Durarara!! - Volume 8 - Chapter Pr

Prologue: Two Sides, Same Coin @ Ikebukuro

Prologue: Heads

July, Tokyo

“The Dollars have changed.”

That’s what someone mumbled in the corner of a coffee shop.

Not long ago it was just a low-key club, but recently it’s started looking more like the color gangs—a real street gang.

It all kicked off with a turf war incident during the extended holiday in May.

Everything cleared up within just a few days…

But deep, deep scars have remained unhealed in the two months plus since then.

“Yo, mister. We were raised under the new education standards, so we don’t know Japanese so good. Let’s keep it short, yeah?”

The shroud of night had descended upon Tokyo.

In an alley removed from the center of Ikebukuro, a group of youngsters with ostentatious clothing had surrounded an office-working salaryman.

The fortyish man had no idea what was happening to him, except that he’d gone from being pleasantly tipsy to being in an absolute nightmare.

“Wha…what are you boys doing? Y-you’ve got the wrong man… Wh-what have I done…to offend you?”

The salaryman quaked in fear at the youths, who were no older than his own son, and held his briefcase to his chest as a shield. It wasn’t very good armor when you were surrounded by four people.

“Like I said, let’s keep it short. Yeah? You heard of us? The Dollars? Well, we’re doin’ a little fund-raising. Can I ask for your help? All we need is everything in your wallet,” one of the young men mocked, slapping the man lightly on the cheeks.

The salaryman put on an obliging smile as the impact shook the alcohol from his mind. “Ah…h-ha-ha, why, yes. I know of the Dollars—I am one.”

“What?”

“Y-you know, online…”

He started to take out his cell phone, but one of the hooligans grabbed his wrist and twisted it, laughing. The phone slipped out of his fingers and clattered onto the ground.

“Ow…aiee! Ah…gah…!” he shrieked.

The young man yanked his arm behind his back and drew close to his ear in order to taunt, “Well, in that case, couldn’t you spare a little allowance money for your fellow Dollars? Shouldn’t the elders be looking out for the kids?”

The others jeered him on.

“Thanks for all your hard work, fathers of Japan!”

“We just want to repay our parents with loyalty!”

The way that they threw their arms around his shoulders and lightly gibed him for money only made the salaryman more afraid. He would almost have preferred they’d threatened him with clipped, menacing demands for cash. At least that way, he could envision handing over the money and being allowed to leave without further trouble.

He looked backward, gauging whether or not he should make a break for it—when he noticed more youngsters blocking the way. He fully gave in to despair.

However, the ones sticking him up looked similarly upset at the sight of these new visitors.

“…? Who the hell are you?”

“This ain’t a show! Get lost!” the muggers shouted at first, but as the eeriness of the new group became more apparent, their apprehension and hostility rose.

While the newcomers were a variety of sizes and shapes, they all wore the same masks. The headwear looked like knit ski masks but with embroidered spikes resembling shark teeth extending around the head in a creepy fashion.

It was bizarre.

They didn’t look like they’d gotten together just to threaten people. It wasn’t a prank to scare drunks, a creative new art exhibition, or a vigilante group.

The first thing that the muggers thought of was the battle against the Saitama biker gang named Toramaru from a few months back. Could the bikers have come back to attack them, using the masks to hide their faces? The thought gave the thugs chills.

After a few seconds of unsettling silence, one of the masked youngsters said happily, “We’re Dollars, too. Mind if we help out?”

“Huh?”

“…!”

The muggers raised eyebrows while the salaryman quaked.

“Why the hell should we split up our take like that? Get outta here!” a mugger said, bold again now that he knew what he was dealing with.

But the masked newcomers first glanced at one another, then shook their hands in a negative fashion.

“Oh no, no, you’ve got it wrong.”

“What?”

“We’re talking to the salaryman over there.”

“Huh? What the hell are you…?” the criminals started to say, confused, when they heard a dull crunking noise.

They spun around and saw another masked youngster with a baseball bat in his hand, standing over one of their companions.

“A-asshole! …?!”

Behind the boy with the bat was another group of masked men. At last, the muggers understood.

They were standing in a lonely alley with no bystanders, completely surrounded.

One of the masked youths spoke up. “We’re gonna need to borrow your phones so that we can log in to the Dollars website and cancel your memberships.”

He cackled and tilted his head to crack the vertebrae in his neck. “Having guys like you in the Dollars is a bit of a problem, you see.

“And our leader wants us to purge you from the ranks.”

“The Dollars have changed.”

That’s what someone mumbled in a back alley.

“The gang no longer has the freedom to lollygag.”

Prologue: Tails

Metropolitan Expressway, Ikebukuro

“Things are looking extremely troubling, aren’t they, sir?” murmured the bizarre man in the white gas mask, sitting in the rear seat of the black luxury vehicle.

“Not troubling, but certainly extreme,” replied the man sitting across from him from a decent distance away. He looked to be somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties, with graying hair held in place by pomade.

He glared at Shingen Kishitani and remarked, “And it was you Nebula folks who put us in this extreme situation.”

“Alas, it seems you still refuse to see the situation for what it is, President Yagiri.”

“Stop it with the obsequious fawning, Kishitani. It makes you sound sarcastic.”

Shingen slowly shook his head. A dry chuckle broke from beneath his gas mask. “You may still hold on to the title of president, but from the moment your company came under Nebula’s umbrella, Seitarou Yagiri, you have been a Nebula man yourself. You mustn’t forget that,” he said bluntly.

Yagiri maintained a blank expression. “As people are wont to say to their kind, ‘Human beings are the real terror.’ It’s been a saying ever since I was a boy.”

“Actually, everything in the world is a terror. Every kind of food is carcinogenic, and every species can pose an extinctive threat to others. But I didn’t invite you on this drive to trade barbs like this.”

“Then why did you? I can’t imagine Nebula really has such a fixation on the head,” Seitarou Yagiri said.

While he freely brought up the matter on his own, Shingen’s voice was muffled. “As a matter of fact, this isn’t me acting as a Nebula employee. I wanted to talk to you as an old friend. More specifically, to give you a warning.”

“Warning?” Seitarou asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Shingen looked down at the fingers he had crossed over his knees and, without looking up, said the name, “Jinnai Yodogiri.”

“…!”

Seitarou’s expression instantly soured, and he turned to look at the scenery streaming by out the window. Among the forest of high-rise buildings that rose in the distance over the expressway walls, Shingen’s faint reflection budged on the inside of the glass.

“Based on that reaction, I take the rumors to be true. You have some connection to the man.”

“…”

“I will be frank with you. Yodogiri is dangerous. It’s for your own sake not to approach him. You might be thinking that you can use him to your ends, but it’s the other way around. What he’s doing is trite, but his skill at trampling all over others is exceedingly sharp. Well…calling it ‘trite’ may not sit well with those he’s already victimized,” Shingen mumbled.

Seitarou grimaced and shook his head.

“I’m surprised. They say you’re the dog off its leash at Nebula, and even you’re on guard around this Yodogiri fellow?”

“Actually, I’m one of the better-behaved folks there. Remember, these are people who deal with fairy heads and vampires and the like—stuff too embarrassing to ever take public. Plus, if I was really the type to take any means necessary, I wouldn’t bother with this company takeover to get Celty’s head. I’d just steal it from your house.”

“So you say.”

“Besides, if anyone’s really ruthless, it’s you. You haven’t forgotten how you seized that head before it could be handed over to Nebula twenty years ago by threatening the life of my son, have you?” Shingen said accusingly.

Without taking his eyes off the window, Seitarou replied, “After fifty, your memory starts to go a little fuzzy. But the vague pieces I can recall all featured you happily giving up the head for cash.”

“Hmph! When I asked my boss, ‘Can we sell the head to another company so my son doesn’t get assassinated?’ I didn’t actually expect to get ‘You can’t barter with your child’s life, and we can’t get the police involved anyhow’ as an answer. Not only did they know it wasn’t something that could be made public, it was a division that never paid much attention to loss or gain in the first place.”

“…What a ridiculous company. It makes me sick to my stomach to think that it’s one of the premier corporations in the world and the business I raised myself is now under its control.”

“You mentioned fuzzy memory. Isn’t that convenient? You can just forget the unpleasant stuff,” said Shingen, probably sarcastically, but without being able to see his face, there was no way to be certain. Regardless, Seitarou leaned his head back, pressing his graying hair into the headrest of the seat, and looked downward.

“I will not forget. Last year was the worst of my life. Not only did we get absorbed by Nebula, Namie ran off with the damned head.”

“Knowing you, I’m sure you could track down your niece swiftly. Couldn’t you steal it back and make it look like a robbery?”

“…No need to take such extreme measures. We already did every bit of research you possibly could on it. Our conclusion was that it was beyond the realm of modern science. Makes you wonder if you’d have better luck using occult means…but I’m certain that Namie only continued that pointless research as a means to keep the head out of Seiji’s grasp,” he said, exasperated.

Shingen joked, “The fact that you knew all of this and let her do it says a lot about your love for your niece.”

“Well, she was a very talented researcher. Seiichi…her father was useless. I merely made the judgment call that if we were going to continue examining the head, it was best to leave it with Namie.”

“Hrm… But you didn’t think of the head as a target for study in the first place. The reason your nephew became so infatuated with it was because you kept her head at your own house, didn’t you?”

“You certainly like to pry into other people’s private business,” Seitarou said, sounding more resigned than annoyed or affronted.

Shingen cackled. “It’s nothing. And you’re like your nephew, aren’t you? Did you fall in love with that head, too? At your age? You were still a bachelor, and it turned out the object of your affections that led you to threaten me was the severed head of a fairy.”

“Your conjecture is about fifty percent correct.”

The car came across some traffic and gradually slowed. When it had come to a complete stop, Seitarou continued, “Of course, I think the head is beautiful. It has both artistic and feminine beauty. Enough to kindle feelings of longing and desire, as you said—even at my age. But I am no longer young enough to tie such feelings into romance. Seiji can be exasperating, but at times, I envy him.”

He looked up at the ceiling of the car interior, as if cherishing the distant past, and muttered, “If you take my envy as a consequence of love, then I suppose I am in love—with the possibility of freeing my soul from the mortal world, just like that fairy.”

“Now there’s a youthful fantasy if I’ve ever heard one. Though I suppose that once you learn of things detached from the accepted view of the world, you can’t help but be possessed by them,” Shingen muttered from behind the gas mask, shaking his head. “But allow me to give you a warning. Do not get involved with Jinnai Yodogiri.”

“And I’ll ask you again. Is he really that dangerous? He’s just a middleman whose only skill is to suck up to the mighty.”

“If his best skill was sucking up to the mighty, he wouldn’t make an enemy of the Awakusu-kai,” Shingen said, referring to a criminal organization in the city. “I know how arrogant you are. You think you’ll use him for all he’s worth, then cut him loose when you need to, like a lizard’s tail…but that’s a perilous idea. He might be the tail, but you never know when it’s actually the body that’s being cut loose.”

“Your metaphors are as abstract as ever, but I shall keep your warning in mind,” said Seitarou, his face so stiff that it was hard to tell if he really intended to heed the advice.

Ten minutes later, after Seitarou had left the car, Shingen called up to the driver.

“By the way, do you know anything about Yodogiri?”

The Russian driving the car, a man named Egor, shook his head. “No. I do not know anything more than what you told me and have no interest in it.”

“I see… By the way, you’ve been working for Nebula…er, as my private errand runner for over three months now. Don’t you need to get back to Russia by now?”

“The vice president instructed me to watch Miss Vorona. I do not think it is worth such concern…but there is also a deal with the Awakusu-kai that should keep me in Japan for the time being.”

“What about your visa? If we get pulled over by the cops and they take you, I’m stuck here. I don’t have a license,” Shingen pointed out with grave alarm.

Egor calmly replied as he drove. “Have no fear. It is a long-term technical visa that claims I have been a jeweler since the age of fifteen. Denis and Simon appear to be looking for permanent visas, but I am not so enamored of this country as they are. It’s not bad, of course.”

He paused, then asked his benefactor, “Is this man Yodogiri really as dangerous as you say?”

“He’s a different type from you or Vorona or the Awakusu-kai. If your danger is represented by a knife edge, Yodogiri’s is poison…no, like radiation. If you aren’t aware of it, you’ll sink yourself into its rotting depths without ever recognizing the danger…and once you do know, it’s already too late,” Shingen said, using an analogy Egor would find easy to understand.

“Egor,” he continued, “do you remember the serial killer I hired you to dispatch this spring—Hollywood?”

“I couldn’t forget. I ended up with facial reconstruction because of it. You said that it was Yodogiri this Hollywood killer was going after, yes?”

“Indeed. Hollywood the serial killer—Miss Ruri Hijiribe—should have killed him right off the bat, but for some reason, he evaded her grasp to the very end. That alone should tell you something about him.”

“I see. But what does he wish to achieve by aligning himself with the president of Yagiri Pharmaceuticals?” asked the driver, a suspicious note of interest for one who worked as a detached professional.

Yet Shingen freely offered the answer: “He’s a broker. He merely uses show business as a refuge.”

“…From the way you say that, I’m guessing it’s the slave trade?”

“That, too…but he sells more things than just people.

“As a matter of fact, twenty years ago, he was the one who sold me the information on the cursed sword Saika and the dullahan’s hideout.”

The driver’s body shivered the instant he heard the name Saika.

Shingen caught that reaction. “Egor, I’ve been wondering something.”

“What is it?”

“Did you happen to get cut by Saika?”

It was such a direct question that Egor could only snort. “I will leave that up to your imagination.”

Through the rearview mirror, Shingen could see that Egor’s eyes were steadily filling red with blood. He shrugged and made a show of not being particularly concerned. “Then I shall say this…under the assumption that you are a ‘child’ of Saika and thus inhuman.”

“What is it?”

“You should stay away from Jinnai Yodogiri.

“You never know what distant land he’ll sell you to.”

Prologue: Edge

Chat room

Kuru: What I am saying is that Yuuhei Hanejima’s infinite range of acting means that he is, in fact, part of the overarching cosmos! In other words, the great Yuuhei is fused with every place in this world…and by closing your eyes, you can feel Yuuhei’s presence! With each breath, a bit of Yuuhei enters my body… So why don’t we drown in the pleasure of Yuuhei together?!

Mai: We can’t.

Mai: I see that woman’s face.

Mai: Ruri Hijiribe.

Kuru: Oh, Mai. You seem to be burning with jealousy over the news reports about Lady Ruri and Master Yuuhei, but think of it another way! Now Ruri Hijiribe is, like Yuuhei Hanejima, a single part of our greater world! Do not expend your energy on jealousy—love Ruri Hijiribe as you love Yuuhei, and let them both melt into you!

Mai: What?

Mai: You mean a threeso

Mai: Ouch.

Mai: I got pinched.

Kuru: Because you were going to use a vulgar expression. However, now that I see my thoughts written out, I must admit some degree of eerie, cultlike religiosity to them. But once I can convert that eeriness to pleasure, I will have nothing left to fear in the world!

Mai: I’m afraid of you.

Setton has entered the chat.

Setton: Evenin’.

Setton: You’re always pumped up about something, Kuru.

Mai: Good evening.

Kuru: Why, what a lovely encounter, Setton! In fact, the word pumped does not even begin to describe it. Our feelings for Yuuhei have transcended to a point beyond the range of mere words! But if words were required to suffice, there is only one needed or fit for the task: Love! Love! Love! My love for Yuuhei is the engine that drives my very life!

Mai: Scary.

Setton: Wow, how much do you like Yuuhei Hanejima?

Bacura has entered the chat.

Bacura: ’Sup.

Mai: Good evening.

Setton: Evenin’.

Bacura: Speaking of Yuuhei Hanejima, his rumored lover, Ruri Hijiribe,

Bacura: Is supposedly suffering the attention of a stalker these days.

Setton: Stalker?

Bacura: Someone’s going on and on about an old picture,

Bacura: And using that as a means to mess around with her.

Setton: Oh. I wonder what it is. Hidden camera photo?

Kuru: It is so lovely to encounter you here, Bacura. I have heard tell of this rumor as well. Normally, one would expect this photograph to be spreading near and far on the Internet, but I have not seen hide nor hair of it.

Mai: Dollars.

Setton: Huh?

Bacura: What about the Dollars?

Kuru: Ah, please do forgive us for Mai’s abrupt outburst. Rumor says that the stalker is affiliated with the Dollars gang.

Setton: Oh, I see.

Kuru: The rumor states that there is an extreme fan of Ruri Hijiribe among the Dollars who might have been gathering information from other fans and using it to stalk her… Normally, one would assume fans of idol singers lose interest when their romantic life is exposed, but that does not seem to be the case here. Or perhaps this stalker felt that their emotional investment was betrayed and started stalking out of hatred.

Mai: Scary.

Kuru: Indeed. And yet we would happily continue to love Yuuhei, even after he gets married!

Mai: But it was a shock.

Mai: Wow.

Mai: Ki

Setton: Ki?

Kuru: It is nothing. Mai seems to be in a state of disorientation. Please ignore her.

Setton: I see… I’d be worried about this stalker being violent and angry, though.

Setton: There were lots of people bashing Yuuhei Hanejima when the scandal happened.

Saika has entered the chat.

Setton: Oh, evenin’.

Kuru: What a lovely encounter, Saika.

Saika: hello

Bacura: Speaking of which,

Bacura: TarouTanaka hasn’t logged in anytime recently.

Bacura: Does anyone here know him IRL?

Kuru: I suppose that he is fine and not in need of concern. Perhaps he has grown bored of the online world or moved to a different social media platform. Is it not unreasonable to expect a person to be chained to a single chat room forever? As with history, the human heart changes and wanders where it wills.

Saika: i’m worried he’s sick or something

Setton: I haven’t spotted Kanra in here lately, either.

Setton: It’s too bad, because Kanra was always the one who knew about gossip stuff like this.

Kuru: Certainly, that person is entirely unnecessary to worry about. He will find his way back before too long. If you are feeling lonely without as many people in the chat, why not find someone new to invite in?

Bacura: Kanra is,

Bacura: Well,

Bacura: Doing all right, apparently.

Setton: Oh, are you friends with Kanra IRL?

Setton: Has anyone met TarouTanaka off-line, then?

Kuru: He is a sociable enough person online and seems to know what goes on in the city, so I do not expect that he is a solitary enough person not to have friends.

Mai: He’s not a loner.

Setton: A loner, huh?

Bacura: I see…

Kuru: Actually, if you are able to contact Kanra off-line, why don’t you try asking Kanra about him? I have the impression that he and TarouTanaka know each other.

Mai: Friends.

Setton: Wait, is that right?

Kuru: However, it would be a shame for the chat room to go quiet. I suppose Mai and I will consider inviting some acquaintances to this place.

Setton: Oh, that would be good. I’ll look around for someone to ask… Do you suppose it’s a good idea for us to pack the place when the admin, Kanra, isn’t around?

Bacura: You shouldn’t worry about what he thinks.

Bacura: I’ll try asking someone, too.

Saika: i will also invite an acquaintance

Saika: it seems like things should get lively

.

.

.

Rakuei Gym, Ikebukuro

At a gym in Ikebukuro that taught all manner of fighting styles, a girl still of elementary school age—Akane Awakusu—was receiving passive defense training in the middle of the tatami floor. There were other children and adults around the gym, too, giving the class a very inclusive and varied vibe.

But the space itself was still quiet and tense, broken only by the occasional fierce smack or shout.

Mairu Orihara was stretching herself as she watched Akane train. She turned to the man next to her. “Hey, Master, how’s Akane doing? Does she have potential?”

“You’ve asked that twice already: the day she first came in and then last month,” replied the man from his position where the tatami mats and wooden floor met, which gave him a good view of the entire gym. He didn’t look at Mairu as he spoke. “My answer hasn’t changed. I can’t tell if she’s got promise or not. Her old man said she could take the same stick training that Mr. Akabayashi does, but I can’t tell if that’s best. Basically, if she’s tougher after her training, then it turned out she had potential. She can be as strong as she wants. As long as she’s still weaker than me.”

“You really aren’t very interested in teaching people things, are you, Master? For a martial artist, you seem pretty soft.”

“I’ll kick your dogi to shreds and give you a strip KO. Does that sound soft?” said the teacher rather shockingly. He was Eijirou Sharaku, one of the instructors at Rakuei Gym.

He was the second son of Eita Sharaku, the gym’s owner, and around thirty years old. Along with his hard-core older brother, Eiichirou, and his tomboyish little sister, Mikage, he taught at the family-run gym. In that sense, it was less of a gym than a proper dojo—but Eijirou was too lazy and sloppy for that proud, old-fashioned term to apply here.

Despite being just an instructor, Mairu called him “Master” and took every opportunity she could to tease him.

“If you did such a naughty thing to me and I cried myself to sleep, I bet Boss Eita and Sensei would chew you out.”

“Actually, Mikage would crush my nuts first… Brr! Just the thought made me shiver.”

It was hard to imagine a man with this attitude teaching martial arts, but Mairu didn’t mind at all. She popped up to her feet and attempted to ambush him with a sneak high kick.

He caught her kick with one hand and tossed it aside, then snarked, “Well, anyway, it’s true that I don’t know much about potential. But no matter who you are, whether it’s a yakuza grandkid, the prime minister’s dad, a good guy, a bad guy—as long as you pay us money, we’ll give you a sandbag. Even for slutty little girls like you.”

“You know that I could sue you for sexual harassment, right?”

“Shut up. The point is…it depends on her. But that’s just me; Dad and my brother think differently.”

He would have continued to explain, but a crisp smack near the window distracted him. The sound was coming from the training gym upstairs.

Smack, smack, the bursting noises went on a steady rhythm.

“That’s a nice sound. Who’s that?” Mairu wondered.

Eijirou craned his neck left and right and answered, “Adabashi, I bet.”

“Oh, the guy with the crazy eyes?”

“He’s not an official student here. Like I said, if you pay the money, we’ll let you whack at a sandbag for half an hour, registered or not… But Adabashi’s been coming around just about every day. I’ve met him a few times…and take my advice: He’s dangerous. Stay away.”

In contrast to his previous lackadaisical attitude, Eijirou’s warning was stern.

“What? What? Is he tough? Tougher than you? Than Sensei? Than boss? Than Coach Mikage? Than Mr. Akabayashi? Than Traugott Geissendorfer? Than Shizuo?!”

“No, he’s way weaker than me.”

“Oh…he’s even weaker than you…”

“The overwhelming note of disappointment in your voice makes me wonder how weak you think I really am! Just don’t take that statement as me putting myself in the same league as Traugott or Shizuo Heiwajima,” Eijirou quipped, his cheek twitching.

Mairu largely ignored his statement, wondering, “Then why should I stay away from him?”

“Well…maybe I’m just generalizing, ’cause this is only my impression,” Eijirou said, looking up at the ceiling and the source of the sandbag pounding, “but I don’t think he’s training for the purpose of being stronger…

“I dunno, I just get a much more dangerous vibe from him…”

Upstairs

A man was unleashing devastatingly sharp kicks to a sandbag.

A very thin man.

But no one would look at his exposed arms and legs and consider him to be spindly or willowy.

His muscles were as solid as bundles of thick wires. His legs could belong to a bird of prey or some carnivorous dinosaur.

Adabashi’s body coiled and sprang like a well-oiled machine to kick the sandbag in a rhythmic pattern.

“…”

Once he had finished his fiftieth kick, he smiled to himself.

He returned to the changing room then; an unregistered guest at the gym, he didn’t interact with any of the students around him.

On the bench in the corner of the changing room, Adabashi looked around carefully to make sure no one else was present.

He slowly undid the bandage wrapped around his ankle. From the folds of the white fabric, presumably there to protect his joint from the impact of the kicks, tumbled a piece of paper.

He lifted up the tattered paper, which was unable to withstand the many blows despite the cushion of the bandage, and stared at it with delight clearly etched into his cheeks.

It was a photograph of a person, probably cut out of a magazine.

The popular idol Ruri Hijiribe.

The photo looked like it was from an article or ad announcing the release of a pinup collection. Just as on the cover of that photo book, she was posing seductively with bandages wrapped around her body.

It was both bewitching and somehow youthful, a picture designed to capture her fans and never let go—but between the man’s sweat and the tattered state of the paper, there was nothing bewitching about it anymore.

Yet Adabashi stared at the shabby photo with joyous longing, licked his lips—and tore it in half with his teeth, like he was eating a sheet of dried seaweed. He chewed the magazine clipping, then tossed the remaining half of the paper into his mouth and continued.

His saliva seeped into the paper until it grew firmer. Still his chewing went on, and once the paper was wadded up into a large ball, he swallowed it.

“Kah!”

Whatever it was that he was imagining as he chewed the picture of Ruri Hijiribe, his vicious and insane eyes were actually pooling up with misty tears.

“Kah! Kah! Kah!”

The sounds burst from his throat, much like a cough. The wad of paper must have gotten stuck to the side of his gullet. After a few more hacks, he succeeded in swallowing the lump entirely.

This time he hissed: “Shhhheh.”

He hunched over, not vocalizing but pressing the air through his clenched teeth. “Shehhh, shehhh.”

The sound filled the changing room. It was like the respiration of some kind of man-eating movie monster. Nobody in the room would have known that this was the peculiar “laugh” that he made when he was excited.

It was so creepy that a student who was about to enter the room suddenly decided he would much rather return to his training.

The paper had absorbed all the moisture in his mouth, so his lips were cracked, with bright-red blood seeping out.

Adabashi licked his lips, a faint tinge of iron in the air, and continued smiling.

He reached into his bag.

There was a thick pile of papers inside of it.

All of them clippings from magazines or printouts from the Internet.

All of the pictures shared one thing: the presence of Ruri Hijiribe.

He took one of the papers out and stuck it to his ankle like a compress, then wrapped the bandage over it.

Once his leg was back to the way it had been before, he returned to the training room and began kicking the sandbag.

Smack, smack. With each loud impact, Adabashi could feel that the Ruri Hijiribe plastered to the top of his foot was steadily breaking down.

The lurch of thick excitement stayed deep in his gut where he could keep it hidden. As if fulfilling some kind of duty, he continued to destroy the image of Ruri Hijiribe between the sandbag and his foot.

The breath that seeped out of his mouth hung heavy with the heat of twisted desire.