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Copyright
DURARARA!!, Volume 10
RYOHGO NARITA
ILLUSTRATION BY SUZUHITO YASUDA
Translation by Stephen Paul
Cover art by Suzuhito Yasuda
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
coincidental.
DURARARA!! Vol.10
© RYOHGO NARITA 2011
First published in Japan in 2011 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION,
Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.
English translation © 2018 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of
copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to
produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is
a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to
use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact
the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Narita, Ryōgo, 1980– author. | Yasuda, Suzuhito, illustrator. | Paul,
Stephen (Translator), translator.
Title: Durarara!! / Ryohgo Narita, Suzuhito Yasuda, translation by Stephen
Paul.
Description: New York, NY : Yen ON, 2015–
Identifiers: LCCN 2015041320 | ISBN 9780316304740 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316304764 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316304771 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316304788 (v. 4 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316304795 (v. 5 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316304818 (v. 6 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316439688 (v. 7 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316474290 (v. 8 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316474313 (v. 9 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316474344 (v. 10 : pbk.)
Subjects: CYAC: Tokyo (Japan)—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Science
Fiction / Adventure.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.N37 Du 2015 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015041320
ISBNs: 978-0-316-47434-4 (paperback)
978-0-316-47435-1 (ebook)
E3-20180606-JV-PC
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Interlude: Loser
Chapter 1: Everyone and Their Cat
Chapter 2: Birds of a Feather
Chapter 3: Rotten Apples Spoil the Barrel
Intermediate Chapter: The Mob Has Many Heads
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
A Conversation Between Office Ladies in Hokkaido
“It’s true! I swear, I was there! Back when they started one of those— What
do you call ’em? Color gangs? It was called the Dollars in Ikebukuro.”
“Now you’re just being weird. You said you’ve never been outside of
Hokkaido, much less to Tokyo, aside from your school field trip. Why would
you be in Ikebukuro?”
“Yeah, I know I said that. But that doesn’t matter. You see, I got into this
weird, obscure chat room online by claiming I was in middle school. They
started talking about gangs at one point, and somebody just straight up said,
‘Let’s start our own color gang for fun.’ I swear to God.”
“And then?”
“At first it only existed online: You’d see the kids posting on message
boards for those kinds of groups or on big Tokyo-centric boards, like, ‘I saw
this gang!’ Or ‘I’m a member of this one!’ It was just a big inside joke. But
then, after a while…stories started popping up about the Dollars in places that
had nothing to do with any of us! I swear!”
Five minutes later…
“So you got scared and quit the chat room, Chako? That sounds fun; you
should have stuck around longer. I mean, it’s all in Tokyo, right?”
“Yeah, that was my decision at first…but then I got scared.”
“What, that you’d get arrested? Wait, I get it—you were scared that if this
gang turned real and actually did something or killed someone, you might be
held responsible in some way?”
“No. It wasn’t like that… What I got scared of was someone in that chat
room.”
“?”
“He was, like, so pure…so dedicated… It was really creepy. Basically,
there was one guy who was, like, desperate to protect that gang. I started to
feel like…we were being lured into some cult or something. He was one of
those people who seemed totally normal at first.”
“Ohhh yeah, I get that. Like those blogs that are completely ordinary, but
then once in a while, you see a post that makes you think, Oh, this guy’s
actually crazy.”
“Yes! Exactly! I have no idea what he was like in real life, but I swear
he’s still around online.”
“Um… He used this really mundane name, like…Ichirou Yamada or
Tarou Tanaka or something like that.”
Interlude: Loser
Where did I go wrong? the young man asked himself, over and over.
There was no answer.
Until just a few hours earlier, he’d fancied himself the “king” of a little
community.
More accurately, he was assuming the authority of a king who did not
actually exist—until just hours ago, when the entire world upturned.
The man’s name was Hiroto Shijima.
He was both a college student and a drug ring executive.
And as of this day, he had earned two new titles.
He was a new member of the gang called the Dollars.
And he was a loser.
In an attempt to take over an underground gambling ring called
Amphisbaena, he had considered making use of an info broker named Izaya
Orihara. His attempt was rebuffed, and that made him a loser.
Hiroto clenched his fist and his jaw, trying to grapple with this new
reality. His fingernails dug into his flesh, destroying his body rather than his
world. He was aware that this act was meaningless in the long run, but he was
also powerless to contain the urge.
In the end, he had only the strength to scrape his nails and skin together a
bit. The best he could do was draw a tiny bit of blood from his palms and
fingertips.
Hatred and fear clouded Hiroto’s brain. He didn’t know what he ought to
do.
Did Izaya Orihara beat me?
No. No. That’s not true. It was those red-eyed people… Who the hell were
they?
At the moment that Izaya Orihara played his hand and took control,
rolling their entire organization into the Dollars, Hiroto witnessed something
that was beyond his belief. He, too, became involved with that…something…
without having a moment’s time to consider what it might be. It put all his
potential lifelines within Izaya Orihara’s grasp.
Unable to escape, he’d wound up at his family home, a short distance
away from Ikebukuro. In a spacious mansion in this expensive neighborhood,
a glaring indication of his family’s fortune, Hiroto was relieved in some small
measure to see the place he’d grown up, just the same as it ever was.
That’s it: Dad!
I bet Dad or Grandpa could solve this for me. Yeah, they’ll be pissed
about the drugs, but they’ll still help keep it under wraps. Grandpa’s got that
connection in the Diet. That Yokoi guy.
That’s the key. Power. However creepy those red-eyed people were,
they’re not operating out in the open. That means they don’t have true power.
Under calmer, more rational circumstances, he would have discarded this
conclusion as a stupid one, but now that he was in hell, Hiroto Shijima was
going to cling to the faintest spider’s thread if it could get him out.
That’s right. I haven’t lost yet. I’ll get back at him. I’ll spin us back to
where this started.
Yeah, it’ll make Dad and his folks look bad, but what else can I do? If I
get arrested, they’re gonna be in trouble anyway.
He was even willing to use his own family as a tool, a means to an end.
Hiroto strode to the door and walked inside.
A number of shoes were present at the entrance, suggesting guests. Hiroto
ignored them and headed down the front hall.
He heard voices from the parlor. It sounded like both his father and
grandfather were in there. But who were they talking to?
The question brought a sudden chill down his spine. It wouldn’t be…Izaya
Orihara, would it…?
It seemed like the worst possible outcome: Izaya Orihara attempting to
take over the power that his family as a whole possessed. Hiroto imagined his
family with red eyes, and his backbone creaked with horrible unease.
He told himself that this was impossible—impossible!—and pushed his
way through the door to the parlor.
He didn’t see Izaya in there, just a number of visitors who looked
perfectly normal. Hiroto exhaled with relief.
“Why, Hiroto!” his father exclaimed. “You didn’t tell us you were coming
home. What’s the occasion?”
“Uh…I just…wanted to see you,” Hiroto said, realizing he couldn’t
explain any of this when other people were present.
“Ah. Well, I suppose some introductions are in order,” Hiroto’s father
said with a polite smile and motioned to him for the benefit of his guests.
“Mr. Yodogiri, this is the chip off the old block, my son, Hiroto.”
Yodogiri? The name sounded familiar. A business partner of Dad’s or
Grandpa’s?
He turned to his father and subconsciously sensed that something was
wrong. His father and grandfather were powerful men, yet they were beaming
obsequiously—clearly these guests were also quite powerful. But the look in
his family’s eyes was of something entirely different.
Fright. Unease. Terror.
Probably the same look his own eyes had held moments earlier, when he
realized that Izaya Orihara and his cohorts had completely screwed him over.
Who was this guest named Yodogiri?
Hiroto turned to him, and before he could properly introduce himself, the
other man bowed and said, “Hello there. I know you quite well, Hiroto
Shijima.”
There were two guests. An old man he’d never seen before and a young
woman in a suit who appeared to be an assistant. The man spoke, but the
woman stayed silent, giving him a piercing stare.
“My name is Yodogiri, and this unfriendly secretary of mine is named
Kujiragi.”
“O…kay…”
He wasn’t sure how the old man knew his name, so the fellow smiled to
put him at ease and continued, “You see, I’ve made it my business to keep
connections in as many areas as I can—but even I never imagined that the
grandson of Ichirou Shijima himself was working to my benefit.”
“?”
“Oh, pardon me. I don’t mean to insinuate I’ve been controlling your
actions from the shadows. What I mean, Hiroto, is that the actions you’ve
been taking have ultimately been to my benefit.”
“Um, I don’t…I don’t know…what you mean—?” Hiroto stammered.
The older man cut him off, his kindly voice filling the room. “Is it…Izaya
Orihara?”
“?!”
“I know a number of people in my radius who have been connected to
him in one way or another. But you’re the only one who has been ingested
into his operation in the way that happened earlier today.”
Why did he mention that guy’s name?
…Huh?
Wait, no…no, no, no! What the hell?!
Yodogiri continued, “As a matter of fact, you’re in quite the juicy position
at the moment, Hiroto Shijima.”
“…?”
“Izaya Orihara thinks he’s got you completely within his grasp. You’ve
worked your way in extremely close to a number of ‘things’ I seek. And now
you and I are connected. It’s a wonderful orchestration of fate, don’t you
think?”
He spoke with all the reassurance of a salesman working his pitch,
controlling the room and ensnaring the young man with his words. But who
was this elderly man, and why did he know so much about Hiroto’s situation?
There was a different kind of fear creeping over him now, but he
remembered that his family possessed the kind of strength he truly believed
in—the authority through which society viewed them—and he looked
pleadingly at his grandfather.
His grandfather stared at him and nodded. “Hiroto.”
“G-Gramps…”
“I’ve heard about everything you’ve been doing,” he said, cold sweat
running through the lines of his cheeks. He kept that petrified smile from
leaving his face as he reassured, “I will handle the matter with the Awakusu-
kai. You don’t need to worry about them.”
“Gramps!”
I knew it! Awesome! Grandpa’s powerful enough that even the Awakusu-
kai can’t stop us!
Hiroto felt pure, trusting relief. Such was the faith in his grandfather that
even this creepy visitor wasn’t going to have a negative effect on the family.
This absolute trust in his grandfather’s ability to provide lasted all of a
few seconds.
“So I want you to go ahead and do what Mr. Yodogiri says, Hiroto.”
“Wha…?”
“Got that? You must meet his expectations for you!” ordered his
grandfather, with obvious fear in his voice.
That was when Hiroto Shijima understood.
He hadn’t just become a loser earlier today. That had started long, long
ago, perhaps from the moment of his birth. He had been fated to live his life
as loser to some other party.
So the young man with no inkling of how to overturn that fate had no
counterargument to this conclusion.
He just gave up.
Yodogiri smacked his forehead and shook his head. “Oh no, no, it’s not
really such a huge deal. I’m just going to ask you to do a few things for me,
Hiroto. In other words, I’d like you to assist me not coincidentally but
intentionally. And you’ll find that I can be quite generous.”
“…Um, uh, what should I…?” Hiroto stammered and trembled, more
worried about his own future than the identity of the other man.
“Oh, pardon me. You see, I’ve had a running curiosity for a while,” said
Yodogiri, the strange old man with the gentle smile.
“About this very fresh and vibrant group called the Dollars.”
Chapter 1: Everyone and Their Cat
August, Russia Sushi, tatami booth
“So what’d you wanna talk about?”
Kyouhei Kadota sat with his arms folded, twisting his neck until it
cracked.
Amid the notably Russian interior decor, the booth with the tatami floor
was slightly more Japanese by comparison. Four young people sat at the
table, including Kadota, with a rather deluxe set of nigiri sushi in front of
them.
But this was not a fun get-together among friends. A heavy gloom lay
over the little tatami alcove.
“…Can we at least eat first?” asked the boy sitting across from Kadota,
Masaomi Kida.
Karisawa was at a meeting for a cosplay event, meaning the other two
were inevitably Yumasaki and Togusa, but they seemed content to sit back
and listen to Kadota and Masaomi.
“I have a feeling it’s going to be a long story. I don’t want any knives to
come flying if we let the sushi dry out.”
“…That’s a good point,” said Kadota, eyeing a small but deep mark in the
pillar nearby. It was the spot where Denis the cook had thrown a knife once
before. Can’t believe it’s been half a year already, Kadota thought.
He and Masaomi had been eating here when that mark was made, too.
Oddly enough, the situation had almost been identical, too, except for
Karisawa’s absence this time. But there was one other difference.
The look in his eyes isn’t the same.
Before, Masaomi’s face was full of hesitation, even fear. Now he was
practically a different person altogether.
But Kadota knew that Masaomi had always been a particularly strong-
minded person before all that. The Yellow Scarves that he had built were too
disciplined, too cohesive for any old chump to put together from scratch.
Having clashed with them back in his Blue Squares days, Kadota could
scarcely believe his ears the first time he’d heard they were primarily made
up of middle schoolers.
There were two other things Kadota knew about Masaomi, however.
One, that Masaomi Kida’s heart had totally broken down once.
Two, that he’d gotten back on his feet with that heart still broken and
suffered even worse because of it.
Supposedly, Masaomi had vanished after that. Given that he was here
now, it was probably a good bet that he’d come to some kind of resolution.
And from what Kadota could see in the other boy’s eyes, he had come back
even stronger than he was before his heartbreak.
To Kadota, people weren’t like simple sticks of wood. They were more
like thick ropes, their hearts composed of a number of elements woven
together. The parts of broken wood or stone might not return to their former
state, but as long as there was something still there, even as slender as a
spider’s thread, a person could recover. It was a view of human nature that
Kadota had gotten from his dad.
These thoughts and others ran through his head as they ate. Kadota sipped
his tea and waited for everyone else to set down their chopsticks before he
spoke again.
“So shall we get back to business?”
“…Sure.”
“You can save the longer explanations for later. First off, I just want the
outline, nice and clear,” Kadota instructed, his voice crisp.
Masaomi arched his back a bit and clenched his hands where they rested
atop his legs.
“I have a request to make of you all.”
“Will you leave the Dollars…and lend your help to my team, the Yellow
Scarves?”
A few days later, Awakusu-kai Head Office, Tokyo
It looked just like any other business office. But the tension inside, so thick
you could cut it with a knife, made it clear as day that this was no ordinary
company.
While the exterior of the building was made out like any other commercial
building, on the inside, it was the center of operations for the Awakusu-kai, a
gathering of “professional gentlemen” affiliated with the massive Medei-
gumi Syndicate. A number of menacing yakuza strolled about the place.
The source of the nervousness that currently filled the office came from a
corner of the building. Specifically, a pair of men seated in the reception
room.
“What does this mean, Mr. Shiki?” asked a man with sharp reptilian eyes
—Kazamoto, one of the Awakusu-kai’s senior members.
The other man, Shiki, whose eyes were sharp in the manner of a different
species, was of similar rank within the organization. He replied, “It doesn’t
mean anything, Mr. Kazamoto. There’s simply no need to pursue the
Yodogiri matter further.”
“I’d sure like to hear a convincing reason as to why.”
If Kazamoto was a snake or a crocodile, then Shiki was more of a hawk or
a wolf, the lower-level members liked to whisper among themselves. None
would dare say such a thing right now, though. Even knowing that the two
men wouldn’t overhear, the members felt the very act of putting voice to
those words was a waste of life.
It was amid this kind of nervous silence that the two men conversed.
“I assume you’re familiar with the name Giichirou Shijima.”
“Of course. He’s a relative of that stupid kid who was playing doctor on
our turf. I hear we’re looking into making inroads with the Shijima Group on
account of that kid.”
“That’s right. However, it’s no longer necessary.”
Despite being of identical rank within the Awakusu-kai, the men spoke
politely to each other, maintaining their distance—and thus their secrets.
Kazamoto made most of his earnings through insider trading. The bulk of
Shiki’s work came from barely legal multilevel marketing (pyramid) schemes
and gambling books. While their operations didn’t overlap, they occupied
equal shares of the power balance within the group, which made them wary
of each other.
“No longer necessary?”
“Yes, as it happens…Shijima himself reached out to us, regarding the
issue with Jinnai Yodogiri. He wanted to make a deal, including the matter
with his son.”
“And that meant dropping the Yodogiri case?”
“Yes. He offered three hundred million yen.”
That number caused Kazamoto’s brow to furrow. “And that’s supposed to
close the deal?”
“Mr. Akabayashi made it out all right, but do you really think the
company president’s going to accept a sum like that after one of his own was
nearly killed? So naturally, we made it clear that this was just the start of a
very long working relationship. We did take the three hundred million and
credited it toward the Yodogiri issue, however.”
“…And Shijima went along with everything?”
“Yes, he accepted all our conditions. It was almost suspicious. It looks
like we’re going to have a nice long relationship with the Shijima clan,” Shiki
said, striking the armrest of the sofa with his index finger. “However…while
he claimed that Yodogiri was just a benefactor in the investment field, it’s
obvious that isn’t the real story.”
“So he’s not just some wily old badger after all.” Kazamoto’s already
sharp eyes narrowed.
Shiki grinned. “In any case, out of respect for Shijima, we called off the
hunt and considered the matter settled…but given the stench of Yodogiri over
all this, the president decided we’ll keep our antennae listening for different
reasons.”
“Meaning that role is being transferred from me to you, Mr. Shiki?”
Kazamoto asked, his voice icy.
Shiki smirked and reassured him, “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to swoop in
and take all the credit. If I find something that seems like an opportunity for
business, the president and director will decide how it gets divided. Though
to be honest, I’m not hoping for business as much as I’m wishing we don’t
get any more bullshit from Yodogiri.”
“You mean like with Yumeji Kuzuhara?” Kazamoto beamed, hunching
his shoulders. That wiped the expression off Shiki’s face.
“You should know that Kuzuhara’s name is no laughing matter around
here, Mr. Kazamoto.”
“It was his fault that Kine got kicked out of this company.”
At that moment, Ikebukuro
While that conversation happened inside the Awakusu-kai office, elsewhere
and within the public side of Tokyo, the name Kuzuhara arose in totally
different circumstances.
“Please, Miss Kuzuhara, isn’t there a lead you can give me?”
“I swear, if you don’t behave, I’m going to haul you in for interfering with
a law officer, you got that?”
“C’mon! You don’t have to go throwing around those big scary legal
terms.”
“You think I’m bluffing? You wanna find out how serious I am about
giving you the third degree?”
In a residential area off the center of Ikebukuro, a police officer writing up
parking tickets was dealing with a middle-aged man who didn’t want to give
up.
“Listen, listen, I’m not trying to interfere with your job! I just thought that
maybe Maju Kuzuhara, youngest and brightest of the famed Kuzuhara police
family, might help out a troubled citizen and impart what she knows about
the group called the Dollars, that’s all,” pleaded the grinning fellow, who had
a jacket under his arm and an aged flat cap on his head.
But the young policewoman, pen in one hand and pad in the other,
finished writing the parking ticket, sighed, and said, “I merely have many
relatives in the force. You can’t butter me up that way.”
“But several of them are in the top brass, right? And I hear that Souta in
Raira Academy High School and little Souji in middle school are well on
their way to being officers, too. It’s an elite family, you can admit it. I’m
jealous.”
“…And why do you know about my underage cousins? If you want me to
put you on the stalker watch list, just come out and say it, Mr. Niekawa,” she
snapped, expression growing colder by the moment.
The man named Niekawa hastily waved his pen-holding hand back and
forth.
“Oh, geez, I’m sorry! That wasn’t what I meant to imply! No, I was just
interviewing a kid from Raira Academy and happened to overhear their
names, that’s all! You see, I was looking for information on the Dollars from
the young folks…”
“If you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, you’re going to wind up
in deep shit again.”
“Oh…gosh…yes, that was bad…”
Shuuji Niekawa was a writer for a periodical in Tokyo. He’d been left
outside of a hospital with terrible injuries once, which, combined with the
eyewitness reports of him carrying around a knife, earned him suspicions of
being involved with the infamous “street slasher” incident. But because no
hard evidence had turned up, and because he was hospitalized during the
Night of the Ripper, when multiple slashings happened simultaneously, he
was never charged with anything. Now he was healed up and back on the job.
“I’m aware of the caliber of magazine you write for, Mr. Niekawa, but
don’t you think accosting a police officer on the job for tips is crossing a line,
even for you? And no special report on the Dollars is going to outdo the
volume of information you can find online.”
The young woman was not at all forthcoming to Niekawa, who had a
history of bugging officers for information under the guise of reporting. Her
cold attitude might have been typical for the police department as a whole, in
fact.
Yet, the man was nothing if not persistent. He had a very good reason for
being so.
“No, you don’t understand. I’m not asking around about the Dollars for
my magazine, not at all! It’s an entirely personal matter!”
“What does that mean?” Maju said, stopping in the process of returning to
her vehicle.
Niekawa’s gaze wandered a bit, and he put on a self-effacing smile.
“Well, it’s…it’s my daughter. She’s run away from home…”
“A runaway? How old is she?”
“She’ll be eighteen this year…”
“Did you submit a missing person’s report?”
It was the most obvious of questions, but Niekawa avoided her gaze for
some reason. “Er…she sends me the occasional text saying, ‘I’m just going
from friend’s place to friend’s place’… I just don’t know exactly where they
are, that’s all…”
“Then I think you’ll have more luck if you submit a missing person’s
report. And what does that have to do with the Dollars?” she asked.
“Well, um, I’ve never heard of her having friends before this,” he
mumbled, “and I’ll admit—I’m not proud of this—that I went into her room
and booted up her computer. I only thought I might find a clue if I checked
her e-mail…”
Niekawa pleaded with the much younger woman, hoping for some kind of
salvation. It was less guilt that he was dealing with than a powerful unease
about the truth that he learned from his snooping. Or at least, that was what
she could glean from his expression.
“Erm, okay. I’ll be honest. The truth is, there was a…high school teacher
she became enamored with a while back, and it had…repercussions. I was
worried she might still be involved with him. And then…I learned she’s
interacting with some folks from a street gang called the Dollars…”
“…”
“You hardly ever see those gangs with their color themes anymore, but
they say the Yellow Scarves just had a resurgence around the new year. I
don’t know much more than that because I was in the hospital,” he muttered,
staring at the ground. “I haven’t done much good for my daughter, so maybe
my father’s intuition isn’t trustworthy, but I still want to find out as much as I
can about this situation…”
Ikebukuro
“Some weirdo’s sniffing around after the Dollars?” Aoba Kuronuma asked.
On the other end of the call, the boy nicknamed Neko replied, “Yeah,
apparently on his business card it says he’s a writer for a mag called Tokyo
Warrior.”
The asphalt soaked up the sunlight of the late afternoon, baking Ikebukuro
with temperatures in the high eighties despite the hour. Aoba walked alone
through the commercial center of the neighborhood, seeking out the shade as
he went.
“…It was about a year ago that the Dollars became a story. I’d have
figured the fad was over by now…but I guess I’ll keep this in mind. It would
be one thing if it were a huge magazine like Tokyo Walker, but this is Tokyo
Warrior we’re talking about. Not really a big concern.”
After a few more comments, Aoba hung up on the call, right as he reached
the crosswalk to the entrance of Sunshine 60 Street. He stopped next to the
Lotteria and blended into the crowd as he waited for the signal to change.
Through the people, he surveyed the throng waiting on the other side of the
light.
Wonder how many of them are Dollars, too.
He chuckled to himself. He currently led a team of former Blue Squares
within the Dollars under Mikado Ryuugamine’s orders, but very few people
were actually aware of this.
From his position blended into the mass of humanity, he observed each
and every figure across the way. Aoba’s style wasn’t to control people from
the shadows of the city—he controlled the situation from the shadows of the
crowd.
Even I don’t have a perfect grasp of the full breadth of the Dollars. In
fact, if you include the people who never even registered online, there isn’t a
single person who knows everyone involved. Even Izaya Orihara.
But now it’s time that I had Mikado Ryuugamine perform…
“…?”
As he ruminated, waiting for the light, his gaze stopped cold at a
particular point.
Unlike Aoba, who was totally swallowed by the crowd, the person he
spotted on the other side stuck out like a sore thumb—and it was someone
Aoba knew very well.
“Bro…,” he murmured, squinting.
His hairstyle wasn’t the same as it used to be, and he was skinnier now,
but that was undoubtedly Aoba’s older brother across the street—Ran Izumii.
Contrary to the peaceful sound of his name (“Orchid Spring”), he had the
bearing of a mad dog, and the others waiting at the light nearby
subconsciously looked away and distanced themselves.
Then Aoba noticed that the brother he hadn’t seen in several years was
staring straight at him, his mouth twisted into a savage grin.
The light turned green, and the flock of people strode into the street. Aoba
narrowed his eyes, blending into the wave of pedestrians, melting into the
very atmosphere of the city as he stepped into the crosswalk.
But Izumii stayed right where he was, splitting the flow of foot traffic
around him like a sandbar in the middle of a river.
Seems like he wants me for something. I don’t think even he’s stupid
enough to stab me in the middle of the street like this, though.
Still, caution was necessary, Aoba decided. He squeezed the stun gun in
his pocket and proceeded toward his brother, step-by-step, his face a blank
canvas.
The moment they were close enough to speak, it was Izumii who moved
first. He spread his arms and cackled, mouth open in a wide, toothy grin.
“Yo, Aoba. Been a while.”
“…Bro.”
Izumii reached out a hand and smacked the top of his brother’s head.
“You ain’t grown a bit. Look exactly the same. Like a li’l preteen still! You
eatin’ right, kid?” he asked, a surprisingly brotherly sentiment.
Aoba frowned. “And you seem to have changed quite a lot. You’re
thinner now, and your hair’s pitch-black.”
“Well, they shave you when they lock you up. So I changed my look a bit.
I almost got shaved again just before I got out, actually.”
Before his arrest, he’d had bleached blond hair styled in a pompadour, an
obvious signifier that he was a street thug, but now it was a bit longish and
slicked back. He was more like a fancy host club employee trying to
accentuate his wild side, as far as his hair was concerned—but no one who
saw his face would think he worked that job. If it wasn’t the scars and burn
marks on his face, the dangerous malice that lurked in his eyes and the curve
of his mouth was enough to drive off any woman—or person in general.
Maybe it was the juvie…but he just seems different, period. He didn’t feel
this dangerous before.
“Your scars aren’t as bad as I’d heard.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I heard you got hit by a Molotov while fighting with the Yellow Scarves.
I was worried,” Aoba lied. He intended that to be more of a manipulation
than a hostile challenge, but Izumii just chuckled and grinned.
“Worried? You? About my burn scars? This coming from the guy who
burned my room down.”
Aoba didn’t show any reaction to that, but inside his mouth, his jaws were
grinding. This was not the same as the brother he once knew.
Years ago, after Ran Izumii took out his misplaced frustrations on his
brother in a show of excessive violence, a fire had started in his room while
he was gone, believed to be caused by a cigarette butt.
“I’m so glad you didn’t get hurt,” Aoba had said, with the innocent smile
of the child he was.
This smile was so intimidating to Ran Izumii that he never followed up on
the incident, and in fact, he never discussed the matter with his brother again.
Aoba never mentioned it, either, and continued playing the role of an
obedient younger brother. A role they both knew full well was a farce and yet
which he maintained anyway, to send a message.
Now Ran was breaking that unspoken agreement between them by
mentioning it in the open. He knew Aoba was the one who’d lit up his
bedroom.
In the past, the elder brother of this pair was the one labeled “useless,” but
he was a totally different person now.
“You know Dad broke my nose after that, right? You owe me for that one,
Aoba, don’t ya?”
Aoba didn’t panic. He acted the same way he always had. “Oh, please,
Bro. Do you really think I caused that fire?” he said, the wolf boy in little
lamb’s clothing.
Meanwhile, the villager opposite him, fangs bared, leered. “Actually, it
doesn’t really matter now whether you’re tellin’ the truth or lying.”
“…”
“And the idea that you left the Blue Squares under my control because
you couldn’t handle ’em anymore? Doesn’t matter if that’s true or a lie,
either.”
He sucked the air through his teeth, a nasty scraping sound. Then he
reached out to Aoba’s face and squeezed the younger boy’s nose in his
fingers.
“In any case, once I kill Kadota, Yumasaki, and Kida from the Yellow
Scarves, you’ll be next. If you wanna hold that to just half-dead, you’d better
start thinkin’ of a good plea for your life now, while you got the chance.”
“…Kadota?”
Kadota was one of the principal public members of the Dollars, though he
denied he was that important. He seemed to be locked in an eternal struggle
with Ran and Aoba.
Though Ran had no personal contact with Aoba, he’d made a name for
himself with Aoba’s Blue Squares, and his eventual betrayal and exit from
the group ended up being a major factor in the downfall of the gang.
During the battle against the Yellow Scarves, the very cause of that
betrayal, Aoba hadn’t lifted a finger to help his brother. When the Yellow
Scarves had messed with Aoba’s group before—the ones with the shark-
themed beanies—they’d fought back. That earned his ilk the wrath of the
Yellow Scarves as a whole, but it didn’t turn into a full-scale war, and the
elder brother didn’t ask for the younger’s help then, either.
“So what’s your plan? You don’t have the Blue Squares anymore, Bro,”
Aoba said, maintaining his submissive mask underneath his taunts. “Didn’t
you know that Horada’s bunch got arrested for something else after they
avoided juvie the first time?”
“Yeah…I hear Horada was talking all kinds of shit on the inside. I went to
pay him a visit recently and put the screws on him. He had a lot to fill me in
on!” Izumii chuckled, twisting his brother’s nose. “What’s the Dollars’ boss’s
name…? Mikado Ryuugamine?”
“!”
“Even the guy’s name is full of itself. I couldn’t believe what I learned—
he’s old friends with that brown-haired kid in the Yellow Scarves, and what’s
this I hear about you being all buddy-buddy with him, Aoba? One way or
another, I’m gonna hafta go introduce myself soon.”
Aoba replied to this counter-taunt with his first grin of the conversation.
“…I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Bro.”
“What?”
“He isn’t… The Dollars aren’t the kind of people you can deal with.
You’ll only wind up back in prison. Also, my nose is starting to hurt.”
“…”
Izumii’s teeth creaked with the force of his jaws, but a moment later, he
wore the same wicked smile as before. “You gettin’ the wrong idea? It ain’t
that kind of introduction I’m talkin’ about.”
“Huh?” Aoba grunted, eyebrow raised. Izumii released his face and
flicked the bridge of his nose instead. “Ooh!”
When Aoba looked up again, holding his stinging nose, Izumii had turned
his back to his little brother and was walking toward the crosswalk, where the
traffic light was red again.
“I’m one of the Dollars now, too…so I gotta go and pay my respects to
the leader, even if he’s younger than me. Ain’t that how it works? It’s more
fun to be the palanquin bearers in an organization than the guy sitting in the
throne on top.”
“…”
“It was thanks to you that I figured that out, Aoba.”
Izumii walked across the street, completely ignoring the honking of the
cars that had to stop or swerve to avoid him.
If only he’d get run over, Aoba thought, a rather violent idea to have about
his own family member. “Well…you’re a bit better than you were before,
Bro.”
But he knew that these words would be drowned out by the honking.
Underneath the hand holding his smarting nose, the boy’s mouth opened into
a wide smile.
“I can’t wait until the day I crush you…and the one who’s backing you.”
That night, Tokyo
“That’s all, then. See you soon, Kyouhei.”
“Good night.”
Kadota said his good-byes to the other contractors and left the
construction site, where he worked as a plasterer on a remodeling job. With
his work shift over, he headed down the asphalt, which was still warm with
the heat of the summer.
Nothing’s happened since then… Kida sure talked a big game, though.
As he walked, eyes and feet following the shadow the streetlights cast
from his body, Kadota thought back on his meeting with Masaomi Kida in
the sushi restaurant a few days earlier.
“Will you leave the Dollars…and lend your help to my team, the Yellow
Scarves?”
“…”
Kadota met Masaomi’s plea with silence, sipping his tea. The younger
boy never broke his gaze. “Kida.”
“Yes?”
“Let me ask you something first. Do you think we’re the kind of people…
who would turn our backs on the Dollars and switch allegiance to a different
gang with smiles on our faces?”
“Then let me ask: Do you think I would actually come to people like you
to ask for something like that?”
“…Fair point.” Kadota shrugged, then tried a different tack. “Then setting
aside the question of why us, let me just ask: What are you going to do?”
“I’m thinking of crushing the Dollars real quick,” Masaomi admitted.
Togusa nearly spat out his tea. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you make that sound
so easy.”
Yumasaki added, “Yeah, Kida, that doesn’t make sense. That big fight
half a year ago with the slasher and stuff sorta got swept under the rug, but I
thought it was all agreed that there wasn’t any evidence, and that was that.
Horada got arrested, and we destroyed the last illusion of the Blue Squares.
Happily ever after.”
He spoke to the younger boy the same way he did to Kadota—as an equal.
Kida gripped his knees and said, “I want…to help someone.”
Kadota thought for a second and hazarded a guess. “Ryuugamine?”
“…”
He took the silence for confirmation and continued, “I don’t get it. I can
tell he’s pretty deep in the Dollars, and given how close he is with the
Headless Rider, I guess it’s clear he occupies a pretty odd position in all of
this…but what does that have to do with crushing the Dollars?”
“How much do you know about the Headless Rider, Kadota?”
“Huh? Um…a bit.”
As a matter of fact, Kadota knew that the Headless Rider was living in the
apartment of a former acquaintance from high school, and he attended a hot-
pot party there once—but he decided that bringing them into this situation
wasn’t fair, so he chose not to divulge the details.
“But I want you to answer my question first,” he said. “If you’re worried
about him, you should just tell him to quit the Dollars yourself. Or why not
just invite him to the Yellow Scarves rather than us?”
“…”
“Listen, I happen to think that kids like him are better off not getting
involved with street gangs in the first place. I bet he’d at least hear you out if
you told him your concerns.”
This was all fairly sensible, but Masaomi only dug his fingers harder into
his knees. “I…I can’t do that.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you more than that,” Masaomi stated.
Surprised, Kadota took another sip of tea and said, “So…do I have this
right? You can’t tell me why, but you want to destroy the Dollars. And you
want us to join the Yellow Scarves?”
“That’s accurate.”
“And do you really think there’s any kind of honor in that?”
“No, sir, I don’t. So I can’t just beg or force you to join the Yellow
Scarves. But at the very least, I hope you’ll leave the Dollars.”
Kadota decided that the boy was not joking or crazy but making a very
serious request. He put on a stern face. “So you came here to tell me to do
something you know is wrong?”
“What I’m about to do is wrong, I admit. But my coming here is with the
intention of doing it right.”
“What?”
“I owe you so many things, I can’t even begin to count them, Kadota. So
if I end up really getting into it with the Dollars, I was hoping that if possible
I at least wouldn’t need to mess with you guys.”
“If possible”…meaning he’s willing to throw down against us if it comes
to that, Kadota realized. He could see it in Masaomi’s gaze as much as his
words. He closed his eyes and said nothing.
Then Masaomi added, “Don’t you think the Dollars are acting strange
lately?”
“…”
“I’m not saying it’s true of all of them, but they’ve been beefing with
gangs from Saitama and running purges on others within the group who got
carried away and so on. The rumors are bad.”
These were all things Kadota had felt for himself. But there was still
something missing, something that made Masaomi’s accusations fall short of
total believability. Choosing to be cautious, he said, “The Dollars’ official
colors are transparent. In other words, they can fit in with any other color. On
the other hand, if anyone’s pulling some weak bullshit, others in the gang are
gonna speak up about it. Probably depends on the details, though.”
“And what if there was a clear, direct reason why they’re acting strange?”
“?” Kadota appeared confused.
Masaomi continued, “What if I told you…that guys wearing shark-tooth
bandannas and ski caps are infiltrating the Dollars?”
“…!”
Shark-themed bandannas and ski caps—that could mean only one thing to
Kadota.
The Blue Squares.
That was the blue-repping gang that Kadota had belonged to once. It was
an odd group; hardly anyone inside the gang actually saw others wearing
those shark bandannas—neither Kadota’s circle nor Horada and his goons.
“What if I said it seems like what happened to the Yellow Scarves half a
year ago is happening to the Dollars this time?”
“…And you think Ryuugamine’s got something to do with it?”
“Sorry, I can’t say that for certain yet. But…when I’m able to speak about
it later, I promise you I’ll reveal everything I know.”
“…”
Masaomi was going to great lengths to protect his secrets, the look in his
eyes told Kadota. He considered this for a while, and Yumasaki and Togusa
were considerate enough not to speak in the meantime.
“…Give me a few days to think this over. If this is going to involve the
rest of these guys, I can’t just take your statements at face value and leap into
action. We’ll have to do a little research of our own.”
Personally, Kadota decided he could trust Masaomi in this situation.
However, it was still possible Masaomi was only saying what he believed
was true and was being manipulated by someone else with sinister aims. And
there was at least one person Kadota could think of who would do something
like that.
“All right. That’s all I wanted to say,” Masaomi said. He thanked them
and got to his feet. He turned away from Kadota’s group, then swung back
and said, “But if you decide you’re going to be our enemy…”
“Then what?”
Masaomi broke the nervous atmosphere with a troubled smile. “Well, I
guess I’ll have to find a way to make sure we don’t come face-to-face.”
The older guys were surprised by the innocence in Masaomi’s face.
The boy shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t expect I could match you guys in a
fair fight.” Then he headed to the counter, said a few words to Denis and
Simon, and left the building.
When he was completely out of sight, Togusa and Yumasaki shared a
glance.
“…What was that about?”
“I don’t know, but that last part reminded me of him about a year ago.
When he was hanging around with Mikado.”
Kadota muttered to himself, “If he’s really going to crush them, he
could’ve just gone ahead and sprung a surprise rather than tell us.” He sighed,
only to smirk a moment later. “What a softy.”
“You haven’t been talking much today, Yumasaki.”
“Hey, I’m just being considerate in my own way. Plus, without Karisawa,
there’s no one to pick up my comments…”
“Well, that’s unavoidable. I don’t understand half the shit you talk about,”
said Togusa, who was holding the conversation with Yumasaki now that
Kadota was thinking in silence. It was as though they were trying to confirm
that the recent scene had been as strange as it seemed at first.
“Honestly, I wish you both would study up on the classics, Kadota and
Togusa.”
“Us?! Whoa, wait, you’re saying that’s our fault?!”
Then a deep voice from the counter cut them off. “You were lucky.”
“Hmm?” Kadota looked over at Denis, the head chef, who was rinsing off
his fish-cutting knife. He eyed the edge of the blade first, then Kadota next.
“If you’d made things any more uncomfortable in here, I’d have put
another mark in that pillar.”
“P…please, boss, let’s save the threats,” Togusa said with a shrug. But the
cold sweat running down his cheeks was a sign that he knew Denis wasn’t
making idle threats.
Denis served a few pieces of nigiri sushi to people at the counter, then
added, “Well, maybe the kid spoke that way knowing how I’d react. He’s a
tougher customer than I took him for.”
For a Russian, his Japanese was quite fluent. “One more thing, he paid for
your meals. Probably in return for the time you guys paid for his.”
“Wha…? When did he do that?!”
“When you moved seats over there. It ended up being a bit short, but I can
keep that on his tab,” Denis said. He favored his longtime customers with a
very rare grin. “He probably wants to minimize any kind of favors still owed.
He’s fixing to be your enemy soon.”
“…”
“I don’t know the details, nor do I care to pry…but the kid’s got his mind
made up, that’s for sure.”
Made up his mind, Kadota thought, remembering the conversation at Russia
Sushi a few days prior as he walked. And nothing’s happened since then.
Kadota had tried to track down information on his own, and it did indeed
seem that things had been strange in the Dollars recently. Some who’d been
using the Dollars’ name to perform stickups were getting attacked now.
The whole point of the Dollars was that people who had no connection to
the street gang lifestyle could take part for fun. If anyone could join, that
included scumbags. So it was only natural that some would get involved
eventually.
In the last few months, others had taken it upon themselves to hunt these
miscreants, which had become a thriving trade. But it was quite excessive for
a simple cleansing process, a fact that Kadota found unnerving. What had put
the deepest furrow in Kadota’s brow today was the revelation that the ones
undertaking this internal purge were wearing shark-themed blue bandannas
and ski caps.
Up to this point, it’s all been as Kida claimed. But how does it tie in to
Ryuugamine? I’ll admit that the last time I saw him, he was acting a bit
weird, Kadota thought, remembering how Mikado had approached him with
a sparkle in his eyes and claimed that he was the ideal member of the Dollars.
Ryuugamine’s fixation on the Dollars is off somehow. And I can’t just claim
that it’s this way because he’s got connections to the Headless Rider and
Izaya Orihara.
While Kadota often found himself helping others, he didn’t want to step
any further than necessary into their private business. He’d never had a single
ounce of curiosity about Mikado Ryuugamine’s personal connections or past.
But if he was going to be central to this matter, that would change things a
bit.
At the same time, Kadota recalled another thing he heard six months ago.
“‘So, Kadota,’ Horada says to me, ‘all that’s left is to cook this Ryuugane
guy.’ All I wanna know is, who’s Ryuugane?”
That had been a fellow Dollars member who infiltrated the Yellow
Squares along with him during the war with Horada. They’d been careful to
keep their distance from Horada during the operation, to avoid being
recognized, but the one person who got closest managed to overhear what
Horada was talking about.
“And when Kida showed up, he said, ‘I’ll use you to get access to the
Dollars’ boss, Mi…Mi…Mi-something.’ You got any ideas about who Mi-
something might be?”
At the time, Horada was recruiting people to the factory for the purpose of
destroying the boss of the Dollars. Kadota’s group blended in among them,
but they never actually found out who the Dollars’ boss was supposed to be.
But he had a guess.
He’d always suspected that Mikado Ryuugamine occupied some
important position within the Dollars, so hearing these details from his
companion made it pretty easy to connect the dots and suspect that Mikado
had a part in the founding of the group. He knew Izaya Orihara, too, so
Kadota wasn’t naive enough to assume he was simply a high school friend of
Masaomi’s who got wrapped up in trouble over his head.
On the other hand, Kadota always liked the Dollars’ lack of a leader, so he
chose not to dig deeper into the matter. He never asked Mikado about any of
it.
After hearing Masaomi Kida’s story, that half-forgotten suspicion came
back as a surefire certainty. Ryuugamine’s the boss…although it still doesn’t
seem possible to me…
No matter the circumstantial evidence, Kadota had met and spoken with
Mikado Ryuugamine on multiple occasions, and it just wasn’t that easy to
accept. If anything, Mikado seemed like the kind of utterly normal person
who would never come into contact with the world of gangs and motorcycles
in his entire life.
It was better that the Dollars didn’t have a boss, and it was better that he
didn’t know anything about it. That was why, during the war with the
motorcycle gang from Saitama, he had answered the question of who the
Dollars’ boss was with a firm “No idea.” If asked the same question under
present circumstances, he might not be quite so forceful in his answer.
In order to prevent the Dollars and Yellow Scarves from fighting, he
would have to make contact with Mikado, he realized. He tried calling the
phone number he’d received from the boy on an earlier occasion but never
got through. Yumasaki and Karisawa tried, too, to no success.
Oh well. Guess I can try Kishitani and the Headless Rider tomorrow.
He’d gotten his helpful streak from his parents, and Kadota was making
full use of it to solve the problem of Masaomi Kida and Mikado
Ryuugamine.
“Guess I’ll do whatever I can…since it’s not like this doesn’t affect me,
either,” he muttered. He sensed car headlights approaching from behind and
moved farther to the side of the road.
Just like always. There was no mistake in his actions.
Sadly, he was unaware of the irony that was about to befall him.
For inside the car, the passenger in the front seat commanded…
“Run him over.”
It was the exact same thing Kadota had told Togusa to do when they had
saved Anri from the slasher so long ago.
If any part of this was not entirely fate playing some cosmic joke, it was
that Kadota was not a culprit like the slasher but just a purely innocent
pedestrian.
The road was very narrow, but the car’s engine blazed.
When he noticed something was wrong, it was already too late.
An instant before he could turn around—
Shock. ***
Roar. And then……darkness.
Thirty minutes later, Karisawa’s apartment, Tokyo
“I see. So you haven’t seen Miikyun recently, either, Anri.”
“No. He said he’d be out of touch while he went back home…”
There were around five women in Erika Karisawa’s apartment at the
moment, busying themselves with sewing and examining very thick
magazines with highlighters. They were working on cosplay outfits for a big
summer event and checking the participating groups in the guide catalog.
But while the others were busy, Karisawa was already finished with her
preparation. She sat in the corner of the room with Anri Sonohara. A few
days ago, she’d asked Anri if she wanted to try cosplaying, and Anri, with
little natural defense against peer pressure, gave in and visited her apartment.
“I wonder if that’s really true. So he responds to messages, but he won’t
answer the phone? I mean, what kind of boyfriend does that?”
“H-he’s not my… Ryuugamine and I aren’t…”
Karisawa had put countless cosplay outfits on her (“Just for a test!”) over
the course of the evening—she was currently wearing a Halloween party
costume of a wide tricorn hat and a black dress with exposed shoulders. She
was already blushing and curling up, embarrassed by the exposure of the sexy
costume, so Karisawa’s line of questioning was only turning her cheeks
redder.
“Ha-ha-ha, I’m only joking! I get it. You and Mikapon are so shy. You’ve
got your sense of propriety all figured out—like a brand-new butler and a
klutzy maid, maybe? I think you’re a cute couple. You’re all moe and kyun,
the swallow to the tail. Totally.”
“I don’t…know what that means…”
“And if you two are the butler and the maid, I’ll be the master. In that
case, wanna try on a maid outfit next? Or a shrine priestess?”
“Y-y-you mean there’s more?!” Anri squeaked, but that didn’t stop
Karisawa’s teasing. She reached for a wardrobe that was enormous for the
size of the apartment it inhabited, pulled out a few outfits, and pressed the
hangers onto Anri to gauge the attire.
“If your hair were a bit shorter, you could do a good version of the plain
friend from Oreimo. But if I had your chest, I’d wear raised platforms and do
Bajeena instead. Oooh, I know! If you wore a wig, you would be very
suitable as Konoha Muramasa from C3! In a number of ways!”
“O…kay…,” Anri mumbled, uncertain of what any of these names
signified.
“Speaking of which, Anri, have you grown even more in the last half a
year?”
“I—I don’t think so,” she replied, blushing even harder as Karisawa ogled
her chest.
“Don’t be shy now. Mikado’s the purehearted type, so you’ve got to use
the weapons God gave you to clinch the deal, or you’ll never get anywhere!
At least follow Kida’s example!”
“Ah…” Anri looked down at the floor at the mention of a familiar name.
“From what Yumacchi tells me, Kida’s back in Ikebukuro now, right? I
hear he’s well these days.”
“Wha—?”
So Kida really is back.
A few days ago, while taking care of a cat for an acquaintance, Anri had
found herself in a bit of trouble. She ran into Masaomi out of the blue, who
said a few words to her before running off. She hadn’t said a single thing to
him.
But that was enough for her.
She’d been worried about Mikado acting strange recently, but Masaomi’s
return seemed like a sign that things would resolve soon.
I wonder if he’s met with Ryuugamine yet…
If possible, she’d like to be there to speak with them. But she couldn’t
begin to guess what she should say when they met.
Part of her acceptance of Karisawa’s offer was the hope that the advice of
another girl would come in handy—instead, Karisawa controlled the entire
situation, and there was no easy way to broach the topic of her personal
concerns.
Thankfully, Karisawa seemed to have a sense of Anri’s troubles, and the
topic gradually turned to Mikado and Masaomi.
But she’s seen…what I am…
During the Golden Week holiday, she’d been attacked by a mystery
assailant and wielded the alien power that resided within her—the steel blade
born of flesh and blood, Saika—in front of a crowd.
A teenage girl swinging a katana around was obviously not an ordinary
sight.
She thought Karisawa and her friends would be afraid and disgusted after
they witnessed it. To the contrary, they were fascinated and even tried to get
closer to Anri after that point.
Why is she so nice to me, when she knows I’m abnormal?
Like Karisawa, there were people who saw human beings with freakish
powers not as things to be feared but the exciting advent of the 2-D world
into real life. Anri couldn’t understand how their minds worked.
One reason for that was that she knew the power was ultimately beyond
her control. Saika’s gradual attempts to escape from Anri’s control filled her
with fear and made her more determined than ever to properly coexist with
the cursed blade.
To Anri, Karisawa was one of the few older girls she could talk to about
her problems—but she wasn’t quite sure if she ought to reveal the entire truth
of Saika yet. There was another “older girl who could be talked to,” who
wasn’t entirely human, just like her, so it seemed to Anri that the courier
would be the better person to ask for advice first.
But even still, she might not want to hear about this stuff…
“…ri. Anri…”
And I can’t ask Mr. Akabayashi about this…
“Anri? Anri? Hellooo?”
“…? Y-yes?! I’m sorry! I was spacing out…”
Anri lurched backward when she realized Karisawa’s face was right up in
hers.
“Ha-ha-ha, darn! If you’d spaced out a bit longer, I could have taken that
off and put you in the sexy fallen angel maid outfit!”
“Wh-what?”
The words fallen angel and sexy were a bit of a shock to Anri, who
summoned her courage to ask, “So Yumasaki met with Kida?”
“Yep. It was a shock to me, too, actually. It was happening right when I
ran into you on the street earlier. Dotachin and them were eating at Russia
Sushi, and they just happened across him right there. I haven’t heard any
details about what actually happened, though.”
“Um, if you d-don’t mind, c-could you ask them about that when you get
the chance? I’d really…”
“I get it, I get it! Wow, you’re really aggressive when it comes to Kida,
huh? If only Mikarun inspired that kind of go-get-’em attitude.” Karisawa
chuckled, swinging right back into the usual loop of teasing her helpless
victim.
Just then, Karisawa’s cell phone buzzed on the table and emitted a soft
and sultry “You have a call, mistress.”
“Yes, my butler, yes, até breve, obrigado,” she said, whatever that meant,
and snatched up the phone to check the screen. “Oh, speak of the devil. It’s
from Dotachin. True synchronicity!”
She hit the button in high spirits, ready to launch into a good chat. “Hello
there, Dotachin! What’s up? …Huh? Er, oh.”
The smile vanished from her face. “Oh, you’re Kyouhei’s father! I see, of
course… But what’s the occasion? Why are you calling from his…?”
“…”
It was clear something was wrong.
Both Anri and the other cosplay girls who had been quietly busying
themselves around the apartment stopped and watched Karisawa.
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh… What?”
In that instant, everyone in the room innately understood that something
bad had happened to Kyouhei Kadota.
They all witnessed Erika’s ever-present smirk vanish from her face.
“Kyouhei Kadota was in a traffic accident that put him into a coma.”
This fact left wide-ranging ripples, centered chiefly around the Dollars.
At a private hotel celebration…
“…Kadota did?”
Yumasaki had just finished carving an ice sculpture for his job. His
narrow eyes opened wider than usual, and his work tools slipped from his
hands.
In an apartment…
“You gotta be kidding me!”
Togusa answered the phone while he was sticking up a Ruri Hijiribe
poster on the ceiling. The shock caused him to fall off the step stool.
Beside a river in Saitama…
“What? Kadota?”
“Y-yeah, man. So why waste your time collecting money from me when
you could be payin’ him a hospital visit? What if you don’t get there in time?
What if he dies and— Gbyaaa?!”
The man in the bartender’s outfit tossed the debtor through the air, then
frowned. At his side were a man with dreadlocks and a young white woman.
Both of his coworkers spoke to him in concern.
“That’s a guy you know, right? The one always riding around in that
van?”
“I have heard he’s senior management of the quasi–gang club group
called the Dollars.”
The man in the bartender’s suit was breathing heavily. He shouted, “He
was just a classmate from high school…but what I wanna know is…who’s
the sick bastard who ran over a person I know and fled the scene?!”
He was so furious that he kicked the motorcycle the debtor had been
trying to flee on. It skipped over the surface of the water like a pond skater
and crashed against the far bank of the river.
On the top floor of an apartment building in Ikebukuro…
“So…what now, Mikado Ryuugamine?”
…an info broker who had abandoned his humanity in exchange for
blinding pain in his right hand stared down off his veranda at the city, a cold
smile adorning his lips.
Out in front of a convenience store…
“You gotta be kidding me!”
“Kadota got run over by a car?”
“Serves you right, biiiitch!”
…a number of hooligans whom Kadota had regulated upon in the past
cheered and exchanged high fives.
In Russia Sushi…
“Hit-and-run… That’s some bullshit to pull on one of our regular
customers.”
Denis sharpened his knife with no outward change in his demeanor at the
news.
“Yes, I go pay him visit. Calcium good for broken bones. He eat pike with
bones in, good for him. I take him one nigiri with whole pike inside,” said
Simon, who seemed quite relaxed despite his concern.
They took matters of other people’s life and death in stride, probably
because of past experience, but that didn’t mean they were being cold and
callous. This was just how they expressed their concern for Kadota.
“That’s gonna be hard to eat. And there’s no point in taking anything to
him until he wakes up again.”
“It’s okay. Boss Kadota tough, if not as tough as Shizuo. Health comes
first, phone call second, three o’clock is snack time. When Kadota’s friends
come again, we give them sushi on the house. I’m worried more of them than
Kadota.”
“You realize how many people he knows? You’re gonna put us outta
business,” the restaurant manager said, stone-faced, as he examined the knife
he’d finished sharpening. “But if Kadota does get out, I can make him the
best damn nigiri I’ve ever prepared.”
And somewhere in Tokyo…
A fresh-faced boy, Aoba Kuronuma, spoke in darkness. “Did you hear
that, Mr. Mikado?”
“…Yes. About Kadota,” murmured a boy who looked utterly normal in
every way—Mikado Ryuugamine—as they sat in the back seat of a van
owned by one of Aoba’s companions. “I can’t believe it. How could he be in
such a horrible accident…?”
“What’ll you do? Go visit him in the hospital? They might be refusing
visitors still. Could even be in surgery.”
“…”
Silence.
No one spoke for a while, the sound of the van running only underscoring
the heaviness of the moment. When it eventually came to a stoplight, Mikado
spoke, eyes downcast. “I wish I could do that, but if I go now, I might come
face-to-face with a bunch of different people.”
Emotions swirled through him. Eventually, he settled on a sad smile.
“And I’m sure that would cause a bunch of trouble… Oh, but I think you
should go. He did help you out of trouble once. I don’t mind being an ingrate,
but there’s no reason for you to suffer the same infamy.”
“I see,” Aoba said, reflecting the heavy mood. He shrugged. “Sure, he
saved me, but I was the entire cause of that fight with Toramaru and the chase
that ensued. I earned it,” he admitted.
Mikado looked up slowly. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Huh?”
“Kadota saved you. It doesn’t matter why. He saved you, and that’s that.
He did it to help you, regardless of if you started the problem in the first
place. I don’t think you should downplay that.”
“…You’re right. I’m sorry,” Aoba said.
Mikado grinned easily. “No, no, I probably stated that more forcefully
than it needed. My bad.”
Aoba didn’t know what about that qualified as “more forceful than
needed,” but he decided to let it drop.
“Then I’ll go and visit him in the hospital soon.”
“Yeah. That’s good. Just remember it’s considered bad luck to bring
camellia flowers or other potted plants to a hospital room,” Mikado advised
him. The others in the van shivered, but Aoba didn’t seem to feel anything in
particular.
“I hope you’ll be able to stand proud and visit Kadota in the hospital
someday, sir. Along with Miss Sonohara and Mr. Kida.”
“Yeah. Speaking of which…”
Mikado mumbled something, then turned to stare out the window. There
was a kind of sadness in his eyes but also a purity. His gaze was steady as he
looked out toward some distant, unseen place.
Something in his eyes frightened Aoba as much as it reassured him. He
smiled, his emotions conflicted and unknown to Mikado.
An abnormal situation descended upon their lives.
And this was only the start. After this day, the Dollars were plunged into a
state of abnormality that many of them did not desire.
But in reality, a select few of them did want it—a period of sludge and
piercing, bizarre circumstances.
Chat room
.
.
.
Kid: And that’s the basic mechanism for how loan sharks still operate in this day
and age.
Sharo: Wow. That’s really something.
100% Pure Water: You sure know a lot about shady business, Kid! That story
about backdoor school admissions fraud was entertaining, too. Are you actually a
police officer or a prosecutor?!
Kid: No, I’m just sharing stories I’ve heard.
Kid: And an officer or a prosecutor isn’t going to have the time to hang out in chat
rooms all day like this.
Chrome has entered the chat.
Chrome: Good evening.
Sharo: Evening.
Kid: Nice to see you again.
100% Pure Water: Eveniiing!
Saki: Long time no see.
Chrome: Looks like we have all new members tonight. Is there a single old
member here?
Saki: Mai and Kuru were here earlier.
Saki: But they had something to do, so they left.
Kid: They seemed to be in their usual moods.
Chrome: It’s been so long since I saw TarouTanaka and Setton.
Chrome: Do you think they switched to posting on Mixi instead?
Chrome: Social media’s different these days. Chat rooms like these are dying out.
Kid: I’m not sure.
Sharo: They’re probably just busy, yeah? I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve
seen you, either, Chrome.
Chrome: I’ve been hammered with overtime lately…
Saki: Well, congrats on getting free.
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