m gonna use you to crush the boss of the Dollars! The real convenient part about how the Dollars work is that even the members don’t know who their boss is! So I can take over their information network; give whatever orders I want; and before they know it, they’ll all be my faithful pawns!”

“No, not that… Did you just say…Izumii?” Masaomi asked, eyes wide and fists clenched. Inside his head, he heard that crude voice and Saki’s screams over the phone.

Horada watched the change in Masaomi with glee and shouted happily, “Ha-ha! Oh yeah! After that, we’ve gotta think about all the bad deeds we’ve done as the Yellow Scarves! Maybe it’s time to change our image with a new team name and color. Maybe a nice pale blue…like the color of your face right now!”

“No…you…you can’t mean…,” Masaomi mumbled, his lips trembling.

“You finally figured it out? That’s right; everyone here,” Horada said, motioning to the crowd, “is your sworn enemy: the Blue Squares! Don’t bother to disparage us by calling us the ‘remnants’ of our old gang! After all, we sure managed to swallow the Yellow Scarves whole!”

“…”

“It’s sad, really… All we had to do was take off our blue gear and ask to join, and your pals accepted us all in as brothers. I was freaked a bit when you came back, but you didn’t notice a thing! I guess that’s all the Yellow Scarves meant to you in the first place. Ha-ha…hya-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

The crowd rolled with laughter to drown out Horada’s, until it was a giant wave of sound crashing against Masaomi.

He held his silence amid the overwhelming mockery. Eventually he raised his head and stared down Horada, Higa, and the others in a different way. Before, his expression was one of rage—but now, there was quiet determination and understanding.

Horada cackled at the difference in Masaomi’s demeanor and asked, “What’s up, then? You ready to get down and beg? Not that it’ll do you any good.”

“No… Actually, I feel relieved.”

“Ah? What?”

“I’m registered with the Dollars and a member of the Yellow Scarves,” Masaomi said mockingly, taking a step forward. “But I’ve been fired from the Scarves and can’t trust the Dollars. Now I’m just a flashy teenager.”

He took another step forward. Caution strengthened among the nearby youths. As they closed slightly on him, several of them went to lock the door so that Masaomi couldn’t escape.

But the frivolous-looking teen, with his brown hair and pierced ears, wasn’t bothered in the least. His voice was absolutely calm.

“That’s why I’m here.”

He took another step. And another.

“I’m just Masaomi Kida.”

As he took yet another step toward Horada, his words grew more and more powerful.

“That’s why…I’m here!”

Masaomi took another step—to protect those he cared about. No more reason than that.

With each quiet step, the tension in the crowd around him increased noticeably.

But the one truly feeling the pressure was Masaomi himself.

That’s right. This situation is my past.

The past I’ve been trying so hard to outrun somehow circled around ahead of me.

“You can’t escape it, no matter how you struggle. No matter where you go, the past will follow you. No matter how hard you try to forget, no matter if you die and let it all disappear, the past will always be right behind you, chasing you down. Chasing, chasing, chasing, chasing… Do you know why?”

As those words that he’d once heard in the hospital repeated inside his head, Masaomi saw a number of faces.

Anri, Mikado, Kadota, Yumasaki, Karisawa, Simon…

And Saki.

“Because it’s lonely. The past, memories, and outcomes are all very lonely things. They want a companion.”

Masaomi recalled those words of Izaya’s. He mumbled, “Now it’s my turn to chase my own past.”

“Wha—?”

“I hear the past is lonely—so I better catch up to it soon.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about? Moron!”

Irritated that his former leader continued his fearless approach, Horada grabbed a crowbar from one of the boys near him and hurled it at Masaomi’s face.

Masaomi didn’t even try to dodge. The nail pry on the end of the crowbar hit him in the face. But he didn’t shy backward. He reached out and caught the bar as it fell to the ground. Blood streamed from his forehead down the side of his face, but he kept walking without wiping it.

“I didn’t come here expecting to be killed.”

Now the boy had a weapon in his hands. Horada felt a small note of unease at the sight—and it was he who had given him that weapon.

“I came here expecting to kill. You, in particular.”

The unease turned to fear.

Despite his advantage in age, despite his advantage in build, despite the presence of the deadly weapon on his side, despite the almost laughable amount of manpower at his disposal.

“I’ll say it as many times as it takes.”

With each step Masaomi took, a certain possibility grew larger within Horada.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Another step. And another step.

“And no one can deny that!”

Horada realized the nature of that possibility.

The very slight, extremely unlikely possibility that before he could have the boy beaten to a pulp, Masaomi might come and kill him first.

The instant he realized that, his unease changed into recognizable fear. A shriek emerged from Horada’s mouth in the form of an order.

“What are you guys doing?! Crush that idiot’s skull already!”

At the same time, the other boys, immobilized by the same anxiety as Horada, snapped into motion.

The violence of numbers bore down on Masaomi.

Apartment building, Shinjuku

Shingen inhaled the scent of the tea Namie offered him through his gas mask as he ran through the series of events.

“Well, after Miss Namie went on the run, Yagiri Pharmaceuticals was acquired by Nebula, if you recall. The company was independently investigating the trail of the head—well, of Namie—and I spotted her visiting your place from a variety of hotels. So as she was making her way here today, I used this model gun to convince her to let me in.”

“Should we call the police, Izaya?”

“Wouldn’t that cause trouble for you? A warrant based on my testimony produces a young woman’s head… It would be the newest sensation—forget about that old slasher. Perhaps I should engage in some self-orchestrated message board drama to heighten the anticipation.”

Izaya sipped his tea with a calm smile as Shingen went on at length about the ways in which he could sabotage them.

“Clearly Shinra got his twisted personality from you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my boy. Now show me the head.”

“What is his problem?” Namie asked, disgusted.

In contrast, Izaya was used to dealing with him, and he responded to Shingen in kind. “The only answer I can give you is no…but I’m curious as to what your response would be.”

“If I said this building might get invaded by a gang of armed robbers in the near future, what would you do?”

“Then, I’d say you shouldn’t have come here today. I could have this room spotless and empty by tomorrow morning,” Izaya answered the man twenty years his senior without a hint of intimidation.

“Ha-hah… I’m only joking. In all honesty, I don’t need the head back anytime soon.”

“Oh?”

“Our higher-ups at Nebula were more than a little shocked to see footage of Celty in action on TV. They determined that it might be better to research her body, rather than the head,” Shingen stated, all business. Namie found herself questioning his sanity.

Izaya was engaging Shingen in the conversation, weighing his statements, but his expression suggested that he wasn’t able to judge the other man’s intentions yet.

“Now I am on a mission to search for the location of the head. You seem to have a different approach to this head than we do. Under the ‘Valkyrie equals dullahan’ theory, you believe that placing the head into a certain type of power struggle will cause it to awaken on its own. A fascinating idea.”

“Oh…? I thought I got rid of all the bugs.”

“…I said that as a joke. Is it true? You’re really following such an obscure theory?”

“…”

It was extremely difficult to read the expression of a man wearing a joke of a gas mask to ascertain if he was serious or not. Izaya sighed in resignation and decided to explain his current strategy.

“I’m trying a number of things. If it comes down to it, I’ll just have to take it to a war-torn region, but I’d appreciate a cooperative response, if possible. Unlike you, I don’t have the facilities for proper scientific monitoring.”

“Ah… Well, test out whatever you wish. If you go through me, I can put our resources at your disposal…under our supervision, of course. To be honest, I am curious about your actions. No one else around me has considered experimenting from a mythological standpoint. And neither have I.”

“Well, thank you.” Izaya grimaced, sipped his tea, then regained his confident grin. He explained to Shingen, “As a matter of fact, I was really getting somewhere with this. I whipped up a number of gangs into an antagonistic frenzy to make them wipe each other out. And the people at the center of them were linked both by friendship and romance.”

“Ahh.”

“They were trapped by the whirlpool of violence—fated to fight, even as they cared for the others… And one of them is like Celty, a being slightly removed from this world.”

“Are you speaking…of Saika?” Shingen piped up excitedly. “Are you sure this wasn’t just your own desire, unrelated to experimenting on the head?”

“I won’t deny that.”

“So, when you say you were ‘getting somewhere,’ that implies that ultimately, you did not ‘get somewhere.’ What do you mean?” Shingen asked.

Izaya sighed confidently and replied, “I think you know what I mean.”

“Celty has gotten more involved with two of them than she needs to be.”

Ikebukuro

Once he returned to his apartment, Mikado decided to head for Anri’s place first.

He was preparing for the trip and feeling slightly apprehensive when he heard a whinny that he would never mistake for anything else.

“…Celty?”

The only possible explanation for the sound of a horse whinnying outside of his metropolitan apartment building was Celty’s black motorcycle. And if it was making that sound out front, it meant she had paid a visit to Mikado for something.

But…why now?

Despite his delight at the return of the “extraordinary” to his life, Mikado felt a pang of anxiety and doubt. Could it have something to do with Anri and Masaomi?

He threw open the door to his apartment, worry gnawing at his chest. Celty was standing at the door about to press the buzzer. She quickly yanked her hand away, looking guilty.

“Hi, Celty. What’s up…?” he said, greeting her with his usual happy smile. She held out her PDA apprehensively.

“I know this is a sudden question, but…do you love Anri Sonohara?”

“Huh…?”

What kind of question was that to ask completely out of the blue? Even worse, his apprehension about Anri was apparently proven true. Panic began to eat away at his heart for a number of reasons.

Mikado’s confusion was painfully apparent just from looking at his face. But before explaining things more thoroughly, she wanted to be sure of that one thing, while he was still ignorant of the rest.

So she threw him an even more pressing question.

“If you’re invested in her happiness…would you be able to reveal all of your secrets?”

Apartment building, Shinjuku

“I see… If they know someone as powerful and connected as Celty, that might be disastrous for the intractable warfare you desire.”

Shingen slurped his room-temperature tea through a straw stuck into the gap of his mask. The image was nothing short of a joke, but his manner was dead serious when he finished sucking down the tea.

“I have one piece of advice.”

“Oh?”

“If you want to mimic a war here in Tokyo to agitate Celty’s head—or soul—then perhaps rather than getting her involved with someone else’s battle…what if you used her body as the focal point, wreaking havoc on the surroundings instead?”

The suggestion was horrifically cruel and calculating. Izaya simply curled up a corner of his mouth and said, “That’s my plan.”

Shingen’s reaction to this proclamation was hidden from view by the gas mask. An eerie silence settled on the gloomy room. Izaya decided to break it, though it didn’t particularly bother him. He launched into a further explanation of the incident he found himself involved with.

“Actually, this event is truly fascinating. These three people, so close to one another, each bore a terrible secret, and…through coincidence and a single act of malice—by me, of course—they were each informed of the others’ secret in nearly the ideal circumstances. Of course, it would have been truly monstrous if it had happened after the battle had gone to the point of no return.”

“The only monstrous thing here is you,” Namie muttered, but Izaya pretended not to hear.

Meanwhile, Shingen filed away what he had just heard. He announced his opinion on the matter with his usual flair. “I see. Malicious coincidence, overlapping and leading to more misunderstanding… It’s the kind of thing that happens so often in this world, it’s hard to call it ‘coincidence.’ You might call it human nature instead.”

As an unexpected part of that chain of coincidence whether he realized it or not, Shingen muttered a final statement from a lofty vantage point.

“Well, I believe I shall be going now…but remember one thing, information agent.”

“Which is?”

“The chains of coincidence do not only occur in the direction of misfortune.”

Interior, ruined factory

With a grunt, another Yellow Scarf—or perhaps he was really a Blue Square—collapsed next to Masaomi.

Over a dozen teens were already rolling around on the ground at his feet, clutching their arms, legs, or heads.

“Hey, he’s just one guy! What’s taking you so long?!”

At some point, Horada had gotten out of his chair and to his feet. He had the gun clutched in his hand, but he was taking a step backward, trying to put distance between him and the advancing Masaomi.

He was certain that when his companions closed in all at once, their victory was instantly assured. But that moment had passed, and Masaomi was still standing.

Naturally, he wasn’t unscathed. But all of the truly devastating blows were coming from him, not the other way around.

Horada’s command sent the useless posers, who had no experience with group fights, forward in an attempt to drive away their momentary intimidation. Rather than attacking his blind spots in groups of three or four, they all rushed in like sardines, swinging metal pipes and the like. Predictably, they mostly got in one another’s way, hampering their ability to fight.

Meanwhile, Masaomi didn’t swing his crowbar around like a bludgeon, but held it out straight, striking at ribs, collarbones, and knees.

His attacks were as ruthless as they were efficient. It was if he was trying to pierce straight through his opponent’s body with each blow. With every merciless strike, the Yellow Scarves each reconsidered their own attack for an instant, giving him more time to swipe with the crowbar. No mercy, no hesitation.

Who was going to be first to leap into an attack that could easily get himself maimed? If anyone locked eyes with Masaomi, they were the next to fall prey to the crowbar. The bodies of the wounded were a physical and mental wall that served as a warning to the rest.

And if there was any mistake that Horada made, it was his sore underestimation of Masaomi’s power.

Horada had pegged him for the opportunistic type of leader, but he did not realize that the Yellow Scarves were originally formed around the bedrock of Masaomi’s fighting ability. He had taken part in several fights that pitted him against larger groups completely alone.

But naturally, Masaomi’s body was accumulating steady damage. There were multiple trickles of blood coming down his forehead. His movement had been noticeably slower since taking a metal pipe to the ribs—he might even have cracked a few.

But Masaomi didn’t go down.

No matter how many blows he took, he continued his inexorable progress toward Horada.

Meanwhile, no one was bothering to stand in his way to form a human barricade around their leader. They just stood around as the same event played out over and over. About half of the gathering was just watching from a distance, not making any effort to join the fray.

Y-you useless idiots…

But he also couldn’t just run for it and be the first out the door.

The possibility of death flitted across Horada’s mind again.

If it comes down to it…

He clutched his gun and considered creating his second victim. If he shot him in this state, the other guy would die for sure this time, but only if it came to that.

Should he just go ahead and shoot him now? Horada was losing his ability to make rational decisions. He clutched the gun, swallowing hard—and the situation made a tiny bit of progress.

“Die!”

One of the boys’ hearty swing of a metal rod connected with Masaomi’s head, and he collapsed to the ground.

“Oh…? Heh…heh-ha-haaa! Don’t scare me like that, you little shit!” Horada crowed, relaxing his grip on the gun and moving closer to the prone Masaomi.

He raised a foot, preparing to stomp his helpless victim into oblivion. In a flash, Masaomi leaped up and swung his crowbar down at Horada’s head.

“Raaah!”

But the strength went out of Masaomi’s knees, and the tip of the crowbar fell just an inch short as it dropped.

“H-hyaaah!”

Horada was half-mad at that point, however. He leaped aside like a terrified dog, turned his gun on Masaomi as the boy slumped to his knees, and…

Instead of a gunshot, there was a sharp metal clang.

A shock ran through Horada’s hand. The gun he was holding flew through the air and landed elsewhere inside the factory.

Even Masaomi didn’t understand what happened.

One of the men near Horada had suddenly swung a knife, knocking the gun out of his hands with inhuman quickness.

The man with the knife dully told the stunned Horada, “Um, sorry. If you kill him, Mom will be sad. So I acted on my own. Yes.”

“What?! What do you think you’re…do…aaah?”

All the boys who saw the man’s face scrambled backward. The man holding the knife had eyes that were pure, deep red—as though the entire whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

The knife wielder looked around the scene and said again in monotone, “Well…I can tell. Sorry. I can tell Mom is very close by.”

The next instant, there was an incredible crash from the entranceway of the factory.

All present turned to look that way and saw the lock placed on the door being blown clean off.

The padlock fell to the ground as cleanly as a vegetable chopped by a kitchen knife. The door blasted open…and Masaomi saw.

At the door was a girl with the same katana that he’d seen two nights earlier.

When she saw him about to be stomped by the gang, she cried out, “Kida!” and raced over to him.

“Huh…?”

What’s Anri doing here?

Why does Anri have…a katana?

Masaomi’s world lurched perilously.

He wasn’t quite able to put together the “Anri equals slasher” equation in the heat of the moment, but there was no denying the extreme confusion he felt at the bizarre combination of Anri and an old-fashioned katana.

And then came the ultimate element of confusion roaring into view.

Right around the time that Anri reached the spot just in front of Masaomi, a powerful whinny echoed off the walls of the factory.

The Black Rider!

Why did Anri show up?

Why did she have the same kind of katana as what the girl two nights ago had?

Why would he hear the sound of the Black Rider’s motorcycle right now?

There was no end to the questions, no lack of confusion, and no time to think about anything.

But the biggest problem of all, the thing that dulled his resolution to risk death…was the appearance of the Black Rider—and the boy sitting on the rear edge of the seat.

It was the person he was least ready to face—but most eager to talk to.

“Masa…omi…?”

“Mika…do…?”

Twenty minutes earlier, apartment building, Ikebukuro

“Huh…?”

A number of emotions flew through Anri’s mind when she learned that Celty was a woman. But before she could process them to ascertain their true meaning, she was distracted by a sound from the other room.

It was the room farthest into the apartment, not the one where she had slept.

“Oh? Is he already awake…? Those were pretty hefty tranquilizers I gave him,” Shinra said morbidly. Anri focused on the far room, curious about the source of the sound.

The door slowly opened to reveal a man’s face.

“Hey, where are my shades?”

It was a blond man wearing a button-up shirt.

“Hi. Your brother was just on TV. Starring in a film? Congrats.”

“Oh, Kasuka? Yeah, I think I remember him mentioning that.”

Anri felt her pulse leap as she listened to their mundane chat. The cursed voices that welled up from within her were raising a cheer more powerful than any she’d ever heard.

Understanding and memory came swiftly to her.

About two weeks earlier, when she first met Celty, this man had completely flattened one of Saika’s “grandchildren.”

Shinra was completely oblivious to Anri’s petrification. With surprise in his voice, he asked the man, “Listen, Shizuo… You got shot in the leg and the side and suffered tremendous damage. How are you standing and walking around already?”

The doctor’s tone suggested that the other man was violating everything he knew about life. Shizuo Heiwajima only raised his eyebrows a bit.

“Why…? Because I can stand and walk, obviously,” he said unhelpfully.

On the inside, Anri’s cursed voices churned and roiled even harder. She shoved the voices into the world within the painting frame and spoke to the man who once saved her from the slasher.

“Um…Shizuo…why are you…here?”

“Huh…? Uhh…crap. Who are you?”

Shizuo didn’t recognize her. He started to mull it over in earnest. Meanwhile, Shinra explained what had happened while she was asleep.

“Oh, him—he got shot yesterday. Took bullets to the leg and ribs, and while he was off-balance on the ground, the shooter ran away. What a clumsy klutz, am I right?”

“…You want to die?”

“I am so sorry with all of my being.”

With a single glance from Shizuo, Shinra was down on his hands and knees.

Shizuo had clearly given up on trying to remember Anri. “At first I thought I slipped and fell because of the rain…then I noticed all the blood coming from my side and leg. That’s when I realized I’d been shot, and I was ready to kill them all…but they’d all run away already. Then, Tom said some scary stuff about dying of lead poisoning if I didn’t see a doctor…”

“What made you choose a black market doctor like me? I lost a couple good scalpels trying to cut out the bullets.”

“Who wants to go through all that police questioning about the bullet wounds? I figured it would be cheaper in the long run to go with you,” Shizuo answered simply.

Shinra sighed and asked, “Anyway, what’s your plan after this?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” he replied, his face suggesting that there could only be one answer.

He had no idea how cruel an answer it was to Anri.

“I’m gonna find the guys who shot me, and this Masaomi Kida asshole who gave them their orders, and kill ’em all.”

Present moment, abandoned factory

And then Anri was here.

She knew about Shizuo’s strength. Given that he could easily kill Masaomi, she considered it smarter to help Masaomi escape than try to convince Shizuo not to kill him. Shizuo and Shinra had been talking about something, but she didn’t hear them—she was too busy sending a text message to one of her “children” in the Yellow Scarves.

That was how she learned the Yellow Scarves were gathered at the abandoned factory. She broke free from Shinra when he tried to stop her and raced on foot to the scene.

But the message did not contain a particular piece of crucial information.

That there had been a revolution within the Yellow Scarves and Masaomi was already exiled from the group.

“Kida!”

Anri exposed herself for all to see, boldly standing to block the way and protect Masaomi, when—

“Masaomi!! Sonohara?!”

It was Mikado, seated behind Celty. He saw the state of the factory from the back of the motorcycle and called out to them in shock.

He couldn’t be blamed. One was brandishing a deadly weapon, and the other was bloody and beaten.

He had called out their names because his emotion preceded his understanding.

Mikado leaped from the motorcycle and raced over to the bloody, kneeling Masaomi.

Celty, too, viewed the scene with conflicting emotion.

What is this? What is…going on here?

On the phone, Shinra had said, “Anri got a message and just up and ran out the door. I’m trying to chase after her, but… I think she’s heading for the abandoned factory, but I can’t…breathe… Geez, she’s fast! Anri! So! Fast!” So she had taken Mikado with her on the bike straight to the factory.

As they rode, she showed Mikado a PDA message that read, “Are you prepared for what’s next, no matter how awful a sight it might be?”

Celty had been imagining the Masaomi boy leading the Yellow Scarves into battle against Anri with her katana.

That was what I figured would happen… So what exactly is going on?

For whatever reason, the boy who was head of the Yellow Scarves was being mobbed by his companions in yellow.

“You’re right… This is a horrible sight…,” Mikado mumbled when he saw Masaomi.

Why was Masaomi being ganged up on by the Yellow Scarves? Why was Anri here, and why did she have a katana with her? There were plenty of questions.

And the other two must have had questions of their own.

Yellow Scarves, Dollars, slasher.

Three symbols floated into three heads—but it all went out the window the moment they saw one another’s faces.

All the information each one had gained…

All the doubts they’d felt about the others…

All of it confirmed as trivial with all their hearts.

In the moment, they each thought and acted with no concern except one another’s safety.

The confusion held true for Horada as much as it did for the trio.

“There you are, Black Rider… Crap… Whatever’s happening here, go, guys! Pound ’em all into dust! And take the empty-handed kid hostage!” he shouted, just before a voice piped up from the crowd.

“Now! Turn traitor!”

“…Huh?”

Horada looked around, unclear what the shout was supposed to mean.

He saw something he could not believe.

Hey… What’s going on…?

What the hell is happening here?!

Horada’s parched throat swallowed dry spittle. They were supposed to take the boys captive to immobilize the Black Rider and the katana chick, then surround them and wipe them out. That was the image he had in his head.

But he never could have imagined what he was actually seeing.

The Yellow Scarves were attacking one another. The ones going after the intruders were hit by other members from the side, and those who went after those attackers suffered jump kicks themselves.

Everywhere he looked in the factory, similar events were playing out. More and more Yellow Scarves were hitting the ground.

In particular, one man was laying Yellow Scarves flat at a frightful pace, a man with black hair and a yellow scarf. When he met eyes with the dumbfounded Horada, he pulled the scarf off to reveal—

“Yo.”

“K…K…Kadota! You…you son of a bitch!”

“I figured it was you. When Izumii and them got hauled in, you were the only one who got away, and you also didn’t get stuck with any charges… And here you are, acting like quite the big man. I’m surprised. Y’know, if it’s this easy to infiltrate with just a scrap of cloth for disguise, maybe it ain’t the best thing in the world to grow your numbers, is it?” Kadota muttered with a smirk. He turned to Masaomi.

“That was scary, wasn’t it? We thought you were gonna get shot…but I guess the slasher saved your ass, for whatever reason… Sorry, man. We couldn’t act until we knew that gun was out of the picture.”

Still unclear on what was happening, Masaomi used the crowbar as a crutch to get to his feet. He asked the older man, “Kado…ta? Wh-what is this…?”

“When you said the name Horada, I knew it sounded familiar… So I looked into it and found out what was going on. We got about thirty of the Dollars together with some random scraps of yellow and snuck in. I left Yumasaki and Karisawa behind, since they’d stand out.”

Kadota paused to knock out another “enemy” Yellow Scarf. He made it sound easy, but scraping together thirty people to infiltrate the midst of the enemy was no easy feat. Masaomi watched the man who had once saved Saki—a man with a universal, undeniable charisma, unlike him and Horada. The only things he could register in the moment were shock and gratitude.

The group Kadota pulled together all recognized one another. But from Horada’s Yellow Scarves’ side, they didn’t know who was friend and who was foe, particularly in the midst of such chaotic battle.

“D-damn…wh-what’s going on here?! My gun…where’s my piece?!” Horada shrieked, looking for the weapon that had been knocked out of his hands earlier—defeat was almost certain now, and his top priority was survival.

But there was no black hunk of metal to be found on the ground.

“Hey,” came a voice over his back. “Years ago…was that you…with Izumii?”

He felt his heart being crushed. Horada’s body and breath went entirely still. The only thing moving was the flow of cold sweat.

“Who broke Saki’s leg? Was it you?”

“N-no, I didn’t…,” Horada stammered, teeth chattering, as he imagined the figure of the boy standing behind him.

The smaller boy, raising the metal crowbar, bloodied to hell and without mercy.

“Who made Saki cry? Was it you?”

“…Dammiiiiit!”

Horada pulled a small knife from his pocket and spun around, thrusting it with all his might. But Masaomi’s fist, wrapped in a yellow bandanna, slammed into his face instead.

“In reality…I should have split your skull with that crowbar,” Masaomi murmured, as he gazed down at the writhing Horada. He could sense two figures watching him nervously from behind. “But Mikado and Anri don’t belong to this world.”

Masaomi kept his face hidden from them. He mumbled, “They don’t need to see a dead body. So I changed my mind.”

But from deep down, he was suddenly possessed by an urge to see their faces.

It could just be chat—no need to talk about the Dollars or Yellow Scarves. He just wanted to speak with them…

That was when he saw some of Horada’s juniors dragging him away from harm.

“No, wait…”

He took a step forward to go after them. But with all of the tension and nerves gone, Masaomi’s body had reached its limit, and he collapsed to the ground.

“Masaomi! Masaomi! Hang in there, Masaomi!”

“Kida!”

The sounds were amplified several times, slamming into his brain.

Through the haze, Masaomi could see a teary-eyed Mikado rocking him and Anri leaning over with a similar look of concern.

The sight of their faces next to each other drove all thought of the Dollars or the slasher from Masaomi’s mind. All he could think was how alike their expressions were.

Damn. Why do they look like such a good couple?

Masaomi put on a wry, brave grin as he gritted his teeth against the terrible pain overwhelming his body.

So who suits me, then…? I guess that’s obvious. Whether we fit each other or not doesn’t matter.

“If you’re gonna take me to a hospital…can I ask you for a favor?” he asked in his tattered state. Mikado and Anri looked overjoyed just to know that he was still alive.

They’re as happy as if it was them pulling through, not me.

“Make it Raira General Hospital.”

I guess I was the only one mistrusting the other two.

“There’s a girl waiting for me there. Please.”

He was barely able to keep his thoughts and words aligned anymore, but he could hear Kadota mutter exasperatedly, “Sheesh. I toldja not to run, but I didn’t mean it that seriously. Gotta know when to balance it out, man.” His tone was gruff, but there was respect for Masaomi in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Raira Hospital soon,” Kadota said firmly, the last sound Masaomi heard before he lost consciousness.

Outside the abandoned factory

Horada loaded into an older car with his posse, slammed the door, and jammed on the pedal. The tires squealed a bit, but within a few seconds, the passenger vehicle was racing along.

“Ah! Wait, Horada, I don’t see Higa!”

“Screw him!”

Horada peeled the car out, not caring that his companion had been left behind in the factory. He could see the abandoned building shrinking in the rearview mirror. But when a black motorcycle emerged from the grounds, the car erupted into panic.

“Oh sh-sh-shit! The B-Black Rider’s comin’ after us!”

“Just shut up!” Horada screeched, slamming the gas pedal as deep as it would go. “Go, dammit… Go, go, go! What the fuck is happening?!”

“What are we gonna do, Horada?!”

“Just run for it! The cops ain’t comin’ yet! As long as we get away until things cool down, and Izumii gets out of juvie, we can still turn things around!”

The factory’s street was an empty straight shot, and luckily for them, there were no oncoming vehicles. That meant they could use the space to speed up and put distance between them and the Black Rider.

“Ah! H-Horada, up front!” cried the man in the passenger seat.

“What?!” He looked forward.

A familiar man was standing ahead, leaning against a road sign and glaring at them.

“It’s him! The bartender outfit… Shizuo! Shizuo Heiwajima!”

“What?! He’s still alive?!”

Shizuo was not dead.

When that fact sank into Horada’s consciousness, he felt not relief that he was not a murderer after all—but the instantaneous and absolute fear that loomed directly ahead.

And he had no gun now. Even if he had it, there was little belief within him that he could win.

“Huh? Wait, why’s there a signpost there?” the man in the passenger seat wondered.

At that very moment, just ahead and on the side of the road, Shizuo lifted up the signpost that he had actually been holding all along.

“Huh?” all the riders in the car said in perfect harmony. Shizuo recognized the man inside the car with the bandages on his head. A vein bulged on his face, and a violent grin appeared on his lips.

The next instant, they were greeted by the sight of a street sign being swung horizontally toward them like a baseball bat.

An indescribable shattering sound echoed through the lonely residential street.

“Ugwooaaaahh?!”

Everyone in the car screamed and shrank back, but they didn’t suffer anything more than the impact against the car and the sprinkling of broken glass on top of their heads.

 ?!

Horada looked up, unsure what had just happened. All he saw was the rest of the road stretching ahead of them, the same as a second earlier.

Where’s Shiz…huh?!

They looked for the rearview mirror to catch sight of him, and it was only then that they realized what had happened to the car.

The surprisingly fresh breeze. The absence of the rearview mirror.

These things made perfect sense now. After all, the roof of the car was entirely gone.

There were just a few scraps of the window frames left and the bottom half of all the glass windows.

Now that they were riding in the world’s ugliest convertible, all the boys realized that their heads could easily have flown off in the impact—and they quaked in delayed terror.

They had made an enemy of Shizuo Heiwajima.

And this past, a past that Horada had initiated just one day earlier…

…was not going to let them escape.

“Not…so…faaaaast!” came a roar from far behind them.

A violent impact shook the chassis of the car at the same time the group heard the bellow.

The nature of the impact from behind was actually quite simple. Between the driver and passenger seats, a NO TRESPASSING signpost stuck into the floor of the car.

From that point on, their memories became temporarily fuzzy.

The next thing he knew, Horada was racing through waves of cars at blinding speed, screaming all the while.

“Aaaaaaaaahhh! Aaaaaa— Aa— Aaaa— Aah! Aaaaahh!”

The freshly converted convertible raced forward and onward on the busy street, ignoring the blaring horns around it.

Wh-what? When did I get here?!

Horada regained his wits but wasn’t able to process the situation yet. He weaved through the cars ahead of him, ignored the lights, and did everything he could to race from the fear he felt sneaking up on him from behind.

How long had they been fleeing?

Suddenly, Horada heard the sound of an engine. Not a car engine, but the particular sound that came with the two-wheeled kind of vehicle.

“Hyaaaaaaaa!”

His head filled with a vision of the Black Rider, Horada turned the car straight in the direction of the motorcycle engine sound, hoping to crush the smaller vehicle in his panic.

But Horada was missing one detail.

The sound of the Black Rider’s bike was different from normal motorcycles.

And the motorcycle that Horada’s car was bearing down on at high speed was a very particular one.

Far behind them, Celty shivered and put her hands together to say a short prayer for Horada’s car. She silently rode away from the major street to ensure she didn’t get caught up in what was about to happen.

One had to feel sorry for Horada’s group. They made the mistake of picking a fight with the police chopper.

“Trying to run a traffic cop off the road before he can even issue a warning? You’ve got guts.”

“Eh, wheh?”

The police motorcycle deftly avoided the hideous convertible’s ramming attempt. The officer’s eyes flashed beneath his helmet as he seized the chance to get something personal off his chest.

“Don’t fuck with traffic cops, you little brats.”

That was when Horada’s group experienced the greatest terror of the day.

Ultimately, their panicked rampage ended with arrests, for the charge of hit-and-run against a traffic sign.

The young men claimed that their car was sliced open by the sign, but the police determined that was just confusion after the collision speaking. When the original location of the signpost was examined, it didn’t match the expected status of a car collision at all, but they certainly weren’t going to accept that the damage was caused by a single human’s bare hands.

Perhaps the police thought of Shizuo Heiwajima when they heard the story. But given that they found a lengthy record on Horada and the others, they ultimately deemed it was not worth arresting Shizuo.

In any case, Horada and his gang wound up behind bars for some time—while the Yellow Scarves dramatically shrank back after that day. A temporary peace settled over Ikebukuro.

The only thing that troubled the police was that the gun Horada was suspected of using never showed up.

Late that night, Fujimidai Hill, Shinjuku Central Park

Tucked away in Central Park was a little pavilion gazebo with a hexagonal roof, surrounded by trees. The clock was approaching midnight.

Many of the windows in the high-rise buildings surrounding the park were still lit, which threw off the sense of the hour.

It was under this setting that two figures silently met atop the little hill, in the midst of an urban forest.

The smaller shadow handed over a tightly tied knapsack. The other figure nimbly undid the knot and checked the contents, smiling.

“Yep, this is it. You’ve delivered the goods safe and sound. Now I can finally get that reward from the Awakusu-kai,” Izaya said, holding up the gun that had been in Horada’s possession earlier.

“Thanks… I wasn’t able to retrieve…the bullets, though…”

“Oh, that’s all right. As long as we’ve got the rifling in the barrel, there’s no harm done if the police find the bullets. I appreciate your hard work, Higa. It was very quickly done.”

“Sure…”

The young man who should have been with Horada bowed his head reverently to Izaya. It was completely unlike his normal demeanor around Horada—this respect wasn’t derived solely from fear.

“I would have been fine with passing on Horada’s info so that the Awakusu-kai could handle the whole affair…but I figured if he used the gun to kill Shizu, hey—two birds with one stone.”

“Right. That’s why you told Horada where Shizuo was through me.”

“Indeed. It’s really a shame; if he’d hit him in the head or heart, it might have actually worked.”

Oddly, in the next moment, Higa spun around on his heel and spoke to the air in the opposite direction of Izaya.

“Yes, it seems that is the case…Mom…,” he said toward the shadow of a pillar and made another bow of deep reverence. Izaya’s eardrums caught the hesitant voice of a teenage girl.

“Um, thank you… You can go home and live normally from now on…”

It was not a voice one was supposed to hear in a park at midnight. Higa quickly left the scene, and a girl took his place. Like her voice, her appearance did not fit the situation. Perhaps she would have looked more appropriate during the day—but her outfit was far too proper for a girl meeting a man in the park well after dark.

“Um, are you…Izaya…Orihara?” the bespectacled girl asked hesitantly.

Izaya smiled delightedly. “Yes, Anri Sonohara…or should I call you Saika? No…you’re not being possessed, so Anri will do fine for you. By the way, do you recall when we met before this?”

They seemed like people who had no connection, but they’d actually had contact several times in the past. When she was being bullied by the usual group soon after starting school, he had been with Mikado when they barged in to drive the bullies off. Of course, Shizuo had appeared moments later, so there was no chance for a proper introduction at the time.

“So you were Izaya… Thank you for your help that day.”

She bowed daintily and composed a serious face before continuing, “Well…it brings me no pleasure to do this, but…”

As she spoke, a silver blade grew from her palm. A katana appeared before Izaya’s eyes, the movement as smooth and quick as any iaido master drawing his blade.

“I need…to cut you down.”

Every day the same repetition. The same incessant curses from Saika, the same dream, accepted without emotion or excitement. Through her encounters with Mikado, Masaomi, and Celty, it might have appeared that she’d escaped her seemingly normal abnormality.

But while she wished for something different, she did not wish for Mikado and Masaomi to be miserable. This was something she had to do in order to get the daily life she wanted and secure peaceful lives for Mikado and Masaomi.

And he was the very puppet master who manipulated those around him to cause chaos—first, Saika’s children, and this time, the Dollars and Yellow Scarves. Now Anri held her sword out and faced him head-on, ready to control that puppet master for herself.

“Why…why did you do this? To Kida…and Ryuugamine.”

“Hmm? But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even push them on the back. I just showed them a guidepost. But if you need a reason for even that simple act…”

Anri’s question was a very reasonable one. But Izaya’s response was as flippant as if he was describing what he had for lunch that day.

“It’s because I love people.”

“…?”

Anri didn’t understand what he meant by that. Izaya spread his hands with delight.

“Yes, I just love people. Their altruism and malevolence equally. The only exception is Shizuo Heiwajima—I hate him. Perhaps I just wanted to see the different sides of humanity. So here’s your question: Was that answer true…or false?” he teased. Anri’s eyes narrowed.

“I will know…once I take you over…”

It was the kind of growl that would normally be unthinkable from Anri. She leaped sharply at Izaya. From her step to her swing, the motion was pure and precise. It was as smooth as an iaido draw without a sheath and ought to have thrown off Izaya’s sense of distance.

But in anticipation of this, Izaya had leaped backward in a way that nearly looked cowardly, from the center of the hexagonal gazebo to the grassy hill.

“They say a certain school of iai is focused less on speed than throwing off the target’s sense of distance… I guess it was true,” Izaya remarked with admiration. When Anri took her neutral stance again, he challenged her with, “So how about you? If you really want a tranquil, peaceful life, you should use that katana to slash everyone you know. Once you’re the queen, you’ll get what you want.”

“That…that is not true! I…I cannot love anyone else…but even I know that is wrong.”

“How about Mikado and Masaomi, then? They’ve both expressed their affection for you, but you haven’t given either a serious answer. Can you really say that your attitude toward them is correct?”

“…”

As Anri held her silence, Izaya taunted, “What a pleasant kind of self-satisfaction. You assume that you can’t love anyone else, and you’re using that as a reason to be satisfied with where you are now. Saika loves people for you? That’s ridiculous. How exactly do you intend to prove that sword’s curse is the same as human love?”

“Please…shut up…”

She was already leaping forward before the words had finished leaving her mouth. The swipe was even fiercer and closer than the one before, but Izaya swung back and blocked it with a knife he’d produced from his pocket.

Meanwhile, he swung around to Anri’s rear, situating himself in her blind spot. Anri anticipated this and whipped the sword back around her…but Izaya was not attacking. He took more distance this time.

“Listen, I wish you wouldn’t assume I’m a pushover. There’s a reason I can hold my own against Shizu all the time. Plus…you shouldn’t have given this to me.”

Smirking, Izaya pulled out the pistol Higa had given him minutes ago and pointed it at her. But Anri was not affected. Obviously she had anticipated this and made sure the bullets were removed from the gun first.

But Izaya, smiling with the confidence of one who knew what she was doing all along, held up a plastic bag with his free hand.

“…!”

Inside the clear baggie were a number of objects that looked like bullets.

“So…was it possible for me…to reload this gun while we just had this conversation?” he mocked. But Anri was keeping herself calm, putting all of her focus into anticipating her enemy’s next move. Even if he had loaded the gun, if she gave herself over to Saika’s memory and experience, she might survive anyway.

Of course, Anri herself would be exposed to the fear of death—but she just shut her vision into the picture frame, bottling up her fear and suppressing it.

However, upon seeing her calm gaze and steady stance, Izaya quietly said, “Just to be clear, I won’t actually be shooting at you.”

“…?”

“I choose Higa instead.”

“…!”

“Or perhaps that couple walking over there would do better.”

Those words drew Anri’s heart into the world of the picture frame.

Izaya’s eyes were focused not on Anri, but behind her—the direction Higa had descended the hill. She didn’t know how far away the people he mentioned were. She couldn’t hear their footsteps. How far away could Izaya kill people with that gun?

Neither Anri nor Saika had any knowledge of how guns worked.

“I mean, you can’t love other people, so causing pain to the innocent shouldn’t really hurt you that much…right?” he said bluntly, as Anri froze in place. “Just to be clear, I knew that Higa was a victim of the slasher. He picked a fight with Shizuo and said he got cut as he was fleeing, broken and beaten. So why do you think he was the one I ordered to retrieve the gun?”

His next words: “Because of you. I wanted to talk to you…so I could declare war in person.”

He was not talking to Anri, but the blade in her hands.

“You see, I also have a deep, deep love for humanity,” he repeated, grinning. “I won’t let a stupid sword take people away.”

An appropriate way to declare war against Saika.

“Because people…belong to me,” he added at the end with a smirk. Everything that was meant to be intimidating earlier now sounded like a joke.

“Oh, but you seem to have taken a liking to Shizu. I don’t want him, so he’s yours. I’m praying that you dice him into tiny pieces as soon as possible. Good luck… And so long.”

And with a cool smile, Izaya turned his back on Anri as if nothing had happened between them. When Anri turned around, Higa was nowhere in sight—instead, there were couples and other people wandering about the park here and there.

Given the gloom and distance, no one seemed to have noticed Anri and Izaya’s sparring, but that could easily have changed.

Even if Higa wasn’t actually there, would Izaya have turned the gun on innocent people? Anri was certain that he was a completely different type of person from anyone she’d met before.

She slowly returned Saika’s blade to her body. Maybe even Saika herself had recognized something eerie and off in Izaya. As evidence of that, the usually instantaneous cursed voices stayed completely silent until Izaya was out of sight.

As though for the first time, Saika had found a human being she despised.

Fifteen minutes later, Shinjuku

As he walked the path from the park to his apartment, he heard a voice behind his back.

“Hey.”

Izaya turned around at the familiar voice and saw a six-foot-plus giant with skin dark enough to melt into the night.

“Simon?” he asked. Simon gave his usual cheery grin.

What’s Simon doing here?

For once in his life, Izaya’s mind was occupied with doubt. He was normally the one causing others to feel doubt and grow confused, but now he was in their position.

It only lasted for an instant, but an instant was all Simon needed.

The moment that Izaya started to speak, the giant’s scarred fist plunged into his face.

Thirty minutes later, apartment building, Shinjuku

“That took you long enough. Did you get the… What happened? You look dreadful,” Namie exclaimed, taken aback by Izaya’s brilliantly blue and puffy eye.

His eyelid was swollen like a boxer’s after a bout with a particularly hard puncher, and the bruise around it was vivid and dark.

“…I took a pretty good punch, though it didn’t knock me out. As I was working my way up to being able to stand again, I got a lecture in Russian. ‘I don’t want to lecture you,’ indeed… It was one for the ages.”

“What? Russian? What do you mean…? I thought you’d never taken a bruise like that, even when fighting with that Shizuo guy.”

Izaya grimaced at the mention of his archenemy’s name. He analyzed the punch he’d just taken, comparing it to that of the loathsome one.

“Shizu’s stronger, of course…but this was the punch of someone who does some kind of hand-to-hand combat training. I was able to react, but not to dodge… Heh. Guess those rumors about him being a Russian mobster or mercenary have something to them.”

“Are you all right? You don’t have a hemorrhage, do you?”

It was rare for Namie to show him any kind of concern, but Izaya wasn’t listening.

“Damn… Just when I’d gotten the best of Saika and thought I was something special, this happens to me.”

But through the first taste of direct physical pain in ages, Izaya couldn’t help but enjoy himself.

He looked at his pupils in the mirror and ran through the basic brain hemorrhage tests, grinning all the while. He turned to Namie.

“Hey…can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Were you the one who leaked Mikado’s information to Horada?”

“I wonder. And if I did, you would have seen it coming, wouldn’t you?” she replied without batting an eye. Izaya grimaced and looked up excitedly at the ceiling.

“Heh! Honestly, some people I can read like a book, such as you…and others completely defy my predictions, like Simon and Shizu. This is why I just can’t stop loving humanity… That’s right. That must be why I can keep doing this shitty, shitty job… It’s so much fun, it makes me sick.”

Somewhere there, in the midst of his words, was the tiniest bit of truth.

But Namie listened to his confession, straight-faced, and cut him down in her usual cold manner.

“I’ve said this over and over, but…I think humanity hates you in return.”

Thirty minutes earlier in the street

Izaya felt his body float into the air as pain exploded on his face.

The floating sensation ended abruptly when his back slammed hard against the wall of an apartment building several yards away. The shock jolted his back, waist, and limbs, the blood vessels in his extremities nearly bursting with pain and numbness.

His mind was woozy, but the internal pain and nausea from the shock forced his brain into action. The voice of the black man squatting over him reached his ears.

“Hey. You mind listening to something you don’t want to hear?”

These friendly words were the start of a much, much longer monologue.

“You know, it’s laughable what a cowardly creep you are. Ha-ha…ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

The Russian mockery washed over Izaya. He glared up at the big man and slowly replied, “Actually…I have to agree.”

His reply was in Russian as well—creating the rather surreal sight of an Asian and a black man speaking Russian on the asphalt.

“The thing is, Simon, I happen to like that side of my personality,” he said, leaning back against the wall, his face still brimming with confidence. “I know you care about this neighborhood…but why are you showing up now? What does any of this have to do with you?”

“Oh, that? It’s quite simple.”

It was a rare, honest question from Izaya, and Simon returned it with simple honesty of his own.

“You remember Masaomi’s girlfriend?”

“…Yeah.”

“She told my restaurant partner a lot of things. About you and what’s going on now.”

The face of Saki Mikajima came to Izaya’s mind. He had told her part of his current plan—he’d been using her as a tool to manipulate Masaomi Kida and bring him back when needed.

Oh, now I see. Saki really was in love with him.

Saki had betrayed him. This fact did not particularly surprise him.

In that case, I can give them my blessing.

It was, in fact, within his range of expectations—but there was one thing he didn’t understand.

“Why would she contact you guys rather than tell Kida himself?”

“Hah! Kida wouldn’t have stopped, even if she’d told him. Plus…she probably didn’t have anyone else to call on the phone. I doubt she knew the phone numbers of anyone in Kadota’s little group.”

“Again, why you?” Izaya started to ask, then figured it out.

Why Simon? Saki wasn’t particularly close with him. It was a common sushi destination, but certainly not the kind of place where one would trade numbers with the employees.

Huh? Numbers…?

That was where he understood. Yes, Saki didn’t know any number that she could reach out to for help. Which was exactly why—in the absence of anyone else she could ask—she got the contact information of Simon or the white sushi chef he worked with.

Meaning…

“Our sushi shop gets a lot of business.”

The conclusion he arrived at was so silly, he didn’t comment.

Simon laughed and said it anyway. “Whether it’s a hospital or wherever…we can deliver to anyone with a phone book.”

A phone book.

Such a simple and basic answer.

When the chef picked up the phone and said, “Russia Sushi, how can I help you?” did she take him literally?

Izaya couldn’t stop the smile from touching his lips. Simon looked down on Izaya’s mirth with a cold grin of his own. “I didn’t make it in time earlier today, but here I am now to put a nail in you.”

“…”

“You shouldn’t be stirrin’ up the town like this, Izaya.”

“Y’know, Simon,” Izaya muttered in Japanese, staring at the man through his rapidly swelling eye.

“You come across completely different speaking Russian than when you speak Japanese…”

“You know…it’s really quite stunning what an underhanded creep you are,” Shingen said flatly as he put his shoes on. “I’ve looked into your past… You were pulling the strings all along in that turf war two years ago, weren’t you?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Those two groups of youngsters… They were Japanese versions of street gangs, right? You manipulated both teams, kept your hands clean, and made off with the juiciest morsels of information to sell.”

“…”

Shingen turned back to look at the confidently grinning Izaya and smirked inside of his gas mask.

“You sent that girl who worships you to those boys. From what I heard, it was her injury that ended up resolving the entire matter…”

He paused, then offered a conjecture dripping with irony. “I suspect that even that was on your orders. Perhaps you gave her all of the instructions, up to the point of her kidnapping…though I don’t know if there are actually any girls willing to follow orders up to the point of serious bodily harm.”

A moment’s silence.

Izaya did not answer the question directly. He wore a wry grin as he said, “Saki and those other girls…were so unfortunate. That’s what made them so adorable.”

“Puppets of an unfortunate man like you. I understand you’ve been doing this sort of thing since high school. Shinra used to tell me that you ‘didn’t understand a thing about love.’”

“That’s rich, coming from a pervert with a fetish for decapitated women… But at any rate… All of those girls, including Saki, were being terribly abused by their families and lovers, worse than you can possibly imagine…”

As he spoke, Izaya’s face took on a complex mixture of pity and ecstasy. “But unable to hate their abusers, they were trapped where they were. That’s the kind of people they were, and that’s exactly what made them so easy to manipulate. They were possessed by more than just the love of their partner, but a kind of worship. And I shifted that worship onto me instead—that’s all. If I did wish for death, they would hesitate, but still join me in the end…”

“Hmph. You treat this so lightly. It almost makes me think it would be very easy to switch one’s doctrine on a dime,” Shingen noted with equal parts admiration and exasperation. He recognized that the young man standing there was truly a monster. How many lives had the mind behind that smile destroyed?

Izaya suddenly changed the topic. “Does the term leanan sídhe mean anything to you?”

Shingen’s eyes widened in surprise.

“…”

“?”

“Er, nothing. It’s a type of fairy in Irish and Scottish folklore, isn’t it? The kind that kills the man she falls in love with.”

“Yes. She seduces a man, and if he accepts her love, she gives him talent in exchange for his life. If he resists her love, she becomes a willing slave to him until he gives in… That’s what Saki’s kind are.”

Shingen saw Izaya’s point. Falling in love with the kind of girls Izaya described would—if not provide magical powers—certainly seem more likely to end in tragedy.

“But now…Saki’s fallen to being Kida’s slave. Which means that, like the poet in the legend, Kida’s life will be drained away. As it was, so it shall be,” Izaya said in mourning for the teenager.

Shingen considered this, then thought about his own son and his pairing with a monster…and decided to argue back.

“But…can you truly say that the poet’s shortened life is a tragedy?”

Izaya smiled in a way that suggested he didn’t care in the least. He sighed, “Well, if he truly loves the fairy, then maybe he’s happy anyway.”

“If he knows full well that he’ll be misfortunate, and he loves her anyway…doesn’t that make him happy in the end?”

Hospital room, Raira General Hospital

Masaomi stared up at the ceiling from his hospital bed.

Though he’d taken the painkillers, a dull throbbing still raced through his body. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was worse than the kind of pain one could ignore to get some sleep.

Visiting hours were over, and his injuries weren’t life threatening, so Anri and Mikado were sent home already. They shoved Masaomi into an empty room, and he lay there, bored, examining the patterns on the ceiling and thinking about his past experiences in this hospital.

Two years ago.

When he walked into Saki’s room to suggest that they break up, she smiled at him.

“Thanks… You came for me.”

Her smile was the exact same as it had been before the hospital, the expression of someone truly delighted to see him. And it was that very smile that cut deeper into his heart than any knife.

I can’t. I can’t bear it.

I have to tell her.

Say it. Just say it, Masaomi.

“I know.”

“…Huh?”

Saki was offering him a way out as he stood there, sweating nervously.

“I know, Masaomi… You didn’t really come, did you?”

“…!”

“Yeah… I heard from Izaya… You were calling him, weren’t you? Over and over and over… He showed me the call history and laughed about it.”

That…sick bastard!

He felt a surge of anger at Izaya, but it was immediately suppressed into a different emotion. No matter who he aimed his anger at, it always ended up turned on himself. The undeniable fact that he had run away was heavier and more real than any emotion, and it had an ironclad grip on his heart.

“But don’t let it bother you. It wouldn’t have changed much for me if you’d come after that or you hadn’t.”

“…Stop it.”

“I mean, as long as you didn’t get hurt…that was the most important part…”

It was at that very moment that the words finally spilled out of Masaomi’s mouth.

“Let’s break up.”

To cut her off.

Her consolation was nothing but pain to him.

And at the time, he chose to escape that pain by suggesting that they break up.

“Thinking on it with a calm head…I really was a totally disgusting creep…”

Masaomi spoke out loud to the ceiling, reflecting on the events of two years earlier.

“I wonder what Saki could possibly have seen in me that she thought was cool.”

Maybe it was all on Izaya’s orders in the end. At this point, he would never know.

Or so he thought.

“Maybe it’s that weird way you can be honest with yourself.”

“Bwah?!”

He was not expecting a response from the other side of the room.

Masaomi’s eyes snapped in that direction and saw that Saki was leaning up against the wall. He hadn’t realized that he was in the same building, on the same floor, as Saki’s hospital room. Perhaps it was a considerate move from the staff who recognized him on the way in.

“Wh-what the hell, Saki? When did you get here?”

“A while ago. I didn’t want to wake you up, so…”

She was staring at him intently without her usual smile. “I heard the whole story from Kadota.”

“Oh, great… So do you hate me, then? I ran away from trouble back when you needed me, and yet today, I charged into the midst of the enemy all alone. It’s a miracle I only got it this bad,” he noted wryly, looking away. Her expression only got cloudier.

“You idiot. You really are an idiot, Masaomi…”

“You knew that ages ago.” He clammed up after that.

A long silence reigned over the room. It was Saki who broke first. But it was less that she broke than that she made up her mind.

“Well, um…there’s one thing that I need to apologize to you for, Masaomi,” she said, walking over to the side of his bed. She was using her own two feet, not the crutches propped against the wall or the wheelchair she always sat in.

“That night…the truth is…I let them capture me on Izaya’s orders. I knew. I knew what they would do to me. But Izaya said…that would be the end of everything. So I went! I went by their hangout that night…right near…by…and…then…Izaya…told them…where…I was…”

Saki’s face was pale and terrified as she talked. Her voice was trembling too much to continue, and silence returned to fill the room.

She’d been certain that she would never walk again. Masaomi kept a straight face as he listened and sat up. Pain shot through his body as he did, but he made sure not to show it. He summoned a confident grin.

“What, is that all?”

“…Huh?”

“I knew that,” he lied. “C’mon, don’t you know I’m psychic?”

He’d had no idea. But now he did.

So Masaomi pretended that he had known this all along, making sure not to show that he’d ever been plagued by the idea that she might never walk again.

“And what did he tell you next? Pretend not to be able to walk, so I won’t be able to leave you behind, right? So he wanted to turn me into a pawn. Probably thought it was all some grand experiment… Sheesh. You shouldn’t be using a hospital as a hotel. I think the only reason this place let you stick around is because they have so many empty rooms,” Masaomi grumbled to hide his falsehood.

Saki put on a teary smile for him. “For the first time…I went against what Izaya told me to do,” she said. Did she believe what Masaomi told her? He couldn’t tell.

But under the room lights, her smile and her tears were precious to him.

“You know…I think I can say it now.”

“Say what?”

“I should have gone, but when I needed to save you, I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

They were the words he never said two years ago.

The words he avoided speaking because he was afraid of admitting them.

He finished with another thing he’d been too afraid to say.

“But…I still love you, Saki.”

“…”

“Please don’t leave me.”

It was strange how easily they came out. Silence filled the room again.

After what felt like minutes, when Masaomi wondered if he ought to repeat himself, she pressed herself onto him.

“Gwuh!” Masaomi yelped as the shock sent a wave of pain through him. “What the hell—” he started to complain, until he saw the deadly serious look on her face and stopped.

“You…you really are an idiot, Masaomi… The biggest idiot ever…”

As the tears pooled in her eyes, Masaomi recalled something she’d said to him once and decided to throw it back to her.

“I can’t help it, can I? You can at least overlook one little flaw.”

And sure enough, she recognized those words and repeated back what he had told her in return: “If you know it’s a flaw, then fix it.”

They faced each other, reliving and reaffirming their past.

“Together…we can start over fresh.”

Outside, the rain was falling again, coating the room in the cold sound of its pattering.

But no one inside found it to be depressing.

No one’s spirit was broken, nothing changed.

The rain just fell, like regular old rain.

Fshh, fshh, fshh, fshh…