10
A young man wearing an unusual blue outfit and holding the hem of his kimono in his hand walked openly through the city. His zori-clad feet brushed over the stones, and at his hip hung two swords. He was a conspicuous figure even among the midday crowds on the main thoroughfare. Yet he himself hardly seemed to realize it. He was simply too used to being the object of gawking, such that he had begun to forget his own strangeness.
Then there was the burden the young man carried, of being the lead actor in the play that was the world. Of course, he would stand out; he should stand out. That was what it meant to be in the spotlight. And so in spite of his own responsibilities, he walked easily down the main street, quite unconcerned with any questions of position.
But sheer attention-getting wasn’t his only reason for sauntering down the path as he did.
“I guess it’s about time.” He brushed his blue hair away from his forehead with a few fingers, then picked up his pace, almost gliding toward a narrow side street. Fetid air washed over him from the dim alleyway. It was amazing how the atmosphere could change so drastically from one street to the next. Ugliness hidden by beauty—that was the Dragonfriend Kingdom of Lugunica.
“The empire is much easier to understand; that’s what I like about it. Everything you plan, everything you do—it’s all about decapitating your enemies. Always clear about what you’re up to—that’s how violence should be.”
“What are you babbling about, Bro?” A voice called out while the kimono-wearing man was rambling at the wall in a portentous voice. The young man turned around slowly to see the mouth of the alleyway blocked by several figures. Altogether, they made fourteen, too many to stand abreast in the narrow alley. It was foolish, the way they lined up in depth. The men all possessed fearsome auras, though; they were clearly no strangers to violence.
“Ah yes, applause and catcalls I welcome, but I must admit I would be all the happier if they could come from some women. What do you think, my friends?”
There was muted laughter among the men at this nonchalant greeting. “We think it don’t matter what you think. There’ll be some screaming before this is over, though. From you.”
Now the young man withdrew his hand from his kimono with an appreciative sort of chuckle. “There’s nothing I like better than a bit player with conviction—but may I assume you’re acting on your own judgment? I must think you’ve been told not to touch me.”
“Fancy you, knowin’ all that. Yeah, he told us to keep our hands off you, but what the hell—all work and no play, right? If we can go ahead and put you to sleep, it’ll all be over in a jiffy.”
“Yes! That’s the answer I was looking for. Then allow me to respond in kind!” Laughing aloud, the swordsman in foreign dress took a step toward the defenseless ruffians. No sooner had he done so than each of the men drew something out of their pouch. Then all at once—or really, in the order they had lined up in the alleyway—they rushed at the young man.
The blue-haired wanderer crouched down ever so slightly as he savored the shouts of battle. “Now that’s perfect cannon fodder—I don’t dislike it, no; in fact, it pleases me.”
Then a zori kicked against the ground, and blue lightning struck the narrow street.
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