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Prologue
This is a twisted story.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! I know you’re in there, Seiji! I’m here again today! Oh no, you
forgot to unlock the door! How am I supposed to get inside?”
Warning, warning. My house is under siege by a stalker. She’s been pounding
on my door for minutes. Why hasn’t she thought to try the intercom?
“The door is locked! Are you asleep? Omigosh! How cheeky am I? Sneaking in
on a man while he’s in bed!”
Alert, alert. Alert to myself last week. Some girls that just moved to the big city
were being harassed by a thug, and I saved them from trouble. It turned out they
were about to start at the same high school as me tomorrow. And somehow it
turned into this. The other girl was so polite and normal, too.
“Hey, I want to tell you something… I just wanted to say, I’ve been in love with
you for a long time! Do you remember me?! I was the girl sitting right next to you
during our exams! The boy on my right had this crazy name like Ryuugamine, so I
started wondering what the boy on my left was named. And when I turned, it
was love at first sight! So I made sure to learn and memorize your name! But I
didn’t have the guts to speak to you…and then you saved me, and I thought—
oh! This must be fate at work! It gave me so much courage! Please, just show me
your beautiful face, let me see you looking bright and healthy, please, please,
please!”
Caution, caution. She freakin’ followed me home. Ever since then, this has
happened every day. She doesn’t listen when I order her to leave. I’ve heard
these same lines two thousand times.
“Are you not feeling well?! So that’s why you’re not answering the door! Oh
no! You need to open up right away! I’ve done lots of research since the exam
day! I know your birthday, your family members, your—”
Police, police. I’m going to call the cops. Only that threat was enough to finally
chase her away.
Three hours after the assault, I felt safe in assuming that she’d finally gone,
and I left to pick up some things from the convenience store below my
apartment building. Even as I selected my toothpaste and magazines, that
stalker chick’s face was floating through my brain.
My first impression was that she was gorgeous. There was an adult air to her—
she seemed to be a perfect example of a lovely young lady. But personal
experience soon taught me exactly how a girl like her could be single.
No amount of good looks made a crazy chick like her palatable. Maybe it was
different if you were looking for that—but I wasn’t. I already had a girlfriend.
So, what to do about the first day of school tomorrow, I wondered as I climbed
the stairs to my floor and headed down the narrow hallway.
If I have to meet her there every day, it’s better not to go at all. I mean, I’ve
already got a girlfriend. A quiet and graceful one, not like her. As long as I’ve got
my girl, I don’t need to bother with high school at all. I could get a part-time job
at my sister’s company instead.
Oh, now I remember. I was wondering why I even saved that chick in the first
place. It’s because, at a glance, she looked like my girlfriend—until she opened
her mouth. That’s why I saved her. It was a stupid decision. I saved her because
they looked alike, but she couldn’t have been more different on the inside.
I put the key in the lock of my apartment door.
Huh? Weird.
It’s already unlocked.
Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. My danger sense is on full alert.
Alarm, alarm, beepedy-beep. Inside the door, a pair of women’s shoes.
“S-Seiji…”
Farther into my apartment, the stalker was standing stock-still.
I realized that I was taking the presence of this trespassing intruder with
remarkable calm. I’d spotted the look on her face.
When I spoke, even I was surprised by the coldness of my voice.
“You saw?”
“I, um, er…”
There was terror and unease on her face, nothing like her typical expression.
…Well, well, you’re capable of looking like this after all.
That’s when I knew she had seen something she shouldn’t have.
“Uh—um, Seiji, I…I won’t tell anyone! This doesn’t change how I feel about
you. It’s okay, I don’t care about what you’re secretly into. I can change myself
to match your interests, just, um…”
The tables have turned. Now I’m the one putting pressure on her.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, Seiji!” Her voice filled with hope.
“Sei…ji?”
She noticed the chill in my eyes, and the hope instantly turned to fear.
I had to take it one step further into absolute despair. I repeated myself.
“Seiji!”
When my sister burst into the room with two of her employees, I was seated in
the living room, eating a cup of instant ramen. The employees quickly and
expertly packed the stalker into a body bag and removed her from the room. My
sister made a brief inspection of the place, noted the blood spatter on the wall,
then hugged me from behind.
“It’ll be all right. You’ll be fine.”
Her comforting warmth enveloped me. All I thought was that this made it hard
to eat.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Seiji. Just leave this all to me. Okay?”
“Sis, as for her—not the girl, I mean…”
“You were the one who took her out, weren’t you? Don’t worry, leave all that
to me. Understand? As long as I’m here, nothing bad will happen to you…
Especially not the police—they won’t get you. They’ll never get you, so don’t
worry about that.”
And with that, she gave her employees more orders and left.
Maybe it’s not the best idea to get a job with her company. She knows a lot of
people working in unsavory occupations, people the office doesn’t know about.
Those men that came in with her took a dead body and did their jobs without a
word. They couldn’t have been ordinary, law-abiding folks.
I’d rather not work with evil people. They’d turn me evil, too.
If I turned bad and got caught by the police, my girlfriend would be so sad.
That’s the last thing I want.
I watched the workers calmly scrub the blood off the wall and shoveled more
cold, stale ramen into my gullet.
God, this ramen is terrible.
This is a twisted, twisted tale.
A tale of twisted love.
Chapter 1: Shadow
Chat room (weekend, evening)

<I’m telling you, Ikebukuro’s all about the Dollars right now!>
[The Dollars are that team people are talking about these days? I’ve never seen
them.]
<Sounds like they’re keeping it on the DL in public. But people on the Net are
all into it!>
{Oh, really? Sounds like you know a lot about Ikebukuro, Kanra.}
<Not that much really!>
<Oh, how about this? Have you ever heard of the Black Rider?>
{Black Rider?}
[Ahh.]
<The one people are talking about in Shinjuku and Ikebukuro. It was even in
the news yesterday.>
Location in Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo (weekday, late night)

“Muh…muh…monsterrrrr!”
The man screamed in rage, lifted his metal pipe—and ran for his life.
The man dashed through the late-night parking garage. In his right hand, the
pipe was not cold, but skin temperature. Even that sensation became indistinct
and uncertain as sweat flooded his palm.
There were no people around, only cars waiting patiently for their owners.
All sound had vanished from around him, leaving only the pounding of his
footsteps, his ragged breath, and the steadily rising drumbeat of his heart.
As he tore past the ugly concrete pillars, the thug practically shouted under his
breath, “Sh-sh-sh-shit! Shit! Shit! S-s-s-s-screw this, man!”
The light in his eyes took on a glint of anger, but the only breath that escaped
his mouth was the panting of sheer terror.
He’d gotten that neck tattoo to inspire fear in others. Now that tattoo was
distorted with the tension of his own fear. Soon the purplish pattern, devoid of
any kind of belief or meaning, was covered by a pitch-black boot.
<It’s been around as an urban legend for years, but now that all the cell
phones have cameras, people have started getting shots of the Rider, and the
story’s famous again.>
[Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that. Actually, it’s not even an urban legend, but a
regular old motorcycle gangster. Just not the kind that rides in an actual gang.]
<Anyone riding around on two wheels without their lights on has to be an
idiot.>
<Assuming they’re human.>
{I’m afraid I don’t see your meaning.}
<Oh well… I’m saying the Rider’s basically a monster!>
With an eerie crikkle sound, the thug’s body flew through the air at an odd
angle, half rotating.
Slammed hard sideways, he desperately scrabbled with what remained of his
wits. The air was freezing, but the numbness throughout his body shut out the
chill of the concrete. Trapped in a nightmare, he turned back to the approaching
source of his terror.
The shadow of a figure stood over him. Not metaphorically, either—it was a
shadow.
The figure was dressed in a black full-body riding suit without a single pattern
or logo on it, making it look as though the black material had been dipped into
even darker ink. Only the reflection of the parking garage lights signified that
there was even something physical there at all.
From the neck upward was even stranger. An oddly designed helmet sat atop
the figure’s neck. In comparison to the uniform blackness of the body, the shape
and patterning of the helmet seemed somehow artistic. It didn’t clash with the
overall dark look, however.
The faceplate of the helmet was like the dark mirrored glass of a luxury car. It
showed nothing of what lay behind the glass, only the distorted reflection of the
lights overhead.
“…”
The shadow was completely silent. It exuded no signs of life whatsoever. The
man’s face twisted with fear and hatred.
“I-I-I didn’t do nothin’ to deserve gettin’ chased by a T-t-t-terminator!”
It might have passed as a one-liner, but there was no humor in his expression.
“Wh-wh-why don’t you say something? What’s your problem? What the hell
are you?!”
From his perspective, the figure was incomprehensible. They were supposed to
meet up in the underground parking garage like usual, do an easy job, then
leave. Deliver the product to the client and load up on a new product. That was
it. Nothing different from the usual. Where did they screw up? What had they
done to call such a monster down upon themselves?
The man and his “colleagues” were supposed to do their ordinary job tonight.
But that ordinary plan had crumbled into dust without warning.
They were standing at the entrance to the garage, waiting for one late
straggler, when the thing appeared out of nowhere. A single motorcycle passed
by the entrance without a sound, stopping a few dozen feet ahead.
The man and his companions noticed a number of anomalies with this scene.
First, the absolutely silent entrance. Perhaps there had been some slight
screeching of the tires on the ground, but the engine itself did not make a sound.
Maybe it had been turned off so the motorcycle could coast in silence, but they
would have heard the approach of the engine before that, and no one noticed a
thing prior to its appearance.
Second, the bike was completely pitch-black, including its rider. That included
the engine, driveshaft, and the wheels inside the tires. It had no headlight, and
even the place where a license plate would go was just a flat black surface. It was
only the reflections of the streetlights and moonlight that helped them recognize
it as a motorcycle at all.
But creepiest of all was the large object dangling from the rider’s obsidian
hand. It was nearly the size of the rider itself, and an opaque liquid dripped from
its narrowed end onto the asphalt.
“Koji…?”
One of the man’s coworkers recognized what the ragged object was. At the
same time, the riding suit astride the bike dropped it—no, him—onto the
ground.
It was another of their colleagues, the one who’d been late to show up. His
face was puffy and beaten, and blood poured from his nose and mouth.
“Are you serious?”
“What the hell?”
The scene was eerie, but none of them felt fear at this point. Neither did they
feel any anger about the beating of their companion, Koji. Nothing more than
work circumstances united the men, and none of them felt a particular kinship
for the others.
“What, huh? Whatchu want?”
A man in a parka, the stupidest of the group, took a step toward the
motorcycle. One of them, five of us. The superiority of numbers inflated his
attitude a level or two. But the closer he got to the bike, the more his advantage
evaporated from five on one to one-on-one. Only the black shadow atop the bike
noticed this.
“…”
Jrshk.
A nasty sound. A very, very nasty sound. It transcended simple displeasure and
signaled danger to the animal instincts at a fundamental level.
The man in the parka slumped to his knees, then landed on the asphalt face-
first.
“Wha…?”
Now the men were unnerved, and their tension spread outward, as it usually
did when they were in the middle of their work. All that they were able to
ascertain was the presence of the bike before them—there were no other figures
nearby. And the shadow atop the vehicle was now stepping down off the bike, its
thick black boot hitting the ground.
They saw it being lowered. But the fact that it was lowered meant the foot had
been raised in the air before that action. And those with better eyesight noticed
something else at the same time.
Tangled into the underside of the descending boot was a pair of glasses
belonging to the man in the parka.
This information instantly identified the situation to them.
The man in the parka had been dropped instantaneously with a single kick,
delivered while the figure still sat on the bike.
If they’d seen his face, they would see that his nose was twisted and broken.
The shadow on the motorcycle had kicked out at a range just long enough not to
knock the man backward, catching and breaking his nose in the indentations on
the sole of the boot.
But the men watching had no way of realizing this. Half of them wondered how
a man kicked in the face ended up falling forward, while the other half ignored it
and pulled out police batons or stun guns from their belts.
“Wait…how did that work? Huh? I mean…how…?”
Two colleagues raced past the confused man, roaring with anger as they
charged the rider.
“Uh, hey—” he tried to call out as the shadow silently stepped off the bike. It
strode over without a change in expression or sound, aside from the crunching
of the glasses beneath the boot. The movement was smooth and elegant, as
though a shadow had actually been fleshed out into human form.
What happened next was etched into the man’s memory in slow motion—
either because the events were simply too bizarre not to leave an impression or
because the danger of the situation had sped up his concentration so that
everything seemed slower.
One of his colleagues pressed his Taser against the shadow.
Wait, does a leather jacket conduct electricity or not? he wondered. The
entire shadow twitched and convulsed. Apparently it did. The ordeal was over.
His colleague pressed the stun gun in farther, but in the next moment, his
relief evaporated.
Even as the shadow convulsed with electricity, it reached out to the man with
the police club and grabbed his arm.
“Wabya—!”
The man with the club, standing on the opposite side of the crackling shadow,
grunted and shook violently, then fell to the ground in shock.
“Oh, you’re gonna get—”
The man with the Taser noticed the shadow’s hand reaching for him now, and
he hastily switched off the power. This did not improve his situation—the
shadow’s powerful wrist seized his neck.
He flailed his limbs desperately, but the shadow’s grip remained firm. His feet
kicked out at the shins and crotch of his assailant, but the helmet produced
nothing but silence and darkness.
“Kah…kuah…”
Strangled until his eyes rolled back into his head, the man with the Taser fell to
the ground, joining the one with the police baton.
Shit. Whatever the hell is happening, it ain’t good. I haven’t done a thing, and
now four of the six of us are down, including Koji. Fear began to paint the thug’s
mind, the indescribable thing overriding any thoughts of his own helplessness.
“You pullin’ some kinda MMA crap?”
The other man on the right was calm and cool.
“Gassan!” the thug called out, desperate for any source of strength he could
find. The man named Gassan, leader of the coworkers, stoically watched the
shadow. There was no terror in his eyes, but neither was there any confidence.
Gassan pulled a large knife out of his jacket and lazily approached the shadow.
Careful to watch for any movement, he tried lobbing an insult.
“I dunno where you learned what you’re doin’…but you’ll still die if I stab you.”
He spun the knife in his hand. It wasn’t as small as a fruit knife, but it also
wasn’t the kind of short sword you’d see in a comic book. The handle was just
long enough to fit in a palm, and the blade itself was about the same length,
sharp edge gleaming.
“And just because you know some martial arts don’t mean you can ice me with
your bare han— Aaah!”
The shadow abruptly interrupted his challenge. It leaned forward slightly,
picking up two objects lying on the ground—the police baton and stun gun his
colleagues had been using.
“…”
“…”
Stun gun in the right hand, club in the left. It sure was a nasty-looking double-
sword stance.
For an instant, the already eerie quiet surrounding the parking garage turned
to absolute silence. It was broken by the leader’s questioning grumble.
“Wait…you kidding? I thought you were gonna use your kung fu on me.”
The words were lighthearted and jocular, but the voice itself was thick with
tension and unease. They should have just ganged up on the thing all at once,
but it was too late to turn back now.
The thug in the rear couldn’t move a step. If this was some other gang or the
police, he’d have leaped in to help without hesitation. The four of them would
have all jumped the target at once.
But the thing before them was too eerie and otherworldly for that. Their
nerves weren’t ready to react in the usual way. It was just a human being
wearing a riding suit. But the atmosphere surrounding it was so creepy, so alien,
that he couldn’t help but feel that he’d been sucked into some alternate
universe.
Aware of the thug’s unease or not, the leader ground his teeth and rolled his
tongue.
“You’re fightin’ dirty! All I got is a knife! Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?!”
The shadow turned to the leader, responding to his pointless question with
silence.
In the next moment, the thug saw something take clear shape.
<So the one riding the black motorcycle isn’t a human at all.>
{What is it, then?}
[Just an idiot.]
<Dotachin says it’s a Reaper.>
{Dotachin?}
<As a matter of fact, I’ve seen the black motorcycle chasing someone around.>
{Who’s Dotachin?}
[Did you tell the police?]

{… Am I being ignored? Who’s Dotachin?!}

{… }
{?}
{Kanra? What happened?}
[I think he got disconnected.]
{What?! But he was in the middle of the story! What came out of the body?!}
{And who is Dotachin?!}
“…?”
The shadow began to move strangely as the thug and his boss watched.
It reached down to pick up the stun gun, then placed it on the seat of the bike.
I guess it must be too difficult to use two weapons at once, the thug decided.
In the next moment, the shadow gripped the special police club with both hands.
And twisted it.
“Wha—?!”
At this, the two men could not contain their shock, and they shared a look.
What kind of sleight of hand could possibly bend a police baton like that? If
anything, the shadow’s frame was slender, not the kind of body that suggested
feats of great strength.
In any case, the shadow had now given up the weapons it had just gained—but
rather than providing relief to the men, they were even more confused. The level
floor of reality that moored their minds was being removed.
Now that the thing was empty-handed again, the thug reached out for a metal
pipe leaning against a fence. The leader noticed the movement out of the corner
of his eye and brandished his knife again.
Cold sweat dotted their foreheads. Only that unpleasant sensation kept their
minds anchored to the reality before them.
“What the hell was that…a threat?” the leader growled, eyeing the bent club.
A drop of sweat trickled down into his mouth, and he swallowed it. The thug
barely noticed, gripping his pipe and panting heavily. His breathing grew steadily
worse, until he realized that his legs, back, and chin were all trembling. The
ostentatious club-bending performance had admirably served its menacing
purpose.
The shadow started to walk closer, as though to confirm the effect of its show.
“Hand to hand, eh? At least you’ve got guts,” the leader boldly declared.
Unlike the thug, he’d made up his mind to fight. Eyes flashing, he approached
the shadow, knife in hand.
It was three yards away. Two more steps, and he would be close enough to
stab.
Gassan’s a man who can use a knife when the time calls for it, the thug knew.
He followed his leader, ready with his metal pipe.
The leader would take one more step, his hostility shifting to bloodlust, then
with ultimate malevolence, he would stab the opponent. Only the knowledge
that his boss was the kind of man to step across that line gave the thug the
courage and security to follow behind him. There was no feeling of taboo about
murder at this point, and the shadow itself was so unreal that the recognition of
killing another human being didn’t even apply here.
Sensing impending victory within his companion’s aggression, the thug
clenched his metal pipe harder. But the next moment, their hope for triumph
was completely demolished.
The shadow seemed to reach around its back, and in the next moment, a part
of its black form swelled up.
It was like stygian smoke erupting from the shadow, writhing with a will of its
own. Black masses squirmed like black snakes out of the black shadow’s black
gloves.
The trail traced a vivid, eerie path through the air, like an inky brush dipped
into a bucket of water. Eventually, the movement consolidated, building a form
—a shape with meaning.
The two wide-eyed men finally saw, bathed in the light from the streetlamps
and parking garage, that their foe was not human. They couldn’t help but see.
In the instant when the black blob broke free from the shadow’s body,
something like charcoal soot escaped its form. It was as though the riding suit
was melting away into the air, making everything aside from the helmet
indistinct and hazy under the light.
Their brains were in a greater panic, now that they were fully isolated from the
reality they’d known their entire lives. But with escape impossible, their bodies
could only faithfully carry out the last orders they’d received. His expression
locked in a nightmare rictus, the knife-bearing leader pulled back his weapon,
pointing it at the shadow before him. After a moment of hesitation, he thrust
the knife forward at the shadow’s midriff, but…
The arm holding the knife shook with a dull shock before the blade reached the
shadow. He did not drop it, but the impact rocked his stance enough to put him
off-balance.
“?!”
The sharp, black form that hit the point of the knife began to take shape in the
darkness.
It was dark, so dark. Darker than the darkest black. It absorbed the light
around it, writhing and squirming like a living thing. Its nebulous, roiling form
was terrifyingly hideous and primal, out of place in the modern streets of Japan.
But as soon as the shadow in its riding suit grabbed the thing, it began to blend
into the scenery with an eerie awfulness.
The object in the shadow’s hands was a dark, sunken hole in the midst of the
night, an unmistakable symbol of death to anyone who saw it.
It was an enormous, double-sided scythe, nearly as long as the shadow was
tall.
—KANRA HAS ENTERED THE CHAT—
 [Night.]
{What about the rest of the story? And who’s Dotachin…?}
<I’ll tell you later. Heh, oh, but one last thing.>
The thug was truly trapped now.

There was no escape from the interior of the parking garage.
He didn’t know what happened to the leader. He was not a bold enough man
to stand around sussing out the details in a situation like that after what he’d
just witnessed. On the other hand, he didn’t see that giant scythe anymore. It
occurred to him that it might’ve been nothing more than an illusion, but the
answer was irrelevant to his circumstances at the moment, and he pushed the
thought from his mind.
A powerful kick caught him on the neck. It sounded like something snapped,
but there didn’t appear to be anything wrong with the bone. Instead, the pain of
a terrible stiff shoulder, concentrated into one acute spot, throbbed at the base
of his neck.
But at this point, that detail mattered very little to the thug.
“Um, um, hang on, please, ple…please…p-p-puh-please, just hang on a
second.” The polite, pathetic stammering of one who is already beaten.
He knew what was happening to him. His senses were still unnerved and
uneven, as though trapped in a dream, but the base, instinctual fear kept his
mind locked into place and aware.
What he didn’t understand was the reason. What was this shadow? What had
he done to deserve this experience?
The most likely answer had to do with the job. Danger was an occupational
fact of life, and enemies were a natural result. But those enemies were usually
the police or mobsters or perhaps the targets of the job: illegal immigrants and
runaway kids.
He knew the risks, and he conducted his job with the proper attention to
potential danger. But the shadow in the riding suit was completely outside the
realm of expectations, and he had no idea how to react. He’d quickly lost the
best and safest option—retreat—and was now trapped on all sides.
The only options he could think of were going down in flames or surrendering,
but neither was a real choice as long as he could not grasp the enemy’s
intentions. Desperate for any means of survival, the thug wheedled and begged
in his most pitiful whine. Perhaps using his voice was the only way to avoid being
overtaken by fear entirely.
“P-please…spare me, you got the wrong guy, I didn’t do nothin’, forgive me,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
He bowed and scraped, covered in goose bumps, as though faced by a yakuza
with his gun drawn. In contrast, the shadow simply stood silently as the thug
shattered the illusion of his menacing appearance. It seemed to be searching for
something—then abruptly turned its back on the thug and walked toward a van
in the middle of the garage.
It was the kind of vehicle that often drove past Ikebukuro Station in the dead
of night, rear windows tinted black, contents completely inscrutable to the
outside.
The shadow walked straight for the van with unmistakable purpose, apparently
seeing right through the black mirror.
Huh? Wha?! Oh, shit!
It was their “work” van. He still didn’t know what the shadow wanted, but this
made it clear the thing was after them. There were plenty of other vehicles in the
garage, but it was heading straight for their car.
Wait! No, not that! Anything but that!
The thug’s brain froze cold at the shadow’s unpredictable actions. He’d been
filled with a kind of primal fear at the presence of the shadow, but there was an
entirely different kind of fear welling up in him now.
Aaaah, aaah, aaah! Wait, wait, waitwaitwait! You can’t look in that van—
we’ll be done for! Shit, man, what do I do? What do I do? Shitshitshitshitshit—
what is that? What is that thing?!
Two opposing fears wrestled for space in his conscious mind—the terror of the
unreal sight and a much more grounded, realistic kind of fear.
If someone sees into that car, forget the police. I’ll get buried!
His legs trembled even harder at the thought of his murdered corpse being
disposed of in the forests at the foot of Mount Fuji.
There’s gotta be something. Something I can use to murder that Kamen Rider
freak…
The thug desperately searched for a way out of his situation now that he had
ironically conquered his momentary fear of the shadow. What caught his eye
was what he’d driven to the garage to report for work—his convertible.
Ten yards away from the van, the shadow stopped in silence.
From behind it came the faint sound of a car door opening and closing. As it
turned around to see, the garage echoed with the blast of an engine revving.
“…”
At the end of its turn, the shadow caught sight of a bright red convertible
speeding toward it. The car accelerated with surprising speed, and the shadow
had no time to dart behind a pillar for safety.
After a moment of hesitation, it decided to run in the opposite direction of the
approaching car. It was hoping to draw the car along and leap to the side at the
last moment, but the terrified thug was using every ounce of his concentration
and did not fall for it. The instant the shadow’s foot turned to push it sideways,
he yanked the wheel.
The sound of collision.
The shadow flew hideously through the air.
And crashed in a heap atop the concrete.
“Yeaaaaah! In your face! Ha-ha-haaa! In your ugly face, dammit!” the thug
crowed, savoring the sensation of the shock that shuddered through the vehicle.
He quickly braked and leaped out of the driver’s seat before the car had even
come to a stop, then raced for his victim, metal pipe in hand, when— “?!”
He noticed a black blob rolling on the ground, much closer than the prone
figure of the shadow.
There was no mistaking that distinct design—it was the full-faced helmet the
shadow had been wearing just moments ago. But what shocked him was not the
helmet…but the body of the shadow upon which it had been resting.
“The…the head…”
There was nothing atop the body where the shadow’s head should be.
Did it come off in the crash?! No way can’t be murder I didn’t self-defense
but no why hang on wait hang on
It was the latest shock in a long series. His brain was at a critical mass of
confusion.
And because of that, he failed to notice that the body, now headless, had not
shed a single drop of blood.
<The guy riding the black motorcycle—has no head.>
The thug hesitantly approached the headless body…

When without warning, the shadow leaped to its feet, still without a head.
<He can totally move around without it.>

<Well, good night!>
—KANRA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
“Aaaahhh!!”
This sudden horrifying sight did not inflict fear on the thug as much as simple
shock.
A trick? A suit? A robot?
A costume party? A hologram?
A dream? An illusion? A hallucination? A fake?
Various words floated through his mind, popping like bubbles before his brain
could grasp them.
The true shock was that it had been hit by a car yet was standing without any
sign of harm whatsoever—but there was not enough conscious wit left in the
thug’s mind to dedicate to this fact.
As it had before, the black mist began to seep out of the shadow’s back, taking
shape as that gigantic scythe.
His shock shifting once again into fear, the thug began to let out a scream of
terror and desperation. At the very moment his throat let the first bit of breath
through, it was split by a sudden, sharp shock.
Every shred of his senses went black.
<Private Mode> {Um, Setton. I wanted to check something with you.}

<Private Mode> [Sure thing.]
<Private Mode> [What is it? Something you don’t want others to see?]
<Private Mode> {Is it just me, or is Kanra a little… corny?}
<Private Mode> [I’d say more than just a little.]
<Private Mode> {You said it, not me (lol). But he was the one who invited me
to this chat room, so… }
<Private Mode> [Same with me. He does get carried away, but that’s part of
his charm.]
<Private Mode> {Plus, he seems to know many things we don’t.}
<Private Mode> [I don’t know how much of it is true, though. Oh, but I can say
one thing.]
<Private Mode> [About that Black Rider who prowls around the town.]
<Private Mode> [You’re probably better off not getting involved.]
<Private Mode> [Well, g’night.]
—SETTON HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
<Private Mode> {Huh?}
<Private Mode> {Whoa, Setton left. Well, good night.}
<Private Mode> {Whatever.}
—TAROU TANAKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
The headless rider quietly picked up the helmet and stuck it atop its dark neck.
A faint shadow bled out of the collar of the suit, then melded into the bottom of
the helmet, fusing it together.
Eventually, as though nothing had ever happened, the headless rider turned
and silently strode toward the van.
Back at the entrance to the parking garage, having completed its business, the
headless rider silently left the scene. Several men were lying in the street, but
there was no sign that anyone else had passed by. If they had, they’d pretended
not to see.
The pitch-black motorcycle waiting in the shadows sprang to life, welcoming its
master home. The engine, which had worked soundlessly as it rode the streets,
now roared without a key in the ignition.
The headless rider stroked the tank of the engine, like petting a beloved steed.
The engine purred and hushed, satisfied, and the rider swung into the seat.
And the black mass, without so much as a headlight, carried its headless
master away.
Beneath a starless sky.
Soundlessly melting into the darkness…
Chapter 2: Headless Rider, Objective
Center gate, Tobu Tojo Line, Ikebukuro Station, Toshima Ward, Tokyo
“I want to go home,” the boy mumbled.
The statement was far too simple to encapsulate the myriad conflicting
emotions he felt, but there was no other way to express his overall sentiment
that directly.
Stretching out before his eyes were people. People, people, people. And more
people. Basically people. His vision was overflowing with people as far as he
could see. It was just past six in the evening, the time when many people started
commuting home from work and school. It wasn’t quite at peak levels yet, but
the crowds were easily dense enough to be considered swarms.
He was so overwhelmed by the presence of people crammed into that vast
underground space that the boy momentarily lost sight of his purpose for being
there.
A salaryman bumped him with a shoulder. He started to apologize on instinct,
but the man was gone, barely even conscious of what had happened. The boy
bowed his head and mumbled an apology to no one and made his way over to
one of the pillars a distance away from the gate.
The boy, Mikado Ryuugamine, felt a curious fluttering deep in his gut and
decided that it came from anxiety. Despite his imposing name, there was weak-
willed worry plain as day on his face.
It was his first-ever trip to Ikebukuro on the invitation of an old friend. To be
more precise, it was his first trip to Tokyo at all—not just Ikebukuro—in his
sixteen years of life.
He’d never been outside of the town where he grew up, and he’d stayed home
for his class field trips in both elementary and middle school. He knew it was no
way to go through life—and then he got accepted at a private high school in the
Toshima Ward of Tokyo. It was a brand-new school built just a few years ago and
was only a bit above average in school rankings, but it boasted one of the nicest
campuses in the city. He had the option of going to school locally, of course, but
it was his dream to live in the big city and an invitation from a childhood friend
who moved away years ago that convinced him to make the leap.
This friend might have transferred away during elementary school, but Mikado
had the Internet already at that age, and they chatted online nearly every day
once in middle school. They hadn’t seen each other in person during that time,
but they weren’t distant in any real sense.
Mikado’s parents weren’t used to the Internet, and the invitation of someone
their son hadn’t seen since elementary school was not a satisfactory reason to
send him off to Tokyo. They didn’t mention this, but they probably would have
preferred to send him to a cheaper local public school. They argued, but Mikado
convinced them by saying he’d raise his living funds outside of tuition by working
jobs, and at last he was allowed to start a new chapter of his life in a new place.
“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake…”
He was feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of people that would never
bother to acknowledge his existence. He knew this was an illusion he himself was
creating, but it was hard not to wonder if he would ever get used to this
sensation.
After about the fifth sigh, he heard a familiar voice.
“Yo, Mikado!”
“?!”
He glanced up with a start to see a young man with his hair dyed brown. There
was still a youthful softness to his face, which clashed somewhat with his hair
and pierced ears.
Mikado was afraid he’d already been singled out for a shakedown or some kind
of scam, then belatedly realized the person had called him by name. He glanced
closer at the stranger and began to recognize the features of an old friend.
“Wait, um…Kida?”
“You have to ask? Okay, multiple choice: three answers. Am I, one, Masaomi
Kida, two, Masaomi Kida, or, three, Masaomi Kida?”
For the first time since reaching Ikebukuro, Mikado smiled.
“Wow, Kida! Is that really you?”
“Thanks, just ignore the joke I spent three years crafting… Anyway, good to see
you, man!”
“We were talking in chat just yesterday. Sorry, you look so different, I couldn’t
be sure it was you. I wasn’t expecting your hair to be dyed! Also, that joke
sucks.”
Though they talked nearly every day online, there was no way for him to know
how his friend’s face had changed over the years. His voice was lower now, so it
was little wonder he failed to recognize it at first.
Masaomi Kida smiled shyly and objected, “Well, it’s been four years. And it’s
not that I’ve changed too much; you haven’t changed enough. You look exactly
the same as you did in elementary school…and don’t slam my jokes.” He
smacked the top of Mikado’s considerably more-youthful head a few times.
“Ack, knock it off. As if you’ve ever been shy about telling bad jokes in chat…”
Mikado swatted away his hand but wasn’t really upset. First in school and later
in the chat room, Masaomi had always been the one pulling Mikado along, and
Mikado had never had a problem with that arrangement.
With their greeting out of the way, Masaomi started off through the crowd.
“Shall we take this outside, then? Go west, young man! Psych—we’re heading
for the Seibu exit, not the west exit. The trickster guide strikes again.”
“Oh, I see. So what’s the difference between the west exit and the Seibu exit?”
“…That joke fell flat.”
Just from his short stroll with Masaomi, Mikado’s fear of the crowd was
already easing. Simply walking with another person who knew the town, an old
familiar friend, made the sights of the big city vastly different in Mikado’s eyes.
“See, outside of Ikebukuro Station, the Tobu (East Tokyo) Department Store is
at the west exit, and the Seibu (West Tokyo) Department Store is at the east
exit… Ugh, is there anything sadder than having to explain a failed joke? What
does that make me?”
“Probably an idiot.”
“…You’ve got a really sharp tongue, man,” Masaomi grunted, grimacing as
though he’d just chewed on a caterpillar. He sighed in resignation and muttered,
“Whatever. Out of respect for myself, I will overlook that one. So, anything you
wanna see in particular?”
“Well, like I mentioned in chat, I’d like to see Sunshine…”
“Right now? I mean…I’m fine with that, but you’ll have a better time with a
girlfriend.”
Sunshine 60 was famous for once being the tallest building in Japan. Even after
that record was broken by Tokyo City Hall and Landmark Tower, it was a bustling
leisure destination, packed with students and families on the weekends thanks
to its aquarium and the Namja Town amusement park.
He knew it was a lame answer, but Mikado couldn’t think of any other place to
go. Well, there was one place, something he recognized from a famous television
show.
“Hey, what about Ikebukuro West Gate Park…?”
“Oh, I watched that show, too. Got the novels, the manga, everything.”
“I’m not talking about the show, I mean the actual West Gate Park.”
Masaomi looked stunned for a moment, then laughed in understanding.
“Oh, just call it Nishiguchi Koen in Japanese like normal.”
“Huh? But…I thought all the Ikebukuroites called it by the English name.”
“What’s an Ikebukuroite? So what’s up, you wanna go there?” Masaomi
asked, stopping in his tracks. Mikado shook his head.
“N-no, let’s not! It’s almost nighttime! The color gangs will kill us!”
“Easy, buddy, don’t act like it’s some life-and-death matter. It’s only six
o’clock, for crying out loud! I see you’re still a total coward.”
Masaomi smiled exasperatedly and escorted Mikado through the crowd. It
wasn’t as dense here as it was outside of the ticket barrier, but it was still
difficult for Mikado to maneuver without hitting anyone.
“There aren’t as many color gangs anymore. There used to be a lot more of
them you’d see around last year, but there was a big war with Saitama, and a
few dozen of ’em got locked up. After that, anytime you got a few people
wearing the same color together, the cops would rush ’em real quick. Plus, even
at night, there’s nothing crazy going on until at least after all the office workers
and salarymen head home. The only exception is the big groups, like the
bosozoku motorcycle gangs. Sometimes you see articles or news pieces on how
they got into a big battle with the cops. Not here, but over in Kabukicho.”
“Bosozoku!”
“But they’re not gonna be hanging around the station at this hour is what I’m
saying.”
Mikado heaved a sigh of relief. “So is Ikebukuro safe these days?”
“I really only know half of what goes on, so this is partly guesswork. There are
lots of color gangs and bikers around still, and there’s plenty of dangerous stuff
aside from them. Plus, even when it comes to ordinary people, there are some
you can never mess with. Then again, you’re not the type to go mad dogging
people and picking fights. Just watch out for the pimps and shady businessmen
and stay away from the thugs and bosozoku, and you’ll be fine.”
“I see.”
Mikado couldn’t help but wonder about the people “you can never mess
with,” but he didn’t question Masaomi any further.
They headed down a narrower tunnel and onto the escalator leading up to the
surface. Mikado glanced around and noticed enormous posters covering the
entire wall. They featured various things—jewelers, upcoming movies, even a
manga-style illustration of a girl.
When they reached the top of the escalator and exited onto the street, the air
was still packed tight with people, and only the backdrop had changed.
Amid the unchanging sea of humanity, people in Windbreakers handed out
tissue packets with business advertisements on the outside. Some handed them
only to women, while others were less discriminate in their targets. Some of
those who distributed only to men were very clearly singling out those worthy of
their benefaction—Mikado was solidly ignored.
The crowds themselves were made up of a variety of people, from salarymen
to the young and underemployed, teenage girls, even foreigners. But the crowd
was not perfectly mixed; each type seemed to cluster with others of its ilk,
forming distinct territories. Occasionally a person from one territory would
venture forth and call out to a person of a different type. Even these sights were
pushed along in the sheer wave of moving humanity.
This was a familiar phenomenon to Masaomi, but everything about it was
exciting and new to Mikado. There had never been a sea of humanity like this
back home, even at the largest shopping mall. He was witnessing a world he’d
only ever seen on the Internet or in comic books.
When he related this to Masaomi, his friend laughed and said, “Next time I
should take you to Shinjuku or Shibuya. Harajuku would be pretty good, too, if
you want a real culture shock. There’s also Akiba…but if you just want to see
crowds, how about we hit up a racing track?”
“I’ll pass,” Mikado said politely. They’d exited onto one of the main roads. Cars
raced busily down the multilane street, and there was a much larger road
blocking the sky above them.
“That up there is the Metropolitan Expressway. Oh yeah, and the street we
just took here is called Sixtieth Floor Street. There’s also a Sunshine Street, but
be careful not to get confused, because the Cinema Sunshine is actually on
Sixtieth Floor Street. Dang, I should have shown you around that area since we
just passed it.”
“It’s okay, we can do that another time,” Mikado said. He was so distracted by
the incredible crowds that he was failing to take in the sights of the city. At this
rate, he’d never be able to get to Sunshine on his own from the station.
While they waited for the light to change, Masaomi looked back at the way
they’d come and muttered, “I didn’t see Simon or Shizuo today. I bet Yumasaki
and Karisawa are at the arcade, though.”
“Who?” Mikado asked automatically, though he knew Masaomi was just
talking to himself.
“Uhh, Yumasaki and Karisawa are just people I know. Simon and Shizuo are
two of those guys I was telling you about earlier—the ones you don’t mess with.
But as long as you lead a normal life, you don’t need to speak to Shizuo
Heiwajima, and if you see him, your best bet is to run away.”
Based on this statement, Mikado decided that Masaomi did not think highly of
this Shizuo. Masaomi didn’t offer anything else on the subject, so Mikado did
not prod him further; instead, he asked about something else that was bothering
him.
“These people you’re not supposed to make enemies with—it sounds like
something out of a comic book. Who else is there?”
It was an innocent question from a young man who looked like a boy, but
Masaomi thought hard, looking up at the sky for answers. Finally, he declared his
answer.
“First of all, there’s me!”
“…Square root of three points.”
“Square root?! What do you mean, square root?! If you’re gonna blast me, at
least go for an easy-to-understand joke like minus-twenty points! Are you saying
my jokes are too hard to understand for kids who don’t know how square roots
work?! The instant I warn you, you make an enemy out of me! Since when were
you such a dunce? Is it our education system? Has the system changed you,
man?!”
“An unexpected downfall,” Mikado replied without batting an eye to cut off
Masaomi’s spiel. He must have realized how obnoxious his monologue was
getting as he continued in a serious tone this time.
“Hmm…there are a few. Obviously, you want to stay away from the yakuza and
gangsters…but just in terms of people you might realistically come into contact
with, there’s the two I just mentioned and a guy named Izaya Orihara. He’s bad
news—you don’t ever want to mess with him. He’s from Shinjuku, though, so
you’ll probably never see him.”
“Izaya Orihara…what a weird name.”
“Coming from you?” Masaomi laughed.
He couldn’t deny that one. Mikado Ryuugamine was an extremely
overwrought name meaning “Emperor of the Peak of Dragons.” In the past the
family name had been a prestigious one, but his parents were plain old office
workers. He didn’t know much about the family finances, but if they were sitting
on some sizable inheritance, they probably wouldn’t have raised a fuss about his
private school plans.
His given name was the part meaning “emperor” and was supposed to speak
of a grand future, but the other kids in elementary school just made fun of him.
People got used to it, though, and it never developed into full-blown bullying.
But unlike his school back home, where each grade only had one class with the
same people in it, he was about to join a group of complete strangers in a totally
new location. Would they see him as a man worthy of his name?
Probably not, Mikado thought.
Masaomi sensed his apprehension and tried to cheer him up.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s a little fancy, but it’s not a bad name. As long as
you act like you own the place, no one can complain that your name doesn’t suit
you.”
“…Yeah. Thanks,” Mikado replied. The light turned green.
“Oh, speaking of guys you shouldn’t mess with…you should steer clear of the
Dollars.”
“…Dollars.”
“Yep. Not the Wanderers, the Dollars.”
“Umm…whatever you say. So what kind of gang are they?” Mikado pressed,
now driving the conversation rather than listening passively.
“I don’t really know much about ’em. All I know is there’s a lot of them, they’ve
all got a screw loose, and they’re supposed to be a gang. I don’t know what color
they rep, though. Then again, like I said, they’re cracking down on the color
gangs, so they might have broken up already for all I know.”
“Oh, I see…”
An awkward silence settled between them. They walked across the
intersection toward a sharply angled building across the street. There was a
stylish automobile displayed inside the ground floor, which melded pleasingly
with the striking design of the building itself.
Mikado was gazing at the building and its car, lost in thought, when he heard a
strange voice.
The moment he heard it, Mikado thought it was like an animal roaring. But
upon more careful consideration, it came from the middle of the street, far
down the road. The next time it sounded, Mikado identified it as an engine. It
still sounded like the growl of an animal, but given that it was coming from the
street, it had to be the exhaust pipe of a car or motorcycle.
Mikado stopped in his tracks to watch the disturbance, but Masaomi simply
watched calmly.
“You’re lucky, Mikado.”
“Huh?”
“You get an up-close-and-personal look at an urban legend on your very first
day in the big city.” Masaomi’s face was expressionless, but there was a glint of
hope and excitement in his eyes.
Speaking of which…
Mikado recalled other times that Masaomi’s eyes had reflected that light.
When he spotted a plane flying over the school in the middle of class. When he
found a tanuki wandering onto the school grounds. Little occasions when the
out of ordinary intruded upon the typical day.
He was unsure of how to get Masaomi’s attention, when—
The being appeared before them.
A shadow in the shape of a person riding a pitch-black bike without a
headlight.
It wove through the traffic—and passed by the boys without a sound.
“?!”
After several seconds, the engine roared again. But the next moment, it was
once again silent, the only sound the faint screeching of tires on asphalt. It was
so quiet that the engine had to be off entirely, but the motorcycle kept running
without losing speed—it almost seemed to be accelerating, in fact.
It was a completely unreal thing, as though the area where its sound should
have occurred had been cleanly removed from normal reality. Half the people
walking along the street stopped, watching the shadow with suspicion.
That’s when Mikado noticed that his entire body was trembling slightly.
It was not fear, but some other kind of emotion that had gripped his body.
I saw something incredible.
The moment they passed each other, Mikado gazed into the depths of the
helmet. He couldn’t actually see what was behind the visor, but he also didn’t
feel anything like a gaze emanating from the dead, still helmet.
Almost as though there was nothing inside of it to begin with.
Chat room (late night)

—TAROU TANAKA HAS ENTERED THE CHAT—
{Good evening.}
[Evening.]
{Aha, Setton. I saw it today!}
{That Black Rider thing!}
[? Are you in Ikebukuro, Tarou Tanaka?]
{Yes. As a matter of fact, I just moved to Ikebukuro today. I’m logging in from a
friend’s house right now, but tomorrow I’ll be living in an apartment next to the
station. I’ve already signed up with an Internet provider, so I should be
connected to the Net in no time.}
[Well, congrats. Living on your own?]
{Yes.}
[Ah, I see. So did you see the Black Rider around seven in the evening?]
{Oh, you know already? I saw it right outside Sunshine.}
[Yep. I was there.]
{?!}
{Really? Wow, we might have passed right by each other and never realized it!}
[Possibly.]
{Wow! Crazy! I should have mentioned this earlier, then!}
[At any rate, welcome to Ikebukuro. If there’s anything you want to know,
don’t hesitate to ask.]
{Thank you very much!}
{Actually, in that case… }
[Yes?]
{Do you know someone named Izaya Orihara?}
{I was talking to my friend, and he said I should stay away from that guy.}
{Is he scary? Oh, what am I saying, you probably don’t know him. Sorry.}
[…]
[Tarou Tanaka, is your friend one of…those people?]
{No, he’s a normal guy.}
[Oh, I see. Sorry. You really shouldn’t mess with Izaya Orihara. He’s seriously
bad news.]
<Oh! Good evening, Tanaka!> {?! Kanra, have you been here all along?}
 {Oh, no need to
go to all that trouble. I would like to hang out in person, though.}
<Yeah, I know.>
<Oh, speaking of meeting in person, you know those suicide groups?> [Ahh.]
[Those were big last year. They’d meet on the Net and commit suicide
together.]
{Eugh, creepy.}
{But I haven’t seen anything about it in the news lately.}
[Either they’re not going through with it anymore, or it’s such old hat that the
media doesn’t even bother to report on it.]
<Or else it’s happening all the time, and nobody’s noticed yet!> {Huh?}
<Like they just haven’t found the bodies.> {Gahh!}
[That’s ghoulish.]
<But there really have been a lot of disappearances lately.> {? Is that in the
news?}
<I hear a lot about illegal immigrants and runaway children from the country
vanishing, mostly from the Ikebukuro to Shibuya area. Some people say the
Dollars are catching them and gobbling them up. Hee-hee!> {So these Dollars
really are famous around town.}
<The Dollars are crazy! Apparently they just had a run-in with the Chinese
mafia, and when a yakuza got stabbed recently, it was supposedly the work of
one of the Dollars’ low-level guys!> [Where are you getting this information,
Kanra?]
 {Argh, I
wanna know more, but I have to get up early tomorrow, so that’s all for now.}
<Ah, good night, then!> [Good night, Tarou Tanaka.]
[I have some business of my own, so I’m out as well.]
{Sorry to leave… Oh yeah, and tell me about this Dotachin person next time.}
{So long!}
<Well, I guess that’s it for today. No one else is going to show up.> <Good
night. >
Chapter 3: Headless Rider, Subjective
National Route 254 (Kawagoe Highway)

This really sucks.
The owner of the black bike—the headless rider—was in a foul mood as it rode
the highway in the middle of the night.
It was supposed to be a simple job. And what was my reward for showing a bit
of mercy? I got hit by a car. Should have shut him up from the start.
The headless rider slowed its speed, reflecting on the job it had been doing.
Without signal lights, it had to hand signal a left turn down a narrow side alley.
It stopped before the garage of an apartment building, got off the motorcycle,
and stroked its handlebars.
The engine gave a faint purr, and the vehicle drove itself into the garage.
Satisfied, the headless rider walked up to the entrance of the building.
“Hey, welcome home.”
A young man in a lab coat greeted the rider inside an apartment on the top
floor. He was a pleasant fellow in his midtwenties who matched the crisp coat,
but there were no medical instruments to be seen inside the apartment. He
looked quite out of place surrounded by the luxury furniture and electronics
filling the room.
The shadow in the riding suit, looking equally out of place, stomped into the
back room with apparent irritation.
“Uh-oh, someone’s angry. You need a higher calcium intake,” the man in the
lab coat said, pulling the chair out from a computer desk in a corner of the room.
He sat down and turned to the screen, and the sound of clicking keys came
rattling from the back room.
Text appeared on the monitor in front of the man in the coat. The two
computers were connected in a LAN configuration, arranged so that they could
talk to one another.
“Am I supposed to eat eggshells?”
“Sure, why not? Then again, I don’t know much about nutrition, so I don’t
know how much calcium is in eggshells or how efficient a means of intake that is.
There’s also the question of how necessary calcium really is when I don’t know
even know where your brain is. How do you eat, anyway?”
The man in the coat did not type at his keyboard, but spoke out loud to the
headless rider in the back. The rider rattled the keyboard with another message,
not bothered by this one-sided conversation.
“Shut up.”
This was apparently how the man in the lab coat and the headless rider
communicated, a means of conversation that worked for both.
“All right, I’ll shut up. On another topic, staring at a computer monitor all day
wears out a human being’s eyes. What about you?”
“How should I know?”
“Say, Celty. If you don’t have any eyeballs, how do you perceive the world
around you? I keep asking, but you never tell me.”
“I can’t explain something I don’t understand myself.”
The shadow—named Celty—had no head. Therefore, it had no organs to sense
sight or sound. But in Celty’s world, there was sight and sound and even smell.
Celty could read the letters on the screen and make out even subtle color
differences in crisp detail. The one difference was that Celty could see a slightly
wider range of things at a glance than a human could. But only slightly—if Celty
could see all around at once, that nasty collision with the car would not have
happened.
Celty’s vision generally came from where the head would be, but it was also
adjustable to come from any other part of the body. The only thing that wasn’t
possible was a disengaged bird’s-eye view.
Even Celty did not know exactly how this body worked. And as Celty did not
know how a human being saw the world, there was no good way to explain the
difference between them.
Noticing Celty’s silence on the monitor, Shinra offered his own explanation.
“Here’s my hypothesis: It’s that strange, sci-fi-worthy, shadowlike substance
that issues endlessly from your body. I’ve never observed this for myself, but I
think you emit that into the environment around you, then reabsorb it when it
reflects back toward your body, carrying information with it. Your shadow brings
back light, sound, and smell. Like a radar. Naturally, things that are farther away
will return less certain information. Perhaps that shadow you wear about you
acts as a sensory organ, acquiring light, vibrations, even scent particles.”
“I have no interest in your nonsense. I can see and hear, and that’s all I need,”
came the clipped, typed response.
The man in the lab coat shrugged theatrically.
“You’ve always been like this, Celty. I just want to know what the difference is
between the world I feel and the world you feel… It’s not an issue of your
eyesight. It’s an issue of your values. Not your human values…”
He paused for a breath, then continued callously, “…But the values of a fairy
manifested into physical form in this city—a dullahan.”
Celty Sturluson was not a human being.
Celty was a type of fairy known as a dullahan that appeared to those close to
death, signaling their impending demise. The dullahan carries its own severed
head under its arm and rides on a two-wheeled carriage called a Coiste Bodhar,
pulled by a headless horse. When it arrives at the home of the soon to be dead,
anyone careless enough to open the door gets a basin of blood thrown upon
them. Like the banshee, tales of this eerie messenger echoed throughout Europe
for centuries.
This would not normally be known in Japan, but recognition of the dullahan
exploded thanks to the influence of fantasy novels and video games. As
harbingers of misfortune, dullahans were well suited to playing villains, and their
image as ghastly knights of the dead made them popular among fans of games
and adventure stories.
But Celty had come to Japan from Ireland, the ancestral home of the
dullahans, unrelated to any of that development.
The details of Celty’s birth, why a basin of blood was necessary, and why
humans needed to be told of their deaths were all things lost to the murky,
unremembered past. And in order to get them back…Celty was now on this
island nation halfway around the world.
About twenty years ago, Celty awakened in the mountains and realized that
many memories were missing.
These included details such as the reason for Celty’s actions and any memory
of the past beyond a certain point—all that Celty could remember was being a
dullahan, the name Celty Sturluson, and how to use those powers. When the
nearby headless horse came over for a pat on the back, Celty finally noticed that
the horse wasn’t the only one without a head.
The first shock was, I’m not actually thinking with my head?! Next, Celty was
surprised to realize that the head, wherever it was, was giving off some kind of
vaguely detectable aura.
After further reflection, a conclusion formed. Celty’s consciousness was shared
between body and head, and it was inside the head that those missing memories
existed. Thus, Celty came to an immediate decision. The head that contained all
the secrets, the reasons for existence, must be regained. For now, that was
Celty’s reason for existing. Perhaps the head had strayed from the body of its
own will—but that would not be known until Celty found it, either way.
The only option was to sense the faint traces of that aura in search of the head
—which led Celty to a boat that crossed the seas. It soon became clear that the
boat was headed for Japan, which was exactly the right destination. Celty had
successfully stowed away—the problem was the headless horse and two-
wheeled carriage.
These two things—possessed dead horse and carriage—were like familiars to a
dullahan and could be erased if so desired. But where would they go after that?
The knowledge was probably contained in Celty’s missing head. Given that
drawback, it was difficult to go through with the act, even if Celty did know how
to do it. The dullahan gave it some thought and proceeded to a scrapyard near
the port.
That’s where Celty found the perfect replacement, something that looked like
the fusion of carriage and horse: a black vehicle with no headlight and two
wheels.
Twenty years had passed since Celty arrived in Japan. No clues yet.
The aura that Celty sensed was something like a faint smell—it would point in a
very general direction, but once within a reasonable range of the target, it was
no longer any help at all.
I know it’s somewhere here in Tokyo, Celty insisted and continued the search
for the missing head.
Whether it took years or decades, Celty had no misgivings. The oldest surviving
memories went back centuries. The ones still hidden in the head had to be even
older.
Based on this knowledge, time was apparently relatively meaningless to a
dullahan. The only factor that caused Celty to hasten was the uncertainty of
what could be happening to the head.
Tonight, Celty would once again race through the dark streets of Tokyo.
While performing a side job as a courier.
“I presume you performed your duties with all due diligence?” asked Shinra
Kishitani, the man in the lab coat, without a trace of irony at his alliteration. He
was one of the few human beings who knew what Celty was and provided a
variety of jobs to complete, offering a place to stay in return.
He was the son of a doctor who’d been on the ship Celty had snuck onto and
had found the dullahan while they were at sea. His father had a simple request,
delivered in writing.
“Let me dissect you just once, and you will have a place to live.”
Shinra’s father was an abnormal man. Faced with this unexplained, intelligent
being, he did not cower in fear, but proposed a deal. Furthermore, he did not
announce his findings to the scientific community, but kept them himself as a
sheer sign of his own curiosity. Apparently Celty’s native healing power was
phenomenal—the incisions practically knitted themselves closed over the course
of the dissection.
Celty did not have much memory of the operation.
The shock of the dissection was probably to blame for most of that. They’d
used an anesthetic, but the human concoction did not work on Celty. The pain of
the incision was vivid and sharp, but Celty’s limbs had been tied down with heavy
chains to prevent struggle. Apparently the dullahan had passed out in the middle
of the dissection, as Celty did not remember anything after that.
“You do seem to have some sense of pain but much duller than a human’s. A
normal person would have been driven mad by that,” Shinra’s father announced
after the operation. Without any memory of the incident, Celty didn’t have the
willpower to be angered by this anymore.
Based on the very quick recovery after being hit by the car tonight, it was
certain that Celty’s body was very tough indeed. The dullahan looked over at
Shinra.
Shinra’s father had seen to it that his son was present during the dissection.
He put a glinting scalpel into the five-year-old’s hand—and ordered him to split
open the flesh of what looked very much like a human being.
Upon learning this, Celty suspected that being raised by such a father would do
Shinra’s personal development no favors—and he had turned out just as twisted
as his predecessor.
At the age of twenty-four, Shinra styled himself as a traveling underground
doctor, taking on patients that doctors aboveboard found inconvenient for
various reasons—typically victims of gunshot wounds, as guns were illegal in
Japan, or those who needed facial surgery they didn’t want public. He had
extraordinary skill and standing for a doctor his age (in fact, most doctors
couldn’t do what he did), but that was again all according to Shinra himself, and
Celty couldn’t tell if any of it was true. Normally, properly licensed doctors had to
serve as assistants in several hundred operations before they were allowed to be
surgeons, and as far as Celty could tell, Shinra had achieved easily that much
experience illegally assisting his father’s experiments. Like father, like son; by the
time he graduated high school, Shinra had no qualms about what he did.
And now this man was asking Celty about the night’s work progress with a
straight face.
“It was absolutely infuriating,” Celty commented to Shinra with a hint of
sarcasm, then hunched over to start typing out the night’s events in earnest.
Tonight’s job had been a special one, and Shinra brought it up quite suddenly
after night had already fallen.
There was a group of kids that hung out together in Ikebukuro, and one of
them had been abducted. Normally this was the job of the police to handle, but
time was of the essence, so the text came directly to them.
Abduction was the job of the lowest of the lowest of the low on the totem pole
of any evil enterprise. They’d kidnap illegal immigrants or runaway kids, then
hand them over to the next highest group in the hierarchy. The exact purpose of
this scheme was unclear, but it was probably a business that required “human
goods.” Perhaps their superiors’ superiors’ superiors needed them for human
experimentation, or perhaps the superiors’ superiors wanted them for some kind
of nefarious business scheme. Either that or the direct superiors simply hoped to
sell them off somewhere else for a quick buck.
For whatever reason, their friend, who was staying in the country illegally, had
been taken. The idea of this illegal immigrant friend didn’t appeal very much, but
without a face or identity, Celty had no other way to work for a living than doing
these jobs.
In the end, the abductors were solidly beaten and the van was spotted. After
ensuring the victims were safe, Celty sent a text to Shinra. Following that, Shinra
presumably contacted the group of friends directly. Whatever happened to the
unconscious kidnappers after that was a mystery.
Why not just tell the group where the people were and let them do their own
dirty work? But Shinra wanted it to be done stealthily, so the job fell to Celty.
Rather than let it turn into a big, messy fight between two groups of people,
have one experienced professional slip in and do the job clinically and quietly.
And because of that, Celty had been run over by a car. The dullahan didn’t end
up killing anyone, but that shadow scythe had caused much pain.
Celty was wreathed in shadow at all times. Sometimes it took the form of
armor, but through acts of willpower, it could be turned into that familiar riding
suit or even simple weapons.
The idea of a shadow having mass was silly, but the shadow that wrapped
Celty’s body was quite light and could be used to perform all kinds of stunts
worthy of an action movie. But because the shadow had nearly no weight of its
own, Celty’s strength was entirely responsible for the force of the blows. Still,
the blade itself was perfectly sharp and tough—as far as Celty could remember,
it had never chipped. It was like the sharpness and weight of an indestructible
razor blade, with the size of a katana.
The shadow was no use as a bludgeon, but it held incredible force when
shaped into a blade. But Celty chose not to cut the thugs with the scythe,
knocking them out with a handle jab to the throat instead. Centuries ago, Celty
could vaguely remember slicing up people back home who had shrieked about
monsters when faced with the dullahan. But that was not an option in modern
Japan.
In the past twenty years, Celty had learned Japanese and a kind of self-control
to avoid killing foes. The best way to learn would have been an aikido, self-
defense, or karate dojo, but none of those in the area would take a pupil who
wore a helmet indoors.
As it happened, the scythe was not a convenient tool for a weapon. The
menace it held in the hands of the Grim Reaper made it seem deadly, but in
reality, swords and spears were much easier to use. But Celty continued to wield
the shadow in the form of a giant scythe because, as Shinra put it, “You get your
name out better that way.”
Even worse, Celty was gradually growing to like the shape of the weapon. But
no amount of visual menace helped when you got run over by a car. The pain
had long faded, but the irritation at the carelessness that caused it bubbled and
boiled on the inside.
There was no knowing how much damage would actually be fatal. Celty had
never tested it and never planned to. With that in mind, the dullahan reported
the evening’s events to Shinra.
He merely grinned at the gruesome details of vehicular carnage.
“Well, you’ve earned a break for your good work. Speaking of which, one more
thing.”
“Which is?”
“The reason we figured out where our target was being held so quickly was
because I asked Orihara.”
Izaya Orihara. He was an information agent based out of Shinjuku, a man who
sold various pieces of valuable information for great sums of cash. That
apparently was not his main job, and no one knew what he got up to in private.
They’d taken on a number of jobs for him, and many of them left a bad
aftertaste. Frankly, Celty did not think it a good idea to be involved with Izaya.
“Why him?”
“Well, we’d just gotten that call, so in exchange for the payment, I asked if he
knew anything about the number of the car, and he came back with the location
of that parking garage immediately.”
Celty ground nonexistent teeth at that. It was strange that even without a
head, the sensation of gritted teeth should still be so vivid. The dullahan was
wondering where that feeling was actually coming from when Shinra leaned over
and clapped his hands on Celty’s shoulders. He’d walked into the back room
during that idle contemplation.
“So, have you made up your mind yet?”
“About what?”
Shinra looked down at the screen to read the text, then smiled painfully.
“You know,” he continued before the next message was even typed into the
computer, “you are an elusive and fantastical being, Celty. But at this rate, you
may not reach your goal for eons.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’ll make it clear and simple. Give up.”
The sound of typing stopped, and the room was enveloped in an eerie silence.
“Forget about looking for your head. Let’s go somewhere together. Anywhere,
really. If you want to go back home, I’ll do anything I can to get you there. And
I’ll come with you—”
When Shinra stopped talking in fanciful vocabulary terms, it was a sign that he
was sincerely engaging in the conversation.
“How many times must I tell you? I have no intention of giving up.”
“Everywhere around the world, there are myths and folktales of the headless
wandering in search of their heads. There must have been more like you in the
past. They even made a movie about the story of Sleepy Hollow, which means
there must have been someone like you back in the 1800s. Maybe that was you,
and you’ve simply forgotten your memory of it,” Shinra blabbered on.
Celty patiently typed out a response.
“Why would I want to kidnap a boring schoolteacher?”
“Wow, going straight back to the original novel…”
Celty continued touch-typing with no small amount of irritation, smacking his
hand away.
“I don’t dislike you, but living with you like this is enough for now.”
Shinra stared down at the lonely text on the screen and murmured.
“In that case, you could at least stand to be a bit more feminine.”
A brief pause. The difference in warmth between them almost seemed to crack
the air.
“Enough of this. I’m taking a shower.”
Celty showered alone in the steamy bathroom. Her body was as perfect as any
model’s: shapely breasts and tight stomach. But because of that, it only made
the lack of a head creepier.
She concentrated on the mirror as her soapy fingers caressed the silky skin.
The sight of a naked, headless woman sudsing up was surreal, to say the least,
but it did not bother her at all anymore.
Back in Ireland, she had never showered, but after coming to Japan, she
steadily became accustomed to the practice. It had nothing to do with her body,
and she never had to deal with sweat and grime, but in the sense of removing
any buildup of dust, she couldn’t imagine not having regular showers anymore.
Maybe this is proof that I’ve developed the same values as humans.
Celty constantly wondered if her dullahan values were indeed coming to
resemble a human being’s. She’d been constantly baffled after her initial arrival
to Japan, but now she felt as though the Japanese mind-set had rubbed off on
her.
Recently, she was viewing Shinra acutely as a member of the opposite sex
more and more often. At first she was confused—but in time, she recognized
that it must be the sensation of love. But Celty was not a girl trapped in the
clutches of puberty, and this realization did not affect her daily life.
But she did notice the little things. It made her happy when they were
watching TV and Shinra laughed at the same moments she did.
I have the same values as a human being. I have the same heart. And my
heart can find common ground with a human’s—I think.
At least, that was what she wanted to believe.
Chapter 4: A Regular Day in Town, Noon
Raira Academy was a coed private high school in south Ikebukuro.

Despite its modest size, the campus maximized the utility of its limited space,
and therefore, the students did not see it as particularly cramped. Its proximity
to Ikebukuro Station made it increasingly popular with people from the suburbs
of Tokyo, who could commute to school while still living at home. The school’s
ranking and prestige were on a gentle upward climb, so the timing of Mikado’s
arrival was actually quite fortunate.
The elevated location gave the campus an excellent view, but any feeling of
superiority instantly evaporated upon the sight of the sixty-floor building
looming overhead. On the other side of the school was the expanse of Zoshigaya
Cemetery, a lonely place for being in the middle of a giant city.
The entrance ceremony was anticlimactically short, and Mikado and Masaomi
split off to their own classes for a brief homeroom session.
“My name is Mikado Ryuugamine. It’s nice to meet you.”
Mikado was worried about being teased about his name, but there was no
reaction to his introduction. Apparently the people of his generation were even
less interested in others’ names than Mikado expected. Despite this, he listened
intently to his classmates’ introductions, eager to learn as much as he could
about them.
Some cracked easy jokes as they introduced themselves, and some said their
names and sat down immediately. Some were already fast asleep, but most
interesting of all to Mikado was a girl named Anri Sonohara. She was small for a
high schooler, and her pale, pretty face was framed with glasses, but there was a
distant air of foreboding about her—not intimidating to others, but one that
suggested she did not usually reach out voluntarily.
“My name is Anri Sonohara.”
Her voice seemed to vanish as soon as it hit the air, but Mikado caught its clear
inflection perfectly fine. Anri stood out to Mikado among the class because she
seemed to be the most removed from reality. All the other people were just plain
high schoolers, without any obvious model students or bad boys.
The only other thing out of place was that one person in Mikado’s class was
absent. Her name was Mika Harima, but he soon reasoned away her absence by
assuming it was the flu.
However, the instant her absence was announced, Anri Sonohara quickly
looked over to the empty seat with concern plain on her face.
After that, homeroom ended uneventfully, and he met up with Masaomi, who
was in the class next door.
Masaomi still had his daring earrings in, but he didn’t particularly stick out
from the crowd. In fact, Mikado seemed to be more noticeable, perhaps because
the school allowed regular clothes. They were both wearing the school blazer as
instructed for the ceremony, but otherwise they didn’t even appear to be
students at the same school.
“Well, we didn’t get to hang out yesterday because of your moving in and
getting Internet access and all. I’ll show you somewhere today if you buy me a
meal,” Masaomi offered. Mikado had no reason to refuse. Clubs were forbidden
from canvassing for new members until later, so they were able to leave campus
without being harassed. The Sunshine 60 building loomed in the corner of their
eyes as they headed for the shopping district.
Ikebukuro was a mysterious place to Mikado. Each major street seemed to
have its own distinct culture; he felt a bewildering new alienation with each and
every block.
“Anyplace you wanna go?”
“Uhm… Where’s a bookstore?” Mikado asked in front of a fast-food place at
the entrance to 60-Kai Street. Masaomi thought it over.
“Well, if you want books, our best bet around here is Junkudo… What are you
looking for?”
“I guess I’d like some manga to read once I get back home…”
Masaomi started walking in silence.
“There’s a place down that way that sells a ton of manga. Let’s go there.”
He made his way to an intersection with an arcade, then turned right. It had
yet another totally different vibe than 60-Kai Street, and Mikado couldn’t help
feeling like he’d wandered into a different neighborhood again. At this point, it
still took all of Mikado’s concentration to get from his train stop to his
apartment, and he felt that one wrong turn down an alleyway was a mistake
from which he’d never recover to find his bearings.
“It looks like they sell lots of doujinshi here, too.”
Doujinshi. As a resident of the Net, Mikado was not a total stranger to the fan-
made manga zines, but he’d never bought one for himself. He remembered some
of the girls from middle school squealing over them, but from what he knew
based on the Internet, they were all sexually explicit and age restricted to buyers
eighteen or older.
“A-are we even allowed inside? Won’t they yell at us?”
“Huh?” Masaomi shot back, completely bewildered. Suddenly, a voice called
out to them.
“Hey, it’s Kida.”
“Long time no see!”
“Aha, Karisawa and Yumasaki! Hi.”
It was a boy and a girl. They both seemed extremely pale for people appearing
outside in the middle of the day. The boy was spindly with a sharp gaze and he
carried a heavy-looking backpack, but he didn’t seem to be preparing for a
camping trip, as far as Mikado could tell.
The girl asked Masaomi, “Who’s this? A friend?”
“Oh, he’s a longtime friend. We just started at the same school.”
“So today was your first day of high school? Congrats.”
Masaomi finally got around to introducing the two.
“The girl here is Karisawa, and the guy is Yumasaki.”
“…Ah…umm…my name’s Mikado Ryuugamine.”
The guy named Yumasaki tilted his head when he heard the name. It was
incredibly affected and made him look like a figurine. He ignored the confused
Mikado and turned to Karisawa.
“Is that a pen name?”
“Why would a first-year high school student introduce himself with a pen
name? Are you talking about the kind you use to submit letters to a radio show
or magazine?”
“Um, actually, it’s my real name,” Mikado mumbled.
Their eyes widened.
“No way, it’s real?!”
“That’s awesome! That’s so cool! You’re like the protagonist of a manga or
something!” Karisawa and Yumasaki raved.
“Geez… You’re making me feel self-conscious.”
“Why would you feel self-conscious, Kida?”
Left out of a conversation entirely about himself, Mikado was at a loss for what
to do. Eventually Yumasaki noticed his awkward distance and briefly checked the
time on his cell phone.
“Okay, okay, sorry to take up your time. You were heading somewhere,
weren’t you?”
“No, we weren’t in any kind of rush,” Mikado responded with a rapid shake of
his head, feeling even more self-conscious now.
“No, it’s okay, it’s okay. Sorry for taking up your time, Kida.”
“We’re just off to hit up all the arcades. Are you on a shopping trip?”
“Yes, we’re picking up some manga.”
At this, Yumasaki reached a hand around his back and patted his backpack.
“Hey, that’s just what we were doing before this. All the latest Dengeki Bunko
titles just came out, so I bought a ton of ’em. About thirty in total, I think.”
He’d heard of the name Dengeki Bunko. That was a publishing label that
specialized in light novels and translations of Hollywood movie novelizations.
Mikado had even bought some books from Dengeki in middle school, but thirty
was clearly overkill.
“Does Dengeki Bunko really put out that many books a month?”
Karisawa cackled and answered, “Don’t be silly! We got two copies of each one
for the both of us, plus about ten more to use tonight!”
“Also, I picked up Moezan, the quiz book of burning-hot math problems. With
Jubby Shimamoto’s autograph and everything,” Yumasaki boasted. Mikado
didn’t understand a single word of what he said and looked to Masaomi for
clarification.
“…Just ignore him—think of whatever he’s saying as magic spells. These two
are the kind of weirdos who assume that everyone else knows what they know,”
Masaomi whispered to Mikado. Yumasaki continued prattling on about even
more obscure subjects, but Karisawa noticed the effect it was having on the
other two and jabbed her partner’s backpack with an elbow.
“Quit bragging to the norms. We’ll just be on our way. Bye!”
Mikado watched the two shuffle off, then wondered under his breath, “Books
to…use tonight…?”
He had no idea what they were going to “use” the books for, but they were
already leaving and there was no point in calling them back to ask, so Mikado
turned and followed Masaomi to the bookstore.
“Wow, that selection was incredible! I was amazed! That Toranoana place had
more manga alone than any bookstore back home!”
“Yeah, there are plenty of places in Ikebukuro where you can find tons of
manga, like Animate or Comic Plaza. And if you want anything non-manga,
Junkudo’s the place to go. It’s a building about nine stories tall, all books.”
They had finished their shopping at the bookstore and were walking down 60-
Kai Street toward the Sunshine building.
“I didn’t realize you knew people like them, Kida.”
“You mean Karisawa and Yumasaki? What, are you saying you thought I’d only
be friends with people with bleached-blond hair, piercings, and brains addled
from huffing paint? Well, as it happens, those two are plenty weird on their own,
but they’re nice if you act cool around ’em.”
“I…see.”
Something about that struck Mikado as weird, but he decided to ignore it
rather than press for more information.
“Basically, I poke my head into all kinds of places. Bookstores like that, where
to find the cheapest vintage clothes, directions to hole-in-the-wall clubs and
bars, even street-side accessory shops—I’ve got a handle on all these things.”
“Seems like you know just about everything.”
“If you can speak about any topic, you can tailor the conversation to mack on
any type of girl.”
“Such impure motives,” Mikado groaned. Masaomi grinned and nodded
confidently.
Today, Mikado was determined to take in as much of the scenery as possible,
and he kept his eyes up as he traveled rather than tracing the ground.
Standing out first and foremost along the street were the huge video screens
hanging on the Cinema Sunshine building and the many movie posters lining the
adjacent walls. They looked like photos, but Mikado was stunned to realize on
closer examination that they were all illustrations fashioned to look like realistic
photographs.
He swiveled to see what other stores were around, then caught something
more arresting than any building.
“Huh?”
It was just one of the many black solicitors that lined this street—but this one
was different.
He was at least six feet tall and covered with thick, ropy muscle that made him
look like a wrestler. Even more striking was the itamae sushi chef outfit he wore
to entice customers to his business.
Mikado stared wide-eyed, when suddenly the large man noticed him.
“Nice see you again, bro.”
“!?!?!”
Mikado had no idea how to respond. He’d never seen this man in his life, yet
was being greeted in the form of a reunion. Just when he thought his smooth
sailing in Tokyo was about to come to a crashing end, Masaomi rescued him.
“Hey, Simon! Long time no see! How’s it hangin’, man?”
The large man’s attention switched from Mikado to his friend.
“Hey, Kida. Eat sushi? Sushi good. I make cheap deal. You like sushi?”
“Not today, Simon, I’m broke. I just started high school, so I can start working
a part-time job. How about you give me free sushi now, and I pay you back
then?”
“No can do. Then I sleep with fishes on Russian motherland.”
“With fishes? On land?” Masaomi chuckled and left the conversation hanging.
Mikado hurried after him, turning back to Simon to see the large black man
waving at them. Bewildered and unaware of how to react, Mikado bowed briefly
in apology.
“You know that guy, too?”
“Oh, Simon? He’s an Afro-Russian, and he helps draw customers for a sushi
place run by Russians.”
Afro-Russian?
“Sorry, which part of that was the joke?”
“No, I’m serious. His actual name is Semyon, but everyone just calls him the
English version of that, Simon. I don’t know the whole story, but apparently his
parents emigrated there from America. Some other Russian folks he knew were
starting up a sushi restaurant, so he works the street, getting the word out.”
None of it sounded real, but there was only pure sincerity in Masaomi’s eyes. It
had to be true. Mikado was still wide-eyed in disbelief, so Masaomi added, “He’s
one of those guys you’re not supposed to cross. Once I saw him pick up two guys
who were brawling off the ground with one hand each, both of them his size.
Word says he broke a telephone pole in half once, too.”
Mikado shivered, envisioning that tanklike build again. After a few more
moments of walking, he murmured, “This is amazing.”
“Huh? What is?”
“That you can talk to so many different kinds of people, I mean…”
Mikado meant it as an honest compliment, but Masaomi just laughed it off as
a joke. He cackled and yawned, shrugging it away.
“Oh no, you can’t butter me up like that.”
“I’m not.”
In fact, Mikado had tremendous respect for Masaomi. If he’d been alone, he
would have dried up and shriveled amid the sea of humanity that was Ikebukuro.
The people who lived here were not all like Masaomi. Ever since grade school,
he’d had a special charm that drew others to him, and he had the assurance to
speak for himself in any situation.
How many times had he been blown away by both the neighborhood and
Masaomi in just the few days since arriving? Mikado hoped that one day he
could be like his friend.
One of the biggest reasons for Mikado’s exodus to the big city was to escape
the familiar sights of his world. This was not a tangible thought at the forefront
of his mind, but deep within his heart, he was constantly searching for a “new
self.” Perhaps in this place, he’d find the “extraordinary” that existed in comic
books and TV shows and experience it for himself.
Mikado didn’t want to be a hero. He just wanted to feel a different kind of
breeze through his hair. He didn’t realize it himself, but amid that terrible anxiety
deep in his gut on that first visit to Ikebukuro was a powerful elation and
excitement that fought for control with his unease.
And right next to him was someone who had mastered the fresh breeze of his
new home, harnessed that excitement for himself. Even at age sixteen, Masaomi
had completely blended into this place and made himself a part of it.
Mikado realized that his friend represented everything that he wanted, and
the warring anxiety and excitement lulled as he felt more in control of his
surroundings—or at least, they should have.
But in the next moment, all of that was destroyed as a fresh new maelstrom of
anxiety and excitement burst into life.
“Hey.”
It was a very pleasant voice, crisp and clear and vibrant, as though being hailed
by the pure blue sky itself.
And yet, the instant he heard that voice, Masaomi grimaced as though he’d
been shot in the back with arrows. He slowly turned in the direction of the voice,
an instant sweat congealing on his face.
Mikado turned the same way and saw a young man with an equally pleasant
face. He looked soft and gentle, but with a bold, intrepid edge—a perfect
materialization of some ideal of handsomeness. His eyes were warm and all-
accepting but glinted with a hard scorn of anything that wasn’t himself. His
outfit, while possessing its own personality, did not show off any obvious
features or characteristics. All in all, he was very difficult to grasp or classify.
Even his age was indistinct based on appearance alone. He had to be more
than twenty at least, but there was no way to tell anything beyond that.
“Nice to see you again, Masaomi Kida.”
Masaomi responded to the use of his full name with an expression Mikado had
never seen before and swallowed.
“Ah… H…hi,” he responded awkwardly.
Mikado’s state of mind erupted into chaos. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kida
look like this…
Fear and disgust mingled in Masaomi’s eyes, but the muscles in his face were
tense, trying to bottle up that emotion.
“Is that a Raira Academy uniform? So you got in. First day of school?
Congrats.”
His congratulations were brief and clipped, but not devoid of feeling. He only
used the barest minimum of emotion necessary in his voice, however.
“Y-yes, thanks to you,” Masaomi said, a common pleasantry.
“I didn’t do a thing.”
“It’s strange to see you out in Ikebukuro…”
“I’m just meeting some friends. And who’s that?”
The man looked at Mikado, and for an instant, their eyes met. Normally,
Mikado would look away shyly, but this time he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He
felt as though if he broke that contact, his entire existence would be denied,
negated. Mikado didn’t know why he felt this way—the man’s gaze simply held
him in place with its breathtaking sharpness.
“Er, he’s just a friend,” Masaomi blurted. Normally he would have said
Mikado’s name, but he seemed to be intentionally avoiding that. The man did
not seem perturbed by this omission in any way. He turned to Mikado.
“I’m Izaya Orihara. Nice to meet you.”
Everything clicked into place for Mikado. The man not to get involved with. The
man not to make an enemy out of. But the fellow standing before him didn’t
seem all that dangerous. Aside from his sharp gaze and handsome features, he
seemed like any other young man. Even his plain, glossy black hair stood out
amid all the bleached and dyed hair around him. He looked like the kind of sharp
young man that would be teaching at a cram school out in the country
somewhere.
He’s more normal than I expected, Mikado thought, and decided to introduce
himself.
“Sounds like an air conditioner,” came Izaya’s response, without mirth or
surprise. He seemed to be referring to the Kirigamine appliance brand. Mikado
opened his mouth, unsure of whether or not he should say something to
continue the conversation, when Izaya raised a hand.
“Well, it’s time for my meeting. Gotta go.”
And with that, he left. Masaomi stretched and inhaled a deep breath, watching
Izaya’s retreating back.
“C’mon, let’s go. Uh, where were we off to?”
“Is he really that scary?”
“Scary might not be the right word… See, I got into my share of trouble in
middle school…and I ran into him once, and it really scared me. It’s not like a
yakuza thing—he’s just unstable. He’s unpredictable. His motives and beliefs
change every five seconds. The fear he inspires isn’t one of danger…it’s more like
he makes me sick. One of those creepy-crawly feelings that sneaks up on you. I’m
never going to the other side again. If you ever wanna smoke ganja or whatever,
don’t look to me for help.”
Ganja. Mikado shook his head abruptly. He’d never seen it in person, but he’d
been on the Internet long enough to know exactly what that was.
“I’m just kidding, man. You’re the kind of guy who won’t drink or smoke until
the legal age at twenty. Just stay away from him and Shizuo Heiwajima. That’s
rule number one.”
Masaomi clearly didn’t want to say another word about Izaya, so they kept
walking in silence for a while. Mikado had never seen Masaomi like this before.
More than Izaya, it was Masaomi’s attitude that had piqued his curiosity.
Maybe there’s no limit to the kind of extraordinary things I can experience
here, Mikado thought. It was a stretch from what prompted the notion, but he
could feel his excitement and expectation growing from within.
It had only been a few days since Mikado came to Ikebukuro. But already, the
phrase return home had disappeared from his dictionary.
Those crowds of people, which had seemed so artificial and inorganic, now
looked like processions of saints bringing life and prosperity to the town.
Something fascinating is going to happen. I can feel it. The adventure I
wanted is just around the corner. This is a place where those TV shows and
comic books come to life.
His eyes sparkling with this misguided thought, Mikado found hope and
excitement in his life ahead.
Chapter 5: A Regular Day in Town, Night
“So anyway, is there anything in particular you’d like to do before you die?”
It was a rather frightening question for Izaya Orihara to ask in a karaoke room.
He spoke calmly, drink in his hand, not bothering to choose a song.
But the two women he was asking just shook their heads without a word.
“I see. Are you sure you want to do this with me? There aren’t better men
you’d rather commit suicide with?”
“No. That’s why we want to die.”
“Good point,” Izaya noted, his face still placid. He examined the two women.
They didn’t seem particularly gloomy. If a total stranger looked at them, they’d
never suspect that these two harbored suicidal thoughts.
They had chosen to participate in a thread Izaya posted to a pro-suicide
message board titled “Let’s go through with it together!”
Izaya’s message was extremely upbeat and positive, and for good reason: He’d
taken a spam message from a dating site and tweaked the language a tiny bit,
nothing more. But surprisingly enough, a quick perusal of the various posts on
that board showed that many of them were optimistic in style. The text was crisp
and practical, discussions of methods and motives for suicide, without any of the
attitude one would expect a person preparing to die must exhibit. Some posts
were as thorough as planning documents for a major business. Izaya enjoyed
seeing the great variety of “invitations” on the site.
Of the two women here who had chosen death, one was having trouble finding
a job. The other was in despair because she couldn’t get over a broken heart.
Neither seemed to be a satisfactory reason to kill oneself, but such motives
were proliferating since the beginning of the recession, and an aggregation of
suicides grouped by career showed that the unemployed were easily the largest
group. When grouped by age, suicides by those under the age of twenty were
also far lower than any other age group. Because the media widely reported on
those cases stemming from bullying or other youthful causes, there was a
perception that many suicide victims were young, but the vast majority of them
were actually adults. The two women with Izaya appeared to be in their
midtwenties.
This was around the twentieth time that Izaya had met in person with the
suicidal, and he was struck by how little he noticed in common among them.
Everyone had their own way of approaching death—some couldn’t stop
themselves from laughing, and others couldn’t stop themselves from setting up
the DVR of their favorite show before they left to kill themselves.
However, none of the people that Izaya had met had ever actually committed
suicide. And that was very disappointing to him.
The news ran reports on suicides. In recent years, the media picked up on
cases where people had met online to commit suicide together. Because of that,
the total suicide number was more than thirty thousand a year ever since.
What drove them to kill themselves? Did they have no other options? Were
they prepared to die for the sake of others? How deep was the despair that
surrounded them when they went?
Izaya Orihara loved people. Hence, he wanted to know them.
However, he wasn’t meeting with these women in order to convince them not
to die. The reason none of the people Izaya met had killed themselves wasn’t
because they were insincere looky-loos or were too afraid to die.
Beneath his calm exterior, Izaya’s true nature flicked its tongue.
Izaya let them talk for a while, explaining their motives for suicide, but
eventually he changed the topic with a bright question.
“So, what are you two planning to do after you die?”
Both women were momentarily stunned by this question.
“Huh…? You mean, like, heaven?”
They think they’re going to commit suicide and get to heaven! How
impertinent. This is what makes people so fascinating.
“Do you believe in the afterlife, Mr. Nakura?” the other woman asked Izaya.
The name Nakura was just an alias he made up.
Izaya chuckled at their responses and shook his head, then turned the question
back on them. “What about you? Do you believe?”
“I believe. Maybe there’s no afterlife, but some people stay behind as ghosts
to wander around,” one of the women said, trailing off.
“I don’t. There’s nothing after you die, just darkness—but at least it’s better
than this,” said the other. A giant red X popped into Izaya’s head.
Ugh, what a letdown. What a terrible, terrible letdown. I’ve just wasted my
time. What are they, middle schoolers? At least the last group were all atheists.
They were fun. These ones are just drunk on themselves.
Izaya decided that these two were not taking the idea of death seriously. Or
perhaps they were, but only in a way that suited themselves. His eyes narrowed,
and he smiled with a hint of derision.
“Oh, come on. Why do you care what goes on after life if you’re going to kill
yourselves?”
“Huh…?”
The two women looked at Izaya in bewilderment. He continued softly.
“Believing in a world after death is a right reserved for the living. Either that, or
you have to have done some major philosophizing about death. If that’s the
case, I’ve got nothing to say. Or perhaps if you’re truly driven to the depths of
despair or being hounded by unscrupulous loan sharks.”
His calm, benevolent smile never wavered.
“In your case, that pressure is coming from the inside, isn’t it? You can’t just
choose death because you’re hoping the world after death is better.”
At this point, the women realized that they’d spoken at length about their
motives for dying, but the man with them had not spoken a word about his own
situation.
“Um, Mr. Nakura…are you actually planning to die?” one of them asked,
straight to the point.
Izaya didn’t bat an eye. “Nope.”
For a brief moment, the only sound in the room was the muffled bleed through
from adjacent karaoke booths. Abruptly, one of the two women erupted, like a
dam breaking.
“I don’t believe this! You lied to us?!”
“Of all the… What a horrible thing to do!” the other added reprimandingly.
Izaya’s expression did not budge. I had a feeling they’d react this way.
Izaya had been through this situation many times, and the reactions to his
admission were, like the suicidal motives, wildly varied. Some people started
swinging without warning, and some left without another word. But he didn’t
remember a single person who stayed entirely calm. Anyone who would respond
to that admission with an easy “Oh, I see” wouldn’t have sought suicide partners
in the first place. Izaya didn’t know every single human being, and the model of
psychology didn’t fit every person in the world, so he wouldn’t state for certain
—but he had a theory. If someone could remain perfectly calm through this,
they were either cruising for kicks, or secretly wanted someone else to stop
them, or were hoping to convince others not to commit suicide—or were people
like him.
“What a pig! What’s your problem? How can you do something so messed
up?”
“Huh? Why?”
Izaya’s face had the innocent wonder of an uncomprehending child. He looked
back and forth between the two, then shut his eyes.
When he opened them again several seconds later, his delighted expression
was gone, and a different kind of smile played across his lips.
“Aah…!”
The woman who claimed to believe in the afterlife sucked in a shrieking breath.
It was indeed a smile on Izaya’s face. But this was an entirely different kind of
smile. The two women, for the first time, learned that there were different types
of smiles.
Izaya wore a smile as expressionless as a mask, and there was a coldness to it.
It was the kind of smile that caused terrible fear in any who saw it, because it
was a smile. In most cases the women would be hurling vile insults at him, but
neither of them spoke now. They were grappling with the illusion that the other
person in the room with them was not a human being at all.
Izaya repeated his question, not letting the smile fade from his face. “Why?
What’s so awful about it? I don’t understand.”
“Why? Because—”
“You girls,” Izaya interrupted, his words harder than before, “have already
decided to die. Why do you care what anyone says to you? The lies and insults
are going to be gone forever in just a few moments. If it’s torturous for you
knowing that I tricked you, bite your tongue off. If you do that, it’s not the blood
loss that kills you. The shock causes the remainder of your tongue to compress
your throat and suffocate you. Then all the bad stuff disappears. You will cease
to exist. I think it’s rather messed up of you to claim that I’m messed up.”
“I know that! But…”
“No, you don’t,” he said to the woman who claimed there was no afterlife. His
voice was even more forceful than before.
Still with a smile.
“You don’t get it. You don’t get it at all. You said there was nothing in the
afterlife. But that’s where you’re wrong. Maybe you meant it in the sense that
you won’t have to suffer anymore—but death means to become nothing. It’s not
the pain that disappears, it’s your existence.”
The women did not argue back. They were paralyzed by the pressure of his
smile. It grew more and more twisted, but the women still did not get a sense of
the heart behind his words.
“The state of nothingness is not ‘nothing.’ Nothing is not always in contrast to
‘something.’ The nothing you speak of is eternal darkness, a blank slate. But that
is as perceived by you being aware of that darkness. That’s not nothing at all. If
you’re dying to be released from suffering, doesn’t that require a form of you
afterward that recognizes you’ve been released from suffering? You can’t
imagine that you’re not even aware that you’re not even aware that you’re not
thinking about this in the least. Fundamentally, there is no difference between
the way both of you think. Even a grade school child who doesn’t believe in life
after death understands this and has feared and grappled with it.”
In fact, Izaya’s argument had plenty of holes in it, and the women knew they
could argue back if they wanted. But their minds were ruled not by suspicion,
but by terror—that no matter how they argued back, words would have no
effect on this creature with them.
“But…that’s…that’s just what you think!” one of them boldly exclaimed, but
Izaya’s smile only devoured her words.
“Exactly. I don’t know for sure. I just think that there’s no afterlife. If it turns
out that there is, hey, lucky me. That’s as much as I care about this.”
He laughed mechanically and continued, his voice even brighter than before.
“But you two are different. You only half believe in an afterlife. Does your
religious sect promote the act of suicide and tell you that dying is a good
response to career or romantic failure? If that’s the case, I’m fine with it—I
might even admit it’s admirable of you. But if not, you should shut your damn
mouths.”
He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as if seeking agreement, then
leisurely uttered the finishing blow.
“You shouldn’t speak of the afterlife when you only half believe in it. That’s
slander to the afterlife. It’s an insult to those people who were driven to death
by the evil intent of others when they didn’t really want to die.”
It was only a few seconds. But to the two women, it felt much longer.
In that brief, eternal moment, Izaya shut his eyes again—and when they
opened, he was back to that original reassuring grin.
The air surrounding him completely different from just moments ago, Izaya
changed the topic to something else, to the surprise of the paralyzed women.
“Ha-ha-ha, so anyway… When I was asking about your plans after death, I was
referring to your money.”
“…What?”
“I do hate for things to go to waste. Now, they’re pretty strict about insurance
claims these days, so that’s ruled out, but you could go and borrow all the
money you can, then give it to me before you die, right? Your deaths might be in
vain, but at least your money won’t be. Plus, there’s a lot of value in your bodies
and identities. I know where to go to make deals like that.”
Unlike his terrifying smile from earlier, Izaya’s current smile was warm and
human. The things he was saying were faithfully, recognizably human in their
greed. The women were about to speak, but once again, he cut them off.
“Question one: Why am I sitting in the spot closest to the door?”
Izaya was practically blocking the door in his current seat. The women were
suddenly filled with a completely different kind of fear. If his previous smile was
that of a devil, this one was concentrated human malice…
“Question two: What are these wheeled suitcases under the table for?”
The women had not noticed, until he pointed it out, that on the other side of
the table from them were two large suitcases. They looked like the kind one
would pack before a long overseas trip.
“Hint one: The suitcases are empty.”
Both women were struck by an awful foreboding. They had never met before
this event, but the similarity of their reactions to Izaya made them kindred
spirits.
“Hint two: the suitcases are just your size.”
An unbearable nausea swept over them. It stemmed from disgust at the man
with them, but the unexpected onset of dizziness was not related.
“?!”
“What…the…?”
By the time they noticed something was wrong with them, it was too late to
even stand.
“Question three: If the two of you work together, you should be able to get
past me to safety, so why can’t you? Hint: I handed you your cups.”
The world spun, spun, spun. Izaya’s voice seized what remained of their fading
wits. His soft, gentle coos and chirps ushered them into darkness like a lullaby to
a baby.
“It’s love. I don’t feel any love in your deaths. And that’s wrong. You must love
death. You don’t have enough respect for nothingness. And I’m not going to die
with you after a sorry answer like that.”
One of the women summoned the last of her strength to glare at Izaya.
“You’ll never…get away with this! I’m going…to kill you…!”
Izaya looked happier than ever at this threat. He stroked her cheek tenderly.
“Good, very good. You can survive solely on that drive to hate. Pretty
awesome, aren’t I? I just saved your life. You owe me one.”
Once they were both completely unconscious, Izaya put a hand to his temple
and thought it over.
“Oh, wait. I’m not really into the idea of having a grudge hanging over my
head. Maybe I should just go ahead and kill you anyway.”
Just before the clock struck midnight and changed the date, two shadows
lurked in a corner of South Ikebukuro Park. One of them was Izaya Orihara—the
other was an actual shadow.
“So you just want to sit them on a park bench and leave?” Celty typed into her
electronic notepad—a PDA with a tiny keyboard.
Izaya read the message and cheerfully confirmed. He grinned and continued
counting the stack of bills. “Normally I’d drag them to a loan shark and leech
some money out of them, but I’m tired of all that.”
“Tired? You?”
He’d hired Celty to help him transport two human beings. When she stepped
into the karaoke box lobby, helmet still on, the employee simply pointed toward
Izaya’s room. On the other side of the door, Izaya was stuffing two unconscious
women into suitcases. Before she could even type a pithy remark, he grinned
and asked for help.
They’d hoisted their cargo all the way to the park, but Celty still didn’t know
anything about what had happened.
“I’m tired of it, and it’s not a very efficient way of getting rich. The more it goes
on, the more the police and mobsters will start looking into my activities. And
this is only a hobby for me, not a job. Oh, thanks for helping on short notice. The
professionals I usually ask were all busy. Usually I’d get a car to take them back
to their parents, but with your motorcycle this is probably the best we can do.”
Anyone who would take on this kind of job was probably not the good kind of
“professional.” Celty was not exactly pleased to be considered one of them, but
she was used to it by now.
At least it ended quickly. It wasn’t one of the jobs with a bad aftertaste. But
not a good one, either.
“Is this going to involve the police? I don’t want to get dragged into
something.”
“Nothing you need to worry about. They’re not bodies or anything. You just
helped me escort two drunk women to a park bench, nothing more.”
“Inside suitcases?”
Izaya ignored her jab, looking over the helmeted biker with great curiosity.
Then he asked, “Hey, courier. Do you believe in an afterlife?”
“What’s this all about?”
“Just humor me. Consider it part of the contract.”
“You’ll find out when you die,” Celty typed irritatedly into her PDA, then
added, “How about you?”
“I don’t. So to be perfectly honest, I’m afraid of death. I want to live as long as
I can.”
“And yet you drug women for a hobby and sell information for a living?”
Izaya chuckled shyly. If that expression was the only thing to go on, he’d never
be mistaken for someone fully immersed in the criminal underworld from head
to toe.
“Hey, once you’re dead, you’re gone for good. It’s a waste of your life if you
don’t enjoy it, right?”
Celty typed, “You make me sick,” into her PDA but deleted it before Izaya could
see.
Izaya Orihara was an ordinary human being.
He did not wield extraordinary violence to evil ends and neither was he the
kind of cold-minded killer who ended human life without compunction.
It was simply that he possessed both the greedy desire of a normal human
being and the personal momentum to violate taboos if they stood in his way at
the same time. He was not some charismatic mad villain, he just lived true to his
interests. Because of that relentless pursuit of his “hobbies,” he’d found a way
to make a good living by selling information he picked up to organized crime or
the police for cash.
But his name was known far and wide, and Izaya understood that. The kanji in
his name were not typically read as “Izaya”—the name was a combination of
Isaiah, the prophet in the Bible, and “one who approaches.” He did not live a
holy life fitting of the holy book, but on the other hand, he did exhibit an
extraordinary capability to face new and different phenomena. That skill brought
him to the life he now led.
He treasured his life as any normal person would, understood his limits, and
spared no expense for his own safety. Thus, he had survived in the criminal
underworld and was able to spend his days pursuing his interests.
Izaya left the rest of the chore to Celty, having fully enjoyed his first visit to
Ikebukuro in weeks, and went home happy.
What had the women he met today looked like? How did they dress? Were
they pretty, were they ugly, were they stylish, were they awkward? What did
they sound like? Why did they want to die? Did they, in fact, even want to die?
Izaya forgot all of these things.
Izaya Orihara was an absolute atheist. He did not believe in souls or the
afterlife—which is why he wanted to know people. He found interest in others at
the drop of a hat and trampled them just as quickly. When Izaya no longer
needed to know a person, his lack of interest was absolute.
Barely ten yards from the scene, he had even forgotten the names of the two
suicidal women. Unnecessary knowledge served no purpose to an information
broker.
Two things were on his mind now.
One was the identity of the mute courier who always wore a helmet. The
Reaper-like thing with the black scythe, riding a silent motorcycle.
The other was the group called the Dollars that had been at the center of
rumors in Ikebukuro lately.
“I can’t wait. I can’t wait. I can’t wait. Despite being an information agent,
there’s still so much of this town that I know nothing about being born and then
disappearing. This is why I can’t help but live here where all the people are! I love
people! I just love human beings! I love ’em! Which is why people should love me
back.”
Izaya pulled his PDA out of his breast pocket. He turned it on, opened up the
address book, and scrolled until he found the entry he wanted.
The name of the person was grandiose and ostentatious.
“Mikado Ryuugamine,” the boy he had just met earlier that day.
Chapter 6: Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, Upper
Management
Somewhere between Ikebukuro and Shinjuku, in a location outside of the

pleasure district of Mejiro, there was a quiet laboratory building. It was a three-
story complex surrounded by fences and trees, the grounds quite spacious for
Tokyo real estate, even when the long distance to the nearest train station was
factored in.
This was the testing and research facility for Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, one of the
elite corporations in that industry in the Kanto region around Tokyo. But the
“elite” status was now a relic of the past, and the company’s share was steadily
shrinking with little sign of improvement.
Around the time their stock began slipping, an American business came with a
merger offer. It was a conglomerate named Nebula, with a century of history
behind it, active in shipping, publishing, and even biotechnology. Thanks to the
bedrock of their business acumen, rumors abounded of unspoken
understandings between Nebula and various politicians, but everything was kept
secure through legal power.
For a merger, Nebula offered quite favorable terms that promised very little in
the way of layoffs and restructuring, but some within the company—particularly
the members of the Yagiri family itself, including the president—balked at
certain conditions.
The most resistent member of the company was the young lab chief of the
Sixth Development Lab, aka Lab Six, Namie Yagiri. She was only twenty-five years
old and was the niece of the company president.
Her fast-track career course was not simply nepotism from her family’s control
of the company; her intellect and skill were exceptional. However, her blood was
indeed a factor in her current position—not in terms of rank, but assignment.
It was the subject of that very lab that the Yagiri family secretly suspected was
the driving force behind Nebula’s merger offer.
Lab Six was not studying a new pharmaceutical, to be precise. On paper, it was
developing new immune system substances for clinical trials…but what it
actually contained was not of this world.
Twenty years ago, her uncle returned from an overseas trip with a taxidermy
head that was modeled to look like a human’s. It was as beautiful and still as if it
were still alive, just sleeping. The pretty girl’s head was tasteless, to be sure, but
it was oddly tranquil, not barbaric. It seemed to anyone who looked at it like the
head was an entire living thing all its own.
Though Namie did not know this at age five, the item had been smuggled into
the country and would certainly have been seized at customs if declared
properly.
Whatever the reason that her uncle had procured the head, it was treated like
a Yagiri family heirloom. When he had time, he would lock himself in his study,
gazing upon the head, even talking to it.
As a child, Namie visited that house often to spend the night with her cousin,
and she found her uncle to be creepy, but that feeling faded over time as she
grew accustomed to him. The only problem she had was that her younger
brother, Seiji Yagiri, was even more attached to the head than her uncle was.
The first time Seiji saw the head was when he was ten. Namie snuck him into
the study when their uncle wasn’t around to show him the odd trophy. Even
now, she terribly regretted this decision.
It was from that point on that Seiji slowly came undone.
He asked to go to Uncle’s house more and more often. Whenever he could slip
past Uncle’s guard, he would stare at the head. With every passing year, Seiji’s
infatuation with the head grew stronger, until three years ago—the moment
that Namie earned a job with her uncle’s pharmaceutical company—he said to
her, “I’m in love with a girl.”
The girl her brother loved didn’t have a name. Or a body below her neck.
The emotion that stole into Namie’s heart at that moment wasn’t the pitying
sympathy for her brother’s unrequited sexual fetish—it was the dark red and
rusted flame of sheer jealousy.
Namie’s parents were originally supposed to be next in line to inherit Yagiri
Pharmaceuticals. But when Seiji was born, a large business deal went south
because of a mistake on their part, and they lost face and authority within the
company. After that, the love of their marriage went cold, and with it, the love of
their daughter and son.
If anything, it was their uncle who offered more care and attention to Namie
and Seiji. Their parents had no comment when they went to Uncle’s house. It
wasn’t out of any implicit trust of him. They just didn’t seem to care what
happened.
On the other hand, their uncle’s intention was to raise them as pawns of the
family’s interests. He cared for them as he would for his employees, not with the
love reserved for one’s family.
Eventually, Namie sought in her brother the kind of close family kinship that
she was lacking elsewhere. That grew over time to eclipse the standard bounds
of familial love into a twisted one-sided mockery of romance.
That was why Seiji’s professed love for the head was so displeasing to her.
Rather than returning the love she showed to him, Seiji chose to love a head,
something that would never reciprocate his feelings. She knew that feeling
jealousy toward a head was crazy, but she decided that she would sneak in and
destroy it anyway.
But when she took the head out of the glass case, intending to discard it, the
sensation on her fingers told her a terrible truth.
That soft skin was not the result of taxidermy. It had the warmth of any other
person.
The head was still alive.
The years passed after that, and Namie convinced her uncle to let her study
the head at the company lab. He informed her that this head belonged to a fairy
known as a dullahan.
What a ridiculous story. Since when was a severed head a fairy rather than the
usual winged human-bug things? But no matter the form it took, the important
thing was that they had in their hands a being that transcended the normal
concepts of life and death. This was a chance they couldn’t let slip through their
fingers.
Namie put the living head through a number of experiments. Half of her drive
came solely from the jealousy surrounding her brother. She treated the thing as
a “test subject” without remorse or reflection. She assumed that as long as the
head was kept safely in the lab, Seiji would be unable to approach it.
The first problem was that Nebula contacted them as soon as she started the
research. Despite the fact that the research team was extremely limited and
tightly guarded, the American company’s demands—complete control over the
lab and its work—made it clear that they knew about the head.
Just when Namie was most paranoid toward the other members of the staff,
fearing a traitor in their midst, the second incident happened. Her keycard,
which she took home with her out of mistrust toward everyone else, was stolen.
The incident happened that night. Someone infiltrated the lab, used a stun
baton on the three security guards, and took the head out of the building and
nothing else.
What a colossal failure, Namie thought. Everything’s over. But then she had
an epiphany. She knew of exactly one person who was aware of the head’s
presence, desired it, and could steal the keycard from her…
But at almost the exact same time, she got a call coming from the apartment
of the thief.
“Sis, I think I might have killed someone. What should I do?”
This cry for help came the night before Seiji’s first day of high school. A girl
who’d been stalking him had broken into his apartment and seen the head. He
crushed her skull against the wall.
Namie did not feel terror at the fact that her brother had committed murder
or anger that he had stolen the head—it was sheer joy she felt.
Her little Seiji was looking to her for help. He needed her. When she realized
how much happier this made her than anything else in the world, she came to a
firm decision.
She would protect her brother. Using any means necessary.
{Do you know about the Dollars, Setton?}
[I’ve heard the name, but that’s all. Weren’t you talking to Kanra about this
earlier?]
{Oh yeah, we did. I forgot, sorry about that.}
[No big deal.]
{A friend of mine was telling me about the rumors today. They sound pretty
wild.}
[Hmm. I’ve never seen them in person. I wonder if they actually exist.]
{Meaning they could be nothing more than an Internet rumor?}
[I don’t know for sure, but you could easily go about your normal life and never
come across a team that you know for a fact exists.]
{I suppose you’re right… }
[You ought to keep your distance from them anyway.]
<Hiya! It’s Kanra!>
{Good evening.}
[Evening.]
<What’s this? Talking about the Dollars?>
<They do exist. They even have their own home page!>
<But you’ll need a log-in and password to see it.>
{Ohh.}
[I wouldn’t have any interest in seeing it anyway.]
{Kanra, you really do know everything.}
<Well, it’s all I’m good for, lol.>
Chapter 7: Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, Under-
Under-Underlings
Ikebukuro after midnight. A van was parked on the side of a road just outside
the pleasure district. The rear windows were mirror tinted, with no way to tell
what was inside.
In the midst of this zone of mystery, there was the sound of a hard impact and
the pitiful shriek of a young man.
“I told you, I don’t know! C’mon…please, give me a break!” the thug whined in
an uncharacteristically polite tone, his face swollen and bruised.
This was the man who hit Celty with his car about twenty-four hours earlier
and who had received a face full of scythe handle for his trouble. When he came
to, he was inside the back of this unfamiliar van, arms and legs tied up. There
were no seats in the back of the van, just gray carpet. There was another man
there with him, who had been asking the same question since he came to his
senses.
“Like I asked, who’s giving you the orders?”
Three seconds of silence would earn him a punch. Claiming ignorance would
earn him a punch. There would be a brief recess, then the process repeated. This
had been going on for three hours.
Even in the midst of this beating, the thug was able to calmly and rationally
analyze his situation.
I don’t know who this guy is, but at least I know that shadow isn’t here. On the
other hand, I don’t even know if these people and the shadow are connected in
some way.
The only people in the van with him were the large man who was beating him
and another man in a hat, chewing gum in the driver’s seat. The van’s stereo was
playing classical music at medium volume, loud enough to keep most wails from
attracting notice outside.
If that shadow was here, I’d be screwed. I might have panicked and told it
everything. At least this guy’s a human being, not a monster like last night. In
fact, it would be way scarier to have someone higher up in the organization kill
me than these guys. I’m just lucky I didn’t get caught by the cops. Whoever
these people are, I’ll be fine if I just don’t tell them who hired me. As long as I
can keep taking these punches, they’ll eventually figure I really don’t know
anything. I mean, they’re not crazy enough to kill me.
The man in front of the thug sighed.
“C’mon, just spit it out already. Look, we’ve got bosses, just like you do. I don’t
need to tell you what I mean, do I? And they’re real concerned because you guys
have been pulling this stuff without telling them about it.”
Great, so there are mobsters behind this guy. Dammit, I thought we cleared
things up with whatever yakuza owned that territory!
“But since you’re not giving up a name at this point, you’re not yakuza. If you
were, you’d be contacting whatever yakuza you work for to settle the situation.
People above our pay grade on both sides would hash the issue out. But since
you’re not doing that, it’s something else that’s backing you, isn’t it?” he chided,
lifting the thug’s chin with a finger, as though he were scolding a naughty child.
Essentially, if the thug they held in this van was a member of some backing
organization like an organized crime syndicate, they couldn’t get rid of him
themselves. But the fact that he wasn’t identifying himself meant that either he
was afraid of being held responsible for this failure by his bosses—or whoever he
was affiliated with wasn’t a yakuza or foreign mafia.
“Look, I’m saying this out of consideration for your situation. If you know
what’s best for you, you’ll speak up and—”
The van’s side door slammed open.
“Well, well, was today a scorcher or what?”
“Thanks for waiting! Well, how’d it go, Shimada? Did he talk?”
A man and woman climbed into the rear of the van without asking. The woman
was dressed in brand-name fashion, and the man was well dressed, too, though
for some reason he was carrying a bulging backpack.
The man named Shimada looked over at them and sighed sadly.
“Nope, outta time. You get the consolation prize. I feel sorry for this schlub,
but he’s yours now, Yumasaki.”
He gave one last pitying glance to the thug, then left the van. The new man
and woman closed the door after Shimada left, then turned excitedly to the
thug.
“Boy, you really screwed up big time, pal. You just had to be the one who
kidnapped poor Kaztano,” the woman said, patting him on the shoulder.
Kaztano? Who? That sounds familiar, the thug thought. As a matter of fact, it
was the illegal immigrant he’d kidnapped yesterday. Of course, these must be his
people. But wait, they’re Japanese. How are they related? Surely they’re not in
some kind of teatime club.
The sharp-eyed man lowered his backpack and unzipped it before the confused
thug’s eyes.
“Well, well, well. We hear you haven’t spilled your secrets yet, so we’re gonna
need to use some special tools.”
He pulled several books out of the bag.
“It’s the eleventh anniversary of Dengeki Bunko. You know the motto: Feel the
lightning! So pick a book, any book. We’ll torture you in some way related to that
book. Normally we give a choice of super-robot anime, but since we picked up a
whole bunch of Dengeki Bunko novels today, this is your selection. Ha-ha-ha!”
“Eh?”
It was less his intentions that the thug found confusing than the words he was
speaking. The man spread out a number of novels plastered with colorful
illustrations. Then again, given that the thug never read any book that wasn’t
manga, he mistakenly assumed that they must be comic books.
What the hell is this? Torture? What do you mean, pick a book? Is that a joke?
What do you think this is, the school bus?
“No, no, no. You have to choose…or I’ll just kill you.”
The man’s eyes were bright and smiling, but there was no deception in them.
Bolstering the threat was the presence of a silver hammer that had somehow
appeared in his hands.
The thug immediately decided that his best course of action was to choose a
book that seemed the least painful.
Dammit! How can this be happening to me? What about Gassan and the
others? Argh, just gotta pick one… Well, I know I definitely don’t want to pick
this Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-chan. It’s got a pretty girl on the cover, but I can
guess what that involves based on the title. What about…Double Brid…V? Wait,
that kid on the cover has a bandage on his head. More bludgeoning? Damn,
aren’t any of these normal…?
“Personally, I’d recommend this one: Inukami!” the girl piped up, and the guy
agreed.
“Ooh, good choice! But which one, dai-jaen? Shukichi?”
“Shukichi’s better for midday. I dunno, should we just go with Dokuro-chan?”
“Nahh, it’s too big of a pain to recreate Excalibolg…”
??? What are they saying? Are these gang names?!
The thug was completely at a loss. The man and woman were muttering
unfamiliar words like strange curses. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one left out
of the loop. The man in the driver’s seat with the sharp assassin’s eyes chewed
his gum loudly, clearly irritated.
“Yumasaki, Karisawa. Listen up—I ain’t much for reading, so I don’t know what
the hell you’re talking about, but I have one suggestion,” he said, as though
coming to a sudden realization. “Go ahead and have your fun, just don’t use
gasoline inside the van like last time.”
“Aww, you’re no fun, Togusa,” grumbled the man, picking up several of the
books.
Gaso—?!
Things were clearly worse than the scenarios he’d been imagining. The thug
was losing his grip on the situation. Now there was no way to tell which of the
books remaining promised the least painful torture. Upon further thought, no
matter what the content of the books were, these people were clearly crazy
enough to make up something gruesome.
“C…can I ask you just one thing?”
“Mmm? What is it? And no asking what the torture will be—I have a no-
spoilers policy!”
“If…if you had a book of Cinderella and I picked that one, what would you do to
me?”
The man stopped to think, then patted a fist into his palm.
“I’d grind down your feet with a file until they could fit into glass slippers.”
I knew it! They’ll find a way to make anything awful!
The thug closed his eyes and grabbed a book at random. It had an English title,
with the Japanese reading in small letters next to it, and was adorned by a
delicate illustration.
“And the choice is made!”
“Wow, you’ve got some stones, pal. Quite a gutsy choice!”
The man and woman showed an unnerving ease with their preparations. She
took a hand mirror out of her bag and handed it to him. He immediately cracked
the mirror with the hammer and placed a few of the shards in his palm.
“I wonder how many pieces of mirror we need to be able to see things that
should be invisible? Time to test it out!”
Meanwhile, the woman held the thug’s head still and forced his left eyelid
open. Suddenly he understood exactly what was going to happen to him.
“W-w-wait! You’re kidding! You can’t do this to me! Stop…stop!”
“Kids, don’t try this at home. But who would ever try this anyway?” Yumasaki
warned, his face growing more serious by the moment.
Karisawa cheerily injected, “Is this one of those moral panic things about
people killing because of the influence of manga?”
“No, no, no. Let’s make this clear for the benefit of our delinquent friend here
—there’s nothing wrong with manga or novels. They cannot speak for
themselves, and the blame for a crime always falls upon the silent, you know?”
The thug begged and pleaded for mercy with tears in his eyes as the two
prattled on with their inane references. The man ignored the cries and slowly but
surely brought the pointed shard of mirror glass closer to the thug’s exposed
eyeball.
“Manga and novels and movies and video games and our parents and our
school have nothing to do with this. If there’s any reason we do this, it’s because
we’re just plain crazy. If there were no manga or novels, we’d base this on a
historical play, and if not for that, we’d use some classic old Natsume Soseki
novel or something else approved by the Ministry of Education. And what would
the politicians say about us then?”
“Nnnooooo-aaaaahhh!”
“Besides, anyone who says they did it because of the influence of manga
wasn’t a true fan to begin with.”
Just as the pointed tip of the shard was about to sink into his eyeball, the
thug’s spirit of salvation appeared.
“Knock it off.”
The rear door of the van suddenly opened and a heavy, brusque voice filled the
interior.
“Dotachin!”
“K-Kadota!”
The man and woman both straightened up, their eyes wide. This new person
was clearly a superior rank. The man named Kadota glared at the thug up and
down, then looked at the would-be torturers.
“That’s not how you torture someone. Also, don’t get blood on the books, you
clown.”
“S-sorry.”
Kadota grabbed the thug’s collar in one hand and lifted him up. The thug’s
breathing was an irregular mix of heaves and sobs, his eyes, nose, and mouth
glistening with a mix of tears, snot, and drool as he desperately attempted to
calm himself down and regain control.
Kadota simply said, “Your pal talked.”
“Uh…wha…whuh?!”
At first, he didn’t understand what Kadota meant, but as it gradually sank in,
the thug’s face cycled rapidly through a stream of emotions.
I’ve been sold out?! Who did it?! Gassan? No—but who—damn—what’s
going on—we’re completely ruined! What’s happening out there?!
“We’ve only got part of the story so far, but in time, we’ll know the entire
truth. Which means we don’t actually need you anymore.”
If they didn’t need him, they might let him walk. That was perfect. If he was
just going to be erased by the people from his own company, at least this way he
had the option of disappearing on his own and laying low. Despite the confusion,
the thug finally began to feel a faint hint of hope. Then, Kadota put that hope to
rest for good.
“So now you can die with a clean conscience.”
Everything inside of him crumbled into ruin.
“Wait a sec! I mean, w-wait please! I’ll talk…I’ll tell you everything! Whatever
you want to know! I’ll tell you whatever they didn’t say yet! Just please, please,
please don’t kill meee!”
“I see. So despite the sinister getup, you’re actually just a salaryman,
technically speaking.”
According to the thug, they were hired by a small temp agency to do various
utility jobs. But that was just for outward appearances—in fact, that temp
agency was part of a larger, different company.
That company was a pharmaceutical producer, recently down on its luck, with
headquarters and a lab complex in Ikebukuro.
Kadota grinned happily at the thug’s story. “So a corporation in financial
trouble is kidnapping people for human experimentation? And this is happening
in a first-world country?”
He sounded skeptical, but in reality, he didn’t doubt the thug’s story. It was
hard to imagine him being able to lie at this point, and there were plenty of
rumors around Yagiri Pharmaceuticals already.
Kadota told them to let the thug out at a random spot, then started to leave
the van.
In a frail voice, the thug called out to his back.
“Who…who are…you people…?”
Kadota stopped and answered without turning back.
“…If I said we were the Dollars, would that ring a bell?”
Once Kadota was out of the car, Shimada called out to him.
“Um, Kadota, when you said the other guy talked…were you lying?”
“You could tell?”
Shimada looked exasperated for a moment, then grinned.
“Look, I just didn’t want to let Yumasaki do his thing. I like those Dengeki
Bunko books. It pains me to see them making a mockery of those stories.”
“…Oh. Kinda funny, this is the first time we’ve ever done something like this as
the Dollars. I mean, we decided to go ahead and do this for Kaztano’s sake, but if
it weren’t for the Dollars, we’d never have met him to begin with…”
Kadota, Shimada, Yumasaki and Karisawa were all members of the same
organization.
At first it was just a clique of good friends, but eventually Kadota found that
some downright dangerous people like Yumasaki were joining in positions below
him. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong to cause this, but now that they
were affiliated with him, he needed to keep them under control. As time went
on, though, he failed to find any of them jobs, and now everyone aside from
Kadota was simply bouncing around between part-time gigs.
They knew some other folks on the wrong side of the law, but as the group
didn’t have the backing of any major gangs, they mostly stayed out of trouble—
until one day their leader Kadota received an invitation. It simply asked if they
wanted to join the Dollars.
No restrictions, no rules, they just had to call themselves Dollars. It was a very
weird invitation. Neither side seemed to benefit from this, but the Dollars were
making a name for themselves around Ikebukuro and the label seemed
prestigious. Kadota himself was not that interested, but the rest of the group
was all for it, so he eventually gave in.
It must be my easygoing nature that caused this. Hell, even Shizuo Heiwajima
has a regular job.
At first he thought it was just a prank pulled by someone who knew his e-mail
address, so he accepted just to play along, but the very next day, his handle
name appeared on the Dollars’ home page.
“So what’s the Dollars’ boss saying about this one?”
“No idea.”
“Huh?”
“That’s the trouble. I’ve still never seen the leader of this gang. We’ve got this
hierarchy of all the little groups the Dollars have absorbed, but I can’t find
whoever sits at the top.”
Kadota couldn’t help but wonder who actually created this bizarre
organization. He didn’t like working for someone whose name or face he did not
know, but on the other hand, without a clear boss, he didn’t really feel like he
was working for anyone in the first place.
If anyone would set up something like this, it would have to be—
Izaya Orihara.
He used to live in Ikebukuro, and Kadota had met him on several occasions.
The man rudely stuck him with the nickname “Dotachin,” and Karisawa still
called him that.
With the unexpected appearance of that name in his mind, and the realization
that imagining a nonexistent leader didn’t do him a bit of good, Kadota decided
to put it all out of his mind.
The true powers in this town were the yakuza, the foreign mafia, and the
police. If anything, the Dollars ranked well below them.
No matter how much they captured the imagination, their numbers and power
meant nothing in the end—a fleeting illusion in the shifting midst of the city.
And that was exactly why he wanted proof that this illusion really existed.
But Kadota understood.
Only after the illusion vanished would he really know if that’s what the Dollars
were.
Chapter 8: Double Heroine, Sonohara
Several days of high school formalities passed for Mikado, and after the
customary health inspection, actual classes were scheduled to begin the
following day. At Raira Academy, the opening ceremonies happened on the first
day of school, the second was reserved for an introduction to the school’s clubs
and activities, and the third was for health inspections and homeroom.
In the midst of the aforementioned post-inspection homeroom, the class
decided on who should be their committee representatives.
“I know, let’s go pick up chicks,” Masaomi suggested in the manner of a
commercial slogan, smacking his textbook shut.
Masaomi was in Class B, and yet for some reason he was hanging out in
Mikado’s Class A. Considering that the majority of students were in uniforms, his
personal clothes made him stand out even more.
“What are you doing here?” Mikado finally asked, though he’d noticed
Masaomi’s presence minutes earlier. There was no teacher present, so the boy in
seat number one was carrying out the proceedings in his place.
“So Mr. Yamazaki and Ms. Nishizaki will be our Beautification Committee
members, and Mr. Yagiri and Ms. Asakura will be our Health Committee reps,
while Mr. Kuzuhara and Ms. Kanemura are on the Discipline Committee, and for
the election monitor…”
It was standard practice for one male and one female student to be chosen for
each committee. The proxy leader read aloud each of the selections written on
the blackboard, then considered what was left.
“So we’re still missing our class representatives. Any volunteers?”
“Ye—”
Masaomi tried to raise his hand, but Mikado grabbed it and pulled it down.
Class rep. It seems cool, but it might also be a pain in the ass.
What Mikado wanted was an escape from the doldrums. He’d already flown
from the familiar sights of his hometown to an exciting new city, and
emboldened by the experiences he’d had over the last few days, his desire for
thrills was stronger than ever before.
Mikado’s brain, stimulated by the excitement of a new city, couldn’t help but
ignore the risks and scream for more.
More chills, more abnormality, more revolution!
Mikado was in such an elated state of mind that he would have fallen for any
scams, ripoffs, or cults out to target him. He wouldn’t have thought twice about
an invitation from Masaomi to a motorcycle gang meetup.
Despite his unquestioning mind-set, Mikado had enough self-awareness to
know that while the special rank of class representative promised new
experiences, he also didn’t want to be tied down to too much responsibility.
Maybe it’s best if I just sit back and let this play out…
“…”
One girl raised her hand, her eyes downcast.
It was Anri Sonohara, pale and bespectacled. The beautiful but aloof girl
surrounded by an aura that said to stay away.
“Umm, Miss…Anri Sonohara? Let’s put her on the board, then.”
A very disinterested round of applause rose from the class. No one else
seemed particularly engaged in the question of who would take what position.
“I’ll let you handle the rest, then,” the temporary leader said, writing Anri’s
name on the blackboard and retreating to his seat.
“In that case, is there anyone who wants to be the male class representative?”
Her voice was frail but clear. No one volunteered for the position, and an
uneasy silence fell upon the classroom.
What should I do? Mikado wondered as he gazed in a trance at Anri behind the
teacher’s desk. Suddenly, her glance fell upon one of the male students.
Mikado followed her eyes until he saw a particularly tall classmate. He was the
second tallest in the class, and Mikado recognized him as the one who’d just
been elected to the Health Committee.
Seiji Yagiri. That was the name written on the blackboard beneath the Health
Committee heading. Aside from his height, nothing about him seemed out of the
ordinary. But there was almost nothing boyish left in his face—if he’d been
introduced as three years older, it could have been taken at face value.
But if he was already assigned to a committee, why was the girl named Anri
staring at him like that? Mikado began to wonder if she might have a thing for
him, when…
Her gaze shifted directly to Mikado’s direction.
Huh?
Behind her glasses, Anri’s facial expression suggested concern. Mikado’s heart
leaped a beat.
“I’m a sinful man,” Masaomi muttered jokingly the moment Anri’s eyes shifted
away. “She’s totally got the hots for me. She’s feeling anxious about the wild,
dangerous night ahead of us.”
It was spoken quietly enough that only Mikado could hear. He decided to
shoot back a barb of his own.
“Sorry, can you speak Japanese? This is Japan, after all.”
“Damn! Always with the quick comeback! I never realized the danger in my
midst was coming from you, my old friend—but I live for the sake of love and
won’t hesitate to kill a pal if I must.”
“No hesitation in the slightest?!”
Upon more levelheaded reflection, she might have been looking at the outsider
Masaomi rather than Mikado. That might explain the worry he saw. Which
raised the question: What was Masaomi doing in that seat anyway?
That’s when he realized what she was really looking at.
The seat Masaomi was occupying belonged to a female student who hadn’t
appeared in any of the last three days, starting from the entrance ceremony. He
recalled that Anri had been concerned for that student during that very first day.
Mikado silently raised his hand. He had no idea what was running through
Anri’s mind, but if no one else was going to volunteer, it might as well be him.
“Oh…um…”
“It’s Ryuugamine. First name, Mikado. Meaning ‘imperial man,’” Masaomi
interjected for some reason. Anri dutifully wrote the name on the blackboard.
Several members of the class finally noticed Masaomi’s presence, but no one
seemed particularly concerned. No use ruffling any feathers—and nobody really
wanted to get involved with an unknown student wearing his own clothes, with
bleached brown hair and earrings.
In a way, Mikado’s plain appearance and subdued personality made him fit the
role of class rep quite well. No one raised any objections, and the process
continued uneventfully.
“Well, that’s all the positions—don’t forget to attend your first committee
meetings tomorrow. The times and places are written on the board outside the
office,” the new class rep read off the printout on the teacher’s desk, bringing a
quiet close to the homeroom period.
“We can go ahead and leave after cleaning up. Let’s get to it.”
In the end, Mikado became a class rep without even standing in front of the
class. He started on the cleaning process, feeling slightly unfulfilled. As he
mopped the hallway floor, Masaomi teased him, leaning against a window.
“Aha, so that’s what’s going on…”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t think you had it in you. Back in elementary school, you’d cry just
because someone made up rumors about you and a childhood friend. And
somehow you’ve turned into an aggressive hunter on the prowl, looking for
love!”
“Oh, that. Whatever,” Mikado muttered, brushing off his friend’s nonsense.
“Speaking of which, did you join anything?”
“Yep, the Discipline Committee.”
Mikado tried to imagine his friend being in charge of student behavior. He
summed up his thoughts with one word. “Yikes…”
“What do you mean, yikes? Hey, I actually wanted to be class rep, but we
needed a ferocious fifteen-man rock-paper-scissors tournament to decide that
slot, and I was tragically eliminated.”
“Fifteen volunteers?! In a rock-paper-scissors competition?! Geez, your class
was way more into it!” Mikado blurted, openly astonished. Masaomi grinned in
satisfaction.
“But there were only six volunteers for Discipline. I dunno about that guy from
your class, though; he looks like a real stickler for discipline. I’m hoping to use my
position on the inside to tear down the system from within.”
“…What are you talking about?”
“Whatever. Now that I’m on the Discipline Committee, there are no heavy
firearms coming onto this campus!”
“But small firearms are okay…?” Mikado murmured, having regained his cool
head.
Masaomi stomped his leg with cartoonish disappointment. He looked out the
window for a few moments, then turned back with a sense of purpose.
“I know, let’s go pick up chicks!” Masaomi repeated.
“Seriously, are you okay?”
Mikado finished up his cleaning assignment, feeling concern for the old friend
who was getting more and more unhinged by the day. He placed the mop in a
large storage locker and picked up his bag, walking off with Masaomi—when he
noticed Anri Sonohara at the entrance of the building with the tall shadow of
Seiji Yagiri. Anri was asking him something, her face dead serious, while Seiji
looked annoyed.
“—Then so it’s really seen her?”
“I told you, I haven’t. She just stopped coming.”
Anri’s words were too quiet to make out accurately, but Seiji’s irritated answer
was plenty clear. He turned in the direction of the two boys, clearly hoping to
brush Anri off. He was in charge of cleaning the entranceway, so his bag was
probably still in the classroom.
Anri watched him retreat, then noticed Mikado and Masaomi staring at her.
She hastily walked out of the door.
“Whoa, whoa, no need to be putting on a show with this quarrel on the third
day of school, young lovers,” Masaomi said. Mikado turned to see that he was
already blocking Seiji’s path. The combination of his words and appearance
made Masaomi the perfect villain for this scene.
“…What do you want? That wasn’t what you think it is.”
“Umm, you’re Yagiri, right? I’m in the same class as you. Mikado Ryuugamine.”
“Yeah…I remember you. Hard to forget a name like that,” Seiji said, his tension
easing as he recognized his class representative. Mikado had stepped in between
the two to prevent anything from erupting, but Masaomi pushed him aside to
get closer.
“Hey…Kida!”
“You’re pretty fit, dude. Let’s go pick up chicks!”
“Huhhh?” both Mikado and Seiji interjected.
“Kida, what in the world are you talking about?”
“It always helps to have one really tall guy in the group when you go cruising! If
it were just you and me, it’d be a zero-sum game—every positive effect of my
appearance would be canceled out by the negative effect of yours.”
“That’s mean! Why don’t you just invite someone from your class?”
“You idiot, if I did that, I’d have like twenty boys and girls coming along!”
Mikado was about to ask why girls would be tagging along for a pickup run
when Seiji interrupted. He was no longer irritated the way he was earlier, though
he didn’t seem to be in a mood to listen to the other two bicker, either.
“Sorry, but I’ve already got a girlfriend.”
That ought to have been the clincher, but Masaomi was not to be deterred.
“As if that matters!”
“Uh, yes it does!” Mikado interjected, but Masaomi paid him no attention.
“I don’t care about the presence or absence of any girlfriend—just talking to
another girl doesn’t make her your girlfriend, so there’s no issue of cheating
whatsoever!”
“Huh? Really?” Mikado asked, momentarily swayed by the flood of Masaomi’s
logical barrage. Seiji was unaffected in the slightest, however. He simply shook
his head quietly.
“No way. Even thinking about another girl is an act of betrayal.”
“Well, aren’t you a bastion of integrity? So you can’t possibly betray your
girlfriend?”
“It’s not my girlfriend I’d be betraying.”
“Huh? Then who?” Masaomi asked.
Seiji looked into open air, his eyes full of light and purpose. “Love.”
“Pardon?”
“I would be betraying the love I send to my girlfriend. I could betray her, but I
can’t betray my love.”
Silence.
“Uh…okay, dude.”
An uncomfortable pause enveloped all three, but Seiji’s expression didn’t
change in the least. The glory of belief and certainty shone in his eyes.
“Well, um…good luck with that!”
Masaomi offered him a hesitant fist, and Seiji bumped it back with a brilliant
smile.
“Yeah, thanks!”
He headed off to the classroom without another word. Masaomi watched him
confidently stride away and muttered, “Looks like you’ve got a real hothead in
your class, too.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“This is pathetic.”
They were at the famous Ikebukuro West Gate Park—as seen on TV!—but for
the middle of a weekday, it was virtually barren. Mikado had absolutely zero
intention of playing along with Masaomi’s flirtation mission, but he was
interested in taking a closer look at the place he’d seen on television so many
times.
It was indeed the locale he recognized, but Mikado soon realized that seeing it
in person was a completely different experience. The location was the backdrop
for news broadcasts, TV dramas, and variety shows, but each program gave it a
different feeling.
Impressed with how editing and presentation could create such different
impressions of the same place, Mikado watched Masaomi do his thing. It was
exasperating.
Masaomi couldn’t find any high school girls his age, so he had to resort to
hitting on the office ladies who walked through the park on their lunch breaks.
Of course, no working adult (on their break) was going to sit around and
entertain the advances of a teenage boy. The sight of his desperate, futile
attempts was kind of touching in a way.
When Mikado relayed this to Masaomi after he took a short break, his friend
grinned and replied, “What do you mean? The goal is just to talk to women, and
I’m succeeding with flying colors! Besides, calling things desperate or futile is the
last thing you should do when talking to women! When you’re around a
beautiful woman, the only thing that ensures your actions are desperate or futile
is thinking that they are. You get me?”
“I don’t get you at all,” Mikado muttered and stretched lazily. There was no
point to just sitting around here all day, so he decided to head somewhere he
wanted to go. “I’m going over to 60-Kai Street on my own.”
“What? You think you can pick up chicks without a wingman? When did you
turn into such a lady-killer?”
“I’m not going to pick up chicks.”
But Masaomi wasn’t listening. He jabbed a finger at Mikado’s face and leered,
“You’re going to be reduced to tears over the loss of my skills soon enough!
You’re gonna wind up getting played by one of those ganguro girls who don’t
realize that the overtanned look was out of style years ago!”
“What does any of that have to do with your skill?!”
“Shut it, shut it, let your mouth be a door and shut it! Let’s have a
competition! We’ll see who can pick up more girls, me or you!”
“Seriously? You’re gonna hit on girls while trailing an entourage of girls you hit
on?”
Masaomi ignored him and started sprinting toward the station. Within
moments, he was calling out to a housewife with her child and shopping bags.
Mikado let out his deepest sigh of the day and headed to the east exit of the
station on his own.
It wasn’t a perfectly straight line, but he did manage to reach 60-Kai Street
with relative ease. This point actually wasn’t that far from his apartment. Mikado
planned to wander around checking out stores until nightfall, then head straight
home. If Masaomi was still the same person Mikado remembered from
elementary school, he’d forget about the silly competition and go home soon.
When they were seven, Masaomi was “it” in a game of hide-and-seek, and he
left to go home in the middle of the game. When Mikado finally returned home
that night in tears, Masaomi was there in the house. With his cheeks full of
Mikado’s dinner, he said, “Found ya.”
Now that I think about it, we had our share of adventures back in that town. I
wonder when those stopped happening.
There was nothing particularly interesting to relate from middle school. It was
just a very long succession of safe, boring days.
Mikado dreamed of the outside world but had no reason to leave his
hometown. He’d been stuck in an unchanging situation—until the day his family
got an Internet connection, and his world changed forever.
Now there were endless worlds at his fingertips. He had access to information
he would never learn from his ordinary life. It was as though, just on the other
side of the world he lived in, a much, much larger world had appeared. And in
the new world, there was no such thing as distance.
As he delved further and further into the world of the Net and found himself
on the verge of living a shut-in existence, Mikado one day came to an epiphany.
He was free to passively receive anything and everything from the Internet—but
when it came time to add his own information to that world, there was almost
nothing he had to say or share.
When he realized this, Mikado became even more fascinated with the world
outside of his town. The picture of Tokyo that Masaomi painted for him shone
brighter than ever before.
And now he was within that light. Masaomi claimed that the countryside was
where it was brightest now, but Mikado didn’t get that feeling yet. He knew
what his friend meant, and he didn’t intend to leave and never look back. But he
knew that when nostalgia did register, it would be further on in the future, not
now.
Mikado just wanted to savor the taste of the big city and breathe in its air so
that it infused with his lungs.
As though he were a part of the city itself.
He spun around to take in more of the scenery and that city air.
Raira Academy uniforms filled 60-Kai Street, and the town itself seemed to be
dyed with the color of the outfit.
“They’re almost their own color gang,” he muttered, then noticed a familiar
face. “Sonohara!”
He was about to walk over to her when he noticed that she was surrounded by
other girls in the same uniform, and there was a prickly tension in the air. They
were close to the entrance of a side alley where it met the street, and the three
girls had Anri pinned against the wall.
Curious, Mikado carefully approached the alley. None of the four girls noticed
him, but he was close enough to make out every word of the conversation. In
fact, it was less of a conversation than a one-sided interrogation.
“I hear you think you’re some kinda big shot even without that Mika Harima
around.”
“…”
“And now you’re the class rep? What are you, some kinda goody-goody?”
“Why don’t you say something? You were like a barnacle stuck on Mika’s side
in middle school.”
The three girls were taking turns verbally abusing Anri, but she showed no sign
of reacting to any of it.
Are they seriously bullying her? Do people in Japan still do that?! And those
insults are so…clichéd! It’s like they walked out of an old manga!
Mikado found it hard to be intimidated by such stereotypical insults. As a
fellow class rep, he knew he ought to step in—but his brain was hung up on the
idea of what he should actually do. It wouldn’t really work to pretend he didn’t
see anything now, but he also didn’t like the idea of getting on the girls’ shit list.
I know! I’ll walk up with a smile and say, “Why, fancy meeting you here,
Sonohara,” as if I don’t realize she’s being picked on! Yes, that’s the plan! And if
those girls say anything, I’ll think on my feet.
His idea seemed trapped somewhere between optimism and pessimism, but
Mikado was already walking forward…when a hand caught his shoulder from
behind.
“?!”
He held his breath and turned around to see a familiar face.
“Stepping in to stop the bullying? Very brave,” said Izaya Orihara, looking
interested. He kept his grip but started pushing Mikado forward instead of
pulling.
“Uh, what?!” Mikado shrieked, finally drawing the attention of the four girls.
“H-h-hi, Sonohara, wh-wh-what a c-c-c-coincidennnn— Aaaa— Hang on!”
Izaya pushed him right into the midst of the girls.
“Wh-what’s the big deal?” asked one of the bullies, somewhat intimidated. It
was meant not for Mikado, but the man behind him, of course.
“You really shouldn’t be extorting people out in broad daylight like this. God
might let you get away with it, but the police won’t,” Izaya joked. He continued
to approach the girls. “Bullying really is the lamest thing you can do.”
“Like it’s any of your beeswax, old man!” the girls screeched, either because
they had finally shown their true colors or as a bluff to hide their fear.
“You’re right, it’s not,” he said, grinning. He delivered the three girls a warning.
“It’s none of my business. If you’re beat up and left here to die, that’s none of
my business. If I decided to assault you, if I decided to stab you, if you decided to
call me, a twenty-three-year-old man, “old,” it would not change the fact that
your affairs and mine are eternally unrelated. Every human being has a
connection to every other, and yet we are all unrelated.”
“Huh?”
“Human beings are so vapid,” Izaya said enigmatically and took another step
toward them. “Look, I’m not really into the idea of hitting girls.”
In the next moment, a small bag appeared in Izaya’s right hand.
“Huh? What?” one of the girls piped up, recognizing the expensive-looking
bag. Somehow it had made its way from its customary spot on her shoulder into
the man’s hands. The strap, still hanging over her shoulder, was cut clean at the
waist.
While the girls were thrown into confusion, Mikado was downright terrified.
In Izaya’s left hand, held behind his back, was a very sharp knife. The scariest
part was that Mikado had been watching the man’s movements the entire time,
but he never noticed where the knife came from or when he’d slashed the bag
free of the strap.
Izaya smartly folded up the knife and slipped it into the sleeve of his suit jacket,
all one-handed behind his back. Mikado felt like he was watching a magician at
work.
Still grinning, the older man pulled a cell phone out of the little bag.
“So I think I’ll start a new hobby—stomping on girls’ cell phones.”
He tossed her phone into the air. It clacked and clattered on the ground, the
case plastered in little stickers.
“Hey, what’s the big—?”
She quickly reached out to pick up the phone…
And Izaya stepped hard on it, just barely missing her outstretched fingers.
With the sound of crunching snacks, broken shards of split plastic appeared
under the sole of his shoe. The girl shrieked in horror, but Izaya stomped again
and again. The movement was mechanical and precise, hitting the exact same
spot over and over. The robotic repetition even extended to his laugh.
“Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”
“Oh my God, I think he’s on something!”
“What a creep! Let’s get outta here!”
The other two dragged off the victim of the phone stomping, who looked on in
mute shock. They exited the alley onto the main street and disappeared.
Once he was certain they were gone, Izaya’s laughing and stomping stopped
instantly. He turned to Mikado as if nothing had just happened. Anri did not run,
but stayed where she was, watching Izaya and Mikado with fright in her eyes.
“I’m bored. I think I’m over the phone-stomping fad,” Izaya said and gave
Mikado a gentle smile. “It’s pretty brave of you to help someone being bullied.
Most kids these days wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh…?”
Anri looked at Mikado, surprised. Given his extremely weak and passive
attempt to help, and the confusion wrought by Izaya’s grand entrance, Mikado
seemed to be trying to forget he’d done anything.
Unperturbed by any of this, Izaya addressed the boy slowly and deliberately.
“Mikado Ryuugamine, our meeting was no coincidence. I was searching for
you.”
“Huh?”
Mikado was about to ask what he meant by that when a trash can from a
convenience store hit Izaya square on the side.
The trash can fell in place, crashing to the ground with a tremendous
clattering.
“Guh!” Izaya grunted, losing his balance and falling to his knees. The metal can
hit him straight on, but the impact was from the flat side rather than an edge, so
the damage wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
Izaya lurched to his feet and glared in the direction the trash can had come
from.
“Sh-Shizu.”
“Iiizaaayaaa,” came a lazy voice. Mikado and Anri slowly turned toward it.
It was a young man with sunglasses. He was wearing a classic bartender’s
outfit with a snappy bow tie, like an old-fashioned solicitor for a cabaret club or a
hostess bar. The man was quite tall, though not as tall as Simon. But his frame
was lithe and compact, not the body of a man you’d expect to throw a trash can
that far.
“Didn’t I tell you never to show your face in Ikebukuro again, Iiizaaayaaa?”
Izaya very clearly recognized the man, and for the first time in Mikado’s
presence, the smile vanished from his face.
“I thought you were working over toward the West Gate, Shizu.”
“I got fired ages ago. Plus, I told you not to call me that, Iiizaaayaaa. How many
times have I told you that my name is Shizuo Heiwajima?” the man growled,
veins pulsing on his face. His features were ordinary enough that he looked like a
typical bartender by default, but the invisible aura of domination he emitted
tipped Mikado’s scales from intimidation straight into terror.
I’ve never actually seen someone with bulging veins in real life before, Mikado
initially thought, but in moments his body was completely controlled by primal,
instinctual fear.
Shizuo Heiwajima—one of the people Masaomi said never to mess with. He
had qualified that with “outside of yakuza,” so at the very least, this man was an
ordinary civilian. But Mikado felt with all of his being that if there was a person
who lived through violence alone, this was him.
It all made sense. Virtually any person living in Japan, upon seeing this man,
would know they didn’t want the first thing to do with him. It would be easier to
avoid him with a face that screamed danger from a distance, but it was his very
ordinary looks that made him so dangerous.
“Come on, Shizu. Are you still mad about me framing you for my crime?”
“I’m not mad at all. I just want to beat your brains in.”
“Oh, c’mon. Just let me go.”
Izaya pulled the knife out of his sleeve. “I don’t like your violence, Shizu,
because it doesn’t respond to reason, words, or logic.”
“Aaah!” Anri shrieked at the sight of the silvery blade, finally snapped out of
her daze. Mikado held his breath and tried to motion to her to run away. She
nodded, her back pressed to the wall, then clutched her bag to her chest and
raced away. Mikado followed right behind her, turning back just once to glance
down the alley.
Shizuo’s bellow of rage echoed off the walls, and people on the sidewalk
stopped and looked down the side alley. Then, parting the crowd, the enormous
shape of Simon, well over six feet tall—and Mikado couldn’t watch anymore.
Absolute terror swirled within him. His new city was a maelstrom of the
ordinary and extraordinary, but he didn’t know which of the two this was. The
only thing he knew was that he must never get involved with whatever that was.
He finally understood what Masaomi meant by the people to never make
enemies with.
And those are regular civilians. How terrifying must the yakuza and Chinese
mafia be?
The tales of violence he read about on the Net seemed like they had to partially
be just that: tales. Now that he’d come into direct contact with it himself,
Mikado was overwhelmed by the fear that actual violence inspired.
Finally, he gauged that it was safe, and he called out to Anri.
“H-hey, w…wait…hurts to…breathe…”
Sadly, even though he was running with all of his strength, he never once
broke ahead of Anri.
That was the cruel shackle of reality as Mikado Ryuugamine knew it.
“Are you all right?”

Mikado took Anri to a nearby café, hoping to calm her down. He ordered them
two cream sodas, then later realized it seemed like a childish choice.
“Um… Thank you for your help.”
“Uh, n-no, not at all! If anything, it was that Izaya guy who saved you!”
“But…”
Damn, what should I say? This just had to happen when Masaomi isn’t here to
help me out.
Mikado wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew that not saying anything at all
wasn’t an option, so he tried to find a topic.
“So…were those girls from your middle school?”
Anri nodded.
“That explains it. So when you were in middle school, this Mika girl was there
to stick up for you when they bugged you, but now that she’s gone, those bullies
from the past seized their chance to get back at you?”
Anri trembled at Mikado’s conjecture. “H-how did you know that?!”
“Um, j-just a guess based on the conversation… Anyway, is this Mika the Mika
Harima from our class?”
She seemed to be calmer now and started to explain. “The thing is…Mika’s
been marked absent at school, but in fact, she hasn’t been home at all since the
day before the entrance ceremony.”
“…Huh?”
That seemed like a matter for the police. The concern must have shown in
Mikado’s eyes, because Anri quietly shook her head.
“Technically, she’s not missing—she’s been sending e-mails to both my cell
phone and her family. Messages like, ‘I’m going on a journey of spiritual healing.’
Or a report of whatever train station she’s currently at.”
“Spiritual healing? What happened?”
“Well, uh…”
For the first time, Anri was unable to answer. She cast her eyes down, clearly
not wanting to talk about it.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. The guy who would talk is too busy having an
affair with a housewife right now,” Mikado blabbered while insisting on his
ability to keep secrets. Anri failed to notice the contradiction. She thought for
several moments.
“Will you promise not to be shocked?”
“Oh, nothing could shock me after the scene we just witnessed,” Mikado said,
putting on his most reassuring smile. The time he spent with Masaomi in
elementary school had taught him the proper way to soften a situation for the
other person.
That boyish smile apparently did the trick, because Anri put it as bluntly as
possible.
“Mika Harima…is a stalker.”
Plurfp!
Half-melted ice cream spurted out of Mikado’s smiling mouth.
Once her story was done, Mikado tried to piece it together.
“I see… So Yagiri the Health Committee rep was being bothered…er,
romantically approached by Mika, and when he turned her down, she went on a
journey of healing to fix her broken heart?”
According to Anri, Mika Harima had a habit of doing this, going back to middle
school—picking the locks of the homes of boys she fell in love with at first sight
or researching their vacation destinations and meeting them there, only to thank
them for inviting her. In short, she changed the truth to whatever suited her.
On top of that personality, she had excellent grades and a rich family. She got
her own apartment to live in while at high school, one with a monthly rent of
more than 100,000 yen. Raira Academy had its own dorm, but it was located so
far away from the school campus that most students chose to commute from
home or got their own apartments to learn independent living at a young age.
Mikado was one of the latter, as was Anri, who had a cheap place a little farther
away.
This Harima girl’s got quite a life.
Then she met Seiji Yagiri and decided that he was The One. She started visiting
his home, then failed to show up for the first day of school. According to Seiji, he
gave her a very convincing no on the day before the entrance ceremony, warned
her that he’d call the police—and hadn’t seen her since.
Mikado felt a cold sweat forming as he heard more and more of Anri’s story.
Apparently she’d been sitting between him and Seiji during the school’s entrance
exams. It could very easily have been Mikado whom Mika had decided to follow.
He was secretly relieved that he hadn’t saved any girls in town so far—not that
he would’ve been able to if he wanted.
He didn’t let any of these thoughts cross his face, though. Mikado was all
business as he listened to Anri’s story.
“So what happens when you call her?”
“She won’t pick up… It seems like she keeps her phone off except to send
messages… When I brought that up in an e-mail, she said she didn’t want to hear
my voice because it would make her homesick…”
“I see… Hmmm. I wonder if it’s best to just hang back for now… Or maybe, just
in case, you could put a little pressure on her in a message by saying you might
have to call the police if you don’t hear her voice?”
Mikado tried a number of commonsense suggestions, but none were solid
opinions of his. Time dragged on without an apparent solution.
“By the way, would you say you’re her best friend?”
“…I can’t say for certain, but we were together all the time. I’m a bit awkward
and don’t know how to get along with people, and she was the one who took me
by the hand and pulled me along. After that, we were always together…”
Mikado suddenly realized that the two girls were not just simple friends. One
heard stories about this on the Internet, where the beating heart of such
friendships was always spelled out in the most gruesome, harsh terms.
“Plus, with her grades, she could have gone to a much better school than this.
Instead, she chose to go to mine. I felt really bad about that…”
That’s probably because she thought you were a useful tool and foil for her
and didn’t want to lose you…
Mikado just barely kept that sentiment from reaching his lips. He was very glad
that Masaomi wasn’t present. If this conversation was happening in a chat
room, he’d have blurted that out without a second thought.
But maybe making that clear would ultimately be the best for her, Mikado
thought, his eyes wandering as his mind grappled with indecision.
Anri noticed this and giggled. “It’s okay, I know the truth.”
Shocked that he was so easy to read, Mikado stammered a hasty “Wh-what?”
“I know that I was nothing more than a foil for her. And to be frank, I was using
her as well. I don’t think I could survive without doing that. The reason I
volunteered for the class rep job was because I knew she’d want to do it. So I
figured if she wasn’t able, at least it should be me.”
Now everything made sense to Mikado. When Anri looked his way during
homeroom, it wasn’t him she was looking at—it was Mika’s empty seat. Only it
wasn’t empty because Masaomi was occupying it.
Meanwhile, Anri revealed some information he hadn’t asked her for.
“But, in fact, it’s just for my own self-satisfaction. I felt like, if I can be the class
rep, I might even be able to surpass her… I think it’s very unfair of me.”
Before she could finish her thought, Mikado cut in, his voice cold and clinical.
“Actually, the worst part of it is that you’re telling someone else.”
“…”
“It’s like you’re hoping that someone unrelated to the situation will forgive you
for your actions. At least trying to be better than her in some fashion is the right
choice. So you should hold your head high and do it fair and square.”
Inwardly, Mikado chided himself for taking it too far. After their long
conversation, he’d gotten so engaged that he ended up telling her something he
would normally have kept to himself. He watched her reaction, half-afraid she
would explode with anger—but she seemed neither angry nor upset.
“Yes, I suppose so… Thank you,” she smiled sadly.
Mikado thought to himself, How pretty must Mika Harima be if she’s using this
girl to make herself look better?
It was probably more of a foil for personality than for looks, but Mikado
couldn’t help but wonder.
“Um, thank you very much.”
Anri bowed to Mikado again as they said good-bye. Mikado wanted to pay for
their order at the café, but she insisted, and they split the bill. The shadows were
stretching long across 60-Kai Street, and the deepening sky silently stared down
at the two.
“No, it’s okay. This was the first time we ever talked, but now that we’re the
representatives of our class, I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”
Anri smiled kindly and nodded.
“Actually, Ryuugamine, I’ve known about you for a while.”
“Huh?”
“When I came to deliver my enrollment form to the office, they checked it
against a list of names. I spotted a cool-looking name on the list, and no sooner
had I noticed it than someone came and checked it off…”
Something weird was happening. Mikado gave her a bland affirmative, trying
to dispel the feeling of dread welling up in his chest.
“And now…the owner of that very name has helped me out of a bind.”
Just a second.
It was starting to sound exactly like the situation between Mika and Seiji. Anri
was smiling at him, her face a mask over her true intentions.
Uh, crap. I don’t think I’m ready for a stalker… But would it be so bad if it was
a really cute girl like her? Yes, it would. What if she ends up stabbing me?! Or
she might set my house on fire or take my family hostage… But if it turns out
she’s cool, then I wouldn’t mind her stalking me… Wait, no! If she’s a stalker,
that rules out the possibility of being cool entirely! Then again, if I really had to
choose yes or no…
After three seconds of wild, circular speculation, Mikado realized he had no
idea how to react to his classmate.
Anri noticed his discomfort and giggled. “I’m joking.”
“Uh…”
“I’m sure you don’t want someone like me hanging around and bothering you.
But don’t worry, I’m not a stalker.”
Along with the realization that she was teasing him, Mikado felt a deep shame
at having been so obvious—as well as an even greater sense of guilt.
“…Sorry.”
“Huh? N-no, don’t apologize! I’m the one who was teasing you!” Anri
stammered, wide-eyed, clearly not expecting an apology.
They both cast about awkwardly for something to say, and Mikado broke the
silence with a simple “Well, see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, I suppose we’ll be seeing plenty of each other.”
She might have a bit of a sneaky streak to her, but she’s a good person at
heart, Mikado thought as he headed back to his apartment. She wasn’t the
otherworldly spirit he originally imagined, just a normal girl with an awkward life.
Maybe it’s kind of like my relationship with Masaomi. He’s the one who always
tugs me around, and it’s how I came into contact with my new world here.
Mikado shook his head, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be thinking that
way. Instead, he remembered the girl named Mika Harima, who had disappeared
after her crush rejected her advances.
“He must have really shut her down hard. But if that’s all it took to make her
give up, maybe she wasn’t that bad of a stalker to begin with,” he mumbled to
himself.
Then again, according to Anri’s story, Mika had picked the lock of her crush’s
apartment—while she was in middle school. Would she really give up on her
“man of fate” because of a little police threat?
Mikado realized he was spending serious thought on a stalker he’d never met.
He rolled his head back to the sky and sighed.
I know I was hoping for some wild stuff to happen, but not these
disappearances and stalkers.
He swallowed his melancholy and stopped walking, hoping for a change of
pace. Maybe he could find a hundred-yen shop to browse through on the way
back home.
A sound that bridged reality and fantasy hit his ears.
An engine rumble like the whinny of some living animal. It groaned and
growled in fits and starts, sounding more agitated than ever before.
“The Black Rider!”
Mikado couldn’t stifle his rising curiosity and excitement—he never expected
to hear the bike so close to the crowded station. He raced off in the direction of
the sound.
Just one turn at the next intersection and it should be in view. He tried not to
let the moment take control of him, pulled right around the corner—
And into a scene from an old-fashioned manga.
“… Oh ho. So you ran into a beautiful girl rounding a corner, and she just so
happened to be running from a bad guy on a motorcycle, plus she has amnesia.
And you want me to accept each and every one of those details at face value.”
“What can I say? It’s all true.”
“If there’s one thing amongst all that truth that doesn’t make sense, it’s the
mystery of why she ran into you around that corner instead of me.”
Mikado and Masaomi were arguing in the midst of a cramped apartment room
measuring just four and a half tatami mats—less than a hundred square feet.
Mikado’s new apartment contained no other appliances than a PC with
onboard TV tuner and a rice cooker. It was one of the cheapest rooms in his
building—the only one cheaper was the three-tatami room next door. It was
only because that spot was taken that Mikado had to take the more expensive
option. But apparently that tenant was a cameraman who was typically out on
location, so most days it was empty.
He felt he could have taken that tiny room, but now that he had a guest over,
he realized just how small four and a half already was and thanked God that he
hadn’t tried for a three-mat room given the current circumstances.
Unlike Mikado’s wild confusion over said circumstances, Masaomi was calm
and cool.
“Now, it would have been really trite—er, tight—if you were running late for
school. It would have been marvelous if she turned out to be a new transfer
student to your class. And it would have been perfect if she was a queen from a
far-off country…and your long-lost childhood friend to boot!”
Mikado rubbed his chin, completely ignoring Masaomi’s ideas.
I know I asked for the extraordinary, but this much of it makes me wonder if
it’s all a dream. I hope it’s a dream.
Masaomi continued goofing around, despite Mikado’s silence.
“Did you pick up on that pun with trite and tight?”
“There’s nothing less funny than explaining your own joke.”
Mikado looked down at the girl lying next to them, feeling like he had just said
that not long ago. He couldn’t tell how old she was, but she looked older than
him. She slept in total peace, wearing plain pajamas that looked like they came
from a nearby hospital.
When they collided just around that corner, she asked him for help. He stood
there in confused disbelief until he noticed a black motorcycle was heading
straight for them.
The rest he did not remember. Apparently he grabbed her by the arm and
pulled her into the train station. The motorcycle couldn’t follow him down there,
and they left from a different exit, then ran to Mikado’s apartment.
“It sounded like she lost her memory, and she said not to call the police…so I
didn’t know what else to do…”
“Just have to wait it out, I guess,” said Masaomi, watching the sleeping girl.
“She is beautiful, though. Almost doesn’t look Japanese… In fact, is she
Japanese?”
“Well, she was speaking Japanese…”
They decided that waiting until tomorrow to ask her more was the best plan.
Normally, the circumstances dictated that such a person be turned over to the
police for help, regardless of what they said, but Mikado had no intention of
doing that.
Yes, it might be a well-worn development, but it was still a scene right out of a
movie or comic book. This was the exact kind of adventure he wanted.
The only thing that caused him concern was the fact that the Black Rider might
now be able to recognize him. He’d grabbed the girl and safely gotten away, but
he still had no idea why the black motorcycle would be chasing her. If he had to
survive in the big city knowing that the urban legend Black Rider was after him…
He hated normal, boring stuff. He wanted a different life than the one regular
people had. Perhaps that was why he’d chosen to harbor this mysterious girl.
But escaping the ordinary required the assumption of risks.
Was the Black Rider my risk?
Mikado’s imagination set him shivering as Masaomi said good-bye.
There was one thing Mikado kept secret from his friend.
A bandage was currently wrapped around the girl’s neck. It hadn’t been there
before Masaomi came over to visit, but once Mikado got a good look at her, he
noticed something very striking.
Below her head, in a clean circle running completely around her neck, was a
series of needle marks resembling medical stitches.
As though a saw had taken her head right off, and someone had sewn it back
on.
Chapter 9: Double Heroine, Wounded Girl
We rewind the clock.

Right around the time that Mikado and Anri walked into the café, a “pawn”
elsewhere in the neighborhood lurched into motion.
Research lab, Yagiri Pharmaceuticals
A dull thud echoed off the walls of the Lab Six meeting room.
“What do you mean…escaped?”
Coffee streamed across the table out of the tipped cup next to Namie Yagiri’s
clenched fist. The scalding liquid burned the skin of her hand, but she didn’t bat
an eye. Her fist trembled only with quiet rage and panic.
“If the police find out, we’re done for! All of us!”
She scanned the faces of her subordinates, anger and haste glittering in her
eyes.
“So you played nice and quiet while you were looking for your chance to
escape…”
Eventually she bit her lip to hold the rage inside. Her tongue was painted a
darker red than just from her lipstick.
“…Very well. I want our full street-level forces in action. No more skulking
around in the shadows now, use every possible resource—and if any trouble
arises, have it taken care of promptly.”
“Shall I order them not to harm the target?” asked one of the men at her side.
Namie thought it over briefly, then gave the order in unequivocal terms.
“It would be quite a shame—but in this case, I want our property returned,
dead or alive.”
Seiji Yagiri sighed as he made his way to the research lab where he would find
his sister.
Yes, this is love. A love that cannot be stopped.
Seiji first met “her” five years ago. As a ten-year-old boy, his sister snuck him
face-to-face with his uncle’s secret.
“She” was like a sleeping beauty in a fairy tale, waiting for the arrival of her
Prince Charming within that glass case. Despite the grisly appearance of a
severed head, Seiji felt not the least bit of fear or disgust. His boyish heart was
completely bewitched by the majesty of the object.
As he grew older, Seiji developed reason. But his sense of reason originated
from, and revolved around, her head, and she eventually ate away at his mind.
The head did not cast a conscious spell on him, nor did it use some kind of brain
waves or pheromones. The head just lived. And in the act of staying true to his
heart, Seiji Yagiri fell completely in love with her.
Just as Namie Yagiri looked to her brother for love, that brother sought love
from a mute head. And that pure desire spurred him into motion.
When his sister took the head away under the guise of research, Seiji thought,
I want to set her free from the prison of that glass case. I want to show her the
world.
He believed that she would want it that way and waited years for his chance to
strike. He stole his sister’s security card, memorized the patrol guards’ routes,
then knocked them out with a stun baton. Seiji felt no guilt—he only wanted to
see the joy on her face. But even after taking her out of the lab, she did not
wake.
The head did not return his love. But that was because his love was
insufficient, he told himself. Thus did Seiji continue to believe that his utterly
one-sided infatuation was in fact an eternal bond.
Why does love once gained and then lost feel so dear? Seiji lamented, like
some preteen in love with the idea of love, as he strode toward the laboratory
with severe purpose.
“I know I told sis to handle it…but I just can’t let her be alone in there. Plus, it’s
just too cruel to cut open her head and peer inside, even if it is for the sake of
science,” he muttered to himself, completely unaware of the dire nature of
events. Seiji passed through the entrance doors of the lab.
“I shouldn’t have given her back. I should have fought and argued. As long as I
show them the truth of my love, sis and Uncle will understand eventually. And if
that doesn’t work, we can just elope.”
They were the words of some star-crossed nobleman hoping to marry a
commoner, but there was no hesitation or doubt in Seiji’s intent. By all
appearances, he seemed to be a perfectly normal, optimistic teenage boy—but
that very ordinariness turned horribly, grotesquely wrong when his love interest
was revealed to be a living, sleeping head.
Even worse, however, was the fact that the entire existence of Mika Harima
was completely, permanently gone from his mind. She had impacted him
directly, but he could no longer recall her face or the sound of her voice. As an
obstacle to his love, Seiji had eradicated all traces of her from his memory, and a
man who lived on love alone had no need to recall the obstacles he had
eliminated.
If I have to, I’ll just steal her keycard again, Seiji thought as he watched a
cleaning van race out of the laboratory’s parking lot.
Seiji knew they were not cleaners, but the so-called “underlings” of the lab:
kidnappers doing its dark bidding. And not kidnappers involved with slavery rings
in some far-off country, but the kind dealing with illegal human experiments.
On top of that, Seiji knew that they got into this abduction business because of
their research on her. They ran experiments on the kidnapped victims using the
cells, genetic data, and even liquids they extracted from her. It baffled him why
they needed to go to these paranoid, urban legend lengths to study an actual
head that really existed, but it probably had to do with the pressure being put on
Yagiri Pharmaceuticals by that Nebula company. At least, as far as Seiji
understood it.
Apparently the experiments were not cruel, grisly vivisections, but conducted
after using anesthetics to put the subjects into a coma. Once they got the data
they wanted, the victims were released alive in a park or some other location.
They would choose victims that couldn’t otherwise go to the police about their
abduction—illegal immigrants or criminal types without the backing of one of
the powerful mobs—but there were also rumors that the underlings would
kidnap runaway girls and other lucrative targets to make their own money on the
side.
The bastards make me sick. Have they no respect for human life?
Seiji glared at the van as it passed, filled with a righteous anger—then noticed
that someone was stuck to the rear door of the van.
The thing—no, the person—clinging onto the back of the vehicle had a scar
running around her neck.
And above that scar—was the head of his dearly beloved.
The lightless motorcycle sped down the street outside the train station
without a sound.
It passed directly in front of the police box, but the officers did not notice the
dark, silent vehicle. At worst, the occasional pedestrian looked on in confusion at
a motorcycle emitting no engine sound. It was trying to stay relatively
inconspicuous in that very public location, so it wasn’t reckless—if anything, the
rider was careful not to let its darkened bike cause other vehicles to collide.
When it did speed up, it let the engine roar a tiny bit, just to alert the people
around it of its presence.
The headless horse—the Coiste Bodhar—could frighten people with its roar,
and that had not changed since its spirit had been transferred to a motorcycle,
but occasionally it had the opposite effect, drawing the excited interest of
onlookers instead. Despite her alarm at the varied nature of the humans around
her, the dullahan had learned how best to ride through the town over the years.
She just didn’t realize that she had become the stuff of urban legend.
When she didn’t have any work, Celty wandered around the town searching
for her head—but naturally, she never just happened across a severed head lying
on the ground, so it was an essentially meaningless activity. The dullahan
understood that perfectly well, but she couldn’t stand the idea of just sitting
around doing nothing, and so she wandered.
To her surprise, she had seen essentially zero fairies or spirits aside from
herself since coming to Japan. On very rare occasions, she might sense the tiniest
sliver of something from the trees lining the center of a park or along the
entrance to 60-Kai Street, but she had never seen them for herself. She had felt
many more of her kind back in Ireland. Celty thought it would be better to have
another dullahan along to help her look for the head, but that was out of the
question now. Twenty years later, the security around ship stowaways and
smugglers was far stronger. It would take the presence of that very head of hers
to leave Japan at this point.
It eventually dawned on Celty that it might be completely impossible for her to
find supernatural entities like herself within the limits of her abilities here.
That’s just the world of man for you. I suppose it would be the same in New
York or Paris. Perhaps if I looked in the forest of Hachioji…or just traveled all the
way to Hokkaido or Okinawa, where there’s more nature…
But without her head, she could not travel anywhere without Shinra’s help.
There was only so far a person could go wearing a helmet without drawing extra
suspicion.
Besides, she couldn’t leave Tokyo until she had found her head. What if she left
for a different region now, and when she came back, that faint sensation she’d
followed here was gone for good?
By checking the locations that she could no longer sense the head against a
map, Celty knew that wherever her head was, it was centered in Ikebukuro. But
without a way to narrow that down to anything more specific, her only option
was just to wander around the area in search of it.
Ultimately, that search was in the form of a simple type of street patrol. If she
found something curious, she looked it up on the Internet, and anything more
suspicious than that required the help of Shinra or Izaya to identify. That was the
best she could do.
So perhaps unsurprisingly, she had gained no hints whatsoever in twenty
years.
Facing another day of undoubtedly useless searching, Celty heard Shinra’s
words echo inside of her heart.
“Just give up.”
That wasn’t an option. She wasn’t exactly unhappy with her life as it stood
now, but in order to stifle the feeling that swirled within her, she needed to find
true tranquillity. She needed her head back.
The light turned red, and Celty came to a silent stop. As she waited, a figure at
the side of the intersection called out to her.
“Yo, Celty.”
She looked over to see a man wearing a bartender’s outfit. It was Shizuo
Heiwajima, whose name meant “Quiet Island of Peace”—or, as Shinra called
him, the “guy in town who least lives up to his name.”
“Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Celty had been patrolling Ikebukuro for twenty years, and for much of that
time, she’d known this man. Of course, he had no idea of Celty’s true nature or
her gender, but Shizuo was also the kind of man who didn’t bother with little
details like that. When the light turned green, Celty turned left and pulled over to
step off the bike.
Shizuo’s clothes were ripped here and there, as though slashed by a knife. He
had probably just been in a fight.
If anyone could have cut up Shizuo’s outfit like this, it was probably Izaya
Orihara. Sure enough, that information came straight from the horse’s mouth in
seconds.
“Izaya’s back here in Ikebukuro… I was just about to sock him a good one, but
Simon stepped in to stop me in the nick of time.”
Based on just that statement, Shizuo was indeed a laid-back, well-behaved
person. But that was only because Celty never talked.
Shizuo snapped at the tiniest things. He got irritated and angered over words,
so the more talkative a person, the quicker he became enraged. She’d seen
Shinra and Shizuo have a conversation once, and it was as tender and tricky a
situation as handling a stick of dynamite with the fuse lit.
He especially hated people who argued in logical circles, and thus Shizuo and
Izaya Orihara were always at odds. For his part, Izaya hated people that his logic
didn’t work on, so the two of them kept antagonizing the other.
Until Izaya moved to Shinjuku, the two fought on 60-Kai Street nearly every
day, until Simon broke up their brawl and forced them into his sushi shop, each
and every time.
As a parting gift when he moved away, Izaya framed Shizuo for several crimes
and was crafty enough not to attract any attention to his part in them.
After that, their rivalry was set in stone, and trouble always followed whenever
one visited the other’s neighborhood. “Trouble” meaning simple fights, of
course, but Izaya was clever enough to maneuver such that they never got the
police or yakuza involved.
“Unlike Kadota or Yumasaki, when I get into trouble I’m always alone. I think
the same goes for Izaya. He doesn’t have any friends or partners. Which isn’t to
say that I don’t get lonely myself. I want to have connections to other people,
even if it’s only going through the motions.”
Celty nodded to show the grumbling brawler she understood.
A bartender in sunglasses and a shadow wearing a helmet. It was a surreal
pairing at a glance, but the people around them barely did more than look and
showed no signs of interest.
Shizuo had clearly been drinking, probably at Simon’s sushi place. Celty felt it
would be cruel to just leave him hanging, so she let him speak his mind for a bit,
until…
“What I want to know is, what’s Izaya doing back here?”
Celty knew the answer to that question. Ikebukuro was simply the setting for
Izaya’s latest twisted interest. But there was another detail weighing on her
mind.
The strange thing is that he was here for two days in a row.
Izaya’s base for his information brokerage business was in Shinjuku. He wasn’t
the kind of man with time on his hands every day. If he was hanging around,
especially with Shizuo’s presence, he had to be doing so with a specific purpose
in mind.
“Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I saw him speaking to some kid from
Raira Academy…”
Shizuo stopped in the middle of his thought. He looked through the crowds.
“What’s that?”
Celty turned to view the surrounding area. Amid the mass of people coming
and going, a number of them were watching a specific person. Right at the
center of those gathered gazes was a single woman.
On the street behind them was a woman in pajamas, probably in her late
teens, tottering through the sunset on uncertain legs. Perhaps she had been
hurt, or perhaps she just escaped from the clutches of some of the city’s
unsavory residents.
Celty had no desire to draw extra attention, but given that someone’s life
might be hanging in the balance, she let herself focus on the woman anyway.
And froze on the spot.
It was her face as she remembered it from the water surface or the reflection
of windows.
Hair as black as darkness, just tracing over her eyes, features that were carved
into her heart long in the distant past—right atop the shoulders of the woman
stumbling across the sidewalk in her pajamas!
Celty’s emotions exploded. She raced forward. Shizuo followed her over to the
woman, curious. She grabbed the unsteady woman by the wrist and forcefully
turned her for a better look. The woman swallowed in shock, then shrieked
madly, trying to undo Celty’s grip.
“Ah… Aaaah, noooo!”
The crowd turned its attention on Celty, but she was too agitated to notice.
She only wanted a better look at the woman’s face, but the situation was too
chaotic to pull out her PDA for a message now.
“Uh, please calm down. We’re not here to hurt you,” Shizuo said helpfully as
he approached. He put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to calm her down.
Thukk.
A shock ran through his side. Something felt very wrong around his thigh, just
below the buttock, sending both cold and heat into his pants.
“Wha…?”
Shizuo swung around to see a young man wearing a school blazer, crouched
down and stabbing something into Shizuo’s thigh.
It was an ordinary office-use ballpoint pen, the kind one would find anywhere.
The boy’s bag was half-open—he must have pulled the pen out of that and
stabbed it into Shizuo’s leg.
“What…?”
“Let go of her!” the boy shouted.
Celty turned to see what this new disturbance was, noticed the sudden
bloodshed, and stopped in her tracks.
Sensing an opportunity, the girl in the pajamas tugged herself free of Celty’s
grip and started running down the street. Celty moved to follow her but held up
at the last moment, looking back. Shizuo was standing there with two pens
jammed into his thigh, while the young man in the blazer was pulling out a third.
The crowd burst into worried murmurs, several of them falling back in panic.
Some affected a mix of nonchalance and fear, trying to skirt around the crowd as
though nothing was happening, while others just walked straight through the
scene in complete ignorance. Some even pulled out their phones to snap
pictures. There were two police boxes in the vicinity, but the situation erupted
directly between both of them, and it would take a three hundred–yard run to
reach either one.
With a brief glance at the crowd, the young man in the blazer looked in the
direction the girl in pajamas went, his third pen still in hand.
Then he muttered, “Thank goodness…”
Celty was going to demand what he meant by that, but Shizuo thrust out a
hand first. His palm snapped to a halt right before the edge of her helmet, and
he smiled as though nothing was wrong.
“I’m fine. Too drunk to feel much pain. You go after her. I don’t know what’s
going on, but you need to follow her, don’t you?”
He folded up his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket, then
smacked his own face.
“Ha-ha! Always wanted to say that one. ‘I’ll handle this. You go on ahead!’”
That line was usually reserved for when the enemy was unfathomably strong,
and if anything it was the student boy whose life was now in danger—but Celty
decided to indulge Shizuo rather than worry about the young man’s well-being.
Besides, if she stuck around and they got caught by the police, she might be able
to explain that Shizuo was the victim, but she wouldn’t be able to explain who
she was.
Celty put her hands together in apology, then straddled her bike to chase after
the girl. People in the crowd exclaimed in surprise at the Black Rider’s presence
in their midst. Her trusty steed roared high, drowning out the onlookers as it
echoed throughout the night city.
“Stop!” The boy in the blazer tried to chase after her.
“That’s what I’m saying.” Shizuo grabbed the boy by the back of his collar and
dragged him backward. “Is that your girlfriend?”
“Yes! She’s my soulmate!” the boy—Seiji Yagiri—stated with absolute
confidence, flailing wildly in an attempt to escape.
“Why is she like…that?” Shizuo asked, still entirely calm.
“I have no idea!”
“What’s her name?”
“How the hell should I know?!”
The crowd, watching at a distance, felt a sudden chill. The man in the
bartender’s outfit, who had seemed relatively normal and nice, now had veins
bulging on his face. The warmth drained out of the air.
All of that heat sucked out of the surrounding space was added to his rage—
and Heiwajima exploded. “What the hell is that?!”
The young man flew.
“No way!” the crowd shrieked.
Without a shred of hesitation, Shizuo tossed Seiji’s body directly into the
street. He slammed into the side of a delivery truck that was waiting at the light.
If the light had been green, Seiji might easily be dead in seconds. Even more
shocking was the sheer distance for one human being to throw another. Every
person watching the scene sucked in a freezing breath.
“Isn’t it just a liiittle irresponsible, not even knowing your girl’s name? Huh?”
Seiji’s bounce off the truck landed him back on the sidewalk. Shizuo walked
over and grabbed him by the collar again, pulling him up to chest level.
But even numbed by that powerful shock, Seiji met Shizuo’s monstrous glare
with a powerful gaze of purpose.
“Names don’t matter…when you’re truly in love!”
“Huh?” Shizuo glared at him even harder, but Seiji did not falter in the least.
“How do you know she’s your soul mate when you don’t even know her name
yet?”
“Because I love her. I don’t need any other reason! Love cannot be measured
by or put into words!”
Shizuo glared back at him, deep in thought. Seiji held his arm high, pen still in
hand.
“Which is why I use actions! I’m here to protect her, and that’s all there is!”
He thrust the pen downward toward Shizuo’s face. The older man easily
stopped the pen with his other hand. His eyes were red with rage, and a devilish
smile split his face.
“I like you more than Izaya, at least.”
Shizuo ripped the pen away from Seiji’s hand and held the boy out at arm’s
length.
“So I’ll let you off with this,” he said and yanked his arm in so that his head
smashed against Seiji’s forehead. With a pleasant little crack, Seiji fell to his
knees.
Shizuo dropped his victim and made to leave the scene.
“Ugh, these are gonna bleed if I pull them out. Gotta buy some bandages
before I extract them. Or maybe instant glue would be better…”
Muttering, Shizuo walked off the street down the alley. The crowd split into
two around him, desperately trying to stay out of his path—and one by one, they
returned to the mass of pedestrian traffic. Eventually, it was as if nothing had
ever happened. Seiji unsteadily climbed to his feet, and the only people watching
were doing so out of the corners of their eyes from the distant street corner.
“Damn…” Seiji quietly walked on, his head screaming in agony. “Gotta find
her… Gotta help…”
Two police officers approached the stumbling boy.
“Can you walk on your own?”
They had received reports of a fight and came to see, but only Seiji was left,
and there were no other traces of the altercation. Shizuo never pulled the pens
out of his leg, so whatever blood he lost was all on his pants.
“I’m all right. I just fell, that’s all.”
“Now, now. We just need you to come to the outpost with us.”
“We only want to talk. Besides, you shouldn’t be walking in that state.”
The policemen appeared to be genuinely concerned for him, but Seiji didn’t
have time for any of this. He looked around for any signs of her—then heard the
growl of that black motorcycle.
He shot around in the right direction, then saw the Black Rider racing for the
entrance to the subway…chasing after the girl in pajamas.
“Yama, that’s the bike!”
“Forget it, that’s above our pay grade. Let Traffic handle it.”
Seiji heard none of that. He only had eyes for the girl.
She disappeared into the underground entrance, pulled by someone else. In
fact, it looked like—
“Mikado…Ryuugamine,” Seiji muttered, recognizing his class rep. He started
off for the station.
“Hey, wait!”
“You’re gonna hurt yourself!”
The police held him down, and Seiji struggled helplessly. At top condition, he
might have been able to momentarily break free, but the damage caused by
Shizuo prevented him from using his full strength.
“Let go! Let go of me! She’s there! Right there! Let go, let go, let go! Why,
dammit, why?! Why is every damn person in the world trying to ruin my love
life?! What did I do to deserve this?! What did she do to deserve this?! Let go, let
go, let gooooo!”
“So your head was walking around, attached to a different body, and just
when you thought you had her, a student interfered, and when you pursued the
girl, a different student stepped in and took your head away—and you want me
to believe that nonsense?”
Shinra spread his arms theatrically in the middle of his apartment, wearing his
usual white lab coat. Celty paid his gestures no mind, her fingers limply sliding
over the keyboard.
“I’m not demanding that you believe me.”
“Oh, but I do. You’ve never lied to me.”
Shinra put on a rousing speech from the other room, hoping to cheer Celty up.
“They say a man’s best friends are honesty, sincerity, and wisdom, but in my
case, you’re the only one I need! Honest, sincere, and wise: I’m proud to have
such a perfect life partner!”
“Who said we were life partners?” Celty typed back, but nothing in her
reaction suggested disgust at Shinra.
“We could change those three qualities to effort, friendship, and victory
instead. How about that?”
“Listen to me. No, not listen—I mean, read the words on the screen,” she
typed, exasperated. The doctor continued talking, paying her no attention.
“Then I must do my best to live up to them, sparing no effort or expense in
traversing my game of fate with you to victory.”
“What about friendship?”
“You always have to start as friends, don’t you?”
Celty couldn’t be bothered to get seriously angry at Shinra’s nonsense. She
shrugged and decided to take a look at tomorrow’s schedule.
“At any rate, I can’t sit around feeling sorry for myself. It’s possible that I
could finally retrieve my head. I’m pretty sure those uniforms were from Raira,
so I’ll stake out the school’s front gate tomorrow and wait for that student.”
Shinra took a look at the unusually long message and cast her a mystified look.
“What comes after that?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ll demand to know the location of my head.”
“And then? What will you do?”
“Well,” Celty typed, then stopped when she realized what Shinra was getting
at.
“This head has its own body now and could only scream when it saw you. What
are you going to do with it?”
Her hands lay flat on the keyboard. She had no answer.
“It’s living its own life with its own body and apparently knows teenagers well
enough to escape with one. What would you do with it? Cut it off the body for
your own sake? That’s a pretty cruel and vicious thing to do.”
After a heavy silence, Celty realized that she was trembling. Shinra spoke the
truth. The head did not seem to recognize her. Perhaps it was just the unfamiliar
riding suit—but the fact remained that the head had developed its own sense of
self that was apart from her.
If I’m going to recover my head for good, it will need to be separated from
that body. But is it right to sever a living head from a living body? Could I
convince the head to simply stay close to me with its new body? I might be
getting it back, but that doesn’t address the fundamental issue. Plus, I don’t feel
like I’m aging at all, but what about my head? Will it still be that young decades
later? What if it didn’t age while it was isolated, but something changes once
both parts of me are back together?
Before she could come to a conclusion, Celty decided to present her basic
doubts to Shinra.
“Why does my head have a body that isn’t mine anyway?”
“Well, I didn’t see it for myself, so nothing I say can be taken as fact. But if you
don’t mind completely baseless speculation, I can tell you my guess.”
Shinra paused for a moment, then delivered his ghastly theory in a matter-of-
fact tone.
“They probably found a girl with a fitting body and simply replaced her head
with yours.”
Celty had imagined that possibility, but it was horrifying to hear stated so
bluntly. She was left without a response, so Shinra added further speculation.
“Let’s say that a country—or even better, a secret military agency—got its
sinister hands on the head in the hopes of creating a legion of undead soldiers.
They cloned a fresh new body from the head’s cells, then replaced the clone’s
head with the real one in the hopes of unlocking the dullahan memories hidden
within. What do you think?”
“Sounds like a surefire Razzie winner to me,” Celty wrote, comparing his idea
to the infamous awards for worst movies of the year. Half of her completely
disregarded his idea—but the other half thought a secret lab was quite possible.
“Okay, the cloning angle might be a stretch, but it’s possible that they could
have sewed it onto a corpse. Either that or they kidnapped a living human, then
put the head on right after killing it to see if that would bring it back to life.
Logically, it’s an absolutely absurd idea, but logic also says that you and your
head are impossible to begin with. Maybe it could take over a dead body.”
“This makes me sick. I can’t imagine anyone would go that far.”
“True, it’s not the kind of thing a sane person would do. But people will do just
about anything under the right circumstances. Perhaps our mystery person lost
a daughter whom he or she wished to keep alive in perpetuity. Or maybe they
wanted to conceal an accidental murder victim by using the body for research.”
In a way, that idea was even more gruesome than the human experimentation
he joked about earlier. Celty typed in a new message, simply to stop him from
saying any more.
“Anyway, I want to speak with my head once more. We can talk more after
tha—”
Shinra cut her off before she could finish. “And that’s how you’re going to
delay coming to an actual conclusion?”
His voice was deadly serious; there was no trace of the tickled, playful air from
just moments earlier.
I know. I get it. Now that I’ve found my head in this state, I just have to give
up.
She let that resignation sink in for a moment, then reluctantly typed, “I just
don’t want to admit that everything I’ve done over the last twenty years has
been for nothing.”
She stared sadly at the string of text. Shinra, who had been talking to her from
the other side of the apartment, finally came over to Celty’s room. He sat down
next to her and looked directly at her screen.
“It wasn’t for nothing. The last twenty years of your life haven’t been for
nothing. Nothing you’ve done is a waste as long as you make use of it in your life
ahead.”
“And how will I make use of that?”
“Well, for example…if you marry me, you can simply consider the last twenty
years the cornerstone of our marital bliss.”
Celty had no instant response to his shameless nonsense. Normally she’d
ignore it as a joke, but it seemed like Shinra took this topic rather seriously of
late.
“May I ask something?”
“Please do.”
She wasn’t sure if it was right to just ask her question straight out, but after a
few moments, Celty summoned her courage and tapped away at the keyboard.
“Do you really love me, Shinra?”
Shinra read the sentence and gaped up at the ceiling in disbelief.
“Why would you ask that now?! Ahh, there is a reason that terrible pain in the
chest brings tears to one’s eyes! What is my sorrow? The fact that you have not
believed everything I’ve done and said to you! My sorrow is that my love for you
does not reach your heart!”
“I don’t have a head.”
“But I’m in love with what’s inside! There’s more to a human being than looks,
remember?”
“I’m not human.”
In the end, I’m not a human being. I’m a monster in the shape of a human.
The problem is that with my memories trapped in my head, I don’t actually
know what I am or why I was born and why I exist.
Complex sentiments and unrelatable thoughts. Countless fragments swirled
through Celty’s heart, but the only thing she could impart were simple words on
a computer screen.
“Aren’t you frightened of holding affection for something inhuman? How can
you say these things to a being that doesn’t even follow the same basic laws of
physics?”
The letters sped up across the screen. In response, Shinra’s voice grew harder
and stronger. He sounded exasperated.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that after twenty years together… Why would
you even think about this? We share a mutual understanding—if we love each
other, what’s the problem? If you decide that you hate me, I guess that’s that…
But we’re not just forced to live together out of cold mutual dependence, are
we? Can’t you have some trust in me?”
It was rare for Shinra to sincerely plead his own case, but the abundance of
ten-dollar words said that he was not yet at the end of his rope.
“I do trust you. If there’s anyone I don’t trust, it’s myself.”
She decided to reveal some of her own insecurity while he was still feeling in
control.
“I have no self-confidence. Even if I was in love with you or some other human
being, would our romantic values actually be the same? Yes, I probably do love
you. I just don’t know if it’s what a human would call romantic love.”
“That’s something every human being goes through in their youth. It’s not as if
every human being shares the same views and values. Love to me may not be the
same as love to the great writer Osamu Dazai. In fact, it’s probably different… At
any rate, I can say that I love you, and you just said that you love me, so where’s
the problem?”
He sounded like a teacher explaining something to a student. The dullahan’s
fingers stopped moving.
“Yesterday I said I wanted to understand your values as a dullahan—but
whatever your answer is, it won’t change the fact that I love you,” Shinra said in
a voice free of shyness or hesitation. His expression was completely serious. Celty
thought this over for a moment, choosing her words carefully.
“Give me some time to think.”
“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” Shinra replied, his smile serene. Celty had to ask
one other thing.
“Is it really me you want? There are so many human women out there, why
would you choose a headle…a nonhuman woman? Why?”
“Ha-ha. There’s no accounting for taste, right?”
“You’re one to talk. And don’t make it sound like you have to be a weirdo to
like me.”
Even as she typed back her snappy response, Celty felt something hot swirling
in her chest. She knew that it was her feeling for Shinra.
If I had a heart, I’d hear it pounding away in my ears.
But that thought, that contradiction, plagued Celty even more. It only
underscored the great differences between her and Shinra.
Dullahans had no hearts. According to Shinra’s father after he dissected her,
she was constructed much like a human being—but the organs were all for show
and did not actually function. There were veins, but no blood running through
them. Without any red blood, her meat was the color of pure flesh, like a model
of a human body. He didn’t know how her body worked and moved. He didn’t
know what she used for a source of energy. And despite that, any wounds she
suffered healed at incredible speed.
After the dissection, Shinra’s father asked her, “How do you actually die?”
Ten years later, Shinra said, “You must be a shadow. You’re just the shadow of
your head or an actual body in some other world. The source of your energy to
move means nothing to your shadow.”
It was nonsense to think of a shadow moving of its own will, but then again,
nothing about her existence made sense, so she followed Shinra’s advice and
stopped thinking about it. She needed to spend the next few days focusing on
her head. And depending on the results of that period, she would make a
decision about her life.
Celty clenched a fist and pictured the faces of the two students she saw today.
They both looked serious. The first one glared back fiercely, without a hint of
fear toward Celty or Shizuo. The other one showed obvious signs of fright at
Celty, but he still had a smile on his face when he looked at her. It was the
expression of one looking at a demon or monster worthy of fear and respect.
She then thought about herself.
But perhaps that’s all just my own selfish interpretation.
She took her interpretation of the others’ feelings from their expressions,
including the eyes, but she couldn’t be certain that it was true. She did not have
her own eyes or face with which to express delight, anger or sadness. She didn’t
have a brain to process human emotions. She didn’t even know where her
thoughts or feelings were coming from. How could she accurately sense the
emotions of others?
Angry eyes, sad eyes, human morals—these were all pieces of knowledge she
had picked up in this city. TV shows, comics, movies—Shinra’s tastes biased her
selection of these things, but her actual experiences in town and news reports
helped to balance that out. The problem was that all these things were just
information gleaned from elsewhere. She wouldn’t know if they were true or not
unless she was a human being herself.
That was why she was always plagued by the insecurity she revealed to Shinra
earlier. She didn’t know if she truly had emotions. It was a thought that
constantly troubled her.
In the past, she didn’t care about these things. She was too busy seeking her
head. But in the last few years, as the Internet gave her increased opportunities
to contact people, she couldn’t help but wonder how close her feelings and
values were to those of humans.
At first, she found it frightening and needed Shinra’s help, but now Celty was
at the computer at virtually all times when not working or searching for her
head. Once she got a model with a built-in DVD drive and TV tuner, she could get
her movies and TV shows there, which only increased the time she spent before
the computer.
Celty increased her contact with others over the Internet. People separated by
their PCs did not know each other’s faces or pasts. Which was fine with her,
because she didn’t even have a face. And yet, the connections were real. In real
life, she only knew a few people through Shinra, and only he and his father knew
exactly what she was. Rumors had spread about the headless rider, but the
rumors didn’t identify her as a woman or a dullahan.
She didn’t feel a particular need to hide these things, but neither did she plan
to reveal them.
Even after what Shinra said, I still want to have human values. If the persona
that I own now is “human,” I don’t want to lose that.
Celty was not a human being. But she still felt anxiety. If she got back her head
but the memories did not return, what should she do? What kind of face would a
human make in this situation?
Her knowledge contained the answer, but she herself could not say what it
was.
Chapter 10: Dollars, Opening
The Yagiri Pharmaceuticals lab

In the meeting room of Lab Six, seated on a chair in the corner, Seiji grumbled
to himself, head downcast. His sister Namie gently embraced him in an attempt
to ease his discomfort.
“Everything’s fine, Seiji. Leave this to us. We’re going to get her back. Don’t
worry about a thing.”
The police dragged Seiji to their box station after Shizuo knocked him out, but
without a victim to finger him or even a firm consensus on who was the victim,
he was released without any charges or punishment.
Maybe it was my sister pulling strings. She did arrive to pick me up extremely
fast, Seiji thought. It didn’t actually bother him. I know she’s in love with me in
some kind of sick way. It only comes out of a weird possessiveness. But I don’t
mind. No matter who else loves me, it won’t change my own choice. I live for my
own love and nothing else.
And if I have to stomp all over the love others give me in order to do that, so
be it. I’m sure she’d be happy knowing she served as a stepping-stone for the
sake of her beloved.
Meanwhile, Namie could read Seiji like a book. But she didn’t mind. As long as
that head was in her possession, Seiji needed her. That head, the very target of
her darkest jealousy, was the key to the equation. Namie grinned in self-mockery
at the irony of it all.
The sight of her shamelessly doting on her brother put a kind of fear in the
minds of everyone who witnessed the scene.
One of her employees overcame his consternation and called out for her
attention.
“You don’t need to worry about a thing, Seiji. Leave everything to us.”
And with that, his sister quietly left the room.
“Do we have details?”
“We’ve got the address of this Ryuugamine that Mr. Seiji spoke of. It’s a run-
down apartment building right next to Ikebukuro Station.”
Namie was receiving the report from her subordinates slightly down the
hallway from the meeting room. The fact that the employee was giving Seiji that
title spoke to the strength of the Yagiri family within the company.
Unlike her warm, loving manner in the meeting room, Namie was as cold as ice
as she gave the orders.
“Then gather up the underlings and retrieve the target.”
“That’s a conspicuous place for a daylight operation—”
“I don’t care,” she stated flatly, brooking no further discussion.
If we wait for nightfall, my brother’s going to run off and try to find this
Ryuugamine on his own.
Namie cared more about Seiji’s safety than the danger of the situation. But
she was professional enough not to show the tiniest ounce of this priority when
Seiji wasn’t around. She was all business.
“Inform all of our available muscle at once. I don’t care who’s there or if
they’re taken dead or alive. Depending on the circumstances, I may want you to
dispose of them on the spot.”
There wasn’t a shred of humanity in her eyes. The other men felt cold sweat
trickle down their backs.
Today was the start of normal classes for Raira Academy. But even then, it
mostly consisted of teacher introductions and guidance on the course of the
entire school year, and the only classes with real lectures were math and world
history.
Nothing else noteworthy or problematic occurred. The first day passed by.
If anything weighed on Mikado’s mind, it was the absence of not only Mika
Harima, but now Seiji Yagiri, the Health Committee representative. After Anri
had explained what happened between the two of them the day before, it was
hard not to feel a connection in their absences. An uneasy murmur rose in his
chest.
On top of that, there was also his unease over the girl with amnesia back at his
house.
She did not remember anything more after waking up this morning and
refused to go to the hospital or police. The suggestion of the hospital, in
particular, brought a look of terror into her eyes.
“Oh…I’ll be fine! I’ll just stay here and wait for you!” she said, looking far
calmer today than she had the day before. In fact, she looked quite secure and
focused for someone suffering memory loss.
That at least gave Mikado enough confidence to leave her behind while he was
at school, but he still had no idea what to do with her after that. Without
knowing her identity, there was no getting around the fact that she’d need to be
handed over to the police at some point. He thought about the option of
Masaomi’s house, but Masaomi commuted to school from his family’s home.
Mikado spent the entire day mulling over what to do, and before he arrived at
an answer, the day was done. There was a brief introductory meeting for all of
the class reps, after which he headed outside with Anri, hoping to ask for any
updates on Mika Harima.
“Have you heard from her?” Mikado didn’t have anything else to talk about
and felt awkward not saying anything, so he decided to be direct.
“Actually, I haven’t heard a thing from her since yesterday afternoon…”
“Oh, I see…”
He shouldn’t have asked. Now he was even more worried about the fact that
Seiji was absent as well. He began to wonder about the possibility of some kind
of murder-suicide but didn’t dare say that out loud to Anri.
Masaomi’s presence would have helped out a lot, but from what he heard, the
Discipline Committee was still busy with introductions. Apparently, Masaomi and
the representative from Mikado’s class had launched into an argument that no
one else was quite able to stop.
He decided his best action was just to go home for today and was preparing to
say good-bye to Anri at the ornate Western-style front gate when someone
shouted at them from the side.
“Aha! That’s him, Takashi, right there!”
A girl was pointing in Mikado and Anri’s direction. It was the one whose cell
phone had been stomped by Izaya yesterday, and she was escorted by a burly
looking guy.
Before he could even register a sense of dread at the unfolding situation,
Mikado was lifted up by the collar.
“I hear you know the guy who busted my girl’s cell.”
“I don’t know him know him—”
You should be telling the police about this, not your boyfriend, Mikado wanted
to yell at Bully A next to the guy, but he couldn’t speak with a hand pulling him
up by the collar.
“So where’s this dick you were standin’ around with?”
Straight as an arrow—he asked about Izaya directly, without allowing Mikado
any say.
Elusive as quicksilver—a pitch-black bike silently appeared behind the man.
Swift as the wind—still on the bike, a humanoid shadow kicked Takashi to the
ground.
Survival of the fittest—out of nowhere, Izaya Orihara landed on the fallen
man’s back with both feet.
Man’s inhumanity to man—Izaya jumped up and down on his back repeatedly.
Like greased lightning—this happened before Mikado’s eyes in the span of ten
seconds.
“Thank you.”
Izaya bowed ostentatiously in the direction of the shocked Anri, her bully, and
all the other students who happened to be passing by. He was still standing atop
the unconscious Takashi.
“You knew that hitting girls wasn’t my thing, so you made sure to prepare a
guy for me instead! Now that’s the sign of a dedicated woman. I’d love to make
you my girlfriend, but sorry. You’re just not my type. Get lost.”
It was all very cruel, but the girl was off and running before he even finished
speaking. She didn’t even spare a backward glance at Takashi underneath Izaya’s
feet. Mikado had to admit that he felt a bit sorry for the guy.
The girl’s face already vanishing from his memory, Izaya turned to Mikado.
“Heya, it’s too bad we were interrupted yesterday. I don’t think we have to
worry about our friend Shizu butting in here. I thought it would be rude to look
up your address and barge in, so I decided to lie in wait at the school entrance
instead,” he said, smiling all the while. Mikado didn’t know why Izaya was smiling
or what reason he would have to seek him out. But that actually wasn’t true—he
knew of one possible reason. Mikado couldn’t openly acknowledge it, though. He
clenched a fist.
Seemingly unaware of the boy’s train of thought, Izaya tilted his head in
confusion.
“By the way, what’s the Black Rider doing here?”
I could ask the same of you, Celty thought to herself.
She had indeed found the student who escorted her head away yesterday. She
intervened to save him from being pounded, but Izaya’s presence was a mystery
to her.
Celty couldn’t imagine Izaya getting involved with an ordinary person, much
less a teenage student. Was he the son of some powerful politician? Or some
kind of despicable pusher, spreading drugs to children in elementary and middle
school?
But whoever the boy was made no difference to Celty now.
All that mattered was whether he knew the location of her head or not.
Mikado snapped to his senses with a shock when he realized that Anri was
even more dazed by the incident than he was.
“W-well, Sonohara, I should really be going!”
“Huh…? Um, okay…”
And with that awkward farewell, Mikado quickly left the scene. As he
suspected, the shadow and villain followed him. Once a safe distance away from
the school, he timidly turned back and decided that Izaya was more likely to
understand him.
“Umm… I don’t know what’s going on here… But if you’d like, we can go back
to my…”
Mikado stopped and held his breath. If he took them back to his house, the
Black Rider would find that girl. In fact, she was probably the only reason that
the Black Rider had come for him in the first place.
“Uh…well, actually, there’s something I’d like to ask the rider in black…”
Celty pulled a PDA out of the shadow riding suit and typed, “What is it?”
So there was a way for them to communicate after all. Mikado was slightly
relieved but also noted that the situation was taking a turn into even more
surreal waters.
I feel like crying.
Just a few minutes away from the station by foot was a building. It was hard to
guess exactly how old it was, but the countless tiny cracks in the walls and the
abundant ivy said enough on their own.
Once the building came into view, Mikado stopped and said, “Well, my
apartment is on the first floor of this building…but I want an explanation first.
Who in the world are you people?”
Celty avoided mentioning anything about her head or her true identity. She
only typed, “I recently ran into a girl I knew who had gone missing, but she fled
for some reason I cannot fathom.”
But Mikado was not naive enough to take such a transparent excuse at face
value. Celty decided that she didn’t have a choice but to give him the truth.
She asked Izaya to give them some momentary privacy, then took Mikado
around the back of the building. Summoning her courage, she started typing on
the PDA.
“How much do you know about me?”
Mikado stared at the tiny LCD screen, then gave the question some thought.
“Well…you’re sort of an urban legend, and you ride a motorcycle without
headlights that makes no sound. And…”
He paused, sucking in a deep breath, then letting it all out at once. Along with
the fear in his voice, there was something expectant, even excited.
“…you don’t have a head.”
Celty typed, “And do you believe all of it?”
She showed him the screen, then immediately regretted it. What human being
would possibly believe that? But Mikado nodded.
Huh?
She couldn’t hide her shock. Mikado went on.
“Um…can you show me what’s inside your helmet?”
Celty stared him right in the face.
Aha, just like yesterday.
That strange expression again, a mix of fear, expectation, despair, and joy all in
one. And the student with all of these emotions in his eyes wanted her to expose
her true face to him. Celty hesitated, then typed in her PDA.
“Do you swear you won’t scream?”
She knew it was a stupid question, but she had to be sure. Celty hadn’t
removed her helmet for anyone in the last twenty years but Shinra. There had
been a few times it popped off in the middle of a fight, but the only reaction she
got from the witnesses was a grimace of terror.
But this young man named Mikado was facing his fear directly. He believed
that her word was not a lie or a joke and still asked her to see. It was foolish to
ask such a man if he wouldn’t scream.
Mikado’s reaction was exactly as she expected. His head nodded vigorously,
and at the same time, Celty pushed the visor of the full helmet upward.
Darkness. There was nothing before his eyes but empty space. Technically, it
wasn’t empty in the vacuum sense, but that made no difference to Mikado. It
was a space where what should exist did not, and the presence or absence of
anything to fill that space was immaterial.
Nothing. There’s nothing there. It’s not a magic trick—but if it were, I’d sure
like to know how to pull it off.
For the first instant, Mikado’s eyes were wide with terror, but it did not lead to
a scream. He stifled that emotion, and his shock turned to elation. There were
even little tears forming at the bottom of his eyes.
“Thank you…thank you.”
What he was thanking her for was unclear, but his eyes were full of childlike
wonder. She was completely at a loss for what to do.
It was rare enough for her to be thanked, much less meet acceptance for the
idea that she had no head, that the situation was entirely baffling—but not in a
bad or uncomfortable way.
After Celty explained the situation to him, Mikado happily agreed to let her see
the “head girl.” When he told the dullahan that the girl’s memory was gone,
Celty had no immediate answer. She said she had to see the girl so that the
misunderstanding could be corrected.
They called Izaya back at this point, but he claimed that his business could wait
until later. He stayed back and watched the other two.
“All right… Please wait here for now. I’ll go in first and talk to her. I don’t want
her to see you first before I can explain your presence here, in case she gets the
wrong idea.”
“I understand.”
Izaya piped up with a sarcastic-sounding “Very cautious—that’s a good stance
to take.”
They waited outside the apartment building as Mikado went in. As they stood
there, Izaya said, “By the way, courier, I hadn’t caught your name before this.
Didn’t realize you weren’t from around these parts.”
He grinned. Based on the smirk, he probably already knew that, and it was
meant to be a dig at Celty’s uptight refusal to name herself. She understood all
of this already and chose to ignore him. It was possible that he even knew what
she was—but only cobbled together from eyewitness accounts, not because he
recognized her as a fairy.
Not to mention that any levelheaded person would not even imagine that the
Black Rider could be anything but a human being. The problem was that Izaya
was not levelheaded. He was not a man to be underestimated.
“So what’s taking him so long?”
It had been more than five minutes. Even if he had failed in his negotiation, he
should have at least come back out to explain by now.
“Maybe I should take a look.”
The apartment building was too quiet. Celty felt a creeping unease steal over
her. That unease was amplified by a cleaning service van parked next to the
building.
A professional cleaner at a dump like this? Not likely…
Her fear was well-founded.
“I’ll ask again… We know you were keeping a girl here in your apartment. We
just wanna know where she is now.”
“There’s no use denying it. We found a woman’s hair in your bed. Pretty short
cut but clearly longer than yours.”
Two men were waiting for Mikado when he entered his apartment. They were
wearing work uniforms, but one look at their faces said they weren’t simple
laborers. Mikado was shoved to the floor before he could say a word, and they
kept interrogating him, over and over, in low, menacing voices.
They were looking for the “head girl,” but Mikado wanted to know her location
just as much as they did. Either someone else had already taken her away, or
she’d gotten up and run off on her own…
“I-I don’t know! Please, I really don’t know!”
“Listen, kid. You’ve seen our faces. We could make you disappear right now,”
one said like some kind of gloating movie villain. Mikado felt tears of fright
welling up in his eyes. He felt so stupid—just moments ago, he’d been filled with
joy at the sight of something inhuman and alien, and now he was mired in terror
of plain old humanity again. He lamented his carelessness.
“Someone’s here!”
The men jumped up without hesitation and raced out. In a few moments, the
van’s engine started outside.
“Whew…I’m saved…”
In particular, he was saved from the shame of shedding tears of fright. He did
not, however, avoid tears of relief.
Celty raced past the door of the apartment and made to chase after the van,
but Izaya said there was no need to do that.
“I’m pretty sure they’re from Yagiri Pharmaceuticals. I recognize the van,” he
noted, a free piece of intel from the info broker.
“Yagiri…Pharmaceuticals…?”
“Yep. A company down on its luck, in danger of being bought out by foreign
capital.”
When he processed that name, Mikado’s teary eyes went wide. Yes, it was the
same name as his classmate—but he recognized that name from something else.
The tears drained back into their ducts.
A girl bearing a head gone missing. A dullahan. Yagiri. Pharmaceutical
company. Missing people. Mika Harima. Anri Sonohara’s story. Seiji Yagiri.
Kidnappers. Dollars.
Various fragments of information floated into Mikado’s head and disappeared.
The free flow of concepts coalesced into a theory.
In the now-quiet apartment, Mikado quickly started his computer. While he
waited for it to boot up, he turned on his phone, which had been off since
school, and immediately checked his e-mail.
Celty watched him curiously. In contrast, Izaya was like a hunter watching over
rare prey, his sharp eyes gleaming wickedly.
“You know, I had my doubts,” the information broker started. Mikado opened
his Internet browser the instant his computer had fully booted and typed in
some kind of code with tremendous speed. He was logging into a website. After
that came the rhythmic sound of mouse clicking.
Mikado examined the page for a little while, then turned to his guests.
Celty shivered despite herself. His eyes did not have the bedraggled look of the
boy who’d been helpless to stop the circumstances around him for the past
hour. His were the eyes of a hawk following its quarry, endlessly deep and sharp.
He bowed to them.
She was taken aback. He didn’t seem to be the same weak-willed student who
was just here moments ago.
“I need your help. Can I count on your assistance for just a short while?” he
asked, full of purpose and determination. “The pawns are in the palm of my
hand.”
Izaya patted Celty on the shoulder and boasted as though he’d just found a
new toy. “Jackpot.”
Celty looked back and forth between the two, unsure of what Izaya meant. She
didn’t know what had just happened, but she could tell that Izaya was more
excited now than she’d ever seen before. And even more excited was Mikado
Ryuugamine.
His face still had the trappings of childhood, and now his eyes were shining like
a boy who’d just received a new toy. There was no sign of the tears of terror
anymore, only an expression of strong will and elation that said he was in full
control of himself.
Over the last few days since his arrival in Ikebukuro, Mikado had run across a
number of baffling, inexplicable events. And right before his eyes, they were all
connecting into one convoluted case.
He breathed heavily, mentally examining each piece of the puzzle to make sure
they fit together.
Boring days. Familiar sights. Stuck in place with no future.
It was to escape all of these things that he decided to move to Ikebukuro. And
now he could feel himself achieving that escape at last.
Mikado Ryuugamine realized that he was becoming a kind of lead player in this
story. At the same time, an enemy had appeared that threatened his new life—
and his life, period.
In his state of excitement, he felt no hesitation or fear toward the need to
eliminate that foe.
The time had come to speak. He started to explain everything about himself to
Celty and Izaya.
In the hallway outside of Lab Six beneath Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, a cold voice
split the air.
“What do you mean…she wasn’t there?”
“Apparently, when the underlings reached the place, there were signs that the
lock had already been pried open…and no sign of the girl inside.”
“So someone got the jump on us?”
“The place is a dump, so it’s unlikely to be a burglar.”
Namie’s brows knitted together in thought. If the student took her out, then
what would be the purpose of breaking open the lock? On the other hand, she
couldn’t think of anyone aside from her company who would want the girl.
“And the student who lives there?”
“When they returned to report, they claimed they were prepared to bring him
back with them, but he had…company.”
“So why didn’t they bring him, company and all? Such incompetence…”
She clicked her tongue in irritation just before her phone started ringing. The
display said it was an unlisted number, but she answered anyway on the chance
that it was important.
“Hello?”
“Um, is this Miss Namie Yagiri?”
The voice was young. It sounded like a teenage boy, probably in middle school.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Mikado Ryuugamine.”
“—!”
Namie’s heart silently upped its pulse. Her brother’s classmate, the one who
took the girl away with him. There was an eeriness to the fact that he was calling
right as they’d been talking about him. She wondered how he’d even gotten her
number.
Meanwhile, the voice on the other end of the call continued on its business.
“As it happens, we have a certain young lady under our care at this moment…”
After a brief pause, the phone produced a message that made no sense at all,
devoid of even the slightest bit of tension, as matter-of-fact as if it were asking
her out to dinner.
“…How about we make a deal?”
11:00 p.m., the same day, Ikebukuro

Night had fallen on 60-Kai Street in Ikebukuro. The shutters were down on
virtually every business except for the bars, and unlike during the day, the
pedestrians no longer ruled the street—there were actual cars going to and fro
now.
A young man in a bartender’s uniform leaning against a streetlamp spoke to an
enormous black man.
“What is life? What do people live for? Someone asked me that once, and I
beat him within an inch of his life. It’d be one thing if it was a starry-eyed
dreamer of a teenage girl, but from a grown man who wanted to be a yakuza but
tried to get out because he didn’t like running errands? It’s practically a crime.”
“That’s right!”
“Everyone’s free to think what they want about their own life. No one can
deny you that. But why the hell would you ask for answers from another person?
So I told him, ‘This is your life, live so you can die,’ while his pupils dilated. Then
again, that was the bar manager, so I probably screwed up again.”
“…Simon, I get the feeling you don’t understand what I’m saying.”
Shizuo Heiwajima bellowed and threw a nearby bicycle at Simon, who caught it
one-handed. The town swallowed up this scene, assimilating it—business as
usual.
When night hit Ikebukuro, it was a completely different place than during the
daytime. It was just as crowded and chaotic, but blackness swallowed
everything, so that the world seemed to be in negative. Nowadays, more people
were utilizing cheap manga cafés to spend the night than more expensive hotels.
Missing the last train was no longer the big deal it had once been.
On streets close to the train station, karaoke barkers hustled about, latching
onto groups of students and new employees out for a celebration. Most of those
groups already had their next destinations picked out, and they gradually faded
away from the street.
People left drinking establishments and headed home, young people partied
through the night, and smatterings of foreigners dotted the scene. It wasn’t on
the same level as when the sun was out, but the night had its own crowded
bustle.
However…
In front of the Tokyu Hands store that intersected the main road, two people
stood apart from the crowd.
One was a student wearing his uniform jacket. The other was a grown woman
wearing a business suit.
Now that they were both at the agreed-upon location, Namie Yagiri asked the
boy, “You’re Mikado? You’re so mature—not at all the child I was expecting. Or
is it the polite ones who are most dangerous these days?”
Her voice was soft but rimmed with infinite frost.
They did not leave for another location to talk, but stayed in place right outside
the building. The chilly, overbearing air she wielded kept all of the karaoke and
host clubs’ solicitors away, as well as any overeager men looking for
companionship.
Meanwhile, Mikado wore his Raira Academy blazer, but no attitude that made
him anything but a normal student. The solicitors weren’t going to bother
upselling a lone teenager like him. In fact, it was more likely that if he hung
around in his current outfit, he’d draw the attention of the police for being
where he shouldn’t.
They were two souls who didn’t fit in the scene for opposite reasons. A quiet
tension fomented between them.
“So…what is your proposition?” Namie asked.
He’d managed to get her to negotiate in person; he probably knew just about
everything. The girl must have told him all that she knew over the course of the
evening.
“It’s simple. As I told you over the phone, I have the person you’re looking for.”
This did not unnerve Namie. If he was proposing this deal in possession of all of
the facts, he really had to be a child. It was the height of folly.
He must have designated this location right in the middle of 60-Kai Street
thinking that such a public location meant they couldn’t play rough with him.
But of course, she had not come alone. The company’s security team, normally
in charge of guarding the research lab, was disguised in the crowd as ordinary
salarymen. Nearly a dozen loyal employees were on standby with stun batons.
Just in case they were necessary, vans parked along 60-Kai Street and in side
alleys contained more underlings and other hired muscle types, about twenty in
total.
It wasn’t just the one boy, of course. He wouldn’t be trying to strike such a
deal without others on his side. Hence the necessity of such a large force behind
her.
In addition, Namie had brought a reasonable amount of cash to help strike a
deal, in recognition of his admirable pluck. As long as she got the girl back, they
could crush the boy in an instant if he thought he could open his mouth.
“How much do you want?” she asked directly. No need for theatrics in such a
silly transaction. There was no telling where he might have hidden a recorder, if
she was careless and gave away some kind of personal secret.
But his answer caught her by surprise.
“It’s not money, actually.”
“What are you dealing for, then?”
“Don’t you know? The truth.”
What does he mean? she wondered, baffled.
Mikado laid out his conclusion. “Let’s start with an admission of what your
brother—Seiji Yagiri—is responsible for doing.”
“ !”
The warm spring air instantly turned to midwinter chill. After a long silence,
Namie fixed him with a stare that froze anyone who looked at it and spoke in a
voice that demolished any who heard it.
“What…did you…just say?”
“Confess what your brother did to Mika Harima—and what you did to her
body after that. Unfortunately, since there’s only circumstantial evidence, I’ll
need you to turn yourselves in.”
Despite the easiness of his speech, sweat flooded Mikado’s palms. Black rage
was exploding off of her. If he let his guard down just the tiniest bit, he might
burst into tears.
“I think that course of action would do the least damage to your company.”
“Oh, dear… Yes, I see… You don’t want money at all. You just want our lab to
be shut down for good…”
“In order to guarantee her freedom—not to mention my safety, since she
ended up at my home—that seems to be the only option. If you simply bow out,
I don’t see why that should lead to the downfall of the company.”
As he spoke, Mikado noticed that her reaction had started to go strange.
“Oh…oh…such a shame… You see, the company means absolutely nothing to
me.”
She pierced Mikado with a look that he couldn’t distinguish between laughing
or crying. He grappled with this new revelation, waiting for her next line. All of
Mikado’s hair stood on end as he fought against the pressure of receiving his
death sentence.
She didn’t even seem to be the same coolheaded woman who arrived in front
of the department store building—but her voice was still soft and calm.
“You can crush my company, bomb it to hell, burn it to the ground, and I
wouldn’t care a whit. But…the one thing I won’t stand for…is someone who tries
to stand between my brother and what he wants.”
Her answer was simple. So simple, in fact, that Mikado’s eyes narrowed in a
kind of relief.
Oh, I get it. She’s one of those people. No wonder she’s been doing things that
go above and beyond her company’s bottom line.
At the same moment that her fists clenched, Mikado tightened his own grip on
the cell phone in his pocket, pressing the button to send an e-mail.
This would explain it.
He was nearly bowled over backward by her incredible fixation on her brother
but held his ground and glared back at her.
One person’s already been killed, the body was used to create a totally new
person, and now she’s trying to have me killed, too. I think the last part is what
makes me angriest. I care about myself most of all. I would do anything for my
own sake. That’s what makes people like her, who replace the “my” in “my
sake” with another person, so aggravating. And someone who would use that
excuse to ruin the lives of others is especially, especially, especially unforgivable!
Anger began to bubble up within Mikado. He was obsessed with all things
extraordinary and abnormal but being the victim of irrational, unfair
circumstances was something else entirely. He launched into Namie.
“I’ve never heard such an awful thing. You’re going to make Yagiri miserable
for your own twisted, selfish reasons.”
“What do you mean? If you’re going to brave the depths of the underworld at
your age, and all you can come up with is that clichéd garbage…then shut that
impertinent mouth of yours right now!” she roared like some kind of witch’s
curse, closing a step toward Mikado.
But he did not pull back.
“You’re right, I only know how to speak in clichés. But what’s wrong with that?
And which one of us is incapable of comprehending the obvious fact that there’s
a price to be paid for taking a human life?”
Mikado took a step of his own, returning her glare.
“You’ve watched too much TV. The old-fashioned kind with a moral at the end
of the story! Do you know where we are?! This is the real world! You’re not on
TV, you’re not in a magazine, and you’re not a hero. Learn your place, boy!”
They each approached another step. Namie’s voice was overflowing with cold
fury, but those words on their own were not enough to stop him. He’d suffered
the nonsense of Masaomi Kida’s conversations every day. Compared to them,
her arguments were at least logical, and thus easy to rebut.
“That’s right. I want to see what’s clean and unsoiled. I want things to act in
harmony. All those clichés and predictable outcomes are familiar and beloved to
me. But what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with wishing for that to happen
in real life? It’s because of the nature of reality that we desire them! I’m not
going to claim it’s for the sake of others; I want them because I enjoy seeing
that! Yes, it’s a common cliché. And the fact that it’s such a cliché just shows you
how much everyone thinks about it!”
He tried to overwhelm her with statements and questions, some of which he
didn’t even believe in himself. But he wasn’t just trying to provoke her out of
desperation—he was trying to keep her attention focused on himself for as long
as he could.
When he felt the moment was right, Mikado tensed the finger waiting on his
phone button.
Once I press this button, there’s no going back. I’ll be entering a place one
should never go. I wanted to avoid this if possible, but based on her reaction, I
don’t have another choice. I don’t have the strength or intelligence to challenge
someone who doesn’t respond to logic. And I don’t have the time to try,
because I’ve got to find a way to survive this situation first.
Mikado sucked in a deep breath of determination and pushed the switch as he
let it out.
So my only choice—is to rely on numbers!
“This is ridiculous. Enough discussion,” Namie said, then slowly raised her
hand. “I don’t care how many friends you have. We can come up with plenty of
truth serum.”
Her face glowed with a radiant smile as her hand stretched overhead. She
never realized that there could be such pleasure in eliminating her brother’s
enemies.
Some of Namie’s subordinates saw her hand rise.
“That’s the signal. Just grab the kid.”
“Hey…hang on, what if he’s working with the cops? We could be screwing
ourselves…”
“At this point, who cares? She certainly ain’t seein’ the big picture. Bring on
the cops—once the dust has settled, the broad will handle everything.”
The more gung ho of the men ignored his hesitant partner, dropped his
drunken salaryman act, and did a brief scan of the area.
“Huh…?”
He noticed something and checked with his partner. “It’s like…eleven o’clock,
right?”
“Yeah.”
He felt a subtle chill creep over him.
“Then…where’d all these people come from?”
Just as the first man burst out of the crowd and smoothly, naturally made his
way closer to Mikado—
Beebeebeep, beebeebeep.
It was the sound of a cell phone receiving a text.
At first, the man thought it was his own, but then he realized he didn’t have his
phone on him. It was just someone else’s message tone coming from very close
by.
But when he turned in the direction of the sound, he saw a very large black
man, towering well over six feet tall. It was the giant well known along this street
—Simon. The man averted his gaze and kept walking so as not to make more eye
contact.
Then the bleeping beeps were followed by a little song.
He turned in the direction of that sound and saw a bartender wearing
sunglasses—Shizuo Heiwajima, the so-called brawling puppet of Ikebukuro.
What was he doing there?
He turned in yet another direction and saw several people of an entirely
different type, each one busy reading an e-mail off of their phone.
“…?!”
That’s when they noticed something. As several different chimes played on,
more songs started up, forming an ugly, clashing harmony.
Beebeebeebeep, beebeebeebeep.
More text notifications, at least a dozen from every direction.
“?!”
At last, Namie and her men realized that something strange was happening.
The mixed crowd of countless milling figures had grown into what would more
accurately be termed a mob. Even those whose phones hadn’t gone off were
pulling them out of pockets, drawn by the vibration setting. But the vast
majority were beeping and ringing incessantly.
And then…
Too late to do anything about it, the little group was drowned in waves of
ringtones.
Tone, tone, tone. Melody tone ringtone, ringtone, harmonic tone, harmony.
tonetonetonetonetonemelodymelodymelodyringringringringtonetoneharmonicnic
harmonyharmonyharmonytonetonemelotonedytonemelotonetonetonemelotoneri
tonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetonetone
tone, tonetonetonetone, tonetonetonetonetonetone, tonetonetonetonetone,
tonetonetone tonetone
tonetonetone, tonetonetonetone, tonetone, tonetone, tonetonetone, tone,
tonetone tonetonetone, tone
tonetone, tone, tonetonetoneto, tonetonetonetonetonetone,
tonetonetonetone, tonetonetone, tone
tone, tonetone, tone, tone, tonetonetone, tone, tonetonetone, tonetone,
tonetone, tonetone, tone, tone
And as the ringtones gradually calmed and faded out, Namie’s group found
they were the center of attention.
Gazes. They were singled out from the crowd by a sea of gazes.
Dozens, if not hundreds, of people in the surrounding crowd were all turned in
their direction, staring—sometimes speaking with the person beside them—
casting them into sharp relief, as though they were the players of some kind of
theater, performing in a special space cut out of the surroundings…
“What…what is this…? What’s happening…? Who the hell are these people?!”
Namie screamed. The scene had overturned not just her expectations, but
everything she thought was normal.
But the stares did not stop. It was as though they had made enemies out of
the entire world.
Lost in the terrible shock of the moment was the fact that the boy she’d been
negotiating with had slipped into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of gazes.
The founder of the Dollars turned into one of the mob, unbeknownst to
anyone.
“Whoa, can you believe that? Izaya and Shizuo on the same street, and they’re
not fighting or anything!” Karisawa bubbled. She was sitting in a van parked on
the side of the street.
“That’s just because Shizuo hasn’t noticed him. Still, this is wild. Is it me, or are
there even some students in the mix? Not that hardly any of them are wearing
their uniforms at this time of day.”
One of the cars parked on 60-Kai Street was the van that Kadota, Yumasaki,
and the others drove. Inside, Kadota’s friends—and a new girl they just picked
up this morning—watched the scene outside with trepidation.
The girl was one they’d kidnapped before she could be kidnapped, from a
rickety, old apartment building near Ikebukuro Station. By torturing those thugs,
the group learned that a Yagiri Pharmaceuticals research lab was behind the
event. Just as they were about to finish up with their victims, the leader of the
thugs got a text message that appeared to be a code.
After forcing him to decode the message, they learned that it contained an
address, with a note that there was a “girl with a scar on her neck” there, and a
simple text drawing of a door. There was also an image attached to the e-mail—
creepily enough, it was a picture of the girl’s severed head. In the image, it
almost looked like it was alive, but the file labeled it a “re-creation.”
Kadota asked the thugs what the door was supposed to mean. They said it was
a corruption of D.O.A.—dead or alive. With that in mind, the group decided to
swing by the apartment before anyone else arrived, pick the lock, and take the
girl to safety.
All the other kidnappers who got the same message must have been stationed
outside of Toshima Ward, because Kadota’s group was first on the scene in
Ikebukuro and succeeded in their mission.
They didn’t know who the girl shivering in the back of the van was yet, but
Kadota made sure to report it through the form on the Dollars’ website. It was
designed to reduce conflict between the various members of the Dollars, but it
was almost unheard of for members to run into each other on the street.
Even if they did, it was typically no more than the friendly relationship that
developed between Karisawa’s team and Kaztano, the illegal immigrant. Until
this moment, none of them knew that Simon and Shizuo were also members.
The idea of illegal immigrants being on the Net was strange, but it turned out
that they were recruited through old-fashioned word of mouth in real life. The
Dollars were apparently growing through more mediums than just the Internet.
And that led to today—the group’s first-ever meetup.
“Sheesh, how many people is that? Y’know, it looks less like a gang meetup
than some kind of flash mob from a major forum or something.”
“Well, the Dollars aren’t exactly your typical color gang. Hell, the team color is
camouflage.”
“By the way, what’s the leader like?”
“No idea…”
As Yumasaki and Karisawa chattered happily away, Kadota groaned in the
driver’s seat. “Geez… Is this what the Dollars really are? Damn… What’s going
on…?”
He was conflicted with equal parts bewilderment at having been part of such
an inexplicable group and astonishment at the sheer power of the sight. It was
far beyond the scale of any color gang.
At a glance, it didn’t look like a meetup at all. Each person wore their own
outfit and stood where they were without order or reason. They were simply
there as they were—on their own or in small groups of like-minded friends.
Some were office workers, some were teenage girls in their high school
uniforms, some were exceedingly plain college students, some were foreigners,
some fit the image of a color gang perfectly, some were housewives— Some
were— Some were— Some were—
That was the group collected in this scene. Many of them were on the younger
side, to be certain, but from a distance it looked like nothing more extraordinary
than a larger than usual crowd for this time of night.
Even the police could easily be fooled if called. That was exactly the point of
the group, and thus it melted into the town without suspicion.
Until a single e-mail reached the entire group.
Mikado waited for the right moment and sent a preprepared message to
essentially every member of the group with a mail address on their cell phone, all
at once.
“Right now anyone not looking at messages on their phones is an enemy. Do
not attack, just stare silently.”
Namie and her goons were instantly singled out in the crowd, overwhelmingly
outnumbered.
A single dullahan observed the scene from far above. She had to determine
who was an enemy and who was a friend.
The ones who still brandished weapons in the midst of the stares, taking
positions to protect Namie. They were the enemy to her and to the Dollars.
In exchange for her help with the plan, Celty got to meet the girl with her head
earlier in the evening. She approached the girl, neck covered in gruesome
stitched scars, and simply asked for her name. It was a fatalistic question—she
assumed the girl would not remember—but the answer was the worst thing she
could have imagined.
The girl stared at Celty’s helmet with awful, empty eyes and said just one word.
“Celty.”
That cleared my head.
As soon as the word registed in her mind, she felt a deep despair, as well as the
invigorating rush of being set free of some kind of curse.
Celty gazed down on Namie’s squad, isolated from the enormous crowd—and
announced her presence by letting her Coiste Bodhar roar.
All at once, the crowd of Dollars looked away from Namie and up at Celty on
the top of a looming high-rise building.
Satisfied, she spread her arms—
And dropped vertically down the outer surface of the building.
Before the screams started down on the ground, the shadow that enveloped
her expanded to its maximum, an even blacker cloud against the black of night.
The shadow eventually covered the bike, weaving its way between the tires and
the wall so that both rubber and steel seemed to draw the other in as it raced
breathless and vertical.
The Dollars and Namie’s group, gathered below on 60-Kai Street, were getting
a glimpse of a world where physics held no sway.
The bike leaped away from the building and landed on the opposite side of the
Dollars, trapping Namie’s group in the middle.
It was like a scene from a movie. Some held their breath, some quaked in
terror, and some shed tears without knowing why.
And without a care for the public attention on her every move, Celty drew the
shadow from her back, forming the giant pitch-black scythe.
As Namie trembled, one of her henchmen approached Celty from behind and
smacked her collarbone area with a special police baton. The helmet fell off of
her neck, exposing the empty space.
Shouts and screams arose, while those at the rear of the pack couldn’t see or
react to what happened. Panic shot through the crowd.
But Celty had not an ounce of doubt or hesitation.
Yeah, I have no head. I’m a monster. I don’t have a mouth to speak my case or
eyes to convey my passion to others.
But so what?
So damn what?
I’m right here. I am here, and I exist. If I don’t have any eyes, you will simply
have to observe all of my actions instead. Let your ears take in the screams of
those who have felt firsthand my monstrous wrath.
I am right here. I’m here. I’m right here.
I am already screaming, screaming.
I was born here—so that I could carve my existence into this city…
And then, they heard. The sight turned into a tremendous noise in their brains.
The scream of the dullahan, a sound they should never have heard, painted the
main street in the color of battle.
Last Chapter: Dollars, Closing
At first, the Dollars were nothing more than a silly idea.

On Mikado’s suggestion, a number of friends on the Internet decided to work
together. They created a fictional team in Ikebukuro and spread the tales solely
on the Net. They added story upon story, claiming Dollars’ responsibility for any
real event that happened. None of them ever claimed to be a member of the
Dollars but spoke of them as tales they heard from others. When people asked
for the source of the information, they were ignored. Sometimes the group even
set up fake websites to back their claims.
When the tale of the Dollars began to gain legs of its own, Mikado and his
friends got a little carried away and created an official Dollars site. It was
password protected, and they wrote a huge mass of “member posts” within.
Then they began to leak the address—if anyone wanted the password, they’d
send it along in an e-mail, claiming they got it on the down low from a friend
within the group.
In this way, they created a fake organization. The only rule was listed on the
website: “You are free to claim membership in the team.”
Of course, at first people claimed there was no such team in Ikebukuro. But
strangely enough, over time posts appeared that called out such opinions as the
work of trolls or accused them of never having been to Ikebukuro in the first
place. None of Mikado’s original group were making these posts. In other words,
people who weren’t in on the original joke were speaking up to defend the
Dollars.
At first, they were delighted over this development, but that soon gave way to
subtle unease and chilling alienation.
Yes, it was a silly joke at first. They intended to put work into building up the
story, then let it sit, like a little prank. But then things started getting weird.
The Dollars, which had begun as an empty prank, began to wield actual real-
world strength.
Whose work it was did not surface, but gradually, people began to join the
Dollars in real life, through face-to-face communication, not on the Internet. The
story was growing larger and larger beyond their control. At that point, they
didn’t have the option of coming out and claiming it was all a big joke, and
Mikado’s friends began to drift away from it. They preferred to simply fade away
and forget about the whole thing.
Only Mikado kept up the act.
Now that the organization actually had true power, someone had to take
control, to ensure it was safe. He couldn’t deny that a part of him was elated
over the illusion that he was in control of such a massive group, but he kept it
entirely secret—and the next thing he knew, he was in fact the head of the
Dollars.
The leader atop the Dollars, a person no one had ever seen, a person no one
would have guessed was only in middle school. And the group only picked up
speed from there.
Finally, tonight, the organization born from a lie took on absolute substance.
“Boy, that was something,” Izaya muttered, watching the aftermath of the
festival.
In less than three minutes, Celty crushed ten men, then disappeared in pursuit
of the fleeing Namie.
The crowd seemed to treat the entire display as an illusion, breaking off into
smaller groups and continuing on their ways home. It was like the draining of
some tremendous tide, and the mob was gone as though it had all been nothing
more than the product of a dream.
All that was left was a few cars parked on the street and the same old night
bustle that had been in place before the event.
“Were there really that many people here just now?” Kadota asked Izaya
Orihara as he got out of one of the vans on the street. He hadn’t seen Izaya in
ages.
“Nice to see you again, Dotachin. For the number of people they hold, the
twenty-three wards of Tokyo are surprisingly small. It’s the densest city in the
world for a reason. You can show up anywhere and disappear anywhere.”
As they chatted, Celty appeared at the entrance to the street nearby.
“By the way, Izaya…what is that? I’ve seen it before. It’s not human, is it?”
“You saw it, right? It’s a monster. Make sure you call it that out of respect,”
Izaya joked, then walked over toward Celty. “Seems like you lost your target,
huh?”
His tone was as casual toward her as ever, despite having just witnessed the
majesty of her combat in person. Celty trudged back to her motorcycle in
fatigue, clearly upset about losing Namie.
“Well, at least you cleared your head,” he noted cheerfully, looking straight at
the cross section of neck remaining.
Damn. So he knew I didn’t have my head all along.
Izaya was cool as a cucumber even without Celty’s head present. Meanwhile,
Yumasaki and Karisawa were still positively buzzing with excitement, chattering a
slight distance away.
“No way, no way, you serious? Is this for real? It’s not just my eyes playing
tricks on me? Wait, does that mean the Black Rider’s all CG or something?!”
Celty grew tired of their stares, so she walked over to pick up her fallen helmet.
“The thing that makes ghosts scary is that they skulk and hide around before
popping out to spook you. But after that grand entrance back there, nobody
around here’s going to be afraid of you for quite a while,” Izaya teased her, then
added, “And you didn’t even kill anyone, huh? Can’t your scythe cut anything?”
She ignored him completely and brushed the dust off of her helmet. The scythe
she’d produced just now was fashioned to be safe on either edge. If anything, it
was more of a bludgeon.
If I’m planning to live in this place for a while, it won’t do to make the town
infamous for murders.
But she wasn’t going to admit such a shabby reasoning to anyone. She
slouched her shoulders in embarrassment and put the helmet back on top.
Before they parted, Izaya approached Mikado.

“To be honest, I’m amazed,” he said pleasantly, but there was not a drop of
sweat on his face to support that statement. Mikado couldn’t begin to guess
where he had been in the crowd.
Meanwhile, Izaya praised the young man. “I knew there were a ton of people
identifying themselves as Dollars on the Net. But I never thought you could call a
meeting out of the blue like this and get so many people all at once. Ahh,
humanity always surpasses one’s imagination.”
He shook his head softly. “But while you may be dreaming of a life outside the
bounds of normality, life in Tokyo will become normal after you’ve been here for
a year. If you still want the abnormal, you’ll need to either move somewhere else
or get into drugs, prostitution, or whatever lies even deeper underground.”
At that point, Mikado understood. If he did the same thing again, seeking the
same high of excitement he was now feeling—or perhaps if he publicly and
completely claimed leadership of the Dollars—what would become of him? If he
was unhappy with his life now, would he just keep searching for a new life
forever?
Izaya smiled in absolute understanding of Mikado’s thoughts.
“Life becomes normal even for the people on the other side of the tracks. Take
the plunge for yourself, and you’ll be used to it in three days. And people like you
can never bear that.”
It was painful how well he understood what Izaya meant. But why was he
saying these things to Mikado? There had to be some ulterior motive, but
Mikado had no answer while he was ignorant of Izaya’s true intentions.
“If you truly want to escape the ordinary, you’ll simply need to keep evolving—
whether what you seek is above or below.”
To finish off, he patted Mikado’s shoulder and said, “Enjoy your normality. Out
of respect, I’ll let you have Namie Yagiri’s phone number absolutely free. And I’ll
even refrain from selling the intel that you’re the founder of the Dollars. It’s your
organization. Use it when you want to use it.”
And with that, he walked off in Celty’s direction. Mikado wasn’t quite sure how
to process all of this, so he simply bowed toward Izaya’s back.
However, Izaya suddenly stopped and turned back, adding one last thing that
had just come to him.
“Just so you know, I’ve been observing you on the Net this entire time. I just
wanted to catch a glimpse of the guy who actually created something as dumb
as the Dollars. That’s all! Hang in there, Tarou Tanaka!”
But how did he know that name, something Mikado had chosen as a username
exclusively for certain areas online? And on a similar note, hadn’t he called
Kadota “Dotachin” just a few moments earlier?
He thought back to what Izaya had just said—he was observing the creator of
the Dollars on the Net, tracking his online behavior.
Then Mikado remembered one of his chat partners, a person who had invited
him to a specific chat room, and claimed to know various things about Ikebukuro
and the Dollars.
Can it be? Can it be? Can it be?!
Eventually, the police came to sweep 60-Kai Street, but Mikado in his school
jacket hid in the shadows of an alleyway with Celty. If the police found him
wearing proof that he was in school, he’d be punished for certain.
The passersby and karaoke bar solicitors unrelated to the Dollars no doubt
witnessed the raucous scene from earlier, but no one spoke up to tell the police
what happened. Either they decided that nothing so freaky was a good idea to
get involved with, or they assumed they’d hallucinated the entire thing.
But for some reason, even after the police had left, the unease sat heavy in
Mikado’s heart. He felt that he must be forgetting something important.
Meanwhile, Celty, her helmet back on her shoulders, walked over to the van in
which her head was sitting.
She no longer held any longing for her head, but it seemed appropriate that
she say a final farewell of some kind. But as she approached the van—
Shudd.
A dull shock ran through her back as she reached for the car door. A moment
later, the sensation repeated, slightly higher.
Huh? Isn’t this the same thing that happened to Shizuo yesterday…?
The shock instantly turned to pain, and Celty fell to her knees. She looked
behind her to see a tall young man wearing a school jacket. There was a large
scalpel in his hand, probably taken from a laboratory.
After a brief silence, enough time for the wounds to heal and the pain to fade,
the boy mumbled, “Hmm, I guess that’s not enough to kill.”
Seiji Yagiri examined the blade, noting there was no blood on it, then hopped
right into the van.
Wait, where are you going?
Celty instantly forgot about being stabbed in the back. She wasn’t sure how to
handle this unexpected arrival. As far as she could remember, this was Yagiri,
who’d been chasing her head—the younger brother of the woman from earlier.
As with the time that he stabbed Shizuo, she was struck by how normal he was,
and that made it all the harder to know how to respond.
Seiji Yagiri stepped into the van without hesitation and boldly carried his
heroine out.
“Huh…?”
At a distance, Mikado had to squint to see what happened.
He thought he saw a man wearing a blazer get into the van, and then just
moments later, he got right back out, pulling with him a girl with scars on her
neck.
Seiji had a dazzling smile on his face as he pulled her by the hand. With a
powerful look in his eye, he led her away from the van.
No one, not Karisawa in the car, or Celty nearby, tried to stop him. No one
could.
His actions inside the van were too simple and too bold. At first, Karisawa took
him for one of Mikado’s friends. He was wearing the same uniform, and there
was no hesitation or doubt in his eyes.
And with that pure look of devotion on his face, he reached out a hand to the
scarred girl.
“I’ve come for you. Let’s go.”
If that was all that happened, Karisawa or Celty could have stopped him. But
the next moment took them completely by surprise.
“…Okay.”
The girl with the scarred neck took Seiji’s hand without a second thought. As
though he completely expected this answer, he nodded and pulled her out of the
vehicle. It happened so naturally, it was as though fate had ordained that
moment from before they were ever born. The glowing night street was like their
wedding aisle.
“Huh? What?”
Despite his bewilderment, Mikado couldn’t take his eyes off of the unnatural
scene.
Kadota and Yumasaki, too, seemed to think that Seiji was Mikado’s friend,
given the same school uniform, and they watched him go without much
consternation. Izaya, on the other hand, did understand the meaning of the
events, but he was content to watch the scene play out with a smile on his lips.
Eventually Seiji noticed Mikado on the street, and he approached with the girl
in tow.
“Hey.”
The greeting was so ordinary—and therefore eerie, given the circumstances—
that Mikado had no response. Seiji continued, not bothered in the least.
“I really owe a lot to both you and my sister. If it wasn’t for my sister, I’d never
have found her. And if it wasn’t for you, she’d have been trapped in that lab
forever.”
And with that, he walked right past Mikado. The boy watched them pass with
shock, but then he noticed the expression on the face of the girl. She averted her
eyes, but he thought he caught a hint of fear.
Mikado glared at Seiji and asked a very important question.
“I’d like you to answer something for me. I tried to get an answer out of your
sister earlier…”
“Asking if I had killed someone? It might have happened.”
Mikado felt a slight chill run down his back. Seiji did not change his expression.
He pointed the scalpel right at Mikado, who stood in his way.
“Now move it. If it’s gotten out that I killed that stalker chick, me and my lady
here have to run for safety before the police show up to haul me in.”
Seiji’s eyes were not filled with madness, nor transported with the lust of
violence.
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“What do you know? I’ve been watching her, gazing at her, ever since I was a
little kid. I wanted to release her, free her from the prison of that cramped glass
case. I wanted to live with her out in the free world. That’s all I ever, ever, ever,
ever, ever, ever thought about.”
His eyes were never anything but normal and full of justified intent. This must
have been the “ordinary life” that he chose for himself, but from the outside, it
was impenetrable and terrifying.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Izaya, Kadota, Yumasaki, and the others noticed the scene unfolding and
gathered around them. Seiji simply stood his ground and shook his head.
“Oh, come on. The power of love cannot be stopped by anyone.” Even
surrounded by menacing figures, his expression was absolutely ordinary. He spun
the scalpel and held it high, then turned to Mikado and shouted, “So what does
that make you? Both then and now, you rely on simple numbers and make no
extraordinary effort of your own. You’re like a third-rate villain. I bet you’ve
never been in love.”
“And you can’t even be third-rate if you don’t understand the effort it takes to
gather these numbers,” Mikado replied.
Seiji smirked and swung the scalpel down. At the same time, a black shadow
raced up from behind and struck his body.
“—!”
Celty had been waiting for the right moment and smacked his hand with the
butt of her scythe to knock the scalpel loose, but despite the incredible pain in
his wrist, he did not drop it. Instead, he swung at Mikado again from his bent
position.
“My love will not be broken by the likes of this,” he claimed, trying to pull the
girl along despite the odds against him.
Seiji gripped the knife and swiped sideways in a huge arc, trying to force
everyone in front of him to back away. Celty quickly struck him again, but—
“That won’t work on me.”
“Dude, is this guy on something?” Kadota wondered aloud. Seiji’s expression
was as strong and forthright as ever, without an ounce of pain or hesitation.
“It won’t work! I feel pain—I just shake it off! Me and Celty don’t need pain in
our life together! So anything you do to me, I refuse to feel as pain!”
“You’re acting crazy!” Mikado shouted. Celty raised her scythe and prepared
to cut the tendons in Seiji’s arm.
What is wrong with him? He needs to be stopped. Is this…the form his love
takes? What in the world are his values? Does this mean that my views and
humans’ are entirely different? I have, I have my own, my own, my own—
She swung the scythe in a tight arc, as much to drive away her own thoughts
as anything else. Somehow, the double-sided bluntness of the scythe had given
way to a razor-sharp edge. Noting this, Mikado and the other human beings in
the vicinity took a wide step backward.
Just as Celty’s scythe was about to descend upon Seiji’s arm…
“Stoooop!”
Everyone went still.
Except for two: Seiji and the girl.
The girl with the scars on her neck was standing boldly in the path of the
scythe—and seeing this, Seiji tried to shove himself in front of her. The blade of
the scythe stopped just before it touched his body, hurting no one.
Meanwhile, everyone stared at the girl in shock.
The “head girl,” who called herself Celty, had leaped in the path of harm to
save Seiji. Her attitude had changed 180 degrees from her previously quiet and
reserved self. She boldly spoke out in Seiji’s defense.
“Stop it! Seiji might be harsh and violent and a little different from other
people, but he saved my life! He saved me and Anri, but even then, he’s already
in love with someone else, you see, so…you can’t kill him…”
Her voice trembled and lost steam until she fell over onto Seiji in a tearful
mess.
No way—no way, no way—
And the dullahan realized:
No…this girl is not my head.
At the exact same moment, Mikado realized who she was.
She’s not the dullahan’s head! Her name is—
“Mika…Harima?” he mumbled. She turned trembling eyes on him. “It’s true,
isn’t it? You’re Mika Harima, who was supposedly killed by Seiji, aren’t you?”
“That’s a lie,” said Seiji. The instant he heard her voice and name, the
memories had begun flooding back into his mind. The stalker who looked so
much like his beloved. The girl he had killed by smashing her head into the wall…
“It’s not true, is it?”
“… I’m sorry!I’m sorry, I…I’m sorry…”
“I actually…wasn’t completely dead! I clung to life…and your sister asked…if I
wanted you to fall in love with me! And even though you almost killed me, I still
loved you so much… And then a doctor showed up…and said with a bit of
surgery and the right makeup…I could look just like that head…the head that
Seiji loves so much!”
Celty’s body twitched.
“But then…the doctor said, ‘Your name is Celty. That’s the head’s name.’ And I
decided to try to be Celty for Seiji’s sake…but Namie said it wasn’t working, that I
wouldn’t be able to fool him… She was going to erase my memory with surgery
or drugs! But…I didn’t want to forget my love for him… I just wanted to tell him
how I felt…so I escaped the lab!”
Seiji’s sister must have wanted to combine the head with a living human being
so she could try to pry him away from it. But only Namie truly knew if that was to
make him a normal human being again or if it was out of jealousy toward the
head.
Various pieces were connecting together in Celty’s mind to form a complete
picture.
There were only so many people who knew her name. And out of them, the
only one who knew she was a dullahan was—
Shinra Kishitani. Celty’s living partner, the underground doctor who knew her
secret.
Thinking back further, Celty remembered when she had considered seeking
hints on the head’s whereabouts through the research labs of medical
manufacturers or universities. But Shinra himself volunteered for that job,
saying, “I know people in Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, so I can check on my own. It
would be silly to owe Orihara a favor for something like this.”
He came back saying that nothing seemed suspicious or out of place—but
looking back on it now, he must have known that the head was at Yagiri
Pharmaceuticals all along and volunteered for the fact-finding mission to hide
that from her…
She clenched her fists, all interest lost in Mika or Seiji, and bowed briefly to
Mikado before hopping on her bike. The roar of the engine burst through the
black of night.
It was its fiercest screech all evening, signaling the conclusion of the night’s
festivities.
“No way… This can’t… I…I never…noticed?”
An evil shadow loomed closer to plant the final blow on Seiji’s defenseless
back.
“Well, well. Looks like you couldn’t even tell the difference between the real
thing and a counterfeit. I mean, if we’re being honest, that just shows you how
real your love for that head is. Nice work, pal,” Izaya crowed.
Seiji’s heart crumbled to pieces. He fell to his knees.
“Seiji!”
His classmate raced to his side, stitching scars around her neck—Mika Harima.
From Mikado’s perspective, it was all an absurd comedy of errors, but for
some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to laugh about it. He thought for a
moment, then approached and shyly spoke to the two.
“Umm…maybe you didn’t realize that she was an impostor, but you still risked
your life to save hers. I think that’s really incredible,” he said, trying to cheer up
Seiji, then turned to Mika. “And after I heard your side of the story, I realized
that I was wrong about you. True, you’ve got some…character flaws…but you’re
not a stalker.”
When he spoke again, it was more to himself than anything. “Then again…it’s
probably about as bad. I think it’s a possessive urge that drives stalking behavior.
But she put her life on the line for Yagiri’s sake. I don’t think you could do
something like that if it was solely out of a selfish desire. Plus, the fact that she
still loves the guy who almost killed her is pretty astonishing…in a variety of
ways.”
And with one last unnecessary comment, Mikado left to join the night.
“I think you two are very, very similar.”
Near Kawagoe Highway, top floor of an apartment building, late night

The instant she turned the key in the lock, Celty kicked in the door of Shinra’s
apartment.
“Oh, welcome home.”
Shinra greeted her with his usual smile, sitting in the living room at his
computer. Celty did not bother to undo her shadow boots. She strode directly
over to the young man in his white lab coat and grabbed him by the collar.
She wasn’t in the mood to punch at a keyboard, but punching him wouldn’t be
enough, either. She considered how best to register her anger with him.
“Let me guess: ‘What are you playing at?’” he said, putting words to her
emotions. “Next you’re going to say, ‘You knew! You knew my head was in that
lab for the last twenty years! You and your father have been working with Yagiri
Pharmaceuticals from the start! Now that I think back on it, when you two first
laid eyes on me, you seemed too calm and accepting! Could it be that your father
is the one who stole my head in the first place?! And then you chose to hide the
truth, found work as a black market doctor, and mocked up a half-dead girl to
look like me! I might be a monster, but you’re the true monster here!’ Does that
cover it?”
“…!!”
“Oh, and just to clear up any confusion…I don’t know if my dad is the one who
stole your head, and I don’t really care either way. Plus, that plastic surgery was
done at the girl’s request. Perhaps the Yagiri people prodded her into doing it,
but that’s no concern of mine.”
At last, Celty let her grip on his collar loosen the slightest bit. Her trembling
fists fell still, stopped in time.
If I could speak aloud, I suppose I would have said each and every one of the
words he just attributed to me.
“Let me guess, ‘Can you tell what I’m thinking?’ I didn’t think it even needed to
be said.”
He didn’t need to wait for her answer. He knew what her answer would be.
“Yes, I can. I’ve loved you for twenty years. Of course I can tell that much.”
“…”
“If you ask me, people place far too much emphasis on the face when reading
the emotions of others. Slight differences in the tension of muscles or the sound
of footsteps can tell all you need to know to instantly sense how another person
is feeling. And I’ve been watching you do this for years.”
Then why? Why would you keep quiet about the whereabouts of my head until
now?
He saw right through her mind, and his voice was heavy with intent and
emotion.
“Because I love you. That’s why I stayed quiet about your head.”
“…?”
“Once you got your hands on it, you’d have been gone. I couldn’t stand that
happening.”
In short, he was confessing his own selfishness, but there was an optimistic
shine to his words.
“I’m not going to say that I’ll give up if that’s truly what will make you happy.
This is a battle of your love against mine. Remember what I said? I will spare no
effort in seizing victory in our game of fate. So that poor girl—Mika, her name
was? I used her in an attempt to make you give up on your head. I’m not going
to let you go. I will use the love of others, their deaths, my own self, even your
own emotions to keep you here—as contradictory as that sounds.”
In a way, his words were extremely twisted and insane, but there was no doubt
clouding his eyes. That was what broke Celty’s will. If he’d played dumb or given
her some lame excuse, she would have beaten him until he couldn’t stand and
left, never to return. But after such a strong, direct statement of intent, Celty
had no response.
She lowered Shinra to the ground again and tapped on the keyboard, trying to
regain the sharpness of her anger.
“I’m not going to leave you just because I get my head back—”
“That might be your desire—but it might not be your head’s,” he answered
gravely, without any of his usual playfulness. “I’ve given it a good deal of
thought. Why is it that in this wide, wide world, you’re the only one who has
shown herself to mankind? What is the boundary that separates you from the
rest of the dullahans? I think it’s your head. Perhaps losing your head was what
allowed you to materialize in our world—made you what you are now.”
He took on a fateful, lovelorn expression, as though reciting a tragic
monologue he’d written.
“What if you get your head back and regain your memory, and then you
disappear like mist in the morning sun, as though your entire existence until now
had been nothing but a hallucination? That thought terrifies me.”
Celty gently lowered herself onto a nearby chair and sat still for several
moments.
The sound of the keyboard echoed off the walls of the still room.
“Do you believe what I tell you?”
“I trust you. In fact, I don’t trust anything but you.”
Satisfied, Celty slowly typed out a confession of her own.
“I’m scared, too.”
“I’m scared of dying.”
“I know that I am invincible. I understand it as a simple truth that there is not
a human being in the world who can kill me. That is not a boast but pure fact. I
register no joy or emotion in this fact. But that’s what is so scary. As I am now,
there is no part of my body that is in charge of my death. There’s only one
explanation: that my head is that part. Somebody could destroy my head
without me even being there. And completely isolated from my own will or
circumstances, I would…”
She stopped typing there, paused for a moment, then continued tapping the
keys.
“Would you believe me? I have no eyes or brain, but I dream. Would you
believe that I tremble in fear of this nightmare? It’s this fear, the selfish desire to
control my own death, that leads me to search for my head. If I told you that,
would you believe me?”
Shinra read every single letter of the confession as it appeared on the screen.
When she stopped typing at last, he answered instantly.
“I told you—I don’t believe in anything but you.”
And with that, he smiled happily. Smiled like he was about to cry.
“I am utterly and truly lost. I guess we’ve both been stubborn, working off of
nothing but assumptions.”
“So stupid.”
The dullahan slowly got to her feet and leaned over to type with one hand.
“Hey, Shinra.”
“What?”
“Let me punch you.”
“Sure,” he replied without missing a beat—and just as quickly, Celty put her
fist through his face.
The tremendous sound of the impact echoed off the walls, and the man in his
white coat sprawled across the floor. Blood streamed from his mouth, and he lay
prone for several moments. Eventually he got back up and faced Celty again.
“Then let me return the favor.”
Celty had done nothing to deserve being hit back, but she nodded her assent
anyway.
As soon as he saw the empty helmet tilt forward, Shinra swung a powerless fist
and knocked it off.
Her helmet clattered and spun on the floor.
—?
She had no immediate response to that meaningless, confusing action. The
doctor grinned and rubbed his smarting hand.
“There, see? You’re at your most beautiful in your natural state, Celty,” he
said, staring at the empty space over her neck. “That punch was our version of a
promise kiss.”
She hunched her shoulders down and leaned into his chest—so she could
deliver a sharp jab to his gut.
“Bhurgh!”
But she stayed where she was, leaning against his chest.
Meanwhile, her left hand typed, “You’re such an idiot.”
There was no need for words anymore. Shinra held her close in silence.
The little shivers that wracked her slender frame told him that she was crying.
Shinjuku, early morning
It was all for her brother’s sake.
Actually, there was no benefit for Seiji—it was entirely for the sake of her
desire to see him smile—but she had no personal awareness of this fact.
Immediately following the scene on 60-Kai Street, Namie Yagiri took the head
out of the lab. As she expected, shortly after she left there came a report that
the Black Rider—the dullahan’s body—had rushed the lab. But she already had
the head. If the dullahan got its head back, either Seiji would fall into the depths
of despair, or he’d claim that his fated lover was finally whole again for him.
Neither of those options Namie wanted to see.
She had to control the head at all times. It was the only hope she had to keep
her brother’s attention on her.
But when she called her uncle hoping to employ his help, she received news
that she certainly wasn’t expecting to hear.
There had been an emergency meeting of senior management to confirm the
merger with Nebula. Both the company and Nebula must have been observing
the incidents surrounding the research lab, not just tonight, but the last several
days. Whichever side suggested it, the intention was clearly to finish the deal
before any more nonsense occurred.
Naturally, Nebula wanted the dullahan’s head.
Namie slammed the phone down and had the driver turn the car around. She
swore never to return to the company and headed off for a group that could
help her hide the head.
She couldn’t expect help from the mob; they didn’t have any use for a head
like that. If she brought it to another lab, they might prioritize her treatment
while they needed her data, but eventually she would be removed from control.
Pushed to the brink of despair, she turned to one last person.
“This is the first time we’ve met in person. Did that list of illegal immigrants
help meet your experiments’ needs?”
She was standing in the apartment of Izaya Orihara.
“But then you had to be stupid and screw it all up. You ruined everything
thanks to your brother’s twisted love—or was it your twisted love for your
brother?” Izaya wondered, placing an Othello piece on the board. He was
speaking to Namie, who sat directly across from him, but his eyes never left the
game board.
“Your superiors aren’t going to like this, are they? Nebula’s a major foreign
corporation—hell, they’re a mega-conglomerate. They push people around over
in the United States.”
He placed another Othello piece, trapping a shogi pawn between two black
pieces.
“And this piece is promoted.”
He flipped the pawn over, turning it into a king. To anyone else, it was a
baffling sight, but it clearly meant something to him.
“Kinda dangerous for you, isn’t it? What if they send the mafia after you?
Perhaps a crack sniper, hired through a Swiss bank, to put a bullet through your
eyes, blam! And check.”
He slid the king one space forward, placing the other king in check.
“Why can’t there be a rule that kings can capture each other?”
For the first time, Izaya looked up at Namie. Her eyes were empty with anxiety
and irritation—she was in no mood for his games.
He opened the special case sitting next to the shogi board and stared at the
head inside. Then he turned to Namie and began to propound an odd theory.
“I think your uncle was a lot like me. He believed in the afterlife less than
anyone else. He feared death more than anyone else. And he craved heaven
more than anyone else.”
Namie tried to imagine her uncle’s face in Izaya, hoping for some insight into
his personality, but she had a shocking lack of interest for any member of her
family other than Seiji, and in the moment she could barely remember what her
uncle was like.
“But he found the truth. And so did I. There is another world beyond ours.
Let’s just leave it at that.”
“…?”
He ran his fingers gently through the hair of Celty’s beautiful head.
“It’s said that dullahans only come in what is essentially a female form. Do you
know why?”
“…No. My people did some research on mythology, but I thought it was
pointless.”
“You’re too logical and pragmatic for that. But I digress… There are many
commonalities and connections between mythological tales found all around the
world. There’s a heaven called Valhalla in Norse mythology—technically it’s not a
heaven, but whatever. It’s similar to the inn of the afterlife as found in Celtic
mythology. The Norse believed in female angels clad in armor called Valkyries
who came to escort the souls of mighty, worthy warriors to Valhalla. A woman in
armor who comes for the dead—sound familiar?”
What’s your point?
Namie had no idea what Izaya was trying to say, but she couldn’t help but be
concerned by the angular smile that stayed plastered on his face, looking more
like a mask with every passing moment.
“According to one theory, a dullahan is just a Valkyrie wandering the earth.
That’s why the dullahans are only female and often depicted wearing armor.
That must mean this head is waiting—waiting for the awakening. For the battle.
Searching for the holy warrior to take to Valhalla.”
This was entirely his own interpretation, but the way he spoke made it sound
like the truth.
“The reason this head’s eyes won’t open, even though it’s alive, is because
there’s no war here. I wish I could be chosen as her warrior. But I don’t have the
skills to survive if I took it to the Middle East, let’s say.”
And with a glint of hope in his voice, his smile shut out everything else.
“If there really is a Valhalla after death, what should I do? A war—I need to
start a war myself. But I’m not going to be of any use in the Middle East. So I
need to start a war that only I can orchestrate and star in. Isn’t that right?”
He placed a finger on the corner of the board covered with Othello, shogi, and
chess pieces and spun it with evident pleasure. The pieces scattered and flew,
leaving only the promoted pawn still sitting in the center.
“However, if I start a war here in Tokyo, one that involves no armies or
governments, I’m positive that I have what it takes to survive. How lucky I am! I
lived without faith in heaven, lived a life far from holiness—and because of that, I
met a fallen angel of death here on earth!”
Izaya grinned with unbridled glee, his smile devoid of expression. There was no
room for anyone or anything to affect his excitement. Namie opened her mouth
to say something, but could only produce the clumsiest rebuttal.
“That’s just, like…your opinion.”
“There is only salvation for those of faith. Besides, I’m just saying, this is
insurance. I’m taking out insurance on the afterlife. Maybe it’s hell—a place with
nothing but suffering—but at least I’ll exist there. Still, if I have the option, I’d
prefer heaven.”
He called out to her like he was asking her out to dinner. “Hey, Namie, let’s all
go to heaven together.”
As she looked at his mask of pleasure, Namie realized that she was giving this
“agent of heaven” to the very last person on earth that she should. He smiled at
her.
“I’ll take custody of this head as a member of the Dollars. Celty would never
imagine that her head was under her team’s own control, would she?”
Dollars? Celty’s team?
The unfamiliar information closed in on Namie’s will, bewildering her. Izaya
giddily offered a deal with the devil.
“You should join the Dollars yourself. Our boss has a policy of pulling in anyone
and everyone who comes to us. Of course, I’m the one who really started
recruiting people.”
He seemed to belittle her, care for her, and bless her all at once.
“Let’s help our fallen angel find her wings and take flight again, shall we?”
South Ikebukuro Park, early morning
“I do not love you.”
A man and woman were leaning against each other on a park bench under the
brightening sky.
“But as long as you’re around, I won’t forget my love and dedication for her.
Therefore, I accept your love. At least, until the day I get her back,” Seiji said in
an empty voice as he softly embraced Mika’s body.
Mika smiled to herself. There was a quiet conviction in that smile.
I have to be that head for Seiji to truly love me. Therefore, I will sacrifice
everything I have to love him. I’ll do anything I can to help him find that head.
And when we do, I’ll grind it to a pulp right in front of him, pour the remains into
my mouth, and make it part of my flesh and blood. It’s all for his sake, for his
sake, for his sake…
A love between them that would last until the moment their true love came
true.
A love that was so straightforward and so terribly twisted.
The sight of them was so delicate and precious—and so horribly, horribly
wrong.
Epilogue: Ordinary Days, Light
Like a grade-schooler on the day after watching the latest episode of the
hottest anime, Masaomi’s face was plastered with an enormous grin.
“Mikado, you won’t believe what I saw on the Net… Get this, there was a
Dollars meetup yesterday! Turns out Simon and Shizuo are both in the Dollars!
And the Black Rider showed up totally headless and swinging a scythe and went
like vwoww! right down the wall!”
“I don’t understand a word of what you just said.”
School hadn’t vanished off the map, even following a night like the one before.
The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds as though nothing had ever
happened, and a perfectly boring, normal day passed by.
When the lunch period began, Mikado headed for the roof of the main school
building. Nearly everyone else went to the school cafeteria, which was as large
and deluxe as those on a university campus—or else they ventured out into the
nearby neighborhood to order a quick lunch. Only a few weird students who
brought home-cooked lunches bothered to eat up on the roof.
Mikado stared up at the sky, the same sight as it was anywhere else in town,
and had the utterly ordinary epiphany that this was the exact same sky he saw
back in his hometown. It was strange to think that after such an abnormal
experience, he could find such a sense of relief and peace in his heart. It was the
peace that came the day after a long-awaited field trip.
The day after the incident, Mikado came to school rubbing sleepy eyes to find
Seiji Yagiri sitting in his seat, perfectly matter-of-fact. He did not look at Mikado
during class, but when their first break started, he turned and briefly said, “Sorry
for everything,” before returning to his seat.
More surprising was Mika Harima’s sudden attendance. Anri was surprised at
the slight changes to her face, but since most of the students had never seen her
until this day, she didn’t strike them as strange in the least, if you ignored the
bandage around her neck.
Mika gave Mikado a brief word of thanks from the seat next to him. When the
break started, she immediately started clinging to Seiji.
“Damn, so that’s Seiji’s girlfriend? No way! No wonder he lives in love, then!”
Masaomi remarked. Mikado put on an uncomfortable smile—he knew more of
the truth than his friend did—and muttered an affirmative.
But it seemed that after the latest turn of events, Mika no longer hung out
with Anri. Each time they had a break between periods, Anri sat alone in the
corner of the classroom. Mikado watched her, feeling conflicted.
Whether or not this was a good thing for her was something that only she
knew. But…was that really true? Was there no way for him to understand?
Perhaps no one really understood the heart of another.
“You’ll simply need to keep evolving,” echoed Izaya’s words in his head.
Fine, then, I will evolve. I’ll find out just how much I can evolve within the
ordinary world I’ve been given—and then I’ll show it to him.
At this point, he had no idea if it was up or down that he’d been looking all this
time. As a matter of fact, whatever the answer, he was still looking that way
now. The only difference is that he’d made a little wiggle room for himself, front
and back.
Mikado stared out the classroom window at the sixty-story building overhead
and reflected on his own feelings.
After his experience with the absolutely unreal and extraordinary, he was left
with an odd mixture of fulfillment and emptiness.
I bet now I can stare reality right in the face. I can accept it.
And once he decided that he was ready to be honest with himself, he knew
what he needed to do.
Mikado was on the roof. From what he heard, she ate lunch here every day.
After such a bold maneuver, he thought that he was capable of anything. He
thought nothing could scare him anymore.
He didn’t expect to get tripped up over something like this.
It was so easy to reach out and talk to people on the Internet…
He never in his wildest dreams expected that it would be so hard to achieve his
desires in ordinary, real life.
Who knew that it took so much courage just to ask a girl in your class to hang
out?
The boy will find Anri in thirty seconds.
The boy will spot Masaomi attempting to woo Anri in thirty-five seconds.
The boy will kick Masaomi to the ground in forty-five seconds.
The boy will suffer Masaomi’s rolling sobat kick in fifty seconds.
The boy will ask Anri to a café in seventy-three seconds.
The boy will be rejected by Anri in seventy-four seconds.
The boy will be invited to eat lunch on the roof by Anri in seventy-eight
seconds.
The boy will fall in love with Anri in—
The boy will profess his love for Anri in—
Chat room
At the end of the day, Mikado turned on his computer. He was curious how the
Internet was reacting to the previous night’s events, but it didn’t seem to be
spreading much. A few people had posted about the dullahan, but no one was
taking them seriously.
Figures, Mikado snorted to himself, then took a look in the chat room he
visited just about every day—the chat room that Izaya had invited him to, using
the nickname Kanra. The only other person in the room was his friend under the
name of Setton.
Another person invited to the chat room by Kanra. I wonder if Setton has
some secret identity, too…
{Good evening.}
[Evening. I’ve just been waiting around.]
{Okay. I’m pretty tired tonight, so I won’t be around for long.}
[Lack of sleep? Did you pull an all-nighter?]
{Kind of.}
[Kanra’s not online yet, I guess.]
{Do you suppose he’ll show up?}
[Uh-oh. Sorry, something’s come up that I need to take care of.]
{Oh, is that so?}
[Sorry, bye.]
{Okay, good night.}
“Sorry to interrupt your fun,” said the man in the white coat, smiling
apologetically.
“No big deal,” she typed on the keyboard. Celty popped up out of the chair.
“Just be careful—tonight’s job could be pretty dicey. Here’s the deal…”
She listened to the description of her mission and left the apartment without a
sound.
It was the start of another day for Celty.
Epilogue: Ordinary Days, Dark
A black shadow raced down National Route 254.

It was a pitch-black motorcycle without a headlight. Far, far ahead, a number
of police cars carved away at the darkness with their red lights.
Ahead of even those patrol cars came the occasional dry blast of an explosion.
When that sound reached the bike, its silent engine roared to life in the night.
“Hey, it’s the dullahan.”

“It’s cool and all, but I’m telling you, it’s all CG.”
Karisawa and Yumasaki chattered happily regarding the rider as she overtook
them. They’d seen her true powers at close range, but they didn’t seem to
appreciate the weight of it all. And it wasn’t just them—a startling number of
those who witnessed Celty’s fight took her completely at face value. Either the
sheer force of her presence was so overwhelming that it lost all reality and
became a dream to them, or she was simply accepted as a part of the city now.
Some of the witnesses did write about their experiences on the Net, but they
were all roundly laughed off as nonsense. Thanks to that response, opinion
started to shift to explain that night’s meeting itself as just a tall tale, and so the
Dollars’ profile didn’t just explode like it might have. That was probably for the
best, seeing as the extra attention would also be coming from the police and
yakuza.
However, the events of that night most certainly registered deeply into
everyone who was present.
“Why do you suppose he showed up there?” Kadota asked from the front
passenger seat without turning around.
“Did you know the Black Rider’s actually a member of the Dollars?”
“What? You serious?!”
“I never heard that! So that’s why he showed up and went so crazy!”
“Awesome! The Dollars must be, like, invincible by now!”
Kadota closed his eyes as the two in the back chattered away. He thought back
to what Izaya had said as he left the scene.
“Dotachin, I just met the boss of the Dollars. Do you know what the team
name came from?”
“Like, give us dollars or something?”
“Nope. Basically, the group doesn’t do anything. And yet, you continue to sell
the name. Nothing more. It’s named the Dollars after the adjective dara-dara,
meaning ‘lazy’ or ‘pointless.’ That’s all there is to it.”
There was no actual structure to the group. The Dollars organization was
nothing more than a castle wall—it was the people within that built the kingdom
on their own. The rest came down to how big of a facade they could hang
outside those walls.
The outside left a name on its own, whether there was anything inside or not.
Just like a human being.
Kadota looked at the show playing out ahead of them and grinned wryly to
himself.
Just like the Black Rider.
The black motorcycle evaded the police by riding on the side of a truck as
though it were the street. As the policemen’s eyes went wide, a man with a TV
camera jabbered away excitedly. He was clearly airing live footage of the chase in
progress.
Celty noticed he was there but showed no hesitation in producing a blade from
her shadow. It was the largest of any she’d created so far, a giant sickle nearly
ten feet across. She swung it back—and howled into the night.
Film me if you want. Expose me if you want. Burn the image of this monster
into your minds. But what does it really amount to?
This is my life. The path I’ve been on for a long time. I have nothing to be
ashamed of.
She did not hold her breath in the darkness, but let it shine, exhibiting herself
unbound by good or evil.
The ordinary days were devoid of extreme hope or despair. Nothing changing.
But overflowing with satisfaction and fulfillment.
As she swung the giant scythe at the black bulletproof vehicle, Celty realized
something.
Since the night that she exposed all that she was, everything about the city
seemed so much more beloved to her.
Perhaps even more than her missing head…
One of the windows rolled down, and a man inside the car shot at Celty.
The bullet split the helmet and passed inside of it.
In the midst of that empty space—the shadow smiled.
AFTERWORD
Hello. It’s nice to meet you—or perhaps, to see you again. I’m Ryohgo Narita.
Thank you very much for picking up my new book, titled Durarara!!
It’s an extremely strange title, I admit, but if you read the book, you’ll
understand…perhaps. As I was finishing up writing and revising the manuscript,
my editor said, “It’s about time for us to submit an official title to marketing,”
and the first thing I came up with was—
“Du…Durarara?”
My editor said, “Actually, I like how mysterious that is. Let’s go with that. But
how do you want to handle the English spelling?”
I had no answer because I didn’t expect him to accept it. Then, he asked, “Will
you throw in an exclamation mark like Baccano! or Bow-wow! have?”
I still had no answer because I still didn’t expect him to accept it. So I said
without thinking, “Let’s put two on there. Bam-bam!”
After a long silence, I heard the scratching of someone writing on paper, then
my editor exploded with laughter on the other side of the phone.
“Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! When you write this out, it looks so stupid! Let’s go with
that, then!”
That was the birth of Durarara!!—but as for what it means, I’m still not quite
sure.
So, as for why I chose the location of Ikebukuro as a setting, it wasn’t to
piggyback on a popular destination in novels and dramas, but because it’s the
place I understand most of all.
The depictions of Ikebukuro and Shinjuku in this novel aren’t meant to be
objective but are wildly fictional, so people who haven’t been there, don’t
believe any of it. And if you have been there, don’t just slam the book down and
call me a liar, but enjoy it as a work of fiction. The same goes for the depictions
of gangs and mobsters. Whew! That should throw off all the people saying, “This
guy acts like he knows what he’s talking about,” “Don’t mess with gangsters,
man,” or “Come see me late night in Ikebukuro, bro.”
* Warning: This next part contains spoilers.
This story might be classified as a wild card among the Dengeki Bunko stable.
First of all, there’s the protagonist who doesn’t have a head. I have to thank the
editorial staff and my illustrator Mr. Yasuda for putting up with my crazy ideas.
Not only that, but I tried putting in lots of little in-jokes and parodies, some of
which are probably way over the top, so I’m expecting to get bashed for it… But
all of them are ideas that I found funny, so I’d appreciate it if you oblige me.
All around the world, the headless being trying to find its head is a common
trope. There’s the story of Sleepy Hollow, which was recently turned into a
movie. I think the image of someone without a head has the kind of impact that
makes it effective in a horror context. The only thing is, while the knight from
that folktale is considered a dullahan by some, it’s actually something entirely
different.
The topic of a dullahan itself is a very minor one. If you look into more details
than what is presented in this book, you’ll find that the two-wheeled carriage is
made from the bones of the dead and that the root of the dullahan was the
Celtic goddess Badb Catha, and so on—but I completely removed any of that
mythology. Within Durarara!!, Celty is Celty, and any other dullahans are other
dullahans.
If the Durarara!! series gets to continue, I’d like to take it into even weirder
directions. I could have “Dullahan Versus Yellow Scarves Color Gang” or
“Dullahan Versus Headhunter”… Then again, I got yelled at just for pitching
those ideas.
* Back to my usual procession of appreciation.
To editor-in-chief Suzuki, who always puts up with my nonsense. To my editor
Mr. Wada, who is now my double editor.
To the proofreaders who have to deal with my terrible lateness every single
time. To the designers who put together the look of the book. To the marketing,
publishing, and business arms of Media Works.
To the family, friends, and acquaintances who support me in a variety of ways,
especially the people of S. City.
To all the other writers and illustrators in the Dengeki line. Particularly to the
people who agreed to lend their likeness to my in-jokes—Mamizu Arisawa,
Takafumi Imada, Masaki Okayu, Erika Nakamura—and of course, to Gakuto
Coda, who gave me permission to use the in-joke that was furthest out of line.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, who took on the bizarre idea of a headless heroine, came
to Tokyo for research, and helped come up with nutty ideas with the editor-in-
chief.
And to everyone who decided to read this weird little book, the start of my
third series.
To all of the above, with my greatest appreciation—thank you.
From home, February 2004
While watching the trailer for Zebraman (directed by Takashi Miike, Sho
Aikawa’s hundredth leading role) on repeat.
Ryohgo Narita
Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Yen On.
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Contents
Cover
Welcome
Insert
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1: Shadow
Chapter 2: Headless Rider, Objective
Chapter 3: Headless Rider, Subjective
Chapter 4: A Regular Day in Town, Noon
Chapter 5: A Regular Day in Town, Night
Chapter 6: Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, Upper Management
Chapter 7: Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, Under-Under-Underlings
Chapter 8: Double Heroine, Sonohara
Chapter 9: Double Heroine, Wounded Girl
Chapter 10: Dollars, Opening
Last Chapter: Dollars, Closing
Epilogue: Ordinary Days, Light
Epilogue: Ordinary Days, Dark
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
Copyright
Copyright
DURARARA!!, Volume 1
RYOHGO NARITA,
ILLUSTRATION BY SUZUHITO YASUDA Cover art by Suzuhito Yasuda
Translation by Stephen Paul 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!!
© RYOHGO NARITA 2004
All rights reserved.
Edited by ASCII MEDIA WORKS
First published in 2004 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo,
through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.
English translation © 2015 Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the
scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the
permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s
intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than
for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting
the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the
author’s rights.
Yen On
Hachette Book Group
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hachettebookgroup.com
yenpress.com
Yen On is an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Yen On name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First Yen On ebook edition: July 2015
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not
owned by the publisher.
ISBN 978-0-316-30482-5
E3
Prologue: Red Breath, Long Breath
Her love was so unbearably creaky,
so unsalvageably rusted,
and while so apparently deep in its fixation—
it was in fact ignorant, foolish, and shallow in the extreme.
I love people.
Whom do I love? No, not whom! I love all human beings!
What do I love about them? Don’t ask silly questions! Everything, I love
everything!
I love the hot blood that goes from bright to filthy black as it races through
their bodies!
I love their sinewy muscles, so tough yet soft, that tear right apart!
I love their bone, slender and frail yet sharp and rough!
I love their cartilage, trembling soft and clinging wetly and smoothly!
I love their throats, chirping and screaming sounds of love when I touch
them!
I love their eyes, dripping tears in response to my love!
Most of all, when my love has peaked…and the cross section of split flesh
appears.
I love anything and everything about them. You get it?
Yes, I love you, too, of course. But I cannot “love” you.
But you should love me.
Yes, it’s entirely one-sided.

In exchange for your love of me, I will love all other humans.
A rather twisted triangle.
Will you abandon me? Hate me? Use me ragged like an old cloth and throw
me away?
But you can’t not love me, can you?
You can’t not love my power, can you?
It’s fine to love me. That’s up to you.
But I won’t love you. In fact, I can’t.
As long as you’re gripping me, I can only love those you wish to cut.
And don’t you dare think about seppuku.

It will be hard to search for another person to love me…
Her love was so unbearably straight,
so smooth and sharp,
reflecting the figures of those she loved within her body
and tearing everything apart.
>
Chat room
Demon blade?
«That’s right! Did you know about that, Tarou?»
How would I have known about that? Setton, isn’t that your forte?
[A demon blade… Like Muramasa, you mean?]
«No, Setton! That’s more of a cursed blade, the kind that brings you misfortune
just for having it. This is a different thing! It’s more like something out of a
manga, where it controls your mind and makes you slice people! »
[But…I thought most of those were just called Muramasa.]
Like a Muramasa Blade?
[“You decapitated your foe!”]
That’s from Wizardry, right? I didn’t realize you were a gamer, Setton.
« Hey, stop going off on tangents!»
[Oh, sorry.]
Sorry, Kanra.
«Well, listen up! Ikebukuro’s buzzing over this demon blade! There’s a
mysterious murderer who appears in the back alleys late at night, swinging the
deadly weapon! There are no fatalities yet, but whoever it is has been going hog
wild with a katana on their victims! »
That kind of sounds like it should be fatal…
«Apparently they go just shallow enough not to kill! Some of the victims have
had their arms cut and stuff!»
[It just sounds like your average crime spree to me.]
«No, you don’t get it! This is a katana we’re talking about! Whoever it is just
slips in and slices the victim before they can escape, with these eerie inhuman
moves! Whoever’s responsible must not be human! »
[But why does that make it a demon blade?]
«Heh-heh, well, just between us…one of the victims got a look at the face of
whoever slashed them, and it was apparently totally wild.»
What do you mean, wild?
«Like, with glowing red eyes, as if they were under some kind of hypnosis.
Like they’d been bitten by a vampire and put under his control!»
[Okay, so it’s a vampire, then. lol]
«No, Setton, that’s silly! There’s no such thing as vampires, obviously!»
[…]
«Oh, I’m only kidding! Don’t be mad, Setton! »
[But I’m not mad (grr!)]
Yes, you are, yes, you are! lol
But we already know there’s a headless rider, so there could be a demon blade,
too.
[The headless rider… They were just doing a TV report on that one.]
Yes, along with a segment on a flying girl with green skin. One of those
paranormal shows.
«And Setton always makes sure to watch any TV show about the headless
rider!»
Are you a fan?
[No…I wouldn’t say that. But my partner, the man I live with, certainly is.]
Partner? Wait, Setton, are you married?
[No, not yet…]
«But you live together?! Eeek!»
[Why does being a partner make him my lover? And wait…do you know my
gender?]
Um, you’re…a woman, right?
«It’s really obvious from the way you talk. It’s feminine, but not over the top
enough to be a guy pretending to be one.»
Did you think we’d never noticed before this?
[Oh my, look at the time. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow, so good night.]
Oh, she ran away.

«She certainly did.»
<Private Mode> …Are you just poking fun at yourself when you talk about
people pretending to be effeminate online, Izaya?
«Eeeeek! Tarou’s harassing me with PMs!»
No, that’s not it! It’s not like that!
<Private Mode> No, but seriously, who is Setton?
<Private Mode> Is she someone I know? Karisawa, maybe?
«
<Private Mode> Hmm. It’s a secret. »
«Well, I should be logging off now. Careful not to get taken over by the demon
blade! »
Okay, good night.

…And really, it wasn’t like that! There was no sexual harassment going on!
—THE CHAT ROOM IS CURRENTLY EMPTY—

—SAIKA HAS ENTERED THE CHAT—
|person|
|love|
|not|
|weak|
|want|
|love|
|want|
|want|
—SAIKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

.
Chapter 1: Demon Blade, Dog Meat
—On a news program:
“Today we pick up where we left off in the ongoing story of the serial attacks
in Ikebukuro.
“As you see, the total number of victims has risen to fifteen as of now. As the
attacks have all occurred at night, eyewitness details are scarce, and most of the
victims’ reports are vague…
“Furthermore, a number of similar incidents happened five years ago, and as

no culprit was ever identified, the police are investigating the possibility that the
same person is responsible…
“There’s also the case of the so-called Headless Rider in Ikebukuro since last
year, a figure running wild with a massive weapon, whom some citizens are
saying could be involved.”
—On a different paranormal-related program:
“The Slit-Mouthed Woman, the Man-Faced Dog, the Woman in the Wall—
Ikebukuro’s Headless Rider was nothing more than another of these fanciful
urban legends. But ever since last spring, this legendary figure has begun to feel
all too real!
“The first sighting was more than ten years ago. So how did some segments
of the media finally start reporting this story? It all starts from this footage.
“In the middle of filming this station’s program Caught on Tape! 24 Hours in
Ikebukuro, our staff member riding in a police vehicle incidentally captured this
image…”
“Oh my God, what is that?”
“Huh? Wait, look at that black scythe… Is it getting bigger over the course of
the shot?”
“The hell is this? That movement shouldn’t be physically possible.”
“But it’s rumored that black motorcycle is related to the recent attacks—”
(after commercial break)
“We apologize for some inappropriate statements made earlier on this
program…”
—Headlines from a weekly magazine:
“Eerie News! The Creepy Relationship Between the Headless Rider and the
Street Attacks”
“Is It the Same Culprit As Five Years Ago?”
“Why the Police Haven’t Caught the Serial Slasher”
“A Modern-Day Tsujigiri? The Madness of the Katana”
“Evil Spirit? Motorcycle Gangster? Performer? Examining the Headless
Rider’s Identity”
Night, Ikebukuro, late February
Damn, the shadow thought quietly beneath the girder bridge a short distance
away from Ikebukuro Station.
That wasn’t a figure of speech—she actually was a shadow.
Clad in a pitch-black riding suit, astride a motorcycle enveloped in darkness.
The headlight-less bike was completely black in every way, from its engine to
its driveshaft to its license plate. The coloring made it look like someone had
simply dumped black paint on a plastic model of a motorcycle. The black riding
suit matched the color as well.
It was only the outline of the lights from the bridge overhead that cast her and
her bike into profile and made them visible.
Damn, dammit.
The black rider, Celty Sturluson, was faced with a single street punk who
trembled in terror.
The thug looked to be in his late thirties. But there was no hint of the dignity
or presence that age should have given him. Celty had been in the presence of
yakuza officers around the same age as this man, and it was a keen reminder that
even after living the same number of years, individual human beings could be
extremely different in nature.
Celty was a courier making her home in Ikebukuro.

She wasn’t able to advertise her services, given her lack of a license, but her
skill and speed at handling illegal and/or dangerous payload, plus the benefit of
leaving no traces on the off chance that she was actually caught—there was no
official record of her presence in Japan—meant that she didn’t lack for clients.
At times, she got benign, upstanding offers like delivering a manga artist’s
finished draft to the printer, but given that her partner, Shinra Kishitani, was a
black-market doctor, most of her jobs ended up being through his unsavory
contacts.
She wasn’t strictly a courier, either; she took on requests to find runaway
children and runaway debtors as well.
This particular case was another one of these “outside-the-bounds” jobs.
A thug terrified into paralysis. All she had to do was collect the money this
poor slob ran off with. That was all she had to do, and it should have ended at
that.
Damn, damn, damn, she groaned to herself.
The thug was already on the ground. All she had to do was pick up the bag
containing the money and that was it.
She had a giant black scythe and the thug had completely lost all intent to
fight, over nothing more than a tear in his clothes. She just had to get off the bike
and pick up the bag. She’d received no orders about the man’s custody. She
could take him back with her, but she didn’t want more trouble, and she also
didn’t want the risk of a face-to-face confrontation with the client leading to a
possible murder.
One of her ironclad tenets was not to take any jobs involving killing. Part of it
was the emotional toll of knowing that someone had died on account of her, but
on a more practical level, she was getting by fine without resorting to murder.
She didn’t have to worry about living costs to begin with, thanks to the wealth
of her partner, Shinra, but Celty always paid him her share of the rent. She didn’t
want to owe him for something like that.
On top of that, this job should have earned her enough for this month’s rent.
It’s a simple job, she’d thought.
But Celty was frozen still. She couldn’t get down off the motorcycle.
The reason was extremely simple.
A blade.
Without warning, a silver blade grew out of the arm that held her scythe.
At first there was just a physical shock. The pain followed.
For the first moment that she saw the gleam of steel protruding from her arm,
Celty didn’t understand what happened—but her experience and instinct soon
told her that someone had stabbed her from behind.
“A…aiiee!”
The thug seemed to have grasped the situation quicker than Celty did. He
wailed pitifully as he stared over her shoulder.
Damn, dammit, damn.
Someone was behind her, piercing her arm all the way through with the blade.
Normally, she would spin around on instinct, but Celty’s sense of pain was
much duller than most. More than the pain, it was the distraction of the katana
erupting from her arm that kept her from turning around at once.
Surprisingly calm about the situation, Celty wasn’t sure whether or not to take
her eyes off the thug before her, and that hesitation was what cost her.
Determining that the thug wasn’t capable of getting up and running off
immediately, she spun the bike around. The moment she squeezed the handlebar,
the motorcycle’s engine brayed like an organic creature, and it made a
completely inorganic 180-degree turn in place without rolling its wheels.
The next instant, the vein of light flashed.
The katana’s long blade reflected the light from above with a beautiful arc,
and the glowing circle passed right through Celty’s neck.
In total silence, Celty’s helmet flew through the air, leaving only unspeaking
darkness swirling above the neck of her riding suit.
“Ahyaaaaaaa! Hya! Hyaiii!” screamed the seated, terrified man.
The rider of the black motorcycle who had been trying to kill him (at least, in
his mind) was abruptly beheaded by a new figure that had appeared from behind.
Though he couldn’t see it from his vantage point, the new figure struck as
quick as lightning. It pulled the blade out of the rider’s arm as the bike rotated
and swung in the reverse direction to catch her on the way around.
Like interlocking gears, the two rotations met up again, and in the next
instant, the rider’s head was off her shoulders.
The slasher of Ikebukuro.
Both Celty and the street tough remembered the tabloid-fodder story and
turned to the new figure.
“Gweah!” came an unnatural squawk as Celty tried to tell who this new
attacker was.
What was that?! she thought. Yet another—
But when she cast her “gaze” back toward the seated man, he was staring at
her, goggle-eyed.
“S-st-still m-m-moving?!”
Oh.
“N-n-n-n-n-no h-hea—head.”
And then Celty remembered.
She was the Headless Rider.
Celty Sturluson was not human.

She was a type of fairy residing in Ireland called a dullahan, a spirit that
visited the homes of those who were soon to die, to warn them of their
impending demise.
A dullahan carried its own severed head under its arm and rode on a two-
wheeled carriage called a Coiste Bodhar drawn by a headless horse. If anyone at
the home of the soon to be dead was foolish enough to open their door to the
dullahan, they would receive a basin full of blood splashed over them. Thus, the
dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a herald of ill fortune throughout
European folklore.
One theory claimed that the dullahan bore a strong resemblance to the Norse
Valkyrie, but Celty had no way of knowing if this was true.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know. More accurately, she just couldn’t remember.
When someone back in her homeland stole her head, she lost her memories of
what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that had brought her
here to Ikebukuro.
Now, with a motorcycle instead of a headless horse and a riding suit instead
of armor, she had wandered the streets of this neighborhood for decades.
But ultimately, she had not succeeded at retrieving her head, and now she had
partially given up and accepted her new life here.
Celty understood that society would never accept her for what she was, and in
her heart, she yelled back, So what?
Society might not be able to accept her, but there were some people who did
—and that was the lonely, lively life of the headless woman, Celty Sturluson, in
a nutshell.
The man’s scream brought her back to her senses, reminding Celty that she
was just as odd a being as the slasher—if not more so—but she didn’t have time
to calm the man down now. Not to mention that there was no need for her to
calm him down.
In less than a second, she was back to her normal wits, and she turned to the
shadowy figure.
Suddenly, the fluorescent light illuminating the underside of the girder bridge
popped and went out.
?!
For an instant, Celty was disoriented, until she decided that the figure must
have thrown something at the light to break it. Her sense of vision went black,
but that vision wasn’t passing through eyeballs. Celty “saw” the world through a
different means than human beings did, and her night vision was much better as
a result.
But by the time she had adjusted to the darkness, the figure was already out of
sight. It must have escaped while she was distracted by the light. Even with the
distraction, it was clear that the figure had moved with abnormal speed.
Damn. Disadvantaged by my own toughness.
If Celty were a normal human, then even before the blow to her head, she’d
have spun around instantly to keep an eye on the “enemy” or source of “fear”
that was trying to take her life—and never taken her gaze off of it. But because
Celty knew she was very unlikely to die here, she allowed her attention to be
distracted by other things, and now the attacker had gotten away.
All that was left under the darkened bridge was an unconscious thug and a
headless motorcycle rider.
Celty felt a strong alien sensation about her abrupt attacker. Not fear—
something alien.
The instant the blade pierced her, it felt like some eerie presence was trying to
get inside of Celty.
If the attacker wasn’t human but another kind of fairy or monster, she would
have sensed it before being stabbed. Possibly it was such a creature, just one that
had learned to extinguish its presence, but Celty dismissed that as unlikely.
So what was that shadow, then?
The fight was so brief that she wasn’t able to identify the attacker’s features
or even height, but there was one thing, one powerful memory that stuck out in
her mind.
Just before the fluorescent light shattered, she saw the attacker’s eyes.
Unnaturally large, bloodred, distorting the light they reflected.
Remembering the inhumanly large, glowing red circles, the dullahan couldn’t
contain a little shiver.
She remembered the eerie images of the little gray aliens she’d seen on the
TV.
What if it was an actual alien?
The headless knight, a symbol of terror for humanity, imagined a cheesy
Adamski-model UFO emitting some mysterious beam technology that split the
earth in two and shivered.
Chat room

|human|
|strong|
|want|
|love|
|wantlovehuman|
|wanthumanlovestrong|
|want love strong so human|
|love want strong human yes|
|yes so want|
|,|
|so, so, so, so|
|I|
|I, so, want|
|I, so, want, , ,|
|strong, yes, is, human|
|strong, human, want, I, love|

—SETTON HAS ENTERED THE CHAT—
[…]
[What is this?]
[A troll?]
[…That’s scary.]
[It sounds like an alien.]
[…Now, I just made myself scared.]
[Um, not that I’m saying I’m scared of aliens or anything!]

Chapter 2: Uncertain Girl
After school, Raira Academy, Ikebukuro
What is it that I’m missing? Anri Sonohara wondered as she walked down the
long hallway, lit by the western sun.
It was nearly a year since she had come to Raira Academy.
She became the student representative of Class 1-A and made friends with the
male representative, Mikado Ryuugamine, and Masaomi Kida from the adjacent
class.
It was the first time she’d been friends with boys, and it felt a little awkward
figuring out how to act around them, but everything was going essentially fine.
Yet she still found that she couldn’t find her “standing” within the school.
In middle school, she had a clearly defined standing: Mika Harima’s foil.
Her slightly odd, but pretty and smart childhood friend kept the plain,
unremarkable Anri around to make her look better. It was a classic lopsided,
parasitic friendship.
Anri didn’t particularly object to this relationship. In fact, she found it
comfortable.
Regardless of the form it took, someone needed her. Knowing that meant she
didn’t have to worry about finding a meaning in her life.
Just as she was thinking about her past, Mika herself walked by.
But it was not Anri at her side this time. She was practically glued to the side
of tall Seiji Yagiri, the boy she’d been going out with since the start of school—
in fact, they were firmly pressed together as they walked. They were making
sure the nature of their relationship was seen and understood by everyone around
them.
Mika noticed Anri watching and gave a little smile and a wave.
“Hey, Anri. See you tomorrow.”
“Y-yeah…”
An empty exchange. To Mika, that was all Anri was anymore. She had no
need for a foil. Mika had found her own place in the world within Seiji Yagiri.
Therefore, there was no more reason for her and Anri to prop each other up.
This was because Seiji deeply loved Mika, regardless of if she had someone
to make her look better. Even Anri, who knew nothing about romance, could tell
that they were bound by deep love. It felt as though there was a sheen of
insincerity around it, but Anri dismissed that as an illusion created by her own
jealousy.
At the moment, Anri was just sort of living her life.
She was letting the days pass by, maintaining a distance from her few friends
that wasn’t too close, wasn’t too far. And a part of her felt that the other part of
her that was satisfied with that was wrong.
But she didn’t even let those two conflicting thoughts fight in her mind. It felt
like allowing her consciousness to grapple over different ideas might destroy the
peaceful life she had going now.
Mika, Seiji, Mikado, and Masaomi all seemed to be leading fulfilling lives. If
they were missing anything, they knew what it was and displayed a hunger
leading them in the proper direction.
So what am I missing?
The organized tests at the end of the year were coming, and barely anyone
could be seen in the building after school, carrying out their class duties. As she
walked the empty halls, Anri was suddenly taken with a feeling of incredible
loss.
She was trapped in her own naive thoughts about her existence.
At the start of her adolescence, the usual time for this soul-searching, Mika’s
presence had meant she didn’t need to worry about this.
I don’t understand.
Perhaps she was actually completely fulfilled at this moment, and the anxiety
was nothing but an illusion. But there was no way for her to be sure of this.
I don’t even know what I should want…
“What’s up, Sonohara? You haven’t left yet?”

The voice caught her off guard as she wandered along the hall. Anri tensed.
“Ah…”
“Why are you so surprised?”
She turned around and saw an imposing-looking teacher in a suit. She
remembered that he was the teacher for Class 1-C, but his name didn’t pop into
her head immediately. Yet that wasn’t for the lack of an impression.
“What’s wrong? Hmm? Not feeling well? Need me to escort you to the
nurse’s office?”
His greedy gaze locked onto Anri’s body. That unpleasant stare was
extremely familiar to her. Perhaps that was why her mind actively resisted
remembering his name.
“N-no, I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
At first, she had thought it was just her usual persecution complex speaking.
“Need me to escort you home?”
“Ha…ha-ha…”
“I’m only kidding, of course…ha-ha.”
She tried to brush his comment past with a vague smile and laugh, but Anri
knew that the teacher wasn’t joking around—he was 80 percent serious about
that. At this point in time, Anri was perfectly aware of the meaning of the gazes
he was giving her.
“He’s been with several female students and tries to use that fact to keep them
close after graduation.”
“He harasses them, then threatens them to keep them quiet.”
“I heard he uses their grades to pressure them into sleeping with him.”
The rumors were fairly typical, but they swirled around him, and his atypical
looks (for a teacher) helped burn the image into her head.
She started hearing the stories soon after she joined the school, and they said
that multiple girls had suffered nearly indecent behavior at his hands. For that
reason, most of the female students kept an eye out for him around the school.
But Anri did not treat this teacher any different from the others. She’d never
met any girls who had been his victims. To her, it seemed like a different kind of
predictable behavior: the teacher with the distinct looks who served as a
convenient scapegoat for school frustrations, a “sacrifice” who would bear the
unfair brunt of the girls’ unhappiness.
So Anri neither avoided his presence nor sought to get in his good graces. She
simply treated him as any other teacher while in the process of carrying out her
class representative duties.
But toward the end of the second semester, the girls around her—more than
strangers, less than friends—began to butt into Anri’s business with warnings.
“I think he’s got his eye on you, Sonohara.”
“Be careful. If you keep sucking up to him, he’ll get the wrong idea.”
Not that I was sucking up to him…
“I’m saying that the fact you’re not ignoring him completely means he
interprets that as sucking up! See how all of the girls ignore him? You’re the only
one who talks to him normally, so he sees that as his opening.”
“The way he looks at you, it’s just wrong.”
But still, she thought that was just everyone else getting the wrong idea. One
day, even the increasingly distant Mika said, “Anri, you should be careful
around him. The way he looks at you, it’s not love, it’s more like overflowing
lust.”
At that point, Anri finally understood the gravity of her situation. Mika’s
words carried far more weight than those of a hundred acquaintances, and that
trust was still strong, even now that they had drifted apart.
All I want is to live peacefully and not rock the boat, she thought and began to
ignore the teacher along with the other girls…
“Say, Sonohara. Are you getting along with the other girls these days?”
“Well enough.”
“Really? Are you sure? Nothing more like what happened that other time?”
“…Yes. I’m fine.”
She shrugged off his probing questions with noncommittal answers. The
events of a month earlier came back to her mind.
Since bad timing always had to happen in coincidence, Anri found herself the
target of some girls she didn’t get along with, right at the moment she began
ignoring the teacher. She’d been around the girls since middle school, and they
didn’t like that she had been a barnacle stuck to Mika’s side.
They’d tried messing with her just at the start of the school year, but a
fortunate passing encounter with Mikado and an odd man wearing black had
scared them into leaving her alone since then.
Coincidentally, she wound up meeting them after school while doing her
duties, where they proceeded to bother her again—until this heavy-faced teacher
happened by.
Thanks to his presence, she escaped trouble, but since then it became clear
that he thought she owed him something.
What if he’d been watching her from the very start, just waiting for the right
moment to step in and help her? Could he actually have planned this out with
those girls so that the situation happened just as he wanted?
Anri thought that was getting paranoid, but she couldn’t discount the
possibility entirely. Ever since then, he used every opportunity he could to bring
it up.
“Listen, Sonohara. If there’s ever any trouble, I want you to come and talk to
me. I can help you again, just like the other day.”
You mean the “other day” well over a month ago? she thought bitterly but
didn’t say aloud.
“Ahh…”
“Look, I’m a teacher. I want to help my students. But if that’s going to
happen, you need to trust me first.”
Usually, it goes the other way around, she thought to herself again. Anri
didn’t want to make waves; her ideal outcome was to sit still and wait for him to
get bored of her. She didn’t want to set him off and make him even more
persistent.
“I’ve seen a lot of students here at this school, but you make me worried for
you, Sonohara… You know?”
The teacher, Takashi Nasujima, placed a hand forcefully on her shoulder,
gazing into her face with a look of concern. But only he thought it was a “look of
concern.”
“You’re always looking downcast. As a teacher, it worries me. I know how
your homeroom teacher, Mr. Kitagoma, can be tough on you, and Satou in Class
B prefers not to get involved with the students’ affairs, not to mention Class
D…”
—?
Anri finally realized what was bothering her.
As he spoke faster and faster, a clammy sensation spread along her back.
Nasujima was bringing up all of the other teachers in turn, putting them down
to show her how trustworthy he was in comparison. It was like he was trying to
corner her—there was a note of haste in his eyes now.
There was no sign of anyone else around. That was no doubt increasing his
boldness.
Or else…
Just as Anri began to explore other possibilities for his actions—
“What’s up, Mr. Nasujima? You harassin’ her or something?”
The cheerful voice echoed down the hallway, and Nasujima went violently
still.
“Ah…”
Anri couldn’t stifle the gasp when the hand clutching her shoulder squeezed
forcefully.
“Wow, even forcing the poor bespectacled class rep to speak, huh? Sounds
like you’re crossing into full-on sexual harassment. Sexual? Harassment? What
do those English words mean anyway? Why don’t we just call it sexual khorosho
and bridge the Cold War gap by combining English with Russian?”
“K-Kida, that’s not funny!”
Nasujima hastily let go of Anri and turned around to scold the speaker. Anri
turned as well to see one of those few friends of hers, Masaomi Kida from Class
1-B, standing in the hallway.
She hadn’t sensed anyone around. Yet there was Masaomi right there.
Only the top half of him, though. His legs were still in the classroom as he
leaned out into the corridor.
It was the carefree pose of a grade-schooler, which helped defuse the
antagonism slightly, but things definitely felt weirder now. How much Masaomi
had seen or heard would affect their reactions greatly.
Since there was no one in the hallway, he must have heard them from inside
the classroom. In any case, he clearly saw that Nasujima had his hand on Anri’s
shoulder.
But even then, Nasujima had an excuse. He could just say he was being
friendly, making human contact. Nasujima planned to go with that, but before he
could speak, Masaomi’s eyes narrowed and he chuckled.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, not so fast, Mr. Nasujima. It’s one thing to talk smack
about Kitchy in Class A, but bringing our Master Satochy into this? Not cool.”
“…!”
Realizing that the boy had overheard everything, Nasujima was left without
an excuse, his mouth flapping soundlessly. He seemed to recognize that the
conversation ought to end there, so he put on a broad, deliberate smile and
turned back to Anri.
“Kidding…I’m just kidding, Sonohara. Don’t get the wrong idea and spread
any weird stories about me. Okay?”
In contrast to his forced laughter, the teacher’s eyes were filled with twice the
desperation as before. Anri wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so Masaomi filled
the gap, still leaning out of the doorway.
“Ha-ha-ha, c’mon, Teach! Does Anri really look like the shallow, gossiping
type?”
“N-no…of course not.”
“Exactly. So don’t worry—I’ll spread all the nasty rumors for her!”
“Wha—?”
It sounded like a joke, but the threat was no laughing matter to Nasujima. He
tried to gather up a weak excuse for dignity and scolded the boy.
“Kida! Quit wasting your time with this nonsense and—”
“Study? Heh, it’s true that studying is very important. But of course! We’re
right in the middle of the age where you want to say, ‘I’ll never use physics or
algebra in my future!’ But depending on your future, you probably will have to
use physics and math, so it’s best to learn as much as possible while our futures
are still in flux… Isn’t that right, sir? But the thing is, I’ve decided I’ll be a pimp
in the future, so I pray to some statue of a goddess from some religion or
another, and I won’t need to know anything about physics or algebra. If
anything, I should study Japanese and English, so I can be a world-class gigolo!”
Masaomi’s machine-gun jabbering was so fast that Nasujima couldn’t form
any thoughts about the boy’s intentions other than the simplest of reactions.
“But…your Japanese grades must be terrible.”
“Heh-heh…sorry to say, I’ve actually got full marks. But even a teacher
should know that your scores on test questions and essays don’t have much
bearing on your normal conversations, do they?”
“What? Is that how you speak to a teacher?” Nasujima demanded, trying to
derail the conversation, but Masaomi held out his hand, undeterred. There was a
white cell phone in it, and he spoke in a low, threatening voice.
“Now, I’ve got all of what just happened captured, audio and video both.”
“Wha…?”
“So,” Masaomi began, strolling into the hallway with eyes narrowed like a
reptile’s, “can you show me how to pressure people into doing what you want,
for the sake of my future career as a pimp? Well, Teach?”
“Heh-heh-heh. So now I have some of the questions on the final exam. I

didn’t think it would be that easy,” Masaomi gloated with his usual breezy smile
as they walked out to the front gate of the school.
After their confrontation, Masaomi went into the classroom to work out some
kind of deal and had apparently gained some of the questions on Mr. Nasujima’s
final exam.
Anri looked at him sidelong, unsure whether she should thank him for saving
her from trouble or berate him for blackmailing a teacher.
If it had been anyone else, Anri wouldn’t have said a thing. She didn’t want to
criticize someone and wind up on their bad side.
But Masaomi was one of her few friends, someone whose bad behavior she
could call out for what it was. And in part, she didn’t want him to behave badly.
Still, she held back on saying so. It was quite likely that he’d inserted himself
into the conversation not for the material gain of the blackmail, but to help Anri
out of her pinch. If that was true, she didn’t know how to respond.
He seemed to sense her hesitation and put on a childish grin.
“I got to help you out of trouble, and I got myself the exam questions. Two
birds with one stone.”
“Huh?”
“You weren’t sure whether to thank me or not, right? I agree with both sides,
so…it’s even. They cancel each other out. How about that?” he suggested
nonsensically.
Anri had no words.
He took that as affirmation and continued talking. “So let’s say no words need
to be traded. How about we start by holding hands instead?”
“Can I be angry with you?”
“Nope. But I am at that age where I want a girl to hold my hand, kiss me, or
even more than that.”
Masaomi had professed his love for Anri since the moment they met. But he
did the same thing with 60 percent of the other girls he met, and hardly anyone
took him seriously. And anyone who took that seriously would chew him out just
as seriously.
“You say that to everyone, Kida. Who do you really like?”
“Me? I like all the girls I’ve asked out, of course. With all my heart! And I’m
head over heels for you, Anri. And you can believe me.”
“…Um, I don’t know what to say…”
Though she was exasperated by his lack of shame, Anri couldn’t help but
allow a relieved look to cross her face. Oblivious, Masaomi brought up the other
boy who was part of her life now.
“On the other hand, Mikado really doesn’t have any game, does he? He still
hasn’t asked you out yet, has he?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you do know that he’s crazy about you, right? You have to.”
Masaomi never pulled his punches when it came to sensitive topics. Because
he felt no shame about his own romantic travails, he freely stomped all over the
business of others in that regard.
“Ryuugamine is…a very good friend…”
“Heh-heh. Well, my best friend’s totally in love with you, so I’ll take the
backseat and observe for now. That’s my way of life. I’ve got to be free to get
along with all the pretty girls in the world, so I can’t let you steal my heart all to
yourself,” Masaomi babbled on, completely ignoring what Anri said. She
realized that nothing else was going to get through to him when he was like this,
so she gave up and let him continue.
“Ooh…did I sound cool just now? Or was that lame? Are you in love? Did
you fall for me? Fall colors? Fallen off the wagon? Fall-falla-falla-falloo?” he
jabbered on, engulfing Anri in nonsense syllables. But Anri was ignoring him
and paid it no mind.
“By the way, Kida…”
“What? I’ll answer anything you want. Heh-heh! By my visual gauge, your
measurements are thirty-three, twenty-two, thirty-two…the type of girl who
really slims down in her clothes. Or were you going to ask for heroic tales of my
middle school exploits? Well, there was the time I had hundreds of henchmen…”
Anri ignored Masaomi’s fond reflection and raised the question she’d been
mulling over.
“What did you mean when you said you wanted to be a pimp?”
“Whuh?”
“What kind of job is a pimp?”
It wasn’t sarcastic, but a straightforward question from an innocent girl who
was ignorant of the seedier side of adult society. Faced with a curious gaze from
behind her glasses, Masaomi had no answer for a moment.
As he grasped for words, Anri looked up at the evening sky and murmured
quietly, “You’re so lucky though, Kida. Already got your future and life planned
out.”
“Er, well, actually—”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life right now, much less my
future…”
She turned to look at him with a note of sadness in her eyes, then noticed a
figure standing at the front gate of the school. The boy had noticed them as well,
and he waved to Anri and Masaomi with a big smile on his face.
Masaomi raised a hand back and muttered in a voice only loud enough for
Anri to hear, “Speak of the devil, it’s the wimp without the guts to ask a girl
out.”
Anri felt her cheeks blush just a little bit, but she didn’t respond.
There was nothing else she could do at that moment.
There were already stars sparkling in the sky, an all too faint layer of glitter next
to the brightness of the city lights.
Under that winter sky, Anri walked alone through Ikebukuro.
After they met up with Mikado, the three went shopping at the Parco
department store on the way back from school, and then she left the two boys to
continue her trip home.
Anri looked around idly as she walked the street to Sunshine City. It was
essentially the same Ikebukuro as ever, people passing wrapped up in their own
thoughts, approaching and leaving.
But it was only “essentially” the same, because there was something just
slightly off.
Yellow.
It seemed that many of the young people walking about the town were
wearing yellow bandannas.
What could that be about?
Anri found it odd but didn’t give it any more thought than that as she headed
straight for home.
Off the main road, she headed into a narrow alley in the direction of her cheap
apartment. Despite being barely half a mile from the shopping district, this might
as well have been a different world altogether. There were no passing crowds.
The streetlights cast lonely colors on the empty alleys.
At first, the trip from the train station to this point was such a drastic shift that
she felt like her heart was shriveling up, but after a year, the loneliness of the trip
became familiar to her.
As she headed down the empty path, Anri thought about what Masaomi said
as they split up.
“You know…you really should be careful, Anri.”

“?”
“I’m talking about Nasujima. Most of the rumors are just that, but it’s true
that he’s put the moves on his students.”
“…!”
She held her breath in shock at this sudden pronouncement. Masaomi was not
the type to lie or joke about this topic. She’d imagined the story might be true,
but learning its veracity put a suffocating clamp over her mind.
“There was an older student, a second-year named Haruna Niekawa. She
transferred out in the middle of the second semester, but it was apparently
because her relationship with Nasujima was about to be exposed. Either the
school didn’t want the scandal and forced her to go, Nasujima threatened her
himself, or Niekawa decided to transfer on her own accord.”
“…”
If Niekawa transferred out in the middle of the second semester, then that was
the same time Nasujima started putting the moves on Anri. That confluence of
details gave Masaomi’s statement weight in her mind.
“Just be careful. And if anything happens, Mikado and I will do something
about it. Right, Mikado?”
Mikado hadn’t been paying attention. He blinked in surprise as the
conversation suddenly focused on him.
“Um…I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if it’s within my ability,
I’ll be there.”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk. Don’t be an idiot, Mikado. In this situation, you’re not a real man
unless you say, ‘Even if it’s beyond my ability, I’ll accomplish it with the power
of love’!”
“That’s a contradiction.”
“Ha-ha-ha! Well, you don’t know what you can or can’t do until you observe
it for yourself… I call this rule ‘Schrödinger’s Mikado.’ What that means is that
I’ll lock you inside a box and pump poison gas into it, thus testing whether you
can resist it or not with the power of love. But in fact, I’ll just be doing that to
get rid of you so Anri can be my girlfriend. Is that cool?”
Anri smiled and nodded, glad to see Masaomi back to his usual goofy self.
“Yes… Thanks, both of you.”
Anri tried to get her emotions in order as she walked the lonely route home.
She liked Mikado Ryuugamine.
She understood this fact.
But she also liked Masaomi Kida, and she even still liked Mika Harima.
It’s the same. My love for Ryuugamine is the same as for Kida and Mika.
Which told her that it probably wasn’t a romantic feeling. It must be still in
the realm of a love for a friend.
If Mikado told her that he loved her in a romantic way, she probably wouldn’t
be able to accept or reciprocate that. She could tell that somewhere in her heart,
she would feel that she was cheating on him with Masaomi, and the guilt of that
knowledge would be too much to bear.
It would be so much easier if she could just love either Mikado or Masaomi.
But she couldn’t really tell the difference between friendship and romance,
and even if she had the option of choosing to love them, that was different from
being able to choose one of them.
It felt like choosing one of them would mean destroying what they had going
now.
Even here, in this happy place, she was unable to find her proper standing.
As if to underscore this, she remembered the upperclassman Masaomi had
mentioned just minutes earlier.
Haruna Niekawa.
While she knew the girl had ended up transferring, what was the truth behind
that decision?
Was she able to find her place in the world?
Even if it ended up in disaster, had she felt true love for Nasujima at the time?
Or had their entire relationship been the product of coercion?
No amount of imagination would provide an answer. Anri stopped at the side
of the road and heaved a sigh.
The next instant, a light shock ran through her back, and Anri lost her
balance, falling to the ground.
She turned around, baffled at what had happened to her, only to see a familiar
face.
“Haw-haw! She fell on her face.”
“It was just a little love tap, and she fell right on her face.”
“You really are a sick little worm.”
Three girls wearing the Raira Academy uniform stood in the glow of the
streetlight. It was the trio that had it out for her, the ones Mikado called the “old-
fashioned manga bullies.”
“…”
Anri stared up at them, but there was no fear or anger in her eyes. She was
simply watching them emotionlessly, waiting to see how they would act next.
The trio did not appreciate this. One of them put a foot on Anri’s shoulder as
she rose, knocking her over backward.
“First, you suck up to Mika, then Ryuugamine and Kida, and now you’re
cozying up to Nasujima?”
“When are you going to stop selling your body to get ahead, you dirty slut?”
“It’s like you can’t survive unless you’re leeching off of someone else.”
Despite the cascade of insults, it was all Anri could do just to stare back at the
girls. She understood their meaning.
It was true that she’d been dependent on Mika Harima before this, and she
had no means or intention of arguing that point. Perhaps it seemed like the same
thing with Mikado and Masaomi, and even in that case she was still searching
for where she belonged.
The case of Nasujima was where they were completely wrong, but nothing
she could say to the girls in this situation would convince them. In fact, whether
or not they were convinced by her answer was beside the point to them.
As they barraged her with jeers, Anri felt an illusion that she was actually
something from another world, watching all of this happen to her from afar.
Perhaps it was a kind of self-defense.
“What are you spacing out for?”
“You live around here, don’t you? Show us the way.”
“It’s time for a little home inspection.”
Anri viewed the world from her eyes as events happening within a picture
frame. The girls’ voices seemed to be coming from the painting within the frame.
Until middle school, Mika was in front of the frame, and she glared back at it
to keep the painting from talking.
When the picture frame appeared this spring, Mikado came through the frame
to stand on this side.
When Nasujima’s attention started, it just meant that the picture of Nasujima
slid in front of the picture of the bullies, nothing more.
But nobody was going to save her now.
It was better not to resist in this spot. Nothing good would come from fighting
back with force.
Yes, nothing good at all…
Just when Anri gave in and decided to sit through the situation, the world
within the picture frame went abnormal.
The girls in the painting were moving their mouths.
Behind them, a black shadow squirmed.
As Anri looked into the shadow’s eyes, she absentmindedly held her breath.
Huh? What?
A human figure appeared beneath the streetlight. It was behind the girls, so
the face and clothes were indistinct. But the general air it carried told her that
this was a man. And most striking of all…
The man’s eyes were red, so red.
“Why don’t you say some…”

One of the girls stopped mid-sentence, and the black suddenly spread in
Anri’s picture frame.
The liquid that she’d assumed was black took on a reddish hue in the
streetlight as it sprayed around the area.
The world was dyed red.
The sound of screaming.
Blood on the gray asphalt still just looked black.
Only for the moment that it flew in the air did she remember the drops were
blood.
The screaming eventually reached Anri’s ears as an actual voice.
The figure disappeared at once, leaving one screaming and wailing girl and
her two friends paralyzed with fright on the ground.
The scene was so unreal that it somehow brought Anri back to reality.
Why? Why is this happening?
Anri was surprised to find that she was quite calm as she sat on the asphalt,
watching the scene impassively. Not because she was helpless to do anything,
but because she didn’t know what to do.
What—what do I do?
Should she cry?
Should she scream?
Should she rage?
Or should she laugh that they’d gotten what they deserved?
What was she to the girl who’d just been slashed?
An enemy or a friend?
A stranger or an acquaintance?
Even here in this situation, Anri couldn’t tell exactly where she stood.
She got to her feet on the asphalt, the action devoid of meaning.
In the midst of blood and screams, the only thing Anri Sonohara could do was
stand.
Chat room
«Hey, did you hear? A student at Raira Academy finally got hit by the
slasher!»
What? Are you serious?
[It’s violent out there.]
«Deadly dead serious! A first-year girl!»
Sorry, I’ve got to make a call. BRB.
«
<Private Mode> Don’t worry, it wasn’t your girlfriend. »
<Private Mode> Oh…thanks. But I’m still worried about her, so…
[Hmm. Do you know where it happened?]
«Well, it was a little ways away from Zoshigaya Station in south Ikebukuro.»
«I’m sure you can find it from all the cop cars still hanging around the area.»
[I see… Uh, sorry, I’ve got to drop out for a bit.]
«Eww! Setton, are you going to find the spot and gawk?]
[No, nothing like that.]
[See you later.]
«Argh, no fun!»
Sorry, I’ve got to head out, too.
«Oh? Were you able to reach her phone?»
She’s with the police now or something… Apparently she saw it happen…
So I’m going over there.
«Really?!»
«Then, I suppose we can’t meet up today.»

«Oops, already gone.»
«Guess I’ll pop out, too, then.»
|kut|
«Oh?»
|today|
|cutt|
«Ugh, it’s that troll that was here yesterday! Don’t you make trouble again!
Harrumph! »
|cutted|
|cit|
|cut|
«How did you even find the address for this chat room anyway?»
|rong|
|wr|
|weak, wrong, cannot, rule|
|not, enough, love|
«You’ve been trolling other Ikebukuro-related chat boards, haven’t you?»
|want, love, human|
|cut, but, wrong, not, enough|
«Take that!»
«There, I banned ’em. Tee-hee. »
«Well, that’s a relief. So long!»

|more|
|more, strong|
|strong, love, wish|
|wish, is, want|
|more, strong, love, want|
|want, love|
|want to, love|
|want to love, strong, human|
|human, strong, who, ask|
|ask, who, strong|
|ikebukuro|
|wish, me, mother, mother|
|mothermothermothermothermothermothermothermothermothermother
mothermothermothermothermothermothermothermothermothermother
mothermothermothermothermothermothermothermothermothermother|

.
.
.
.
.
Chapter 3: Ikebukuro’s Most
Dangerous
I just wanted to know.
Not as a writer for a third-rate gossip-slinging tabloid, but purely out of

personal curiosity.
Curiosity.
Funny to think that a man in his thirties still possessed that artifact of
boyhood. Even the panic over the Headless Rider incident back in the spring
didn’t inspire this kind of fervor in me. I figured that story was best left to the
occult rags or the motorcycle gang specialists, not me. My paper handled that
sort of stuff, too, of course, but we couldn’t match the experts at their game.
I just wrote up whatever happened here in this place called Tokyo and made it
sound interesting. That’s all I wanted to write, and the readers seemed to be
happy enough with it.
It was the keyword the editor in chief gave me as the theme for this in-depth
Ikebukuro scoop that inspired this youthful energy in me.
Strongest.
That’s right…strongest.
Nothing more than that one word.
Taken literally, I had to assume he wanted to know who was the strongest in
the city.
A stale, clichéd, but powerful word.
But as a matter of fact, maybe it was the fact that it was such a cliché that
made it resonate with me. Just like love and freedom.
So who’s the strongest in Ikebukuro?
When I asked the citizens of Ikebukuro this question, I got a lot of answers.
“Oh, I know! It’s the guy on that black motorcycle!”
“Dunno…probably some local yakuza.”
“No way, it’s gotta be Simon.”
“Hmm… An amateur wouldn’t know about him, but there’s a guy named
Izaya Orihara who left for Shinjuku…”
“Nope, the strongest now is whoever started the Dollars.”
“You seen the guys wearing these yellow bandannas, right?”
“Has to be an official. The cops, I mean. There’s this officer at the station on
the corner named Kuzuhara. He’s unbelievable—whole family’s police. Even his
three sons all say they want to be cops when they grow up.”
The most fascinating part was that essentially no one said they didn’t know.
All of the local citizens and self-proclaimed “well-informed” folks I asked
this question, whether their answer was vague or specific, all had their own
predecided mental image of who the “strongest” in Ikebukuro was.
That’s what made it so fascinating.
In that case, what would all of these people already identified by someone or
other as the strongest in town think? I approached these folks as best I could
manage in order to find out the answer.
Testimony of Mr. Shiki, Awakusu-kai lieutenant, Medei-gumi Syndicate
“The strongest in a fight… Hmm. You know it’s not really like that anymore,
right? On the other hand, sure, you can’t let anyone disrespect you, so when it
comes time to kill, we’ll still go at it until we win. If you come after us, we don’t
care if you’re an amateur. We’ll bring the numbers, the knives, the guns, we’ll go
after your family…anything to crush our opponent. But that hardly ever happens
nowadays. Leaves a bad aftertaste for us, too.
“…So who’s the strongest? Well…like I said, in our line of work, it’s not
really about who’s the toughest in a fight anymore. Huh? Including amateurs,
you said?
“…
“…Hmm.
“Don’t put what I’m about to say in your article.
“I’m just saying, officially, we don’t mess with civilians. But like I just told
you, all bets are off if they’re attacking us. But…I will say, there’s an amateur
out there I wouldn’t want to mess with, personally.
“Yeah, if we get a bunch of men and weapons together, we’d win. But in a
brawl, like one-on-one, I don’t know if I could beat this guy even if I had a
machine gun.
“Huh? Simon? Oh, the sushi guy. He’s easy to get along with, so I can’t
imagine fighting with him. I bet he would be real tough though. They say he can
pick up a motorcycle like he’s lifting barbells. But I don’t see myself losing to
him.
“Your guess isn’t far off though. It’s a guy who associates with Simon a lot…
“Shizuo Heiwajima.
“We tell the new kids, don’t mess with him.

“I mean, if you’ve seen Shizuo fight at all, you’d understand… He just
exudes cool. It’s not elegant in the least. He’s a real wild man…like Godzilla…
When you watch him fight, he looks cool the way that Godzilla looks cool to the
kid watching it. I guess that sums it up. At any rate, he’s one crazy bastard.
“The thing about those cool guys is, you can’t really pick a fight with ’em.
It’s a lot more fun to stand aside and watch ’em work from a distance. That way,
they’re not in your business, either.
“Gotta admit, I’ve got some admiration for him. Wish I could tear things up
the way he does…
“But I need you to keep that part close to your chest.

“…
“So, Mr. Reporter, I hear your daughter’s in high school. Raira Academy, was
it?
“When you called about setting up this interview, we did some background
checks on you.
“Now, now, no need to stare holes through me. We have our own source of
information.
“Don’t worry, we’re not low enough that we’d threaten an amateur.
“But…only if you don’t pick a fight with us first.
“So please keep that information out of your article, pal.”
Ultimately, most of what I had on that tape was unusable.
He said that I could go with what was in the first half…but in any case, the
stuff about Shizuo Heiwajima was off the table for me. I didn’t hear anything
concrete about the guy, for one thing.
But if anyone else brought up his name, then I’d be onto something.
At this point, I decided to get in touch with the black man named Simon who
people in town mentioned.
“Hey, you. Sushi, good for you.”

“Uh, er, actually, I was hoping to speak with you personally…”
“One for dinner, boss.”
I tried to decline his offer, but I eventually gave in to his force and found
myself seated at the sushi counter.
The interior was made out to look like that of the Russian Winter Palace, with
a traditional sushi counter slapped right in the middle. The seats there were fine,
but the booth seating was tatami under marble walls, an extreme imbalance of
design if I’d ever seen it. It was impossible to guess at the price of the sushi
based on this, but there was a hanging curtain on the ceiling that promised
“Hassle-Free Pricing! All Items Market Value!”
Despite the simplicity of that promise, it left me feeling more uncertain than
ever.
It was already a low-expense project, and I had a feeling I’d need to pay for
this one out of pocket.
True to expectations, the Russian who ran Russia Sushi recommended all of
the most expensive items. I tried to maintain a pleasant face to keep him in a
talking mood. I soon found out that the manager and Simon knew each other
from the same city in Russia.
I didn’t know why a black man like Simon would have been in Russia, but it
had nothing to do with my research, so I left that detail for another time.
After sampling a few sushi (it wasn’t bad at all), Simon had come back inside
from his duties advertising to pedestrians outside, and I asked him about the man
named Shizuo Heiwajima.
“Oh, Shizuo. My best pal.”
So they did know each other. After what the yakuza had said, I half assumed
he would be a legendary figure, a tall tale I’d been fed, but this looked to be
solid info.
I put aside the topic of Heiwajima and asked Simon about fighting in town,
but I didn’t get far.
“Oh, fighting, very bad. Get very hungry, need food coupons. You eat sushi,
good for you,” Simon told me and started ordering me fresh urchin and salmon
roe sushi.
That was the last straw. Before long I’d have no choice but to run before the
bill arrived.
As I checked the contents of my wallet, the Russian chef took note of what I
was after and spoke to me in fluent Japanese.
“Sir…Simon’s a pacifist, so you won’t get anything worthwhile about
fighting out of him.”
“N-no, I’m just asking who’s the strongest fighter around here…”
“You talking about Master Heiwajima? You just brought him up yourself.”
“Uh—”
It all snapped into place. The chef gave me an extra piece of info on the
house.
“You won’t get anything out of Simon about Heiwajima. He’ll just tell you
he’s a good guy. If you truly wanna know about the real Heiwajima…”
“Who told you about me?” the man demanded with expressionless eyes, rolling
a shogi piece in his fingers. “If they even knew my address, it must be a pretty
close client of mine…”
He was much younger than I expected. Very young to have a suite in a high-
class apartment building in Shinjuku and unnaturally young to be such a well-
connected information dealer. He didn’t look much older than twenty.
His name was Izaya Orihara. I heard about him from the chef at the sushi
place, but his name also turned up several times during my first round of surveys
on the street from the more knowledgeable types.
“My source is confidential,” I said, covering for the sushi chef. The slender
young man put on an inscrutable smile, leaning back against the sofa.
There was a shogi board on the table between the two of us. Interestingly
enough, there were three kings on the board.
“Claiming confidentiality to an information dealer… Fine, that’s your
prerogative.”
I began to describe the course my research had taken me, leaving out the
sushi place. But to my surprise, he had apparently been reading my articles.
“You write ‘Tokyo Disaster,’ don’t you? The column about odd events and the
various groups active around Tokyo… If I recall correctly, the next issue will be
having a big Ikebukuro special.”
“Oh, you read us? That should make this easy,” I said, somewhat relieved that
things would proceed smoothly.
I was wrong.
“Is your high schooler well?”
“Wha…?”
“Wasn’t Mr. Shiki from the Awakusu-kai considerate?”
“…”
Then I understood everything.
The source of information the yakuza lieutenant had mentioned was none
other than Izaya Orihara. And like a poor ignorant sap, I’d come right to the guy
who sold them their information.
Anger, frustration, and a hint of fear.
The three emotions interlocked within me. I wasn’t sure what kind of
expression to wear anymore. But the information agent across from me
continued talking, completely unconcerned with my struggle.
“But…enough about that. The strongest in Ikebukuro, huh? Well, there are
plenty of tough people around this neighborhood…but if I had to narrow it down
to one… In a fistfight, it’s Simon. But if anything goes…that’s probably going to
be Shizu.”
“Shizu…?”
“Shizuo Heiwajima. I don’t know what kind of job he has now. I don’t even
want to know.”
There was that name again.
I never brought him up, but even Izaya Orihara was giving me the name
Shizuo Heiwajima. And yet again, I still hadn’t the least idea what kind of
person he was.
“Um…so who is this Shizuo guy?”
“I don’t even want to talk about him. I know him, and that’s enough. No one
else should.”
“You can’t toss me a bone?”
“I try to find out more about him because he gives me so much trouble, but
even that’s unpleasant enough…”
It didn’t seem like I was going to get anywhere with him, but after pushing a
little bit more, Orihara put on a creepy smile.
“All right. I’m a busy guy, so I can tell you about someone who knows him
well. If you want more, this is your source.”
Good grief. Once again, I might as well have learned nothing. The trip to
Shinjuku, all for nothing. Perhaps I should have bugged him a bit longer, but he
knew my address and about my daughter. No use making enemies with someone
like that.
At this point, my only hope was placed in this acquaintance of the young
man’s.
…I just had to hope it wasn’t going to end up being Simon again.
“Hello, I’m Celty the courier.”

…
No idea how to respond to this one.
The being in front of me was showing off a PDA with a message typed out on
the screen.
When I showed up at the park at our meeting time, I was met by a very
strange person wearing an all-black riding suit and an oddly shaped helmet.
The courier showed up on a motorcycle without a headlight, with everything
from engine to driveshaft to tire rims in pitch-black. There was no way to see
inside the helmet, and to be honest, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
The moment I saw it, I thought it was a man, but the slender form told me that it
might be a woman.
But this couldn’t be right…
I never counted on meeting the Black Rider urban legend in a place like this.
I was more curious about what I was seeing here than in the topic of
Ikebukuro’s strongest. No, I didn’t believe in occult rumors of ghosts or spirits.
And it was still the middle of the day. But from the moment I saw him (her?) I
could tell that he was something different.
I’d assumed that whoever was riding the black bike had to be doing a street
performance or making some kind of antisocial statement. But the person I was
seeing here was far too natural and comfortable in this setting, as if to say that he
was the one who truly belonged here in this world. And the name Celty—that
wasn’t Japanese, was it? I had more questions than answers now, but I suppose
that was what made it a “real urban legend.”
I knew more journalists and writers than I could count who would leap at the
chance to talk with the mysterious rider. Was it right for me to make contact
regarding something completely unrelated?
It only took moments for me to get over my doubt. Nothing good happened in
this business if one got too curious.
“Umm…it’s nice to meet you. Mr. Orihara told me that you knew Shizuo,” I
said for starters.
Celty hammered away at the PDA keyboard with frightful speed. For an
instant, it looked like a shadowy digit was extending from those fingers and
tapping along on the keys next to them—but that had to be my imagination.
Don’t get curious. Focus on today’s job, me.
“Shizuo Heiwajima, right? Yes, he’s a very close friend. To me, at least.”
“I see.”
“He can be scary when he’s mad though.”
There we go. Now we’re talking—er, typing.
I tried to keep my excitement to a minimum, calmly getting to the point of my
questioning. “Interesting… Well, as a matter of fact, I’m taking statements for an
article where I’ll be figuring out who the number-one fighter in the
neighborhood is.”
“Ahh, your magazine likes topics like that, doesn’t it? You did that motorcycle
gang ranking, and the ones who got left off the list tossed Molotov cocktails at
the company office, didn’t they?”
“Well, that wasn’t my article… But from what I’ve heard so far, some people
claim you might be the strongest in town…”
For a moment, Celty went quiet, shoulders trembling. Based on the way the
helmet was shaking, I judged this to be laughter.
“Me? No way! They’re just afraid of the way I look.”
After another moment, Celty typed away at the PDA with great confidence.
“Shizuo’s much stronger than me. I doubt there’s another person in this town
who can beat him in a pure fight.”
“He’s that tough?”
“Oh yeah, real tough. He’s so dangerous, it’s almost moving. It’s not just a
brawling or martial arts thing—it’s like he lives in a different world from the rest
of us. If you told me he was a werewolf or a lizardman, I’d believe you. Oh, but I
hope he’s not an alien. Those grays are traumatic to me.”
Celty’s typing was even faster than a spoken conversation. The text almost
struck me as…excited? As though Celty was bragging about this friend, Shizuo
Heiwajima.
“It’s not that he does some MMA thing or anything. It’s like, you know how
even the toughest combatant will go down if they get shot? How to explain
this…?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Celty increased the font size on the PDA.
“That’s it—his strength is like the power of a gun. Even comparing him to
others makes no sense.”
After discussing a few other topics, I finally learned where Heiwajima

worked. Once I was certain that my article research was done, my discipline
finally cracked.
I got curious.
“Um…”
“What is it?”
“I don’t need this for a story, it’s more of a personal curiosity thing, but…do
you mind if I ask what you are? Um…might I see under your helmet?”
It wasn’t so I could expose the rider’s identity or report it to the authorities. It
was just simple curiosity, a desire to know the gender and age of the person I
was talking with. I certainly didn’t think there would be no head underneath, like
the silly paranormal shows suggested.
“Er, sorry, didn’t mean any offense. I’m just curious,” I stammered.
Celty began typing on the PDA without any hesitation. “Sure thing. If I take
this helmet off, you’ll see exactly what I am. Plus, you still won’t be able to write
an article about my true identity… You won’t even be able to tell anyone about
it.”
“Huh?”
I was about to ask what that meant when the rider put a hand to the helmet…
I was sitting on the ground, completely paralyzed, as the shadow walked

away.
Celty must be an illusionist, I thought. I figured that wasn’t actually true, but I
was desperate to convince myself.
This was what happened when you let your personal interest get the best of
you.
It’s why you can’t let your curiosity take control in this line of work…
Satisfied that I’d bought my own lie, I continued with my interviews.

Next was the color gang wearing yellow bandannas. They took the name
Yellow Scarves and had been consolidating power within the city since last year.
They appeared just at the moment that it seemed the color gang fad was going
out of style, and now they wielded a quiet presence throughout Tokyo. They
weren’t suffering any crackdowns, as they hadn’t shown any propensity for
criminal activity or turf warfare, but the simple fact that they were a color gang
was enough to intimidate plenty of folks.
Even the people inclined to scoff at the idea of color gangs still existing
would be overwhelmed by the sight of several dozen clad in the same colors
walking the streets—not that anyone who talked trash was dumb enough to pick
an actual fight with them.
According to Mr. Shiki from the Awakusu-kai, the Yellow Scarves didn’t
seem to have a working relationship with any of the criminal syndicates. They
weren’t interfering with the business or causing trouble with the motorcycle
gangs under the syndicate’s umbrella, so the Awakusu-kai had little reason to
care about the group.
I made contact with one of them and succeeded in getting introduced to one
of the group’s officers. What I heard from him, put simply, was the same thing
I’d been getting all along.
“We’re not beefing with anyone. We just exist… A big group of friends
getting along. Oh, but the Shogun gave us the name Yellow Scarves—we gotta
call the boss ‘Shogun,’ that’s the rule. All the guys at the top love manga about
the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, see… Oh, sorry, got distracted. Anyway,
I’m pretty sure we’re more than a match for the Dollars when it comes to
numbers, but the Yellow Scarves’ Shogun always says there are two guys never
to mess with. One of them is a guy you should never let talk you into anything,
and that’s Izaya Orihara…”
I was a bit surprised to hear Orihara’s name, but I’d been doing this long
enough to predict the other name he mentioned.
“The other one is this guy named Shizuo Heiwajima, who wears a bartender’s
outfit and sunglasses. We’re not supposed to go near him… I’ve seen that guy in
a fight once, and he was a freakin’ monster.”
Finally, I got a statement from someone in the mysterious Dollars

organization.
“We’re not trying to pass ourselves off as big shots in Ikebukuro… And even
if we wanted to, we don’t have a team color, so there’s no way to rep ourselves.”
The Dollars seemed to have zero interest in or connection to the “strongest”
qualifier. Once I’d figured this out, I was ready to wrap it up early, except he
dropped a bombshell right at the very end.
“Oh, but there is one thing we can brag about! The Dollars have this guy
named Shizuo who’s a real monster! And Simon, and Izaya, and even the Black
Rider are in the Dollars! I’m serious! Isn’t that nuts?!”
No way.
I was going to laugh it off, but—Simon, Izaya, Black Rider, Shizuo. I already
knew for a fact that these four were connected personally, so I couldn’t just
shrug it away, but I didn’t feel like presenting it as fact, either. I ended the
interview early.
Through the magazine’s connections, I was also able to speak with someone
connected to the police.
It wasn’t an actual officer, which made me wonder how exactly they were
connected. When I asked about this, the only answer I received was that the
nature of the connection was confidential. Probably just someone involved with
stocking equipment for them, I guessed.
“The kids in Ikebukuro these days are all up to no good, between the Dollars
and the Yellow Scarves… It’s all trouble, if you ask me. On top of that, you’ve
got this serial slasher and the Black Rider. Well, at least it’s still better than when
Izaya was in Ikebukuro… Sorry, just talking to myself. At any rate, you gotta
keep an eye out for the yakuza and foreign mafia while handling the weirdos and
the kids. It’s hard to be an active officer on the force these days.”
I wanted to get back to the topic of my article, not that I wasn’t interested in
what this so-called police-related figure had to say.
“What’s that? The biggest problem child out there? Excluding the slasher?
Hmm…well, in terms of crime, that’s Izaya Orihara, not even close. But the
biggest pain in the ass would have to be Shizuo Heiwajima, I’d say.”
The man started describing Orihara, but when informed that I’d already met
him, he launched straight into Shizuo’s exploits instead.
“Once there was a time when the cops were closing in on Izaya Orihara…and
they got Shizuo’s name as an accomplice. Shameful as it is to say, the guy in
charge of that case got fooled on that one. It was a frame job. Anyway, they were
bringing him in as a minor, and he ended up proving the charges were false, but
he got locked up anyway for obstruction of justice and property damage in the
process.”
“Property damage?”
“I actually thought it sounded far-fetched, but I’ll tell ya… As he kept
resisting arrest, what do you suppose he destroyed?”
“I don’t know… A bicycle? Windshield on a patrol car?”
“A vending machine.”
???
That one baffled me. Didn’t your average middle school delinquent trash a
vending machine with a baseball bat? All these stories built the guy up to be a
monster, but it sounded like your run-of-the-mill street vandalism.
But what he said next had me at a complete loss for words.
“He threw it.”
“Huh?”
“He threw the vending machine—at a cop car!”

Interesting.
Very, very interesting.
When I asked people around town who the strongest person in Ikebukuro
was, I got a whole variety of answers. But when I asked the same question to the
various “strong” people mentioned, they all spoke of the same man.
Shizuo Heiwajima.
If everything they said was true, I’d never heard of a guy who lived up to his
name less. There was no hint of the “peace” and “tranquillity” from the kanji
characters in his name.
But how was it possible that the random people I met who claimed to be in
the know didn’t actually hear about these Shizuo rumors? I began to wonder
about that and turned back to contact some of the first people I asked.
Every single one of these well-connected people, when asked about Shizuo,
had the same answer.
“I didn’t want to get involved with him.”
Simple as that.
And now I was attempting to meet with that very monster.

I could tell that my inner boy was knock-kneed with excitement at seeing this
guy in the flesh. But the adult me was trembling with nothing but fear.
It was a strange sensation that filled me as I stood before the small building. It
was the kind of place that had a vibrant, constant flow of tenants in and out.
There was no sign outside.
“You the dude who wants to see Shizuo?”
A man came out of the building. His tanned skin and dreadlocked hair suited
him well, and his face made him look like a host in a nightclub. He wore typical
street fashion clothes, which made it hard to gauge what he did for a living.
“He’s upstairs, so he’ll come down if you want…but don’t you dare piss him
off.”
“Okay…”
Despite his obviously Japanese heritage, the man introduced himself as Tom
Tanaka. I found out that he was Shizuo’s supervisor at his current job, where
they went around collecting fees from members of a dating/hookup website.
I didn’t bother asking if the site was legal or not. Usually my interest would
run straight to that topic, but Shizuo Heiwajima was a far more pressing matter
at this point.
Now I wasn’t just exuding curiosity, I was gushing it.
“Seriously, don’t piss him off. It’s a huge pain in the ass,” Tom repeated.
I’d heard about Heiwajima’s dangerous nature from many different people at
this point. But the more times the same thing got repeated, the more I felt like I
was being treated like an idiot.
“Here’s my advice: Don’t talk. Ask what you want to ask, then shut up and
look like an idiot while Shizuo talks. Wrap it up with a simple ‘thank you very
much,’ and even Shizuo shouldn’t be too angry with you.”
What was that supposed to mean? If I didn’t talk, I couldn’t ask what I needed
to ask. It was the role of an interviewer to take the subject’s statements and
expose their contradictions. Also, I wasn’t stupid enough to tick off a person I’d
never spoken with before. When Izaya Orihara got angry, that was because of his
antagonism toward Shizuo Heiwajima. It wasn’t my fault.
But I chose to be patient and not raise any of these issues to Tom. Speaking of
which, he looked like a pretty decent fighter himself. I definitely didn’t want to
cause any trouble here…
Tom disappeared back into the building as I mulled it over.
It was showtime.
The man I was about to meet was the toughest fighter in Ikebukuro. That was
the only title he had to his name. There was no public record for this, and he
wasn’t making any money off of it.
In modern Japan, there was nothing to gain from a full-grown man boasting
about his fighting skills. If he really felt confident in his ability, he could go into
professional fighting—if his skills matched his boasts, he could find money and
fame that way. But Shizuo Heiwajima was just a collector for a pay website. In
society’s view, it was hardly a position that anyone cared about or lauded.
But the curious boy inside of me had been up late with excitement for three
straight nights. I could tell that my instincts had my heart hammering away in
my chest.
The real question: Was it excitement or fear?
“Um.”
It would all be clear once I met him.
“Hi…I’m Heiwajima.”
Hmm?
I was so busy trying to calm my own excitement that I completely failed to
realize that someone was already standing in front of me.
The young man wore luxury-brand sunglasses on his slender, gentle-looking
face. And as I stood there dumbfounded, he had introduced himself as
Heiwajima—
Hmm?
Heiwajima?
“Shizuo…Heiwajima?” I asked, confused. He nodded flatly.
Uh…
For an instant, I was unable to believe the situation.
That’s him?
That’s the…strongest man in Ikebukuro? The most fearful man in town?
Shameful as it is to admit, I had built up my own mental image of the monster

named Shizuo Heiwajima. His body was covered in steel muscles as thick and
huge as tires, with the icy expression of a movie assassin, not to mention scars.
On top of that, a full-body tattoo of a dragon…
About the only part of my image that matched was the height. The sunglasses
that hid his gentle eyes didn’t match the man’s atmosphere at all. They looked
like a sad attempt to add cool character to his look.
I was prepared for something a bit different than I imagined, but this was such
a huge shift that it suddenly cast all of the stories I’d heard into doubt.
This was not the kind of man that yakuza would avoid, and he certainly
couldn’t pick up and throw a vending machine.
I knew that appearances could be deceiving, but there had to be a limit to that
cliché.
Had I been set up? Did that yakuza Shiki or someone else get the sushi place
and the information agent and the police connection all to match their stories and
fool me…?
No. The color gangsters I had chosen at random. They couldn’t possibly have
coordinated to arrange that somehow.
So was this a different man with the exact same name?
No, this office was the very place the Black Rider told me.
So what was different, then?
What was it…? Where did I go wrong?
Is this guy just hiding his true nature at the moment?
…No, that wasn’t it. I’d seen a lot of people in my life, and I could tell right
away when someone was lying or hiding his true ability from me. But the man
here seemed to be gentle and well-behaved to his core. He wasn’t lying or on
guard around me in the least.
What did it mean?
What was this all about?
Was it some kind of martial arts? Did he have really good special attacks?
What if that slender build disguised the fact that he was actually an aikido
master… Nahh.
A person might be able to throw another using the target’s own strength, but
that wouldn’t be enough to throw a vending machine.
This was a troubling development. If I wrote up an article proclaiming this
fellow as the strongest man in Ikebukuro and anyone saw him in real life, I
would look like a flat-out liar.
At this point, there was only one choice left to me: I had to assume that he
possessed some hidden power that he was sealing away from me at the moment.
It seemed too silly to be true, but I couldn’t possibly get into the mind-set of the
interview unless I told myself that.
Hey, maybe I should find some way to work that hidden power out of him.
Half-desperate now, I held my external agitation in check to speak to the man.
At first I’d been planning to move over to a café for the interview, but I no
longer had the patience or consideration.
“Well…there are two or three things I’d like to ask you, Shizuo…”
“’Kay,” he grunted.
Was he really that tough at fighting? I felt I could probably take him myself.
I’d put myself in danger a number of times on assignment. I’d investigated shady
bars, been threatened by street thugs, and even been surrounded by foreign
mobsters.
I’d made my way around some dangerous fights, even if it hadn’t been
through actual fighting prowess. I had courage to spare.
“I’ve heard lots of stories about you, Shizuo… Are you often involved in
fights and confrontations?”
“Um…no?”
He had a look on his face that said, Why would you even ask that?
“Really?”
“Actually, I detest violence.”
Oh, brother, are you kidding me? The guy’s a dud.
My inner boy went right to sleep. The human instincts within me no longer
felt any kind of fear or expectation toward the man.
I was ready to wrap this interview up, so I finished as quickly as I could.
“What do you think of the town these days?”
“Not much… It’s a nice place.”
“I hear you know the famous Headless Rider.”
“Celty? Yeah, Celty’s great.”
Fine…so he was the man the Black Rider mentioned after all. But the
problem was that the rider had stated that this was the strongest man in
Ikebukuro…
Just as I was about to ask about that, the man spun around on his heel and
started walking back into the building.
“H-huh? Where are you…?”
“…That’s it, right?”
“Huh?”
“You said you had ‘two or three questions,’ didn’t you? Well, I answered
three, and I have nothing more to say.”
…Are you kidding me? What is he talking about?
Did he take that literally? Must be a by-the-book type of guy.
At any rate, I needed more than this.
I decided my best chance at drawing out the conversation was to challenge
him a little.
“Okay, just one more. They say you fought with the police and threw a
vending machine…but that’s not true, is it?”
“…”
“Izaya just tricked you into—”
Flew.
Flew?
…What flew?
At first, I couldn’t tell what flew.
Shizuo Heiwajima turned around and flew with terrific force.
Where? Above? In front?
No. Below.
Everything in my field of vision was happening in slow motion.
Oh, wait. It wasn’t just Shizuo Heiwajima that went flying.
So was the building he came out of, and the asphalt base, and all the air
surrounding it—
I get it.
I understood at once—I just didn’t want to admit it.
I was the one flying.
He sent not just my body, but my wits flying as well.
A shock ran through my back, telling me that I’d fallen back onto the ground.
“…! Uh—! Aghk…gah…”
I gurgled weakly as both intense pain and numbness fought over my body.
My brain scrambled to process what had happened.
The moment Shizuo Heiwajima turned back, I felt a tremendous impact on
my throat, and the next instant I was in the air.
It was like being on a launcher-style roller coaster that shot me backward. The
only thing I felt in that brief instant was…what I assumed was Shizuo
Heiwajima’s arm muscle.
But—was that truly muscle?
It was more like the tire of a dump truck, shrunk down to a small enough size
that it could catch me around the neck. A thick, strong bundle of fibers, still
smooth and supple. Upon calm recollection, that seemed like an apt description.
But the moment that it hit me, I was unprepared to analyze the sensation—the
only thing that filled me was instantaneous terror.
My head’s going to be torn off.
That was actually what I felt. At that very moment, I felt sure my head would
tear off—the same way you might feel that having the Grim Reaper’s scythe
pressed to your neck means your head would be cut off. It was due to the
powerful shock and the centrifugal force of being pushed backward.
A lariat.
He hit me with one of the most basic pro wrestling moves in the book.
Some people watching it on TV might think that the lariat does less damage
than a good punch or a German suplex. Some might even claim that anyone
suffering heavy damage from a lariat had to be throwing the match.
But that would be a mistake. I once accompanied a writer from the sports
page on his beat and got to try out being hit by a wrestling move. I chose the
lariat, hoping for the least painful move possible.
The wrestler couldn’t have been using even half of his full strength. But I fell
hard onto the ring and passed out. It was less the damage of the fall than the
powerful impact of that arm.
That prior experience was possibly the only reason I could even identify that
it was a lariat I’d just suffered.
But there was one thing I couldn’t quite buy yet. How did the skinny man I
was seeing have the strength to lariat me straight up into the air? A man who
clearly didn’t have half the body mass of a pro wrestler!
I got my nearly convulsing lungs under control and took focus on the
approaching shadow.
Damn, eyes foggy. My vision was unclear.
The shadow of Shizuo Heiwajima stood over me, speaking softly.
“The reason I was turning around to leave…”
His voice was indeed quiet—and chilling. Some people had voices of ice. The
man named Izaya that I met a day before had one of those. But the chilling edge
to Shizuo Heiwajima’s voice was something else entirely.
If Izaya had the kind of chill that froze his listener, this one was enough to
cause frostbite. No, frostbite was too gentle to describe it. It was like liquid
nitrogen boiling, a bubbling something enveloped in pure chill.
“…was because you were asking stupid questions, and I was about to snap.”
The voice was the same one that belonged to the man just moments ago. But
the temperature of the voice was completely different. Before now, they’d been
just words—there was no inflection to them in any way…
“See, I was leaving to make sure that I didn’t end up killing you.”
Now there was strength in his words.
It wasn’t like he was speaking words of power. There was no real meaning to
what he said. But was it possible to strike fear in another person just with a tone
of voice? Even that fact alone terrified me.
Finally, my vision was recovering from the shock of the blow.
My eyes found the man standing in front of me. It was undoubtedly the same
man I had been standing with just moments before.
It was the same man…
…but…strange…why did his sunglasses seem to suit him now?
Those odd, out-of-place shades were now a perfectly natural feature of his
face.
The shape and bridge of his nose hadn’t changed; neither had his hair. He
wasn’t wearing a particularly different expression. The only thing that seemed to
have changed from moments ago was the slight smile playing on his lips. But
that smile itself had no effect on the look of the glasses.
It was the air.
The air around him seemed to have changed. There was no other wa-wa-wa-
wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-way-wa-wa-way-wa-wa-wa-wa-way-way-way-way-way-
way-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-way-way-way-way-wa-wa-way-way-wa-way-wa-
way-way-way-way-way-way-way-way—
“Who said you could go to sleep?”
He grabbed my collar, and for an instant I couldn’t breathe. When he lifted
me off of the ground, all I could feel was his incredible, monstrous strength.
I was scared.
At this point, I was jealous of scared the disappointed scared me from scared
a minute ago. If the scared man scared here scared was scared truly scared that
scared weak, scared scared scared how lucky scared scared I scared scared
scared would scared scared scared be scared
scaredscaredscaredscaredscaredhelpscaredscaredhelpscaredscaredhelpscaredhelphelphelphelp
—
Every part of my body screamed in terror.
“Were you actually trying to piss me off? Huh? I’m not an idiot, you know. I
can tell that much. But just because I understand it doesn’t mean I won’t get
pissed off…”
There was no time for my boyish curiosity to open his eyes or my instincts to
scream.
“So I give in to the provocation and get mad, I lose? Fine, I lose then. That’s
all right. Because I don’t stand to suffer for losing this one, do I? Besides, you
won, and your reward is that I kill you…”
That was the moment.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
The scream sounded.
Not from me.
I was unable to speak, paralyzed with fear.
The howl that echoed off the alleyway was from Shizuo Heiwajima himself.
The liquid nitrogen suddenly transformed into boiling oil, spitting all of the
rage stored inside his body outward.
“Raaaah! I told you, I hate violence! Didn’t I?! And now you forced me to get
violent! Who do you think you are? God? You think you’re God?! Huh?!”
That’s not fair, I started to think, before I was flying again.
It was not a proper judo throw. That would involve some element of
technique. There was none here.
He just picked me up and threw me forward, the same way one would throw a
baseball.
I’d never done it, of course, but I could imagine a strong person being able to
throw a toddler this way. But I weighed many, many times more than that—
possibly more than Shizuo Heiwajima himself, in fact.
So how was I flying virtually horizontal?
If this were an American cartoon, I’d crash into the wall of the building
across the way and leave a human-shaped hole behind. It certainly felt like there
was enough force for that, but in reality, after just a few yards of flight, I crashed
to the ground and rolled across the asphalt.
Is he going to kill me? I wondered, my mind suddenly calm now that the fear
had been eradicated by the force of his throw.
I didn’t want to die.
But he was going to kill me.
Once that logical calculation was finished, the fear began creeping back into
my heart.
But at that moment, a voice of salvation came down from above.
“Hey, Shizuo.”
I recognized that voice. It belonged to Tom Tanaka, the man who showed me
here.
“…What is it, Tom?”
“Remember that cup of instant ramen you opened? It’s been three minutes.”
“…Seriously?”
And just like that, Shizuo Heiwajima was shockingly uninterested in me. He
reentered the building as if nothing had just happened.
So he never meant to speak to me for more than three minutes to begin with.
But that didn’t matter now.
All I wanted to do was savor the joy of being alive.
A little while later, Tanaka emerged from the building and came over to where
I was lying.
“Well, there you go. Warned you not to piss him off, didn’t I? Lucky for you,
while his boiling point is low, he’s also quick to cool off. I hope you learned
your lesson and aren’t stupid enough to go to the cops about this.”
Though it didn’t make perfect sense, I decided to nod my understanding.
Satisfied, Tom turned back and went into the building.
All alone now, I rolled over to face the sky, limbs outstretched. It wasn’t that I
wanted to savor the sensation of stretching out in the middle of the street—I was
just in too much pain to stand yet.
Even as I gave thanks for my safety, I was stunned to realize just how
powerful that instantaneous fear had been.
When I was surrounded by the foreign mafia, the fear was more of a creeping
sensation, the feeling of my body rotting from the inside out. Yet I’d managed to
avoid my death by shooting or stabbing in that case.
But what I’d just experienced was instantaneous fear. An explosion of fear—
the feeling one must feel when stabbed out of nowhere by a man passing in the
street.
In fact, a knife wasn’t adequate to describe this. A katana…yes, the victims of
the katana slasher running wild in Ikebukuro right now might have felt this same
fear.
And now that the fear had passed…
…I remembered why I wanted to be a journalist.

I wanted control, to monopolize.
I wanted to gain the best, most shocking information on my own and tell the
world about it myself. By doing so, that “truth” became mine.
It was the search of that pleasure that drove me to become a journalist, but
after getting married and raising a daughter, my bubbling passion had cooled off.
And now it was back.
It had all come back just now.
Brought back by the fear I’d just tasted.
Incredible.
It’s incredible.
How stupid I must have been to doubt this.
But it was that very stupidity that led me here.
Here to my article!
The boy screaming about curiosity in my heart was dead. He had just died.
And now, the adult me was screaming it for him.
“Write!
“Seize it!
“Seize all of the truth, even if you have to fabricate it!
“Turn the fear that man put in you into your own strength!
“That’s right, I’m coming out ahead.
“I found this through the experience of fear and pain!”
No matter how much I screamed them out, my heart kept overflowing with
new words.
I want to tell the world about that fear.
I want to write an article about Shizuo Heiwajima.
With my hands, my own hands!
I want Shizuo Heiwajima and everything abnormal about him to belong to
me, without exception.
That’s right.
I’ll get over this.
I’ll get over my fear, research everything about him, and announce his exalted
strength to the entire world. That’s my duty as a journalist. In fact, when you
consider what had to happen for me to come across him, you could say that it’s
my fate.
I don’t care if all the rumors swirling around him are lies.
The instant of terror that I felt is an eternal truth! I don’t even care if you tell
me he’s not the strongest. My article will make him the strongest!
That’s right! I’ve got better things to do than lie on the ground here.
I stood up at once and took a step forward to conquer my moment of fear—
no, to make that fear my own weapon.
That’s right. I’m a journalist.
I’ll uncover everything about him—starting with his tastes, his personal
ties…and how he can wield such incredible strength in such a thin body!
Everything: past, present, and future!
If I can write this article, my life will get back on track. I’ll patch things up
with my daughter. I can rekindle the old flame with my wife. It’ll be just like it
was before…
I clenched my fist with absolute determination, ready to write the greatest
article ever about Shizuo Heiwajima. Clenched it hard, so hard…
That night—chat room
«Did you hear? Today’s slasher victim was the guy who wrote the “Tokyo
Disaster” articles for Tokyo Warrior.»
Oh, a magazine writer?
[…Uh, is that true?]
«When have I ever lied to you?»
[Is he all right?]
«Well, apparently he’s in a coma, critical condition! For some reason, he had
bruises all over his body in addition to the slash wound. But the cut’s already
scabbing over, so they’re saying that he probably got it earlier in the day! »
[Is that so…?]
? Do you know him?
[Er, no… But I’m a fan of those articles.]
Oh. Maybe I should start reading them…
Anyway, these slashings are getting scary, aren’t they?
«Really! I can’t even set foot outside!»
[Hmm. I wish the police would get a handle on this.]
«Here we goooo!»
[Ah.]
Huh?
|cut|
|cut, today|
«Well, I wish you would cut it out instead!»
What’s going on with this person? I saw the logs earlier…
«It’s a troll who keeps messing up all the Ikebukuro boards and chat rooms!»
[Evening, Saika.]
|cut, person, but, still, bad|
«There’s no point, Setton. It won’t respond to our messages.»
[I’m guessing it’s a bot of some kind.]
|must, love, more|
«Maybe you’re right.»
|love, strong person. so. want love, strong person|
Kinda creepy, isn’t it?
«But it seems like it’s very slowly typing better sentences…»
Can’t you just ban it from the chat?
«I keep doing it…but it doesn’t work.»
|must, cut, more|
[Wow, really?]
«I keep banning the individual remote host, but it just pops in with a different
host.»
Is it using a proxy?
|must, get, closer|
«Hmm, doesn’t seem to be the case.»
«The one common thread is that all the hosts are located around Ikebukuro.»
«So I think there’s a high probability it’s someone living around here.»
«Could be just jumping from manga café to manga café, for example.»
|to, strong person|
[It seems like the other message boards don’t know how to deal with it, either.]
You know, the way it keeps talking about cutting people…
«Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Tarou?»
What if it’s the slasher?
«Ha-ha-ha-ha! Nice.»
[…I can see why you would think that. This is clearly irrational activity.]
|keeping cutting|
Keeping cutting?
|get, stronger|
[…It really does seem to be connected to the slasher.]
«As a matter of fact…it always shows up on the days when I announce there’s
been a new victim. »
“Always”? You’ve only said it twice.
«Then it is the demon blade! A big ol’ sword tapping away on a keyboard!»
[Monsters don’t use the Internet.]
«Come on, Setton! Haven’t you ever heard about cursed e-mails?»
[Um, no. Why would I have heard of that…?]
|moremoremoremoremoremoremoremoremore|
I think we should just leave the chat room until it calms down.
«Oh, don’t worry. It usually leaves pretty soon.»
|in the end, approach, cut, I, love|
|found, goal, found, love|
[Well, let’s hope so.]
|Shizuo|
|Heiwajima|
|Shizuo, Heiwajima|
|Heiwajima Heiwajima Heiwajima Heiwajima Heiwajima Heiwajima
Heiwajima|
|Shizuo Shizuo Shizuo Heiwajima Heiwajima Heiwajima Shizuo Shizuo Shizuo
Shizuo|
|love Shizuo cut Heiwajima I Heiwajima cut Shizuo love|
|for love for love for love for love for love for love for love|
Huh? Is this someone Shizuo knows?!
|Shizuo, Shizuo, Shizuo|
<Private Mode> …Izaya?
«
<Private Mode> I get what you’re saying, but I don’t know, either.»
|mother|
|mother’s wish, is, same as, my wish|
|mother loves people, so do I|
|born born born to to to love love love I I I|
«
<Private Mode> Damn, is this someone Shizu knows…?»
<Private Mode> «No… No way he would let someone this annoying live.»
<Private Mode> Anyway, we should probably clear out for a bit.
Well, I’m logging off now.
[Oh, me too…]
[Huh? It just left…]

«Either way, we’re done for today.»
[Good point.]
[So long.]
«Good night!»

.
.
.
Chapter 4: The Ikebukuro Calamity
Noon, early March, Ikebukuro
The neighborhood began to bustle when March started.

The school exams were wrapping up, putting expressions of joy and
mourning on the students’ faces.
The office workers looked frazzled from the pressure of the fiscal year’s
approaching end.
The young adults without jobs or school loitered around the same way they
always did.
People of every kind filled the city as the chill of winter began to wear off.
But the bustling of Ikebukuro these days was not due to the season.
Everyone who breathed in the air of the city could feel the abnormality
hanging in the atmosphere.
“…Yikes,” muttered a young man with sharp eyes in the backseat of a van
driving along the main street. The other two people in the backseat looked up
from their books, distracted by the serious tone in his voice.
“What’s up, Dotachin?”
“What happened, Kadota?”
One of them was a woman wearing black as her base color, and the other was
a baby-faced boy who looked to be half-Caucasian.
The man named Kadota (or Dotachin) looked out the window and muttered
darkly, “After the attack last night, the victim count is up to fifty. Fifty slashing
victims.”
“No way, up to fifty?! Wow, it’s like a manga! Are you getting heart
palpitations, too?”
“That’s incredible. It’ll be a manga before long. Oh, but none of them are
fatalities, so it makes for kind of a weak villain.”
“What’s the slasher like? Katana? With a katana? Think it might be like
Shizu? With a dog and everything? Lone Wolf and Dog?”
“No, this one’s an original Lone Wolf and Cub, I’d say. So would that mean
the Headless Rider is Kino?”
The two readers, Karisawa and Yumasaki, were off in their own world,
making comparisons to characters from novels they’d read. Kadota sighed in
exasperation. “I was an idiot for assuming you two had any sense of morality.”
While the pair chattered away as though none of this had anything to do with
them, Kadota thought over the state of the neighborhood.
The first incident had happened more than a year ago. A tough guy walking
the streets at night was attacked, but it didn’t make the news under the
assumption that it was just a fight of some kind. The victim claimed he was
attacked with a katana, but he eventually gave up on that, and it was classified as
a street squabble.
But two months after that, an average salaryman with no history of violence
got hit, which drew the media’s attention and served as fuel for the daytime
variety shows.
While there was no difference in human value between the thug and the
salaryman, the media found the topic of an indiscriminate attacker to be much
more salacious than an underworld squabble.
More time passed, and on Christmas night, a couple was attacked. Authorities
announced it to be likely the work of the same attacker. The fuel for the variety
shows went from a wooden log to a tank of gasoline.
The fact that the victims never saw the face of their attacker, combined with
the location of Ikebukuro—smack in the middle of the capital—added a touch of
mystery to the incidents. It posed a riddle to the world but didn’t quite capture all
of society, because as luck would have it, there were no fatalities.
But at this point, it was far more than gasoline.
The slasher was nitro fuel, blasting through the variety shows, prime-time
news, and the front page of weekly tabloids and national newspapers alike.
After all, the number of victims only rose after the New Year, and by the end
of February, the pitch rose to a victim every day.
And while the media wasn’t reporting it, the yellow bandannas were also on
the rise. They were members of the Yellow Scarves, a color gang. Many of them
were young, with about half of the members in middle school. There had always
been kids that young in color gangs, and the Yellow Scarves were founded a few
years back by middle schoolers, which meant most of them were now in their
first or second year of high school.
But just because they were made of students didn’t mean they posed no
threat. For one thing, there were several hundred of them. But even worse, kids
didn’t know when to hold back. And on top of that, they had the worst kind of
knowledge on their side.
They knew what ages were too young to be prosecuted for crimes, and when
they got into trouble, they made sure to have the youngest members do it. The
Yellow Scarves themselves hadn’t gotten involved in crime yet, but they were
growing in number. No doubt those kids on the fringes would utilize the team
name to get up to no good.
The street slasher and the Yellow Scarves.
To Kadota and the other Dollars members, these two things were cause for
concern.
“So you haven’t heard anything about the slasher or the victims?” Kadota
asked, turning to Karisawa and Yumasaki, but they were already in a far-off
world.
“I’m telling you, Riselina has to be the heroine. I mean, she got the bridal
carry!”
“No way, it’s obviously Urc! I mean, she’s the protagonist’s childhood
friend!”
“Ha-ha-ha, oh, you are so naive, Karisawa! Knowing that author, Riselina’s
gonna turn out to be a childhood friend, too.”
“Even though she’s from another world?! Well, either way, I don’t care,
’cause I’ve got the hots for Bradeau.”
They seemed to be deep in a heated debate involving a whole lot of
unfamiliar names. Kadota couldn’t imagine a more confusing and obnoxious
development.
“People are mourning here, and you’re blabbering on about some stupid
video game!”
“Don’t be silly, it’s not a game. We’re debating who the main heroine is in the
Dengeki Bunko novel series On a Planet Where the Skybells Ring. Really,
Kadota, you need to stop distancing yourself from fantasy and give it a shot!”
“Good grief… If either of you ever commit a crime, the media will never let
it go. ‘The uber-nerds who could no longer tell the difference between manga
and reality,’ they’ll gasp.”
Shocked, Yumasaki shouted, “What do you mean, Kadota?!”
“?!”
Startled by the sudden outburst, Kadota stared right at his companion. He had
never seen Yumasaki angry like this.
“You think we’ve lost touch with the distinction between 2-D and 3-D? Don’t
be ridiculous! A true nerd knows the difference between 2-D and 3-D and
chooses 2-D every freakin’ time! Toss the 3-D life in the garbage, man! Anyone
who gets tired of 2-D and turns to crime in the real world isn’t a true nerd at all.
Don’t compare us to those losers who give up on the 2-D life! I wish the variety
shows and newspapers would figure that out already!”
“Uh…okay, man…,” Kadota murmured, leaning backward with the force of
Yumasaki’s speech. He looked over to Karisawa for help, who didn’t exactly
oblige.
“Don’t be dumb, Yumacchi. The media is totally aware of what they’re doing.
It’s an easier message to sell. Plus, whether they’re committing crimes or not,
anyone who sits around for days at a time fangasming over anime without
bathing might as well be a criminal anyway. That’s creepy.”
“Ugh. This is exactly why we put so much effort into our fashion—to help
update that old image of us.”
“If that’s what you’re hoping to do, stop shouting about otaku crap in the
middle of the train. And stop using manga and novels for torture ideas,” Kadota
snapped. The other two ignored him and continued their conversation.
“Goddammit… What if the slasher was a crazy fan of period pieces? Would
the TV stations ban all of their boring samurai specials?!”
“I hope not, I like those shows,” Kadota muttered.
Yumasaki turned to him with a clenched fist. “Listen! The only 3-D objects
I’ll acknowledge the existence of are figures and plastic models.”
“But not us? Screw you…”
“Hmm…oh, and maybe that dream demon who visited me in the summer. At
least she was a maid. Maybe if she tries hard enough, she’ll be able to morph
into a 2-D girl.”
“Yumacchi, what’s this about a dream demon?”
“See? This is what I keep saying—you can’t tell the difference between
manga and reality!”
The chaos inside the van was interrupted by the sudden ringing of a phone.
It wasn’t just Kadota’s. Karisawa’s and Yumasaki’s phones were playing
anime theme songs, and even the driver Togusa’s phone was going off in the
front seat.
All the cell phones in the car were active at once.
It might have seemed like an effect from a horror movie, but all of them knew
what it meant: They’d all received the same message.
It wasn’t just the people in the car, either. Certain people all around Ikebukuro
would be receiving this together.
It was a Dollars message.
Kadota was the first to check the text. He ground his teeth and nearly cracked
the flip phone shut.
“Okay, you guys. This is officially now our business. Get your heads back in
reality.”
“?”
The others noticed the look of foreboding in Kadota’s eyes and checked for
themselves.
The message itself was quite simple.
Dollars member has been attacked by the slasher. Need info, need info, need
info.
There was that short “need info” repeated at the end.

Kadota took a number of emotions from that simple message and muttered.
“The town is starting to fall apart.”
Near Kawagoe Highway, top floor of apartment building
About the same time that people around the neighborhood were checking their
cell phones, Celty was reading the same message on hers.
Celty lived in the spacious apartment, which was larger than some stand-
alone houses, with her partner, a black-market doctor. Earlier she had been
nothing but a freeloading guest, but after a time last year, she was now happily
(?) his lover in a cohabitation arrangement.
But this was not a time for reflecting on her love life. She checked her phone
and put her elbows on the desk in a pose of heavy thought.
Black shadows squirmed in the face of the bright light flooding through the
windows. Amid that unbelievably eerie sight, she thought to herself, I wonder if
Mikado’s starting to lose his grip.
She thought of the childish face of the Dollars founder when she met him
around a year ago and folded her phone shut.
Without a mouth to speak, Celty might appear not to need a cell phone. But as
a courier, being able to send texts to clients or Shinra while on the move was
extremely convenient, and it was also quicker to operate than the e-mail client on
the PDA.
Even the camera function, which she’d thought was totally useless before she
bought it, was finding plenty of use. It all came down to conveying information
quickly. It wasn’t great for clandestine activity, given the loud shutter noise, but
in Celty’s case, she almost never ever needed to be that stealthy.
And now, more than anything, Celty wanted a cell phone photo.
If just one person could capture an image of the slasher who was terrorizing
the town…
No one had died yet from the attacks, but Celty couldn’t bring herself to
believe that fact.
When it attacked her, that red-eyed shadow had chopped her head off. She’d
considered the possibility that the slasher knew she was headless already, but
that only made the act of knocking her helmet off even more pointless and
baffling.
The most reasonable explanation Celty could think of was that the attacker
was only trying to wound her, and when she didn’t bleed at all, it knocked her
head off instead.
But wait, what if I was just a normal human being with a prosthetic arm?
In either case, this could not be allowed to stand. Celty clenched her fist in
determination. She wouldn’t let this wanton behavior continue in her home of
Ikebukuro.
In a sense, though, before the slasher happened along, the most wanton
behavior of all had come from Celty herself—but perhaps that just meant she
couldn’t forgive the idea of anyone else committing crimes around here.
“Now, now, Celty. No need to get so tense,” said a bespectacled young man in
a white doctor’s coat. He had noticed the headless knight’s sighing motions in
front of the computer.
“Oh, you’re back,” Celty typed lifelessly into the computer screen without
turning around.
“It’s always darkest before the dawn. Just do what you can—put your human
affairs in order and let fate do the rest. Then again, you’re not human, so…put
your dullahan affairs in order and let fate do the rest? Hmm. Given that a
dullahan’s fate is to tell others of their death, it sounds like a pretty dark story in
the making.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
Shinra had no hesitations about treating Celty as something inhuman, but this
actually made her happy. Nothing was more reassuring than knowing that
someone accepted and loved her for what she really was.
If Shinra had originally professed his love for Celty by offering to think of a
way to make her human or claiming that his love would make her human, she’d
probably have left him behind.
Instead, Shinra Kishitani loved Celty just as she was, without her head. That
might have been the only way that she could face her own feelings for him.
“So anyway, do you have a plan? You can’t just go out patrolling the town
every night, can you?”
“Maybe not. At the very least, I’m suspected of having a connection to the
slasher. If I wander around too much at night, I might as well be claiming that
I’m the attacker myself.”
“The slasher? Reminds me of that killer from five years ago,” Shinra
murmured ominously. Celty thought back to the incident that had unsettled the
neighborhood several years earlier.
The Ikebukuro tsujigiri incident
It was named after the old practice of “testing out” a new katana by attacking
random passersby, because as with this ongoing incident, the victims claimed
they’d been attacked with a traditional Japanese katana. But a clear portrait of
the attacker was never established, and the book on the case stayed open.
Centuries in the past, Ikebukuro had been a place of many tsujigiri incidents,
so some caused a stir by suggesting a curse was in effect. But once the attacks
suddenly stopped, it passed completely out of the public interest in just the span
of a year.
“Wasn’t that only two or three attacks though?”
“The main difference is that five years ago, people actually died. In the last
incident, the killer barged into a house and cut down two people. The other
victims got away with minor injuries, fortunately…”
“But they never caught whoever was responsible.”
Celty shrugged in resignation.
Suddenly, Shinra muttered to himself. “…Saika.”
“Psyche?”
“No, Saika. Written with the characters for ‘song of sin,’ pronounced Saika.”
Song of sin.
Celty typed the characters into the computer, then turned to Shinra in shock.
Saika. The mysterious troll who’d been messing up all the Ikebukuro-related
chat rooms and message boards, including the one she’d been frequenting lately.
“Do you know this person? It hasn’t been you this whole time, has it?”
“No, no, I wouldn’t do that. If I wanted to troll people, I’d just get my super-
hacker friend to take the boards down entirely.”
“Does this super hacker really exist? And what makes him super? Is that a
joke? …Whatever. What about Saika?” Celty prompted, not in the mood to play
along with Shinra’s jokes at the moment.
“Well, there’s been all that trolling about cutting stuff.”
“Yeah, the weird lists of words. But it also talks a lot about loving, so I’m not
sure if there’s a connection or not…”
“Hmm… You’ve always been in Ikebukuro, so maybe you don’t know about
it…”
“?”
Shinra looked at the question mark she typed onto the screen, then waited a
long dramatic moment to build the tension.
“Saika seems to have happened a long time ago in Shinjuku.”
“???”
She added a few more question marks to show that she wasn’t following his
meaning. Shinra found that to be unbearably adorable, and his face crinkled into
a childlike grin.
“Well, the confusing part is that you could say Saika ‘happened’ or that Saika
‘was around’…”
“Stop beating around the bush and explain.”
“Fine, fine. Don’t get angry and fidgety at the same time,” he said, accurately
reading her emotions despite the lack of a face to scrutinize.
“Saika was a real, actual, authentic demon blade that existed in Shinjuku
years ago.”
“…”
Celty actually went to the trouble of typing in her silence.
“……”
The silence continued. She was apparently waiting for Shinra’s reaction.
“…”
But Shinra was waiting for Celty’s reaction as well. An awkward silence fell
upon the room.
Celty lost her patience first. She typed her honest emotions into the keyboard.
“…Ohh?”
“What does ‘ohh’ mean?”
“…”
“…”
The silence was back. Celty hurried to fill it with a question.
“Demon blade… You mean like a Muramasa Blade?”
“You really do like those Wizardry games, don’t you?”
“Stop spying on my chat logs.”
“I apologize for that—sorry. Matter settled! Now…don’t you remember that
Kanra person in the chat talking about a demon blade? Anyway, that jogged my
memory about some old books I read once, so I looked them up again, and…
surprise! There was a demon blade named Saika in Shinjuku once!” he
announced proudly. Annoyed, Celty typed in her response.
“Setting aside that the matter is most certainly not settled…I don’t know. I
thought you were more of a realist, Shinra. There’s no such thing as a cursed
demon blade. Look at reality.”
As she typed, Celty was keenly aware that she might as well be denying her
own existence. She made a show of a laughing motion to get her point across.
Shinra only shook his head—he knew Celty better than anyone else, including
how to get under her skin.
“Well, well, well… Remind me, who was it that was trembling in fear at the
image of grays that they showed in that UFO special? Who was it that saw the
video of the cow being sucked up by the UFO and couldn’t stop talking about
how scary it would be if that happened to her?”
“Sh—”
“Who got suckered in by that April Fool’s show and came to tell me all about
the revelation that ‘the Apollo mission never actually landed on the moon’?”
“Shut up, shut up, shut uuup! It…it’s obvious! Aliens are much more likely to
exist than cursed swords!” she snapped back lamely.
Shinra just shook his head, the picture of smugness. “What if the aliens made
the cursed sword?”
“Wha—?”
“A katana created with secret space technology. Seems like it would have a
mind of its own, right?”
“W-well, in that case…”
The conversation was clearly going in the wrong direction, but Celty couldn’t
think of a good rebuttal. Or a reason for one, for that matter.
“…It seems…plausible…”
Begrudgingly convinced, Celty decided she ought to ask about the sword.
I have to admit, I’m curious about the fact that it’s using the same name, she
told herself and listened closely to what Shinra had to say.
“Now, just after the war ended, this demon blade Saika rampaged through
Shinjuku for blood.”
“I see.”
“And then, after an incredible, thrilling battle with a magical sword from the
West…”
“Now wait a minute!” Celty grabbed Shinra by his lapel, feeling that she’d
been tricked into buying his story. “What boys’ manga did you rip this story out
of?”
“Settle down, Celty! Adolescents aren’t going to take to a manga without
human characters. It would get canceled! In fact, it wouldn’t even make it
through the editors’ meetings! Just hear me out until the end!”
“…I’m listening,” she prompted, her hand still clutching his collar.
“Their battle was brought to an end by the bamboo spear of intelligence,
which was carved from a magic stalk of bamboo. After that, Saika was forced to
flee Shinjuku for—”
“Forget I asked.”
She let go of Shinra’s coat and started walking for the front entrance of the
apartment.
“But I was just getting to the good part.”
“I’ve heard enough. I’m going out for a bit. I’m not taking any jobs tonight,”
she typed into her PDA and held backward for Shinra to read. He didn’t make
any attempts to stop her and switched topics on a dime. This was virtually a
daily occurrence in their lives.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Shizuo.”
“Wha…? A-are you cheating on me, Celty?! If you’re unhappy with me, can
you say why?! No, wait, not directly; that’ll just crush my spirit. Say what’s
wrong with me with three different kinds of misdirection! Seventy percent praise
and thirty percent insults, if you can!”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got no complaints,” she replied innocently and stepped
into the entryway. “It’s just that this Saika character’s been repeating Shizuo’s
name over and over. If you’ve read my logs, you should know. If he’s really got
something to do with the slasher, it’s worth finding him and hearing him out.”
krch
ripcrik
snp krack
Sound.
The sound of joints and muscles breaking down.
rip snap rip snap crakk
With every unpleasant crackle, terrible pain ran through this body.
The boy had no choice but to endure this endless hell.
He knew that it was nothing but a manifestation of his own rage.
Shizuo Heiwajima came to understand that he was different in third grade.

He had a fight with his little brother over something pointless. And when he
snapped, he tried to throw the refrigerator, which was easily taller than he was.
At the time, he didn’t have the strength to lift it, of course—but as a result, he
pulled muscles all over his body and dislocated numerous joints.
That was just the start of the abnormalities.
When he got into a fight with his friend in the classroom, the boy threw a
pointed compass at Shizuo. That was bad enough, but what Shizuo did in
response was far worse. It was enough to make the phrase self-defense pick up
and scamper away.
He lifted an entire desk packed with textbooks with his skinny nine-year-old
arms, did a half rotation, and hurled it with all of his strength.
The target of his anger was nothing short of dead lucky.
All of that weight passed to his side, just barely brushing his arm. The next
instant, the wall behind him sounded like it was falling apart.
With trembling legs, the boy turned around to see the desk stuck halfway into
the classroom wall.
There’s a phrase: brute strength.

When humans think they’re exhibiting all of their strength, they’re really not.
The muscles naturally limit themselves so that what we think of as “full
strength” is actually far weaker than their maximum capability.
But when placed in a situation of extreme danger, such as a house fire, the
brain unlocks that potential. Suddenly the body is strong enough to lift heavy
furniture or other people from the site of a disaster or to leap over obstacles that
should be too tall to scale.
Shizuo Heiwajima possessed one unique feature. He could call upon that
brute strength at any moment, not just in emergencies.
This might have appeared to be a great benefit—but it wasn’t anything of the
sort.
The reason the brain prevents the use of full strength is to protect the body’s
joints and muscles. The body’s limits are limits for a reason; putting it under that
much stress will only cause it to break down.
In exchange for the gift of incredible power, Shizuo lost the ability to control
his strength.
In other words, if he attempted to put all of his strength into something, his
muscles would faithfully tear themselves to shreds in the attempt.
That overflowing physical strength soon became an extension of his own
rage.
Whenever he got angry, that uncontrollable muscular strength would jump
into action on its own. When his brain was wielded by great strength, it
demanded the body make use of it: Pick up the heaviest object here, destroy
everything, destroy everyone.
As a result, young Shizuo heeded his instincts.
Destruction. He sought absolute destruction, and it was always his own body
that collapsed first.
A collapsing body and uncontrollable strength.
Trapped between these two things, the boy’s mind began to fall apart bit by
bit. At some point, he forgot the concept of controlling his anger.
If I can’t hold back and I’m going to fall apart first anyway, I’ll feel so much
better by just allowing my mind to be free!
He gave up on self-control.
He unleashed all of his instincts, ready to give up his own life.
As a result of that choice, he destroyed even more.
He wreaked an untold amount of violence…on his own body.
Day after day, he broke down.
When his body broke down, he flew into a rage and destroyed himself even
more.
It was an unmanageable juggling act.
He gained nothing. Only the scars of destruction piled up behind him.
His muscles destroyed themselves repeatedly—and before they could rebuild
stronger than before, they broke down again.
The boy was drowning in a hell of his own creation.
He struggled and strained and strove but could not escape himself…
And time passed.
“My dad and mom were always super nice about it,” Shizuo muttered, his
eyes narrowed behind the sunglasses. “Even my little brother, whom I always
fought with, screamed for an ambulance after I tried to lift the fridge and
collapsed. He waited there with me until the paramedics arrived… I had a really
nice family. They didn’t spoil me or anything, but I think I was raised in a happy
home.”
Celty listened in silence as Shizuo spoke about his upbringing. The
bartender’s outfit and riding suit were shoulder to shoulder on a bench as
evening descended on South Ikebukuro Park. There were other people in the
park, but the eeriness of the sight kept them all away.
“So…how did it turn out this way?” he muttered sadly into the air, a self-
deprecating smile on his lips. “What was the catalyst for my change? I didn’t
have any trouble at home. There was no childhood trauma, and I wasn’t obsessed
with hyper-violent anime or manga. I barely even watched any movies. So was it
me? Did the cause come from nothing but me myself?”
Celty maintained her silence. She wasn’t ignoring him but was attempting to
absorb all of Shizuo’s confessions within her own shadow.
“I just want to be strong,” he admitted, but his voice was strong. “If I’m the
cause of all this, then I hate myself most of all. I don’t care about the fighting. I
just want the strength to control myself.”
It was an utterly honest confession. The only reason he could speak like this
was because Celty didn’t waste his time with pointless rebuttals or jokes. Of
course, it wasn’t only that—he’d been around her for a long time and had grown
to trust her implicitly.
Shizuo knew that everyone in the neighborhood was afraid of him. Because
of that, the fact that Celty would listen without fear made her a very precious
thing to him.
If he was talking to someone who had no idea who he was, they would
probably manage to drive him into a rage somehow, and just like all the others,
they would find themselves terrified of him. Shizuo understood how the process
happened.
But understanding its ways did not give him any better control over it.
After a long, long time, the number of people in his vicinity shrank down
naturally.
There was his boss at work, who knew how to handle Shizuo. There was
Simon, who was capable of defending himself against Shizuo’s extreme
violence. There was Izaya Orihara, who stayed close because of his utter
loathing. And there was the silent Headless Rider, who never made him mad.
He already knew that Celty was the Headless Rider. But he wasn’t
particularly concerned with that. She’d always interacted with him while
wearing the helmet, and knowing that she couldn’t actually speak meant that it
made no difference to him.
Shizuo’s thought process was very simple, though it wasn’t the result of some
kind of strong belief or ideal. He put everything in the world into two categories.
People who pissed him off and people who didn’t piss him off. Those were
the only two choices.
“Sorry for griping at ya again,” he said with a slight smile. At this point, he
didn’t look like anything but a mild-mannered young man. “So what do you
want today? You came out here because you wanted me for something, right?”
“…”
Celty took out her PDA and conveyed the information in the fewest words
possible.
The slashings taking place in town.

The person on the Net named Saika who was using his name.
That Saika might be connected to the attacks somehow.
That the journalist who’d been asking about Shizuo was one of the slasher’s
victims.
And that Shizuo’s name had popped up in chat the night the writer was
attacked.
Once he’d read all of this information, Shizuo raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell? Are you saying you suspect me?” he asked directly.
Celty shook her helmet side to side.
If Shizuo were responsible and swinging a katana around, there was no way
the victims wouldn’t have died. There was no obvious reason for Shizuo to
conduct the random attacks, and even if anyone made him mad enough to want
to ambush someone under cover of night, he’d just twist the poor sap’s head
around 180 degrees.
Shizuo claimed that he had no control over himself, but the fact that he
wielded such strength and hadn’t committed homicide yet spoke to a nearly
miraculous level of personal restraint.
Of course, it had occurred to Celty that he might have sent a number of
people to an early grave after all, and she just didn’t know about it.
“A Dollars member has been attacked.”
“Yeah, I know. I got the message,” he replied shortly, pulling out his cell
phone. “Honestly, I’d love to help out, but I only joined up because Simon asked
me to. I’m not really that close to the Dollars to begin with… Of course, that
shallow connection is what allows me to be a part of their group.”
He snorted wryly and looked up at the sunset. The sky was redder and more
beautiful than it had any business being.
“Tsk. What the hell is the city sky doing looking like the countryside? What
does it think it is?” he growled nonsensically as he got to his feet and started to
leave. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t have any clues for ya. Besides…why are you so
intent on making the Dollars your business? Just don’t get yourself hurt.”
It was rare for Shizuo to show consideration for anyone else. Celty quietly
typed away.
“It’s not just for the Dollars. I’m also getting revenge for myself.”
“?”
“I was recently attacked by the slasher, too. Cut straight across the throat. If I
wasn’t headless, I’d be dead.”
She typed this message in with a wry intention of her own, but the confession
had huge, fateful consequences.
Not for Celty’s fate. For Shizuo’s and all of Ikebukuro.
“You asshole…”
“Huh?”
“Why didn’t you say that first?! You idiot! They say whoever calls someone
an idiot is the real idiot, but I already know I am, so I’ll say it anyway! Say that
first, you idiot! Why are we standing around with our thumbs up our asses?!”
It was exceedingly rare for Shizuo Heiwajima to be angry for the sake of
another person.
He was angry about one of his companions being hurt, so in a broader sense
he was angry for his own sake, but logical quibbling aside, Shizuo was full of
pure rage.
“Someone’s gonna die. I’ll kill ’em. Butcher ’em. Murder ’em.”
“Hang on. Look, I’m the Headless Rider. I’m perfectly fine.”
“No, no, no. That’s not the point. Swinging a sword at you equals death.
That’s all there is to it.”
But this was not his usual explosive rage, as the target of his anger was not
present. Shizuo’s rage today was the kind that bubbled away and stored its
energy up in his stomach.
“Celty, did you know there is power in words? So I’m trying to stifle my
overwhelming urge to destroy everything by putting it into a single word.”
That was exactly what Celty was afraid of.
“Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill…”
If this situation continued and the slasher happened by, she knew who was
going to die.
The slasher.
He wouldn’t leave them a moment for repentance. If Shizuo punched a person
with all of his force, they’d be lucky with just the skull caved in. If worst came
to worst, he would snap the neck and tear all of that flesh so that the target of his
rage was just as headless as she was.
The only difference was that humans died when they lost their heads.
Celty allowed herself a moment of sympathy for the attacker as she watched
Shizuo hop onto the back of her motorcycle.
“What about work? Aren’t you on break?”
“Who cares anymore?”
“Hey! You’d better not get yourself fired on account of me. Plus, we still need
time to collect information on the slasher. Just wait until your shift is over. I’ll go
make preparations.”
“…”
Shizuo thought it over for a few moments, then grumbled, “All right…but
make it quick,” squeezing the words out in between his chants of “kill, kill,
kill…”
It made him look like an exorcist attempting to resist the control of the devil.
“All the emotion that’s building up inside of me is screaming to be
unleashed…and if I don’t take care of it…”
“…It’s pretty likely that I’ll end up destroying myself.”
Thirty minutes later, Shinjuku
There was a very good reason that Celty decided to split off from Shizuo
momentarily.
Naturally, she was concerned with the state of his employment, but there was
a much bigger rationale behind her choice.
If she was with Shizuo, there was one person she could never meet, and she
had to make contact with him for information now.
“Hey… I’m delighted you decided to come visit me.”
“I just met you last month for the job you had me do.”
“Oh, what’s the harm? We didn’t get to chat last time. So how are things? It’s
been a year now since the Yagiri Pharmaceuticals incident. Have you found your
head yet?”
Izaya Orihara offered Celty a cup of tea with a sardonic smile. His nasty
personality hadn’t changed over time—he knew full well he was offering tea to
someone without a mouth to drink it.
“My issues aren’t important… I’ll be direct. Any suspicions as to the
slasher?”
“It’ll cost you three bills,” he stated.
Celty pulled a wallet made of solid shadow from her riding suit of the same
material. The bills inside were real, of course. She removed three ten thousand–
yen bills and handed them to Izaya.
“So not only is your scythe made of shadow, so are your wallet and clothes. If
I shined a bright enough light on you, would the shadow dissipate and show me
your naked body?”
“You want to see?”
Izaya responded to Celty’s challenge by squirming backward and smirking.
“Not really. I’m not a pervert like that student or that unlicensed doctor. I
don’t get all hot and heavy over a severed head or its headless body.”
The moment he tossed that insult back to her, a black scythe entwined its way
around Izaya’s neck.
The end of the scythe was curled up like a spring, forming a twisted circle
around Izaya’s neck, with the tip at the center. She had thrust the weapon up
against his neck and morphed it into that bizarre shape in the blink of an eye.
Izaya’s smile faded just the tiniest bit, and he raised his hands in a sign of
surrender.
“Insulting me is one thing. But if you slander Shinra again, you will pay
dearly. Let’s say…with injuries that will take three days to recover from.”
“…Thanks for the detail. You’re calm enough to tell me that this isn’t a
bluff.”
“Yes, Shinra might be abnormal. But if he’s weird, then he’s only weird to me
and no one else. You have no right to judge him.”
“You sound like quite the couple,” Izaya noted coolly. Celty retracted her
scythe in resignation.
Unsatisfied with just being released, the information agent had more sarcasm
for the headless woman. “But what if your biggest fan just happens to have a
thing for headless women? What if another dullahan comes along and seduces
him? He might just fall head over heels for her instead.”
“Somehow I doubt that…but I wouldn’t mind. All I’d do—”
“Is kill Shinra and commit suicide?”
“No, I’d just make certain that no other headless women get near him. It’s not
just that he loves me. Now I love him, too…”
The first instant that Izaya saw the confident text on the PDA, the smile
vanished—only to be replaced by a great guffaw.
“…Kah-ha! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I didn’t expect this! Since that last
incident, you’re more human than ever! But be careful. The closer you get to
being human, the larger the gap might be when you finally do get your head and
memories back!”
“I can worry about that once I have my head. Actually, to be honest, I’m
starting to think I don’t really need my head after all… But enough about that.
Give me information on the slasher. You’re not going to take my money and tell
me nothing, are you?”
With the topic back on business, Izaya shook his head and began to tell her
the “product” she’d bought.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got some juicy intel I haven’t sold to the police or media
or put on the Internet. I won’t lie—I was waiting for you to come to me.”
“I mean this case is a lot like you—it’s straight out of the world of ghosts and
goblins,” he teased. When he spoke next, it was in the hushed tones of one
beginning a scary story.
“…Have you ever heard of the sword called Saika?”
“Huh?”
“You might not believe me, but once, here in Shinjuku, there was a demon
blade…”
Thirty minutes later, near Kawagoe Highway, top floor of apartment building
“Shinra! Shinra, Shinra, Shinraaa!”

“Whoaaa, don’t just barge in here with your PDA thrust out like that! I’d like
it more if you showed this kind of initiative in bed—ghrf!”
Celty gave Shinra a light knee in the stomach and rapidly typed out her next
message.
“Hey! That demon blade story! Was that all true?!”
“Nngh… I have gone on a journey of despair now that I know you doubted
my ironclad word. I’m done for—the only thing that can save me is your love. I
need about level thirty-seven love. In the ABCs of love, a B should do…”
“Stop joking around! Listen!”
She yanked Shinra up to his feet and began to type out what she’d just heard
from Izaya.
—That Izaya was also concerned with the connection between the online troll
Saika and the slasher and was investigating on his own.
—That there was a legend of a demon blade named Saika with a mind of its
own that could possess other people.
—That when the victims’ testimony was combined, no one had seen the
attacker directly, but as they all passed out, they remembered red eyes.
—That each day the Saika username appeared online was the same day in
which a new slashing victim appeared later that night.
Once she finished showing him these details, Shinra sadly rolled around on
the carpet in his white coat.
“Ahh, how can this be? When I said it, you chuckled through the nose—no,
wait, you don’t have a nose. You chuckled through your breast at me, but sure,
you’ll take Izaya’s word for it! …Aaah!”
“What is it?!”
“I like that phrase, ‘chuckled through your breast.’ Sounds kinda sexy, if you
ask—gffh!”
She caught him in the temple with a low kick, sprawling him out on the floor.
Somehow, Shinra kept his wits about him and turned back to Celty with a deadly
serious look on his face.
“So what’s the plan?”
“Well…if it was a spirit or fairy of some kind, I would have sensed its
presence…but I didn’t feel a thing when I was attacked.”
“Well, of course. A katana might have a mind, but it doesn’t have a presence.
As far as I know, the demon blade Saika possessed the mind of its wielder and
controlled his body. If that was a strictly human body, then there would be no
otherworldly presence or aura for you to sense. Plus, we don’t know that all
spirits or fairies possess this ‘presence’ you’re talking about.”
“So there’s no way I can search for it, then.”
Celty clenched her fist in frustration at Shinra’s calm conjecture. But he only
grinned at her and extended one last lottery ticket to his lover.
“Actually, there is, my dear.”
“Huh?”
“Let me start off by apologizing: sorry. I took another look at the chat room
you hang out in… Have you seen this? It’s quite interesting. I’ve heard that
Saika was a female blade, and based on this, it seems to be true.”
“What…?”
“Check out the past logs. Good thing this chat is the kind that saves a long
backlog.”
Celty booted up her computer as he suggested.
And then she saw it.
She saw how much the thing named Saika had evolved in the time she’d been
away from the chat…
Chat room

|I cut one person today. But one is enough. It’s not good to be greedy.|
|But I’ll cut again tomorrow. The more lovers, the better.|
|My strength has reached its peak.|
|I’m looking for a person.|
|Shizuo Heiwajima.|
|The man I must love.|
|Tomorrow night, I’ll cut again.|
|I know where Shizuo is. But there are too many people to be safe.|
|I want to know where Shizuo Heiwajima lives.|
|Does he live alone? Is it in Ikebukuro, too?|
|I want to know more about Shizuo.|
|About the strongest man in this town…|
|I want to love him, I want to know him.|
|I’ll cut someone again tomorrow. Every day, until I meet Shizuo.|
|I want to see Shizuo, soon, soon, soon…|

«…Well, it seems like this person is only posting here now.»

«I was trying to figure out why.»
«When the name Shizuo popped up here earlier, Tarou clearly reacted to it.»
«So it seems like they think this Shizuo person might be reading these
messages.»
«Now, I’m only guessing, but…»

«This is advance warning for the crime, right? If something happens tomorrow
night, should we report it?»
«As the moderator, I’ll need to do something as soon as possible.»

«Well, so long.»

[When did all of this happen…?]

[Tarou, are you still seeing all of this?]
[I’d really appreciate it if you responded.]
[On the other hand…]
[The log’s from last night…so “tomorrow” would mean tonight, yes?]
[Oh, I need to go out and do something, so I’m taking off…]
[I know it’s hard, Kanra, but please hang in there.]
[So long.]

.
.
.
.
.
Chapter 5: Right to the Points
In her dream, the girl met her dead parents.
At a theme park, surrounded by the smiles of her family.

On a mountaintop covered with flowers.
At a riverside blanketed with warm sunlight and the smell of barbecue.
In her own kitchen with a birthday cake in the center of the table.
“You’re going to be just as pretty as your mother someday, Anri.”
“No, I think she gets it from you.”
Her mother and father were smiling.
There were no mirrors in her dream, but she was probably smiling, too.
Mom, Dad.
We’ll be together forever and ever, right?
Anri Sonohara always repeated the same phrase in her dreams.
A happy home.
Her family’s smiles.
So small and insignificant, but the greatest joy of all to a young girl.
The more she had those dreams, the more she recognized they were dreams as
they happened.
But within her waking dream, she would smile.
She indulged in the happiness of her dreams, knowing they represented times
that would never return.
Food was set on the table.

It was a meal she cooked with her mother.
Her father ate it and smiled, said it was delicious.
She would smile again.
That symbolic process repeated over and over.
Just a repetition of the most orthodox, simplistic series of events, so standard
that if happy home appeared in a dictionary, this would be the definition. She’d
seen the dreams so often that she knew exactly what would produce smiles in
each and every one. There was no need for any other action. She just repeated
the process.
That was enough for Anri.
She was fine with the happiness in her dream being a simple, predictable,
repetitive process. That was what it took to get her to smile. She could relive the
same dream over and over without growing tired of it.
She convinced herself that this was true happiness. And she was truly happy.
Perhaps it didn’t look like happiness to someone else, but this was the world
of her dreams. No one else could see it for themselves.
In her dreams, she was in early elementary school. She would talk to her
dream parents with a face full of innocence.
“Mom, Dad, we’ll be together forever and ever.”
Her parents grinned and nodded, and the dream ended there.
It was the same dream every single time, and it ended at the same point every
single time.
Together forever and ever. It was like a magical mantra that ensured she
would have the same dream the next night.
The same process. The same happiness.
She felt that happiness over and over and over, as regular and predictable as
breathing.
And on this particular day, just like any other day, she would wake from that
dream.
Anri’s eyes opened to take in the morning sunlight filtering through her
curtains.
The sleepiness was gone. The last words she spoke to her parents in the
dream were always the alarm that snapped her out of the final REM sleep of the
night.
Anri stretched and hopped off the bed to trot to the bathroom in her pajamas.
Before she washed her face, she looked at her reflection in the mirror—
blurred without the help of her glasses—and smiled.
But when the reality of her parents’ death set in, the smile faded a bit, turned
cynical and self-deprecating.
Anri’s parents were dead.

It had happened five years earlier. So she would never again taste the
happiness that she found in her dreams.
It was in her dreams that she sought what was impossible in reality.
It wasn’t that she could have whatever dream she wanted. In fact, the first
time she had the dream, she hadn’t been hoping for it.
In the dream, she just lived with her parents, with no upheaval or excitement.
But after they died, she began having the dream more and more often. Now she
experienced it every single night.
A popular theory said that dreams were the brain subconsciously processing
memories, but that would mean that her brain cells were processing the same
things over and over. Taking out something that was already neat and ordered,
then rearranging it into the exact same pattern. If that process was completely
pointless, Anri certainly didn’t let it bother her.
At first, it felt completely empty.
Dreams were hollow things, producing nothing, providing no solace.
But as the dream came to her again and again, Anri changed her mind very
quickly.
Was it really just a hollow fiction?
Yes, the table and the meal sitting atop it were false. No amount of eating
would provide her real body with any nutrition.
But what about the emotion?
In her dreams, Anri felt happiness. She felt her heart being at ease.
Was an emotion produced by a fiction really false? Did that mean the
emotions she felt when watching a movie were utter lies as well?
No. That wasn’t true.
Anri denied the fiction. Movies weren’t fiction. Whatever happened on the
screen was real. And if that was true, then the events in her dream that moved
her heart were just as real.
Since then, Anri had the same dream every night.

She indulged in a happiness of her own creation, over and over and over…
But in the real world, she was just a bit—just a bit further away from
happiness.
The horrible incident that had taken her parents’ lives was five years in the
past.
And Anri Sonohara still couldn’t find where her life belonged.
At the same time that Celty bolted out of her apartment, Anri Sonohara was
wandering.
All through Ikebukuro without a destination.
The end-of-term exams were over, and only graduation and the end of the
school year ceremonies were left. So she walked about the town with a goal in
mind.
A goal, but not a destination.
She didn’t know where she should go, but she wasn’t in a mood to hang
around her house. So she wandered the neighborhood.
The night was cold despite the imminent arrival of spring, and its chill winds
tore mercilessly through Anri. She took in the sights of the town through her
glasses as she walked and suffered the cold.
The usual waves of humanity. It seemed like the ratio of yellow bandannas
was higher than before, but she didn’t give it any more thought than that.
As the various people walked past her with their own various troubles in
mind, Anri sought out just one of them.
Haruna Niekawa.
Anri was wandering the night in search of the girl one year her senior. She
hadn’t been back home. Once school had wrapped up, she came out here still
dressed in her uniform. Raira Academy allowed for students to wear private
clothes, but the uniform looked good and was suitably warm in the winter, so
plenty of people wore it.
But when it came to the city at night, that number dropped precipitously. If
you were out at night, chances were high that you’d still be out very late, and
wearing a uniform just meant it was easier to be singled out by the police.
Anri wasn’t planning to be wandering the streets that late, but she didn’t
know what the most effective time to return home was, either.
“…What should I do?”
It was an honest lament of her present situation.
So why was Anri searching for Haruna Niekawa?
The answer to that question came earlier in the afternoon.
And the cause was nothing other than Nasujima’s fixation on her.
“Hey, Anri… Have you finished all your preparations for the Raikou
Festival?”
The Raikou Festival was an event held the day after graduation along with the
remaining students of the school, a type of thank-you party. Participation was
optional, but because the class representatives of the underclassmen were central
to the planning, Anri and Mikado were enrolled by default, and the preparations
for the event were ongoing.
It was after school, and Anri was walking the empty halls on her way to get
ready to leave, when Nasujima’s imposing face loomed up, as though he’d been
waiting to ambush her.
“Well, Anri? You’re here awfully late again… Is everything all right?”
“Um, yes…”
She felt a small measure of unease and fear at the fact that he was calling her
Anri now. If he’d started off calling her that, she would have told herself he was
just one of those teachers who used first names…but until recently, he was
calling her Sonohara. Now she was Anri to him.
It made her feel like the distance had suddenly shrunk between them. Perhaps
that was exactly Nasujima’s intent.
After she saw her personal bullies attacked by the slasher and had to undergo
police questioning, Anri was nearly caught by a TV interviewer for a segment.
She barely managed to escape, thanks to the arrival of Mikado, who had come
out of concern for her. But given the stress of the encounter, she took several
days off of school to let things calm down.
The final exams were starting just as she came back, and thanks to her
diligent studying, she did just fine on the tests. Things were slowly getting back
to normal, until…
“I thought you’d still be taking a break from school. Why didn’t you just tell
me you were feeling better, Anri?”
She had no reason to report something like that to an instructor who wasn’t
even her homeroom teacher. She didn’t tell him anything specific at all, but
Nasujima kept badgering her.
“Don’t you know how worried I was? They say that Nomura was the one who
got attacked, and she was apparently one of those bullies harassing you… Why
were you together? Were they picking on you again? I’m worried for you…so,
so worried. But more importantly, I’m worried about that street slasher. I know
you said you didn’t see a face on TV, but the slasher might think you did see
him!”
He had found his perfect excuse—feigned concern over the incident. The
other teachers simply avoided the topic out of consideration for Anri, or ignored
her to sidestep the trouble entirely, or showed obvious and honest concern—but
Nasujima was the first to reference the attack directly to her face.
Today was the first time she’d seen Nasujima since coming back to school. It
was almost as though he’d been waiting to catch her in another lonely situation
with no one around.
“Are you sure you want to be waiting around here this late? Don’t you think it
would be safer to have someone escort you home?”
He wasn’t even bothering to hide it. Anri’s willpower helped her resist the
urge to turn her face away in disgust.
She just wanted to live in peace and quiet.
Her dreams every night gave her the happiness she needed. So she didn’t
expect much from reality. She just wanted to avoid trouble.
That was exactly why she wasn’t sure if she should reject the teacher’s
advances explicitly. She was already garnering enough attention because of the
slasher attack. If she raised a fuss about sexual harassment from a teacher next,
that attention might turn against her.
Besides, even if she complained to someone about Nasujima’s actions, what
he was actually doing wasn’t against any rules. The best she could do was raise a
new rumor among the girls, and that was altogether too risky. If Nasujima
claimed that she was the one who tried to seduce him, she might be forced to
transfer schools.
She was fine with being shunned. She felt that no matter what happened to
her, Mikado and Masaomi would take her side and believe her. That showed how
much she trusted them, but it also caused her to realize something else.
I really am just leeching off of Ryuugamine and Kida after all.
But she didn’t feel much regret about this. That was just the way she lived.
The problem was that the teachers and the school system were not that simple
to deal with. If she caused a stir and caught the wrong kind of attention, the
school might grow concerned with outward appearances. In that case, Anri
would be forced to transfer whether she liked it or not.
On the other hand, she couldn’t just let Nasujima continue to have the wrong
idea about her. If she didn’t stand up to him at some point, her peace of mind
would be threatened in a different way. In fact, it already was.
In normal circumstances, she could just come out and say it plainly. But now,
when Nasujima was in what Masaomi might call his “blown-fuse” mode, there
was no telling how he might react. On the other hand, if she tried to be subtle
about it, he wouldn’t pay any attention.
Anri was so troubled about this turn of events that she started treading down
the path toward the worst possible conclusion: that transferring schools was her
best option.
Transfer… Yes, that’s an option…
As she weighed the idea, Anri recalled a piece of information that Masaomi
had taught her—and decided to try to rattle the teacher a bit.
“…Then, do you think I should hide myself by transferring schools…?”
“N-no! You shouldn’t worry about that. The security here is absolute. You
know that, right?”
Anri recalled an event a few days after the start of school, when a man in
black and a mysterious motorcyclist went on a violent rampage, but she chose
not to bring that up. It occurred to her now that it was the Black Rider that the
whole city was talking about, but that didn’t matter now. She ignored it.
“But…I was seen wearing my school uniform…and there are plenty of other
schools in the area that I can attend… And, um…Miss Niekawa transferred to a
local school, didn’t she?”
Nasujima’s expression shifted dramatically within an instant.
His reddish, tanned face rapidly went pale blue, and though his eyes were still
pointed in Anri’s direction, they were losing focus and looking through her to a
point far in the distance.
His eyeballs rattled and shook as he regained his focus, and he put on a smile
that didn’t extend beyond his mouth. He spoke hesitantly, trying to ascertain
where she was coming from.
“Wh-what’s this, Sonohara? You know Niekawa?”
“No, not directly… I just remember when people were saying she transferred,
since she had an uncommon name,” Anri replied, looking away slightly.
Nasujima’s eyes were still shaking. “Ah, I…I see. Y-yeah, Niekawa was my
student last year. I think she moved to a school in west Ikebukuro. But hey, that
doesn’t really matter, does it?”
He was trying to force the conversation to a different subject, and it showed.
Anri was now certain that something had happened between Nasujima and this
Niekawa girl, and it was the cause for her transfer.
But why was he so panicked now? Anri couldn’t help but wonder, but no
matter what it was, it had nothing to do with her.
“Well, sir, I should be going.”
She bowed politely so as not to sound nasty and turned to leave. What she
didn’t see when she turned her back was that Nasujima’s hand reached out to
grab her shoulder, only to swing through empty air.
Rather than following or trying to pull her back, Nasujima stayed put, his
menacing face looking even darker and uglier as he watched her go.
The expression contained elements of anger, of longing, and terror that she
might be onto something about him…
Only Nasujima knew exactly what that was, and when the school bell rang
emptily down the hallway, it wiped the look off of his face.
I’m such a horrible person.

Anri was calmly analyzing her own actions as she watched the night streets in
search of Haruna Niekawa. Technically, it wasn’t correct to say that she was
“searching” for Niekawa. She had no trail, no clues to follow, so it was less a
search than a chance to sort out her own thoughts under the guise of searching
for the girl.
If she somehow managed to find Niekawa, what would she even ask? How
would she approach her? There was no way she could walk up out of the blue
and ask, “Were you in a relationship with Mr. Nasujima?”
Even if I don’t ask directly, I might be able to figure out that there was
something between them…and that could be the leg up I need to “convince” Mr.
Nasujima to leave me alone.
It didn’t need to be anything major. She just needed material that she could
use to keep him away from her.
I really am horrible.
She was using Haruna Niekawa’s past as a tool to put distance between
herself and Nasujima, knowing full well that the girl probably bore emotional
scars from that past.
Anri knew that she was a shallow, self-interested person, but she had no
intention of changing her plan.
In the end, I value my own peace of mind most of all. That’s why I’m going to
use Miss Niekawa as a stepping-stone. I’m an awful human being. But maybe I
actually enjoy this way of life.
Right after school started and Mikado helped her out of trouble, he’d seen
right through that aspect of her and pointed it out.
But…he decided to be my friend anyway.
After the loss of Mika Harima, her previous host, this was a pure joy to Anri,
and it was why she was determined not to let Nasujima ruin it for her.
She wandered the town.

Searching for the shadow of Haruna Niekawa.
I wonder if she truly loved him. Or if she regretted the way she lived her life.
How did she feel about Mr. Nasujima?
It was a matter of personal curiosity. While the information wasn’t necessary
to Anri, she found herself more and more intrigued by those details in the hours
since she’d escaped from Nasujima.
There was a reason for that curiosity. Something had been wrong with
Nasujima earlier.
The reaction he had when she mentioned Niekawa’s name wasn’t just panic at
the thought of his relationship to her being revealed—there was actual fear
mixed in.
Not the kind of fear of losing his job if those salacious details were made
public. Those things were already the subject of Masaomi’s rumor mills, and if
he was afraid of being fired, he wouldn’t be messing with a student.
What had happened between Nasujima and Niekawa?
While the mystery was alluring, Anri forced herself to suppress the curiosity.
It was an emotion she didn’t need in the life she’d chosen for herself.
“Excuse me, miss.”

Anri looked up with a start when she realized the voice was directed at her.
There were two policemen standing dead ahead.
“Y-yes…?”
Anri was confused, thinking that they were going to take her in for more
questioning. She’d told them everything she knew about the attack. What more
could there be?
But the policemen didn’t know that she was a witness in the recent attack.
One of them pointed to his watch and warned her with concern in his voice, “It’s
almost eleven o’clock. You should be home by now.”
“Oh…”
Anri was surprised to learn that she’d been walking the town for so long.
Thanks to the frequency of the slasher attacks, the number of police patrols was
through the roof now.
As a result, the number of minors out enjoying Ikebukuro late at night was
vastly decreased. Of course, most people who stayed out late had moved on to
other night districts like Shibuya to continue their business.
“Oh, already? S-sorry, I’ll go home right away!”
“Take care, miss.”
Her straitlaced appearance apparently helped her escape any further
questioning, but if she didn’t go right home, she’d only end up in actual trouble
before long.
Anri bowed several times to the officers and started on her way home.
“Hang on. If your home is nearby, shall we escort you there?” he asked in a
voice devoid of Nasujima’s ulterior motive.
If they were offering, perhaps she ought to take them up on it. In all honesty,
though, Anri felt more worried about an ambush from Nasujima than from the
slasher.
She didn’t think he would stoop to that, but there was no eliminating that
nagging possibility in the back of her mind.
I might as well…
But just as Anri opened her mouth to respond, both officers suddenly raised a
hand to one ear, their faces serious. She realized that they must be wearing
earpieces and receiving some kind of message.
“…Roger that. We’re on our way. C’mon, Mr. Kuzuhara.”
“Sorry, young lady. We’ve got something to respond to. Take care on your
way home. If you want, you can also stop by the police box next to the Parco
and wait for an escort.”
The officer named Kuzuhara and his younger partner melted into the night
crowd.
“Ah…”
Anri tried to stop them for just a moment, then sighed and turned back on her
way. She didn’t desire an escort enough to wait around at the police box for one,
and if they were going to break up a fight, there was no telling when they’d be
back.
Anri turned her back on the bright town and headed down a silent, empty side
street. If she went straight down this way, her apartment would be just ahead, she
told herself to calm her nerves.
But she didn’t realize that she was being followed.
The eyes watching Anri’s back were red, so red.

Redder than anything…
“Demon blade?” Shizuo read off of Celty’s screen, raising an eyebrow.

When she tore out of the mansion and headed back to pick up Shizuo as she’d
promised, Celty knew she owed him a proper explanation. She couldn’t help but
worry, though, that he’d punch her when he read the term demon blade.
“Yes, I know it sounds unbelievable…but it’s a sword with a mind of its own
that possesses people.”
Even as Celty typed it out in all seriousness, she realized how stupid it all
sounded.
Who’s going to believe in this nonsense?
“All right, gotcha. Let’s go.”
—?!
“You believe me? I mean, I’m not sure if I believe it myself yet,” Celty said
incredulously. Shizuo looked directly at her, wonder in his eyes.
“Is this demon blade weirder than a motorcycle steered by a Headless Rider
driving sideways along the wall of the Tokyu Hands building?”
“…Good point. My bad.”
She didn’t bear any fault, but Celty couldn’t help herself from apologizing.
Shizuo was already on the rear of the bike, though, balancing himself expertly as
he waited for the driver.
“A blade dies if you snap it in half, right? And hell, I’ll still kill it, whether it
can die or not,” Shizuo muttered, quiet rage smoldering in his eyes. It was as
though the murderous rage that had built up within him during work was boiling
itself into a caramelized state.
Celty found that both reassuring and terrifying. She straddled the motorcycle,
feeling the same nerves she felt that one time she transported nitroglycerin.
The dullahan’s familiar, that pitch-black bike, took its terrible, ferocious
engine whinnying into the night.
Thus the accumulation of power focused into a single point known as Shizuo
Heiwajima joined the speedy engine known as Celty Sturluson in prowling
Ikebukuro without a clear destination, exuding a different kind of fear from that
which the stalker spread…
Meanwhile, a strangled yelp sounded inside a van crawling around Ikebukuro.
“You have to stop… You have to stop replacing the word brief with
ephemeral and thinking that makes your sentences sound cooler!”
“Is this that age where you like taking contrary opinions on everything,
Yumacchi?”
“Denying all the common sense of ordinary adult opinions might make you
more popular with antisocial teenagers…but stop thinking that way, too! Stop
saying that all power is evil, when you don’t have the knowledge or
determination to back that up! If you got wrapped up in some violent nonsense,
you’d be begging the power of the police for help, and you know it!”
“You’re at that age where you think bashing ideology and society makes you
look cool, but all it does is make you shallow. The thing is, actual adults are
smart enough to take that social criticism and write cool stuff about it.”
Yumasaki was bellowing as he read passages from a book in his hands, while
Karisawa inserted her own barbed reactions. Their back-and-forth woke up
Kadota, who stretched in the backseat.
“You idiots. Whether a book is shallow or deep, as long as it suits your taste,
who cares… And I don’t think I’ve ever heard Yumasaki making fun of a book
before. What’s he reading?”
“Oh, um…well…”
Yumasaki was at a loss for words. Karisawa cackled at her partner’s
consternation and answered for him.
“Oh, it’s this novel he self-published a while back.”
“…Okay, I have a whole lot of comments about that, but I’ll save them. More
importantly, I know that it’s rich of me to say this when I was just taking a nap,
but can you seriously get to collecting intel? One of our group was attacked,
remember? Put the same effort into it as when Kaztano was kidnapped.”
Kaztano was a foreign guy in their group. Rumors said he was an illegal
immigrant, but they didn’t care about that. When Yagiri Pharmaceuticals’
henchmen abducted Kaztano a while back, Yumasaki and Karisawa developed a
number of horrendous torture methods on the men responsible.
“Okay, but Dotachin, Kaztano is our friend, so that’s one thing. But we don’t
actually know the person who got hit. I mean, just because they’re in the Dollars
doesn’t mean…”
“Seriously? You can’t even have the courtesy to shed a tear for someone
else?”
One of the Dollars had been hit by the street slasher, and yet Yumasaki and
Karisawa were carrying on like any other day. Kadota knew that was both their
weakness and their strength, but he felt it was worth the warning anyway.
“I think it’s sad, but I choose to feel nothing.”
“I cannot forgive the slasher, but I choose to feel nothing.”
Kadota raised an eyebrow at the phrase they repeated.
“…What do you mean?”
“In my heart.”
“…Is this another stupid manga or novel phrase?”
“Yes, it’s from Lunatic Moon. Heh-heh, whenever something bad happens,
you just shut your heart and feel nothing. Life’s a breeze if you never let your
emotions get heightened.”
Kadota cut Yumasaki off before he could explain more of his twisted views
on life.
“I told you, stop assuming that everyone in the world has read the same books
as you have! Anyway…is it true that you actually want a breezy life?”
“My desire for a tumultuous life of excitement is powerful, but I choose to
feel nothing. But enough about that. Recently I realized something. For one,
there aren’t seven mystical balls that once gathered will grant any wish. Also,
there isn’t a shrine near my house that houses a magical fox spirit named Kugen
that transforms into a beautiful girl. Also, there’s some road construction
happening at night out in front of my place, but there aren’t even any vampires
working there! Plus the Black Rider won’t grant my wishes, and the dream
demon babe hasn’t shown up since then!”
Wait, you seriously didn’t know all of those things until now? Also, what the
hell is this dream demon he keeps bringing up?
Kadota had no end of questions to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to
overcome the sad, fiery look in Yumasaki’s eyes.
“So you see, I’ve learned patience and self-control! I don’t ask for much; I
just want a simple, peaceful life! Basically, I just want to visit abroad and adopt
an adorable little girl with green hair, then move back to Japan right next door to
three beautiful sisters and have a heartwarming life, that’s all! Is that too much to
ask?!”
“Is that Yotsuba&!? That’s Yotsuba&!, isn’t it?” Karisawa interjected,
grinning madly. Kadota finally came to his senses and shut down the fun.
“First of all, yes, it’s too much to ask, and second of all, shut up about manga
already!”
“Eeep!” Yumasaki shrieked, shrinking into a ball.
Kadota turned away with a huff and looked out the window. “This is about
the spot where the girl from Raira got slashed last month,” he muttered.
They were crawling along a road a short way away from the business center.
Kadota was irritated that one of their group had been attacked, yet they still had
no information about it. So they rotated around to the various attack locations.
He was hoping to discover some kind of common link between them, but so far
they’d had no luck.
Behind him, Yumasaki was already babbling on about if they drew a diagram
that connected all the attack locations, a demon would be summoned at the
center. At this point, Kadota realized it would be pointless to tell him off.
As he grumpily stared out the window, his eyes eventually settled on a single
teenage girl walking on her own.
She had glasses and plain, undyed hair, which suggested that she wasn’t
looking for trouble. It was almost unnatural to see someone like her, wearing her
school uniform and everything, out this late.
“Ah, geez, how careless can you get? This is exactly what gets you targeted.
Doesn’t even have to be by the slasher—she could easily get abducted by folks
like us driving a creepy-lookin’ van around,” he grumbled. After they passed the
girl, he turned his eyes back to the road ahead…until he noticed the presence of
a suspicious man.
His age was uncertain. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about his
outfit, except that he was wearing a rather thick coat, given that the weather was
warming up lately.
But far more notable than that…
“Were that guy’s eyes…red?”
Was Officer Kuzuhara back there…the father of that Kuzuhara boy from the
Discipline Committee at school? Anri wondered, noting the similarities in the
faces of the policeman she’d just encountered and the boy from her class. Her
apartment was just about to come into view.
She suddenly stopped in the middle of the street, which was neither wide nor
narrow.
It was the very spot where Anri’s bully had been attacked.
She dropped her eyes to the asphalt. There were no bloodstains anymore.
Why did that happen?
Anri shook her head, feeling miserable. Was it just simple coincidence that
the girl was cut down right before her eyes? Or was there some kind of fate at
work?
Maybe…in fact, it must have been…
Just as she was searching for an answer within her memory…
A man stood right behind her.

He pulled a blade out of his coat and took a silent step forward.
The blade swung high up into the night air.
“Oh, shit! He’s got a weapon!”

Togusa’s shout from the driver’s seat shot through the van. Kadota and the
others looked forward through the windshield from the backseat to see a tense
scene playing out.
At the side of the road was the uniformed girl, face down and back turned—
and a man in the middle of the road raising a blade and slowly approaching her
from behind.
Kadota had noticed the man’s odd behavior and told Togusa to turn the van
around after they’d passed originally, and they were finally at the same street
heading the other way—and sure enough, they were witnessing the slasher at
work at this very moment.
But he already had his weapon in the air. He didn’t seem to notice the lights
or engine noise of the van, as he didn’t turn toward them in the least.
Yet they were still too far away to reach him if they got out of the car and ran.
Kadota thought for a second and called out to the driver, “Togusa, can you do
something crazy?”
The sharp-eyed driver jammed down on the gas pedal, clearly anticipating
what Kadota was about to say. He delivered the expected order.
“Run him over.”

A car horn blared, jolting Anri back to reality.
She quickly pressed her back to the wall and looked toward the headlights to
see a large van barreling down.
And just in front of her, there was a man with full red eyes, holding a blade
pointed at her.
“Red” eyes could certainly be explained as so bloodshot that the whites
appeared red. But there was too much blood involved here, if that was the case.
There was no white left in his eyeballs. They were simply points of glinting
black pupil in the midst of red spheres.
“…!”
Anri grasped the situation and was turning to run—
—when the van slammed into the slasher with merciless force.
Celty and Shizuo patrolled the streets of Ikebukuro without a clear destination.
Shizuo was wearing a pitch-black helmet, hastily fashioned out of shadow by
Celty.
It wasn’t for the sake of avoiding trouble with the vastly increased number of
police officers out. After all, Celty’s motorcycle didn’t have a license plate or
even a headlight and chases with traffic cops were a regular occurrence for her.
But if that happened tonight, Shizuo stood to wind up in trouble if his face
was spotted. So she made him a full-faced helmet to hide his identity. Of course,
he was still in his distinct bartender’s outfit, so anyone who knew him would
recognize him anyway.
Still, I can’t aimlessly wander around without any leads.
Barely any of the attacks had occurred in the bustling shopping district, and
there were too many cops. But even the full police force didn’t have enough men
to stake out every single street, so Celty was able to travel around using back
alleys.
If the Saika in the chat is the actual slasher, today’s attack was already
announced in advance.
If she wandered around too much on her own, people might assume that the
Black Rider had to be the street slasher, but the danger of that was lessened if
she had a passenger with her, Celty assumed. That made Shizuo’s presence a
bonus, it seemed, but…
I was naive.
While they were waiting at a light, some people with yellow bandannas
decided to stare them down. Celty was used to this and perfectly content to
ignore it—but today she had Shizuo with her.
He stepped down off the idling bike and walked over to the youngsters before
Celty could stop him.
“When you point a knife at someone, you lose the right to complain if they
kill you in self-defense,” he started to lecture, his helmet still in place. The
young men, who weren’t carrying any knives, were completely baffled.
He continued to deliver his sermon to the Yellow Scarves, who were looking
more irritated by the moment.
“Listen, stares can kill. Whether it’s a curse or a magical death stare, the
possibility of it killing a person is at least as high as
0.00000000000000000000000000000000000675 percent.”
The boys’ misfortune was that Shizuo’s helmet covered his face and that they
didn’t notice the significance of his bartender’s outfit. The Yellow Scarves
hadn’t realized that they’d picked a fight with none other than Shizuo
Heiwajima.
“Huh? Dude, what the hell are you talking ab—?”
“I’m saying, if you stare down a man, you aren’t gonna complain if he kills
you, are ya?!”
What followed was ten seconds of absolute hell.
Shizuo clobbered the three men in an instant. He didn’t just accept their
challenge; he welcomed it.
Celty pulled him away and drove off, but there was no doubt that multiple
police officers would be converging on the scene in no time.
Even as they rode away, they passed two officers rushing in the other
direction. She recognized one of them, a pushy senior patrol officer at the local
police box named Kuzuhara.
Crap, crap, crap.
She wheeled the bike around to avoid attention and sent it racing in the
opposite direction of where the officers had come from. She didn’t want any
police attention right now.
Once they were safely free, they resumed their steady patrol of the local
streets. Suddenly, the part of Celty’s shadow that acted as her sense of hearing
picked up the honk of a car horn, followed by a hard collision.
As Anri pressed herself against the wall, wide-eyed, a number of people got
down out of the van.
“Is he dead?”
“That was really messed up, Kadota! How can you act like this, just after I
was telling you about my desire for a life of tranquillity?!”
Karisawa and Yumasaki didn’t seem to be fazed in the least by the events.
Only Kadota looked nervous as he stared down the street.
A few yards away from the van, a man lay sprawled out on the pavement.
There were no major external wounds to be seen, and there didn’t appear to be a
pool of blood on the asphalt, either. There was a kitchen knife at least a foot long
in his right hand.
Kadota eyed the knife and muttered, “Ahh, I see… It’s a little too short, but
someone in a panic who didn’t know any better might confuse it for a katana.”
After he was struck by the van, the man flew through the air and sprawled out
magnificently upon impact with the ground. He hadn’t budged since then.
Suddenly, the figure rose.
“!”
The silhouette got to its feet. His left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle.
With the knife still gripped in his other hand, the bloodshot eyes glared straight
at Anri.
“?!”
He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. The middle-age man
awkwardly began to stumble in Anri’s direction.
“Hey! What the hell?!”
Kadota’s group, assuming he was coming after them, were taken flat-footed
for an instant—then snapped into action to stop the man. But he only paid them
an instant’s notice, swiping the knife sideways with incredible force.
“Whoa!”
The tip passed just in front of Kadota’s nose with tremendous speed.
Yumasaki and Karisawa behind him actually felt the breeze from the swing.
The slasher kept swinging with the same force, bouncing back and forth like a
spring-loaded toy. Like a fan whose blades were all knives. The group couldn’t
very well do the child’s game of stopping this fan with a finger—they were
completely taken aback.
But the man wasn’t even looking at them anymore.
He created an entire impassable sphere of spinning knife, gradually bringing
the sphere closer and closer to Anri.
“Stop, you idiot!”
It was too late to hit him with the car again. Kadota recognized the gravity of
the situation and was prepared to charge in at the risk of personal injury…
But the moment he began to step forward, a shadow passed by Kadota’s side.
Celty’s motorcycle, engine on silent, plunged right into the slasher while
doing a wheelie.
The underside of the tire tore right through the knife’s sphere of range,
flattening the man beneath it.
Stunned by the series of action-movie scenes unfolding before her eyes, Anri
didn’t even conceive of running away.
“Ah…”
Then she realized that it was none other than the infamous Black Rider who
had saved her and gasped with surprise.
The bike rode straight over the man and came to a stop a short distance away.
There were two people on it—behind the monstrous black-suited rider was a
man in a bartender’s outfit who slowly stepped off. The rider followed him and
turned to face the group.
“The Headless Rider…and…Shizuo?!” Kadota blurted out, recognizing the
helmeted man in the bartender’s outfit. But the instant he said the name Shizuo,
the slasher on the ground suddenly sprang to his feet again.
“?!”
As Kadota and the others looked on in shock, the man finally spoke.
“Shizuo… So you’re…Shizuo Heiwajima? Is that so? Are you
Shizuo…sweetie?”
Kadota murmured, “Huh? Is he…a queen?”
“No, Dotachin, you’re not actually a drag queen unless you’re dressed as a
woman,” Karisawa explained patiently, but no one cared.
“Oh, I’ve been dying to meet you… I’ve been waiting and waiting and
waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting…tee-hee!”
While his appearance was male, his speaking style was unmistakably
feminine.
But even more alienating than that was the fact that there was no hint of
damage from the way he was speaking, despite separate collisions with both a
van and a motorcycle.
Shizuo took a quiet, menacing step forward and said, “Okay, I’m killing you.”
“I’m so happy… Finally, finally, we meet. My beloved.”
“You’re happy, huh? Then I’ll kill you.”
This conversation makes no sense, Celty and Kadota thought simultaneously,
but neither wanted to set Shizuo off, so they kept that to themselves.
“I love you, Shizuo Heiwajima.”
The middle-age man spoke words of love in a feminine tone to a person he’d
never met before. Add to that the redness of his eyes, and it was clear he was not
sane.
I see. He must be under the demon blade’s spell. I just didn’t expect it to be a
kitchen knife…
Celty reached out a hand to Anri, who was slumped on her behind against the
wall.
“Eeek!” she shrieked, but when she realized the Headless Rider meant her no
harm, she timidly grasped the hand and used it to get to her feet.
“Are you okay? Not hurt?”
When Anri saw the message on the PDA screen, she looked with surprise at
Celty’s helmet. The only thing visible in the black visor was the reflection of the
streetlights, and nothing beyond.
“Oh…yes. I’m…fine.”
“Well, that’s good. You might want to keep your distance,” Celty typed for
Anri, who was barely able to respond.
The dullahan turned to Shizuo and produced a shadow scythe within her
hand, brandished it behind her, and advanced on the slasher.
So after knocking my helmet off last time, now it wants to ignore me entirely…
Irritated by this change in attitude for some reason, she wondered how to deal
with both Shizuo and the slasher now.
Meanwhile, the slasher had stopped talking and was now slowly approaching
Shizuo. He had the knife in his right hand held over at his left hip, an odd stance
that resembled an iai quick-draw position.
But there’s no point to doing an iai if it’s not in a sheath to begin with. That’s
the whole point…
Yet the slasher’s eyes were filled with mad confidence.
Based on the speed with which he swung the knife moments earlier,
something was clearly wrong with him. But the veins still pulsed in Shizuo’s
temples, and he smiled quietly.
“I can’t catch a blade with my bare hands.”
Anyone who knew Shizuo well would understand just how dangerous that
subdued, suppressed smile was. The instant Celty saw it, her goal shifted from
how to crush the slasher to how to keep the slasher from dying.
She’d seen the man’s hardiness for herself when he stood up after she ran him
over with the bike. Even then, she couldn’t possibly envision the man in the
trench coat beating Shizuo.
“So if you wanna wave a knife at me…you can’t complain when I murder
you…”
Shizuo reached out toward the van stopped next to him. The slasher didn’t
know what Shizuo was doing, but the look in his twisted, supremely confident
eyes said that he didn’t care.
“There is nothing you can do to me. You really think you can avoid my
sword? Let me tell you: one millimeter. That’s all it takes—one tiny little scratch
—for you and me to share our love.”
Celty and Kadota were confused by this statement, but Yumasaki and
Karisawa both reacted with surprise and excitement.
“Oh, there must be poison spread on the tip! Poison so powerful just a drop of
it could knock out a dragon!”
“Or how about this? The kind that slowly eats away the victim from the
inside, like with parasites or flower seeds or something!”
Nobody reacted to their nerdy brainstorming. Only the slasher himself put on
a knowing smile. It seemed they might not be that far off.
If that was the case, it meant that Shizuo’s personal fighting style, self-
sacrificial “losing the battle to win the war,” wasn’t an option. Celty suddenly
didn’t feel so confident.
But she needn’t have worried.
Shizuo, still wearing Celty’s shadow helmet, turned to his conveniently
present acquaintance and made a bizarre request.
“Hey, Kadota…I’ll give your door right back.”
“?”
Before Kadota could respond, Shizuo put a hand on the van’s open rear side
door and tore it off the hinges as easily as pulling a ticket apart.
Huh?
It was the opinion of every other person present.

Kadota, Yumasaki, and Karisawa.
Anri.
Celty.
Even the slasher.
He did it one-handed and didn’t show any sign of effort in the process. He
didn’t put all of his weight into it, he just used his arm strength alone to pull the
car door off.
As they all watched him in silence, Shizuo put his fingers through the inside
handle and held the door aloft with his grip alone…pointing it toward the
slasher.
“Uh…”
The slasher seemed to grasp Shizuo’s intention, and unease colored his
features for the first time. His iai stance and his secret wild card that required
only a scratch were rendered meaningless.
Shizuo Heiwajima was using the van door like a giant shield, protecting his
front side from the slasher.
“I live a messed-up life. I ain’t nice enough to fight a man…with my bare
hands!”
The instant he finished speaking, the asphalt at Shizuo’s feet seemed to
explode. The asphalt itself was perfectly fine, but his speed was so great that it
tricked all of the witnesses’ brains into viewing it that way.
The man with the door for a shield hurled himself at the enemy like a
cannonball. Directly in a straight line. Simpleminded in its directness.
But the cannonball was too fast to be dodged. That’s all it came down to. All
of the slasher’s tricks were nullified by sheer speed and strength. No one would
ever know what those tricks were because he hadn’t been given the time to
deploy them.
“No…wait…”
Collision.
First, a whud sound.
Just the sound alone was enough to cause serious damage to the slasher’s
brain, but next came the actual vibration.
He might as well have been hit by an enormous hunk of metal. A vortex of
strength thrust him upward. That hardy body, which had bounced right back
from a collision with a van…
It’s an even stronger impact…than the car?!
But by the time he realized that fact, his body was already afloat on the
current of force transmitted via the slightly upturned shield.
The slasher had no time to think of resisting or breaking free before he was
crushed between the shield and the wall at the side of the street.
The deadly battle against the slasher ended far too quickly, and suddenly the
street was as silent as if nothing had ever happened.
No one spoke for several moments, until Togusa stepped out of the driver’s
seat and asked, “So who do I bill for the door repairs?”
Only then did they regain their senses.
“What do we do with him?” Shizuo asked, gently pulling the door away from
the wall. Behind it was a man whose body was half-embedded in the crumbled
concrete. He peeled off of the wall and crumpled to the ground.
Celty took out her PDA and showed Shizuo her opinion.
“Well, first we have to figure out if he’s being possessed by the blade or just
an actual street slasher doing this under his own discretion. We should take the
weapon away and tie him up until he wakes. If he’s only a puppet, it doesn’t seem
fair to put him at the mercy of the police.”
Assuming he wakes up at all, she thought, examining the man’s face. Huh?
Suddenly, Celty felt as though she recognized that face. She beckoned Shizuo
over.
“What?”
Shizuo was already cooling off from his fury. His face was calm as he looked
down at the man.
The man’s eyes flew open, exposing the bloodred eyeballs.
“!”
Celty and Shizuo both leaped back. The slasher looked at them and groaned,
“I suppose…I can’t handle you. I always knew you were abnormal…”
He seemed to have given up on beating Shizuo. Celty started to type a
question into her PDA, keeping her guard up, but she barely had time to start.
“But if I can’t have you…I’ll settle for her!” the slasher cried, leaping to his
feet.
Right for Anri Sonohara, who was timidly watching events unfold at a slight
distance.
“…Uh,” she stammered, unsure of what was happening.
The man everyone assumed was in critical condition leaped for her, knife in
the air.
Shudd.
A dull sound rang out, and the slasher’s knife plunged deep into her breast.
The breast of Celty Sturluson covered in black shadows.
“—!”
Anri shrieked soundlessly, her entire body tense.
But not a single drop of blood dripped from Celty’s chest. She clamped down
on the wrist holding the knife and extracted it from her chest through arm
strength alone.
Next, she flipped the slasher’s feet out from under him, pulled his hand with
the knife around behind his back, and shoved him into the ground.
His joints locked, the slasher was completely immobilized. Once he realized
that no amount of strength would allow him to move, the man spat with loathing.
“You…you’re not human, are you? Filthy! Abhorrent! How can my pure love
be defiled by such a stupid-looking monster?!”
Well, excuse me, you piece of .
Celty tried out one of the insults she’d liked from the last Tarantino film she
saw and increased her pressure on the arm held behind his back.
There was an odd grunch sound, and the slasher’s arm was suddenly not
where it had been before. The knife fell out of his hand and clattered onto the
asphalt. He had finally gone entirely silent, apparently unconscious at last.
Celty suddenly realized how angry she’d gotten and shook her head to clear
it.
If Shinra found out I’d called this guy a piece of , he’d be so
disgusted. I have to watch myself, she reflected idly.
Celty left the man sprawled out on the ground and looked up at the knife
ahead.
Who would have guessed that Saika was just a kitchen knife?
She assumed that it would be dangerous to touch it herself, so she increased
the shadow density around her hands to twice the normal level before pinching
the handle delicately.
She still didn’t sense anything special from it. Either Shinra was right and the
demon blade didn’t have a presence of its own, or there was no cursed sword to
begin with…
I really should have just asked him if he was Saika.
But in any case, the slasher was dispatched. The only thing left was to wait
for the man to regain consciousness. She could explain the situation to Kadota
and Yumasaki and have them handle the rest.
But for now, the knife needed to be disposed of. If she used Shinra’s
connections, she could probably find a blast furnace to toss it into. She fashioned
a net of shadow to hang from the underside of the motorcycle and stashed the
knife inside of it.
With that out of the way, she pulled out her PDA and started to explain the
situation to Kadota, but Shizuo’s quiet monologue interrupted her.
“What the hell…? I just don’t feel satisfied… Why is that?” he wondered, his
face growing more and more upset by the moment. “Ahh, dammit, I just don’t
feel right… I’m gonna head to Shinjuku and kill Izaya.”
He tossed the shadow helmet back to Celty. It dissipated like mist in her
hands, reabsorbing itself into her body.
Shizuo left the scene with no apparent concern for that otherworldly effect.
No one made a move to stop him, despite his announced intent to commit
murder. They knew that Izaya wasn’t the kind of man who would go down
easily, of course, but first and foremost, none of them felt like they would be
capable of stopping Shizuo.
Karisawa watched him walk away, her cheeks rosy red.
“I just knew Shizu was in love with Iza-Iza all along. I’ve always had the
feeling that behind closed doors, they were actually—”
“That’s not true.”
The answer came from Celty’s PDA, Kadota, and Yumasaki all at once.
Yumasaki covered her mouth with his hands, his heart quaking in his chest.
“If you ever say that within earshot, they’ll pound you into mincemeat!”
Celty tried to imagine the sight of Shizuo and Izaya making love. A feeling of
nausea rushed up from deep within her. Then again, she couldn’t expel anything
from her severed neck but shadows anyway.
It was surprisingly easy to explain matters to Kadota’s group.

She was expecting them to doubt her story, but the mention of a cursed
demon blade got Yumasaki and Karisawa on board immediately with sparkles in
their eyes.
On top of that, when she said that Saika was a demon blade with a female
personality, Yumasaki shrieked something about “moe personification of
inanimate objects” and tried to grab the knife from its storage space under her
bike. The rest of the group battered him to a pulp and tossed him into the van
along with the slasher.
They would be capable of handling the rest. She instructed them to call
Shinra if they needed help, but otherwise everything should resolve itself. If he
was being controlled, he was just another unfortunate victim of the incident—but
given that he attacked Shizuo and still survived, perhaps he should actually
consider himself to be fortunate, Celty tried to tell herself.
If we find out he did nothing wrong, I’ll have to send him some support money
or something…
When she turned around, the girl with the glasses was timidly staring at her.
Oh, I forgot.
Celty stared at the victim and wondered what to do. How much should she
explain? If she chased the girl away, she might call the police. Then again, the
local residents might have heard the uproar and called them already. Celty just
wanted to extract herself from the scene as quietly as possible.
But when she got a better look at the girl’s face, Celty realized something.
She’s the girl I always see with Mikado Ryuugamine…
Mikado Ryuugamine.
The founder of the Dollars was one of the few people who was aware of
Celty’s nature, one of the most secretly influential people in the neighborhood.
And yet, hardly anyone actually knew that Mikado had created the Dollars.
She spotted him in town every now and then, and he was usually in a group of
three.
There was the girl with the glasses right here and another boy with dyed
brown hair and earrings. They were almost always together, so she didn’t know
the full nature of their connection.
The girl looked up at Celty and said sadly, “Umm…thank you for saving
me…”
Despite the timid look on her face, the girl took a major step forward into the
incident that had just engulfed her.
“Um, can you tell me…what’s happening in this neighborhood?”
Ack.
Celty wasn’t hoping for thanks to begin with, but she’d have much preferred
if the girl had just thanked her and run off. But she did have one question of her
own.
Why had the slasher under Saika’s control decided to go after her at the very
end?
Perhaps it was just a desperation move, or maybe he had some other reason.
If that was the case, she couldn’t just ignore the girl.
After a long time to think, Celty shook her helmet in resignation and began
typing away on her PDA, explaining all about the serial slashings happening in
Ikebukuro and even the demon blade Saika…
But once she had finished typing out the whole story, the girl named Anri
asked her something completely unrelated to the incident.
“So, um…about your…”
That question again. Celty inwardly snorted at her own luck. Recently, every
single person who would talk to her asked the same thing. The TVs were
obsessed with the topic of the Headless Rider, so when people found out that she
was actually quite easy to talk to, they all got curious. They couldn’t help
themselves.
She wants to know if I really don’t have a head.
Celty typed out, “Don’t be scared,” imagining the timid girl screaming in
terror, then yanked the helmet off without any fanfare.
Well? Your move.
But Anri was completely silent. As though she were waiting for Celty’s next
comment.
“…You aren’t startled?”
“Uh, well, I know that you didn’t have a head because they said so on TV…
so I wanted to ask why you didn’t have a head…and then I realized what a rude
question that is! I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t anger you!”
The girl bowed in apology, tears in her eyes. Now it was Celty’s turn to be
taken aback.
Shinra, Mikado, the kids in the van, Shizuo…
Are all young people like this now? Celty wondered. She leisurely typed into
her PDA.
“It’s a very long story… If you give me your e-mail address, I can tell you in
detail later.”
She meant it to be considerate to the girl, but Anri replied, “Oh, um…I don’t
have an Internet connection…”
“Oh…too bad. Well, we can’t just stand around here all night…”
Celty was beginning to wonder if she should just go home and leave this all
behind, when Anri lifted her head and spoke with determination.
“Actually…my place is just up ahead. Would you like to come in and have a
cup of tea?”
Late night, near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building
“Welcome home, Celty.”

“I’m back.”
She walked inside to find Shinra waiting for her. It looked like he had nodded
off on his desk while looking something up.
“Man, the researching I did! I was looking up all this different stuff on Saika.
It was really complicated. Very hard to put all the text together into a coherent
picture.”
“I see… Thank you, Shinra.”
“But of course, I’d do a millennium of work in a day for your sake, Celty.
After that, they’ll have to change the definition of the word millennium!”
He laughed excitedly while Celty regretfully typed, “But it’s all over already.
I’m sorry.”
“Huh?”
Celty explained everything that had happened in the day and carefully placed
the shadow-wrapped knife on the table.
“Don’t touch it, you might get possessed.”
Shinra stared at the object on the table with fascination in his eyes. Ten
seconds later he turned to Celty, a question mark floating over his head.
“This…is Saika? It’s just a knife,” he muttered, wide-eyed.
“I know, I was taken aback, too…but the man who was holding it had
bloodred eyes, and he was going on about love and other nonsense and speaking
like a woman,” Celty typed regretfully.
“Ahh… I guess this must be it, then.”
“But what’s the connection between attacking people on the street and love?
That’s the thing I don’t get. Is Saika just a sadist or what?” she asked. It had
been on her mind before, but she didn’t expect to bring it back up, given that the
incident was over now.
“Oh…I guess I didn’t go over that part, did I?” Shinra said, as though it were
obvious or trivial. He made a show of clearing his throat, then leaned back in his
desk chair and began to describe Saika’s desires.
“What Saika wants…is to love a human being.”
The same time, Anri’s apartment
My heart is still racing.

She’d hardly ever had people over at her home. The only ones in the year that
she’d been living here were Mikado and Masaomi.
And today, she had granted entrance to someone she had barely shared
introductions with—and not human, to boot.
This was quite an adventurous move for Anri, but she couldn’t resist her
curiosity about the otherworldly being. Her debt at being saved added to her
momentum, a few other emotions rolled into the mix, and before she knew it, the
Headless Rider was inside her home.
The rider explained many things.
The reason for coming here, what a dullahan was, various experiences in
Ikebukuro, and what little of the homeland remained within the corners of those
memories.
All of these things were vivid and fresh, and Anri noticed that they made her
excited.
They talked about many things, up to the moment the rider left. Anri told her
a bit about herself, but it probably wasn’t very interesting. She didn’t even
remember the things she had said.
I wonder what she thinks about most days. I wonder what she thinks about
human beings.
Even after the excitement faded, Anri thought back on all the things Celty
said.
She said a dullahan knows when a person’s death is approaching…but does
that include unexpected accidents?
She thought back on the incident that changed her life five years ago and
looked down.
If I’d known about it ahead of time…could I have stopped it from happening?
She could wish, but there was nothing she could do about it now. And she
could see her parents every night in her dreams. There was nothing to agonize
over now.
But there was one thing that made her sad in what they talked about. She
thought of bringing it up on numerous occasions, but ultimately, Anri was never
able to bring herself to tell Celty. Once the dullahan left, she felt a terrible regret.
Why couldn’t I bring it up? The topic…of…
Suddenly, her doorbell rang.

Huh? It’s so late!
For a moment, the image of Nasujima’s face floated into her mind, and she
twitched with fear. But then it occurred to her that Celty might have come back,
so she looked through the peephole, careful not to make any sound.
Huh? A…woman?
It was a young woman wearing a uniform.
Anri didn’t recognize her, but she checked to make sure there was no one else
with her, then unlocked the door. She opened it up to reveal an incredibly
beautiful girl with long hair.
She had an adult figure but a face with a hint of innocence left. Her black,
lustrous hair went halfway down her back. In all, she created a tiny little space of
fantastical beauty in the middle of the plain apartment hallway.
“Um…can I help you?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Sonohara.”
The long-haired girl smiled gently in replying to Anri’s hesitant question.
But then she introduced herself.
“My name is Haruna Niekawa.”

Near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building
“Saika loves by cutting? So she is a sadist, after all.”

“No, it’s not quite the same thing. To put it simply, she’s a cursed blade. Her
voice can only reach her master, the one wielding her.”
“Right. So why doesn’t she just love her master?”
“The thing is, Saika wants to love all of humanity.”
“…?”
“Not a specific human. She fell in love with all of humanity as a species. For
us, it would be like a dog lover. A dog person doesn’t just love one specific dog,
they love all dogs. But that hardly ever advances to feelings of romance. No
matter how much you love dogs, hardly anyone wishes to get married to their
dog, and anyone who gets sexually turned on by a dog is a pervert. Then again,
some people are like that…”
“Don’t get distracted.”
“Sorry, sorry! But don’t you see how crucial this is? Anyway, Saika fell in
love with people. At first, it was just something she kept to herself. But after
loving and loving and loving and loving and loving and loving and loving and
loving and loving…thinking of just one human no longer satisfied her. So she
began loving all of humanity, but that sentiment eventually came to a standstill…
She wanted to express her love through action.”
“Action?”
“Yes, action. Humans express love in various ways, right? Through words,
actions for the sake of the other, risking one’s life, offering protection, luring
with money, giving in to lust, doing nothing, picking on or teasing, even killing
them to ensure that they’re yours forever.”
“…And the latter is supposed to be ‘love’?”
“Twisted or not, as long as someone considers it a form of love, then it is. But
Saika is a demonic blade. It has no body with which to love.”
“…”
“All she wanted was to touch someone. She wanted to unite herself with the
flesh of the humans she loved. She wanted to sink into them. She wanted to
insert herself into them.”
“This is starting to get vulgar. But…wait, doesn’t this mean…?”
“Yes.”
“In order to express her love, Saika chose to simply slash all of humanity.
That moment of dissection is the only moment in which she is able to touch
humankind. From flesh to blood to heart to life. See?”
Anri’s place
“Miss Sonohara…do you know why I came…to meet you?”

Anri and Haruna were sitting across from each other at the cheap little table.
Haruna wore a fantastical, confident smile, while Anri’s face was plain with
troubled concern.
Haruna Niekawa. It was the very person whom Anri had wandered the streets
hoping to find earlier that night, but she had no idea why the girl was here. How
had she even found her address?
Haruna was rumored to be Nasujima’s lover but had transferred to another
school, those same rumors said. Anri didn’t know any details beyond that. She
wanted to make contact with Haruna to learn what those details were—but now
that they were face-to-face, she found it hard to ask.
But now there was an opening. Haruna herself had just asked the question:
Why did she come to visit Anri? There was only one obvious commonality they
shared.
“Is it about…Mr. Nasujima?” Anri summoned up her courage to ask. Haruna
gifted her with an angelic smile. Anri took that as an affirmative and hastily
clarified, “Oh, um, but you know I don’t like him at all, right? It’s just dumb
rumors…”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Haruna answered swiftly.
Anri felt relief spread throughout her body. However…
“But I still love Takashi.”
“Huh…?”
Takashi was Nasujima’s first name. It was very strange to hear a girl just one
year older than Anri, still wearing her school uniform, refer to him in such an
informal way.
Feeling that this conversation might be going in an uncomfortable direction,
Anri prompted the older girl.
“Um…were you in a relationship?”
“It was more than just a ‘relationship.’ We were madly in love. We were
happy just confirming that fact, day after day. Forever. Forever and ever…”
Haruna’s eyes stared at nothing as she spoke, positively glowing. She must
have been reliving past memories in her mind.
But just as quickly, her expression clouded over into sadness, and there was
almost mourning in her voice as she looked straight into Anri’s eyes. Her eyes
were beautiful and clear. But there was something eerie about them, an
unfocused nature that made it hard to tell what she was actually looking at.
“But then one day, he rejected me… I was just trying to confirm my love for
Takashi, like always. All I did was try to help our love take shape…”
“Saika manipulates her wielder into attacking over and over. Over and over, she
tries to confirm her love. In order for her love to take shape. In order to make
sure her lover never forgets her…she pierces and wounds her victim’s body and
mind at the same time.”
“As proof of love…?”
“Exactly. That’s how she’s loved. But those incidents only spanned a period
of ten years or so. As the years went on, Saika vanished entirely. It would be one
thing if she’d grown tired of loving and had simply lost interest in humans…but
based on the posts on the Net, I’d say she’s still overflowing with love.”
“Wait, that doesn’t make sense. If she’s been around humans for years and
years, then why were her first messages in the chat room so primitive? That was
Saika possessing a human body and making them type, right?”
“That’s the thing. Could she have forgotten Japanese in the time that she was
gone from human society? This knife is…hmm?”
“What’s up?”
“Huh? Wait…”
Shinra looked back at the knife on the table, exclaiming with curiosity.
Suddenly he reached out and grabbed the handle.
What?!
Celty hurriedly tried to snatch it away from him, but Shinra held tight.
He asked, “Celty…you didn’t examine this in the light, did you?”
“Um, no, I picked it up outdoors. Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t feel
like it’s tightening its grip on your heart or anything?!”
“Not in the least,” he laughed, then dropped a bombshell. “This isn’t Saika.”
“What?!”
“Here, look at this.”
He pointed at a spot on the handle of the knife. There was a small piece of
text carved into the grip.
MADE IN JAPAN 2002
Anri’s place
“Um…what do you mean by…tried to make your love take shape…?”

A cold sweat began to break out on Anri’s palms. The other girl’s abnormal
nature was becoming apparent.
Haruna never let her beautiful smile fade as she spoke. It was as though she
didn’t even hear Anri’s question.
“But then Takashi rejected me. But I don’t hate him for that. After all, I’m in
love with him. I forgive him for everything, including his rejection of me. I love
him so much, I can accept everything he does.”
“Uh, I was asking…”
“But I cannot forgive anyone other than Takashi.”
The smile remained, but her words filled with madness. Anri could sense this
shift, and the sweat began to trickle down her back as well.
“I can forgive Takashi for falling in love with something other than me. But…
I cannot forgive the thing he falls in love with.”
“Uh…”
“Miss Sonohara, you might love Takashi, or hate him, or not care about him
at all—but none of that matters.”
Anri got to her feet as the words of madness reached her ears. Her instincts
were screaming at her that remaining sitting was a dangerous course of action.
“I’m not going to apologize to you, Miss Sonohara. I mean…everything I do
is for the right reasons, for the sake of my love. Why should anyone apologize
for doing the right thing? Why should anyone feel wrong for that?”
She wanted to flee the scene and leave it all behind. But Haruna was not
likely to allow her to do that.
“…”
Anri had already given up on reasoning with Haruna. She knew it wouldn’t
work.
Haruna watched her closely and said, “But you know…it’s not right to use
people. If I want love, I need to take action myself. This is good proof of that…”
“Why would a demon blade that’s been around for decades be made in 2002?”
“No, wait. You have to believe me. I know what I saw.”
“I believe you, Celty. I would never doubt your word. This means the slasher
was always crazy. It had nothing to do with the weapon. He probably just heard
about the legend of Saika from somewhere.”
“I don’t know if I buy that… The man himself was also a victim of the attacks.
Either he was possessed at that time or the demon blade ordered him to cut
himself and thus remove himself from police suspicion…”
“Was it someone you knew?”
“Well, not exactly… It was the magazine writer who came to ask me about
Shizuo at the end of last month. I heard he was attacked later that night,
according to the chat room… When I looked further into it, the attack occurred
right outside his own house.”
“His name was…oh yeah, Niekawa. His name was Shuuji Niekawa.”
Anri’s place
“I thought my dad could do the job better than anyone else…but it didn’t quite
work out.”
What is she talking about?
Anri had no idea what Haruna was saying at first. But what came next,
combined with the look on her face, told Anri exactly what she meant.
Exactly.
“So now…I’m forced to handle my own business. To get rid of my rival in

love.”
Haruna reached behind her back and pulled out a knife.
“Using the power of my very special partner.”
The blade wasn’t even eight inches long. Compared to what the slasher had
earlier, it was much less imposing.
But Anri understood. The girl with her inside the apartment was actually far
more menacing than the slasher. After all…
“I might not love you. But Saika, on the other hand, has all the love in the
world for you…”
After all, when she pulled out the knife, her eyes went a shade of red much,
much, much, much, much deeper and more crimson than the slasher’s had ever
been.
“I know, the chat! What is the chat saying?”

Talking about the writer had reminded Celty of the chat room, so she loaded
the page right away to see if anything had changed.
And change it had.
“What…the heck?”
What she found was not terror. Or unease.

It was simply chilling. A chill that ran straight through her back.
Deep, deep darkness that shunned all.
Something that froze Celty to her core.
Chat room

|I screwed up. I screwed up.|
|The timing was all wrong.|
|How dare you break my sister.|
|Mother’s orders are absolute.|
|The reasons I’ve stayed hidden are all gone now.|
|Now I can use forceful means.|
|I finally met Shizuo.|
|But the connection was lost.|
|I can’t feel her presence anymore.|
|I can’t feel her presence.|
|The timing was all wrong.|
|I screwed up, I screwed up, I screwed up.|
|But I won’t fail this time.|
|I will give my love to Shizuo Heiwajima.|
|If I can love Shizuo, then I’m sure I can love every human in this town.|
|I can love this place humans created called Ikebukuro.|
|Come to me.|
|Come to me again, Shizuo.|
|Come to me and my sisters.|
|We will love you so much more this time.|
|My sisters are the same being as I.|
|This time we will love you all at once.|
|Come to me.|
|Shizuo Heiwajima.|
|Shizuo|
|Shizuo|
|Shizuo|
|If you don’t show|
|I’ll love someone else.|
|I’ll love anyone, anyone, anyone.|
|Everyone, all at once.|
|I’ll love the people of Ikebukuro, love, love, lovelovelovelo|
|velovelovelov|
|elovelovelovelovelovelovelovelove|
|love|
|lovelovelove|
|I’m waiting.|
|I’m waiting.|
|wait|
|I’m waiting.|
|At South Ikebukuro Park|
|At South Ikebukuro Park|
|I’ll be waiting all night at South Ikebukuro Park.|
|Waiting for you, Shizuo.|
|I won’t let the police or ordinary civilians come near the park.|
|There will be plenty of distractions.|
|So don’t worry, Shizuo.|
|Ikebukuro will roil with chaos tonight.|
|But don’t worry, Shizuo.|
|I will be there to love you.|
|I’ll love you, too.|
|And me.|
|And me.|
.
.
.
.
.
And just after Celty checked on the chat room…

Ikebukuro suffered one of the worst cases of assault in its history, as fifty-four
people were attacked randomly on the street at a variety of locations.
Chapter 6: Sword and Stress
It drifted.
And drifted.
Everything drifted away from the boy.
He only wanted to be loved by someone.
He only wanted to love someone.
The shy boy didn’t even have the bravery to control himself.
He was afraid of hurting the one he loved.
So he decided not to love anyone.
Feared, feared, and unloved.
Time evolved the boy into a monster.
If there was a god in this world whose purpose was to control violence,
then the boy must have earned this god’s love.
More than anyone and anything.
Shinjuku
“And why would Shizu be standing right outside my apartment building?”

Izaya Orihara wondered with a smile that could only be described as bitter.
“…Because I’m here to kick your ass, obviously,” replied Shizuo with a
humorless smile. Every other part of his being was overflowing with rage.
They were outside the high-class apartment building in the middle of the
night. Izaya had returned from a trip to the convenience store to find Shizuo just
about to kick the front door of the building down.
He could have left the scene as it was and gotten the police to arrest Shizuo,
but Izaya considered another possibility and realized he had to show himself to
his foe.
I don’t want him barging into my place and finding the head before the police
arrive.
“And why do I deserve a beating?”
“Because I’m feeling pretty aggravated right now.”
“You know, you’re really much too old to be engaging in this kind of childish
logic, Shizu.”
“Shut up. If I had to give another reason…it’s because you’re too damn
fishy,” Shizuo shot back.
A grimace spread over Izaya’s features. “Fishy? What about?”
“This street slasher who’s tearing up my hood… How involved are you?” he
asked directly.
Izaya shook his head exasperatedly. “Why would I be involved?”
“Because ninety-nine percent of all the bizarre and violent things that happen
here are your doing.”
“What, you’re not gonna trust that this one is in the other one percent?”
“If I were able to trust you with even one percent of my being, I think you
and I would get along better… Right, Izaya?”
The veins on Shizuo’s face bulged and popped as he recalled events from the
past. The sight was so grotesque that someone who didn’t know any better
would assume he had some kind of condition.
“And even if there weren’t this slasher going around, ’Bukuro’s been weird
lately. And that’s your fault, ain’t it? What are you plotting?”
“This is quite an accusation,” Izaya stated with a wide smile. He already had
a knife clutched in his hands. Shizuo looked at it and grinned, then put a hand on
the guardrail out in front of the building.
“?” Izaya felt a bit of sweat break out on his skin. He didn’t know what
Shizuo was doing. He’s not going to rip that guardrail out and fight me with it, is
he…?
The problem was, Shizuo Heiwajima was exactly the kind of man who did
the thing you assumed he wouldn’t possibly do. Sure enough, as Izaya dreaded,
Shizuo clenched the hand holding the guardrail tight.
“…Seriously?”
He’d just have to stab Shizuo before he pulled it out of the ground.
The moment Izaya made up his mind to stab the other man, the smile
vanished from his face. When Shizuo noticed that, his own smile got wider: “Do
it, if you can.”
And just as the tension reached its peak, the face-off was interrupted by the
sudden entrance of a shadow.
The black motorcycle appeared without a hint of sound and cut between the
two.
“Well, well.”
“Celty…what do you want?”
She quickly waved Izaya back and showed her PDA screen to Shizuo. It was
a copy of the chat log that she’d saved to the device.
He took some time to read it over. Eventually he squinted and asked, “The
hell is this?”
Shizuo thought for several moments, and with an oddly calm look in his eyes,
he turned back to Izaya. “Is this part of your plot?”
“I dunno what this means, but if I could have calculated that Celty would
randomly show up here, I’d have dropped a meteor on your house by now.”
Shizuo kept watching Izaya for a while after that, then clicked his tongue in
disappointment and got onto Celty’s bike without another word.
He really was hard to handle.

Ever since high school, Izaya had used everything at his disposal to get to
where he was. There was only one person who never acted the way Izaya wanted
him to, and that was Shizuo Heiwajima.
At first, I actually thought I could control Shizu, Izaya thought ruefully to
himself as the motorcycle rode off.
“How does an amoeba like him get so sharp?”
His smile was one of both pure joy and irritation.
“This is exactly why I hate you so much.”
Anri’s place
“I’ve done some research on you,” Haruna said, knife in her hand. She slowly
got to her feet. That angelic smile never left her face, but her eyes were a
demonic red.
“What a stupid, pointless human. Ever since middle school, you’ve been like
toilet paper stuck to Mika Harima’s shoe…and now you’ve begun seducing two
of your male classmates, and you think you can manipulate Takashi as well?”
Her face wore a smile, but there was nothing but pure malice in her words.
Meanwhile, Anri stayed silent, taking in Haruna’s words. Perhaps she was
frantically thinking of what action she ought to take next. But Haruna only
continued her outpouring of contempt. She hurled words of despair and disaster
at Anri, yet her face was as beautiful and holy as a saint announcing the girl’s
end.
“On top of all this…a burglar broke into your home five years ago and killed
your parents? Apparently you claimed that you didn’t see the killer, despite
being in the same room the entire time… How can that be? How did you not see
the killer? How did you survive?”
It was a fact that Anri hadn’t even told Mikado or Masaomi. But her face did
not change expression. She didn’t even open her mouth. It wasn’t a simple
enough matter that she could settle with just facial expressions or arguments,
Haruna knew, but she continued her verbal assault anyway.
“Unless you even tried to seduce the burglar? A girl in elementary school? Do
you suppose he was a pedophile?”
Even after that barb, Anri’s face was placid. It wasn’t that on the inside her
heart was brimming with rage, either. There were only swirling questions.
Why is this happening?
She only wanted a life of peace and tranquillity. What did she do to deserve
this chaos?
Anri tried to view the world within the customary picture frame, but the glint
of the knife in the hands of the other girl did not allow her to withdraw entirely.
Her tranquillity was crumbling to pieces.
Was there no way to go back? Would her uneventful reality never come?
Would it all fall apart, including the eternal dreamworld she’d made for
herself?
There was a solution.
She could just yell something back at the other woman who kept hurling
bullshit at her. She could fight. She could crush her opponent.
But just being forced into making that choice was the greatest suffering of all.
I just don’t want to fight. I don’t want to fight with anything. I don’t want to
compete with anyone. I just want to lead a peaceful life. I only fight when I want
peace. I wasn’t born to waste my life with stupid battles like this…
“It must be easy, living by latching onto other people like a parasite,” Haruna
muttered.
Anri finally found her voice. “…Not easy.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not…easy at all. Living off of others, trying to make sure just the right
person likes you. I agree, parasite is a good term for me. But do you have any
idea how much you need to sacrifice…to ensure the person you’re latching onto
doesn’t drive you off?”
Now there was indeed a kind of strength in Anri’s eyes.
Most people who lived comfortably in the shadow of another person would
become angry and deny it if called out for it. Even they would agree that it
wasn’t a cool or admirable way of life. Anri certainly didn’t think that her choice
was necessarily laudable—but it was a conscious choice that she made for
herself.
She wouldn’t stand for that to be criticized by someone she’d never met until
just now. It was this anger that finally wrung the words out of her.
But Haruna only smirked at her statement. Voice dripping with utter loathing,
she spat, “That’s what you’ve been doing? Sacrificing yourself so that Takashi
will like you…?”
“No,” Anri said, loud and clear. “Mr. Nasujima is not worth doing that.”
She was surprised at how forceful her own response was.
Meanwhile, Haruna’s face had gone stone-still. Her expression vanished
entirely, her red eyes narrowed, and her grip on the knife tightened.
“Oh…? I see.”
Something charged was in the air now, but Anri did not take her eyes off of
Haruna. Just moments ago, she was intimidated by the other girl, but now there
was no hesitation in her actions.
But that didn’t matter to Haruna. All she felt was a desire to kill the girl who
stood in her way and insulted her beloved Takashi Nasujima.
“Die, then,” she mumbled and thrust out the knife for Anri’s throat.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
It was nearly after midnight. Who would be ringing her doorbell at this time
of night? Haruna set her own issues aside for a moment to marvel at this odd
occurrence.
“Is it one of your little friends?” she wondered.
Anri had no idea. Could Celty have come back?
“Well, whatever. I’ll start by stabbing your friend before your eyes—and then
take my time finishing you off afterward.”
The smile was back on Haruna’s face as she crossed the room to the door and
pulled it open.
Time stopped as Haruna and the visitor came face-to-face.
“Nie…kawa?”
“Takashi!”
Anri looked out the door from across the room and saw with surprise that it
was Nasujima.
What is he doing here?
In a way, his appearance was even more shocking than Haruna’s, but that
didn’t matter at this point. Anri decided to stand back and watch what unfolded.
“Ohhh…ahh! Takashi…Takashi, Takashi, Takashi!” Haruna chanted, her
features overcome with emotion and tears.
Nasujima’s reaction meanwhile…
“Aheaaaa!”
He let out a garbled shriek, turned ninety degrees, and raced down the
hallway of the apartment building. He had run away at the first sight of Haruna’s
face.
Huh?
Anri was certainly confused about his appearance at her apartment and didn’t
want to consider what he had planned, but this sight filled her with a different
question.
Why did he run away? Weren’t they supposed to be a couple? She thought
that Mr. Nasujima had forced the girl into it, but now it didn’t seem that way…
So why did he run away?
“Wait, Takashi!”
Haruna started to rush out the door after Nasujima, but she immediately
changed her mind and held back for a moment to warn Anri, “I was hoping to
take care of you on my own…but it seems I don’t have time to deal with you
anymore. So I’ll have everyone else kill you instead.”
“Everyone?” Anri repeated, unsure of what Haruna meant. A moment later,
that clarity came to her in full.
“Actually, Saika wanted to get everyone involved to help love Shizuo…but
I’m glad I convinced her to let me bring a few here.”
Anri realized that several men were now milling around outside the door.
They all carried their own blades—X-Acto knives, kitchen knives, cleavers.
All of their eyes were red.
“These are Saika’s children,” Haruna announced, then raced off into the night
after Nasujima.
All that was left in the now-silent room was Anri and a number of slashers
with weapons held at the ready.
She backed away into the room as the men advanced, blades held high, ready
to begin the slaughter.
South Ikebukuro Park
In the back of Celty’s brain—wherever that brain physically existed—the words

that Shinra uttered after seeing the chat log for himself played back.
“…If you want me to analyze this situation, there’s one thing I can speculate.
“Lots of human beings desire signs and symbols of love when they’re in a
romance. The so-called fruits of love.
“Once two people love each other, they desire something they both love
together. The classic example of that would be children.
“That’s right… Saika’s giving birth. She’s leaving a child in the souls of the
humans she slices.
“Saika really does love people, it’s true.
“She seeks a perfect fusion with man…with humanity.”
There was no way for it to be true, but this case had involved a succession of
no ways happening one after the other. In a way, her own existence was another
thing too bizarre to be true, so she had no right to complain.
Celty focused on her surroundings. She’d arrived at South Ikebukuro Park
with Shizuo in tow. Once the bike was parked in the middle of the park, she
looked around—and muttered to herself.
No way.
She’d thought the park was empty at first. Normally there was at least
someone out there, even in the middle of the night, but there was no one to be
seen at the moment.
Yet the instant that Celty and Shizuo entered the park, silhouettes began to
gather in the corners of the area, seemingly out of nowhere.
Like germs, as the overall number rose, so did the rate of their multiplication.
This pyramid scheme continued for about thirty seconds. Celty and Shizuo were
completely surrounded by humans.
This is way more than fifty people, she noticed.
There was quite a variety to the crowd surrounding them: salarymen, street
punks, young children, housewives, college students…
There were a number equipped with yellow bandannas, as well as several
who looked like Dollars members.
Given the uneven collection of people, Celty and Shizuo immediately thought
of the impromptu meeting of the Dollars that happened one year earlier. There
were two key differences here.
For one, the Dollars probably had greater numbers.
The other difference was that all of these people had their own blades and
their eyes were as red as blood, without exception.
The blades they held were as varied as the people: knives, scissors,
extendable branch pruners, even chain saws.
They had to be the victims of the string of slashing attacks.
No wonder they’d never caught the slasher. Some of the people even had
hospital gowns, as though they’d just escaped in the middle of the night.
All the victims were possessed by Saika and falsified their testimony…
As Celty pondered what to do next, one of the hundred or so people

surrounding them, a teenage girl wearing a Raira Academy uniform, walked up
to act as spokesperson.
“I’ve been hoping to meet you, Shizuo Heiwajima.”
Though Celty and Shizuo wouldn’t have known this, she was one of Anri’s
bullies, the one who was attacked before the girl’s eyes. Her statement passed
straight through Celty to Shizuo, who was still sitting on the back of the
motorcycle.
“You’re so wonderful… I was watching from a distance when you beat my
sister…”
Watching from where? Celty wondered. Then again, with this many of them,
it wouldn’t have been that strange for one to have witnessed the attack. But did
that mean they didn’t actually share consciousness among all of them?
“So I told my other sisters and Mother about your incredible strength… The
Internet’s so convenient, isn’t it? In the past, it was so hard for us Saikas to share
our minds. But now, all you need is a single e-mail,” the teenage slasher
explained, revealing their nature. It was a revelation that she likely made freely,
knowing that Celty and Shizuo would be powerless to do anything about it.
“At first, it was very difficult for our consciousness to understand words…but
now we each have a will just as strong as Mother’s.”
With each word, the circle of people closed in. They were close enough now
that they could all leap in at once and engulf the two, if they wanted.
“Shizuo, we want to know more and more about your strength. We want to
see more of it. This time, in front of the group. Then, I’m sure we can love you
even more than we do now…”
The enraptured girl—no, it was Saika possessing the mind of a girl—inched
closer to Shizuo, waving around her butterfly knife.
Celty finally felt like she had a good understanding of the enemy.
I see… When the victim gets slashed, a new Saika is born within her that
takes over her body. Then, she grabs whatever blade is on hand, and that blade
becomes the means by which a new body is born.
The reason nothing happened to Shinra when he touched the knife was that
the knife itself wasn’t cursed. Perhaps Saika wasn’t a monster or spirit at all, but
a kind of hypnotism. By cutting another person, that fear became a medium
through which to plant itself into another person’s heart. The seed then took root,
just as it did in the attacker, multiplying endlessly. Perhaps that was how it
worked.
So did that make Saika a life-form?
The question passed through Celty’s mind, but she didn’t have the time to
spend considering that thought. She was too busy producing the black scythe
from her hands and wondering how to incapacitate Saika’s victims without
killing any of them.
The girl with the butterfly knife professed her love for Shizuo, mouth twisted.
“Now! Shall we make love? We’ll keep loving you, no matter where, no matter
how, even when you’re too tired to move! We’ll love you without end! And
except for that monster over there, no one is allowed to interfere. Our sisters are
making more and more sisters so we can keep loving the people of this city! The
police will be too busy to stop us!”
The other Saikas followed the girl’s lead in cackling with delighted laughter.
Celty was plenty creeped out, but she was also honestly concerned for
Shizuo’s safety now as well.
Yet the man behind her was not particularly angry or afraid in any way. He
got off the bike and stood before the throng, his face a mask.
“Can I ask you one thing?”
“What is it?”
“Why exactly…do you people like me?”
Celty nearly fell off the motorcycle with the shock of his out-of-place
question.
Get a hint! Are you seriously asking that now?!
But she had no time for arguing at the moment. Meanwhile, the Saika
spokeswoman at the front felt confident enough to indulge his question.
“Because you’re strong.”
“…”
“That preposterous strength…not derived from power or money, but the
absolute extreme of human possibility, the most instinctual and violent strength
possible. That’s what we want. Plus…what human being wouldn’t want to fall in
love with a wild man like you? You’re scary. But we think we’re enough to love
you.”
She broke out of her pose and started to explain their philosophy to Shizuo.
“We love all of humanity. But just loving isn’t enough for us anymore. Just
creating more children with humanity isn’t enough for us anymore. If loving and
loving and loving isn’t enough, we want to rule all of humanity. And to do that,
we need excellent offspring. Powerful specimens like you, for example. Don’t
humans try to leave behind the best possible genes for the future?”
She sounds like a certain dictator, Celty marveled. She checked on Shizuo,
figuring that such a selfish and nonsensical speech would have him exploding
with rage.
“Ha-ha…”
He’s laughing?!
“Ha-ha-ha…ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”
It wasn’t the laughter of someone trying to hide his anger. It was simply
pleasant, delighted laughter.
“Settle down, Shizuo. If it starts to look bad, I’ll do my best to make sure you
escape.”
Was the fact that they were surrounded by a hundred assailants making him
loopy? She waited for him to react. Eventually he stopped laughing and gave his
response to the Saikas’ confession of love.
“Nah, Celty… To be honest, I’m actually happy.”
“Huh…?” This reaction was not what Saika expected, either. The people in
the crowd gave one another confused looks.
“I’ve always despised this strength I was given. I thought no one would ever
accept me for what I am,” Shizuo stated. There was a variety of emotions in his
voice as he spoke of his past.
“The thing is…now I don’t have to worry anymore. Look at how many
people love me. One, two…well, let’s just say ‘a lot.’ So…it’s all fine now,” he
said, grinding his teeth with pleasure.
“I mean, I can accept who I am now, right?” he said, clenching his fists with
enjoyment.
“I can like myself for what I am, right?” he said, his eyes wide with bliss as
he tucked his sunglasses into his pocket.
“This power I’ve tried and tried and tried to get rid of, because I hated it so,
so, so much… But now it’s okay for me to accept it, right? It’s okay for me to
use it, right?
“I can—I can finally use my full power, right?”
And in the next instant, for the first time in his life, Shizuo Heiwajima
willingly used all of his power. Not in the grips of rage, like always…
But out of joy that something loved his power.
What he said next plunged the Saikas into despair.
“Oh, just for the record…people like y’all are not, at all, even the slightest,
my type of partner.
“The one thing I can say for you…is that I only hate you second most after
Izaya.”
Fairly close to the park, on an isolated, empty road, a man and woman were
speaking of love.
The man, his rejection of it. The woman, her overflowing abundance…
“Hey…do you remember?” she said quietly, as the man sat at the side of the
road in terror.
They were standing in the darkened midpoint between streetlight and
streetlight, and an eerie tone dominated the scene. The woman who was the
source of that aura was smiling so radiantly that tears brimmed in her eyes as she
spoke of her love.
“The first time I met you, when you saved me from being bullied… You
helped me with lots of things after that, didn’t you?”
She was staring right into the memories of her past as she talked. On the other
hand, the man saw her face as nothing more than a source of terror.
If you ignored the red eyes, she was quite a pretty girl, and he was the kind of
rough-looking man who could be found roaming the streets anywhere. In most
cases, you would expect their roles to be reversed.
But the man was terrified of her and didn’t pay a single bit of attention to
what she was saying.
“Ever since then, you’ve been the only thing on my mind… You noticed that,
didn’t you? That’s why you returned my love. You gave in and accepted me. You
even did me the courtesy of using me to make money, then tried to get rid of me
when you grew tired of it. I accepted all of these things you did to me. I forgave
you and I still loved you.”
“H…hyaaa…”
“But eventually, it wasn’t enough… I wanted more than that… That’s when
Saika started talking to me.”
With the reflection of the knife glinting in her eyes, the woman drew the
blade lightly along her own arm. A line appeared on her white flesh, little red
droplets forming from the aperture.
“All I had to do was give her a little blood—drop by drop. See?”
“Hyeep!”
The girl’s eyes stared right at the terrified, prone man, but her mind was
somewhere far, far away. His figure did not reflect in her eyes. She was watching
a fantasy of the man that existed only in their honeymoon period.
“So how about today…? Is today the day you’ll finally accept my love?” she
asked, bringing the knife close to the man’s throat.
Slowly.
So slowly.
Like a child taking her very first kiss.
The silver blade was ready to plunge into the man,
making their bodies and minds one through the knife,
tearing his mind and body apart, exposing all of him…
“Aaaaahhh! W-wait, please wait!”
He flopped his legs, trying to push her away and put distance between them,
but the stone wall blocked his back. The way he continued to flop despite the
lack of any ground to gain was exceedingly pathetic, but the girl wasn’t seeing
him anymore.
She put her strength into the knife. She had reached the limit of her patience.
“Wait!”
The moment she was about to jab her beloved with the knife that was an
extension of herself, a familiar voice came from somewhere behind her.
When she realized that her process had been interrupted, the girl’s world
suddenly fell apart. She and the man were not two abstract characters living in a
fantasy, but two real human beings named Haruna Niekawa and Takashi
Nasujima. Suddenly, she was seeing Nasujima’s pathetic, frantic attempt to reject
her.
“…”
Realizing that she’d “awakened” from the world of love, Haruna’s smile
vanished entirely at last. She turned toward the voice.
It was Anri, out of breath from running, but with a powerful, intent look in
her eyes.
“How did you escape? There were at least five back there,” Haruna said.
Anri didn’t answer. She tried to steady her breathing. “Please…just stop this,
Miss Niekawa. Stop hurting people with that knife…”
“This has nothing to do with you. You just don’t want to die, is that it?”
“Yes…it does have to do with me…”
“?”
Haruna didn’t know what Anri was talking about, so she assumed that the girl
was just in a daze from escaping the other Saikas.
“Listen, Miss Sonohara… Your words carry no power of their own. A weak-
willed human being who can only live by leeching off of someone else’s life has
no right to dictate what me and Saika’s love should be!” Haruna stated, her
words full of pressure. Anri was not intimidated, however.
“I don’t need any right to stop something I think is wrong. Plus…I don’t think
the strength of one’s words has anything to do with the way one lives,” she
responded, matching the intensity of Haruna’s attack. “Just because I can only
live through other people doesn’t make me weak. I chose that way of life. That’s
all there is to it.”
“That makes no sense…”
“Don’t decide whether people are weak or strong…based solely on the way
they live!” she shouted, overpowering Haruna’s words with her own.
The girl standing there now couldn’t be the same timid creature she’d visited
earlier. Haruna was bewildered by the change but had no intention of
questioning her about it.
All she had to do was believe in the power of her love—and kill the girl.
An ephemeral silence passed between the two before Haruna spoke again.
“Hey, Miss Sonohara… Have you ever even loved anyone before?”
The smile was back on her face. Anri looked mystified, but her goal here was
to convince Haruna to stop what she was doing, so she had to engage the
question.
“…Probably n—”
“I have!” Haruna blurted out, ignoring the other girl’s answer. “When Saika
first spoke to me, I almost let this one take over my body…but then it started
telling me I had to cut Takashi. I cannot hurt the man I love so much! So I
resisted, I fought back…”
As she spoke, she swung her arms. The reflection of the knife glimmered in
the darkness, bringing the strength of her conviction to life.
“…And instead, I conquered the demon blade! I conquered Saika! With the
power of love! The power of love!”
“Huh? But…you were trying to stab him just now…”
“Yes. At first, I thought what Saika was telling me was wrong. But the more I
listened to her…the more I realized she was right. Controlling another person…
planting yourself entirely within the deepest part of their heart is the true form of
everlasting love.”
Her eyes, which were already overpowering in their redness, took on the tint
of madness that only heightened the eerie awfulness of the scene.
“Even if that ultimately means killing the one you love.”
That was the signal.
Haruna crouched low, set her sights on Anri’s throat, and put all of her might
into the purpose of killing her foe. Quick action usually led to victory, but even if
she didn’t strike first, what was there to fear from a single unarmed girl?
“There will be no rescue for you this time. You don’t have the strength to love
another—you cannot stop me. There’s only so far you can get on sheer
arrogance!”
She began to charge at Anri. The girl started to open her mouth, but Haruna
didn’t care. She put all of her effort into the strike that would tear that
impertinent throat right open…
A metallic ring cut through the night.
Huh?
Haruna couldn’t tell what had just happened.
All she knew was that what she was seeing far surpassed her understanding.
Anri’s right arm had blocked the slash aimed at her throat.
“What is…happening?”
As a response to that, Anri continued with what she was going to say
moments earlier.
“It’s true that I can’t love anyone else. Ever since that day five years ago, I’ve
been afraid to open my heart and love.”
She was probably referring to the break-in that ended with the murder of her
parents. But what did that have to do with the current situation?
Anri continued. “So I’ve taken to living off of others in order to make up for
what I lack in my life. Yes, I admit it… I chose this way of life, after all.”
Her arm was touching the knife. Through the tear in her sleeve could be seen
the silver shine of steel.
“Wait…you can’t…”
“So I decided that I would leech off of even the love of others.”
Anri put her left hand to her right wrist and pulled the hilt of the sword that
appeared out of her right arm, yanking it free.
The girl had extracted a katana, crackling, from her own arm. Haruna had no
words for the scene she had just witnessed.
“Just as you cut other people to create Saika’s children, your own Saika is
nothing more than a child of the original… And the original takes the form of a
proper katana.”
“No…this can’t be!”
“I cannot love others,” Anri muttered to herself. Her eyes literally shone with
a demonic light. “So I decided to rely on Saika, who loves people for me…”
The light in her eyes was eerie, gentle, and warm, as if red fireflies had taken
home within them. The light caught the lenses of her glasses, causing them to
shine like giant red insect eyes.
“No…I live as her parasite…”
It wasn’t as if the boy never fell in love with a girl.

But when he inevitably failed to control his strength, his attempts to save her
did more harm than good.
Not just once. It was a constant occurrence.
Eventually, no one stuck around with him. Even as a grown adult, there was
no one in his vicinity. There was only one man, Izaya Orihara—but he only
came over to use the boy for his own ends. He was also a man, so there was
nothing like love in that equation.
Over time, the boy came to an understanding.
It wasn’t a sudden enlightenment, simply something he learned through
constant repetition.
He just wanted to be loved by someone.
But he wasn’t allowed to have love for anyone else.
If he did, he would only hurt them.
Not of his own volition, but certainly of his own strength.
If that strength was meant to protect something, he might have been able to
forgive himself. But he knew exactly what the world called that strength.
Violence.
It was a simple matter. As some said, strength could be either violence or
justice, depending on how it was used. If that was the case, his strength could be
nothing but violence.
The boy was unable to control the sway of his emotions, and he used his
strength in anger, in a way that left his own conscious will far, far behind in the
dust…
It was strength—pure strength—that took the boy somewhere far away and
unfamiliar.
Time passed, and as a man now, he had received words of love from another
for the first time.
The man greeted the thing that showered him in pure love…
…with clenched fists.
In the center of the park, Celty Sturluson, a knight of death meant to inform
people of their imminent mortality, the Headless Rider who sent waves of panic
throughout Ikebukuro…was unable to do a thing but stand and watch.
Not because of the sheer force of a hundred slashers.
When faced with the sight of the red-eyed mob, she had originally thought of
the Dollars’ meeting a year ago.
But the result of this incident was the complete opposite of that earlier
occasion.
The strength of one man, Shizuo Heiwajima, was absolutely overpowering
the hundred attackers.
Shizuo Heiwajima’s style of fighting was exceedingly simple.

Punch.
Kick.
Throw with all your strength.
That’s all it came down to.
Punch, punch, punch.
Kick, kick, kick, punch again.
Throw while kicking backward, spin and throw a punch.
Just the same simple combinations, like hammering a single button in a
fighting game.
But that very simplicity was what made it so terrifying.
All he had to do was punch the blade-holding arm of an attacker, and it would
cause a nasty crunch and no longer function. A low kick meant to fend off an
onrushing person would completely demolish the knee.
When he punched a person, they flew horizontally, like something out of a
slapstick comic book.
He didn’t fight with the grace and agility of a Hong Kong action movie. But
even still, Celty and the hundred slashers present to see it felt their hearts being
stolen by the sight.
He was strong.
That was the only word needed to describe Shizuo.
But if one were to add more, another two words would suffice.
He was scary.
And he was cool.
I mean…I knew he was strong…

…but…this strong?!
If Celty used all of the power at her disposal to produce a deadly shadow
scythe and attack Shizuo at this moment, she didn’t think there was a chance she
could win. She couldn’t even envision such a scenario.
Fighters all shared a desire to fight those who were stronger than themselves.
If she had to classify herself, Celty believed she was in that category rather than
the opposite.
But this Shizuo was someone she never wanted to fight.
Not just because of fear.
She couldn’t possibly turn her blade upon something that made such a strong
impression on her.
Even the word demon didn’t describe him anymore.
If any term fit Shizuo Heiwajima at this moment, it was more like demon god.
In fact, no words were necessary at all to describe him.
His strength became a word greater than words, telling the rest of the world of
his existence.
Shinra had once explained Shizuo’s strength to Celty.
“When muscle fibers are damaged, they grow that much thicker, but his
constant rages don’t give his cells any rest.
“So the cells of Shizuo’s body—whether by a miracle or fate—chose a
different route. The bundles of muscle fiber abandoned the process of bulking up
and chose to stay at their current size, just tougher. That might be one of the
reasons why he has such strength while remaining skinny.
“It’s minimal regeneration. Shizuo’s way of life caused his own bones and
joints to change the way they grew so they could be stronger. His bones are hard
as steel, and his joints are extra tough after endless dislocations. And this all
happened within the short life of Shizuo Heiwajima.
“You might call this a kind of miracle.”
A miracle.
But even that word might be too tepid to describe it.
There was no combination of words that Celty could use to adequately
describe Shizuo’s strength.
It must be a similar feeling to what would happen if one saw Superman or the
protagonist of a shonen manga come to life. It was easy to say anything when
viewing the situation objectively, but actually being present for the experience
would blow anyone’s worldview out the window.
That was the kind of presence Shizuo had now.
Despite the fact that the slashers’ weapons gave them twice his reach, they
couldn’t hit him. The meager advantage of reach was not even a proper handicap
against Shizuo.
He dodged their long swings by a hair, then countered by punching either the
man holding the weapon or the flat of the blade. When the opponent lost his
balance, the finishing kick was already incoming.
The onslaught continued without losing any momentum. Shizuo was joyfully
unleashing all of the pent-up frustration that he’d accumulated throughout the
evening, and he was going to get rid of all of it.
The hundred-strong Saikas were taken aback by Shizuo’s overwhelming

strength, so they held back and shot signals to one another to form more
complex combination attacks.
But suddenly, they all moved as one.
Everyone in the park, aside from Shizuo and Celty, turned their heads in the
same direction.
The move was as pristine and precise as a champion synchronized swimming
team. Their eyes all pointed toward the same spot.
What is it?
Celty turned the same direction herself, but all she saw was the entrance to
the park.
Though she couldn’t possibly have known it, at that very moment elsewhere,
Anri Sonohara had just pulled Saika out of her arm.
“Hey, is it just me…or is something happening close by?” Shizuo wondered,
surprisingly calm given his actions. Celty nodded in agreement. “I can manage
this scene here if you don’t mind going and checking it out. Either way, you ain’t
doin’ nothin’ here, are you?”
It was a considerate offer. Otherwise, she would have felt uncomfortable
leaving Shizuo behind by himself. But in this case, she didn’t think she needed
an ounce of worry for his sake.
As a parting gift, she produced more shadow from her hands, fashioning it
into a pair of gloves, much like she had with the shadow helmet earlier.
“Special-made like my scythe. They’ll be able to stop a blade,” she typed into
her PDA, then tossed the gloves to Shizuo.
Not because she was worried for him. She simply wanted to be a part of the
legend that she’d just witnessed.
“…Thanks.”
Shizuo grinned and put the gloves on. Celty scattered the paused slashers as
she drove the bike out of the park and out of sight.
“All right, then.”
Now Shizuo was truly alone.
All alone against a hundred attackers.
But he had no thought of defeat.
Meanwhile, the Saikas surrounding him shared the same thought: that they
didn’t have the confidence to love Shizuo enough.
What’s going on? What’s going on?

Our opponent is hardly unharmed.
Countless scratches and cuts cover Shizuo’s body. But he shows no signs of
accepting our love. The fear and pain of one simple cut is supposed to be enough
to force him to accept our thoughts.
If there’s any explanation…it’s that Shizuo’s not human…or…
Oh…how can this be?
The creature known as Shizuo Heiwajima does not feel the slightest ounce of
fear.
Not just about himself being wounded.
Shizuo doesn’t have an ounce of fear that he might hurt others, either.
He joyfully throws his full will into our destruction.
All because he accepted our words of love.
…Is this fear?
Is it fear?
We feel fear from a human that we love.
What irony.
We are afraid of a human who accepted our love.
We are afraid.
Afraid. Afraid.
Afraid…
The one who accepted our words of love does not fear us.
Therefore, we cannot pour the “reign” of love into him.
We cannot love him.
Does she know? Has our mother realized this truth yet?
Our mother, and the one who begat her, the great progenitor… Does she
realize?
That our existence is so full of contradictions.
That from the perspective of a human being, the love of a demon sword is
nothing more than an illusion…
As the Saikas continued to close in, regardless of the challenge, Shizuo found a
smile creeping over his features.
Don’t get the wrong idea, you idiots.
No one will love me because they’re all scared? Don’t make me laugh.
I’m the one who’s scared.
It’s me.
I’m the world’s biggest coward.
Because I’m scared of what I should trust the most—myself.
But so what?
Me being a coward and destroying you assholes have nothing to do with each
other!
Besides.
I can’t afford to get knocked on my ass in front of someone who actually loves
me, can I?
Maybe that was the moment that it started.

When even if I liked someone—I was afraid to love them.
Anri still had the dream.
The dream of her family in happy times. The dream where they all laughed
together.
But it was nothing but a lie.
Not because it was a dream, but because Anri Sonohara was never that happy
in the past.
Anri was abused by her father from a young age.
Upon nearly every encounter with him, she had to suffer insults and injury. It
was a daily occurrence.
Her mother would attempt to step in and help, but he would just beat her
instead.
The process escalated over the years, so that by the time she was eleven years
old, there were always fresh marks on her body.
Not because he was a drunk. That was not the case.
He never hit Anri’s face, and he made sure not to leave marks when she had
swimming lessons and people might have seen them. It was calculated. He
performed just the right amount of violence to keep her from being able to report
it to the school or police.
In time, she closed her heart off and lived in a deep depression with no
escape.
That was about the time that the slashing attacks started happening around
town.
“No…that katana…Saika!” Haruna stammered in shock. “That’s it…that’s

the sword that attacked me five years ago!”
Just as Anri imagined.
Haruna was a victim of Anri’s Saika, and the seed within her that had been
growing all along found quick purchase within the imbalance from her love of
Nasujima, she suspected.
Meanwhile, Haruna sneered, “Y-you…you killed them! Your own parents!
With that katana…”
“That’s right. I might as well have killed them, I suppose,” Anri replied,
neither an affirmation nor denial. She raised the katana.
That was all she did—pull it upward—but the back of the sword hit Haruna’s
arm in a sensitive spot, causing her to drop the knife.
“Ah…”
Haruna panicked and crouched to pick up the knife—an amateur’s mistake. In
the next instant, the long blade of the katana slid against her neck, freezing her
instantly.
“…!”
“That child of Saika won’t tell you how to fight, will it? Which means…it
might inherit the will and aims of Saika but not the experience and memory,”
Anri conjectured. “Please…I have a request. Tell the other Saikas to stop this…
As the parent, your orders should reach the children. Of course, if you’re under
Saika’s control, my Saika can order you to stop, as your parent…”
“No…this can’t be!”
Despite Anri’s request that she not hurt anyone, those very words did indeed
hurt Haruna’s pride deeply.
“Saika tried! It rushed up and tried to take me over, day after day…but I
survived it! I held it down with the power of my love! And yet, you don’t know
the first thing about love…so how can I lose to you…?”
She glared up at Anri, the picture of frustration.
In contrast, Anri’s voice held nothing but sadness. “Miss Niekawa…I’ll let
you hear just a little bit.”
“Huh…?”
“Of the words of Saika’s love, the thing that constantly echoes within me…”
Anri moved the katana away from Haruna’s neck and stuck it, just a fraction
of an inch, into the girl’s arm.
She felt a small prick of pain on her arm, then—
The words of love came right into her heart and

and
and
love
love
was all
ve, love, love, lo
ause of love.” “So mu
ust love people.” “Don’t be ridicu
“Don’t talk about who you love, that just
o, no, no! I love all, all, all of humanity equally
What do I love? Don’t be ridiculous! It’s everything
love blood splatter.” “I love hard bone.” “It’s love.” “Nice
so I forgive you.” “So you can forgive me too, okay” “I won’t
all of this.” “Ah!” “The slice of meat during the moment of ecstasy
I just love the soft and yet hard muscle that rips right apart!” “And there’s that
hard bone, so smooth and supple, weak yet sharp, tough and cracking!” “Love
trembling and soft and silky and squishy sticking and sticking and sticking tight
together as voices echo with cries of love, yes? I’m so jealous I wish I had words
of love to speak but I don’t so I want you to love me instead I want to be filled
but yes oh yes but oh yes I’m so jealous even dying can be a form of love lust is
a powerful form of love but no you can’t try to narrow love to a definition that’s
blasphemy against the heart there is no definition of love all that you need are
those simple words I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love
you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I
love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love
love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—
Just at the moment Haruna’s mind threatened to explode, Anri pulled the
sword away.
“Did you hear Saika’s words?”
She heard them. To be more precise, she couldn’t shut them out.
It was nothing at all like the words that Haruna had heard within herself.
This was not love.
Taken one by one, the words might have included love, but boiled and
bubbled into one solid mass of “words of love,” it was nothing but a thick stew
of voices of loathing to anyone who heard it.
“H-how…? How can you possibly stand…those haunting curses?”
“I am lacking in many ways,” Anri explained, forcing a smile onto her face
despite the sadness in her eyes. She examined her own Saika. “So I must fill the
gaps of what I’m missing… I’m a parasite. I live off of all kinds of things.”
She continued in a tiny voice, as if speaking just to herself, “I know that I
lack the heart to love others…and that’s why I’ve been able to listen to the voice,
over and over…with total objectivity…”
From outside the picture frame.
Anri looked down as she envisioned the familiar image, and Haruna took it as
her chance to strike. She picked up the knife from her feet and swung it at Anri
with everything she had.
Once, twice, thrice—the knife flashed at the limit of speed for a human being,
carving fresh slices into Anri’s body. Though she didn’t hit any fatal spots, there
were heavy wounds on her arms and legs.
“Ha-ha…ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! I did it! Yes, you could never stop me…”
Her gale of laughter was short-lived.
Anri withstood the assault with utter calm, and now the point of that katana
was pressed to the other girl’s throat.
“Ah!” Haruna shrieked with fear.
Anri asked curiously, “Why are you so afraid of being cut? Isn’t that just a
result of being loved?”
It wasn’t sarcasm, but an honest question. Haruna gritted her teeth and put on
her bravest face, throwing the question back at Anri.
“Wh-why did you just let me cut you…?”
Haruna was no fool. She was rational enough to understand that Anri chose
not to dodge attacks that she could have avoided. Anri responded to the question
by allowing her expressionless eyes to flash red.
“If you won’t stop the other slashers now, I’ll have to do something awful to
you. This means we’ll be even,” she announced.
“Huh…?”
It was an absurd thing to say, when she was the one who’d just taken several
deep slashes, Haruna thought. But while her rational mind was confident, her
subconscious heart was trembling in fear at what might happen to her.
Just as her heart feared, Anri pressed the tip of the sword against her throat.
“I’m letting Saika take over just a bit of your heart. You’ll be fine—I highly
doubt it’s fatal…”
“Ah…aaaah…”
“I won’t apologize. If I apologize to you now, I’ll be denying my very way of
life. Yes, I think I’m a coward. I’m trying to protect my own peace of mind by
doing something awful to you…but I can’t help it.”
The bespectacled girl smiled ruefully.
That was the last image Haruna saw before her mind was occupied.
“After all, I’m a parasite.”
The tip of the sword broke the skin of her throat, just the smallest of margins
—and the words of love flowed into her.
She remembered that it was the voice that entered her for only an instant
when she was just barely grazed by the slasher five years ago.
The last thing Haruna heard was Anri’s voice atop a tremendous flood of
loving curses.
“You see, Saika gets very lonely. So it hurts to hear you claim that you
‘suppressed’ her or ‘used’ her. From our human perspective, she might be doing
it wrong…but it’s true that Saika does love all of humanity…
“So please…love her back.
“Miss Niekawa, I want you…to love Saika.
“You, at least, can love others…unlike me…”
At the same moment—
Shizuo noticed that one of the slashers coming after him suddenly lost the will to
fight, and he gave his body an order with all of his mind and spirit.
Just one word: Stop.
That had never worked before. The cells, ruled by his anger, always
continued their destruction until everything was finished.
But this was different.
Shizuo was not ruled by anger now.
It was joy. He was using his strength of his own will, out of nothing but joy.
Stop…stop…stop, damn you!
Finally, his anger appeared, its momentum focused at all of his own cells. The
fist that threatened to crush the face of the oncoming but nonhostile slasher, now
just an ordinary, harmless person…
Stopped right before making contact with the nose and went still.
“…Ha-ha.”
Shizuo looked at the halted fist and realized he was laughing.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…”
It was the laughter of an innocent child and the laughter of an insane killer.
What the hell?
About time you finally started listening to me.
Behind him was the by-product of that personal victory.
An entire field of Saikas, beaten until they couldn’t move again, and a pile of
broken blades in all shapes and sizes, snapped in half by Shizuo’s shadow-
gloved hands.
But none of them was dead.

He swung his fists with a different emotion than anger. It was pleasure—still
a twisted emotion to utilize for fighting—but the result was that he’d been able
to hold back for once.
It was the moment that violence turned to strength for Shizuo Heiwajima.
One night, five years ago
Anri’s father was trying to kill her.

Not out of anger. He stared at her with calm, blank eyes as he put his weight
into strangling her around the neck.
Daddy.
Daddy.
It hurts.
It hurts.
Don’t.
Why are you strangling me?
Why is Mommy lying on the ground?
I don’t want you to fight with her.
I don’t want to fight with you, either, Daddy.
I won’t cry when you hit me anymore. I’ll hold it in.
Just don’t kill me. Please, help me, Daddy…
As her wits began to fade, the girl saw her mother standing over her father’s
back. He continued to choke Anri, unaware.
She didn’t know what had happened between her father and mother or why he
was trying to kill her.
All she knew was that her mother said, “I love you, dear,” and lopped his
head off with a swing from a katana that she’d produced from somewhere. At the
end of the swing, she turned the blade around and stabbed it into her own
stomach.
As the katana fell from her mother’s hands, it clattered to the ground at Anri’s
feet and filled her heart with the accursed words of love.
But they didn’t reach her.
For the first time, Anri was seeing the world and herself from outside of the
picture frame—and even Saika’s cursed words couldn’t reach her mind.
The words poured right off of her. She picked up Saika, her mind blank—and
learned of Saika’s past, her intentions, and the fact that her own mother had been
the source of the slashings.
Anri’s body absorbed the sword. The police never found the slasher’s
weapon.
“A-Anri. Is that you…Anri?”

She came back to her senses at the sound of Nasujima’s voice.
In front of her was an unconscious Haruna and Nasujima, who looked down
at the girl’s body as though she were something creepy and disgusting.
“I-I don’t know what you did…but she tried to attack me in the faculty room
once. The school helped me hush the matter up and transfer her out, but… Shit! I
guess she never gave up, the freaky stalker!” he ranted, all image of an educator
lost.
Suddenly, he shrieked and backed away from Anri. Was he startled by the
katana in her hands? But that wasn’t the case.
Anri turned around to see that a motorcycle had appeared without producing
any engine noise. It was Celty.
But why now…?
Anri shook her head in resignation and turned toward Celty. Just as she was
about to say something, Nasujima grabbed her shoulder from behind.
“C’mon, Sonohara, run away with me. Okay? Okay?”
His ulterior motives were obvious even in this extreme situation. Anri just
shook his hand away.
“Wh…why are you turning me down? D-don’t you remember how I saved
you from those bullies, Sonohara? Before? Y’know?”
“I already returned that favor.”
“Wh-what, you mean just now? W-we’ve got bigger fish to fry!”
“No…I did this for myself…”
She turned her back on the confused Nasujima and delivered a statement
meant for both him and Celty.
“Until just recently, I thought that the Black Rider here was responsible for all
of the slashings. So when I thought you were being attacked, I didn’t think twice
—and I used my power…because I just wanted to save you…”
“Huh…?”
“It wasn’t because I like you. I hate you! That’s why I wanted to repay you
for helping me. So we could be even!”
Oh.
Anri’s words jogged Celty’s memory. She studied Nasujima’s face.
He was that scumbag…
Celty thought back to the night that Anri attacked her and recalled the face of
the man standing right there.
And he’s a teacher? If he was a teacher, why was he taking money out of a
place like that?
“But, sir, it doesn’t add up. The Black Rider here…is a very, very good
person. Much stronger than me…and forthright…and helping to keep our
neighborhood in order.”
Nasujima finally realized that something chilling was in the air. He didn’t
attempt to interrupt any further.
“So, sir…can you tell me…why you were running away from the Black
Rider? What exactly were you doing?”
She slowly turned to face Nasujima. At last, he noticed the Saika in her hand
and shrieked, “Nuh-nuh-nuh-n-not you, too! Not you, too, Anri! Are you pulling
that sword on me t-t-too, too, too?!”
His voice rattled into an unintelligible mush.
“No, sir.”
Anri wore a faint smile and started to walk toward Nasujima, the cursed
katana Saika in hand, a part of her now.
“Miss Niekawa and I are different.”
“Unlike her, all I feel for you is utter loathing.”
After Nasujima fled in a panic, Anri turned back to Celty.

She was ready for what came next, if that should happen to mean a fight and
possibly her own death…
But all she saw was the Headless Rider slinging the unconscious Haruna over
a shoulder and getting onto that motorcycle.
“Huh…?”
Anri watched Celty in bewilderment. Celty apparently noticed her confusion
and typed out a quick message on the PDA.
“I’ve been watching you for quite a while, actually. I’ve pretty much got a
grasp on the situation. I’ll take the girl to see an unlicensed doctor I know—
don’t worry about her,” the message read nonchalantly.
Anri blurted out, “C-Celty! Um, I’m really…”
“Don’t apologize,” the PDA said, the font enlarged for emphasis. “You did
what you thought was right, didn’t you? I think it was the right thing to do in that
situation. Knocking my head off might have been excessive, but I can complain
to Saika about that later.”
The rider leaned closer to Anri and typed in a fresh message.
“But don’t think that I’m sympathizing with you.”
That statement felt like it was covering something up and was followed by
another more bashful one.
“I just think that if we fought, I couldn’t beat you.”
After Celty left, Anri clenched her own Saika as she stood in the empty street.
Sympathy… I don’t really bother myself with the sympathy of others…
But Anri didn’t particularly think that she was worthy of pity.
She didn’t feel sadness.
This was the life she chose for herself.
Anri thought back to the last message Celty left upon departure.
“If you still can’t accept all of this…then instead of apologizing to me, use
that sword of yours to protect Ikebukuro. You could, let’s say…use those hundred
Saikas to do volunteer work around town or fund-raise to plant more trees in
Ikebukuro…”
As Celty said, Anri Sonohara had gained a sword.

A mob of more than a hundred slashers. In normal circumstances, they acted
with their own wills, but when the time came, Anri could call upon them as
faithful partners.
It was a burden, but a weight that Anri wanted on her shoulders.
She had been floating aimlessly before this, so the weight of controlling the
fate of others kept her feet firmly on the ground.
The weight might keep her from moving from that spot.
But at least her eyes and mouth, hands and heart were still free.
She could look where she wanted.
She could listen to the world around her.
She could tell someone about that.
She could reach out and grab what she wanted.
And she could still smile.
She wasn’t sad.
She might not be having fun, either.
So she chose to smile.
Even she didn’t know if that was her true will or if she was just fooling
herself.
She kept smiling without a sound.
Happily, sadly.
For a moment, the voice of Saika that echoed throughout her body halted, and
she heard a voice say, I cannot love you, but I do not hate you.
To be honest, maybe she only imagined that she heard it.
“Uh…”
But the cursed voice was back to its usual state and wouldn’t respond to her.
Then Anri realized that Saika had tried to comfort her, and for a moment, she
felt just a little bit happy.
Chat room
|um, well, im typing this from a manga cafe|

|im sorry for everything that happened|
|i probably wont be around anymore|
|im really very sorry|

Eh? Huh?
What does that mean?

[Oh, what’s the harm? Saika says there won’t be any more trouble.]
[But if you want to chat, we’ll be waiting for you here, Saika.]
[Well, good night.]
[Later…]

Epilogue & Next Prologue: The Blue
Sky Is Already…Dead?
A van drove the streets of Ikebukuro.

For some reason, the side door was brand-new while the rest was old, and it
stood out like a sore thumb due to some kind of anime illustration on the side.
“…Well, we definitely can’t get up to trouble in this van anymore…”
Yumasaki handled the door repair, as he knew someone who worked with
sheet metal. The result was that their van looked incredibly nerdy now.
“Shit, I should have known this would happen if I asked Yumasaki for help,”
Kadota grumbled. Meanwhile, Togusa gripped the steering wheel in silence. The
otaku had already burned one of his cars to the ground, and he was obviously
furious with them.
The guilty party, meanwhile, was busy with the usual chitchat in the backseat.
“Oh, right. We gotta pick up the Dengeki Bunko releases for May.”
“Yeah, the fifth volume of Dokuro-chan is out.”
“It’s an odd-numbered volume, so it must have another final chapter in it.”
“Can’t wait to hear about Allison’s kids.”
Kadota leaned over to see that Yumasaki and Karisawa were sprawled out in
the back of the van, rear seat removed, reading through a pile of books and
manga.
Can’t believe they don’t get carsick, he thought with wry admiration. The nerd
talk continued.
“I’m already looking forward to next month’s releases.”
“Yeah, it’s the last volume of Lunatic Moon. Gotta love Tomaz and what a
little cutie he is.”
“Even in two dimensions, I’m not interested in guys.”
“Aww, you’re no fun, Yumacchi.”
Kadota could tell that Togusa’s driving was getting more and more violent as
their nonsensical chatter continued. He turned to face forward and held his head
in his hands. Yes, they were irritating Togusa. The problem was, they had no
idea that they were.
But what’s done is done. No use raising a fuss about it now.
They had bigger problems than infighting right now.
The events of that prior day had been nicknamed the “Night of the Ripper.”
The authorities hadn’t made any headway into solving the incident that
produced more than fifty victims in a single night.
But public opinion held that the events of that night were something different
from the string of ongoing street slashings. The primary reason for this was that
all of the victims were young men wearing yellow bandannas.
At the same time, there had been a huge brawl in South Ikebukuro Park, so
the residents of the town assumed it was some motorcycle gang squabble. There
was just one teenage girl included in the victims, but she was explained away as
one of the usual slasher victims.
The case was classified as a color gang’s internal conflict, but this only meant
that the heightened tension in the town reached even greater levels.
What worried Kadota most was that the Dollars were listed as a potential
culprit for the attack.
When Celty and Shizuo captured the slasher, they found he had alibis for
some of the other crimes and figured that it would be pointless to give him to the
police, so they left him outside of a hospital instead. He really was being
controlled by something and had no memories of anything.
They’d had him blindfolded while questioning him, so he couldn’t possibly
bring charges against them…but just in case, Celty arranged for some support
money through Shinra. While they felt guilty about hitting him with the car, they
were essentially even, as far as they cared.
But this meant that no slasher had been caught.
Celty sent a message saying not to worry about that anymore, and nothing
like it had occurred since the Night of the Ripper—but the fact that the police
hadn’t caught anyone meant that society at large was still nervous.
As long as that fear doesn’t get turned against the Dollars, Kadota hoped,
looking outside the window.
The town was full of people in yellow bandannas. At least half of the crowd
was wearing them. They weren’t really doing anything, but their eyes were all
full of hostility toward something. That hostility colored the entire neighborhood
of Ikebukuro yellow.
The Yellow Sky will soon rise…
Kadota recalled the line that launched the Yellow Scarves Rebellion from the
very start of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms novel and the irony of the
Yellow Scarves gang that colored the streets.
The kids were young—many were in middle school, and some even looked
like elementary age.
Kadota looked up at the blue sky above with irritation and repeated a line
he’d said once before, but with more disgust this time.
“…The town is starting to fall apart.”
Shit, shit! I’m so tired of everyone treating me like a fool! I’m a teacher! And a
far more talented and intelligent teacher than the others! How can this be
happening to me?!
Just you wait, Anri Sonohara.
I’ll ruin your life at the faculty meeting! I’ll tell them you attacked me with a
katana! If I tell them you were working with Niekawa, the other teachers will
take my side.
And screw that stupid Niekawa! I fool around with her once, and she
becomes a damn stalker!
Ooh, what if I use that as a threat against Anri? Could I leech some money
out of her?
I’ve got the Awakusu-kai backing me, I’ll say. That’ll freak her out.
…She will freak out, right?
Guns are stronger than swords, after all.
Yeah, that’s a plan.
Sonohara, Niekawa, Kida: No one messes with me and gets away with it…
At the same moment—
“What’s up, Shizuo? Why the good mood?”

Shizuo was on his way to collect some debts for the hookup website, dragged
out by his boss, Tom. He was normally sluggish and reluctant to work, but he
was being rather proactive today.
“Nothin’ much. Just cleared my head a bit yesterday.”
Even the way he spoke to his boss seemed a bit more natural and polite than
normal. Tom couldn’t help but be curious, but business called.
“Today’s target is a real piece of work. He borrows five hundred thou, then
tries to weasel out of it by saying, ‘I’ve got yakuza friends!’ Well, I laughed my
ass off when I looked into it. Not only does he not have any yakuza connections,
all he did was borrow money from a back-alley loan shark working for the
Awakusu-kai. And somehow he thinks that gives him any kind of leg to stand
on?”
“So we’re going to find him and break that leg for him?”
“That’s basically it… Man, you really are excited today, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I think I’ve finally figured out how to control my strength. I’m just
dying to test it out,” Shizuo remarked, his eyes flashing with childish exuberance
behind his sunglasses.
In the end, Shizuo’s strength turned into violence.
But as for whether the liberation of his power turned his life in a more
positive direction—that would depend on how he used it in the future.
It would be up to the man Shizuo was about to pound to decide what the
answer was.
“Funny thing is, it turns out this guy is a teacher. From Raira Academy.”
“Well, that makes it even worse. It’ll feel good to sock him one.”
“Just don’t go overboard and kill him. Let’s see, Nasujima, Nasujima…ah,
here’s the place.” Tom spotted the apartment nameplate. They took positions on
either side of the door and rang the buzzer.
Who is it at this time of night…?

I-is it him? That informant?
Has he come to make me disappear?
Or is it Anri?! Or Niekawa?! The Black Rider?!
Shit! Shit! Not now! I was almost ready!
You won’t get me without a fight.
I dare you to open that door. I’ll crush your skull with this extinguisher.
“…No answer. His electric meter’s been reading steadily, so I’m pretty sure
he’s still here.”
“Let’s open this up.”
Shizuo squeezed the doorknob. It cracked and broke out of the door, lock and
all. He swung the door open forcefully.
A fire extinguisher appeared from within and struck him soundly on the head.
Silence.
After a brief hush, Shizuo grabbed the extinguisher, which was still pressed to
his forehead, and crumpled it with his fingers alone.
A blast of exhaust and white powder buffeted Nasujima in his hiding spot.
“Gaah!”
As Nasujima coughed, Shizuo slowly lowered the fire extinguisher. His boss
had already sprinted off for safety, which left only Shizuo and Nasujima in the
apartment hallway.
From behind the extinguisher appeared the face of some vengeful god, veins
bulging on every surface.
“That…hurt, dammit!”
He threw a punch using the twisted remains of the extinguisher like brass
knuckles, catching Nasujima smack in the middle of the face and sending him
into dreamland.
Shizuo’s boss watched the explosion from a safe distance away and remarked
in relief, “Good, that’s the Shizuo I like to see.”
And thus began a day in the life of Shizuo Heiwajima, just like any other.
Just as his name suggested, a day of peace and quiet, if only for himself.
The next time Nasujima opened his eyes, it was already April, he had been
fired from his job due to complaints about sexual harassment from students, and
there was a gang of young toughs from the Awakusu-kai at his bedside.
But that’s a story for another time.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Sonohara?”

Mikado Ryuugamine was watching Anri in her hospital bed with concern.
“Damn that slasher! So sorry, Anri. If only I’d been at your side twenty-four
hours a day, this never would have happened,” Masaomi Kida joked, though
there was a surprisingly serious, angry look in his eyes.
They’d skipped school and raced to the hospital the moment they heard Anri
was a slashing victim.
She was sure they’d said a lot of stuff to her, but she couldn’t remember what
it was. Anri only remembered that she was happy about it.
Later that night, she didn’t have the usual dream.
And yet, when she woke up in the morning, she wasn’t plunged into despair.
Mikado and Masaomi visited again the next day.

Masaomi was attempting to seduce the nurse when his phone suddenly went
off.
“Masaomi! Turn your phone off in the hospital!”
“Sorry, sorry, gotta be careful about that. Looks like I got called out. Gotta
leave for today.”
“Huh? Really?”
“Well, I’ll be back tomorrow, Anri. And remember: All men are wolves, so
keep the nurse call button close in case Mikado tries anything funny,” Masaomi
warned as he left the room. Based on that, he didn’t seem likely to return today.
Given the criminal angle of her injuries, Anri was in a private room so the
police could question her. The nurse had just come by for her check, so no one
would be coming for a while.
That meant that Anri and Mikado were completely alone in the room.
It was his chance.

Though he felt that being thankful was inappropriate, Mikado couldn’t help
but be grateful to God. Normally Masaomi would be running interference, but
now they could finally speak alone.
It was nearly a year since he first met Anri.
Time for him to move on from just being her class representative partner.
Mikado Ryuugamine steadied his breathing and did his very best to act
normal.
“Um, hey, Sonohara.”
“What is it, Ryuugamine?”
“I w-was just wondering if there was anyone you had…on your mind?”
He knew that it was totally impossible, but he couldn’t help but hope against
hope that she might say, “Actually, you…”
Mikado waited for Anri’s response, praying to God for a positive response.
“Hmm… Well, there are some people I look up to.”
“…?! O-oh. You don’t say. Who would that be?” he tried to reply as
nonchalantly as possible, ringing bells of doom in his ears.
“Well…I didn’t say this to the police, but…I was attacked by the slasher a
few hours before I actually got hurt…and some people were there to save me. In
particular, there was a guy wearing bartender clothes, and the other person there
was supercool…”
“Bartender clothes?”
That’s not Shizuo, is it?
Mikado shook that horrifying image out of his head and waited for her to
continue.
But I think he’s like me… Someone who can’t actually love other people, Anri
thought to herself. But by not saying it aloud, she kept Mikado in prickly
suspense.
“And the other person was…well, don’t be too shocked.”
“Who?”
“It was the Black Rider, believe it or not!”
Gong! The bell rang again. Mikado felt his heart being ripped out of his chest,
but he did his best to keep the smile up for Anri’s sake.
“We talked a bit after that…and I could feel such a radiation of purpose and
affection… It seems like the Black Rider has everything I don’t… Ha-ha, I
suppose you wouldn’t believe that, would you?”
As a matter of fact, Mikado knew Celty well. And based on the combination
with the bartender outfit, it was most certainly Celty and Shizuo.
Huh…but…what? I mean, Celty’s a woman, so…huh?
Mikado was completely baffled until he remembered that from a distance
Celty’s gender was essentially indistinguishable. But if he was going to explain
that to Anri, he’d have to reveal that he knew Celty. And in order to explain that,
he might be forced to talk about the Dollars.
No, I can’t do that. I don’t want to get her involved in our side of things.
He thought it over rapidly and decided to try to push her away from them.
“Oh, but that Black Rider and the other folks…they’re so far outside of what
we experience in our normal lives, you know?”
Says the guy who was obsessed with the abnormal, he thought wryly. But
Anri cut him down with a faint smile.
“Ryuugamine… In the world we live in, what do you think is truly
abnormal?”
“Uh…well… Using mental powers, crazy events popping off, stuff like that?”
he replied, confused. She shook her head, still smiling.
“It’s when nothing happens. When the same exact things happen day after day
without even the slightest variation. From the moment you wake to the moment
you fall asleep, the same boring repetition. That is the most unlikely event of
all.”
“Oh…good point.”
“Breaking the peace or having your peace broken, yearning for boredom or
change deep within your heart—I think that is humanity’s true nature.”
Mikado wasn’t sure what Anri meant or how to respond. She gave him a sad
smile and wrapped up her point.
“So I think…I’ve finally gotten back to normal.”
“Huh?”
I’ve been escaping into the abnormal world of my dreams ever since Mom
and Dad died, and now I’m finally back on this side, she thought, smiling at the
confused Mikado.
After meeting hours were over and she was alone in the hospital room, Anri
stared up at the ceiling.
In the end, she didn’t tell Mikado or Masaomi the truth: that she was Saika.
They probably wouldn’t believe her if she had. Of course, it was easy for her to
assume that, given that she didn’t know the truth about Mikado, either.
This is for the best.
Ryuugamine and Masaomi are good friends of mine.
I can’t get them involved. I can’t draw them into the underworld.
I won’t cause any more slashings. I won’t let that happen.
That means that neither of them will need to worry about anything…
She imagined their faces and then something else entirely.
The one really pulling the strings.
As she was the one controlling all of Saika’s children, Anri understood
virtually everything that had caused events to take the path they did. From the
various slashers—and Haruna Niekawa—she had learned of the presence of this
mastermind.
She didn’t know what he looked like or his goal, but…if that mastermind
thought he could use them to destroy the town again—if he tried to destroy
Mikado’s and Masaomi’s peace…
She felt her fists clench atop the blanket.
Racked by unease and determination, Anri thought of the mastermind’s name.

Which was…
“Izaya Orihara is a very strange name, when you think about it…”
“Hmm… It might just be coincidence that I turned out the way I did, but I
think it actually suits me perfectly.”
In an apartment in Shinjuku, Izaya Orihara was playing a curious customized
game of shogi by himself. A secretary was making rounds between mountains of
documents and a computer behind him.
Izaya didn’t bother to help her with the avalanche of processing ahead of her.
Instead he asked, “Namie, how much do you believe in coincidence?”
“…What do you mean?”
The board was triangular with triangular spaces, and normal shogi pieces
were arranged neatly into three different formations.
“They’re probably thinking that all of the stuff that just happened was mere
happenstance. When Haruna Niekawa was in Anri Sonohara’s apartment, they
think Nasujima showing up was a coincidence. Nasujima was pressured into
being there at that point in time. He was flattered into it. He had to be given Anri
Sonohara’s precise address. That was all me. Funny thing is, for a teacher, he
was a real idiot. He could’ve just looked up her address by peeking into the other
class’s student register. Maybe he just didn’t want them to spread rumors about
him. The guy who hit on every girl in the school!”
Izaya chuckled as he recalled the entire string of events.
“Another funny thing is when you research fairies and possessed swords and
all that stuff under the assumption that they’re real, you actually come up with
quite a lot of results.”
Izaya was positively tickled by the existence of all that information he hadn’t
known, and remembering the conclusion of Saika’s incident sent him trembling
with excitement.
“The only true coincidence this time was that when Nasujima took my
money, the real Saika showed up.”
Nasujima led an unstable life to begin with. He had borrowed money from
one of the Awakusu-kai’s loan sharks, and his back was against the wall. So he
came up with a plan. Haruna Niekawa had once threatened him with a knife.
What if he blackmailed her parents over that and squeezed some money out of
them?
The Awakusu-kai put him through to an information dealer named Izaya
Orihara. When he visited the man’s office and Izaya said he needed to leave for a
while and just walked out, there was a black bag on the table with multiple
stacks of bills poking out. Just as Izaya expected, Nasujima ran off with the
money. He probably expected to pay off the loan shark and then hightail it for
safety. Perhaps he figured that given Izaya’s line of work, he wouldn’t be
reporting that stolen cash to the police.
All that was left was to hire Celty to capture Nasujima.
Izaya threatened to tell the Awakusu-kai about the stolen money and thus had
himself a faithful little pawn.
That was his angle to using Haruna Niekawa, the true Saika.
“But then, out of the blue comes the owner of the real Saika, not a simple
copy like Niekawa. That made things much more interesting… Personally, it
would have been perfect if Shizu had died in the fray, but I can’t ask for too
much, I suppose.”
“How were things made ‘interesting’?” Namie asked the elated Izaya, her
own face an emotionless mask. To her, the only thing that mattered in the world
was her brother’s happiness, and everything else was immaterial—including
herself.
Izaya knew her bizarre proclivities, but he was like a child bursting with a
secret inside, his eyes sparkling.
“Now the city is split in three, between the Dollars, the Yellow Scarves, and
Anri Sonohara’s demonic army… And the demon blade has infiltrated the ranks
of both the others.”
“Hmm. And that’s interesting to you?”
“The shit won’t hit the fan right away… But for now, a few sparks will do
fine. In a few months, those sparks will smoke and smolder, and…oh, I just can’t
wait anymore!”
He laughed and rolled back onto the sofa, as giddy as a boy waiting for the
release of a new video game. Meanwhile, Namie was still expressionless and
flat.
She asked, “The Yellow Scarves might have the numbers, but weren’t they
just created by some stupid kid three years ago? Doesn’t speak well to their
balance, does it?”
“Actually, no… Think about it. It means that ‘stupid kid’ is able to handle an
organization of that many people. The threat is real!” he proclaimed, then
muttered mostly to himself.
“Of course, it’s not like the shogun of the Yellow Scarves is a total stranger to
me, either…”
“…Don’t try to drag me back into this.”

It was an abandoned husk of a factory somewhere in the city, a distance away
from Ikebukuro. Within that desolate, empty space—almost unthinkable for such
an urban location—squirmed hundreds of shadows.
The owners of those shadows were all young—boys and girls from
elementary to high school ages. Even more striking was their clothing: While all
of their outfits were different, every single person inside the factory building
wore a yellow bandanna somewhere.
“I don’t want any part of it. You got that?” a languid and tired voice rang out,
at odds with the stifling nature of the place. “Normally, I’d claim that you would
never understand how I feel, but if you were psychics who could actually read
my mind, I’d feel pretty stupid, wouldn’t I? So I won’t say that.”
No one else spoke. The lazy voice continued to bounce off the walls.
“At any rate, once I got involved with Izaya, I decided that I was never going
to come back here,” the man said in the midst of the yellow vortex, his face
deadly serious.
Despite his complete denial of the group, one of the Yellow Scarves nearby
spoke up without a hint of respect. “C’mon…we ain’t got nothin’ goin’ on
without you, bud. The yakuza are too scary to mess with, and we can’t run a
business with nothing but numbers on our side.”
The next moment, a much larger boy next to him kicked him in the face.
“His title is Shogun.”
The original boy waved off the angry one with an idle hand. “Nah, nah, it’s
cool! I’m not cut out to be a fancy shogun at this point. Just a simple commoner.
Commoner? Hell, I’m just a student.”
And the man they called Shogun, creator of the Yellow Scarves, got to his
feet.
“Seriously, though, when did this turn into such a massive operation? We
could give the Dollars a run for their money, yeah? All that yellow is almost
kinda creepy though.”
It was an Ikebukuro color gang, the kind that had been featured in a famous
TV drama. The boy had chosen yellow for their color because it looked so cool
on the gang in the show. The odd thing was—
“Actually, it’s not yellow in the original books. I was real shocked when I
borrowed it from the library!” he cackled, but no one else joined in.
“That doesn’t matter, Shogun. The thing is…we have suspicions about the
Dollars’ involvement.”
“…”
“We know you’re one of the Dollars, Shogun. There are several others of us
who are double affiliated. But the Dollars is a gang that otherwise has very few
connections to other groups. I suspect that several of the Dollars attacked us on
the day of the incident…and it’s not just me. Plenty of us feel the same way,
Shogun.”
Even after that plaintive speech, the “Shogun” didn’t lose the nonchalant
smirk.
“I’m saying I ain’t doing anything for your sakes. I got my peace and
tranquillity, which is what I wanted: surrounded by good friends, living a life of
just the right amount of danger.”
In the next instant, his carefree expression tightened up. “But that serial
slasher destroyed my tranquillity.”
His reptilian eyes were sharp and cold enough to freeze everyone there. The
entire gathering shivered with the power of that shift.
“Society calls it gang warfare, but that’s wrong. It’s something else,
something weirder…but that doesn’t matter. It just doesn’t. I’m gonna destroy
this slasher. And if there’s more than one, then multiple destructions are in
order,” he said with quiet determination, looking out upon the crowd.
“I care about my people, of course…but it’s Anri getting hurt that I really
can’t handle.”
The crowd didn’t recognize the name, but no one was going to speak up and
interrupt.
“No matter how many people are involved, we’re going to annihilate this
goddamn slasher. And if the Dollars are behind this—well, I’m one of them…”
The Shogun paused, then spoke as if all the air had been wrung out of his
lungs.
“But I’m prepared to bring them down from the inside.”
In the empty factory, the Yellow Scarves’ shogun, Masaomi Kida, sat alone in
a pipe-frame chair, dazed.
“Shit…how dare you…pull me back…,” he lamented to the ceiling, cursing
the unseen slasher. The only things in his mind were retribution against
whomever destroyed his peace of mind—and the smiling faces of Anri, Mikado,
his classmates, and his friends.
This drove his irritation into hatred—for the “Saika” that the Internet rumored
was the culprit.
“Dammit… How dare you pull me back in… How dare you…dammit!”
“The fun thing about staring down at the board from above is the illusion that
you are God.”
Izaya poked and prodded at the triangular shogi board, smirking like a child.
“God attacks! Hi-yah!” he chirped, pouring the oil from a lighter onto the
board. The smell spread throughout the room, but he paid it no mind, pushing
the splattered pieces around so that the three kings were gathered in the center.
“A three-way battle’s a wonderful thing. Especially when the leaders are so
closely aligned,” he gloated, his innocent smile now full of malice as he lit a
match. “The sweeter the honeymoon, the greater the despair as it burns ever
higher.”
Izaya tossed the match onto the board.
Flame.
Transparent blue flame, almost cold in its appearance, enveloped the shogi
board. It burned quickly, crackling and charring the pieces as the oil evaporated.
The wooden pieces burned up one after the other on the glass table.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Look, the pieces burn like trash!” he gloated, a parody of some
stereotypical mad villain. It was Namie, who wasn’t even watching the
exhibition, who doused his excitement with a freezing comment.
“Well, anything will become trash if you burn it. Now clean all of that up.”
“Tsk. You’re no fun, you know that?” he griped, shaking his head in
disappointment. But he was back to his good mood in moments. He picked up a
pair of cards from the table nearby. “The real question is, how do the other cards
who aren’t my pawns move now? Yumasaki’s group, Shinra Kishitani, Simon,
Shiki from the Awakusu-kai…the cops… But I suppose Shizu’s got to be the
king.”
He flipped the king card right into the flames. “And Celty’s the joker…no, the
queen. Then the joker is…Shinra’s dad with Nebula…? Know what, I don’t
really care.”
Izaya tossed all of the cards in the fire, bored. As he watched the pile flame
away, he turned to the object resting next to him.
“It’s actually getting interesting now…don’t you agree?”
The eyes of the beautiful severed head resting next to Izaya just barely
seemed to twitch.
“Ahh…it’s so peaceful…”
On the terrace of the luxury apartment building, Celty lay sprawled out on the
deck, soaking in the sun. She made a point of typing how comfortable she was
into the PDA to show it to Shinra.
He responded by claiming that she’d get sunburned and helped her put on
sunscreen and set up an umbrella before getting down next to her.
“By the way, about Saika’s katana—it pretty much turned out the way you
said it would. Thank you.”
“Ha-ha-ha, anything for you, Celty. But I wish you’d whisper your thanks
into my ear while we’re in bed. In fact, who needs a bed when we can do it right
h— Wugh!”
She thumped him in the stomach with a backhand punch to shut him up
before putting her own doubt into words.
“But you were so precisely correct, it creeped me out a little. I was going to
look into it myself, but when I looked on the Net and in the texts, I couldn’t find a
single reference to a cursed sword named Saika. And your input on the matter
was way more detailed than Izaya’s. How did you find this stuff out?”
“Oh, that. I found my dad’s diary.”
“?” Celty typed into the PDA, prompting Shinra for a less vague answer.
“Well, turns out my dad was researching Saika. He was really fascinated with
this story of a sword that could ‘slice souls in two.’ He actually owned it until a
few years ago, when he sold it to an antiques trader he knows. I believe the
trader’s name was Sonohara, but I haven’t heard much about the place lately…”
“What?!”
Shinra’s father was the very man who smuggled Celty into Japan, as well as
the man she suspected of stealing her head in the first place. Even Shinra didn’t
know where he was or what he was doing now. What would he be doing
studying Saika?
“When you say slice souls, that doesn’t mean…it could have been used to
split the soul between my body and head so that my head could be stolen, does
it?”
“Celty…you’re bang on. I’ve been thinking that very thing.”
“…No. Never mind. No use getting angry at you.”
The Headless Rider gave up and turned over to bask in the warm sunlight
again.
“If you’re going to sunbathe, it’d be a lot more effective if you took your
clothes of—Fwrgh!”
She punched Shinra again and looked up at the sky.
It was so very vast and blue. She took a tangible feeling of peace from it.
The town below might be gripped with chaos and confusion, but the blue sky
never changed.
For a moment, she disconnected herself from the city and looked up at the
blue to ponder Anri and Shizuo.
They were both awkward people who had trouble loving others. But for some
reason, these two people, flawed at being human, struck Celty as being
incredibly human because of that.
What about me? I love Shinra…I think. But is my loving providing Shinra
with anything? Is it making Shinra happy? she wondered idly as she stared up at
the sky. Then she considered Mikado and the brown-haired boy, the ones who
hung around with Anri.
When I listen to Anri and Mikado, it sounds like each of the trio is living off
the others, finding things they lack themselves.
It seemed like that in itself was a form of love to Celty, as she slowly drifted
off into sleep.
But she didn’t realize what a very cruel thing her last waking thought was.
She let sleep steal over her body, quietly, so quietly.

Letting her shadow feel just a moment’s peace.
AFTERWORD
Hello, I’m Ryohgo Narita.

Well, it’s been a while since you heard from me, and my first book back is the
second volume of Durarara!! For a second volume in a series of mine, it’s
almost miraculous how few new characters there are. I spent most of the book
shining the spotlight on those characters who didn’t stand out in the first volume,
but I’m pretty sure the story idea was already constructed at the time I wrote the
first book…I think. Well, let’s say the truth about that is lost in the mists of time.
Once again, I’ve thrown a lot of little experiments into Durarara!! If you
recognize the references in Yumasaki and Karisawa’s conversations, feel free to
smirk; if you don’t get them, please just take them as they are: creepy weirdos
listing off a bunch of names and terms that make no sense to normal people. But
unlike last time, in this book they’re just present for flavor, not plot reasons.
However, at the time of this writing, with the book submitted and galley proof
checked, I only just now got a message from my editor saying, “Oops, I forgot to
get permission from all the authors you referenced.” Yikes!
At any rate, if this book safely sees the light of day—thank you to Kiyohiko Azuma, Masaki Okayu,
Keiichi Sigsawa, Jin Shibamura, Suzu Suzuki, and Soichiro Watase!
I just realized that it’s been an entire two years since my published debut. My body and soul have been
corrupted by the strain, but there’s nothing more exciting than seeing doujinshi made about my stories. To
the groups who have been putting together eighty-page doujinshi, Viscount merchandise, and Celty
figurines, you have my utmost gratitude. Thank you very much! Different authors have different feelings
about derivative works, but I am perfectly happy about it. I just never thought anyone would want to create
fan works about my stories! Thank you, really!
Just as I was writing that, my artist sent a message asking if we could add one more spread illustration. When I said, “Absolutely!”
my editor included a note saying, “Just one page for the afterword, to make room for the art.” I’m writing this ten minutes before my
deadline, so hang on real quick, there’s too much I want to say! Um, first of all, thanks to Suzuhito Yasuda for producing such
wonderful illustrations on a hard schedule! Thanks to everyone else who helped make this book a reality! Aaaaaaah, no room left, oh
crap, I forgot to thank everyone for all the Dengeki Bunko references! Um, there’s Yu Fujiwara, the author of Lunatic Moon…
newsletter.
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Copyright
RYOHGO NARITA,
ILLUSTRATION BY SUZUHITO YASUDA
Cover art by Suzuhito Yasuda

Translation by Stephen Paul
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!!
Yen On
Hachette Book Group
1290 Avenue of the Americas
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yenpress.com

First Yen On ebook edition: November 2015
ISBN 978-0-316-30490-0
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Prologue: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha
Ha Ha
Hey.
Wanna hear a nasty story?
Hey, you. You ever killed someone?
I have.
C’mon, don’t look at me like that.
Pretty much anyone who’s worked on a big farm has killed something.
Chickens, cows. Killing really takes it out of you.
There are lots of ways to get over that: experience, environment, religion,
hunger. But until you get to that point, it’s still rough.
Once you’re a full-grown adult, not a stupid kid, some people aren’t even sure
if they want to stomp on a line of ants. What about you?
Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on. C’mon, I told you not to look at me like that. I’m
not trying to lecture you, and I’m not preaching a religion or a vegetarian diet or
anything like that.
Listen, I’m not talking about animals here. I love raw meat. I have pride. But all
that aside…
I’m talking about people.
The thing is, it takes a lot of labor to kill a person.
I mean, don’t get the wrong idea. People die easy. Push ’em off the train
platform, wedge an ice pick into the back of their head, and that’s it. Age, sex,
and experience all mean nothing. If you can’t beat them in a fight, just poison
them.
Anyone with eyes in their back who can dodge bullets and digest poison isn’t a
mere human, so they’re not applicable to this exercise. Rule out the Headless
Rider, who might be dead from the start for all I know, and that freak of nature
who throws vending machines one-handed.
…Oops, I’m getting off track. Sorry.
At any rate, you can kill people real easily.
But it takes an incredible amount of work to actually kill.
People die quick, but it takes labor to go from “wanting to kill” to “killing.”
You often hear about stupid kids thinking they were just gonna beat on a guy,
real easy, and then he just up and died on them. Right?
But when you have an adult, someone much, much stronger than a kid,
possibly in possession of a gun…and they calmly think to themselves, All right,
I’m going to kill him, that takes quite a lot of mental effort. Especially the first
time. It’s different once you get used to it—then there’s no going back. At least,
according to what I heard a soldier say once on TV when he came back from
some war or another.
What I’m getting at is, it’s really, really hard for normal folks like you to
rationally kill a person.
It’s a whole lot easier to suddenly go into a rage, scream that you’re going to
kill someone, and then start firing.
Isn’t that weird?
Someone without intent to murder can’t kill a person. If they do, it’s an
accident. There’s still a punishment for that, of course. The only difference
between “I killed him” and “I accidentally killed him” is the level of intent.
So let me ask again.
Could you kill a person?
You sell information in Shinjuku, toying with people however you like.
But you love human beings more than anyone else around. Isn’t that right?
I’ve heard about you, Izaya Orihara.
Could you kill a person? With your own hands, I mean.
Instead, you stab them with a knife real weak so they don’t die, and you
pretend you’re a real bad guy.
Either way, you’re gonna use them, right?
You know, it’s laughable what a cowardly creep you are.
Ha ha!
Ha ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Chat room
{Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.}
<Easy with the laughing.>
{Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-
ha-ha-ha}
{Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-
ha-ha-ha}
<A little overboard, Tarou!>
[Evenin’.]
{Oh, good evening.}
<And good evening to you.>
[Are you just copy-pasting that mechanical laugh? What’s up, Tarou?]
{Well, what else can you do? Check out the backlogs.}
<Yah!>
{Huh?}
[Ah!]
{The backlog disappeared!}
<Heh-heh! Never overlook the power of administrator privilege!> {This is
tyranny!}
[That’s mean.]
[So what happened?]
{That’s the thing… Kanra said something weird.}
{You know Shizuo Heiwajima, right?}
[Yes. You were talking about him?]
[I’m not sure why, but his name seems to pop up in here a lot.]
{You’re right, lol. So, about Shizuo…}
|well|
[Huh?!]
|i’m going to leave for today|
{Oh, sure. Good night, Saika.}
[When did you get here, Saika?!]
<Just look at the user list, silly!> [Huh? Where is that displayed…?]
{User list?}
|i’m not used to this yet|
{Where is the user list displayed, Kanra?}
<Uh-oh. I forgot, only the admin can see it!> [Oh, Kanra… Well, either way,
good evening, Saika.]
|good evening|
|i’m sorry for not saying hello|
|thank you|
|sorry|
<Why are you apologizing? lol>
{Good night, Saika. Then again, it’s only eight thirty.}
[Maybe Saika’s coming from an Internet café.]
[That reminds me, there was just that armed robbery in Ikebukuro, so I hope
everyone’s being careful walking around the area.]
{First, a slasher, now guns? It’s getting dangerous out there.}
<Let’s not talk about this stuff anymore, please?> <Oh? By the way, has your
PC not gotten that virus infection fixed, Saika?> <You said you met Saika off-line,
right, Setton?> <Also, Ikebukuro’s always been dangerous.> [Yes, a few times
since then. The viruses and whatnot are fine now. She’s just not used to
computers yet, so I’m giving her some tips.]
[Re: always dangerous—Yes, someone I know told me that even back in the
Edo period, there were many street slashers around here.]
{Oh, really?}
[Oops, sorry.]
[Looks like I have some work all of a sudden. I’ve got to go.]
[So long!]
{Oh, no worries.}
<Oh, Setton. You and your late-night jobs!> [Night!]
{Good night.}
<Good niiight.>
<Private Mode> {…Um, so… We laughed it off earlier, but…}
<Private Mode> {People will believe what you say, Izaya, so newbies to the Net
like Saika might take you seriously.}
<Private Mode> <Sorry about that, I was struck by a whim.> <Private Mode>
<Plus, I thought Saika would join in on the joke. I mean, remember how Setton
explained that Saika was a newbie and got hit by a nasty virus and that was the
cause of all the weird posting?> <Private Mode> {Well, that does make some
sense.}
<Private Mode> <In which case, why was there that connection between the
posts and the slashings?> <Private Mode> {I think it was the slasher who was
spreading the virus.}
<Private Mode> {It would explain why it was trolling our chat from a bunch of
computers at once.}
<Private Mode> {The kind of virus that sends instructions afterward to make
you look more powerful, you know?}
<Private Mode> <That would make some sense…but consider this, would you?
> <Private Mode> <What if Saika was the slasher?> <Private Mode> {That’s not
funny, either, man.}
<Private Mode> {Speaking of which, your first attempt at a “joke” was bad
enough.}
<Private Mode> {Finding a way to legally kill Shizuo?}
<Private Mode> <If I could kill him with jokes, that would make my life a whole
lot easier.> <Private Mode> {Besides, you can’t even scratch him, he’s so
powerful.}
<Private Mode> <I’m not so sure. I think it might be possible, if you just find
the right method.> <Private Mode> <If you rely on numbers, there’s no way to
kill him.> <Private Mode> <But if you throw in some extra variable…> <Private
Mode> {Knock it off.}
<Private Mode> {And let me be clear… Don’t try to use the Dollars for this.}
<Private Mode> <I’ll handle it.>
{Well, I suppose we’ll log off now.}
<Sure! Good night! > {Don’t use that with me.}
<Oh, fine. ∞>
{I’m not going to keep playing this game.}
—TAROU HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
Chapter 1: You Know Perfectly Well.
Two years ago, Raira University Hospital, Ikebukuro

The boy’s eyes were focused on a single mass of white.
A scene like snow beyond the glass window.
Sheets behind the window.
Sheets on the bed.
A pipe frame supporting that bed.
The ceiling and walls surrounding it all.
Even the numerous devices filling the room.
Each and every one, white.
Even the skin tone and the black floating amid the white were connected with
white tubes.
That point of color was like one giant eye, which the boy felt was looking out at
him.
With a pale gaze.
It was an illusion, of course; the point floating in the white was the face of a
girl about his age, her eyes closed and face pointed toward the ceiling.
It was the boy himself who was creating the illusion.
The guilt that gripped him so terribly made him wish that she would blame him
for his transgression.
He wanted to run, but he had nowhere to go. He was afraid of the guilt that
would remain after he did, so he hoped that if she blamed him, at least that guilt
would disappear—a shameful, cowardly hope.
But the bedridden girl was almost cruelly silent.
In fact, she could neither hear anything nor open her eyes to see anything.
Unable to even speak to her, the boy could only tremble in fear.
“Hey, isn’t that great?”
The voice was completely at odds with the gravity of the situation.
The boy didn’t bother to turn around toward it. He ground his teeth audibly.
But the owner of the voice didn’t seem to be affected in the least by the boy’s
bare hostility. He continued, “So she didn’t die, huh? Lady Luck’s on your side. As
long as she’s alive, you can find a way to work things out.”
“Iza…ya…,” the boy replied, the anger palpable now. The only reason he didn’t
turn around and pummel Izaya Orihara was because he knew the true target of
his anger was his own self.
The black-clad Izaya, who stood out in stark relief against the white hospital
hallway, gave the boy a knowing smile. “You’re smart—that’s why I like you. You
understand that what happened to her was because of you. It is to your great
credit that you didn’t let your emotions goad you into attacking me. I’m certain
that she’s grateful for that too. Can’t wait until she wakes up truly.”
At the very moment Izaya’s speech finished, the boy leaped onto him. He knew
they were in a hospital, but he could find no good reason to stop himself this
time.
Yet Izaya easily evaded the boy’s desperate punch by a hair’s breadth,
extending a leg to knock him off-balance. He grabbed the boy’s unsteady arm
and spun him down to the floor. There was no sound or impact, just the soft
landing of leaves onto the ground.
Stunned that he was now sitting on the hallway tile, the boy could only stare
up at the man. From below, Izaya’s smile took on a hint of shadow.
“Correct.”
“…”
“You were right to turn your anger on me there. I taunted you with clear and
present malice,” Izaya cackled with no hint of remorse. He brought a finger up to
his lips. “But this is a hospital. Gotta keep it quiet in here,” he taunted, turning
his gaze to the girl in the room.
“In a coma, huh? I really hope she wakes up. On the other hand, perhaps you
would prefer that she never opens her eyes again?”
“What does…that mean…?” the boy gasped haltingly. The anger had faded a
bit, leaving only the rasp of fear.
Izaya looked down on the desperate boy. “What does it mean? You know
exactly what I mean. By even asking that question, aren’t you just attempting to
delude yourself into thinking you don’t know what’s going on? You’re afraid,
aren’t you? If she wakes up, you might be blamed for your part in this for the
rest of your life.”
“…”
“But what would happen if she dies without ever waking up? Wouldn’t that be
a lifetime of guilt for you? I suppose it would be, knowing you. So whether she
lives or dies, you’re left with the guilt on your conscience.”
“…”
The boy fell silent. Izaya turned to him and gently spoke words of comfort. It
was as if he was doling out the forgiveness in the girl’s stead. But the actual
content of those words was anything but warm.
“You can’t escape it, no matter how you struggle. No matter where you go, the
past will follow you. No matter how hard you try to forget, no matter if you die
and let it all disappear, the past will always be right behind you, chasing you
down. Chasing, chasing, chasing, chasing… Do you know why?”
Izaya shrugged his shoulders, gesturing that even he could do nothing about
this. “Because it’s lonely. The past, memories, and outcomes are all very lonely
things. They want a companion.”
He stopped momentarily, leaned back against the wall, and gazed into the
distance. When he spoke again, it was practically a monologue.
“I don’t believe in God. Because its existence is anything but certain.”
“…”
“In a world where even the future is uncertain, the past is a great and mighty
thing—because it surely existed,” he said, the grand concepts belied by the
matter-of-fact tone of his voice. “Sometimes, I even think that the accumulation
of the past itself should be ‘God’ to mankind.”
Simple, so simple.
“Even if the past is colored by mistakes and illusions that make it differ from
reality…as long as the person involved believes it, that past becomes the truth to
them.”
He could have been speaking to anyone, or perhaps even himself. But it almost
seemed like he was talking to the silent girl on the other side of the glass.
“And if you use that past as the basis for your actions and your way of life,
wouldn’t that make it a type of god?”
“I have no idea…what you’re trying to say,” the boy grunted, shaking his head
in dead seriousness.
Izaya sighed with the trace of a bitter smile. “You know perfectly well,” the
information agent said, his mouth twisted with pleasure, as he stared down at
the trembling boy. His answer couldn’t have been more simple and direct. “You
cannot escape her anymore. Your guilt toward her will become your past, which
means that, in a way, she has become your god.”
The boy was silent. He had no choice but to feel the impact of Izaya’s words.
“She is absolute. But that’s not so bad, is it? After all…you love her, don’t
you?”
Even as the boy accepted that truth, he wanted nothing more than to expel it
from his being.
It was two days later that she regained consciousness.
When the girl, who had no family, opened her eyes at last, the boy was not
there.
Masaomi Kida had fled from her.
Even though he knew, as Izaya said, he could never escape her.
He couldn’t find an answer other than to run. That was his only reason.
Time passed.
The girl became Masaomi’s past, and thus she gripped his heart.
Even as she lived, she became the past.
Present day, Raira University Hospital, Ikebukuro

In the quiet of the hospital, slightly removed from the bustle of the train
station, the boy stared out at the sky through the window.
He thought on the serial slashings that had gripped the city just a few weeks
earlier.
On the night that fifty people were attacked by the slasher, Ikebukuro went
into a minor panic. It made front-page headlines in the papers the next day,
turning the “slasher” incident into national news.
But meanwhile, on that same night, a number of different events converged,
sending certain official institutions—particularly the police and hospitals—into
even greater confusion than the media had reported.
Immediately after the slashing happened, a large-scale brawl broke out nearby,
which caused the hospital to be flooded with nearly a hundred emergency
patients. At least, that’s what the boy heard.
The boy, Masaomi Kida, had no direct connection to this brawl, but he knew
several people who’d fallen victim to the various incidents, and he was paying
hospital visits nearly every day.
Those friends were all out now, which meant that Masaomi had no need to
come back to the hospital, but here he was.
He was standing at the open window of the private room, schoolbag slung over
his shoulder, enjoying the breeze.
“It’s cold, Masaomi.”
He shut the window without turning around to face the speaker. “Oh, sorry.”
There was a wry grimace on his face, but his eyes were looking at his own smile
in the reflection of the glass. He was checking to see that his expression was
properly formed.
“You won’t…look at me.”
“…”
A silence fell onto the room. Eventually, the girl spoke up in a gentle voice that
echoed off the walls.
“So your friend is in the hospital now?”
“…Who told you that?”
He hadn’t spoken a word about Anri and his other friends to the owner of the
voice. Masaomi turned around, his eyes full of conflicting emotion, to look at the
girl sitting up in the hospital bed. She ignored his question and said, “I saw you
from the window. You came every day. Was it a girl?”
“Yeah. Glasses, nice body… Just a perfect example of a teenage girl whose
imbalance makes her attractive,” Masaomi joked rather than deny it.
The girl was not shaken by his answer. She only smiled as she got further to the
point. “You like her?”
“Yeah… She goes to my school. I’m in a love triangle with my good friend,”
Masaomi noted, only adding fuel to the fire. But the girl—Saki Mikajima—
seemed delighted.
“Oh? You must be serious if you’re throwing yourself into a three-way
romance like that. I can barely remember you getting involved with a girl for
anything other than a fling,” Saki giggled.
Masaomi silently turned back to the window. The entrance to the hospital was
clearly visible from the fifth-floor room. If you were good at picking apart faces
and clothes with sharp vision, and you had all the time in the world to gaze out
the window, you might be able to pick out who was coming, Masaomi noticed.
Meanwhile, Saki’s smile never left her face. “But I need to correct you first.”
She tilted her pale neck, the short hair that framed her face bobbing slightly.
“If you include me, it’s a romantic square.”
“Stop right there, Saki. Just stop. Close your mouth, breathe through your
nose, and listen,” Masaomi interjected, cutting short what could have been
taken as either serious or a joke. He looked straight into his own eyes in the
window’s reflection. “What we had—it’s over now. Finished. Closing time. Past
expiration date. Got that?”
“If we’re over, why do you keep showing up?”
“…”
Masaomi looked to be formulating an answer, but Saki continued before he
could speak.
“In fact…you’ve started visiting a lot more recently. Did something happen?”
she asked briskly. He held his silence.
In the reflection of the window, the girl’s face held a gentle smile, but nothing
moved aside from her lips. Perhaps she had grown too used to holding that
expression.
“Could it be…that you want to go back to the old days again?”
“…Sorry. Gonna go home for today.”
It was a weak attempt to change the topic. Masaomi lifted his hand in a brief
wave to Saki, then stepped out of the room. As he left, her voice held just a
touch more emotion than before.
“You’ll be back, Masaomi.”
He put a hand on the door, trying to block her voice out. He’d heard what she
would say next over and over and over. He focused only on leaving, not on the
content of the words.
“After all, it’s already decided. Which is why I don’t mind at all if you fall in love
with other girls. Because in the very, very end, you’ll still love me more than
them.”
Saki knew full well that Masaomi wasn’t listening. She spoke the words to the
empty room.
They were meant for herself more than him.
“So until that moment arrives, you need to love many, many girls, Masaomi.”
So many words, right into the wheelchair at the side of her bed.
“So many, you might forget about me. I don’t want you to keep yourself from
being happy, just because you’re worried about me. Instead, I want you to go
out with all kinds of girls, have many romances, learn to love and be loved, until
you forget all about me.”
So many, many words.
“Since in the end, you’ll still come back to me, you know. And for all the
mountains of love you built with other people over the years, your love for me
will stand even higher, higher, higher. It will happen—it will happen without a
doubt. After all…”
Saki’s paradoxical words spilled into the void.
Her smile stayed in place, reaching nothing but the empty room.
Without end.
“That’s what Izaya said.”
She smiled and smiled.
Without end.
Chapter 2: That Was Indeed a Monster.
In a city where even the night is brimming with light, there is a monster.
(Yes, a monster that was indeed a monster.)
Another member of the city wandered in the darkness tonight, soon to be
gripped by the fear of that creature.
Ikebukuro
As she straddled the headlightless motorcycle, she was certain that she was
being followed.
Her bike’s engine made no sound.
And yet, she was easily traveling over thirty-five miles an hour. That alone
made her an eerie sight, but even through her helmet, she could sense the
shadow closing in on her.
She didn’t have to look into her side mirror. She could sense her surroundings
through her back.
It’s the police.
Her grip on the handlebars relaxed as the shadow wafted within her helmet.
There was no need for undue fear as long as she understood what she was
facing, that it wasn’t some unexplained menace. Of course, to people unfamiliar
with the process, being pursued by the police was an inexplicable and menacing
experience—but to Celty Sturluson, it was an encounter with which she was
somewhat familiar.
She took care to follow traffic safety laws in all cases outside of an emergency,
but there was no hiding the lack of a license plate and lights. She couldn’t
possibly pay a ticket if she got pulled over. Celty didn’t even have a driver’s
license, so getting arrested would lead to a chain reaction of ugly consequences.
A self-deprecating smile flitted across Celty’s mind.
Breaking the law or not, if I get caught, I’ve got bigger problems.
She silently focused her consciousness on the multiple squad bikes
approaching her from the rear.
It’s not like the law of Japan can do anything with me once they’ve got me.
Oblivious to Celty’s confidence, the police motorcycles picked up speed bit by
bit, approaching her rear quietly but surely.
Then, I guess I need to give them a show.
She sped up, daring them to react, pulling the black bike into a wide parking lot
on the side of the road.
To convince them that this is pointless.
The cops closed in, four in all. It was a bit much just to stop one motorcycle,
but apparently even that wasn’t enough—one of the officers was using his radio
to call for more backup.
You need to learn that the very idea of catching me is futile.
At her back was the wall of a building and a fence of inorganic color.
At her feet, cracked asphalt and white lines demarcating parking spaces.
Overhead, the faded, blurred moonlight dimmed by the surrounding neon.
With the surroundings just right, Celty was now ready to reveal her true
nature.
She took off her helmet to show them.
The motorcycle officers had been following commonsense procedures
according to what they knew was normal. But now they recognized an
abnormality.
There was no head where there should have been beneath the helmet. From
the cross section of her neck, black smoke spilled like some kind of out-of-control
humidifier.
That in this world, there are monsters that surpass all human understanding.
To impress her nature upon them, the being atop the black motorcycle
reached out—and controlled the night lights with her own shadow.
The seeping shadow instantly spread, forming a mist that clouded the officers’
vision. This mist only existed for a span of several seconds until the particles of
shadow contracted, materializing into a weapon in Celty’s hands.
But it was far too ugly and warped to be called a weapon. It had a handle
about ten feet long, twice Celty’s height, ending in a pitch-black scythe just as
long. It was the kind of object found on the Death tarot card, lit by a powerful
light to project a large shadow against a wall, then cut out and turned into a real
object. Endless, spotless, black, black, black.
More shadow exuded from Celty’s back, erupting upward into wings just as
black as the scythe that enveloped her body.
At the same time, the previously silent bike’s engine roared into life.
As it brayed with the sound of a great beast’s dying roar, Celty swung her
enormous scythe, completing the image of her true self—a creature not of this
world. A headless dullahan.

She was a type of fairy commonly known as a dullahan, found from Scotland to
Ireland—a being that visits the homes of those close to death to inform them of
their impending mortality.
The dullahan carried its own severed head under its arm, rode on a two-
wheeled carriage called a Coiste Bodhar pulled by a headless horse, and
approached the homes of the soon to die. Anyone foolish enough to open the
door was drenched with a basin full of blood. Thus the dullahan, like the
banshee, made its name as a herald of ill fortune throughout European folklore.
When someone back in her homeland stole her head, she lost her memories of
what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that had brought
her here to Ikebukuro.
Now with a motorcycle instead of a headless horse and a riding suit instead of
armor, she had wandered the streets of this neighborhood for decades.
But ultimately, she had not succeeded at retrieving her head, and her
memories were still lost. And she was fine with that.
As long as she could stay with those human beings she loved and who
accepted her, she could live the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face and
held this strong, secret desire within her heart.
That was Celty Sturluson in a nutshell.
Instantly dragged against their wills into a display of the abnormal, the
motorcycle cops panicked, which gave Celty an easy window of escape.
Naturally, none of them would dare to follow her—or so she assumed.
Sadly, reality was not so kind.
Even to a monster to whom reality had only a tenuous connection, reality was
cruel to all.
“It’s always been on my mind,” muttered one of the motorcycle cops to
himself, seemingly the central figure of the four men, his face shadowed by his
helmet.
—?
This was not the reaction she expected.
Celty concentrated on the officer’s long soliloquy, feeling that something was
definitely wrong.
“Always, always. When things like you show up in manga and movies, we’re
always the punching bags. By the time the hero with his superpowers shows up,
we’re always lying in a pool of our own blood, just to show off how tough your
kind is.”
This didn’t seem to have anything to do with his actual job, but none of the
other officers showed any disagreement with the sentiment. Celty began to feel
unsettled that the men were not panicking at her scythe or lack of head.
“But that’s all right. Because on the flip side, they only depict us that way
because we’re considered real tough in real life. It’s a necessary evil when telling
a story. Yep, absolutely true. But there’s one thing I’ve always wanted to say to
any true monster or evil psychic or cyborg or ninja.”
…What in the world is he babbling about?
Celty watched the muttering cop with suspicion and spread her shadow again.
It just wasn’t enough. She hadn’t used enough yet.
None of this meant anything if it wasn’t threatening her opponent. She was
producing this shadow specifically for its mental effect. But after a reaction like
this, she wasn’t sure what to do anymore.
Undaunted by any of this, the man murmured, “Just one thing. Just one thing I
want to say. And that is…”
He squeezed the accelerator sleeve on his right handlebar.
“Don’t fuck with traffic cops, monster.”
The engine roared, 180 degrees the opposite of the sound the black
motorcycle made, and the other bikes joined in, gunning their throttles.
Meanwhile, she could hear the backup motorcycles and squad cars approaching
in the distance.
The traffic officer directly in front of Celty suddenly looked up. His face was
pleasant. But his eyes glimmered dangerously.
“I’ll say it again.”
His gaze, brighter than any headlight, cut mercilessly through Celty’s
hesitation.
“Learn your lesson, monster. Don’t fuck with traffic cops.”

The sound of a door slamming open.
The owner of the apartment, Shinra Kishitani, spun around to see the figure of
his beloved cotenant, her shoulders trembling. She was holding her helmet in her
hand for some reason, making no effort to hide her lack of head.
“Welcome home, Cel…whuh?!”
Before Shinra could finish his greeting, Celty leaped into her partner’s arms. In
the midst of his powerful embrace, her body shook and quaked.
“Huh? Wha…what’s up?! This kind of physical intimacy is the greatest of
honors, my lady. Er, wait, there’s a better way to say that… Uh, hang on. Are you
trembling?! No, really, what’s wrong?! Celty? Celtyyy?!”
Several minutes later, once Celty had finally calmed down, she typed her
thoughts into the laptop set up on the dinner table.
Shadows split and split again from her fingertips, enabling her to type much
faster than any human could. As a sign of her panic, she was even typing in such
a way that entirely mimicked human conversation.
“I was s-s-so s-s-scared, so scared, Shinra! P-p-police these days are
monsters!”
“Police…?”
“Yes, a monster, that was indeed a monster! There were nearly a dozen
motorcycles and patrol cars chasing me around like a beast with one mind… I
swung my scythe around with abandon, but rather than scattering them, that
just made them chase me harder! They evaded with perfect precision and
maintained the pressure! Each and every bike was like a missile coming after
me!”
Her fear was so great that Celty jumped from time to time just by looking at
the string of text she was typing. Shinra had his arm around her back, gently
enveloping the Black Rider suit in an attempt to calm her nerves.
“I figured that a little menace from my end would frighten them off, and that
was always good enough before this, but today, the traffic cops chased me
around like one single creature. Even when I brought out a scythe that was like
thirty feet long, they didn’t budge. They just kept coming after me!”
“Calm down, Celty. You’re just repeating yourself.”
“I-I rode onto the highway, but the highway patrol already had an ambush
waiting for me! I only got away by fleeing onto the Raira Academy campus…”
“Yeah… Speaking of the traffic patrol of the Metropolitan Police Department
Fifth District…you were doing such a good job of zipping around evading them
that they called in some real crack troops from elsewhere,” Shinra explained
calmly, hoping to soothe her agitated nerves. “There’s the Kuzuharas at the
police box just outside the station; almost the whole family are police. Well, one
of them is named Kinnosuke Kuzuhara, and he’s a problem officer who often
pressures his targets so much in traffic that they cause accidents. If you think of
him as a new officer called here to be a rival to you, it makes you feel like your
life has meaning now, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t need a rival to chase me around like Freddy Krueger to make things
exciting!” Celty typed, then calmed down at last and continued at a more even
pace. “It was scary. So scary. I got overconfident. Very overconfident. I promise I
will live my life with humility and modesty. Please forgive me—I’m sorry, I’m
sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Who are you apologizing to?” Shinra wondered with a smirk, peering at Celty.
“For being a headless fairy, you sure are a scaredy-cat.”
“Shut up… I’m not scared of ghosts or vampires,” she rebutted unconvincingly.
Shinra cackled. “Is that so? You were afraid of aliens the other day, and I
remember the way you were terrified out of your wits after reading that
collection of horror manga short stories.”
“I can’t help it! Just think of that kind of horror happening in reality… Think of
your own face flying through the sky and strangling you or slugs dripping out of
your mouth! That’s scary!”
The thought of the manga made Celty’s body tense again. Meanwhile, Shinra
stared at her with the care of one watching an adorable pet and sighed.
“It just sounds like a joke, coming from you. It’s strange, though… Maybe
being such an abnormal thing causes you to mix up reality and fiction much
easier than the rest of us.”
Celty sulked into her laptop.
“Aliens aren’t fiction! There are plenty of mysteries out there in the universe!”
“Well, you can stop trembling over harmless mysteries… Especially when you
just laugh off the ghosts and goblins. That cowardly nature isn’t the Celty I know.
The only time you need to show off your vulnerable side is in bed with m—
Hurgh!! Y-yeah…that’s more like it…”
With one fist wedged firmly into Shinra’s stomach, Celty typed away with her
free hand.
“Don’t get embarrassing on me now. At any rate… I bet I could win a fight
against a ghost, but I have no idea what sort of super-science an alien might
use. Who knows, those patrol officers could just be grays wearing human
bodies.”
“Wow, you must have really been frightened… Well, I hate to bring this up
after you were so scared out there,” Shinra said apologetically, slowly recovering
from the damage of the body blow, “but would you mind going back out to
Ikebukuro Station?”
A long silence.
Celty’s shoulders rose up and down as if taking deep breaths. She put on her
trusty helmet and slowly typed out, “Honestly? I don’t want to. I can probably
avoid being spotted by the police, but…is it a sudden job?”
“I just need you to pick someone up.”
“Who?”
Shinra was uncharacteristically hesitant in answering his beloved’s question.
“Someone who just came back from America. And…he’s going to live right next
to this apartment.”
He took a deep breath, then finally gave her the answer.
“So, yeah… My dad’s back.”
Ikebukuro Station, west exit, outside the Metropolitan Theatre
Celty met Shinra Kishitani, her lover and roommate, shortly after losing her
head.
It all started when young Shinra found her hiding spot on the ship out of
Ireland where she was stowing away, following the trail of her head. After that,
she got a place to stay in Japan, owing to the help of Shinra’s father—but thanks
to his so-called “research” vivisection, using anesthetics that didn’t even work on
her, she did not have a fondness for the man.
In fact, at present Celty suspected that it was Shinra’s father himself who had
actually stolen her head. She couldn’t corner him until she had proper proof of
it, but she was always wary of him.
She wanted to tell him that he could get a taxi himself, but he had used the
proper channels to call upon her services as a courier.
He’s always tried to needle me like that. Some things never change…
Celty made her way to West Gate Park, evading the watchful eye of the police.
Once there, she cast her senses around the area.
Though it was nearly eleven o’clock, there was still a surprising number of
people about. Those who noticed the now-infamous Black Rider stopped
momentarily, but a quick turn of Celty’s helmet in their direction caused their
gazes to dart away.
It was under these circumstances that Celty waited for her client.
“You’ll recognize him right away. He’s wearing his usual outfit.”
Shinra’s words as she left the apartment repeated in her head.
I always thought his outfit was pretty silly…but I guess I have no room to
speak, Celty thought, recalling the sight of Shinra’s father before he left for
America. She made a head-holding gesture and shook the helmet left and right.
At the same time, she noticed one point of interest in her surroundings. There
was a group of people with yellow heads visible through the darkness on the
road bordering the far end of the park.
The yellow wasn’t bleached hair, but bandannas that the group of boys all
wore tied around their foreheads.
Yellow Scarves.
They were a color gang that was growing rapidly in influence, based around a
Romance of the Three Kingdoms motif. Celty could recall seeing them here and
there in Ikebukuro and Shinjuku over the last few years, until the whole color
gang fad seemed to vanish recently.
And now they’re growing again… What are they doing over there? Celty
wondered, focusing on the group.
A white shadow stood in the midst of the yellow.
Ugh.
Celty recognized the identity of that white shadow. Inside her mind, she
heaved a sigh, then rode her Coiste Bodhar silently toward the gathering.
Trembling at the possibility of police surveillance all the while.
“Hey, pal. Real cool look you’ve got going on.”
“Real wicked. Or is that wacky?”
The young men wearing yellow bandannas surrounded a single, seemingly
middle-aged man. They hobbled awkwardly due to their baggy pants.
“Blurp, blub!”
One of them even took a swig of juice and spat it out onto the ground next to
him in an odd attempt at intimidation.
Meanwhile, the seemingly middle-aged man surveyed the youths around him
with stoic placidity. He was “seemingly” middle-aged because the boy could not
accurately guess at the man’s age.
They had picked their target and surrounded a man in white—a single man
clad in white, like a polar opposite of Celty’s black.
Not every inch of him was white. Over his funereal black suit, he wore a white
lab coat that was slightly too large for his height. In one hand he held a pure
white briefcase.
Standing along the road outside the train station in a lab coat was strange
enough on its own, but what truly set him apart and concealed his age from
observers was the gas mask covering his face.
Again, pure white.
Even the filter affixed over the mouthpiece of the mask and the bands that
strapped the mask to the head were all white. With his face hidden from view,
the only detail the boys used to conjecture that he was middle-aged was the
graying of about half his hair.
Both his transitioning hair color and the skin color peeking out here and there
were overshadowed by the pure snow-whiteness of the gas mask.
Even the eyes of the mask were made of white glass, like negatives of
sunglasses. It made him look like some sort of bizarre silkworm.
Within the setting of urban Ikebukuro, he looked nothing short of insane.
If you’re going to dress like that, at least save it for Harajuku or Akihabara…
Celty recognized the man from afar. It was clear that based on the manga,
novels, and dubious tabloids she read, Celty thought of Harajuku and Akihabara
as mystical places where anything goes.
And sure enough, he’s gotten himself into trouble…
There was no doubting it now.
Celty was sure it was him.
If anything, she simply wanted to believe that there were not multiple people
who would dress like that.
So if her hopes were true, that meant the man in white was Shingen Kishitani
—Shinra’s father.
The boys crowded around the bizarre, almost exhibitionistic man like he was
some kind of creature in a zoo, totally unaware of Celty’s steady approach.
“Listen, pal, we’re in a bad mood ’cause we’ve been on the lookout for a
slasher who’s in hiding. I mean, we’re crazy pissed. And you’re crazy suspicious.”
“So is it all right if we do a little inspection?”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t—blorp—mind if we examine your wallet. Blorp, blup.”
One of the men approached him, spilling carbonated soda from his mouth.
Shingen took a step away from him and spoke at last.
“The air in Tokyo is so dirty. Don’t you agree?”
“Huhh?” one of the boys growled.
Meanwhile, Shingen only shook his head in lamentation and mumbled through
the gas mask. “Of course, those filthy faces of yours seem uniquely adapted to
the wretched air. A form of camouflage, if you will. And not just that—the stain
extends to your eyes. You do not even see the extent to which the filth
penetrates you.”
“I dunno, I think this dude might be leakin’ something, if you catch my drift.”
The boys reacted to the man’s obvious insult not with anger, but suspicion and
confusion.
“Yeah…no worries, though,” one of them said and poured the remains of his
beverage onto Shingen’s head. Large stains grew on the pristine lab coat, and a
sweet smell wafted through the air.
Shingen remained silent for a moment, then shook his head again and
lamented, “Ahem. Well, it seems the time has come for you to understand what
a grown man can do… You may think that being minors under the protection of
juvenile law renders you immune from harm if you choose to kill another person
—well, think harder! When you attempt to kill a man, you have to be fully aware
of the possibility that he might kill you first!”
The instant he finished this imperious speech, the member of the group most
difficult to label a “boy” grabbed Shingen roughly by the collar.
“Ah! Ow!”
“Yeah, I think this dude really is leaking brains.”
He stood on Shingen’s shoe and began jabbing his thumb into the man’s ribs.
“Listen up, I’m over twenty!”
“Agh! Ah! W-wait a minute. Ouch, that really hurts! I can’t get away because
you’re stepping—ow!—on my shoe! Your thumb is—ow!—stabbing me really
hard! Ow, ow, ow!”
“Huh?! I can’t hear you. Huh?!”
With every “Huh?!” the young man drove his extended thumb between the
ribs. While unthreatening, the powerful and speedy attack caused Shingen to
yelp in surprise.
“What are you doing just standing there, Celty? Hurry up and come to my aid!”
he shouted over the boys’ heads, which caused them all to turn around.
They saw a black shadow.
Do I have to…?
Celty seriously considered responding to the cry for help by pretending she had
seen nothing and going back home. All the while, Shingen continued yelping.
“Didn’t you put it together that the reason I spoke down to them like this was
because I saw you standing behind them and knew I was safe?! I know you’re not
the kind of person who would betray my trust!”
I really don’t want to do this…
Celty was truly about to turn on her heel when she was stopped by a sudden
shout from one of the boys.
“Hey! That’s the Black Rider!”
“That’s the one, Mr. Horada! It was the dude dressed like a bartender with the
Black Rider who did us in!”
“You got a lot to answer for, punk. Yeah?!”
“How you gonna pay for what that bartender did to us?”
Are these the guys who…?
And then Celty remembered.
Several weeks earlier, on the evening of the great mass slashing called the
“Night of the Ripper,” the friend she’d been escorting on her motorcycle had
flattened a group of the Yellow Scarves who had dared to stare him down.
She didn’t recall the faces of the people he punched, but based on the way
they were screaming, these had to be the same boys.
Oh, geez.
Celty pulled her PDA from her waist, hoping to find some way to explain the
situation to the angry gang, except—
“What you doin’ with that? You think this is a joke? Huh?”
One of them smacked her hand, sending the not-inexpensive PDA clattering to
the asphalt.
The next instant, the shadow seeping from Celty’s body instantly spread
throughout the area, clinging to the boys’ feet.
“Whua?!”
“Wh-what is this shit?!”
“H-hyaa!”
The boys screamed, stumbled, and fell as their legs were caught by the sudden
appearance of the black, ropy shadows, quick as snakes and sticky as leeches.
Meanwhile, Celty retrieved her PDA. Once she was sure the crystal screen still
worked, she calmed down a bit.
Good, it’s not broken.
She clutched the PDA Shinra had given her as a present and turned back, done
playing around. She was about to grab Shingen’s hand and drag him away from
the scene, when…
“Hey, you! Black Rider! What’s the big idea—?”
“Yah.”
“Guh?!”
—?!
Shingen, who was standing right behind the young man who’d boasted that he
was over twenty, swung his briefcase down on the back of the punk’s head. It
was a tremendous, centrifugal arc with arms at full extension.
The sound it made was much lighter than Celty expected, but the man
crumpled to the ground anyway, eyes rolled back and blood trailing from his
head.
While everyone else was stunned into silence, Shingen glared down at his
fallen victim imposingly.
“See that…? That’s…how a grown man fights.”
What in the world are you doing, you clown?!
Celty could sense that they were attracting more attention from the
surrounding area, so she grabbed Shingen’s hand and practically dragged him
away toward her trusty black bike.
“Just a moment, Celty. There are three more of them left.”
“Shut up,” she typed briefly into the PDA before tucking it back away.
The motorcycle silently ran up to the corner of the Metropolitan Theatre, but
then she remembered that there was a police station on the other side and
quickly wheeled into a U-turn.
The fear she felt earlier in the evening returned, shivering up her back.
“Oh…did you just shiver, Celty? Was it a shiver in response to a sensation of
cold? A mental reaction? The workings of some sensory apparatus unfamiliar to
humanity? How fascinating. You’ll have to allow me to dissect you agai—
Gwffh!!”
She planted her knee in his back and hung her helmet.
He’s just like Shinra, but…I simply can’t find it in me to like him…
“You saved me, Celty. Not only that, you helped me teach the leaders of
tomorrow a harsh lesson about life, at the mere price of screaming pain in my
serratus posterior inferior and abdominal oblique.”
Shingen was rubbing his ribs with one hand while he clung to Celty’s back with
the other.
The contrast of pure white and black atop the dark motorcycle was striking in
the back alleys. They would stick out like nothing else on the main roads, and if
they were caught, they’d likely be charged with excessive force in self-defense.
With her boyfriend’s father—the very man responsible for that excessive force
—seated behind her, she could do nothing but pray that the squad of police
motorcycles wouldn’t spot them.
Meanwhile, Shingen continued chattering away into his gas mask. “The thing
about that attack is, it wouldn’t really work against a proper fighter—a boxer,
say, with powerful abdominal muscles. Sadly, I do not have well-trained abs, so
there will be a bruise for quite some time, if not actual interior damage.”
Hope it hurts like hell.
If Celty had actually had teeth to grind, they would have been audible right
now. She tried to imagine herself with a head, but the realization that the
number one suspect in its theft was sitting behind her just made her depressed.
She slowed her speed through the back alleys, trying to find something else to
think about, settling on the earlier gang of boys.
Because there were so many members of the Yellow Scarves, they were a
threat if they wanted to be. At worst, they might pinpoint the location of the
apartment where she lived with Shinra.
She knew that she could get by without being trailed all the way back, but their
numbers were concerning. Celty couldn’t say for certain that one of them who
happened to live nearby might not catch sight of her returning home by
coincidence.
It’s weird, though, Celty thought, noticing something about the Yellow
Scarves. They just picked a fight with Shizuo not too long ago…
Shizuo was the name of the friend who had flattened the previous group of
boys a few weeks back. Celty consulted her memories of the more distant past.
The Yellow Scarves were not always such an aggressive bunch, she knew. They
might squabble among other kids, but they didn’t seem to be the type to pick
fights with older adults or go hunting for victims late at night.
Then again, the idiot in the gas mask is dressed like a perfect mark. Then
again, I don’t have room to speak about unusual appearances, either. Huh? So
does that mean a few weeks back…they were picking a fight with me, not
Shizuo?
If that was the case, she owed Shizuo an apology for getting him involved. But
there was something else eating away at her.
She was remembering what one of the members of that group had shouted:
“Listen up, I’m over twenty!”
Before, the Yellow Scarves were just middle schoolers… They should be in high
school at the most by now. I didn’t think they would be pulling older people into
their group…
While this did bother her, the apartment building was within sight, so her
thought process hastily wrapped the issue up.
Then again, strange things happen with large enough gatherings. They’re not
necessarily representative of the whole. Ha-ha! Just like us.
The organization that she herself was aligned with suddenly passed through
her mind. She trembled slightly with a silent chuckle.
The Dollars aren’t much different.
The motorcycle bearing shadows white and black passed into the building’s
underground parking lot unseen. The night moved onward in Ikebukuro.
Though she herself was an extremely abnormal being, her very normal life
quietly vanished into the darkness.
But the disquiet of that question remained upon her heart.
Chat room
{I’m seeing more people in yellow around town these days.}
[Yellow?]
<No kidding. They’re more visible than the Dollars now, since you can identify
them easily.> [Oh, you mean the Yellow Scarves?]
[They do seem to be on the rise.]
<Ah, you’re aware of them, too, Setton?> [Yes, well…they’ve been around for
years.]
[But…I don’t know, something’s changed with them recently.]
{Changed?}
[I don’t know how to describe it. They’re not like the old Yellow Scarves… They
seem to be going in a different direction.]
[It feels like they’re more violent than they used to be.]
{You seem to know your stuff, Setton.}
<That’s incredible! I’m too scared to go around observing them all the time, so
I wasn’t aware of aaany of this at aaall.> {Do you happen to know someone in
the group?}
[Oh no, that’s not the case.]
{Oh! Good evening, Saika.}
[Evenin’.]
<Welcome!>
|good evening. um, sorry|
{Why are you apologizing? lol}
<Saika always apologizes right off the bat. That first time was because you
weren’t used to the Internet yet, and you got hit with a virus, right? You can’t
help that!> |sorry|
|sorry|
[Too much apologizing, ha-ha.]
{Anyway, we were just talking about the Yellow Scarves.}
<Do you know about them?>
|from the romance of the three kingdoms?|
[Well, yes, but more specifically, it’s a gang named after that.]
|oh, the people wearing yellow scraps around town?|
[Yes, those are the ones.]
{Have you seen them, Saika?}
<I’m telling you, pretty much anyone living in Ikebukuro has seen them.>
|sorry, yes, i have|
<Don’t apologize, lol.>
|sorry|
<Speaking of which…seems like the Dollars and the Yellow Scarves are in a
touchy situation right now.> [Oh?]
|what is the dollars?|
{Oh, you don’t know about the Dollars.}
|sorry|
{No, look, you don’t have to keep apologizing.}
<Private Mode> {…Is it true, Izaya?}
<Private Mode> <Yep, dead serious. Though I’m sure you’ve heard about it,
too.> <Private Mode> <The Yellow Scarves are on edge because they think the
slasher might have been in the Dollars.> <Private Mode> {I see…}
[The Dollars are a group of young people, a lot like the Yellow Scarves.]
[They just don’t stand out as much, because they don’t have an easy
identifier.]
<Both groups have been in a precarious state ever since the slashings.> |huh|
|what do you mean?|
[It’s not really worth explaining to someone who doesn’t know the details.]
<That’s not true, Setton. If you live in Ikebukuro, you ought to know!> <Let’s
see. The slashing hit both the Dollars and the Yellow Scarves, but it seems like
each side suspects the other of orchestrating the whole thing.> <And after all,
they never caught who did it.> <After the Night of the Ripper, the whole thing
just stopped abruptly.> <There’s lots of speculation flying around in every
direction.> <And both the Yellow Scarves and Dollars suffered losses due to the
attacks.> <So both sides are eager to find the attacker to preserve their
reputations.> {…The Dollars aren’t that fixated on reputation, though.}
{I think they just want vengeance for their friends.}
<And that’s how we’ve arrived at the current situation!> {So…I don’t think
either side understands the other very well… There’s lots of misunderstandings
going around.}
|i see, thank you|
<Private Mode> [I’m sorry. But you really don’t need to worry about this, Anri.]
<Private Mode> [It’s just people who don’t know the truth getting worked up
about it.]
<Private Mode> [I don’t think you’d do this, but turning yourself in would have
no real effect on any of this. You’re not even the real mastermind.]
<Private Mode> [You shouldn’t rush to a hasty decision.]
<Private Mode> [And the police out there are scary right now…really scary!
Especially the traffic cops!]
|i’m sorry, thank you|
{?}
<Private Mode> [Oops. I need to teach you how to use private mode
sometime.]
<Private Mode> [Anyway, we can talk about this some more another time.
Okay?]
<Either way, if both sides don’t find the real slasher and crush them together,
it could be raining blood in Ikebukuro pretty soon… It’s scary stuff. Gang
warfare!> {…I’ll be praying it doesn’t come to that.}
|um, sorry|
|i’m going to leave now|
{Oh, sure. Thanks for coming on, Saika.}
<Have a good night. >
<Private Mode> [I’m really sorry. You shouldn’t let it bother you.]
<Private Mode> [Oops, too late.]
[Night, Saika!]
[Oops, just a second too late…]
[In addition to being late, I think I’m going to log off for tonight.]
<Huh? Isn’t that a bit early for you, Setton?> [I’ve got a guest staying over.]
[Anyways, night!]
<Okay!>
{Talk to you later.}
<Private Mode> {Those weird things that the virus was causing Saika to post…}
<Private Mode> {You think they have something to do with the slashings after
all?}
<Private Mode> <That’s what I’m looking into now. I’ll tell you if I find out
anything…for a low, low price.> <Private Mode> {If only the police would catch
this guy already…}
<Private Mode> {It would make things so much clearer and help us avoid
fighting with the Yellow Scarves…}
<Private Mode> <I’m not so sure. Neither the Yellow Scarves nor the Dollars
are just one monolithic entity.> <Private Mode> <Some people are going to start
extorting others for their own personal profit under the guise of “gang rivalry.”>
<Private Mode> <After enough of that, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.>
<Private Mode> {Well…I won’t let it happen.}
<Private Mode> <We’ll see.>
<Private Mode> 
<Private Mode> <Besides, you have no control over the Yellow Scarves.> <Private
Mode> {Even still…I won’t let it happen.}
<Private Mode> <Hmm…well, I’ll look forward to seeing you try.>
<Welp, gotta go!>
{Nice talking to you.}
{And now…}
Chapter 3: Why…?
Raira Academy, near the front gate

Raira Academy was a private high school located fairly close to Ikebukuro
Station.
Though it was a private school, its scholastic rank and tuition were only
average, which, combined with its proximity to downtown, made it quite a
popular school to attend. Parents typically expressed resistance, but for
students coming from distant regions, it held a distinct, powerful allure.
And like any other school, it served as a meeting place for students of all
different types, facilitating the creation of groups of like-minded teens, and
occasionally very unlikely combinations as well.
After the closing bell dismissed the student populace, these little groups of
varied friends gathered and dispersed to their own destinations.
“So I was wondering,” the boy said, straight-faced, in the sunset light that
flooded the campus, “what makes you so cute and sexy, Anri?”
The boy and girl listening to him instantly gave their typical reactions.
The bespectacled girl blushed in consternation and mumbled, “Uh…what?”
While the reserved-looking boy shook his head in disappointment. “Not sexy…
You shouldn’t say that, Masaomi.”
Masaomi, who was recognizable by his brown hair and earrings, grinned
impishly. “Ahh, I see… So Mikado admits that she’s cute, even if he doesn’t think
she’s sexy!”
“Wha…? Uh, no. I mean…”
“No? So you’re saying she’s not cute to begin with?”
“No, that’s not what I—! Y-yes, she’s cute!”
The girl’s face got redder and redder.
“Okay, so you will admit she’s cute… But what I’m saying is, she’s not just cute,
but really sexy, and that’s what makes her a total babe. So by viewing her as a
sex symbol where you don’t, I understand her more…which means I love her
more! And therefore, I win!”
“Hey, who made you judge of that?!” protested his childhood friend, Mikado
Ryuugamine. Masaomi side-eyed him and turned to the girl, Anri Sonohara, who
was looking flustered between the two boys.
“Well, anyhoo, I’m glad that Anri’s fully recovered from her injuries.”
“Yes, that’s a very good thing!”
“Uh, um…thank you, both of you…”
Prompted by the boys’ smiles, Anri clumsily put on the best grin she could
manage.
Mikado Ryuugamine.
Masaomi Kida.
Anri Sonohara.
It was the trio that perhaps most powerfully exuded an aura of “closeness” to
other students at Raira Academy. In terms of romantic couples, Seiji Yagiri and
Mika Harima in Class A were most famous, but the peaceful romantic triangle
between these three was so well-known that some even took bets on which of
the two boys Anri would end up with.
Mikado Ryuugamine was a reserved, proper boy. His hair was as black as it was
when he was born, he didn’t have any piercings or accessories, and he dutifully
wore his school uniform on a campus where that was not required.
In stark contrast, Masaomi Kida’s hair was dyed an eye-catching brown color,
his ears had multiple piercings, and at the end of the sleeve of his own personal
jacket glinted a silver bracelet and a ring.
Between the two boys, the girl seemed closer to Mikado in personality. She
was like an even more boring version of him. The glasses gave her the image of a
meek librarian or an honor student.
It didn’t seem like the three shared anything in common, but the smiles on
their faces told any observer that they were close friends, and indeed, this was
the case.
“All right! Let’s all go pick up some chicks, so we can compare Anri’s cute
sexiness to theirs and prove her superiority!”
“What kind of nonsense is that?!”
“Uh…p-pick them up…?”
“Don’t worry, Anri. Your presence will lure them in: ‘Oh, there’s a girl with
them, so this has to be safe!’ You won’t need to do a thing.”
The trio created a warm friendliness that shielded them from the chilly breeze.
The other groups of students milling around were invested in similar
conversations, which gave the school a different atmosphere from the rest of
the city surrounding it.
Just as they were about to pass through the school gate, Masaomi came to a
sudden stop and turned back wistfully to the building.
“So, just one week left on the path of our first year of school. It all happened
so fast.”
“Yeah, it sure did.”
“It was very brief.”
Mikado and Anri found it surprising that Masaomi would act so sentimental.
They joined him in looking back at the school, reflecting in their own way—
except that Mikado quickly looked sideways at Anri’s meaningful expression,
blushing slightly.
She looked back toward him suddenly. He hastily snapped his eyes to the
school building, but it felt like their gazes had met for an instant. He didn’t feel
like making an excuse like, “I was looking at you”—that was more up Masaomi’s
alley—so he tried to hide the awkwardness by changing the subject instead.
“S-speaking of which…Mr. Nasujima sure quit school all of a sudden, didn’t
he?”
“…”
Anri’s face looked pensive for a moment. But Mikado didn’t notice; he
continued to chatter on about the relatively unfamiliar teacher. “I wonder why?
It’s such a random time to leave. He could have just waited another week and
made it a clean break at the end of the year.”
It was not Anri, but Masaomi, who responded, “Who knows? Maybe he got
busted for leaking the finals questions to me. But if so, wouldn’t I have gotten
called in and punished, too?”
“Did I just hear you let slip what I think you did?”
“It wasn’t a slip at all. I summoned considerable courage in coming clean and
admitting my crimes to you. Praise me! The same way you’d praise the honesty
of the biographer who admitted the story about George Washington chopping
down the cherry tree was a total fabrication!”
“I don’t give a crap about the honesty of someone who has to twist logic in
knots to make his point.”
As they bickered like usual, Anri’s conflicted expression gradually softened.
Mikado noticed her slight grin and shyly switched to a new topic.
“Speaking of people who vanished…the same goes for the slasher.”
Anri’s smile vanished as well. Mikado suddenly realized his mistake and hastily
bowed his head.
“S-sorry, Sonohara. I didn’t mean to make you remember…”
“Huh? No! I’m fine. I’m sorry. It’s nothing, really,” she apologized back for no
real reason, startled by his sudden concession.
Anri had been admitted to the hospital after she was attacked by the slasher
on that infamous night a few weeks back. Mikado and Masaomi were more
concerned for her sake than anyone. Then again, she didn’t really have any other
friends, and without a family, the only other people than these two who visited
her in the hospital were her teacher Kitagoma and her old friend Mika.
The speed of her recovery surprised everyone, and after a few days and tests—
with only Mikado and Masaomi visiting her on each of those days—she was
cleared to leave. Once out, they treated her like nothing had ever happened.
Then again, Masaomi’s visits had been very brief, and he usually had some
parting comment like, “RN? Caretaker? No, there’s no better term for an angel in
white than nurse.”
In personality, Mikado and Masaomi were just as different as their
appearances suggested. Masaomi publicly professed his attraction to Anri but
said the same thing about other girls equally. Meanwhile, Mikado had never
officially announced his fondness for her. He was shy enough that he seemed to
be satisfied just hanging out as a threesome at Masaomi’s insistence.
Meanwhile, Anri did not wish to destroy that relationship, and she had no
score to settle with the boys on that matter. The other girls at the school
understood her personality and therefore didn’t spread false rumors about how
she was playing the both of them.
Even the group of bullies who usually harassed her had been strangely well
behaved since their leader found herself one of the slasher’s victims. Mikado
heard a number of such rumors regarding their little trio.
Now that he no longer felt uncomfortable with his standing, he was ready to
head out into the city with Masaomi on his frivolous plan, grumbling all the
while.
The sudden vibration of a phone put an end to that brief moment of peace.
Masaomi pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and answered it at once.
“Hello? It’s me…” His face hardened for an instant. He murmured a few words
back, then stashed the phone away and turned to them, bowing with a hand
held vertically in front of his face.
“Sorry. An old friend wants to meet up all of a sudden.”
“Oh, really?”
“If you want to blame anyone, blame my friend all you want. Blaming is free,
and it’s no skin off my back: two birds with one stone!”
Mikado shrugged off this sudden change of plans like it was just business as
usual. “If it means we don’t have to pick up girls, I’m more inclined to thank your
friend instead.”
“Nah, save the thanks for me.”
“You’re such a tyrant.”
“Tyrants make their way into the history books a lot easier than a nice old king.
See ya tomorrow!” Masaomi called out, a poor excuse for an excuse, and trotted
out of the gate.
Mikado watched his friend grow smaller and smaller in the distance. He turned
to Anri with a wry, exasperated grin.
“We could have at least gone with him partway. What’s the rush about?”
“Dunno…”
“What about you, Sonohara? Are you going home now?”
“I suppose… I’ve got something to take care of, too,” Anri said, grinning. She
headed for the gate to prod Mikado onward.
“I see… Yeah, okay. It’s funny… The sunset was so pretty today, but there are
scary-looking clouds overhead. There could be some showers soon. Stay dry,
okay?”
“Ah, okay… Thank you for your concern.”
That doesn’t just mean she wants to stay away from me, does it?
“They say the day after a pretty sunset is always clear, but I don’t know about
the night in between.”
“Good point…”
Anri’s typical reaction stung Mikado a bit. He was concerned at the fact that as
soon as Masaomi left, she found she had “something to take care of.”
If possible, he hoped to visit a café with her—but it was difficult to bring
himself to ask that now, certainly not after she claimed she had business of her
own.
Mikado was curious about the nature of her errand, but he never managed to
ask. They talked about their usual harmless topics on the way back home.
He never once stopped to think about the nature of Masaomi’s errand,
however.
One hour later, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro

“Hey, Shizuo.”
“What is it, Tom?”
Two men carefully wound through the crowd that was largely made up of Raira
students. The one with glasses and dreads spoke to the other man.
“I’m gettin’ hungry. Time to grab a bite.”
“Good idea. I’m not feeling picky,” the young man in the bartender outfit
replied quietly.
“Hey, Shizuo…why the bartender getup?”
“I had a part-time job bartending once, and my little brother wanted to make
sure I didn’t get fired this time, so he ordered me twenty of the same outfit.
These clothes are all over my house.”
“…Your brother’s pretty damn generous.”
“If there’s one thing he’s got a lot of, it’s money.”
The man envisioned the face of his brother and sighed. This was Shizuo
Heiwajima, widely seen as the most dangerous man in the streets of Ikebukuro.
At his side was his work superior, Tom Tanaka.
The two worked together as debt collectors for a telekura—a phone-based
dating service. As their job was to collect money from folks who tried to run out
on their debts, it involved danger in a variety of ways.
“Money, huh? Hey, wasn’t there an armed robbery around here just a little
while ago? I bet it was just a model gun made to look real. Then again, if you
tinker with them enough, even a model gun can be deadly.”
“Scary stuff.”
“Says you,” snorted Tom, but his laugh was not directed at Shizuo. He didn’t
want the trouble of pissing the other fellow off over something as harmless as
this.
They had finished their daytime collecting, and next they would be after those
customers who only showed up at night. There was plenty of time until then, so
they decided to look for a place to eat, when…
“Hello, Shizoo-oh. Tom. Nice to see yoo.”
Two black hands grabbed their shoulders, accompanied by cartoonishly
accented Japanese.
The men spun around and saw an enormous black man standing nearly seven
feet tall.
There were a surprising number of black street solicitors in Ikebukuro, most of
them working for thrift shops and clubs. But what set this man apart was the
outfit—a blue-and-white apron with RUSSIA SUSHI stitched on the breast.
“Your tummy growl, just now. Yes? I hear it. Good ears, me. You eat. Eat sushi.
Even Satan in hell like sushi.”
“…”
Tom smiled uncomfortably at the man’s Japanese, which was broken in a
variety of ways. He looked over at Shizuo.
Shizuo was staring impassively back at the black man. His state of mind was
unreadable.
But it was clear that at the very least, he was not in a good mood.
“Sorry, Simon. I’m not flush with cash today…”
“Oh. I make cheap. No worry, half-price sale.”
“What…really?”
For a second, the two men were seriously tempted. That was a deal too good
to pass up.
“Other half goes on tab. You pay other half with interest next time.”
Something in Shizuo’s neck made a sharp crackling noise. “Listen, Simon… You
have any idea what the hell you’re saying to me?”
Tom noted the pulsing in Shizuo’s temples and took a position a good six feet
away. Despite the obvious warning signs, the man named Simon continued with
an innocent smile.
“Rip-off is wisdom of Japan. Grandma’s best advice, yes? Izaya tell me long
time ago.”
“—!”
The word Izaya was the switch. Shizuo unleashed a devastating attack from
point-blank range.
The fist seemed to slice directly through the air itself, only to be enveloped in
Simon’s massive palm like it was made of paper. Though this might have given
the impression that the blow was light and harmless, Simon’s body slid backward
about three feet the instant it stopped the punch.
A savvy viewer might believe that Simon slid backward himself to soften the
impact, but no, it was at least 270 pounds of pressure from the fist alone that
pushed him.
Shizuo took a step forward to close the gap and unleashed more punches.
Simon rotated his hands back and forth to absorb the blows, a troubled smile on
his face as he tried to calm the younger man.
“Shizoo-oh angry. Make stomach emptily empty. Not enough calcium. Oh,
Shizuo. Hands are sushi chef’s life. Punching not good.”
“Only because! You’re using them! To stop my blows!”
The words only served to make Shizuo angrier, the force and speed of his
punches rising.
“Oh, scary, scary.”
At the limit of what his hands could absorb, Simon sidestepped to evade the
body blow this time. In the space behind him was a red postal box sticking out of
the concrete.
The hard metal object wavered in a way it was not meant to move, with the
pop of a balloon exploding.
The onlookers around them assumed that it was the sound of Shizuo’s fist
cracking to pieces. Some of them shrieked and turned away.
But Shizuo only moved on to his next attack, unaffected. He thrust a leaping
knee in Simon’s direction.
“Who said you could dodge? You have any idea how much a postal box costs?
Huh?!”
Tom watched Shizuo run off after Simon, then cast a glance at the side of the
box. The red metal was cracked around a dent about four inches deep, like a
cannonball had struck the box directly.
The passersby noticed the dent as well and glanced back and forth between
Shizuo and the postal box in disbelief.
Tom scanned the crowd quickly to ensure there were no cops present. He
mumbled, “Uh-oh. What if they come after us and demand repair costs? How
much does a postal box cost anyway? And how can Simon take punches like this
one and laugh them off…?”
He continued to examine the surrounding crowd—then realized that he wasn’t
seeing any of the people with the yellow scraps today.
“Hmm…? What’s this? You’d think the kids in the yellow scarves would be all
over this.”
If they weren’t around at this time of day, there had to be a gathering
somewhere. Tom looked up at the darkening sky and noticed the black, heavy
clouds massing overhead. The sunset light against their underbellies shone down
on Ikebukuro, eerily red.
He gazed at the sky for several moments until he realized that Shizuo and
Simon were steadily proceeding farther into an alley. He started walking in their
direction, sighing.
Thinking of their night shift collecting debts, he mumbled dejectedly.
“Crap… Does this mean rain?”
Several hours later, abandoned factory, Tokyo

In a location slightly removed from Ikebukuro, there was a whole row of
factories, one of which looked especially run-down and desolate.
It was likely used to produce some kind of steel at one point, but aside from a
few clearly useless artifacts remaining behind, all of the operating equipment
had been taken out, leaving it barren.
Despite its reasonably close proximity to the downtown parts of the city, the
surroundings were truly desolate. Hardly anyone could be seen walking the
streets around the factory.
It had clearly been several years since the building had been abandoned, its
gray walls rusting out in spots. The land wasn’t even valuable enough to have the
deed recycled for another purpose—but that did not mean it was not being
used.
To make up for the emptiness outside, the interior of the factory was packed
with people.
It was not a large variety—most within the building were of a young age. In
fact, the sea of faces could be described as “boys,” with some as young as
middle school or even elementary age.
But that did not mean the factory was buzzing with youthful energy. The boys
were even quieter and better behaved than how they must have acted while in
class at school.
Every single one of the boys had some kind of yellow cloth displayed on his
body, whether bandanna, scarf, or boxer’s bandages wrapped around the hands.
When combined with the overwhelming number present, it produced a sea of
yellow.
“So…who got hit?” asked a boy leaning against a drum can in the midst of the
group of dozens.
A boy near him mumbled in a sluggish voice devoid of emotion. “It was Mr.
Horada.”
“Don’t recognize that name. Who’s Horada? I would remember an odd name
like that…and what do you mean, ‘Mister’?”
“Uh…just that he was an alum of Higa and his friends’ high school…,” the boy
mumbled again, growing quieter as the sentence went on.
The boy in the middle asked, “Higa… Oh, one of the people who joined while I
was away from the group? But when you say ‘alum,’ does that mean he’s over
twenty now?”
“Yeah…I think he’s right about there.”
“Hmm.”
The boy went silent for a while. Eventually he craned his head, cracking his
neck, and hopped down off the drum canister.
“Well, it’s fine. Whatever happened in the organization while I was gone was
your decision, and I’m not gonna fuss over it.”
“…’Kay.”
“I just want you to be careful. If the older folks bring in even older people, and
it eventually reached the point that so-and-so from the so-and-so syndicate
comes knocking on the door…that’s when this whole thing is finished.”
The boy’s smile was more wry and self-mocking than one who was simply
lecturing his fellows would wear. The gathering of youths were all the type to
despise that sort of patronization, but they heard him out without a single
complaint.
“We’re kids. No matter how many of us there are, we can’t overcome real
adults. We’re not smart enough about the world. They’ll use us to their ends,
and then it’s over.”
He paused for a breath and glanced sideways balefully, murmuring, “The same
way that Izaya Orihara used me.”
“That wasn’t your fault, Shogun…”
“C’mon, how many times do I have to tell you?” he said exasperatedly,
correcting their theatrical title for him. “I’m not your shogun, I’m Masaomi
Kida.”
And the boy thought about his past.
The inescapable past that had created the Masaomi Kida of today.
The Yellow Scarves.
When did the color gang based around a Romance of the Three Kingdoms
motif get started? Even Masaomi couldn’t remember.
There was no real necessity behind the creation of the gang.
Even the choice of yellow for the gang’s color was based on nothing more than
a TV show that was popular at the time. That’s all that Masaomi recalled of the
decision, and even after this much time, he had almost no sentiment or
attachment to the color at all.
Because the manga Masaomi was into at the time was based in the Three
Kingdoms setting and they knew the color would be yellow, it was inevitable that
the name of the gang ended up being Yellow Scarves.
That was the extent of the rationale behind the name and color.
The only important question was why they got together.
But even that genesis was nothing more than a fragment of memory from
Masaomi’s distant past.
Masaomi was still in elementary school when he left his hometown and came
to Ikebukuro.
It was a massive culture shock to move to such a wildly different place from
the familiar countryside he knew.
He had to tell someone about this—so he chose to boast about the big city to
his old friend, Mikado Ryuugamine.
It wasn’t because he was particularly close with Mikado, but just because he
was the only one who had Internet access at his house. Back in the early days of
the Internet, chat partners were a valuable commodity. Masaomi regaled him
with tales of the things that happened in Ikebukuro.
His friend showed no lack of curiosity over the adventurous stories of Tokyo.
Mikado was the perfect audience for Masaomi.
When Masaomi reached middle school and his innate feistiness grew more
pronounced, he would brag to Mikado about the fights he’d seen and
participated in during his urban stay.
“Just don’t overdo it,” Mikado would warn, but his eyes sparkled in fascination
at Masaomi’s exploits, and he still demanded to hear all about them.
Eventually, Masaomi found his way deeper and deeper.
Deeper into the heart of Ikebukuro.
Even deeper.
When he first started talking about his fights, there was no feeling of guilt. He
believed that they were all fights someone else picked with him, and he hadn’t
hurt his opponents too much.
But it all started going south when he saw a classmate being harassed in town
and took on the fight for him.
Soon people began to gather around him. His classmates’ friends called more
friends into the circle, causing it to grow.
At times, some people offered to handle the fights for him, and Masaomi’s
group began to make a name for itself within their public middle school. Of
course, it was a school without many true delinquents, and they weren’t in a
position to make trouble with any nearby schools.
But that only meant there were no brakes to stop them.
Slowly, so slowly, the group grew in size.
In his youth, Masaomi did not understand what this meant yet. There was
merely a vague sense of anxiety in the back of his mind.
And then, around the time their group took on the name of Yellow Scarves…
…Masaomi stopped telling Mikado about it.
Instead, he told his old friend about things in town like usual. He just didn’t
include any details about his odd companions.
During the days, he would hang out with his Yellow Scarves as always. It wasn’t
awkward for him. In fact, he enjoyed the feeling of lording it over his little group.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it only served to further distance the old
memories of his countryside home.
He cared about his friends in his new environment. But he felt that there was a
fundamental distinction between them.
If he bragged about his gang leadership to Mikado, that would somehow end
his connection to home for good, he felt.
Should he stay true to his old self? Or embrace his new role as leader of the
Yellow Scarves?
It was a silly and unnecessary choice, but it tormented him all the same.
His friends here were only connected to him as long as he was fighting. He was
worried that they might leave him as soon as he slipped up and made a mistake.
He wanted someone.
Someone to affirm his actions and support him.
Someone who, like Mikado from his hometown, set him at ease and grounded
him so that he could be at home in Ikebukuro.
It was during this period of growing unease that she showed up out of the
blue.
“That’s a cool yellow scarf. It looks nice on you.”
She was referring to the trademark of the Yellow Scarves tied around his arm.
The girls showed little fear or concern about Masaomi. It was what one might
call a “reverse pickup,” where a group of young women around their age
reached out to contact Masaomi’s little group hanging out at the train station.
Masaomi was fully comfortable with his life in the big city right around the
time that the Yellow Scarves numbered about thirty in total. As their numbers
grew, Masaomi got tired of the fighting, and the Yellow Scarves as a whole
turned easygoing and relaxed. There were very few squabbles with other gangs
at that point.
He tried picking up girls when he was on his own, but he rarely succeeded, and
even when he did, the relationship was lazy and brief. That’s how he had always
related to women, even before coming to Ikebukuro.
Mikado always marveled at these exploits, claiming that he was “still just in
middle school!” But Masaomi had been going out with girls since his elementary
years, so he usually turned the tables and teased Mikado for being too shy
instead.
So when this moment came, Masaomi didn’t give it any more thought than
Hey, I got hit on by some girls, and they’re pretty hot, too. Lucky me, I’m not
doing anything right now.
“You’re called the Yellow Scarves. Isn’t that right?” one of the girls asked
boldly. Masaomi felt his excitement cool off.
Oh. She’s not interested in me personally, just the group. Then again, we must
be getting famous if even normal girls like her are aware of us.
He was ready to put on a different face, to express more acutely his individual
nature as Masaomi Kida, but one of the girls preempted him with a gentle smile.
“You’re way cooler in person than the rumors suggest, Masaomi Kida.”
“Huh?” he gaped stupidly.
How did she know his name? It was the girl in the center of the opposing
group. She had a bright smile and lightly dyed a lock of her boyish short hair, a
look that made her rather visually similar to him. He blinked in surprise.
“What? How do you know my name? Are you psychic? Like Psychic Itou? If you
keep reading people’s minds, I’m gonna have to stuff you into a bag and take you
home with me!” he teased, referencing a popular TV comedian to hide his
consternation about being recognized.
Masaomi’s fellow Yellow Scarves looked among themselves, unsure of how
they should react, while the girls giggled at Masaomi’s joke. The one in the
center gleefully responded, “Oh my God, you’re being so weird! You’re so funny,
Kida!”
After a bout of laughter, she gently shook her head. “But I’m not a psychic. The
real psychic is someone else.”
“Oh? Who’s that? Does one of these girls around here speak to ghosts?”
Masaomi asked, looking at the others with a gentle smile of his own. Some of the
girls were already speaking to other members of the Yellow Scarves, and only the
three clustered around the short-haired girl were facing him directly.
“Let me guess, she asked the ghosts of my ancestors just what a cool guy I am,
right? Or is it one of the sort that hangs out behind my back? Or a paralysis
ghost, or a floating ghost, or what have you. Whatever kind of ghost it is, I’m
sure it’ll be reborn under the most awesome conditions in the future. Maybe as
the child of you and me?” he joked bawdily, testing her reaction. Though her hair
was dyed, she and the other girls seemed fairly straightforward, not trashy. He
was testing their reactions to see if they would get along with his style.
“Now you’re just being silly. Let me guess, do you already have a name picked
out?”
“Well, we’d need to take a look at the characters in the parents’ names, right?
So what’s your name?”
The girl played along well, not missing a beat.
“Saki Mikajima. Mikajima is spelled with three, a small ke, and island. And Saki
is a shortened form of the Stewartia tree.”
“Stewartia? So in flower language, your name means like, ‘Seize your chance
before it wilts away’?”
“Oh, wow! You know what it is? I figured you would ask, ‘What’s that?’” she
said, surprised.
Masaomi grinned, feeling his engine kicking in. “Sure, I know everything. I just
ask the ghost hanging out over my back.” He wasn’t sure if that one was a little
too corny.
Saki said, “Exactly.”
“Huh?”
“The person standing behind you is kind of psychic, in a way. He’s very special.
He knows everything.”
“Huh?”
Before Masaomi could turn around in shock, a hand fell on his shoulder.
“Whah?”
Masaomi spun on his heels and saw an unfamiliar man standing there.
“Hi, nice to meet you. It’s, um…Masaomi Kida, right?” the man said, smiling
amiably.
When he looked at the man’s face, a single emotion rose in Masaomi’s chest:
vague anxiety. The same sensation he’d felt when people started to rally around
him.
Masaomi felt his entire body wrapped in an odd prickling alienation that he
couldn’t quite describe.
“…And you are?” he asked suspiciously.
The older man held out his hand and beamed. “I’m Izaya Orihara. Information
is my business.”
“Nice to meet you.”
The boy recalled the impishly innocent yet cunning and crafty smile of Izaya
and clicked his tongue in irritation. “There, see? I just remembered some shit I
didn’t want to think about. Enough of the depressing talk!”
He crossed his legs in front of him and changed the topic. “Oh, right, this is
depressing, too. So what was the deal? Who beat up this Horada guy last night?”
“I told you… Um, the Black Rider. I mean, technically it was the guy the rider
was with who did Mr. Horada.”
“…Wasn’t Higa telling me the exact same story a while back? Right around the
time I returned… It was Shizuo, wasn’t it? They didn’t go back for a rematch with
him, did they? If so, I don’t have a lot of sympathy. In fact, if that was the case,
I’d tell them to get the hell away.”
His tone was light and jokey, but there was a sheen of sweat on his expression.
It was the face of someone who knew the terror that this man named Shizuo
commanded.
One of the boy’s companions mumbled, “Er, well… Higa’s group is in a panic,
too. They got whacked by some freak wearing a white gas mask. Said their limbs
got tied down by…shadows or some weird shit like that.”
“…What is that, some ninjutsu arts or something?”
“I have no idea. Anyway, the Black Rider gave the gas mask dude a ride, and
they just took off…”
With that rather unhelpful report, Masaomi was back to a serious expression
again. “I wonder what’s up with that Black Rider.”
Anyone who lived in Ikebukuro knew the urban legend of the Black Rider.
When his old friend moved to Tokyo, Masaomi had bragged about the rider—but
in truth, he didn’t know the identity or intentions of the strange being.
“All I’ve heard is that he’s supposed to be a member of the Dollars.”
Dollars.
The expressions on those in yellow around him slowly began to evolve.
Many of them believed that the slashing incidents were the work of the
Dollars, and an equal number of them found the concept of a color gang without
a color to be eerie and unsettling.
But for whatever reason, all of the Yellow Scarves who were actually hurt in
the attacks only claimed that they “didn’t remember” what happened. For the
Yellow Scarves, the police, and the media, the full picture of the slasher was still
unclear.
Now that the slasher was in hiding, the news had moved on to newer topics,
and the incident was beginning to fade from the public’s mind. But for those
who had felt the madness of that incident at close range, those who knew some
of the victims, the truth of the matter was carved into them just as deeply as
those wounds the victims had suffered.
“I have no intention of forgiving whoever cut down my people,” Masaomi
announced, his foot perched boldly up on top of a drum canister. He got down
and strode through the meaningful glances of the crowd toward the exit,
mumbling to himself.
It was a sentiment he had uttered over and over to himself since he had first
returned to this place several days ago. As though he was trying to convince
himself of something.
“Shit… How dare you suck me back in…”
“Who’s there?!” echoed a sudden shout of anger off the factory walls.
It could have been the bellow of the landowner come to see what was
happening—but the shout came from the members of the group standing watch
outside.
“What’s up?” Masaomi asked promptly and received an answer from one of
the guards just as promptly.
“They said some girl was trying to spy on us… They’re chasing her now.”
“Girl?”
It was probably just some bystander passing by who peered in out of curiosity
from all the commotion inside, Masaomi thought. But then he remembered that
several members were guarding each entrance to the property, so that seemed
unlikely.
“I want to talk to her. Catch her, make it quiet.”
The factory was not particularly large, but there was scrap material and junked
vehicles piled up outside the structure, which might make catching her difficult if
she hid among the piles.
Masaomi headed outside to assist in the search, heard the bustle of his fellow
members following behind him, and held up a hand. “We don’t need a big group.
Just ten will do.”
If the entire gang ran around the property, they would surely draw notice. The
last thing a big group like theirs needed was the loss of one of the few places
they could meet in private because someone reported them to the police.
Masaomi knew that the authorities had stepped up their crackdown on the
color gangs in recent years. He wanted to protect their space at all costs. They
had been hanging here since the days when he was their full-time leader.
Something about the space, something distinct from say, a nightclub, reminded
him of the vibes of his hometown. He didn’t want to lose the space if he could
help it.
Not that it’s up to me. I don’t own the building, Masaomi thought wryly to
himself. It’s funny…after I already gave up the place once.
The sun was already down, and without many streetlights in the vicinity, the
factory grounds were surprisingly dark. It seemed to Masaomi that she could
easily get away under these circumstances. He tried to imagine the intruder.
They said it was a woman—probably a curious tabloid writer. If she was an
official of some kind, she would have just marched right through the entrance.
It could be someone from an opposing color gang, but there were few of those
around these days, and Masaomi’s team did not beef with any of them.
Except for the Dollars.
The Dollars were a unique organization that expanded its reach through the
Internet. Masaomi himself had registered on their site for kicks ages ago.
About a year ago, he heard that they were having their first real-life meeting.
Masaomi did not attend. He assumed that by gathering as a group and using
that power, they would be no different from the Yellow Scarves.
Then again, if I had really dug deep into the Dollars and become an officer…
maybe I could have prevented this from happening.
It was with that thought in mind that Masaomi started walking the opposite
direction as the one the lookouts had run. The lot was small enough that it
would be faster to circle around from the other side.
Suddenly, he got a subtle sensation of something moving. Masaomi was once
again plunged into a vague sense of unease.
No, not quite.
The unease…has always been there.
Masaomi quickened his pace, trying to process the swirling, bubbling emotions
within him.
The first time I felt it was when people started to gather around me, when all I
did was fight.
He took step after step through the darkness, classifying the emotion that had
plagued him from past to present. The usual smirking grin on Masaomi’s face
was completely gone. Only the unease grew.
The vague unease I’d forgotten came back to my mind when I first met Saki.
The gloom of the sky covered his heart like a suffocating blanket, fanning the
flames of his smoldering concerns.
And when I met Izaya after that, the vagueness of that unease turned into
rock-hard anxiety.
The farther he got from the entrance to the building, the thicker the darkness
became, until he could no longer see his feet.
But Saki…helped me forget that dread.
As his pace increased, Masaomi’s state of mind gradually shook more and
more violently.
And when the accident happened…I broke away from Saki…and left the Yellow
Scarves…
The past flashed before his eyes. His pulse quickened by the moment.
That should have been the end of the dread.
Thump, thump. His heart thudded.
I can’t forgive…whoever attacked Anri and the guys who used to be my
friends…
His feet hit the ground faster and faster, matching that rhythm.
That’s why I came back. It’s the only reason.
He suddenly realized that large raindrops were falling.
So…why is it happening now?
As the rhythm of the rain picked up to join him, it churned up Masaomi’s
unease into a thicker froth.
Why is the anxiety rushing back stronger than it ever did before?
He felt as though he was in reach of the nature of that unease.
Masaomi realized that he was in a full sprint around the back of the factory.
Run.
Run, run, run.
Just run.
Not to a specific destination, but to escape from the chasing shadows.
Spurring legs onward in danger of cramps—forward, ever forward.
She only wanted to know.
The truth.
The truth of a matter that involved her.
The cost of that truth was the scampering of a mouse on the run from a cat.
In the cramped factory lot, there were only so many places to hide.
She slid into the shadow of a pile of scrap material, shrank to lower her profile.
The escapee judged that hiding would be a more effective option than running
like mad.
She couldn’t feel anything.
The only sensation was the mental shock of what she had just seen.
She spoke, only for the purpose of calming her frayed nerves.
“Why…?”
She knew that no one could answer her.
“Why…why was Kida…in a place like that…?”
The girl in glasses asked the void.
The sky visible between the piles of junk was covered in dark clouds, silently
dispersing her query to nothingness.
By way of answer, a cold droplet hit her cheek.
As she watched, rain began to fall around her.
A curtain of water and sound, covering everything beneath it.
Fshh, fshh, fshh, fshh.
Anri Sonohara’s heart calmed itself into that wave of radio static.
Chapter 4: Is There a Problem?
Apartment building, near Kawagoe Highway, Ikebukuro

It had been one very tumultuous day since Shingen Kishitani came to stay in
Shinra’s apartment.
There was no chance to speak with him on the previous night, as Shingen had
immediately collapsed onto the sofa and began snoring tremendously.
When Shinra came back from the convenience store, he found Celty silently
absorbed in her online chat and his father sprawled out on the sofa, gas mask
still in place.
He sighed in a rare indication of lament at the bizarre, otherworldly sight.
When his exceedingly self-absorbed father finally woke twenty hours later, he
nimbly zipped into the bathroom with an agility that showed no sign of headache
after oversleeping for so long. One hour after that…
“Ahh, I feel much better after that shower. Gotta love new apartment
buildings. The water temperature adjustments are very smooth and pleasant,”
Shingen mumbled to himself as he emerged from the bathroom, white gas mask
still in place.
He took a look around the apartment, then finally noticed the figures of Celty
and Shinra at the dining table, wirelessly playing handheld games.
“By the way, thanks for coming to pick me up yesterday, Celty. Just put the
cost for ferrying me on Shinra’s tab over there. Hmm? Oh, Shinra, you’re here.
Hi. Also, I’m here.”
Shingen was wearing his white coat over his underwear like a bathrobe. Celty
flopped over the table, unable to even summon the energy to poke fun at his
outfit. Shinra took his father to task in her place.
“I see you haven’t changed a bit, Dad. If you want to feel fully refreshed, you
should probably take the mask off.”
“Isn’t it normal to make sure that nothing filthy enters the body? This is the
Tokyo Desert, an accumulation of malice like a sandstorm. A gritty mass of
teeming humanity. Get it, because sand is grit—”
“If you have to explain the wordplay, it’s not a very good joke.”
“Plus, I don’t think complaining about sand is very smart, Dad. Desert sands
that get carried elsewhere can actually bring nutrients to the soil.”
Shingen shook his head, unperturbed by Celty and Shinra’s cold responses.
“You don’t understand… The world is full of unclean ruffians of the sort we saw
yesterday. Didn’t they just say there was an armed robbery recently? Assuming
all people are like them, this lowers the risk of them being able to identify my
face. Long live the gas mask! I figured you would appreciate my consideration in
painting the mask white so that you could identify me at a distance.”
“Who else even wears a gas mask? Does this look like a chemical weapons war
zone to you? In fact…isn’t it because of that stupid outfit that you got singled
out for harassment?”
“You may be right… But who were they, anyway? They wore yellow
bandannas… Mimics of some American street gangs, perhaps?” Shingen
muttered, rubbing his side as he recalled the boys who had harassed him the
previous night.
Shinra sipped his coffee and answered, “Oh, the Yellow Scarves? They started
up just around the time you left for the United States. They don’t mess around
with thieving or stickups or anything like that, though. They got into a tussle with
another team a while back and supposedly settled down, but it seems they’re on
the rise again, for some reason or another.”
“I see. Well, it’s normal for gangs in America to kill one another over territory
squabbles. In that sense, at least Japan is peaceful—not that it changes the fact
that I was mercilessly and unfairly attacked. Let them squabble with another
gang, and the twain can fall to ruin and melt into the sewers together!” Shingen
ranted grandiosely.
“That’s absolutely insane,” Celty typed in disgust—then fell into a gloomy
mood when she remembered what had come up in chat yesterday.
The Yellow Scarves and Dollars were already in a hostile mood, and this had
most certainly turned the Yellow Scarves into an enemy. The problem was that
this incident had nothing to do with either the Dollars or the slasher. They were
the ones who had cast the first stone, so they couldn’t make such a big deal
about the affair, Celty thought. But the anxiety was still there.
As one of the few people who knew the identity of the slasher, Celty felt she
had some responsibility to mediate and clear up the misunderstanding—but it
was difficult to turn that thought into action, knowing Anri’s state of mind. On
top of that, it was a story that beggared belief, so even if she was able to get
through to them, it wasn’t likely to satisfy the Yellow Scarves and Dollars
entirely.
Both the Dollars and the slasher were important to her. She wanted to do
something to help, but if anyone was going to shoulder the most pain, it would
end up being the Yellow Scarves, to whom she had no connection, and such a
self-serving outcome would only leave her with a bad aftertaste. She had no
good ideas.
As she sat there, idly tapping the table with her fingers, Shingen asked
curiously, “Ah, Celty. You seem to be irritated about something. Empty stomach?
That’s no good. A courier needs to be broad and welcoming in spirit at all times. I
noticed you furiously smacking away at that cheap PDA yesterday… Trouble with
the pocketbook?”
Celty considered what sort of withering retort he deserved, but fortunately, a
narrow-eyed Shinra spoke for her.
“If that’s your conclusion, maybe you should pay up what you owe her for the
trip.”
“I told you, that goes on your tab…”
“Whatever Celty makes goes right into our family fund. It’s like you’re spending
with one hand to pay the other. Just ante up.”
“Hmm. In that case, I’ll have to wriggle out of it like usual.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a blade tangled around
Shingen’s neck. It took less than a second for the wave of black particles
extending from Celty’s hand to reach him. The pointed shadow was stopped less
than an inch from piercing his carotid artery, freezing him entirely. As he waited,
she typed into her PDA and showed him the message.
“Oh? Wriggle out of what?”
“…I see your skill has grown since I saw you before. You can do this with your
shadow now? This was all just a test, you see. I’m afraid you’ve fallen just short
of a passing grade, but if you release me this instant, I might see fit to bump your
score to— Ow-ow-ow-ow, you’re stabbing me, you’re stabbing me! The tip of
your shadow is stabbing me, Celty! Curses! How dare you destroy my skin
membrane, you creature of unidentified matter! Oh, I’d study you so hard if you
weren’t outside my field of experti— Ow, ow, ow-ow-ow-ow!”
Shingen’s expression was hidden behind the mask, but his desperation was
clear from the way his limbs flopped around, trying to pry the shadow away from
his neck. Once he realized that this would get him nowhere, he abandoned all
pride and begged his son for help.
“Shinra, your flesh and blood is in mortal peril. You see, I am testing you and
thus acting out my own so-called peril…but if I might be perfectly honest, I am in
all actuality truly in danger! Gosh, I don’t know how to say this… You’re my son.
You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course I get it,” Shinra said flatly. He strode over to Shingen, then pulled
the wallet out of his helpless father’s coat and tossed it to Celty.
“Wha—!” Shingen yelped, stunned. Celty pulled a pair of ten thousand–yen
bills out and chucked the wallet back at Shingen. The shadowy restraints
vanished, the black thorns dispersing cleanly into the apartment air.
“Thanks for your business.”
“…Ripped off to the tune of twenty thousand yen, how about that? And on top
of that, I finally see my son’s true nature. Well, you’re not getting any
inheritance.”
“I don’t want any, and if I don’t mind saying so myself, this seems to be a quite
fitting action for your own son to commit, don’t you think?” Shinra quipped.
His father grumbled through the gas mask. “Rrrgh… Taken to the cleaners by a
monster…”
“If Celty took me to the cleaners and stole my soul, I’d be a happy man,” Shinra
retorted.
Celty sat back down shyly and unpaused the video game. But Shingen
interrupted by sidling closer to her and noting, “Nicely done, Celty. I can’t believe
how thoroughly you’ve tamed my son.”
“It’s kind of gross to talk about ‘taming’ your own son like he’s a dog.”
“Oops! And you’re positively brimming with morals and all that. It seems that
you’ve lost your fangs and settled into Japanese customs. But I believe that, if
you’re going to display proper respect, you ought to start by respecting the
father of your landlord,” Shingen blathered on.
“It’s not an issue of morals,” Celty typed irritatedly. “I’m saying you shouldn’t
look down on Shinra.”
“Oh?” Shingen exclaimed as he read both the message on the PDA and the
body language she exhibited. “Why, Celty, are you saying…you’ve fallen in love
with my Shinra? I knew that my son was odd, what with his unhealthy fetish for
you. Does that mean the feeling is mutual?”
Celty held back on typing further for the moment, unsure of how to respond to
that extremely personal question. After a long silence, she looked at Shinra’s
face and typed two simple words.
“That’s right.”
The man’s son reacted immediately. “Celty! I can’t believe you’re being so
open and honest about our relationship! I’m so, so, so, so, so, so happy! A one-
sided pining as lonely as the abalone in the cove has developed into a loving
bond, rock hard and unshakable, worthy of being shouted from the rooftops to
the ears of unconcerned strangers! I am leaping with exultation at your
admission, my dear!”
“Huh? Strangers? But I’m your father…”
Shinra stood up and squirmed with joy, ignoring the grumbling from the gas
mask. Celty felt rising embarrassment at her partner’s emotional display and
extended a blanket of shadow that forced Shinra down into his seat.
“Whaa—?! I think you’re beautiful even when you’re using your shadow more
nimbly than your own limbs, Celty.”
“Just shut up. Don’t shout that embarrassing nonsense at the top of your
lungs! Also, that simile you used earlier was terrible and made no sense.”
“Why, that just shows you the confusion that ensued at my utter joy to learn
of the trueness of your love! And amidst that chaos and confusion, the only
certain thing is my devotion to…mrrgh…mrff!”
He squirmed as she covered his mouth to stop him from talking. Meanwhile,
Shingen sat at the table and imperiously inserted himself into the conversation.
“Hmm… Just a moment. Do you really think I’ll allow this kind of relationship?”
“Excuse me?”
“I hate to bring this up, but in human society, you are an unwanted guest—a
monster, if you will. Are you aware of that?” he asked, his voice dripping with
irony.
Celty did not hesitate in responding, “Of course.”
Shingen’s eyes went wide behind the gas mask at the forthright confidence of
her answer.
“Of…of course?”
“Why? Is there a problem?”
“Well…damn. My plan to take the advantage by bringing up your antisociality
has failed. I suppose I only have myself to blame after turning my son into an
unlicensed doctor.”
“I don’t want to hear a single word from you about antisociality,” she shot
back.
Shingen’s gas mask turned away from Celty in a huff. He tried a different
vector of attack. “Er, okay, well… Is that any way to speak to your lover’s father?
What happened to respect for your elders?”
“I have been alive for at least a century. And that’s only what I remember.”
She still had memory that suggested she had been living for much, much
longer than that, but since losing her head, she could only clearly remember the
last 120 years. Then again, it was possible that even if she recovered her head,
those older memories would remain hazy.
“Grrmm… Very well, I accept your relationship. And in return, you may now
refer to me as ‘Father.’ At all times. Knowing your difficulties with your memory,
allow me to repeat myself: You will now call me Father.”
“Silence,” she retorted briefly, then gave Shingen a fresh glare. Of course,
without any eyeballs to indicate such, Shingen might not even realize she was
glaring at him.
Now that I think about it, he might have stolen my head himself. In which
case, it would be his fault my memory is poor to begin with.
She just needed some kind of proof. Then she could put him through the
wringer. Meanwhile, she decided that she ought to be calm in this situation.
“At any rate, Shinra is not a child.”
“That’s right, Dad. We’re serious about this. I’ve been reborn since Celty came
here. I feel permeated with a deep feeling of contentment that never existed
before,” argued Shinra, who had finally been freed from the shadow, but his
father discarded his opinion.
“But you were just a boy when Celty got here.”
“Age means nothing to true love.”
“Good grief, she really has done a number on you,” Shingen sighed,
exasperated at his son’s logic. He rearranged the fit of his gas mask and
muttered, “Done a number, huh? Celty, tell me, are you aware of the fairy
known as a leanan sídhe?”
“Of course. They’re fairies who travel in search of their destined lover. The
man a leanan sídhe ends up with has a shorter life span but receives all kinds of
special abilities in return.”
“Aha. Very good,” Shingen said approvingly.
Celty puffed out her chest with pride and boasted, “Heh, I always get one on
my party in my favorite video game series.”
“Can’t you at least say it’s because they’re fellow fairies? Hell, those are even
from Ireland, same as you,” Shinra prodded her, exasperated.
Celty swiveled her PDA screen to show him. “My home is Ikebukuro. After all…
it’s where my family is.”
“Ohh! That’s the sweetest thing! They say there’s no cure for lovesickness, but
your smile can fix all ailments! C’mon, let’s mate like fish—gwufg!”
Celty nailed Shinra’s rapidly approaching throat and gave Shingen’s previous
question a more considerate answer. “Back on topic, I do remember meeting a
few different fairies back there.”
She continued typing at the PDA in little bits and pieces, taking the time in
between to peruse her uncertain past. “What about leanan sídhe?”
“Watching you just now, I had the feeling that perhaps you’re closer to a
leanan sídhe than a dullahan.”
“You think I’m going to suck the life out of Shinra?” Celty made a gesture of
affront.
Shingen shook his head. “No. As you said, a leanan sídhe is a fairy that travels
in search of a man to love. If the man she sets her eye on resists, she becomes a
slave who will do anything he says if it will make him love her, but once he
accepts her love, it is like a bewitching curse that possesses him until his death.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“A leanan sídhe is invisible to anyone aside from the man of her affections,”
Shingen stated flatly, but the eyes visible through the white lenses of the gas
mask were sparkling with delight. “Legends say they are extraordinarily
beautiful, but only their chosen man can see them. Their beauty is unknown to
any but their lover.”
“How can you be beautiful if you have no face? Yet my son claims that you are
beautiful with all of his heart. You have some kind of beauty invisible to the rest
of us that is only apparent to the man you love.”
It could have been taken as sarcasm, but Celty was not angry. She responded,
“That’s hardly unique to the two of us. There was a boy who claimed to love
only my head. Doesn’t this kind of thing happen all the time in normal human
romance?”
“Yes, you’re exactly right. Which means the leanan sídhe is merely a symbol—a
standin for a kind of love that is actually more common than we might think.
That is why, when I see you, I think that rather than a death-dealing dullahan…
you might be more suited to be that other type of fairy.”
“I see…,” Celty typed in understanding, then wondered, “then what about the
part about stealing his life?”
Shingen’s response to her innocent question came as simply as if it were
obvious common sense.
“Same thing. It’s a common phenomenon for human beings to drown in love
so heavily that their lives become shorter. Finding love can lead to the
blossoming of talent and the shortening of life. It’s two sides of the same coin.”
A moment of silence passed.
Shingen perhaps recognized that something had gone slightly sour in the
conversation, so he quietly continued his point from earlier.
“If you follow the local legends, the interpretation of the leanan sídhe changes
dramatically depending on who tells the story. Some tales say that she’s an
elderly witch who knows nothing of love.”
“I see. You seem to know a lot about fairies.”
“I’ve researched a great many things. It’s only natural.”
“Actually…I do have a very vague memory of leanan sídhe.”
Both Shinra and Shingen turned their heads to her in curiosity. It was quite
rare for Celty to speak about her past.
“Ooh? It’s very rare of you to tell a story from before you came to Japan.”
“I guess. I have clear memories of night visions and pixies, things of that
nature…but I’ve hardly ever felt the presence of fairies in this country—so the
memories are very old.”
Celty’s helmet tilted level, as though she were staring far over the horizon.
“I feel like the leanan sídhe I met were indeed fairly old women. Though I also
remember one younger. But there’s nothing more I can do about it until my
memory returns entirely. At this point, my memories of Ikebukuro far outweigh
those of Ireland. All those old memories do is fade away into nothing.”
Shinra’s hand softly folded over Celty’s, which sat lonely on her knee.
“It’s all right… You can replace the memories you lost with all kinds of new
ones from now on. Whether you’re a dullahan or a leanan sídhe or a banshee, I
would be honored to have you suck out my life force.”
“Shinra.”
“Let’s start the memories by having a wedding. First step is taking your
measurements for your dress, so remove those pesky shadow clothes and
—bwaa-bwee-hee-hee-hee!”
“Buzz off!”
She pinched Shinra’s cheek hard, but Celty was not truly angry about it. Shinra
always made a big show about coming right for her, but she knew that he would
not try anything by force and that he wasn’t simply consumed with lust for her.
This was just Shinra’s way of showing his love for her, she knew.
But I really ought to tell him off, anyway.
“Ow, ow, ow! You’re gonna pull my cheek off, Celty. What are you going to do,
rip it open and then fix it shut with cheek piercings?” Shinra jabbered, still having
fun despite his pain.
His father observed with annoyed resignation. “As they say, water only follows
the shape of its vessel… Well, I feel like the reason Shinra turned into such a
freak is because he was molded by the shape of your shadow. Actually, now that
I think back on it, he was always a freaky kid. Used to laugh with excitement
when he dissected anything.”
“Obviously he got that from you!” Celty protested angrily.
Shingen wagged a finger and clicked his tongue at her. “I told you, you are to
call me Father. How long ago did I just say that? You really don’t pay attention to
the details, Celty—never have. In fact, that’s why you’ve never even suspected
that I stole your hea……… Aaaaaa! Crap!” he shrieked, realizing his mistake. But it
was too late.
Celty had just been wishing for more evidence of this crime just minutes
earlier, but the anticlimactic admission was so sudden that she didn’t even
realize what she’d heard at first. But as the meaning of the words sank into her
consciousness, her fingers trembled on the PDA keys.
“Y-youuuuuuu! What did you just say?!”
The twitch in her finger must have caused the u key to be pressed down too
long.
Shingen’s expression was hidden by the gas mask, but he followed up his
mistake with further insult. “Oh, dear. I seem to have admitted a deep, dark
secret out loud… But I’m fine! Celty’s so harebrained, she won’t even notice!”
“”
The shadows surrounding Celty’s body flickered and danced with rage. She
couldn’t even type. The revelation had been so unexpected and abrupt that her
anger was not translating into action the way it normally would.
The man in white leaned in to the turn. He bellowed, “Harebrained Celty!
Haaarebraaained Ceeeelty!”
“Shut up! Don’t repeat yourself!” she typed smoothly this time, the explosion
of anger focusing the precision of her fingers. Meanwhile, she swung at him with
her non-PDA hand, but it only hit empty air.
“Bwa-ha! As if I can’t read a harebrained attack ahead of time,” Shingen
crowed, evading Celty’s enraged punch—but not Shinra’s extended foot, flipping
him in a half circle to sprawl onto the floor.
“Gak!”
“Dad…I don’t care if you’re my father. I won’t stand for anyone insulting
Celty.”
“No, Shinra, wait. Didn’t you know that harebrained is really more of a form of
endearment than an insul— Ghuff!”
All the air went out of Shingen’s lungs as Celty stepped down hard on his back.
He wasn’t in a position to see her PDA, so she didn’t bother to type anything
more. All he needed to pick up was the pure anger emanating from the sole of
her foot. It crept up his back closer and closer to his head, the rage taking on a
note of murder as it went.
Shingen realized the danger he was in at last and pleaded, “All right! All right,
Celty, stop! Let me ex— Let me explain! Not my neck! If you put all of your
weight on the nape of my neck, you really will shatter my vertebrae! Stop! Stop! I
mean…stop, please!”
A few minutes later, Shingen was delivering a grandiose speech to the other
two, his latest wave of heavy sweat having completely ruined his recent shower.
“At this point, there’s no use hiding it… Yes, it’s true that the one who stole
your head, handed it over to a pharmaceutical company, pretended not to know
about it, and made you live in this apartment with Shinra…was me!!”
“How contrite of you.”
At great effort, Shinra had managed to calm Celty down, but the flames of rage
within her still licked and flickered at Shingen’s apparent insistence that he bore
no sin in the matter.
Although she had essentially decided that she didn’t care about the location of
her head anymore, she still couldn’t forgive him for putting her through all of
that. Why had he even stolen it in the first place? If there was someone else
behind all of this, she wanted to barge into their turf and give them a piece of
her mind for an entire day.
Shingen seemed to sense her rage. He said softly, “Very well… I shall tell you
why it was necessary to steal your head from you.” He spun around on his heel
and strode off for the front door. “Come with me. I want to show you
something.”
Celty and Shinra turned face and helmet to each other. Shingen was already
slipping his shoes on at the entranceway. They followed after him, watching as
he opened the door and headed into the hallway.
Slam!
The front door of the apartment shut abruptly, followed by racing footsteps.
—?!
For an instant, Celty was stunned into inaction by the enormous slam of the
door.
Huh? Hmm? What does this mean?
It only resulted in the loss of a few seconds, but that proved to be an
irrecoverable delay.
“What? Did Dad just run away?!” Shinra wondered. Understanding came
instantly to Celty. She raced to the entrance, forming her own shoes out of
shadow and kicking the door open.
All she saw was the plain hallway of the apartment building. On the other side
of the hallway was the light of the opposing apartment. She looked left and right
and spotted the indicator of the elevator right next to Shinra’s apartment
descending toward the ground floor.
That perverted freak. He’s not getting away from me!
Celty eyed the staircase at the far end of the hallway and took off running.
Her running speed was no different from that of a regular human being…
But the way that the shadows writhed and spun around her made her look like
a terrifying Grim Reaper.
“…Is she gone?” came a voice, muffled by a gas mask, from behind Shinra’s
back as he watched Celty disappear around the corner of the stairs.
“Whoa!!”
Shinra jumped at the sudden voice and spun around to see Shingen’s head
poking out of the shadows behind an open door.
“Dad… You made it look like you were running away, and then you hid?”
“Pretty much. I nearly ran into the open door first,” Shingen said proudly,
glancing in the direction that Celty had run while rearranging the fit of his gas
mask. “But my plan to just hit the elevator button and hide worked out. I won
through sheer luck—the elevator just happened to be stopped on this floor.”
“I can’t believe this,” Shinra muttered in exasperation.
Shingen brushed dust off of his white lab coat. “Hmm. As long as I keep the
front of the coat buttoned, I suppose no one will notice I’m just wearing long
underwear underneath… Anyway, I’m going to slip away quietly for now. I’ll
leave my luggage with you and come back to get it when Celty’s not around.”
“…I’m surprised you think I’m going to let you do any of that.”
“You don’t want her to become a murderer, do you?”
“Celty’s not that short-tempered.”
Shinra’s father grinned beneath his gas mask and stealthily strode out into the
hallway. “Ah yes. I have a feeling that a guest will be coming for me, so when
they arrive, give them my phone number and tell them I’ll be in hiding for a
while. So long.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Shingen started heading toward the
emergency staircase on the opposite end of the hallway from the regular stairs.
“Um, what kind of guest, Dad?”
“You’ll find out.”
Shinra sighed as his father proceeded down the hall without turning back.
Ultimately, he did not stop the man.
Shinra sensed a change in the sound around him and peered over the railing
outside.
It had just begun to rain. The low buzz of the rainfall smothered the night city.
Damn…where did he go?

The elevator had already arrived on the ground floor by the time Celty got
there. She determined that he couldn’t have gone far and ran around to scan the
area—but she found no trace of Shingen.
If I let him escape from under my nose, he’ll flee the country in no time. I have
to track him down and put him through what happened in that horror manga I
read last night!
She was about to leap onto her motorcycle and race off in a rage when the cell
phone in the pocket of her shadow-leather jacket beeped the text message tone
at her.
The sound brought Celty back to her rational senses. She checked the phone
quickly, in case the message was from Shinra—and when she saw it, she took off
running at once for the parking garage and her trusty Coiste Bodhar.
There was no city noise around the apartment building anymore, just the quiet
carpet of rainfall.
Chapter 5: I Love You.
The accursed words echoed.

They screeched and cried within her head at all times, like the sound of
cicadas.
And just like cicadas, as if trying to compress a lifetime of love into the single
week they actually lived…
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—I love humanity—I love you. I love
you. I love you.—I love all of the human race!—I love you. I love you. I love you. I
love you. I love you. I love you.—I have the confidence to love every human
being equally—I love you. I love you.—You don’t have the confidence to do that,
do you?—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—And I want to
love you, too—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—But no, I can’t—I
love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—
Because you are my host—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—So I will
love—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
—I will love humanity for you—I love you. I love you. I love you.—So love me—I
love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—You can’t live
without me anymore, can you?—I love you. I love you.—So love me. It’s the only
option—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—I
know that this is selfish—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I
love you.—But there’s no way to stop it—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love
you. I love you. I love you.—I shall teach you—I love you. I love you. I love you. I
love you. I love you. I love you.—About this emotion—I love you. I love you. I love
you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—About this passion—I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—About this exultation—I love you. I
love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—Oh, oh!—I love you. I love
you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—Since you cannot love humans,
I shall teach you—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.—About the great
wonder and beauty of humanity—I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I
love I love I love I love I love I love I love love love love love love love love love love
lovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelov
The only thing that made these voices different from cicadas was that rather
than a single week or a single summer, they continued on endlessly, never to
cease.
On this day, like any other, the voices sounded in Anri Sonohara’s head.
But she was not particularly insane. At least, not that she was aware.
Perhaps she had already gone mad, but they said that often people who are
insane don’t realize that they are insane, so her ultimate decision was not to
pay any mind to the thought of whether she was insane at all.
The words of insanity chanted from the vicinity of her right arm.
If anyone heard those words, they would assume right from the start that
something was wrong—but the voices did not actually stem from her mind, her
brain.
They were an abnormal thing, neither physical nor mental.
“Saika.”
Known to the rest of the world as a “cursed blade,” it was in fact the thing
that plagued the body of Anri Sonohara—and formed the central role of the
recent serial slashings.
However, that did not mean that Anri was responsible for the slashings—if
anything, she was purely a victim.
Saika desired “children” that would prove the love between her and humanity.
Those children were created by implanting Saika’s consciousness into her
victims by the act of cutting them. In that sense, it truly was a curse.
Before Anri was chosen to be the host, she was just another girl who had been
slashed. The child Saika implanted into her sought twisted love for humanity,
just as its mother had. An uncontrollable episode after that resulted in the
incident in question.
The incident was brought to an end when Anri managed to control all of the
“children.” The slashings stopped, and the minds that Saika had taken over
were returned to their hosts—except for when they needed to fabricate details
about the slashings themselves, to make sure all of the ends met properly.
In other words, everyone who had been attacked claimed that they “couldn’t
remember the face” of whoever attacked them.
After that, nothing ought to have changed.
As usual, the accursed voices spoke inside of Anri, echoing through her heart
without end.
But she did not consider that to be a big problem.
She just observed both the world she saw through her eyes, and even her own
mental state, from outside the picture frame.
Objectively. As if it was not her own concern.
If anything bad happened, she would be feeling it from a removed position
where it didn’t hurt as much.
Every tragedy was as distant as a painting of a massacre in an art gallery.
That was the only part of this that made her think that perhaps she was
insane.
Perhaps it was why she was able to put up with the screams of love without
going mad herself.
The slashing incidents should have been buried in the darkness of mystery so
that she could return to her normal life.
But since it all happened, something had indeed changed in her life.
At first she couldn’t tell what it was—this vague feeling that plagued her with
anxiety.
Normally she could ignore such a nagging feeling as something within the
picture frame, but she just couldn’t brush it aside this time.
After a long period of searching, she realized the answer.
The source of her trouble was actually outside of the frame.
Masaomi’s…different somehow.
Two boys had emerged from the painting within the frame, reached out, and
touched her heart.
Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida.
After suffering an injury with one of her “children” and spending several days
in the hospital, Masaomi had changed gradually.
It wasn’t a clear and obvious change.
Even his best friend, Mikado Ryuugamine, hadn’t noticed anything was
wrong.
But as she was accustomed to viewing the world from outside of the painting,
Anri was always aware of the subtle change that was blooming within
Masaomi.
After several days of this evolution, she came across an unpleasant topic in
the chat room.
There were two groups of youths called color gangs, and each of them
believed that the other side was responsible for the serial slashing attacks.
When she became aware of this, Anri was plagued with guilt.
She did not cause the attacks, but she had been relieved under the
assumption that the incident was over. This leftover resentment suggested
otherwise.
Something had to be done.
She summoned the “children” that her “children” created—in other words,
from Saika’s perspective as the progenitor, the grandchildren or great-
grandchildren.
She did not want to use Saika’s power to control anyone’s mind, but she told
herself that the use of force was necessary to stop pointless conflict.
She paid the price for this soon after.
She reached out to some of the boys known as Yellow Scarves among the
slashing victims, hoping to use Saika’s power to learn more detailed
information.
What she heard from one of them shocked her.
“Our boss is Masaomi Kida. I’ve seen him together with Mom before.”
She was stunned into silence.
“Um, he said he would avenge the girl with glasses, living vessel of Mom.”
The children all thought of the original Saika within Anri as their “mother.”
While it was Anri who wielded control, they clearly only saw her as the host for
their mother.
For a moment, she didn’t even process what the child had said.
Several minutes later, when Masaomi’s face finally flashed through her mind,
she realized that a tremendous amount of cold sweat was trickling down her
skin.
“It…can’t be…”
It was a lie. It had to be a mistake.
But Saika would not lie to the original, the mother.
Which meant the child had to be mistaken.
It was obviously just a boy with the same name who happened to also look like
Masaomi.
It wasn’t possible for bright, cheery Masaomi, who claimed that he loved her,
to stand at the head of a dangerous gang. She didn’t want to believe it.
Especially not that he had returned to the group in order to take revenge on
her.
That was why she came.
To the ruined factory that was the gang’s hideout.
When Masaomi received the call, she decided to sneak after him, just in case.
After saying good-bye to Mikado, she went home and changed into her
normal clothes before leaving again.
She already had two of the Yellow Scarves who were her children volunteer to
guard the entrance so that she could sneak onto the grounds undiscovered.
In the end, she saw the last thing she wanted to see.
She saw Masaomi…but a different Masaomi than the one she knew.
His actions and attitude were the same, but the air surrounding him couldn’t
have been more different.
And then, Anri realized.
That alien feeling she’d sensed since she wound up in the hospital was pouring
out of Masaomi right before her, and she’d only picked up hints of it leaking out
into his ordinary behavior.
And now that she knew everything, she was hiding in a crevice of the factory’s
scrap material, drenched by the rain in the darkness.
How had it come to this?

Her emotions roiled in confusion.
The rain beating her body grew harder and colder over time, churning her
confusion into something greater.
Kida…
I have to escape…
Why is Kida…doing this…?
Who knows what’ll happen…if they catch me…
She was full of fear and questions at the sight of her friend in a state she’d
never seen before.
Meanwhile, she was being hunted by an unfamiliar army of yellow.
What would Masaomi say if they caught her?
Would he free her?
Or would he stay the unfamiliar Masaomi, the stranger?
Even if he spared her, what would he tell his companions?
And more importantly, if he learned the reason that she’d come, would it only
cause him to change further?
Was she actually causing him great anguish by doing this?
What would happen with the Dollars group?
What was Masaomi planning to do?
Countless questions popped into her head and vanished.
The only thing that stayed behind was anxiety. She listened intently to her
surroundings.
Most sound was swallowed by the rain, but she could hear a few people
running around.
When she sensed the running sounds getting closer, Anri slid farther back into
a tighter gap in the mountain of scrap metal.
The rain was perhaps both a help and a hindrance to her attempt to hide, but
she didn’t have the wherewithal to determine which it was. The only sound was
the words of love.
The accursed voices knew the present situation.
It’s so simple.
I’ll love everyone.
That boy Masaomi.
And the other children in yellow.
I’ll love them all equally.
Since you cannot love others,
I will love for you!
Deeply, deeply, deeply!
Anri immediately pushed the voices and their deal with the devil alike deep
into the picture frame.
Everyone cut by Saika was implanted with Saika’s voice somewhere in their
minds. For that reason, while they retained their own wits, they were all under a
form of brainwashing in which they couldn’t disobey the mother’s orders.
Yes, using that ability might easily allow her to break out of her predicament
by force.
But then…Kida…
Hurting Masaomi was out of the question, and Anri did not want to
unnecessarily hurt anyone, period, including his friends. Normally those who
hosted Saika were forced into slashing strangers, but Anri kept her mental
control by forcing the voices inside the frame.
That was how she was able to completely ignore Saika’s bargain, but that
might not last forever in the current situation.
Even with Saika’s children on her side, there was no telling what might happen
to those boys after this was over, and taking them all over was out of the
question. She would be no better than the slasher in that case.
Plus, if she did choose to force her way out…
Kida will recognize me.
It was an obvious and predictable outcome, but it was the worst kind of
despair to Anri at this moment.
She didn’t want to ruin the place she’d found for herself.
That was why she was here. But if Masaomi learned that she was not an
ordinary person—if he learned that she was Saika…
Perhaps she ought to present herself and apologize. But she would still have
to explain the situation—and that meant explaining about those who had let
her into the factory grounds.
She could just say that she snuck in, but Masaomi would come to the
conclusion that she couldn’t have climbed over the walls on her own. As a
matter of fact, she could do it with the extra help of Saika, but again, that
would reveal her abnormality to him.
Why…why did it come to this?
She just didn’t want things to be ruined.
If Masaomi learned about the secret of Saika, he might tell Mikado, too.
Perhaps he would listen to her if she begged him not to tell anyone, but she
wasn’t in any position to make such a demand.
Please let the night pass without anyone spotting me, she wished to no one
but the rain. No sooner had the wish come to her than a voice from nearby
crushed it without remorse.
“Hey! Don’t you think someone could hide in here?”
They had found the crack in the piled-up junk that she used to slip back to her
spot. She was hidden farther back, but if they started looking into the crevice,
they would find her momentarily.
“Shit! It’s too narrow for me to fit!” growled a deep voice.
A different voice hit Anri’s eardrums, cutting him off.
“I’ll go.”
!
Even in the rain, there was no mistaking it.
That was Masaomi’s voice.
Masaomi circled around the factory from the opposite side to narrow down
the search, but no intruder appeared.
He searched through the scrapped material and vehicles one by one,
assuming that she had to be hiding somewhere. Eventually he reached the
largest pile of scrap, which a number of boys were gathered before.
It was a mountain of rust and rubble, junked cars and metal, so large that it
made him wonder if the factory was treating industrial waste. Or maybe this
had served as shelter for some homeless for a while, and they’d added to the
pile.
Being somewhat smaller than average, Masaomi offered to lead. He moved to
squeeze into the narrow crevice. There were plenty of members skinnier than
him, but he didn’t want them thrashing the pile and potentially endangering the
life of the woman hiding inside.
If he was going to settle this peacefully, he needed to go in himself and make
it clear that he meant her no harm.
But only if she doesn’t mean harm herself.
“Sh-Shogun!” yelped a frightened voice, stopping him in the process of
squeezing into the crack.
“Told you to call me Masaomi. What is it?”
“Uh, over there…”
Masaomi spotted a shadow in the direction they were looking.
Something even darker than the rain-soaked darkness.
So dark that it seemed to absorb that very rain…
A figure of pure, deep black.
Amid the tense silence, the cell phone clutched in Anri’s hand vibrated and
glowed.
“!”
When she saw the message on the screen, she immediately began to type a
response.
Her fingers were clumsy, unfamiliar with the buttons.
The message to her was short and simple.
“I’m at the factory. Where are you?”
There was only one thing Anri could do, trapped as she was.
She asked for help through the cell phone she’d just recently purchased.
From another person who wasn’t supposed to exist, either in public or in
secret…
“The Black…Rider…?”
Masaomi’s eyes went wide. It was the very person they’d just been talking
about moments ago, an urban legend often seen around the neighborhood.
Anyone who lived in Ikebukuro long enough was familiar with the rider, but
when facing the legendary figure with potential personal business on top of
that, it was a much more imposing presence.
The other boys began to murmur among themselves.
“Uh…are you saying…that was the intruder?”
“N-no way! I’d have recognized that freak right away!” shrieked one of the
boys, clearly terrified of their dark visitor. Masaomi turned around and saw that
someone must have alerted the others, as the rest of the boys from inside the
factory were now on their way, walking toward them as a crowd. Some of them
were even running, and the tension was thick among the rain.
“It’s the Black Rider!”
“The real thing?”
“Oh crap!”
“You serious?”
“Let’s rumble!”
One boy spoke up and compressed all of these emotions further. “I-I saw the
rider pop over the wall… Like, just leaped over it, bike and all.”
They were the words of someone in a state of deluded confusion, but
Masaomi had heard enough rumors about the Black Rider to know that this was
expected. It’s what the Black Rider can do, he thought. There was a more
pressing concern at the moment.
What is the rider…doing here now?
The timing was perfect—almost expectant.
The rider was stopped about sixty feet away, apparently pulling out a cell
phone in the middle of the rain.
He could see the faint glow of the screen in the darkness, but there was
obviously no way to make out the contents from this distance.
Suddenly, the light vanished.
Here he comes, Masaomi guessed right as the motorcycle began to silently
ride forward. It sped up slinkingly, like a predator with prey in its range, spraying
the falling rain as it raced toward the group.
At first it seemed to be coming right for them, but the course veered just
slightly—and the bike crashed directly into the pile of vehicles.
“Whoa!” the boys exclaimed. The motorcycle chugged its way over the
mountain of wreckage like an off-road bike conquering a rocky path, only to
vanish into the little valley between the piles, the very crack that Masaomi was
facing.
The image burned itself into his eyes.
Countless shadows extended from the bike, tangling and gripping onto the
scrap to pull the vehicle over the hump.
He had heard the rumors.
It seemed like too impressive a gimmick to be relegated to the level of “urban
legend”—but there was no doubt that he had just witnessed something eerie,
something unexplained, amid the pouring rain.
Confusion reigned over every inch of Masaomi.
Just as it did for the intruder shivering behind the rubble.
“Ce…Celty.”
Anri’s eyes were full of surprise, gratitude, and her ongoing confusion as the
huge black thing descended from overhead.
“You okay? How did this happen?”
Celty produced her PDA for Anri to see, fashioning a tiny shadow umbrella to
keep it out of the rain.
“S-sorry…”
“You can explain later. Let’s scram. Get on the back.”
“Um, o-okay…”
Anri tried to quickly get onto the motorcycle, but it being her first time, she
had trouble straddling it. Celty helped her up and placed a hand on her face.
“Uh…”
Black shadow began to spread over Anri’s features, until just a few seconds
later, she was wearing a helmet very similar to the one Celty wore herself. Only
the shape was the same, however; Anri’s was pitch-black.
There was a small viewport so that Anri could see, and the little glowing PDA
screen shone through.
“Better to keep your face hidden while we escape, I’m guessing.”
“Th…thank you!”
It would have been bad for Masaomi to catch sight of her face, though Celty
wouldn’t have known that fact. Anri was filled with gratitude.
“Hang on to me tight,” Celty typed, then stashed the PDA away and cranked
the throttle.
A sound like a horse whinnying erupted from the engine of the bike, and Anri
experienced a forward lurch in gravity, like the instant a roller coaster begins to
dip.
The boys bore witness.

A black shadow leaped from the small hill of scrap as the motorcycle engine
screeched.
The only difference was that now a girl wearing a black helmet was seated
behind the rider.
When Celty and Anri emerged from the piles of junk, they saw several dozen
young men waiting for them. Among the crowd were a few girls, too, but they
stared at the two just like the boys.
They were surrounded by a wall of humanity on all sides. Such a wall would be
easy to break, but it would only guarantee that some of the Yellow Scarves were
injured in the incident.
Are they even aware…that I’m a member of the Dollars?
If that was the case, any act of open hostility here was a bad idea. The leader
of the Dollars was an acquaintance of sorts, and she was a properly registered
member of the Dollars—but taking an antagonistic attitude here would cause
trouble for a great many people beyond just herself.
It would be fantastic if the situation were resolvable through dialogue, but
that didn’t seem like an option at this point.
“Who are you, huh? I’ve seen you around for ages. Sorry, it’s just that I’m a
fan, see? Can I have an autograph?” came a flirtatious, out-of-place question.
Celty focused in the direction of the voice and saw a single boy approach the
bike.
“First of all, do you understand Japanese? Let’s start with that. Do you know
the word for love? It’s ai. That refers to me: Ai am in love with the girl sitting
behind you. And I don’t appreciate you swooping in and taking her away from
me.”
Huh? Isn’t that…the one who’s always hanging out with Mikado and Anri…?
“No response, huh? Well, maybe you really are foreign. Actually, if it turns out
you are a woman after all, I think that’d be perfect. Love isn’t me—love is you.
How about that? I always thought the contours of that riding suit were too
slender to be male. I wouldn’t care about you if you’re a guy, but I could love
you based on the riding suit alone if you’re female. Love a nun, love the habit.
What do you say? I’d be perfectly content to love you and your passenger at the
same time, if you want.”
He’s sharp…and oddly pervertical.
Wait, was pervertical even a word? Celty was momentarily distracted by her
own thought process as the boy strode over to her, step by step.
That’s when she realized something.
As Masaomi approached, the arm Anri had clinging to Celty’s waist trembled
slightly. She pressed her upper half into the small of Celty’s back, trying to hide
her helmet-concealed face even farther.
I see now…
Anri didn’t want him to recognize her.
Celty decided that now was not the moment to ponder why the boy Anri
associated with was among the Yellow Scarves. All that mattered right now was
to get the girl away from this place. She abandoned the PDA method and
decided to go straight for the urban legend angle.
If she tried to reason with them, they would demand that Anri show her face
to them.
Of course, I’m sure Shinra or Izaya would be able to talk their way out of this.
But sadly, Celty did not have the power to extract them from this situation
through dialogue alone.
Well, if he wants a foreigner, he’ll get one. And hey, he’s not wrong—I just
happen to understand the language, she noted ironically. Celty ignored
whatever Masaomi was saying and slowly expanded her shadow in a vortex of
black.
Ugh. This feels exactly like what happened last night…
Celty was momentarily gripped with fear as she remembered her run-in with
the police. But the trembling of the girl clinging to her brought Celty’s sense of
reason back. Under the cover of the rain, she materialized her shadow into a
different shape this time.
But I bear some of the blame for yesterday. Then again, even if I hadn’t, it
wouldn’t have changed the outcome.
The shadow extended from Celty’s feet, writhing like a snake as it gradually
condensed to take on solid thickness.
At least I can say…I feel no shame in rescuing her now.
The shadow grew larger and faster over time, channeling the waves of
menace she exuded. The majority of that menace and anger was actually
directed toward herself, but she pretended not to notice this.
“Whoa… Wh-what is that thing?”

“No…way…”
At first, the boys assumed that it was just the rain spraying off of the ground,
but they gradually murmured louder as they noticed the abnormal activity of
the shadow.
And if I am at fault, this doesn’t count, because I’m not realizing it.
For an instant, the entire ruined factory was dominated and subsumed by a
single noise.
БoOoovvoovvvWVVWWwwwwvvvvooooooЯяяяooo
It was less the sound of an engine than the cry of some creature.
They could tell it was an animal.
But the boys couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of animal it was.
The fierce, eerie shriek of some thing that did not actually exist in this world.
The black motorcycle’s engine roared a sound that came directly from the
depths of hell itself.
The sound resonated with the shadow creeping across the ground, each
amplifying the other as it sped up toward the wall of youth.
In the past, Celty had tested herself to see how far the shadow could go. She
stood on the Yamanote Line and extended it all the way to the next train station
over, but she was unable to tell what was beyond that and had to prematurely
end the experiment.
She had always tried to limit the use of any mammoth shadows to cut down
on the image of herself as a monster, but that hesitation had disappeared since
the Dollars’ meeting a year ago.
Ultimately, that lack of caution had come back to bite her with that scare the
previous evening.
But it wasn’t because I knew I had a get-out-of-jail-free card…
The shadow erupted upward and took a form that resembled a gigantic horse.
It only resembled a horse because in the spot where its head should have
been, there was nothing.
The headless horse leaped upward with another braying from the engine and
charged straight at the boys. The ones directly in its path screamed and leaped
to the sides for safety.
The horse plunged straight through the resulting empty space, then melted
back into the earth, leaving only a long path of shadowy ground behind.
And most importantly…there are no police here! Celty laughed selfishly. She
took her partner’s engine into a high-pitched shriek. The headless horse roared,
planting seeds of terror into the ears of all who heard it.
It was as if she wanted to force the others to feel the same fear that she had
experienced the day before.
“This is bad.”
“Huh?” said one of the nearby Yellow Scarves, turning to look at his leader.
“H-hey, Masaomi… What…is that…thing?” asked a different boy, his throat
tight with fear.
Masaomi shook his head. “What makes you think I’d know that?”
He was unable to process what he was seeing as an illusion, but he didn’t
want to accept it as reality, either. He found himself taking a step backward.
“All I know is that thing is dangerous. It’s not like us… It came from
somewhere else.”
Masaomi felt a cold sweat trickling down his back. He stared at the back of
the Black Rider.
“Okay, but…what about the chick riding on the back of that ‘dangerous
thing’? What’s up with that?”
“D-don’t let ’em get away!” one of the terrified Yellow Scarves shouted.
“Wait! Don’t just attack them!” Masaomi commanded, trying to control his
partners, but the shock wave spread through the other boys. None of them was
reckless enough to stand directly in front of the bike, but several were ready to
swing pipes and two-by-fours from the sides.
The result of this action took them even further into shock.
Anri felt a breeze blow through the visor of her helmet. She looked out at the
scene.
It’s Kida, she realized, noticing that he was staring right at her. She looked
away. Hopefully she had mistaken someone else for her friend, but the face
she’d just seen was too much of Masaomi Kida to be a coincidence.
The black helmet completely covered Anri’s face, but she couldn’t help the
terrifying feeling that he was going to realize who she was.
The moment she turned her eyes away from him, she saw something else,
something that completely overrode her own fears.
It was the dull silver gleam of a metal pipe, hurled directly at the motorcycle
carrying her and Celty.
Look out.
Madness trained in their direction.
Weapon hurled in their direction.
Anri’s reflexes took over in the face of these two simultaneous volleys, driving
her into motion. Normally, the sight would be pushed back into the picture
frame—but realizing that Masaomi was just nearby left her mind unable to
perform that act in the moment.
Instead, her body acted without her.
Her arm throbbed, and the cursing voices that rang throughout her heart
bellowed in one loud voice.
In her haste to not spend an instant of time listening to them, Anri yanked the
throbbing in her arm directly out of her body, all at once.
It slid right into Anri’s hand at the same time that it ripped through the sleeve
of her jacket in one smooth motion.
At the exact moment that the metal pipe bore down on Celty, she turned it
onto the projectile without thinking, and…
It might as well have been a stage magician trick.

As the bike sped away, stones, umbrellas, lumber, and scrap material flew
through the air at it. Most of the junk hit nothing but air or other projectiles,
unable to handle the acceleration of the motorcycle—but a few of them were
perfectly placed to intersect the bike’s path.
But just as the first pipe was about to collide with it, a metal sound reached
the boys’ ears.
Twing. The sound of something freezing instantly. Or perhaps endless mic
feedback compressed into a single moment.
What they saw next was two halves of a metal pipe floating in midair.
Next, a stone heading for the motorcycle crumbled into dust, disappearing
amid the rain.
In what little time they had to wonder what was happening, a flying piece of
wood provided the answer.
It was in the hand of the girlish figure on the rear seat of the bike.
A long, sharp cylinder that gleamed in the little amount of streetlight
illumination that reached the factory.
“A…katana…?” Masaomi heard someone say.
That word brought a fresh image to the mind of everyone present.
The slasher.
They saw clearly that the figure sitting in the rear was holding a katana.
Stunned by the sudden appearance of this deadly weapon, all the boys
stopped throwing objects and scrambled away from the path of the bike. When
the person in the rear seat noticed this, she slid the katana away somehow, in
the same magician’s way that she produced it.
Before the boys could regain their footing, the black motorcycle picked up
speed, attempting to break its way right through one of the exits.
It roared.
It roiled.
Dancing along with the whinnying of the engine.
Drops of black shadow mingled among the spray of the rain.
The rising shadow seeped back into the motorcycle and its rider.
Black mist enveloped both person and bike, giving it the momentary
appearance of one giant creature.
It leaped in time with another bray from the engine—just as the headless
horse had moments earlier.
Seated on its back was a girl, her face hidden by a pitch-black helmet.
A headless horse ridden by a girl with a silver blade.
Such an image was not their intention, but as they rode through the darkness,
they created the very picture of the headless dullahan from the fairy tales.
The boys didn’t even have the wherewithal to throw objects anymore. It
seemed to be dawning on them that perhaps just letting them go was the safest
plan of action.
“Can a katana…actually cut a steel pipe…in half?” someone murmured, picking
up a piece of the severed pipe. The boys around him examined the shockingly
clean cut—and began to pray in earnest that the Black Rider left them in peace.
Now that no one blocked its way, the motorcycle rode along the path of
shadow it had created for itself toward the exit of the factory.
The few guards still standing there had no way to stop the speeding bike. The
black thing simply turned its back on the helpless youths and vanished, the same
way it had entered—without a sound.
The scene was completely silent except for the soft pattering of rain, as if
nothing had ever appeared.
Amid the rain, Masaomi had a thought.
It wasn’t just Masaomi. Most of the boys in the gathering reached one solid
conclusion from the event they’d witnessed.
Their heads were churning with a deluge of information.
The rumor that the Black Rider was one of the Dollars.
The slasher, who still hadn’t been caught.
The suspicion that the slasher might also be a member of the Dollars.
And the intruder who had been snooping around after them.
An intruder swinging a katana.
And the Black Rider swiftly coming to the intruder’s rescue.
Masaomi didn’t know if his conclusion was correct or not.
He didn’t even know if he should hope that his guess was wrong or be certain
that he’d finally nailed down a proper opponent.
But there was one thing he was sure of at last.
No matter what he thought personally, there was no way to maintain
complete control of his followers after what they’d just seen.
“Hey,” he said, soaking in the rain.
“Wha…?” responded a young man at his side.
“Do you know what a dullahan is?”
“Uh. Umm…nope.”
The kid still hadn’t recovered from the shock of the experience. It was all he
could do to summon that response, his face ghostly.
Masaomi quietly continued, “A dullahan’s a headless knight on a headless
horse who visits the homes of those who are about to die. I guess you might call
it a Grim Reaper of sorts.”
“Uh, okay…”
In contrast to the serenity of Masaomi’s voice, the youths around him looked
more concerned than ever. He ignored their consternation. “That’s just
something I heard from Yumasaki when he got all worked up about it a while
back.”
He did not elaborate on that thought, retreating within his own mind.
But if that monster is one of those things…does that mean one of us is
supposed to die soon?
Shit…that’s not ominous at all.
Several minutes later.
“I wonder why,” Masaomi muttered as he stared up into the rainy sky, the
chaos of the earlier scene morphing into solid tension that gripped the group.
“Why would I suddenly feel like I wanted to see Saki at a moment like this?”
His thought was swallowed by the rain. No one answered him.
The memories of the girl in the hospital reverberated within Masaomi. He also
thought of a pair of other figures, two of his classmates. But they were the
people he wanted to see least at this moment in time. The images of Mikado and
Anri melted into the rain.
Only the picture of Masaomi’s former lover remained in his heart.
The rain buzzed onward, showing no signs of stopping.
Masaomi strode slowly, eyeing the wall of the ruined factory. His comrades
had covered it with their own graffiti and meaningless scribbles. Surrounded by
tags and pieces of varied designs was a hastily scribbled message done in yellow
spray paint.
THE BLUE SKY IS ALREADY DEAD.
“The sky is dead.”

It was a phrase used as the slogan of the Yellow Scarves Rebellion in real life,
the movement that kicked off the beginning of the Romance of the Three
Kingdoms epic about ancient Chinese history.
Masaomi hadn’t imagined that any of his rough-and-tumble companions knew
that phrase. He recognized it, but only because he’d read a manga about the
Romance of the Three Kingdoms story.
He looked back up at the sky, sensing that the string of events that had just
happened was setting something into motion.
“Well, it’s not blue,” he snorted ironically in an effort to bottle up his honest
emotions, his eyes open to the sky despite the falling rain. “But it’s not yellow,
either.”
The rain buzzed onward, showing no signs of stopping.
A few minutes later, somewhere in Tokyo

Celty rode the route to Ikebukuro, spattered by the rain.
The girl clinging to her back did not speak, either because she knew Celty was
driving or for some other reason. Celty chose not to pry. They maintained their
silence as they rode through the rain.
So, what to do now? Celty wondered.
The circumstances were clearly too serious to simply drop her off at her home
and leave. Celty might not have anything to do with the situation, but Anri was
not a stranger. She was not such a pragmatist or head-in-the-sand pacifist that
she would ignore the girl’s plight.
If anything, Celty did not help others out of calculating self-interest—she
would extend a helping hand to anyone she saw who needed one, regardless of if
she had a reason.
She wasn’t omnipotent, so there were times—as with Shingen—when she had
to pick and choose.
I guess I could bring her home with me…and kick Shinra out so she can
change.
Should she buy Anri a fresh change of clothes, then? She couldn’t give the girl
Shinra’s clothes, and the ones that Shinra bought Celty and asked her to wear
were bizarre, creepy things like swimsuits, maid outfits, and single button-up
shirts with nothing else.
Fortunately, she did have the twenty thousand yen she’d confiscated from
Shingen not long ago. She thought she remembered that there was a Uniqlo
nearby and sensed around to get a grasp of the area—when her mind caught a
glimpse of white.
Even with the umbrella, there weren’t many people who would venture out
into Ikebukuro wearing a white lab coat. As soon as she picked up the white gas
mask peeking out around the umbrella, Celty increased the speed of her
motorcycle just a bit.
That sly rascal.
She could block his path in an acrobatic manner, but Celty wasn’t agitated
enough that she’d forget the presence of Anri behind her. Instead, she killed the
engine sound and snuck up on Shingen as he tread on the sidewalk, casting
ropes of shadow that tangled up her target’s left foot and the nearby guardrail
before he was aware that she was there.
“Wha—?!”
Shingen lurched forward and nearly fell. When he noticed Celty standing in his
way, his panic was clear even through the gas mask.
“Ce-Celty!”
Looks like he was slipping away from the apartment to go somewhere else.
Celty cracked the knuckles of both hands, delighting in her good fortune.
She considered beating him to an immobile state, then taking him back to the
apartment with Anri. The horsepower of the black bike—an evolution of an
actual headless horse—easily surpassed those of regular motorcycles its size.
She could fashion a sidecar made of shadow, which would be enough to carry
heavy objects like that and was one of the reasons Celty was so suited for courier
work.
The sidewalk was empty up ahead, so she stopped the motorcycle there for
the moment and showed Anri her PDA.
“Sorry, give me a minute.”
As Anri blinked in surprise, Shingen spat disgustedly. “Damn, you really can do
anything with that shadow of yours! Don’t you ever feel a bit guilty or self-
conscious about having such a ridiculous trick up your sleeve? And who’s that
with you?”
He struggled against her binding shadow, trying to escape, before giving up
and questioning the girl still sitting on the rear of Celty’s bike.
“That doesn’t matter. Are you ready for this?”
Celty advanced on Shingen, still cracking her knuckles. Anri watched with
curiosity and raised the thin shadowy visor that narrowed her vision to get a
better look.
“Oh…?” Shingen murmured, noticing the distinctive round glasses visible
through the gap in the helmet. “Are you…?”
The next moment, that thought spilled out of his mouth. “Are you the
daughter of Sonohara-dou?”
“Huh?”
Sonohara-dou.
That was the name of the place where Anri had lived, the antiques shop that
her parents owned and managed. A sudden shock ran through Celty’s body.
Oh no!
Celty knew the truth.
She knew that the Saika that had made its home in Anri was originally owned
by Shingen.
Somewhere in what she presumed was her brain, she recalled what Shinra had
said.
“He actually owned it until a few years ago, when he sold it to an antiques
trader he knows. I believe the trader’s name was Sonohara.”
After that, Celty had contact with Anri on several occasions, learned that the
girl’s parents had died in a slashing incident in the past, and assumed that there
were complicated circumstances behind that. But she had never asked Anri
about it directly.
“Ah, such a shame about your paren— Mwurr!”
“Lucky you.”
Celty deemed it unwise to allow Anri to be any more upset, so she covered the
entirety of Shingen’s head in shadow and got onto the bike again.
“Let’s go.”
“Um, Celty, who is this? How does he know me…?”
“He’s a pale-faced monster, an evil boogeyman who reads the hearts of
others and pretends to know them to take advantage,” Celty lied to keep things
simple. She turned the grip throttle, lamenting how much of a bother this had
become.
“I think you should keep your face hidden.” She lowered the visor of Anri’s
helmet and removed the shadow enveloping Shingen’s head.
There were no more messages from her after that. The motorcycle rode
onward through the rain.
The drops continued to pelt them, cold and wet.
Under the uncertain sky, Celty felt an eerie sense of unease.
All she could do was ride.
For now, she was still nothing but an outsider.
She rode on through the rain, understanding her place in the events.
Silently, so silently.
Chat room
<Gooood evening! Huh? Is it just Tarou tonight?> {Good evening.}
{Seems that way.}
<Darn.>
{Are you disappointed? lol}
<No, but there’s not much for us to talk about, is there?> {Hmm…well,
actually, there was something I wanted to ask you.}
<Wow, what? What is it? If I can answer it here, I’ll tell you anything you want
to know.>
<Private Mode> <And I’ll even waive my usual fee.>
{…}
{Umm, I didn’t see many of the folks in yellow around today.}
<Ahh. What if they were just having a meeting somewhere?> {Er, well… Have
those Yellow Scarves always been in Ikebukuro?}
<Let’s see, they showed up for good around three years ago.> {Uh-huh.}
<At the start, they were pretty chill, but there was quite a ruckus when they
clashed with Blue x Blue…the “Blue Squares.”> {A gang war, then?}
<Yes, although it didn’t turn into front-page public news. The girlfriend of the
Yellow Scarves’ leader was kidnapped and got hurt really bad… It was an ugly
situation in many ways.> {Many ways?}
<Many ways.>
<The Yellow Scarves calmed down after that…but a few years ago, another
team started a huge war, and a bunch of people got arrested. After that, the
color gangs started to fade out from the scene. Also, the Blue Squares were
dealing a lot of drugs…until they disappeared.> {Because of the police?}
<No, they caught the notice of a man named Shiki from the Awakusu-kai, and
they couldn’t keep selling after that.> {Awakusu-kai?}
<Just one of the associations of, shall we say, “professional gentlemen” in
Ikebukuro, of which there are many.> {…I’m amazed you can just pull up names
like that out of a hat.}
<Eek! A girl’s got all kinds of information hidden in her pockets! > {That does
not call for the use of a .}
{So because of that, they had to disappear?}
<And they picked a fight with one of the people you’re never meant to cross.>
{Oh…you mean Shizuo?}
<If you give me some kind of present, I’ll tell you more sometime.>
<Private Mode> <After this point, it’ll cost you.> <Private Mode> <I’ll make it
five thousand yen.>
{…I’ll pass, thanks.}
<Awwww. C’mon, I was hoping to hear you beg for it.> <You’re no fun!>
{Wow, Kanra, how low can you sink?!}
{But, ultimately…}
{The Yellow Scarves stuck around.}
{Is it because the Blue whatevers disappeared?}
—THE KANRA HAS ENTERED THE CHAT—
{“The”? That’s a bold change.}
<Hee-hee, just a change of heart.>
<Now, about the Yellow Scarves…>
<Private Mode> <…Here’s the deal. The Blue Squares didn’t die out.> <Private
Mode> <The Yellow Scarves’ leader got tired of fighting and left the team…>
<Private Mode> <And they joined up with the remaining Yellow Scarves.>
<Private Mode> {Huh?}
<Private Mode> {They had a merger?}
<Private Mode> <That’s the quick way to describe it.> <Private Mode> <The
thing is, who’s really going to keep track of which person is in which group, aside
from the leaders and important members? If you take off your blue gear, then
say you want in with the yellow side, who’s going to care?> <Private Mode>
<Plus, when the Yellow Scarves were weakened after the loss of their leader,
they might have welcomed the chance for some fresh blood.> <Private Mode>
{Then, the former leader…?}
<Private Mode> <Probably has no idea.>
<Private Mode> <Private Mode> <Knowing the
guys who sent his girlfriend to the hospital were working with his old pals.>
<Private Mode> <Private Mode>
{Let’s not. That’s pretty tacky.}
<Private Mode> <Yeah, I won’t. That’s it for story time.>
<To tell the truth, I hardly know a thing about them.> {Hey, don’t lead me on!}
<Anyway, the Yellow Scarves have changed a lot over the years.> <And then
you’ve got the recent slashings.>
<I’d be careful if I were you.>
{I’ll try to keep my distance.}
<Private Mode> {I’ll send a message around to the Dollars urging them not to
instigate anything with the other side.}
<Private Mode> <That’s a good idea. But…> <Private Mode> {But?}
<Private Mode> <Private Mode> <But
there are some people playing both sides of the Dollars and Yellow Scarves. Be
careful out there.> <Private Mode> {…}
<Private Mode> {I will. But if we tell the other Dollars that there’s no
connection, maybe that will trickle back to the Yellow Scarves through them.}
<Private Mode> <Assuming it really wasn’t the Dollars who did it.> <Private
Mode> <There are no rules in your group, and you’re not keeping tabs on every
single member.> <Private Mode> <Perhaps one of the Dollars is acting as the
slasher outside of your sphere of knowledge.> <Private Mode> <It’s the Dollars’
system. If you’re hoping to stay on “this side”…you ought to be prepared for that
kind of rude awakening.> <Private Mode> {…I’ll keep it in mind.}
{Well, I’ve got to go for now.}
{Thanks for everything.}
<Okay. Good night! > <Maybe I laid the threat on a little heavy. Tee-hee!>
<Well, good night.>
—THE KANRA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
Chapter 6: Ne Rasstraivaysya.
Class 1-A, Raira Academy

“We had quite a splendid sunset last night, but as you can see, today it is
raining. Ahem. I do wonder if you’re aware of this. Ahem. There is a saying, ‘The
day after a sunset is bright, but it rains after a morning glow.’ This is a product of
a migratory anticyclone, and the saying holds true in the spring and fall, but not
for summer or winter. Ahem. So my point is. Ahem. Even in March, our climate is
still stuck in winter. Ahem…”
The homeroom teacher, Mr. Kitagoma, who was also the earth sciences
teacher, rattled off a list of facts while the pouring rain rattled off the windows.
It wasn’t clear if what he was saying was actually useful or not.
The elderly teacher mumbled his speech to a close, then proceeded to briskly
take attendance. Everything was going normally, just like any other day. Until…
“Sonohara… Sonohara? Hmm? Strange. No Sonohara today.”
The rest of the class shared looks. It was the last person they’d expect to be
absent. Some of them gave knowing glances to Mikado. He was looking around
even more than necessary, clearly unnerved by her absence.
“Hmm, perhaps she is sick. Ahem. Take good care of yourselves.” The teacher
gave the class a quick once-over. “Tomorrow is the last day of school. Ahem. So
I’d like to properly wrap up the entire year with the entire class. Ahem.”
Kitagoma continued taking roll as if nothing had happened, but Mikado’s heart
was roiling with an indescribable anxiety.
Naturally, a lot had to do with the absence of Anri, a model student. Perhaps
the wounds she’d suffered from the slasher began paining her again. Maybe
she’d even run across the slasher a second time. The troubling possibilities raced
through his mind.
After school, he heard another piece of information that worried him even
more.
Masaomi wasn’t at school, either.
Hospital room, Raira University Hospital, Ikebukuro

“What’s up, Masaomi? You seem down today,” the girl in the bed noted to
Masaomi as he stared out the window.
Masaomi thought he was keeping up his normal act, but the girl saw right
through him with a gentle smile.
“How can you tell? I thought I was acting normally… I guess you really must be
psychic.”
Were his emotions really showing on his face? Masaomi spun back with a false
grin on his lips. The girl’s smile had not changed.
“Because you hardly ever skip school to come see me.”
“Oh…yeah.”
He had ditched school to come visit her bedside. The receptionist hadn’t
bothered him much about his visit, probably assuming that he was a younger
college student—Masaomi was in his regular street clothes.
Just as Saki had pointed out, Masaomi recognized that his emotions were in an
unstable state. After what happened the previous day, he was unsure if he could
maintain his usual frame of mind. Not to suggest that the way he acted around
Mikado and Anri was a pretense—but that he was afraid that if they saw him
now, it might only cause them to worry. That possibility frightened him.
But at this moment, only the girl in this hospital room knew the side of him
that Mikado and Anri did not. She knew the Masaomi who grew up in Ikebukuro.
To Masaomi, who lived apart from his parents, Saki was an outsider, another
person that he could return to and feel like himself—despite the fact that she
was part of the past he wanted to forget.
In analyzing his own emotions, Masaomi grew uncomfortable. So for the first
time in ages, he asked the girl a question he had asked her countless times.
“Hey, Saki.”
“What?”
“Are you sure…you don’t…bear a grudge against me?”
Saki’s eyes went wide, but once again, her smile returned.
“You’re so dumb. I can’t believe how dumb you are, Masaomi.”
“I’m dumb?”
“Yes. Even if I did hate you, you’d still come back, wouldn’t you?” she said,
confidently striding directly into the heart of his emotional turmoil. She repeated
the phrase that had tormented him for so long: “You’ll never, ever be able to
escape your past.”
“Never?”
“Never. That’s why you come back to me, isn’t it?”
“You just think that because it’s what Izaya told you,” he said sardonically.
Masaomi knew that she worshipped Izaya Orihara. He’d known it since the day
he met her.
But he still fell in love with her.
By this point, it should all have been in the past—but the past would not let
him go. It was just as Izaya had once told him.
Saki looked slightly troubled by his sarcasm. “We’ll see about that. But I think
it’s a good thing that Izaya told me that, you know? After all…I really love you
now.”
“If Izaya had told you to hate me, you would have come to stab me in an
instant, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe I would have…but you’d still love me, Masaomi.”
“But that’s over now. Kaput. The end,” he said in jest, but Saki only repeated
herself.
“You can’t escape your past, Masaomi. Your current troubles are based in your
past, aren’t they?”
“…”
“If you can’t escape it, you should face it and beat it in a fight.”
“Well, if it was possible to clean my slate with you by simply fighting that part
of my past head-on, I’d do it.”
For the first time today, Masaomi smiled at the bedridden girl.
She saw his expression and put on her happiest smile yet. “Why don’t you?”
“I can’t fight you, Saki.”
With a self-deprecating grin, Masaomi left the room. As he left, he closed the
door to cut off her happy gaze.
“That’s why…all I can do is run.”
The group wasn’t formed for fighting. I just wanted a place to hang out.
He borrowed things from his new city, pretending they were his own, in order
to tell his childhood friend about his new home. Masaomi always felt conflicted
about this.
It was why he wanted companions here. To find his own place in the city.
But the group was not truly a place he was meant to return.
He knew that now.
Among the Yellow Scarves…the only “place” for him was in Saki Mikajima.
Now he was working for the sake of his friend, his new place in the world.
But as he was still stuck with the Yellow Scarves, he found himself back in that
hospital room.
Whom did he really love?
Masaomi stared at the ceiling of the hospital hallway, wondering what the
answer was.
He did not find it.
A doctor on break spoke to Masaomi as he waited for the elevator.
“Oh, Masaomi. No school today?”
“I left early just so I could see your face, Doctor. No, really.”
“Well, at least you’re in a good mood. I hope you can share that energy of
yours with Saki.”
“Yeah… How is she doing?” he asked politely. The doctor, who was in her
thirties, kept a cool expression on her face.
“As I told you before, her nerves are all connected, so if she undergoes
rehabilitation, she should be able to walk. It seems to be the mental shock that is
afflicting her more. Oh, and she hardly ever talks, except when you and another
fellow who looks a bit like a club host come by—then she’s a real chatterbox.”
After having just finished a conversation with her, it was hard to believe that
Saki did not normally speak. But the doctor wasn’t lying to him. He knew that
before she was hospitalized, she wasn’t the type to initiate a conversation with
others.
Except for one man, the so-called “fellow who looks a bit like a club host”:
Izaya Orihara.
Masaomi hid his emotions from his face.
The doctor continued, “She ought to be recovering at home by now. But she
has no relatives, so… Anyway, the hospital funds are coming from somewhere,
so we’re happy to keep tending to her. Make sure you keep coming so she
doesn’t get lonely. She’s really been much happier lately, now that you’re visiting
again.”
“I’ll do my best.” He smiled weakly.
The chatty doctor narrowed her eyes and leaned closer. “Feel like coming over
tonight? I’m on the early shift, and tomorrow’s my day off,” she propositioned.
Masaomi easily deflected her advance. “Sorry, I’ve got a prior engagement.”
“Everybody always wants a piece of you. If I were your legitimate girlfriend, I’d
have stabbed you by now.”
“And then helped me heal, right? The healing power of your love would work
like gangbusters on me.”
“It’s both incredible and frustrating how blithe you are about everything…”
Masaomi summoned a smile with all of his heart for her and left the hospital
without another word. He stared up at the sky again, unable to put a name to
the emotion he was feeling now.
Every single day he talked to women, murmuring words of love to them, as
regularly as breathing. It wasn’t, as Saki claimed, because he was actually trying
to reaffirm his love for her. Masaomi loved all women equally, at all times.
But is what I feel…actually love?
The dark sky returned nothing but raindrops. Masaomi headed into Ikebukuro,
growing damper by the minute.
Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro

“See, that’s what I’m saying—we’ve been using the word tsundere for years
and years. And now that it’s grown into this mainstream thing on TV shows and
everything, it makes me feel empty in the same way that you feel when a band
you’ve always liked just blows up and gets huge.”
“You just want to hog your favorite things to yourself. But I don’t mind,
because I’m honest about liking things that are cool.”
“Hmph! It’s not like I actually care about the word tsundere or anything!”
“Ha-ha, Yumacchi just turned into a tsundere.”
The two chattered away about the usage of the term, referring to those who
pretended to dislike things they secretly loved, as they slowly made their way to
Sunshine City. The rain was still falling, but they were all smiles under their
umbrellas without a care for the weather in the three-dimensional world.
On the other hand, the man who walked ahead of the pair just shook his head
in disgust. “I keep telling you two not to talk about that stuff in town.”
“Actually, we’re really holding back today, Kadota.”
“That’s right, Yumacchi’s doing his best to keep it light. He hasn’t quoted any
lines from a manga or said the name of a single two-dimensional character!”
“Shut up.”
The grunt was muffled by the sound of the rain, but the glint in his eyes as he
glared over his shoulder was enough to silence the two.
As Yumasaki and Karisawa sulked like scolded children, their overseer and
guardian Kadota let out a long sigh.
They were a pair of otaku chatting about their obscure interests and a man
who exuded the atmosphere of a loitering delinquent. The combination looked
unthinkable at a glance, but as a matter of fact, they were always together.
Yumasaki and Karisawa looked normal, but on the inside they were
irredeemable connoisseurs of the two-dimensional arts. Since the summer,
Yumasaki had repeated a constant muttered refrain about a “dream demon
maid,” which set Kadota on edge for no good reason.
For his own part, Kadota was a voracious reader, but he only loved books as a
fiction separate from reality. To him, any book (even nonfiction) was a means to
visit a world of dreams.
But Yumasaki and Karisawa, whom he’d known for years, had traveled to the
world of fiction so heavily that they no longer could be trusted to discern the
difference between fiction and reality, and Kadota had no way to wake them up.
“Ugh…so where should we go next?”
“I was thinking we could swing by Animate for the latest merch. But we took
the train today, so space is limited. If we had the van, we could buy all kinds of
stuff and stash it there,” Karisawa noted, laughing dryly.
Kadota sighed for at least the hundredth time that day. “You better pick up
something for Togusa by way of apology. He was super-pissed.”
“It makes no sense. I was sure he’d be over the moon about it.”
Normally this trio traveled around in a van driven by their companion named
Togusa, but when the door was recently damaged, Yumasaki had a new door
installed—complete with a decal of a sparkling anime girl. Togusa nearly
exploded just from seeing that, but Yumasaki made matters worse by proudly
displaying a picture on his home page. Togusa tried to run his friend over with
the van for that one.
“I even placed a mosaic to blur out his license plate number and everything,”
Yumasaki noted with absolute bafflement. Kadota’s resulting sigh was getting to
be a bit much.
“You should have placed another mosaic on him driving the thing.”
Kadota asked himself for the umpteenth time why he was hanging out with
these people. He cast his gaze forward to Sixtieth Floor Street.
There were young folks with bits of yellow on here and there, but Kadota did
not feel any menace from them. He knew they were on the verge of beefing with
the Dollars, but very few of them would recognize him, he decided.
Kadota and the two with him were members of the Dollars. The Dollars repped
no color. The group was open to any and all, so while Kadota certainly fit the bill
of a street gangster, Yumasaki and Karisawa completely destroyed that image.
Unlike the Yellow Scarves, they had no distinguishing features that identified
their allegiance, so they had no fear of being attacked. Thus, they felt free to
stroll openly through the town. However—
“Kadota,” someone called out to the group. “It’s been a while.”
“Huh? Oh…Kida,” Kadota said, recognizing the familiar face.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Kida.”
“Why aren’t you with the usual four-eyed girl and baby-faced kid today?”
Yumasaki and Karisawa’s tone was friendly, but Kadota gave the boy a stern
glance, sensing something slightly more dangerous in Masaomi’s smile.
Then, noticing the yellow cloth wrapped around the boy’s knuckles, Kadota
picked up on the situation. It was the darkest he felt all day, but this time he did
not sigh.
“…Are you back?” he asked, his face hard.
Masaomi nodded after a brief pause. “Yes.”
“…I see,” Kadota noted simply.
Masaomi quietly got to the point. “No use standing out in the rain… Want to
go somewhere, if you’ve got time to kill?”
Yumasaki and Karisawa shared a look, recognizing that this was not his usual
flippant chattiness. Kadota glanced at the loitering boys with their yellow scraps.
They hadn’t noticed Masaomi’s presence, but if they kept standing around here
that would eventually change.
On the other hand, if they just walked into any old store…they might find
themselves surrounded by yellow in a heartbeat, depending on what Masaomi
wanted to talk about.
“Sure, if we go to Simon’s place,” Kadota said, jutting his chin toward the
corner of a road that led off of Sixtieth Floor Street. It was a cramped alley full of
bars and restaurants.
Masaomi looked a bit unhappy at hearing the foreign name—but he
summoned up his resolve and took the lead in marching toward the alley.
Russia Sushi
“Hey, Kida, Kadota. Well-cahm.”
A warm voice with a thick accent greeted them as they pushed through the
colorful hanging curtain at the door. The interior of the business was an
incongruous combination of Russian imperial palace and Japanese sushi counter.
While the counter was the same as any other sushi restaurant, the tatami mats
of the floor were matched with marble walls in a truly clashing way. That,
combined with the hanging sign promising HASSLE-FREE PRICING! ALL ITEMS MARKET VALUE! put
any visitor into a skeptical state of mind.
That was the first impression every visitor to Russia Sushi received upon
walking inside. The skepticism was only increased by the sight of the massive
employee who stood nearly seven feet tall. He was Simon, a black Russian who
spoke oddly accented Japanese.
The concept of a black Russian was unfamiliar to most Japanese, which got him
plenty of funny looks, but everyone was convinced once they heard him chatting
in fluent Russian with the white chef behind the counter.
His presence was the reason Kadota chose this place to talk.
Simon was the only person who could stop Shizuo Heiwajima, widely regarded
as the most dangerous man in Ikebukuro—and a frequent visitor to Russia Sushi
himself. Starting a fight here meant causing trouble with two of the most violent
men in town. By passing through the doorway of this restaurant, Kadota figured
no Yellow Scarves would want to get involved.
For his part, Masaomi was on good terms with the group, so they didn’t
distrust him too much—but there was no guarantee that the other Yellow
Scarves didn’t have their own ideas.
Kadota felt that it was worth having a good talk with Masaomi, so he chose the
safest location he could think of nearby.
“Yo, odd combination of faces,” said the white man behind the counter, who
was cutting up the pieces of fish for delivery orders with an assortment of knives.
Unlike Simon, he was fluent in Japanese, but after his greeting he resumed his
work in silence.
“Cheap sushi, very good. I give you good deal, Boss Kadota.”
“Boss of who? Four of your cheapest nigiri combinations. We’ll sit in the back.”
“Right away,” signaled the white chef, and Simon beamed as he guided the
four to the back compartment.
“So what do you want with us? Bein’ the head of the Yellow Scarves…whether
former or not, I don’t know or care,” Kadota started up immediately, as soon as
Simon had dropped the napkins and left to get their tea. “It’s about the Dollars, I
assume. I know what’s going on with both sides at this point in time, and me and
Yumasaki’s names are listed on the Dollars’ website.”
“I appreciate you getting right to the point. Then, I suppose you know what I
want to ask.”
“Let me be clear: We dunno all the details about the whole organization. Some
of our people got done by the slasher, too. I dunno how much power you have
now, Kida, but it’d be real helpful if you could clear that up on your side.”
“Well…”
Before Masaomi could continue, Simon came by with four teacups. They were
relatively large cups, but they looked small when carried by the enormous man.
He picked up the steaming hot cups with his entire palm and rhythmically
presented them to the group.
“You drink tea, get your catechins,” Simon said with a thumbs-up.
Kadota smirked and reached for a cup. “Yeow!” he shrieked, dropping the cup
back on the table.
Simon quickly offered him a napkin and apologized. “Oh, I sorry. Don’t worry,
Boss Kadota. You meditate and clear mind, fire become cold. No get angry, you
get hot.”
“I think you actually know a lot more Japanese than you let on… I’m amazed
you can hold these cups without getting burned.”
“?”
Simon responded to Kadota’s admiration with a confused, uncomprehending
smile. Masaomi looked at his thick, scarred palms and swallowed hard.
“Enjoy, ya?” Simon said, still smiling as he left.
Masaomi finally continued what he had been about to say. “…Well…it might
only be your personal group that thinks there’s no connection to the slasher.”
“Huh?”
“The Dollars are a team of equals without any hierarchy, right? So it’s quite
possible that there’s a faction that was responsible for the slashings outside of
your knowledge. Plus, if they made sure to include a few Dollars in the attacks,
that would move suspicion away from the Dollars.”
“…”
Kadota mulled over Masaomi’s words in his head and eventually took a brief
sip of hot tea. “I see. Well, you’ve got a point there.”
Next to Masaomi was Yumasaki and facing him next to Kadota was Karisawa,
but the two were uncharacteristically quiet.
A brief silence passed, then Kadota took another sip and murmured, “So
what’s the motive?”
“…”
“Why would a group with no reason to make a name for itself and no
monetary dealings decide to attack people indiscriminately and get rid of the
Yellow Scarves?”
“If I knew that, things would be a lot easier. It could be a personal grudge of
some kind,” Masaomi muttered hesitantly, but that only brought Kadota after
him harder.
“Personal? I’ve never heard of any beef between the Yellow Scarves and
Dollars.”
“Not the Dollars.”
“…”
Kadota realized what Masaomi was insinuating. His face went hard and he
clammed up.
Masaomi spat the name out, clearly not wanting to even touch the subject.
“The Blue Squares.”
A furrow appeared between Kadota’s brows the instant he heard the title.
“Kida…”
“I haven’t forgotten what that team did to us. That drove me away from the
gang, and things settled down eventually…but the hatred never left. That’s my
suspicion.”
“And so you’ve come to me.”
Kadota held his silence for a while as he thought, but Masaomi didn’t wait for
an answer. “You understand, don’t you, Kadota? Tell me who the Dollars’ boss
is. And if possible…tell me which of your old friends from the Blue Squares are in
the Dolla—”
Crakk.
A dry sound cut Masaomi off.
He looked over to see Yumasaki, wearing his usual expression, pulling apart a
pair of wooden chopsticks.
“Come on, Kida,” he said, handling the sharp wooden implement. “You
shouldn’t mix fantasy and reality.”
In a way, it was almost the very last thing one would expect the half-Japanese
otaku to say. Over time, the smile faded from his face.
“The Blue Squares never existed. Isn’t that good enough?”
Just as the sentence ended, Masaomi smacked his palm on the table. The cups
of tea shifted, the liquid within them swaying.
“But Saki—! You’re going to tell me that Saki was sent to the hospital by some
people who don’t even exi—”
Wham.
Again, a sound cut Masaomi off.
Between the gaps of his fingers, pressed against the table, the cleanly pointed
ends of the chopsticks were bent.
For an instant, Masaomi didn’t understand what had happened—until he
realized that Yumasaki had slammed the points of the chopsticks in his hands
into the table right between his fingers. He held his breath.
For having just thrashed the tiny pieces of wood to pulp, Yumasaki’s
expression, while not smiling, did not seem very angry, either.
He was expressionless.
The force was enough that if they’d landed on the back of his hand, they might
have punctured all the way through his palm. Something cold ran down
Masaomi’s back, but he did not pull his hand away.
Karisawa spoke in Yumasaki’s place, her cheek resting on her hand in a pose of
bored exasperation. “That’s right. Your ex got beat up by people who don’t exist.
That’s good enough.”
“You don’t wanna make me angry, Karisawa.”
“You already are. Plus, Yumacchi got angry before you did. So that makes us
even. You might be angry about what happened to your girlfriend, but others are
going to be angry if you accuse Dotachin—in fact, the Dollars as a whole—of
being the slasher. If you can’t accept us as being even in that regard, then you
never should have brought it up in the first place.”
She paused for a moment to sip her tea, fixing the younger boy with a sharp
look.
“While we didn’t carry out any of that, it’s true that we owe you a moral debt.
But if you’re going to dredge up the past with Saki, when it was Dotachin who
saved her while you ran away,” she said, staring at Masaomi with half-lidded
eyes, “then maybe we need to force you to view that part of your past as a
figment of your imagination.”
The response to her statement came not from Masaomi but Yumasaki, still
clutching the broken chopsticks in the same position. “You’re wrong, Karisawa.”
“Huh? I am?”
“Even if the Blue Squares did exist, when that part happened, it was the Blue
Squares who got attacked first. And yet he’s claiming we were the bad guys the
entire time. I gotta dispute that point!”
“Oh, right. Man, I’m so embarrassed. I’m like in the super spiral of shame!”
As they carried on in their normal manner, Masaomi realized that he had lost
the outlet for his anger—and lost his cool as well.
“…I’m sorry…about this,” he said, hesitantly hanging his head.
Yumasaki switched to his familiar smile, grinning away. “No, no, it’s my fault. I
mean…I feel really bad about what happened with Saki.”
“No… I should be thanking you, not accusing you,” Masaomi said, his usually
cool demeanor entirely gone.
Kadota, who had been silent all this time, had an unusually gentle expression
on his face. “Even if you do hate me, I’m not gonna quibble… We did more than
enough to a mere middle school kid to deserve that kind of hate.”
“But, Kadota, you didn’t—” Yumasaki started to protest, but Kadota cut him
off with a glance.
Their leader spoke quietly and simply, but with a strength behind his words.
“No matter how hard you try to deny it, you can’t escape what you were
involved with.”
Masaomi’s face began to waver. Something Izaya Orihara had said to him once
came back to his mind.
“And with that in mind, let me say something… I don’t know nothing about the
boss, nor do I plan to go looking. And I will repeat: The slasher and the Dollars
are unrelated. We have no reason to bicker with the Yellow Scarves,” Kadota
said, getting it all off his chest. Suddenly, he seemed to remember something.
“Oh…actually, there is one person who knows the boss of the Dollars.”
“Wh-who is that?!” Masaomi asked, leaning forward despite his best efforts to
stay calm.
“Hang on… My point is, why would you even ask that? Let’s say you get the
boss’s name out of that person. What will you do? Invite him out for tea and
have a nice little chitchat? Or use your Yellow Scarves and stage an abduction?”
“I…I only want to track down the slasher. If the Dollars really are unrelated, I
think it would be perfect just to talk it out.”
“And is that the opinion of the Scarves as a whole?”
“…” Masaomi looked away from the pointed question.
“If it’s like the old days, and you’ve got a tight grip on all of your people, then I
can help you. But they changed while you stepped away from the Yellow Scarves.
You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Kadota said forcefully, brooking no
argument.
Masaomi listened with eyes shut tight and head down. He squeezed the words
out of himself into groans. It was not the usual Masaomi with his self-absorbed,
shallow gibberish, but a sympathetic, lonely boy pressured and at the end of his
wits.
“I…I still think of them, of the Yellow Scarves, as my friends. But…it’s true that I
don’t really want…to go back there permanently.”
“I can imagine,” Kadota said easily, draining the last of his tea. With the air in
the room settled down a bit, he asked Masaomi, “You don’t know what you
should be doing, do you? You’ve found a different way of life. You don’t know if
anything you say will really reach them…and that’s a big concern to you, isn’t
it?”
“…”
“Let’s just assume there really is a squabble with the Dollars. What does that
even have to do with you? You left because you hated the idea of gang
warfare…”
“I ran away,” Masaomi said, cutting himself down to size before Kadota could
reach his point. But his eyes were slowly regaining the light, and the pathos that
had racked him moments ago was easing.
“But this time…it’s not just my fellow Yellow Scarves.”
“Huh?”
“A good friend of mine from school was attacked by the slasher—someone
who has nothing to do with the Yellow Scarves or the past. I can’t get over that…
so I’m only using the Yellow Scarves name as an excuse to solve a personal
problem,” Masaomi said, his voice full of strong will and intent, as Kadota
listened. “Still, I want to know who the slasher is. That’s all this comes down to.”
“That’s all?”
“…Yes.”
“Then I’ll say no more on that. What I will say again, however…is that you
won’t find the slasher in the Dollars,” Kadota repeated, another tiny sigh
escaping his lips.
“I don’t—no—we don’t agree with that.”
“What?”
“Last night, we witnessed something beyond belief.”
Masaomi began to tell a story.
A story of the grotesque, otherworldly event he saw in the rain the night
before.
And the undeniable truth that the “intruder” riding behind that creature
carried a katana, and dozens of the Yellow Scarves witnessed the whole thing…
“…I see.”
Kadota held his cup, a look of troubled understanding on his face. When he
realized the cup was empty, he grimaced and put it back down.
“I’m aware of the rumors that the Black Rider’s participated in some Dollars
meetups. The other Yellow Scarves know about it, too…”
“And the fact that she helped the girl with the katana get away means that the
slasher and the Black Rider must be working with the Dollars, you’re claiming?”
Kadota said, sussing out Masaomi’s point.
The other boy nodded gravely. “And a guy with us named Horada got attacked
by the rider yesterday…”
“Horada? Horada…”
“?”
Masaomi was confused by the way Kadota repeated the name, but he was
quickly distracted by the whispering of Yumasaki and Karisawa, who had been
silent for the last several minutes.
“Hey, Yumacchi. Did you notice something strange about that story?”
“The Black Rider finished off the slasher, remember?”
“Well, it was mostly Shizuo. Plus Togusa running him over with the van.”
They were speaking quietly enough to avoid being overheard on the street, but
not inside while seated directly next to other people.
“What was that?”
“Huh? Uh…well, um, just…how to explain?” Yumasaki stammered.
Kadota sighed and took it upon himself to do just that. “Are you aware that
the slasher seems to be more than one person?”
“Well, there were fifty incidents that happened in a single night. So, yeah, that
seems clear.”
Kadota seemed hesitant to say what was on his mind, but he quickly gave up.
“Well…now that you’ve seen something beyond belief, you’ll be able to believe
it.”
“There won’t be any more slashings.” Kadota tapped the rim of his empty cup
with a finger. When he spoke, it was slow, in rhythm with the beat. “From what I
heard on the grapevine, the slasher chose to pick a fight with—of all people—
that monster Shizuo Heiwajima… Do I need to explain what happened next?”
Shizuo Heiwajima.
The instant Masaomi heard the name, something crawled from his back over
his face.
Masaomi knew him well—he was a human bomb, someone people called the
fighting puppet of Ikebukuro.
The slasher’s mob versus one human being.
It was an unthinkable matchup, but there was only a single person who could
grant it immediate credibility, and that was Shizuo.
“No…but… Who did it, then?” Masaomi asked in disbelief.
Kadota shook his head as he scratched it. “Well…whatever. If you just want to
know about the slasher, then there’s no use hiding what I know. As for the rest…
ask the person who knows the boss. I’ll leave the decision up to the two of
them.”
“Uhm,” Masaomi mumbled, surprised that Kadota had broken so easily.
But at the same time, Kadota’s eyes narrowed, and he delivered a warning.
“However, if that goes awry and you have to declare the Dollars your enemy—”
“If we do, then what?”
“I’ll be ready for that fight.”
The supposedly calmed air between them prickled once again.
“…”
“Is that all you have to say? You’re prepared for that outcome, too, aren’t
you? When you fly the flag of vengeance, it becomes more than just the usual
hell-raising kids your age like to get into. You know that, don’t you?”
“I—”
Once again, a sound stopped them at the height of the tension in the room.
Thunk.
With a pleasing sound, something embedded itself into the wall next to the
table.
The group recognized that something had passed between them and turned
their heads slowly toward it, anticipating what they would find.
What they saw sticking out of the wooden wall was a combination of silver and
black.
“Gonna scare the other customers… Take that talk outside,” said the Russian
behind the counter in his brusque Japanese, working the sushi in front of him
without looking at them.
One of his sashimi knives was missing from its customary spot. It was now
stuck into the wall between the four.
“All ready. One Kremlin roll, two, three, four, just for you, boss,” came Simon’s
cheery voice, breaking right through the chilly atmosphere in the room. “You
hungry because you fight. Eat sushi, get full, full of dreams. Human stomach is
dream factory. So you stop fighting, yes?”
The waiter neatly carried over four dishes of the rolls they’d ordered, balancing
the plates in both hands.
“Uh…yeah. Thanks, Simon.”
“I didn’t realize kitchen knives could sink so deeply into walls.”
“Doesn’t this count as attempted murder?”
“Th-thank you for this food.”
The combination of the chef’s menace and Simon’s easygoing charm having
drained the tension out of the group, the four silently ate their sushi. The food
was adeptly made and quite delicious, but with the desire to finish their food and
get down to business lodged in their brains, they weren’t able to fully appreciate
it.
“So long, Kida. Don’t get any half-cocked ideas.”
Kadota’s group paid their tab and left the restaurant. Yumasaki and Karisawa
launched back into their usual chatter, as though they’d completely forgotten
everything discussed inside.
As his old acquaintances drifted away into the distance, Masaomi sat alone in
the little tatami enclosure, holding his head in his hands.
“I’ll be damned…”
Someone who had made contact with the boss of the Dollars. Someone whom
Kadota had declined to name. But Masaomi recognized the number that Kadota
left with him.
“So…I’ve finally come back to him.”
He sat in silence for long moments, lost in the past. Masaomi was a statue.
Minutes passed by.
“Ne rasstraivaysya.” (Cheer up, man.)
The voice came from over his shoulder. Masaomi looked over to see Simon
with a fresh plate in his hands. It bore a few pieces of sushi that were clearly a
rank above what they’d ordered earlier.
“Huh?”
Before Masaomi could ask what this was about, the cranky chef from behind
the counter answered it for him.
“Gloomy faces drive business away. So eat up and leave with a smile on your
face.”
“Oh…thank you,” Masaomi said, inclining his head. When the chef didn’t
respond, Simon butted in with a cheery grin.
“You no fight. You already happy. Happy enough. So don’t steal happy of
others. You share, everyone happy. I just learn saying: ‘White goose is loud,
becomes round.’ What this mean, anyway? Why goose? You are goose, Kida?”
“…It’s ‘What goes around comes around,’” muttered the chef. Simon looked
quizzical, not understanding the difference.
Masaomi popped the freshly served sushi into his mouth as he listened. It
tasted like tuna collar dipped in soy sauce. When he bit into it, the fat practically
melted on his tongue, mixing with the salty soy sauce in perfect harmony.
He was so surprised by the taste, which was beyond what he normally paid for,
that Masaomi couldn’t help but murmur, “Wow, this is good.”
He thanked them for the food and was about to pay, but the chef told him,
“They already paid for your share.” He’d gotten a free meal.
Masaomi realized that despite his hostile attitude, everyone around him had
noticed his obvious misery and had tried to cheer him up in their own ways. He
couldn’t help but snort.
Guess I’m still just a kid after all…
With his mind now made up, Masaomi left Russia Sushi, spurring his naive self
onward toward fulfilling his purpose.
Outside of Tokyu Hands

By the early afternoon, the rain had eased up just slightly, but the wind was
blowing the droplets under their umbrellas.
“Horada… Horada…”
Kadota continued mulling over the name they’d heard earlier, as the group
made its way toward the Ikebukuro location of the Animate chain store.
“What’sat, Kadota? New kind of curse or something?”
“It sounds like a spell if you put a rhythm to it, like ‘Ho-radaho-rada.’ A spell of
binding? For a summoning maybe.”
“Shut up and stop confusing me,” Kadota grumbled at the two muttering
behind him. “Horada,” he repeated.
“So what’s up, Dotachin? You’ve been mulling this over for a while.”
“Remember how he said that the Black Rider took down a Yellow Scarf named
Horada?” Kadota said, looking pensive. He revealed what was on his mind, trying
to answer his own question. “It’s nothing serious, just… That’s an uncommon
name. Maybe the kanji characters are different…but something about this is
bugging me.”
“And what is that?”
“Well…I used to know a guy by that name.”
Kadota decided that letting his mind run in circles would be a waste of time, so
he changed the topic. “Was that chef hard-core or what? One step in the wrong
direction and someone would be a goner.”
“Sorry, I actually thought it was pretty cool.”
“Me, too. I can just imagine the scene: The hero of the cooking manga claims
that he shouldn’t use a knife as a weapon, while the sushi chef busts out his
combat sambo.”
“Ugh, you people and your inability to distinguish fantasy from reality!” Kadota
groaned as he facepalmed and shook his head, more exasperated than angry.
Karisawa argued back, her eyes sparkling. “But you know, Dotachin, that chef’s
actually quite a character. He was a hand-to-hand instructor in the Russian
military, so I hear. And he also fought off some mafia types who came over from
America.”
“There you go with your imagination again… Then again, putting the chef
aside, Simon’s definitely got some serious strength and reflexes.”
“Oh, you bet. He can even stop Shizuo and Izaya from fighting. You think
maybe he was the captain of some crazy mercenary band or something?! In
order to avoid the notice of the state-sponsored assassins after his head, he
takes on the role of a simple sushi chef!”
“Why would he start a restaurant called Russia Sushi if he wanted to avoid
attention?” Kadota quipped. “But…I don’t mind, because the sushi’s good. I
don’t care about their past.”
He watched a gang of yellow youths cross their path, then turned his head up
to the sky and its endless rain.
The Sunshine building provided its own light to the sky around it, but there was
still no sign that the rain would stop.
“In the end, the only one who can’t escape the past…is he himself.”
Masaomi returned to Sixtieth Floor Street with a renewed sense of purpose in
his eyes.
The number Kadota gave him was still saved in his phone’s contact list.
Yep…you just can’t escape the past…
Izaya Orihara.
That was the name saved in his phone’s address book. The number listed next
to it matched the one that Kadota gave him.
Perhaps he hadn’t bothered to say the name because he knew that Masaomi
and Izaya had known each other for years.
Perhaps Kadota and the Izaya of years ago were right, and there was no escape
from his past.
Masaomi’s eyes followed the groups of young men in yellow that dotted the
major street, but his mind had melted into the past.
It was time to face the things he’d been trying to escape from for so long.
Chapter 7: Reality’s a Bitch, Huh?
Two years earlier

It was two fateful encounters that happened at the same moment.
At the same time that Masaomi met Saki Mikajima, he also happened across
the information agent.
“Me? Let’s see… I’m kind of like a guardian of Saki’s. Don’t worry, I’m not her
boyfriend. And badger games have gone out of style,” the man said, unsolicited.
When Saki came to see Masaomi at first, he was like a ghost following her
around. He claimed to sell information from his base around Ikebukuro, but
Masaomi didn’t have much interest in the man. Or to be honest, he didn’t want
to hold any interest in him.
Contrary to his pleasant features, the man had a downright eerie atmosphere
to him. The things he said put him at odds with society, but he was often
frightfully insightful. That strange sense of being unmoored from the rest of the
world must have been inspiring to those who wanted an escape from reality. So
oddly enough, the man named Izaya Orihara found himself surrounded by a
variety of people.
The girls who followed him around like a personal retinue were practically his
own little cult. Saki was one of them. Whether serious or not, she showed Izaya
the greatest respect and claimed that he was psychic.
If Masaomi was ever uncertain about anything, she would claim, “Just ask
Izaya, and you’ll be fine,” even if it had nothing to do with the older man. The
Yellow Scarves disliked the informant at first, but things did get much easier
when they started following Izaya’s suggestions. The group slowly came around
to him.
Except for Masaomi.
The first night he met her, Masaomi asked Saki, “If Izaya told you to kill
yourself, would you do it?” After a few seconds of hesitation, she said, “I think I
would.”
Wow, I feel really sorry for her.
Masaomi decided he ought to stay away from her—but it felt so good to bask
in her obvious affection for him. Nowadays, after he’d grown older and known
many other girls, he would have felt danger in her eerie nature and kept her at
bay.
But back then, Masaomi didn’t have that personal defense. He kept meeting
Saki.
He felt that somehow he could break her free of Izaya’s chains.
Izaya wasn’t bilking Saki out of money or making her his slave, but it was clear
to see that her reverence for him was abnormal.
And Saki—obsession with Izaya aside, an adorable and ordinary girl—was
absolutely one of the most desirable women that Masaomi had ever met, in both
personality and looks.
If he could just fix that one flaw, they could have a perfectly normal
relationship. It was with this calculation in mind that Masaomi spent time
around the city with the girl.
About a month after they’d first met, Masaomi had a rare opportunity to be
alone with Saki. He nonchalantly asked, “Would you say the two of us are going
out?”
“What do you think?” Saki countered, chuckling.
Masaomi continued, “Listen, why are you even with me?”
“Umm, because I like you?” she replied, matter-of-fact.
Masaomi raised an eyebrow. “Did that Izaya guy tell you to like me?”
“Mmm, only at the start. Izaya doesn’t really interfere much in romance.”
“Then why do you still like me?”
“Because you’re cool. Mm, no—because you’re cute, I guess.”
He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Saki turned the question on him. “And
Masaomi? Do you like me?”
“If you stop fanatically worshipping that Izaya guy, I might decide I like you.”
He figured that this would make her mad, but Saki only giggled and owned up
to it. “I can’t help it. I’d appreciate it if you could just overlook that one little flaw
I have.”
“…So you know it’s a flaw?”
“Yeah. I just don’t want to fix it.”
What’s up with her?
Masaomi felt like he understood her even less than before. He had no idea how
to respond. But his mouth had a simple message that it delivered on its own.
“If it’s a flaw, then fix it.” It was as close to a confession of his affection as he’d
ever given. “I’m here… I’ll help you get over it.”
From that point on, Masaomi and Saki were a couple.
Masaomi stopped hitting on girls altogether, and everyone who knew him was
more than a little shocked that he’d been tied down to a single girl.
But no one blamed him for his choice. The Yellow Scarves had more pressing
concerns than the love life of their leader.
It was the Blue Squares.
They were a street gang that staked their turf in Ikebukuro, just like the Yellow
Scarves, but they differed in that they had a wider range of ages and a greater
inclination toward violence.
It started when the Blue Squares saw the signature yellow cloths and decided
to pick a fight, arguing over “territory.”
And they’d accepted that fight.
Masaomi thought it was just another situation like any other. But it wasn’t.
This enemy’s numbers and style of fighting were completely unlike anything
they’d faced before.
When they approached, they went to great lengths to hide themselves and
only attacked when they were certain they had the advantage in numbers. There
was no attempt to justify their attacks. They only picked fights they knew they
would win, methodically and mechanically.
The gang of over a hundred was picked off one by one, and fear rapidly spread
through the group. Masaomi was frightened as well at encountering a
completely different kind of foe, but without experience in leading organized
battles, he wasn’t able to respond with the same strategy. Neither was he able
to remove their yellow signifiers and break up the gang.
The majority of his comrades were sick of being taken down. But even stronger
than that anger was Masaomi’s fear.
He was afraid of breaking up the Yellow Scarves and losing the place that he’d
finally carved out for himself. At the same time, he felt like he would be losing
everything he’d gained as a member of the Yellow Scarves.
When he looked at the girl who was first and foremost on that list, she wore
her typical smile and said something meant to comfort him.
“You should just ask Izaya what to do.”
Masaomi’s memory was fuzzy when it came to exactly how he got involved
with Izaya.
The only impression he still had was walking into Izaya’s apartment somewhere
in Ikebukuro and seeing Izaya throw his arms wide with an ostentatious
“Welcome!”
In retrospect, it wasn’t a “welcome” to his home. He was welcoming Masaomi
to his side of the city—the seedy underbelly. But Masaomi didn’t realize this at
the time. He just wanted to use Izaya’s information to help his team win.
He believed this was the right choice without an ounce of hesitation. Later,
Masaomi would reflect upon his choices at the time and see himself as being
drunk on his own power. He was drunk on himself, waving the sake of his
companions around like a get-out-of-jail-free card.
But part of him had to be uneasy about it. He did not tell his old friend back
home about these events in their chat room. In fact, he was chatting with his
friend less and less often.
“After all, it’s much healthier to have a personal relationship face-to-face,
rather than through mere words on a screen,” the experts on TV would say when
discussing Internet addiction or crimes committed as a result of such issues.
Masaomi used that very logic as an excuse to cut down on his Internet time.
The Internet eats away at your mind, he told himself, as he moved away from
the bracing, refreshing one-on-one fights lionized in comic books and plunged
further into a deep, dark war.
Izaya’s knowledge dramatically changed the Yellow Scarves.
He offered them not just the Blue Squares’ hideouts, but their methods of
fighting as well. Bit by bit, they turned the town back to yellow, the way it had
been before.
At first, Masaomi was alarmed at the way Izaya strategically manipulated the
Yellow Scarves. But that alarm was soon forgotten, replaced by a different
emotion—one that Masaomi had never been able to indulge in before.
“We can win.”
The next thing he knew, Masaomi was smiling with absolute certainty in their
triumph.
He had already forgotten that winning fights wasn’t the reason he was doing
this.
He forgot the face of his old friend, banishing him and the sights of his country
home to oblivion. All he experienced was one long bask in the glory of victory.
Until he got the call that Saki Mikajima had been abducted by the Blue
Squares’ van.
It was on a night when the Yellow Scarves were truly beginning to dominate
their foe. Masaomi’s phone rang out of the blue.
The screen said that it was from Kijimura, one of the lieutenants of the Yellow
Scarves, so he answered it without hesitation.
“Is this Masaomi Kiiidaaa?”
The voice that came out of the speaker was unfamiliar, insistent and
unpleasant.
“…Who is this? It’s not Kijimura, is it?”
“Nice—to—meet—you. This is Izumii, leader of the Blue Squares, at your
service.”
“…!”
Masaomi’s entire body began to tremble. His mouth worked soundlessly, while
the man on the other side smeared the raw reality of his sticky voice into
Masaomi’s eardrums.
“We’re having a quiz show tonight.”
“Hey, wait a second… What happened to Kijimura?!”
“Here’s your question: ding-ding! Kijimura’s already been sent to the hospital.
Instead, we have a very special guest with us. Can you guess who? Here’s a hint!
It’s someone very, very, verrry important to you—you—you—you…”
The instant his last sentence finished, Masaomi’s body stopped trembling and
broke into a chilling sweat. His every pore screamed. He could barely squeeze the
breath out of his lungs.
“Hey…”
“Tick, tick, tick. Bzzt! Time’s up. But I’ll cut you some slack. You did think of
someone very specific, didn’t you? In that case, ding-ding-ding! You’re correct!”
“No, not Saki! What did you do with Saki?!” Masaomi raged.
The voice continued, unperturbed. “Question number two!”
“Shut the hell up! Saki has nothing to do with anything!”
“What do you think your dear girlfriend looks like right about now?”
“…!”
“Well, I’ll leave you hanging on that one until you can see for yourself. But
question three is the bonus round! There we go…”
A moment later came the sound of something hard breaking. A familiar voice
shot into Masaomi’s brain as a scream.
“Now, that was the sound of which bone breaking? Here’s your hint: She
probably won’t be walking for a while.”
“ !”
Masaomi raged with a silent scream. The man on the other side of the receiver
—the leader of the Blue Squares known as Izumii—abandoned his jovial tone
and went heavy and dark, the words stabbing like knives.
“Now for your final question… If you don’t come to the following location, all
alone, in the next twenty minutes… Or alternately, if you decide to alert the
police…”
“…then what will happen to this lovely young lady…?”
Several minutes later, Ikebukuro

“Whaddaya say, Kadota? You really oughta swing by,” cackled a young man in
a blue hat, a carbonated beverage in his hand.
His conversation partner, himself wearing a knit cap colored blue, had a sharp
gleam to his eyes. He leaned back against the side of the van, looking
unconvinced.
“Where to?”
“You know, him. The guy. Yellow Scarves. We’re gonna go destroy their
leader.”
“I told you, I’m not into this latest fight. First of all, I thought this guy was
supposed to be cautious. It would be one thing if we were in the country, but
invading his house in Ikebukuro? The cops will be raiding us before we’re even
done with the guy,” said Kadota.
The young man in the blue hat grinned wickedly. “Nah, I’m telling you, Izumii
abducted his girlfriend.”
“…Huh?”
“She’s just a kid, really, but pretty cute. I figured she’d be like a club girl, but I
guess she’s more of a rich girl. Exciting, right? It’ll be plenty of fun, even if Kida
never shows up.”
“…Oh, you kidnapped her.”
Kadota looked up at the sky for a bit as he thought it over. Eventually he smiled
and clapped a hand on the shoulder of the man across from him. “I see… In that
case, I’m going.”
“Right? You gotta get in on this!”
“Tell Izumii something for me when you wake up.”
“Eh?”
What did he mean by “wake up”? the young man in the blue hat couldn’t help
but wonder.
“Tell him… ‘Later, you piece of shit.’”
Kadota’s forehead smashed into the bridge of his nose.
“Hey, guys… You wanna take a trip somewhere far off? Like, go to an onsen
hot spring or something,” Kadota suggested to his companions inside the van as
he climbed through the door.
“Whuh?”
“What’s up, Kadota?”
Yumasaki and the others glanced dumbly back and forth between their
unconscious crewmate outside and the enlightened look on Kadota’s face.
“What I’m saying is…you wanna go on a vacation or something, until the
tempers cool down?” Kadota said enigmatically.
Karisawa had been listening to their conversation from her window seat, and
she snickered now. “Rather than run for safety, why don’t we just not inflame
the tempers further?”
“Look…I’m not saying I necessarily think it’s the right thing to do.”
And then, Kadota explained to the rest what he was thinking of doing, as
matter-of-fact as if he were planning out a picnic.
They would betray their team, the Blue Squares, and rescue the girl from the
dozen or so members who had kidnapped her.
“I’m not going to force the rest of you into the plan, and I ain’t dumb enough
to play heroic and go on my own… I’ll let you decide.”
The other people in the car all smirked together.
“Look, we’re following you. We have no attachment to the Blue Squares.”
“To be honest, I actually hated Izumii and his little brownnoser Horada.”
“We taking my van? I’m not gonna complain.”
“If we’re going to a different city, I’m going to request somewhere with an
Animate, a Toranoana, and a Manga no Mori location.”
“I agree with the above.”
With the group unanimous, Kadota smiled to himself. He pulled off the blue
cap he’d been wearing and tossed it into the van’s trash can.
“Aw, man. It would have been so much cooler if you’d thrown that hat out the
window,” Yumasaki grumbled.
Kadota grinned impishly. “Nah… I make it a point to keep the town clean.”
After the call finished, Masaomi stood stock-still, clutching his phone.
He decided he must be stuck in a dream—and prayed.
Prayed, prayed, prayed.
All he could do was pray.
He couldn’t take a step. He couldn’t take the phone from his ear. Time slowly
slipped away, moment by moment.
How many seconds did it take before he was able to accept it as reality?
Masaomi wondered why he didn’t rush out the instant he heard about Saki to
go save her.
No, wait. I can’t save Saki by acting rashly. That’s just what they want. Gotta
be cool… Be cool, Masaomi… Ah…aah, aaaaaaaa…
“Aaaaaaaaaa
“Aaaaa aaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaa
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
Masaomi wailed and slammed his phone to the floor.
How was he still stuck in place, making excuses for himself?
I’m so worried about her. Saki, Saki—I need to save Saki.
Saki, Saki, Saki!
The memories of her flooded his brain.
All those countless smiles that Saki had given him had been mercilessly crushed
by the scream through the phone.
But still…his legs wouldn’t move.
It was that unease he always felt.
The smoldering little spark had finally evolved into outright fear that was now
assaulting him. But he had never anticipated that it would be this terrible.
He always thought that what he did was just an extension of the silly fights
that kids had.
That no matter what happened, they were still just middle schoolers.
Subconsciously, he always imagined that he would get a free do-over.
That mental rule was predicated upon the assumption that his opponents
would understand. And thus, he had never imagined a situation like this.
But to be accurate, he had anticipated this, just after their gang war started.
But when they began to turn the tide of battle, the sheer catharsis of victory
swept away even that natural anxiety into the back of his mind.
And now he was faced with undeniable reality.
Agonizingly aware of every single second, Masaomi frantically searched for a
plan. But he couldn’t put anything into motion. No matter his ideas, he couldn’t
escape the unease of not knowing what would result.
“Ahh, dammit… What am I doing?!”
He slammed his forehead and fists into the wall. Suddenly, he reached an idea.
Izaya might know.
He no longer had any hesitation about the idea. Just like the girls who had
formed Izaya’s personal retinue, just like Saki, Masaomi would hang on every
word that came out of the shady informant’s mouth.
He quickly scooped up the phone he’d slammed onto the floor and checked
the screen, silently praying. Thanking his lucky stars that the display was tough
enough to still work, Masaomi flipped through his history until he reached
Izaya’s number.
But the only thing that greeted him was the repetition of the call tone. No one
was picking up.
Pick up. Come on…pick up the phone!
“I’m sorry, I cannot answer your—”
He hung up as soon as the answering machine started and redialed the same
number.
Over and over and over.
More time passed.
Masaomi felt urged by some unseen pressure to go outside. He started racing
for the parking garage they’d told him about over the phone. All the while, he
had the phone pressed to his ear, calling Izaya over and over.
But the phone did nothing except announce his acquaintance’s absence. It
only fanned the flames of Masaomi’s panic.
As he raced through the town, his mind writhed at the brink of despair.
Saki’s smile. Her scream.
The sound of breaking bone.
I have to go.
I have to go…right to the people who made Saki scream like that… and kill
every last one of them!
At the very moment he channeled this powerful determination, the parking
garage came into sight in the distance.
He saw a van drive into the entrance—and through the gaps in the walls, a
number of young men wearing blue…
His feet stopped.
The instant he saw the gang of blue, Masaomi’s will instantly crumbled to dust.
He felt the chill of the air around him and was fully reminded that he was just a
single teenager in middle school, completely helpless in the world.
His immobile legs had just reminded him of his own cowardice.
Why…why am I so afraid?
Saki’s in danger…yet I can’t even move my feet!
Why am I so afraid? This is for Saki’s sake… I thought I would do anything for
her! That shouldn’t…have changed…!
Move, move, move!
He pounded his legs, willing them to proceed.
The trembling eventually turned to nausea, and he crumpled to his knees on
the asphalt.
On the screen of his cell phone, the clock mercilessly displayed the time—the
end of the countdown.
Already, he could not remember Saki’s smile.
Parking garage, Ikebukuro

In a standing parking garage a short distance away from the shopping district.
Tucked away in the corner was a large van even bigger than Kadota’s,
surrounded by a number of men.
On the inside of the van, behind the tinted windows, a number of menacing
men loomed over a prone young woman.
“I think the chick passed out, Izumii.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. That ain’t no fun. We only broke her leg in a few places so far. I
was hoping to get more screams outta her from what we’re gonna do next.”
A man with several missing teeth sighed. The breath escaped through the gaps
in a high-pitched whistle that sounded oddly like a scream.
“Whatever. But it’s already been over twenty minutes. Do we need to send this
one into overtime for Masaomi Kida?”
The time limit had passed five minutes earlier, and the boy was nowhere to be
found.
“Maybe he pussied out and ran? He’s still just a kid, ya know? Even a full-
grown man can’t handle this.”
“If he doesn’t show, that’s fine with me. Let’s start the filming now, so help
strip her… No, wait, I’d rather have her awake. That’s more exciting. Hey, wake
her up somehow. No one’s gonna buy footage of an unconscious woman,” Izumii
said, his matter-of-fact tone at odds with the horrific brutality of his comments.
His companions cackled and turned their gazes on the girl lying in the corner of
the van.
“I don’t think that’s possible. She’s unconscious, not sleeping. I mean…you
think she might die? Not that I care.”
“Nah, she’s fine, right? She’s not bleeding,” Izumii grunted, laughing. The
others joined his laughter obediently.
Their laughter was answered by the side door of the van slamming open.
For an instant, they thought it was the leader of the Yellow Scarves, but if that
had been the case, the members outside would have warned them.
It was someone else who greeted the nervous figures in the van.
“Heyaaa! Oh my God, you really did kidnap her.”
“…Oh, it’s you, Yumasaki.”
Izumii and his cohorts breathed a sigh of relief when they recognized the half-
Japanese young man. “I didn’t expect you to show up. Where’s Kadota?”
“Yeah, I thought you didn’t go for real women.”
“Gonna put some kind of anime mask on her?”
“Bwa-ha! So creepy!”
It was clear from their comments that they didn’t think much of Yumasaki, but
they didn’t go out of their way to antagonize him any further than that. After all,
Yumasaki worked beneath Kadota, a powerful figure in the group, and it was
well-known among the Blue Squares that Yumasaki himself was mentally
unstable.
“So that’s her, huh? The poor little princess?” Yumasaki murmured uneasily,
looking at the unconscious girl, her leg red, swollen, and tilted at an unnatural
angle. “And this is how in reality, unlike in movies and manga, girls are terrorized
and assaulted, with no heroes to the rescue. Reality’s a bitch, huh?”
Yumasaki cackled and spread his arms theatrically. “So here’s what I think.”
“What?”
“If a hero shows up right now to save her, the world will turn to two
dimensions, and then I can save a fantasy realm with my new magical powers,
and I’ll get all flirty with the girls, which leads to ahem-hem-hem… Anyway, time
to reach out for those dreams!”
The others in the van looked at one another in complete bafflement at the
nonsensical string of spell words Yumasaki was putting together.
The Blue Squares grumbled, “God, you’re such a creepy weirdo. Anyway, our
hero in this case decided to run off to save his own skin, so stop waiting for Kida
and…”
“Ta-da-da-dahh!”
Yumasaki was already absent from the three-dimensional world.
“Here’s the new plan to turn reality into a heroic 2-D story with a happy
ending! Bask in the blessing of the new hero’s attack! Hurray!”
“Wha—?”
The next moment, they saw Yumasaki pull two glass bottles out of nowhere
and hurl them into the van.
The next moment after that, they caught the whiff of oil from the flying
bottles.
“Wha…?”
Yumasaki ignored the look of shock on the others’ faces as he pulled a lighter
out of his pocket and flicked it.
The men screamed and leaped out of the van, its interior glowing with blue
flame. They rolled around on the parking garage concrete, trying to bat out the
fire licking at the ends of their clothes.
The last person to jump from the vehicle was Yumasaki, carrying the prone girl.
Some of the flaming oil had caught on his leg as well, but he did not stop until he
reached the other van parked nearby.
“Get in!” Kadota shouted as he slid the door open. Yumasaki plunged through.
The other young men standing around just watched Kadota’s van, unsure of
what was happening at first. Within a few seconds, some had picked up on the
situation, and the officers who had finished stamping out their flames bellowed.
“Kadota! You sons of bitches!”
“After them! Get the car moving!”
“The car’s on fire!”
“Then put it out, dammit!”
Amid the chaos, Kadota’s van peeled out of the garage.
It never returned to their side.
Once safely out of the parking garage, they laid the injured girl down in the van
as they headed for the hospital.
“You said you were just going by to take a look…”
“Well, she wasn’t tied down or anything, so…sooner the better! Totally set a
new speed-run record on that one,” Yumasaki giggled to himself. Meanwhile,
Karisawa and the others tended to the girl.
“I don’t think we should try moving her. She needs to get to the hospital right
away,” Karisawa said, placing a blanket over Saki.
Togusa looked over from the driver’s seat. “Hey, is that…the kid from the
Yellow Scarves, right?”
Kadota looked up and through the windshield to see a familiar boy kneeling
over on the asphalt.
“I guess he did make it here…and then his legs failed him.”
“Well, I don’t blame him…”
“What should we do, Kadota? Pick him up?”
“It’s not like we’re doing this to get in with the Yellow Scarves. Plus, with the
state she’s in, I doubt he’d believe us if we told him we saved her.”
The van drove past the boy and disappeared into the night. Along the way,
they passed several police cars, likely drawn to the garage by some kind of
report. Kadota watched their red shining lights, gloom in his eyes.
“Let’s just hope this is the end of everything.”
After that, Kadota’s group left Ikebukuro behind—but they wound up back
there before long.
There were three reasons for this.
One, after the gang war calmed down, Saki’s testimony to the police resulted
in the arrest of Izumii and his group.
Two, the Blue Squares immediately caught the notice of the “professional”
gentlemen in the Awakusu-kai, right around the same time they picked a fight
with Shizuo Heiwajima. This led to their forced disbandment. Incidentally, during
this uproar, Izaya tricked Shizuo into getting arrested, and he moved to Shinjuku
immediately afterward.
And third, because they learned of the existence of a new group on the
Internet.
A strange, different group called the Dollars.
Several weeks later, Raira General Hospital

Saki opened her eyes.
And yet, two weeks after hearing about it, Masaomi still hadn’t visited her.
Once again, he came to the hospital but couldn’t bring himself to walk through
the doors.
His legs naturally went dead as he approached, the same way they had before.
Can’t do it. Forget this.
He turned on his heel to leave but was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.
“Hey.”
“Huh…?”
“You’re the guy from the Yellow Scarves… Kida, right?”
He turned around and saw a man wearing a black beanie, as well as a strange
boy and girl hanging behind him.
“Um…who are you?”
“Uh…how to explain? First of all, I’m Kadota,” he said, his face wry.
Masaomi came to a sudden realization. “Oh, from the Blue Squares?”
“You know me? You…aren’t gonna attack me?”
“I heard from Izaya that you betrayed your friends and rescued Saki. Um…
thank you.”
Masaomi bowed deeply to the trio, clearly feeling conflicted. Kadota was
momentarily taken aback by the boy’s politeness. When he found his voice, he
said, “Look, we’re just leaving from a visit to see her. She says you haven’t gone
yet?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“You’re not in any position to tell us what rights we have here. Listen, we’re
only here because she asked.”
“Huh…?”
Masaomi looked up. Kadota jabbed a thumb back at the hospital building.
“You can see this spot from her window.”
“…!”
“She asked us to send a message to you.”
Masaomi went pale.
“…‘Thanks for always coming,’ she says.”
“…!”
Masaomi froze on the spot.
Even after a long silence, he was rooted to the ground.
Kadota watched him for reactions, then eventually sighed and continued, “We
told her that you ran full speed to reach her, and it was only a blockade of Blue
Squares that kept you from being in time…rather than the truth.”
“?!”
“And she didn’t decide she hated you for not making it in time. See ya.”
Kadota started to walk off, but within a step or two, Masaomi bit into him.
“Why…why would you say that?! When did I ask you to do that?!”
“You never asked me to do anything. I’ve seen you in town a few times here
and there, but today’s the first time we’ve ever talked. And even if you asked me
to do something, I wouldn’t listen. You could have asked me not to, and I’d tell
her exactly the same thing.”
There was power in his cold gaze. Masaomi lowered his face toward the
ground, pushing his anger inward. He grumbled, “You know what happened. I…I
ran away. My legs gave out. I couldn’t move.”
“Yeah, I know. And you’re still running away from her now,” Kadota replied,
daring Masaomi to deny it, but the younger boy did not show any outward signs
of anger.
“You…you want me to lie to her? After I completely abandoned her?!”
Masaomi asked, pleading with Kadota. The other man grabbed him by the collar
and yanked him upward.
“Get your head outta your ass,” Kadota grunted with just the slightest note of
irritation. At a distance, it looked like an older ruffian shaking down a helpless
middle schooler for money, but Karisawa and Yumasaki did not budge from their
spots.
“I wouldn’t like it if you clicked your heels and said, ‘Aw, gee, thanks. Lucky
me!’ But I don’t like your current attitude much, either.”
Masaomi clammed up, while Kadota continued his lecture. “You don’t want
her to hate you, but you ditched her. But you don’t want to lie to her. And you
still feel guilty about that. You’re like a kid who gets caught shoplifting and says,
‘I’m really, really sorry, just don’t tell the police or my family.’”
“…”
“If you really feel guilty about leaving her there, then you should bear the
discomfort of lying to her for the rest of your life. That’s how you can repay what
you owe her. And if you don’t want to be dishonest to her…then stop running
and say it to her face.”
Finally, Kadota dredged up the past—but in a different way than Izaya had.
“I’ll forgive you for running from the past.” He let go of Masaomi’s collar, and
as he turned away, he left a parting comment. “But at least…stop running from
the present and future.”
Just as Kadota turned his back on Masaomi, the image of his perfect exit was
ruined by the inconsiderate comments of his companions.
“Ohh? Kadota’s dropping some really cool lines over here!”
“Awesome! From now on, we ought to call Dotachin ‘Poet Poe-tan’!”
He stiffened and turned back toward them. “You…you heard that?!”
Kadota turned beet red. Karisawa and Yumasaki looked quite proud of
themselves.
“Fweh-heh-heh! I bet you thought it was for his ears only, but that’s pointless
against our hearing. Don’t you know we grew up watching late-night anime at
super-low volume to avoid the family’s notice?”
“It’s pointless to stop us! Pointless-pointless-pointless-pointless-pointless-
pointless!”
“Just use headphones!” Kadota snapped back weakly, rather flustered.
Yumasaki only irritated him further by honestly answering his pointless
suggestion with, “Then we won’t hear our parents coming toward the room!”
“Just shut up!”
Masaomi watched the three squalling friends walk off, then turned back to the
hospital.
Finally, his leaden legs took him a few hesitant steps forward.
Toward the hospital room of the girl he still loved…
So that he could tell her they were breaking up.
That night, for the first time in ages, Masaomi reached out to his old friend and
invited him to the chat room. Seeing how much fun his friend was having talking
to him again, Masaomi naturally felt his frayed nerves growing calmer.
But the peace he felt only put his loss into sharper relief.
What could he do to fill it? Could he bury that empty space by falling in love
with a different girl? These thoughts swirled in the back of Masaomi’s head as he
chatted. Meanwhile, his old friend shifted gears to a new topic of discussion.
“So I guess we have our big school exams this year. Do you know what high
school you want to go to?”
Masaomi imagined the innocent, friendly face of the boy on the other side of
the screen, and his answer came naturally.
“I’m going to test for Raira Academy. It’s nice and close.”
He really had no interest in high school plans, but for this moment, he found
himself praising the school he would likely attend, playing up its many
attractions.
He finished by typing, “You should come, too.”
A year later.
Masaomi reunited with Mikado and met Anri, a girl who was mysteriously
aloof from the rest of the world.
At first, he got along with Anri, using her to tease his old friend and push him
along. But as time passed, he realized that she meant something to him, too.
Was it the same emotion he felt toward Saki? Was it the same as the emotion he
felt toward other girls?
Another year with these thoughts passed…
He found out that Anri Sonohara was attacked by the slasher.
And then he was right back where he started.
He himself had proved Izaya Orihara’s words correct.
Masaomi found himself visiting Saki again.
We return to the present.
Chapter 8: Broken Windows Theory
Shinjuku
The luxury apartment building sat on the corner of a crowded street.
The throngs that stuffed the nighttime street each had their own pace and
their own destination, but almost none of them actually stopped still in the
street.
Looking up provided a glimpse of the Tokyo government office and other high-
rise buildings, but this particular street was full of a different atmosphere from
the business sector and the shopping districts outside of the train station.
A young man sighed as he looked down gloomily at the city below.
“It’s so boring. It truly is tremendously boring not having anything to do. I
thought I might do some people watching out the window, but I don’t see
anyone I find interesting.”
The young man, Izaya Orihara, surveyed the view outside the window as
though watching a scene in a movie. He sighed again.
“Have you considered doing your job?” offered a clinical voice from behind the
mournful young man. Standing in stark contrast to Izaya, who was idly gazing
out the window, the young lady briskly and efficiently moved around the
information agent’s office performing assistant duties—Namie Yagiri.
She appeared to be his age or perhaps slightly older. He held out his arms
theatrically and proclaimed, “But you’re doing all of the tasks that I would
otherwise be doing. It’s so boring.”
“…Can I hit you?”
“You may not. And why do you care? You’re getting paid for this. Not a smart
move to attack your employer.”
“Fine, I’ll punch you after I get paid,” she muttered too coldly for it to be taken
as a joke. Izaya shrugged and returned to the window.
Namie proceeded with her duties silently, picking up the document that had
just been shunted out of the printer on his desk and examining it as she filed
away the other papers in her hand.
“What’s this odd piece of paper for?”
“Send that document to the Awakusu-kai office, like usual. Oh, and…get the
blue envelope at the top of the rightmost bookcase and send it to a Yamada in
Hagane city by certified mail. Take the sheet fourth from the top on the shelf two
below that and put it in the yellow envelope on the middle shelf of the left
bookcase. There’s also a verification receipt in the green envelope right above
that. Send both of those to the Sakurashin trading partner in my computer’s
address log. Once that’s done, copy the debtor registry on my desk and include
that in an envelope to President Sagawara of Fandorfeldsand Riverside Finance.
After that, send a message to Mr. Shiki from the Awakusu-kai saying, ‘The
location of the chocolate is still unknown.’ Once you’ve erased that message
from the program history, open the crossword magazine next to the computer
to page eighty-four, and fill the empty spaces with ‘broken windows theory,’
‘shark,’ ‘Transylvania,’ and ‘natto maki.’ Any spaces that are still blank, fill in the
answer on your own, because I couldn’t figure them out.”
They were like test instructions meant to measure the subject’s mental age.
Izaya delivered them all without pulling his eyes from the window. When he
finished, he turned around and saw Namie carrying out the orders without any
doubts or questions whatsoever. She silently reordered his tasks into a more
efficient order and performed each and every one of them without a mistake.
“…The last remaining word in this puzzle is ‘tocopherol calcium succinate.’
What kind of horrible person designs a crossword of commonsense answers with
this technical term thrown into the mix?”
“Brilliant,” Izaya beamed, clapping his hands in admiration once she had
finished all of her tasks.
“It’s also brilliant that you can point out such accurate locations of things
without even looking.”
“Only because you’ve organized them all so neatly.”
“By the way…what’s the ‘chocolate’ in this message I sent to Shiki from the
Awakusu-kai?”
“Hmm? A gun. Why?” he asked nonchalantly. Namie froze for an instant.
“Listen, about a year ago, right after you came to work for me, someone stole
some guns from the Awakusu-kai, remember?”
“The one that horrible dullahan was chasing, right? I remember the sight of
the monster swinging its scythe on the TV.”
“Right. Celty managed to recover most of the guns before the police could, so
nothing came of it. But the problem is, one of them’s still missing. Well, some kid
found that last gun and apparently tried to use it in a recent armed robbery. Ha-
ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“…I just pray that no one has this room bugged.”
Namie spontaneously searched for her next task to fulfill, thinking to herself
that Izaya’s cheerful but opaque smile was terribly creepy. Suddenly, the
intercom buzzed.
“Who could that be? No appointments, and I doubt the police would ring the
doorbell for a raid.”
“It’s not people from Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, is it…?”
Namie was originally a high-ranking member of Yagiri Pharmaceuticals, but
circumstances had forced her to go on the run from the company. She examined
the monitor on the intercom, squinting.
The screen showed the entrance of the building, rather than the door of the
apartment. The system was designed so that no visitors could get inside without
a resident’s permission, which kept most unwanted characters out.
“Oh…it’s just a kid. A teenager maybe?” Namie wondered, looking at the boy
in the monitor curiously.
The apartment received young visitors fairly often, but they were usually the
girls who formed Izaya’s retinue. They ranged from Gothic Lolitas to dolled-up
ditzes, but they all seemed to think he was nothing more than a fancy fortune-
teller.
But it was rare to see a man. Perhaps he was the brother of one of those
worshipper girls who had flown here in a rage. But Izaya patted his fist into his
palm happily.
“Oh! He’s already here! He just called ten minutes ago, but I assumed he’d be
coming tomorrow. Thing is…it’s almost too soon.”
He was peering at the screen over Namie’s shoulder. As soon as he recognized
the boy in the monitor, he pressed the button to unlock the building door for
him.
“Who is it?” she asked suspiciously.
“A friend of mine. Or perhaps like a close little brother. To sum it up in one
term,” he said frankly, “a king…that I can sacrifice.”
“Why, Masaomi… I figured you’d be coming.”

A few minutes later, Izaya was welcoming Masaomi inside. The boy’s eyes
danced in empty space, full of a whirl of emotions.
“When was the last time? When we ran into each other on the street last
spring?”
“That’s right… It’s been a while.”
“That expression looks familiar. It’s the old you. You were only in middle school
at the time, but you wore the face of an adult. So I will greet you in the best way
for acknowledging times gone by,” Izaya said, chuckling at the grave-faced
Masaomi.
“Welcome back.”
That was it.
It was the greatest of sarcasm and insults—and also the greatest of welcomes
from Izaya.
Masaomi knew Izaya too well to say anything in response. The man was a
monster who devoured others with words. Say the wrong thing, and he would
entangle that statement with one of his own, raking them over the coals, tearing
them apart, swallowing them whole.
Masaomi knew this because he had been swallowed before.
When he had to race out to save Saki, why did he have no option but to rely on
this man?
Since then, he had done everything in his power to avoid Izaya and had actively
warned his friends against associating with him.
But now he needed Izaya’s help again—even if it meant he would be used.
In all honesty, ever since Kadota had introduced Izaya as “the man who’d met
the boss of the Dollars,” a certain doubt had been planted in Masaomi’s mind:
the nasty suspicion that Izaya Orihara himself might be the boss of the Dollars.
Surely a man of his caliber could easily conceive of the Dollars and make them
a reality. But that also meant that he could have used the slasher and built an
army to attack the Yellow Scarves.
He could not be underestimated in either ability or lack of ethical behavior.
“Don’t glare at me like that,” Izaya said to Masaomi, who was staring holes in
the older man. “Are you suspecting me of being the head of the Dollars or
something?”
The information dealer had successfully drawn first blood.
“…No, I’m not…,” Masaomi responded weakly, looking away. Izaya smiled
gently and guided the boy to his guest room.
It was dark. The “guest” room was only so in name—it was stuffed with
cabinets and documents. The space was surrounded by shelves and paper. The
sunlight through the windows did not penetrate the room; the only source of
light was a weak lamp. The overall effect was one of extreme pressure on anyone
trapped inside with Izaya.
“I think I know what you’re here to ask about. Of course, I could have told you
over the phone, but I’m guessing you wanted a more serious conversation than
that.”
“…”
“I heard your friend got attacked? Her name is, uh…Anri Sonohara, I believe?
Sounds like a couple of the Yellow Scarves were hit as well, but the girl seems to
be more important to you.”
Masaomi was not rattled by the mention of Anri’s name. Normally, he never
talked about Anri to anyone other than Mikado or his classmates, but it was not
a surprise that the information dealer would know these details.
He was determined to stay calm and speak as little as possible, but Izaya found
just the right words to break that resistance. It was like he was playing a game.
“Does she remind you of Saki a little too much?”
“Don’t do that.” Masaomi looked away.
Izaya leaned slightly, trying to stay in his line of sight. He stared right into the
boy’s face, the corners of his mouth twisting with delight. “If a girl you liked got
hurt because of the war between the Dollars and the Yellow Scarves… Yes, yes, I
see. It really is just like what happened to Saki.”
“…”
Izaya was not put off in the least by Masaomi’s silence. “So what is this? Are
you thinking that if you stand up this time instead of running, you can make up
for the mistake of your past?”
“That’s not what I’m thinking.”
“You’re just trying to convince yourself that’s not what you’re thinking, aren’t
you?” Izaya said, refusing to accept Masaomi’s answer.
He propounded a theory in a clear voice that resounded off the walls, like a
veteran actor practicing a speech. Clearly, so clearly. But it was not a theory as
much as a figment of imagination, a thinly veiled desire.
“Let me guess your thought process: ‘I really did love Saki, but I was too afraid
to save her. Maybe deep down, I just didn’t love her as much as I thought I did.
What if my love was an illusion? What if it was only lust? What if I was only after
her body?’ And the more you thought it over, the more you wished it was the
case. Because that means you would only risk your life to fight for someone you
truly loved. And now this Anri Sonohara is a test case to see if your theory is
correct, isn’t she?”
His speech was so firm, so unrelenting that Masaomi didn’t even have time to
murmur acknowledgment at any point, much less interject to argue.
Namie listened to the whole speech as she carried out her duties, shaking her
head in exasperation.
I’m surprised he can spout that garbage so naturally.
It probably wasn’t that Kida boy’s original train of thought, but after Izaya’s
cunning arguments, he might certainly be wondering to himself if that was the
case after all.
Namie focused on the conversation happening on the other side of the
shelves, curious about the boy’s response. But the words she eventually heard
after a heavy silence were far calmer than she expected.
“…If that’s how you choose to see it, Izaya, then sure, let’s say that. But I still
want to go through with this.”
“Through with what? Vengeance against the slasher? The destruction of the
Dollars?”
“Depending on your answer, it could be both.”
“That’s the spirit,” Izaya said, satisfied with his answer. He clapped his hands
and stood, then spun halfway around theatrically and loudly proclaimed, “All
right! It’s for the sake of your forward progress. I’ll tell you the facts, the truth,
and the unavoidable reality, just for you. These three are usually distinct things,
but at times they’re all the same, and this is a good example of that!”
“…?”
Masaomi was silent for a completely different reason this time: He had no idea
what Izaya was talking about.
“By the way, how is Mikado doing?” Izaya asked, bringing up the name of the
boy’s childhood friend just to put a nail in his confusion.
Abruptly, so abruptly.
“Huh…?”
“You know, the friend you introduced to me last spring, Mikado Ryuugamine.”
“Why would you bring his name up now?”
“Well, I just figured he would be really worried about you, given the way you’re
acting,” Izaya noted, as though it were nothing more than social chitchat. But
Masaomi was growing more and more irritated—just what the other man
wanted.
He broke his silence.
“He has nothing to do with this. I’ve never told him about the Yellow Scarves,
and he’s as fine and happy as ever for a guy as shy as he is. Unlike me, he actually
enjoys his life.”
“Oh, is that so? And you don’t find yourself jealous of someone leading such a
peaceful, carefree life?”
“I told you, this has nothing to do with…”
He was only able to start the sentence. Suddenly, Masaomi’s apprehension
was palpable.
Izaya didn’t miss it. He sank his fangs in deep.
“What if it does?”
“Huh?”
“So Mikado’s doing well, then! While his friend agonizes, the very source of
that pain is living his life to the fullest.”
“Wait a second… What are you talking about, Izaya?”
Masaomi was asking for confirmation, but his intuition was already building an
answer from inside his mind. He asked Izaya the question anyway. He was hoping
that his answer would be wrong. But on the inside, he was screaming.
Don’t say it.
Please, don’t say a thing.
Izaya already saw every little subtle emotion in Masaomi’s face. And in full
faithfulness to everything that made him Izaya Orihara, he stomped all over
Masaomi’s wish.
“You know what I mean.”
Cruelly enough, Izaya wore the very same smile he had on back when he was
spilling all of the Blue Squares’ secrets.
“The boss of the Dollars is your very, very best friend…Mikado Ryuugamine.”
“But maybe…you’re the only one who actually thinks you’re best friends.”
For an instant, Masaomi was completely silent.

Behind the shelf of files, Namie found herself at a standstill, too, neglecting her
work.
Mikado…Ryuugamine…
Her shoulders had twitched when she heard the name spill out of Izaya’s
mouth.
There were three people that she loathed with all her being.
One was Celty Sturluson, the Headless Rider.
One was Mika Harima, the parasite that plagued her brother.
And the last was the founder of the Dollars, the man who had taken everything
from her: Mikado Ryuugamine.
She knew everything about the connection between the Yellow Scarves and
Dollars, but not that their founders were close acquaintances.
Namie shut her eyes for several long seconds—then got back to work.
She performed her duties briskly and efficiently.
All in complete silence—as she struggled to suppress the emotions raging
within her.
Several hours later, Ikebukuro

Ikebukuro was a place where just moving a block over to a different street
could completely change the vibe of the town. The act of stepping down an
unfamiliar alley from an otherwise familiar street was more akin to riding the
train and getting off in an adjacent city. Just a short distance away from the
shopping district could be a long stretch of apartments and homes, a
compressed assortment of wildly varied spaces that made it a good
representation of Tokyo as a whole.
“Goddammit. This rain never quits.”
In a back alleyway that was on the particularly desolate and eerie side out of
that incredible variety, Tom grumbled up at the sky, his trademark dreads and
glasses making him recognizable from a distance.
“Well, next one’s the last for the day. Let’s collect and get this over with.”
Standing next to Tom was Shizuo in his bartender outfit. He was calm and cool,
completely unlike how he’d been when he fought with Simon the day before.
“Yeah, let’s wrap this up,” Tom replied with the minimum of effort,
understanding what could go wrong if he tried to play up his seniority too much.
They walked through the dim alleyway without umbrellas. The worst part
about this particular collection location was that it was too cramped to get a car
in there, so they had to walk.
“He should be living in this apartment building up ahead. Age twenty, already
sank two hundred thousand yen into the call girl club. And he’s only been signed
up for a week! How much time does that guy spend on the phone?” Tom
grumbled as he trudged onward.
He stopped suddenly, noticing something wrong in the area.
There was a silhouette ahead in the narrow alley.
Several, in fact.
They appeared to be much younger boys, but they all wore yellow in one way
or another. It was obvious that they were Yellow Scarves, but that gang wasn’t
the type to hang out in a lonely back alley.
Sensing something was off, Shizuo and Tom turned around—and sure enough,
there were another dozen youths closing in on them from the other end of the
alley.
“Huh? Are we in trouble?” Tom mumbled, but there wasn’t a hint of concern
on his face.
They stood in the center of the alley and watched as the youths gradually
approached—at which point they realized that some within the group didn’t
really fit the label of “youth” anymore.
Most notable of all of them was a large man with bandages on his head. He
must have suffered quite an injury, because there were rusty red bloodstains on
part of the bandage.
“Who the hell are you?” Shizuo growled in irritation when the group was about
fifteen feet away. The bandaged man grinned, a snarl over gritted teeth. He
hurled a mocking retort at Shizuo.
“You’re Shizuo, huh? I hear you really did my bro wrong, yeah? Mr. Big-Shot
Shizuo Heiwajima!” It was a barely coherent, thinly veiled excuse to pick a fight.
“Oh yeah…?” A blood vessel pulsed on Shizuo’s temple.
“I don’t care if they call you the ‘fighting puppet’ or whatever… The Yellow
Scarves have decided you need to be eliminated for good. If you don’t wanna
die, start beggin’ on your hands and knees and hand over all the cash in that
bag.”
“Oh yeah?!” His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses, a deep furrow running
between his eyebrows. Tom noticed Shizuo’s manner and automatically took a
step to the side.
Despite Shizuo’s obvious irritation, one particularly foolhardy boy strode up
and brandished a police baton, threatening, “We know you’re goin’ around
collectin’ cash for the call girl line. So what’s it gonna be? Just so you know, you
knocked out my tooth a while back. So maybe you should start by beggin’ for—”
For an instant, the boy saw a small pink blob approaching him from the lower
right. Somehow, the man in the bartender outfit was right in front of him.
Huh?
The shock lasted a moment.
The pain must have come after that, but the boy only felt it after he woke up.
His mind sank like a stone as he was knocked out by a blow like an upward
hammer, but contrary to the downing of his wits, his unconscious body flew
upward. The breath whistled out of his lips, a number of small white shards
among the expelled air.
The other boys saw their companion, baton still clenched in his hand, fly in an
arc through the air.
One second later, the boy with the flattened face landed right next to the
bandaged man with a sound like a bag of garbage hitting the ground.
“How about I break the rest of ’em, so the hole doesn’t stick out anymore?”
Shizuo grunted through clenched teeth, rolling his head back and forth to crack
his neck.
Just one hit.
But the exact hit that was the most simple and most effective at changing the
atmosphere of the scene entirely.
Every last one of the gang of youths, nearly twenty in all, held his breath.
One of their companions had just been knocked out, but not a single one of
them moved. At first, because they didn’t understand what had happened. After
understanding, because they were too afraid.
“So? What’s it gonna be?” Shizuo asked without a single drop of sweat or
extra breath.
The question was an honest one, not a challenge, but none of the boys were
able to answer it. Shizuo strode toward the bandaged man, apparently angered
that no one was responding.
The bandaged man immediately twitched into motion, calling out a loud order
to his friends to hide his trembling.
“Don’t pussy out on this guy! We don’t gotta fight him one-on-one; jump him
all at once!”
The other boys immediately jumped into action…but Shizuo was already on the
move.
He trotted over to the nearest youths before he could be surrounded on all
sides and gave them each a fist in turn.
“Gakh!” “Yeeb!” “Wait…I— Humf!”
With a series of rhythmic thuds—whump, whump, whump—the boys slammed
against the walls of the narrow alleyway. Those who raised their arms to block
got the painfully unpleasant sensation of their limbs being twisted out of place;
those who landed a punch first felt the bones in their hands scream; and those
who fled felt him grab the back of their collars and toss them up into the air, only
to fall to the ground with a tremendous crash.
They might as well have been fighting a bulldozer.
The young man with the bandages on his head and the younger boys, who had
been confident with the superiority of numbers, were now in a state of panic.
Shizuo Heiwajima was the very personification of terror. In the face of his
monstrous, otherworldly strength, the bandaged man rocketed from a state of
cockiness to the pits of fear.
And that shift caused him to undo a switch.
The young man grabbed something without thinking, a tool he had only
planned to flash momentarily for extracting money easier, never to use in
earnest.
Instead…
“That’s bad news. Real bad,” Tom grumbled to himself as he watched Shizuo
rage, distractedly kicking an approaching boy in the groin. “I wonder if the cops
will accept this as self-defense? Bad news if someone dies, right?”
Better get going before we get into real trouble, he thought, turning back in
the direction of the main street.
pop pop pop
The sounds were oddly dry, given all of the rain.
“Huh?”
They were unfamiliar sounds to his ear—but that was how he could instantly
identify them.
This seems bad.
A different kind of “bad” sensation from before ran up Tom’s back, and he
spun around in a hurry.
“Shizuo…?”
When he turned, he saw the illogical presence of smoke in the rain, shrouding
a black object in the bandaged man’s hands.
And collapsed in a massive puddle, the prone figure of Shizuo.
The red liquid seeping from Shizuo’s body spread into the puddle with an eerie
marbling effect.
The rain continued its merciless fall—cruelly emphasizing the desperation of
the scene.
Chapter 9: Never Gonna Realize How
They’re Feeling…
The next day, Raira Academy

The end of the school year ceremonies were over, and the classroom was full
of the air of liberation only found around students.
Some were reminiscing with their classmates before next month’s class
reorganization, and others were chatting about their spring vacation plans—but
only Mikado chose to be alone and stare at the rain through the window.
It wasn’t that he didn’t fit in within the class. He was one of their
representatives in the student council, so if anything, he was one of the more
sociable members of the classroom.
But at the moment, he was not in the mood to be social. His two friends, who
normally sat on either side of him, were not at school.
“Both absent for two days in a row…,” he mumbled to himself as he stared at
the sky.
He had tried reaching out to both of their cell phones, but hadn’t succeeded in
getting through.
What if they’re on a date together…?
He didn’t want to imagine that possibility, but it wasn’t out of the question.
What should I do if that is the case?
If Anri had chosen Masaomi…that would be sad for him, but he wouldn’t stay
too down about it. In fact, he might even support them.
But if that meant that their friendship trio fell apart, that would be miserable.
If they were ditching school to go hang out, they could have invited him.
Mikado slapped his cheeks to straighten out his mind.
Wait, wait, they might just be sick. No use imagining wild scenarios like that.
He would go and visit Anri and Masaomi on the way home from school today.
He ought to anyway; he’d received her report card from the teacher.
Is it even within the rules to have a classmate give an absent student their
grade report? he wondered—and decided to take a peek at Anri’s card. Whoa…
I’ve never seen someone get perfect 10s across the board…
Anri had the look of a model student, and he knew she always got high scores
on their regular tests. But even then, he hadn’t anticipated the impact of those
pristine numbers.
She’s even got a 10 in gym…
“Hey! Hey, Ryuugamine!”
Mikado was so absorbed in spying on his friend’s report card that his heart
nearly stopped when someone called for his attention.
“Oh, h-hi, Harima. And Yagiri, too. What’s up?”
“Actually…Mika wanted something.”
It was a romantic couple consisting of two of his classmates: Seiji Yagiri and his
girlfriend, Mika Harima.
The trio of Mikado, Masaomi, and Anri was well-known throughout the school,
but they were no match for the infamy of these two.
They were together not only when they arrived and left school, but during
break time as well. It was almost unthinkable to see them individually with other
friends.
Of course, they didn’t have many friends to begin with—the only person
Mikado knew as a friend of Mika’s was Anri Sonohara. And after these two had
begun going out, even Anri had almost no contact with her old friend…
“So…what’s wrong with Anri?”
Mikado was so surprised to hear Anri’s name that he could only stare at Mika
with curiosity. “What’s wrong…? We were all wondering that ourselves. Maybe
she’s sick,” he said politely.
Now it was Mika’s turn to look curiously at him. “Huh? Ryuugamine, didn’t you
notice?”
“Notice what?”
“Anri’s been dealing with some pretty big problems. Especially two days ago,
right?”
“…Huh?”
Mikado was so taken aback by this sudden news that he turned to face them
directly, chair and all.
“I asked her about it during cleaning time, because I was concerned for her,
but she just claimed that everything was ‘fine’ and wouldn’t say a word about it.
She’s always been the type to keep her worries to herself, after all. I thought
maybe you’d heard something from her!”
“Er, no… Nothing at all,” Mikado replied, though a sense of anxiety was quickly
blooming inside of him.
He hadn’t noticed even an inkling that Anri might be acting differently than
usual. It came as a shock to him that he hadn’t perceived any difference despite
the time they spent together, yet Mika noticed Anri’s change from a
considerable distance.
“W-well, I’m going to pay her a visit today, so I’ll ask her about it…”
“Hmm. Well, I’m worried about her, so tell me if anything happens. We’ll visit
when we’ve got the time.”
“Okay,” he mumbled.
With an uncertain look back, Mika took Seiji’s arm and started walking off. But
Seiji stopped after a step and turned back to tell Mikado, “Maybe it’s not my
place to say…”
“Huh?”
“But being shy and turning your back to the other person is never gonna help
you realize how they’re feeling,” he said without hesitation, right within earshot
of his girlfriend.
“…You’re right. Thanks.”
Feeling a kind of jealousy for his forthright and outspoken classmate, Mikado
was ashamed at how little he had truly been paying attention to Anri.
Seiji had a view of romance that was the polar opposite of Masaomi’s, a fact
that Mikado was painfully aware of. He was hoping to speak to the boy for a bit
longer, to hopefully learn something new.
“Kya-ha! And Seiji’s always watching me! Always has, always will! It’s all right,
I’ve never bothered with watching anyone but you, either!” Mika bubbled like a
character in a comic book, as soon as the words were out of Seiji’s mouth. She
leaped onto him and clung for dear life.
The teacher was still cleaning up his desk and looked ready to say something,
but he ultimately decided it would be futile. He left the room.
Next, Mika dragged Seiji after her out into the hallway, suggesting that they
should make their spring vacation plans soon.
The classroom was suddenly empty, plunging Mikado into a lonely mood. He
glanced back up at the sky.
For an instant, he felt like he caught a glimpse of blue sky.
But the rain still showed no sign of stopping.

When she awoke, Anri encountered a strange, foreign sensation.
This must be a dream.
Normally, she had the same dream every time: one of her family when they
were still alive. But she could tell that she was having a different dream this time.
As with any dream, it was set in the old house where her family lived happily.
Everyone wore smiles that existed only in her imagination, chatting and laughing
away. It was the kind of dreamy dream that could never be anything but a
dream.
But today, it was not her father and mother who were with her, but Mikado
and Masaomi.
Why is it Mikado and Kida…?
As she lay under the blanket with her eyes closed, Anri thought about this
dream and the events of the last few days.
She found out that Masaomi was the boss of the Yellow Scarves and was
embarking on a massive war because of her—and then she escaped.
How much better it would be if that was the dream.
As she slowly opened her eyes, the sadness settled in. The light that reached
her eyes was different from usual. It wasn’t just the light; it was the color of the
walls, the pattern on the ceiling, the blanket draped over her, and the many
expensive pieces of audio equipment and game consoles around her.
For a moment, she wondered if she was still dreaming. But then she
remembered what happened before she fell asleep and realized that this was
Celty’s apartment.
When she got to the apartment last night, she wasn’t really in any state to
have a conversation. Celty saw how Anri worried about how to tell Masaomi and
Mikado about this, and how to apologize for getting them involved, and told the
girl, “It’s fine. You can stay here and relax until it all blows over.”
She remembered agonizing all night until the dawn, at which point she got
loopy with fatigue. She must have fallen asleep here and been left since.
Anri’s glasses were on the shelf next to the bed, so she put them on to take a
good look at the room and confirm that it was indeed not a dream.
I ought to thank her, she thought, sitting up.
It was an unusual awakening for her, but the cursed chant of I love you still
rang throughout her body like always. The madness-inducing curses put her
mind at ease somehow—a fact that made her sad when it registered on her.
It was normal not to hear voices like that, so how could she feel at ease with
them?
I’m…a monster.
She had a cursed blade making its home within her body and mind, and despite
its presence, she wasn’t going insane—she was making good use of it. She was a
creature far removed from proper society.
Maybe that was why she had that dream. Perhaps yesterday’s events were a
punishment she had to bear. Perhaps it was the price she ought to pay for
wishing that a monster like herself could lead a normal, happy lifestyle with
Mikado and Masaomi.
I shouldn’t bother hoping for a human life, like other people have…
She got to her feet with this thought in mind and slowly opened the door to
find…
A headless monster watching a variety show on TV as she challenged a man in
a white lab coat to a handheld video game.
“Go easy on me, Shinra.”

“You want me to go easy, in a block-dropping game? How would I do that
exactly?”
“Don’t press any of the buttons.”
“That’s not going easy, that’s committing suicide!”
Celty and Shinra were enjoying a head-to-head video game battle, bickering
away in their usual style. Celty had her laptop set up at her side and was using
her body shadows to type at the keyboard so that both hands were still free to
use the handheld console.
“Argh, I lost again! Damn…I hate you, Shinra.”
“You do?! Wait, wait, wait! Fine, I won’t hit the buttons this time!”
“Ha-ha-ha, I’m just kidding. I’m not that childish.”
“Oh good… I’m so glad to be alive!” Shinra rejoiced for some odd reason. Celty
set down her handheld and watched the TV screen.
There was a young actor on the LCD screen—he was at a press conference
announcing his starring role in an upcoming film. His features were still boyish;
his height was average, but his face looked like it belonged to a high schooler or
even a middle schooler.
“Ooh, it’s Yuuhei Hanejima. He’s really turned into a big star lately. I like his
acting, he’s very good.”
“I hate to interrupt your attempt to change the subject by watching TV, but…I
wouldn’t get too infatuated with him.”
Celty was confused for a moment—Shinra rarely ever turned his attention
away from the celebrities on TV.
A few seconds later, she typed out a teasing response. “Why? Will you be…
jealous?”
“That’s Shizuo’s brother,” he said. Silence followed.
Celty was still for a few moments, unable to break down the meaning of his
words. Eventually, she typed a hesitant question: “Huh?”
“I’m telling you, he’s Shizuo’s little brother.”
“No way!”
Celty increased the font size to depict the impact of her reaction.
“If you read the ‘feather’ kanji in his name as wa instead of hane, what
happens? Yuuhei Wajima, Yuuhei Wajima, Yuu Heiwajima… His birth name is
actually Kasuka Heiwajima, based on a different reading of ‘Yuu.’ Just like his
brother, he doesn’t live up to his name. I mean, Shizuo is anything but ‘quiet,’
while Kasuka has way too much of the spotlight to be considered ‘dim’ or
‘faint.’”
“I had no idea…”
“Then…did you know Izaya has little sisters? Two of them. Twins in middle
school.”
“No way!!”
Celty was completely flustered to learn such huge details about the siblings of
people she thought she knew well. Shinra grinned, ready to deliver the finishing
blow.
“Did you also know I have an older sister?”
“What?! Why haven’t I heard that before?!”
“Because it’s not true… Oush, oush, oush, don’t puwl my sheek, thiff hurf but
itf vewy shweet!” Shinra babbled, his cheek twisted out of shape. The movement
caused him to turn and notice that the door to the adjacent room was open and
a girl’s face was poking out of it.
“Hey, so you’re finally awake.”
“Ah…s-sorry to intrude like this!” she yelped timidly, as Celty hastily removed
her grip on Shinra’s cheek. The dullahan typed a large-font message into her
laptop so Anri could see.
“Oh good. I was almost afraid you might have fallen into an eternal sleep.”
“Th-thank you… I’m afraid I’ve been a huge burden…”
“Not at all. We were going to wake you up, but you really seemed exhausted,
so we waited… We were just saying this morning that if you didn’t wake up by
this afternoon, we ought to take you to a proper hospital.”
“I guess that means that playing games and watching daytime TV instead of
caring for her makes us pretty wretched people,” Shinra laughed ironically.
Anri had one question based on what they’d just told her. “Um…the hospital?
How long have I been sleeping?”
“Over an entire day… About thirty hours, I’d say. Oh, you did wake up once to
use the bathroom, but it was pretty much sleepwalking. You collapsed right back
into bed after that.”
“Don’t talk to a girl about using the bathroom, or we’ll sue you for
harassment.”
“Why, Celty, you’re as punitive as a certain litigation-happy world
superpower.”
Shinra and Celty were their usual glib selves, but Anri’s mind had gone
completely blank. Part of it was shock that she had missed two whole school
days, including the end-of-year ceremonies. But what would Masaomi think of it,
too?
After what had happened at the factory, did her absence cause him to suspect
that she might be the intruder after all?
Celty noticed the fear on Anri’s face and approached the girl to gently embrace
her shoulder and display her laptop screen.
“It’s all right, I’m on your side. And this suspicious fellow in the white lab coat
can be trus… Well, he’s with us.”
“Why did you start writing that I could be trusted, then change your mind?”
Hearing that the headless being was on her side brought a bit of calm to Anri’s
mind. A normal person might have found that alarming, but given that Anri had
just considered herself a monster, it was reassuring simply to have company.
Celty seemed to be even more human than human, and despite the lack of a
face to see, Anri sensed that the rider was quite happy, which made her jealous.
So hearing Celty proclaim that she was “on her side” filled Anri’s heart with a
warmth that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was the kind of warmth she felt the
first time she met Mikado and Masaomi. Anri decided she wanted to seize what
was in her dreams and bring them back to reality.
Her parents were already dead, but Masaomi and Mikado were alive in the real
world.
Anri made her up mind and stared at Celty, ready to speak.
About the various events around her over the last several days…

A boy walked through the rain alone.
Beneath the hammering of the rain against his black umbrella, he clenched his
fist wrapped in a yellow cloth.
The school ceremony had to be over by now. He hoped that Anri had noticed
his absence from school and was at least concerned for him. And what was
Mikado thinking?
Masaomi peered up at the rainy sky from beneath the lip of his umbrella,
envisioning his childhood friend’s face. Drops hit his face between the spokes of
the umbrella, but he didn’t even feel the chill of the water.
“The boss of the Dollars is Mikado Ryuugamine.”
The instant the truth he wanted to know came into his grasp, it sank to being
the truth he didn’t want to know.
“Why…?”
He wanted to believe it was a lie, but Izaya never lied to his clients about what
they paid for. Masaomi knew that through personal experience.
Even still, it was hard to swallow.
“Why did Mikado’s name pop up there?”
Izaya explained everything in detail, including the fact that the Headless Rider
was one of the Dollars as well. But hardly any of that reached Masaomi. He
barely even remembered leaving Izaya’s apartment and wandering around the
town.
“What have I been doing all this time?”
The longer he looked up at the sky, the more something soft and airy began to
wriggle inside his head. It felt like reality and dreams were mixing together into a
complex cocktail.
If he reached out, he might be able to grab the sky—anything he wanted might
appear before his eyes if he wished for it. Either he was low on sleep or the stress
was having a toxic effect on his mind.
Now that he had the information from Izaya, there was one thing Masaomi
needed to do: talk to Mikado. All rational thought told him that it was the
shortest path to a resolution, even if it didn’t get there on its own.
But Masaomi never doubted Mikado during the whole slasher incident. He’d
known Mikado since they were kids. He wasn’t the type of person who harmed
others, and his affection for Anri seemed real. Which meant that if the Dollars
were involved, it had to be in some way that Mikado didn’t know about.
What if Mikado had a secret side to his personality and actually hated
Masaomi and hurt Anri because he wanted her all to himself? What if he was
putting all this pressure on Masaomi, knowing that he was the leader of the
Yellow Scarves? The thought crossed his mind for an instant, but oddly enough,
he didn’t give it much serious thought.
“If it’s really that untenable a situation, then nothing I do can resolve it. I’ll
have to give up.”
It would mean that he’d been fooled by Mikado’s smile for the entire year, but
on the other hand, he’d been fooling Mikado since middle school and
encouraged him to come to Ikebukuro for entirely selfish reasons. He’d have to
suck it up and assume they were even—whether he got crushed by his old friend
or decided to fight.
But Masaomi had a firm confidence that Mikado was not the one responsible
for this. If he had wanted to do it, he could have destroyed the Yellow Scarves in
a much simpler way. If he knew that Masaomi was the leader of the Yellow
Scarves and had a grudge against him for that, there were ways for him to deal
with the situation. He would have made use of Izaya, another member of the
Dollars.
If there was any other reason that he did not suspect Mikado, it was simply the
vague and baseless faith that Mikado wasn’t that sort of guy.
If there was any reason that he might be irritated with Mikado, it was that he
had never once told him the secret of the Dollars.
But that goes for me, too.
He recalled that he had never once told Mikado about anything to do with the
Yellow Scarves, and his irritation turned inward upon himself.
With that irritation at its peak and turning to desperation, Masaomi found
himself agonizing over a question: Whom did he want to see most?
Once the chaos had calmed down, where would he go back to?
He wanted to speak with Mikado and get things cleared up.
Or perhaps he could go after the slasher again, for Anri’s sake.
It wouldn’t be bad to hang around with Kadota, Yumasaki, and Karisawa,
either.
And then…there was Saki.
Why do I bring up the name of a girl I broke up with?
He shook his head self-deprecatingly to clear the name.
The closing ceremonies had to be over by now. The options for what Masaomi
could do next swirled through his head as he wandered around the park.
Suddenly, his cell phone rang.
He’d gotten a call from Mikado the night before, but he wasn’t ready to talk at
the time.
That’s right, I can’t keep running.
Masaomi thought of what Kadota had told him two years earlier and made up
his mind to answer the phone. But the number on the display was an
unregistered one and totally unfamiliar to him.
Based on the number itself, it looked like a cell phone. An ugly sensation came
back to Masaomi’s mind.
That vague unease that plagued him when he formed the Yellow Scarves.
That fear that shocked him when the Blue Squares’ boss called him to taunt
him with Saki.
The mix of these two emotions filled him with a sudden, intense resistance to
answering the call. But without a concrete reason not to pick up, Masaomi had
no choice but to hit the button and bring the receiver to his ear.
And the voice he heard was…

“Ah…I see how it is, then,” Celty typed into the laptop on the table once she
had finished listening to Anri’s story. “So neither of those two you’re always with
—Mikado or that Masaomi boy—know what you really are.”
Anri read the flowing text and quietly nodded. It felt like she was having a
conversation with a computer screen, but since she didn’t know sign language,
there was no other way for her to communicate. Plus, she had met Celty a
number of times since that first incident for lessons in using a computer, so she
was getting used to the idea.
“Let’s see, we’ll need to think of a way to stop the warfare. Don’t worry—a
plan started forming in my mind even while you were describing the situation,”
Celty typed confidently. Anri felt a note of relief creep into her mind. It was the
first time she could truly reveal everything about herself to another person—and
not in the mind-control way—and she’d never considered that it could be such a
powerful buoy to her spirit.
Maybe it would work out after all. With that spark of hope inside her, Anri
began to consider her options.
But there was one thing that weighed on her. Celty had referred to Masaomi
as “that Masaomi boy,” while Mikado was just plain “Mikado.”
It was a very minor distinction, but Anri decided that it wasn’t wise to leave the
issue unresolved to nag at her mind, so she asked Celty directly, “Um…do you
know…Ryuugamine?”
“Uh. Ohhhh… Um, let me just ask you this: How much do you know about
Mikado Ryuugamine?”
“Huh…?”
Anri wasn’t expecting the question to be thrown back her, and she panicked
slightly. Why were they talking about Mikado now? She didn’t know why, but
she trusted Celty implicitly, so she answered the question despite her hesitation.
“Um, he’s a very good friend of mine… He’s as important to me as Kida, and we
both serve as our class representatives. It’s been a long time since I just had
normal friends like them…and…”
“Okay, Celty? She has no idea,” Shinra said, cutting Anri off before she spent
any more time searching for words to answer the question. “It’s very strange
how despite spending every day around someone—or perhaps because of that—
you’re so close that the most important things actually stay hidden… But that’s
only natural. I hid things from Celty for years. But I don’t hide anything
anymore.”
“I know that.”
“Um, did I say something careless?” Anri asked worriedly, but Celty shook her
hand back and forth to indicate that it was okay.
“No, it’s just fine. You’ll learn everything before very long.”
“Um, oh.”
Anri had no idea what she meant, but she trusted in Celty’s confidence and
didn’t inquire further. Celty, meanwhile, picked up the helmet off the corner of
the table and stuck it onto her neck the way one would attach a robot part.
She was clearly getting ready to go somewhere, so she pointed the helmet at
Anri and typed out a message meant to put the girl at ease.
“Don’t worry about it. If all goes well, this will be entirely wrapped up by the
end of today. I’m going to go bring an acquaintance along. Just wait here for
now.”
“Um, okay… I’m sorry to be a burden on you for two days running…”
“Don’t let it bother you. This apartment is pointlessly huge, anyway.”
She turned to Shinra this time and sent him a message very different from
what she’d been telling Anri. “Don’t put any weird ideas in her head before I get
back. This kind of thing is meaningless unless it comes straight from the horse’s
mouth. And don’t interrogate her or try any weird experiments.”
“I know. Trust me!” Shinra replied, grinning painfully. Celty looked into his eyes
and tapped out a quick message.
“Trust placed. I’m going to go get Mikado. At this point, his school either gets
out before noon, or he’s on vacation, right?”
She deleted the message promptly so that Anri couldn’t see, then tucked her
trusty PDA into her shadow and rushed out of the apartment door. Anri watched
her sudden exit, sitting in place with a confused look on her face.
The man left behind in the apartment with her was wearing a white lab coat at
home, for some reason. It reminded her of the man with the white gas mask
she’d met two days earlier.
“Um…I really appreciate this… You even gave me a bed and everything…”
“Huh? Oh, it’s quite all right. Celty’s friends are my best friends. What would
you say to being our foster daughter? Celty doesn’t even exist on paper, so she
can’t be your official mother, but still,” Shinra said easily without much thought.
Anri was relieved that she wasn’t being a pain, but something in what he said
struck her as odd. She stared at him.
When he noticed the girl’s mystified stare, Shinra returned it, taken aback. Her
reaction was curious to him. Eventually, he understood her unspoken question
and clapped his fist into his palm.
“Ohhh. I don’t think you understand, so I’ll just tell you straight…”
He laid out the truth, flat and simple, without embellishment or artifice.
“Celty’s a girl, okay?”

“Hello?”
“Wha—? Yo. You the shogun? Kida? Masaomi Kida?”
The voice coming from the other end of the call was that of a throaty man,
crude and vulgar. He sounded older than their generation. Just like Izumii of the
Blue Squares did.
“May I ask who’s speaking?”
“C’mon, don’t be like that. I’m a pal. We’re friends.”
“Huh? No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Fine, whatever. Listen, we’re at that old factory right now. Everyone’s already
here, in fact.”
A chill trickled through Masaomi’s spine. The factory he was referring to had to
be the abandoned lot the Yellow Scarves used as a hideout. So was he one of
them? But he’d never heard this voice before…
“Listen, I’m Horada. You know me?”
“…Oh.”
The unique sound of the name brought Masaomi back to several nights ago,
when he heard it first mentioned. “The one who got his head split by the Black
Rider’s pal…”
“The hell? Is that all I am to you? The guy who got his ass kicked?”
“Uh…I didn’t mean it that way…”
Why would a man he’d never met before call him out of the blue? And at this
precise moment, of all moments? The questions floated through Masaomi’s
mind, but his silence worked to his advantage, as it prompted Horada to
proclaim one relevant bit of information.
“Umm, so anyways, listen. You don’t gotta come no more.”
“Huh?”
“I’m sayin’, you’re fired. No more shogun. Beheaded. No more head.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Masaomi demanded, the overly familiar
tone of the other man grating on his nerves. But the next moment, he heard
something that made him completely forget about his anger at his phone
partner.
“Is it Mikado Ryuugamine? The name of your little friend.”
“Wha…?”
The instant Horada said Mikado’s name, Masaomi’s entire body froze solid.
Why would Mikado’s name come up at this exact moment?
“What a shocker, huh? We’re all shocked over here. The boss of the Dollars,
friends with our boss?”
“Wait a second… Where’d you hear that from?”
“Does it really matter? I can’t believe you were lying to us this whole time,
yeah?”
“Wait… I only just learned that yest…,” Masaomi started to say, then
swallowed his tongue. Who in the world would possibly believe that he’d only
just learned the truth himself?
He got the exact kind of answer over the phone that he expected to hear.
“Yesterday? You’re not gonna tell me you just found out yesterday. You were
best buds and classmates with this guy for over a year, and then you act like you
didn’t know he was Dollars? You know that ain’t gonna fly, right? You little
traitor.”
“I didn’t…”
“You should see everyone’s shocked faces over here. Well, I got chosen to be
the new leader; I’m the oldest, after all. I’ll put out a death sentence on you, too.
Don’t got time for it today, but you ain’t gonna be strollin’ around Ikebukuro
starting tomorrow.”
“I said wait! I want to talk with… What about today?” Masaomi asked.
Horada snorted and challenged his former leader. “Now that we know who the
boss of the Dollars is, we gotta spend today finding and crushing him, obviously.”
A cold sweat broke out on Masaomi’s skin, combining with the humidity of the
rainy air into an unpleasant dampness. “Wait, the Dollars aren’t…Mikado, at
least, has nothing to do with the slasher, I think…”
Masaomi wasn’t trying to clear up his own innocence—he was vouching for
Mikado’s.
But Horada’s ugly, crude voice cut him off. “But that don’t matter no more.
The slasher’s just an opportunity, ya know? Either way, the Dollars and Yellow
Scarves want the other side out of their way. So it works out fine.”
“Doesn’t matter…? What do you think you’re doing? Getting revenge for your
head getting busted?”
“I don’t care about that, either. It gave me an excuse, and someday I’ll kill that
guy in the gas mask, but the important thing is…we can’t turn back now.”
“Can’t turn back…?” Masaomi caught a clear note of malice in the other man’s
words, and he turned on Horada, his pulse racing. “Why…? What did you do?”
“I’ll let you in on one last little secret. The Dollars are done for. And I’ve already
finished off Shizuo Heiwajima.”
“Huh…? Finished? What did you do to Shizuo…to that monster?”
“It ain’t your business no more. You just better pray the police believe your
side of the story—assuming the police find you before we do. Hah!”
And with that final snort, the other man hung up the phone.
Masaomi hastily tried to call his other longtime companions in the Yellow
Scarves, but no one answered. The high school closing ceremony should be long
over, and few of them would be diligent enough to attend a school ceremony in
the first place.
But every single number that Masaomi dialed was not in use. Either they were
powered off, they rang incessantly without answer, or they went to voice mail
after the very first ring. The responses were varied, but the uniform absence of
anyone to answer was cruel in its unanimity.
Masaomi clutched his useless phone and thought back to two years earlier.
The present situation was very similar to when Saki was abducted.
This wasn’t his girlfriend being kidnapped. But the same kind of guilt racked
him, tied his body down to the spot before anything actually happened.
It would be a lie to say that he had no fondness for the Yellow Scarves. But at
this point, that meant nothing. If Mikado wound up targeted by the Yellow
Scarves, the way he was targeted by the Blue Squares two years ago, and if Anri
was taken hostage as a tool to draw Mikado, just like Saki had been…
He would end up losing two of his dearest friends, his “home to return to.”
“The past is lonely. You can’t escape it.”
Izaya’s quote from the past lay heavy on Masaomi’s heart. If the past was
going to come back to haunt him like this, maybe he shouldn’t have been
running around to start with.
Everything matched up with his situation two years back.
The only difference from back then was that this time Masaomi raced out into
the unknown without any hesitation.
Run.
Run, run, run.
Just run.
His goal was clear: He had to settle with the past that had caught up to him.
He urged his nearly cramping legs onward, onward.
The boy only wanted to know what he could do, if he could overcome his past.
He ran to find that out.
On his way toward the ruined factory, Masaomi plunged into a crowd. It was
the shopping area known as Sixtieth Floor Street, on the way from Ikebukuro
Station to Sunshine City.
Masaomi came to a stop there, standing in the middle of the road to survey
the area. It was the place where he had spent the most time hanging out with
Mikado and Anri. The same went for Saki and the members of the Yellow Scarves
when he was active.
He remembered how he’d showed Mikado around the area the first time his
friend had visited Ikebukuro. He looked around to burn the image into his eyes
one last time.
With a kind of determination in his heart, he headed for the Yellow Scarves’
hideout, swearing that he would never stop again.
But he was almost immediately stopped by a familiar voice.
“Hey, Kidaaa. What wrong? Your face, very depressing. You hungry again?”
He looked overhead at the source of the voice and saw a black man standing
nearly seven feet tall. He was ushering in customers from the crowd with an old-
fashioned oilpaper umbrella overhead and his usual smile, but he approached
Masaomi in a different way from normal when he noticed the boy’s demeanor.
“Kida no happy. Very strange lately. Say crazy things, like before. Your head
sick? I buy you cucumber roll, cheer you up. Kida now, you look like with Izaya.”
Masaomi wanted to brush him off and continue with his pressing business, but
then he remembered the previous day’s events and stopped to face Simon.
“Listen, Simon… Thanks for the sushi yesterday. It was crazy good! Five stars?
If I had the right, I’d give it all fifty stars and stripes! You can have the entirety of
America from me, Simon. That’s how good yesterday’s sushi was—but not just
that time. Russia Sushi is awesome every time I eat there.”
Considering what was about to happen, Masaomi might never be able to visit
the place again. That meant he would never be able to repay what he owed them
for their generosity yesterday. He decided he could at least give them his thanks.
“Give my compliments to the chef. His knife work was incredi…”
“Oh, Kida. You go fight now? You kill someone, get killed? Izaya put you up to
something again?” Simon interrupted, as if he read Masaomi’s mind.
“Wh-why would you say that? What are you, a psychic?” Masaomi laughed to
hide his surprise, but he did not deny either Izaya’s involvement or the possibility
of a fight.
With his usual expression but a more serious tone than before, Simon said, “I
hear from Tom. Shizuo shot yesterday. Bang, bang from gun.”
“Huh…?”
“Kill and be killed, very bad. Where I was, when people fight, someone always
die. Masaomi, you look like person ready to die. No good. This Ikebukuro. Not my
hometown. Much warmer, people give food even to homeless. Not everyone die
when sleep in street without vodka. Kids like Masaomi, no need to kill.”
“Simon…”
There was a serious look in Simon’s eyes that Masaomi had never seen before.
He realized that he knew nothing about the man’s past. Rumors in town were
colorful—they said he was a former Russian mobster or a mercenary. Masaomi
had never asked him directly.
But he didn’t think Simon was lying. He must have been through serious
troubles before he came to Japan. If he took that story at its word, then Simon
had experienced things that no one living in Ikebukuro would ever know for
themselves.
And that was exactly why he was giving Masaomi this precise, serious lecture.
But Masaomi still couldn’t stop.
“Sorry… I’m sorry, Simon. I’ve got to go…”
He felt that standing around and listening to Simon would only make his
mission harder, so he bowed and raced off.
Simon didn’t chase after the boy. He only watched him go, a complicated,
conflicted look on his face. Even after Masaomi had vanished into the crowd,
Simon stood in that spot for a while. Eventually, he closed his eyes and shook his
head, then resumed soliciting for customers.
He still turned in the direction Masaomi left from time to time, however.
The town just showed him its usual, ordinary nature.
With one minor difference, perhaps.
There was absolutely no sight to be seen of any youngsters wearing yellow
scraps.
Chapter 10: That’s Why I’m Here.
Apartment building, Shinjuku

Izaya opened the door and immediately spotted something out of place.
A pair of leather shoes that did not belong to him were left in the entranceway.
Namie’s heels were next to them, so it seemed she had welcomed a visitor. But
he hadn’t heard a word of it from her, and the shoes were far too big to belong
to the girls like Saki or the Goth Lolis that made up his retinue.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he considered just leaving. But that
tension was immediately swept aside by a muffled voice from the center of his
apartment.
“Don’t you think that fate is a very convenient word?”
He couldn’t hear the owner of the voice, but it was clearly directed at him.
“A variety of coincidences reframed as if their existence was inevitable… A
process both logical and illogical… Which brings me to ask a man like you: Should
the concept of fate be considered inevitable…?”
“You know, playing up the word fate doesn’t actually make you sound cooler
or smarter, Shingen Kishitani.”
“Oh ho! How did you know it was me? Did you remember my voice?”
Izaya proceeded in the direction of the voice toward the guest room, where he
saw a man wearing a white gas mask and, next to him, an exceedingly grumpy
Namie.
Shingen, the man in the gas mask, had a pistol in his left hand that he had
pressed into Namie’s side. With his right hand, he was busy solving the
crossword puzzle that Izaya had left open on his desk.
Izaya was not stunned or frightened by the scene in the least.
“Sure, the mask-muffled voice was one thing…but you’re also the only person I
know who speaks in such a bombastic manner.”
“Ahh… I have to say, this crossword magazine does like its obscure answers.
This one is a person’s name: ‘artist and herbalist who claimed to heal God’s
illnesses through paint.’ That would be…uhh…I don’t remember. Starts with ji,
ends with ta. Hmm…pass. Then, there’s this horizontal clue: ‘German artist from
Gloerse Island.’ That sounds familiar, but I can’t recall it. Ka…Kar… Do you know
that one? Go ahead and answer, and I’ll listen.”
“Would you mind not trying to complete my half-finished puzzle?” Izaya asked,
grabbing the magazine away and sitting down on the sofa across from Shingen.
“That’s quite a nimble trick there, doing a puzzle with one hand and pointing a
gun with your other… But why are you pointing a model gun at Namie?”
“Oh ho… Well spotted.”
“?!”
Namie’s expression shifted wildly. Clearly, she had believed he was training a
real gun on her.
“…Liar!”
“Hah! How would a normal civilian like me get a gun here in Japan? The law
against owning a gun is much stricter than you imagine! But because Miss Namie
did me the courtesy of being fooled, I was safely able to break through your
apartment’s security system.”
“Good for you. So long now,” Izaya quipped lightly.
Shingen chuckled through his mask, unfazed in the least. “Please don’t be so
cold to your old classmate’s father. I remember how you and my Shinra and little
Shizuo used to get into trouble, hanging out together. Given how Shinra grew up
to be so twisted, my analysis says that it was because he was trapped between
the ultimate bad influences—you and Shizuo. What do you think of that?”
“So you think you have nothing to do with it? Plus, I don’t ‘hang out’ with
Shizuo.”
“Ah, that’s right. Shinra always had to be the middle presence in between you
two. You got along like cats and dogs.”
“So…to what do I owe the pleasure?” Izaya prompted Shingen flatly, in no
mood to reminisce about the past.
Shingen noted his attitude and put the model gun away in the inside pocket of
his lab coat. “Well, you should already have an idea, just from my presence
here…”
“Where did you put Celty’s head?”
Ruined factory, outskirts of Ikebukuro

The yellow writhed.
Amid the gray factory interior with rusted highlights, the swarm of youths
wearing yellow bandannas writhed eerily. The factory building was stuffed with
even more members than a typical meeting, and in the center was a small space
where well-known officers like Horada and Higa were living large over the rest of
the group.
Horada sat on a leather desk chair they’d brought in, staring at the rest of the
group like he was their king.
“What should we do with the Dollars’ boss, Mr. Horada?”
“We’ll just crush ’em one by one, starting with Kadota’s group and going up.
Get rid of them and Shizuo, and the rest are nothing. We can take our time
putting the screws to this Ryuugamine guy.”
Horada laughed crudely, the bandages still wrapped around his head, as he
played with the black piece of metal in his hands. It looked like a cheap toy in
Horada’s hands, but it was undoubtedly a deadly weapon.
Everyone in the building was unpleasantly aware of the fact that the gleaming
black barrel was not that of a model gun, but a real, authentic pistol. Some of
them had witnessed it in action yesterday when he shot Shizuo, and most of the
others had realized by now that the other day’s convenience store robbery was
achieved through Horada’s tool.
The reason that no one had bothered to report on him was that there was no
hard proof and that he ran with a very large group, the largest faction within the
Yellow Scarves at this point.
The faction would fall apart if Horada was arrested, but that would weaken the
Yellow Scarves as a whole. Given that they were about to embark on a war with
the Dollars, many assumed that such a loss would be fatal to the group—not to
mention the fact that anyone with the conscience to snitch to the police
probably wouldn’t have been in a gang like theirs in the first place.
Then again, the rest of the gang wasn’t exactly unanimous in support. When
Horada told the group that Masaomi had betrayed them, those who knew
Masaomi the longest didn’t believe him—but they were not present now.
Higa’s team had ventured out in the morning to crush them and steal their
phones. They got Masaomi’s number that way, which was how Horada gave him
the news about their little revolution.
As he hung up on the call, he stared out at the mass of Yellow Scarves under
his command, drunk on his newfound power. As the new shogun of the Yellow
Scarves, he mocked the gathering. “Is this the Yellow Scarves you all wanna be?”
He brandished his gun for effect and smacked it against the empty drum can
next to his chair. The sound was not as impressive as he hoped, and the palm of
his hand stung terribly, but Horada hid the pain by giving a speech.
“Listen up! We ain’t just a buncha scrubs like the Dollars! We’re a unified,
organized force! So we’re gonna go and crush ’em and get revenge for the crap
they’ve been pullin’ with the slasher!”
No one in the Yellow Scarves doubted him when he proclaimed that the Dollars
were responsible for the slasher.
“If we take out the Dollars, we’ll be the kings of Tokyo itself, not just
Ikebukuro! Can you imagine it?! Everyone in the entire city under our complete
control!”
Of course, just being the top gang of delinquent fighters did not make them
the equal of higher powers. There were the police, the bosozoku motorcycle
gangs, and the yakuza, all of which would come down hard on them if they stood
out, but Horada’s dream would not be suppressed.
He played tough on the outside, but on the inside, Horada was terrified.
He only hoped to forget that fear by growing drunk on power.
He knew the stories about Shizuo and thought he understood the danger the
man posed. But as long as they could take him down, even if it required
ambushing him with a group, they would be infamous. So he went after the man
with a hit squad of twenty, which seemed like overkill.
It was not.
Half of Horada’s goons were wiped out in an instant, and he sensed impending
and certain death from Shizuo’s approach—so in his fear, he pulled out the gun
he intended to use for security and yanked the trigger.
About a year earlier, someone he knew had a plan to smuggle guns out of the
Awakusu-kai, and Horada got him drunk enough to pry the weapons’ temporary
hiding place out of him. He then snuck a single gun and a case of bullets out and
snitched the location to the cops. The guys plotting the scheme went on the run
from the Awakusu-kai and police both, and no one was any the wiser that
Horada had pinched a single gun for himself.
Just as he had hoped, Horada was able to get up to all kinds of mischief using it
as a tool to threaten others. It wasn’t until last night that he had actually shot
someone with it.
The first shot tore a hole in the side of the bartender shirt, surprising him with
the force of the recoil. He unconsciously lowered the gun slightly before firing
the second shot, and it shattered against the asphalt, but the third one sank into
Shizuo’s leg.
Shizuo lost his balance and fell forward onto the street. A man who had just
been exhibiting superhuman strength had collapsed onto his face before him.
I killed him.
Certain of that fact, Horada instantly felt cold sweat on every inch of his body.
He pried his trembling hand off of the pistol and spun around to survey the
situation, only to see that the other unharmed Yellow Scarves were staring at
him with shock and fear.
The gazes that had been trained on Shizuo just seconds ago were now on him.
That was the point that he first realized there was no going back. The possibility
that the gunshots might have attracted attention caused a fresh wave of cold
sweat to break out.
Can’t stay here now, he thought to himself.
The man who seemed to be Shizuo’s coworker closed in, saying, “Wait a damn
second… You sure you aren’t gettin’ yourself in hot water with that gun?”
“You want someone to blame? How about the guy who gave me the orders
and the gun? Masaomi Kida’s your man!” he made up on the spot, then ran from
the scene.
The rest of the boys picked up their comrades felled by Shizuo and scampered
away. The man with the dreads was tending to Shizuo and wasn’t coming
chasing after them.
Just as he was considering going on the run and into hiding, Horada’s phone
got a call from an unfamiliar number. He answered, terrified of the possibility
that it might be the police or the Awakusu-kai.
Instead, the person on the other end told him about the connection between
Masaomi Kida and the boss of the Dollars.
That led him to the current point.
It was a lifeline to Horada when he needed it most. By using information and
power together, it was all too easy to seize control of the Yellow Scarves. And if
he could swallow up the Dollars next…
That’s right. With this many people, I can handle a few cops or yakuza barging
onto our turf.
A few days was all he needed. If he could maintain his power, he could patch
things up with the Awakusu-kai and “produce” the culprit who killed Shizuo
Heiwajima for the police.
Horada even considered pinning the pistol on Masaomi Kida and burying him
in the mountains somewhere. He glanced at the gun in his hand, grinning madly.
Suddenly, a rustling came from the entrance.
Is it the cops already?!
Horada scrambled to his feet and made to give orders to Higa and his other
pawns. But he stopped with shock when he saw who had arrived.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Standing at the entrance was the very boy he’d just sentenced to exile and
death, panting and wiping away sweat.
Masaomi Kida looked from face to face until he quickly identified the figure at
the center of the group. Once he had caught sight of Horada, he glared with all
of his power.
“Huh? This makes no sense. I just told you you were fired, and you’ve got a
death sentence tomorrow.”
“Which means…I’ve still got today!” Masaomi said quietly, a confident smile
playing across his lips. “I don’t like this revolution you’re throwing. If I’m going to
be treated like a traitor, I’d like to at least get my ass kicked by the old-school
members who remember me…”
He surveyed the gathering of youths again and boldly opined, “What’s going
on here? I barely recognize anyone in this mob.”
He didn’t see any of the members whose cell phones he’d tried to reach just a
little while ago. Masaomi wasn’t stupid enough not to understand what that
meant. The smile slowly faded off of his face, and his voice got deeper.
“Unless…you’re telling me…”
The few people he did recognize were all shuffling at the back, looking
uncomfortable, while those who eagerly surrounded him up close were all
unfamiliar. Horada, pleased with his tactical advantage, stayed right where he
was seated in his chair, confidently looking down on Masaomi. “It’s strange;
everyone who was against me taking over got ambushed last night and sent to
the hospital for some reason. Their phones were busted and everything.”
A spiteful sneer spread over Horada’s face. He wasn’t even pretending to hide
the truth anymore. “Ooh, ain’t that scary? Must be those Dollars at work again!
Right, boys?”
He raised his hands, and the Yellow Scarves surrounding Masaomi laughed
together.
“So…what’s your plan?”
“Huh? Well, first we’re gonna jump you… And then I suppose we’ll use you as
bait to lure your little buddy out.”
“You son of a…”
“Hah! What an idiot. Maybe you thought you were coming to help your friend
out, but all you really did was turn yourself into a hostage! Maybe I should try
what Izumii did way back when! I’ll break your arms and legs and say, ‘Here’s
your question!’”
Masaomi went still.
“What…did you just say?”
“Huh? I said I’m gonna use you to crush the boss of the Dollars! The real
convenient part about how the Dollars work is that even the members don’t
know who their boss is! So I can take over their information network; give
whatever orders I want; and before they know it, they’ll all be my faithful
pawns!”
“No, not that… Did you just say…Izumii?” Masaomi asked, eyes wide and fists
clenched. Inside his head, he heard that crude voice and Saki’s screams over the
phone.
Horada watched the change in Masaomi with glee and shouted happily, “Ha-
ha! Oh yeah! After that, we’ve gotta think about all the bad deeds we’ve done as
the Yellow Scarves! Maybe it’s time to change our image with a new team name
and color. Maybe a nice pale blue…like the color of your face right now!”
“No…you…you can’t mean…,” Masaomi mumbled, his lips trembling.
“You finally figured it out? That’s right; everyone here,” Horada said,
motioning to the crowd, “is your sworn enemy: the Blue Squares! Don’t bother
to disparage us by calling us the ‘remnants’ of our old gang! After all, we sure
managed to swallow the Yellow Scarves whole!”
“…”
“It’s sad, really… All we had to do was take off our blue gear and ask to join,
and your pals accepted us all in as brothers. I was freaked a bit when you came
back, but you didn’t notice a thing! I guess that’s all the Yellow Scarves meant to
you in the first place. Ha-ha…hya-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
The crowd rolled with laughter to drown out Horada’s, until it was a giant
wave of sound crashing against Masaomi.
He held his silence amid the overwhelming mockery. Eventually he raised his
head and stared down Horada, Higa, and the others in a different way. Before,
his expression was one of rage—but now, there was quiet determination and
understanding.
Horada cackled at the difference in Masaomi’s demeanor and asked, “What’s
up, then? You ready to get down and beg? Not that it’ll do you any good.”
“No… Actually, I feel relieved.”
“Ah? What?”
“I’m registered with the Dollars and a member of the Yellow Scarves,”
Masaomi said mockingly, taking a step forward. “But I’ve been fired from the
Scarves and can’t trust the Dollars. Now I’m just a flashy teenager.”
He took another step forward. Caution strengthened among the nearby
youths. As they closed slightly on him, several of them went to lock the door so
that Masaomi couldn’t escape.
But the frivolous-looking teen, with his brown hair and pierced ears, wasn’t
bothered in the least. His voice was absolutely calm.
“That’s why I’m here.”
He took another step. And another.
“I’m just Masaomi Kida.”
As he took yet another step toward Horada, his words grew more and more
powerful.
“That’s why…I’m here!”
Masaomi took another step—to protect those he cared about. No more
reason than that.
With each quiet step, the tension in the crowd around him increased
noticeably.
But the one truly feeling the pressure was Masaomi himself.
That’s right. This situation is my past.
The past I’ve been trying so hard to outrun somehow circled around ahead of
me.
“You can’t escape it, no matter how you struggle. No matter where you go,
the past will follow you. No matter how hard you try to forget, no matter if you
die and let it all disappear, the past will always be right behind you, chasing you
down. Chasing, chasing, chasing, chasing… Do you know why?”
As those words that he’d once heard in the hospital repeated inside his head,
Masaomi saw a number of faces.
Anri, Mikado, Kadota, Yumasaki, Karisawa, Simon…
And Saki.
“Because it’s lonely. The past, memories, and outcomes are all very lonely
things. They want a companion.”
Masaomi recalled those words of Izaya’s. He mumbled, “Now it’s my turn to
chase my own past.”
“Wha—?”
“I hear the past is lonely—so I better catch up to it soon.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about? Moron!”
Irritated that his former leader continued his fearless approach, Horada
grabbed a crowbar from one of the boys near him and hurled it at Masaomi’s
face.
Masaomi didn’t even try to dodge. The nail pry on the end of the crowbar hit
him in the face. But he didn’t shy backward. He reached out and caught the bar
as it fell to the ground. Blood streamed from his forehead down the side of his
face, but he kept walking without wiping it.
“I didn’t come here expecting to be killed.”
Now the boy had a weapon in his hands. Horada felt a small note of unease at
the sight—and it was he who had given him that weapon.
“I came here expecting to kill. You, in particular.”
The unease turned to fear.
Despite his advantage in age, despite his advantage in build, despite the
presence of the deadly weapon on his side, despite the almost laughable amount
of manpower at his disposal.
“I’ll say it as many times as it takes.”
With each step Masaomi took, a certain possibility grew larger within Horada.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Another step. And another step.
“And no one can deny that!”
Horada realized the nature of that possibility.
The very slight, extremely unlikely possibility that before he could have the boy
beaten to a pulp, Masaomi might come and kill him first.
The instant he realized that, his unease changed into recognizable fear. A
shriek emerged from Horada’s mouth in the form of an order.
“What are you guys doing?! Crush that idiot’s skull already!”
At the same time, the other boys, immobilized by the same anxiety as Horada,
snapped into motion.
The violence of numbers bore down on Masaomi.

Shingen inhaled the scent of the tea Namie offered him through his gas mask
as he ran through the series of events.
“Well, after Miss Namie went on the run, Yagiri Pharmaceuticals was acquired
by Nebula, if you recall. The company was independently investigating the trail of
the head—well, of Namie—and I spotted her visiting your place from a variety of
hotels. So as she was making her way here today, I used this model gun to
convince her to let me in.”
“Should we call the police, Izaya?”
“Wouldn’t that cause trouble for you? A warrant based on my testimony
produces a young woman’s head… It would be the newest sensation—forget
about that old slasher. Perhaps I should engage in some self-orchestrated
message board drama to heighten the anticipation.”
Izaya sipped his tea with a calm smile as Shingen went on at length about the
ways in which he could sabotage them.
“Clearly Shinra got his twisted personality from you.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, my boy. Now show me the head.”
“What is his problem?” Namie asked, disgusted.
In contrast, Izaya was used to dealing with him, and he responded to Shingen
in kind. “The only answer I can give you is no…but I’m curious as to what your
response would be.”
“If I said this building might get invaded by a gang of armed robbers in the near
future, what would you do?”
“Then, I’d say you shouldn’t have come here today. I could have this room
spotless and empty by tomorrow morning,” Izaya answered the man twenty
years his senior without a hint of intimidation.
“Ha-hah… I’m only joking. In all honesty, I don’t need the head back anytime
soon.”
“Oh?”
“Our higher-ups at Nebula were more than a little shocked to see footage of
Celty in action on TV. They determined that it might be better to research her
body, rather than the head,” Shingen stated, all business. Namie found herself
questioning his sanity.
Izaya was engaging Shingen in the conversation, weighing his statements, but
his expression suggested that he wasn’t able to judge the other man’s intentions
yet.
“Now I am on a mission to search for the location of the head. You seem to
have a different approach to this head than we do. Under the ‘Valkyrie equals
dullahan’ theory, you believe that placing the head into a certain type of power
struggle will cause it to awaken on its own. A fascinating idea.”
“Oh…? I thought I got rid of all the bugs.”
“…I said that as a joke. Is it true? You’re really following such an obscure
theory?”
“…”
It was extremely difficult to read the expression of a man wearing a joke of a
gas mask to ascertain if he was serious or not. Izaya sighed in resignation and
decided to explain his current strategy.
“I’m trying a number of things. If it comes down to it, I’ll just have to take it to
a war-torn region, but I’d appreciate a cooperative response, if possible. Unlike
you, I don’t have the facilities for proper scientific monitoring.”
“Ah… Well, test out whatever you wish. If you go through me, I can put our
resources at your disposal…under our supervision, of course. To be honest, I am
curious about your actions. No one else around me has considered
experimenting from a mythological standpoint. And neither have I.”
“Well, thank you.” Izaya grimaced, sipped his tea, then regained his confident
grin. He explained to Shingen, “As a matter of fact, I was really getting
somewhere with this. I whipped up a number of gangs into an antagonistic
frenzy to make them wipe each other out. And the people at the center of them
were linked both by friendship and romance.”
“Ahh.”
“They were trapped by the whirlpool of violence—fated to fight, even as they
cared for the others… And one of them is like Celty, a being slightly removed
from this world.”
“Are you speaking…of Saika?” Shingen piped up excitedly. “Are you sure this
wasn’t just your own desire, unrelated to experimenting on the head?”
“I won’t deny that.”
“So, when you say you were ‘getting somewhere,’ that implies that ultimately,
you did not ‘get somewhere.’ What do you mean?” Shingen asked.
Izaya sighed confidently and replied, “I think you know what I mean.”
“Celty has gotten more involved with two of them than she needs to be.”
Ikebukuro
Once he returned to his apartment, Mikado decided to head for Anri’s place
first.
He was preparing for the trip and feeling slightly apprehensive when he heard
a whinny that he would never mistake for anything else.
“…Celty?”
The only possible explanation for the sound of a horse whinnying outside of his
metropolitan apartment building was Celty’s black motorcycle. And if it was
making that sound out front, it meant she had paid a visit to Mikado for
something.
But…why now?
Despite his delight at the return of the “extraordinary” to his life, Mikado felt a
pang of anxiety and doubt. Could it have something to do with Anri and
Masaomi?
He threw open the door to his apartment, worry gnawing at his chest. Celty
was standing at the door about to press the buzzer. She quickly yanked her hand
away, looking guilty.
“Hi, Celty. What’s up…?” he said, greeting her with his usual happy smile. She
held out her PDA apprehensively.
“I know this is a sudden question, but…do you love Anri Sonohara?”
“Huh…?”
What kind of question was that to ask completely out of the blue? Even worse,
his apprehension about Anri was apparently proven true. Panic began to eat
away at his heart for a number of reasons.
Mikado’s confusion was painfully apparent just from looking at his face. But
before explaining things more thoroughly, she wanted to be sure of that one
thing, while he was still ignorant of the rest.
So she threw him an even more pressing question.
“If you’re invested in her happiness…would you be able to reveal all of your
secrets?”

“I see… If they know someone as powerful and connected as Celty, that might
be disastrous for the intractable warfare you desire.”
Shingen slurped his room-temperature tea through a straw stuck into the gap
of his mask. The image was nothing short of a joke, but his manner was dead
serious when he finished sucking down the tea.
“I have one piece of advice.”
“Oh?”
“If you want to mimic a war here in Tokyo to agitate Celty’s head—or soul—
then perhaps rather than getting her involved with someone else’s battle…what
if you used her body as the focal point, wreaking havoc on the surroundings
instead?”
The suggestion was horrifically cruel and calculating. Izaya simply curled up a
corner of his mouth and said, “That’s my plan.”
Shingen’s reaction to this proclamation was hidden from view by the gas mask.
An eerie silence settled on the gloomy room. Izaya decided to break it, though it
didn’t particularly bother him. He launched into a further explanation of the
incident he found himself involved with.
“Actually, this event is truly fascinating. These three people, so close to one
another, each bore a terrible secret, and…through coincidence and a single act
of malice—by me, of course—they were each informed of the others’ secret in
nearly the ideal circumstances. Of course, it would have been truly monstrous if
it had happened after the battle had gone to the point of no return.”
“The only monstrous thing here is you,” Namie muttered, but Izaya pretended
not to hear.
Meanwhile, Shingen filed away what he had just heard. He announced his
opinion on the matter with his usual flair. “I see. Malicious coincidence,
overlapping and leading to more misunderstanding… It’s the kind of thing that
happens so often in this world, it’s hard to call it ‘coincidence.’ You might call it
human nature instead.”
As an unexpected part of that chain of coincidence whether he realized it or
not, Shingen muttered a final statement from a lofty vantage point.
“Well, I believe I shall be going now…but remember one thing, information
agent.”
“Which is?”
“The chains of coincidence do not only occur in the direction of misfortune.”
Interior, ruined factory

With a grunt, another Yellow Scarf—or perhaps he was really a Blue Square—
collapsed next to Masaomi.
Over a dozen teens were already rolling around on the ground at his feet,
clutching their arms, legs, or heads.
“Hey, he’s just one guy! What’s taking you so long?!”
At some point, Horada had gotten out of his chair and to his feet. He had the
gun clutched in his hand, but he was taking a step backward, trying to put
distance between him and the advancing Masaomi.
He was certain that when his companions closed in all at once, their victory
was instantly assured. But that moment had passed, and Masaomi was still
standing.
Naturally, he wasn’t unscathed. But all of the truly devastating blows were
coming from him, not the other way around.
Horada’s command sent the useless posers, who had no experience with group
fights, forward in an attempt to drive away their momentary intimidation.
Rather than attacking his blind spots in groups of three or four, they all rushed in
like sardines, swinging metal pipes and the like. Predictably, they mostly got in
one another’s way, hampering their ability to fight.
Meanwhile, Masaomi didn’t swing his crowbar around like a bludgeon, but
held it out straight, striking at ribs, collarbones, and knees.
His attacks were as ruthless as they were efficient. It was if he was trying to
pierce straight through his opponent’s body with each blow. With every
merciless strike, the Yellow Scarves each reconsidered their own attack for an
instant, giving him more time to swipe with the crowbar. No mercy, no
hesitation.
Who was going to be first to leap into an attack that could easily get himself
maimed? If anyone locked eyes with Masaomi, they were the next to fall prey to
the crowbar. The bodies of the wounded were a physical and mental wall that
served as a warning to the rest.
And if there was any mistake that Horada made, it was his sore
underestimation of Masaomi’s power.
Horada had pegged him for the opportunistic type of leader, but he did not
realize that the Yellow Scarves were originally formed around the bedrock of
Masaomi’s fighting ability. He had taken part in several fights that pitted him
against larger groups completely alone.
But naturally, Masaomi’s body was accumulating steady damage. There were
multiple trickles of blood coming down his forehead. His movement had been
noticeably slower since taking a metal pipe to the ribs—he might even have
cracked a few.
But Masaomi didn’t go down.
No matter how many blows he took, he continued his inexorable progress
toward Horada.
Meanwhile, no one was bothering to stand in his way to form a human
barricade around their leader. They just stood around as the same event played
out over and over. About half of the gathering was just watching from a
distance, not making any effort to join the fray.
Y-you useless idiots…
But he also couldn’t just run for it and be the first out the door.
The possibility of death flitted across Horada’s mind again.
If it comes down to it…
He clutched his gun and considered creating his second victim. If he shot him
in this state, the other guy would die for sure this time, but only if it came to
that.
Should he just go ahead and shoot him now? Horada was losing his ability to
make rational decisions. He clutched the gun, swallowing hard—and the
situation made a tiny bit of progress.
“Die!”
One of the boys’ hearty swing of a metal rod connected with Masaomi’s head,
and he collapsed to the ground.
“Oh…? Heh…heh-ha-haaa! Don’t scare me like that, you little shit!” Horada
crowed, relaxing his grip on the gun and moving closer to the prone Masaomi.
He raised a foot, preparing to stomp his helpless victim into oblivion. In a flash,
Masaomi leaped up and swung his crowbar down at Horada’s head.
“Raaah!”
But the strength went out of Masaomi’s knees, and the tip of the crowbar fell
just an inch short as it dropped.
“H-hyaaah!”
Horada was half-mad at that point, however. He leaped aside like a terrified
dog, turned his gun on Masaomi as the boy slumped to his knees, and…
Instead of a gunshot, there was a sharp metal clang.
A shock ran through Horada’s hand. The gun he was holding flew through the
air and landed elsewhere inside the factory.
Even Masaomi didn’t understand what happened.
One of the men near Horada had suddenly swung a knife, knocking the gun out
of his hands with inhuman quickness.
The man with the knife dully told the stunned Horada, “Um, sorry. If you kill
him, Mom will be sad. So I acted on my own. Yes.”
“What?! What do you think you’re…do…aaah?”
All the boys who saw the man’s face scrambled backward. The man holding the
knife had eyes that were pure, deep red—as though the entire whites of his eyes
were bloodshot.
The knife wielder looked around the scene and said again in monotone, “Well…
I can tell. Sorry. I can tell Mom is very close by.”
The next instant, there was an incredible crash from the entranceway of the
factory.
All present turned to look that way and saw the lock placed on the door being
blown clean off.
The padlock fell to the ground as cleanly as a vegetable chopped by a kitchen
knife. The door blasted open…and Masaomi saw.
At the door was a girl with the same katana that he’d seen two nights earlier.
When she saw him about to be stomped by the gang, she cried out, “Kida!”
and raced over to him.
“Huh…?”
What’s Anri doing here?
Why does Anri have…a katana?
Masaomi’s world lurched perilously.
He wasn’t quite able to put together the “Anri equals slasher” equation in the
heat of the moment, but there was no denying the extreme confusion he felt at
the bizarre combination of Anri and an old-fashioned katana.
And then came the ultimate element of confusion roaring into view.
Right around the time that Anri reached the spot just in front of Masaomi, a
powerful whinny echoed off the walls of the factory.
The Black Rider!
Why did Anri show up?
Why did she have the same kind of katana as what the girl two nights ago had?
Why would he hear the sound of the Black Rider’s motorcycle right now?
There was no end to the questions, no lack of confusion, and no time to think
about anything.
But the biggest problem of all, the thing that dulled his resolution to risk
death…was the appearance of the Black Rider—and the boy sitting on the rear
edge of the seat.
It was the person he was least ready to face—but most eager to talk to.
“Masa…omi…?”
“Mika…do…?”
Twenty minutes earlier, apartment building, Ikebukuro

“Huh…?”
A number of emotions flew through Anri’s mind when she learned that Celty
was a woman. But before she could process them to ascertain their true
meaning, she was distracted by a sound from the other room.
It was the room farthest into the apartment, not the one where she had slept.
“Oh? Is he already awake…? Those were pretty hefty tranquilizers I gave him,”
Shinra said morbidly. Anri focused on the far room, curious about the source of
the sound.
The door slowly opened to reveal a man’s face.
“Hey, where are my shades?”
It was a blond man wearing a button-up shirt.
“Hi. Your brother was just on TV. Starring in a film? Congrats.”
“Oh, Kasuka? Yeah, I think I remember him mentioning that.”
Anri felt her pulse leap as she listened to their mundane chat. The cursed
voices that welled up from within her were raising a cheer more powerful than
any she’d ever heard.
Understanding and memory came swiftly to her.
About two weeks earlier, when she first met Celty, this man had completely
flattened one of Saika’s “grandchildren.”
Shinra was completely oblivious to Anri’s petrification. With surprise in his
voice, he asked the man, “Listen, Shizuo… You got shot in the leg and the side
and suffered tremendous damage. How are you standing and walking around
already?”
The doctor’s tone suggested that the other man was violating everything he
knew about life. Shizuo Heiwajima only raised his eyebrows a bit.
“Why…? Because I can stand and walk, obviously,” he said unhelpfully.
On the inside, Anri’s cursed voices churned and roiled even harder. She shoved
the voices into the world within the painting frame and spoke to the man who
once saved her from the slasher.
“Um…Shizuo…why are you…here?”
“Huh…? Uhh…crap. Who are you?”
Shizuo didn’t recognize her. He started to mull it over in earnest. Meanwhile,
Shinra explained what had happened while she was asleep.
“Oh, him—he got shot yesterday. Took bullets to the leg and ribs, and while he
was off-balance on the ground, the shooter ran away. What a clumsy klutz, am I
right?”
“…You want to die?”
“I am so sorry with all of my being.”
With a single glance from Shizuo, Shinra was down on his hands and knees.
Shizuo had clearly given up on trying to remember Anri. “At first I thought I
slipped and fell because of the rain…then I noticed all the blood coming from my
side and leg. That’s when I realized I’d been shot, and I was ready to kill them
all…but they’d all run away already. Then, Tom said some scary stuff about dying
of lead poisoning if I didn’t see a doctor…”
“What made you choose a black market doctor like me? I lost a couple good
scalpels trying to cut out the bullets.”
“Who wants to go through all that police questioning about the bullet
wounds? I figured it would be cheaper in the long run to go with you,” Shizuo
answered simply.
Shinra sighed and asked, “Anyway, what’s your plan after this?”
“Ain’t it obvious?” he replied, his face suggesting that there could only be one
answer.
He had no idea how cruel an answer it was to Anri.
“I’m gonna find the guys who shot me, and this Masaomi Kida asshole who
gave them their orders, and kill ’em all.”
Present moment, abandoned factory

And then Anri was here.
She knew about Shizuo’s strength. Given that he could easily kill Masaomi, she
considered it smarter to help Masaomi escape than try to convince Shizuo not to
kill him. Shizuo and Shinra had been talking about something, but she didn’t hear
them—she was too busy sending a text message to one of her “children” in the
Yellow Scarves.
That was how she learned the Yellow Scarves were gathered at the abandoned
factory. She broke free from Shinra when he tried to stop her and raced on foot
to the scene.
But the message did not contain a particular piece of crucial information.
That there had been a revolution within the Yellow Scarves and Masaomi was
already exiled from the group.
“Kida!”
Anri exposed herself for all to see, boldly standing to block the way and protect
Masaomi, when—
“Masaomi!! Sonohara?!”
It was Mikado, seated behind Celty. He saw the state of the factory from the
back of the motorcycle and called out to them in shock.
He couldn’t be blamed. One was brandishing a deadly weapon, and the other
was bloody and beaten.
He had called out their names because his emotion preceded his
understanding.
Mikado leaped from the motorcycle and raced over to the bloody, kneeling
Masaomi.
Celty, too, viewed the scene with conflicting emotion.
What is this? What is…going on here?
On the phone, Shinra had said, “Anri got a message and just up and ran out
the door. I’m trying to chase after her, but… I think she’s heading for the
abandoned factory, but I can’t…breathe… Geez, she’s fast! Anri! So! Fast!” So
she had taken Mikado with her on the bike straight to the factory.
As they rode, she showed Mikado a PDA message that read, “Are you prepared
for what’s next, no matter how awful a sight it might be?”
Celty had been imagining the Masaomi boy leading the Yellow Scarves into
battle against Anri with her katana.
That was what I figured would happen… So what exactly is going on?
For whatever reason, the boy who was head of the Yellow Scarves was being
mobbed by his companions in yellow.
“You’re right… This is a horrible sight…,” Mikado mumbled when he saw
Masaomi.
Why was Masaomi being ganged up on by the Yellow Scarves? Why was Anri
here, and why did she have a katana with her? There were plenty of questions.
And the other two must have had questions of their own.
Yellow Scarves, Dollars, slasher.
Three symbols floated into three heads—but it all went out the window the
moment they saw one another’s faces.
All the information each one had gained…
All the doubts they’d felt about the others…
All of it confirmed as trivial with all their hearts.
In the moment, they each thought and acted with no concern except one
another’s safety.
The confusion held true for Horada as much as it did for the trio.
“There you are, Black Rider… Crap… Whatever’s happening here, go, guys!
Pound ’em all into dust! And take the empty-handed kid hostage!” he shouted,
just before a voice piped up from the crowd.
“Now! Turn traitor!”
“…Huh?”
Horada looked around, unclear what the shout was supposed to mean.
He saw something he could not believe.
Hey… What’s going on…?
What the hell is happening here?!
Horada’s parched throat swallowed dry spittle. They were supposed to take
the boys captive to immobilize the Black Rider and the katana chick, then
surround them and wipe them out. That was the image he had in his head.
But he never could have imagined what he was actually seeing.
The Yellow Scarves were attacking one another. The ones going after the
intruders were hit by other members from the side, and those who went after
those attackers suffered jump kicks themselves.
Everywhere he looked in the factory, similar events were playing out. More and
more Yellow Scarves were hitting the ground.
In particular, one man was laying Yellow Scarves flat at a frightful pace, a man
with black hair and a yellow scarf. When he met eyes with the dumbfounded
Horada, he pulled the scarf off to reveal—
“Yo.”
“K…K…Kadota! You…you son of a bitch!”
“I figured it was you. When Izumii and them got hauled in, you were the only
one who got away, and you also didn’t get stuck with any charges… And here
you are, acting like quite the big man. I’m surprised. Y’know, if it’s this easy to
infiltrate with just a scrap of cloth for disguise, maybe it ain’t the best thing in
the world to grow your numbers, is it?” Kadota muttered with a smirk. He turned
to Masaomi.
“That was scary, wasn’t it? We thought you were gonna get shot…but I guess
the slasher saved your ass, for whatever reason… Sorry, man. We couldn’t act
until we knew that gun was out of the picture.”
Still unclear on what was happening, Masaomi used the crowbar as a crutch to
get to his feet. He asked the older man, “Kado…ta? Wh-what is this…?”
“When you said the name Horada, I knew it sounded familiar… So I looked into
it and found out what was going on. We got about thirty of the Dollars together
with some random scraps of yellow and snuck in. I left Yumasaki and Karisawa
behind, since they’d stand out.”
Kadota paused to knock out another “enemy” Yellow Scarf. He made it sound
easy, but scraping together thirty people to infiltrate the midst of the enemy was
no easy feat. Masaomi watched the man who had once saved Saki—a man with
a universal, undeniable charisma, unlike him and Horada. The only things he
could register in the moment were shock and gratitude.
The group Kadota pulled together all recognized one another. But from
Horada’s Yellow Scarves’ side, they didn’t know who was friend and who was
foe, particularly in the midst of such chaotic battle.
“D-damn…wh-what’s going on here?! My gun…where’s my piece?!” Horada
shrieked, looking for the weapon that had been knocked out of his hands earlier
—defeat was almost certain now, and his top priority was survival.
But there was no black hunk of metal to be found on the ground.
“Hey,” came a voice over his back. “Years ago…was that you…with Izumii?”
He felt his heart being crushed. Horada’s body and breath went entirely still.
The only thing moving was the flow of cold sweat.
“Who broke Saki’s leg? Was it you?”
“N-no, I didn’t…,” Horada stammered, teeth chattering, as he imagined the
figure of the boy standing behind him.
The smaller boy, raising the metal crowbar, bloodied to hell and without
mercy.
“Who made Saki cry? Was it you?”
“…Dammiiiiit!”
Horada pulled a small knife from his pocket and spun around, thrusting it with
all his might. But Masaomi’s fist, wrapped in a yellow bandanna, slammed into
his face instead.
“In reality…I should have split your skull with that crowbar,” Masaomi
murmured, as he gazed down at the writhing Horada. He could sense two figures
watching him nervously from behind. “But Mikado and Anri don’t belong to this
world.”
Masaomi kept his face hidden from them. He mumbled, “They don’t need to
see a dead body. So I changed my mind.”
But from deep down, he was suddenly possessed by an urge to see their faces.
It could just be chat—no need to talk about the Dollars or Yellow Scarves. He
just wanted to speak with them…
That was when he saw some of Horada’s juniors dragging him away from
harm.
“No, wait…”
He took a step forward to go after them. But with all of the tension and nerves
gone, Masaomi’s body had reached its limit, and he collapsed to the ground.
“Masaomi! Masaomi! Hang in there, Masaomi!”

“Kida!”
The sounds were amplified several times, slamming into his brain.
Through the haze, Masaomi could see a teary-eyed Mikado rocking him and
Anri leaning over with a similar look of concern.
The sight of their faces next to each other drove all thought of the Dollars or
the slasher from Masaomi’s mind. All he could think was how alike their
expressions were.
Damn. Why do they look like such a good couple?
Masaomi put on a wry, brave grin as he gritted his teeth against the terrible
pain overwhelming his body.
So who suits me, then…? I guess that’s obvious. Whether we fit each other or
not doesn’t matter.
“If you’re gonna take me to a hospital…can I ask you for a favor?” he asked in
his tattered state. Mikado and Anri looked overjoyed just to know that he was
still alive.
They’re as happy as if it was them pulling through, not me.
“Make it Raira General Hospital.”
I guess I was the only one mistrusting the other two.
“There’s a girl waiting for me there. Please.”
He was barely able to keep his thoughts and words aligned anymore, but he
could hear Kadota mutter exasperatedly, “Sheesh. I toldja not to run, but I didn’t
mean it that seriously. Gotta know when to balance it out, man.” His tone was
gruff, but there was respect for Masaomi in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Raira Hospital soon,” Kadota said firmly, the last
sound Masaomi heard before he lost consciousness.
Outside the abandoned factory

Horada loaded into an older car with his posse, slammed the door, and
jammed on the pedal. The tires squealed a bit, but within a few seconds, the
passenger vehicle was racing along.
“Ah! Wait, Horada, I don’t see Higa!”
“Screw him!”
Horada peeled the car out, not caring that his companion had been left behind
in the factory. He could see the abandoned building shrinking in the rearview
mirror. But when a black motorcycle emerged from the grounds, the car erupted
into panic.
“Oh sh-sh-shit! The B-Black Rider’s comin’ after us!”
“Just shut up!” Horada screeched, slamming the gas pedal as deep as it would
go. “Go, dammit… Go, go, go! What the fuck is happening?!”
“What are we gonna do, Horada?!”
“Just run for it! The cops ain’t comin’ yet! As long as we get away until things
cool down, and Izumii gets out of juvie, we can still turn things around!”
The factory’s street was an empty straight shot, and luckily for them, there
were no oncoming vehicles. That meant they could use the space to speed up
and put distance between them and the Black Rider.
“Ah! H-Horada, up front!” cried the man in the passenger seat.
“What?!” He looked forward.
A familiar man was standing ahead, leaning against a road sign and glaring at
them.
“It’s him! The bartender outfit… Shizuo! Shizuo Heiwajima!”
“What?! He’s still alive?!”
Shizuo was not dead.
When that fact sank into Horada’s consciousness, he felt not relief that he was
not a murderer after all—but the instantaneous and absolute fear that loomed
directly ahead.
And he had no gun now. Even if he had it, there was little belief within him that
he could win.
“Huh? Wait, why’s there a signpost there?” the man in the passenger seat
wondered.
At that very moment, just ahead and on the side of the road, Shizuo lifted up
the signpost that he had actually been holding all along.
“Huh?” all the riders in the car said in perfect harmony. Shizuo recognized the
man inside the car with the bandages on his head. A vein bulged on his face, and
a violent grin appeared on his lips.
The next instant, they were greeted by the sight of a street sign being swung
horizontally toward them like a baseball bat.
An indescribable shattering sound echoed through the lonely residential
street.
“Ugwooaaaahh?!”
Everyone in the car screamed and shrank back, but they didn’t suffer anything
more than the impact against the car and the sprinkling of broken glass on top of
their heads.
?!
Horada looked up, unsure what had just happened. All he saw was the rest of
the road stretching ahead of them, the same as a second earlier.
Where’s Shiz…huh?!
They looked for the rearview mirror to catch sight of him, and it was only then
that they realized what had happened to the car.
The surprisingly fresh breeze. The absence of the rearview mirror.
These things made perfect sense now. After all, the roof of the car was entirely
gone.
There were just a few scraps of the window frames left and the bottom half of
all the glass windows.
Now that they were riding in the world’s ugliest convertible, all the boys
realized that their heads could easily have flown off in the impact—and they
quaked in delayed terror.
They had made an enemy of Shizuo Heiwajima.
And this past, a past that Horada had initiated just one day earlier…
…was not going to let them escape.
“Not…so…faaaaast!” came a roar from far behind them.
A violent impact shook the chassis of the car at the same time the group heard
the bellow.
The nature of the impact from behind was actually quite simple. Between the
driver and passenger seats, a NO TRESPASSING signpost stuck into the floor of the car.
From that point on, their memories became temporarily fuzzy.
The next thing he knew, Horada was racing through waves of cars at blinding
speed, screaming all the while.
“Aaaaaaaaahhh! Aaaaaa— Aa— Aaaa— Aah! Aaaaahh!”
The freshly converted convertible raced forward and onward on the busy
street, ignoring the blaring horns around it.
Wh-what? When did I get here?!
Horada regained his wits but wasn’t able to process the situation yet. He
weaved through the cars ahead of him, ignored the lights, and did everything he
could to race from the fear he felt sneaking up on him from behind.
How long had they been fleeing?
Suddenly, Horada heard the sound of an engine. Not a car engine, but the
particular sound that came with the two-wheeled kind of vehicle.
“Hyaaaaaaaa!”
His head filled with a vision of the Black Rider, Horada turned the car straight
in the direction of the motorcycle engine sound, hoping to crush the smaller
vehicle in his panic.
But Horada was missing one detail.
The sound of the Black Rider’s bike was different from normal motorcycles.
And the motorcycle that Horada’s car was bearing down on at high speed was
a very particular one.
Far behind them, Celty shivered and put her hands together to say a short
prayer for Horada’s car. She silently rode away from the major street to ensure
she didn’t get caught up in what was about to happen.
One had to feel sorry for Horada’s group. They made the mistake of picking a
fight with the police chopper.
“Trying to run a traffic cop off the road before he can even issue a warning?
You’ve got guts.”
“Eh, wheh?”
The police motorcycle deftly avoided the hideous convertible’s ramming
attempt. The officer’s eyes flashed beneath his helmet as he seized the chance to
get something personal off his chest.
“Don’t fuck with traffic cops, you little brats.”
That was when Horada’s group experienced the greatest terror of the day.
Ultimately, their panicked rampage ended with arrests, for the charge of hit-
and-run against a traffic sign.
The young men claimed that their car was sliced open by the sign, but the
police determined that was just confusion after the collision speaking. When the
original location of the signpost was examined, it didn’t match the expected
status of a car collision at all, but they certainly weren’t going to accept that the
damage was caused by a single human’s bare hands.
Perhaps the police thought of Shizuo Heiwajima when they heard the story.
But given that they found a lengthy record on Horada and the others, they
ultimately deemed it was not worth arresting Shizuo.
In any case, Horada and his gang wound up behind bars for some time—while
the Yellow Scarves dramatically shrank back after that day. A temporary peace
settled over Ikebukuro.
The only thing that troubled the police was that the gun Horada was suspected
of using never showed up.
Late that night, Fujimidai Hill, Shinjuku Central Park
Tucked away in Central Park was a little pavilion gazebo with a hexagonal roof,
surrounded by trees. The clock was approaching midnight.
Many of the windows in the high-rise buildings surrounding the park were still
lit, which threw off the sense of the hour.
It was under this setting that two figures silently met atop the little hill, in the
midst of an urban forest.
The smaller shadow handed over a tightly tied knapsack. The other figure
nimbly undid the knot and checked the contents, smiling.
“Yep, this is it. You’ve delivered the goods safe and sound. Now I can finally get
that reward from the Awakusu-kai,” Izaya said, holding up the gun that had been
in Horada’s possession earlier.
“Thanks… I wasn’t able to retrieve…the bullets, though…”
“Oh, that’s all right. As long as we’ve got the rifling in the barrel, there’s no
harm done if the police find the bullets. I appreciate your hard work, Higa. It was
very quickly done.”
“Sure…”
The young man who should have been with Horada bowed his head reverently
to Izaya. It was completely unlike his normal demeanor around Horada—this
respect wasn’t derived solely from fear.
“I would have been fine with passing on Horada’s info so that the Awakusu-kai
could handle the whole affair…but I figured if he used the gun to kill Shizu, hey—
two birds with one stone.”
“Right. That’s why you told Horada where Shizuo was through me.”
“Indeed. It’s really a shame; if he’d hit him in the head or heart, it might have
actually worked.”
Oddly, in the next moment, Higa spun around on his heel and spoke to the air
in the opposite direction of Izaya.
“Yes, it seems that is the case…Mom…,” he said toward the shadow of a pillar
and made another bow of deep reverence. Izaya’s eardrums caught the hesitant
voice of a teenage girl.
“Um, thank you… You can go home and live normally from now on…”
It was not a voice one was supposed to hear in a park at midnight. Higa quickly
left the scene, and a girl took his place. Like her voice, her appearance did not fit
the situation. Perhaps she would have looked more appropriate during the day—
but her outfit was far too proper for a girl meeting a man in the park well after
dark.
“Um, are you…Izaya…Orihara?” the bespectacled girl asked hesitantly.
Izaya smiled delightedly. “Yes, Anri Sonohara…or should I call you Saika? No…
you’re not being possessed, so Anri will do fine for you. By the way, do you recall
when we met before this?”
They seemed like people who had no connection, but they’d actually had
contact several times in the past. When she was being bullied by the usual group
soon after starting school, he had been with Mikado when they barged in to
drive the bullies off. Of course, Shizuo had appeared moments later, so there
was no chance for a proper introduction at the time.
“So you were Izaya… Thank you for your help that day.”
She bowed daintily and composed a serious face before continuing, “Well…it
brings me no pleasure to do this, but…”
As she spoke, a silver blade grew from her palm. A katana appeared before
Izaya’s eyes, the movement as smooth and quick as any iaido master drawing his
blade.
“I need…to cut you down.”
Every day the same repetition. The same incessant curses from Saika, the same
dream, accepted without emotion or excitement. Through her encounters with
Mikado, Masaomi, and Celty, it might have appeared that she’d escaped her
seemingly normal abnormality.
But while she wished for something different, she did not wish for Mikado and
Masaomi to be miserable. This was something she had to do in order to get the
daily life she wanted and secure peaceful lives for Mikado and Masaomi.
And he was the very puppet master who manipulated those around him to
cause chaos—first, Saika’s children, and this time, the Dollars and Yellow
Scarves. Now Anri held her sword out and faced him head-on, ready to control
that puppet master for herself.
“Why…why did you do this? To Kida…and Ryuugamine.”
“Hmm? But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even push them on the back. I just
showed them a guidepost. But if you need a reason for even that simple act…”
Anri’s question was a very reasonable one. But Izaya’s response was as flippant
as if he was describing what he had for lunch that day.
“It’s because I love people.”
“…?”
Anri didn’t understand what he meant by that. Izaya spread his hands with
delight.
“Yes, I just love people. Their altruism and malevolence equally. The only
exception is Shizuo Heiwajima—I hate him. Perhaps I just wanted to see the
different sides of humanity. So here’s your question: Was that answer true…or
false?” he teased. Anri’s eyes narrowed.
“I will know…once I take you over…”
It was the kind of growl that would normally be unthinkable from Anri. She
leaped sharply at Izaya. From her step to her swing, the motion was pure and
precise. It was as smooth as an iaido draw without a sheath and ought to have
thrown off Izaya’s sense of distance.
But in anticipation of this, Izaya had leaped backward in a way that nearly
looked cowardly, from the center of the hexagonal gazebo to the grassy hill.
“They say a certain school of iai is focused less on speed than throwing off the
target’s sense of distance… I guess it was true,” Izaya remarked with admiration.
When Anri took her neutral stance again, he challenged her with, “So how about
you? If you really want a tranquil, peaceful life, you should use that katana to
slash everyone you know. Once you’re the queen, you’ll get what you want.”
“That…that is not true! I…I cannot love anyone else…but even I know that is
wrong.”
“How about Mikado and Masaomi, then? They’ve both expressed their
affection for you, but you haven’t given either a serious answer. Can you really
say that your attitude toward them is correct?”
“…”
As Anri held her silence, Izaya taunted, “What a pleasant kind of self-
satisfaction. You assume that you can’t love anyone else, and you’re using that
as a reason to be satisfied with where you are now. Saika loves people for you?
That’s ridiculous. How exactly do you intend to prove that sword’s curse is the
same as human love?”
“Please…shut up…”
She was already leaping forward before the words had finished leaving her
mouth. The swipe was even fiercer and closer than the one before, but Izaya
swung back and blocked it with a knife he’d produced from his pocket.
Meanwhile, he swung around to Anri’s rear, situating himself in her blind spot.
Anri anticipated this and whipped the sword back around her…but Izaya was not
attacking. He took more distance this time.
“Listen, I wish you wouldn’t assume I’m a pushover. There’s a reason I can hold
my own against Shizu all the time. Plus…you shouldn’t have given this to me.”
Smirking, Izaya pulled out the pistol Higa had given him minutes ago and
pointed it at her. But Anri was not affected. Obviously she had anticipated this
and made sure the bullets were removed from the gun first.
But Izaya, smiling with the confidence of one who knew what she was doing all
along, held up a plastic bag with his free hand.
“…!”
Inside the clear baggie were a number of objects that looked like bullets.
“So…was it possible for me…to reload this gun while we just had this
conversation?” he mocked. But Anri was keeping herself calm, putting all of her
focus into anticipating her enemy’s next move. Even if he had loaded the gun, if
she gave herself over to Saika’s memory and experience, she might survive
anyway.
Of course, Anri herself would be exposed to the fear of death—but she just
shut her vision into the picture frame, bottling up her fear and suppressing it.
However, upon seeing her calm gaze and steady stance, Izaya quietly said,
“Just to be clear, I won’t actually be shooting at you.”
“…?”
“I choose Higa instead.”
“…!”
“Or perhaps that couple walking over there would do better.”
Those words drew Anri’s heart into the world of the picture frame.
Izaya’s eyes were focused not on Anri, but behind her—the direction Higa had
descended the hill. She didn’t know how far away the people he mentioned
were. She couldn’t hear their footsteps. How far away could Izaya kill people
with that gun?
Neither Anri nor Saika had any knowledge of how guns worked.
“I mean, you can’t love other people, so causing pain to the innocent shouldn’t
really hurt you that much…right?” he said bluntly, as Anri froze in place. “Just to
be clear, I knew that Higa was a victim of the slasher. He picked a fight with
Shizuo and said he got cut as he was fleeing, broken and beaten. So why do you
think he was the one I ordered to retrieve the gun?”
His next words: “Because of you. I wanted to talk to you…so I could declare
war in person.”
He was not talking to Anri, but the blade in her hands.
“You see, I also have a deep, deep love for humanity,” he repeated, grinning. “I
won’t let a stupid sword take people away.”
An appropriate way to declare war against Saika.
“Because people…belong to me,” he added at the end with a smirk. Everything
that was meant to be intimidating earlier now sounded like a joke.
“Oh, but you seem to have taken a liking to Shizu. I don’t want him, so he’s
yours. I’m praying that you dice him into tiny pieces as soon as possible. Good
luck… And so long.”
And with a cool smile, Izaya turned his back on Anri as if nothing had happened
between them. When Anri turned around, Higa was nowhere in sight—instead,
there were couples and other people wandering about the park here and there.
Given the gloom and distance, no one seemed to have noticed Anri and Izaya’s
sparring, but that could easily have changed.
Even if Higa wasn’t actually there, would Izaya have turned the gun on
innocent people? Anri was certain that he was a completely different type of
person from anyone she’d met before.
She slowly returned Saika’s blade to her body. Maybe even Saika herself had
recognized something eerie and off in Izaya. As evidence of that, the usually
instantaneous cursed voices stayed completely silent until Izaya was out of sight.
As though for the first time, Saika had found a human being she despised.
Fifteen minutes later, Shinjuku

As he walked the path from the park to his apartment, he heard a voice behind
his back.
“Hey.”
Izaya turned around at the familiar voice and saw a six-foot-plus giant with skin
dark enough to melt into the night.
“Simon?” he asked. Simon gave his usual cheery grin.
What’s Simon doing here?
For once in his life, Izaya’s mind was occupied with doubt. He was normally the
one causing others to feel doubt and grow confused, but now he was in their
position.
It only lasted for an instant, but an instant was all Simon needed.
The moment that Izaya started to speak, the giant’s scarred fist plunged into
his face.
Thirty minutes later, apartment building, Shinjuku

“That took you long enough. Did you get the… What happened? You look
dreadful,” Namie exclaimed, taken aback by Izaya’s brilliantly blue and puffy eye.
His eyelid was swollen like a boxer’s after a bout with a particularly hard
puncher, and the bruise around it was vivid and dark.
“…I took a pretty good punch, though it didn’t knock me out. As I was working
my way up to being able to stand again, I got a lecture in Russian. ‘I don’t want
to lecture you,’ indeed… It was one for the ages.”
“What? Russian? What do you mean…? I thought you’d never taken a bruise
like that, even when fighting with that Shizuo guy.”
Izaya grimaced at the mention of his archenemy’s name. He analyzed the
punch he’d just taken, comparing it to that of the loathsome one.
“Shizu’s stronger, of course…but this was the punch of someone who does
some kind of hand-to-hand combat training. I was able to react, but not to
dodge… Heh. Guess those rumors about him being a Russian mobster or
mercenary have something to them.”
“Are you all right? You don’t have a hemorrhage, do you?”
It was rare for Namie to show him any kind of concern, but Izaya wasn’t
listening.
“Damn… Just when I’d gotten the best of Saika and thought I was something
special, this happens to me.”
But through the first taste of direct physical pain in ages, Izaya couldn’t help
but enjoy himself.
He looked at his pupils in the mirror and ran through the basic brain
hemorrhage tests, grinning all the while. He turned to Namie.
“Hey…can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Were you the one who leaked Mikado’s information to Horada?”
“I wonder. And if I did, you would have seen it coming, wouldn’t you?” she
replied without batting an eye. Izaya grimaced and looked up excitedly at the
ceiling.
“Heh! Honestly, some people I can read like a book, such as you…and others
completely defy my predictions, like Simon and Shizu. This is why I just can’t stop
loving humanity… That’s right. That must be why I can keep doing this shitty,
shitty job… It’s so much fun, it makes me sick.”
Somewhere there, in the midst of his words, was the tiniest bit of truth.
But Namie listened to his confession, straight-faced, and cut him down in her
usual cold manner.
“I’ve said this over and over, but…I think humanity hates you in return.”
Thirty minutes earlier in the street

Izaya felt his body float into the air as pain exploded on his face.
The floating sensation ended abruptly when his back slammed hard against the
wall of an apartment building several yards away. The shock jolted his back,
waist, and limbs, the blood vessels in his extremities nearly bursting with pain
and numbness.
His mind was woozy, but the internal pain and nausea from the shock forced
his brain into action. The voice of the black man squatting over him reached his
ears.
“Hey. You mind listening to something you don’t want to hear?”
These friendly words were the start of a much, much longer monologue.
“You know, it’s laughable what a cowardly creep you are. Ha-ha…ha-ha-ha-ha-
ha-ha-ha-ha.”
The Russian mockery washed over Izaya. He glared up at the big man and
slowly replied, “Actually…I have to agree.”
His reply was in Russian as well—creating the rather surreal sight of an Asian
and a black man speaking Russian on the asphalt.
“The thing is, Simon, I happen to like that side of my personality,” he said,
leaning back against the wall, his face still brimming with confidence. “I know
you care about this neighborhood…but why are you showing up now? What
does any of this have to do with you?”
“Oh, that? It’s quite simple.”
It was a rare, honest question from Izaya, and Simon returned it with simple
honesty of his own.
“You remember Masaomi’s girlfriend?”
“…Yeah.”
“She told my restaurant partner a lot of things. About you and what’s going on
now.”
The face of Saki Mikajima came to Izaya’s mind. He had told her part of his
current plan—he’d been using her as a tool to manipulate Masaomi Kida and
bring him back when needed.
Oh, now I see. Saki really was in love with him.
Saki had betrayed him. This fact did not particularly surprise him.
In that case, I can give them my blessing.
It was, in fact, within his range of expectations—but there was one thing he
didn’t understand.
“Why would she contact you guys rather than tell Kida himself?”
“Hah! Kida wouldn’t have stopped, even if she’d told him. Plus…she probably
didn’t have anyone else to call on the phone. I doubt she knew the phone
numbers of anyone in Kadota’s little group.”
“Again, why you?” Izaya started to ask, then figured it out.
Why Simon? Saki wasn’t particularly close with him. It was a common sushi
destination, but certainly not the kind of place where one would trade numbers
with the employees.
Huh? Numbers…?
That was where he understood. Yes, Saki didn’t know any number that she
could reach out to for help. Which was exactly why—in the absence of anyone
else she could ask—she got the contact information of Simon or the white sushi
chef he worked with.
Meaning…
“Our sushi shop gets a lot of business.”
The conclusion he arrived at was so silly, he didn’t comment.
Simon laughed and said it anyway. “Whether it’s a hospital or wherever…we
can deliver to anyone with a phone book.”
A phone book.
Such a simple and basic answer.
When the chef picked up the phone and said, “Russia Sushi, how can I help
you?” did she take him literally?
Izaya couldn’t stop the smile from touching his lips. Simon looked down on
Izaya’s mirth with a cold grin of his own. “I didn’t make it in time earlier today,
but here I am now to put a nail in you.”
“…”
“You shouldn’t be stirrin’ up the town like this, Izaya.”
“Y’know, Simon,” Izaya muttered in Japanese, staring at the man through his
rapidly swelling eye.
“You come across completely different speaking Russian than when you speak
Japanese…”
“You know…it’s really quite stunning what an underhanded creep you are,”
Shingen said flatly as he put his shoes on. “I’ve looked into your past… You were
pulling the strings all along in that turf war two years ago, weren’t you?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Those two groups of youngsters… They were Japanese versions of street
gangs, right? You manipulated both teams, kept your hands clean, and made off
with the juiciest morsels of information to sell.”
“…”
Shingen turned back to look at the confidently grinning Izaya and smirked
inside of his gas mask.
“You sent that girl who worships you to those boys. From what I heard, it was
her injury that ended up resolving the entire matter…”
He paused, then offered a conjecture dripping with irony. “I suspect that even
that was on your orders. Perhaps you gave her all of the instructions, up to the
point of her kidnapping…though I don’t know if there are actually any girls willing
to follow orders up to the point of serious bodily harm.”
A moment’s silence.
Izaya did not answer the question directly. He wore a wry grin as he said, “Saki
and those other girls…were so unfortunate. That’s what made them so
adorable.”
“Puppets of an unfortunate man like you. I understand you’ve been doing this
sort of thing since high school. Shinra used to tell me that you ‘didn’t understand
a thing about love.’”
“That’s rich, coming from a pervert with a fetish for decapitated women… But
at any rate… All of those girls, including Saki, were being terribly abused by their
families and lovers, worse than you can possibly imagine…”
As he spoke, Izaya’s face took on a complex mixture of pity and ecstasy. “But
unable to hate their abusers, they were trapped where they were. That’s the
kind of people they were, and that’s exactly what made them so easy to
manipulate. They were possessed by more than just the love of their partner, but
a kind of worship. And I shifted that worship onto me instead—that’s all. If I did
wish for death, they would hesitate, but still join me in the end…”
“Hmph. You treat this so lightly. It almost makes me think it would be very easy
to switch one’s doctrine on a dime,” Shingen noted with equal parts admiration
and exasperation. He recognized that the young man standing there was truly a
monster. How many lives had the mind behind that smile destroyed?
Izaya suddenly changed the topic. “Does the term leanan sídhe mean anything
to you?”
Shingen’s eyes widened in surprise.
“…”
“?”
“Er, nothing. It’s a type of fairy in Irish and Scottish folklore, isn’t it? The kind
that kills the man she falls in love with.”
“Yes. She seduces a man, and if he accepts her love, she gives him talent in
exchange for his life. If he resists her love, she becomes a willing slave to him
until he gives in… That’s what Saki’s kind are.”
Shingen saw Izaya’s point. Falling in love with the kind of girls Izaya described
would—if not provide magical powers—certainly seem more likely to end in
tragedy.
“But now…Saki’s fallen to being Kida’s slave. Which means that, like the poet
in the legend, Kida’s life will be drained away. As it was, so it shall be,” Izaya said
in mourning for the teenager.
Shingen considered this, then thought about his own son and his pairing with a
monster…and decided to argue back.
“But…can you truly say that the poet’s shortened life is a tragedy?”
Izaya smiled in a way that suggested he didn’t care in the least. He sighed,
“Well, if he truly loves the fairy, then maybe he’s happy anyway.”
“If he knows full well that he’ll be misfortunate, and he loves her anyway…
doesn’t that make him happy in the end?”
Hospital room, Raira General Hospital

Masaomi stared up at the ceiling from his hospital bed.
Though he’d taken the painkillers, a dull throbbing still raced through his body.
It wasn’t unbearable, but it was worse than the kind of pain one could ignore to
get some sleep.
Visiting hours were over, and his injuries weren’t life threatening, so Anri and
Mikado were sent home already. They shoved Masaomi into an empty room, and
he lay there, bored, examining the patterns on the ceiling and thinking about his
past experiences in this hospital.
Two years ago.
When he walked into Saki’s room to suggest that they break up, she smiled at
him.
“Thanks… You came for me.”
Her smile was the exact same as it had been before the hospital, the
expression of someone truly delighted to see him. And it was that very smile that
cut deeper into his heart than any knife.
I can’t. I can’t bear it.
I have to tell her.
Say it. Just say it, Masaomi.
“I know.”
“…Huh?”
Saki was offering him a way out as he stood there, sweating nervously.
“I know, Masaomi… You didn’t really come, did you?”
“…!”
“Yeah… I heard from Izaya… You were calling him, weren’t you? Over and over
and over… He showed me the call history and laughed about it.”
That…sick bastard!
He felt a surge of anger at Izaya, but it was immediately suppressed into a
different emotion. No matter who he aimed his anger at, it always ended up
turned on himself. The undeniable fact that he had run away was heavier and
more real than any emotion, and it had an ironclad grip on his heart.
“But don’t let it bother you. It wouldn’t have changed much for me if you’d
come after that or you hadn’t.”
“…Stop it.”
“I mean, as long as you didn’t get hurt…that was the most important part…”
It was at that very moment that the words finally spilled out of Masaomi’s
mouth.
“Let’s break up.”
To cut her off.
Her consolation was nothing but pain to him.
And at the time, he chose to escape that pain by suggesting that they break
up.
“Thinking on it with a calm head…I really was a totally disgusting creep…”
Masaomi spoke out loud to the ceiling, reflecting on the events of two years
earlier.
“I wonder what Saki could possibly have seen in me that she thought was
cool.”
Maybe it was all on Izaya’s orders in the end. At this point, he would never
know.
Or so he thought.
“Maybe it’s that weird way you can be honest with yourself.”
“Bwah?!”
He was not expecting a response from the other side of the room.
Masaomi’s eyes snapped in that direction and saw that Saki was leaning up
against the wall. He hadn’t realized that he was in the same building, on the
same floor, as Saki’s hospital room. Perhaps it was a considerate move from the
staff who recognized him on the way in.
“Wh-what the hell, Saki? When did you get here?”
“A while ago. I didn’t want to wake you up, so…”
She was staring at him intently without her usual smile. “I heard the whole
story from Kadota.”
“Oh, great… So do you hate me, then? I ran away from trouble back when you
needed me, and yet today, I charged into the midst of the enemy all alone. It’s a
miracle I only got it this bad,” he noted wryly, looking away. Her expression only
got cloudier.
“You idiot. You really are an idiot, Masaomi…”
“You knew that ages ago.” He clammed up after that.
A long silence reigned over the room. It was Saki who broke first. But it was
less that she broke than that she made up her mind.
“Well, um…there’s one thing that I need to apologize to you for, Masaomi,”
she said, walking over to the side of his bed. She was using her own two feet, not
the crutches propped against the wall or the wheelchair she always sat in.
“That night…the truth is…I let them capture me on Izaya’s orders. I knew. I
knew what they would do to me. But Izaya said…that would be the end of
everything. So I went! I went by their hangout that night…right near…by…and…
then…Izaya…told them…where…I was…”
Saki’s face was pale and terrified as she talked. Her voice was trembling too
much to continue, and silence returned to fill the room.
She’d been certain that she would never walk again. Masaomi kept a straight
face as he listened and sat up. Pain shot through his body as he did, but he made
sure not to show it. He summoned a confident grin.
“What, is that all?”
“…Huh?”
“I knew that,” he lied. “C’mon, don’t you know I’m psychic?”
He’d had no idea. But now he did.
So Masaomi pretended that he had known this all along, making sure not to
show that he’d ever been plagued by the idea that she might never walk again.
“And what did he tell you next? Pretend not to be able to walk, so I won’t be
able to leave you behind, right? So he wanted to turn me into a pawn. Probably
thought it was all some grand experiment… Sheesh. You shouldn’t be using a
hospital as a hotel. I think the only reason this place let you stick around is
because they have so many empty rooms,” Masaomi grumbled to hide his
falsehood.
Saki put on a teary smile for him. “For the first time…I went against what Izaya
told me to do,” she said. Did she believe what Masaomi told her? He couldn’t
tell.
But under the room lights, her smile and her tears were precious to him.
“You know…I think I can say it now.”
“Say what?”
“I should have gone, but when I needed to save you, I didn’t… I’m sorry.”
They were the words he never said two years ago.
The words he avoided speaking because he was afraid of admitting them.
He finished with another thing he’d been too afraid to say.
“But…I still love you, Saki.”
“…”
“Please don’t leave me.”
It was strange how easily they came out. Silence filled the room again.
After what felt like minutes, when Masaomi wondered if he ought to repeat
himself, she pressed herself onto him.
“Gwuh!” Masaomi yelped as the shock sent a wave of pain through him.
“What the hell—” he started to complain, until he saw the deadly serious look on
her face and stopped.
“You…you really are an idiot, Masaomi… The biggest idiot ever…”
As the tears pooled in her eyes, Masaomi recalled something she’d said to him
once and decided to throw it back to her.
“I can’t help it, can I? You can at least overlook one little flaw.”
And sure enough, she recognized those words and repeated back what he had
told her in return: “If you know it’s a flaw, then fix it.”
They faced each other, reliving and reaffirming their past.
“Together…we can start over fresh.”
Outside, the rain was falling again, coating the room in the cold sound of its
pattering.
But no one inside found it to be depressing.
No one’s spirit was broken, nothing changed.
The rain just fell, like regular old rain.
Fshh, fshh, fshh, fshh…
Epilogue: He’ll Come Back.
Ultimately, the rain did not stop.

Mikado Ryuugamine assumed that everything was finished.
Spring vacation would start the next day. He’d work a part-time job and go pay
visits to Masaomi when he had the chance. With Anri, of course.
And once school started again, the usual days would return.
Everything had been cleared up with Masaomi. And he was smiling at the end.
Just like always. Smiling at him and Anri.
So once Masaomi had recovered, things would be just the way they always
were.
That’s what Mikado believed. His innocence was unfitting for his age.
It wasn’t until a few days later that he realized it was just a fantasy.
He got a call from Mr. Satou, Masaomi’s homeroom teacher in Class 1-B.
“Masaomi told me he’s dropping out of school. Do you know what that’s
about?” he asked. Masaomi’s teacher said some comments about how worried
he was, but Mikado didn’t hear any of it.
The next thing he knew, he was calling Masaomi’s cell phone. But the number
had already been deactivated. All he heard was the synthetic prerecorded
message from the phone company.
Why? Why so sudden?
When he checked with the hospital, they said he had left the money for his
stay thus far and disappeared, despite the fact that he needed much more time
to recover.
He even visited Masaomi’s apartment. The lease hadn’t been broken at least,
but when he convinced the landlord to let him go inside, many of his toiletries
and necessities were gone.
Anri was just as shocked as he was.
She put up a placid front, but Mikado had finally reached the stage where he
could sense that she, too, was feeling quite down on the inside.
But there was one thing Mikado didn’t know.
A piece of information the hospital did not tell him.
That bit of knowledge reached Kadota’s group afterward: that Saki Mikajima
left the hospital the same day that Masaomi did.
Kadota’s team and the hospital staff that was aware of their relationship
understood and accepted this state of affairs. But being completely unaware,
Mikado and Anri were left with nothing but a feeling of loss.
Since coming to Ikebukuro, Mikado had experienced an overwhelming amount
of the “extraordinary.”
But the loss of what he considered ordinary was a new thing, and he didn’t
know what to do about it.
Time simply passed him by, and bit by bit, Masaomi became a part of the
“past” to Mikado and Anri.
One day in April, Mikado invited Anri out into the city.
He did it out of concern for her mental well-being, but she seemed much
happier than he expected.
“I know… Lots of stuff happened…but I’m fine now,” she said with her usual
sad smile. They engaged in their typical chatter as they wandered the streets of
Ikebukuro.
Since that day, Mikado hadn’t asked about Anri’s katana, and she hadn’t asked
about Mikado’s connection to the Dollars. Though they were things worth
talking about, they both had an unspoken agreement that it wasn’t right to
discuss them without Masaomi present. So despite being mostly aware of the
other’s situation, they carried out their normal conversations without touching
upon any of it.
They wandered around the town, talking about whatever caught their fancy,
but it was still weird without Masaomi there. A silence suddenly fell between
them.
Anri broke that silence with a murmur just above a whisper.
“I think…I liked Kida…”
Mikado felt a clenching pain in his chest. He did not let it show on his face, but
he couldn’t look at hers, either. He just listened as they strolled along.
“I’m just not sure… I really don’t understand that sort of thing. In fact, I
recently learned that someone I really respect is a woman…which meant that it
had nothing to do with ‘liking’ her that way, I guess. It really is just plain old
respect…”
Mikado had more than a hunch of who she “respected,” but he still kept his
silence.
Maybe now—maybe now was his chance to tell her.
Maybe he could tell her that he loved her.
The boy quietly clenched his fist.
And with great force of will—decided not to say anything.
He felt like confessing his love for her now would be a betrayal of Masaomi. No
doubt Masaomi would laugh and say, “Dummy, this is what makes you so shy!”
But even though he could see that reaction, Mikado still couldn’t tell her.
Maybe he was just a coward. But if he loved her here and she accepted his
love, he had a feeling he just wouldn’t be fully happy about it. Not in the way he
should.
Instead, he arrived at a decision. If Masaomi came back…
If the three of them were as close as before, or perhaps even closer…
Only then would he tell Anri that he loved her. And if she chose Masaomi at
that moment, he would welcome their relationship with open arms. He would
probably be jealous. He would feel envy for Masaomi.
But even then, he would be happy for them, he told himself, as he opened his
mouth to speak.
“He’ll come back.”
“Oh…?”
“I’ve known Masaomi since we were young. He’ll absolutely come back.”
There was no certain proof of this, but Mikado wanted to put Anri at ease.
“So when he does, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. I’ll get really, truly
mad at him with a smile on my face.”
And even knowing that he was just trying to make her feel better, Anri grinned.
“Both of us together.”
At that moment, apartment building, near Kawagoe Highway, Ikebukuro

Just at the time that two upstanding teenagers were pledging to regain the
tranquillity of their lives, an extremely non-upstanding being without a head was
basking in the pleasure of a tepid, pleasing life.
“It’s so peaceful…”
“It sure is. At the very least, having you happy beside me makes me feel at
peace, even if we were in the trenches on the front line.”
The days of rain and clouds were finished. Amid the warmth of true spring,
Celty and Shinra were working on a crossword puzzle as the TV played a rerun of
a samurai program.
“What’s this horizontal clue? ‘Another name for vitamin E, which improves
blood flow and maintains hormone balance.’ It starts with T and ends with E.”
“Oh, you mean tocopherol calcium succinate?”
“Nice, thanks. For a black market doctor, you sure know a lot about
chemicals. You’re like Black Jack, from the old manga.”
“As much as anyone else… And what kind of obscure answer is that?”
As they made the most of their lounging time, Celty couldn’t help but wonder.
Was it right for a nonhuman like her to enjoy such an indelibly human leisure
time? With as much time and little to do as she had, maybe she ought to go do
some exercise in a graveyard or something. She showed her PDA to Shinra as he
read a financial paper.
“This is nice and peaceful… There’s been all this chaos with the cursed sword,
the Yellow Scarves, and your dad. It’s so wonderful to just be together and relax
for once.”
“If there’s one problem, it’s that the bloodstains Shizuo left behind outside the
apartment may be causing the neighbors to avoid us recently. The neighborhood
council hasn’t called, either.”
“Well, that’s nothing new.”
On the TV, the shogun protagonist was charging into enemy territory to
vanquish the evil villain with his ninja spies.
“There’s the shogun… Speaking of which, what happened with the Yellow
Scarves?”
“Hmm? Masaomi, right? It seems he left the group. There was some internal
squabbling, even among the former Blue Squares, and everything’s calmed down
for now.”
“I see… So there’s no worry about them going after Mikado or Anri.”
Celty stretched luxuriously, indulging her sense of relief, and rearranged the
shadow that covered her body. The tight, cramped riding suit turned into a sheer
tank top, boldly exposing her white arms and shoulders.
“Whoa! What? What’s that daring change of clothes about? If you’re going to
challenge me like that in the middle of the day, why, I’ll just have to take a quick
shower, make the bed, and…huh?”
“What?”
“Well…usually that’s about the point you blast me in the stomach or pinch my
cheek to make me shut up…”
“As it happens, I really am challenging you,” she wrote teasingly into the
keyboard, but right as she was about to show Shinra, the doorbell rang.
“Huh…we have a visitor.”
Oh, geez.
The timing was so perfectly dreadful that Celty slumped over the table in
disappointment.
“Is it those books I ordered? Or maybe the neighbors are complaining…”
“Go get ’em, soldier.”
Celty could not entertain guests, so she stayed hidden in the back room and
started working on the crossword again, when…
“Hiii! The adult man before me must be the Mr. Shinra Kishitani! It’s such an
ultimate delight to encounter you!”
What in the world?!
Baffled by the bizarre Japanese she just heard, Celty put the helmet on and
peered over toward the entranceway. She was worried that it might be a
solicitor of some kind of dangerous drug…but that was not what she saw at the
front door.
It was a young white woman, using every inch of her ample body to embrace
Shinra.
…
…Huh?
There was a strange foreign woman squeezing Shinra, chuckling through her
nose and spinning him around. The sight was easily forceful enough to
completely shut down Celty’s mind for a moment.
The next instant, the entranceway was filled with a black mist.
“Wh-whoa! Celty, that’s too much! Too much shadow!”
“Wow! My vision is suddenly very broke. Is this questionable phenomenon the
result of the disappearance of lighting equipment?”
The white woman speaking baffling Japanese had a very mature figure but an
extremely young, nearly girlish face. Celty emerged before her, the shadows
writhing from every inch of her body.
“Ce-Celty!”
She stepped in between the two to pry them apart and held up her PDA with
trembling fingers so that Shinra—whose face was pale—could see.
“Don’t worry, I’m totally cool. I’m not going to be stereotypical and beat you
up before you can explain this. I’m an adult, so I’m sure I can understand the
situation, of which I’m sure, I’m sure.”
“You are definitely losing it! I can tell from the end of your sentence!”
“I’m totally cool! I’m cool enough to talk through a boom box on the…”
Celty was interrupted from the process of keeping her cool by the white
woman’s sudden embrace.
What?! I was not expecting this!
“Oh! You must be Miss Celty, the no-headed woman of obsidian clothes! I was
firmly desiring to encounter you!”
Being embraced by a total stranger of the same sex was a first for Celty. Totally
flustered, she set the font on her PDA to English with trembling fingers.
“WHO ARE YOU?”
When the woman saw the all-caps message, she let go of Celty, stepped back,
and entered an extravagant bow.
“I have committed an error. The title Emilia is mine. In attempting to deepen
family bonds, I initiated a passionate embrace.”
“Family…?”
“Family?” Celty and Shinra asked at the same time. The girl named Emilia
straightened up and bowed again, much deeper than was necessary.
“I have remarried Shingen. In America, it was last year.”
“Huh?!”
“Um, well…huh? Wait, I didn’t hear about this. I had no idea, no idea,
vehemently no idea!” Shinra protested, his neck stiff as he side-eyed Celty. “Er,
and…if I’m not mistaken, Emilia, you look younger than me.”
“Years have no relation to ardor. Thus spake Shingen!”
Again, she embraced Shinra. Again, Celty’s shadow writhed.
When she realized that she was feeling jealous of the newly appeared woman
—who was, in fact, Shinra’s mother by marriage—Celty clenched her fists tight.
Damn…what’s with this woman and her “close but no cigar” speech?! If she’s
talking like that on purpose, I’m gonna smack her! Even Yumasaki wouldn’t
accept someone this weird! I…I don’t want a peaceful life if it includes a sitcom
character like her!
Celty was so frazzled by the sudden event that she was starting to lose the
boundary between truth and fiction. She finally gave the woman a closer look—
and spotted something that caught her by surprise.
A white lab coat.
Shinra recognized her question ahead of time and quickly asked it for her.
“Huh? You have a lab coat, too. And it’s the same as Dad’s…”
“Yes! I am employed at equal workplace of Shingen! When Shingen weddings
me, he stated, this company researches on Celty. So from time to time, we will
incision.”
Wait. Just a damn minute.
“Umm, isn’t that the kind of information you hide, so that you can go after
Celty in secret…?”
“Shingen said Miss Celty will easily allow to dissect. We have an order to study
hard the mysteries of dullahan body for the company! So next time, please to
come with for laboratory.”
The white woman beamed as she trampled all over Celty’s human(?) rights.
The dullahan withdrew all of her shadows and slumped to her knees.
I don’t want…a terrifyingly dangerous life, either…
She swore to herself that she would eliminate Shingen the next time she saw
him.
The lazy and relaxing life she’d enjoyed up until yesterday was already
becoming a wistful relic of the past.
Chat room
<Hey, hey! It’s everyone’s beloved idol, Kanra!> |Good evening|
[Hiya.]
<Huh?! No one’s going to rip on me?!> [I don’t have the energy to do it.]
[…Let’s just say that today, I’m in the mood to murder anyone who puts on an
affect like that, so stop it.]
<Wow, that’s mean.>
(Um, so this is my first visit,)
(Is it okay to just rip on him with all I’ve got?) [You’d just be wasting your
time.]
(That’s not a problem, 90 percent of our lives consist of wasted time,) (I’m
ready to fill this entire chat with my wasted time, basically.) (So with that,)
(I’d like to start ripping on him now, if that’s okay.) [Another weirdo!]
<Everyone in this chat aside from me gets really worked up about things for no
reason.> (No comment on that one.)
<What?! But you just said—!>
—TAROU HAS ENTERED THE CHAT—
{Evening.}
[Evenin’.]
|Good evening|
{Oh, we have a new member.}
(Hiya.)
(Nice to meet you, I’m Bacura.)
{It’s a pleasure.}
(I got invited here by Kanra.)
|Is that so?|
[Oh? I met him over the Net. Did you meet him that way, too, Bacura?]
(No, I know him in real life.) <We’re like work partners! But later, when no
one’s watching…eek!> (When are you going to die, Kanra?) <That’s kinda harsh,
isn’t it?!> |I think telling someone to die is very cruel|
(I’m sorry,)
(but Kanra just gets on my nerves.) [So you’re not even a tsundere, you just
plain hate him.]
<Private Mode> {Um, Bacura…}
<Private Mode> {I apologize if I’m wrong about this, but there’s something I
want to ask you.}
<Private Mode> {…Masaomi?}
<Private Mode> {Sorry, it’s just…the way you end your lines with a comma
reminds me of a friend.}
<Private Mode> {…Um, if I’m wrong, please just let me know.}
<Private Mode> {It doesn’t have to be in private mode, even…}
<Private Mode> {…Is that you, Masaomi?}
<Private Mode> {Um…I’d appreciate it if you gave me an answer.}
<As a matter of fact, since we meet in person, Bacura should be able to explain
to everyone just how charming I am!> Good idea,)
(Let’s see,)
(If I gave you a score, you would be…) (√3 points.)
[Square root?]
<Huh? Are you saying I’m so beautiful I can’t be divided into round numbers?>
(I’m saying you’re not appropriate for elementary schoolkids.) <Huh?! I can’t tell
if you’re complimenting me or insulting me!> (Oh, sorry, looks like this is all the
time I have today.) [No prob.]
<Good evening!>
|So long|
{Oh, Bacura!}
{Come again later! You’re welcome anytime!}
(I will. So long!) [Night!]
<Good night.>
—BACURA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
Someone once said the Internet is a form of invisible communication that pales
in comparison to meeting someone face-to-face.
That might be true…or it might not.
But at the moment, Mikado strongly rejected that idea.
Through the Net, he had just seen a familiar old friend.
Mikado closed his eyes and thought of many words.
Things he might say with Anri when they met Masaomi again.
About the Dollars, about Anri, about the Yellow Scarves.
There were tons of things he hadn’t talked about. There were tons of things he
wanted to talk about.
Maybe when they actually met again, his head would suddenly go blank, and
he wouldn’t know what to say anymore. It seemed more likely to happen if Anri
were there.
Mikado thought these things over, jotting notes about what to say on his
computer.
His place to return, his lost normal life…
These things did exist in the Internet.
At the very least, he hoped that whoever was on the other side of the screen
felt the same way.
AFTERWORD

It’s been a year and a half since I put out a Durarara!! book, and for the first
time, I wasn’t writing it in real time. So you’ll notice I didn’t include any of
Yumasaki and Karisawa’s time-sensitive observations. I’m hoping to play it by ear
from now on. Yeah.
For this volume, I want to make a clean break with the three high schoolers, so
the next story should transition us to more of an Ikebukuro and Celty-centric
story, as she is supposed to be the protagonist.
More after these messages!
Commercial break. (Spoiler warning for this book!) “Why did Masaomi Kida
vanish? No one can answer that question, and as if to fill that gap in everyone’s
hearts, a new incident arrives in Ikebukuro.
Suspicious soldiers from Russia.
The girls that flock to Izaya.
The remnants of the Yellow Scarves.
The serial assaults return to Ikebukuro.
And a TV crew chasing Celty around.
The Ikebukuro idol, Yuuhei Hanejima, who teams up with a rookie female
reporter.
When vivid images of Celty are shown to the world, what will happen in
Ikebukuro…?
Durarara!!, Vol. 4 on sale one day!”
Why would I do something like this? Well, because I got a number of e-mails
and letters saying things like, “Is Durarara!! already over?” or “Don’t let it end at
three volumes,” or “Is Durarara!! over? Good, now you can write more of
[another series I write],” or “Stop writing your other series and just focus on
Durarara!!,” and so on.
…Where did these rumors about the third volume of Durarara!! being the last
one come from? And then it occurred to me that it was probably just people’s
imaginations running wild, since it looks like a resolution to the story of Mikado,
Anri, and Masaomi.
So I thought.
“Hmm… Are people forgetting that the true protagonist of Durarara!! is Celty?
Even my editor thinks he can turn this into a heartwarming youth rom-com
centered around Mikado and Anri. I’ve got to do something about this!”
So look forward to the continuation of the Durarara!! series!
As far as my plans ahead, I’ll have some more Baccano! books on the way,
followed by the afore-advertised Durarara!!, Vol. 4 and Vamp!, Vol. 4. Once
enough of the short stories I’m writing for Dengeki hp pile up, I might have
short-story collections for Hariyama-san and Etsusa Bridge. Although the Etsusa
Bridge series has already ended, it doesn’t feel like it made a dent in my writing
schedule.
It takes some guts to tell a writer, “Finish your other series so you can just
work on ,” so I will be frank: If that happened, I would still only be writing one
book a year. Just because I stop working on a different series doesn’t mean I’ll
suddenly have more ideas for the first series… So I hope you will indulge my
ongoing multi-series schedule…
This afterword will continue after these messages.
Commercial break 2.
“Tsun-tsun-dere-tsun, dere-tsun-tsun.
The first volume of Yozakura Quartet, the new manga by Suzuhito Yasuda, the
wonderful artist who does the Durarara!! illustrations, will be going on sale in
September!
It’s set in the town of Sakurashin. Four different fixers with the sakura kanji in
their names put their lives on the line through the little tiles of pure soul we call
mah-jongg. It’s a tsundere mah-jongg manga.
Just kidding.
It’s a brilliant work of entertainment in which kindhearted goblins team up
with a strict town elder to protect their home, with battles, comedy, and
heartwarming goodness galore! I’ll stop my advertising here so that I don’t get
yelled at for peddling another publisher’s product, but I urge all Yasuda fans and
Durarara!! fans to pick it up. Oh crap, I forgot to mention the protagoni…”
Well, we’re running out of time (space) for this afterword. The phrase “will
continue after these messages” is one of the least trustworthy of all time, but
I’ve got enough for my usual thanks.
To my editor, who has to put up with my constant nonsense at all times, Mr.
Papio. To Editor in Chief Suzuki and everyone at the editorial office. To the
proofreaders, who I give a hard time by being so late with submissions. To all the
designers involved with the production of the book. To all the people at Media
Works involved in marketing, publishing, and selling.
To my family who do so much for me in so many ways, my friends, and the
people of “S City.”
To Suzuhito Yasuda for bringing the Ikebukuro of my story to life with his
illustrations.
And to all the readers.
Thank you all so much!
June 2006—“Planning to buy a Wii, PS3, and Xbox 360”
Ryohgo Narita
newsletter.
Sign Up
Contents
Cover
Welcome
Insert
Title Page
Prologue: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha
Chapter 1: You Know Perfectly Well.
Chapter 2: That Was Indeed a Monster.
Chapter 3: Why…?
Chapter 4: Is There a Problem?
Chapter 5: I Love You.
Chapter 6: Ne Rasstraivaysya.
Chapter 7: Reality’s a Bitch, Huh?
Chapter 8: Broken Windows Theory
Chapter 9: Never Gonna Realize How They’re Feeling…
Chapter 10: That’s Why I’m Here.
Epilogue: He’ll Come Back.
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
Copyright
Copyright
RYOHGO NARITA,
ILLUSTRATION BY SUZUHITO YASUDA Cover art by Suzuhito Yasuda
Translation by Stephen Paul 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!!
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the
scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the
permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s
intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than
for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting
the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the
author’s rights.
Yen On
Hachette Book Group
1290 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10104
www.hachettebookgroup.com
www.yenpress.com
First Yen On ebook edition: March 2016
ISBN 978-0-316-30493-1
E3
Stop me if you’ve heard this one.
Like us, the city wants to take a holiday sometimes.
Just like an office worker pulling overtime shifts or a student studying
hard on a Sunday night instead of kicking back and watching Sazae-san
before school resumes the next morning.
But, of course, as long as there are people, a city doesn’t have time to
sleep.
Still, there are times the city gets to relax.
But every day off isn’t just about lying in bed past noon, is it?
The city likes to watch the people walking its streets and toys with
them.
That’s how the city enjoys its days off.
Let’s take Ikebukuro, for instance. If you get wrapped up in something
odd…
Just assume that the city is toying with you.
And if you can do that…
Try to play along.
—Excerpt from the afterword of Shinichi Tsukumoya, author of

Media Wax’s Ikebukuro travel guide, Ikebukuro Strikes Back
*Sazae-san holds the Guinness World Record as Japan’s longest-running anime. It aired Sunday nights
between six thirty and seven.
Prologue: Rumor
“The murder-machine philosopher.”

Those were the words the man used to describe him.
“I happen to think epithets like that are rather trite, but if you had to put a
giant title on him, like the tabloid rags at the supermarket, that’s what you’d
expect to see. He’s a hit man who carries out his work like a machine, but there’s
an odd aesthetic he follows.”
This machinelike hit man, said to be the seventh-most-feared professional
killer in Russia, was indeed inhuman in his manner.
Reputedly, his victims numbered over eighty, and his hits all shared a certain
unique feature: He did not prepare any murder weapon beforehand but used
whatever was on hand at the scene of the killing.
If his target had a gun, he would twist their arm until they shot themselves in
the forehead.
If it was in a kitchen, he could use a knife or even a rolling pin or the ice in
the freezer as a weapon.
The ex-military hooligan murdered in a bank had his throat slit by a fresh
stack of bills.
He was a hit man of considerable legend—but no one knew his name.
Nor did they know where to find him or how to make reliable contact.
His appearance was unknown. The only way they knew he had killed was by
his method.
“Isn’t it fascinating? If anyone in Russia is looking for a hit man, they just
cast out for one and hire him. So this guy goes looking for ‘people looking for a
hit man.’ He hears about them and takes it upon himself to contact his
prospective client.”
The hit man would take a job, complete it in short order, then leave and
change his name, never to meet his client again.
In other words, he became famous without a name, only the vague profile
that appeared to fit a single person based on the similarity of the methods of
murder.
“Well, it seems this hit man…has come to our country now. Apparently, they
finally uncovered his identity back home, and now the associates of his victims
are after him. His job while he’s here is to eliminate two men who stole a huge
secret from a Russian group a few years back,” the information agent chattered
happily.
The dead-eyed woman he was talking to was busy filing papers and showed
no interest in the topic of hired killers.
“From what some people say, he could take down a special forces agent or
two without a sneak attack—in fact, they could try to sneak up on him and he’d
still win… Are you listening?”
“Dunno.”
Whether she thought the story too unrealistic or accepted it as fact but just
didn’t care, the woman had offered no responses to his story other than tepid
ahhs and uh-huhs. The information dealer shook his head in pity and said, “You
really are a tremendously boring woman, Namie. Your brother’s never going to
take an interest in you at this rate.”
“I don’t need him to. I’m satisfied just watching Seiji from behind.”
“Well, isn’t that creepy.”
“I find it quite pleasant. It makes me happy just to think of Seiji’s face and
know that I’m breathing the air on the same planet as him. But not satisfied,” she
said, a look of sheer bliss on her face. It was definitely creepy.
The woman named Namie returned to her usual stone-faced expression and
asked her employer, “And what do you expect to do, talking about some hit man
who might as well have popped out of a comic book? Has all this Headless Rider
and demon blade nonsense turned your brain into manga, too?”
“I won’t deny it,” he said, smiling smoothly and reaching for a can of beer on
the table. “It turns out those two on the run he’s looking for are a black man and
a white man.”
“…”
“They run a sushi restaurant in Ikebukuro now. But I’m not sure if the hit
man is aware of that or not.”
Whether by coincidence or intention, on the very day that this conversation

happened, the “murder-machine philosopher” arrived in Ikebukuro.
Just at the time the Russian murder-machine came to Japan, the country was
swarming with its own shadows.
Only it was happening before the eyes of the entire nation on TV—hardly
what one expects when it comes to shadows.
“This is the hotel where the latest incident occurred,” the reporter was saying,
motioning gravely to the building behind him. It was very obviously a love hotel
—the kind you reserve by the hour. He continued to report the details with the
utmost gravity. “The attack happened before dawn this morning. When screams
issued from a second-floor room, employees rushed to the scene to find an
unconscious woman spattered with blood and a deceased man whose body had
been grievously injured.”
The killer Hollywood.
That was the Internet-given nickname of the suspect in the serial killings. In
fact, there were no true suspects in a concrete sense.
A witness to the first of the string of murders described the attacker as “a
person wearing a lifelike wolf mask.” There were no direct witnesses of the next
killing, but someone did spot a “half-fish man, like you’d see in the movies,”
jumping from the third floor of the hotel where the murder happened, then
scampering away.
On the news segment covering the latest killing, the woman who witnessed
the entire attack said that “a monster with a dinosaur face scooped out the
victim’s heart with its bare hands.” Sure enough, the hotel’s security cameras
showed a figure with a dinosaur face running off like some wild beast.
When one of the investigators watched the footage, he remarked, “It reminds
me of one of those South American chupacabra videos,” an observation that was
so accurate, it earned a round of tasteless snorts and chuckles.
That was a sign of how fake and yet realistic the video was.
The common feature of all the killer’s victims was the remarkable destruction
they suffered, without losing any limbs. One victim’s flesh was stripped from all
over his body; one man’s genitals, tongue, and partial spine were cut out; and
one victim’s face was crushed.
The killer was nicknamed Hollywood after the various movie-monster forms
taken for each different appearance. The media avoided picking up that moniker,
out of fears of complaints from the movie and tourism industries, but on the Net,
the legend spread far and wide.
There was once an American couple who performed a series of stickups in
various costumes, but the culprit in this case was much, much more than just a
costume.
After all, Hollywood had the viciousness, the ferocity, and the sheer wall- and
door-destroying bare-handed power of an actual monster.
Without any leads on a suspect or hints at a motive, the only option was to
recoil in fear of the killer’s potential appearance. Many of those a safe distance
from the scenes of rampage found a kind of perverse entertainment from the
show that was Hollywood’s trail of destruction.
So it was that the serial killings, all happening around the capital, were the
biggest source of gossip of the day. Hollywood’s presence—if not identity—was
made known around the nation.
And tonight, the killer prowled the streets of Ikebukuro.
Two shadows arrived in Ikebukuro, ironically on the very same day.

Through fate or coincidence, they crossed paths on the night streets.
Whatever happened between them is unknown.
The only certainty is that they each held hostility toward the other.
Two of the worst people on the planet met, found murderous intent, and set
about to end the other.
Ikebukuro was flooded in callous, unthinking malice, and a bloodbath to
eclipse the infamous Night of the Ripper two months earlier began to swallow
the city into its grotesque maw…
Well, it should have.
The shining neon lights of the commercial district set the night scene in
Ikebukuro.
In a park, slightly off the center of town, there was a plock sound, like a giant
wooden fish drum from a Buddhist temple being slammed by a train.
Right after the hit man and the killer first faced off, the hit man picked up the
nearest object he could use as a murder weapon, like he always did.
On a bench nearby sat some rather unsavory-looking young men.
They looked like your typical street toughs, eating their rice ball dinner from
a plastic convenience store bag. For some reason, there was an out-of-place
briefcase sitting next to them, and the hit man grabbed it without hesitation.
It was instantaneous.
So fast that it was beyond the processing power of the typical human being,
with flowing precision and maximum efficiency.
The murder-machine hit man grabbed the briefcase like a gust of wind—and,
with perfect timing, perfect angle, and perfect velocity, swung it toward
Hollywood’s chin.
But just before the briefcase intersected with the killer, Hollywood’s manual
chop entered from an unnatural angle and tore through the briefcase as if it were
soft tofu.
Papers, bills, a broken pen, and the drops of ink from within it sprayed
outward.
With honed reflexes, each combatant caught sight of the phenomenon in slow
motion. They each had a perfect view of the other.
Next to them sat the dumbfounded hooligans. Determining that they posed no
threat, the two killers instead focused entirely on the other.
They had to be evenly matched. Even if they weren’t, it was the kind of fight
in which victory or defeat could be determined by any number of variables.
Their brains subconsciously worked away at the calculations, but their conscious
minds stayed perfectly focused.
The two killers, alike in many ways, launched themselves into an orgy of
slaughter.
Launched themselves entirely and unfortunately.
They threw their concentration, their caution, their everything into that
moment.
Which is why the two murderers failed to notice that of the two owners of the
briefcase sitting dumbfounded on the bench, one was wearing a bartender’s
outfit, despite not working at a bar.
As they were outsiders to Ikebukuro, they also did not realize that there were
people in Ikebukuro one must never pick a fight with.
People whom no one should ever, ever, ever challenge to a fight, no matter if
they were a hit man, or a serial killer, or a president, or an alien, or a vampire, or
a headless monster.
Hence, the advent of the wooden plock.

Right before the sound, the two noticed something.
Just as they were about to make contact, out of the corner of their eyes, they
caught the unnatural silhouette of the bartender, his mouth twitching, lifting the
park bench in one hand.
Having pulled the bolted-down bench straight out of the ground, the man in
the bartender outfit bellowed, “Why, you…little sneak thieves!”
He swung the bench at them.
It was a swing worthy of a baseball slugger, if you ignored that he did it with
only one hand.
The weapon with size and speed that transcended common sense caught the
murder-machine on his nose as he tried to evade, destroying part of his face and
delivering a shock to his brain and spine.
The park bench hurtled through the air toward Hollywood in an instant. The
killer tensed instinctively in defense but was literally tossed into the air, flying
completely out of the park and out of sight.
In American cartoons, characters were often knocked clean out of a scene by
a hammer, and that was how Hollywood departed this one. The murder-
machine’s wits were similarly knocked right out of his skull.
As he picked up the bills and notes that spilled out of the broken briefcase,
the dreadlocked man who didn’t take part in the fight noted, “You won’t need to
go for a second shot, Shizuo.”
The man with the park bench raised for the finishing blow, Shizuo
Heiwajima, looked down at the immobile Caucasian and begrudgingly returned
the bench to its former position.
“Dammit. What do these sneak thieves expect me to do, carry this cash
around in my hands all night?”
“Um…do you really think they were sneak thieves?” the dreadlocked man
wondered, but Shizuo was already walking toward the exit of the park.
“I’m going to go see if the Don Quixote has any briefcases,” he said calmly
and abruptly, referring to a nearby discount store. Shizuo raced off to the park
exit.
As he watched his money-counting partner trot away, the man shook his
dreads and wondered, “Who would challenge Shizuo to a fight in this
neighborhood? They must be from out of town.”
He looked down at the white man with half pity and half dismay. “Remember
this: A bartender’s outfit in this town is a bigger warning signal than a red light.
Too late to put that knowledge to use, though,” he said to the likely unconscious
man, then turned on his heel. “By way of apology for the overboard treatment, I
won’t tell the cops about you. So don’t hold a grudge against me, got it? And if
you want to live, don’t hold a grudge against the bartender guy, either.”
The man briefly wondered about the red-eyed zombie that Shizuo knocked
out with the bench, then waved his hand and said to the both of them, “Well,
anyway. That’s what kind of city this is. Enjoy your stay.”
“Welcome to Ikebukuro. You both looked pretty impressive. You just had bad
luck.”
A hit man and a killer appeared in the city.

But that was all.
Two sources of violence were instantly crushed by an even greater violence.
The chance meeting of those murderous figures should have been a big deal,
but it was merely toyed with.
Ikebukuro slowly enjoyed its holiday.
It watched the various organisms contained within itself and their activities…
And the city stretched out to relax.

Chapter 1: Daioh TV, Special
Program Ikebukuro’s 100-Day Front
“The city of Ikebukuro knows no rest,” said the ominous narration on the TV,
displaying the night city as filmed from inside a moving police car. “Since the
serial assaults known as the Night of the Ripper two months ago, the populace
has lived in fear. Yet Ikebukuro’s night continues to writhe with life.”
It was the kind of special program often shown at the end of the year, where
film crews accompanied a police patrol to catch the decisive moment in an
exciting case to show to the viewers in their peaceful homes.
In most cases, these weren’t shocking, nation-crumbling incidents, but simple
local brawls, unlicensed or drunken driving, stolen vehicle crackdowns, and
other everyday events that wouldn’t even get listed in a newspaper’s local safety
section.
But because of the special immediacy of video footage, the programs
succeeded in implanting a specific idea into the heads of its peaceful viewers:
“Crime is nearby, and the city at night is dangerous.”
There was just one difference from the usual pattern in Daioh TV’s special
program.
“On these streets, the very veins of our city, an eerie shadow dances in the
darkness…”
The picture cut to the start of a now-famous video clip.
“A motorcycle entirely in black, with no headlight or license plate. This alone
qualifies it as a public danger on the street.”
As usual, the place was Ikebukuro at night. But there was something different
to the footage this time, something off.
In the center of the screen was a black motorcycle, racing down the street
after a car. As the narrator said, it had no headlight or plate, making the vehicle
look like a 3-D representation of a solid black silhouette.
There was the sound of gunfire, and the helmet of the bike’s rider shot
backward, raising off its shoulders for just an instant. But it returned to its
original position just as quickly.
It was creepy enough, the way it seemed to snap back into place with black
rubber bands—but the real problem was what that momentary dislocation
revealed.
The instant the helmet rose upward…there was nothing beneath it.
It wasn’t a trick of the eye, or camouflage from black hair, or anything of that
sort.
The camera caught a clear glimpse of the shooter’s car in the space between
the helmet and the rider’s neck.
The sight could be succinctly described thusly: “The rider on the pitch-black
bike has no head above the neck.”
A black shadow that extended from the empty cross section of neck grabbed
the base of the helmet and pulled it back into place.
It was already suspicious footage to start with, but the very cheap suspicion
of it all, when combined with the straight-faced genre of news reporting, gave
the scene an eerie reality.
There was one other unsettling feature about the rider. A tool, pure black with
no highlight, as thick and pure as a midsummer shadow, that swung around just
before the man shot at the rider.
It was too twisted and hideous to call a “weapon.”
The pole, a good ten feet long at least—twice the height of the rider—was
connected to a sickle blade just as long.
The first instant the cameraman caught sight of it, he mistook it for the
ostentatious insignia flags that motorcycle gangs waved as they rode. Such was
the size of the pole the mystery rider held.
The scythe, which looked like the one Death held on his tarot card, was huge
and menacing and as black, black, black as a shadow against a wall cast by a
car’s headlights.
“Is it a social outcast gleefully seeking to shock the public? A daring member
of some motorcycle gang? Even the police have no answer yet.”
The answer was clearly beyond those tame descriptors, but the dignity of a
serious news program prohibited them from using words like monster or ghoul.
Yet it was clear from a simple glance that this was not an attention seeker or a
biker gang member or even a human being—it was something else.
Many people could bring themselves to recognize that this was “something
beyond the realm of human understanding,” but none of them could accept it.
Which was why half of the media was desperate to attach some kind of
meaning to it. The other half got busy trying to bring acceptance to the
unaccepting and made a business of it.
It was a true example of the grotesque brought to modern times.
People on opposing sides—those who sought to bring about another cyclical
boom of interest in the occult and those who denied its otherworldly cause—set
about to reveal the true nature of the Headless Rider for their own ends.
Thus, the media found itself chasing after the mysterious Headless Rider.
Among the journalists, some claimed it was a “true monster.”
The footage from the TV cameras was so vivid, it looked for all the world to
see as though the rider’s head was gone.
The image was too raw to be faked, and this peculiar persuasiveness led to
the propagation of a rumor: that the Headless Rider existed in the space between
reality and urban legend, a being born of the spread of public rumor itself.
An urban legend that anyone could spot if they just lurked around Ikebukuro
for a few days.
On this night, the liminal being was being pursued by many such curious
onlookers.
But without definitive proof for the public to see, the Headless Rider became
a prototypical “modern mystery” with no actual answer, an otherwise accepted
part of society.
As for the mystery herself…
She was stuck at a part-time job in a corner of Nerima Ward.
Nerima Ward
Bright light hugged pale skin.

Beneath a light so powerful it seemed to blend the boundary between reality
and fantasy lay a woman’s naked body. Two shapely mounds rose above finely
chiseled abs, and a finger frolicked fishlike through the soft cleavage.
The finger belonged to another woman, her blond hair shining in the vivid
light. She was dressed as a doctor or researcher, and her golden eyes stood out
on her young face, somehow clashing with the white coat that covered her body.
It wasn’t just the uniform that clashed with her face, but the body beneath it,
which was even more curvaceous and inflammatory than the naked one on the
bed. The uniformed woman was unconsciously writhing and squirming with
pleasure.
If the blond woman’s body was a personification of pure, heady lust, then the
woman on the table exuded a more wholesome eros. Together, the two figures
shone in stark, desirable profile within the light.
The finger tracing the naked woman’s breasts slid down to her abdomen to
lightly circle her navel.
If these were the only details examined, it would be quite an erotic sight, but
one particular oddity ruined the effect and turned the scene into something
extremely abnormal.
In fact, it was so unlikely and freakish that that the word oddity was wholly
inadequate to describe it.
Because the naked woman lying on the bed had no head.
The cross section at her neck was so smooth and natural that it looked like
less of a severance than that there had never been a head there to begin with. The
cross section was shrouded in black shadow that covered up the esophagus and
backbone that would normally be visible there.
But if that odd shadow was ignored, it looked like nothing more than an
examination of a dead body—a white doctor performing an autopsy on a
mutilated corpse.
The absence of a head turned it into an utterly unsexy scene. But when the
woman in the lab coat took her hands off the headless “body” and spoke, her
voice had no hint of either husky lust or scientific examination.
“I have finished to conclusion! There is much thanks for your accomplicing!”
Her bizarre version of Japanese was followed by something even more

jarring.
The headless woman’s hand writhed and issued a black something. It was less
of a gas than a kind of liquid that seemed to blend into the air.
The substance was the kind of black that actually stole the light it absorbed,
closer to shadow or darkness than a color. This shadow issued forth and then
enveloped the entirety of the naked body, clamping to the skin in a way that was
nothing short of sentient.
The woman dressed in white watched this process with obvious interest, but
no surprise in the least. In no more than a few seconds, the headless woman on
the bed went from totally naked to covered in a pitch-black riding suit.
The one element that hadn’t changed was her total lack of a head. She sat up
from the bed, not bothered in the least by the absence of a skull, and picked up a
PDA sitting on the nearby desktop.
The bizarre creature coolly typed a message into the device and showed the
screen to the woman in the lab coat.
“It’s not ‘accomplicing.’ What you meant to say is ‘cooperation.’”
“Oh dear. I have apologized. I am terrifyingly sorryful.”
“…Well, I can tell you know enough to read kanji… You aren’t speaking this
messed-up Japanese for the sake of being memorable, are you?”
“That is totally undeniable lack of truth. Ring-a-ding-dub,” she said with an
innocent smile.
The Headless Rider shrugged and typed, “I can’t tell if you’re confirming or
denying that accusation… Listen, Emilia. Just give me this week’s pay. Also, I
think you meant ‘Rub-a-dub-dub.’ ‘Ring-a-ding-ding’ is the theme the Robapan
bakery trucks play.”
“It is so shrewd and abacusing of you to leap right to reward. It is better to
improve cuteness by demure shyness, such as the traditional Japanese way, yes?”
“How can I be a traditional Japanese woman when I’m from Ireland?”
The woman the Headless Rider called Emilia pouted and cried, “Now you are
Ikebukuroican! And it is appreciated to the nth degree to call me Mother.
Mommy is also allowed. Mamma mia.”
“Uh…well, I’ll admit that I’m considering my future with Shinra, but the
concrete topic of marriage is a ways off. Besides, you’re younger than both me
and Shinra, so calling you mother would be weird.”
She twisted her body in apparent shyness, but without cheeks for blushing,
the motion made her look more like a writhing zombie with its head blown off.
“Just give me my pay! It’s the only reason I’m going through with these
unpleasant medical tests. And what was that last physical examination for?”
“Oh, the boiled-egg skin is so beautiful and smooth, I simply wished to
engage in pleasures of fondling closely.”
“…I’ll pretend not to be angry if you just give me my week’s worth of
money.”
“Yes, yes, please to be calm. Haste make waste, broke as joke,” Emilia said
distractingly and produced a heavy envelope.
Inside the brown manila folder, which had “Payment—Celty Sturluson”
handwritten on it, was a stack of a hundred ten-thousand-yen bills, each with the
face of Yukichi Fukuzawa on it.
The Headless Rider utilized a myriad of little shadow tendrils to quickly
count the total, then happily turned and typed a message with a few extra
symbols into the PDA.
“Looks good! Thanks for your business! ”
With an absolutely outrageous week’s pay in hand, the headless woman,
Celty Sturluson, trotted gleefully out of the lab.
When she reached the underground garage, Celty turned to the motorcycle
parked in the corner. It was totally hidden by a rain cover, but oddly enough, the
material was not the usual silver, but the same featureless black that covered
Celty’s body.
She put a hand to the cover, and it dissipated instantly, the tiny black particles
melting into thin air. The action looked like some kind of sorcery, but Celty sat
on the bike without a second thought and put the helmet hanging on the
handlebars onto her neck.
A Headless Rider in the dark of night, riding a black bike without lights or
license plate.
Without the slightest shred of understanding of the effect this combination
had on the rest of society, or of the mystery her own existence posed, Celty
gunned the engine with a sound like a horse whinnying and rode out into
Ikebukuro.

She was a type of fairy commonly known as a dullahan, found from Scotland
to Ireland—a being that visits the homes of those close to death to inform them
of their impending mortality.
When someone back in her homeland stole her head, she lost her memories
of what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that had brought
Now with a motorcycle instead of a headless horse and a riding suit instead
memories were still lost. And she was fine with that.
As long as she could live with those human beings she loved and who
accepted her, she could live the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face and
Highway, Ikebukuro
As she raced toward the center of the city, Celty eagerly contemplated the near
future.
Wow, who’d have thought I’d make a million yen in short-term income in just
a week? I should use this to buy Shinra some new glasses.
Shinra was the black-market doctor who was Celty’s romantic partner and
roommate. He was an odd fellow who loved her for both her mind and her
appearance, and she loved him back with all of her heart.
The image of her beloved eccentric lighting up with joy made Celty even
more excited. She considered other ways to spend the remainder.
I could use a new mini laptop… Oh, right, and I really need a new helmet.
The job she just left was a sudden, unexpected source of income, which made
this windfall a bit of a personal bonus unrelated to savings.
She normally made her money as a courier, but nearly all of the proceeds
from that business went to savings for the future.
This new venture started about a month ago, when she first met Emilia, who
came to Ikebukuro following Shinra’s father. Emilia worked for a major
pharmaceutical company overseas and boldly demanded to play with Celty’s
body.
Naturally, Celty refused at first, only accepting with reluctance once she had
been assured there would be only a minimum of open surgery or cell sampling
and the only contact would come from female researchers.
But mostly, it was the amount of pay that Emilia mentioned that sealed the
deal.
In the past, I would have no choice but to leave all of the money with Shinra.
But now you can buy pretty much anything with anonymity online. Long live
modern civilization.
It was not a typical line of thought for an inhuman spook, but Celty was too
busy indulging in crass materialism to care.
In my case, it’s helpful that I don’t need to spend money on my bike. All I need
to buy are brushes to keep Shooter’s mane in line. He even hates the idea of
stickers on his body.
That had to be the nickname of her Coiste Bodhar. She patted the bike, which
also happened to be her trusty headless steed. The normally silent motorcycle
engine whinnied in apparent delight, startling nearby pedestrians.
Hee-hee, you adorable scamp, she thought, already looking forward to
spending her million yen, the way a child looks forward to buying candy the day
before a field trip.
I’ll still have seven hundred thousand yen left over. Maybe I’ll buy that DVD
recorder I’ve been wanting. The kind that dubs straight from a video deck. Then,
I’ll have a more compact storage solution for all the episodes of Gatten,
Mysterious Discoveries, TV Investigations, Monday nine PM dramas, Partner,
Antique Appraisers, and all the other shows I’ve been taping.
Also, let’s see… Right, I can buy some gourmet food for Shinra to eat. He did
say he wanted to try sagohachi-style pickled sandfish sometime. Is this even the
right season for sandfish?
In mid-April, sandfish season was long over. The bigger problem for Celty
was how to cook the dish. Having no head naturally meant having no tongue.
The shadow that her body produced functioned somewhat like a radar, giving her
sight, hearing, and even smell through some means unknown.
But there was a problem: Because she didn’t need to eat for whatever reason,
she had no sense of taste and no way of knowing if the scents she was picking up
were the same things Shinra smelled.
So if she followed a recipe when cooking, it might look right, but there was
no way for her to check the actual flavor.
With long years of training, she had gradually learned how to cook certain
egg-based dishes to Shinra’s liking, such as crab omelets or scrambled eggs. But
for other food, she could only make it by following the recipe to the letter, and
given that she couldn’t detect when she’d accidentally used sugar instead of salt,
it was always a surprise until Shinra finally tasted it.
I ought to find a good cook and take serious lessons from them. I wonder…if
Anri or Karisawa are any good at cooking? she wondered, thinking of her
closest female acquaintances, but neither of them seemed to have that cooking
air about them. Emilia wouldn’t know the first thing about Japanese food, and
the other women she knew were all the eccentric type.
I have a newfound respect for the housewife, the monster thought in
admiration. She looked up at the night sky and shrugged. The stars were nearly
invisible behind the light of the city. The only object that made its presence
known was the moon.
I suppose being able to think about this topic is a sign that my life is good.
Not that I was confident of that last month, after Emilia showed up…
By all accounts, Emilia was freeloading in their apartment, but she spent
most of the week staying over at the lab, which meant she was almost never
home.
Instead, the abnormality of that visit turned into everyday experiments, but
that ended up with a minimum of suffering and more than enough reward to
make up for it.
The light turned red and she came to a stop, reflecting on the sheer humanity
of her life with relief.
This is it. This is what I wanted.
Peaceful days with the one she loved.
As an abnormal, headless knight, she understood just what a rare bliss that
was and was acutely aware of the warmth enveloping her emotions.
In fact, I might just call Emilia “Mother” after all. I wonder how Shinra
would react.
She felt a peaceful feeling come over her as she imagined her lover’s
flustered face and waited for the light to change.
But…
Humanity did not know or care of the goings-on in Celty’s daily life.
It wanted nothing more than to plunge her into hell as the symbol of the
abnormal.
“Excuse me, may I have a word?”

Hmm?
Celty made a show of swiveling her helmet around as her otherworldly
senses focused on the surroundings. A portly man was holding out what looked
like a mic toward her as she waited for the light.
Me? What does he want? Why is he holding a mic out into the middle of the
street?
The man was standing on the other side of the guardrail, holding his mic over
it into the road where she waited, a deadly serious look on his face.
“I’m Fukumi, a reporter for Daioh TV. I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Oh no.
Celty noticed another man with a TV camera standing a slight distance away
and even more men in plainclothes standing around beyond him. She understood
Fukumi’s intentions at once.
“We’re currently filming for a news special here in Ikebukuro… I’ve noticed
that your motorcycle has no headlight or license plate. This is clearly illegal, is it
not?” the reporter asked, which was a perfectly correct observation.
Unfortunately, the light was not going to turn green anytime soon.
Damn, I forgot that this is a long light.
In a way, it was rather silly that a motorcycle rider without a headlight or
license plate was obeying a traffic light, but the reporter did not crack a smile.
“May we assume that the Black Rider witnessed over the years is you? What is
your purpose in engaging in such dangerous traffic activities?”
For an instant, the bike growled. It was a low, menacing grrrl, like an animal
sending a warning signal. The reporter flinched momentarily, disturbed by the
motorcycle’s lack of an ordinary engine rumble, but he regained his cool
immediately.
“Please tell us something. Are you aware that you’re committing a crime?”
Oh… What do I do now? If I clam up, it’ll only make me look worse to the
rest of society.
It’s not a huge deal to me, but I don’t like the idea of those I associate with
being treated like criminals, too… Then again, I can’t possibly get licensed, and
Shooter doesn’t like wearing a headlight…
Celty was no closer to finding a solution to her quandary. As a courier, she
had naturally been involved in ferrying items that ran afoul of the law. There was
no denying that her vehicle broke a number of traffic regulations.
But that didn’t mean she could turn around and say, “Don’t mind me, I’m just
a monster anyway.”
…Hmm? Actually, I guess I could say that. If I give that news program some
impossible footage, they won’t be able to use the film, and if they did run it, the
viewers would assume it was fake CG. And they’ve already filmed me once.
She decided to take out her PDA and type a message, showing it to the
reporter.
“…? What is this? Um…what do you mean by this?”
Startled by her sudden response, the reporter look back and forth between the
PDA screen and her helmet.
He couldn’t be blamed. The message on the screen said:
“This is a horse, so it doesn’t need a headlight or license plate.”
“Is that supposed to be a jo… Whaa—?!” the reporter yelped, freezing up

with shock.
The black motorcycle’s silhouette writhed and morphed, growing to twice its
previous size. It transformed from a mechanical shape to a biological one in a
way that was clearly violating the laws of physics—and in a few seconds, it
looked like a pitch-black horse.
But there was something wrong with this horse.
“A-aah…,” the reporter cried again, not at the transformation, but the
finished product. He couldn’t be blamed for this.
The Headless Rider’s beloved headlightless bike had faithfully carried over
that particular detail.
The horse had no head.
Hee-hee! I haven’t turned him into a horse since that time we went driving in
the forests around Fuji, Celty thought proudly, as she stroked the abbreviated
neck and looked back at the reporter. He was frozen in place, visibly trembling,
but she didn’t react any differently, leisurely typing a fresh message into the
PDA.
“I believe you understand now. If you’ll excuse me.”
Horses are treated as light vehicles, just like bicycles, right? she wondered,
as she resumed waiting for the light to change.
Anyone who saw that footage on the news would assume the TV station had
lost the distinction between news reporting and action blockbuster movies.
Perhaps that was actually the reason that mainstream society refused to report on
anything unknown or otherworldly.
The crosswalk signal began to blink, which meant the light would turn green
in just a few seconds. Celty stashed the PDA and considered how to leave the
scene with maximum dramatic impact.
But then—
“Hey.”
She felt a chill run down her back and through her heart.
“I’m talkin’ to you, monster,” said a familiar voice behind her. Celty’s body
had no blood running in it, but she still felt her heart jackhammering like a frog
undergoing vivisection in science class.
Don’t turn around.
Must turn around.
Instinct and reason sent conflicting warnings to Celty’s body.
It was behind her. Something that could not be reasoned with.
The part of her that wanted to be sure and formulate a plan and the part of her
that wanted to flee instantly faced off and sent tremendous turbulence through
her mind.
She slowly, carefully turned her attention behind her, feeling her backbone
creak.
It was a traffic patrol officer with a pleasant smile on his face, riding on a
white police motorcycle. The very man who had once implanted fear into Celty’s
heart, wearing a smile that was half pleasure and half anger. He squeezed the
handlebars.
“Did you know that even in a light vehicle, riding without a headlight is
subject to penalty?”
The light turned green.

At the same time, it brought an end to Celty’s brief era of peace—and
launched a terrifying game of tag between monster and human.
Only in this case, the usual roles of predator and prey were reversed.
A fierce animal cry ripped through Ikebukuro as Shooter trampled his massive
hooves.
Celty squeezed the reins that had once been handlebars, completely forgetting
to change her ride back into a motorcycle.
Shooter was something like a witch’s familiar, a creature made by possessing
and melding a dead horse and the wreckage of a carriage. When she came to
Japan, she found a scrapyard and melded him with an old bike, which gave him
a third form to use.
A simple headless horse.
The same headless horse pulling a carriage, if necessary.
And now, to fit in with modern society, a motorcycle without a headlight.
She didn’t have time for the carriage now. Celty left the matter in her
partner’s powerful hooves—she was too busy trembling in fear of the patrol
bike’s exhaust on her tail.
Ahead, she saw that the light had turned red again. The cars on the cross
street proceeded into the intersection, so leaping forward would surely cause an
accident—if not initiated by herself, then by the drivers startled to see a headless
horse leaping into traffic. And Celty wasn’t so much of a monster that she’d
allow that to happen.
Damn!
She checked that no one was on the crosswalk, then adeptly tugged at the
reins, turning her steed around. As soon as their speed dropped, she felt a heavy,
lurking pressure at her back, but there was no time to falter.
The Coiste Bodhar leaped forward and over the guardrail, its massive black
form racing toward the side of the building.
The headless horse “landed” on the wall.
Shadows bloomed from each hoof, growing and fusing with the concrete
surface. As if there was magic tape with powers beyond human understanding
sticking the horse’s legs to the surface, Shooter raced vertically up the side of the
building.
“Hah! You won’t get away from me that easily!” the officer shouted, not
rattled in the least by this supernatural showing.
He spun the bike into a sudden 180-degree turn for an abrupt stop, watching
Celty’s path closely. She, on the other hand, was desperately searching for a way
out as she felt his searing gaze from the ground below.
Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. This is bad. This is uncontrollably, severely,
uncontrollably, incredibly, uncontrollably bad.
Her mind was racing faster than she had words to express it. Her first step
was to race all the way to the roof of the building. Once she got to the top of the
small apartment complex, she paused and considered how to escape.
Oh, right. I can just…
She put a particular plan into motion.
It was not a coincidence that Izaya Orihara was watching the TV at that exact
moment.
Ikebukuro’s 100-Day Front.
As an information broker, he was not likely to gain anything particularly
fresh or juicy from this program, but given that it was an experiment in live
broadcasting, he tuned in out of sheer curiosity, just in case something
unexpected happened.
Namie had already gone back to her own apartment, and Izaya was enjoying
some homemade French toast and basking in the glow of a recently completed
major transaction.
“…Wow. Even I didn’t see this coming.”
What started as a live broadcast featuring Ikebukuro at night and a simple
motorcycle waiting at a traffic light without a headlight suddenly shifted into a
horror movie, then a stunning action blockbuster.
Celty turned her motorcycle into a horse, and a police bike chased after her.
“Suppose that cop is this Kinnosuke Kuzuhara I keep hearing about? His
timing’s either the best or the worst,” he exclaimed, eyes narrowed, somewhere
between laughter and exasperation. On the screen, the reporter was frantic.
“See that, folks? The mysterious figure riding what appeared to be a horse
just used some strange means of climbing the wall to get onto the roof of the
building! It seems the traffic patrol officer is calling for backup!”
“For better or for worse, Celty always managed to avoid my expectations for
her,” said Izaya Orihara, an information agent who made his base in Shinjuku.
He’d known Celty for years, he was aware of her dullahan identity, and he
possessed a secret about her that even she didn’t know.
That is, he possessed the head for which Celty had formerly been searching.
But for now, she didn’t seem to be as fixated on the head, so he was keeping
it secret just in case he could use it to achieve a desired outcome in the future.
“Oh dear. The problem is, modern society has decided that things like Celty
don’t exist. If she was the kind of alien you see in movies, the government and
military would cover her existence up for her…but not in this case,” Izaya
cackled at the TV, talking to no one in particular.
Then something on the screen changed.
“Oh?”
“The rider in black is still silent up on the roof…ah! What is that?! Can you
make it out through the camera?! The stars have vanished overhead! It’s black!
A large black curtain! Wh-whoa!”
The reporter’s breathless commentary was accompanied by an odd object on

the screen.
Something like enormous black wings that dimly reflected the city’s lights
leaped off the roof of the building and began a leisurely glide.
It was an enormous hang glider. In the center appeared to be a figure sitting
atop a horse.
The problem was that the wings were far too huge for it. They spread at least
as wide as the building itself and nearly as big as a fighter jet, blocking out the
stars.
For its tremendous size, the glider held no hint of mass or underlying
structure. It slid effortlessly through the air, like a gigantic paper airplane. The
flat, sky-spanning shadow caught a breeze passing between the buildings and
began a low-altitude flight with a perfect view of Ikebukuro below.
“Damn! What do…think…are, Lupi…Third? Give up…face…justice! Oh,
look at that! The traffic officer is chasing after her, shouting something! W-we’re
going to try to follow that flying object!”
The reporting team packed into their vehicle and roared their engine to follow
the police bike. They didn’t get far before the officer wheeled around and stuck
it to the driver of the van.
“Hey! You’re not an emergency vehicle, so you don’t get to break the speed
limit.” “Oh? Y-yes, sir.” “And obey the traffic lights.” “Y-yes, sir!” “Uh, well, it
looks like our driver is receiving instructions from the police officer, so let’s
send it back to the studio for a moment!”
The next instant, the feed cut, returning the picture to the stunned faces of the
newscasters in the studio. Once they realized they were on camera, they turned
to one another and began to deliver their opinions on what they’d seen.
Izaya had no interest in their thoughts. He slowly retrieved his cell phone
from the recharging holster on the table and brought up a particular number.
Several minutes earlier, apartment building, Ikebukuro
Two shadows writhed within the dark apartment room.

On the screen was the reality of Ikebukuro, happening right now.
The shadows huddled before the TV, conversing with bipolar intensities.
“…That’s weird.”
“It really is mysterious! Why, why, why? Why did the motorcycle turn into a
horse? Why? That wasn’t CG, right? It can’t be! It’s too cool for that! Isn’t that
crazy? It’s like super-invincible-superman crazy! It’s as crazy and mysterious as
General Sherman or the titan arum!”
“…Be quiet.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry! This part is important! But I can’t stay quiet! Isn’t this
happening, like, just down the street? Let’s go see it! C’mon! I don’t think I can
take this anymore! Oh, geez! I haven’t been this excited since I saw the
carnivorous giant cricket fight against the Goliath birdeater! I wanna see, I
wanna see!”
The more excited shadow was cavorting around like a kid on a field trip bus
ride, performing a rear naked choke hold on the other shadow. Even as the other
shadow’s face was going purple with the force of the fatal attack, it calmly raised
its arm and pointed a small spray bottle at the shadow behind it.
“…Settle down.”
The liquid within the bottle sprayed mercilessly on the other shadow’s face.
“…?! Aaaaack!! I’m sorry, Kuru! I’ll…I’ll calm down…coff! Koff, hakk…
Gahk… Please, not the habanero spray!” The excitable shadow writhed,
coughing madly.
Only after flopping around and eventually landing in a break-dance rotation
on its head did the afflicted shadow calm down.
“Ahh, that was really rough. You’re so spartanical with your punishment,
Kuru!” the shadow said, making up a word out of thin air. The girl she called
Kuru ignored her and continued watching the TV.
“…Can’t wait.”
“Yeah, well, we only just started school! It’s super-exciting to know we’ll be
spending the greatest moments of our youth in a city alongside something like
that! Super-citing! Super-magic! Superbad!” she shouted inexplicably.
Meanwhile, the immobile girl smiled as she watched the giant black wings on
the screen.
While on the inside, her heart swirled with just as much desire as the other
shadow.
At that moment, Jack-o’-Lantern Japan Talent Agency Office, Higashi-Nakano
“Wowza! What? I mean, what? Holy hell in a handbasket!”

The effect of the pristine, ultraclean room with the pure white polished floor
was broken by a very uncouth voice.
“I’ll be damned if that ain’t the most powerful image I ever seen! Now that’s
good stuff! In movie terms, that’s got Jurassic Park impact! Or should it be
Godzilla?”
An odd man was jabbering excitedly to himself in front of a television screen,
his speech an oddly accented foreign take on Japanese. He had white skin and
slicked-back blond hair, dark sunglasses and facial stubble, a white suit and
crocodile-skin bag, expensive rings and a thick cigar in his mouth—the
Hollywood image of a fat-cat villain if there ever was one.
The screen in front of him was too big for most people to consider a
“television.” It was a good one hundred inches in measurement, the kind of
screen most people could only dream of affording.
The interior was a modern office building of the type one would expect to see
in some American tech company, with each desk in its own fully screened
cubicle that afforded the employee inside a small manner of personal office
space.
But the space that housed this noisy man and his giant TV was placed
separately, with a wide-open floor plan and several couches and tables, a kind of
pseudo–conference room set up for viewing the massive screen in the back.
It was an odd office design that held many personal spaces and a lobby in the
same large room. The man was excitedly fixed on the screen.
“Wish I could just zip on over to Ikebukuro right now! Hot damn, I do! Yeah!
Hey, what’s Mr. Yuuhei doin’ today? He knows Ikebukuro—he can show us
around the town! We’ll get a real good look at that Sleepy Hollow business as
we enjoy some traditional flower viewing!” he chattered, his eyes sparkling like
a child’s. Meanwhile, the more rational men seated around the TV exchanged
concerned murmurs with each other.
“A stunt by Daioh?” “No, that’s not their demographic.” “Gotta call the
producer…” “Anyone out on assignment in the area right now?” “I can call the
manager in the studio…”
While the Japanese men took the abnormal situation on the screen with tense
consternation, the white man shook his head and held up his hands in complaint.
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey! You ignoring my opinion? The boss?”
“Boss, we can’t see the screen.”
“Oh, whoops… Sorry about that. Wait, that ain’t the point! Why am I treated
like the odd man out? Or is this a racist thing? You don’t wanna work for a
foreigner! I thought Japan was a land that cherished harmony, huh? Are you
givin’ your own country a bad name?”
“Maybe you should stop giving your own country a bad name, boss… Also,
you’re the one disrupting the harmony. Especially when Yuuhei’s film is doing
such good business,” said one of his employees. The company president
shrugged and looked away.
The man’s name was Max Sandshelt.

He was the president of the Japanese branch of the American-based talent
agency Jack-o’-Lantern. The agency was a big-time player with connections to
the McDonnell Company, a major movie distributor, but in Japan they were mid-
tier at best. Compared to the big boys, they had an unbalanced stable of talent,
with a few top-class actors and a majority of unremarkable youngsters.
At a glance, he looked incompetent, but for whatever reason, his ability to
produce talent, forge connections, and escape trouble at the last possible moment
were nothing short of genius, which earned him enough regard to function as the
company president.
Of course, the reason he needed to get out of trouble at the last possible
moment was almost always his own fault.
“Dammit all, the only ones on my side are the sweet little things I helped turn
into works of art. The only ones who will eternally understand my soul are the
angels that bring happiness to the world,” he slurred sadly.
A prim secretarial woman respectfully said, “Please do your job, boss. Also,
we just did our flower viewing last week, and Yuuhei Hanejima went back to his
home in Ikebukuro after filming today. Also, why is your English so shaky, if
you originally came from America?”
“Oh, brother, whatta buncha sticks-in-the-mud you are. See, the times
demand real impact, somethin’ new and never before seen. That’s why I want a
glimpse of that Headless Rider… Ah! Eureka!” the president jabbered,
completely ignoring his secretary. He excitedly dialed a number, humming to
himself.
Great, another harebrained scheme!
Every employee present grumbled restlessly at the sight of the boss’s
sparkling gaze and resumed their conversations, only the content had entirely
changed to complaints about their employer.
At that moment, Ikebukuro
As the police motorcycle’s engine roared off into the distance, Celty heard the
sudden eruption of her phone from the spot where she was hidden.
It nearly scared her witless when it happened, but once she was satisfied that
there were no police officers around, she hesitantly accepted the call and pressed
the phone to her ear.
“Ah, finally got through… Hey, Celty. Sounds like you’re in trouble.”
Izaya!
She wondered what would cause the information dealer to call her at this
particular time. And the way he opened the call suggested to her that he realized
what was happening to her.
“Wondering how I know what’s happening to you right now? Don’t worry. I
don’t have you bugged or anything. Besides, Shinra would spot something like
that right away. He’s so desperate to hog you all to himself, he wouldn’t dare
allow anyone to pry into your home privacy.”
I’m going to go sock this idiot a good one and thank Shinra later.
Celty kept the cell phone pressed to her helmet, imagining that a vein was
bulging on her nonexistent head. She and Izaya usually discussed business
through text messages, but there were times that he called her so that he could
speak uninterrupted.
She decided to keep the line open, knowing that he wouldn’t just call for no
good reason.
“That was a clever idea, I have to say, creating a fake version of yourself and
your bike out of shadow to put on the glider.”
“…”
She felt a clenching at her heart. Is he watching from somewhere after all?
Izaya was correct—she had instantly created black models of herself and her
trusty steed from that special solid shadow of hers, then sent the whole thing
gliding through the air to distract her foes.
Was it actually really obvious?
Celty was still on top of the roof, waiting a few seconds for the cop and TV
crew to chase after the decoy so she could slip away in the opposite direction.
While she was shocked that Izaya had seen through this ruse, it also made her
worry that the police officer could figure it out just as easily.
Izaya laughed as if he could read her mind and said, “Oh, don’t worry.
They’d have to know you really well to see through that fake. But I didn’t see
the colored helmet, and you know that there’s no escaping the motorcycle cop at
the speed that thing’s gliding.”
Well, he’s perfectly correct, but hearing him explain it so confidently is kind
of irritating. Did he call me just to brag about his deductions?
So much for her assumption that he wouldn’t call for frivolous reasons. Celty
lowered the phone to stop the call. But through her heightened sense of hearing,
she still heard his voice loud and clear.
“Well, starting tomorrow things are going to get kind of crazy, so I thought
I’d give you a heads-up.”
?
She waited for the answer, curious. On the other end, Izaya made a request.
“Until things calm down, absolutely do not come to my office. I’ll send you
an e-mail with the details, but I didn’t want you showing up before you could see
it.”
Huh? Celty wanted to ask him what he meant, but given that it was just an
audio call without text functionality, there was no way for her to convey her
thoughts to him.
“Well, so long. Best of luck.”
“Best of luck?”
He hung up the phone call, without her expressing a single thing on her mind.
What’s up with him?
Completely bewildered, Celty decided that escaping the roof was her top
priority at the moment and stashed away her phone. But that left her with a
strong feeling of wrongness.
Her shadow-made riding suit had a chest pocket for storing things. In normal
circumstances, it didn’t hold anything other than her cell phone. But at this
particular point in time, it wasn’t right for it to be empty.
She reached for her other chest pocket, feeling something cold stealing over
her back. The other pocket held only her PDA, and her waist pocket had nothing
but her apartment key, just like always.
It was all of her normal belongings.
Which meant that the one extra item she was carrying around today was not
in her possession.
The plain brown envelope with “Payment—Celty Sturluson” written on it.
She fell to her knees in shock, realizing the unavoidable truth.
I lost the envelope full of my pay.

I dropped my envelope…of one million yen!
She looked around desperately, but the bag was not on the roof with her.
Most likely, it had fallen loose while she was riding away from the motorcycle
cop. But she had been so desperate and panicked in the moment that she couldn’t
remember which route she’d taken.
The Coiste Bodhar, in its original horse form, nuzzled closer to comfort its
owner, but the severed end of its neck merely bumped against her helmet. It
created the illusion of two headless creatures fighting over which could use the
helmet as a head.
Celty’s night passed quietly, locked in that comical pose.
Without realizing what effect her actions would have upon the city.
Without realizing the twists of fate that the envelope she dropped would bring
about.
The headless knight, locked in modern times, mourned for a very human
reason.

Chat room
Kanra: Heeeere’s Kanra!

TarouTanaka: Hello.
Bacura: ’Sup.
Saika: good evening. it is a pleasure again today.
Kanra: Sure thing. Is everyone used to the new chat system by now?
TarouTanaka: Yes, the different colors for each person makes it easy to identify
who’s who.
Bacura: Indeed,
Bacura: This allows us to gang up on Kanra more vividly than ever.
Kanra: Vividly?! Oh no, what are you going to do to little old me?!
Bacura: An endless repetition of beatings and neglect.
Kanra: This is more than bullying. It sounds just like a group lynching!
Bacura: Uh, exactly?
TarouTanaka: Lol, that’s so messed up, Bacura.
Saika: cant we all just get along
Bacura: Er, actually,
Bacura: Saika,
Bacura: I don’t truly hate Kanra in reality.
<Private Mode> Kanra: You’re such a liar. You hate me with every fiber of
your being.
<Private Mode> Bacura: Shut up and die.
Kanra: That’s right! This is how we get along! He’s a tsundere, he hates the
things he loves.
Bacura: I’d say my ratio is more like tsun-tsun-dere-tsun, dere-tsun-tsun-tsun-
tsun-tsun-tsun-die.
Kanra: What kind of tsun-to-dere ratio is that?!
Bacura: It was a song that the children at the Sakurashinmachi shopping district
were singing.
Kanra: And it ended with “die”?!
Bacura: No, that was my own twist on it. Why?
Kanra: That’s awful!
TarouTanaka: It really is, lol.
Setton has entered the chat.
Setton: Evening…
TarouTanaka: Oh, good evening.
Setton: I can’t take it any more.
Kanra: Good evening.
Bacura: Evenin’.
TarouTanaka: What’s the matter?
Saika: good evening, it is nice to see you
Setton: Unfortunately, I lost some money…
Bacura: ?!
TarouTanaka: Oh, that’s terrible… Did you tell the police about it?
Setton: No.
Setton: Er, sorry, I mean, yes. I did.
Kanra: Ooh, how much did you lose?
Setton: Actually, it was the envelope with my entire salary for the month…
Saika: are you all right
Bacura: ?!
TarouTanaka: Why, that’s terrible! Is everything okay?!
Setton: Yes, I’ve got enough savings that it won’t affect my budget, but it’s a
bummer…
Kanra: Cheer up!
Kanra: As a matter of fact, I have good news for you, Setton!
Setton: What’s that?
Kanra: Heh-heh! Check out this address!
TarouTanaka: Ooh, you can paste links to text now?
Bacura: Cool.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: What is this, Izaya?!
Saika: um, what does this mean
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Why does this say there’s a bounty on Celty’s
head?!
Setton: Oh, this is beyond my ability. I could never catch the Black Rider.
<Private Mode> Kanra: Remember how Celty was all on camera during that
live program?
<Private Mode> Kanra: Well, some film production company put out a bounty
on anyone who can identify her. Apparently they want to develop her for
show business…
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: That’s completely irrational!
<Private Mode> Kanra: Well, Celty’s very existence is kind of irrational.
Bacura: Ten million yen?

Bacura: Isn’t that crazy?
Saika: im sorry, i have to go for tonight
Setton: Oh, I need to take a bath, so I’ve got to go for now.
TarouTanaka: Oh, good night.
Kanra: Good niiight!
Setton: Night.
Saika: good night, thank you
Setton has left the chat.

Saika has left the chat.
Bacura: Good nighters.

Bacura: Whoops, too late.
Kanra: Shall we log off too? We can talk about that bounty next time.
Kanra: Well, good night!
TarouTanaka: Good night.
Bacura: (>_<)
Kanra has left the chat.

TarouTanaka has left the chat.
Bacura has left the chat.
The chat room is currently empty.

.
.
.

Next morning, near Kawagoe Highway, top floor of apartment building
“I’m home. Wow, what a terrible day.”

The luxury apartment was larger than your average one-story home.
Shinra Kishitani, the owner of this extravagant living space—which boasted
five rooms in addition to the kitchen and over 1,600 square feet—returned home
in his extremely recognizable white lab coat to see his loving partner.
“Uh, where are you, Celty? I’m so, so exhausted. I got wrapped up in this
very strange business. You’ve heard about being the one ‘left holding the bag’?
Well, I just got stuck with one of the biggest bags of all time, and… Celty?
Celty? What’s the matter? …Are you home? She said the session would be over
by the evening…”
He walked down the hallway curiously, then noticed that something in the
apartment was wrong.
Despite all of the lights being on, the living room was oddly dark.
“?”
He trotted over and spotted a black cocoon in the corner of the room.
“Wha—?!”
Celty had fashioned herself a huge cocoon out of her own shadow, like some
kind of gigantic silkworm. Sensing that she was inside of it, Shinra forgot his
fatigue and leaped onto the shadow.
The cocoon immediately cracked open and swallowed Shinra’s body like a
carnivorous plant.
“Whoa…hey!”
Shocked and bewildered by his unexpected entrance to the cocoon, Shinra
found it to be a world of pleasure.
As he imagined, Celty was inside the cocoon. She clutched him tight. It was
dark inside, so he couldn’t see, but he recognized the familiar feeling of her
body.
“Wha…?! They say, ‘Time and tide wait for no man,’ but I feel like my sense
of reason is crumbling and putting me ‘on cloud nine,’ and…uh…what…?” he
babbled flippantly in his usual way but quickly came to his senses when he
noticed that Celty’s actions were uncharacteristically stiff.
Suddenly, a light blinded him. He figured out that it was Celty’s PDA screen
and narrowed his eyes until he could read the letters.
“Sorry. Just stay with me for a bit.”
“Actually, I would be perfectly delighted to…but what’s the matter, Celty?
You seem rather upset.”
“I’m not rather upset. I’m inconsolably upset. So console me.”
“You are the most depressed dominatrix I’ve ever seen.”
Relieved that at least she wasn’t openly discussing suicide, Shinra held her
gently and decided to hear her out.
“…So you lost a million yen and then earned yourself a bounty ten times that
amount?”
“Yes, so now I can’t just ride around outside. It would be very bad if people
found out I was here.”
Relatively relieved after getting her troubles off her chest, Celty released her
cocoon at last. Shinra was a bit disappointed that their private haven was gone,
but he was wise enough not to comment on it.
He continued to console her, offering her a reassuring smile. “Just relax,
Celty. The apartment building has tremendous security, and we can choose to
believe that one way or another, that money will find its way back into your
hands. As they say, ‘Sadness and gladness succeed each other.’”
“Yes…but I’m sorry, I really am.”
“Why are you apologizing to me?”
“I was going to buy some electronics with that money. And…well, I was
going to buy you a present of some kind, but so much for that. It’s all gone.
Sorry. Oh, I wasn’t saying that to demand gratitude from you… I don’t know. Just
forget I said it.”
She folded up the PDA and bashfully looked away. This gesture pierced
Shinra directly through the heart, and he embraced her again.
“Celty! You’re the bes—Mfgfgfg!”
“Thank you, Shinra. But don’t get carried away, because I’m not in the
mood.”
She pulled away from him right as he attempted to fondle her breast, leaving
Shinra alone in the middle of the shadow cocoon. Unperturbed, he happily
announced, “Ha-ha-ha, I’ll be waiting for the moment when you are in the
mood.”
“So will I.”
She pulled his head out of the cocoon so he could see the PDA, and his face
lit up with youthful delight. As if prompted by the moment, Celty’s cell phone
rang. It was a text message, which she read, then picked up her helmet off the
table.
“I’ve got work. I’ll be right back.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should stay back and lie low for today…”
“Trust is the biggest element of a courier’s work. Don’t worry, I won’t cause
trouble for you.”
“Oh, you can give me trouble. We’re family; you can make all the trouble
you want,” Shinra said. His smile caused her heart to leap momentarily.
Regretting that she had no smile to return to him, she awkwardly attempted an
emoticon on her PDA.
“Thanks. (^^) ”
Shinra’s waiting for me at home. That’s enough to give me the strength of a
hundred.
She left the apartment with confident strides, feeling power course through
her.
“Well, that seems to have cheered you up. I’m glad.”

All that she left behind was a solitary man, wrapped up inside a black cocoon
with his head poking out.
“Huh…? Wait, Celty, I don’t think I can get out of this shadow cocoon. Hey,
Celty? Hello? Hey, I can’t get out of here!”
Half a day later, Ikebukuro
Yes, Shinra’s waiting for me at home. That’s enough to give me the strength of a
hundred.
Celty raced along on her bike, recalling her bold determination early that
morning.
But…I don’t know if I can get home through this…
All around her was engine roaring and horn blaring.

She concentrated her senses in all directions without turning around. She
could sense at least twenty around her.
The men straddled specially modified motorcycles and wore special gang
uniforms with striped patterns. Their vehicles were triple seated with amplifying
mufflers, gaudy stickers, and various options that did not seem at all necessary.
Nearly all of them were modified to fall into the category of “gang bikes,”
flashy and obnoxious—which meant that, needless to say, this was an honest-to-
god motorcycle gang.
“Uraaah! I said stop the bike!”
“You want us ta run you off the road? Huh?!”
“Uhyo-rrra! Tah! Tah! Dahh!”
A two-man bike that stuck close to Celty swung over, the man in the rear seat
waving metal pipes at her.
Oh man, I didn’t know there were still people this stereotypical in forward-
thinking Tokyo!
Of course, Celty herself was not exactly normal in appearance. She was
dressed in her usual style, but she had fashioned a pitch-black sidecar to carry
her payload.
Sitting in the seat was a black container about the size of a large golf bag,
attached to the Coiste Bodhar via the temporary sidecar, which was made out of
Celty’s shadow. The long bag was seated upright in the car.
Celty didn’t know what was inside of it, but based on the size and shape…she
was very certain that she didn’t want to try to imagine too hard.
About thirty minutes earlier, Celty was reading a tabloid on a bench, waiting
for her client to finish her afternoon job.
Wow, Shizuo’s brother is getting into mischief.
There was a massive headline on the front page reading “Yuuhei Hanejima
and Ruri Hijiribe in a Late-Night Tryst?!” accompanied by an article that didn’t
add much more to that. Two of the biggest young stars in the nation were caught
meeting secretly at night.
And they were spotted right outside of Yuuhei Hanejima’s apartment at that.
Even though it had happened right there in Ikebukuro as well, the article
about Celty from last night wasn’t even top billing. Society seemed to have more
interest in the practical romance of a man and woman than in some unidentified
monster.
Ruri Hijiribe? Who would have thought?
Ruri Hijiribe was one of the hottest pop idols in the nation and had rocketed
to the top of everyone’s attention a few years ago, through participating in a
variety of media.
They sold her as a reserved, laid-back, and slightly weak-willed character,
and despite being fully Japanese, there was a kind of Scandinavian beauty to her
features, to the extent that even Celty couldn’t deny that she found the girl very
cute.
Both Yuuhei and Ruri were adults over twenty but looked younger than their
real age. So a passionate affair between the two held an irresistible romantic
sway—at least, judging by the way the papers were trying to depict it.
Before she could read further into the article, her client appeared, and she
took off with the payload as instructed.
She hadn’t been set upon by the cameramen or police officers she expected.
The morning job concluded without trouble, and things went so smoothly that it
was almost a letdown after all of her fearful anticipation.
However…
Just when she was ready to feel relief, she ran into the obnoxious motorcycle
gang on the main road. At first she was confused, but when she heard the cries of
“That’s our ten million yen right there!” she remembered her current plight.
Before she even had time to sigh, the neighborhood of Ikebukuro became the
setting for a spectacular car chase.
“Raaah!”
“Don’t mess with Toramaru, sucker!”
The men on motorcycles, decorated with gang stickers bearing a name that
seemed to remind her of a manga title, swung their weapons wildly. The average
age of motorcycle gangs was rising, she’d heard, and sure enough, all of these
men appeared to be in their twenties from what she could see.
Damn… Shouldn’t you be old enough to have grown out of this bounty-
hunting nonsense? And isn’t Toramaru a gang from Saitama? What are they
doing here?! This must be the power of a hefty bounty at work!
Ten million yen was indeed a preposterous reward just for capturing Celty. So
much that even she was considering turning herself in to gain the money. It was
only the sinking feeling that it would not be worth it in the long run that
convinced her to ignore the bounty.
On the other hand, that didn’t stop other people from coming after her. There
were flags from other teams aside from Toramaru in the mix now.
“Th’ hell you doin’?!”
“Fuck off! That Black Rider’s ours, dammit!”
“Don’t mess with the Pylori Kings!”
“We’ll give you chronic gastritis, bitch!”
Celty decided to pick up her pace while the gangs turned on one another.
Aw, crap. I could just fight all of them off…but that’ll only make the situation
worse for Shinra, and I don’t want that. I should try to get away for now and ask
someone for advice. But who do you go to for trouble like this…?
Just then, one of the bikers she was about to leave in the dust swung his metal
pipe wildly. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere!”
The tip of the pipe ripped through the edge of the bag holding Celty’s
payload.
A human arm rolled out of the tear.
…
“…” “…” “…” “…” “…”
Celty and all of the gang members around her fell silent as a group.
Ah yes. As I feared. I had a feeling this was the case. I should have known!
Celty thought, squeezing her helmet on tight and holding back tears.
The other riders followed along in silence, not sure how to react. In that
empty space, a single voice could be heard.
“Oh, this isn’t good. This is very bad news for you.”
It was a voice she’d heard only a few times before. But Celty knew whom
that voice belonged to. It was engraved into her soul.
“This is more than just traffic violations we’re talking about now.”
It can’t be.
It can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be.
You’re kidding! Not now! You can’t do this to me now!
She looked over, not praying as much as cursing the rest of the world—and
witnessed her worst fears come to life.
At some point, a police officer on his white motorcycle had cut through the
gangs to pull up alongside her.
“I’ll give you one warning… Pull your bike over to the left shoulder.”
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—?!
Celty’s entire body burst with shadows, which she tried to use as a smoke
screen to escape. But the cop made his way through them somehow, staying tight
to her side.
“I told you…traffic cops aren’t gonna back down from a little show like
that!”
No, that’s just you!
The bikers pulled back to a safer distance, startled by her shadows, but her
mortal enemy, the determined traffic cop, steadily closed, not intimidated in the
least by her monstrous form.
“Goddammit! Stay outta this, pig! Shit!” one of the bikers yelled, swinging
his pipe closer. The officer easily evaded the blow—
And Celty pretended not to see what happened next.
I didn’t see that, didn’t see that. Didn’t see anything.
The officer pushed the parallel gangster’s bike over until the driver’s face
was nearly scraping the asphalt, holding it in place for nearly five seconds before
pulling him back upright.
Celty did witness the absolutely irrational action but spontaneously decided
that it was in her best interest to immediately forget about it before she
contemplated what it meant for her.
I didn’t see that! I didn’t see anything!
The biker slowly coasted to a stop, drool dripping from his mouth, his eyes
empty. The other bikers watched the entire display in disbelieving silence but
only for a moment.
“Wh…wha…what the hell you think you’re doin’, cop?!”
“Kill him!”
The biker gang switched targets to the officer on his white motorcycle and
promptly surrounded him.
What ensued was a battle at sixty miles per hour.
Vehicles racing between the law-abiding traffic, separated into the prey and
the pursuer, and the one who intended to arrest them both.
Celty took advantage of the conflict between the cop and the bikers to slip
down a side street. But all she found there was yet another biker gang.
Am I really going to make it home today?
She spun her motorcycle around and raced back to the main street to avoid
the new gang of twenty-strong bikers. That only succeeded in adding yet another
large group to the absurd chase.
She heard a chopper noise overhead.
The Headless Rider raced through the evening light, wondering if even the
helicopter above was chasing after her. If she had a face, it would be tear
streaked by now. Celty envisioned the face of her love—and then remembered
something.
She hadn’t dissolved the shadow cocoon that Shinra was trapped inside.
Oh, Shinra. I’m sorry.
If I don’t make it home…I’m so sorry!
As for the target of that message, Shinra was up on the top floor of the apartment
building, lying on the floor of the living room, grinning happily and staring
vaguely into nothing as he talked to himself.
“Ohhh… Is this one of those kinky abandonment things?”

Chapter 2: Youth Magazine MAO
“New Spring Life! High Schoolers’
Tokyo Debut Special! Ikebukuro
Edition”
“Everything gets refreshed in the spring!

A new life and new encounters in a new town!
Have you found new people since your move to Ikebukuro?
If you have, leap up to the next step by following this guide to enhance your
Ikebukuro life and meet the perfect partner!”
The boy skimmed through the article, then promptly took the magazine to the
register.
His name was Mikado Ryuugamine.
He was a student entering his second year at Raira Academy, a private school
in the heart of Ikebukuro. It was his second year in Ikebukuro, but for some
reason, he was searching for articles about starting a new life in the
neighborhood. There were already three such magazines in his bag.
The boy left the convenience store and headed right into the karaoke place
next door. It was well known for serving restaurant-quality food and having an
ample selection of songs available to sing.
Mikado walked inside, looking nervous, and told the employee at the desk
that he was meeting someone, then gave the room number.
In a large room on the sixth floor, he found that several people were already
waiting inside.
“Yoo-hoo! How you been, Mika-poo?”
“You’re late. We already ordered a big ol’ pitcher of oolong tea!”
The first two to speak were a boy and girl in casual, stylish outfits. They
looked as sharp as fashion models, but that image was ruined by the mountains
of manga, books, games, anime DVDs, and merchandise stacked around them.
Next to them was a blushing girl wearing the same uniform as Mikado,
holding a figurine of a girl wearing a scandalously revealing outfit. When she
noticed that he was there, she shrieked and quickly returned the figurine to
Karisawa.
“Uh, err…may I sit next to you, Sonohara?”
“…Um, yes!” the quiet girl with the glasses said, her face red. In truth, her
own proportions were worthy of the figurine’s. “W-welcome, Mikado.”
“Sorry about showing up late. Sorry to you, too, Karisawa and Yumasaki,”
Mikado said, dipping his head. The other boy and girl smiled kindly.
“It’s okay. We’ve got plenty of time around midday.”
“That’s right. Essentially, we’re free to hang out during the business hours of
any bookstore.”
Unlike the relaxed street-clothes duo, the uniformed couple was awkward.
An employee came into the room to take a drink order, the door shut, and then
they were ready to get down to business.
“So, what did you want to ask us?”
“Well…I feel awkward even having to ask…,” Mikado began, sighing
heavily and looking for the right words before continuing.
“Can you…teach us how to guide someone around Ikebukuro?”
Two hours earlier
Raira Academy was brimming with new students after its official entrance
ceremony.
Mikado and Anri were in the same class again and voted to be the
representatives for the second year running. After they attended a brief meeting
with the other student body representatives, Mikado was hurrying to catch up to
Anri when he was stopped from behind.
“Um, excuse me! Are you Mr. Ryuugamine?”
He turned around to see a boy wearing the Raira Academy uniform.
“Uh, and you are… Let’s see, we just had introductions. Aoba?”
“Yes! Aoba Kuronuma, first-year student!”
The sparkling-eyed boy had a girlish face and short stature, which made him
look like a middle schooler at a glance, if not outright elementary school.
Mikado knew that he himself skewed young in appearance, but the boy here had
him beat in that regard by a mile.
“I was so surprised to overhear you introducing yourself! It’s really you!” the
boy chattered excitedly, but Mikado was confused.
Who is this? Have I met him somewhere before?
If that was the case, it would be rude to have forgotten his face, even if he
was a lower-ranking student. Mikado’s face scrunched up as he tried to
remember, but nothing was coming to mind.
The boy named Aoba Kuronuma recognized the troubled look on his face and
smiled gently. “Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t worry. It’s our first meeting. I only just
learned your name a minute ago!”
“Oh, I see. Wait…why were you so surprised, then?” Mikado asked, a
perfectly reasonable question. The boy’s eyes lit up with excitement.
“Because…oh.” He shut his mouth for a moment, looked around cautiously,
then whispered.
“Aren’t you…in the Dollars?”
“…!”
Mikado’s eyes went wide, and his mouth worked soundlessly.
“Wh-what do you mean?” he finally squeaked, just as he heard the vibrating
of his cell phone from within his schoolbag. Based on the length of the sound, it
had to be an e-mail.
“Oh, you finally got it,” the boy said, grinning.
Mikado hastily pulled his phone out and saw a message from the Dollars’
mailing list. It was a message to all from one of the hundreds of people on the
mailing list that read, “I’m recruiting new members from Raira Academy! Please
tell me how it’s going at other schools!”
Mikado noticed the username “Wakaba Mark” and looked back at the other
boy.
“Wait, are you saying…?”
“Yes, I’m Wakaba Mark! I was just about the six hundredth person to join the
Dollars, but you remember how the registration site got trashed and went down?
So my name’s not in there anymore…”
“H-how did you know I was one of the Dollars?” the older boy asked, clearly
rattled, while the younger just showed off a cheeky, confident smirk.
“I didn’t know for sure. But…remember when we had that Dollars meetup in
real life a year ago? You were there in the middle, talking to that woman who
was our target, right? The image just stuck in my head ever since!”
The Dollars were a unique organization that increased its power through the
Internet.
They were ostensibly categorized as a color-based street gang, but the ties
that bound the group together were loose at best, yet extremely wide ranging.
They had been in a state of conflict with another gang called the Yellow Scarves
until recently, when the hostilities abruptly cooled, and now both sides were
keeping calm.
If the Dollars were a color gang, the color they repped was either “colorless”
or “camouflage.” They blended into the town with alarming ease, never
gathering with a unified color to announce their presence.
They were connected through cell phones and the Internet—hidden bonds
that rarely took physical form in modern society.
The teenage girls or housewives you passed on the street could be Dollars.
The ability to plant that seed of doubt was the Dollars’ shield. And the possibility
that it was true was the Dollars’ sword.
The Dollars were a gang with an eerie form of expansion. Their founder was
shrouded in mystery, and almost none of its members knew who the leader was.
And at this precise moment, the very founder and source of that mystery was
sweating buckets at some uncomfortable questions from a new kid at school.
“Umm, uhh, you don’t have the wrong idea, do you?”

“You got that e-mail.”
“Ah, ahhh. G-good point.”
“So you do keep it hidden! Don’t worry. I can keep a secret! I’m very good at
protecting others’ secrets, in fact!” Aoba said, his eyes shining with reverence.
Mikado was frozen still, completely at a loss for how to respond.
In fact, Mikado had found himself in trouble a year ago, when a huge
company was—
“But what was so special about that night? Mr. Ryuugamine, are you actually
an officer of the Dollars or something?”
“No, no, no! The Dollars don’t have those! I-I’m just an errand runner, that’s
all!”
“Oh, really? Well, anyway, I’m just excited to know that someone from the
Dollars is so close nearby!”
His childlike impression extended to his actions, not just his looks. From a
distance they looked like middle school brothers, but they were both fully
fledged high schoolers.
Mikado wavered on how to respond, then gave up and, with a careful look
around, told his younger schoolmate, “All right. But you shouldn’t talk about it
at school, and I’d appreciate it if you kept this as secret as possible.”
The words were cold and distant, but Aoba’s face broke into a delighted
beam. “Sure thing! But I have one request of you…”
“Request?”
“I don’t really know much about Ikebukuro. So can you show me around the
city?”
He conferred with Anri after that but still didn’t feel confident in his ability to
give a tour, so he resignedly turned to people he knew who were more
knowledgeable about the area—and that turned out to be Yumasaki and
Karisawa.
Man, if Masaomi were still here, I wouldn’t have to go through all this
trouble, Mikado grumbled to himself, then banished the thought.
Masaomi Kida was a longtime friend of Mikado’s who had vanished on him
and Anri. As a major figure of the Yellow Scarves, who were feuding with the
Dollars, he decided he needed to get out of town after they learned each other’s
secrets. It didn’t really matter to Mikado, but Masaomi had his own thoughts
about the ordeal, and Mikado wasn’t going to pry.
Don’t even start. If you can’t handle this without relying on Masaomi, then
you can’t hold your head up and smile when he comes back.
Mikado waited for Masaomi’s return for his own reasons. Praying that on the
day the three of them came together, they could laugh and smile again.
“Mikado! Mikado, what’s up? Hellooo?”

“Huh?!” he said, snapping back to attention as he heard his name.
“Are you sleepy? Should we give you a wake-up call with some anime
songs?”
“Uh, er, aaah! S-sorry!” Mikado stammered, back to reality after his long
contemplation of Masaomi and the Yellow Scarves.
When they got down to the details, Yumasaki and Karisawa were more gung
ho on the idea than he expected. They began to argue among themselves about
which spots were best to show a young man around Ikebukuro.
At first, the pair was recommending Animate, Toranoana, Yellow Submarine,
and other hard-core nerd spots, but Mikado was relieved that they eventually
settled into more mainstream, recognizable names.
Suddenly, Karisawa looked up at Mikado and suggested, “Why don’t we just
go with you?”
“Huh?”
“You’re not going to have much time to learn detailed info about the places
we’re listing off for you. So shouldn’t we just go with you? Plus, we don’t know
what this younger kid is like. It might be best to make adjustments to the plan on
the fly after we meet him in person.”
“Well…”
Mikado wasn’t sure how to respond. It would be a huge help, of course, but
he didn’t know what kind of impression they would leave on a relatively normal
schoolmate. They looked normal, sure, but all they had to do was open their
mouths to reveal their status as ambassadors from the 2-D realm. What’s worse,
they had no intention of meeting people halfway in that regard.
It didn’t bother Mikado that much, but what would Aoba Kuronuma think?
Well, they’re approachable, and they’re pretty nice. It shouldn’t be a problem,
Mikado thought, an eternal optimist who blindly believed in the concept that if
you just talked to someone, you could find common understanding.
“Are you sure you’d be up for that?”
“Oh, sure thing. We’re free this evening, anyway.”
“It’s not going to create a work conflict or anything?” Mikado asked in
concern, but Karisawa just looked nonplussed.
“Oh? We didn’t tell you?”
“?”
“Yumacchi and I are freelancers, so we can make our own schedules.”
“Freelancers…?” Mikado asked curiously.
Karisawa took a sip of oolong tea and continued, “That’s right. Dotachin’s
more of an artisan type. And Togusacchi lives off the rent from the apartment
building that he and his brother inherited from their parents. His brother
manages the place, while Togusacchi collects the rent money. The reason we can
hang out with them so much is because we set our own hours. Of course, until a
year ago, everyone except for Dotachin was unemployed.”
Now that she mentioned it, Mikado could tell that they weren’t salaried office
types, given that they were meeting him in the middle of a weekday like this.
And when he saw them around town, they were always hanging around in their
own clothes, no uniforms. They were often with Kadota’s group, but he had to
admit that he just assumed the whole bunch had no jobs.
“I make money by selling engraved accessories on the Net, and would you
believe what Yumacchi does? What is it, ice sculpting? People pay him to make
those ice sculptures you see at parties and stuff.”
“Whoa!”
“Actually, I’m not even that great. I don’t have exclusive arrangements with a
hotel or anything reliable like that, so I never know when my income will dry
up. But the character sculptures I’ve done for publishers’ parties lately have been
a big hit, so if I can survive on that, it’s my dream job. Wanna be the next
Kaiyodo.” Yumasaki smiled shyly, referencing a famous figurine maker.
Mikado murmured in surprise, impressed that the two had actual jobs. Based
on how wide Anri’s eyes were, he wasn’t the only one who assumed they were
unemployed. Given the piles of books they seemed to be buying every single
day, that income was pretty sizable. Of course, knowing them, they were
probably cutting into their food budgets to squeeze in more books.
He bowed to the pair. “In that case, I’d be delighted to have your help! Hope
to see you tomorrow!”
But when Yumasaki followed that up with, “In that case, we’ll start off with a
pilgrimage of all the holy sites of Ikebukuro that appear in anime and manga,”
Mikado’s gratitude quickly plummeted into regret.
Two hours later, Ikebukuro West Gate Park
“We’ll pay the bill. Just let us sing,” Karisawa had said. Mikado and Anri
reluctantly agreed and were treated to a two-hour medley of anime theme songs
for their trouble.
They hardly recognized any of them, but Karisawa and Yumasaki were
surprisingly talented singers and as comfortable as if they’d practiced singing
hundreds of times. In fact, it was probably true that they had practiced the same
song hundreds of times before.
They especially seemed to like a recent anime theme sung by a pop idol
named Ruri Hijiribe—both Yumasaki and Karisawa chose it on different
occasions.
After the karaoke was done and they left the singers behind, Mikado and Anri
were walking through West Gate Park, chatting.
“Thanks for coming with me today.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I needed to thank them, anyway…”
“You did? For what?”
“For some stuff a while ago…,” Anri said vaguely. Mikado didn’t want to
intrude, so he searched for a new topic. He was going to ask her if anything
interesting had happened to her over spring vacation when something odd caught
his eye.
It was a white gas mask.
In a corner of West Gate Park was a man wearing the strange combination of
a white gas mask and lab coat, speaking with a tall Caucasian fellow.
Mikado didn’t want to stare, so he kept tabs on the man out of the side of his
eye as he noted, “I wonder what that guy in the white gas mask is all about…
The foreigner next to him isn’t wearing one, so it can’t be a gas leak…”
But Anri didn’t respond.
He looked over in case she hadn’t heard him and instantly noticed that
something was wrong with her. Anri was looking in the same direction that he
had just been doing, but her eyes were wide with shock.
“Um, Sonohara…?”
“Oh…sorry. I was just thinking, that white gas mask is very strange…”
“Huh? Uh, yeah. Yeah, it sure is,” Mikado remarked, glad that Anri was back
to her usual smile, before he headed for home.
Meanwhile, Anri started on the route to her apartment—but once she checked
to make sure that Mikado was completely out of sight, she returned the way they
had come.
“Well, if you want to know more…shall we find a more private place to talk?”
“The details are in the data you gave me, aren’t they? No use for idle chat.”
“I think you’d be better off hearing me out. Don’t want you to examine the
data and assume it’s just a joke.”
The two men were keeping their expressions hidden, albeit in different ways.
The large white man was utterly stone-faced.
And the Japanese man was hiding his entire face behind a gas mask.
Anri carefully approached the tense, uncomfortable scene. Instantly, the
white man sensed her and turned around, looking down with a gentle smile.
“Did you want something, sweet little girl?” he said in perfect Japanese,
despite his obviously foreign origin. Anri tensed instinctually, sensing something
dangerous from him. But running away now would defeat the purpose, so she
bowed to him and then turned to the man in the gas mask.
“Um…thank you…for the other day,” she said, then belatedly regretted it, as
she didn’t even know his name. Still, she could clearly remember the day last
month when she was talking with Celty, and the same man had butted in to ask,
“Are you the daughter of the Sonohara-dou?”
Given his outfit, it would be hard to mistake him for anyone else. She bowed
again, and he seemed to recognize her at last. The man in the gas mask glanced
at the white man and said, “As long as it’s brief,” then turned back to her.
“You’re the girl from the Sonohara-dou. I’m afraid I left quite a miserable
impression on you back then.”
“Um…do you know my parents?”
“Well, I should say that yes, I do. And on an extension of that, I also know
about the sword you possess.”
“…!”
Instantly, a voice ran through Anri’s right arm.

A voice that only she could hear, going straight to her brain.
Ooh. If it isn’t my former owner.
That voice, which belonged to a plane distinct from physics or psychology,
was not the “cursed words” that constantly ran in the background of her mind
like empty Muzak, but a proper voice with its own logic and reason.
But he only had me cut down the soul of some strange monster overseas. He
didn’t let me love any humans.
Just as Mikado Ryuugamine held a small secret—that he was the founder of the
Dollars—
Just as Masaomi Kida struggled with a big problem—as leader of the Yellow
Scarves—
Anri Sonohara had her own secret past hidden within her.
Saika.
A being without form in most cases.
It lurked within Anri Sonohara’s right arm, singing accursed words into her
mind.
If she bothered to tell a doctor about this, any professional would likely agree
that the reason had to be within Anri herself—but as a matter of fact, the source
of the voice was completely outside of her brain and did not stem from her own
mind.
It was a being removed from rationality, neither physical nor mental in
nature.
Saika was what many considered to be a “cursed blade.” It lurked within
Anri’s body and could physically manifest as a katana at her beck and call.
Anri, in fact, was the central figure behind a series of random slashings
several months ago that the papers decided to label the “Night of the Ripper.”
But she was not, in fact, responsible for the attacks themselves—they were
caused by offshoots that Saika had created.
Saika wanted “children” that served as proof of its love with human beings.
These children were created through a true curse, implanted into the victims of
the blade with a part of Saika’s mind.
There was another girl that had been slashed before Anri became Saika’s
host. The “child” of Saika implanted into that girl desired a twisted love from
humanity in the same way its parent did—and the result of that rampage was the
Night of the Ripper.
The incident was ultimately resolved when Anri brought all of those
“children” under her control. With the slashings stopped, she returned the normal
minds of all of those victims of Saika to their hosts, only ensuring that their
memories of the slashings reflected a more convenient story: No one who was
slashed could remember the face of the attacker.
However, this incident sparked a conflict between the Yellow Scarves and the
Dollars, plunging Anri’s closest friends into a war without her realizing it.
After all of this, Anri had accepted Saika but was not particularly happy about it.
Part of it was that it had caused the death of her parents, but mostly it was the
unease of knowing that there were people out there aware of her state.
Saika’s voice had returned to its normal chorus of “I love you.” The
reasoned, logical words she’d heard a second ago had been an occasional
presence ever since the Night of the Ripper. And Anri suspected that Saika was
speaking the truth.
She took a quiet breath and cautiously stared down the man in the gas mask.
“What do you know…and how much do you know…?”
“Ahh, well, if I were to answer that question, I would have to say that I know
about you, up to an extent. But very well. As the saying goes, ‘Even the starving
hawk is too noble to ransack the crops,’ and powerful beings like you would not
prey upon weak little me, even if you were in trouble.”
“…? Um, I’m afraid I don’t…”
“At any rate, we can talk more upon that matter on another occasion. I am
currently having a business conversation. Allow me to give you my card; you
may contact me here.”
The man in the gas mask pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed
it to Anri.
“Nebula Pharmaceutical, Special Advisor: Shingen Kishitani,” the card read,
along with a number of methods of contact.
Anri looked at the card—her mind working fast—when she felt the pat of a
hand on her shoulder from behind.
Instantly, a nasty sense of pressure engulfed her entire body.

A cold sharpness ran through her shoulder, and for a moment, time froze
within her.
It felt like her freedom of movement had been stolen, like her body was being
manhandled all over.
Gushk, gushk. Her nerves were gouged out.
Zig-zig-zig-zig. Her mind eerily creaked and cracked.
Zigshk, zigshk, zig-zig zig-zig zig zig-zig-zig zig-zig-zig-zig zig-zig-zig-zig zig-
zig-zig-zig-zig-zig zig-zig zig-zig-zig zig-zig-zig zig-zig-zig zig-zig-zig zig-zig zig-
zig zig zig-zig zig-zig-zig-zig zig zig zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-
zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-
zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig—
The march of the ugly creaking reached its peak, and every cell in her body
screamed, warning her of the danger of the man behind her.
Warning her that he was far, far more dangerous than she could imagine.
Anri slowly turned around, feeling cold sweat bloom from every pore of her
body.
It was the smile of the white man, who had been watching the conversation
from close by.
“Please forgive me, sweet little girl.”
It was a smile meant to reassure and set at ease, but Anri’s nerves stayed
utterly taut. She stared him dead in the face.
“We are having a very important business conversation. Let me make it up to
you by treating you to dinner sometime,” he joked, pretending to hit on her. The
man shook his head and moved in between Anri and Shingen.
“Oh…I see. I’m very sorry to interrupt,” Anri said, burning the white man’s
face into her mind. She left the scene.
She mustn’t forget that face. Her reason and instincts both told her so.
At the fork in the road leading to the underground tunnel, Anri turned back
one last time.
The white man was still watching her.
She felt that twitching at her back and committed his face to memory one last
time, just to be sure.
But ultimately, it was the last time she ever saw that face.
Because several hours later, Shizuo would hit him in the face with a bench,
which meant that if he ever faced off with Anri again, he would look like a
totally different person.
Night, apartment, Ikebukuro
“The serial killer Hollywood…and they still haven’t caught him? That’s scary,”
said a boy to the TV inside his cheap apartment close to the train station.
Without anything better to do, Mikado decided that he would flip through the
news on TV all day. The recent topic of interest to the media was the mysterious
serial killer.
While the news itself did not report on the nickname, anyone who browsed
the Internet or tabloid magazines was fully aware of the “Hollywood” moniker.
The first time he saw it covered on the news, it seemed like the events of
some distant country, even though the incidents were taking place right there in
the city. But through the Internet-enabled Hollywood nickname, the idle chats
with friends, and the sites that popped up attempting to track down Hollywood’s
identity, he couldn’t help but feel not just the fear of that eerie killer, but the
tasteless, guilty allure of curiosity. Just who was Hollywood?
Society seemed more interested in the identity of the Black Rider than this
mystery killer, but given that Mikado actually knew who the Headless Rider was,
the still-unmasked Hollywood held much more fascination for him.
On the other hand, it seemed like following up a meeting with Anri by
watching depressing news pieces only left a bad aftertaste. So he picked up the
remote and muttered, “Maybe I can find a happier news segment.”
As he surfed through the channels, he came across a report that Yuuhei
Hanejima’s photo book had sold twenty thousand copies in its first week. On the
screen was a portrait of a young man with far better looks than Mikado’s.
“That’s incredible. Twenty thousand copies at three thousand yen apiece…
Even if he only makes ten percent in royalties, that’s six million yen. And his
movies are doing gangbusters. He’s really got it all going on…”
He was inferior in every single way to the perfect superhuman on the screen.
Mikado sighed dejectedly.
You know…I feel like this Yuuhei guy reminds me of someone I know…
The thought had occurred to him every time he saw the star actor, but no
answer was forthcoming. Mikado continued flipping through every channel that
was currently playing the news. Around the point that they all started covering
the weather forecast, he decided it was time to check the TV guide in the paper.
With the schedule transition that April usually brought, most stations would
be airing their own special programs starting in the next time block.
One of them was titled Ikebukuro’s 100-Day Front, Undercover! Shining a
Light on the Hellhole That Is Ikebukuro, Live!
Hellhole…? That seems unnecessarily harsh.
But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested. In the end, Mikado
decided to watch the show on the chance that he might see an acquaintance of
his on live television.
Ultimately, his guess was correct.
But it was not the kind of acquaintance that he was expecting.
One hour later, he was watching a pitch-black shadow on the screen as it

raced away from a motor officer.
“Celty…,” he mumbled. He would never mistake that shadow for anyone
else. He left the TV on and turned to the window.
The place they were showing on the program was not anywhere close, so
naturally he couldn’t see the events from his apartment. He tried to focus his ears
to hear something, but that didn’t turn up anything, either.
Meanwhile, Celty grew giant black wings on the screen and flew through the
sky, like some kind of phantom thief.
“I don’t know… That looks bad. Should I mobilize the Dollars…? I guess
there’s no way to do that,” Mikado murmured, the very personification of the
word naive. Back on the TV, they had returned to the news studio. He was
worried for the sake of the inhuman dullahan that would normally have no
connection to him whatsoever, but she was a member of the Dollars, after all.
“Well, I guess Celty can handle things for herself. Right?” he said and headed
for the familiar chat room.
All the while, he was secretly harboring both excitement and anxiety over the
Ikebukuro guided tour he would be leading the following evening.

Chat room
TarouTanaka has entered the chat.
TarouTanaka: Oh, no one’s here.

TarouTanaka: I suppose I’ll check back in a few hours.
Bacura has entered the chat.
Bacura: Hmm?
Bacura: So nobody’s here?
Bacura: Okay,
Bacura: Now I can write anything I damn well please on this unclaimed ground.
Bacura: Listen up, Johnny.
Bacura: When I was in elementary school,
Bacura: A girl in my class played my recorder.
Bacura: When I caught her in the act,
Bacura: In exchange for keeping her secret, I said,
Bacura: “What you really want to put your mouth on is my face.”
Bacura: So rather than my recorder, she locked lips with my whistle instead.
Bacura: And when another boy saw it happen, he stuck his fingers in his mouth
and tweeted away.
Bacura: HA-HA-HA
Bacura: It’s both a true anecdote and an American-style joke!
Bacura: Cool,
Bacura: Now I just spam the chat to wash that backlog away.
Bacura: Sound off!
Saika has entered the chat.

Bacura: 1
Saika: good evening
Bacura: 2
Bacura: Eek!
Bacura: Evening.
TarouTanaka: Good evening.

TarouTanaka: What are you doing, Bacura?
Bacura: Good…eve…
Bacura: C’mon, laugh.
Bacura: Everybody laugh at meeee!
TarouTanaka: Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.
Bacura: You’re really laughing?!
Kuru has entered the chat.

Mai has entered the chat.
Kuru: I do not approve of the act of mocking a person upon your first meeting,
but as you have requested it yourself, and I believe that the proper act as a
human being in this case is to laugh at you long and loud, I am prepared to
mock you as mercilessly and thoroughly as I can manage. And now…
Mai: (lol)
Kuru: Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ah-haaa. Aha, ah-ha-
ha! Fweh…fweh-heh… Kya-haaa! Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Aaaa-
ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ah-ha-ha, ah-ha-ha! Wai…sto…stop!
It’s too funny! It’s really funny…stop…no, please, let me goooo! Hee…
hee…aha…kya-hee… Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
Mai: (lol)
Bacura: Evening…
Bacura: Wait,
Bacura: Who are you?!
Bacura: Wow, you sure found a way to laugh that causes both despair and rage!
TarouTanaka: Is this our first meeting?
Saika: good evening
Kuru: Please forgive me. This is the first time that I have met everyone here.
We will be visiting this chat room occasionally from this point onward and
have come to pay our respects. My name is Kuru. Normally, I would have
introduced myself as the first point of order, but I believed that it would have
been rude to Bacura to put my introduction before the mockery of his very
impassioned joke.
Mai: I’m Mai.
Bacura: You seem a lot like Kanra to me.
Mai: I’m sorry.
Bacura: I wasn’t talking about you.
TarouTanaka: It’s nice to meet the two of you.
Kuru: The pleasure is all mine. By the way, Bacura, it occurred to me that you
might be a woman…and if that were the case, the recorder would have been
shared by two girls, leading to a kiss between females, the aesthetically
pleasing and tantalizing image of which is now saved in my mind. It has put
me into a state of, shall we say, trancelike ecstasy.
Mai: Naughty.
Bacura: I’ll leave it up to your imagination.
TarouTanaka: Great, more weirdos…
Saika: its nice to meet you
Bacura: Oh yeah, did you see that thing on TV a few hours ago?
TarouTanaka: The one about Ikebukuro?
Bacura: Yeah, that one.
Saika: did something happen
TarouTanaka: The Headless Rider was caught on camera during a live
broadcast.
Kuru: Oh, what a coincidence. We were just viewing that program as well and
went outside to perhaps catch sight of the Headless Rider before coming back
in and joining this chat room. Unfortunately we were not able to witness the
living urban legend in the flesh, but the pleasure of walking the streets at
night with that hope in mind was an indescribable thrill.
Mai: Too bad.
TarouTanaka: Oh, so you two are from Ikebukuro as well?
TarouTanaka: Pretty much everyone who uses this chat is from Ikebukuro or
Shinjuku.
TarouTanaka: Well, enjoy yourselves.
Kuru: I am most humbly grateful, Mr. TarouTanaka, for the truly kind
hospitality that you have shown to such an inconsiderate boor who is nothing
more than mineral deposits on a grain of sand in the ocean that is the Internet.
I believe I might even fall in love. But only on the Internet.
Mai: Thanks.
Mai: Love you.
TarouTanaka: I don’t know how to respond to this, ha-ha.
Bacura: I have a feeling Kanra is punking us…
Saika: what is punking
Bacura: It means this is all a hidden-camera prank.
TarouTanaka: At any rate, tomorrow I’ll be around Ikebukuro, guiding and
being guided.
TarouTanaka: I’m still a newcomer to this city, so it’s good to meet you.
Kuru: That is a coincidence. We, too, have plans to travel through Ikebukuro
tomorrow. Perhaps we might even meet face-to-face and fist-to-fist.
Mai: We’re gonna punch ’em?
TarouTanaka: If we do, go easy on me, lol.

The next morning, in front of Animate, Ikebukuro
There is a short passage from the intersection to the west of the Sunshine
building until you reach National Route 254. This stretch includes a number of
shops that sell fan-made doujinshi and merchandise explicitly aimed at females,
which earned it the name Otome (Maiden) Road.
On this sunny afternoon, two boys and a girl strolled down that very street.
The girl was Karisawa, and one of the boys was Yumasaki.
The other male, who served as both guardian and brake system for the other
two, was Kyouhei Kadota. He kept his knit cap pulled low and listened to the
conversation of the pair walking behind him. Though to be honest, he was only
concentrating on about half of it.
“That’s the thing. What I think is, you should argue about your opinions of an
anime. If each side debates its side logically, it can only help the other. But the
people who prop up their favorite anime by saying, ‘If you don’t get what makes
this good, just watch your panty-shot anime instead’ are the worst, and they
don’t realize that they’re indirectly insulting the very anime they claim to like so
much.”
“Oh yeah. There were people saying that on the official forum for the
Gunjaws! anime. I understand that you get mad when people make fun of you,
but why bring another genre down to get back?”
“Exactly! I love hard-core series that have nothing but dudes in them, and I
also love moe series full of panty shots and nip slips—hbwah?!”
“Yumacchi, you dummy!”
Karisawa abruptly slapped him on the cheek. He looked at her, stunned.
“Wh-what was that for, Karisawa?”
“Claiming that moe anime means panty shots and nip slips is only going to
cause misunderstandings! Moe is defined by the soul of the viewer! In that
sense, it applies to every piece of animation in the entire world! Even the ancient
animal illustrations of the Choju-giga are excellent moe scrolls, and you’re here
limiting it to—”
“No, you don’t understand! When I’m speaking of panty shots being
connected to moe, I’m only speaking of a particular method, while also
encompassing all of the romance and fantasy of ”
“ at my stage, I can find every male character in Gunjaws! to be moe
”
“ Karisawa, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about ”
“ moe moe moe moe-moe ”
“ moe moe-moe? moe ”
As they droned on and on, their companion finally broke his silence.
“Please, you two, just stop talking about your moe stuff out in public like
this,” Kadota pleaded, sighing and pressing his forehead with his fingers.
Whether in the warmth of April or the chill of winter, the topic of
conversation for those two never changed. If anything did change, it was merely
the title of whatever anime or manga they were discussing.
“Can’t you just get off the topic of 2-D stuff already?”
“Sure thing.”
“Tsk.”
Surprised that they actually obliged him, Kadota was delighted to have some
silence. It lasted only a second.
“By the way, the figures that the sculptor Zetsumu Youen makes have been
getting sexier around the waistline lately, don’t you think?”
“No, it’s the barely raised stomach lines that show off the ribs of his slender
characters that are the true moe his style inspires!”
It was the exact same stuff as before. Kadota bellowed, “I just told you to
stop talking about that!”
Yumasaki and Karisawa were taken aback by his anger.
“What do you mean?! Figures are 3-D!”
“Not quite, Karisawa! Figures are actually 2.5-D!”
“…When I’m with you, sometimes I wonder if this is actually Japan at all,”
Kadota grumbled, half-resigned. He resumed walking toward his destination: the
Tokyu Hands department store.
When they rounded a corner and the pedestrian traffic wasn’t so thick, he
turned back and asked, “It’s tonight, right? You’re gonna take Mikado and
whoever around those stores and stuff?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Wanna come?”
“Nah, I’d only scare them away.”
“You think so, Dotachin? If you took your cap off and laid your bangs flat,
you’d make a pretty convincing honor student!” Karisawa teased. Kadota
ignored her and kept walking—until he saw something unfamiliar.
“See, we’re just askin’ questions, yeah? Askin’ if you know anything about
the Black Rider, yeah?”
“You girls want money, right? Well, so do we. So don’t hog all of it, yeah?”
“Why don’t you invest some allowance in us? If we score the ten million yen,
we’ll pay you back physically. With interest.”
“Yeah, and we’re almost the same age as you, so it won’t count as
prostitution. Seriously. I’ll even do it for free.”
A group of men chanting extremely stereotypical taunts had surrounded two
teenage girls. Each of the men wore imposing, tough-looking clothes, and one of
them was in a full motorcycle-gang uniform with stripes.
“Awright, I get it. You girls are the Black Rider.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“That’d be hilarious.”
“So why don’t you have ten-million-yen worth of fun with us?”
The content of their taunts and challenges were like a slice from another
period in time. It made them seem quite out of place in the big city.
Kadota watched the men for a bit, then muttered, “I never expected to see
such stereotypical street thugs in this day and age.” The trio strode forward,
shaking their heads.
Meanwhile, the men hadn’t noticed their observers. They continued to harass
the girls.
“Actually, if you two hang out in this neighborhood, you must be pretty
loaded, huh?”
“Filthy. Filthy!”
“C’mon, don’t just clam up. Say something, huh?”
“Hang on, you guys. Don’t you see they’re scared? Sorry about that. As an
apology, why don’t we take you somewhere you want to go? Huh?”
When one of the thugs started to initiate a weak attempt at a good-cop-bad-
cop routine, Kadota decided it was time to open his mouth.
Several hours later, in front of Tokyu Hands
The few days surrounding Raira Academy’s extended break were half days that
ended at noon. It was meant to smooth out the transition between vacation and
study, but the students just thought, I get to hang out all afternoon, yay, which
was, in a way, the point.
When the day’s curriculum ended, the town overflowed with Raira uniforms.
The school allowed for personal clothes to be worn, so once out in the town,
those students melted into the crowd, while the uniform wearers stood out as a
distinct group. Almost like a color gang.
Mikado slowly strode through the neighborhood, wearing that very uniform.
When he reached his destination, Anri and his junior at school were already
there.
“Oh? You made it before me? Sorry, were you waiting long?”
“No, I just got here.”
“Me, too.”
Anri and Aoba both seemed a bit reserved, and they didn’t appear to have
been talking before he arrived. It was probably true that they had just gotten
there before him. Once the greetings were out of the way, Aoba bowed to the
both of them.
“I’m sorry about this. I’m just using up your valuable free time with my own
selfish request…”
“That’s not true. We didn’t have anything to do, either,” Mikado said. Anri
nodded.
The younger boy looked thankful at their thoughtfulness, then piped up
curiously, “Mr. Ryuugamine and Ms. Sonohara, are you a couple?”
Time stopped between the two.
To someone who was just meeting them, this seemed like a perfectly normal
assumption. Aoba had specifically asked Mikado for a tour of Ikebukuro, and yet
here was Anri as well. It was only natural to assume that there was a romantic
bond there or at least something more than just classmates.
Mikado was clearly stunned by the question, while Anri looked down, her
cheeks pink. It was hard to tell if they were confirming or denying that
accusation, so Aoba watched them curiously and asked, “Am I wrong?”
“N-no-no-no, it’s not like that… We’re still just, um, friends. Friends!”
“Ohh. Does that mean you’re available now, Ms. Sonohara? Shall I nominate
myself for the position?”
“Wha—!”
Mikado found himself actually feeling admiration for the boy’s straight-faced
lack of caution.
How can he just…say that? And he comes off even smoother than Masaomi!
Mikado’s lips trembled, ready to say something…but no words emerged. He
was racked with both frustration that a younger schoolmate beat him to the
punch and respect for the boy’s game in putting himself out there to the opposite
sex.
The younger boy turned to his immobile senior and hesitantly clarified, “Um,
Mr. Ryuugamine, you know that was a joke, right?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you don’t have to look like the world is crumbling around your
ears…”
“…Did…did I look like that?” Mikado asked, going red with embarrassment.
He glanced sidelong at Anri. In her usual way, she was looking awkwardly at the
ground, listening to the conversation.
The pair looked like bashful little kids. Meanwhile, the one who looked
closest to an actual kid laughed and whispered to Mikado, “I’m glad. I thought
since you were with the Dollars, you would have a scary side…but I’m happy to
know that someone like you is in the group.”
“I dunno. I mean, I appreciate that, but…”
Huh? That was a compliment, right? Mikado wondered, unsure if it was
meant to be sarcastic. He smiled politely.
Emboldened by the effect of his last question, Aoba decided to push further.
“So…are the people we’re going to meet today also Dollars?”
“Well, yes…but don’t worry, they’re not scary, either.”
Not scary in the way you’re thinking, at least, Mikado thought, imagining the
machine-gun chatter that was Yumasaki and Karisawa’s specialty. He looked
around, checking to see if they were approaching.
But their next visitors were not the nerdy duo.
“Do you have a moment?”
“We’d like to pray for your happiness.”
On either side of Mikado was a tall man approaching six feet.
“—?! H-h-how can I help you?”
“Just let me see your face.”
The tall men grabbed him without permission, their manner suddenly cruel.
“This the guy?”
“Yep, that’s him! Bingo. Got confirmation.”
The men looked at each other happily, whatever their “bingo” was. Based on
the lip piercings and crooked teeth black from nicotine, they did not appear to be
pacifists. Mikado was a believer in not judging a book by its cover, but in this
one situation, he felt confident that these books were exactly what their covers
suggested.
As Aoba and Anri watched in stunned confusion, the men leered gleefully
and leaned in toward Mikado, their faces reeking of cigarette smoke.
“Hey. You were there, right? You were there recently?”
“Th-there…? Where?”
“You were there, ya know? You were at that junked factory with the Black
Rider that one time that Kadota’s group kicked the shit outta us. Yeah?”
“Did you get a little sloppy today, just ’cuz we weren’t wearin’ yellow?”
“…!”
The mention of the word yellow plunged Mikado’s mind into chaos.
“…You must be…”
The remnants of the Yellow Scarves?!
But these were not the proper Yellow Scarves that Masaomi had gathered to
his side. They were the leftovers of a gang called the Blue Squares who had
infiltrated the Yellow Scarves in a takeover attempt. They were ultimately
crushed by a different infiltration team led by Kadota.
“Well, whatever. We don’t care why you were there when it happened.”
“It’s just, we want the ten million yen, ya know?”
Ten million yen.
That was the last piece of the puzzle to click into place. They weren’t coming
after Mikado to enact revenge against a member of the Dollars…
“You know where that Black Rider is, don’cha? Huh?!”
“Let’s go. You can donate your cell to our cause, huh? Got the phone number
right in there, I bet.”
They crudely grabbed at his bag, yanking it open to pore over the contents.
“Wait…stop that!”
“Shuddup!”
Mikado tried to resist, but he was hopelessly outsized and didn’t have the
combat training to make up for it. Just when he was afraid that the six-foot-tall
giants would steal his cell phone—
“Hiii, Mikah-do.”
A shadow loomed behind the men, a head taller than even they were.
“?!”
“Wh-what the…fu…uh…?”
It was an enormous black man in a white T-shirt. For an instant, Mikado
wasn’t sure who it was, either, but he recognized the man within moments. The
lack of the sushi-chef outfit was what threw him off, but in fact, the man was
quite a recognizable figure in the area.
“Simon!”
“What wrong? Fight is no good. You get hungrily-hungrily. Our sushi shop
closed today. So you fight, you starve.”
“H-hey! Leggo…”
“C-can’t move…”
He was only holding the shoulders of the two men, but they struggled as if
they were trapped at the bottom of the ocean. They couldn’t even budge their
own fingers.
Despite the incredible pressure he was exerting on them, Simon’s expression
was as cool as a cucumber. “You pick up bag. Leave these ruffians to me and run
to safe-tee,” he said in the style of some kind of samurai movie, his
pronunciation as awkward and endearing as ever.
It was the kind of line that usually signaled an imminent death, but in this
case, that fate was more likely for his hapless victims.
“B-but Simon…”
“You no fight when girl around. Run to Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji, go,
go, go.”
“Th-thank you! We’ll all come have sushi soon!”
“Ohh, very good. In thanks, I charge you only ten percent interest on market
price.”
It probably came out more intimidating than what Simon meant to say.
Meanwhile, Mikado picked up his bag, grabbed Aoba and Anri, and raced off.
As they ran through the streets of Ikebukuro, Mikado bowed to Anri and his
schoolmate.
“S-sorry! I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into that nonsense!”
“Um, dragged into? You were the only one who suffered any consequences,”
Aoba noted. Mikado found that he was right, but he couldn’t help but feel
ashamed and embarrassed that they’d been put through that frightening
experience anyway.
It was his first underclassman since coming to high school. Did he just get
carried away because of all the reverential gazes Aoba was giving him? Did he
get cocky and think he was cooler than he really was?
There was plenty of time to regret, but no time to reflect.
From out of the alleys came a group of men who must have been alerted by
the previous punks via cell phone.
“Hey, what about the other guys?!”

“Forget ’em! We couldn’t beat Simon with our entire group, and starting a
brawl there will only draw Shizuo’s attention!” the men yelled as they chased
after the trio.
The distance was short enough that they could catch up in twenty seconds if
they sprinted. But unluckily for them and luckily for Mikado, this was the area
where the students were supposed to be meeting their friends.
“Eep!” Mikado shrieked when the van suddenly stopped in front of them,
thinking that it was a fresh round of pursuers. But then he recognized the man in
the passenger seat, and his face lit up.
“K-Kadota!”
The next moment, Karisawa poked her head out of the door and yelled, “Why
are you being chased?! Anyway, get in, get in!”
Just in the nick of time, Mikado, Anri, and Aoba piled into the van and shut
the door before the thugs could reach them.
Togusa started the engine at the exact same moment. One of the thugs
reached for the handle of the passenger-side door, but Kadota’s fist flew out of
the open window and put a stop to that.
“Y-you—you—you saved us!”

“Hey, it’s all good. Sorry for being late to our meeting spot!” Karisawa said,
cackling.
The van was surprisingly cramped, with the rear being taken up by Mikado’s
trio, Karisawa, and Yumasaki—and a pair of girls who Mikado did not
recognize.
The girls in the very back of the van were possibly twins, because aside from
one having glasses, they looked exactly the same.
“Um…what are you two doing in here?” Aoba Kuronuma asked, surprised.
They know each other? Mikado wondered, but before he could say anything,
they heard an obnoxious horn from outside and a dull thud against the side of the
van.
“Damn, they found us,” the driver grunted, irritated. Mikado looked out of
the side windows. He thought the Yellow Scarves they’d ditched had caught up
in their own car, but instead, what he saw through the tinted windows was a gang
of modified motorcycles bearing men in striped gang uniforms.
“Stop the damn caaaah!”

“Gonna fry ya up in motor oiiil!”
“What happened to our backup?!”
“They can’t come; they found the Black Rider! We’re supposed to join them
now!”
The gang of bikers shouted back and forth among themselves, but Mikado
couldn’t make out their messages from within the van.
“Wh-what’s going on? What’s happening right now?”
“Well, you see, I have an unfortunate announcement. You basically jumped
out of the frying pan and into the fire. Too bad, so sad. We are currently
inhabiting a troubled dimension just as treacherous as a certain academy city
researching supernatural powers. We’ll just have to wait for the saga of the one
whose right hand will bring down this ugly illusion…”
“What in the world are you talking about?!”
“Let me just make sure: Do you know any doctors who look like a frog?
That’ll bump your odds of survival up about ten percent. Actually, speaking of
frogs, Hakusan Meikun would work, as well.”
Mikado gave up on interacting with Yumasaki’s utter nonsense and turned to
Kadota in the front passenger seat instead. When their eyes met through the
rearview mirror, the older man looked a bit apologetic.
“Yeah, some…stuff happened. Sorry.”
“Wh-whaaaaat?!”
Thus began a guided tour of Ikebukuro that was more thrilling than anyone
asked for.
The group was locked into a deadly chase without a finish line.
Just at the moment that the next step was impossible to predict (if you even
wanted to)—
They heard the whinnying of a headless horse approaching from the front.
Chapter 3: Wakahime Club “The
Hottest Spring in the World! The
Erotic Terminal of High School Girls,
Ikebukuro!”
“A dripping blackboard eraser! The after-school extracurricular activities never

stop when the town becomes your campus! Tokyo’s dangerous horizon wafting
with the scent of shining roses, Ikebukuro…
A proud eagle wanders the heights, seeking to slake her ashen lust—the high
school girl!
Among these girls who caress the borderline between passion and
destruction, our special reporter witnessed a rare sight: the ‘yamanba’ crone
fairy!”
Thus read the shameless front cover of Wakahime (Young Princess) Club, an
adult magazine. It was meant to focus on a certain subset of youth culture and
package it for consumption to an older audience, but this particular publication,
owing to its very peculiar angle and marketing, was well known for trailblazing
its own very niche direction.
On the cover were two women in school sailor uniforms, clearly well over
twenty years old, posed in a provocative manner, with a number of holy
Buddhist seals placed on their legs below their skirts.
On the center foldout, the seals came into play once again, covering the most
sensitive feminine area in a photo that was as erotic as it was confusing.
It was difficult enough to look at a pornographic magazine in front of others
—particularly in a classroom when there were girls around—but the obviously
slanted aesthetic of this one made it especially awkward.
But in a first-year classroom at Raira Academy, one person read this
magazine right out in the open.
“Oooh. Ahhh. Ohhh. That’s hot. Very nice. Wish I had this body, ya know?”
This figure, leaning back in her chair and smirking to herself, was clad in a
black-based school uniform that did not belong to Raira Academy. She wore
glasses and had a simple smile without a hint of cosmetics covering it. In short,
she looked just like a bookworm who should be hiding in a corner of the library,
poring over the literary greats like Natsume Soseki or Osamu Dazai.
“Oh man, that’s good stuff. How do you get boobs this big? Milk? Is it milk?
What if you just pour the milk right on the boobs and then rub it into the skin?
Will that help? What do you think?” she asked the boy sitting next to her with a
dazzling smile.
The boy being questioned turned red with a look that said, Why are you
asking me? and flopped down onto his desk, glancing at her.
While they both had glasses, this girl was the polar opposite of Anri
Sonohara otherwise. While Anri had a calm, shadowy maturity to her, this girl
had eyes that flashed with mischief behind the lenses and the natural brightness
of personality to match it.
And this girl was the one gleefully flipping through the porno mag.
She had a long black skirt and thick glasses, a combination that screamed
“honor student.” Not the type of girl you would expect to read something like
that.
But she continued rifling through the centerfold pictures with an innocent
smile on her face, dropping unwanted comments to the boys on either side of her
desk.
The boys didn’t know what to do. They were utterly at the mercy of a girl
they’d only met half an hour earlier.
Raira Academy, first day of school
Raira Academy was a coed private high school in southern Ikebukuro.

It had a different name just a few years earlier, but it earned its current name
when it merged with another local high school.
The campus grounds were not that large, but the school maximized the use of
what space it had, so it didn’t feel cramped. It was also close to Ikebukuro
Station, which made it an attractive school to people from the suburbs of Tokyo
who wanted to commute from home. The average test score and difficulty of
getting in were on a slow rise, and its past rumors of being quite a slum before
the merger were now a distant memory.
There was a nice view of the surrounding terrain from the higher-altitude
campus, but the looming sixty-floor building just ahead did not brook any
feeling of superiority. On the other side of the school was Zoshigaya Cemetery,
which gave it a slightly lonely atmosphere for being in the middle of a
metropolitan city.
Of course, when the students were there, that lonely feeling was nowhere to
be seen, crowded out by the oasis of youth at the heart of the capital.
After the school opening ceremonies were finished, each classroom got down
to the business of student introductions.
But among them were a few notable outliers.
First, every class had to have its clown—someone who looked for laughs in
the hope of livening up the room or sometimes fell on their face and just made
things awkward. Some of them were so dense that they couldn’t even realize
their jokes weren’t landing.
While some stood out intentionally in their search for stardom, others
couldn’t help but stick out by virtue of their size or looks. Others flubbed their
own names when doing introductions, which quickly slapped them with the
“ditzy” tag.
The Ritual of the First Impression presented a largely insurmountable wall to
others, to varied emotional reactions.
Given the nature of the academy, it was rare for people to wind up being
classmates with kids they’d been with since middle school or even earlier.
Excluding classmates from Raira Academy Middle School or the other junior
highs in the immediate area, you were lucky if you had one or two old friends in
your class.
So the mask of the first impression was surprisingly heavy in regard to its
effect on one’s personal relationships for the next year (or three). People are
more than their appearances suggest, as the saying goes, but that quote held no
water if there wasn’t someone around capable of seeing that inner personality,
and there was no guarantee that such understanding confidants would be among
one’s classmates.
The first impression would lead to the creation of social groups and exert a
powerful influence over lunch cliques, classwork teams, and other gatherings.
It all came down to whether you could blend into the class or not. That was
the ritual being held when a student made his or her introduction to the rest of
the class: the first test of the school year.
And whether they realized this importance or not, there were two students
who clearly did not pick up on the signals.
One was the bespectacled girl in Class 1-B.

“I’m Mairu Orihara! Orihara is spelled with the characters for fold and field,
while Mairu means ‘dance’ and ‘flow.’ Nice to meet you! My favorite books are
the encyclopedia, manga, and porn mags!”
Her introduction itself was brief and ordinary enough that most of her
classmates took the final bit as a forced joke. But her black uniform stood out
quite a bit among the green-based Raira uniforms.
What she said next, however, completely changed the feeling in the room.
“I go for both teams when it comes to love and lust! But the spot in my bed
for men is already spoken for, so don’t even try! I can go out with as many girls
as I want, however, so keep that in mind when you propose a relationship!”
The other student was a girl in Class 1-C who also stood out quite a bit.
“Kururi…Orihara.”
Despite it being the first day of school, she was wearing gym clothes, which
immediately made her stick out like a sore thumb. Raira allowed its students to
wear their own clothes even at official ceremonies, but most kids chose to play it
safe and wear the official uniform or jacket.
Yet this girl wanted to wear gym clothes.
As she started to sit back down, the teacher asked, “Is there anything else you
wish to say about yourself?”
“No, there isn’t…,” she said in a tiny voice, then sluggishly sat down.
The thin fabric of her shirt accentuated the size of her breasts, which,
combined with her taut limbs, attracted the gaze of all the male students.
But given that her personality was already questionable based on her choice
of outfits to the ceremony, none of the boys opted to stare for too long, lest they
attract the disgust of the other girls in the class.
She had a healthy, vibrant outfit and figure. But her expression and manner
were gloomy and sickly.
After telling the class nothing but her name, the girl quietly sat down in her
seat and resumed staring at her desk.
A boy sitting to one side of her—Aoba Kuronuma—glanced at the girl in the

strange outfit and idly thought, She seems gloomy. But what’s with the gym
clothes?
That was the extent of his curiosity, however. He looked around and noticed
other boys sending curious glances at the girl and looks of disgust from the girls
in the class.
Well, as long as she doesn’t get picked on.
But that would ultimately be her problem, not his. Attention turned to the
next student’s introduction—not just from Aoba, but from most of the class.
There was just one student adrift from the crowd, that was all. Eventually, the
remaining classmates turned their attention to the continuing introductions, and
that was all they thought of it.
Given that they were in separate classes, the rest of the school didn’t realize that
the two odd girls who appeared in Class B and Class C, if you ignored their
glasses, hairstyle, and bust size, had essentially the same face and build.
There was also the matter of the last name Orihara.
The teachers who had been around since before the name change to Raira
experienced an instinctual danger signal when they saw that name.
“Well…just because he was their brother doesn’t mean they’re just like him.
It wouldn’t be right to discriminate against them because of that,” a veteran art
teacher said, sipping tea in the faculty room. “But…compared to when Izaya and
Shizuo were here, it’s so much more peaceful now.”
The elderly teacher grinned wryly, thinking back on the problem child of the
past wistfully.
“We don’t have barrels of gasoline rolling down the third-floor hallway
anymore, for one thing.”
At that moment, apartment building, Shinjuku
“Now that I think about it,” Namie said with a softer than usual expression, but
without stopping her work, “today is the entrance ceremony and start of school
for Raira Academy.”
She sounded oddly happy about it. Izaya did not look up from organizing his
e-mail, however. “That’s right. But why would you bring that up out of the
blue?”
“Seiji’s starting his second year of high school… I wish I could have rushed
to the ceremony to celebrate with him…”
“The first day of school? He’s in his second year, so parents and guardians
have nothing to do with it.”
“Well, I want to see it,” Namie answered without hesitation. Izaya shook his
head in disbelief. Namie normally played the role of the coolheaded beauty, but
when it came to her younger brother, Seiji Yagiri, she proudly exhibited a level
and depth of love that was abnormal.
It wasn’t the platonic love of a family, but the physical, lusty love between a
man and woman. But her brother reciprocated none of that; in fact, he seemed to
find her obnoxious. Yet even those cold glances were lovable to Namie.
A look of bliss stole over her suddenly pink cheeks as she imagined her
brother growing up, and she continued her work in a better mood than before.
Izaya glanced at his assistant, sighed, and muttered, “Raira Academy… That
place has totally changed since they merged and got a new name.”
“Oh, you went there?”
“I graduated about six or seven years ago. Back then, it was just Raijin High
School.”
For an instant, Izaya smiled with wistful longing—and the expression turned
to a cruel, hateful smirk just as quickly.
“But…it was all horrible there, including the fact that it’s where I met Shizu.”
“You really do hate him, don’t you?” Namie replied, then had an idea. “If you
graduated high school six or seven years ago… Didn’t you say that you’re
twenty-one right now?”
“I’ve been telling people I’m twenty-one for several years. Do you really
think I’d just give out personal information like that?”
She ignored him, exasperated, then abruptly stopped and turned to look at
him. “Does that mean you do trust me a bit?”
“I wouldn’t call it trust. It’s more like giving out just a little bit of information
to keep a subordinate from leading a mutiny.”
“You ought to die,” she spat, returning to her work. “By the way, your sisters
are starting school there today, too,” she shot back.
“…I’m surprised you know that.” Izaya’s face went just a bit hard.
“I can do a bit of research on the king I serve, too.”
“…Fine. It’s the same thing I do to you.”
He didn’t like the turnabout, a fact he made clear with a pained grimace.
Eventually, he gave up on his work and leaned back in the chair to mutter, “I
don’t know how to handle those two.”
“Oh? To think that you would have trouble handling anyone other than
Shizuo Heiwajima.”
“Don’t tease me. I’m only human, you know? I’m not perfect,” Izaya said,
sighing heavily. He began to explain some of his background to her. “My
sisters…who are named Kururi and Mairu, by the way… Well, my parents are
normal. Except for their naming choices. But I was raised in normal
circumstances—and turned out like this.”
“So you’re aware that you’re a freak.”
He ignored Namie’s barb and folded his hands, entwining his fingers. “I
turned out weird, despite my normal upbringing. But them, on the other hand—I
feel like they turned out weird because of my influence. I won’t deny that I feel a
bit of responsibility for that.”
“What do you mean by weird?”
What are those girls like, if this freak thinks they’re weird? Namie wondered,
stopping her work for a minute to pour some tea from the teapot in the kitchen.
She stood there, ready to hear more, which prompted a tired look from Izaya.
“What they’re trying to be is…human.”
“…Huh?”
“They want to represent the human being in a microcosm. The Japanese
human being, specifically.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” she said cautiously. Izaya’s grimace was
barely visible.
“It’s a very difficult task they’ve set. Basically, they think that as twins, they
make up one person.”
“…I see. It often feels like twins add up to a single life-form when taken
together, from our perspective. But…I suppose other twins would find that idea
quite offensive.”
“Normally, perhaps. But as I said, my sisters are not normal.”
Izaya closed the laptop and steadily got to his feet. He flicked the window
blinds open and narrowed his eyes at the light that filtered through.
“You know how video games have character parameters? Stats, and so on.
They say that you’re good at magic but terrible at fighting or a good brawler but
a total nimrod. When you make up a party in an RPG, you have to balance that
party out, so that each person makes up for the others’ shortcomings.”
“That’s not so different from reality. The very first step to rational
optimization is ensuring each person has the right role.”
“If only it were an issue of rationality.” Izaya leaned over and put his hands
on the table, envisioning his sisters. “Anyway, they’re trying to create this RPG
party themselves. As if one were the fighter and the other were the magician.”
“…I don’t understand what you mean.”
“It’s simple. They decided to intentionally fashion different personalities for
themselves. They actively turned themselves into identical twins with totally
different personas! And they assume that by acting together, this makes them
better… They’re under the illusion that they can do anything that way.”
He grinned as though seeing something funny, but there was no humor in his
eyes. “When they were in elementary school, they chose their looks and
personality at random. With no regard to logicality! That’s why Kururi, the elder
of the two, plays the silent, gloomy type, despite her gym clothes outfit. And
Mairu the younger is a bright and talkative character, yet she looks like a
bookworm.”
“But…that makes no sense. Why would you separate your looks and
personalities?” Namie wondered, stunned.
Izaya nodded. “Exactly. It makes no sense. But to them, having your
appearance and personality match doesn’t make sense to begin with. In the end,
they’re still combining themselves into one person. They think that as long as all
the parts are present, there’s no problem. They’re just special enough that they
can pull it off. I mean, talk about a bad case of eighth-grader syndrome.”
“What’s eighth-grader syndrome?”
“Just do a search on it. I mean, they could have it worse—they could claim
that they can use psychic powers or they were warriors of light in a past life—
but at any rate, they find a way to stand out, no matter the group.”
“I see. And given your desire to be the hidden puppet master, you’d prefer to
be far away from them,” Namie calmly surmised.
He looked away, surprised at being pinned so accurately. “Anyway, it makes
you embarrassed just to listen to them talk. I’m sure you’ll understand if you
ever meet them… It’s really painful. And that’s coming from me, so you know
it’s true.”
“If you already understand that you belong within the realm of painfully
embarrassing people, I’d hope you would act on that information.”
“I’d prefer not to get that lecture from a woman who did plastic surgery on an
unwilling girl for the sake of her own brother,” Izaya shot back.
Her lips bared in a tiny smile. “I have absolutely no intention of coming clean
to Seiji.”
“…”
“Didn’t you know that love doesn’t need an accelerator or a brake? Just
caring about the other person puts you right at their side,” she answered—though
it wasn’t an answer at all—her cheeks glowing a rosy red. Namie looked like the
very picture of a slightly older maiden in love.
If only it wasn’t with her own little brother, Izaya thought, leaning back into
his chair.
Namie turned to him, her expression proper again, and asked, “Will they be
all right? Kids who stick out like these guys are likely to be bullied, don’t you
think? And the bullies these days are quite nasty.”
The words themselves were full of sympathy and care for Izaya’s relatives,
but her voice was completely devoid of emotion. She clearly did not actually
care.
Izaya, meanwhile, only seemed half-interested for his part. He conjectured, “I
suppose. I hope there’s no bullying…but I very much doubt that.”
The information broker sighed…then grinned.
“The poor things.”
Three days later, noon, Raira Academy
Why does bullying happen?

Aoba Kuronuma pondered the issue from his seat in the back of the
classroom. It was said that the reason bullying happened lay as much in the
bullied as the bully, but in reality, that didn’t really matter, did it?
The pressures of society, the influence of video games, too much manga, bad
parents, bad schools, bad Internet.
None of this mattered, thought Aoba.
There were probably an infinite number of reasons, and removing every last
one of them still wouldn’t stop a bully from doing what he did. It all happened
because they were making themselves feel better.
The people who couldn’t help themselves from feeling better were the ones
who went on to engage in bullying. It was a bit of a forced conclusion, but
despite knowing how simplified it was, Aoba decided to follow that line of
thinking.
I don’t try to hide it. It feels good to bully those weaker than me. The only
question is whether I can resist that pleasure or not.
It was like fighting a country with nothing but foot soldiers and bombarding
them with missiles from a safe distance. All the idealistic speeches in the world
couldn’t change the fact that it felt good to be safe and know that you were
superior to the other person.
And those who watch without stopping it are feeling both the fear of
retribution and the relief that they weren’t the ones singled out.
That’s right. Just being in a place of safety is a kind of pleasure. Sure, there
are probably total saints out there who don’t feel any pleasure from that and just
want to help others. Given how many people are on the planet, it would be weird
if there weren’t.
But…I don’t think there are any in this class.
And so, just before the last homeroom session of the day started at the very
end of school, Aoba glanced over at Kururi Orihara’s desk, which sat adjacent to
his.
A number of pieces of graffiti had been left on it in permanent marker.
Wow, only three days into the school year?
However, the content of the messages was not quite like the normal methods
of bullying.
“Sister of the slut”
“Take responsibility!”
“Abandonment of guardian duty!”
“Prostitute sisters”
“Leave the ranks of the living!”
The messages were surprisingly verbose, with some choice vocabulary
words. For her part, Kururi just stared down at the desk. The crime had
happened during the twenty minutes that she was away at the library.
Kururi might stick out like a sore thumb with her gym clothes and gloomy
personality—but almost none of the insults directly referenced her.
Why would so many of the messages be directed not at her, but her sister,
Mairu Orihara?
The reason why happened earlier that morning.
“Good morning!”
On the third day of school, Mairu Orihara walked into class to find that her
desk was covered in graffiti saying things like “slut” and “one thousand yen for a
ride” and “will put out for cash.”
She paused, grunted, and looked around the classroom with a smile frozen on
her face.
Every single person in the classroom had his or her back to her, pretending
not to be aware of the state of her desk. They were acting as if they didn’t see her
at all.
It was a classic bullying tactic.
But she just continued to calmly watch the rest of the class…until she settled
on one member of the girls’ group near the window at the front of the class. One
of the girls had glanced at her sidelong and then snorted and whispered
something to the others.
Instantly, Mairu’s mouth bent into a grin. But not the smile of gentle pleasure
—it was the sharp and nasty leer of a con man with a fresh sucker in his sights
on the otherwise attractive girl’s face.
She leaped.
It all lasted only a second.
Something on the floor exploded. But that was only in the minds of the
students; there was no explosion, only the sound of Mairu slamming her foot
against the floor as she leaped.
In the minds of those bullying—or avoiding becoming involved in it by
ignoring the whole affair—Mairu Orihara was supposed to be invisible and
utterly absent from the room. It took all of 0.05 seconds for that illusion to be
shattered.
By the time everyone swung around to see the source of the sound, Mairu
was off the floor and in the air at the back of the room. She landed on a desk
behind her with one foot, using it as a launching pad to propel herself on top of
the locker against the back wall. She grabbed a case lying on top of the locker as
she twisted her body into a rotation.
Without stopping at any point, she flowed, leaping off the top of the locker,
over the heads of her shocked classmates, onto a desktop, and then a few more
as she crossed the room without touching the ground.
She had shot with all the force of a cannon.
And now she leaped especially far off the last desk—into the group of girls
sitting at the front of the class.
Three days earlier, noon, apartment building, Shinjuku
“I suppose. I hope there’s no bullying…but I very much doubt that,” the

information agent sighed…then grinned. “The poor things.”
“That’s not something to laugh about. They’re your family, aren’t they?”
Namie said, her eyebrows tense with disgust, but Izaya only shook his head.
“Ohh no, no, no. Not that,” he chuckled, then corrected, “The ones I feel
sorry for aren’t Kururi and Mairu…it’s the kids trying to bully them.”
“Huh?”
“What did I tell you? My sisters are weird because of my influence.”
“For example…do you think the people who tried to bully me got away scot-
free?”
Back to the morning of the third day of school.

The classroom was frozen.
Every person present stood in place, eyes trembling, unable to process what
they’d just seen.
“Ha-ha-ha! Gotcha!”
Mairu’s innocent cry echoed off the walls, the voice of a child playing tag.
But her actions were actually the polar opposite of innocent.
The case she’d grabbed off the top of the locker was stuffed to the lid with
pushpins.
Mairu cleverly popped it open one-handed, swinging it high overhead.
Everything she’d done to that point was quite simple.
She leaped into the midst of the girls who laughed at her, tackled the nearest
one with a lariat, and plunged the flat of her hand into the girl’s mouth when she
started to scream in shock.
That was all.
Each and every one of those actions was as crisp as a series of slow-motion
photographs to her classmates.
Mairu’s pretty face went red, and she cackled excitedly as she rode the
bucking girl like a horse. It might have been an erotic pose if not for the hand in
the girl’s mouth and the case of pushpins held in the other hand.
Mairu put on the exact same smile she wore during her introduction on the
first day of school, her eyes glittering behind her glasses.
“I’ll give you three seconds! Who did it? Point them out,” she said, bringing
the case of pushpins closer to her victim’s open mouth.
“Nnnng! Nnah! Mmaaaeegh!”
The girl struggled mightily, realizing what would happen to her, but Mairu
pinned her down with a knee on either shoulder, preventing her from moving on
her own.
The girls in the group around them were blank with uncomprehending
disbelief. They writhed uncomfortably, but otherwise did nothing.
“Three…”
The stunning precision of the assault completely robbed the wits and agency
of the girl who had been the perpetrator of the bullying and was now the victim
of this violence.
“Two…”
She didn’t have the time to think about what would happen to her if she sold
out the one who came up with the idea. Then again, if she had the time to calmly
weigh the two choices of punishment later or the present threat of pushpins
poured down her throat, she might have chosen the same thing anyway.
“One…”
The case of pins tilted slightly, causing them to slide and shuffle just a bit.
That sound was what did it.
The girl pointed out the tallest of her companions, who had just been
gleefully discussing the result of their desk defacement moments ago.
“Zer… Ooh, close one! Thanks.”
Mairu pulled her other hand out of the girl’s mouth and deftly snatched the
few pins that fell out before they landed. She stood up with a brilliant smile, then
turned to the classmate that the nearly unconscious and terrified girl had pointed
out.
The ringleader was already attempting to flee the scene when Mairu saw her.
“Oh no, you don’t! You’re not getting away!”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Mairu was hurling the few
pushpins that had fallen into her hand with a motion like a pitching machine at a
batting cage.
Tak-tak echoed a rhythmic sound throughout the room.
Several pins were stuck into the door that the tall girl was reaching for in her
escape attempt. This in itself wasn’t that abnormal; a pin could stick into the wall
like a dart if it was thrown right.
But the act of hurling pushpins itself was abnormal, especially at a person.
But Mairu Orihara broke that taboo without a second thought, tossing them right
at the hand of the ringleader bully.
When she realized this, the girl stopped still for a moment out of sheer terror.
She was on her heels. Every action was merely a reaction.
The ringleader had leaped into action first but was now thrust into reaction.
She didn’t have time to think about her next move or even act on instinct. The
very target of her bullying grabbed her shoulder from behind.
“Let’s go have a chat in the bathroom! Guess what! Listen! Guess what! You
know what? I don’t even know your name, but now I want to be really, really
good friends with you! Ha-ha-ha!”
And with a playful smile on her attractive features, Mairu Orihara dragged
the unidentified girl down the hallway by her chin.
She stopped for just an instant to tell the boy who sat next to her, “Sorry
about this! I’ll treat you to lunch later if you clean off my desk!”
The boy flinched in surprise, but not having any better idea of what to do, he
went ahead and started to erase the permanent ink with his eraser.
None of the other students moved. The only sound in the class was the
scraping of the eraser against the surface of the desk.
A boy who attended the same middle school as the Orihara twins arrived at
school immediately afterward, and seeing the state of Mairu’s desk and the
terrified students, he put the pieces together. He sighed and muttered, “Oh boy,
you went and did it, didn’t you?”
The boy walked into the midst of the petrified students and explained, “She
goes to some kind of weird martial arts gym, so I wouldn’t mess with her. The
few guys who tried to gang up on her a while back got beaten half to death by
the other gym people.”
Does this fighting style use pushpins as a weapon? everyone wanted to ask
but decided that discretion was the better part of valor.
Fifteen minutes later, as homeroom was just about to start, Mairu returned to
the class as though nothing had happened, straightening her clothes out. When
she saw the poor male student who was still rubbing away at her desk, she
bowed apologetically.
“Oh, sorry, sorry! It’s oil based, so it won’t come out easily, I bet. I’ll help!”
She pulled a piece of cloth out of the chest pocket of her black uniform and
began to wipe with the boy.
“It won’t come out. And I suppose water won’t work on permanent ink…
Would it be faster to shave it off with a plane?” she laughed.
If you only looked at her face, she was a pretty, tidy, nerdy-looking girl. But
when the boy realized he was staring at her, he quickly looked down and
subsequently noticed something odd.
The cloth she was using to wipe the desk was trailing what looked like a
string. It seemed strange to him, but he went back to focusing on his own work
rather than get distracted.
Which meant that he failed to realize that it was the bra of the female student
who’d just been dragged to the bathroom.
In the end, the girl who was primarily responsible for scribbling on Mairu’s
desk did not return to the classroom. She left school early without even
retrieving her bag.
There was no way for anyone else to know what kind of “discussion” the two
had in the bathroom—and no one was inclined to find out, either.
The students who had silently watched the defacement happen certainly
weren’t going to stick their necks into even bigger trouble. That was the only
reason they needed.
Time passed, and then it was homeroom before the end of school.
As a result of Mairu Orihara’s rampage in Class 1-B, the twisted network of
female gossip set its sights instead on Kururi Orihara, her sister.
Aoba considered the desk graffiti in silence.
She had done nothing. Kururi became the target of harassment for no other
reason than being Mairu’s sister. They didn’t hate Kururi, they just wanted
revenge against Mairu.
Actually, I don’t really care, he thought, looking out of the window in
boredom as time ticked down to the start of homeroom.
The teacher showed up and began to run through the standard procedures
before the end of school. As Mr. Marumura looked dutifully over the entire
class, he noticed the miserable state of Kururi’s desk and asked, “Orihara, what
happened to your desk?”
“…”
“Just to be sure…you didn’t write this yourself, did you?”
He looked down and saw the content of the messages and grimaced as he
waited for her answer.
“…No,” the girl in the gym clothes claimed in a quiet voice.
Marumura surveyed the classroom and asked, “Does anyone know who
wrote this?”
I don’t care, Aoba thought, as he watched Kururi stare downward at the desk.
He had nothing to do with this bullying. It represented neither benefit nor harm
to him.
I really don’t care.
And because he truly didn’t care…
“Tsukiyama and a girl from another class did it,” Aoba said, simply
answering the teacher’s question with the truth. Because he didn’t care. He had
no opinion either way on the bullying. He just answered the question.
Meanwhile, the girl named Tsukiyama whom he accused looked shocked. No

one had stopped her when they were doing the deed. So it never occurred to her
that she might be betrayed in this way.
Of course, in reality, there was no cooperation in the deed from the start, so
there was nothing to betray, but from her perspective, she had been stabbed in
the back.
“Come to the faculty room after this, Tsukiyama. And bring your friend from
the other class. Got that?” the teacher ordered sternly.
Tsukiyama ground her teeth and shot Aoba a look that said, You didn’t do
anything earlier. You just watched! But as he didn’t care, this meant nothing to
him.
The one thing that he did care about was that Kururi herself looked at him
with some amount of surprise. He couldn’t deny his interest in that.
After school, school entrance
Several hours after that incident…

“After school tomorrow…I can’t wait.”
Once Aoba had finished observing the various school clubs, he got a message
from Mikado agreeing to show him around Ikebukuro the following afternoon.
He was heading for the school entrance to leave for the day when a fierce
voice called out, “Hey, you.”
Aoba turned back to see a group of girls. They were from his class, and
standing at the center was Tsukiyama, the girl he’d sent to the faculty room
earlier.
“What?” he asked.
Tsukiyama scowled. “You know what. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Are you going to ask me out? Is that what this is? Well, sorry. I don’t think
I’m up to the task of going out with all of you at once,” he commented lightly,
but the girls did not find that amusing.
“Huh? Are you an idiot or something? Try to take a damn hint. Who snitches
to the teacher in that situation? You think you’re some kind of hotshot, playing
the hero like that?”
“Actually, if I thought I was doing the right thing, I would have stopped you
when you were doing it, right? Why would you ask me this?”
“Then why did you snitch on me?!”
“Well, you didn’t tell me not to. To be honest, if I had to judge you and
Orihara on a scale—based only on your looks and actions, since that’s all I have
to work with—I’d say it’s pretty much a law of nature that a girl who draws
nasty messages on someone’s desk is less desirable than a mysterious, well-
behaved girl with a big rack in tight gym clothes…”
“Fuck you, you little—”
Just as the girls began to close in on Aoba, Tsukiyama noticed something
wrong.
Her body was sending abrupt danger signals, centering around her nostrils.
Something smelled charred.
“Huh…?”
A fire?
The girl looked around in a panic, searching for the source of the burning
smell. It was Aoba who pinpointed the location of the smell first.
“Hey, is that…?”
“Huh? Aaagh!!”
Tsukiyama looked down to see that smoke was issuing from the bag slung
over her shoulder. She screamed and threw it aside. Instantly, flames erupted
from it, the smoke pouring from the burned hole in the fabric.
The smoke alarm set into the ceiling of the school’s front entrance went off,
ringing all throughout the school.
After that, every student present, including Aoba, was summoned to the
disciplinary room for individual questioning.
Aoba answered truthfully about everything he’d seen. Oddly enough, they
asked to see the contents of his bag. Surprised that they would demand this, he
asked what the cause of the fire was. The teacher wouldn’t tell him at first, then
admitted the answer as long as he didn’t tell anyone else.
They didn’t know what caused the fire in Tsukiyama’s bag to start, but the
investigation turned up several energy drink bottles that were actually full of
paint thinner. And not only that, but the bags of the other girls present led to
more bottles of thinner. They denied any knowledge of this, but they’d also just
been disciplined for bullying.
“Huffing paint right on the first week of school… Then again, these are
bullies we’re talking about. They were bothering you about what happened at
homeroom, weren’t they?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, they could be looking at a suspension…but there’s no telling how they
might try to get back at you. If things are seeming dicey, come and tell me at
once.”
After that, Aoba was unceremoniously released, and he headed for the school
exit again—but there were two girls waiting at the front entrance this time,
which still contained a bit of ash from the burned bag.
One was Kururi, carrying her bag and still in gym clothes, and the other was
dressed almost the exact opposite—yet aside from the glasses, they had the exact
same facial features.
“Heya. Hi! Or should it be ‘good evening’? And between you and me, I guess
it’s ‘nice to meet you’! I’m Mairu Orihara! Kuru’s twin sister! It’s a pleasure!”
The other girl was as bright and chatty as her sister was silent and somber.
“Um, n-nice to meet you.”
They sure are odd twins, Aoba thought. Kururi, who was standing in Mairu’s
shadow, mumbled toward the ground, “…Thank you”
“Huh? …Oh, for the thing at homeroom? You’re mistaken. I didn’t do it to
earn your thanks, and I didn’t stop them from writing on your desk in the first
place.”
“…I know.”
“Hweh?” he mumbled.
Mairu cackled and added, “You know that Kuru was secretly watching them
do that from the hallway, right? And you know that the both of us were secretly
watching the whole scene that happened here earlier?”
“What?!” Aoba stammered, shocked at this revelation. “But…wouldn’t that
give you even less of a reason to thank me?”
“Kuru’s happy that you said you thought she was cuter than that Tsukiyama
girl! You know how she’s more of the silent, thoughtful type, yet she wears those
gym clothes all the time? Kinda weird, right? So she’s just happy that a boy
actually said that about her!”
“…Be quiet,” Kururi commanded her little sister. She took a step closer to
Aoba, still facing downward. She and the boy were about the same height.
She said, “…Your reward.”
And she looked up at last, leaned forward, and covered Aoba’s lips with her
own.
?!
Not realizing at first what had just happened, Aoba’s mind was a total blank.
He only watched as Kururi shuffled away, her face red.
But that wasn’t the end of his confusion. Mairu stepped forward to take the
place of the retreating Kururi, and unlike her sister, she forcefully grabbed his
body and yanked him toward her for a powerful kiss.
?! ?!?!?!
With Aoba’s childish looks, it could have easily been a role reversal of man
and woman. His mind went from recovering its wits to losing them again. He
stared at her in blank shock. Mairu pulled back and, without missing a beat,
declared, “Yippee! I shared an indirect kiss with Kuru! Hee-hee-hee!”
She hopped away from Aoba and continued in the same tone of voice, “Sorry
about that. It’s probably a big shock to receive that from a girl who isn’t your
girlfriend. Then again, Kuru looks like the reserved type, but she’s actually a lot
more assertive than I am!”
“…Not true.”
The younger of the twins ignored the elder and approached Aoba, giggling as
she leaned in for a very long whisper.
“Oh, but even if you fall in love with Kuru, you can’t monopolize her! She
belongs to me, too, you know! Also, I’ve decided that the only man for me is
Yuuhei Hanejima! In fact, Kuru’s a big Yuuhei Hanejima fan, too, so you might
not get anything more than that kiss from her! Ha-ha-ha!”
“But Yuuhei Hanejima is…a huge star.”
“Yeah, I know. Why do you mention it?”
“Never mind…um…huh? What am I supposed to do about this?”
Aoba was much too confused by the series of events for this to work as the
dating sim development it could have been. Once he collected his breath and
thoughts, he asked a question that had nothing to do with their kisses.
“Umm…oh, right. Did you put something in those girls’ bags? Tsukiyama
and them, I mean. Like…stuff.”
It was a very direct and pointed question—which the girl who had kissed him
on the third day they met, without any romantic connection, answered in a tiny
voice.
“…That’s a secret.”
With a shy little smile at the end.
After the twins left, Aoba stayed there for a while, leaning against the shoe
locker at the front entrance. Eventually, he remembered something and brought
up a friend’s number on his phone.
“Yeah, hello? It’s me…”
“I feel like I just turned into the protagonist of a really bad porno.”
“Would you believe me if I said that I just got kissed out of the blue by a pair
of twins?”
“Huh? Yeah, they’re cute. Kinda weird, but in terms of their facial features,
they’re pretty cute.”
“Kill me? Why? No, I just figured that I would ask whether I should be
happy or freaked out, from the perspective of a loser like you… Okay, sorry, that
one’s my fault. Don’t scrape the phone speaker against the glass—aaaaagh! Stop
it!”
That night, Ikebukuro
“I don’t see it, Kuru. I’m pretty sure that glider was going in this direction,
though. Aww, geez. I just wanna see it, I wanna see it, I wanna!”
Mairu was shouting and carrying on, her kiss with an unfamiliar boy earlier
in the afternoon completely forgotten. They were both in their own clothes now,
but their fashion sense was odd nonetheless. Their affect was different from
during the daytime.
“…”
Kururi, meanwhile, scanned the area in silence.
After going home from school, they leaped all over the live footage of the
Black Rider and rushed out into the city to catch sight of it.
There was still heavy foot traffic in the shopping district, but as it was a
normal weekday, once you got off the beaten path, it quickly turned quiet.
As they headed down one such lonely street, Mairu asked her older sister,
“By the way, why are we coming this way? Shouldn’t we look on one of the
bigger streets?”
Kururi ignored her and continued to look around, eventually settling on a car
parked on the street. She began walking straight toward it.
“…This way.”
No sooner had she said it than Kururi crouched down and reached under the
car.
“Whoa, what are you doing, Kuru? Did you find a ten-yen coin? Yippee! You
can buy me one of those cheapo puffed corn snacks! I’ll take the mentaiko
flavor, please!” Mairu teased, cackling. But her sister got back to her feet,
holding what she’d found under the car.
“What’s that?” Mairu asked. Her sister didn’t ignore her this time.
“…I saw…the Black Rider…drop it…on TV.”
“Huh? No way, it dropped something? I didn’t notice!” Mairu exclaimed in
surprise. She examined the object her sister found with great interest.
Then she said…
“What’s up with this envelope?”
It was a brown manila envelope with “Payment—Celty Sturluson” written on

it in Japanese.
The envelope was surprisingly heavy and felt as though it contained a stack
of paper. Kururi was already anticipating the answer before she opened it up.
As soon as she saw what was inside, her eyes went wide, and she glanced
around.
“What’s up, Kuru?”
At the very instant that the younger sister got her own peek into the envelope,
something writhed in the corners of their vision. They both spun around to see.
Ikebukuro at night. In the middle of an empty street.
A monster stood there, ready to silence the girls in the lonely midst of the
city.
It was tall, with exceedingly pale skin. And it appeared to be wandering
about aimlessly.
But its face was hideously twisted from the nose outward, with bright-red
blood spilling from eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as it shuffled forward with
zombielike steps.
“…What’s that?”
“Stay back, Kuru.”
Mairu determined that this represented a threat, and she stood in front of her
sister, right in the path of the obviously dangerous figure.
And just when he was mere inches away from entering Mairu’s roundhouse
kick range, the bloodied man fell over, muttering something.
“…? What’s up with him? Should we call an ambulance?” the girl wondered.
Right then, the man’s head rose, and he spoke in halting, trembling Japanese.
“Hospital…not so…good… Miss…is there…gahfk!”
“…Yo-u okay?”
There was blood in the man’s cough. He slowly rolled to face upward again
and just barely managed to mumble, “I’m sorry… It might not be possible…but
before I die…I need to do one…thing…”
“What, what? This is really interesting. Can you tell me?”
“Are you aware…of any sushi shops…run by Russians…around here…?”
Ten minutes later, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro
With a new briefcase purchased at the discount shop, Shizuo boldly strode
through the night.
“What do you suppose that thief was all about, Tom?”
“Don’t ask me, man,” Shizuo’s boss answered lazily. He thought about the
event earlier in the evening. “I guess we could check back there later. Don’t want
to get in trouble if it turns out that white guy died.”
“You realize he was trying to starve us by stealing our stuff, right? He must
have known there was the possibility of being killed.”
“Y’know, sometimes you can say the most aggressive things…,” Tom
muttered, feeling a cold sweat run down his back. He determined that further
comments might result in his own bodily harm, so he set about checking their
next collection point with a sigh.
When he wasn’t pissed, Shizuo was a fairly quiet man. Right now he was
somewhere in between. He probably wasn’t fully over the bizarre and uncalled-
for attempted robbery (?) from before.
They decided they ought to grab a bite to eat before they headed to their next
job and were looking for a suitable destination when they heard a pleased shout.
“Shii-zuu-oo!”
A girl leaped onto Shizuo’s back.
“…”
He reacted with something resembling a wry smile. Whatever it was, it
wasn’t good.
Shizuo reached around his back and picked up the girl by the collar like a
kitten.
“Oh no, no, no, it’ll stretch! You’re stretching my clothes, Shizuo!”
“Mairu…what the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
He dangled her out in front of him, confirming that it was indeed the little
sister of the man he hated more than anyone else in the world.
“To see you, of course!”
“I know you’re only after Kasuka…”
“Yeah! But I love you, too, Shizuo. You’re so strong!”
“…Whatever. Even I don’t have access to Kasuka’s schedule anymore. He’s a
big star now, I hear.” Shizuo grunted exasperatedly, lowering Mairu to the
ground. He looked over and saw Kururi watching from a distance. The girl
bowed shyly.
“…For a second, I was worried you were gonna snap there, man.” Tom
grinned nervously, his face twitching slightly.
Shizuo scratched his head and said, “Well…I don’t usually snap on people
who are at least honest and straightforward about it.”
What Shizuo Heiwajima hated was people who used logic to twist others
around and stir up their emotions. First and foremost of this type was Izaya
Orihara, and while his sisters were also insane, they were more honestly so, and
therefore he didn’t get as angry with them.
Naturally, he didn’t put up with everything they did—but given their obvious
admiration for him, Shizuo did not display any open antagonism toward them.
He did, however, show some irritation at the inevitable thought of their
brother. “Listen, if your brother dies laughing as he gets shoved into a dump
truck, I might just introduce you to my brother. In fact, I’m kinda frustrated
today, so maybe I’ll blow off steam by beating Izaya to death.”
“If Iza will do the trick, then go right ahead!” Mairu suggested, selling her
brother into certain death. Shizuo sighed again.
Nearby, Tom thought that it was quite rare for Shizuo to sigh like a normal
person, but he chose to keep that observation to himself.
“Oh, right! I want to talk more with you, but there’s a specific reason I came
over, Shizuo!”
“What?”
“Listen, listen. Iza took us to this sushi place run by Russians around here.
Do you know where it is? We got lost looking for it…”
“Oh, Simon’s place? And don’t call him Iza. Call him Fleabrains from now
on.”
It struck Shizuo as an odd request, but he gave them thorough directions to
their destination (which was actually just a single corner away).
Meanwhile, Tom noticed the other, much shyer girl and thought, Shizuo and
a withdrawn teenage girl… Can’t tell if they’re totally unsuited for each other or
just the opposite. But when he saw the envelope in her hands, his eyes went
wide.
Inside the opened envelope was a stack of Yukichi Fukuzawas—about a
hundred of them. He looked around carefully, approached the girl, and
whispered, “Hey, you shouldn’t be carrying those around in the envelope.”
“…!”
As she hastily closed the envelope, he handed her the paper bag that had
contained the clock he just bought at the discount shop. “It’s better than nothing.
And make sure you don’t drop it.”
“…Thank you”
“It’s fine. I was just looking for a place to throw the bag away.”
Finished with the directions, Mairu came back to grab Kururi’s hand and drag
her away.
“Thank you, Shizuo!”
“…See you. Say hi…to Kasuka.”
Tom watched the two girls race off and sighed.
Still just in their first or second year at Raira…and they’ve made a huge
stack of cash like that… How long did it take them to earn that, and what did
they have to give up?
After a while, he turned to Shizuo and mumbled, “I know they say that kids
these days are liberal when it comes to sex…but money can be a scary thing.”
“?”
“Then again…we collect debts for a hookup service, so I guess we’re not in
any position to lecture…”
Tom nodded to himself, pitying the plight of the young women without
realizing that he was completely wrong about it. Shizuo watched his boss, and
after the meeting with Mairu, he thought about his younger brother.
Oh yeah. He said he was on location in Ikebukuro today.
We live in the same neighborhood. You’d think he could drop me a line once
in a while.

Chat room
TarouTanaka: At any rate, tomorrow I’ll be around Ikebukuro, guiding and

being guided.
TarouTanaka: I’m still a newcomer to this city, so it’s good to meet you.
Kuru: That is a coincidence. We, too, have plans to travel through Ikebukuro
tomorrow. Perhaps we might even meet face-to-face and fist-to-fist.
Mai: We’re gonna punch ’em?
TarouTanaka: If we do, go easy on me, lol.
Kuru: Our trip out this evening was quite wonderful. Are you aware of the sushi
place known as Russia Sushi? That is a most fascinating establishment.
Mai: Yummy.
TarouTanaka: Oh! I know it! Russia Sushi! That’s where Simon works!
Bacura: The employees are scary, though.
Kuru: Oh, what a detailed response… Perhaps we have passed by each other on
the streets already. Just outside Russia Sushi maybe.
Mai: Near miss.
TarouTanaka: Oh, I go to the bowling alley right next door all the time.
Bacura: And I went to the Taiwanese restaurant on the third floor and the arcade
on the second floor pretty often.
Saika: everyone knows so much.
TarouTanaka: Well, out of all of us, I bet Kanra knows the most about this
place.
Kanra has entered the chat.
Kanra: Yoo-hoo, everyone!

Kanra: Oh, we have some newcomers.
Kuru: It has been quite a while, Kanra. To think that our reunion would take
place not in the flesh, but the cybernetic world! The Internet can make the
distance between people shrink or grow… A truly futuristic tool, in my
opinion.
Mai: Long time no see.
Bacura: Evenin’.
Kanra: Umm…hang on a sec.
<Private Mode> Kanra: Is that you, Kururi and Mairu?

<Private Mode> Kanra: How’d you get the address to this chat?!
<Private Mode> Kuru: Miss Namie thoughtfully told us, Brother Izaya.
<Private Mode> Kanra: …So she already made contact with you…?
<Private Mode> Kanra: Listen to me. Just leave for today.
<Private Mode> Kanra: There are lots of things I need to tell you about later.
<Private Mode> Kuru: I understand, Brother. I look forward to hearing your
voice in person.
Mai: Okay, I’m leaving.

TarouTanaka: ?
<Private Mode> Kanra: Use private mode! Whatever, just log off!
Kuru: Kanra says that he hates us, so we are going to leave.

Kanra: Hey, come on, that’s a little harsh for a joke!
Kuru: I will pray that the next time we meet, Kanra’s mood has improved.
Saika: fighting is bad
Mai: I’m sorry.
Kanra: Aah! It was a joke! You don’t have to take it so seriously!
Kuru: Well, have a good one, everyone.
Mai: Buh-byes.
TarouTanaka: Oh, good night.
Kuru has left the chat.

Mai has left the chat.
Bacura: Good night. What’s with the “buh-byes” at the end? lol
Saika: good night
Kanra: Enough of that! Let’s regroup and start anew!
TarouTanaka: So, um, who were they after all?
Kanra: Pay them no mind or you’ll die!
TarouTanaka: It causes death?!
Kanra: Just forget it! So anyway…
Kanra: Hiya, it’s me, Kanra!
TarouTanaka: Hello again.
Bacura: ’Sup.
Saika: good evening. it is a pleasure again today.
Kanra: Sure thing. Is everyone used to the new chat system by now?
TarouTanaka: Yes, the different colors for each person makes it easy to identify
who’s who.
Bacura: Indeed,
Bacura: This allows us to gang up on Kanra more vividly than ever.
Kanra: Vividly?! Oh no, what are you going to do to little old me?!
Bacura: An endless repetition of beatings and neglect.
.
.
.

The next day, Ikebukuro
It was a sunny afternoon. Raira Academy uniforms could be spotted here and
there throughout the neighborhood.
The first-year students were done with class earlier than second- or third-
years, so it was they who were out on the town now.
Kururi and Mairu were walking down the sidewalk next to Sunshine City.
They appeared to be walking with purpose—but for whatever reason, Mairu’s
footsteps were heavy. It was as if the soles of her feet were sending roots into the
earth, and for this one moment, her face was actually gloomier than Kururi’s.
“…Cheer up.”
“Ugh…I’m sorry, Kuru, I’m sorry… But it’s such a terrible shock…”
Mairu was holding a tabloid paper in her hand.
On the front it read “Yuuhei Hanejima and Ruri Hijiribe in a Late-Night
Tryst?!,” complete with an article describing the discovery of a meeting between
Mairu’s beloved Yuuhei Hanejima and megastar singer Ruri Hijiribe in the
middle of the night.
“Yuuhei… Yuuhei’s going to belong to someone else… Oh, if only this Ruri
was Kururi instead, then I could bear it. I’d be delighted, in fact! So why, why?!
My heart is being torn to pieces! The value of my sadness is equal to Graham’s
number!”
Graham’s number was the greatest “meaningful number,” according to the
Guinness Book of World Records, an amount so vast that anyone who wasn’t
well versed in mathematics would quickly overheat in the attempt to
comprehend it.
Her sister might not have understood the significance of that, but she did
recognize Mairu’s shock. Kururi curled around in the center of the sidewalk and
sealed her little sister’s lips shut with her own.
“Mm…!”
Just like Aoba yesterday, Mairu’s eyes widened in surprise.
Two teenage girls locked in a passionate kiss right on the street. It was a sight
both tantalizingly illicit and abnormal, and if a staff writer for Wakahime Club
had been present, he would have snapped photos with tears in his eyes.
Mairu was surprised by that unexpected action but soon took on a blissful
look and clutched back at her sister’s body.
As if on cue, Kururi pulled her lips away and grinned.
“…Feeling better?”
“Yeah! I feel way better! Girls’ lips are so soft and wonderful! Especially
yours, Kuru! Can I shout yahoo? Yahoo! One more time! One more time!”
Mairu danced, writhing with stimulation.
Kururi’s smile vanished. “…You’re creepy.”
“What?! That’s messed up! It’s the most messy of messed-up messes! Just
after we had rekindled our love for one another! Not only that, you kiss another
girl—your own sister, to boot—and then claim it’s creepy? What’s that about?!
Is this a honey trap?! Are you luring me in just to criticize me?! No fair! It’s
like… Oh, I know! It’s like you’re the Road Runner, and I’m Wile E. Coyote!”
Mairu’s analogy didn’t make much sense. Kururi hung her head in troubled
exasperation, then grinned again as she looked up.
But before she could say anything—
“Hey, heyyy! What’s up, girls? Quite a show you’re puttin’ on!”
“I mean, two girls makin’ out in the middle of the day? Crazy aggressive
stunt, yeah?”
“More like aggresstunt, am I right? Hah.”
“So that’s hilarious and all, but can you let us get in on that tip?”
“Why do you do it between girls? It makes no sense. You do that because the
guys give you no attention?”
“’Cuz we’ll step in and provide!”
“But only if you can tell us where to find the Black Rider.”
From somewhere inconspicuous, where they had noticed the rather attention-
grabbing stunt of girls’ kissing, emerged a group of very conspicuous men
dressed in striped motorcycle gang outfits.
And as a result, the girls, too, were dragged into Ikebukuro’s holiday.
Chapter 4: GAO Magazine Special
Article “Spotted! Yuuhei Hanejima
and Ruri Hijiribe in a Late-Night
Tryst?!”
Roots Smile Café, Higashi-Nakano
In a bar fairly close to Higashi-Nakano Station, with walls lined with various
bottles of liquor and a pleasant handmade quality to the furnishings, a number of
young people bustled, the sound of their merriment a kind of BGM for the
establishment.
At a table in the very back sat two men, facing each other. One of them
nervously glanced around, while the other drank a virgin cocktail, his face
completely expressionless.
The emotionless man drained his glass, his eyes as cold as ice. When he was
done, he ordered another from the bartender, still without a hint of feeling.
He turned to the older man sitting across from him and flatly asked, “Aren’t
you going to have a drink, Mr. Kanemoto?”
“I have to go back to the office and work after this,” the restless Kanemoto
said politely to the younger man. His table partner had a face so smooth and
delicate, he could have passed as a boy—or even a woman. His features were
handsome and striking, the very manifestation of beauty in the flesh.
His hair was a combination of countless perfect silky strands, as smooth and
flowing as a river, perfectly jet-black and softly feminine.
At a glance, he looked like a prince out of a girls’ manga, but there was a
chilly personality emanating from him that made him far from welcoming.
Eventually, an order of pasta reached the table, and the young man said in a
monotone, “Go ahead, Mr. Kanemoto.”
“N-no, you first, Mr. Yuuhei,” he said, appending a polite title to the younger
man’s name. Yuuhei picked up his fork without another word.
It was pasta alla carbonara, the chewy-looking noodles topped with rich
cream sauce and fragrant bacon. The young man nimbly rolled his fork until he
had accumulated a wad of pasta the size of a golf ball, which he popped into his
mouth.
He chewed, carefully and silently, his face a sculpted mask. When he was
done, he said, “This is good carbonara.”
The other man slumped and reluctantly grabbed his own fork. “There’s no
way for me to tell if you’re telling the truth or not, based on your expression…
Oh, what do you know? It is good.”
In comparison to the other man’s lack of emotion, the manager began to
eagerly shovel the pasta into his face. He complained, “You know this is right in
front of the office, don’t you? I mean…we could have a meeting at a club or
someplace else. We’ll pick up the tab. Why here?”
“Because it’s close.”
“Oh, I see… So you’re saying…you don’t have any interest in visiting a
club?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never considered it. I’ll look into it if I get the chance,”
the young man said.
Kanemoto sighed and continued with business. “Well, in that case…are you
up on tomorrow’s schedule?”
“I have an interview at a hotel in Ikebukuro at six thirty, and then I’m going
home.”
“…Yes, that’s right.”
The conversation paused again. It wasn’t that the young man refused to
speak, he just didn’t show any emotion when he did so. Because of that,
Kanemoto was unsure of how to proceed or if what he was saying was
displeasing his conversation partner.
“…”
“It’s very good.”
“…I know. I already finished mine… At any rate, tomorrow’s interview is
promotion for the movie, so keep that in mind.”
“Okay.”
Yuuhei nodded and continued to eat his meal like an animatronic figure. His
professional manager Kanemoto looked at the young man and thought, I only
took on this job because Uzuki asked me to… He’s not acting this way because
he hates me, is he?
“Um, well…in that case, let’s just get through the next three days, while
Uzuki’s off on his honeymoon…”
“Yes, of course,” Yuuhei responded, still cold and mechanical. Kanemoto
bowed again.
He had to avoid any displays of rudeness. The attractive young man sitting
before him was worth millions—possibly billions—of yen. He was a bona fide
money tree.
From the Internet encyclopedia Fuguruma Youki
An except from the “Yuuhei Hanejima” article
Yuuhei Hanejima—an actor and model. Born in Toshima Ward of Tokyo.

His birth date is unclear, as the president of Jack-o’-Lantern Japan, Max
Sandshelt, has claimed on different occasions that he is “a cyborg born in the
year 3258,” and “a vampire that’s been alive for over a millennium,” and “a
warrior of light from the ancient continent of Atlantis who was never
reincarnated.” Calculations from his appearance at the coming-of-age ceremonial
holiday estimate that he is just around twenty-one years old.
His real name is Kasuka Heiwajima. As stated earlier, his talent agency is
Jack-o’-Lantern Japan.
In addition to his parents, his family includes an older brother. He seems to
respect his brother and mentions him often in interviews. No other details about
his brother are known. There is a record of a bizarre incident involving a
particularly persistent journalist’s car being suddenly flipped over after
questioning too closely about Hanejima’s family, but the connection between the
two things is not certain.
What is known is that his brother is a terrifying individual. He once beat a
talent scout half to death, and Hanejima’s rescue of the scout was what led to his
show business debut.
After modeling for a number of magazines, his first acting role was Carmilla
Saizou, the lead character of the direct-to-video movie Vampire Ninja Carmilla
Saizou. He earned cult attention for his good looks and frighteningly polished
acting, and his name spread in certain circles on the Internet.
The next year, Daioh TV’s flagship program Money Gamer ran a segment
titled “How Much Can You Make in One Month with a Million Yen?” in which
Yuuhei used various connections and means to reach a total of 1.2 billion yen, an
incident that led to nationwide news before it even aired.
Because the rules of the segment stated that any profit from the experiment
went back to the contestant, he was soon known to the public as the
extraordinarily lucky boy who won himself a cool 1,199 million yen.
Yuuhei’s reputation as a nouveau riche took the backseat when he exhibited
his acting skill in a series of television dramas. His versatility in a variety of
roles, combined with his appearance, launched him to stardom.
He is skilled at singing and athletics as well, not just acting. On top of that,
his repertoire covers roles from singers to assassins, from cross-dressing to
passionate bed scenes. He is known as an actor’s actor.
However, outside of acting, he eliminates virtually all emotion, carrying out

conversations like a flat-voiced robot. This makes him an ill fit for talk shows,
but many of his fans find this to be cool, and he is therefore known as naturally
expressionless. In his words, “I used to cry and laugh as a kid, but I learned by
the example of my brother, who had extreme emotional swings, and that’s why I
act like this. But I still deeply respect him.”
In one nonfaked hidden-camera prank segment, Yuuhei was accosted by

“yakuza” actors, who threatened to cut off his pinkie finger, but he showed no
fear and did not resist. Right as they were about to sever his finger with a knife,
the program staff had to intervene and cancel the segment.
In another incident, a stalker gave him a silent cold call on a day off, and he
stayed on the line for twenty hours, until the stalker gave up. (This is only
known because the silent pressure was too much to bear, disintegrating the
stalker’s will and causing her to turn herself in to the police.)
This mechanical personality does not endear him to others, and he has
virtually no close friends in show business. For this reason, his private life is
shrouded in mystery, and the interior of his home has never been filmed.
He owns a number of cars, most notably some foreign sports cars and luxury
models like Mitsuoka’s Le-Seyde and Galue, and he recently expressed a desire
to own the Mitsuoka Orochi in a TV interview.
Because he chooses his purchases on taste with no thought for price, it is not
uncommon for him to wear a cheap accessory from a one hundred–yen shop and
an ultrafine million-yen accessory at the same time. He does not seem to find
this odd at all. [citation needed]
Due to his ability to seemingly do anything perfectly, he has the Internet

nickname “Secret-Shame Curator.” This is because he is considered “a character
so perfect, he’s the kind of secret shame that you create in middle school and try
to forget about when you grow up.”
When the agency president heard about this, he said, “Then we need to make
him even more perfect” and whipped up a poster with angel wings, devil horns,
and nonmatching color contacts. He managed to get this image on the cover of a
niche magazine, but it looked so good on him that it only made him more
popular. Inexplicably, the poster also went viral overseas.
Yuuhei kept a blank expression throughout the photo shoot, but afraid of the
rumors that he was “only pretending to be blank to hide his incredible rage,”
Max Sandshelt supposedly went back to America for two weeks for his own
safety—an anecdote that aptly describes the eeriness of his icy expression.
After he had achieved both fame and fortune, Yuuhei stunned the showbiz
world when he accepted an offer to film a sequel to Vampire Ninja Carmilla
Saizou, a work that everyone assumed was his own secret shame.
When a celebrity magazine ranked him third on their list of “Actors Who
Never Say No,” he responded with, “Carmilla Saizou is a very respectable
character. He’s a wonderful ninja who knows the true meaning of love,” in his
usual deadpan, leaving everyone else unsure of whether he meant it or not.
He was tabbed by Hollywood director John Drox to play the lead in his pet
project Cruiserfield, which films in Japan this spring, leading to increased
interest abroad.
And this soon-to-be Hollywood star was causing Kanemoto to come down with
ulcers.
A man named Uzuki had been Yuuhei’s manager since his debut, but for
these three days, Kanemoto was tabbed to take over as a substitute manager
while Uzuki was on his honeymoon.
I didn’t think he really acted like a robot all the time.
Kanemoto had always assumed that Yuuhei’s iron mask was just another act
he put on for the TV cameras. Anyone who saw his effortless swing of emotions
when he was in character would naturally assume that this blank-faced
automaton was the true act.
But this young man was anything but natural.
“Well, I’ll be going, then,” Yuuhei said in front of the Jack-o’-Lantern Japan
building after their meal, as he got into his car.
Today he was driving a Ferrari. Kanemoto didn’t know much about the
specific model, but he could recognize that it was a Ferrari from the red color,
distinct body, and horse logo.
In the passenger seat was a plastic bag from a convenience store carrying a
beef bowl inside it, probably for a late-night meal.
A guy with eight luxury cars, buying a cheapo mini-mart beef bowl,
Kanemoto marveled as he watched the younger man drive off. He felt like he
was watching a hermit in person.
Yuuhei Hanejima was the agency’s diamond, a jewel that shone brighter the
more it was polished. As such, Kanemoto was filled to his core by a desire not to
see him damaged. Yuuhei himself might be indifferent to his own worth, but his
sheer talent in every regard helped him fend for himself.
Kanemoto understood this, but he couldn’t deny the overwhelming pressure
not to have that diamond tarnished while it was briefly in his care. He was sick
with envy at his newly married coworker in more ways than one.
But to his great misfortune, that very jewel would be dragged into
Ikebukuro’s holiday the very next day.
In the darkness
Everything in one’s life could be compared to a story, such as a movie, or a TV

show, or a novel, or a fairy tale.
In the blind darkness, she wondered what kind of B movie her life was.
When did it start?
Time itself seemed to twist and stretch. It was all she could do to keep her
wits intact as she swam through a sea of vague memory.
Oh, that’s right. It was in my childhood. What I always looked up to as a
child.
Giant beasts on the television screen, running and flailing about as they
toppled high-rise buildings and the Tokyo Tower.
They weren’t exactly “animals,” more like a cross between people, insects,
and something that did not exist in our world. Monsters designed to inspire fear
and disgust that rampaged at will, without humility or excuses.
She felt a kind of adoration of these movie monsters, the kaiju.
At the time, she was too young to be able to describe what drew her to those
creatures with words. But now, she could.
In her innocent youth, she understood that she could never be like them.
Obviously, no one could be a giant monster that stood hundreds of feet tall. It
wasn’t in that sense.
She wanted to be something that was unfettered by anything, doing as it
pleased, without regard for anyone else’s opinion. Even if the result of that was
destruction.
Unconsciously, she came to a realization—that she could never live outside
of the law, and even on the straight and narrow path, she could not expose who
she really was.
Her family was one of the richest in an already-wealthy neighborhood.
It was a “distinguished line,” whatever that meant. All it amounted to was
that she had to wear the mask of family and continue the act of her bloodline.
Her parents, extended family, and others never explicitly said this to her, but the
expectation and the atmosphere that existed before she was even born placed a
powerful pressure on her instincts.
They weren’t the kind of distinguished line that had political or financial
connections or the ability to bend society to their will. They were just a family
that happened to have earned a bunch of money at some point a few generations
in the past.
It was probably this tenuous connection to dignity that caused them to be so
dedicated to the pursuit of “distinguished” behavior—it was the only way they
could maintain that dignity.
And now, the estate was gone.
Her grandfather’s business failed, and her father got burned in the futures
market trying to make up for that loss. They went bankrupt.
Her mother left the family, and her current whereabouts were unknown.
The house burned for some reason.
Several relatives with hefty debts hung themselves.
Some relatives without hefty debts hung themselves, too.
With hindsight, she could see that it wasn’t the debt that was crushing to
them; it was the loss of that pride and honor, the only thing they could rely upon.
A true distinguished family would maintain their dignity even if they lost
everything, but the nouveau riche couldn’t protect or discard their pride, and the
only thing left in between was despair.
As one of the few survivors, she mourned the loss of her family.
But she also gained freedom at last.
After many twists and turns being raised by distant relatives, she finally
found what she wanted to do. It involved those movie kaiju that she admired so
much as a child.
It wasn’t just her respect of kaiju, but of horror movie killers like Jason and
Freddy, emotionless creatures like the Xenomorph, and all other bringers of
destruction and murder that transcended both the flesh and society of humanity
that led her to enroll as an apprentice makeup artist as soon as she graduated
middle school.
Now she could create the monsters she had admired so much with her own
hands.
And they’ll do what I couldn’t…
It was at this point in her reflection on her past that she finally realized what
she was doing.
Oh. This is my life, flashing before my eyes.
The serial killer Hollywood, her body flying through the air after it was
pummeled by a park bench, could sense her own life’s imminent end.
In the midst of that extremely compressed period of time, she shut her eyes.
How had she turned into a killer?
The flashback of her life didn’t need that part.
It was a part of her past she didn’t want to remember.
Still, I’m satisfied.
At the end, at the very end…I finally met a real monster.
Not a fake like me, but a true, true “monster” with monster strength.
And with the second great impact of the last few seconds, her flashback
vanished, sending what remained of her wits into darkness.
At that moment
Kasuka Heiwajima, better known as Yuuhei Hanejima, was passing by, out of
either coincidence or fate.
On the way home from his interview in Ikebukuro, he nimbly drove his
beloved Le-Seyde through the night streets, right under the speed limit. The
interview had contained several questions about his brother, so he decided to
stop by and say hello, cruising the streets looking for the familiar bartender
uniform that he had given Shizuo as a gift.
When this predictably didn’t work, he began to wonder if he should call, or
send a text, or if it was even necessary to see him at all—when his car lights
caught sight of something odd down a narrow alley.
“…”
It was the twisted sight of a human figure falling from the sky, an eyeball
popped out of its socket.
The thing crashed to the asphalt and twitched once, then lay still and inert.
Only the silhouette could be described as “human”; in the headlights, the skin
was green and covered in crawling insects, the very figure of a zombie from a
movie or video game.
Most human beings would scream at this point. But Yuuhei calmly pulled the
car over to the shoulder and got out to check if the figure was living or just a
mannequin.
The green skin gleamed wet and sticky in the light. There was no blood, but
the figure was deadly still, clearly suffering serious medical effects.
Yuuhei considered that it could be a lifelike figure rather than a human being,
but the momentary twitching earlier seemed to rule that out. It was an abnormal
situation to say the least, but Yuuhei did not show a single sign of panic.
People falling out of the sky was a normal sight to Yuuhei. Usually because
his brother had punched them there.
As he got out his phone to call an ambulance, Yuuhei considered another
possibility.
The serial killer Hollywood.
Recalling the stories of the murderous maniac who appeared in the form of
various monsters, Yuuhei began to wonder if the half-dead, half-living thing on
the ground was this very person.
That didn’t change his course of action, however. He took a bold step
forward, then noticed that the zombie’s face seemed to be peeling off.
“…”
The effect was so lifelike, it looked like nothing other than rotting skin. But
beneath it, Yuuhei noticed a different color—not the red of muscle or blood, but
pale, ordinary skin.
An ordinary person would likely have been too panicked by the sight to
calmly notice such a detail, but this young man was not ordinary. He silently
reached out for the mask.
When he saw the face that emerged from beneath it, Yuuhei stopped to think.
It was only for a few seconds, during which the young man’s handsome face
showed no emotion, only an eerie mechanical interest, like a cleaning robot that
found a piece of dirt.
Eventually, Yuuhei lifted the mysterious zombie-costumed person into his
arms and toward the passenger-side door of his car. He carefully opened the door
and sat the monster into the seat.
He then returned to the driver’s seat, called someone on his phone, and when
he was done, quietly resumed driving away.
In the darkness
Oddly, I could tell that I was dreaming.

How had it begun?
Why did I become a murderer?
I should never have possibly become a monster, so how did it happen?
It’s what I always wanted, so why do I feel so sick?
I wanted to vomit.
I always wanted to vomit after I killed them.
But I knew that what was truly sickening was myself for being a killer.
Even as I committed the deeds, I asked myself what I was doing.
What a disgusting person I am, feeling sick at my own actions out of regret
and guilt.
And even as I did it, I couldn’t stop the feeling of nausea from creeping up on
my backbone.
No, no, it’s not right.
A monster doesn’t regret.
A monster doesn’t feel sick.
A monster isn’t plagued by guilt.
Some monsters in the movies were like that.
But they aren’t the real monsters.
They are lovable human beings. Or not human—but humanlike.
If they could share sentiments with human beings, then somewhere,
somewhere, they were meant to be loved. No matter how they look.
But I am not.
I can’t be like that.
I can’t be loved by anyone.
I will be a monster.
A monster that no one can fathom.
And only then can I get back at them…
No, wrong.
Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
There’s one left! Just one! And yet…
One, one, one, him, he is coming

It’s him It’s him kill kill must kill him kill him
kill him them no him kill
kill kill no must kill or be killed vomit he’s coming don’t come
stay away stay away stay away stay away no no no don’t don’t do n’t
don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t don’t
don’t
“This is a surprise. She heals almost as fast as Celty and your brother.”
Nooo! Who him no him? No!

No then who ggh hyaaaaa! going to , die ah
different voice no monster
“Amazing. Maybe Celty’s pulling her closer. What do you think?”
Not him whose voice here where is he is he

must kill someone I’ll die yeeek! aaaah!
“At first the syringe wouldn’t even pierce the skin. Then again, Shizuo broke
my scalpel. I mean, that’s incredible. There’s no blade more solid and flexible
than a scalpel. And he broke it… It felt like I was scraping against a metal
washing board or something.”
Who answer who

where he where
Just one more to go can’t end yet hyaa!
“In fact, this isn’t far off… It’s kind of hard to believe it’d be a girl like this.
Such a beauty in the prime of her youth.”
Answer answer answer

Can’t end here no no I don’t want
Help Mother where are you
Help me
Help
And then, her eyes opened.

“Oh, she’s awake. Not only is there no danger to her life, she may be able to
walk again in minutes.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Hey, I can’t turn down a request from Shizuo’s little brother. I don’t want
him coming to blast me all the way to Mars.”
Her wits still weren’t in focus. Her hazy vision was able to process a milky-
white ceiling.
There was some kind of conversation happening around her, but it all felt like
it was happening in some distant country. But she’d have to be watching the TV
to see something from a far-off land, so it gave her the illusion of receiving
telepathic signals instead. Eventually, the information began to get clearer.
One of the voices was devoid of emotion, while the other was cynical and
playful.
“Sorry about my brother…”
“Ha-ha, actually, I should thank you, since he’s been a big help to Celty
somehow. But I don’t want her falling in love with Shizuo, so could you tell him
not to act too cool if he can help it? He’ll punch me if I say so. Oh, and I’m a bit
thirsty, so can I have a glass of water?”
“I’ll bring you one.”
“Oh, thanks. And one for her…if she can drink. Well, get one anyway.”
The closer man’s face loomed toward her. He was a smart-looking young
man with glasses. Based on his white lab coat, he appeared to be a doctor.
But the background surrounding him did not look like a hospital.
Bookshelves lined the wall, and there were decorative plants of the kind found at
an upscale, ultramodern restaurant.
The room was certainly stylish, but that sleek look was ruined by the hangers
of drying clothes hanging in the entrance doorway. There was also a tropical fish
tank, its air pump bubbling away, yet she also heard a cat meowing somewhere
else in the room. The whole place had an odd combination of luxury and homey
comfort.
Where am I?
She blinked her cloudy eyes, trying to bring the scene into focus.
The next moment, she noticed the dull pain coming from every inch of her
body.
…!
It wasn’t enough to make her scream, but she did wonder how it had taken
her this long to notice such pain. She clenched her eyes against it, which the
doctor-like man noticed.
“Oh, I wouldn’t move around yet if I were you. I gave you a painkiller, and
you seem to heal fast—but you took injuries that would normally have you
passed out from the pain,” he said flippantly.
She quietly tried to keep her breathing under control. If this was a hospital,
there was something very important she’d need to face—but with the
circumstances so uncertain, she needed to understand her situation first.
“…”
“Are you all right? Aside from the dull impact, do you have any sharp,
stabbing pains?”
“…”
She shook her head. The man in the coat smiled with relief. At the very least,
the doctor here did not seem to intend her any harm. She swallowed and
managed to emit a voice that was weak and pained, yet driven by strong will.
“Um…where…am I…?”
It was a delicate and beautiful voice for a girl who had been wearing a
horrifying zombie mask just minutes earlier, but Shinra Kishitani, the man in
white, simply shook his head in ecstatic wonder.
“Ahhh, it’s just like your voice on TV.”
“Umm…”
“Oh, pardon me. But hang on a second. Before I answer your question…
please just let me enjoy the bliss of meeting someone I’ve always wanted to
meet. Not in a romantic way. Just a few seconds, if you don’t mind.”
“Uh, okay…,” the girl on the bed said, keeping her voice low so as not to set
off the throbbing in her head.
Shinra looked relieved and theatrically thrust his arms wide before his injured
patient, his voice positively brimming with bliss.
“It’s a cold, cruel world out there, but I’m glad to be alive! This is true
enchantment! Oh, once you’re able to move again, may I have your autograph?
Two, if possible! I know I’m a shameless fanboy, but my roommate is also a
huge fan of yours!”
It was hardly the most gentlemanly thing in the world, devolving into
fawning excitement in the presence of an injured patient, but the black-market
doctor couldn’t help but bow to his personal hero.
But this wasn’t limited to just him; many men would do the same in this
situation. Others might be so nervous that they could barely speak.
“Who would have ever thought that I could have this job skulking in the
darkness…”
Shinra spread his arms even wider and identified his patient.
“…and eventually get the chance to treat everyone’s favorite idol singer, Ruri
Hijiribe!”
From the Internet encyclopedia Fuguruma Youki
An excerpt from the “Ruri Hijiribe” article
A Japanese actress, celebrity, and model. Affiliated with the Yodogiri Shining
Corporation talent agency.
Her birth name is the same as her stage name.
Date of birth August 8, year unknown.
She was originally an apprentice of the special-effects makeup artist Tenjin

Zakuroya, then made her modeling debut after she was scouted by Yodogiri
Shining Corporation.
Before her debut, she handled special-effects makeup for several domestic
films, with her work on Vampire Ninja Carmilla Saizou being especially lauded.
The World Film Village Federation listed her along with her master in their list
of “100 Juiciest SFX Makeup Artists.”
After that, she made her magazine debut as a model and appeared in her first
minor role in a TV drama six months later, winning passionate fans with her
unique nature.
Her acting is not expert level; her fans are drawn to her nature underneath.
Her pale skin and delicate, melancholy features give her an unearthly beauty,
which has landed her a number of roles playing gloomy, weak-willed characters.
She is rumored to be the rare “straight beauty” without the need of cosmetics,
but the truth of this is unknown. It’s also said that she maintains the same quiet,
graceful nature when the cameras aren’t rolling. In interviews, she has claimed
that she’s poor at interacting and has no friends or boyfriend.
Although she is supposedly sold on her looks alone, her rare qualities among
celebrities means that she has no competitive rival. Her ghostly nature makes her
popular with men and women alike.
She is poor at physical activity and has never appeared on televised athletic
segments, such as swimming races. However, because her dark characteristics
make her easy to play off of during variety programs, she is often featured on
talk shows. Because she speaks so seldomly, most of her character is constructed
via comments and jokes from the hosts and other comedian guests. She has
mentioned her lack of physical coordination on such shows.
However, due to reports that she placed highly in track-and-field events in
elementary school, it’s possible that her weak and nonathletic character might be
a ruse. [citation needed]
Thanks to her eerie qualities and exaggerated characteristics, she is
commonly voted one of the top celebrities whom manga and anime fans would
like to see wear cosplay.
It was none other than the famous idol actress Ruri Hijiribe in the room with
Shinra.
She was an unearthly presence there and not just for the reason that she had
been wearing bizarre zombie makeup.
Naturally, her face had no cosmetics on it. Yet her skin was as smooth as silk,
and her features were as beautiful as a portrait.
You know, if Yuuhei came right out of a girls’ manga, she must be an angel
from a classic painting by one of the Western masters, Shinra thought, then
regretted the fact that he hadn’t brought an autograph board for her to sign. It
was too sudden, I guess.
Normally, Shinra would be cleaning the apartment while waiting for Celty to
come home. Instead, his phone rang with a familiar number on the display.
The brother of an old classmate claimed he had a patient he couldn’t bring to
a normal doctor, so he paid that acquaintance a visit. As a result, Shinra was
grateful that he made the choice to be a black-market doctor.
As Ruri Hijiribe watched the man in the white coat frolic, she wondered,
Who is this man, anyway? And this looks…just like a normal room…but it’s so
big.
Based on the furnishings, it looked more like an apartment than a house. The
problem was, it was much too big for that to be the case.
Oh, right. What happened to me…? That man in the bartender’s outfit hit me
with a bench…and then…
Her memory ended there. After that, someone brought her to this place and
had this doctor-looking man care for her—at least, based on what she could tell
from the way the man was excitedly blathering on.
“…”
Ruri kept her silence, putting her circumstances together in her head.
I wonder if he knows…who I am.
Clearly, he knew that she was Ruri Hijiribe. But more importantly, did he
know that she was the serial killer Hollywood?
First of all, it made no sense that she wasn’t taken to a hospital in an
ambulance. True, it would have been a bad thing for her to be taken to a hospital
and identified, but she was already in a life-or-death situation when she was
found.
As her body throbbed in pain, a cat suddenly climbed up onto her stomach.
“Urgh…”
The pressure of the cat’s paws made the pain much worse. Ruri tried to push
it off of the blanket resting on her stomach, but when she got a good look at it,
she couldn’t do it.
The cat was an adorable Scottish fold with tiny flopped ears and still not fully
grown. It was like a ball of fluff that was given life. The creature looked at Ruri
curiously and mewed.
It was so cute that the serial killer nearly forgot her pain and all her troubles
for an instant.
But another man, who had entered the room in the meantime, reached out
from beside the doctor and picked up the cat.
“Stop that, Dokusonmaru. You shouldn’t climb on an injured person.”
“Dokusonmaru?” the man in the white coat asked.
The younger man said flatly, “His full name is Yuigadokusonmaru. It means
‘Mr. Egocentric.’ Isn’t he cute?”
The man held out the cat, but the doctor pulled back awkwardly. “Please,
smile when you do that next time. It’s scary.”
“But I am smiling.”
“If Dad saw you, he’d try to dissect you,” the black-market doctor said in
resignation as he tried to read the expression of the utterly expressionless man.
Listening to the two men talk, Ruri suddenly realized that the man with the
discount T-shirt and the expensive name-brand belt was a very familiar face.
“Are you…Yuuhei…Hanejima?” she mumbled. Yuuhei turned to her without
a reaction and set the cat down on the floor.
“Oh, good. You’re doing better than I thought,” he said without moving a
single muscle aside from his lips, which made it difficult to tell if he was
actually relieved at all. But given that the man shared her line of work, she knew
that he was simply the type of person who never displayed his true emotions.
They had actually met on a number of occasions, but they were not friends.
In fact, when Yuuhei was shooting his debut film, Vampire Ninja Carmilla
Saizou, it was none other than Ruri who did his prosthetic makeup.
After she began acting, they appeared together just once in a two-hour TV
drama. It was a serialized police procedural, with Yuuhei playing the lead
detective role, while Ruri was a simple guest as the victim’s daughter. That was
the closest connection they shared.
Why?
She was initially more confused than surprised by their reunion.
Why was there a coworker of sorts here in the room?
He couldn’t have been sent…by him…
But she dismissed the thought.
He doesn’t have any connection to Yuuhei Hanejima.
So why? The question floated over the actress’s pretty face as Yuuhei quietly
asked, “Can you drink some water?” He held out a cup, his face like a robot’s.
It was the perfect setup for her to be poisoned, but Ruri took it and imbibed
the water without question. A dull pain ran through her body when she sat up,
but it wasn’t enough to prevent her from drinking.
The doctor noted, “Her muscles were torn to shreds, but it looks like her
internal organs are fine. Just in case, once she’s on her feet again, she should get
X-rays or an MRI. Some kinds of brain hemorrhage don’t show up until later. If
only I had access to Nebula’s research center, I could have done those for you.
Sorry.”
“No, you came out in the middle of the night with no notice. Thank you so
much.”
“Actually, I came out way ahead in the deal—I got to look at an idol way up
close. Oh, and don’t tell Celty I said any of this. She’s a big fan of this girl, too,
so she’ll be jealous, just not in the usual way,” the doctor said, chuckling to
himself.
Suddenly, the buzzing of a cell phone emanated from his pocket, and he
snuck off to the corner of the room to quietly take the call.
The two actors didn’t have much to say, so the room was suddenly plunged
into silence. Eventually, Ruri couldn’t stand it any longer and broke the quiet by
softly asking, “Why am I here?”
“I was on my way home when you fell in front of my car. I know you didn’t
ask for it, but I took you home and called a doctor I know to come look at you.”
“Why here, instead of a hospital?”
“Well, there are a number of reasons…”
He paused briefly and took a breath before continuing, “I thought…you
might not want a hospital.”
“…”
“I apologize if my decision wasn’t the correct one. I can even take you to a
hospital now, if you want.”
“…No, it’s fine.”
Yuuhei was still totally flat in his affect, while Ruri remained suspicious.
Their conversation was distant and polite, but it gave way to more silence.
At that point, the doctor returned, shaking his head.
“Sorry, got another emergency patient! Two in one night—who would have
thought? Damn, just when I had a chance to get to know Ruri Hijiribe,” he
complained. As he prepared to leave, he leaned over to Yuuhei’s ear to whisper,
“Think you could get me an autograph from her? One for Celty, too. Much
appreciated!”
“I’ll ask.”
“Thanks! As a sign of my appreciation, today’s visit is free of charge!”
“No, I can’t…”
“I insist! I’ll just charge my next patient out the wazoo for the crime of
cutting my time here short! Say hi to Shizuo for me!”
Still smiling, the man in the white doctor’s coat left the room.
The cat followed the other man out of the room, as if seeing him to the door,
leaving only two megastars behind.
But here there were no adoring fans, only silence and the fruitless passage of
time.
This time, it was Yuuhei, sitting in the chair at the side of the bed, who broke
the silence.
“May I ask something?”
“…What is it?” Ruri replied, turning to him from her sitting position. Her
eyes bulged.
In his hand was the zombie skin that she had been wearing until just minutes
ago. She tensed up nervously, and Yuuhei said what she was afraid of hearing.
“Ruri, are you the serial killer Hollywood?”
His words were fairly certain, so she cast around for some kind of denial, but
—
“That doctor informed me that your body is abnormal.”
So…he does know.
Denying it or playing coy would not get her anywhere. Ruri looked down to
avoid the iron mask of his face, and neither confirmed nor denied it.
“If that’s what you thought…why didn’t you hand me over to the police?”
“Did you want me to? If that’s the case, I recommend turning yourself in.”
“…No, that’s not what I mean…”
“Then why are you upset about it?” Yuuhei said in his usual monotone,
getting to his feet. Whatever conclusion about Hollywood he took from Ruri’s
question, he silently reached out to take the empty water cup from her hand.
“…I see,” Ruri said quietly.
Her arm instantly shot out and grabbed Yuuhei by the neck. She threw him
onto the bed, ignoring the scream of all her body’s muscles, and spun so that she
was sitting on top of him.
With an extended finger pointed right at Yuuhei’s throat, she asked, in a quiet
voice thick with pressure, “Then…you couldn’t have foreseen this possibility?”
“…”
Yuuhei remained expressionless. Ruri’s voice grew more irritated.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Yuuhei. I know that this attitude you
display is not just another act…but it’s abnormal.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. You must be crazy, letting a mass murderer into your own home.”
He looked at her curiously as she sat on top of him. Ruri quietly raised her
hand to strike and asked a question.
“Did you never even think it was remotely possible…that you would be
killed?”
Two hours later, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro
“Good grief. This is what you get for being too good at your job. Two cases in
one night!” Shinra lamented as he walked through Ikebukuro at night, the money
he earned safely stashed in his doctor’s briefcase. It was a line that a real doctor
would rightfully punch him for saying.
“I’ve still got time, so maybe I should stop back in at Yuuhei’s place and get
those autographs,” he decided, strolling through the commercial district that was
markedly quieter after hours.
“Hey, is that him?”
“Yeah, it is!”
“No doubt about it!”
“Cameraman!”
“?”
Shinra noticed a sudden swell of conversation approaching and looked up to
see a sudden blinding camera flash.
“Aaah!!”
“Um, excuse me! You just left an apartment owned by Yuuhei Hanejima
about two hours ago, didn’t you?”
“…?!”
It wasn’t until the fifth camera flash that Shinra realized these men were what
the world called “paparazzi.”
“Do you have a moment? We understand that Yuuhei Hanejima owns all of
the apartments in that building. Are you an acquaintance of his?!”
Gwuh?! No way! He’s that rich?!
Shinra knew the story of how he made nearly 1.2 billion yen for his nest egg,
but it was almost impossible to believe that he had enough money to buy an
entire building full of the already-expensive luxury apartments that he and Celty
lived in. But there was no time to dwell on that.
“About an hour ago, Hanejima and the actress Ruri Hijiribe were seen kissing
out in front of the building. What do you know about their relationship?”
“What sort of medical needs were you attending to in the middle of the
night?”
“What is your area of medical expertise?”
“Are you an obstetrician?!”
Reporters for a number of different sources deluged him in a waterfall of
voices, voices, voices.
“H-hey! Hey, wait!”
What?! What? What happened between those two?! A kiss, just like that?
What about our autographs?!
A number of suspicions arose in Shinra’s panicked mind, but he could tell
that the onslaught of questions and camera flashes was robbing him of his ability
to think straight.
“All right… In that case, I’ll be answering all of your questions after these
quick messages from our sponsors…via airmail!” Shinra said and raced off in a
full sprint.
“Hey, he’s getting away!”
“Wait, please!”
“Just one comment!”
And as he glanced back at the pursuing reporters and cameramen over his
shoulder, Shinra Kishitani experienced his first serious physical exertion in
several years.
Without realizing that on the very same night, Celty was also being hounded
by TV cameras.
Twelve hours later, near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building
“Even thinking about it now, yesterday gives me the willies.”

Shinra was still swaddled in black thread, wriggling around on the floor as he
waited for Celty to return home.
“Honestly, I wonder what happened there… Once I get free of this, I’m going
to watch the news. I was shouting about how I’d sue them for violating my
likeness rights, so I doubt they used any photos of me,” he muttered, a giant
black silkworm flopping around on the floor seeking the TV remote before the
variety shows began.
But just as he had found the remote, the doorbell rang.
Oh, damn. I can’t answer the door. Wait…maybe this thread can be removed
with the strength of two people?
He began to wonder what sort of story he could tell this visitor to convince
them to help. But before he could call out that he was there, he heard the sound
of the door unlocking.
“Oh, is that Celty?! Thank goodness! Your little abandonment fetish thing
was quite exciting for a while, but I think it’s finally—” he started, a look of
bliss on his face as he greeted…
A number of menacing-looking men led by a gaunt-faced fellow.
It was clear from a glance that they were not in an upstanding line of work,
but the thin man at the center of the group, at least, seemed like any other person
in his manner.
He strode right into Shinra’s home and coldly noted, “I really don’t get that
abandonment kink shit.”
“…Oh, Mr. Shiki. What brings me the pleasure today?”
The man named Shiki looked at Shinra with a combination of caution, relief,
and amusement. The group was from the Awakusu-kai yakuza, and Shiki was a
chief lieutenant in the organization despite his relative youth.
“I’m guessing you don’t have a sudden patient for me,” Shinra said. As a
matter of fact, he had given Shiki a spare keycard for that very purpose.
A black-market doctor’s most reliable and frequent clients came from their
particular line of work, so Shiki’s spare key allowed him to ferry patients inside
in an emergency, even if Shinra was sleeping.
But none of the people present appeared to be suffering from gunshot
wounds. It was rather curious.
Shiki’s face got serious, and he tossed a newspaper on the ground in front of
the human caterpillar. It was the day’s tabloid paper with the front headline
reading “Hanejima & Hijiribe’s Late-Night Secret Pregnancy Date?!”
The article contained text that clearly referenced Shinra. It claimed that an
obstetrician was witnessed leaving their apartment shortly before the two actors
were sighted sharing a kiss.
Shinra read the article closely, relieved that at least they hadn’t published a
photo of his face. But…
“You do realize…that there are no other guys who wander around this
neighborhood wearing white doctor’s coats all the time,” one of the yakuza
muttered. Shiki squatted down to Shinra’s eye level.
“We only have one question for you, Doctor.”
“What is it?”
“Did you happen to examine Ruri Hijiribe?”
“Well, yes,” Shinra admitted.
Shiki’s face was a blank, emotionless mask, but in a different way than
Yuuhei’s. “I’ll be direct with you—what is she?” he asked, his voice calm,
powerful, and demanding.
Unaffected, Shinra remained light and aloof. “Before I answer that…I have a
request.”
His face got pale and deadly serious. He had business of the utmost
importance to conduct.
“Can you help me get free of these black ropes?”
“I’ve been holding it in for hours, and I really need to go…”

Chapter 5: Ikebukuro Guide Book
Ikebukuro Strikes Back II: Tales of
Violence in Ikebukuro
In the future
An excerpt from the foreword of Ikebukuro Strikes Back II
Hi.
Just to start with, I am not going to reveal my identity, and you probably
wouldn’t believe me, even if I did.
So let me just say that I will not reveal my own existence to you. In
exchange, you are free to imagine whatever you like about me.
For one thing, I am almost entirely unrelated to any of the events I will
describe in this book. I did have a small part to play in the Night of the Ripper,
but it was only within the limited influence of the Internet, which is to say that I
was barely involved at all.
Basically…I just watched.
That’s all I did: watched.
I said that I would not reveal my identity, but I can tell you my name.
My name is Shinichi. Shinichi Tsukumoya.
But that doesn’t really mean anything, so you don’t need to bother
remembering it.
An excerpt from Ikebukuro Strikes Back II, Chapter 5: The Knight of Shadow
Rides in the Sun.
Are you aware of the motorcycle gang incident that transpired one spring
afternoon in Ikebukuro this year?
A number of different gangs were fighting for territory and racing through the
streets, creating traffic conditions as unsafe as a tornado or Spain’s running of
the bulls. For one thing, they were fighting as they rode. It must have been quite
a shocking sight to the passing residents, tourists, and shoppers. It’s said that a
single police motorcyclist brought the incident under control. But what was the
cause of it?
It was the existence of the very polar opposite of that white chopper—the
Black Rider.
Shortly before the incident, the Internet was ablaze. Triggered by shocking
footage (covered in another chapter) aired on live TV, a major talent agency
placed a massive bounty on the man (or woman) who rode the infamous black
motorcycle. A bounty worth ten million yen.
For the next several days, many people chased that dream: the ability to earn
as much as the grand prize of the nation’s most famous comedy contest or
winning a trivia quiz game show, just for following a motorcyclist around and
revealing his or her identity.
It only lasted a few days because the ensuing uproar resulted in the outrage of
the police and authorities, local citizens, and other clients of the talent agency,
and thus the bounty was promptly withdrawn.
This caused quite a stir. The bounty was a big story in the papers the next day
and made headlines again when it was removed, and with the startling TV
footage of the Black Rider turning the motorcycle into a horse, the nation was
gripped with a fresh new supernatural urban legend boom.
Debate still rages about the veracity of that footage—but I know the truth.
I just won’t write it down here.
As I said in the foreword, I will not interfere in the events of this city.
I needed to stick closely to a policy of observing events without taking part in
order to write this book.
At any rate, I will not be disclosing the identity of the Black Rider in this
book.
I do know it. But whether or not you believe me is up to you, dear readers.
In the same way, the Ikebukuro Motorcycle Gang Incident has its own
background.
Based on the results, one might think that it was merely a number of rowdy
gangsters from another prefecture that briefly invaded the city, then went back
home.
But no. Something happened.
Something that wasn’t reported in the papers or on TV.
I know what it was that happened, but I choose not to reveal it here.
If you really want to learn about it, I invite you to search for the truth on your
own.
There is always more to the story.
But you cannot learn that truth without paying a price for it.
Ultimately, if you want to learn everything, you have to be involved in it and
experience the truth for yourself.
It was the same for me. I just watched.
So while I know the truth that transpired behind the scenes, I don’t know
what the people involved were really thinking. It goes without saying that those
who were directly involved know exactly how they felt about it.
That’s what this means. So if you really want to find the secret truth of the
matter, you have to spend something—money, time, obligation—and read the
world like a book with your own hands.
If you’re strong, you might also be able to wrestle the truth out of those
involved, as well.
But I wouldn’t recommend that. The consequences could be fatal.

Of course, if you’re tough enough to beat a debt collector dressed as a
bartender, then be my guest.
But that’s a story for another time.
At present, highway, Ikebukuro
“Wait, beeyotch!”
“Mohfgaa!”
“Dshbaaag!”
“Drfthjk!”
The young men on their motorcycles surrounded Celty on the road,
screeching cries that didn’t even qualify as language.
Oh no… How did it come to this?!
More and more bikers had flooded out of nowhere, and behind them all was a
van that looked to belong to a TV news crew.
Do all of you want that ten million yen so badly?! Just do your jobs and save
up fifty thousand every month for two hundred months! she thought to herself, a
commonsense bit of advice that was also rather extreme.
Celty squeezed the handlebars and prepared to pump more juice into her
partner. Sorry about this, Shooter!
The motorcycle read its owner’s thoughts perfectly and let out a piercing
horse bray rather than an engine roar, leaping forward as if on a spring.
“Wh-wh-whaa—?!” one of the bikers screeched. He couldn’t be blamed for
his shock; the bike right in front of him leaped upward six feet into the air from a
flat position on the street.
The enormous shadow tilted diagonally and cleared the guardrail, proceeding
over the sidewalk and the heads of the shocked onlookers. It landed on the side
of the building, riding with its sidecar perpendicular to the ground.
To make sure that Celty’s cargo—a human-sized bag with an arm hanging
out of it—didn’t fall out of the sidecar, a hand made out of shadow grew out of
the bike and held it in place.
The bikers on the street were wide-eyed with shock at the string of
unbelievable sights, but their hold on reality was so tenuous that it seemed to
snap, and instead they produced a series of threats that almost seemed more
indignant than threatening.
“What the hell kinda magic trick is that?!”
“You wanna get sawed in half?!”
“I’m gonna pull a rabbit outta yer ass!”
Aaaah! I knew I shouldn’t have taken on this horrifying cargo!
For a moment, Celty’s thoughts returned to the past.
Thirty minutes earlier
“I’m very sorry about this. It will be a rather bothersome job,” said a tall man
with a cold mask covering his mouth and nose, sunglasses over his eyes, and a
hat pulled low on his brow.
He was essentially fashioned entirely out of suspicious danger signals. The
man pointed out the large bag at his side and said, “I want you to handle this bag
for a day.”
“Handle it?”
“Yes, there’s a bit of a situation… I just need you to be in possession of this
for a day. Once it passes this time tomorrow, you can just dump the cargo on the
side of the road, anywhere you like, or you can return it to this park, where I will
dispose of it. Oh, and no inquiries about the contents, please…”
It was about the fishiest job she could imagine. On top of that, Celty had just
been tagged with a bounty yesterday. Worried that it might be a bomb or a
transmitter of some kind, she made her suspicions quite clear with body
language as she typed out, “…I’m sorry, but who introduced you to me?”
“An information dealer named Izaya Orihara.”
“…Oh. That explains it.”
I should have known.
It wasn’t the first (or second) time she’d received such an eerie job offer. A
couple times she had even gotten requests like, “One of my men tried to make
his own bomb—schlep it out to the mountains and take care of it.” The outcome
of those jobs could have been inserted into any action blockbuster.
And nearly every single person whose request contained a backstory that
likely involved things she didn’t want to know about had come to her via Izaya
Orihara.
Celty thought it over and noticed that the bag was just about big enough to fit
an entire person inside. Alarms went off in her mind.
I have ferried a person on tranquilizers…but that was from Izaya himself, she
recalled, shaking her head. That was about a year ago. Normally, I would accept
it, but given the circumstances…I should decline.
“I’m sorry, but I am a courier. If you need a safe, might I recommend the
bank?”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. But could you make an exception?”
“No means—” she started typing, then stopped. The man was holding out a
white envelope, looking around carefully to make sure they weren’t being
watched.
“Given the nature of the job, I can pay the full amount up front… I only hope
the amount meets your satisfaction.”
Inside the envelope, there weren’t as many Yukichi Fukuzawas as she had
lost the day before, but 80 percent of them was good enough. Celty erased her
half-written sentence and strung together a new one in less than a second.
“I would be happy to do this for you!”
At present, highway, Ikebukuro
I really shouldn’t have taken on that job. I was too happy to make up what I lost
the day before. I got carried away.
But it was too late for regret.
The motorcycle officer had already seen the arm dangling out of the bag. Up
until then, she’d only been guilty of traffic infractions, which were simply
ticketed on sight. But if she became suspected of murder or dumping a body,
they would set up a proper investigation. The thought plunged Celty into despair.
I can handle being chased by the police. But I can’t take the idea of not living
with Shinra anymore!
What was the statute of limitations on disposing of a dead body? Could she
be charged with it if no body was ever found?
Celty leaped off the side of the building and landed on the face of another
one. It was the kind of eerie sight one saw only in CG, but the easy skill of the
motion only made the whole thing less real to those who saw it.
Shit, I took the job knowing this might happen…and I knew that I wasn’t
doing a job that was conducive to a stable life…but I still can’t afford to get
caught now! At least let me just leave Ikebukuro so those I care about aren’t
affected…
She was thinking as if she were caught already. In her resignation, the faces
of those she knew flashed through her head, like her life passing before her eyes
before death.
So much happened in the last year… I met Mikado and joined the Dollars… I
got to be friends with Anri…and most importantly, Shinra and I…
…
Shinra…
No! Enough of that!
She was swallowed with both love and grief, but it wasn’t the time for
emotional reflection.
Keep it together, Celty! Just do…something! Make sure things work out, and
things’ll work out!
“God helps those who help themselves,” the saying went, but Celty wasn’t
going to rest on her laurels and hope for the best. She focused forward and
headed down a side street, hoping to escape her pursuers.
Riding on the side of a building meant she had no reason to fear a collision
with oncoming or merging traffic. She spread her shadow over the surface of the
structure and shifted directions without a noticeable loss of speed, splitting apart
the bikers chasing her.
But she knew it was only a temporary fix. She turned down another street,
hoping to return to the main road and put some real distance between them,
when a familiar van passed right by her, driving on the road like a vehicle
should.
Wasn’t that…?
It was a box van with an unforgettable feature on the side door—a gaudy
painting of an anime character.
Kadota, Yumasaki, and Karisawa’s van!
The fact that it was actually Togusa’s would be cold comfort to him.
Meanwhile, Celty slowed down—and noticed that something was wrong.
Huh? Wait a minute. What happened?!
The van was dented all over, and the windows were cracked, as though
they’d just driven through a minor riot. Celty pulled off the surface of the
building wall and sidled up next to the van.
All of a sudden, a storm of voices erupted from the vehicle.
“…Black Rider!”
“Celty?!”
“…Celty!”
“Oh, Celcchi.”
“Hey, that’s Celty.”
“What’s this? What’s going on, Mr. Ryuugamine?!”
“Ohh! It’s the Black Rider! Look, Kuru, the Black Rider!”
“…No way.”
Inside the van, Celty saw several familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, to her
surprise. She pulled up and matched the speed of the car, subtly hiding the
contents of the sidecar in shadow as she used one hand to steer and the other to
type.
“Sorry, I’m being chased by a motorcycle gang! Run for it!”
“…”
Kadota looked at her desperate message and smirked. “Sorry, but…we might
be the ones who need to apologize, Black Rider.”
Huh?
An obnoxious car horn went off behind them. Celty turned around and saw,
sure enough, a group of bikers.
“We’re being chased, too.”
The fresh mass of violence and anger joined up with the gang pursuing Celty,
forming a fleet of over fifty vehicles that bore down on them with the force of a
typhoon and the human rage of a mob.
“Is it hopeless?”
“Nah, we got one bit of hope on our side.”
Celty’s helmet tilted questioningly, prompting Kadota to grin wickedly.
“They’re all outsiders, while we’re part of the Dollars, right?”
“When people come and raise hell in your territory…it gives you the
justification to fight back.”
Two hours in the past, Ikebukuro
“Hey, you guys,” Kadota said. The young men surrounding the two girls turned
to him with disgust.
“Whaa—? Hell are you?”
“Hell you want? Uhh?” they growled at him menacingly. Kadota twisted and
popped his neck vertebrae.
“Thought it was kinda funny that you needed four grown men to pick a fight
with two little girls.”
“…”
“Lemme see your stickers. I’ll write a new name on ’em. I’m thinking ‘the
Pedo Gang’ has a nice ring to it.”
“Shuddup! Buzz off and die!” they retorted. One of the thugs reached out and
grabbed Kadota by the shirt. The next moment, Kadota took advantage of the
momentum to slam his forehead right into the man’s nose.
“Guh?! Dah…bwlah!”
The thug fell backward, sputtering with rage as blood shot out of his broken
nose a second later.
“Damn. That ain’t cool, face-butting a guy’s forehead. What if I have a skull
fracture?” Kadota grumbled, rubbing his forehead as he stood over the fallen
thug, who was clutching his head in both hands.
The leering smiles of the other three thugs vanished at Kadota’s shameless
insistence that he was the real victim, replaced by glares of rage and caution.
“You bi…aaaaaaauugahaaaaaa! —! —! —!”
“?!”
A thug started screaming suddenly, drawing the attention of everyone else
present.
One of them was writhing with his hands over his crotch, while the girl in the
gym clothes clutched her bag tight in both hands.
One look at the man cradling his genitals with his eyes rolled back was
enough to tell the entire story. And as everyone was taken aback by the sight, the
other girl with the reserved glasses leaped off a nearby motorcycle to deliver a
kick straight to the jaw of the man standing next to her, unconcerned with the
billowing of her skirt.
She was wearing safety shoes with metal plates in the toes. Ironically, this
made the shoe very unsafe to the target of her kick.
“Fbweh…”
The man wobbled, then lost the support of his legs and fell to the ground.
There was only one left. Karisawa and Yumasaki were already tying up the
man with the bloody nose, binding his wrists together with the headband cloth he
had been wearing.
The unhurt thug glanced at the two girls for an angry second but settled on
delivering his final line to Kadota instead.
“…Y-you…fuckers… You’ll pay for this! You in the bandanna!”
Apparently, he was deciding to blame it all on Kadota, so as to avoid
admitting that teenage girls had anything to do with it.
As Kadota watched him ride off, he turned back and noted, “We don’t want
him calling the cops, and it’s bad news if he calls his friends, too, so we oughta
scram,” to the girls dressed in uniform and gym clothes.
“Huh? And you are…?”
“Kadota. You’re Izaya’s sisters, right?”
“What?! You know Iza?! Oh…actually, I might have met you before!” Mairu
exclaimed in surprise. Kururi bowed deeply to Kadota, apparently realizing from
the very start that these were acquaintances of her brother.
“…Thank you…very much.”
“Nah, it’s cool. Maybe you didn’t need our help after all…but you do stick
out, so if you’re going somewhere, we can call our car around. What do you
say?”
“Wow, really?!”
“Just don’t expect any rides to Hokkaido or anything,” Kadota cautioned
wryly.
Mairu waved her hands in excitement. “Oh, um, oh! We’re just wandering all
over Ikebukuro today! We’re supposed to get a call from someone we know, but
we won’t know when and where to go until the call arrives!”
“…What’s that supposed to mean…? Whatever. The other two back there are
supposed to be guiding some students from your school around Ikebukuro, so I
guess you could just tag along with them. Okay?” he asked, turning back to
Karisawa and Yumasaki. They thought it over for a few seconds.
“Umm, I don’t see a problem.”
“Not an issue. Besides, those girls look kinda 2-D to me, anyway.”
“Shut up.”
And so, despite the very tenuous relationship that connected them, the two
groups wound up moving around together. Kadota recommended several times
that the girls return home, but they were insistent on their task, and he didn’t pry
any further.
Well, if it comes down to it, I can call Izaya and tell him to take them, Kadota
told himself and called up Togusa. He took the group to a nearby café so they
could wait for the van to arrive.
And a while later, when they were ready to pile into Togusa’s van, a gang of
motorcycle thugs five times the size of the earlier group descended upon them,
kicking off a mad rush for safety.
At present, inside Togusa’s van, highway, Ikebukuro
“So that one thug pretended to run away, but secretly he was following us. That
way, his gang was ready to jump us when we left the café.”
“It’s like they were raised entirely on manga about delinquents and street
gangs.”
“No way, Karisawa! Delinquent mangas always feature a truly manly
protagonist who protects the weak and fights the strong! If they were using that
stuff as a textbook, they wouldn’t have been harassing girls in the first place!”
“Maybe they were so dumb that they didn’t understand the lesson the
textbook was teaching?”
“…Ohhh! No wonder!”
Karisawa and Yumasaki’s chatter was basically the same as it ever was,
despite the imminent danger of dozens of pursuing motorcycles.
“Wh-what should we do about this? Call the cops?” Mikado asked, but
Kadota shook his head.
“They’ve gotta know about this by now! And I saw that one guy on the
police bike earlier! The question is just if we can stay away from them until the
police are finally on the scene in full force. I might be able to handle them
ganging up on us with metal pipes, but not you kids.”
“G-good point…”
“Don’t worry, we’re gonna make sure that you students get away, at the very
least. I’ll drive you right into police headquarters if I have to,” Kadota growled
from the passenger seat. Mikado started to exhale with relief, then chastised
himself.
No! We need to help Sonohara, Aoba, and those two girls escape to safety…
but I can’t just run with them and leave the other Dollars and Celty behind in
danger!
He gritted his teeth against the fear creeping into him and remembered when
he charged into the Yellow Scarves’ hideout and when he first met Celty.
I might die…but…I have to do something…
Mikado clenched his fists. Aoba looked over and hesitantly asked, “Mr.
Ryuugamine, are you okay?”
“Huh? O-oh, I’m fine. Sorry, you’ll have to make do on your own…”
“No, I mean… You know what, never mind.”
“?”
Mikado wondered what Aoba was trying to say. But then he looked out the
window.
There was a black sidecar of sorts affixed to Celty’s motorcycle with some
kind of cargo stashed inside of it.
“I guess…since Celty’s under a bounty now…”
He paused. It was just an instant of a pause, and then he said something that
didn’t seem very appropriate, given their circumstances.
“I suppose…we won’t be able to just see her hanging around anymore…”
The Black Rider kept pace alongside Togusa’s van as the bikers chased behind
them.
Everyone inside the van was also being chased, including some who weren’t
originally involved: Celty, Kadota, Togusa, Karisawa, Yumasaki, Mikado, Anri,
Aoba, Kururi, and Mairu.
A total of ten people on the run.
If it were only the motorcycle gang, Celty could handle them on her own.
The problem was that staying still to deal with them would only give the motor
officers time to surround her.
But wait. If I do that, at least it would ensure that everyone inside the van is
taken to safety, she thought, looking behind her. There were more pursuers now,
and two helicopters that probably belonged to the TV station, hovering overhead.
Damn! I can’t let them all be known associates of a dead-body dumper… At
worst, they’ll all be identified on live TV!
Kadota’s group was one thing, but if Anri, Mikado, and the other students
were identified in connection to this horrible incident, the consequences would
be terrible. If they were exposed as having connections to Celty—or the other
gang squabbles prior to this—they could easily be expelled from school.
What do I do? What should I do, what should I do?!
Until now, she had been alone.
It was years ago that she started working as a courier here, but she’d never
been racked by a problem like this before. Back then, everyone else, including
Shinra, was just a stranger to her.
Even facing the risk of being captured, killed, or exposed to the rest of the
world posed a limited risk—it was her problem, no one else’s. So she set about
doing her job.
But now, it was different. After the incident a year ago, she and Shinra were
no longer strangers.
She’d met many other people, and in just the span of a year, the world around
her changed dramatically.
She wasn’t alone anymore. And it was only now that she understood the
shackles of that truth.
…
All she could think about was the many idle conversations she shared with
Shinra at home.
Several weeks earlier, Shinra’s apartment
“The fairy from a foreign land living in Ikebukuro, Celty! The headless dullahan
plunged into Ikebukuro in search of her missing head and memories! But when
she fell in love with a man named Shinra, the search for her head became
nothing but an excuse for her new life sinking ever deeper into love!”
“…Which, if you think about it, shows that Celty isn’t exactly a tsundere!
She’s an all new type of character, somewhere between the tsundere and the
straight-up cool type!”
“Come on, Yumacchi. Your definition of tsundere is way too strict. Just
accept that she’s a tsundere.”
“Celty’s not like that, I’m telling you. If anything, she’s too efficient at her
job… She’s straightforward, but not entirely coolheaded. More like an old-
fashioned, empathetic older-sister type! The older sister who relies upon an
unreliable older brother… That’s it! She’s an older younger sister!”
“That is way too complicated.”
Yumasaki and Karisawa babbled on in debate as they stuck their legs under
the heated blanket of the kotatsu that served as a low table. At the nearby dining
table, a different man and woman exchanged a much colder topic.
“Hey, Shinra.”
“What is it, Celty? You look serious.”
“Why have they come into our home, and why are they talking about me at
length? On that note…how did they learn my personal information?”
“Well, I might as well come clean, since you’ll find out sooner or later. I ran
into Kadota’s group at a bar earlier…and these two were carrying on and on
about your incredible rumors, so…”
“…”
“So I bragged that you were my girlfriend… And I’ll say this, too, since I’m
sure you’ll find out—I also included some rather salacious info about this, that,
and the other thing that you did on our dates… I tell you, the power of alcohol is
terrifying. Ouch, ouch, ouch! What was that for, Celty?! You see, I knew you
were a tsundere-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll do what a tsundere does. Before I get all lovey-
dovey on you, I have to be a bit more pokey-pokey with my shadow.”
“If that’s what you call poking, I’d say it’s more like stabby-stabby, but—
aaaaaiieeee!!”
As they continued on in their usual way, Yumasaki and Karisawa took note in
their usual way.
“See? She’s a tsundere.”
“I disagree. They’re too straightforward about their shared love for her to be
a tsundere. It’s more like a soft S-and-M relationship, where Celty gets mentally
punished, while Kishitani gets physically punished… And neither of them seems
to be enjoying it, so they’re both on the sadist side!”
“That is way too complicated.”
Celty shook with chuckling laughter as she recalled that silly moment in time.
“My girlfriend,” he called me. The truth is…that made me really happy.
I got too carried away over the past year. I was too happy.
She mentally chided herself on her own softness. And once she was done
feeling irritation at herself…
She thought.
She cared.
But still…
Celty fashioned a third arm out of shadow that typed away at her PDA for her
as she rode.
I mean, still…
As she paced the van, she tossed the device through the open window to
Kadota in the passenger seat.
That doesn’t mean I can just give up on it.
“…! Hey, Black Rider…you serious about this?” Kadota asked as he returned
her PDA. She held a thumb up.
“…All right. Listen, Black Rider. I know what your name is, but since I
didn’t hear it from you, it didn’t feel right to say it myself. So this’ll be weird,
but…”
Celty had never had a proper conversation with this man before. He looked
back at her, deadly serious, and gave her a thumbs-up of his own.
“Let me thank you afterward, Celty.”
* * *
And with that, Celty made up her mind, the silent determination calming her
heart.
That’s right. No matter who, no matter what, no matter when, I don’t give up
on my connections.
I can’t give them up.
Without my head, what else do I have left?
And with force of will, Celty silently produced a giant scythe out of her hand.
Waving it back and forth to keep the pursuers behind them at bay, she joined
Kadota’s van in heading for the same location.
They stayed fairly close, and they were lucky enough not to get stuck with a
light. As a matter of fact, the biker gangs were raising hell here and there,
causing the normal traffic to stop for safety.
Thanks to this bit of good luck, Celty and the van were able to reach their
destination in just a minute or so: the tunnel that passed under the railway,
connecting the east and west gates of the Ikebukuro Station.
The van continued straight through the tunnel. But Celty spun her partner
around, bringing the Coiste Bodhar to a sudden stop with a horrific screech that
was not at all like tires squealing.
Dozens of motorcycles bore down on her.
Ironically, the hint came from the motorcycle cop.
As well as her conversation with Shinra that morning.
Celty timed the moment and held her enormous scythe aloft.
In the next moment, like a giant spiderweb, countless tiny ropes extended
from the scythe to catch everywhere along the tunnel and form an enormous net.
At that moment, Medei-gumi Syndicate, Awakusu-kai Office
The Awakusu-kai was one of the offices of the Medei-gumi crime syndicate, one
of several organizations that claimed territory within Ikebukuro.
The room in the back of the office contained all of the things you would
expect to see, based on the televised yakuza dramas: the luxurious wooden desk,
the picture frames, the black leather couch. But the entrance looked like any
other business office.
It was perfectly “office-like,” but one would be hard-pressed to identify what
kind of business they actually ran at a glance. And it was this place where
Kazamoto, one of the group’s officers, listened quietly to a status report.
“…So it seems like there’s some biker gangs from out of town raising hell in
the streets…”
“As long as they’re not interfering with our affiliated businesses, leave them
be. The government employees will use our hard-earned taxes to handle this.”
The young lieutenant had sharp, reptilian eyes. He followed up his sardonic
comment by asking the subordinate, “What’s happening with the Yodogiri
situation?”
“Well, Mr. Shiki’s gone to the usual doctor.”
Kazamoto steepled his fingers on his cheeks and tapped away at his face.
“The thing is, I don’t really care. I don’t care about the Headless Rider,
monsters, ghosts, aliens, any of that occult shit. It’s fine if it’s real, fine if it
ain’t.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“The problem is…we were hired to take care of a young female star…and
now she’s gone and messed up four of our men. Normally, I’d punish them for
being soft, then do whatever it takes to eliminate the target, but…”
The lizard-like man paused. His subordinate nervously prompted, “B-but this
is different?”
“Yes… Our client had the gall to hide something from us and, as a result,
exposed our people to danger. Ordinarily, this means holding the client who
disrespected us responsible for that outcome,” he said icily.
The other man tried to ignore the cold sweat breaking out on his skin as he
replied, “R-right, sir. But…I heard we didn’t have plans to kill the girl or
anything…”
For a moment, Kazamoto took his gaze off the subordinate, and the
temperature of his voice rose slightly. “I hate to mention this, but…while it’s true
that the client asked for her to be buried in the mountains, we were actually
planning to just ship her off overseas or to one of our ‘special partners’ out in the
boonies.”
“Y-yes, sir. But why would—?”
“This is absolutely classified information,” Kazamoto said, fixing his man in
place with his sharpest gaze yet. He then spun around in his chair to deliver the
uncomfortable, awkward truth.
“The target, Ruri Hijiribe, reminds the boss of his daughter—the one who
went off and got married to a civilian. He’s a big fan of the girl…and so are
several of the muckety-mucks up in the Medei-gumi…”
“I…see…,” the subordinate replied awkwardly.
Not wanting to leave his bosses the only source of embarrassment, Kazamoto
quietly admitted, “And so am I…and Shiki… I mean, she’s just really
abnormally hot, you know.”
The previous night, Yuuhei Hanejima’s apartment
“Did you never even think it was remotely possible…that you would be killed?”
A man pressed down on a bed.

A killer on top straddling him.
Easily pierced through the heart with the slice of a hand, the news reported.
It was an absolutely deadly and helpless situation for him—but the young
man didn’t make a sound.
In fact, it was the killer’s raised hand that was trembling uncertainly.
In just a few seconds, the Hollywood killer, Ruri Hijiribe, felt like several
minutes had passed.
Her wits spaced out several times. Her vision warped, as she battled the
momentary sense that she was not herself anymore.
By the time her lips started trembling, Ruri could no longer bear the silence.
So it was the utmost salvation when the man below her finally opened his mouth
to speak.
“…Can I ask one thing?”
“…What?”
“If you killed me right now, would it be to silence me?”
“…I suppose it would,” Ruri said, averting her eyes as she listened to Yuuhei
Hanejima’s flat voice.
No, this is all wrong. I wouldn’t kill someone to silence them…
Her body vibrated violently, and Ruri realized that it was fear she was
experiencing.
Nausea and chills stole over her. Even her heart seemed to be going solid in
her chest.
Besides, I can’t kill him. Whether through calculation or instinct, I don’t think
I can kill this man.
And not just this man. I don’t think I can kill anyone aside from them.
What did her face look like at that moment?
From his position below her, Yuuhei said, his voice still quiet and
expressionless, “Then, I think you probably shouldn’t do it.”
“…?”
It was an odd thing for Yuuhei to say. She squinted down at him
questioningly. His eyes were endlessly cold and dry, completely hiding the true
emotions that lingered behind the mask.
“The security cameras have footage of me bringing you in here. You’re in the
footage, too, of course.”
“…!”
“The camera footage is saved somewhere, but you don’t know where, do
you? So killing me to keep me from talking won’t really do you any good,” he
said calmly.
Ruri muscled her chills into submission and asked, “What if I just feel like
killing you?”
“Then, I can’t help that. I’d rather not be killed, though,” he said simply.
He was certainly more than a little successful in his life, but Ruri still felt like
something was off in his confession.
“I’m surprised to hear that. You’d rather not be killed?”
“Not really. I would have a little regret left if I died here.”
“…”
Her eyes went wide. She felt like she was watching some odd, eccentric
creature dance and couldn’t help but chuckle. The shivers and nausea didn’t stop,
but she couldn’t keep herself from chuckling at him, herself, and everything.
“What’s so funny?”
“Ha-ha… Oh, it’s just…so strange to hear a total robot like you talk about
‘regrets’… What in the world could a mannequin like you care about to regret
losing it?”
“Well, there’s some movie stuff I haven’t finished filming yet…”
He paused, his face blank, as he searched for the right words.
Eventually, he found them.
“I suppose the biggest regret would be having a girl about to cry right in front
of me and being unable to help.”
As soon as he said those words, devoid of any kind of facial or vocal

emotion, time stopped between them.
“…”
“…”
There was nothing in Yuuhei’s eyes. But that also meant there was no hint of
a joke or self-aggrandizing pretension, either.
After a long silence, Ruri spoke, her hand still raised in the chopping
position.
“Are you hitting on me…? Or are you just desperate to survive and trying to
get on my good side?”
“Good question. Even I don’t really know. People say that I don’t understand
others, and they say they don’t understand what I’m thinking. I agree. I don’t
understand myself. But I do know some things.”
“…”
“Like a man who watches a girl asking for help and doesn’t try to stop her
tears is the worst.”
The young man’s face was so blank and cool that he transcended being a
robot and reached the realm of some kind of transcendental being. Ruri began to
wonder if he was just a hallucination. She was barely able to wrench out the
words, “That’s a line…from Carmilla Saizou…”
“Yes, he’s one of the figures I respect most.”
“Respect? A character that you play…?” she asked in exasperation, thinking
of the movie that they had once worked on together.
But that accusation didn’t faze Yuuhei in the least. “That’s right. I’ve played
an insane killer, an idiotic criminal, a gay man in love—and I respect each and
every character I’ve acted.”
“…”
“My brother was overemotional, so I used him as a negative role model, and
now I think I’m missing a number of important things for a person to have. And
I understand that—which is why I think I became an actor.”
“Uh…”
“Each and every person I play in a movie gives me a little piece of their
humanity,” Yuuhei said with little emotion but even less shame. Even facing
death like this, he did not beg for mercy but laid his heart bare. Ruri couldn’t
help but lower her hand.
He’s the opposite. The very opposite of me.
I’m a human trying to be a monster. But he’s a monster.
A monster who wants to be human.
He didn’t possess terrible strength. He didn’t blow fire, and he wasn’t
immortal.
And yet, Ruri could sense that the man before her was mentally alien.
It was at this point that she realized her eyes were leaking tears. But whether
they were tears of sadness or some other emotion was beyond her.
Which must be what makes him…so much more human than me.
This man wanted everything that she was trying to discard. What should she
think about him?
Pity? Empathy? Disgust? Or just label him a resident of another world and
ignore him?
She didn’t even have the answer to that question now.
It was all confusion.
All the emotions she’d been trying to get rid of swirled and churned, washing
away her monstrous mask.
“…I’m sorry. I never thanked you for saving me,” Ruri mumbled, getting off
of Yuuhei and sitting next to the bed. “Thank you. You…saved my life.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Why…? In fact…why did you save me to begin with?”
“Well, I mean…I did it whether you were Hollywood or not.”
That’s when Ruri realized that, for just one instant, Yuuhei’s face contained a
hint of trouble.
“I was wondering what kind of person could do this to someone as nimble
and powerful as you…and…I came up with one possibility.”
“?”
“Does this have anything to do with…a man in a bartender outfit and
sunglasses?”
Ruri looked up in shock at her savior’s question. In her mind, she saw the
true monster, who had slammed her into the sky with a bench.
“Do you…know him?
“…I had a feeling it was him…” Yuuhei sighed, then quietly got to his feet.
“I can tell you more about him in the future. I need to apologize to you.”
“Apologize?”
She gaped at him in total bewilderment, but Ruri did not receive an
explanation on the spot. The actor turned toward the computer monitor in the
room and said, “By the way, there’s one thing I’d like to retroactively confirm.”
“…What is it?” she asked. She wasn’t sure whether to be polite or open and
frank with him. She decided that it would be best just to avoid displeasing him.
“As a matter of fact, while you were passed out, it seems like we were
followed. According to Kishita…the doctor earlier, they didn’t seem to belong to
proper civilian professions.”
“Uh…”
“So I took it upon myself to get some insurance.”
Entrance, Yuuhei Hanejima’s apartment building
“Hey, there she is.”

“There’s a man with her. What’s the plan?”
“Just knock ’em out.”
“And do it quietly… Let’s move.”
Four men dressed in handyman uniforms peered out of a shady alley. They
snuck through the darkness without a sound, carefully approaching their targets.
Once they had flanked the pair and were ready to knock them over from behind,
certain of their victory—the raucous flashing and clicking of cameras stopped
them in their tracks.
“?!”
The four men squinted, blinded by the sudden light. They eventually saw
well over a dozen cameramen and reporters filling the street. And right in front
of them, the man and woman were now embracing.
No way… Wh-when did they get here?!
Hey, they just got us in the picture!
The men had been very careful. But so had the cameramen who were waiting
to get the perfect scoop.
Ruri looked down shyly as the storm of lightning flashes continued, while
Yuuhei turned to a nearby reporter and asked in monotone, “How did you
know?”
As if on cue, all the reporters raced forward to ask questions. They had to
know that Yuuhei was the only person who ever came in or out of this building.
The raucous deluge of questions and camera flashes continued despite the very
late hour.
“We just had an anonymous tip!”
“What’s the deal?!”
“How long have you been a couple?”
“Where did you two meet?”
“Any plans for a press conference?”
“Does your agency know?”
“When’s the wedding?”
“We noticed a man wearing a white lab coat leaving earlier.”
“Is he involved in this?”
“Damn, missed him!”
“Find him!”
“Call another team to go look for a guy in white!”
The four men who were supposed to abduct Ruri went completely pale. With
this many people, there was no way they could retrieve the film that showed
them. Not to mention that an abduction was out of the question now.
As the men gritted their teeth in frustration, Yuuhei calmly answered, “I’m
sorry, but it’s very late, so I will have to explain another day. We’re going to go
for a nice relaxing drive together now.”
After a few more comments of explanation, Yuuhei took Ruri back into the
building with a hand around her shoulder. A few minutes later, a car emerged
and sped off.
A few reporters tried to follow them, but most of the reporting vehicles were
already being used to cover the Black Rider incident, following Daioh TV’s lead.
And so, in full sight of the reporters and would-be kidnappers, the star actor
and serial killer disappeared into the night.
At present, tunnel, Ikebukuro
Celty had fashioned a shadow version of an actual kind of net that was used to
subdue motorcycle gangs in real life. It was meant to gently tangle and stop the
bikes, ending their rampage.
Setting up such nets was rather difficult, as the timing of deployment and the
possibility of the gangs scouting out the locations in advance were both
exploitable weaknesses. But Celty’s shadow had no such weaknesses and
admirably trapped the riders.
“Gaah! What the hell is this?!”
“Daaagh!”
The bikers plunged one after the other into the net of shadow. As the rear
vehicles saw what was happening, they slowed and stopped, leaving a huge
logjam of motorcycles at one end of the tunnel and splitting it into safe and
unsafe halves.
She could freely go and escape now, but that would not solve anything. Celty
considered whether she should truly plant the seed of terror in them or allow
them to capture her and get their ten million yen.
At the very least, the top priority of allowing Kadota’s van to go free was a
success. Now that the van had escaped around the west side of Ikebukuro
Station, Celty decided she would surrender herself to fate.
That was the moment that Ikebukuro decided to truly get the most out of its
holiday.
At that moment, inside the van
“All right…you guys get out and either race through the station or pile into the
police building nearby… As long as you tell them you just got wrapped up in
this through no fault of your own, you should be fine!” Kadota said to the rest of
the group once the tunnel was no longer in the rearview mirror.
He threw open the side door so the passengers could get out. Mikado tried to
stay in but was forcibly pushed out by those behind him.
“What about you, Dotachin?” Karisawa asked.
Kadota looked away, then sighed. “You know Celty? She’s with Shinra,
right?”
“Uhh, yeah. She’s such a tsundere with him. It makes me embarrassed to
watch them.”
“No, Karisawa! I keep telling you, she’s an ‘older younger sister’!”
Kadota ignored the two bickerers and quietly turned to Togusa in the driver’s
seat.
“Damn. I barely had anything to do with him in high school…so I don’t
really know what Shinra’s like in person…but I gotta admit, I’m kinda jealous,”
he said, then smiled happily and continued, “Celty…she’s a babe. Yeah, she’s a
good woman. Right, Togusa?”
“Huh? The Black Rider’s a chick?”
“…Anyway, that settles it. Can’t go having a girl save my ass. You know?”
Togusa seemed to understand what he meant and put his hand to the stick,
wryly observing, “So, we’re gonna find and retrieve the Black Rider, then
escape? Or help her out?”
Kadota grinned wickedly, and Togusa gunned the engine.
In the tunnel
So, what now?

On the other side of Celty’s shadow net, a small riot was unfolding.
A number of the bikers were attempting to rip the shadow, and due to the fact
that multiple rival gangs were involved, some of them appeared to be starting a
fistfight.
“Dammit! I thought we had more guys than this! Get everyone in here for
backup!”
“We can’t! Out in front of the station…some monster cop is wipin’
everybody out!”
“Shit! What’s happening here?! Have you called the chief…?”
“I can’t reach him! Maybe he’s mad that we jumped off on our own without
permission…”
“Gaah! We gotta at least kill that Black Rider and get some damn money
outta this!”
What?! That bounty wasn’t “dead or alive,” was it?!
At this point, there was no room for negotiation. Celty turned back, prepared
to flee—but then she saw a different biker gang group coming up from the other
direction. It had to be the remnants of the various gangs alerted remotely.
More and more bikes began to approach, the lucky ones who had escaped the
motorcycle cops.
Damn… If I put up another net on the other side of the tunnel and lock myself
in…then once the bikers are gone, I’ll be surrounded by the police! There’ll be
no way to explain away the cargo I’m carrying!
Then, from behind the oncoming swarm of bikes came a single van.
Is that them?! I told them to run for it!
Most likely the middle schoolers had been let loose, but Celty wanted Kadota
and the other adults to find safety as well. She paused for a brief second, unsure
of what to do…
Then saw that some of the bikers were starting to work their way through the
net on their own and turned back to the original direction.
Celty fashioned a dull black scythe and tried to use it to fight them off—but
something struck her as wrong.
Right to the side of her bike stood an unfamiliar shadow.
As she slowly, fearfully turned toward it, she saw a man like a mummy, his
face wrapped in thick bandages.
He was standing in her sidecar. His feet were inside the now-empty black bag
she was ferrying.
The man who had been her cargo spoke.
“…Leave this to me… You should escape.”
Half a day earlier, inside Russia Sushi
“…Hell of an injured patient you brought to me, damn you.”

Inside a sushi bar run by two Russians, which was quickly becoming a
familiar sight to Ikebukuro residents, the after-hours interior stank for reasons
other than fish.
A sheet was placed over the tatami booth in the back, so that a doctor in a
white coat—Shinra Kishitani—could tend to a man whose face had been
shattered.
“My visit will cost you two hundred thousand yen.”
“Cut me a deal.”
“Can’t do that. I lost the golden opportunity to spend time with Ruri Hijiribe
on account of this patient.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Simon butted into the argument between the white owner and Shinra. “Oh, no
good, you two fight. First, you make Egor’s boo-boo say bye-bye. Please to do
it, passing marks one hundred percent!”
“Fine, fine. Just make sure you arrange the money… May I assume that Egor
is the patient’s name?”
“That’s right. We were in the same organization back in Russia, but… Oh,
what the hell am I telling you for?”
As this conversation continued in the back, Mairu Orihara sat at the front
counter with her sister, placing a call on her cell phone.
“…Oh! He picked up! Hello, Iza? Listen, I have a question for you! Hey, do
you recognize the name Celty Sturluson?” she excitedly asked, reading the name
off of the thick envelope. But she didn’t get the answer she wanted.
“…Huh? What do you mean, none of our business? So you do know
something about this person, Iza! I knew it! Holy crap! No fair, no fair! No!
Fair! Huh…?”
Mairu looked down at her phone in disbelief and began to stomp on the floor
in frustration.
“…What happened?”
“I can’t believe it! Iza just hung up on me! Um, well…I guess I have no
choice… Here goes…”
She quietly sulked down at her phone, looked up a different contact from the
last one, and grinned to herself as she hit the send button.
At present, outside Ikebukuro Station
“Aww, man, where did Mr. Ryuugamine and Ms. Sonohara go?”
Immediately after they were let out of the van, Mikado had said, “Take care
of Sonohara and the girls,” and raced off. The next thing Aoba knew, Anri had
also vanished.
“…I guess Mr. Ryuugamine really is…oh, never mind,” Aoba muttered as he
looked around. Meanwhile, Mairu and Kururi stood holding hands.
“…What should…we do?”
“Hmm, I guess we can just watch for now? I don’t know what will happen,
but I sure didn’t expect to see her up so close!”
“…”
Kururi looked down the street that headed to the tunnel with a serious look in
her eyes. Meanwhile, Mairu cackled to herself. Amid the cool breeziness of her
laugh was a note of poisonous malice.
“So…I wonder if we’ll be able to introduce ourselves to Celty properly.”
Half a day earlier, inside Russia Sushi
“Nngh…”
The man in the tatami booth opened his eyes and stared vaguely at his
surroundings.
“Oh, he’s awake.”
The man glanced at the first figure to enter his view and, through the fog in
his head, said the name, “Shingen?”
“Huh?”
Shinra was momentarily taken aback by his father’s name. He examined the
man’s face—not that he could see much, covered in bandages as it was.
“…Oh, pardon me. I seem to have confused you for someone else…”
“…”
Shinra leaned over the prone man, thinking hard for several seconds.
Eventually, he bolted upright, took out his phone, and walked toward the seats at
the front counter. Two girls trotted over to take his place and stepped into the
tatami booth.
“…Are you…all right?”
“Yoo-hoo! Feeling better? Good for you, buddy! It’s all okay! Reconstructive
surgery can work miracles these days! You even look cool in those bandages, if
you don’t mind me saying so!”
“Ahh… I have not thanked you two yet. Thank you for saving me.”
Egor’s eyes were sharp as they gazed through the bandages, but he
maintained a gentlemanly demeanor. Relieved that their acquaintance would
recover, Simon and the manager kicked up a conversation in Russian with Egor.
“XXXX” “XX”
“XXXXX” “XX!”
As the conversation went on, the manager’s face grew more and more
gloomy.
“What’s up?” Mairu asked.
The manager responded, “Well…it sounds like he doesn’t have a coin to his
name.”
“…Forgive me. I just failed the job I was pursuing… Now I wish that I had
gotten some money up front.”
“So what’s your plan? If we just hand over two hundred thousand yen now,
we can’t stock the fish for tomorrow… I suppose we could just close the
restaurant tomorrow, but then…”
“Oh, close store, very good. Tomorrow we celebrate Sushi Extermination
Day, eat ramen, eat mochi.”
“Get outta here with that bullshit,” the manager grumbled. Meanwhile, Mairu
squatted down on the tatami in the booth.
“Hey, you.” She pulled on Egor’s sleeve. He looked puzzled.
“…What?” he asked suspiciously. Mairu gave him an angelic smile.
“Shall we front you the money?”
At present, tunnel, Ikebukuro Station
Celty was in a panic.

The cargo she was ferrying suddenly woke up and began neutralizing the
oncoming bikers with his bare hands.
Even the term smooth failed to describe his movements. He was smoke in
human form, riding the breeze and flowing between the attacking men.
When they passed by one another, his target would already be fallen. It was
as though he were teaching dozens of monkeys how to dance.
Totally unsure of what was real anymore, Celty turned back toward the van.
She was concerned about the safety of Kadota’s team—but she found a fresh
concern when she did so.
Halfway down the slope leading to the tunnel was a figure sprinting toward
them at full speed.
Mikado?!
She tried to send body and hand signals to the boy to warn him to turn back,
but not only did she have bigger fish to fry, it would be counterproductive if the
enemy noticed Mikado because of her signals.
And behind him, on the other side of the road, she saw a busty girl with
glasses.
Anri!
She knew Anri was powerful. If she used the power of the cursed blade Saika
to its full extent, the girl could be even more dangerous than Celty.
But that’s exactly what you shouldn’t do!
Anri was keeping the fact that she was Saika a secret from everyone. If she
utilized that power right here in the open—possibly with TV cameras pointed at
her—it would ruin everything for her.
This was already a bewildering and frightening turn of events for Celty.
Then, Ikebukuro’s holiday made it worse.
A fierce impact echoed through the tunnel, drawing the attention of everyone
present. It happened on the other side of Celty’s net, where the motorcycle gang
members were trying to break through with dozens of bikes left behind.
The source of the sound was a motorcycle, flying as though it had been
struck by a large car. And waving around a motorcycle engine in one hand—
A knight in medieval armor, with no head.
Huh?
Confusion reigned.
Confusion reigned.
Another one…of me…?
At first, Celty thought that perhaps another of her kind had just appeared in
Ikebukuro. She did remember that back in Ireland, she sensed the presence of a
number of other dullahans lurking somewhere out there.
But why here and now?
A fresh wave of doubt and confusion rolled over her—but paradoxically, the
increasingly confusing images only cooled her head down.
No, this presence…doesn’t belong to “us”…
But…there’s something among all the humans…
It was at that point that Celty quietly recalled when she had felt that presence.
Just a few hours ago, when she’d run a job during the morning.
This aura…
It’s who I transported this morning!
Several hours earlier, warehouse, Ikebukuro
There was a warehouse sector quite a ways removed from the metropolitan
center of Ikebukuro. One of the buildings, which was currently empty, served as
the meeting place of Celty and her client.
The client was a stranger to her and had been introduced through Shizuo
Heiwajima.
It’s quite rare for Shizuo to send someone my way.
The client was a woman hiding her face with a muffler, hat, and sunglasses,
and the job required Celty to take her to the designated location.
Although she did not provide a more detailed reason, the woman was
apparently wanted by the mob, and it was possible that they would have a
makeshift checkpoint set up along the way to detain her.
At first Celty wasn’t so sure about her, but once she picked up the woman’s
“presence,” she couldn’t help but ask:
“Do you happen to have a bit of a special power?”
“…Huh?”
The woman hiding her face—Ruri Hijiribe—was taken aback. She stared
down the Black Rider before her.
Ruri had decided that in order to give her time to think about her future, she
ought to return home. But given that she was a very recognizable figure, she
couldn’t afford to cause a stir around town.
That white man might be lurking around somewhere.
It was a single phone call the previous night that had lured her out as
Hollywood.
“I know your secret. Let’s go watch a movie together. A monster movie from
Hollywood,” his message went, along with the location of that park and a time.
That was where she met that hit man—and a true monster.
None of it mattered to her now—but according to Yuuhei, there was a good
chance that monster was a relative of his.
Perhaps that was why he helped her: a feeling of guilt and responsibility.
Meanwhile, Yuuhei introduced this person to her.
He said, “My brother knows a courier who he tells me about all the time. I’ll
ask him if he can put you in touch.” And here she was now, meeting the Black
Rider.
The rider was an abnormal being in each and every way—but most surprising
to Ruri was the way the rider was able to pinpoint that one feature about her.
That her body might not be entirely human in nature.
Late last night, Russia Sushi
A black-market doctor spoke over the phone with his father.
“So will you explain what’s going on here, Dad?”

“…Sometimes coincidence can be detestable. I think I understand how Izaya
feels.”
“What? Whatever. So how do you and that Russian know each other?”
“…He’s, well, something of a handyman. He likes to think of himself as the
man whose identity no one knows. So it’s quite impressive that Nebula and I have
a connection to him. Hopefully, this will impress your father’s value upon you.”
“So he’s a hired killer who likes to puff himself up. Yes?”
“…I don’t know how you were raised to be so devoid of joy. But we can set
that aside for now. He was hired to abduct a certain woman.”
“A woman?”
“Yes… I believe you are aware of the serial killer known as Hollywood?”
“…”
“Nebula was investigating this matter, sensing that, like Celty and Saika,
there was some supernatural element at play—and eventually arrived at a
woman who had some supernatural blood like Celty’s in her family tree a few
generations back. This creature lived among mankind and used its power to
amass quite a fortune. We’re not sure if it was an atavistic trait, or if the
qualities were passed through each generation along the way—but at any rate,
the power seems to have manifested itself in her. Rather than have the police
catch and execute her, we think it would be better for us to take custody of her, so
we can slice and inject and share all that wonderful time together instead. Got
it?”
“…Dad, I hope that someday you come to some sobering realizations about
yourself.”
“Well, that’s rather offensive from you, Shinra. But setting that aside…to be
honest, Nebula’s observer said that she was knocked flat out by a normal
civilian, so perhaps she is not worth the trouble of experimenting on. You can
just ignore her.”
“Hey, would that girl happen to have the name…Ruri Hijiribe?”
“How did you know that?! Shinra, you read my mind! You’ve been around
Celty so long, some of her inhuman power has rubbed off on—beep, beep,
beep…”
Earlier in the day
Celty dropped off her charge in front of the apartment building and happily
typed away into her PDA.
“Pleasure doing business.”
I’m glad nothing happened while we were on the road. I guess it wasn’t worth
freaking out over that bounty thing after all.
If Celty had a nose, she would have been humming. Her client bowed over
and over to her.
“Um, th-thank you so much! So, about the money…”
“No, thanks. This one is on the house.”
“Huh…?”
“I’m just happy to meet you. I basically never see people like you around the
city.”
The topic caused a twinge of curiosity in Ruri’s heart again.
“Um, when you say that…do you mean…?”
She felt shy about bringing up the subject but summoned up her courage and
said, “The things the TV said about you…are they true? You’re…not human?”
“Yes. Shall I show you evidence?” the Headless Rider asked, impossibly
frank. She removed her helmet, almost proud to show off that she was a monster.
Several minutes later, Celty was gone, and Ruri was back safely in her
apartment, standing in front of the mirror, examining her face. It was pale, but
not dangerously so.
The throbbing pain all over was gone, a good reminder that her body was not
normal.
She twirled a nearby forty-five-pound barbell around with a pinkie finger, a
good reminder that her strength was not normal.
She wasn’t human.
But she couldn’t be a monster, either.
She was something in between.
“Ha-ha…”
Until this point, every time she faced that fact, she’d been plunged into a
depressive mood…but this time, for some reason, she laughed.
“Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
She laughed loud and heartily, as if it were the first time in her life. She
pictured Celty, the Headless Rider, and laughed with tears running down her
cheeks.
Oh. So that’s how it is.

The world—the world’s heart is vast and wide.
Even ghosts and monsters can enjoy life.
Even me, and Yuuhei, and that Headless Rider!
Why…why did I never consider this…?
I’ve been so stupid!
Several hours later, Ruri’s laughter and tears had faded away, and she was
flipping through the TV.
On a news program, they were broadcasting a segment about a ten million–
yen bounty on a freak in Ikebukuro. Meanwhile, street gangs and bikers from all
over were piling into the city in search of the bounty, leading to a very touchy
situation.
“…”
She got up and headed into the back of the house—to her changing room.
Another hour later, Ruri left her home in full costume. Outside were four men
whose appearance left no question what they were.
“You must be Ruri Hijiri…what? Wh-wh…what the fuck are you dressed
like that for?!”
With a single weak punch to the solar plexus of each, she dispatched the four
men quickly. She might have broken a rib here or there, but that wasn’t her
concern.
The monster known as Hollywood, fully refreshed and renewed, leaped from
the fifth floor of her apartment building, her heart soaring like never before—
laughing, laughing all the while.
Oddly enough, the sight was reminiscent of a Headless Rider who had raced
down the side of a building just a year earlier.
At present, tunnel, Ikebukuro
Celty was stunned at the sudden appearance of the thing and slowly turned to
face it.
The headless knight turned silently to her and extended a thumb upward.
Before Celty could say anything, the knight said, in hushed tones that only
the dullahan could hear, “You did me a favor. Now it’s my turn to repay it.”
“…”
Celty came to a stop—right as Hollywood, in the form of a headless knight
this time, burst into motion.
Her action was entirely unlike Egor’s, a mass of metal moving in direct lines.
Going easy or not, her first kick blasted a motorcycle into the air, and she carved
out the engine with a single hand, using her other hand to block an oncoming
metal pipe and twist it.
As she inflicted horrifying fear upon the bikers, Hollywood sang a little song
inside her heart. A song just for herself, one she would never sing when she was
a star idol.
I am monster, I am human.
I don’t care which. I don’t care which.
You can’t choose your life. Not the start, not the end.
So choose your lifestyle. That’s what I choose.
What the courier did for me this morning is worth more than my entire
fortune.
Whether I live until tomorrow or live for a thousand years,
as a monster, as a human being,
whether I fight or accept,
I choose to savor.
Hollywood buried her urge to scream within her and raced, raced through the
underground tunnel.
The bartender man.
Yuuhei Hanejima.
Celty Sturluson.
She displayed her gratitude and respect for these three monsters—all of
whom she’d met in a period of just twenty-four hours—and danced the dance of
Hollywood.
Celty and the bikers weren’t the only ones shocked by the sudden appearance of
these monsters. Kadota and his friends, who were about to jump out of the van,
and even Mikado and Anri, chasing on foot, were all stopped dead in their tracks
by what they saw unfolding.
Two monsters moving in very different ways were neutralizing the
motorcycle gangs at a breathless pace. Inside the van, Kadota muttered, “Well,
given that these guys are probably all the wimps who weren’t allowed to join
Toramaru’s main force…it’s still impressive. What the hell is going on?”
No one could give him an answer.
Unsure quite how to react given the circumstances, Celty settled on just using
her shadow ropes to immobilize the bikers. Eventually, the bandaged man was
back at her side. He whispered haltingly into her ear, “Hurry, take care, of
Mother.”
Mother?
She looked back at him, momentarily confused, then understood his meaning
at once. Through the gaps in his bandages, she saw that the man’s eyes were red
and bloodshot.
Saika?!
Celty spun around to find Anri standing at the entrance to the tunnel, looking
troubled. She confirmed that the two monsters nearby were more than enough to
handle the situation, and also weren’t going too far in their violence, and decided
—despite still not fully understanding the circumstances—that she could leave
the scene to them and escape.
She quickly crafted a message on her PDA and used an extended shadow to
show it to both of the monsters.
“Let me give you two pieces of advice.”
She didn’t realize that both pieces would come off as extremely ironic to her
audience.
“If you see a cop on a bike, just run away. One of them is a real monster.”
These two pieces of advice were the most crucial things Celty could think to
impart.
“The other thing, which you might have already heard about…”
The problem was, her warning was just a day too late.
“Never pick a fight with a guy in a bartender’s uniform. Never!”
Celty sent a safety signal to Kadota’s group and left the danger zone. With Anri
at her back and Mikado dragged into the van, they left the tunnel behind.
She undid her shadow net at the very end, but it had already served its
purpose. All of the gangsters and their bikes were on the run from the two
monsters.
As he watched from a distance, Aoba Kuronuma tilted his head in confusion

and wondered, “Um…what just happened?”
But the twins behind him couldn’t answer. They looked at each other, equally
confused.
Ultimately, no single person involved in the bizarre incident understood the
full context of it.
A few minutes later
The bikers, fleeing with their tails between their legs, sneakily made their way
through the neighborhood to avoid the motorcycle cops. From what they heard
over their walkie-talkies, many of their friends had already been hauled in.
“Shit…now we can’t even go back home… The chief’ll kill us.”
One of the men in a striped gang uniform, apparently the leader of the
expedition, called out to the fifteen or so members still remaining. The police
would spot them in minutes if they moved as a full group, but they didn’t have
enough power left to implement a better plan.
“We at least gotta show off our power to a local gang to regain some face…”
They forgot about their own damage and headed off through the town, driven
by their twisted desire to express themselves through violence. And when they
got to a street close to the Sunshine building, they found what looked like local
thugs and stopped their bikes on a side road to play tough.
“Hey, you. Got a question for ya. What’s the name of the team that reps this
area?”
One of the local toughs thought it over and gave them an answer.
“There’s a bunch around here… For the more organized types, you want the
Jan-Jaka-Jan who work for the Awakusu-kai. For the street racers, I guess it’d be
the Dragon Zombies? But ever since that crazy motor cop showed up, they’re all
keeping it on the DL.”
“Awright. You tell me where to go to find ’em, then.”
“You going to fight ’em?”
“Fuck’s it to ya?!” the leader in ritual garb demanded. The local thug shook
his head.
“You guys are in Toramaru from Saitama, right? C’mon, you know your boss
doesn’t like this kinda stuff, right? The guy might be a womanizer, but I’ve
heard he’s at least got some honor.”
“Shuddup! Chief’s got nothin’ to do with this!”
“We were supposed to catch that Black Rider and get the money, then pass it
up the chain so we could go independent!”
“Come on… You’re gonna get ten million yen for nothing, then give it to the
yakuza? Seriously? If I got my hands on that kind of cash, I’d use it for myself.
You wouldn’t need to be a biker at all with that kind of money. You want to ride,
just get your own tuned-up wheels,” the dreadlocked thug advised, whether he
was saying it out of sarcasm or honest helpfulness.
“What…? You dissin’ us like we’re a buncha penkoro?! Huh?!”
As outsiders to the city, there was very little concern about fights with the
locals following them back home. So without that threat in the back of their
minds, frustration had no brakes to keep it from spilling into anger and violence.
“What’s a penkoro?”
“Tom, forget about them and let’s go. I’m getting hungry.”
“Yeah, good point. I just wish the boss would buy us dinner once in a
while…”
The local toughs’ utter indifference to them pushed the bikers over the edge.
“You bitches… Don’t ignore us!”
One of them pulled off a metal pipe that was affixed to his bike and swung it
with all his might.
“Whoa, watch out!” said the dreadlocked man, cleanly dodging the blow.
But just as a metal pipe had ripped through Celty’s cargo bag earlier in the
day—it ripped through the other thug’s bartender-style sleeve.
“Ah!”
“My clothes…,” the man said quietly.
The one with dreads was already sprinting away, signing the cross as he
prayed for the bikers.
The next instant: zwip.
If there were visible sound effects in real life, that’s what would appear over
the scene: zwip.
That was how easily the man picked up the motorcycle, rider and all, with
one hand.
And like tossing a baseball, threw it into the other bikers.
You see, the outsiders did not realize.

That in Ikebukuro, there are people one must never pick a fight with.
People that no one should ever, ever, ever challenge to a fight, no matter if
they were a hit man, or a serial killer, or a president, or an alien, or a vampire, or
a headless monster.
Then came the sound of thunder.
“You ripped the clothes…I got from Kasukaaaa!”

The man in the bartender getup pulled out a nearby streetlamp and swung it
at the bikers like a baseball bat.
There was the sound of thunder, and both motorcycles and men flew through
the air.
With that customary sight, Ikebukuro’s holiday came to an end.
Whether the city enjoyed its holiday or not is not for us to know.
But at the very least…

The neighborhood of Ikebukuro was at peace again today.
Epilogue
Epilogue 1: Secret Conversation
Chat room
Izaya Orihara returns to life!

Izaya Orihara: I want to ask you something about the motorcycle gang incident
and what happened with Celty.
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Ah, there you are. Welcome.
Izaya Orihara: No need for greetings… So what ultimately happened there?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: You weren’t actively involved in that? I’m surprised.
Izaya Orihara: Come on, don’t tease me. I’ll make this worth your while.
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Ha-ha! We can discuss price later. As a matter of fact, I’m
itching to discuss it, too.
Izaya Orihara: I know the Awakusu-kai were involved somehow. I just don’t
know what they’re after.
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Ah yes. They were trying to get rid of someone. So to
make it easier, they brought in some bosozoku motorcycle gangs from out of
town to raise hell. The person they wanted to erase would cause a big stir if
missing, see.
Izaya Orihara: Who?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Ruri Hijiribe. You’ve heard that name before, haven’t
you?
Izaya Orihara: I have. What kind of joke is this?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Joke? Please. Have you grown so soft that you can’t even
tell truthful info from lies? What are you, a rival character who suddenly
pales in comparison when a new story arc begins? Should I call you Yamcha
Orihara now?
Izaya Orihara: Who was the client?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Jinnai Yodogiri, the representative director of Yodogiri
Izaya Orihara: And why would he need to kill his best asset?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Dunno. You know I don’t pry into matters like that, don’t
you?
Izaya Orihara: …
Shinichi Tsukumoya: But Yodogiri made one mistake. Going to the Awakusu-
kai was the right idea, but it ended up being seen as betrayal by the Awakusu.
Izaya Orihara: Ohh…?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: You see, telling them to finish off a target without
revealing that the target was Hollywood is akin to sending those men to their
deaths. Now President Yodogiri is missing, and his talent agency is in a total
state of chaos.
Jack-o’-Lantern Japan Talent Agency Office, Higashi-Nakano
Ultimately, Ikebukuro was full of people searching for the Black Rider for
several days after that, not just the first chaotic twenty-four hours. On top of that,
the appearance of a look-alike “headless knight” only added to the confusion.
The hassle was worth more than the increased shopping and tourism the
event brought with it, so the police eventually succeeded in getting the bounty
withdrawn.
The publicity costs for all the billboards announcing the nullification of the
bounty and the subsequent apologies to the public were staggering, but the
president of Jack-o’-Lantern Japan was all smiles.
“Fantastic… Hey! Let’s hear some applause! I am damn fantastic right now,
folks! Applause! I can’t hear you! More applause with the cheers and the
clapping! It’s a celebration! I am celebrating you right now! To hell with the
scandals and whatnot—I celebrate you two!”
Several days after the incident, amid a barrage of thirty firecrackers courtesy
of the agency president, stood an expressionless male star and a gloomy but
beautiful female star.
They had no way of knowing how, but Ruri Hijiribe’s agency president,
Yodogiri, had vanished under mysterious circumstances. The agency went into
panic mode, and Ruri Hijiribe was the first asset to change hands—to Jack-o’-
Lantern Japan.
There were a number of initial theories about the disappearance, one of
which even posited that he was so shocked by the scandal with Yuuhei Hanejima
that he wandered into the woods and vanished.
But because he was not a man with a good reputation to begin with, society
quickly accepted the change and began to celebrate Ruri Hijiribe’s new start.
After President Max Sandshelt happily, liberally complimented himself and

his company, he said something about “leaving the rest up to the young lovers”
and took the managers away for a meeting.
Kanemoto, the temporary manager, ended up taking off work from the
physical stress of Yuuhei’s scandal coming out on his watch—but that’s a story
for another time.
The two actors were left alone.
It was silent between them. Their so-called romance had been a sham meant
to help them get through a perilous situation. Ruri eventually broke the silence,
grinning faintly as she turned to the typically expressionless Yuuhei.
“Um…there are things…I haven’t told you, aren’t there…?”
“Like what?”
“…Like how I discovered my Hollywood power…and why I became a
killer…and what…Yodogiri and them…did to me.”
She was smiling, but her voice quavered faintly. No matter what the blood
within her said, she was clearly reliving the memories that drove her peaceful
life to one of murder.
Without moving a muscle in his face, Yuuhei said, “If you don’t want to talk
about it, you shouldn’t force yourself.”
“I want you…to hear it.”
“I refuse,” he said conclusively, a rare thing for him. The serial killer woman
flinched. To her surprise, he was as flat and straightforward as ever as he said,
“Once you tell me your story, you’re going to kill yourself, aren’t you?”
“…”
Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.
“Listen, Ruri. I’m not the tree that you tell the secret of the king’s ears to.”
As usual, it was impossible to tell if he was angrily chiding her or not. “I’m just
a human, as you can see… I thought, if I can’t understand others, I should at
least make the effort to try…and I’ve been watching ever since.”
“…”
“So I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking. As usual, I don’t know
what you’re feeling, but I understand your thoughts. I don’t want you to die,
Ruri. So don’t tell me anything.”
“…Maybe you really are a monster,” she said out of admiration, not disgust.
“When I was a girl…I wanted to destroy absolutely everything. But…more than
that, I was just afraid of losing what was around me. I wasn’t able to be a
monster…not to the extent of completely ruining myself. I think that, ultimately,
I was most afraid of losing myself.”
“Losing is scary. I suppose you could say that’s a form of love.”
If he’d said it with a grin, it would have come across as cocky and cool, but
the flat monotone of Yuuhei’s voice actually gave the words a strange impact.
When silence crept between them again, it was Yuuhei who broke it this time.
“…There’s one thing I didn’t say.”
“What is it?”
“Back in my room, when you knocked me over and sat on top—I’m pretty
sure I was panicking.”
“…Huh?”
If she had swung her arm down on him, he would have died without making
a sound—of that, Ruri was certain. This was a baffling thing to admit. She
looked closer.
Yuuhei stared back into her eyes, and for just an instant, he looked troubled.
“My pulse got faster, and my chest felt hot.”
“…”
“…”
“Are you…trying to hit on me?”
“I’m only speaking the truth,” the perfect man said, perplexed.
Ruri laughed. “You’re just like a child, Yuuhei.”
And she smiled, not with the shadowy wan smile of earlier, but an innocent,
childish grin of her own. The girl who had been a serial killer mumbled, “But…I
don’t really mind that.”

Chat room
Izaya Orihara: Well, what about the murder-machine, then? Why would that hit
man help Celty out?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: …Wow, you really were out of the loop on this one. Has
Ikebukuro abandoned you?
Izaya Orihara: What do you mean?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: I mean…that was all caused by your own sisters, you
know that?
Izaya Orihara: What?
Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro
One evening a few days after the incident, Kururi and Mairu were out on a
shopping trip, with Egor tagging along behind them as the pack mule. The
bandaged man was carrying a huge number of bags from department stores for
the twin girls, wondering, “You have so many clothes already, and now you buy
more?”
“…We’re just…getting started.”
“No complaining, Egor! We fronted your treatment money, and you just let
Celty get away from us!”
They had picked up a lost bag of money and were using it to curry favors, a
truly brazen decision. On the other hand, who knew how the law would treat
cash lost by a nonhuman being? Still, they were undeniably guilty of using
someone else’s money.
“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, mistress,” the hit man said smoothly,
bowing with a hint of sarcasm, but Mairu didn’t mind. She grinned toothily.
“Well, whatever! I do forgive you! In a way, those biker gangs were chasing
after us! And we can claim that we saved you from it! So thank us! Special
thanks! Canadian thanks!” she babbled nonsensically, puffing up her chest with
pride. Kururi sighed and thwomped her.
“Ouch!!”
“…Don’t be…stuck up.”
The hit man straightened up and resumed following the sisters.
In conclusion, Kururi and Mairu’s actions could all be explained as an

extension of a simple desire: to see the Black Rider and expose its identity.
They picked up an envelope belonging to the Black Rider. Based on a certain
source of information, they learned that the name Celty on the envelope
belonged to a courier who manipulated the Black Rider, and so they put a plan
into motion.
In exchange for the medical funds, they had the staff of Russia Sushi put on a
little act for them. The manager hid his face and made contact with Celty, along
with the bag containing Egor hidden inside. When they reached either Celty’s
base or a resting point, Egor would contact the twins’ phone—according to the
plan.
It didn’t seem right to ask an injured man to do this, but Egor claimed that he
was “good at that sort of thing” and took the lead in accepting the job.
In truth, if they wanted to meet Celty, they could have just asked Simon, and
he would arrange a meeting—but Simon himself assumed this was some kind of
prank, thus setting up the twins’ grand Celty-capturing plan on a one-way trip to
failure.
In other words, for the simple purpose of meeting someone, they set up a
complex, dead-end plan that used up all of the million yen they found.
Ultimately, all of that money found its way back to Celty’s household.
“So in the end, the one who caught all those bikers in the tunnel under the
train tracks was Egor? Isn’t that crazy? I knew you were something special, so I
guess you must be some kind of Russian super-soldier! You should come to my
dojo sometime!”
“…That’s amazing.”
“No…it was thanks to someone else.”
This was how Ikebukuro’s greatest troublemakers gained the troubling tool of
violence—but they didn’t really think much of it at the time. They stared at each
other.
Two souls in love who spent very different lives in their desire to return to
one being.
“Anyway, let’s buy the ingredients for tonight’s stew and go home! You
should eat dinner with us, too, Egor!”
“…Well, I won’t be in business for a while. If you don’t mind my
company…”
“…Shabu-shabu.”
Even these girls with their many contradictions were welcomed silently into
the city’s embrace.
As if the city itself desired a fresh new breeze to run within it.
Chat room
Izaya Orihara: So in the end…the murder-machine and the serial killer had
nothing to do with Celty, and they both helped rescue her…
Shinichi Tsukumoya: It’s ironic. And the one who first sent them down that
path was your good friend Shizuo.
Izaya Orihara: …
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Don’t sulk at me. Ikebukuro enjoyed its holiday. It’s a
good thing you were over in Shinjuku and had nothing to do with it!
Izaya Orihara: Are you still going on about that nonsense?
Shinichi Tsukumoya: As usual, you love people, but you won’t acknowledge
that neighborhoods have their own character.
Izaya Orihara: I don’t want to talk about occult nonsense.
Shinichi Tsukumoya: That’s not how it is. See, a city has numerous memes…
Well, in this case, they’re human beings acting as brain cells. They come
together, and the reactions of those cells are what creates the mind of the city.
Each cell is meaningless on its own. It’s the exchanges that actually give a
city its character, so it can enjoy its holiday.
Izaya Orihara: I understand the logic, but I have no interest in this. I’m leaving
for now.
Shinichi Tsukumoya: Be careful not to get punched by Shizuo. Or Simon.
Izaya Orihara: Just remember, one of these days I’m going to find your real
address.
Izaya Orihara confirmed dead!

Shinichi Tsukumoya: As I’m sure you know, I’m in this chat room twenty-four
hours a day.
Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!


.
.
.

Epilogue 2: Roundtable Conversation
Along Kawagoe Highway, Ikebukuro
“All right, is everyone paying attention? Sagohachi-style means ‘three-five-

eight,’ and that refers to the ratio of the pickling ingredients! You create the
fermentation base using three parts salt, five parts koji yeast, and eight parts rice!
That’s all it takes, but it’s the magic ingredient that will help you make all kinds
of food!”
This excited cooking commentary was coming from a girl with a scar on her
neck and a pink apron with “Seiji Love” written on the front—the stalker, Mika
Harima.
Celty couldn’t help but feel slightly wrong as she watched the girl wearing
her own face executing a perfect meal.
Her bounty was gone, and she was taking advantage of her newly returned
freedom to take cooking classes. She had reached out to Anri first, but Anri said
that she couldn’t cook, either. Next was Karisawa, who was good with her hands,
but it was revealed that she had no skill with traditional Japanese cooking.
Celty’s ultimate goal was to cook sagohachi-style pickled sandfish, so she
needed someone who could handle traditional cooking—and of all people, Anri
brought her to Mika.
Naturally, Seiji Yagiri tagged along. When he saw Celty, he asked, “You
aren’t searching for your head anymore?” When she nodded to indicate this was
the case, he seemed oddly emboldened and said, “Guess I gotta search on my
own, then…”
Celty could tell that Mika was listening in on that one-sided conversation,
which made the dullahan feel rather uncomfortable. On the other hand, she had
to admit that Mika’s cooking was first-rate.
With just a few fancy knife flourishes for some little appetizers, Mika
finished up the fermentation base for Celty’s long-awaited sagohachi dish.
Excited about the prospect of serving dinner to everyone, Celty had made sure to
buy some fish on the way to the lesson, but it wasn’t that simple.
“Okay! Now we just put the fish in here and let it sit overnight!”
Overnight…?
Once she realized that it meant there was no dinner for that evening, Shinra
smacked a fist into his palm and said, “Let’s have a stew.”
“We can call everyone we know to come over and have a hot pot party.”
Meat, meat, veggies, meat, veggies

Meat, meat, veggies, meat, veggies
Tofu in sesame sauce, veggies in ponzu
The fat level determines what goes on the meat.
If there was any poetic description for the state of the apartment, it was these
four bars from an old commercial. That was how lustily they tore into the hot
pot.
On the top floor of a luxury apartment building along Kawagoe Highway, the
massive dining area was so full of heat that it seemed cramped. About ten people
were seated around a large table, which featured two portable gas stoves bearing
equally large stew pots.
It was a varied group crowded around the pots, from students in uniform to a
man in a bartender’s outfit to a Caucasian woman.
“All right, we’ve got some more meat coming up!” said a grinning young
woman bearing a large tray and wearing an apron fashioned out of a body-pillow
cover with a manga character on it. What ensued was a thoroughly impolite
chopstick battle for control of the goods.
But one person sat on the sofa in the living room on the other side of the
dining area, observing the fray. The observer was in a thorough state of
relaxation, but there was one abnormality about its silhouette.
The black shadow with legs crossed on the sofa had no head above the neck.
A young man in a white coat sat down next to the figure. Despite the lack of a
head, the black shadow pulled out a PDA and began to type a message.
“You aren’t going to eat?”
“I’m full just from seeing you smile,” he said, an odd statement to a person
without a face.
The shadow shrugged slightly and typed out, “Don’t mind me. Thanks,
though.”
The young man looked at the text and smiled shyly. Over the raucous sounds
of the nearby shabu-shabu party, he said, “These last few days have been very
wild.”
“I guess.”
“Let’s see… Should I start with the kinky abandonment I suffered…?”
“Don’t call it kinky abandonment!”
By putting her hands around his neck, Celty inadvertently returned the
apartment to its most customary state. But suddenly, she stopped, acting
seriously, and asked, “What do you suppose I should have done?”
“About what?”
“Everything ended without any real answers. I just…don’t know if I should
continue with my courier work or not…”
“If I take on some dangerous job, it could mean bad news for you, even if I’m
not—” she began to write, when Shinra reached out and closed the PDA screen.
“Like I said earlier, we’re a family now, so a bit of trouble means nothing to
me… And as long as I’m scaling that wall with you, no difficulty is a bad thing
to me.”
“…”
“Don’t you realize I’ve already scaled the highest wall there is—getting you
to love me?” the doctor stated boldly and shamelessly. Celty smiled inwardly,
picked up the nearby helmet, and bumped its visor against his forehead.
And so the doting lovers, as well as all the people sitting around the table,
heartily savored their happiness in whatever form it took.
As members of one giant family within the context of a city, they found the
places they could call their own within their daily lives.
It was as though the city, after enjoying its holiday, decided to give a little
something back.
“Man, I really made a lot of money that day. Not much of it made sense, but I got
eight hundred thousand yen up front. The funny thing is, the cargo ended up
moving on his own. Should I assume that I actually did the job they paid me
for?”
“As long as there are no complaints, right? I went through a lot of trouble that
night, but I made two hundred thousand yen on my own.”
“Ooh! That makes a million yen…the exact amount that I lost! We made it
back!”
“Way to go, Celty! It is a triumph of the power of our love!”
As a matter of fact, that money was the very same stack of bills that Celty
had lost to begin with, which meant that she and Shinra had essentially done a
very busy day’s work for free.
But whether they ever realized that or not is a story for another time.
Chat room
TarouTanaka: By the way, I had a hot pot with some friends today.
Setton: What a coincidence. So did I.
Kanra: What?! You had a hot pot? At this time of year?!
Kuru: Why, how coincidental! We, too, enjoyed some delicious shabu-shabu on
this day!
Mai: It was yummy.
<Private Mode> Kanra: Oh, you’re here again.

<Private Mode> Kanra: You, too? Where did you have this party? You have
friends to enjoy a hot pot with?
<Private Mode> Kuru: Oh my goodness.
<Private Mode> Kuru: I wish that you would not pry into the matters of a
young girl and her friendships, Brother.
Mai: It’s a secret.

TarouTanaka: ?
<Private Mode> Kanra: Dammit, Mairu, would you just learn how to use
private mode already?!
Bacura: I went with a female friend of mine to go eat sukiyaki. You know that
place with all-you-can-eat sukiyaki for just 1,500 yen?
TarouTanaka: Oh yeah, it’s a chain!
Saika: i had the hot pot with setton. it was good
Kanra: Good grief, is anyone keeping up with the season?
Kanra: All those stews and hot pots are meant for the winter only!
Izaya’s apartment, Shinjuku
“Hey, Namie.”
“What?”
Izaya stopped staring at his desktop and turned with a smile to Namie, who
was busy completing work tasks on her laptop.
“Feel like having a hot pot? Shabu-shabu, crab stew—anything you want.”
“Would you mind not using me to fulfill your empty sense of vanity, just
because your chat room friends are all having hot pots?” Namie responded.
Izaya’s cheek twitched, and he shook his head. “…Did you see that?”
“The whole thing.”
“I see… You were the one who told my sisters about Celty, weren’t you?”
“That’s a good question. Oh, look…your weird girlie talk online is even
creepier than before,” Namie said with an evil grin and derisive glance toward
Izaya, as she monitored the chat room on her laptop in between tasks. “Also, I’m
surprised… It turns out you have a human side after all. Perhaps that’s the
eternal twenty-one-year-old in you?”
“You are developing into quite a handful… Shit, I should have made it
invisible to anyone outside of the participants, the way Tsukumoya’s is set up,”
he grumbled. The so-called puppet master, who had been outside of the loop this
entire time, looked out of the window.
Izaya gazed upon the profile of Shinjuku and thought to himself.
He had abandoned any pretense at a normalized life that brought stability and
relief.
He did not find it necessary for himself, but he understood that people did
need such a thing.
He envied the members of the chat who fondly spoke of their lives, looked
out the window at the sky, and envied Ikebukuro itself.
The city swallowed that one man’s envy and sang the glories of its holiday
once again.

Next Prologue
Once he had thoroughly envied Ikebukuro’s holiday, Izaya shut his eyes and
smiled.
“Yes…I suppose I should enjoy my holiday now.”
The man who had been left out of all the fun this time smiled with
vengeance.
“There are plenty of sparks…that might be put to use.”
The night of the incident
When she was under the blanket, Anri quietly thought to herself. She thought of
the bandaged man who had helped Celty earlier in the day.
His face was covered by those bandages…but I’m sure of it. That was him.
The white man who had been talking to the man in the gas mask while they
were returning from karaoke the night before.
The memory of that sighting caused Anri to pull the blanket up over her head
so she could face the curse echoing throughout her body.
When he had been talking to the man in the gas mask, she felt a hand on her
shoulder from behind—and in that moment, a nasty sense of pressure engulfed
her entire body.
A cold sharpness ran through her shoulder, and for a moment, time froze
within her.
It felt like her freedom of movement had been stolen, like her body was being
manhandled all over.
Zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig-zig—
The march of the ugly creaking reached its peak, and every cell in her body
screamed.
Warning her of the danger of the man behind her.
That he was far, far more dangerous than she could imagine.
Which was why she needed to love him that very instant.
In that moment, it was not the man’s presence that was handling her.
The creaking, the zig-zig-zigging inside her body was Saika itself.
The moment the hand landed on Anri’s shoulder, only she was aware of what
happened.
Every cell in her body screamed out, and Saika’s true body emerged, just the
tip, from her shoulder, slicing the palm of the hand that had been placed there.
As a result, the man became a child of Saika’s and not by Anri’s choice.
Even knowing that it would not affect his daily life, even knowing that he
was not working in an honest trade, Anri could not ignore the shock of having
inflicted that curse upon him.
What if…
What if, just like today…Saika activates and does the same thing to
Ryuugamine or Kida…?
The realization that the curse she had come to accept was far more dangerous
than she was giving it credit for plunged Anri into a state of fear.
Not fear that she would be taken over by Saika—but fear that she might use
Saika to control those she loved. And in the background, she heard the quiet
voices cursing.
Cursing her with their love, over and over and over.
A conversation between three Russians in their mother tongue, Russia Sushi
“All right, Egor. You’re Colonel Lingerin’s right-hand man…so if you’re here,
what happened?”
“We’ve got two men AWOL from the organization.”
“Ha-ha! You mean us? You’re coming to finish us off, after all this time?”
“No… Colonel Lingerin has no desire to deal with you at this point. The
escapees are two others that you wouldn’t know…”
“They’re apparently hiding out in Tokyo, so I thought I would let you two
know. And now thanks to my desire to engage in a little side business, I’ve had
to get plastic surgery.”
A conversation between officers of the Awakusu-kai
“So…we still can’t find Yodogiri?”

“…The other families seem to think that we took him out.”
“To think that old badger was in bed with multiple yakuza groups… We took
him for granted.”
“You can’t be too careful. He’s more than just the president of a talent
agency… There’s too much there that doesn’t add up.”
“…So the fact that he put us head-to-head with Hollywood means we were
nothing but sacrificial pawns to him?”
“The bastard.”
“Spare no expense on intel. I want that fraud to sleep with the fishes.”
A conversation between boys, Ikebukuro
“Mr. Ryuugamine’s really fascinating. Yeah, he’s so interesting. He might even

be more interesting as a friend than Mr. Kida.”
“On what basis?” “Great, there goes your sickness again.” “Hee-hee!”
“I told you about how we got attacked by the motorcycle gangs while riding
in a van, right?”
“Weren’t you the one who called in one of those gangs, Izumii?”
“Don’t call me by my old name. It makes me think of my brother.”
“Must be weird for brothers to have different last names. But I bet you’re
happy not to share a name with a brother stuck in juvie, huh?”
“You know what my older brother did? He took the Blue Squares I went to
all the trouble of creating and ruined them. Useless idiot.”
“So what’s this Mr. Ryuugamine like? You make it sound like he’ll be real
useful.”
“…Oh, right. Yeah… Anyway, we were stuck in this obviously crazy
situation, where anyone would break down in tears… But Mr. Ryuugamine…he
was smiling about it.”
“Seriously?” “He a masochist?” “Hee-hee!”
“That’s what I mean—He’s real fascinating. I think he loves it.”
“Loves what?”
“He’s one of those people… He just loves stuff that’s estranged from reality,
like it came straight out of a manga—even if it’s deadly dangerous. That’s
why…I think Mr. Ryuugamine created the Dollars.”
“I don’t get it.” “What does estranged mean?” “Dude, you are so dumb.”
“I’ll knock you out!” “Hee-hee!”
“Quit fighting… Anyway, the fight between the Yellow Scarves and the
Dollars was just getting good—and then it ended without much of a fuss. That’s
no fun, right?”
“So you’re gonna start a new spark of conflict, Aoba?”
“Yeah, except…someone’s trying to scoop it up from the side and use it for
himself. Who we ought to be dealing with first is that hyena…Izaya Orihara.”
“Any means necessary?”
“Just one thing: Don’t mess with his two sisters. I like them. Remember what
I said about those girls who just kissed me out of nowhere?”
“…I’ll kill you!”
“Ow-ow-ow-ow, knock it off, asshole! You know the reason you don’t get
any girls is because you take stuff like that seriously… Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!
Stop! Something just snapped! I heard something snap inside of me—ow-ow-
ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”
“Hey, watch out, Kuronuma’s gonna die.” “C’mon, let’s just kill him now.”
“Hee-hee!”
“There are always sparks, everywhere.”

Izaya smiled to himself and began to monologue in front of Namie.
“What I do is pinch a few of them—then release them all in one place.”
A look of bliss came over the info agent’s features as he imagined the sparks
igniting a real fire.
“And then I’ll tell this city something it needs to hear.”
With great pleasure, and just a touch of hatred, drunk on himself and with a
note of self-reassurance, Izaya said:
“Holiday’s over, motherfucker.”

Like us, the city wants to take a holiday sometimes.
I’m pretty sure I said that before.
So what does it do when the holiday is over?
It returns to a normal schedule, of course. At that point, it naturally
won’t have time to watch you anymore.
After all, only when it has plenty of time does the city toy with its
people.
So you see, even if Ikebukuro were locked in a dire, desperate
situation, the city will cut its losses. It won’t save you. It says, you should
just run to the police.
For you see, once the city returns to normal, it won’t even notice your
situation.
But don’t forget: You are also a part of the city.
And as part of the city, you must simply do what you should, with all
your strength.
If you do, then someday the city will wish to rest once more.
I pray that we meet again.
May the city celebrate your holiday…
—Excerpt from the afterword of Shinichi Tsukumoya, author of

Media Wax’s Ikebukuro travel guide, Ikebukuro Strikes Back II
AFTERWORD
Hello, all you Durarara!! readers, it’s been a while. I’m Ryohgo Narita.
This story is a peek at the everyday lives of the characters, a bit of a breather
between bigger stories. Next time out I hope to deliver much more ominous
developments.
When I set out to write this book, my schedule ended up overlapping with
about four other deadlines. In essence, this made for the last three days before
submission being all-nighters, and after a full night’s sleep, I had blood in my
urine, and as I’m writing this afterword, my stomach is killing me. That’s how
bad it was.
I’m slowly recovering now, except for my stomach, but I realize that at this
pace, I won’t last, and I’m going to take a few months’ break before resuming
with my next book… I’m sorry about that.
As for my other series, Baccano!, its anime is currently re-airing on demand,

the Net, and satellite broadcast. By the time this book comes out, there should be
a Nintendo DS game as well. I wrote a story that would be the equivalent of
nearly a third of one of these volumes, so if you’re interested, check that out
along with the anime and original novels.
For my future plans, I’ll be visiting a doctor if I don’t start feeling better soon
—but aside from that, I’ll be rotating between Vamp!, 5656!, Baccano! 1710,
then Durarara!!, hopefully with some “Hariyama-san at the Center of the
World” short stories. I feel bad for slowing things down for readers who only
follow one series, but hey, if it gets you to try out one of my other works…
Lastly, my usual thanks.

To all the people in Dengeki’s editorial office who okayed various scheduling
insanities, the people at the printer’s, the proofreaders, and my editor Mr. Papio,
who even came in on his days off to work with me.
To Kazuma Kamachi and Mamizu Arisawa, for endorsing my references to
their work, and to many other authors for their advice, including Makoto Sanda
and Suzu Suzuki.
To the staff of Smile Café Roots, for allowing me to use them in the story.
And to friends, acquaintances, and family.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, for putting up with my last-second schedule, reading the
whole story, and providing appropriate illustrations.
And most of all, to you readers.
Thank you so much!
I hope to see you in Ikebukuro’s odd daily life again!
Ryohgo Narita
newsletter.
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Copyright
RYOHGO NARITA,

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!!
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori
Agency, Inc., Tokyo.
English translation © 2016 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is
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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 0316304743 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316304764 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 031630476X (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316304771 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN
0316304778 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316304788 (v. 4 : pbk.) | ISBN 0316304786 (v. 4 : 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: 978-0-316-30478-8 (paperback)

978-0-316-30495-5 (ebook)
E3-20160627-JV-PC
Let’s play a game.
Don’t worry. It’s a very simple wager.
As easy as whether a coin lands heads or tails.

That’s how straightforward it is.
Your odds are basically even; you just have to guess which of the two it will
be.
For example, let’s say you punch the first person to walk past this apartment
building.
We’d be betting on whether the person gets angry and fights back or whether
they run off crying instead.
See? A simple bet, right?
In this game, the piece you’re playing with is the human mind.
Anticipating the actions and emotions of a human being.
…
Oh, come on, don’t just clam up on me.
Let’s say I ask you this question: “Can every person be bought or not?”
The crux of the question is the word every.
The answer is “Sometimes they can and sometimes they can’t,” right?
Sometimes people would choose their pride and conscience over ten billion
yen, and sometimes they would kill for a single yen. Isn’t that right? Even the
same person can be wildly different, depending on the time and place.
See, the people who lose the game of life are generally the ones who decide
on an answer to that question. Those who continue choosing the same answer
with firm belief are one thing, but the people who unthinkingly answer either
“You can’t buy love” or “Even love can be bought with money” are the ones
who lose the game because they can’t see any other possibility. Belief in a single
answer illuminates what is in front of you, but it also narrows your view. Those
are simple pros and cons, wouldn’t you say?
In that sense, the human mind becomes more of a bet, doesn’t it?
Naturally, knowing or not knowing the target beforehand will influence your
decision, but that’s no different from having information about the horses in a
race before it starts.
You might be affronted and claim that the human mind doesn’t have the
same odds as a coin flip—but the results might as well be the same thing. The
only way to know for sure is if you understand the contents of the person’s mind
perfectly, and no one can fully fathom a mind that isn’t their own.
Let’s say the bet is that a certain person will commit murder or not.
The people who would say “I can’t believe they’d do such a thing” in an
interview are the ones who guessed heads before the flip—they thought the odds
were higher that this person would never take a life. Let’s assume they’re not
just putting on a good face for the TV camera. This is only an example, after all.
You see, the problem is, you just don’t know until you open the lid.
It’s impossible to completely manipulate another person.
I’ve done a lot of that sort of thing for fun as an information broker, but I
can’t control a person’s mind to 100 percent certainty.
All I do is give them a push.
Not into the road when the light is red. I mean it in a different way.
When someone is treading an extremely dangerous boundary and might step
on either side, I just…push. To make sure they take that next big step in life
without hesitation.
I’m kind of a philanthropist, really.
But it’s not a business, so I make no guarantees about what happens after
that.
So with that in mind…let’s begin the game.
Now, when I play, I give my piece a little push on the back. Just to make sure
I get the result I want.
You might be able to protect the piece’s back. What do you say?
Don’t make that face at me.

It’s like you’re saying I’m incorrigible, unrepentant scum.
Games are meant to be enjoyed.
Isn’t that right?
The Black Market Doctor Gets Sappy, Part One
Am I a bad guy?
Well, obviously.
I think that lying to you is the worst thing I could do, but as I said before, I
don’t regret it at all.
What’s wrong? Why is your neck getting red?
I’m just kidding, Celty. I mean, you don’t even have blood to— Ow, ow, ow,
that hurts, sorry, I’m sorry.
Anyway, every time I say that I love you, you always have the same
response.
“You must have been a very lonely youth.”
And that’s very mean of you. I wasn’t lonely at all. Because I had you, of
course.
What’s that? You wish I would use the same first-person pronoun in Japanese
rather than mixing them all together?
Oh, Celty. Don’t you know the saying “Spend three years scrubbing a
soapberry, and it will still be black”? It means that you can’t just ask me to
change my nature and expect a sudden change. The different first-person
pronouns are meant to be switched between depending on the person you’re
talking to, of course.
Since the world is full of different people, I have to change my pronouns
constantly…but to me, you are all of humanity, my entire world. That’s right—I
always show you each and every side of myself, including the ones I show
others as well as the ones I save just for you!
…Um, what were we talking about again?

Oh, right. About evil people. Why would you bring that up out of the blue?
Aha, the movie you watched. Yes, the kind of story where all the characters
are essentially good and yet they all end up committing evil deeds due to
circumstances out of their control.
That’s so cute that you came to ask me if I’m evil because a movie moved
you.
I love that direct, honest side of you. I hope you watch a dreamy romantic
movie next and say that you wish you could have a torrid romance like that.
…“Only if it’s The War of the Roses?” You know…sometimes you can be
very cruel, Celty.
Let’s get back to the discussion of evil.
If it’s for the sake of my love for you, no matter how horrific, I’m confident
that I can be as evil as necessary.
Don’t use love as an excuse? C’mon, don’t be like that. The emotion of love
is completely unrelated to good and evil.
Anyway, you often hear the phrase such and such of love and good, but you
never hear about the such and such of love and evil.
The villain with love deeper than the ocean.
How many of those people exist, do you suppose?
If you narrowed the target down to you, I suppose it would be me.
Don’t be embarrassing?
But around you, Celty, embarrassment and kinkshaming are my bread and
butter.
“Stop it, I’m the one being embarrassed”? It’s fine! There’s another saying
that goes “The fallen petal rides the flowing current.” It means that if you are
embarrassed, I’ll hold your bashful body and vwuh!
Hey, you didn’t have to hit me. Seems more like this flowing current doesn’t
want to carry the flower petal!
Still, I like that contrarian side of your personality, Celty; it’s very cu—
Owwww! Aha, you’re pinching my cheek to hide your shy-ai-ai-ai-aiiiie! You’re
gonna pull my sheek offfh! Youw gowwa puwwa weew waww!
Chapter 1: The Fighting Puppet
Subtly Frets
May 3, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro
Sunshine 60 Street, one of the most famous in Ikebukuro.

Commonly called “Sixtieth Floor Street,” it heads from the east exit of the
train station toward the Sunshine building, a stretch of shops that is one of the
biggest destinations for visitors coming to Ikebukuro by train.
It’s a shortcut from the station to the Sunshine building and is occasionally
lumped in with the adjacent Sunshine Street, but they are in fact separate roads.
The time is Golden Week, the cluster of holidays within a week of each other
in the spring.
Given the start of the long holiday, the foot traffic on the street was more
bustling than usual.
Families on their way to Sunshine City, couples headed for one of the
countless movie theaters in the area, youngsters seeking new clothes, hungry
salarymen, Akiba nerds heading to specialty shops like Toranoana and Manga no
Mori, women on their way to Animate or the butler café Swallowtail—people
with varying destinations crossed paths on the sidewalks, where they were set
upon by barkers of similarly varying stripes: handsome men from host clubs,
women hawking art, even towering foreigners.
Along this street, right as you enter from Ikebukuro Station, there is one spot
that draws the attention: the Cinema Sunshine building with its massive street-
facing monitor and gaudy movie posters.
The video arcade on the first floor has numerous entertainment machines on
display, most notably a line of “UFO catcher” crane games at the entrance,
where youngsters like to hang out and kill time before their movie starts.
“Hey, Rocchi! Get that one next! That one, the plushie!”
“Aww, no fair! He already got one for you, Non!”
At the entrance to the arcade, a group of girls was congregated around a
UFO catcher, their squeals of delight setting the peaceful and lively scene.
“Hey, Rocchi, I wanna try it, too.”
“Oh, then while Kanacchi’s playing it, let’s go and buy some drinks,
Rocchi.”
“Wait a second, you’re just going to leave me here all alone?”
“Yeah, why not? You’ve got a Yukichi today, Kanacchi. Why don’cha cash it
out and do your alien thing surrounded by Hideyos? Ew, I just brain scanned that
image! What a freak factory. Total GB.”
“…Um, Kiyomin, what did she just say?”
“If you want it translated into Japanese, she said, ‘Kana, you brought a ten-
thousand-yen bill today, so just change it for smaller bills and play the UFO
catcher and get left out by the rest of the group. I just imagined it. It was a very
weird picture to imagine. I got goose bumps.’ …Or something along those lines.
Creepy. I wish she’d just speak in Japanese.”
“Eww, Kiyosuke, don’t translate it all weird like that. It’s such a buzzkill.
And, like, if anyone’s being an alien, it’s you.”
With that rather typical conversation, the group of ten or so left the arcade
behind—but then the ordinary scene was pierced by an unordinary sound.
“Move it, damn you!” snorted an agitated man among the paradise of
pedestrians.
The crowds automatically turned to look in the direction of the disturbance
and saw a middle-aged man wearing a hat, trying to race down the street and
pushing aside anyone standing in his way.
The crowds weren’t as dense as a station platform during rush hour, so with a
bit of well-considered coordination, he could have darted and slipped his way
through cleanly, but he was so agitated that it was essentially a straight beeline
down the concrete.
Far behind him, a woman was in pursuit, limping and shouting something
after him. What she was yelling was unclear, but she appeared to be wearing a
retail uniform. Based on the desperate look on her face, it seemed likely that the
man had committed a robbery or had shoplifted.
The people milling around were paralyzed with confusion in the moment, but
as understanding sank in, a few tried to block the man’s path.
“Outta the damn way!” he slurred, frantic and out of breath. He bowled his
blockers over; up close, he was not tall, but quite muscular, and charged through
anyone in his way like a football linebacker.
“Whoa, crap! Look out!” “Where’s Shizuo and Simon when you need
them?”
“Let’s get outta here!” “Call the cops!” “He’s coming this way!”
“Hey, snap a pic!” “Come on, have some respect!”
“No, I mean to get a shot of his face for evidence!” “Oh, right.”
“Yikes, it’s too late!” “Who is that, Daddy?” “Stay close to me.”
“Что случилось?” (What happened?)
“Нет проблем.” (No problem.)
“Huh?! What’s this, Kuru?! What’s going on?!”
“Silence.”
“I didn’t notice because I was busy reading a dirty mag. What’s the
commotion?”
“Quiet.”
Wildly different voices collided and intersected, creating an instantaneous

buzz throughout the street—the perfect stage for another abnormal figure to
appear.
The group of girls just leaving the arcade pulled backward so as not to get
stuck in the uproar, and a single man emerged as he strode forward.
At first glance, he seemed like any other young man. He wore a number of
thin, light layers, like a fashion model who sprang right out of the pages of a
magazine. His style was more mature and less wild, more fitting of the
Daikanyama or Omotesando neighborhoods than Ikebukuro—but what set him
apart was his face.
It was not particularly notable for its beauty or lack thereof. If anything, it
was hard to tell which of the two his visage would be considered.
In the shade of the straw hat, bandages covered his forehead, their surface
blotted with red blood. There was a medical eyepatch covering one eye, the kind
used to cover up a sty, and a large Band-Aid on his cheek. A dark bruise
extended from the edge of the bandage. He looked like he’d either been hit by a
bat or tumbled down the stairs and smacked his face on the ground.
“Umm, Rocchi? Watch out, you’re already hurt,” one of the girls started to
stay, but the man named Rocchi was already walking straight into the escape
path of the barging tackler.
“I told you, get the f—” the muscular man bellowed, lowering himself and
speeding up to overpower the youth.
But the injured young man only lifted up a foot to kick at his assailant.
The move was a “yakuza kick” in pro wrestling parlance, in which the
bottom of the attacking foot is planted firmly on the target. There was once an
old-school giant wrestler who called it the Size 16 Kick, a flashy attack that
knocked the target backward.
If the kicker’s foot made contact with the charging man’s shoulder, it should
have thrown him off-balance and tossed him backward. In fact, everyone present
assumed that the young man on one leg was going to be hurled off his feet.
But they were wrong.
An ugly scraping sound rent the air.
The source of the sound was evident after considering the young man’s new
position several feet back, still in the same pose—and a black line extending
from the tip of his grounded foot.
The young man had stopped the muscular man’s charge with the bottom of
his raised foot and merely slid back a short distance. The shift in momentum that
had occurred within his body must have been tremendous.
The instantaneous, phenomenal transfer of force left a line of black, charred
shoe sole on the asphalt. The trail was practically smoking.
And the tackling man did not attempt to take another step.
If he’d planted one more step at his original speed, he could have tossed the
youngster aside, as everyone imagined. But right at that last step, the point at
which he’d have put the most power into his charge, he couldn’t.
The young man’s kick had thrown his heel directly into the mouth of the
charging man, flattening it into his face.
“You just knocked over three women?” the young man growled coldly, but
the man could hardly have heard the words.
“Grgh…guh.”
His front teeth were no doubt broken already. He could only groan in
uncomprehending pain, the heel of the shoe jammed into his mouth.
The young man’s good eye narrowed.
“Three times.”
He swiveled his toes left and right thrice, all his weight pressing on the
man’s face. He was stepping on the man, trampling him as he stood.
With fine little cracking sounds, the man’s nose turned like the knob on a gas
stove.
“Aaaa— Aaa— Aaa— Aaaah! Aaah! Aaah!”
The fresh wave of pain must have brought him to his senses. The man
screamed and wailed helplessly, covering his gushing nose and rolling on the
pavement.
The young man looked down at him as if he were a mosquito felled by bug
spray.
Meanwhile, the group of girls looking on from a safe distance did not seem
particularly shocked or surprised.
“Why’s Rocchi so fired up?”
“Didn’t you see the employee chasing after that guy was a woman?”
“Another woman. It never ends with him.”
“Well, what are you gonna do? Rocchi’s a womanizer.”
“It’s part of what makes him so charming.”
“Exactly.”
But Rocchi was more focused on the female employee approaching him than
the conversation of the girls behind him.
“Th-thank you… He was shoplifting from our store,” the uniformed
employee panted. Her voice was trembling, either from the exertion of running
so long and hard or from fear of the young man standing over his bloodied
victim.
The young man doffed his hat and gently took her hand, murmuring, “Not at
all. I only did what anyone would do.”
His voice was so soft and sweet, it was almost silly. The facial features
peeking out from behind the eyepatch and bandages softened into a smile, and he
was suddenly an entirely different person from the one who had just kicked a
grown man to the curb.
The suddenly benign young man glanced down at the woman’s leg with
concern.
“Why, miss. Your leg is scraped.”
“Huh…? Oh, er…that happened when I tried to stop him, and he pushed
me…”
“…”
Without removing the pleasant smile from his face, the young man spun
around on his heel—and leaped.
“?”
The woman flinched, momentarily bewildered by his action.
But she understood what he was doing right after.
Right at the point where his feet landed was the attempted shoplifter’s leg,
still lying on the ground. He landed directly on the man’s knee with all his
weight.
The ugly crunching sound was only briefly audible before the man’s scream
drowned it out.
“Dabaaah! Ah! Dah! Aaaga-ga-ga-ga-a-ga-da-da-da-dah!”
“Shut your mouth, scumbag,” the young man commanded in a chilling tone.
He kicked the man hard in the crotch.
“ !!!”
“I’m assuming that even you have a wife, or a daughter, or a mother, so for
their sakes, I’m not gonna kill you right here and now. But what kind of man
attacks a woman at all? Am I right?”
“ ! !!”
The shoplifter twitched in agony on the ground, all the air expelled from his
lungs.
All the helpless onlookers crowding around the scene felt time stop around
them, but the young man merely returned to his gentle smile and remarked,
“Don’t worry. Everything’s all right. I’ve taken the liberty of enacting your
revenge for you.”
“…”
The woman was still stunned into silence. He continued casually,
“Vengeance doesn’t suit a beautiful lady like you. For real. Er, seriously. Just let
me handle all the dirty work—”
He was interrupted by a different woman’s voice.
“Rocchi.”
“Oh? What is it, Non?”
He spun around to see the shortest of the group of girls that he came with.
The girl named Non tugged on Rocchi’s sleeve and said frankly, “Kiyo says we
ought to take off now because that was excessive self-defense.”
“Oh. Really?”
He turned back to the unconscious shoplifter twitching on the ground, then
glanced at the store employee.
She was blinking in silence, but there was less gratitude in her gaze than
sheer terror.
“…Uh-oh, Non. I seem to have frightened her.”
“I told you, we gotta run. Look, the police are coming.”
“Ooh, you’re right.”
Across the massive intersection in the direction of the station, police
uniforms could be spotted among the crowd waiting for the light to change.
“Well, pretty lady, I’ve got to get going. You don’t want to develop a limp, so
go to a doctor to get your leg checked…”
“Come on, Rocchi! Hurry up!”
“H-hey, wait… Non! When did you get to be such a selfish…? Fine, fine!
I’m coming, I’m coming! Oh, and miss! If that guy wakes up, tell him something
for me! I can usually be found riding highways all over Saitama, so if he’s got a
problem, he can find me there… Owww! I’m coming! Just stop pulling on my
ear, Non! Nonnn!”
The young man was dragged back to the group of girls, who took off running
with him in tow.
Some of the crowd left behind after the scene had tried to snap pictures with
their phones, but the young man was hidden among the group in no time, so the
only photo evidence they could collect was of the shoplifter, who seemed like
both the criminal and the victim in this case.
After the hubbub, the crowd was left curious about the identity of the young
man.
“And here he is,” muttered a man sitting inside a Lotteria fast-food joint,
who had witnessed the entire exchange. “Ugh, this is gonna be a pain.”
The bespectacled, dreadlocked debt collector grimaced. Another man, who
was wearing a bartender’s uniform for some reason, approached and said, “Got
you some coffee, Tom… What’s wrong?”
“Oh, thanks. Just…saw a familiar face, that’s all.”
Shizuo Heiwajima, the man in the bartender’s outfit, sat easily across from
his supervisor, Tom. Either the commotion from moments earlier hadn’t drawn
his notice or he didn’t particularly care about it either way.
“You saw a friend?”
“No, I wouldn’t call him that,” murmured Tom, who sipped his black coffee.
“If anything, he’s probably here for you.”
“?”
“Remember how you beat up that biker gang from Saitama last month?
Walloped them, really.”
“…Yeah. The ones who ripped my clothes…”
Tom noticed Shizuo’s expression darkening and chose to tread carefully to
avoid angering his partner.
“I just saw the leader of Toramaru, that very biker gang.”
“…”
“His name’s Chikage Rokujou. Normally, he walks around with—well, gets
dragged around by—a group of girls during the day. But he’s still a gang leader.
He ain’t the kind to set your house on fire, but you oughta watch out for him all
the same.”
Shizuo remained silent for a time, reflecting on Tom’s words, then asked, “Is
he the guy with a leather jacket and some kinda white heart mark on it?”
“Oh, you’re familiar? Yeah, that’s kind of like their uniform, so he only
wears it at night.”
“He showed up yesterday.”
“Huh?” Tom gawked, holding his coffee in front of his face with an arched
eyebrow.
Shizuo chewed on a mouthful of burger and described the previous night’s
events.
“Well…I was on my way home when this guy on a motorcycle came up.”
The previous evening, Ikebukuro
“Yo, how’s it going?”

“?”
He turned around at the sudden greeting and saw a motorcycle stopped
nearby, with a young man standing in front of the idle vehicle.
“You Shizuo Heiwajima? Yeah, I figured. You don’t see many guys
wandering around dressed like bartenders. I hear you’re a pretty big deal around
here.”
“…?”
“I hear some members of our team got a beatdown, courtesy of you.”
“Team?”
Chikage Rokujou chattered amiably, “Look, I’ve heard they were carryin’ on
where they shouldn’t, so I’m takin’ that into account; it’s their problem. But you
hospitalized ’em all. Even if it was our fault, I think I’ve got a right to be a bit
upset here, don’t you?”
The young man, half a head shorter than Shizuo, smiled cockily and leaned
in until they were a breath apart.
“What do you suppose they said to me from their hospital beds? That you
pulled a streetlight out of the ground and swung it around. I thought they musta
taken a bad blow to the head, but today I come and see a streetlight paved into a
brand-new patch of concrete.”
“And…?”
“Given my position, I’m naturally feeling curious about what you can do.
Oh…by the way, you got any women who would cry over you?”
“Huh?” Shizuo grunted.
Chikage shot him a toothy grin. “I’m just saying, if you did, I’d be fine with
dropping this whole thing. It’s not my style to make women cry.”
Anyone who knew Shizuo would assume that by now he’d reach the boiling
point and throw that monstrous fist of his. But instead of looking furious, he had
an expression of sudden understanding.
“…Oh, I see. It makes sense now.”
“What does?”
“You’re picking a fight with me.”
“Uh, yeah,” Chikage mumbled, surprised that the conversation had taken a
few steps backward.
“Gotcha, gotcha. Haven’t had such a straightforward approach since high
school. Speaking of, I’m a fully grown adult now, but you’re just a kid, a
teenager still. Even if you did beat me, you wouldn’t get to brag about it at
school.”
“What does age have to do with a fight? Did you learn how to chat working
as a bartender?”
“If only,” Shizuo chuckled. He cracked his neck. “I actually kinda like it
when people are so straight with me, in fact. But the best option is not coming
after me at all.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Oh, and there’s one thing I should say.”
They were standing quite close to each other, but right as Shizuo was going
to tell the other man something—
No sooner had Shizuo removed his glasses than his field of vision was filled
with shoe soles.
With a heavy thud, both of Chikage’s feet slammed into Shizuo’s face.
The instant Shizuo had opened his mouth to speak, Chikage used the
sidewalk fence nearby as a launching pad to throw a full-body dropkick, more of
a pro wrestling move than an actual street-fight technique.
However, right as he thought, Got him!—Chikage realized something felt
different.
Huh?
Why won’t he go down?
It felt like that one time he’d leaped off an especially thick stalk of bamboo,
and a terrible chill ran through his entire body.
Chikage managed to maintain his balance as he landed, and he used the full
momentum to bounce off the ground and up into a fierce punch.
Even so, something was wrong.
…
…Huh?
…Did I punch the ground just now?
There was indeed a sensation of soft flesh at the end of his fist, but whatever
the material was, it did not yield. His fist just stopped short, as if he were
punching straight into the ground. Chills and question marks swirled within
Chikage’s head.
Shizuo repeated, “There’s one thing I should mention… Like my name says,
I just want to live in peace and quiet.”
“…What?”
Chikage’s eyes went wide. Yes, his fist was touching the other man’s cheek.
But at best, it tilted Shizuo’s face and hadn’t changed the man’s expression in
the least. He was acting as though he hadn’t even been touched.
“So I need you…”
“Wha—?!”
The skin-colored mass burst straight through the accomplished street
fighter’s guard.
“…t o g o t o s l e e p .”
Unlike with Chikage’s punch, this fist hit its target and buried itself deep into
the flesh.
“…And then you sent him to Sleepytown, like always,” Tom noted, sipping his
coffee. Meanwhile, Shizuo tugged at the straw of his vanilla shake.
“Yeah. Well, I took him to a doctor I know.”
“Really? You took someone to the doctor?”
“Didn’t want him to end up dying. Also, I didn’t really hate the guy. If he
was a total fleabrain, I’d have finished him off for good.”
“Then again, a single punch from you is basically fatal as it is,” Tom noted
wryly.
But Shizuo interjected, “Four.”
“Huh?”
“He kept getting up until the fourth punch.”
“…Seriously?” Tom murmured, the sugar packet falling through his fingers.
“I think the last thing he said before I could punch him a fifth time was, ‘I
got a girl who will take care of me in the hospital, aren’t you jealous?’ But he
broke a tooth, so it was kind of hard to make out—maybe I misheard. Anyway,
that’s when he fell over.”
“…I mean, I knew he was tough, but still.”
“Actually, you’d be surprised. The foreign guy who showed up a while back
took several shots, too.”
“Yeah, well, the world’s a big place… It’s also wild that he’s up on his feet
and walking around today. But I guess they’re just facial wounds…”
“To be honest, I actually am jealous that he has a girl to take care of him.”
“Right, you don’t have a girlfriend. Well, when you’re just hanging around
eating lunch with a dude all the time, it does feel kinda empty. Would be nice to
have a more gentle relationship to engage in, ya know? I guess even you could
want something like that, yeah?” Tom asked. Maybe because of how far back
they went, Tom dared to ask Shizuo a personal question. Most people familiar
with Shizuo would be too scared to ask such a question, but Tom had been with
him long enough to understand his boundaries and what made him angry.
Sure enough, Shizuo simply nodded and grunted in the affirmative before
complaining, “The only person who’s ever said she loved me might not even
count as a woman.”
“Huh? Why, you go to gay bars or trans pubs or something?”
“No, I’m not talking about them. I don’t even know if she’s human…more
like a blade…”
“Okay, you’ve totally lost me there,” Tom said, baffled.
Shizuo thought back on the days of his youth. “Girls have pretty much never
wanted anything to do with me. Part of it is my own personality, but I also hung
around with that fleabrain and the four-eyed freak in school. Fleabrain would
trick the girls into going with him somewhere, and the crazy one was so creepy
that none of them ever bothered to approach.”
“You talkin’ about Izaya and that…doctor guy you mentioned earlier?”
“Yeah, he was real logical and fussy, too, so I would snap on him all the
time, but I guess we were just destined to sort of hang around together. But I do
wish that fleabrain would just rot away and die already. At any rate, I don’t seem
to have much luck with human women.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. You could get a girlfriend anytime you want. You
look a lot like your brother, and he’s a superstar,” Tom ad-libbed.
Shizuo merely looked surprised and wondered, “You think we look that
alike?”
Up until this point, it was just another ordinary day for them—for Shizuo
Heiwajima in particular.
The incident with Chikage Rokujou should have been nothing more than a
momentary spice to liven up the very mundane day.
But when it ended, it took the mundane part with it.

Abnormal, extraordinary occurrences were by their very definition rare, so
when the ordinary came to an end, it was always abrupt.
But in the moment of this particular shift, neither man realized it had
happened.
Because the dawn of this extraordinary occurrence to Shizuo Heiwajima
appeared as anything but.
“Since we had Lotteria for lunch, maybe we should balance it out with
McDonald’s for dinner… Wha—?” Tom squawked abruptly.
Shizuo looked up, a question mark floating over his head.
“What’s the matter?”
“Behind you.”
“?”
Shizuo was sitting at a table with his back to the window that faced out on
Sixtieth Floor Street. Tom directed his attention over Shizuo’s shoulder toward
the street.
“What’s behind—?” Shizuo started to say, then closed his mouth.
Squish.
That was the best way to describe the scene before him.
A girl was on the other side of the store window. The small figure had both
palms and her forehead flattened tight against the glass, staring intently at
Shizuo.
“…”
For a second, Shizuo thought it was Kururi or Mairu, two girls he knew. He
couldn’t imagine any other girls flattening themselves against a window, staring
at him, smack in the middle of Ikebukuro.
But this girl’s face was different, and she was clearly too young to be Mairu
or Kururi. If anything, this girl seemed to be no older than elementary school
age, ten years old at best.
“…?”
The girl was staring hard at Shizuo’s face. She dropped her gaze
momentarily to a scrap of paper she was holding and then went back to gazing at
the young man in the bartender outfit.
Her features bloomed into a flowery smile.
It wasn’t a polite smile or a shy smile, but the innocent beaming of a child
that just got a toy it wanted.
The girl tottered back and forth like a wind-up figurine, spinning around in
front of the store as she stared at Shizuo.
“…Is that a relative of yours?”
“…Nope. Not ringing a bell.”
“And that wasn’t the look of someone who saw a rare outfit and wanted to
gawk.”
“Nope. I’ll go out and see what’s up,” Shizuo said, getting to his feet to find
the answer to this mystery.
“Wait, really? What if she starts off with ‘Papa!’ or ‘Darling’ or something?”
“This is real life, not one of Yumasaki’s fantasies.”
He cleared his tray and headed outside, where the girl was still watching him
with sparkling eyes. Many parents liked to praise their children for having
features “like a doll,” but if anyone was worthy of the phrase, it was this girl.
Her shoulder-length black hair shone in the sun, and her cutely bobbed bangs
bounced, covering her eyes one at a time as her head tilted left and right.
Despite the warmth of May, she had a double-breasted jacket on. It was a
formal child’s outfit of foreign style, and despite the gaudiness of the gold
buttons, it was rather chic in appearance.
But the way her hair always covered one eye gave her a strangely gloomy
appearance overall, even with the smile.
The girl stared straight at Shizuo and trotted over to him without hesitation.
Trotted closer.
Trotted closer.
Trotted, trotted
Trotted trotted trotted
trot trot trot trot trot
trot-tot-tot-tot-tot
Something feels wrong.

An unfathomable, indescribable wave of unpleasantness ran down Shizuo’s
back.
There’s something about the way she’s smiling.
If you called that “innocent,” it would sound so nice.
But this one’s an awful lot like those worn by kids who stomp on lines of
ants…
The words that tumbled out of the girl’s mouth confirmed his suspicion.
“Drop dead.”
And then, the girl drove a modified stun gun straight into Shizuo’s
midsection.
The next instant, there was a terrific crackling sound in the air as electricity
jumped—
And Shizuo Heiwajima was gently pulled into the realm of the extraordinary.
Chat room, one night earlier (May 2)
Setton: Evenin’.
Setton: Oh? No one’s here.
Setton: I’ll just wait.
Setton: Hang on, my partner’s calling me, so I’m stepping away for a moment.
TarouTanaka: Is it just you, Setton?

TarouTanaka: Oh, no response.
TarouTanaka: I guess you’re still busy with whatever it is. Sorry.
TarouTanaka: I’ll just wait.

Kuru: Forgive me for intruding when you are so occupied with your waiting.
Tarou waits despite knowing that the other is around, and Setton has left, not
realizing that there are now others to speak with anew. Is it a hint of romance I
detect? Oh, but I do not know either of your genders. Perhaps the male
moniker “Tarou” in fact belongs to a woman. And the name Setton
Mai: ?
Kuru: Pardon me. I hit the character limit. Anyway, the name Setton is not
innately gendered. By the way, it is a very curious username to have. Where
does it come from? I just did an Internet search and found it is the name of a
piece of traditional Korean clothing. Is that it? Or did you borrow it from the
movie producer Maxwell Setton?
Mai: It’s a mystery.
Setton: I’m back. Evenin’.
Setton: Wow, very intense people.
Setton: Oh no. My username is just a play on my actual name.
Kuru: My goodness, I did not realize it was such a simple reason. Oh dear, I just
called you simple. Please accept my deepest apologies and recognize that it
was a harmless mistake. But do you realize that you have given us an angle to
decipher your identity? What wrinkle did you use to hide your original name?
You could be Sanpei Seto… Anna Setouchi… You have made yourself an
even greater mystery to me.
Mai: Jiro-Saburo-Tonpei Serata.
Setton: Tonpei?
Mai: —(This message contains an inappropriate word and cannot be displayed)
—
Mai: Huh?
Setton: Whoa, what function is that? I’ve never seen it before.
Setton: …And seriously, what did you think my username was short for?
Mai: —(This message contains an inappropriate word and cannot be displayed)
—
Mai: Oh, you can’t type that word.
Mai: Ouch.
Setton: ?
Mai: I got pinched.
Kuru: Please forgive me. We are using separate computers next to each other,
and I noticed that Mai was entering a terribly rude word and took it upon
myself to punish her in real life for soiling the mood. Please be reassured that
I am in control.
Setton: You two seem to get along.
Bacura: ’Suuup.
Kuru: Oh, it’s the playboy who plays the recorder.
Mai: Good evening.
Bacura: Are you still on about the recorder thing?!
Setton: Evenin’.

Bacura: Ooh, just one minute off.
Setton: You’re in sync.
Saika: good evening
Bacura: Did Tarou already fall asleep?
Bacura: It’s only ten o’clock still,
Bacura: How much of a healthy little mama’s boy is that guy?
TarouTanaka: Whoa, I was on the phone and went to the bathroom, and now
everyone’s here!
TarouTanaka: Good evening, everybody.
Bacura: Speak of the devil.
Setton: It’s synchronicity.
Bacura: In Japanese that sounds like the last level of a video game: Shin Kuroni
City!
TarouTanaka: I honestly couldn’t care less.
<Private Mode> Bacura: Mikado.

<Private Mode> Bacura: We need to talk.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Uh…
Setton: Kuroni City, huh?

Saika: what does it mean
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Masaomi…is that you?

<Private Mode> Bacura: …That doesn’t matter now, does it?
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Well, I’ve been following your lead and
pretending not to recognize you for the past two months…
Kuru: One wonders what possible thought process could have produced that
comment from Bacura… The human mind is truly an unfathomable thing.
Perhaps the human mind is in sync with countless forms of madness. I only
hope that madness does not threaten all mankind.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Sorry, when I said I couldn’t possibly care less,
I was just joking around.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Look, I don’t know what to say, but I didn’t
expect that I’d be talking to you in open acknowledgment of your identity. I
just didn’t think you’d be so angry about it. Of course I care about you,
Masaomi! That Shin Kuroni City joke was great and super-funny.
<Private Mode> Bacura: No, I’m not talking about that.
<Private Mode> Bacura: Oh, hang on a second.
Mai: Scary.
Setton: See, you shouldn’t have picked on him.
Setton: Now Bacura’s gone silent.
Bacura: Oh, sorry.
Bacura: I’m going to fix some dinner for a bit.
Bacura: I’ll be in the chat, I just won’t be able to respond for a while.
Setton: Have fun.
<Private Mode> Bacura: There, that should buy me some time to focus on this
convo.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Very polite of you. Oh, it looks like you’re
fixing that habit of ending lines after every bit of punctuation.
<Private Mode> Bacura: At any rate, there’s a reason that I want to talk to you
as Mikado rather than TarouTanaka today. You could say I was waiting for
you.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: You could just call me, you know. My
number’s the same.
<Private Mode> Bacura: No, I’ll pass. I feel like my resolve will waver if I
hear your voice right now.
Kuru: By the way, does anyone here have plans for their extended vacation
coming up? We are surprisingly domestic, so we prefer to stay indoors and
cherish our love.
Setton: Love? Are you and Mai married or something?
Mai: Secret.
Saika: i will be at home
<Private Mode> Bacura: I’m talking to Kuru and stuff, too.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Are you going anywhere for Golden Week?
Setton: I’m guessing I’ll be playing video games with my partner.
Kuru: Oh, you have someone with whom to grow your love, too, Setton?
Mai: Together.
Setton: Er, uh, love… Well, I guess you could say that, lol.
Saika: love?
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: No, I have no plans! So if you want to meet,

I’m open!
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I know your dad is completely hands-off with
you, so he might not care if you quit school, but everyone else is worried
about you. Even Mr. Satou is concerned.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Even Anri really wants to see you.
<Private Mode> Bacura: …No, sorry, that’s not what I’m talking about.
Kuru: If we were to leave, we’d probably just walk around Ikebukuro. Nothing
more exciting than shopping at Parco and seeing a movie on Sixtieth Floor
Street.
Mai: I want to see a movie.
<Private Mode> Bacura: You going anywhere during your extended vacation?
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Huh? No, I’m just going to school tomorrow
for some student committee stuff.
<Private Mode> Bacura: I see… Listen, Mikado, this is a warning.
<Private Mode> Bacura: During your vacation, I wouldn’t go out alone at
night.
<Private Mode> Bacura: On top of that, don’t get together with the other
Dollars for a while.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Huh?
Setton: Oh, but sometimes I wish I could go riding through the forests of my old
home with my partner.
Kuru: Well, we have this vacation coming up. Why not take the opportunity to
visit home?
Setton: Unfortunately, it’s too much distance to just stop by.
<Private Mode> Bacura: Just be a normal high school student with no
connection to the Dollars for a little while.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: What do you mean?
Setton: Are you going anywhere, Tarou?
<Private Mode> Bacura: I don’t really know the specifics, so I can’t go into
any detail.
<Private Mode> Bacura: A hunch. Let’s just say it’s a hunch.
<Private Mode> Bacura: I have a bad feeling right now.
<Private Mode> Bacura: That the Dollars are in danger. Yes, a bad feeling that
the Dollars are in danger.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: The Dollars are?
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: All right, whatever’s going on, I’ll be careful.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Your hunches are never wrong, Masaomi.
Setton: Oh, no response. He must be afk.

Setton: Oops, it looks like I’ve got a visitor, so I’ve got to go.
Kuru: Oh, I suppose that will be our parting for this evening. I am exceedingly
sad to see you go, but I choose to savor the loneliness that is fate’s work. For I
am certain that I am not the only one to sip that bitter liquid now. Have a
pleasant holiday, Setton.
Mai: Buh-byes, Setton.
Bacura: So long.
Saika: thank you
Setton: Saika, I haven’t done anything that deserves thanks, lol.
Setton: At any rate, so long, everyone.
Setton: Night!
Setton has left the chat.
<Private Mode> Bacura: Thanks, Mikado.

<Private Mode> Bacura: Be careful.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Thanks to you, too, Masaomi. Really, thanks
for so much.
<Private Mode> Bacura: Don’t be so formal.
Bacura: Well, folks, I’ve got some business to take care of. Gotta go for today.
Bacura:
Kuru: Good evening. May the true Kuroni City appear in your dreams.
TarouTanaka: Good night.

TarouTanaka: Huh? Setton’s already left.
TarouTanaka: Oh no, now it looks like I totally ignored Setton.
TarouTanaka: I’m sorry.
Saika: i dont think setton minds
Kuru: Oh, what a twist of fate. At the start of this chat, TarouTanaka was
beleaguered by the missing Setton, and now it is Tarou who has left Setton out
to dry… What is it that the cyberspace purports to teach us, one wonders!
Mai: To love each other.
Kuru: I would appreciate it if you didn’t respond out of mindless reflex, Mai.
Saika: love?
TarouTanaka: …Gosh, I’m sorry.
TarouTanaka: That reminds me. Kanra didn’t show up today.
Kuru: He is very busy with his wicked plottings. If only he were always wasting
time in this chat room, the world would be a much more peaceful place.
Mai: Evil bastard.
Saika: kanra doesnt seem bad to me
TarouTanaka: Have you met Kanra in person, Saika?
Saika: only here, sorry
TarouTanaka: Well, I don’t think he’s a bad person, just a little eccentric.
Kuru: Alas, it seems that even here, we have more unfortunate souls taken in by
Kanra’s honeyed lies…
.
.
.
.
.
Interlude or Prologue A, Chikage Rokujou
May 3, night, Itabashi Ward, a certain place
On a pedestrian crossing bridge over Route 254, also known as the Kawagoe
Highway, stood a young man wearing a medical eyepatch, surrounded by a flock
of young women, watching the car lights coming and going below.
“Hey, Rocchi, does it still hurt?”
“It hurts like hell. But as long as I’m with you all, I feel amazing. The breath
of hot girls is like an anesthetic that melts me into goo,” Chikage said, rubbing
the bandage on his cheek.
One of the girls looked at him with deadly seriousness. “Hey, Rocchi.”
“What is it?”
“That’s creepy.”
“Wha…?!”
He stumbled and lurched as if he was traumatized but did not seem
particularly upset. He smiled at the group of women.
“Listen, thanks for showing me around Ikebukuro today. It’s been a huge
help.”
“It’s totally fine, Rocchi. I know you’ve hardly ever left your hometown.”
“But you scared me, the way you showed up so badly hurt like that!”
“You shouldn’t get in over your head, Rocchi. You know you’re bad at
fighting.”
Chikage grimaced at their comments and retorted, “No, I’m not.”
“Did you win, then?”
“…No, I lost.”
“See? I knew it.”
The girls sighed. He grumbled back at them.
“Only because the other guy was way too tough. But it was the first real,
straight-up fight I’ve had in ages. He turned out to be nicer than I thought,
actually,” he said wistfully.
The girls were not amused.
“I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.” “Why would you fight him if
he’s so nice?” “Guys never grow out of being children…” “And you’re
especially childish, Rocchi…” “He’s only adult below the waist…” “That’s
gross.” “And who invites eight women out on a date at the same time?” “You
know he actually asked about ten more?” “Most of them got mad and left.”
“Yeah, it’s sickening.” “Why are we even hanging out with this philanderer?”
“Because we’re weird?”
As the onslaught of chirped insults and slanders jabbed Chikage, he scowled
and looked away.
“You girls say whatever comes to mind, don’t you? Well, the other day I saw
a thing on TV about a nobleman who loved, like, thirty different maids. At least
I’m better than him, right?”
“Really? You said you were super-jealous of him.”
“…Look, just forget about that. Take care on your way home. Stick together
until you get to the train station,” he said, eager to change the subject.
The girls rolled their eyes but gave him smiles.
“We know, we know. You’re such a worrywart, Rocchi.”
“So long.”
And with that, the girls trotted away down the bridge.
After sending the girls off with a smile, the young man returned to gazing at
the highway alone in the dark of night.
Chikage stood there silently for several minutes in the breeze. When he
spoke at last, his monologue melted in the sound of the traffic below.
“Still, it’s the first time I’ve been beaten to a pulp so solidly like that. And he
even helped me get to a doctor. Total defeat. Weird doctor, though.”
“You, losing in a fistfight? Go figure.”
The voice came from straight behind the young man.

It was a rough, blunt man’s voice, nothing like the chirping of the young
women who had just been there.
Chikage did not turn to face the voice. He continued watching the lights of
the city.
“Yeah… But he wasn’t human. I never wanna fight him again.”
“That dangerous?”
“Well, it was our guys who started it by picking a fight with him in the first
place, so there’s no need to do anything more. It’s more of a selfish desire of
mine.”
“It’s not like Heiwajima was our goal for coming here to start with.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Chikage chuckled. He spoke to the expanding aura
gathering around him. “Shizuo Heiwajima was nothing more than a bonus. The
ones we’re about to face tonight are the real reason we’re here.”
He looked up slowly, pulling his eyes away from the center divider of the
highway and looking around him at last.
He saw a lineup of familiar faces.
Glares.
A crowd of piercing glares shot through Chikage Rokujou.
But the hostility of all those eyes was not directed at Chikage himself.
There were a few dozen men all around in leather jackets and biker uniforms.
Despite being obviously underage, there was a powerful foreboding in the
image that seeped into the air around them.
There were so many that they couldn’t all fit on the walkway, so some of
them gathered on the stairs and the sidewalk below.
Chikage Rokujou let himself fuse with the aura of the menacing group
around him, his words growing sharper by the moment.
“An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. An obligation for an obligation… If
they play dirty, then we’re more than happy to stoop to their level. It was our
idiots who started it all by causing trouble in Ikebukuro, and I forced ’em to
make things right…but what happened next ain’t cool.”
“Three more of us got knocked out yesterday. It was a total ambush,” one of
the young men reported.
“…Tsk! So I guess none of the rules apply with these guys, huh?” Chikage
spat. He gritted his teeth—then grinned. “We ain’t exactly saints, either… Who
says we gotta play fair against pieces of shit like them?”
And Chikage Rokujou—leader of Toramaru, biker gang from Saitama—
spoke with quiet menace of the dark emotions that ran through him.
“I understand wanting payback, but I take offense at their methods. Coming
all the way to Saitama and ambushing not only us, but also others who had
nothing to do with anything. If they’d stuck to just attacking our team, that
would make sense, since we started it.”
The leader stretched and cracked his neck before finally identifying their
target.
“I don’t know how people see ’em here…but it seems to me like these
Dollars are a real sick bunch.”
“It don’t matter who these guys are,” said one of his followers. Despite their
leader’s admission that he lost his fight, their resolve had not diminished in the
least. These were not the ones who had gone on a joyride rampage through
Ikebukuro—they were bound by firm determination and camaraderie.
“Well, these Dollars, or whatever stupid name they call themselves, are
gonna find out what we’re all about now,” Chikage announced to his silent
squad.
Dark flames began to burn within them, rising to face a singular purpose.
Revenge.
An unknown gang had ransacked their neighborhood.

Their pride had been crushed.
Perhaps their friends or family outside of the gang had been hurt.
Chikage Rokujou faced the crowd with thick rage waiting in its throat and
uttered the words that unleashed the fury into the air.
“The Dollars are gonna get a lesson…about which gang is truly crazy!”
A wave of roaring anger rippled through the night.

The gathering broke up at once, the members trickling into the night before
they could draw more attention.
Chikage continued watching them from his spot on the bridge.
Unlike when he had fought Shizuo, he wore a truly cruel and villainous smile
now.
“Oh, and I’m sure all the guys in my personal group know this already,” he
added, just in case.
“But anyone who hits a woman, Dollars or not…is gonna get his skull
personally bashed in, courtesy of me. Keep that in mind.”
The Black Market Doctor Gets Sappy, Part Two
Hey, Celty. Sorry about the wait.

It’s been quite a rush around here, hasn’t it?
It looks like you had to cut off your chat session. Is everything okay? I know
you like checking in regularly. The chat room with that Saika girl, right?
Well, Shizuo just showed up out of the blue with this bloody kid in tow.
Seems like he had a fight.
Honestly, it’s been ages since he’d actually brought me someone he hit
himself.
Probably not since high school. At the time, emergency first aid was about
the best I could do. You were out working at the time, I think.
Back then, I hardly ever told you about school, but it was actually pretty
rough.
Shizuo and Izaya fought like dogs and cats from the moment I met them. Or
more like…vampires and werewolves.
Speaking of which, have you ever met a real vampire or werewolf, Celty?
Oh, I see.
So there are all kinds, even when it comes to vampires and werewolves.
But you’ve hardly seen any vampires since coming to Japan. Well, that
makes sense.
If anything, you’re the most visible spooky thing around here.
…But you’re still afraid of the Grays?
Uh, Celty? Celty?
Do you still believe the theory that the Grays were what wiped out the
dinosaurs?
…
No, listen, Celty, the photon belt isn’t some gigantic life-form. You realize
that, right? I’ve never heard anyone before say, “We might get eaten by the
photon belt.”
…
No, no, no! We’re not going to be overrun by beings from the fourth
dimension!
Look! No matter how hard Yumasaki tries, a three-dimensional person
cannot simply become two-dimensional! So it’d be similarly hard for a fourth-
dimensional person to get here! It’ll be fine! What? You’re scared of tesseracts?
Have you been reading that sci-fi manga again? That’s not the same as reality!
It’s funny how you don’t mind ghosts or goblins in the least, but you cannot
handle anything like aliens. You know, they always have those debate specials
on TV, but you never see people who believe in ghosts but not in Venusians. I
wish they would jump around more between pro and anti with that stuff.
…What did that TV show just remind you of?
…
It’s fine! Nothing to be scared of with that prophecy!
Remember how nothing happened in 1999? So 2012 will be perfectly safe,
too!
That reminds me, back in June of 1999, you were terrified by the thought
that your missing head was the great king of terror prophesied by Nostradamus.
What? The Mayan calendar ends in 2012?
Then how far ahead should the Mayans have constructed their calendar?
The year 3000? The year 500,000,000?
How much work do you demand those poor Mayans do?! You have no idea
how much work it took for them to create a year’s worth of calendar! For that
matter, neither do I.
On that note, the calendar in my pocket organizer only covers up to 2009.
Are you going to start saying you’re afraid of 2009 now, Celty?
Plus, you’re not even considering the possibility that humanity could be
wiped out by nuclear war or a meteorite before 2012 arrives.
If you’d spread that story around about the year 1800, people would
probably have said, “That means we’re totally safe until the year 2012! Yahoo!”
And the rest would ignore you.
But most “prophets” are really just people who are skilled at taking very
loose evidence and twisting it to suit their story. Not that I’m saying they can’t
be real.
Let’s take…Izaya, for instance.
He has qualities that make him close to a prophet.
You know how he talks as though he can see through everything that’s
happening?
Whenever trouble arises, he wafts in afterward and acts like he caused it all
—and then reaps the benefits after the fact. Even though he did nothing up to
that point.
It’s like when false prophets claim they foresaw actual events of the past,
long before they happened. It’s Izaya Orihara’s style to get people to believe him
when he says that.
In fact, if you treat him very calmly and rationally, the things he says aren’t
ordinarily believable… What he does is tell you the worst possible thing at the
worst possible moment to rattle you and make you vulnerable.
If Izaya got on TV calling himself a prophet, he’d be quite a hit, I bet.
Though knowing him, once he found himself with a following of believers,
he’d get bored, proclaim something about Japan sinking into the ocean, then
disappear and leave chaos in his wake.
Ever since school, he was always good at leading people on.
That’s what he was good at—leading people on, not out and out fooling
them. He had a pointless knack for it.
And that’s why my high school time was so miserable. Shizuo was ferocious,
Izaya was fishy, and not a single girl wanted anything to do with me. Of course, I
was living with you, so I didn’t need any girls.
At any rate, you cannot let Izaya lead you astray. Unlike the false prophets,
he doesn’t have a shred of goodwill. Not that I would want to be told fake
prophecies for a good cause.
Huh? What would I do if I were a true prophet who saw a future vision of the
world destroyed?
…You do realize I was just talking very fervently about how Izaya in real life
is more dangerous than any prophecy, right? Shall I assume you were just
ignoring that whole part?
That makes me kind of sad, but I find that aspect of you endearing as well, so
I’ll let it slide.
If I could predict the future, and I knew that humanity could escape calamity
through its actions as a whole, then I’d make, like, ten billion yen gambling,
blow it up to a few trillion through the stock market, use the money to prove and
publicize my powers of foresight, then tell everyone about the future. If that
takes until there’s only three days left until oblivion, I’ll just give up and hold
you tight instead!
…Weird. I figured that would be the point where you get overcome with
emotion and leap into my arms.
You know, a proven prophet is something like a time machine when you
think about it. It’s like a time machine that can only send information from the
future into the past.
…
Celty, please don’t start talking about how scary an out-of-control AI would
be.
It’s so strange how you can be confident and brave, but as soon as the topic
of aliens and the like comes up, you switch into scaredy-cat mode. It’s super-
cute, though!
…
…You’re not going to pinch me or poke me with your shadow?
Look, I’m not a masochist or anything, but when you don’t do your usual
thing, it’s a bit worrying for me…
“I’m calm now, thanks”?
You must have really been terrified.
It’s fine; you can cry in my arms. Then, we’ll go to bed. We can engage in
some pillow tal— Ah-ah-ah-aah! That’s a bit more like your usual sel-el-el-el-
elf! Ouch! Ow…owww!
Ooh, that hurt. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.

And just so you know, I’m not a skeptic of supernatural phenomena. I’m a
proponent, if anything.
I mean, I have the miracle of your presence, Celty.
I called you spooky earlier, but I take that back now.
You’re not a fairy or a goblin or a ghost.
You’re a miracle of love.
It doesn’t matter if you’re a fairy, or a demon, or an angel to me.
As the saying goes, “You can find a fruitful tree by its flowers,” but in your
case, it would be more like “You can find the sweetness of honey by its dapple
shade.” From the moment I met you, I understood what an enchanting person
you were! All on my own!
…Hmm?
Oh no, not now!
Sorry, Celty. The kid Shizuo brought here is awake.
I need to go explain the situation. Don’t want him to go all berserk in here.
Whew, thanks for waiting.

He’s up and walking now, so I sent him back home. Since Shizuo hit him, I
told him about another unlicensed doctor working at a place that can actually do
a brain scan. He’ll need that kind of help.
It really is inconvenient not having, for example, an MRI machine. So I got
this doctor’s info from some people at Dad’s company last month.
Speaking of Shizuo, he shouldn’t be relying on me so heavily, just because I
cut him a good deal.
He seems to think that our little love nest is a Red Cross tent.
It’s an insult to all upstanding legitimate doctors to associate a black market
doc like me with their work.
Speaking of which, have you ever had any war experience, Celty?
…
So your memory of that time is still vague.
You think it’s in your head…? Come on, Celty. You can’t start with the head
search thing again.
As long as you’re here in this city, you won’t have any connection to war, I’d
say.
As they say, Japan has gone soft from its peace, but I’m grateful for the
conditions that created that softness. It just means things are quiet for you and
me.
But you never know when that peace might come to an end, so we ought to
foster as much love together while we still can!
So let’s continue what we were— Er-er-er-er-ow-ow-ow-ow, ouch, ouch!
That hurts! It hurts when you use your shadow to lock both my arms to-to-to-to-
to— Give! Give, give! I give…!
Chapter 2: The Adults Squirm
May 3, Ikebukuro
Right around the time that Shizuo Heiwajima was being hit with a stun gun by
an unidentified little girl, Celty Sturluson was herself thrust into the midst of the
abnormal.
But in her case, it was part of her job.
Gone soft from peace, huh?

She leaned back into the pleasantly textured sofa, thinking about what her
partner had said the night before.
That seems like the kind of thing that would never describe a black market
doctor and a courier.
She was sitting in what might seem at first glance like a neatly arranged
office.
But the interior of the office was exceedingly minimalistic, with just the
barest necessities when it came to furniture. She understood that this was so the
office could be closed up and removed at a moment’s notice or to allow it to be
morphed into a different tenant altogether.
And such an occurrence would only happen when the police started to move
in.
“We appreciate you taking the time to come visit today. Would you like a hot
towel to clean off?”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Celty typed into her PDA, turning her attention to the
man sitting across from her. He was around thirty years of age, and his name was
Shiki.
This man brought Shinra a number of clients and had hired Celty to ferry
around things on several occasions.
To outward appearances, he was the representative of a small art dealership
—but as a matter of fact, he was only a member of a much larger group. In truth,
he was an officer of a group of professional gentlemen known as the Awakusu-
kai, working for the Medei-gumi Syndicate.
The art dealership’s office was merely a front for the group. In fact, there
wasn’t even a single painting hanging up in the waiting room.
“I understand the desire to have some art on display just for appearances, but
I can’t seem to acquire anything that suits my aesthetic,” Celty recalled the man
saying once, but it meant nothing to her.
More concerning was the fact that whenever a new person entered the office,
he would invariably tense up when he saw Celty.
“Um…I can’t help noticing some tension from the group.”
“Hmm? Oh, pardon them. There was someone dressed similarly to you in the
office of our syndicate’s money-lending business the other day. They had some
rather…rough words of complaint, shall we say.”
At the moment, Celty was wearing her black riding suit with the full helmet.
She understood his meaning, was fed up with it, and typed, “Shall I change
outfits?”
Fortunately, at times like these there was no way for them to see how weary
she felt.
“No, you don’t need to feel so weary.”
Is he psychic?!
“Can you read my mind?”
“All you have to do is watch the subtle mannerisms. Any man who can’t pick
up that sort of information without a face to read isn’t cut out for this line of
work. Oh, but feel free to change. You could even remove your helmet if you
want.”
…
“Are you certain?”
“Sure. Most people take theirs off when they go indoors.”
“You do know…what I am, don’t you?”
“Go ahead,” Shiki said, his gaze unflinching. Taken aback, Celty grabbed her
helmet and lifted it straight off the base of her neck.
The next instant, the other few men present in the room froze still, and a
young “employee” who happened to be passing nearby flinched and yelped,
“Wha—?! M-monst…”
Instantly, Shiki leaped from the sofa and grabbed the young man by the
collar. Without listening for an excuse, he rammed the man’s face into the corner
of a nearby locker.
“Gahk!” the young man grunted, blood flowing from his mouth.
Shiki lifted the man by the collar, pressed his forehead against the man’s
temple, and said flatly, “What kind of a man screams when he sees his guest’s
face?”
“Agh…blrgh…”
“What did I just say? I just said that most people take their helmets off when
they go indoors.”
“Um, wait,” Celty hurriedly typed into her PDA, confused at what was
going on, but naturally Shiki was not looking in her direction and did not see the
message.
“So why would my subordinate scream at her, after I just told my guest she
could take her helmet off?”
“…S…szorry…szir…,” the younger man gurgled.
Shiki smiled coldly at him. “You’re apologizing to the wrong person. Why
would you say sorry to me?”
Shiki was about to deliver another devastating blow when a black shadow
twisted around his arm.
A literal shadow.
A shadow with mass, occupying three-dimensional space, writhing through
the air like a tentacle to grab Shiki’s hand and hold it in place.
“…”
He turned around to see a freshly typed message on the PDA screen.
“Look, I’m not offended.”
The PDA screen with its large message was propped up by a different
shadow from the one holding Shiki’s arm still. In fact, countless shadows were
extending from Celty’s hands, much to the shock of the other employees
watching the scene. Given what Shiki had just done to their cohort, they wisely
held their silence.
Shiki slowly lowered himself into a chair, smiling as though nothing had
happened, and said, “I see. I’m afraid we’ve presented a rather embarrassing
spectacle.”
“Not at all.”
…These people really are scary. It’s just a different kind of scary from the
motorcycle cops.
“I apologize for the disrespect. I was the one who offered you the
opportunity to take off your helmet, but it seems my man here did not understand
the meaning of my statement,” Shiki said, bowing deeply.
Celty felt a chilling pressure emanating from him. But…I’m pretty sure it’s
the first time I’ve ever taken it off around him, too.
True, this was the first occasion that the man named Shiki had ever seen
what was under Celty’s helmet. But there was no panic or change in his
expression. He hadn’t even taken an extra breath. Celty found that to be quite
eerie.
Having that part of me totally ignored actually puts extra pressure on me…
To Celty, the screaming reaction of the young man now holding his broken
nose and bowing was the normal one for a human being.
Because it wasn’t the physical shadows extending from her fingertips that
was the eeriest part of the picture.
It was the fact that underneath her helmet, there was no head atop her
shoulders.

door was drenched with a basin full of blood. Thus, the dullahan, like the
When someone back in her homeland stole her head, she lost her memories
of what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that had brought
But ultimately, she had not succeeded in retrieving her head, and her
memories were still lost.
Celty knew who stole her head.
She knew who was preventing her from finding it.
But ultimately, that meant she didn’t know where it was.
And she was fine with that.
As long as she could live with those human beings she loved and who
accepted her, she could happily go on the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face
and held this strong, secret desire within her heart.
Now this headless fairy rode all over Ikebukuro as a lowly courier, taking on odd
jobs from a variety of people, paying no mind to whether the job was
aboveboard or under the table.
In this case, it was clear that the job she was being hired for was way, way
under the table.
“Sorry about him. He was working in debt collection for a financial agent of
ours until recently, when he was reassigned to our wing for being a little too loud
and a little too inefficient at his job.”
“Debt collection? You mean like what Shizuo does?” Celty wrote on a whim
and then froze, realizing her mistake.
Shizuo would not take to a job of this sort. The thought of what might
happen if Shiki’s organization honestly tried to recruit him sent a shiver down
her back.
But Shiki’s response was surprisingly aloof.
“Shizuo… Oh, him.”
Shiki already knew about Shizuo Heiwajima. He looked away.
“He does collection for a call-girl service, right? They won’t have any
connection to a business like ours. I did hear about some idiot borrowing money
from us who also tried to shirk his debt to the call service and wound up in a
heap of trouble.”
“I see.”
“…Do you really think any loan shark wants to use a well-known
troublemaker widely recognized by the police for a collection bruiser?”
“I do not,” she had to admit.
In that light, she also had to admit that his dreadlocked boss must be quite
skilled at handling Shizuo to keep him from getting into trouble with the police.
“But enough about him. Let’s get down to business,” Shiki said, pulling a
photograph from his pocket. “This is not so much of a courier job…but a more
unique request, much like the earlier job involving retrieving materials.”
“I see.”
Celty recalled another job she’d taken from this man about a year earlier.
Some men who stole a gun were on the run, and they needed her to retrieve it
before the police could and bring it back.
It wasn’t the kind of job she wanted to do, but when she learned that the
thieves were the type to point a gun at innocent civilians, and given that she
owed the Awakusu-kai a number of large debts from when she first came to
Japan, she had no choice but to accept the job.
At the time, I tried to slip the gun to the police by pretending I failed to get it
back, but this man showed up first…
Shiki was not a man to be underestimated, and this job would require careful
consideration before she accepted. Her own well-being was one thing, but if the
job threatened to affect Shinra and the other people of Ikebukuro she knew like
Mikado, Anri, Shizuo, and Kadota in a negative way, she had to consider those
consequences very heavily before accepting or declining.
Warily, she reached out to accept the photo. Examining it through her unique
visual sense that involved no eyeballs, she saw a middle-aged man.
He looked to be somewhere from his midforties to early fifties. In the photo
he was smiling in a friendly, gentlemanly way. There were reading glasses on his
nose, and his outfit was formal, giving him the appearance of a company
president, or perhaps the chairman of a private academy.
Who is this? I hope he’s not going to ask me to kill him.
For a brief moment she was going to type her statement about killing the
man, but the thought occurred to her that the man might be a higher-up in the
yakuza syndicate, so she stuck to a simple question.
“Who is this man?”
“Jinnai Yodogiri. The fellow who was representative director of Yodogiri
Shining Corporation… Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”
Oh! From Ruri Hijiribe!
“Yes, I know.”
Ruri Hijiribe was the name of a massive star, an up-and-coming actress who
had recently caused a stir when her relationship with male star Yuuhei Hanejima
was exposed in the tabloids. She was a true actor’s actor, and both Celty and
Shinra eagerly followed her career.
With the revelation of that affair came another bit of personal trouble.
Jinnai Yodogiri, president of her talent agency, Yodogiri Shining
Corporation, went missing under mysterious circumstances, effectively releasing
all of the agency’s talent into the wild. Without anywhere else to go, she found
herself enrolled with Jack-o’-Lantern Japan, the agency representing Yuuhei
Hanejima.
Rumor said that she got in because of the good word of her paramour,
Hanejima, but the disappearance of the agency head was given bigger headlines,
and after a month, the whole affair was in the process of being forgotten by
society at large.
“So what happened to this showbiz president?” Celty asked.
Shiki tapped his right index finger on the desk. “As a matter of fact, we had
our own personal dealings with him…and there were some differences of
opinion between us.”
“Ah.”
“Naturally, we are doing our best with our own resources to search for him…
but we could use all the help we can get right now. I’m not asking you to spend
all your time on this, but given your job as a courier, you meet people from many
walks of life. I was hoping you might be able to let us know about any
information you come across…”
“I don’t know if I’ll be any help to you there.”
But even then, is this the kind of thing they’d call me for? And if I do
somehow find him and let them know, I have a feeling this Yodogiri fellow will
wind up feeding the worms in the mountains or the fish at the bottom of the sea.
Seeing that she was hesitant about the idea, Shiki smiled wryly and added,
“Only if you happen to come across anything. There’s no need to overanalyze
it.”
He saw through me again, she realized, suspicious. Based on the way he was
talking, there naturally had to be some other job he wanted to ask her about.
“The thing is…there’s another thing we wanted to ask of you…”
“This also has little to do with your courier job…”
May 3, evening, near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building

Ahhh, I wish Celty would come back soon.
It was the luxury apartment where the headless fairy and her human
companion lived.
In the midst of this vast living space, boasting over fifteen hundred square
feet and five bedrooms, Shinra Kishitani was lounging atop a rug, waiting for his
beloved to return home.
He was wearing his white doctor’s coat as he rolled idly on the floor, which
only made him look like a weirdo. As a matter of fact, there was another white
coat wrapped in plastic in the corner of the room, meaning that he had separate
doctors’ coats for work and private wear.
But just the idea of wearing a doctor’s lab coat for a personal outfit was
weird enough to begin with.
Shinra was a black market doctor who took in patients who couldn’t see an
ordinary doctor for various reasons. But as he didn’t have X-rays or other fancy
machinery, he was not in high demand.
Yet because he was a flexible freelancer, he did have certain regular clients.
If he wanted to have a normal, upstanding position, he had the ability, the
knowledge, and the qualifications. But he did not want that—he preferred to live
his life dishonestly and spend his days with Celty.
She’s getting a job from Shiki. It’s odd because she tries not to take on jobs
from those sorts nowadays. It was much less of a problem for her when she
didn’t really care about humans. But I think Mr. Shiki understands that about her
now.
Shinra did not think of Shiki as being good-hearted—he was a man who
lived firmly on the underside of society. But because he was so familiar with
what it took to do his work, he wouldn’t send the darker jobs to someone like
her, whose personal morals were wavering.
He needed the right person for every job.
Shiki would send such work to others, people who were more predictable in
their outlook. Shinra was reassured that Celty would be fine because he knew
Shiki to be a pragmatic man at heart.
Of course, it was best not to associate with such people at all, but as Celty
was not even human to begin with, she didn’t have the luxury of being picky
about her income sources.
She’s the type of girl who would keep working a job for a sense of fulfillment,
even after winning three hundred million yen in the lottery.
…If we had a baby, I wonder if she’d give up her job to be a housewife. I
suppose I should find out if it’s even possible for us to have children first.
We could also take in a foster child. On the forms, it’d have to go down as
Dad and my stepmother’s child.
Wait…I just envisioned myself as a househusband while Celty goes out and
works.
Celty as a housewife… With an apron…made of shadow.
What? She’s naked under the apron?!
He rolled even harder on the rug, grinning at the image in his head. Shinra
looked like nothing short of a freak, but his partner was nowhere in sight to
make fun of him.
After spending about thirty minutes like that, the doorbell rang.
“Ooh! Is she back?” he wondered aloud, hopping up excitedly. The doorbell
rang several more times as he raced over to the entryway.
“I wonder why she’s ringing the bell. Did she forget her key?”
He was so preoccupied with the thought of Celty that the possibility of
anyone else being responsible for ringing the doorbell never even entered his
mind.
He realized his mistake right as he was reaching the door, but it was too late
to stop. When he opened it, he saw the very same bartender uniform he’d seen
just last night.
“…”
At least it wasn’t a gun-toting hit man or a home invader, but in terms of
potential danger, this visitor was a good match.
Shinra closed the door halfway and groaned. “Maybe I should move to a
building that won’t even let you in the front entrance without a key.”
“Sounds to me like you wanna get socked,” Shizuo said.
Shinra grimaced and waved his hand. “Please don’t. Then I’d have to
consider the very real possibility that I would die.”
“Can I come in?” Shinra’s longtime acquaintance mumbled, scratching his
cheek.
The doctor said, “Fine, fine. What is it now? The kid you brought here
yesterday already left; he was in good enough shape to walk again.”
“Yeah, I know. He was in town earlier, I hear.”
“Very lively fellow. Especially after taking several hits from you. It’s a
wonder all his vertebrae were still in place,” Shinra noted, pulling the door back
open to usher Shizuo inside, when he noticed—
“Huh?”
Shizuo was not the only person outside the apartment.
“Huh? Isn’t that your boss…?”
“Yeah, I’ve never introduced you two. This is Tom.”
“Yes, I understand that, but…”
Shinra was not looking at the man with the dreadlocks—but at a little girl of
around elementary school age, clinging to Shizuo’s waist by his belt.
“Who’s the girl?”
At that moment, Raira Academy
Whether private school or public school, vacation is vacation.

Like the rest of society, the private Raira Academy, famous for its close
proximity to Ikebukuro Station, was in the first day of the extended break.
But the school was overflowing with more people than one would expect.
The athletic clubs were crowded onto the field, bellowing to be heard over the
others, and the humanities clubs were each busy preparing for their artistic
contests in June.
Mikado Ryuugamine was one of these students on campus during the break.
He was considered a member of the Going Home club, as he didn’t participate in
any extracurriculars. Instead, he was here for a student committee meeting about
the class field trip.
Normally, this would have happened after school, but the meetings had been
running long, and so they had to make it up by holding an extra one during the
break. The school was reluctant, but since it was the students’ idea, the plan was
approved to hold the meeting on campus during break and finalize plans once
they’d collected the feedback of those class representatives who weren’t able to
make it due to vacation plans.
“Whew, finally done,” Mikado groaned. He hadn’t expected that planning
their own field trip would involve such fierce debate.
From over his shoulder a tiny voice called, “Nice work, Mikado.”
“Ah, Sonohara. Wasn’t that tiring?”
Standing behind him was Anri Sonohara, his classmate and fellow
representative on the student committee. But he had known her well before that
—they met on the day they started school here.
Mikado’s crush on Anri never left his own lips but was taken as public fact
by everyone else, and Anri often interacted with Mikado, so the school
essentially treated them like an official couple.
But neither Mikado nor Anri was aware of that. All they knew was that they
were still friends, nothing more.
A part of Mikado wanted to confess his feelings and broach that gap, but
another part of him wouldn’t let that happen until a different problem was
resolved.
He envisioned the face of his close friend who had recently quit school:
Masaomi Kida.
They grew up in the same town, and with the addition of Anri in high school,
they led a fulfilling school life.
The problem was, each of the three kept a terrible secret.
Mikado Ryuugamine, founder of the street gang the Dollars.
Masaomi Kida, founder and leader of a rival gang, the Yellow Scarves.
And Anri Sonohara, a girl who bore within her an inhuman being much like
Celty Sturluson.
After a recent incident, the three each learned a bit about the others’ secrets
—and as a result, Masaomi Kida had left.
But neither Mikado nor Anri thought of this as a good-bye. They trusted that
he would return, and therefore, neither attempted to pry into each other’s half-
exposed secrets.
They would speak openly when Masaomi came back to them. That was what
they decided.
And thus, the relationship between the two neither progressed nor collapsed
but maintained an awkward balance as the days passed them by.
Until yesterday, when a new event threatened to topple that balance.

In the chat room where Mikado went by the name TarouTanaka and
Masaomi went by the handle Bacura, Masaomi reached out to speak not to
TarouTanaka, but personally to Mikado Ryuugamine.
But should I tell Sonohara about that?
It was too menacing a topic to serve as a wholesome reunion with Masaomi.
The Dollars were in danger.
Curious and worried, Mikado checked out the mobile-only chat room and
message board for Dollars members but found no particular evidence of the
claim.
But it was true that when it came to such matters, Masaomi had a sharper
instinct and deeper connections than himself.
If he just outright told Anri, it might only cause her to worry. Or was it better
to just be open and explain the situation to her?
He walked through the school building with Anri, unsure of how to proceed,
when an excited voice entirely at odds with his own mental state rang out.
“Mr. Mikado! Ms. Sonohara! Nice to see you!”
They turned around to see a boy in the hall: Aoba Kuronuma.

He was new, freshly enrolled just last month, their junior at school.
Aoba looked even younger than Mikado, to the point that he could pass
himself off as an elementary schooler if he dressed the part. He could also pass
for a girl if he cross-dressed and didn’t speak.
He, too, was a member of the Dollars, one of the few who knew that Mikado
was a fellow member—but since being dragged into a spot of trouble with
Mikado and Anri last month, he hadn’t made any major contact with them.
“Hi, Aoba… What’s going on? First-years don’t go on the field trip, right?”
Mikado asked. He was certain that Aoba had been traumatized by their recent
experience and was avoiding him as a result, but the boy’s expression showed no
sign of that—it was the same smile he’d seen a month earlier.
In fact, it was a little too carefree given that a violent biker gang had chased
them—but Mikado Ryuugamine did not pick up on that.
“Nah, I’m here for my club. I’m in the art club.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
Was he here just for a little chat? Mikado prepared to respond appropriately.
But before he could ask anything else, Aoba cut straight to the point.
“Are you free tomorrow?”
“Huh?”
“After what happened last month, you never got the chance to show me
around the area! Since we have this extended break now, I thought the three of
us could hang out for a day!”
“Er, well…tomorrow’s not…”
Normally, Mikado would have agreed on the spot. But Masaomi’s statement
from the day before was bugging him.
“Don’t get together with the other Dollars for a while,” he had warned.
Karisawa and Yumasaki were one thing, but did it really apply to Aoba
Kuronuma?
Masaomi had said to just be a normal high schooler. And if he and Aoba
didn’t talk about the Dollars, they really were nothing more than students at the
same school.
Maybe it would be safest to just not go out? If something might happen to the
Dollars, maybe I should stay home and try to gather intelligence so I can send a
warning message to everyone. Okay, I’ll turn him down for now and make the
offer again once this issue Masaomi mentioned dies down. I’d like to introduce
Aoba to Masaomi, anyway.
After thinking it all through in his mind, Mikado shook his head sadly.
“Yeah… Sorry, I think I might have something going on tomorrow.”
“Aww, darn,” Aoba said, crestfallen. Right after, he picked his head up again
and looked over at Anri. “What about you, Ms. Sonohara?”
“Huh? Me? I don’t really have anything to do…”
What?
Mikado was at a total loss for words.
“But I won’t be a very good tour guide…”
“Oh, it’s fine! I did some groundwork of my own, looking stuff up!”
“But I doubt I’ll be anything other than a bother to you.”
…What? What?!
If Mikado and Anri had officially been a romantic couple, or if Anri were a
bit quicker and more observant of others’ feelings, she might not have reacted in
the same way.
But since she was on the slow side when it came to recognizing normal
romantic advances, she had no suspicions about what Aoba was asking her. She
honestly wondered if he really thought she would be a good tour guide.
“That’s not true! Ms. Anri, you’re so beautiful, just having you around will
make everything shine!”
Ms. Anri?! He’s already leveled up from calling her by her last name?!
Without checking first?! That’s cheating! You’re a cheater, Aoba!
“P-please, don’t tease me.”
“No, I’m serious. So what time should I—?”
At that point, Mikado spoke up. He made the mistake of speaking up.
“Wait! Whoopsie, I got myself mixed up. Tomorrow’s open after all!”
“Oh, really?!” Aoba exclaimed, beaming innocently. That threw Mikado for
a loop.
Wait…he’s happy about that?
So he really was just teasing Sonohara?
“But only during the day. All kinds of people come out at night when
school’s out, and it gets dangerous after that.”
“Yeah, sure thing,” the boy said, his intentions still unreadable to Mikado.
And so it was that he made unexpected plans for the afternoon of the fourth.
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the plans were made for him.
Once again, Mikado would find himself stepping into the extraordinary—
without knowing whether this was a product of simple coincidence or the
intentions of someone else.
Perhaps he had been stepping across that line ever since the moment he
founded the Dollars. He just didn’t realize it.
Mikado Ryuugamine’s ordinary life was coming to a quiet, unheralded end.
Shizuo sat on a sofa in the living room, drinking tea from a steel cup. He
wondered, “So, Shinra…you even wear the lab coat at home?”
It was a perfectly natural question. Shinra puffed out his chest in mysterious
pride and boasted, “Yes, because Celty’s always dressed in her black riding suit,
of course. The stark contrast makes us look like light and shadow, right? Light
and shadow are polar opposites but always attached—a hot couple, just like us!
When they talk about the forces of darkness in comics and movies, it’s all just
because the dark side is playing hard to get. Or maybe I’m just being possessive.
To be honest, I wouldn’t mind being possessed by Cel-twah!”
“Shut up.”
Shizuo merely flicked Shinra’s forehead with his finger, but the doctor flew
backward as though a blunt weapon had struck him.
“I don’t like your insinuation that you’re on the side of light. You’re way
deeper on the dark side than Celty is.”
“If you want to be peaceful like your name suggests, try limiting your
feedback to words alone.”
Meanwhile, Tom revealed his initial impression of the doctor under his
breath. “Yeah, this guy really is a freak…”
“Hey! What do you mean, ‘really is’? What kind of awful slander has Shizuo
been spreading around the workplace about me?! Well…either way, I don’t care.
If talking about my love for Celty makes me a pervert, then a pervert I shall be.
There’s a thin line between perversion and love!” Shinra boasted, holding his
swollen, reddening forehead. He slowed down to gather his breath and asked,
“Anyway, would you mind explaining about her already?”
He looked over at the little girl curled up in the corner with her arms around
her knees.
“You hushed me up earlier when you brought her in, but you realize I can’t
just ignore this, right? She looks scared out of her mind.”
Shinra let out a very long, deep sigh and fixed his old friend with a stern
gaze.
“Why did you kidnap her?”
“We didn’t!” stated Tom.
He must have sensed that Shizuo was ready to snap and stepped in to deny it
before anything happened. Sure enough, there was a vein bulging on Shizuo’s
face, but it was in the process of easing as the blood flow returned.
Tom shot the relieved Shinra a glance to warn him not to utter any more
provocation before explaining the situation.
Thirty minutes earlier, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street
“Drop dead.”
Huh?
Shizuo was on the tall side, so at first he couldn’t be certain of what the little
girl said when she leaped onto him.
If anything, Tom heard her better than Shizuo did, his expression one of
disbelief as he rushed to catch up. But Tom’s ears were working perfectly.
The girl thrust what she was holding against Shizuo’s waist, never letting her
smile fade away.
Tom saw a pale-blue spark leap from the tool to Shizuo’s side, accompanied
by a loud crackling sound.
“Yeow!” Shizuo yelped, instinctually brushing the girl’s hand away.
“Ah!” she cried, as a boxy tool that looked like a transceiver fell from her
grip.
Shizuo hadn’t realized what had happened, and because he didn’t process it,
he also didn’t instantly lose his temper like he usually did. Instead, he reached
down to pick up what the girl dropped and examined it.
The black rectangular object looked like a walkie-talkie or a flashlight.
“…Damn, that hurt… What’s going on? What is this?”
There was a switch on the device, so he pressed it.
It crackled and burst, and a blue spark leaped from the metallic part at the
end of the device.
“What’s this? A stun gun?”
He stood there in disbelief, his brain unable to process the combination of
young girl and stun gun, when over his shoulder, Tom’s voice caused him to
come to his senses.
“Hey, Shizuo…”
All around them, pedestrians stopped in their tracks, looking over to see what
was happening.
A grown man holding a stun gun.
A little girl on her knees next to him.
Right as he was able to process how the scene looked to an objective
onlooker, one of those very people from the crowd started running over to a
police officer stationed outside of the arcade.
“Oh, crap. It’s the cop who came to arrest that shoplifter,” Tom said and
grabbed Shizuo’s shoulder.
“We gotta go. You can’t talk yourself out of this situation.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Tom began to utilize the
sprinting power he’d gained since he started working with Shizuo.
“…Wh-whaa—?”
Shizuo had no choice but to follow his coworker, the opportunity to fly into a
rage completely gone now.
They should have gotten away, and the police should’ve found the strange
girl and taken her into custody.
Instead, Shizuo realized that he felt heavier than usual as he was running. He
turned back and noticed a bob of flapping hair out of the corner of his eye.
Shizuo’s monstrous strength was such that he never even noticed that the girl
from a moment ago was clinging to his belt, dangling from his waist as he ran
away from the scene.
“Can’t run…away… Die…just…die…!” the little girl grunted as she clung
to Shizuo.
He didn’t understand what she was saying. He simply couldn’t imagine a
scenario in which a little girl would be trying to kill him.
One time after having been shot, he remained calm until he belatedly
realized the attack was intentionally malicious. This was similar to that situation.
“So what should we do about her, Tom?” he asked as they ran. Tom glanced
over, saw the girl on Shizuo’s back, and shouted, “Arrgh, this is a nightmare!”
A moment later, he regained his cool and asked, “Do you know anyone who
lives around here?! We’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb on the street!”
“Our office?”
“No, we can’t get our workplace involved! Oh, how about your brother’s
place?!”
“He’s always getting staked out by reporters and tabloids.”
Eventually, a single face popped into Shizuo’s mind.
“…If you don’t mind a black market doctor, there’s one we can drag into
this.”
“All right, I understand the situation now… For starters, I just have one thing to
say,” Shinra said calmly after they finished telling the story. He fixed Shizuo
with a level gaze.
“Why did you kidnap her?!”
Krunkl.
Shinra looked over to see the source of the odd noise and saw Shizuo’s
clenched fist. Oddly, the steel cup that he’d been holding had vanished.
But the question was answered as quickly as it popped into his head. Shizuo
opened his hand to reveal the object that had previously been a cup, crumpled
into a ball like aluminum foil.
“Sorry. I’ll pay you back.”
“…No worries. I was just thinking about getting a new set.”
“No, I feel sorry for the manufacturers who made this cup.”
“Ah, if only you held the same regret in your heart for the poor guardrails
and streetlights that you so frequently destroy—and as I’m saying that, I
apologize for bringing that up—I’m so sorry. Of course you wouldn’t kidnap her.
If you were going to stoop to that level for money, it’d be a lot quicker to just pry
open a bank safe with your bare hands.”
Shinra looked over at the corner of the room with sweat trickling down his
back. He noticed that the motionless little girl was trembling now.
“And you haven’t gotten any info out of her?”
“That’s the thing—she just keeps trembling like that. I know she was playing
a dirty prank with this toy, but it still seems cruel to press her for answers,”
Shizuo replied, tossing the stun gun to Shinra.
He caught the tool and muttered in relief, “I’m glad to know you at least
have some human sentiment in your heart. It would be completely indefensible
to beat a poor little child like this.”
The doctor walked over to the girl and crouched down to his knees to meet
her eye level. “Are you all right? You’re safe now. It must have been hard, being
dragged around by those big, scary guys. You can relax; I’m a man of love and
peace, not like that weapon in human form.”
In the background, Tom was muttering to Shizuo, “Take it easy. The kid’s
watching, okay? Okay?”
Meanwhile, Shinra favored the girl with a disarming smile.
“…”
But she was totally silent, glaring back at him in distrust. She put up a brave
front, but the trembling was quite severe. In fact, for having told him to “drop
dead” and not once attempting to run away, the girl seemed remarkably passive.
“…”
Sensing something odd about her reaction, Shinra reached out to touch the
girl’s forehead. Instantly, the doctor’s expression tightened, and he ordered the
two men, “Go into the closet in that room over there and pull out the guest
blankets!”
“?”
“She’s burning up! We need to boil some water!”
With that, the apartment suddenly got very lively.
Whatever this change of heart in Shinra did to the girl, it caused her brittle
tension to snap all at once, and she slumped over, completely unconscious.
Thirty minutes later
With the girl slumbering away on a bed in the back, Shinra finally sighed in
relief.
He didn’t detect any signs of disease and came to the conclusion that it was
probably just extreme tension and exhaustion, but you couldn’t be too careful.
He stood in front of a hidden cabinet and pored over a selection of
prescription-only medications before noticing the presence of a weight in his
pocket. He pulled out the stun gun that Shizuo had tossed to him during the
earlier scene.
Shinra switched it on again, causing another bolt of electricity and loud
crackle. The sight of the clearly altered stun gun’s effects brought the story of its
use back to his mind.
“This thing’s clearly been upgraded to boost its output…”
“…And he took a shot from it and only said, ‘Yeow’? The guy really is
turning into a monster.”
May 3, night, on the streets of Ikebukuro
Ahh, geez, Celty Sturluson lamented, trying to collect her thoughts. I took on a
real pain of a job this time.
Celty was uncharacteristically gloomy in the midst of whatever job it was
Shiki had given her. She was waiting at a stoplight on her lightless motorcycle,
which emitted an engine roar that sounded oddly like whinnying.
Thanks, Shooter.
She stroked her partner’s handlebars, grinning inwardly.
…If this doesn’t go just right, I might not be home for several days. Maybe I
should get in touch with Shinra now, while I have the chance. Either that or go
home briefly to explain in person…
She noticed the signal for the cross street turn red. Celty waited on the left
side of the two-lane road for the light to turn green, ready to send Shooter
forward—but before the light changed, she sensed another motorcycle stop
behind her.
Celty froze momentarily, terrified that it might be the usual cop, but when
she trained her sense of vision backward, she saw that it was just an ordinary
bike.
The rider had a full helmet like Celty’s and wore a black riding suit. It was
the prototypical outfit of a high-speed biker, and Celty did not think anything of
it—until her visual senses picked up something odd.
…?
Before she could process what was wrong, the light turned green, and she
automatically started driving.
“Good evening, Halloween Knight,” the rear rider abruptly muttered.
Celty only heard it because of her heightened senses. It was probably meant
for no ears but the speaker’s.
She picked up speed, not knowing what to make of the comment.
“Playtime is over. Too bad, very sad.”
Celty heard something resembling that coming from behind, and right at that
moment—
A fierce shock ran through Celty’s torso.

She felt her body slam onto the road but had no idea what was happening.
“This is a bodyguard job.”
Through the dull pain, Celty heard what Shiki had told her earlier in the day.
“We don’t know where the target is now…”
“But in short, we need you to find and protect a certain target in secret.”
She’d had a bad feeling about it. Why ask her for protection?
But she couldn’t turn down the job.
“…Her life might be targeted right now. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much
more than that…”
“I just want you to protect the person in this photograph.”
He showed her a picture. It was of a little girl, maybe ten years old at best.
Her expression was gloomy, but she was putting on a happy face for the
camera.
“Her name is Akane Awakusu.”
“…She’s the granddaughter of our ‘company president.’”
“She’s currently running away from home. She doesn’t seem to approve of
our ‘business model.’”
It’s not as if I like it, either, Celty thought. The pain came after a delay,
bringing with it the confirmation that her bad feeling about this was correct.
She still couldn’t tell what had happened to her.
But clearly something had, and that was all she needed to know.
She had confirmed two very crucial facts.
Number one—the shock of the impact had knocked her helmet high into the
air.
Number two—she was getting herself into some very bad business.
And so it was that Celty, the most unrealistic of beings, was forcibly
entangled with the reality of humankind.
May 3, night, chat room

TarouTanaka: Nobody’s around, looks like. Maybe they’re all out?
TarouTanaka: I know I showed up late, but if even Setton isn’t here…

Mai: Good evening.

Kuru: And a most pleasant night to you, Tarou. Jumping right to the chat room
on the first night of a vacation seems rather lonely to me, but on the other
hand, the cyberspace realm knows no concepts such as vacations, holidays,
day, or night. No one will condemn you here. But if you wish to be
condemned, I can most certainly fulfill that role for you. The time has come to
test whether you are the S or the M in S and M!
TarouTanaka: Oh, good evening.
TarouTanaka: Looks like you’re still the same.
Kuru: The time has come to be tested!
TarouTanaka: Why did you say that twice?
Mai: Sorry.
TarouTanaka: And why are you apologizing?
TarouTanaka: Ah, good evening.

Mai: Good evening.
Kuru: Well, well, another wandering traveler on a day off. Spending your
vacation all at home will prove to be fatal. It is a superstition that a rabbit will
die of loneliness, but it really does happen to people.
Saika: i’m sorry
TarouTanaka: Why are you apologizing, Saika? lol
Kuru: …I don’t know how to respond to that.
TarouTanaka: No wonder, because you’ve done nothing to require an apology.
Saika: i’m sorry
TarouTanaka: Again?!
TarouTanaka: And what does this say about you, Kuru?
TarouTanaka: You’re here, too, aren’t you?
Kuru: No need to worry. Mai and I ventured out into the streets of Ikebukuro to
savor the heady taste of life. After first destroying all the gyoza at Namja
Town’s Gyoza Stadium, we enjoyed some shopping at World Import Mart and
the Alpa mall, followed by the sight of a dashing gentleman stopping a robber
along Sixtieth Floor Street.
Mai: The gyoza was yummy.
TarouTanaka: A robber? That sounds like quite a scene.
TarouTanaka: …If it was on Sixtieth Floor Street, was it either a black man
advertising for a sushi shop or a man in a bartender’s outfit?
Kuru: Oh.
Mai: Shizuo.
TarouTanaka: Wait, you know Shizuo?
Kuru: Please pardon my brevity. Based on your chat messages alone, I would
have taken you for a saint who could not kill a fly, Tarou, but you must have a
wider social net than I realized if you know Shizuo as well. Perhaps if I were
to meet you in person, you would turn out to be a great brute of a man,
covered in tattoos and scars. Or a merchant of illicit pharmaceutical wares.
Saika: you mean shizuo heiwajima?
TarouTanaka: Sorry, there’s so much to say about that, I can’t even start.
TarouTanaka: Wait, you know him, too, Saika?
Saika: a bit
Saika: i’m sorry
TarouTanaka: Why are you apologizing? lol
Kuru: But sadly, it was not Shizuo whom we witnessed today. It was rather a
playboy whose head was wrapped in bandages and an eyepatch. He was not a
gentle fellow, but rather a finely muscled and sensual man.
Mai: He had a bunch of girls.
Mai: I was jealous.
TarouTanaka: Yes, very envious. And very impressive that he managed to stop
a robber. He sounds like a policeman.
Kuru: Speaking of police, I just witnessed something interesting in town.
TarouTanaka: What was that?
Kuru: There were several dozen men congregated around a pedestrian bridge,
shouting about something. They were completely packing the area.
Mai: Packed like sardines.
TarouTanaka: Ohhh.
Kuru: I believe they belonged to a motorcycle gang… Speaking of which, is
everyone here aware of the Dollars? They’re a wonderfully wicked and
terrifying field of evil flora, a demonic darkness making its nest in Ikebukuro.
Mai: Dollars.
TarouTanaka: Umm, okay.
Saika: i don’t really know
Kuru: Some say the name is short for “doleful callers,” or “gang of people who
are only worth a dollar,” or “gang that will kill for a dollar,” or the
“devastating, overwhelming, ludicrous, lascivious, apathetic, raucous squad,”
but at any rate, the point is that they’re a very mysterious gang! Despite being
a classic color-based street gang, they rep no color at all in order to blend in
with the city! It’s an insane organization!
Mai: Really cool.
TarouTanaka: “Insane organization”? That’s a bit much.
Kuru: But they are nothing if not insane. I mean, they’re a group that has no
discernable purpose or identity! If they were a typical street gang, they’d be
taking out stress on the rest of the city, or doing it for money, or aligning
themselves with a more formal yakuza operation—at least that would be
fathomable. But the Dollars have no such thing.
Mai: No such what?
TarouTanaka: You’re thinking way too hard about this.
Kuru: The Dollars have no fixed form. After all, how is one to identify a
member of the group? Perhaps even ordinary students or housewives might be
Dollars. Even a friendly classmate who comes up to say hello on the street
might secretly be one of the Dollars… And we don’t even know how many of
them there are.
TarouTanaka: Well, yes, but…
TarouTanaka: But are you sure it’s not just like any old club? There are plenty
of places where anyone can claim to be part of it. It’s like people who rep
themselves as “Residents of Saitama,” or “Metropolitans,” or whatever.
Kuru: I believe you are misrepresenting the issue. The Dollars are not just a
descriptor, but also a group; one must identify with the group in order to gain
affiliation, and online or not, there is a type of community that they share. It
may be a very loose network, but they are still gathered together under the
Dollars’ name. Don’t you find that rather terrifying?
Mai: Scary.
TarouTanaka: Scary how, exactly?
Kuru: For example, it’s as if there are security cameras all over the city, only the
cameras are the eyes of the crowd. And unlike an objective camera, the
observer paints the scene with their subjectivity. Also, the subject being
observed has no idea that their actions are under observation. One wrong step
out in public, and the Dollars’ members watching you might detect and seize
upon your most tender weakness.
Mai: Scary.
TarouTanaka: You’re thinking too hard. It’s not like that.
Kuru: …For now, I will choose to ignore the question of why you would so
stridently take the side of the Dollars, a group no more important than a street
gang. But how can you be so certain that the Dollars would never take
advantage of unsuspecting people? They are a gang! Their very presence is
antisocial in nature!
Mai: Gang up on the gang.
TarouTanaka: You’ve got a point.
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched.
TarouTanaka: But while they might be a gang, I’ve heard it’s more like a group
that got together over a little joke on the Internet. Yeah, maybe they have IRL
meetups every once in a while, but not to go on a rampage and terrorize
people.
Kuru: I’ll ask you again.
Kuru: How can you be sure of that?
Kuru: Let’s say you are a member of the Dollars. Could you claim that no one
else in the group has any ulterior motives just because you don’t? There are
many people in the Dollars, and I hear that no one knows who the others are…
But if that were the case, don’t you think someone could claim membership
and use that to get away with something truly terrible?
TarouTanaka: Yes, you might have a point.
Saika: um
Saika: please don’t fight
TarouTanaka: Uh, first, we’re not fighting, lol.
Kuru: Of course not. I do not have a shred of personal hatred or anger toward
TarouTanaka. The fact that we are members of the same chat room makes me
like him enough to give him a kiss, in fact. Smooch!
Mai: Gross.
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched again.
Saika: i’m sorry
TarouTanaka: Seriously, why do you keep apologizing?
TarouTanaka: Anyway, I understand that there’s room to worry about that kind
of stuff, but I haven’t heard any bad rumors about the Dollars raising trouble
in Ikebukuro, and even if they were, it wouldn’t be any worse than the usual
street fights that happen all the time.
Kuru: But that’s not the case. Madness spins wildly through Ikebukuro, and the
power of centrifugal force ensures that the lighter, inferior parts wind up at the
outer edge of the rotation.
Mai: Spinny-spinny-spin.
Kuru: I understand that members of the Dollars have been picking fights with
people from other prefectures. In fact, it was less picking fights than forcing
them. Pounding their victims’ faces to force the confrontation upon them, and
whether they wanted to fight or not, they would beat and beat and beat and
beat and beat their targets. It must have been quite a sight.
TarouTanaka: Huh?
Mai: I heard that, too.
Mai: That the Dollars beat up
Mai: some people in Saitama.
TarouTanaka: Is this true?
TarouTanaka: Do you have a source for that info?
Kuru: Are you familiar with the social media site “Pacry”?
TarouTanaka: I do have an account.
Kuru: What a fortuitous coincidence! Unlike with the site Mixi, one need only
apply to register as a user. There is no need to receive an invite from a friend.
Oh, pardon me—I did not mean that to sound as though you, TarouTanaka,
have no friends. But I suppose that would depend upon your future actions. I
cannot register, as I am below the required age for Mixi.
TarouTanaka: So where on Pacry is it?
Kuru: Oh! Please forgive me! I got carried away.
Kuru: If you do a community search for “Saitama Motorcycle Gang Problem,”
you will find a group based on that topic. I would look there first.
TarouTanaka: I’ll do a search.
Kuru: One of the topics on that board should be titled “About the Dollars.” That
is where you will find the information I gleaned, but if it turns out that the
account was falsified, then I will have confused you for nothing, I’m afraid.
Kuru: If that is the case, I will apologize most profusely and present my body
and mind to you as payment… My body is a meager thing, its value
questionable at best, but I would be honored if you found it to be a physical
comfort to you.
Mai: Naughty.
TarouTanaka: Hang on, I’m checking now.
Kuru: You ignore me? Why, I am shrouded in desolation and loneliness. You
must make things right by me.
Mai: Naughty.
Kuru: Someone claiming to be the Dollars started a fight with a motorcycle
gang in Saitama. If this is an act orchestrated by some conspirator, then it was
facilitated by the lack of a gang color. After all, anyone can represent the
Dollars and frame the group for a crime!
Saika: that’s scary
TarouTanaka: Sorry, I was just looking it up.
TarouTanaka: I’ve got some stuff to do after this, so I’ll be leaving now.
Kuru: In that case, I suppose we shall take our leave as well.
Saika: good night
Mai: Good night, then.
TarouTanaka: Thank you.
TarouTanaka: Oh, and I’m sorry, Kuru. I think I might have upset you.
Kuru: Not at all. Do not let it trouble you.
TarouTanaka: Thank you.
TarouTanaka: Anyway, that’s all.
TarouTanaka: So long, everyone.
Kuru: Good night to you all. Golden Week is only just beginning, so please do
be careful out there… I notice that Setton, Kanra, and Bacura are not here
today.
Mai: Good-bye.

Saika: good night

Saika: i’m sorry
Saika: i was too late

.
.
.
Interlude or Prologue B, Vorona (Crow) and Slon (Elephant)
Russia
A comment mumbled in Russian traveled on the breeze to eventually settle upon

the land.
“…Strange… This is not right.”
A troubled man stood against the backdrop of endless fields.
He was not especially tall, but his figure was broad, and the thick, fleshy
muscles that adorned his frame made him look larger than others his height.
The man was probably around forty years old. He wore a white coat over a
white jacket, which gave him an appearance that a distant viewer might mistake
for a polar bear. A number of scarves were wrapped around the top of his head
and face, so that only a little gap was left, issuing periodic puffs of exhaust like a
steam engine.
“Yep, not right. Oh dear, this could be trouble.”
There were about ten other men around him. One of them, an older man with
glasses and a grave expression, asked, “What is the matter, Comrade Lingerin?”
“Hmm? Oh…ohh. Listen to this, Drakon. It’s all wrong.”
“What is it?” Drakon asked, looking down at the first man’s hands.
There were two round pots, with narrow openings. Lingerin had a hand stuck
into the mouth of either one. “Look at this, Drakon.”
“…”
Lingerin lifted his hands to show the other man. His looked somewhat like a
boxer.
Drakon’s calm expression never wavered. Without a drop of sweat, he asked,
“What has happened, Comrade Lingerin?”
Lingerin waved his arms, his face deadly serious.
“My hands are stuck.”
Silence churned through the group. Drakon merely lifted his glasses and set
them down again.
“This is…quite a turn of events.”
“I was trying to get the contents out, and then my hands got stuck. See?”
Anyone else would have scolded him for trying to tease or rolled their eyes
at the bad joke, but Drakon gave him a perfectly serious answer—though it was
given in resignation.
“Well, if it should come to it, you could always spend the rest of your life
like that.”
“No, I couldn’t! How will I eat or use the toilet?”
“Nothing is impossible for Mother Russia. Throughout her vast lands there
are surely those who would accept you warmly, Comrade, and give life to the
seeds of a new generation.”
“Hmm…? Have I just been killed off? Why do I feel as if you have skipped
over quite a lot of time, Drakon?” Lingerin asked.
Drakon fixed his glasses again and said, “I shall make my point directly,
then. Please give up on life—both physically and mentally.”
“For being direct, that was certainly an indirect way to tell me to die. It’s
giving me the willies!”
“It was a joke, Comrade Lingerin,” Drakon said without batting an eye, his
features as placid as a wax figure. He decided to clarify his wishes.
“If you die, please wait until after we have overcome this challenge.”
Lingerin turned to face the rest of the group. Unlike Drakon, their ages were
impossible to gauge.
The men wore titanium helmets with bulletproof masks, assault armor, and
vests with an assortment of pouches. Some of them even had gas masks on,
giving the group the overall appearance of a special assault team.
But there was no consistency to their equipment, all of them using whatever
gear they preferred. Some of them were carrying automatic firearms. Their
presence brought an eerie tension to the Russian forest.
Lingerin surveyed the group and cracked his neck. “So what’s the obstacle?”
he asked.
“Thirty-seven armed illegals. It seems they were passing through the country
to reach the west, and when we coincidentally became aware of their plan, they
decided to come get rid of us.”
“Coincidences can be scary. You sure it was a coincidence?”
“If you call it a coincidence that you bugged a car you thought was owned by
a business rival, overheard their secret plan, admitted it, then tried to make a
profit by selling them weapons—then, yes.”
“You’re right. It is a coincidence,” Lingerin grunted, but the effect of his
gruffness was lessened due to the pots stuck to his hands.
Drakon made no comment on his partner’s appearance or attitude as he
continued mechanically, “It seems they intend to raid the village we are staying
in to steal all our product. Based on the speed and determination of their actions,
I believe they might have been planning all along to steal weapons somewhere
along the way.”
“I see… So what you’re saying is, they’re like Thieves Without Borders.”
“Not in the least, Comrade, but you are stupid enough that it will have to
do.”
“Good. Finding compromise is the mark of a valuable adviser, Drakon. I
have full trust in you,” said Lingerin Douglanikov, the president of a small arms-
trading company—though it was hard to tell if the two were properly
communicating their thoughts to each other or not. He cracked his neck and
waited for the arrival of their enemy.
“What a pain in the ass, I tell you. If they were here, I could lie back in bed
and enjoy my sleep.”
“Are you speaking of our ex-employees Semyon and Denis? Or Comrade
Egor, currently on leave?”
“No. Yes, they are all valuable men, but in this case, I am thinking more of
certain specialists who will take care of such matters without even being asked,”
Lingerin said, like a child boasting about his favorite superheroes. Coming from
a grown man around forty, he merely seemed drunk. As a matter of fact, he had
already emptied his morning bottle of vodka.
“And they’re the ones that Egor went on leave to find,” the drunk muttered.
For the first time, emotion played on Drakon’s features. “You mean Vorona
and Slon.” That emotion was faint disgust. “Yes, they are experts in dirty work.
But compared to you, Comrade Lingerin, Slon is even more…well, you
know…”
“More what? More…handsome?”
“I retract my statement. It is a closer race than I thought,” Drakon said, his
face placid once more. “As for Vorona, she possesses more beauty, grace, and
knowledge than anyone else here…but at the same time, she is also more
enthralled by a berserk need to fight.”
He paused, removed his glasses, and grimaced. Lingerin smirked at his
partner and taunted flippantly, as if there wasn’t about to be a major battle,
“Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were boasting about your own
daughter, Drakon! If that was the point, why don’t you call her by her real name
rather than Crow?”
Drakon kept his expression hidden. He said to his employer, “I cut our
family ties ages ago.”
“And remember…they took our products with them when they ran off to
Japan.”
May 3, Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro
Right around the time that a shoplifter began to charge through the milling
crowds…
“Что случилось?” (What happened?)

The question belonged to a white man who stood out even more than the
shoplifter in a way. There were plenty of black men around advertising for
various businesses; foreigners were not a rare sight in Ikebukuro. But this man
stood six feet tall, with limbs like massive logs and a professional wrestler’s
physique. With a sandbag-like sack slung over his shoulder, he looked just like a
fighter preparing for a journey for training.
But the reason for the attention was the stunning contrast to the figure
standing next to him.
“Нет проблем.” (No problem.)
The reply came from a Russian woman, approximately twenty years old,
carrying a large paper bag. Her features were young enough that girl might have
been more appropriate than woman. But her figure was most certainly mature,
and fine musculature was visible on her smooth, slender arms.
Her short hair was pale blond and dazzling, and little pupils stood out in the
middle of her sky-blue eyes like deep pits.
The look on her face was cold, and there were scar-like marks here and there
on her skin. In combination with her plain black clothes, she cast a dark aura on
her surroundings. But that darkness only served as a pleasing, fascinating accent
on the woman’s finely chiseled features.
It was a veritable case of Beauty and the Beast.
Many in the crowd couldn’t help but watch the pair until the ruckus caused
by the shoplifter drew their attention away.
The girl showed no recognition of the reactions from the crowd as she turned
to her partner and said flatly, “Denial, Slon… We speak Japanese in Japan. That
was the decision. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. That is the basis of
hiding one’s body. I accidentally performed a Russian response. I will be more
careful from now on. Both of us.”
“I’m sorry, Vorona. It was my mistake.”
“You stand out. We will enter our destination quickly. Please confirm.”
Her accent and pronunciation were perfect, but her syntax and choice of
vocabulary were off-putting.
The woman named Vorona and the man named Slon headed off to their
destination. They had no interest whatsoever in the shoplifter and did not
dedicate a second thought to the scene after that.
As the crowd around them eventually trickled away, a muttered comment
hung in the air.
“A tepid country drowning in its own peace. Half disappointment. Half

envy.”
A few minutes later, inside a karaoke box
“I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m too curious to take another step.”

The pair entered a predesignated individual karaoke room, where they would
wait for a certain contact to arrive—but as soon as they walked inside, the large
man named Slon curled up and cradled his head in his hands.
Vorona, meanwhile, pulled a book out of her paper bag and began to read,
flipping the pages rapidly. She said, “You are sitting. Deny your need to walk.”
“I just can’t help it… In the street back there, I saw a sukiyaki and a shabu-
shabu restaurant. I just can’t stop thinking about beef,” Slon muttered, looking
like the world was about to end. Vorona continued flipping the pages of the book
without glancing at him.
“How…how do the cows grow so big when all they eat is grass?! It makes
no sense that they can bulk up to that size from grass alone… I cannot undertake
any jobs—I cannot even see a reason to live until I have solved this mystery!” he
wailed, tears streaming out of his eyes.
Vorona continued turning the pages, but while her brain was totally fixated
on the book, her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. “A cow’s stomach has
special microorganisms, and the microorganisms react to the grass and saliva.
They produce amino acids that the cow absorbs. Then, the cow grows. No
problem.”
“…”
She had accurately, succinctly answered Slon’s question. Satisfied, his face
shone with a brilliant light.
“Oh, I see! You’re so smart, Vorona! Of course! Now I can eat steak with
reassurance once again! It all makes sense now!”
But then…
“And I can drink milk! Of course, the picture of a human sucking on a cow’s
nipple is strange, but…but…oh… Now that I think about it…huh?”
A sudden thought caused Slon’s head to sink down into his hands once again
over the menu sitting on the table.
“I can’t do it… I’m so curious I can’t even look at the menu… Thinking
about cow nipples made me wonder—why do men have nipples? What possible
benefit do they have to procreating the species…? Damn! I won’t move from
this spot until I’ve solved the mystery of nipples! This is my war to fight!”
“There is a period in gestation when the fetus is neither male nor female. The
sex is determined after the stage at which the nipples are generated. It is merely a
leftover from that stage.”
“Oh…ohhh… It’s perfect! You’re perfect, Vorona!” Slon exclaimed to the
expressionless woman. “But…that brings a new question…and if I don’t know
this, I don’t know how I can live in this world! Why—why are you not ashamed,
Vorona?! When a man and a woman are alone and speaking suggestively of
nipples and procreation?!”
Vorona replied to his idiotic question by flipping more pages.
She flipped.
And flipped.
And flipped.
And flipped.
And flipped, and flipped, and flipped, and—
“Are you ignoring me?!” Slon cried out at last, as Vorona finished reading
her first book.
She pulled out a second and looked ready to say something at last, but the
door to the karaoke room opened at that very moment, and a man appeared.
“Ahh, hello, hello, please pardon me.”
An aging Japanese-looking man with a thoroughly friendly face looked

through the doorway.
“Hello, hello, sorry about the wait. Hello,” the man repeated, beaming as he
took a seat. “I hope you’ll forgive my haste, as I am a very busy man… I will get
right to explaining your job.”
He smiled all throughout his speech and pulled out two photographs to show
the Russians without waiting for a response.
“The truth of the matter is…I need you to abduct a child for me.”
“…”
The first photo was of a little girl with a doleful expression on her face. She
couldn’t have been more than elementary school age. Slon took the photo with
his brow furrowed, while Vorona continued to flip the pages of her book, despite
being in the midst of a negotiation.
The aging gentleman did not react. He continued his explanation.
“This is the granddaughter of the local yakuza boss—ah, yakuza being the
Japanese mafia, ha-ha. I want you to kidnap her without killing her, if at all
possible. Ha-ha-ha, I’m sorry about this. I know, you’re usually hired killers
rather than kidnappers. I know, I know.”
“You might be the client who brought us to this country, but our participation
will depend on the money. We can perform this job without being identified, but
making an enemy of the yakuza carries its own considerable price,” Slon said in
quite fluent Japanese.
The man chuckled politely. “Well, you see, that is its own tricky problem. As
it happens, they’ve hired their own bodyguard for the child. It is hard to imagine,
but if the rumor is true, he is quite a dreadful fellow.”
Bodyguard.
The mention of that word was the only thing that could stop Vorona from
flipping pages.
“Protection is powerful? Confirm or deny. Quick answer is desired,” she
demanded.
The aging man smiled amiably at her and murmured, “Well, you see…it’s
not even a matter of strength or weakness… This one is almost like a magician.”
“?”
“There was some footage on the Internet, so I downloaded it very hastily
before coming here…”
The man had already produced a portable video player from his pocket and
was playing a video on its small screen.
It was footage from a news program.

A group of what appeared to be criminals were on the run from a police car,
as well as a mysterious figure on a black motorcycle swinging an enormous
scythe at them.
“This is somewhat of an urban legend around these parts, known as the
Black Rider… Who can say what sort of trick is being employed to create this
effect? All I know is that if you try to mess with the girl in this photo, he will
have something to say about it.”
The man lowered his face in apparent consternation—but his expression still
contained a smile. He looked sidelong at Vorona, whose face wore an emotion
she had not yet expressed here.
“I have one question.”
Vorona’s cheeks were flushed, and her mouth curved upward into a delighted
smile. She did not bother to hide her excitement.
“Will you allow me to kill this biker?”
The question was meaningless.

Slon did not consider himself to be a smart man, but he knew something
about his partner.
Vorona was born with an innate berserk desire for battle.
With the carrot of fighting a mystery foe dangling in front of her, there was
no way she would refuse this job.
He also knew another thing about her.
No matter how their client, Jinnai Yodogiri, answered her question, Vorona
was going to attempt to kill this biker.
With these facts in mind, Slon calmly decided: I don’t get it, so I don’t care.
And so the mysterious Russians, their abilities still kept hidden, willingly
stepped into the realm of the abnormal.
But then again, to them, the present situation of unrest and unease could be
considered perfectly normal.
The Black Market Doctor Gets Sappy, Part Three
Don’t worry. She’s fast asleep.

Internal medicine’s not my forte, but I had a feeling she had a case of acute
pharyngitis.
Huh? Teething fever?
No, teething fever is something that only happens to babies, or toddlers at
best. You know, just because we call it “knowledge fever” in Japanese doesn’t
mean it’s caused by thinking too hard.
Then again, Shizuo, your brain is about equivalent to a toddler’s, so maybe it
would apply to you— Bublagh!
…
Listen, your forehead flick does about as much damage as a normal person
ramming their knee into my face, so be a little more judicial in how you use that,
all right? How long did that concussion knock me out?
I never thought I’d have to adjust my own jaw back into place. It’s a good
thing I have plenty of experience dislocating and relocating joints.
…Yeah, when my grandpa started choking on a mochi once, Dad dislocated
his jaw so he could reach down and fish it out of his throat with his bare hand.
That’s a technique reserved for emergencies, though.
But enough about that. What’s the deal with that girl? She didn’t have any
identification on her.
…What do you mean, “You better not have done anything weird to her”?
Listen, before you even start accusing me of being a lolicon, can you
imagine me trying to put the moves on any girl other than Celty? If that was
Celty moaning with fever on the bed, you can bet I’d be using my own body as a
blanket to keep her warm!
And if Celty didn’t exist, I’d probably be a hermit on some distant
mountaintop, soaking in the majesty of nature. The only thing that can compare
to Celty’s breathtaking beauty is the entirety of the earth… That’s my point. In
fact, I still think Celty wins in that competition. What do you think?
…Hey, Shizuo, why does that guy Tom over there keep shooting me these
pitying glances?
Why aren’t you saying anything?
Well, whatever.
Huh? Celty?
Celty’s out doing work for Mr. Shiki from the Awakusu-kai.
Yes, Shiki.
Their controlling operation, the Medei-gumi, is about to break bread with the
Asuki-gumi, so it seems they’re quite busy right now… He had some very
important job to ask of Celty.
…
Yes, well, I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t worried.
I mean, you know what kind of business the Awakusu-kai is involved in,
right? A precious, gentle girl like Celty isn’t suited to that world of bullets and
blood… Actually, I’m kidding. I think she’s perfectly suited to it.
A pitch-black rider weaving through a hail of bullets. Isn’t that cool?
But I digress—I am worried. I wish she’d just stay with me at all hours of the
day, but sadly, I’d only drag her down.
Still, I’m reassured by her strength.
Celty is strong. Mentally and physically.
In fact, Shizuo, it’s kind of overlooked because you’re monstrously
powerful, but Celty is actually quite strong in her own right. She can take one of
those metal pipes and twist it just like that, too.
She can take a hit from a car and keep going. It does still hurt her, though,
from what I understand.
But she could be surrounded by ten or so of your average thugs and be
perfectly fine. Now if it were thirty, she might get a bit scared.
She has certain weaknesses: a fear of certain types of supernatural topics and
police bikers, but I think the presence of weaknesses makes her more lovable as
a girl.
More than strong, she’s cute. Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that great?
You can’t have her, Shizuo. She gets along with you—and that makes me
jealous.
…Huh? It’s Tom, right? Why are you making that face?
Celty? Yes, that’s right. I’m talking about the Black Rider.
She was a girl all along…? You never explained that to him, Shizuo?
…Huh? You didn’t know that Celty was a girl until recently, either?
I can’t believe this!
Just look at her enticing center of gravity! Just a glimpse of her voluptuous
outline beneath the shadow should be enough to entice physical desire, you cads!
Yes… If you don’t need a head to love a person, then you also do not need a
head to desire them. In fact, when I was in high school, I didn’t feel a single
ounce of desire for the normal girls. But Celty was different! When I was a kid,
Celty was like a big sister I could count on, but now that I’ve grown to
adulthood, she’s more like an adorable kitten. Though in that case, I might be a
rat.
…Sorry, that got a little sappy. But I don’t regret it.

Let’s get back to the girl.
What in the world did you do to get a little girl you’ve never met before to
tell you to “drop dead,” Shizuo?
I can see why you wouldn’t know, though. You’re the kind of guy who
accumulates grudges without realizing it.
Let’s say that one day, you pull out a tree lining the boulevard to use in a
fight.
Let’s say there was a girl who lost her mother years ago, and that very tree
budded from the ground on the very day the mother died… So when you pulled
that tree out of the ground, you were tearing out the memento of her dear
departed mum, and thus you earned her eternal ire… You never know.
That’s just an example, though.
I certainly think it’s more likely than the possibility that this sweet little girl
is a wanton, indiscriminate killer.
Saika?
No, not that. Her eyes weren’t red, for one thing.
But whatever the reason, it’s a good reminder that people can be murderous
toward one another for the smallest reasons. That’s a fact, whether you can
imagine that reason or not.
It just happens to you out of the blue.
Sometimes, misunderstandings and misguided revenge are involved.
However, even at the point you realize you’re angry because someone is
trying to kill you over a misunderstanding…doesn’t change the fact that they’re
trying to kill you. You just have to overcome that situation.
Besides, maybe it’s not a mistake.

Trivial things that you did in the past can turn the lives of others insane. It
happens all the time.
And then, there are people who do those “trivial things” on purpose.
Like Izaya.
Ooh, that got a real nasty look on your face.
Why can’t you two just kiss and make up already?
…Or wait, were you ever on good terms?
Ahh, that takes me back. High school!

For being our green, inexperienced youth, it sure was red all the time.
It was always blood, blood, blood around you and Izaya.
But thanks to you, I got a lot better at setting bones and sewing stitches, ha-
ha.
I don’t hate Izaya, as a matter of fact.
He’s just very honest about his desires. The same way you’re honest about
your emotions.
In Izaya’s case, it would have been so much easier if the target of his desires
were straightforward, like money or women.
Instead, he had to get involved with “human observation,” whatever that is.
Watching other people and feeling superior to them is such an infuriating
hobby, don’t you think? It just makes him arrogant.
He was clever enough to be aware of his situation, so he didn’t rub too many
people the wrong way—but he would use his findings to say the one thing that
will shock and unnerve a person the most, without drawing their hostility.
…That Tom fellow seems to want to say something. What is it?
…You think I’m observing people and basking in my own superiority more
than anyone else? Oh, geez. Looks like I was the one who rubs people the wrong
way after all.
Well, as long as Celty still loves me, I don’t really care.
Gosh, I wish the three of us could hang out again, just like we did back at
Raira Academy.
Standing back at a safe distance while watching you and Izaya try to kill
each other was, like, my daily routine.
Speaking of which, I wonder how it is for the students at Raira now.

Um, well, I don’t really know them, but at the big hot-pot party, Celty knew
a boy there named Mikado Ryuugamine. Oh, and I know the girl named Anri
Sonohara. You met her once when you were here with a gunshot wound,
remember? Also…do you know Seiji Yagiri and Mika Harima? You were there
at the party, right?
Huh? You know Seiji?
He stabbed with you a pen? What?
Well, anyway… For the most part, they seemed pretty well-behaved.
Mikado and Anri are like perfectly ordinary modern kids who would never
get into a fight.
They seem to be sharing some kind of secret with Celty, but the thing about
secrets is, with little kids and girls, they can be alluring. The mysterious beauty.
The mystery children. It’s nice, like a movie subtitle. A big sweaty guy with a
secret is just a suspicious creep up to no good.
…Why did you look at me when I said the word creep?
Well, anyway…
I wonder how youth is for kids growing up nowadays.
Back when we were in high school, you and Izaya pretty much ruined it for
me, except that I was happy because I had Celty to go home to each and every
day.
It’s a nice thing, having a home to return to.
It is a bit worrisome that they seem to know Izaya, though.
Youth is a writhing thing.

It squirms and wriggles in the mud.
Youth is considered to be the “springtime” of one’s life… But spring is not
always some fanciful fairy-tale time.
It’s also the season when all the bugs and squirming things that people hate
come crawling out of the earth.
Perhaps that youth might turn out to be one of the worms or grubs in that
swarm.
They all hope that they don’t turn out that way, but as I said earlier, you
never know when you might be earning the hatred of someone else.
In Mikado’s case, just being an acquaintance of Izaya means he’s treading in

very dangerous waters.
And of course, meeting you at the hot-pot party means they’re now officially
treading into a hellish hot pot of troub— Blrrgfh!
Chapter 3: The Days of Youth Shine
and Crumble
Russia
“So, where were we?”

Lingerin’s hands rattled as he shook them, still stuck inside the pots.
But in contrast to his jaunty tone of voice, the place where he stood was one
of raw violence.
The stench of blood filled the room. But even stronger was the pungent smell
of gunpowder, the haze of smoke blotting out the red accents that covered the
floor here and there.
A pile of bodies lay around Lingerin’s feet. Men of obviously foreign origin,
presumably the illegal stowaways mentioned earlier, now sacks of flesh, their
heads and torsos streaming blood.
And yet the men still living were virtually unchanged from before.
Drakon stood at Lingerin’s side, wiping steam residue from his glasses,
while the men in special-forces gear warily eyed the surroundings in silence.
“We were talking about Vorona and Slon, Comrade Lingerin.”
“Oh, right, right. These guys came and interrupted us. They were not aware
of the situation. That’s how you wind up dead,” Lingerin murmured heavily. He
spread his potted hands wide and exclaimed, “Awareness is a very important
skill! Denis and Simon were always very good at that. Certainly enough to
scamper away to Japan just before we faced our greatest test.”
“You mean the time that we raided the security company hired by our
business rival to send them a message.”
“Hoo boy, I sure thought I was going to die then. Well, that was a case where
I was not being very aware. I failed to anticipate that they would have a whole
boatload of former Spetsnaz in there. We were missing on purpose to threaten
them, but they were very inconsiderate and actually tried to kill us!”
Drakon studiously placed his glasses back on his nose as his employer
guffawed and stated clinically, “When the military was heavily reduced
postperestroika, many Spetsnaz lost their jobs. As a means of employment, many
wound up in private security and the mafia—a warning which I have given to
you approximately twenty-three times since the dissolution of the CCCP, but it
seems you were not listening.”
“How was I to know? Most of the members I knew went straight into
mercenary work… Besides, is this really the time to criticize me? Surprisingly
you seem to not be attentive, Drakon.”
“The most potent lack of awareness in this scene is the state of your hands,
Comrade Lingerin.”
It was not said with hatred, disgust, or anger. It was simply the truth: His
employer looked like a bear that had gotten both paws stuck in beehives.
Lingerin slowly turned away and then laughed to draw attention away. “It’s
not as if I did this on purpo—”
A pot burst with a sudden eruption of noise.
Emerging from the right-hand pot was the gleaming barrel of a pistol. Smoke
trailed upward from the muzzle as shards of broken pottery rained down onto the
bodies on the floor.
A second later came the gurgling sound of spilling liquid.
Drakon looked down to see that a foreign migrant lying on the floor, who
had previously been playing dead, was now drooling blood from his mouth. The
gun he’d pointed at Lingerin fell to the floor.
“…I suppose I must offer you my compliments,” Drakon sighed.
Lingerin burst into a delighted beam. “Of course… I should I have shot my
way out! It’s a shame about the pot, but it was cheaper than this gun…I think!”
“I am more curious about why you needed to put the gun in the pot in the
first place. And why didn’t you just let go of it to remove your hand? And on top
of that, if they were fragile enough to give way to a bullet, why did you not just
smash them against the wall?”
“I have no idea what you are saying. Speak Russian, man.”
“Did the words that just came from my mouth sound like English or
Japanese? Very well. If this is an issue with Wernicke’s area, the speech center of
the brain, then the anomaly must reside in one of our brains. Let us visit the
hospital together. I look forward to learning which of the two of us must be sent
to the sanitarium.”
Drakon’s words emerged as a hunk of freezing dry ice. Lingerin’s eyes
bulged, and he shook his head to dispel the illusion before returning to the topic
at hand.
“As I was saying—Vorona. She might be twenty years old, but she’s still a
child inside. She’s very good at her job, but the drawback is that unlike Semyon
and Denis, she is not aware of things.”
“But this is a matter greater than awareness. They violated our most sacred
of unspoken rules. If I have the opportunity, I will crush their skulls and spill
their brains myself.”
“Very scary. And who says that about his own daughter? I’m willing to say
that I’m not angry anymore. You can go easy on her by merely locking her in
storage, can’t you?”
“The warehouse? I would think that starvation is a much more painful end
than gunshot,” Drakon said, straight-faced.
Lingerin cackled and ran his tongue over his lips with delight. “So you’re
saying an execution is unavoidable? Listen, we’re not military or mafia. Let’s
play it loose, my friend. All this talk about killing—it makes you sound a bit
barbaric, don’t you think?” Lingerin noted, sitting in a room full of grisly
corpses. “For one thing, you don’t even have the skill to kill Vorona by shooting
her.”
“Affirmative. I am ashamed to admit that I cannot stop her. Is that not why
we sent Egor to Japan? If need be, he can enlist help from Denis and Semyon.
But…from what I hear, Egor already suffered a major injury fighting against one
of the locals.”
“Japan is scary in its own right, eh? Our illustrious president is adept in the
ways of the Japanese art of judo—perhaps it was a judo master he ran into? Oh,
right, I should break the other pot.”
Lingerin pointed the gun in his right hand at the pot covering his left. Drakon
put a hand on his shoulder without looking and said, “I will not quibble with
your choices anymore, but I believe that breaking it with the grip would be better
than shooting your own hand. As for Japan, it is a very vexing situation. If she
learns that Egor was taken unawares by a local, Vorona will most certainly not
take it lying down.”
“Now, now. Your daughter is very human in nature, compared to you, you
robot. She acts on her instincts and desires and does not hesitate to kill. And
she’ll kill for reasons other than food or defense, so it’s a very human instinct,
not like other animals.”
He struck the butt of the gun against the pot, breaking it apart. Inside, his
hand was holding a piece of honeyed beef jerky, which he lifted to his mouth and
started to chew. “But for a human, she’s definitely one of the crazy ones.”
“As ironic as it is to say this in your presence, Comrade Lingerin, Vorona is
still immature as a person. It is the result of leaving my young daughter alone to
be raised by books after the death of her mother. She has much knowledge, but
her mentality is still that of a child,” Drakon lamented, half blaming himself for
the outcome.
Lingerin waved his hand breezily. “Oh, it’s all fine. She’s in the midst of her
youth, eh? You’ve got to get out there and mix it up while you’re young. The
spring is warmer in Japan than here, right? Let her enjoy it.”
“The only problem is, she stole a couple of very grown-up toys from our
stock before she left.”
May 3, on the road, Ikebukuro
The woman in the riding suit—Vorona—calmly accelerated her motorcycle as

she glanced at the distant figure splayed on the ground.
“…”
Meanwhile, something rustled past, a fine glint that slipped around a loop of
her belt.
No one could have possibly noticed the tiny glimmer of light, as the sight of
the collapsed motorcycle and rider occupied all the pedestrians in the vicinity.
Meanwhile, the cars behind the scene had no choice but to either stop where
they were or turn down side streets to avoid the mess.
Vorona rode down a cross street herself, feigning being yet another spectator.
Once she had confirmed in her mirrors that people were beginning to gather and
murmur at the scene behind her, she took off into the night without a second
glance.
She knew why they were buzzing over the scene. She herself had seen it
happen.
It was the sight of the Black Rider’s helmet flying high into the air and the
headless body slamming into the ground.
“…”
Under her helmet, Vorona was silent with thought as she sped through the
night streets. Eventually, she arrived at her destination.
A lonely, quiet street occupied by a single truck.
The truck was her own, an undercover vehicle with the logo of a fictional
company on it. Slon was on standby in the driver’s seat, and as she approached,
he flicked the hazard lights on briefly.
Vorona pivoted the bike over to the rear of the truck. As she did so, the back
doors swung open, and a metal ramp automatically extended down to the
ground. She rode the bike right up and into the cargo hold of the truck.
Half of the space was like a little warehouse, with plenty of other material
stored away in addition to a platform to carry the motorcycle. The front half of
the hold was built like an RV, with a white fur sofa and a closet.
Vorona stood in front of the closet and forcefully removed her helmet and
riding suit. She wore nothing but a thin T-shirt and leggings underneath, her
well-balanced body shining in the light.
There was internal electricity, just like in a real RV, with an outlet near the
living space in addition to the lights. She had taken off her T-shirt, leaving only a
bra on underneath, when Slon’s voice came through the wireless receiver on the
table.
“Nice work,” he drawled from the driver’s seat up front. “Are you changing
now?”
“I affirm.”
“It’s too bad I can’t see that.”
“It is not too bad for me,” she replied. She slipped briskly into a fresh T-shirt,
neither ashamed nor angry.
Taken aback by that brief answer, Slon changed the subject. “By the way,
while I was waiting I saw a car pass by with the license plate one-three-one-
three, and it made me wonder… Why is thirteen considered an unlucky number?
I feel like I’m dying to know the answer. Is that the curse of thirteen?”
“Many theories exist. Most famous is thirteenth seat at the Last Supper, seat
of Judas. But not all are rooted in Christianity. Legend of Norse gods. Twelve
gods provide harmony. Harmony broken by appearance of Loki, the thirteenth.
In ancient times, cultures used duodecimal systems. Thirteen breaks the harmony
of twelve. Hated number. Too bad.”
“I see—not that it makes me feel much better. Say…are you sure we can’t
speak in Russian? I can speak Japanese to a degree because it was pounded into
me years ago…but your Japanese is kind of stiff. It’s weird. It’ll give people the
wrong idea and make them dislike you.”
“Denial. Topic of work will be understood, no problem. I will be hated. No
problem,” Vorona replied.
From up ahead, Slon said, “I don’t really get it, but if it’s no problem to you,
then that’s fine.” He wasn’t going to rack his brains worrying about it. He started
driving the truck.
Meanwhile, Vorona had finished changing into her normal clothes and sat
down on the couch. “That was too simple. Disappointment. Black Rider is too
weak.”
“You say something?”
“No relation to Slon.”
“None of my business? Never mind, then,” he quipped.
Vorona waited for him to stop talking and then closed her eyes and let her
mind work.
I am disappointed.
I thought a monstrous person like the one in the video would satisfy me.
But he was utterly careless. Nothing short of a mindless thug.
How could he fail to notice the special wire looped around his neck,
connected to the traffic light?
I thirst.
…I thirst.
If youth was meant to signify the “spring of one’s life,” then despite the fact that
she was twenty this year, she had not yet reached that point.
Vorona had never loved another human being.
Not even herself.
She knew that the emotion called love existed. But she was unable to
determine if it was necessary in her life—for she had never experienced it
outside of knowing it as an abstract concept.
As a child, she grew up by watching her father’s back.
But it was not because she idolized him.
Her father, code-named Drakon, had never attempted to see eye to eye with
her. He gave her books to pass the time but always kept his back to her, focusing
on any direction other than the one in which she existed.
“That’s just love. He’s turnin’ his back to you to protect you from the rest of
the world, miss. Drakon’s just a clumsy, stubborn man, so he’ll never let it show,
that’s all,” said Lingerin, the man her father worked for.
She did not understand what he meant because she didn’t know the meaning
of love. She was merely bewildered.
But she never felt lonely.
Her father kept plenty of books around the house, and she had the right to
read any of them whenever she wanted.
If she asked for a book, he would buy it for her without question or
comment.
Lingerin was amused by the way she could read at many times the normal
speed and would gather up strange books from foreign countries to give to her as
gifts.
Surrounded by paper, she absorbed everything she could get her hands on
into her brain, from knowledge necessary to survive to utterly useless trivia.
Her father did not love her, and she could not love anyone else. But she was
not particularly unhappy about her plight.
She didn’t associate much with the other children at school, and they had
been warned to stay away from her by their parents, who knew that her father
was involved in a dangerous business. So she lived a solitary childhood.
Even still, as long as she had books, she was happy.
She had never felt the thirst—until the moment arrived.
The very first time she felt the thirst was when she committed her first
murder.
The night that a burglar broke into the house and she killed him using
knowledge she gained from a book.
Largely through coincidence and good luck, she made use of a method that
she knew to kill a man.
She was just a little girl, just barely ten years old, who could hardly shoot a
gun all alone.
The human body stopped moving much easier than she imagined from
reading the books.
When she witnessed this phenomenon for herself, an eerie breeze blew into
her mind.
It was several years later that she recognized the feeling that swirled through
her mind was thirst.
When her father got word and raced home to see the motionless corpse of the
burglar, he silently embraced his daughter.
He hugged her blankly, like a robot, but she could still remember the warmth
of his arms.
The young girl thought.
I don’t understand, but Father is facing me.
He is making a connection with me.
Why?
What did I do?
Is it because I beat a bad man?
Because I killed someone stronger than me?
Because I was strong?
They were very silly, childish conjectures.
And even in her childish state, she could sense that it was undoubtedly
something else.
But she was not able to understand love. And thus she could not have
possibly understood exactly why her father hugged her.
Instead, she clung to a different premise. Or more accurately, pretended to
cling.
After that, she began to learn things she couldn’t find in books from Denis
and Semyon, her father’s subordinates.
Denis and Semyon were on the younger side within the group, but it wasn’t
known what they’d done in the past. Lingerin, the company president, did not
seem preoccupied with such details, and from what she could tell, Denis had
been in the military, but that was it.
Just that little bit of information was enough for her. She asked the two of
them for information on various weapons and ways to fight. Denis claimed that
it wasn’t the kind of stuff to teach to kids, and the only things Semyon would
teach her were about her own physical discipline.
But once she began helping out with her father’s business, they started to
teach her how to use weapons, bit by bit. It was just a minimal amount, only
enough for self-protection—but she turned those lessons into means to defeat
others.
It started with hoodlums in town.
Next, the drug dealers with their weapons.
Next, a low-level mafia with battle experience.
Next, two of them, at the same time.
Next, three.
Then, four, five, six.
She raised the stakes with each successive attempt, and every fight she
survived brought her the satisfying sensation of her own power.
One day, when she came across a rival group to her father’s company and
learned that they were planning a raid, she approached the group by herself—
and defeated them.
When Lingerin got word and visited the scene with his men, all he found was
the air full of the smell of blood and gunpowder, and a little girl, totally
unharmed, reading a gossip tabloid she found in her targets’ office.
This time, her father did not give her the warmth of an embrace, but a
stinging slap across the face.
In that instant, she realized something—she was not shocked in the least that
she had been slapped.
In fact, she understood, deep within her, that it was a justified action.
For years and years.
From the very moment she killed that first burglar.
And with that understanding came another truth.
If she knew that her father would not praise her, why had she done this
thing?
Why did she continue to wage war against so many other people?
She hadn’t done it for the want of love.
It was simpler than that.
It was fun.
It was enjoyable.
It was thrilling.
It was pleasing.
It was deranging.
In short, she had been telling herself a cheap, transparent lie: that she wanted
her father to pay attention to her. When all along, what she was really doing was
indulging in her own pleasures.
Ironically, it was a worried slap from her father that made her realize this, but
afterward, whichever direction he faced was no longer her concern.
With the stops removed, she rapidly grew more powerful and also steadily
crumbled apart.
Lingerin likened her to a crow—very smart, yet choosing to scavenge the
dead—and jovially gave her the nickname “Vorona,” along with an official
position in his company.
Through Lingerin’s jobs, she continued to eliminate countless “enemies.”
But her thirst was never quenched.
Because her father never hugged her again, like that very first time?
No.
She already understood that was not the reason.
Was it because she was a bloodthirsty killer?
Technically, that was not the reason, either.
She did not really like defeating people.
She did not like killing people.
She just liked punching hard things and feeling them crumble.
Breaking through multiple layers of defense, cutting apart finely disciplined
muscle with a knife.
Cracking through the fine seams in modern heavy armor—sometimes
inserting gas, sometimes bullets—and shredding apart the fine, soft flesh inside
the shell.
Confirmation.
All she wanted was to confirm.
It was a kind of desire for knowledge, perhaps.
Fragile. To her, humans were so terribly, terribly fragile.
But was that really true?
The first burglar she killed was far more fragile than she’d imagined, based
on the books.
And so she thirsted.
Killing a person as a child had left a scar on her heart.
And just as some people cannot stand to let a wound go untouched, she could
not go without picking at that scab on her heart.
Was it truly a human being she killed back then?
Are humans really so fragile?
Was she just as fragile as the others?
No matter how rigidly trained, no matter how heavily armed, no matter how
experienced in battle—was a human being nothing more than a water balloon of
flesh, hanging on bones as hard as quartz?
For whatever reason, she grew uneasy if she was not constantly seeking that
confirmation.
She did not know why.
She just continued seeking out new foes…
And so she ended up working on her own, as a freelance jack-of-all-trades,

in the biggest city of a country devoid of battlefields—but not by her own
intention.
“Okay! As you just heard, I am everyone’s favorite idol, Eiji Takemo, and it’s
time for today’s broadcast of Lightning Russian Paradise! My partner, as
always, is this sweet bilingual baby speaking Russian and Japanese…”
“Я рад встретить всех вас сегодня! That means, ‘I’m happy to meet all of
you today!’ It’s Kieri Murata! And why are you starting off with ‘baby’ right at
the drop of a hat?”
“Whoa, whoa, what did you just say? ‘At the drop of a hat’ isn’t something a
proper Russian would say! Kieri, you’ve got to eliminate that Edo Japan from
your speech and work on exuding a proper Russian sexiness! You know, the way
they do up north in the snow! Where you take off that heavy fur coat to reveal
nothing but lingerie!”
“Замолчи Трилоби´ты!”
“Huh?! Wait! What did you just say?! You just said something in Russian!”
Vorona’s eyes opened slowly to the sound of a raucous radio program.

Half sleeping.
Slon must have turned on the radio up front. She looked at the clock to find
that hardly any time had passed at all.
Through the wireless, she heard a familiar braying laugh drown out the radio.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Did you hear that, Vorona?! ‘Shut up, trilobite,’
she said! Even we don’t use the word trilobite as an insult! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Affirmative. But it is not worth laughing as much as you have. Also, I am
slightly stunned by your knowledge to understand and translate ‘Трилоби´ты’ to
Japanese.”
“Your dad taught me very thoroughly. He read tons and tons of Japanese
newspapers and novels to me.”
“I escaped. Bond of family is cut. The next time of meeting, one of us will
die. Too bad, so sad.” That shifted the conversation abruptly from mundane to
deadly. But Vorona’s face was as devoid of expression as ever. “I have murdered
the bodyguard riding the black motorcycle.”
“That’s good news.”
“When the child’s location is found, word will come. Until then, there is
need to complete different job.”
“Right… You did accept another job, didn’t you? Do you really want to do it,
though? I thought it wasn’t your style,” Slon asked.
Vorona pulled a book down off the shelf and flipped it open to where she had
marked it. “There is no problem. We will act within the night.”
She picked up the photograph she had used as a bookmark.
This is the target.
It’s true. I don’t like this.
Hurting a normal girl, one with no training of any kind. I will feel guilty
about it, and more importantly, it will be very boring.
Perhaps the client is putting the blame in the wrong place…but I cannot help
it. It is my job.
Vorona resigned herself to the job and looked down at the photo again,
committing its features to memory.
A girl with round glasses and reserved features.
Anri Sonohara.
The name written on the background sheet given to Vorona did not inspire
any particular reaction.
It was only recently that she arrived in this city. And she had no particular
interest in the neighborhood known as Ikebukuro.
Of course, even within Ikebukuro, there were very, very few who understood
the true nature of the girl named Anri Sonohara.
But at this point in time, Vorona hadn’t the slightest clue what it meant to
join that exclusive circle.
I am very disappointed by the Black Rider.

…On the other hand, I didn’t think he was going fast enough to knock his
head off…
But what’s dead is dead.
Humans are weak, even the magicians.
She had only seen a brief snippet of footage from Yodogiri.
Which meant that she did not know.
She did not know what the Black Rider, Celty Sturluson, was called in
breathless excitement by the national media of Japan.
The Headless Rider.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t sever a head that was never atop
Celty’s shoulders to begin with.
But that information could not be found in any book she had ever read
before.
That was why she didn’t know.

She couldn’t be wary of things that were beyond the bounds of common
sense.
If she was going to go to those lengths, she might as well be clutching good
luck charms as she carried out her jobs, hoping for protection against the
vengeful ghosts of her targets.
Celty Sturluson happened to be that far outside the bounds of what she knew.
Furthermore, Vorona never once noticed the abnormality of her own

motorcycle.
Tangled around the rear of her vehicle was a very fine line about the width of
a hair.
The pitch-black thread continued outside of the truck and off somewhere into
the night.
And she certainly did not know the very unnatural source of that string was
currently in hot pursuit.
May 3, night, Internet café, Ikebukuro
“And now…”
The voice was very upbeat and pleasant.
At the risk of sounding corny, anyone who heard that voice might say, “It
was like the blue sky above was speaking to me.” That was how crystal clear and
harmonious it was.
“Things should be getting interesting,” the voice’s owner said, looking at the
text on the screen of the cell phone.
A handsome young man, looking very pleased with himself, was lounging in
the middle of the Internet café.
At first glance, he might seem mild mannered, but his features were on the
bold side, a perfect manifestation of the term suave. In contrast with his all-
accepting smile, his eyes held a disdain for everything that was not himself. His
overall look, fashion and all, was unique, yet no single feature stood out—an odd
man whose nature was impossible to grasp.
Despite the fact that Izaya Orihara was sitting in front of a computer
connected to the Internet using the café’s facilities, he ignored it and fiddled with
his phone instead.
He absorbed the information flowing out of the little world nestled in the
palm of his hand, filing it away inside his head, and muttered, “That takes me
back to the high school days.”
He was giving a monologue, speaking his innermost thoughts aloud, but no
one was there to respond.
The seats around him belonged to young people lacking a residence who
rented those spots as a home for months at a time, but they were out working
night jobs at this hour.
Izaya negotiated with the café proprietor to rent out his seat for a year.
Whatever bargain he had struck with the business owner was apparently allowed
as a special individual case.
He organized the information he’d just learned into a summary of the present
situation and got to his feet.
It really does take me back.
Then again, my youth was a royal mess, thanks to Shizu.
If it weren’t for him, I would have done things so much better.
In fact, I think I must have spent half my effort in high school just trying to
crush him.
Izaya waved to the front desk as he made his way out of the place. He chose
not to take the elevator, savoring each and every step of the staircase as he
descended toward the night street.
As the ground-level exit approached, a warm gust of spring air and the
unique bustle of a shopping area enveloped Izaya’s body. He let the air permeate
him and could not prevent a smile from twisting his lips.
I just can’t help it. Even imagining the scene makes me smile.
No matter how events play out…
Only I will be able to slip through the mosquito net.
* * *
One month earlier…
Izaya Orihara had been completely out of the loop for an incident that occurred
in Ikebukuro.
He’d be lying if he claimed that this didn’t frustrate him.
He felt as if other people had left him behind.
Izaya Orihara loved people.
He did not love any individual person in particular.
He himself was human, and he loved the very thing we call “humanity.”
That might be considered a very grand form of self-love, but in his case, he
did not count himself among the humanity that he loved.
No, more precisely, he was in love with “other people.”
That moment had been the perfect opportunity for him to observe the
creatures he loved so much, but he missed it. During that incident when an
enormous bounty had been place on Celty’s shoulders, he was left in the dust.
Calling this payback made it sound so petty.
It would be petty—but an undeniable part of the reasoning behind his
actions.
He started this in the same way that a petty man would kick over a bicycle
out of frustration at being left out of the fun—but the trouble with Izaya Orihara
was that he was fully cognizant of that part of himself.
He was absolutely, objectively aware of his personal situation and emotions
and continually chose the worst possible options for those people he loved so
much.
Izaya Orihara was not an abnormal being like Celty or an invincible warrior
like Shizuo Heiwajima. He was a perfectly ordinary human.
He was not even the calm and mechanical type, the sort who could kill
without emotion.
He was a regular person through and through.
It was simply that he simultaneously possessed both the greed of a normal
human being and the will to violate taboos if they stood in his way.
He was not some charismatic mad villain; he just lived true to his interests.
Back in high school, Shinra Kishitani told Izaya, “You know, you tend
toward the evil side, but you’re not totally evil. But you don’t have a shred of
goodness, either. If I had to sum you up in one word, it would be—sickening. I
mean that as a compliment, though.”
Izaya snorted with derision at his friend’s comment, but he knew it to be
totally accurate.
He forced his targets to be sick, spitting up their true natures, and he calmly
observed from a distance safe from the splatter.
He just observed human nature.
Whether it was lofty ideals or contemptible bile that was spat up, Izaya loved
and treasured all the answers equally.
They were all facets of the humanity he loved so much.
And today, he began a new game intended to expose the nature of people.
The players were assembled. The board was open.
He just had to roll the dice.
“Time to give those sweet, sweet kids at Raira a little present.”
“Just the right level of danger to promote a healthy level of personal

growth.”
Izaya Orihara thought to himself…

It’s fine being out of the loop.
The people sleeping inside of the tent can’t kill the mosquito flying outside of
it.
All I have to do is buzz my noisy little wings as loud as I can.
Over and over, without stopping, until the people inside slowly, inescapably
go mad.
“A proper youth needs some thrills to spice it up.”
Izaya fiddled with his phone as he walked.
Shizuo Heiwajima, Simon, and his own two little troublemaker sisters.
He had numerous foes in Ikebukuro.
But he strode freely through the neighborhood’s streets—blending in with
the city, silently, so silently.
The mosquito outside the tent began to ring his poison quietly into the night.
And for his first chirp, Izaya set off the ringtone of a particular young man.
After a few seconds, a timid boy’s voice came through the phone.
“Nice to talk to you again, Ryuugamine. Or should I call you TarouTanaka?”
Izaya teased. He switched into a more serious tone to say, “I just checked the
backlog of the chat room. I’ve heard a bit about this Saitama incident.”
“…Sounds like there’s some real odd business going on with the Dollars.”
May 3, night, Anri Sonohara’s apartment
The interior of Anri Sonohara’s apartment was truly simple; in fact, it was
unbelievably tidy for the residence of a teenage girl.
It was typical for a serious, dedicated student to have a clean apartment, but
in her case, this transcended clean into the realm of minimalism.
There was nothing to be found outside of living necessities. She didn’t even
have any books or magazines to read for fun.
A TV and a radio also adorned the room, almost by obligation, while school
textbooks were stacked on the room’s desk.
The interior was certainly lived in, but it was impossible to gauge the nature
of the apartment’s resident just by looking at it.
Anri Sonohara was the sort of person who lived in such an apartment.
There wasn’t even a computer in the room, but she did have a cell phone, and
she stared at the screen in silence, dressed in her pajamas.
It displayed a chat room that she logged into from time to time. The chat was
managed by a woman(?) nicknamed Kanra, but Setton was the one who invited
Anri there. No one had actually stated that Kanra was a woman, but as Anri was
largely ignorant in the ways of the Internet and human communication, she did
not know that there were men who pretended to be women online.
Celty wasn’t in the chat today. It was…nerve-racking…
Anri thought about the headless knight that went by the username Setton in
chat and let out a long sigh.
Were there others in the chat who knew that Setton was Celty?
The question rose to her mind but did not lead to any further thoughts.
It was fun just watching the chat. But without Celty, her only actual
acquaintance in real life, she felt more tension than usual being in there today.
Anri had been joining in at a Net café originally, but Celty recently taught
her how to access the chat room on her cell phone, so she was doing her best
with fumbling fingers to type in messages with the keypad.
As she didn’t have many friends, the chat room was a rare opportunity for
her to communicate with others. It was a contact different from what she
experienced at school, and she hesitantly, steadily dipped her toe into this new
world.
Still, it was frightening to be there without the nickname Setton in the user
list.
Realizing once again that she was a terribly weak person, Anri closed the
Internet window and placed her phone in the charging cradle.
It was time to sleep. She reached out for the chain on her overhead light.
Just then, the doorbell rang, eerie in the night apartment.
She felt a nasty shiver run down her back.

It was eleven o’clock at night. Most people might not find the ringing of the
bell to be eerie. But Anri did not know of any friends who would come by to
ring it at this time of night.
Despite the eeriness, Anri couldn’t just ignore it, either. She headed over to
peep through the hole.
She glanced around, but there was no one in sight.
“…?”
And then she did something she should not have done.
Under the assumption that she was safe with the chain on, she unlocked the
door.
The instant she peered through the gap, an enormous pair of shears thrust
itself into the doorway and clamped hard on the chain.
By the time the loud snap of metal echoed off the walls, it was already too
late.
The door burst open to reveal…a woman.
Huh?
She wasn’t able to process it in the moment.

All she saw through her glasses was the figure of the woman.
The instant she saw the body shape under the tight clothing, she recognized
that it was female. But the facial features were invisible to her.
The woman was wearing a ski mask with goggles over the eyes, completely
hiding her head from view.
“Eeeh—” Anri started to scream—but the woman pressed the pruning shears
around her throat before the cry could escape.
“Quiet. I will not kill you. You are relieved,” came a statement from the ski
mask in perfectly accented Japanese that was nonetheless rather strange. “You
will be immobilized for some days. Possibility of several months. But there is no
need for death,” the emotionless woman said.
“Huh…?”
“I will avoid vital area. I will call an ambulance.”
“Umm…”
“You are very blissful.”
And with that, the woman drew back the hands holding the pruning shears—
and plunged them directly toward Anri’s soft belly.
A few seconds earlier, driver’s seat of the truck
Honestly, if they needed some normal girl roughed up, they couldn’t have asked
any local ruffian? Why did they need us to do this? wondered Slon as he sat in
the driver’s seat of the truck, looking at the picture of their target.
Of course, you never know if some local idiot would get carried away and
kill her, and if a man did it, there’s always the possibility for danger of a different
kind… Maybe having Vorona do this was the right call after all.
He sat back in his seat with the engine idling and his thoughts equally idle,
when…
He heard something odd mixed in with the sound of the engine.
“…? Thought I just heard something.”

At first, he was ready to dismiss the distant noise as irrelevant.
But he found that he couldn’t ignore it. The sound he’d just heard was the
kind of thing he knew he shouldn’t hear right smack in the middle of Tokyo.
That sound…
Slon’s eardrums throbbed again with the same vibration.
I knew it.
Certain that he hadn’t misheard it now only made the question loom larger.
Why is there a horse whinnying in the middle of the city?
It was the fierce, eerie sound of a horse crying out.
Was there a racetrack or a stable around somewhere? He decided that had to
be the answer, but it was still an odd thing to hear in such an urban environment.
If this were New York, he could assume that it was a police horse. But he’d
never heard of such a thing being used in Ikebukuro, Tokyo.
And for another thing, this particular whinny was creepier and more
“emotional” than any Slon had heard before.
What is it? Is that really a horse?
Just as his curiosity started turning into unease, he realized another unsettling
fact.
The sound was steadily approaching.
…?
Sweat began to bloom on his back. Alarms blared inside his head.
Normally, it might be the sort of problem he could safely ignore. But his vast
experience working for Lingerin the arms dealer gave him keen instincts, and
those instincts were screaming danger. It was the same feeling he had when
Lingerin pissed off that private security firm run by ex-Spetsnaz.
What is it…? What’s coming this way?
Slon held his breath, glancing nervously into the rearview mirror.
And he saw…
A motorcycle even blacker than the black of night.

And sitting atop it, an abnormal figure holding an enormous scythe.
Meanwhile, Anri’s apartment
The whinnying of the horse approached.

Vorona felt something alien in that sound, but any thought she might have
devoted to it was absorbed in a different sound altogether.
Metal.
She should have thrust the shears into the side of the girl’s torso at a proper
angle, enough to cause a hospitalizing injury. But the feeling that reached her
wrists was not that of supple young flesh being pierced.
It was an unpleasant rigidity, as though the shears had bitten down on a metal
pipe.
“…Что?” she mumbled accidentally in Russian.
She looked down at the girl’s torso to see that the shears were halted just in
front of their target by another piece of metal.
Японский меч? (A katana?)
It was a long, smooth blade.
The gentle backward curve of the metal was like the surface of a pristine
water droplet.
What…is this?
The girl was secretly holding a katana, and she brought it forth to intercept
the attack—an unlikely conclusion, perhaps, but certainly possible.
Yet there was an even eerier phenomenon in Vorona’s view.
“Um…I’m sorry,” mumbled the target, who was growing the blade directly
out of her arm.
“I don’t know you. Are you sure you don’t have the wrong person…?”
Anri Sonohara was a normal human being.

Up until five years ago.
Of the many fates of those who associated with the “abnormal” such as Celty
Sturluson, hers was to house the abnormal within herself.
When Shinra’s father, Shingen Kishitani, cut the dullahan’s soul to sever the
head from the body, he used a cursed katana to do it. And “cursed” was the only
way to describe this particular weapon.
Shingen sold the blade, known as Saika, to an antiques trading shop run by
Anri’s father. Through a series of events, her parents then died, and she wound
up bearing the cursed blade within her own flesh and blood.
It wasn’t the sword’s fault that her parents died. If anything, without it, she
and her mother would have died at her father’s hands.
It was a painful thing to accept that either way her mother would have died
anyway, but Anri chose to accept the cursed blade as the price to continue her
own life.
Anri thought how much easier things would be if only this cursed blade was
like the ones in the old period tales, where the curse completely took over its
victim’s mind.
Or how much more delightful it would be if, like in comic books, it would
become a conversation partner that she could have a fun chat with whenever she
wanted.
But the curse of Saika, the one she actually had to deal with, was much
nastier in nature.
Saika had only one desire.
To love people.
To love all humanity.
That was it.
But to Saika, “love” meant being one with the other. To be one with all
humanity.
She would sink her curse into all human beings on earth, filling them with
her words of love, filling the world with “daughters” that shared her
consciousness.
That was the entirety of the Saika system, Saika’s curse.
But Anri could momentarily hold back that curse. By viewing the world
around her as though through the frame of a painting, she could reduce even the
overwhelming, maddening words of Saika’s love to nothing more than a distant
landscape.
At the moment when she felt her mother’s love and her father’s lack of it,
Anri’s mother was cutting her own belly open with Saika. And thus Anri felt an
enormous unease and a certain kind of kinship toward Saika and her desire to
love humanity—as well as overwhelming envy.
Just look… See how much Saika is able to love something. She seems so
blissful.
When she realized that was how she felt about it, Anri felt terribly guilty,
though not toward anyone in particular.
Saika, meanwhile, would not save Anri from her plight.
Since she could not cut the host that gave her life, Saika determined that Anri
was not a target for her “love.” Anri idolized Saika, and Saika used Anri, even as
it was trapped within her. It was not quite symbiosis, but a kind of circular
parasitism.
If there was one thing that Saika could offer back to Anri—
It was the many “experiences” that were chiseled into Saika’s consciousness.
The moment that the shears touched her body, Anri realized that she had already
twisted herself to put distance between her and the woman.
The memory of all that battle in Saika’s mind flowed into Anri’s body. She
unconsciously made use of it, using her delicate figure in the most efficient
manner possible.
“I don’t know you. Are you sure you don’t have the wrong person…?” she
asked, her brain hastily pushing everything through to the other side of the
painting frame.
She saw what was happening as though it were a distant scene. Not that you
needed to be in Anri’s shoes to lose a sense of reality when a strange woman
with her face covered up attacks you with a pair of pruning shears.
Praying that it really was just a misunderstanding, and determined to handle
things as quietly as possible, Anri consciously moved the blade growing out of
the rip in her pajamas over toward the palm of her hand.
Like the tail fin of a shark crossing a sea of white skin, the tip of the katana
slid down Anri’s arm until it reached her hand, where it burst forth. When the
full glory of Saika was at last revealed, it fit neatly into her palm.
“Um…if you’re hoping to rob me…I have no money. Please leave,” she
begged.
Vorona clamped her mouth shut and gave the girl an instantaneous
examination. She found that the target’s eyes glowed a faint red.
As though the entire eyeball itself shone with red light.
John Carpenter’s remake of the movie Village of the Damned was known in
Japan by the title Glowing Eyes. That little piece of trivia she read just days ago
throbbed in her brain—not that it was any help in understanding the situation she
now faced.
What is this? Vorona wondered, her brain full of question marks. What is this
girl?
But her body still moved automatically. She twisted, plunging deeper into the
sword’s range, and swiveled her elbow upward toward the target’s jaw.
But just as suddenly—
A shiver ran through her entire body.
A thought flickered into her brain: Oh, I’m going to die.
Vorona canceled her elbow attack and leaped backward. At almost the same
moment, a flash of silver passed right before her nose.
Based on the location and speed, the slash was probably not meant to kill. It
was a slice intended to hurt, not to cleave.
And what would happen…if I was cut?
She understood that the blade before her had appeared in a way that should
have been impossible. Combined with the overall eeriness of its appearance, it
was right to assume that even touching the sword meant great danger.
What is this girl? Is she…human?
She was an unknown—something that did not match Vorona’s knowledge or
experience.
Coming face-to-face with such a thing brought about a complex emotional
response within her.
…I feel…hot. I remember this. I felt this…before…
The sensation arising within her was very close to the sensation that she felt
the first time she killed a person—right at the moment before she took his life.
Vorona distanced herself farther from her target.
I have lost my calm, she recognized and tried to force her mind to cool down.
But just then, she heard the raucous horn of the truck.
—?!
She looked over to see that their vehicle, parked at the side of the apartment
building, was flickering its lights madly to get her attention.
Emergency situation.
Vorona’s mind was ice-cold once again. She looked back at her target and
announced, “You, mysterious. Very strange.”
“…”
“I will appear again. Happy to see you then.”
She ran off for the truck, careful to keep an eye on the girl so that she didn’t
get sliced down the back. The target did not seem to be giving chase, but before
Vorona could feel any relief at that, a new abnormality hit her ears.
The whinnying of a horse.
The bellow was coming from extremely close to the rear of the truck, and it
floored Vorona with its eeriness. Still, she did not let it shake her too much and
gave a curt command to drive as she passed by the driver’s side of the truck.
Tires tore against asphalt, hurtling the massive vehicle forward. As Vorona
leaped onto the back of the truck, she saw the abnormality approaching—and
realized that it was not an abnormality, but a monstrosity.
A pitch-black motorcycle without a headlight was slowly approaching. Not
racing. Just pacing, measuring, confirming.
It was the very rider whom Vorona had decapitated minutes earlier. She
recognized it at once.
Not because of the sleek black motorcycle…but because the person riding on
it had no head above the shoulders.
…?
It was more confusion than fear.
Due to the rapid succession of bizarre events, she had to wonder if she’d
been slipped a hallucinogen somewhere along the way. It could have been a
dream—except that everything about it was too real for that.
In either case, it is dangerous.
The situation was too extreme for inaction to be an option, “just in case” it
was a dream.
Vorona deftly opened the rear door of the truck as she clung to the back
bumper.
—?
She noticed something odd.
She hadn’t noticed it before, but there was something like a fine thread
running through the seam in the door and into the interior of the truck. It
continued to the rear of her motorcycle.
The moment that bike became visible through the open truck door, the
whinnying roared, fiercer than before, and the pursuing bike sped up.
That sound…it’s coming from the bike!
With this realization came another new fact about the black motorcycle.
Before, she hadn’t noticed because the exhaust of her own bike would have
drowned it out anyway—but aside from the whinnying, the black motorcycle
was not making any engine noise whatsoever.
Danger!
The street outside Anri Sonohara’s apartment was particularly sparse by
Ikebukuro standards. There were hardly any cars or pedestrians to be seen.
But that would only hold true until the next light. After that, it was urban
Tokyo as usual, the traffic network where cars ruled above all.
Even if the truck used its weight to muscle the other vehicles around, the
motorcycle would catch up to them in less than a few hundred feet.
Danger! Danger! Danger! Danger!
Vorona’s decision was bold in the extreme, and the transition to action
lightning fast.
She rolled into the cargo hold, ripping the cover off an object that was placed
close to the door.
The Black Rider sped up all the while, closing in on the rear of the truck. But
when the rider saw what appeared from under the cover, the bike instantly
slowed.
The object was a gleaming mass of metal formed into a threatening shape: an
anti-matériel rifle using fifty-caliber rounds.
It was a gun designed to attack tanks and helicopters, and if the right
ammunition was used, it could pierce the hull of an armored tank from up to a
mile away.
She had brought the rifle in the unlikely chance that they needed to escape
police cars or choppers—but she certainly hadn’t foreseen using it in a situation
like this.
Vorona got down on her right knee, lifted the gun, and placed the stock
against her right shoulder. It weighed over twenty pounds, but she brought it into
firing position with practiced ease.
It should be noted that using a fifty-caliber round on a human target is
forbidden by international law. Vorona knew that fact because she had read it
somewhere or other, and she remembered Lingerin saying, “You can’t shoot
people with this because it blows them apart like red water balloons. It’s a bitch
to clean up.”
But Vorona could not identify a motorcycle rider without a head as “human.”
Still, she did not aim it directly at the rider’s torso, either because she had her
own misgivings or because the motorcycle itself was an easier target.
In either case, Vorona set the sights on the body of the motorcycle, as she had
done to an armored car once in the past, and pulled the trigger without a second
thought.
Eruption.
Ikebukuro rumbled with the sound of a cannon, and the pedestrians walking
around outside instantly covered their ears, unable to pinpoint the source of the
noise.
A few seconds later, lights turned on in the apartments nearby, and windows
opened as residents peered outside to see what the commotion was about.
Vorona, meanwhile, was unable to see the result of her gunfire. The smoke
from the anti-matériel rifle completely engulfed her.
The wind from the truck’s acceleration whipped the smoke clear
momentarily, but for those few seconds, she was effectively blind—and when
the smoke was gone, the Black Rider was gone.
Neither was there the wreckage of the bike.
Thanks to the unique make of the gun, the kick was not as bad as the force of
the shot would suggest, but given the circumstances, she was not in the mood to
continue firing it for now. She set the gun down to examine the surroundings
better.
When it became clear that the black thread was still connected to the rear of
her own motorcycle in the cargo hold, she took out her shears to cut the tiny
sinew. But it was far tougher than she imagined, and she had no luck severing it.
“Slon. What has happened to Black Rider?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s gone for sure, but it’s not in the rearview
mirror. Did you actually use that thing, Vorona?”
“Affirmative. It was an emergency.”
The truck eventually came to a stop—they must have arrived at a light
connecting to a major street.
Vorona hastily shut the rear doors right as the light turned green, and the
vehicle turned into the thoroughfare.
After a few seconds of thought, Vorona touched the black thread and traced it
back to her bike, where it was tangled all around the rear of the vehicle. She took
the wireless receiver and ordered, “There should be a scrapyard nearby. Head
there, please.”
“What are you going to do?”
“My motorcycle was being traced. We will scrap it,” she muttered without
emotion, a trait she learned from her father. She thought for a few more seconds.
“Or perhaps we might set a trap and lie in wait.”
Outside Anri’s apartment
“Celty…!”
When she heard the eruption of noise, Anri raced out the door without
thinking.
She was still confused over the attack she’d just suffered, but even more
surprising was the sight of a truck driving away with her attacker clinging to the
rear bumper and the familiar monstrosity chasing after it.
A few seconds later came an eruption that sounded like a cannon going off.
Anri ran out into the street, so worried about Celty that she was oblivious to her
own danger.
“Watch out,” spelled a message on a PDA screen flying in front of her face.
A hand reached out from the side and pulled her back toward the apartment.
Anri turned in surprise and saw the riding suit without a head atop it. “Celty!
Wh…what?”
She’d just seen Celty riding off after the truck. Why was she standing here?
Celty shrugged and typed up a new message: “Well…it seemed like…I was
going to get shot… So I put up a really thick shadow shield to block it, and it
pushed me all the way back here. Or…blasted me, I guess… Yeah…that was
kinda close…I guess. Shooter could have been…pulverized.”
Celty’s insertion of all those ellipses was probably a sign that she was still
trying to process what happened.
Right behind her was the bike, and in Celty’s hands was a horribly distorted
hunk of metal. That had to be what was left of the bullet.
“I was going to chase after them, but they clearly don’t mind firing guns in a
residential area. If we get them too worked up, who knows what’ll happen to the
people around here…”
“Guns…? You mean…”
“Why were they after you, Anri?”
“Actually…I have no idea,” she mumbled, looking troubled. “Do you think
they’ll come back?”
Celty pounded her own chest reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You should stay at
our apartment tonight. The security’s good there.”
“B-but…” Anri hesitated. Celty waved her hand back and forth in front of
the space where her face should have been.
“Don’t hold back now. You’ve stayed there before! It’s already too big as it is
—and we can think of a plan to deal with them!” Celty said, and Anri had no
reason to refuse anymore.
“Th-thank…you…,” she mumbled, accepting the headless woman’s offer.
Celty, meanwhile, raised a hand to her own shoulder in consternation and
typed, “By the way, do you have a mask or helmet or anything?”
“Huh?”
“I accidentally left my helmet out in the road…and when I went back to get
it, a dump truck had squashed it flat where it lay… I’ll have to go back home to
get my spare,” she explained desperately.
Anri thought it over. “Um…can you do what you did for me before and just
make black helmets out of your shadow…?”
Silence fell between the two momentarily.
After ten seconds, Celty turned away shyly, forming a rounded shadow
helmet, and held out her PDA.
“Right, I forgot…”
Thus, the first day of Golden Week came to a close.

Each and every being involved bore their own abnormalities, without
realizing the troubles that others had fallen into.
The night passed, giving way to the morning.

The sunlight was exactly the same as on any ordinary day…
And the sun gazed down upon the disaster unfolding in Ikebukuro.
May 4, morning, Mikado’s apartment
Didn’t get much sleep after all…

He slumped into the desk chair in front of his computer, covering his
exhausted face in his hands.
After hearing about the Dollars’ rampage in Saitama in the chat last night,
Mikado had gone on a furious fact-finding hunt.
It wasn’t his duty, and no one else forced him to do it—but he couldn’t
escape the feeling that he just had to do this.
As one of their founders, Mikado felt as though the Dollars were like a part
of his own body.
They weren’t necessary for him to live. But just like cell phones and the
Internet, once you made it a part of your ordinary life, it was very hard to cut
loose. Such was the importance of the Dollars to Mikado.
On top of that, the Dollars were not booming in number the way they once
did, but it felt like the group was still growing. Even Mikado did not have an
idea of their precise number at this point.
And because of that, he was always fearful of the gang going out of control.
He had even shut down the Dollars’ home page for a time.
When the circle of friends had just started the page, they created a joke rule
that “all new members of the Dollars must confess the worst thing they’ve ever
done” and then set up a registration page on the site.
That page no longer existed for two reasons.
One, the comment field to publicly confess those deeds wound up being used
as a kind of chat forum and, at its worst state, contained links to pirated
downloads and cracks for computer games found through other forums. It
stopped following its intended function.
Two, the “confession of evil deeds,” which was created as a joke, steadily
turned into something that was very much not a laughing matter.
At first, the entries were all about stealing snacks or drawing eyebrows on
dogs, but the content slowly escalated until words like shoplifting and assault
started showing up.
Then, people started looking down on others for the tepid nature of their
confessions, trying to play up their bad side by bragging about their exploits. By
the time they were writing things like “I shoplifted for the first time ever so that I
could join the Dollars,” Mikado decided to shut it down.
The Dollars were created to be fun. They weren’t meant to destroy the world,
or lower the level of morality in society, or play at being outlaws.
So if this rampage could be stopped, he had to do it.
He had no idea if that was possible or not, but he would be shirking his duty
as one of the founders if he didn’t at least try to find out.
At least, that was what he thought.

Until he got a call from Izaya Orihara several hours ago.
“Hello, Ryuugamine speaking.”

“…Nice to talk to you again, Ryuugamine. Or should I call you
TarouTanaka?”
“We haven’t talked on the phone in forever, Kanra.”
“I just checked the backlog of the chat room. I’ve heard a bit about this
Saitama incident… Sounds like there’s some real odd business going on with the
Dollars.”
“…Yes, I was just looking into that myself.”
“How much did you figure out?”
“I’m pretty sure that it’s new members of the Dollars doing this
independently from the rest of us.”
“Yes, I figured as much. So what’s your plan?”
“Well, I want to stop them, but…”
“Why?”
“Uh…”
“Was there ever a rule in the Dollars that you can’t go into another
prefecture to start a fight? What reason is there to go reining them in now?”
“But…”
“Or did that brouhaha with the Yellow Scarves make you wise up with the
whole ‘playing street gangs’ thing? I’ve heard that it caused a terrible rift
between you and a close friend.”
“That’s not true. Masaomi’s still my friend.”
“Let’s hope he feels the same way.”
“…Why are you stirring things up like this?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m just jealous of my alma mater juniors, thriving in the
throes of their youth. I didn’t have friends like that, you see. I only had one
pervert that kept sticking around and one hateful, violent cretin.”
“…”
“Anyway, back on topic.”
“Yes?”
“Whether you like it or not, the Dollars you created already have real form
and power. There are going to be people who want to pull down others in order
to sell the reputation of the gang…and thus raise their own reputation as well.
It’s inevitable.”
“…I understand that.”
“It’s fine. The Dollars’ lateral connections are very weak, so even if the
people from Saitama look for revenge against the ones who attacked them, all
you have to do is stay quiet and let it blow over. Isn’t that how the Dollars work?
You save the people you care about and sit back and be lazy toward those you
don’t like. You have freedom. You’re free to do what you want.”
“…You called me just to say that?”
“Er, no, no. That’s not it. But the Saitama thing reminded me. You guys got
attacked by those motorcycle gangs last month, right?”
“Um, yeah. We made it through all right, thanks to Celty and Kadota…”
“One of those gangs at the time was the one the Dollars just attacked in
Saitama.”
“Uh…”
“Their leader has a terrible weakness for women… And he’s the kind of guy
who will resort to violence in a snap. He kicks people down onto the ground,
then jumps feetfirst onto their faces.”
“Wow, he sounds dangerous…”
“Very. So I wouldn’t go walking around at night with girls, understand? Like
your friend Anri—I’d be very careful with her.”
“…Sonohara has nothing to do with any of this.”
“Does she? What if someone finds out that you’re a member of the Dollars
and that there’s a girl you have feelings for…? There’s no guarantee that this
hypothetical person is the sort that wouldn’t bring innocent people into this.
They’re here for revenge, remember?”
“…”
“Besides, you’ve used the Dollars plenty of times already. Remember the
squabble with Yagiri Pharmaceuticals? Do you really think you have the right to
say, ‘Don’t do bad stuff,’ now?”
“…What should I do, then?”
“How about you think for yourself, rather than asking others for the
answer?”
“What I think is that I want to do something. It’s what I’ve been telling you
all along.”
“Ha-ha-ha. So I can’t coax you that easily. At any rate, if you don’t want
Anri to be involved, and you yourself don’t want to get dragged in, then you
should forget about the Dollars. Push them from your mind. If only until the heat
dies down, you know?”
“But…”
“Let’s say that you really do want to stop the Dollars from beefing with other
groups… Or you want to stop the Dollars from just randomly attacking other
people… Even if you could achieve such a thing, it wouldn’t be the Dollars
anymore. If your singular will could control the actions of the entire group, it
would be something else entirely…but you don’t need me to tell you that, do
you?”
“No, I understand that.”
“I happen to think that the Dollars fall under a much broader definition than
just a color-based street gang. Maybe they’re not a country or a culture…but
there are people with many different ways of thinking within the group. Some are
good, some are bad. But you don’t know what people outside of the group will
think of you. Will they see the good Dollars or the bad Dollars? That’s not a
choice you get to make.”
“…”
“Sorry, I’ve been doing all the talking, haven’t I? Am I annoying you?”
“Er, no. Um…thanks. For everything.”
“…”
“…Is something wrong?”

“Mikado.”
“Yes?”
“Are you a bit excited?”
“…Pardon?”
“Oh, I was just trying to imagine what sort of face you’re making into the
phone right now.”
“What kind of nonsense are you talking about?”
“Well, this is that ‘extraordinary’ you love so much, isn’t it?”
“That doesn’t mean I’ll like anything, as long as it’s not ordinary.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure…”
“When you temporarily closed the Dollars’ site, you claimed it was because
the registration page was being trolled and the confession of evil deeds was
escalating out of control… I can buy the former, but I’m not so sure about the
latter. Was it because you found them to be in poor taste?”
“Well, obviously.”
“If you really thought that way, you wouldn’t try to maintain the Dollars at
all. You’d try to erase them and pretend they never existed. Or you’d just quietly
slip away and be a normal person again. All you have to do to leave is ignore
the e-mails. There’s no punishment.”
“I’m one of the founders… I can’t be that irresponsible about it.”
“Yes, you can. Nobody in the Dollars expects you to take responsibility. And
if you still insist on doing so, that would mean you’re extremely conscientious…
But you’re not actually that kind of person, are you?”
“What is this all about?”
“You know what? Never mind. You’d rather not know what other people
think of you, would you?”
“You can’t just bring it up and then drop it halfway… Tell me. I’m not going
to obsess over it.”
“You won’t? Well, this is only my personal conjecture, so don’t take it
personally if I’m wrong. It’s just an info broker joking around.”
“Got it.”
“…It’s not the Dollars going out of control that you’re afraid of, is it?”
“Uh…”
“Aren’t you just afraid that they’re going to change and leave you behind?”
“That’s not true!”
“…”
“Ah…”
“You were very quick to deny that. You should be careful about hasty denial;
it only increases suspicion. Or maybe you already recognize that about
yourself?”
“…”
“You’re not a big fighter, and you’re not some trashy punk. I bet you’ve
never smoked or drank in your life, and you’re disgusted at people who brag
about committing theft. You’re a normal, productive citizen. That’s a very
honorable thing, but I bet you felt bored with that honor and created and
maintained the Dollars as a response to it. An escape from your ordinary life.
Wasn’t that your dream?”
“…”
“See, I’m worried about you.”
“Wha…?”
“What did I tell you before? In order to enjoy your everyday life, it has to
always be evolving. And it’s not the kind of thing you can bottle up, then just
keep inside yourself.”
“Kanra… Mr. Orihara…”
“Just Izaya is fine. Kida calls me Izaya, too. You shouldn’t forget that even
outside the Dollars, you have many people on your side. Not just Anri and
Kida…but me, too, if you ever need the help. So you shouldn’t worry yourself
sick over what’s happening now, all on your own. That’s all I wanted to tell you.”
“Um…Izaya.”
“What?”
“Thank…thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything to deserve your thanks.”
“You never know. I might be manipulating you into doing some plot of my
own… Just kidding.”
Mikado remembered the conversation and smiled wryly to himself.

I always thought Izaya was a mysterious, fishy weirdo who was always up to
something.
But it turns out—he’s just a nice guy.
It was that easy for Izaya’s words to cheer Mikado up. If he hadn’t been so
agitated about what was happening with the Dollars, he might have remembered
what his best friend said on the day he first came to Ikebukuro.
“Don’t ever mess with Izaya Orihara.”
In a way, it was a crucially important warning. But that did not register in
Mikado’s brain today.
Because Mikado still did not know the full breadth of what Izaya did to
Masaomi.
After that, the boy focused again on devising a plan. Except…

“…I can’t come up with anything…”
He really was grateful for what Izaya said at the end, but he couldn’t deny
that he’d also suffered a bit of a shock from their conversation.
He had no idea what he really wanted.
Do I…actually want to stop the Dollars from going out of control?
He didn’t actually know who had done what in Saitama yet. But it was
undeniable that some kind of violence had happened there under the Dollars’
banner.
But I definitely don’t feel excited about this, he told himself. Yet deep down,
he wasn’t sure that was true.
Yes, he wished to escape his ordinary situation more than anyone when he
started the Dollars. That was essentially still true today.
Despite the fact that he met the greatest possible example of the
extraordinary—Celty Sturluson—Mikado could sense that something was
smoldering deep within him.
…I’m a coward. Just like Izaya says… I’ve never had a real fistfight with
anyone, and I’ve never been beaten by a group of people.
It was presumptuous of him in the extreme to assume that he could control
the entirety of the Dollars.
That feeling of uncertainty bloomed within him, and time passed without any
change. Now there was sunlight shining bright through the window, and the
hands on the clock said that it was nearly nine o’clock.
“…I don’t have any time left for sleep.”
He was supposed to meet with Anri and Aoba at eleven. There wasn’t much
he needed to do in preparation, but if he started snoozing now, he’d probably
sleep right through their meeting.
Fortunately, he’d napped yesterday evening after getting home from school.
He was just pulling a nutrient drink from the refrigerator, assuming that he’d be
able to manage, when—
The doorbell rang.
“?”
Who could that be?
Probably just a newspaper subscription salesman. They’d come by several
times before, and Mikado always made up an excuse through the door to send
them away. They typically left without another word, probably assuming that the
run-down apartment didn’t house people with much extra cash to spare anyway.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t have money. In fact, Mikado raised all of his
living funds aside from school tuition on his own. When his parents were against
him moving to Tokyo, he convinced them by claiming he would work to pay for
everything aside from tuition. Even then, his parents still sent him a bit of
spending money here and there—but he gratefully deposited it into savings.
While his work was technically part-time, the variety of Net-based
businesses that he worked with required a lot of time and trouble in total, so it
was a significant drain on his schedule. Being able to pull that off and support
himself while keeping up with his schoolwork was actually quite a feat, but
Mikado didn’t consider himself particularly special. It was just what he needed
to do on a regular basis.
He accepted the doorbell as another part of his ordinary circumstances and
opened the door without thinking.
The bright morning world burned his late-night eyes, stinging the backs of
his sockets. Mikado lifted a hand to shade his face from the sun as he looked out
the door.
Standing there was the boy he’d met just yesterday and was scheduled to
meet again in only a few hours.
“Good morning, sir!”

“A…Aoba?”
It was Aoba Kuronuma, the underclassman at school whom he promised to
take on a tour around Ikebukuro today.
“What’s up? We’re not supposed to meet for another two hours.”
Huh? Something tickled at the back of Mikado’s head. Did I ever tell Aoba
where I live?
“Well, actually, I needed to ask you about something before we met up with
Ms. Anri…”
“You could have just called,” Mikado said kindly. “And, uh, who told you
my—?”
“It’s about the Dollars,” Aoba interrupted, smiling.
A nasty chill crawled across Mikado’s spine. His face froze. Aoba leaned in
closer, beaming angelically.
“It’s a little awkward to just stand around here, so shall we go somewhere
else?”
At that point, Mikado realized something was wrong.
Someone was holding the door open. Not Aoba, who was standing in the
entryway, and not himself, of course.
A mystery set of fingers was holding the edge of the faded door, visible
against the sunlight.
Aoba filled the silence with an eerie suggestion.
“It’s okay if you need time to change. The group can wait.”
Twenty minutes later, abandoned factory, Ikebukuro
In a district at a slight distance from Ikebukuro, where the streets were much
lonelier than the shopping area, there was a spot among a line of factories that
was particularly vacant.
It was the site of what had once most likely been an ironworks. The gray
metal walls were stained with rust in spots, the sign of several years’ passage
since the property had been abandoned. There were piles of reddened scrap
metal here and there, the machinery that would have processed them entirely
dismantled.
For some reason, there was a nearly new motorcycle left in the factory, but
its presence was less of an off-putting anomaly than a counterpoint that accented
the rusted scenery.
It was a truly desolate locale, empty despite the clutter.
The inside of the dilapidated building rang with the excited chatter of youth.
“Whoa, what’s with the ride?” Aoba wondered. “This wasn’t here
yesterday.”
A hefty youth standing next to him muttered, “Maybe someone’s hiding a
stolen vehicle?”
The other boy was about as tall as Shizuo. He had tanned skin and tight
muscles, the skin of his arms and neck that was visible under the tank top
ribboned with tribal tattoos.
He wore a mustache over his menacing features—and certainly didn’t look
like a student—but Aoba introduced him to Mikado as a “classmate from middle
school.”
There were a large number of people surrounding Mikado now, in fact, and
they jeered raucously at Aoba.
“Gross, there’s gonna be roaches and centipedes all over this place. Let’s go
find some luxury hotel to use as our hangout spot.”
“You gonna pay for it?”
“Shut up and eat your roaches.”
“You eat roaches?!”
“Hee-hee!”
“How much will you pay me to do it?” “Three hundred yen.” “That’s it?!”
“I’m in!” “Really?!”
“All right, let’s go find a cockroach! Get some oil to fry it up!” “You won’t
eat it raw?”
“Euurgh!” “Don’t puke!” “But…I just imagined eating a cockroach…”
“Hey, Aoba, can I sock the shit outta these obnoxious clowns?” “Nope.”
“Hee-hee!”
They had to be about the same age as Mikado. The assortment of youths in
all stripes and shapes crowded around him, walking him toward the back of the
factory. But other members of the group, present earlier but now absent, were
clearly over twenty years old. They had driven the group to this place in their
cars.
Why did I follow them here?
None of it made any sense. It was obvious that he shouldn’t have gone along
with it, but it didn’t seem possible to refuse or run away.
At the same time, Mikado felt something eerie about this particular factory.
Wait…I recognize this place, he realized with a start. Oh! I was here…a few
months ago…
But before he could travel any further down that line of thought, Aoba seated
himself on a nearby pile of metal and looked up at Mikado.
“Last night, you were asking around on the Dollars’ member website about
the fight that happened with the people from Saitama, right?”
The fact that Aoba was the only one smiling in his incessantly pleasant way
was creeping Mikado out.
If Mikado had rather youthful looks, Aoba was practically a baby face. He
didn’t look anything like a high school–age teen, and yet here he was, smiling
innocently in the midst of a group of hardened ruffians. Mikado couldn’t help
but get goose bumps.
“Y-yeah, I was. I had some concerns…”
“I know what happened. I wanted to explain it to you.”
“Really?!”
For a moment, Mikado forgot the eeriness of the situation, and life returned
to his features. Ordinarily, the suggestion that he “knew what happened,”
delivered in these circumstances, meant only one thing. But Mikado completely
failed to anticipate that inevitability.
To Mikado, Aoba Kuronuma’s appearance, attitude, and position were about
the furthest thing from that possibility. So even when it was stated aloud, he was
initially unable to understand what the boy was saying.
“That was us.”
“…Huh?”
“We did that,” Aoba admitted, never breaking his smile. “Me and everyone
else here… We attacked the people in Saitama, as members of the Dollars.”
“…Huh? What?” Mikado’s lips formed a vacant smile. He wanted to take it
for a joke.
But Aoba’s childish, innocent expression delivered only the truth. “Look,
you know that gang called Toramaru. The people who were chasing Mr.
Kadota’s van and the Black Rider last month.”
“Uh, what? Ah, r-right.”
“We burned a couple of their bikes and hospitalized a good twenty or so of
them.”
The menacing tattooed youth added, “To be accurate, you threw Molotovs
right into the parking lot where they hung out, Aoba.”
Only when the statement came from someone who actually looked like they
could do such things did Mikado finally put everything together.
“…Wha…? But…”
But his sense of reason refused to accept it. He could only flap his lips
uselessly and stare at Aoba.
Aoba went on, watching Mikado’s eyes closely, soaking in the older boy’s
reaction.
“We are in the Dollars…but we’ve also got another name.”
“…Another…name?”
“Have you ever heard of the Blue Squares?”

May 4, morning, chat room
Bacura: Good morning.

Bacura: Yeah!
Bacura: Wait,
Bacura: Nobody’s here.
Bacura: That figures, it’s morning.
Bacura: Well,
Bacura: It’s been about,
Bacura: A week since the last time I was here.
Bacura: Really sorry that I haven’t been able to pop in and chat more often.
Bacura: I was working,
Bacura: And hanging out all the way up in Tohoku on a love rendezvous with
my girl.
Bacura: How’s everyone been?
Bacura: Guess I’ll go look at the backlog to see what everyone’s doing during
their vacation time. Yeaaah!
Bacura: Huh,
Bacura: Looks like the log prior to yesterday is just gone.
Bacura: Was there some sort of technical trouble?
Bacura: Anyway,
Bacura: See ya later.

.
.
.
Interlude or Prologue C, Aoba Kuronuma
Three years ago, apartment building rooftop, Ikebukuro suburbs
“…The hell do you want? I got my own shit to do, you know?”
The irritated young man glared down at the even younger boy.
The scenery visible from the rooftop was corroded red with sunset, and the
man was shielding his eyes from the sunlight coming from behind the boy. The
boy’s expression was hidden in shadow, but the hint of a smile could be made
out around his mouth.
The young man, Ran Izumii, did not like his little brother, Aoba Izumii.
When he saw the way his brother could be obliging and considerate of
others, he couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of irritation inside.
His brother hadn’t done anything to him, and he wasn’t held to be inferior to
his brother, but it just seemed like the younger boy was the only one who ever
received the affection of those around them.
Parental love, teachers’ marks, even childhood friends—in every respect, his
younger brother grew up with more love than he did.
He didn’t particularly desire such a thing now, but he couldn’t avoid feeling
irritated whenever he was reminded that Aoba had more than him.
Occasionally, he beat up his brother to show him who was boss, and the
younger boy never resisted very hard.
But one night, after he felt he might have gone too far, a fire broke out in
Ran’s room. It started up while he was hanging out with friends, and when he
came back home, his father broke his nose for it.
It was supposedly caused by a smoldering cigarette.
Fortunately, it didn’t turn into anything worse than a scare—but he didn’t
remember smoking before he left for the night.
“I’m really glad you didn’t get hurt,” Aoba said happily, still in elementary
school at the time.
Izumii was so overwhelmed by that smile, he wasn’t able to question his
brother about what happened.
After that, he distanced himself from his little brother, and after their parents
divorced, they moved to separate places. He heard that his brother filed to have
his last name changed to their mother’s maiden name, but Ran didn’t really care.
All he cared about was staying away from his obnoxious, irritating brother.
Ran was a well-known street thug in the neighborhood; if the situation was
going to creep him out that much, he figured he was best off avoiding it.
But now, that brother was coming to him with a serious discussion, saying, “I
want some advice.”
Up on the rooftop, Izumii was scornful of his younger brother but also
slightly apprehensive.
He was a fairly practiced fighter. He hadn’t hit Aoba in years, but if this
scrawny kid here tried to attack, he knew he could wipe the floor with him. With
that reassurance in mind, Izumii grew more confident, relaxed.
Aoba smiled and said, “Actually, I want to ask you a favor.”
“What? I got no money to lend you.”
“No, it’s not that… See, you’re famous at schools around the area, right?”
“Huh? The hell you talkin’ about?” the older brother asked.
The younger explained, “Well, I made a silly little gang with some friends of
mine…”
“A gang? Like what? A little study group?”
“At first, it wasn’t meant to be much more than that… But then weirder
people started making their way into the group… Older ones. Even some adults,
by this point.”
Ran was getting irritated that his brother was not getting to the point. But
what Aoba said next changed his expression immediately.
“Do you know a Horada and Higa from No. 3 Public Middle School?”
“Wha…?”
He knew those names. They were famous troublemakers in his social circles.
Horada had been kicked out of high school, he’d heard, so he never expected to
hear the name come from his goody-two-shoes brother’s mouth.
“I’ve never actually met them myself…but they’re members of the gang,
too.”
“…Huh?”
Perhaps he should have laughed it off as a stupid joke. But he couldn’t. It
made no sense for Aoba to bring up Horada if he wanted it to be funny.
“Things are getting out of hand… I’m worried that if Horada and these
adults find out that I’m actually the central figure of the gang, they might do
something to mess with me… I’m scared.”
He’s lying, Ran decided immediately.
Aoba was lying. They were distant, but they were still brothers. He could tell
things like that. But he wasn’t able to criticize his brother for it.
The story about the gang wasn’t a lie.
The story about Horada’s kind wasn’t a lie.
It was the part about things being “out of hand” that Aoba was lying about.
So Ran lied, too. He boasted to his brother. He uttered empty words meant to
convince himself of his own strength on parched breath.
“Man, you’re pathetic. So…what do you want me to do? Huh?”
“I’m too scared to run the gang anymore. I don’t care about it…so I want you
to be the leader of my gang now.”
“…”
It felt like he might end up being used. But there was no turning back now. If
he backed down, he would never again stand above his brother in the pecking
order.
With this realization swirling inside of him, he decided that he had to find a
way to use his brother instead.
“…Does this gang have a name?”
Aoba flashed an innocent smile and happily, so happily answered.
“Yeah, the name came from my friend.”
“We’re called the Blue Squares.”
A year later
Even as they battled with another gang called the Yellow Scarves, Aoba was
quiet.
Likewise, his closest companions stayed put, and out of the pride of being
the older brother, Ran never asked Aoba for help.
Even when he learned that the police arrested his brother, Aoba said nothing.
And when the Blue Squares fought with the Awakusu-kai and Shizuo
Heiwajima, pushing their continued existence to the brink of peril, the young
teen merely looked on coldly and said one word.
“…Useless.”
Several years later, late April, Saitama
“You sure you want this to be the Dollars, Aoba?” asked a boy with a spray can
standing in front of a burning motorcycle.
“Yeah. Do it quick before anyone comes,” Aoba said. He wore a distant, cold
look that he never showed people like Mikado.
They were in a parking garage, late at night. There were no businesses open
at this hour and no people passing by at all.
The boy’s appearance did not fit the scene surrounding him. There were
several motorcycles on fire; their owners sprawled unconscious on the asphalt.
On a nearby wall illuminated by the light of the fires, there was a logo of a
sexy woman riding on a tiger that read TORAMARU. The piece would have been
an excellent work of art if painted on a proper canvas, but the boy with the can
was mercilessly spraying over it with black paint.
Aoba glanced at his work and then spoke to the crowd of youths around him.
“I have no intention of playing up the Blue Squares’ name.”
“After you gave ’em to your big brother and turned him loose?” a companion
jeered.
Aoba smirked. “The name Blue Squares came from a guy named Yatsufusa,
anyway.”
“Oh yeah, what was that supposed to mean, anyway?” “Hee-hee!”
“Yatsufusa said that we were like a bunch of sharks stranded in the shallows.
Each of us was like a little shark stuck in a tiny blue square of territory,
desperately protecting it from the others. That’s where the name came from,”
Aoba said. Some of his companions nodded, others looked around in confusion,
and some just laughed.
“What does that mean…?” “Hit the books!”
“Are you sure he wasn’t actually making fun of us, Aoba?”
“Hee-hee!” “Stupid Yacchi.” “Yeah, that is clearly an insult.”
“You might be right. But I kind of like it,” Aoba said, his smile warm amid
the cold laughter of his friends—but lit by the fires of burning motorcycles, that
only made him look creepy.
One of the boys, who were entirely unaffected by the sight, looked around
and said, “Speaking of which, where did our name provider go?”
“Yatsufusa’s out sick. Like always, remember?”
“Yeah, he’s got terrible health.”
“Hang on! Mitsukuri’s tag is spelled ‘Dalars’ instead.”
“Someone stop him.” “Aw, who cares.” “Hee-hee!”
“So what do we do about the Dollars, anyway, Aoba?”
Aoba answered the raucous crowd. “The biggest sharks get stuck in the
shallows and can’t swim out. They drown.”
From the perspective of his companions, he turned into a shadow against the
backdrop of flame. But even without seeing his face, they all knew that he wore
a true, giddy smile.
“In order to fully enjoy our youth, we need the great open sea that is the
Dollars.”
“And why go all the way to Saitama to pick a fight?”
“…The Dollars are wide but shallow. The distance they span might be
impressive…”
“But the deeper the water, the easier it is for a shark to swim. Isn’t that
right?”
Intermediate Chapter
May 4, morning, apartment in Shinjuku
“…”
Shizuo Heiwajima stood in front of a door, clenching a fist in irritation.
Blood dripped from between his fingers. The pressure being squeezed into
them was unimaginable.
“Son of a…! What a waste of my time!” he fumed, veins popping out on his
forehead. If anyone had heard him, they would surely come to the conclusion
that his lungs were connected directly to hell, such was the volcanic fury of his
tirade.
It was directed at a piece of paper taped to the door.
WE’VE MOVED OFFICES! OUR NEW ADDRESS IS…
The place where Izaya’s home/office had been was now completely empty.
The sign would not still be up if a new tenant had moved into the place
already. Shizuo was possessed with the urge to kick down the door and destroy
everything inside, but the realization that this would only hurt the owner of the
property was just barely enough to stifle the rage in his throat.
“…He’s wasted my time twice…so I’ll murder him twice…”
Shizuo stomped away from the apartment, veins still bulging at the thought
of his old nemesis’s face.
Only dozens of seconds later, just as Shizuo was leaving the apartment
building, a woman pulled the sheet of paper off the door.
“If a trick that crude actually worked on him, this Shizuo must be extremely
dense.”
Namie Yagiri looked down over the railing of the apartment hallway. She
caught sight of the man in the bartender outfit stalking away in a huff and
muttered, “This is quite an elaborate ruse, all to push one man into a corner.”
She continued watching Shizuo go without much interest and then offered a
ghastly suggestion.
“If you can’t kill him with a knife, just use poison.”
As for why Shizuo Heiwajima was heading for Izaya’s apartment, that will
require rewinding to the morning of the fourth.
“Oh! She’s awake!” rang out a voice in Shinra’s apartment at six in the
morning.
The voice belonged not to Shinra or Tom or Shizuo—but a teenage girl
wearing glasses.
Both Shizuo and Tom witnessed Celty asking Shinra to “let her spend the
night, since she was attacked by a stranger.” Shinra reassured Anri that she
didn’t need to help out or do anything, but unable to resist, she decided to take
over the duty of watching the bedridden little girl.
Shinra got up from his desk and answered, “Okay, I’ll be right there.” He
washed his hands at the sink, picked up a sterilized examination mirror, and
headed toward the bedroom.
“Speaking of which, I forgot to tell Celty about the girl.”
Well, she seemed really preoccupied. I guess I can tell her later, the doctor
thought blearily as he trudged to the room in the back where the girl was
sleeping. When he opened the door, he did not see what he was expecting to see.
The little girl was not in her bed anymore, but in the corner of the room,
trembling incessantly. And the trembling was not because of the fever.
Her eyes were staring at Shizuo, who was already in the room. He was
standing with his arms folded, looking down at her in consternation. “Should I
just stay quiet, then?”
“I feel like you talking is just going to agitate her, Shizuo. So, yes, hush up,”
Shinra advised and held out a hand toward the girl. “How are you feeling? Your
complexion looks better, but we should check your temperature first.”
But the girl kept her gaze locked onto Shizuo, her eyes pleading angrily.
“Are you going to kill me, too?”
“…What do you mean, ‘too’?” Shizuo shot back, frowning.
Shinra shook his head sadly. “I knew it. You must have slain one of this poor
girl’s loved ones…”
“Want me to make you Victim Number One in my personal homicide
record?” Shizuo threatened, veins beginning to pulse.
Tom stepped in to calm him down by saying, “Not in front of the kid! You
can do it later.”
Shinra put a hand to the wary girl’s forehead and soothingly noted that her
fever was going down. He had a thermometer as well for a proper reading, but
the point of the gesture was to calm her down.
Anyone who knew the normal Shinra would have to assume this was a
different person entirely. If Celty were there, she would scream, “You’ve never
shown me such a normal smile like this… Aaaah! You lolicon!” and run away
from home. That was how reassuring and heartfelt the smile was.
“…Who are you? One of Shizuo Heiwajima’s friends?” the girl asked.
“No, I just can’t seem to get rid of him. Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt
you. But to do that, I need you to explain some things first,” Shinra said, like a
helpful neighborhood physician.
Shizuo felt goose bumps on his back. But if anyone here was going to get the
girl to talk, it would be Shinra. So he kept his distance from the girl, listened
closely, and tried not to let the creepiness affect him.
Shinra crouched down until he was at eye level with the girl and spoke to her
as if she were his own child. “Would you mind telling me your name?”
“…Akane.”
“What’s your last name, Akane?”
“…”
The moment he asked, the girl named Akane fell silent. He decided that she
didn’t want to tell him that, so he moved on.
“Does anything hurt? Sore throat, tummy ache, anything like that?”
She shook her head no.
“I see… That’s good. Can I ask you about what happened yesterday?”
The girl thought it over for a bit but didn’t nod or shake her head. She
glanced timidly at Shizuo, and when he met her look through his sunglasses, she
twitched in fear.
“Don’t worry. He won’t do anything. He might be a violent cretin, but he’s
good at heart. If he was really trying to pick on you, he would have beaten you
up already, wouldn’t he?”
“…”
“Or did he do something else to you? And that’s why you were trying to get
him?”
“…No,” she squeaked, shaking her head.
Perplexed, Shinra decided to be direct. “Then, why did you want this man in
the sunglasses to disappear?”
“…”
She said nothing at first, but after seeing Shinra’s disarming smile, she
finally admitted, “Because…he’s a killer.”
“Huh?”
“I heard that a hired killer named Shizuo was going to kill my dad and
grandpa. But I can’t go back home to them, either, so I didn’t know what else to
do…”
He had a bad feeling.
Even before he could ask her why she couldn’t go back home, a nasty shiver
raced through Shinra’s body.
The man in the bartender outfit behind him must have felt the same
premonition. Shinra heard something that sounded like creaking bone from
Shizuo’s direction. He forced himself not to look.
“And…what about the stun gun?”
“Someone gave it to me and said it would work on him.”
“Who did?”
“Someone who taught me all kinds of things when I ran away from home.”
The foreboding intensified. Shinra was beginning to envision a particular
face in his mind’s eye.
“So this person gave you the stun gun and told you Shizuo was a hit man?”
She nodded.
Shinra tensed up and finally asked, “And…what was his name?”
She hesitated to deliver the finishing blow at first, but over the course of
their short conversation, she had decided she trusted Shinra now.
“…Big Brother Izaya.”
A chill ran down his back.

He felt a momentary illusion that a demonic god sent to destroy the world
was materializing right behind him—and turned slowly, a cold sweat forming, to
look at the other man in the room.
There was Shizuo. Smiling kindly.
Huh?! The unfamiliar expression initially plunged Shinra into sheer terror.
Sorry, Celty. I think I might die today, he thought to himself.
Shizuo said kindly, “Ha-ha, you’ve got the wrong idea, Akane.”
“Oh…?”
“Izaya just has the wrong idea about me. I’m not actually a killer.”
“…Really?”
“It’s true! Izaya and I are friends—we just had a little fight,” Shizuo claimed,
shrugging and turning away from Shinra and the girl. “I’m just going to go patch
things up with him.”
He gave Akane a cheeky wink and left the room, whistling innocently.
When Shinra realized that there was a cold sweat forming all over his body,
he thought to himself, so that Akane wouldn’t be disturbed, I wonder if Izaya is
tired of life or something…
Tom walked out the front door and closed it behind him, then called out to
Shizuo ahead.
“Way to hold it in. You deserve the People’s Honor Award or something.”
“…Thank you, Tom,” Shizuo grunted to his boss without looking back. “I
have a request.”
“If I kill someone and get arrested today, please ask the boss to say that I was
fired as of yesterday.”
“…”
Tom had plenty of thoughts to share, but he kept them to himself as he
watched Shizuo head down the stairs.
He stood in the walkway of the apartment building, watching the scenery

below, and then pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a deep drag and exhaled
a comment to himself with the smoke.
“Better call the boss and tell him Shizuo took the day off…”
May 4, late morning, art gallery, Ikebukuro
It was a pristine interior, full of painting frames hanging on exquisite wallpaper.

But the voice that spoke within it had very little in common with fine art.
“…Just think about it. For the price of just a single cup of coffee a day, this
work of art, a source of pure joy, can be yours. It’s just the first step to being a
winner in life,” the woman said with a plastic smile.
The young man, his face bandaged, looked lovestruck. “Hmm, it’s very
tempting. But if I spent all that money at once, I don’t know what my girlfriend
would think.”
“I believe she will be utterly impressed when she sees this painting on the
wall of your residence. Coming across the right piece of art is as fateful as
locking eyes with the girl of your dreams. It’s extremely rare to come across a
piece by the great Karnard Strasburg, even if it is a print!”
She was in the midst of a sales pitch over a particular piece that had been
placed next to the table. The young man she was trying to sell it to had been
there for over an hour. But he was staring directly at the saleswoman’s face, not
showing the least amount of interest in the painting itself.
“Personally, I find you to be much more interesting than the painting.”
“Well, if you want to know, I find myself very attracted to men who would
buy paintings like this.”
“Really?”
“Really! I mean, people who can spend money on their dreams are just
irresistible!”
The art was indeed from a famed master—but it was silk-screened on a
poster, no more than a cheap mass-market item. She kept calling it a “print,”
claiming that it was a rare item with a serial number.
In fact, it could be bought for less than thirty thousand yen, but the price she
quoted to him was 1.28 million.
If you wanted a rare Karnard Strasburg piece for that price, you could get
one that was a lithograph rather than silk-screened—but the saleswoman
continued to insist that the cheap print was, in fact, a valuable work of art.
He’s gotta give in soon.

The chief of the sales team, watching from a distance, was certain that the
customer would buy the painting. If he still held back, the chief could try the
“you wasted our time and business, so just sign the check” method. This was the
kind of place that would get down and dirty, if needed.
But the bandaged man’s reaction was too abnormal for such orthodox means
to work.
The bandaged young man spotted the sales chief and beckoned him over,
beaming. He approached the table, assuming that the deal was as good as closed.
“Is something the matter, sir?”
“Well, actually, I don’t have any money. And this babe here says she really
needs me to buy it. So I’ve decided to work out a deal.”
“Yes, sir, thank you very much!” the chief grinned, assuming they were
going to work out a finance plan. The young man with the eyepatch grinned
back.
“Put ’er there.”
“Pardon?”
To the chief’s confusion, the man covered in gauze held out the palm of his
hand as if to receive something. But the contract and pen were already sitting on
the table. What else could he want?
He was just wondering if the customer was expecting a business card when
he shockingly heard, “One million two hundred and eighty yen, she says. You
can give me your card, if you don’t have the cash.”
“…Huh?”
The sales chief had no idea what the young man meant.
He continued, “Well, I mean, the lady says she needs this. But I don’t have
the money. A man can’t cause trouble for a lady, now, can he? But you seem like
you’ve got the means. You’re probably the owner of this gallery or something,
right? If you can buy all this expensive art to hang in here, you’ve gotta be
loaded.”
“Umm…”
“Money should be spent on women. You’re a man, so you should buy this
painting to help her out. Give me the one million two hundred and eighty and I
can handle the rest.”
“Sir, you must be joking,” the chief mumbled, his face tense. The next
moment, it froze entirely.
“…What? …Joking?”
Abruptly, the eyepatch-covered face turned sharp, cold, and undeniably
cruel. The shift from when he was talking to the woman was so sudden and
startling that the sales chief instantly realized, This guy isn’t a regular patron.
“When did I tell a joke? When did I make you laugh? Huh?” he said, getting
to his feet and approaching the chief’s nose.
The saleswoman finally recognized what was happening, and her face went
pale. She said, “Um, s-sir?”
The young man spun around on the spot and flashed her a smile and thumbs-
up. “Don’t worry, miss. He’s gonna buy it. Like you said, not only will it make
his life better, he’ll have the women screaming over him. Any man with money
would buy it!”
The sales chief shot the woman a look that said, Why did you bring him in
here?
She looked back at him with teary eyes that pleaded, I didn’t pitch him
anything; he just started hitting on me on the street and followed me in here, but
that was a little too detailed for mere eyes to get across.
But there was another person who saw her about to cry: the unbelievable
customer.
“Hey, guy.”
“Y-yes?!”
“You just shot her a dirty look, didn’t you?” he accused, full of righteous
fury.
The chief was taken aback—which was ironic because it was usually his job
to threaten customers. “H…huh…?”
“I don’t know if you’re her boss or whatever, but she’s been tryin’ her best to
walk me through this whole practice, since I’m new to it. Who the hell do you
think you are, staring her down?”
“Wha…? Um, sir, this is a private company matter. It has nothing to do with
you…”
“So if it’s none of my business, that means I’m free to hit you?” he
threatened, cracking his neck as he took a step forward.
“S-sir, I’ll call the poli—” the chief started to say, and then the possibility
arose in his head that he might die before the police arrived. He had plenty of
experience with odd guests, but the attitude coming from this person was
something he’d never seen on this level before.
And right as the menacing youth crouched down to do something—a
ringtone went off in his shirt pocket.
“…”
The young man stopped, picked up his phone, and held it to his ear.
“It’s me… Ah, gotcha. Where are you now? Huh? …The hell? That’s right
outside this building. Actually, all of you come inside here right now. There’s an
asshole here who doesn’t know how a lady feels… Oh yeah? Tsk… Fine, fine.
I’m coming out.”
The man in the eyepatch and bandages hung up and glared at the sales chief.
“I’m gonna come back here later to make damn sure you bought this lady her
painting…”
Outside of art gallery, Ikebukuro
“So you found this Dollars guy?” Chikage Rokujou asked of his fellow
Toramaru gang member as he exited the gallery.
The man in the leather jacket grunted confirmation and reported, “He’s a
half-Japanese guy named Walker Yumasaki, and he’s supposedly pretty well
known within the Dollars.”
“Weird name. Where is he now?”
“Well…,” the man in the jacket mumbled. He jutted his chin up a bit to
signal the gallery building in front of them.
“He followed a woman into that building right before you walked out of it.”
Inside the gallery
I thought I was going to die…

The sales chief was relieved that the man finally left. Then, he heard a
different visitor’s voice. It was not the usual business talk—it sounded as though
there was trouble after all.
What is it now? he wondered.
A young man was arguing passionately in front of a painting by an illustrator
who went by the name Suzy Yasuda.
“I mean, this is just silk-screened, so even with the frame, at this size the
base cost would be twenty-four thousand yen, right? I have great respect for this
illustrator, so I’d be willing to pay a million yen for this masterpiece! However, I
cannot make this deal unless I have a guarantee that at least eight hundred
thousand of that will go to the artist.”
“Er, well…”
“Besides, this piece was not originally drawn to be silk-screened. And selling
it with a serial number as if it was supposed to be printed is just tarnishing the
true value of the work. Did Suzy really allow you to print and sell this? This? I
mean, there are way too many holes in your story! It doesn’t get a single fraction
of Suzy’s appeal across to the buyer! It completely ruins her mystique! Where
did you get these level-zero powers, anyway?! Listen, the root of Suzy’s
illustrations goes back to…”
“Ch-chief!” pleaded the sales clerk.
The chief raced over and recognized the narrow-eyed half-Western boy. He
put his head in his hands. “Not you again, sir! Please leave at once!”
Once the chief harangued the young man out of the building, he turned to
scold the woman who had been soliciting customers on the street.
“You’re new here, but let me warn you: That half-Japanese customer is not to
be trifled with! Even if he happens to look like a very easy mark!”
“Y-yes, sir.”
The stressed-out chief, a master at underhanded sales strategies, muttered to
himself, “I think I need to get out of this business…”
“That guy dressed as a bartender smashes the place up right as I start
working here… The Awakusu-kai stroll right in and demand the originals we
copy… It’s just insane, really…”
Right around the time the sales chief felt like he was going to get an ulcer,
Chikage Rokujou started following Yumasaki as he exited the gallery.
“…That’s him? Doesn’t look the part.”
“Well, that’s just what the Dollars are like. You can’t identify ’em in a crowd
like that. A couple of our guys who raided Ikebukuro last month got beat by his
friend, some asshole named Kadota. From what I hear, Kadota’s got a lot of pull
within the Dollars.”
“Ahhh…,” Chikage muttered, following his prey by sight. Up ahead, a
woman dressed in black stopped Yumasaki. Next to her was a fierce-looking
man with a knit cap who was speaking with Yumasaki on obviously friendly
terms.
“Ah, that’s him! Kadota is the guy in the beanie.”
“…They’ve got a girl. No action this time, then. We’ll just watch.”
“Got it.”
The Dollars trio wandered around Sunshine Street for a while longer, and as
they reached the Tokyu Hands building, Kadota said something to Yumasaki and
the woman and then walked off on his own.
The pair crossed at the light to go toward Sunshine City, while Kadota
continued south along the Metropolitan Expressway.
“I’ll take it from here. You meet up with the rest.”
“But—”
“Just go.”
“Got it.”
With his companion out of the way, Chikage continued following Kadota.
But after a while, his gaze stopped on a building nearby.
He stopped walking momentarily, forgetting even that he was busy trailing a
target.
“…Right in the middle of Ikebukuro…there’s an all-girls’ school…?!”
The leader of Toramaru was rooted to the spot for most of a minute, standing
at the entrance of a girls’ academy located right near Raira Academy. Because of
the vacation, there did not happen to be any girls in the vicinity right now.
But I gotta hold out hope… No! I got more important things to do now.
He came back to his senses and shook his head. Suddenly, he heard someone
speak in a cold voice behind him.
“…You want something with us?”
“…”
Chikage spun around and saw the man with the beanie, the one he was
supposed to be trailing. “Oh. You knew I was following you.”
“Yeah. But I began to doubt my own instincts when you stopped in front of
the all-girls’ school,” Kadota said, cracking his neck. He asked Chikage, “So
who are you? I don’t think I’ve ever met you before, but at least I know you’re
not the kind of scum who’d target a guy escorting a lady.”
“My name’s Chikage Rokujou… I think I’d get along with you,” he grinned,
and then he shook his head sadly. “But…you’re with the Dollars, right?”
“…Yeah, you might say that.”
“It’s a shame. I heard a rumor that Shizuo Heiwajima’s also in the Dollars. Is
that for real?” he asked.
“…I think that’s the case, but I don’t believe he thinks of himself as being a
member of anything,” Kadota replied honestly.
“Yeah, he’s one of those guys, huh? I see… So you’re not all on the same
page together.”
“?”
“…But still, that’s got nothin’ to do with us.”
Right at that moment, Kadota’s cell phone rang, as if on cue.
“Go on, get it. I’ll wait.”
“It’s an e-mail,” Kadota said, looking at the screen without letting down his
guard. The ringtone had to be for messages relating to the Dollars. He opened it
up promptly, wondering if it had something to do with the man right in front of
him.
“…”
Kadota squinted at the contents of the message, and then he turned up to
glare at Chikage.
“What’s up?”
“…Hey, punk.”
The message on his phone was an emergency alert—that Dollars were being
attacked all over Ikebukuro.
“Why did you— No, why did all of you people come here?” Kadota
demanded, staring down the other man in worry and anger.
Chikage, meanwhile, stared right back into Kadota’s eyes. He shrugged. “We
just came to pay for the fight we were sold.”
“Keep the change. I don’t need it.”
At that moment, inside the abandoned factory
As Mikado tried to extract the term Blue Squares from the recesses of his mind
to put a meaning to Aoba’s shocking revelation, his cell phone suddenly erupted
with the arrival of an e-mail.
Similar notifications and vibrations went off on the phones of the other boys
around them, all at once.
—!
The notification was the sound Mikado used for Dollars-related messages—
which led him to a major realization.
I should have figured… They’re all Dollars, too.
A group all gathered in one place. Ringtones going off all at once.
The scale was much, much smaller, but it reminded Mikado of a scene he
experienced a year earlier. The realization shook him.
And even worse than that was the content of the e-mail: that members of the
Dollars were under attack.
“I think it’s started,” Aoba said as he checked the same message on his
phone, his smile never wavering.
“Started…? What’s started…?”
“Toramaru’s revenge… The guys from Saitama,” Aoba replied. Mikado felt
his vision warp.
Is this…real life?
Was this boy really the same kid from school who grinned innocently at
everything? Well, he certainly had that same smile right now.
But Mikado couldn’t connect the things that Aoba was saying with reality as
he knew it.
“Why…would you attack people in Saitama? Why are you doing this…?”
“It was thanks to them that our little Ikebukuro tour got torn to shreds. So
this was a little payback… Does that work for you?”
“…”
Mikado swallowed. He had no words.
Based on what he heard so far, he had to assume that he wasn’t going to
elicit Aoba’s true intentions here. Clutching his phone, Mikado decided to
attempt a dialogue with the younger boy.
“The Blue Squares… I’ve heard of them. I think…they were a color gang
around here years ago… And after a war with the Yellow Scarves, a number of
them were claimed by the other gang…from what I hear.”
A number of the boys in the factory whistled in admiration. Even Aoba’s
eyes were sparkling in surprise.
“You know a lot more than I imagined. I’m impressed!”
“Why would you tell me…tell me these things?”
“Because I trust you. Is that such a bad thing?”
“It’s not an answer… What do you want from me?” Mikado demanded, his
confusion only deepening.
“That’s a good question. I was hoping to do this after you knew a little bit
more about us…but I guess I could just start off by asking you first.”
Aoba looked up at Mikado, still sitting on the pile of metal beams, his eyes
sparkling.
“Leader,” he prompted.
“Huh…?”
“I’m not asking you to be the leader of the Dollars. That would conflict with
the ethos of the Dollars, I suppose.”
Giggling.
Mocking.
For some reason, the other boys present all broke into laughter, the sound
undulating rhythmically off the walls of the empty factory. And riding atop that
rhythm like poetry, Aoba’s words melted into the air of the room, rattling
Mikado with their implication.
“…Instead, we want you to be the leader of the Blue Squares.”
“Uh…”
“We’ll just hang back and follow you.”
He couldn’t keep up. It was too sudden, too illogical.
It felt like someone was asking him to become an Arab oil monarch
tomorrow. If Yumasaki and Karisawa had mentioned it, he would have assumed
they were making a manga reference. That was how baffling the request was to
Mikado.
“Why…why would I—?”
“Well, there are a number of reasons, but mostly it’s because you occupy a
special position in the Dollars.”
“Special position…?” Mikado repeated robotically.
Aoba helpfully explained, “To be brief, it’s because you are the founder of
the Dollars.”
“…!”
“Is that a surprise? We have our own information network, you know.”
Aoba was neither intimidated by nor was he patronizing to the stunned
Dollars’ founder. He simply put his intentions into words that spoke for
themselves.
“You can use us any way you want. If you decide you want to end this war,
and command us to go and grovel at Toramaru’s feet so they can beat us to a
pulp…then we’ll have no choice but to obey. We’ll take it. But if we survive and
make it out of the hospital, then you really will be our leader… On the other
hand, if you command us to crush Toramaru and stop them from harming our
fellow Dollars, we’ll use whatever means necessary.”
“You know…I can’t do…either! It’s out of the question!” Mikado said,
finding his authority at last. He shook his head vigorously. “What makes you
think I would accept such a thing…? If you want to avoid gang warfare, just
pretend you’re not in the Dollars and stay out of it. That’s the type of person I
am. I’m not meant to stand on your shoulders!”
It was a true cry from the heart. That was how he meant it and how it felt
coming out.
But Aoba only got to his feet and leaned in close.
In a tiny voice that only Mikado could hear, he muttered, “That’s not true.”
He looked delighted, so delighted.
“After all…”
“Huh…?”
“At this very moment…
…you’re smiling, aren’t you?”
At that moment, within the factory grounds
It was a negotiation taking place in total privacy.

No matter what choice Mikado made, only those involved in the matter
would know.
Except that a third party was, in fact, listening in at that very moment.
And depending on how loosely you wanted to define it, they were very much
involved.
Ummm…
Celty Sturluson was on the outside of the abandoned factory, hiding in the
shadows around a window.
…What’s going on here?
Her sense of hearing could pick up the conversation inside with ease. It
sounded like the uniquely aggressive bravado of young delinquents, but the boy
at the center of it was someone she knew.
Am I actually witnessing a major turning point in Mikado’s life?
The irony was that it wasn’t even the group of boys that had brought her
here.
Celty only spent a few minutes back at Shinra’s apartment the previous
night. She was surprised to learn that Shizuo and his workmate had been there,
but there was more important business to cover: She explained the situation with
Anri and asked Shinra to let the girl stay the night, then left again.
The reason she left was simple: She had to search for the girl in the photo,
the granddaughter of the Awakusu boss.
According to Shiki, the girl was bouncing between twenty-four-hour manga
cafés and family restaurants. It seemed unlikely that such a girl could stay at a
late-night restaurant by herself without being reported to the police, but she
clearly had some special trick to living out of a restaurant.
But how would she shower? When Celty peered into an actual manga café
(with funny looks and warnings about wearing her helmet indoors), she was
surprised to learn that the cafés were putting in showers now.
In addition to this, she was rotating around the homes of friends from school
and acquaintances from the Internet, which made it difficult for the yakuza’s
information network to pick up details.
Shiki claimed that they would inform her once they found the girl, but the
thought of those dangerous, armed men on the move made Celty afraid for this
unfamiliar girl and pressed her into action.
All night long, she prowled around Ikebukuro—without realizing that the
girl had been inside her apartment all along.
Celty wound up cycling through restaurants until morning but never found
the girl—and when she returned to digging into the identity of the mystery
attackers from earlier, the trail of black thread led her to the abandoned factory.
Wow…my shadow really will stretch for miles and miles, she noted with
surprised admiration when she saw that the thread was still intact. When the
slender line of shadow touched the ground, it rejoined her real shadow, where it
would not tangle on anything or anyone.
Celty could manipulate the shadow at will, making it act like a liquid or even
a gas if she wanted. If she ran it around a single building hundreds of times, she
could still retrieve all of it within mere seconds.
I feel like that cat-shaped robot that came from the future with all its helpful
tools. But I can return to that later, she thought and focused on the situation
before her. What is it with me and this run-down old factory?
She was interested in what choice Mikado would make, but was it right of
her to listen in? A wave of terrible guilt washed over her, but Celty couldn’t
force herself to move or stop eavesdropping.
And she, too, was being observed by someone else.
At that moment, inside Russia Sushi
“So what is it?”

“There are signs the two of them have been around Ikebukuro. I thought I
ought to tell you.”
They were speaking Russian—the familiar visitor Egor, as well as the
brusque owner of the sushi shop, who asked, “You said the other day that these
are people we don’t know?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s true that I don’t know this Slon fellow, but Vorona is Drakon’s
little daughter, isn’t she?”
“When I said you don’t know them, I was being truthful. She’s not the girl
you once knew, Denis.”
Simon was out luring in customers for the approaching lunch hour, when the
restaurant would open, so the only ones in the building were Egor and Denis, the
owner.
“It’s still her, no matter how much she changes. That’s what Colonel
Lingerin would say,” Denis noted with disinterest.
“Well, er…if you look at things the same way that Lingerin does, yes,” Egor
sighed. “Did you happen to hear anything last night?”
“…I heard what sounded like one distant shot from an anti-matériel rifle.”
“I heard it, too. That was probably Vorona and Slon. And it didn’t just ‘sound
like’ that, it was the very anti-matériel rifle that they took from the company.”
“…”
The sushi chef silently polished his knife as Egor rubbed the bandages
wrapped around his face. He came to a serious conclusion.
“It will do no one any favors if we don’t stop her soon. For her sake, for
Drakon’s sake, and for Tokyo’s sake. And of course…for your sake, since you
love this place so much.”
At that moment, rooftop, building next to abandoned factory
“Unused factory building. The information was in error. Location is gathering

place of delinquent youth.”
“It looks like the Black Rider is hiding from the children… Should we snipe
from here?” Slon asked as he peered through the scope.
Vorona shook her head. “Rider survived after yesterday’s shot—true monster.
Failed attempt will only reveal our location. Fatal mistake.”
Vorona and Slon were on standby on the roof of a building within a
reasonable distance from the factory. They were set up so they could see the
majority of the factory grounds and watched Celty as she followed the black
thread in.
If they only wanted to find her, they just had to follow the thread the other
direction. But they were enemies, of course, and it would be foolish to head
straight into a face-to-face confrontation.
Instead, they left Vorona’s motorcycle inside the empty factory to lure the
Black Rider there—and just moments after that, the strange group of boys
appeared. Now the rider was crouched in the shadows outside of the window,
hiding from them.
But of course, she was openly visible to Vorona and Slon. The Russian
woman continued watching for a while, sucked in a deep breath, and muttered,
“We will follow the monster. Target child might be found at the end of this.”
Slon sighed and commented, “You’re enjoying yourself, Vorona.”
“Affirmation. It has become more enjoyable.”
Vorona’s flat expression, that was a gift from her father, twisted slightly with
her warped words of love.
“I like Ikebukuro. Half disappointment, half envy. A bit of hope. That is
love.”
“I have decided to love Ikebukuro. Affirmation.”

At that moment, office building, Ikebukuro
“That son of a… I told him never to come back to Ikebukuro…”

In an office building far from the shopping center of the neighborhood,
Shizuo was furiously climbing the stairs.
“Now he thinks he can just open up an office here…”
He reached the third floor and set his sights on a door straight ahead. The
address on the sheet of paper pasted on his old office was correct. There was no
sign on the door or wall, but there weren’t any other tenants in the building,
either.
Guess I’ll pretend to be a customer to get him to open up.
He knocked on the office door.
“…”
There was no response.
He spotted a doorbell to the side and tried ringing that—still no response.
Next, he attempted to listen through the door to see if it was vacant inside,
but he heard the sounds of a TV or radio coming from within.
So he thinks he can pretend not to be home? Shizuo fumed and grabbed the
knob so he could force the door open…
Huh?
The door wasn’t locked. It opened without any resistance.
What the hell? He didn’t even lock up.
Shizuo let go of the knob, which was now molded into the shape of his palm,
and strode into the office, not bothering to hide his irritation.
The office was split into a number of smaller rooms, and the first one had
bookshelves along the wall, packed with countless files and materials.
…Is this what an info dealer’s office looks like? Shizuo wondered
suspiciously. He continued toward the back in search of his archenemy.
What he saw there was…
“…”
“………”
“……………Huh?”
Seconds passed after he first saw it.

Shizuo could not initially process the sight before him.
It was actually quite a simple scene, one that an objective observer could
instantly identify.
But for the subjective viewer in this case, it was almost impossible to piece
together.
He was looking at three blobs of flesh, dressed in suits.
One in front of the TV, which was still on.
One slumped in a chair.
One driven into the thin wall that separated room from room.
It took some time for Shizuo to realize that they were all “done in,” as it
were.
The face of the man in front of the TV was half-pulverized.
The head of the man sitting in the chair had been twisted 180 degrees.
The spine of the man driven into the wall was broken at an odd angle from
the rest of his torso.
There was one initial thing that unified all of them, as far as he could tell.
All three had been dispatched using what appeared to be bare-handed means.
“…”
It had been a long time since he saw a dead body.
Shizuo had never committed murder, but through his various exploits over
the years starting from high school, he had seen corpses on a number of
occasions.
If he hadn’t, he might have thrown up on the spot, such was the level of
carnage on display.
How long had he stood on the spot?
Wait, you gotta be kidding me. Why are there dead bodies in Izaya’s office?
Surprise turned to suspicion in Shizuo’s mind, and the questions led to more
questions.
Hang on… Is this really Izaya’s office…?
Just then, someone behind him bellowed, “Hey, you! Who said you could
come…in…?”
Shizuo spun around to see a young man with a shaved head. He looked
imposing enough on his own, but he stopped in his tracks with obvious
uncertainty when he recognized Shizuo.
He looked from Shizuo to the blobs of flesh. His eyes went wide, and his
mouth started working like a goldfish’s.
“Y-y-you, why, why, why you…why you…”
The man with the shaved head put a hand on the wall behind him and then
ran toward the entrance in a panic.
There had been no time to explain anything. Shizuo snorted in confusion and
put a hand to his chin to think.
That was when he realized that he had been framed, in the most direct and
stunning way possible.
Less than a minute later, the bald-headed man returned with a gun, fearfully
looking for Shizuo. But Shizuo was already gone. The only sound in the office
was the whistling wind from the open third-story window.
A few seconds more after that, the room echoed with the man’s furious voice
as he yelled into the phone.
“Shizuo… It was Shizuo Heiwajima! I recognized him! Call Mr. Shiki right
away!”
“That little prick just killed three of our boys!”
And as of that moment, Shizuo Heiwajima’s peace of mind and his desire to
lead a quiet life were utterly eradicated.
May 4, midday, underground east exit of Ikebukuro Station, front of the Ikefukuro
Owl Café
“Don’t worry. The person coming to see us is very nice,” Anri reassured Akane,
who looked up at her and nodded.
Akane’s fever was totally gone, and with Shizuo being gone now, it seemed
that the mental stress plaguing her had eased. Shinra gave his stamp of approval
as well, and so Anri decided to take the frightened girl outside to buoy her
spirits.
She was worried about the possibility the girl might try to run away, but
Akane claimed that if she ran across “that Shizuo person,” she would try to hear
him out properly this time, so Anri took her at her word.
Plus, the mention of Izaya Orihara’s name was very concerning for Anri, too.
She and Izaya had faced off as enemies once before, although that was less Anri
and more Saika at work.
On top of that, there was the sudden attack the previous night, as well as the
girl’s claim that her father and grandfather were going to be killed.
Shinra suggested that it might be dangerous to go out, but it also seemed
very unlikely that any fights would break out among the bustling crowds of
Ikebukuro in the middle of the day.
When she explained that she had an arrangement to meet some school
friends, Shinra said, “Okay, I’ll tell Celty when she gets back. Once she has
some free time after work, I’ll send her to keep an eye on you. Of course, if
Shizuo was around, I’d have him be your bodyguard,” and allowed them to leave
the apartment.
But now that they were actually out, Anri suspected that it might have been
careless of her after all. If that assailant from yesterday wasn’t the type to
hesitate in the middle of the open public, she might be exposing innocent Akane
to danger.
So Anri waited, tense and wary.

She wanted Mikado and Aoba to arrive as quickly as possible to bring the
sense of normalcy and security that they provided her.
But she simply didn’t realize that the normalcy of Ikebukuro, particularly
around the people she knew, had already been shattered.
And thus Anri Sonohara did not yet realize that they were taking a step into
that broken city.
A dark place, Ikebukuro
Izaya Orihara’s cell phone also received the message about the Dollars under
attack.
But that wasn’t all.
He was getting messages from multiple pet sources of his with similar
information. Every once in a while, there were details of an entirely different
kind.
Izaya glanced over all of this info equally in the darkness. He mumbled,
“Those little Blue Squares brats. I guess they were after the same thing, but only
up to a point.”
Half-excited and half-irritated, he envisioned a particular boy’s face.
“But that’s all right. If you think about it, Aoba Kuronuma is another sweet
little junior of mine from Raira. I suppose…I accept his challenge.”
He fiddled with his phone and spoke aloud—to the darkness or to himself?
“Now I will work directly to outdo you in an honest battle of wits.”
Izaya sent a few messages off and then reached for a knob in the midst of the
dark.
“As fellow black sheep among the sea that is the Dollars…”
The door opened, filling his eyes with the blinding noon sun. He stared
balefully up at it.
“…We ought to get along and cannibalize each other.”
Izaya Orihara laughed.

It was unclear just how much he knew about Aoba Kuronuma and his
cohorts.
Did he have a plan to crush them, or was he happy to be obliterated in the
attempt either way?
Izaya’s smile was endlessly human, and that was what made him seem so
unnatural.
His laugh was only the starting point.

It was the beginning of an extremely twisted story.
AFTERWORD
Hello, I’m Ryohgo Narita. It’s nice to see you again.

Well, thanks to all of you, Durarara!! has reached a fifth volume.
…But you’ll have to pardon me, as it’s just the first half of a two-part story. I
switched things up this time to have the adult characters getting into the act, but
this is still at its heart a story of love centered around Ikebukuro. I think.
As usual, some characters don’t get much time to shine, but once I’m
finished concluding this tale in Volume 6, I plan to write more of a romantic
soap opera based around Namie, Seiji, and Mika. I have no idea if anyone
actually wants to read that, but I choose to believe that there are many Namie
fans out there.
At any rate! I want to get the next book out to you as soon as possible, but
I’m afraid I’ve really gone and damaged myself with bronchitis this time, so my
usual writing carnage will involve lots of rest. On the other hand, all of that
carnage is making me get out of shape. I need to get back on that Wii Fit.
So anyway, just as he was exhausted in both body and spirit, a bolt of

lightning hit unsuspecting Ryohgo Narita!
It’s a manga adaptation!
As of the April 18, 2009, issue of Square Enix’s G Fantasy magazine,
Durarara!! will be a manga! A fresh new breath of air will be blown into the
world of Durarara!! courtesy of the artist Akiyo Satorigi!
As a matter of fact, when I heard about the manga idea, I was secretly
wondering, “But…how will they handle the chat scenes…?” Well, that’s
something I’m looking forward to learning. In fact, these novels are really
unsuited to a visual medium! I have nothing but thanks to Mr. Kuma from
Square Enix for pushing so hard for this project.
Even I don’t know what sort of manga this will turn out to be. As yet another
reader like all of you, I can’t wait to find out how the world of Ikebukuro comes
to life in manga form!
That may have been a huge mental boost for me, but I was still physically
exhausted, so I enjoyed a few days of rest and relaxation after turning in the
manuscript.
To fully enjoy my mini-vacation, I joined a number of other authors (some of
whom might have been on the clock before deadlines, so I will not divulge any
names) in an all-night board-game tournament at the home of Mr. Saegusa, a
fellow writer. When I first saw his place, with two entire walls covered with
board games both domestic and foreign, I nearly screamed. Gamers are scary.
A few days later, I visited the new home of my friend Mr. Sigsawa, where we
played Fallout 3 and Test Drive, then watched through all of Astro Fighter
Sunred and the latest episode of Toradora! Mr. Sigsawa is a devout practitioner
of safe driving in the real world, so watching him barrel all over Hawaii in Test
Drive on a TV screen the size of a wall was really fun for the whole group.
…Wait… I didn’t really get much rest at all, did I?
Anyway, my break is over, which means it’s back to the carnage again.
I currently have a little story I wrote for April Fools’ last year running as a
special bonus add-on to a magazine called TYPE-MOON Ace, Volume 2
(Thanks, everyone at TYPE-MOON!), as well as a number of other projects in
the works, but my Dengeki workload is still at full throttle.
After Durarara!! I’ll have Hariyama-san or Baccano! 1710 or Vamp! or
perhaps straight into Durarara!! Volume 7. Whatever happens, there will be no
time to stop and breathe. No time at all…!
Even as I begin to lose sight of where I end and the work begins, I’ve been
enjoying video games as a means to get back to my basics.
Meanwhile, my artists are becoming visible all over the game industry, what
with Yasuda in Devil Survivor and Enami in Star Ocean 4.
It feels strange, having that world be so distant and yet so close to me.
Speaking of which, Devil Survivor is seriously way too fun to be allowed. If I
get started on that topic, no number of pages will contain me, so I’ll hold back.
Meanwhile, Fallout 3 on the Xbox 360 is blowing my mind as well, but the
same limitations apply.
*The following is the usual list of acknowledgements.

Papio. To managing editor Suzuki, editor Jasmine Tokuda, and the rest of the
editorial office, including one Mr. M who served as the model for an Awakusu-
kai character.
To the proofreaders, whom I give a hard time by being so late with
submissions. To all the designers involved with the production of the book. To
all the people at Media Works involved in marketing, publishing, and sales.
To my family who do so much for me in so many ways, my friends, and the
people of “S City.”
To all the writers and illustrators working with Dengeki Bunko for their
inspiration and permission.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, for providing such wonderful illustrations, despite
being busy with his work on Devil Survivor and his Yozakura series.
And to all the readers who checked out this book.
Thank you all so very, very, very much!
January 2009 — “Heading into playthrough number three of

Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor”
Ryohgo Narita
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Copyright
RYOHGO NARITA

coincidental.
DURARARA!!
Yen On
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First Yen On Edition: November 2016


Identifiers: LCCN 2015041320| ISBN 9780316304740 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN 0316304743 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316304764 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 031630476X (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316304771 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN
0316304778 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316304788 (v. 4 : pbk.) | ISBN 0316304786 (v. 4 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316304795 (v. 5 : pbk.) | ISBN 0316304794 (v. 5 : pbk.)
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.N37 Du 2015 | DDC [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at
http://lccn.loc.gov/2015041320
ISBNs: 978-0-316-30479-5 (paperback)
978-0-316-30496-2 (ebook)
E3-20161021-JV-PC
Copyright
RYOHGO NARITA

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!!
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First Yen On Edition: March 2017

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the
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Names: Narita, Ryōgo, 1980– author. | Yasuda, Suzuhito, illustrator. | Paul, Stephen (Translator),
translator.
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.)
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.N37 Du 2015 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015041320
ISBNs: 978-0-316-30481-8 (paperback) 978-0-316-30497-9 (ebook)
E3-20170227-JV-PC
Interlude or Prologue D, Masaomi Kida
May 3, inside a Shinkansen
“These bullet trains are amazing, aren’t they?”

Her eyes shone like the sea at night as she gazed out the window.
The scenery flowed past like wind and occasionally left nothing but the
reflection of the car interior against the glass.
He met her eyes in that reflection and smiled gently. “What about it is
amazing?”
This question would normally prompt certain answers: the speed of the train
or the fact that such a huge piece of metal could move at all. But he knew that
the girl sitting next to him was too old to consider such innocent, childish
thoughts worthy of mention.
She craned her neck to look straight at him this time and gave him a meek
smile.
“How straight it is.”
The abstract answer put an awkward look on his face. He replied, “You’re
always going to be weird, Saki.”
“Is that a fact? Not as much as you, Masaomi,” the girl named Saki said, the
grin still stuck on her face like a doll’s.
“Really? Am I that weird?”
“Yes. You hate Izaya so much, but you’re perfectly content with running
errands for him. You’re really twisted, you know that? Like a Tokyo subway
map. But I like that about you.”
She beamed like a little boy who’d just caught an impressive stag beetle. He
shifted his face away from her uncomfortably but turned his eyes in her
direction.
“And you never fail to be blunt about the things that are hard to say, Saki.”
Masaomi Kida was riding the Shinkansen back to Tokyo with his girlfriend,
Saki Mikajima.
For personal reasons, he had quit school and now lived together with her.
Masaomi’s parents practiced a hands-off approach, so they didn’t have any
apparent intention of scolding this behavior.
Once Masaomi and Saki became former high school students, they found that
it was difficult to be independent—and so Masaomi ended up doing odd jobs for
Izaya Orihara, the very man who had put him in his current predicament.
Masaomi understood that Izaya’s encouragement had caused him to lose
many things.
But he also knew the responsibility for taking those steps forward lay in no
one but himself.
The Dollars and Yellow Scarves were two gangs that made their home in
Ikebukuro, and a midscale conflict arose between them.
Fortunately, they were able to resolve the situation before it went truly large-
scale, but over the course of events, Masaomi had created an enormous rift
between him and the friends he truly cared about.
He had dug that rift.
Perhaps the others could simply leap over the crevice without worry.
But Masaomi could not step over it himself.
He was too afraid of seeing his old self in the darkness at the foot of that
chasm.
Ultimately, Masaomi was unable to jump over it and unable to back away.
His method of fleeing the situation was standing still, right on that very spot.
Inward, always inward. To ensure that his own shell couldn’t overtake him.
Dragging the half-broken girl at his side with him.
Now he was on the Shinkansen, heading back to Tokyo.

As an errand boy for Izaya Orihara, he’d just been in a city in the Tohoku
region of northern Japan. The trip ran longer than he expected, and he’d been
away from the capital for a week.
The final few days sent him so far into the mountains he could barely get a
cell signal, which cut him off from the rest of the world. Saki had never been
addicted to the Internet or cell phones, but Masaomi found the experience to be
alienating.
The Internet continued onward without his knowledge. The sensation that he
was being left behind filled him with an awful unease.
“You’re way too tied down to the Internet, Masaomi. What are you, a
masochist?” Saki laughed.
“What do you mean, masochist? Don’t you know how handy the Net is?”
“Even the people you can just meet in person, you only contact through the
Internet.”
“…It’s not strictly by choice. I can’t see them in person.”
“Convincing yourself of that is what makes you masochistic. You’d feel a lot
better if you just saw them.”
She hit him right in the sore spot again.
He snorted in denial, but on the inside, Masaomi was examining his own
heart.
The fact that he always considered himself to have absolutely no addiction to
the Internet only made this feeling of being left out all the more troublesome.
Maybe I’m just getting homesick because I can’t goof around in the chat
room with those guys like I always do.
…I can’t even talk to Mikado except online, too.
Every time he pictured the face of the friend he’d cut himself off from, he’d
shake his head and scold himself for wallowing in emotions. It wasn’t his style.
After repeating the process a few times, he forgot about his feeling of haste.
Therefore, he hadn’t yet noticed something.

Within the impatience bubbling inside him at being cut off from the Internet,
there was a small but sharp foreboding he felt about the sudden mission that
Izaya sent him on.
Neither did he notice that the tiny premonition was absolutely correct.
May 4, morning, Tokyo
Masaomi and Saki got back to Tokyo on the night of the third, and because he
had to report to Izaya and handle some routine tasks, they were still awake when
morning came.
He booted up his PC when they got back to his apartment. For some reason,
the desktop came up instantly, as though it had been on sleep mode the entire
week he was gone.
“What’s up, Masaomi? Going to surf the Net before you sleep?”
“Yeah, just gonna check the chat room for the first time in a week.”
Izaya had introduced him to this chat room. Mikado was one of its frequent
members.
Not only was it a handy connection to his friend, it was also a useful place to
gauge what things were like in Ikebukuro.
Masaomi opened the page, hoping to find out what, if anything, had changed
in the week he was gone. The chat room was in a blank, initialized state—there
was no backlog to it at all.
“…Huh. The backlog is gone. Did they have another spammer?” Masaomi
wondered aloud briefly, then dismissed the thought and typed in a generic
greeting.
“Maybe everyone vanished.”
“Don’t be scary,” he replied, laughing off her joke.
A part of him felt a momentary shiver at Saki’s words, but he told himself it
was nothing.
Because he had been away from the Internet for a week, he had no inkling
about what had happened.
He had no idea that someone had taken his username in the chat room
(Bacura) and adopted it to manipulate the mind of his best friend.
Nor did he know that his friend was currently rushing headlong into a terrible
disaster on account of it…
Not the slightest inkling.
The Black Market Doctor Gets Sappy, Part Four
Excerpt from Shinra Kishitani’s journal
April 30
Celty was cute again today. She always is.

A month has passed since spring arrived, but her loveliness never changes.
Even after the world ends and I’ve turned into dust, the truth that Celty was
cute will remain a constant fact.
I’ve been keeping this journal for about half a year, and upon consulting it,
this is about the twentieth time I’ve started an entry this way.
It just goes to show you how cute she is.
That’s a good thing.
That alone allows me to record that today was a good day.
Speaking of which, when did I first experience romantic feelings for Celty?
I think I realized it was love in middle school or high school.
If youth is the season when you fall in love with love, then mine is
undoubtedly happening at this very moment.
Speaking of which, how do kids these days spend their youth?

I look back fondly on my days at Raira Academy. Things were a bit rougher
back then. The school was packed with the types who spent their younger years
fighting.
But I was no good at that, so I couldn’t join in on their style and saw no
reason to, anyway.
Some of Celty’s acquaintances are current students at Raira.
They’ve been to our place a few times, and when they were, I told them that
they weren’t like kids nowadays, for good reasons and bad. But in a way, they’re
more futuristic than the youth of today.
Of course, just being comfortable enough to know what Celty is and still
hang around her makes them unlike normal kids.
I understand full well just how adorable Celty is, so I can be with her forever.
If only the people of the world understood her beauty better.
Then everyone could love Celty.
Dullahans aren’t monsters; they’re fairies.
On top of that, Celty’s a cute one. That’s really something.
Personally, I’d love to be able to explain all her charm, but I couldn’t
possibly cover it all.
And if I relayed how bewitching she is as a woman, I’d instantly create
thousands of rivals for her love.
Speaking of which, what about Mikado and Anri, the kids who came over
recently?
I thought they were a couple, but they seemed oddly distant. Hardly the
intimate soul mate situation.
Perhaps they’re still at that “more than friends, less than lovers” stage.
Too formal to be the childhood-friend type, but not platonic male-female
friends, either.
Maybe they’re just before the romantic confession.
I think they should live as they desire.
Compared to our high school days, it’s a much more healthy way of life.
They seem to have their own problems to worry about, but that’s fine.
There’s no law that says you can’t balance love and battle.
Yes, you need to compartmentalize and use self-control, but I also think that a
lack of desire is a problem.
People shout and carry on about the Dollars and Yellow Scarves and whatnot.
I think it’s just youth.
But there’s one thing you shouldn’t get wrong.
You can’t just escape the responsibility for your mistakes by hiding behind
the excuse of youth.
Hang around in bars, and you’ll hear salarymen boast about their past
indiscretions by saying, “I used to be a bad kid.” They’re mistaken about that.
If you can laugh off the bad things you did in your youth and brag about
them, you weren’t bad as a kid. You’re still bad now.
As the sayings go, “A leopard cannot change its spots,” and “What is learned
in the cradle is carried to the tomb.” These men haven’t changed, and their sins
give them no guilt.
You might consider that a criminal youth who goes to juvenile hall has paid
the price for his crimes, but if they brag about it years later, they haven’t really
atoned.
I don’t disallow children the right to act stupid.
But I also don’t disallow the necessity to pay the appropriate price for it.
I suspect that the evil deeds I’ve done in the past will demand a day of
reckoning eventually.
But if possible, I hope that when the moment comes, it does not cause Celty
grief.
I think that’s the one atonement I can provide to make up for hiding the
location of her head.
Is that selfish of me?
Wow, I really got serious there for a moment.

I will now transition to my daily practice of listing outfits that I want Celty to
wear.
Just can’t get a good night’s sleep unless I do this.
Imagining Celty in the outfits I describe here actually makes it more difficult
to sleep, but that’s a very trifling problem.
—Celty dressed as a Wild West sheriff. Maybe she’d exhibit a wild eroticism
like Sharon Stone in The Quick and the Dead. She can’t be killed with bullets, so
she’s an invincible sheriff, until the day she fell in love with me, the outlaw with
a bounty on his head. No, wait, maybe I should be the sheriff who falls in love
with Celty, the wanted outlaw. Since she doesn’t have a head to begin with, I
could secretly save her by mocking up a sham of a hanging to throw everyone
off her trail. Yep, that should work.
—Celty in a school-issued swimsuit. On the nametag on her chest, it would
say SERUTI in hiragana, like a kid would write. That might be kind of cute. I’m
not particularly into young girls or older ladies as a rule, but I know for a fact
that I could love Celty, no matter what form she comes in.
—Stripper clothes. She works a job where she shows off her body, but around
me, she doesn’t even like to show off her arms. But as a matter of fact, I secretly
pay money to see her strip show every night. (← Veto this. It makes me sound
like a normal old pervert, which Celty wouldn’t like.)
—School sailor uniform. I’ve actually brought this one up several times
before, so I’ll discuss a black-based outfit in this case. Set the scene: the library
after school. As the student librarian, I return in the evening to pick up
something I forgot. Who should I see but Celty the nerdy bookworm, so wrapped
up in her book that she never heard the bell ring, her headless body trembling in
the dark… (← Bingo! This is some fantastic work. I’ll ask her about re-creating
this one later.)
Every single time, just rereading what I wrote nearly gives me a nosebleed.
They say that love is not a true affliction, but my case of it is pretty severe.
Only Celty can cure me now.
She’s currently sitting behind me, watching last week’s episode of Mysterious
Discoveries of the World.
She probably couldn’t even imagine that I’m right behind her, indulging in
fantasies of her dressed in various outfits. I love how innocent and unsuspecting
she is.
Uh-oh, I think she’s going to take a look at my journal.
writing this in real time by hand as I try to hide this journal from Celty if
she sees my journal of fantasies I can’t even begin to guess what she’ll do to
oh no! her shadow caught me around the ankl~~~~~ — ~ —
(The rest of the page is blank except for a few spots of blood.)
(Between the blood spots are a few lines of text written in a different hand.)
Just say these things out loud, rather than hiding them there. Also, I think I
stained your journal with your own blood. Sorry.
Also, that sailor uniform scenario seems less like a romance and more like a
scary school story.
But I might not be against wearing more normal clothes.
If I feel like it.
Chapter 4: The Escapees
Intertwine
May 4, midday, Ikebukuro
Outside of Ikebukuro, there was a dull sound.
It was the sound of the fist of a man wearing a motorcycle gang uniform
connecting with the cheek of another man in street gang fashion.
“Gah!” he yelped, falling to the ground. The victim glared upward at the
biker with furious loathing. “What the hell?! Do you have any idea who we are?!
Huh?”
He tried to get to his feet as he clutched his cheek, but the man in biker attire
caught him in the face with a kick.
“Yeah, I do. You’re the Dollars, right?” the attacker said coldly, standing over
the fallen gangster. “Come on, you can’t possibly be this weak. I guess it’s true
that the Dollars are a random bunch. Though we don’t got much room to talk
ourselves.”
“Wh-who the fuck are you people?!”
“Hey, what’s going on here?!”
Three other street gangsters standing nearby seemed to have finally processed
the situation before them.
A man wearing an ostentatious motorcycle gang uniform had just asked the
four if they were Dollars. With the scorn reserved for the kind of guy who’d
wear a biker gang outfit in broad daylight, one member had answered, “What if
we are? You gonna offer us a donation, Captain Handlebars?” Then, the
uniformed man punched him.
“You think this is a joke?! What gang you with?!” they shouted, tensing in
anticipation of the answer.
If the biker was with Jan-Jaka-Jan, a street arm of the Awakusu-kai, then one
wrong move could quickly send this situation spiraling out of control.
But if they gave up and backed down, while it might not do much to the
Dollars’ name, it would certainly lower their standing.
They gave him a piercing examination from head to toe and noticed a piece
of decorative stitching on the sleeve of his uniform reading TORAMARU.
“…Ahhh?” one of the gangsters mocked, the relief palpable in his
expression. “What’s this? You’re with Toramaru from Saitama?!”
“…What if I am?”
“You guys just came here and got your asses whupped the other day!”
“Don’t you know that your people got absolutely wrecked?”
“Maybe they don’t get a network signal over in Saitama.”
Spurred on by having lost the physical initiative, they taunted and mocked
him to show the superiority of their mental position.
It would have been more efficient to hit him instead, but they weren’t used to
fighting, and one of their companions had just been felled in two blows, so none
of them was able to take the leap from words into action.
“Besides, do you really think you can take all of us on your own? Huh?” one
of them shouted.
The biker merely sighed. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I attacked you?”
“Shuddup! You think we care?!”
“Yeah! Stop actin’ like you’re in control here!” one said, nearly about to set
upon him.
The man in the biker uniform calmly continued, “I’m pretty sure that I’m
good enough to take on scrubs like you alone…”
The next moment, the gangsters’ spines froze.
“But I don’t wanna get tired out on chumps like you. It’s gonna be a long,
long day.”
Behind his back, at the entrance to the alley, a crowd of nearly a dozen
appeared, all wearing the same uniform.
“…!”
They turned in the other direction and saw that more Toramaru members
were advancing from the other side.
“Wh-why…? Who are you guys?!” the gangsters pleaded, practically crying.
The man cracked his neck. “You said the answer yourself. Why would you
ask me again?
“…We’re Toramaru. The same team you Dollars beat the shit out of…”
A few minutes later
In a parking garage not far from the alley, the gangsters were sitting formally on
the ground, their faces swollen and their voices weak.
“N-no, you got it wrong—we ain’t really Dollars! I—I mean, we aren’t
Dollars, sir. We just signed up online. We don’t even know what their leader
looks like,” they pleaded pathetically, as the man in the uniform stood over them,
wooden sword in hand.
“Hmm, well, the thing is, I don’t really care about that.”
“…”
“Using a name means assuming some level of risk, see? In this case, you
were using the Dollars name to act big around here—it’s a very simple
example.”
“Sowwy, we won’ do ih angymow,” the young men apologized in unison,
their enunciation getting worse with the soft tissue swelling.
The man from Toramaru took a phone out of his chest pocket and tossed it at
their knees. “Call them.”
“Wh-whuh?”
“You do stuff through texts, right? Call as many of them as you can. Message
every person you know in the Dollars.
“You have no other option.”
Twenty minutes later
“Hey, this ain’t a sideshow! Get lost!”

Toramaru members were chasing off a small group of boys who were
watching the events of the parking lot at its entrance. They ran off, screaming. In
their hands were cell phones.
“…Hey, are those kids Dollars, too?”
“I—I don’ know. I juft added aw da namef on da maiwing wift…”
“There was that teenage girl and those salarymen who peered in, too.”
“We’ve probably been reported by now. Let’s move,” one member advised.
Their erstwhile leader sighed in annoyance. “Tsk! So I guess literally anyone
could be with the Dollars.”
He imagined even the little boys from a moment ago descending on them
with fists balled, and he scowled sourly.
“Whoever came up with your gang is smart but a real son of a bitch.”
Awakusu-kai office, Tokyo
The headquarters of the Medei-gumi Syndicate’s Awakusu-kai organization, one

of several groups with territory in Ikebukuro—
At first glance, it was the kind of office building a large company would use,
except that there was no sign at the entrance, and while it was open now, there
were heavy shutters on all the entryways. Anyone perceptive enough to notice
that something was odd with the building naturally found a way to avoid looking
too closely.
The Awakusu-kai office was situated on the building’s middle floors.
Depending on the room, sometimes you could see the expected trimmings
like expensive desks, picture frames, and black leather sofas, like the decorations
seen in TV shows. Other rooms were absolutely the real deal, with pictures of
the Medei-gumi boss (the kumicho) and the head of the Awakusu-kai, a
traditional Shinto shrine, and hanging paper lanterns. But most of it looked just
like any other office building.
In a meeting room tucked away in a corner of the building, a number of men

huddled together.
Half of the men were clearly not in the “upstanding citizen” mold, just based
on their appearance. The other half of them looked just like normal businessmen
—if it weren’t for the fierce respect they commanded amid the tension.
One of them, a young man with a reptilian look to his sharp eyes, said,
“And…did you get Shizuo Heiwajima?”
He was Kazamoto, an Awakusu lieutenant. Sitting across from him was an
imposing-looking man smoking a cigarette.
“Who the fuck said you were in charge, Kazamoto?”
Kazamoto responded to this challenge without looking at the other man.
“Please, Mr. Aozaki, don’t do this to me. I only asked a question. I wasn’t trying
to take charge.”
“I’m not so sure of that.”
Unlike Kazamoto, who was calm and collected, the man named Aozaki
openly stared down his fellow yakuza. He was over six feet tall and very broad.
There was a good mix of muscle and fat on his large frame, and his poorly fitted
suit seemed likely to rip at any moment. His predatory attitude only increased
the menace in the room.
Then another man’s voice cut the tension.
“Knock it off, Aozaki.”
The meeting room fell silent.
“Director,” muttered one or more of them unconsciously, and as if on cue,
they all turned to look at Mikiya Awakusu, the “business director” and young
leader of the Awakusu-kai.
He was the son of Dougen Awakusu, the “company president,” and was
considered to be the most likely candidate to take over the organization next.
In recent years, it was growing less and less likely for groups such as theirs to
pass down control to the leader’s own son, but as Mikiya fully intended to follow
in his father’s footsteps, he was content to be the waka-gashira, the underboss
who oversaw operations.
He was Dougen’s second son. The firstborn was not a yakuza but lived on the
straight-and-narrow path, which was a sign that Mikiya’s presence among them
was completely voluntary.
Some in the group assumed that he had only achieved his position through
nepotism, and because he had no real history or infamy, other yakuza groups in
their vicinity thought of him as the weak link of the Awakusu-kai; he was under
pressure from both inside and outside the organization.
In fact, most of the other members of the organization were still reserving
their judgment on him, waiting to see if he had what it took to inherit the
operation and lead them all.
He narrowed his eyes and lobbed a question to prompt more discussion.
“I don’t know this Heiwajima kid…but is he really the kind of guy who can
kill three of ours in a basic fistfight?”
This simple question seemed to chill the room even further.
About thirty minutes earlier, the bodies of three Awakusu-kai members had
been discovered. This simple, clear fact cast a complex pall over the entire
organization.
It happened on the morning of May 4, just as the rest of society was enjoying
the climax of the Golden Week extended holiday.
Mikiya had direct control over a subsidiary group of the Awakusu-kai called
the Mahoutou Company. Although it labeled itself a “company,” it was, of
course, a front for their activities.
For all outward appearances, it was a gallery for art sales, with the Awakusu
officer Shiki acting as company director, but in fact, Mikiya was the one in
charge. A portion of the money they made went to Awakusu headquarters, while
another portion went further up the chain to the Medei-gumi.
And at one of the three offices the Mahoutou Company owned in Ikebukuro,
in the area of the building where they did their real business away from the
public’s eyes—
An incident occurred.
There were four men on duty at the office. Technically, only three of the four
were present.
When the fourth, a younger member, came back to the office after a several-
hour work shift, he found a man in a bartender outfit, along with the pulverized
remains of his coworkers. By the time he returned to the room with a weapon,
the man was gone.
That was what the young man told his boss, Shiki. He swore up and down
that it was Shizuo Heiwajima, without a doubt, and now Shiki had his men
looking everywhere for Shizuo.
The guy was apparently collecting outstanding debt from the members of a
hookup hotline, but he was still a non-yakuza. Was it really possible that he
could kill three fully fledged members of the underworld?
It was this doubt that led Mikiya to ask about Shizuo.
His answer came from a man wearing a loud-patterned shirt. This one was
about as tall as Aozaki but much more trim and slender. He wore expensive-
looking sunglasses, and there was a Western-style walking stick sitting next to
his chair, although he didn’t seem to have a limp.
“It’s not always with his fists. Depending on how he feels, he’ll use anything
nearby.”
Despite the murder of his fellow Awakusu-kai members, this man had a
cocky, lazy smile on his lips. But his eyes were sharp behind the tinted brand-
name glasses, and the scar on his face and reactions from the others present
made it clear that he was on the combative side.
“You know him, Akabayashi?”
The man named Akabayashi leaned over, creaking his chair, to respond to
Mikiya. “You’ve been coming and going overseas so much and spending so little
time in Ikebukuro, I don’t blame you for not knowing. I’ve seen him fight at a
distance before… He will use weapons, but he doesn’t carry any around. He just
uses whatever’s there.”
“Well, sure. Even a kid who’s been in his share of fights knows you can pick
up a sign, or a rock, or…”
“No, I’m not talking about that. I mean vending machines and guardrails.”
“…? Yeah, that’s normal. Like smacking people’s heads into them, right?”
Mikiya said, confused at Akabayashi’s vague answers.
“No, no, I mean he throws them.”
The furrow in Mikiya’s brow deepened. “What?”
“He’ll throw a vending machine and pull a guardrail right outta the ground.
He even yanked a streetlight outta the sidewalk once, I hear.” Akabayashi
chuckled. Mikiya was ready to admonish him for joking around in a crisis, until
he recognized that something was amiss.
About half of the people in the room were staying conspicuously quiet, their
eyes wandering. If Akabayashi was joking, then Kazamoto or someone else
would have scolded him by now. But Kazamoto was looking down without a
word, and Aozaki was scowling bitterly.
Then, Mikiya noticed that behind Akabayashi’s tinted sunglasses, his eyes
contained no hint of mirth. That told him that the things Akabayashi was
describing were not at all a joke.
He didn’t quite believe it yet, but there was no denying that many of the
people in the room were very tense at just the mention of the name Shizuo
Heiwajima.
“…Anyway, our reconciliation with the Asuki-gumi is coming soon. It’s not
in our best interest to have any failure on our part coming to light. So, as quietly
as you possibly can…
“…find this Heiwajima guy and bring him to me before we expose any of
this calamity to others.”
Building, 3F, somewhere in Tokyo

It was an Awakusu office, the one attacked by some unknown assailant.
The bodies were discovered not half an hour ago, but a conversation was
taking place in the room that bore little resemblance to the grisly scene.
“Thank you for coming, as always.”
“Oh, it happens all the time.”
“When I was a youngster, I owed a lot to th’ late Master Awakusu.”
“It’s a privilege to serve again.” “Lookit how big young Mikiya’s grown.”
“Hasn’t he?”
Shiki, officer of the Awakusu-kai, was greeting a number of ancient old
women bent over at the waist. They were dressed like a cleaning staff, but the
trim of their uniform was so sharp that if they added the proper helmets, they
might look like a germ warfare unit or perhaps wasp exterminators.
There were quite a few old women around the room, busy pushing mops and
spraying cleaning solutions even as they exchanged pleasantries.
“…”
Shiki stood in the corner, silently watching their process.
“Well, it’s a good thing they didn’t bleed too much. If they ran a lumino-
whatsit-called test, it’d pick up a dang nosebleed. You could change out th’
whole wallpaper, and it’d still pick up the blood.”
“The police don’t trust us enough to take our word for an excuse like that.
But they’re not going to get a forensics team in here. We’re cleaning it up to
ensure that doesn’t happen.”
“Well, o’ course.”
“Ha-ha,” Shiki laughed politely to the cleaning women, then turned to the
man next to him. His face was covered in bandages—the young member of the
Awakusu-kai who screamed when Celty took her helmet off and was punished
for his transgression.
“Have you got custody of Shizuo Heiwajima yet?”
“Er, not yet… We’ve found him, but…”
“It’s all right. I realize that kid’s not exactly easy to haul in. And I’m telling
you, no weapons yet. So…how many of ours went down?”
“Actually…,” the subordinate said hesitantly.
Shiki’s gaze drifted a bit. He asked coldly, “What’s the matter?”
“He’s only been running… He hasn’t struck back at us at all.”

Near Toshima Ward office, Ikebukuro
“You must be Shizuo Heiwajima.”

Shizuo was walking down a street a short ways away from Ikebukuro’s
shopping district when the voice hailed him.
“…”
The wanted suspect, dressed in his signature bartender outfit, silently turned
toward the voice.
He saw a number of men walking down the sidewalk, spread out to block his
path. They were all well-built and carried the air of people who did not work
under the light of the sun.
He spun around and saw that, sure enough, similar-looking men were on the
other side, glaring at him in the same fashion and blocking his way.
A black van pulled over to stop at the curb, completely blocking him in.
“…What do you want?” he asked, exasperated.
One of the men said roughly, “Don’t play dumb. You know what you did.”
“It wasn’t me who did that, but I don’t suppose you’d believe me,” Shizuo
said flatly, neither claiming ignorance nor affirming the man’s accusation. The
group of men took a step closer.
“It ain’t up to us whether to believe you or not. Get in the car.”
“I refuse. I’m on the way to sock the crap out of Izaya, since he’s the one
who framed me. Please don’t try to stop me.”
Shizuo’s tone of voice was still calm. In fact, given the polite way he was
speaking to the older men, he even seemed in a better mood than usual—if you
just paid attention to the words he was saying.
But the men who were actually present thought differently.
They could see that while his words were directed toward them, his eyes
were looking elsewhere.
Instead, they burned with rage at some unseen target.
Naturally, the men were members of the Awakusu-kai organization, and some
of them were the same age as Shizuo.
Anyone who’d been in high school in Ikebukuro at the same time as Shizuo
had heard the legend of the “fighting puppet,” and many of them had seen his
ferocity for themselves.
The sight of a human being flying through the air often leaves a deeper
mental impact than one would imagine. And the younger crowd in the Awakusu-
kai witnessed it.
Shizuo Heiwajima.
In Japanese, this name was peaceful, even pastoral, but the sound of it in their
ears brought only cold, bitter sweat.
Several of these young professionals in the art of violence felt overwhelmed,
threatened, by his presence.
Just as they steeled themselves to wield that violence and subdue Shizuo’s
unfathomable strength—something unexpected happened.
The youngster in the bartender outfit, seething and nearly ready to explode,
simply turned his back to them and began to flee in an open direction.
Neither the direction of the sidewalk nor into the street.
The building next to them had no entrance door to a store or office, merely a
vending machine resting against its wall. So Shizuo chose to escape in the one
direction that was not covered by his would-be abductors.
Up.
The moment he started moving in the direction of the vending machine,
several of the other men assumed he would pick it up.
But rather than reaching out for the machine, Shizuo jumped.
The strength in his legs was enough to effortlessly kick a motorcycle down
the street.
So when applied to a simple jump, his legs were easily strong enough to
propel him straight on top of the machine, where he could grab onto the sill of a
second-story window.
As the men stared in awe, he lifted himself up by only the strength of his
arms until he stood on the sill. They figured he would just break the window to
get inside, but instead, he jumped again, this time onto the metal fittings keeping
the adjacent building’s sign attached—and up, and up, and up—just as fast as he
had been running before.
“Y-you’re not gettin’ away!”
One of the men regained his wits, at least. But by the time he shouted, Shizuo
had already disappeared over the roof of the building.
There is an athletic skill known as parkour.

It is described as a “skill” because it exists somewhere between the categories
of sport, art, and method of movement.
It is the ability to run through any setting, urban or natural, with total grace,
freedom, and efficiency.
That’s all it boils down to, but it’s not just running on dirt or asphalt. Masters
of parkour identify a course taking them over various obstacles and utilize it to
move smoothly and continuously to their destination.
If there’s a gap in the roof, jump over it. If there’s a wall, climb over it. If
there’s a handrail, run on top of it and use the added height to run to higher
ground.
Sometimes practitioners travel along walls, sometimes they leap over fences,
sometimes they jump back and forth off alternating walls until they eventually
reach the top.
They might as well be considered modern-day ninjas, and they go by the
French term traceurs. Out of this movement came the development of
“freerunning,” which adds the expressive elements of acrobatic tricks and
flourishes to parkour that are unnecessary to reach the goal.
As movies and games exhibit these skills to a wider audience, familiarity
with these activities has grown around the world.
But there was no such information stored in Shizuo Heiwajima’s brain.

And yet he was successfully racing through the town of Ikebukuro with
absolute freedom.
His movements were not the practiced, disciplined art of the traceurs and
freerunners.
Even for simple feats such as jumping down from heights, a fall of just a few
extra feet can cause certain injury for anyone not practiced at it.
But Shizuo did have a bit of experience with this.
There was a young man named Izaya Orihara who often found himself at
odds with Shizuo.
He had practiced this art of parkour while in his teenage years and made use
of it to escape Shizuo’s brute strength when necessary. As Shizuo followed after
him, he learned a little something about pursuing as well, until he reached the
point where he could actually catch and knock out Izaya.
He recalled those memories of over half a dozen years earlier as he converted
his pursuit skills into escape skills, tearing through the concrete jungle.
He leaped from building to building, plunging over gaps to land a dozen feet
lower without an instant of hesitation. The distinction between jumping and
falling might as well not have existed.
He wasn’t completely absorbing the impacts to his legs. But whether he
wanted it to or not, Shizuo Heiwajima’s body simply withstood what would
normally be withering pain, if not broken bones.
run leap over spin

jump stomp cling slide
grab clamber up crawl spill
And run. Run. Run to and away.
All these movements contained none of the efficiency of parkour or the

acrobatic artistry of freerunning. That made sense, as Shizuo had never trained in
those areas. But he was able to make use of his body’s inhuman strength to
succeed at the end result: racing through the city.
An ordinary strongman cannot match the achievements of the thoroughly
trained. The fact that Shizuo could was a testament to the extraordinary physical
strength he had.
So with his abnormal strength and absurd explosive power, the man known as
Ikebukuro’s Strongest chose not to utilize those talents upon the Awakusu-kai
but instead fled without resisting.
Building, 3F, somewhere in Tokyo
Shizuo Heiwajima had fled.

Shiki silently pondered this report for a while.
The old women were nearly done with their cleaning, removing all traces of
the struggle from the room. It was as if three men had not actually died there at
all.
Shiki’s subordinate couldn’t take the silence any longer and noted, “That
Shizuo Heiwajima must be no big deal if he just turns tail and runs like that.”
The next moment, the back of Shiki’s fist pounded into the bridge of his nose.
“Glurk!”
“How stupid are you? You hear about a man racing up the side of a building
with only the strength in his arms, and your first thought is, ‘No big deal’? If it’s
that easy, why don’t I just dangle you out the window over there and see how
you handle it?”
“S-sorry, sir! I—I just meant that even a monster like him will run away. He’s
not going to be stupid enough to make an enemy out of us.”
Shiki thought this over. Eventually, he muttered mostly to himself, “Why
would someone with that attitude kill our guys?”
“Well…,” his subordinate mumbled.
Shiki ignored him. “He didn’t mess with the safe. And he should be strong
enough to pry open one of those things or just plain carry it off if he wants to.”
Then, he asked the simplest and most important question of all.
“…Was it really Shizuo who did this?”
“Blond guy with sunglasses and a bartender’s vest? Who else would it be?”
“Yeah, based on the report, I’m not doubting that he was here. What I mean
is…”
Shiki paused and stared around the room again.
If it was really Shizuo Heiwajima who killed them, he wouldn’t have left a
witness. I suppose he could have done it to make it clear that it was him, but why
would he need to do something like that?
“At any rate, we’ve got to bring him in. If Akabayashi or Aozaki gets
involved, it will only complicate matters,” he barked to his men.
Just then, another man raced in through the door. “I’ve got something you
need to hear, Mr. Shiki!”
“What is it?”
“I…I just got a report from the guys out looking for Mikiya’s daughter… Our
scout on Sixtieth Floor Street says he saw Miss Akane yesterday.”
That was the name of the daughter of Mikiya Awakusu, Shiki’s boss—and
the granddaughter of Dougen Awakusu, the company president.
They’d had the entire operation searching for her after she ran away from
home, but with a newer, fresher emergency on his hands, Shiki realized that he’d
completely forgotten about her for a brief moment.
“It was Kazamoto’s team on the search for Miss Akane. Why are you
reporting to me?”
The fact that this man had raced here to tell him meant that the report
pertained to him somehow. Shiki waited for the younger man’s explanation,
feeling a nasty sense of foreboding coming over him.
His premonition was immediately proven correct.
“W-well, yesterday…a girl resembling the young miss was seen…running

somewhere with Shizuo Heiwajima…”
Train platform, somewhere in Tokyo
In the midst of the Golden Week holiday, the platform was crowded with
traveling families, students in plainclothes, and office workers pressed into
service during the vacation, making the scene even more chaotic and cramped
than usual.
Amid the bustle, a young man leaned against a post at the corner of the
platform, not moving even when the train came in.
Fleeing here and there isn’t your style, Shizu.
Izaya Orihara smirked, staring at the screen of his phone.

Does that mean you’ve chilled out a bit?
If you strike back against them, it leaves no room for excuses, after all.
I’m guessing that right about now…some of the sharper members of the
Awakusu-kai are doubting that you were responsible for this.
I suppose that means you’ve grown somewhat as a person.
But in your case, that’s more of a regression.
He pressed a button on the phone, envisioned his greatest rival running
around in a panic, and smiled again.
Happily, gleefully, maliciously.
What meaning is there in a monster growing as a person? You have no future
doing anything but using your own strength. If you didn’t want to be suspected,
maybe you should’ve beaten that witness to death, he thought to himself, a
contradiction in terms.
The information agent typed away at his phone, continuing his deals. When a
particular piece of intel caught his eye, he smirked, the smile more malicious
than before.
Well, I guess it’s about time.
Until just thirty minutes ago, he’d been hiding out at one of his little lairs
near the station. When he got the message that the Dollars were under attack, he
slipped out of the darkness and entered the light of day.
But not to throw himself into the fray. Certainly not.
This platform would put him on a train moving away from Ikebukuro.
Yes, I prefer being outside of this web.
His mouth twisted cruelly. He hit SEND on a piece of information.
The next train came to a stop at the station.
The young man put away his cell phone and casually slid through the crowd
into the train.
Time to buzz my noisy little wings from just out of reach.
Roof, building near abandoned factory, Tokyo
“Hey, Vorona. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a hunter, waiting for
your prey to move,” the large man said.
Vorona did not move her head except to speak. “Affirmative, negative,
answer cannot be determined. I have lack of experience hunting animals. But
hunting humans is what we are doing this exact moment. They cannot be
compared.”
“I see. I don’t get it, but…I get it.” The large man, Slon, nodded and put the
binoculars to his eyes.
Through the lens he saw the rear of an abandoned factory. A being in a pitch-
black riding suit and full helmet was there, sneaking a peek through one of the
windows of the factory building.
It seemed to be preoccupied with the local hoodlums gathered inside, but as
long as the Black Rider did not move, neither would Vorona and Slon.
In fact, nearly an hour had passed since the young men had walked into the
factory. As they waited for any kind of movement, Slon began to wonder once
again about things that had nothing to do with their situation.
“Speaking of hunting, I was wondering one thing…,” he asked, completely
serious. Vorona did not even glance in his direction. “People have used poisoned
arrows for hunting for ages, right? Or blow darts or whatever. They put the
poison on first before they shoot it. Is that really safe? If they eat an animal that
has the poison running through its veins, won’t the hunter get sick? I’m just so
curious. The question is eating through my brain as if it were that very poison. I
think I may worry myself to death.”
His partner, without moving or exhibiting any emotion of any kind, listed off
the answers to his questions like an electronic dictionary, but she still sounded a
bit odd.
“Many poisons are used for hunting; many pass through vessels to affect
nerves, brain. Animals thus die or are left incapacitated. How sad. Humans
intake through the mouth. Pass through saliva, stomach, duodenum, breaks down
poison. Rendered harmless. Happily ever after. I have knowledge from
experience. Grandmother’s folk wisdom.”
“I see! The human stomach truly is a wonder. But of course—if the poison
you use to hunt ends up killing you, what would be the point? Oh…speaking of
which, what would happen if a venomous snake bit its own tail?”
“Contains antibody to its own venom. Many venomous snakes have no
problem. However, not all are affirmative. Concerning very venomous snakes,
antibodies lose to toxins. There is only death. How sad.”
“I see!”
This conversation continued for several minutes, during which Vorona
maintained sharp observation of the perfectly still Black Rider, while Slon
scanned the surroundings tirelessly, even as he asked question after stupid
question.
Was the rider just going to wait there until all the hoodlums left the factory
building? Just as Vorona wondered if that would be the case, the figure budged.
“?”
She wondered what had happened and then realized that the Black Rider’s
phone had just received a message.
On top of that, the ringtone had alerted the people inside, causing the rider to
fluster wildly, visible even to Vorona and Sloan from their considerable distance.
“…For a monster, its actions are very human. Incomprehendable.”
“The word you’re looking for is incomprehensible. Anyway, something’s
strange. Look at the entrance,” Slon pointed out.
She saw that a new group of a dozen or so men was gathering at the front of
the factory. Once again, they were young ruffians, but something was wrong.
They held metal pipes and wooden swords, and unlike the youngsters who
had entered the factory earlier, they were dressed in matching laborer uniforms.
Those must be the special uniforms that certain Japanese delinquent gangs
wear, Vorona decided, right as the youths charged into the factory.
A few of them circled around toward the rear in an attempt to prevent the
boys inside from escaping out the back.
“What do we do?”
“Observation necessary. Either way, the Black Rider will act. We shall not
estrange our sight from that moment. It is crucial.”
They did not break their positions.

The assault of this new group of delinquents was clearly outside of their
range of expectations—yet they did not panic in the slightest.
A fight between groups of Japanese teenagers had nothing to do with their
world.
Their utter, rational calmness spoke to that.
At this point, at least.
A few minutes earlier, near Kawagoe Highway, luxury apartment
“Wow, it really cleared out around here.”

Shinra Kishitani’s apartment had been very lively until that morning.
It was a noisy night between the patient and the unexpected guests, but that
was over.
And now Shinra was the only person present.
Celty had not returned from her job yet, Tom had left for work, Shizuo had
gone to crush Izaya, and Anri and the little girl were out in Ikebukuro now.
“They’re all so lively, rushing out before noon. Kids these days and their lack
of fear over UV rays!”
The young man was the very picture of the indoor type—he even wore his
white doctor’s coat around the house at his own leisure. He busied himself with
hanging up the patients’ blankets and other domestic tasks as he waited for his
partner to return home.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
“Ooh, is that Shizuo? Or perhaps Izaya with every bone in his body broken?”
Shinra hummed to himself as he walked to the door.
Outside, he found a number of menacing-looking men.
Shinra looked at the central figure without much alarm and asked, “Mr. Shiki,
what brings you here?”
“I’ve got a question to ask you,” Shiki replied and promptly stepped through
the doorway and past Shinra into the apartment without another word.
“Um, hang on, excuse me!”
But Shiki did not listen. He surveyed the interior from the center of the living
room, then walked over to the kitchen.
“Looks like you’ve had company,” he noted, looking at the collection of used
cups on the counter above the sink. He then picked up what was sitting next to
them—the impossible sight of a steel cup crumpled into a ball.
Chagrined but somewhat suspicious, Shinra explained, “Well, that explains
itself, right? Shizuo was here. All I did was tell a little joke, and he just crushed
that cup in his hand… I tell you, I feared for my life.”
“…”
Shiki thought over his words for a bit.
The number of places that Shizuo Heiwajima might visit was naturally
limited, given how he tended to inspire fear in the people around him. They’d
sent people to Shizuo’s apartment building directly, of course, but Shiki decided
that in order to gain information on the man, it would be best to drop by the
home of his old acquaintance Shinra.
He hadn’t expected to actually find signs of Shizuo here. The only reason he
had pushed his way into the apartment so brusquely was the sight of the ugly
twist in a metal handrail on the staircase, as though a monster had taken a bite
out of it.
That was an artifact of Shizuo’s rage as he left to beat Izaya Orihara to a pulp
—but one didn’t need to know that particular detail to recognize that it was
clearly Shizuo’s doing.
Could Akane Awakusu be in this apartment as well? Shiki briefly clung to
that hope as he searched the place, but he couldn’t sense any human presence
aside from theirs.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Shiki? Do you have another patient for me? I’m
wiped out from treating Shizuo and others all night, so if it requires surgery, I
would suggest a more skillful doctor right now.”
Shinra’s tone of voice suggested that he had no idea Shizuo was on the run.
So Shiki chose to ask quietly but firmly, “Shizuo…was here, then?”
“Yes. What’s the matter? Did he go and wreck up one of the businesses on
your turf?”
“You might say that. However, the victim claims they were doing nothing
wrong when it happened, so I came to talk with you and see if I can learn
whether he is truly responsible or not. That’s why I’m searching for him.”
“Oh, I see. You could have just called,” Shinra said, pulling his cell phone out
of the pocket of his coat. “Huh? Got a bunch of Dollars messages… Well,
whatever.”
He closed the inbox, opened his address book, and smiled at Shiki. “Tell you
what, I’ll call him and find out where he is now. Yes, he snaps pretty easily, but
not without reason, so go easy on him, okay? Oh—did this happen today?”
“Yes, today,” Shiki replied.
Shinra sighed and pressed the button that would dial Shizuo’s number. He put
the phone up to his cheek and noted, “I guess I’m not surprised. He was angrier
today than I think I’ve ever seen him.”
“…Oh?” It was a very interesting detail, but Shiki kept that from showing.
He waited for more details.
“Where do I start? He just showed up here out of the blue last night…and
who do you suppose he had with him?”
“I don’t know, his brother? He’s supposed to be a celebrity, right?”
Shiki had some idea. But he decided to offer up that curveball instead, as a
means to gauge Shinra’s reaction.
Shinra’s smile never vanished as he chattered happily, “No, not even! You
won’t believe this—he brought this little ten-year-old girl with him!”
“…!”
“Huh? He’s not picking up… Hmm, I guess that means…”
He did not finish that statement.
When Shinra looked up from his phone at Shiki, he noticed the other man
was wearing a fiercer glare than usual—and his subordinates were fanning out
around Shinra with menacing purpose.
“H-huh? Did I…say something bad?”
It was at that moment, at last, that Shinra recognized the grave nature of the
situation.
Just to add one last layer of pressure on him, Shiki’s heavy, sharp voice thrust
itself into Shinra’s eardrums.
“And…where is this girl now?”
Mikado Ryuugamine was aware.

He knew what he had created.
The Dollars had started off as nothing more than a joke.

Mikado had suggested that they invent a fictional organization, and a number
of his online friends happily assisted him in creating a gang that did not actually
exist.
“No requirements to join. No rules.”
And somehow, that odd little joke had taken on a life and form of its own
within Ikebukuro.
Ikebukuro.
It wasn’t even a place that Mikado had visited before that point.
Just a thing beyond a conceptual wall in his mind, a location that existed only
in the news, the magazines, the TV shows.
None of Mikado’s friends who were cofounders hung around him anymore.
They didn’t even know about the name Mikado Ryuugamine, and neither did
he know the ages or appearances of those Internet figures. People who don’t go
online might mock those relationships as utterly shallow, but they were still his
companions in founding and building the Dollars.
They had cut off their online ties with Mikado.
And now their work had given birth to an eerie thing in real life.
The gang that they invented, mostly in jest, was active under that name,
carrying out actions that were, at times, illegal—and earning itself proper
recognition from society as a street gang.
The founders all fled the scene.
They changed their online handles and never spoke of the Dollars again.
That’s all it took.
The only step required to escape responsibility.
It had started off as a silly game that couldn’t possibly be real.
If a fantasy image of a monster started to attack people, was that actually the
fault of the one who envisioned it?
It’s not a question with an easy answer, but one can certainly presume that
most people would try to evade responsibility for such a thing, if they were in
that position.
So with that in mind, all those people whose faces Mikado did not know
vanished from the Dollars, one after the other.
But Mikado was different.

He accepted the Dollars as they existed in reality.
As if it was what he wanted all along.
Someone has to manage them. It’s the duty of the one who created them.
That was what he told himself, to hide the elation he felt.
But at that point, how much did Mikado Ryuugamine truly understand?
Did he realize exactly what he had created?
Did he grasp what it meant to be the founder of the Dollars and a leader to all
the people who were affiliated with the name?
Whether he understood that perfectly or not at all, everything associated with

the Dollars did its best to mercilessly thrust the reality of the situation onto him.
Mikado Ryuugamine understood what it was that he had created.
But he did not yet know what he himself was.
Mikado Ryuugamine was unable to find the answer yet.
Abandoned factory, Tokyo
The time: nearly an hour before Shiki would arrive at Shinra’s apartment.
“So, Mr. Mikado, have you made up your mind?”

Aoba Kuronuma’s youthful face took on a dazzling smile that was totally at
odds with the menace of his words.
Before him was another boy who looked just as young, despite being a year
older than him—Mikado Ryuugamine.
Two students in different years at Raira Academy, upperclassman and
underclassman.
As well as companions within the very loose boundaries of the Dollars.
Those were the only two connections when they first met—but only from
Mikado’s perspective.
For his part, Aoba knew everything from the start.
That Mikado was the founder of the Dollars. The war with the Yellow
Scarves. The connection to Masaomi Kida. Perhaps even a part of Mikado’s
personality that the boy himself was not aware of.
But Mikado didn’t know anything about Aoba.
He was just an ordinary boy who looked up to the other Dollars.
But he had no proof that Aoba was really “ordinary.”
Mikado didn’t even know enough to be aware of when the adjective ordinary
was accurately applicable to a person. He might as well have described him as
“someone I don’t really know.”
And that schoolmate he “didn’t really know” was now leveraging incredible
pressure on him.
He had suddenly revealed that he was none other than the founder of the Blue
Squares.
Also, that his group was responsible for attacking Toramaru in Saitama.
These alone, coming in such quick succession, were more than enough to
drive Mikado into a state of confusion.
But the real kicker was his request at the end.
A request without rhythm, reason, or reality.
“Be the leader of the Blue Squares for us.”
He wanted to deny everything.

He assumed that he must be dreaming.
I’m jealous of Aoba for swooping in and getting along with Sonohara, so I’m
dreaming all of this as a way to tarnish his name. I’m such a creep.
He tried to wake up from the dream.
He tried to escape reality.
But Aoba’s words tied him down to the ground.
“At this very moment…
…you’re smiling, aren’t you?”
That’s a lie! That can’t be true!

He wanted to scream it.
He wanted to bellow with all the air in his lungs.
But before he could actually do that, Mikado realized something.
He understood why he was so furious at this accusation.
A normal person might have gone ahead and yelled anyway before even
thinking.
But the recognition of his own impulse was a total shock to Mikado.
It was such an abnormal occurrence that it paradoxically yanked him right
out of that impulse.
After all, it was nearly the very first time in his entire life that Mikado had
been furious about something.
Not when the Dollars first met in real life, and he argued with Seiji Yagiri’s
sister.
Not when he learned the Dollars were under attack by the slasher.
Not even when he first came across Masaomi’s terrible injury.
He had never felt the urge to rage and shout, even if he had been angry.
So…why? Why do I feel such burning in the pit of my stomach?
What eventually rose to his throat was not a scream of denial, but fierce
nausea.
He had just realized that the reason he was about to scream…
…was because he pointed out the truth, didn’t he?
Uh…wha…?
Mikado touched his own face without thinking.
His hands sought to ascertain his expression.
But what he found, now that he was aware of it, was that he wasn’t smiling in
the least.
What about a moment ago—when Aoba had actually pointed that out?
What…was I…?
What was he thinking just then?
He couldn’t even recall his own emotion of a few seconds earlier. Cold sweat
seeped.

His eyes focused, recognized Aoba’s face right in front of him.
“Wh-wha—?!”
His schoolmate was suddenly something unknown, alien. That innocent smile
was still there, but Mikado could no longer trust in its harmless benevolence.
“Well, that’s not very nice, screaming at the face of your sweet little
underclassman. I’ve given you about ten minutes now… Have you come to an
answer?”
“T…ten minutes…?”
Mikado looked down at his cell phone, stunned that so much time could have
passed without realizing it. On the waiting screen was a line that said, “23
unread messages.” They were probably about the Dollars being attacked.
“That long…”
Mikado sensed that his pulse had skyrocketed.
He got the feeling that a wave of static was rushing in his ears.
Confusion.
He was in a state of confusion.
That was all he could tell.
He didn’t even know what his mind should focus on first.
The Dollars being under attack?
Aoba’s confession that he was the founder of the Blue Squares?
The fact that they were the ones who attacked the motorcycle gang from
Saitama?
The fact that they knew he was the founder of the Dollars?
Their request that he be the leader of the Blue Squares?
And most of all—was he really smiling amid this chaos?
They were all separate issues, and yet there was no denying that they were
connected.
But Mikado was so discombobulated that he didn’t even know where to start
untangling the knot.
“Wait. Hang on,” he said without thinking. Those words did not solve
anything.
Aoba kept that innocent smile on his face as he cruelly pointed out, “Haven’t
we all been waiting?”
“…”
Aoba and Mikado weren’t the only ones in the factory, of course.
Other youths who must’ve been the Blue Squares that Aoba mentioned were
spread about the interior of the building, each one doing his own thing. Some
fiddled with their phones, like Mikado was doing; some yawned and leaned
against empty barrels—they were not unified in their purpose.
And of course, unbeknownst to anyone inside, Celty was watching the entire
scene through the window.
“Well, there’s no rush. You’ve got a lot of e-mail backed up on that phone,
don’t you? Maybe you should look through that real quick,” Aoba taunted and
glanced at his own screen. “But it only looks like they’re talking about another
attack—nothing too big yet. I don’t hear any cop cars, and this factory was the
Yellow Scarves’ hangout, so I doubt anyone would charge in here expecting to
find any Dollars.”
Mikado’s spine trembled at this self-assured statement. Aoba was daring him
to calm down and react to the situation.
“Do you think I could go back home to think it over?”
“I’m afraid I can’t be that patient,” Aoba replied, shaking his head. Two large
delinquents headed for the front gate of the factory and slid the doors closed.
The rattling was a dirge of despair that froze Mikado on the spot.
“B-but, you know, I have to go meet up with Sonohara…”
“Wow, right in the middle of this situation, and you’d rather think about
Anri? How much do you love her, huh?” he teased.
Normally, Mikado would blush and retort, “It’s n-not like that!” but under the
circumstances, he couldn’t possibly send that much blood to his face.
Instead, Aoba delivered the kicker that would ensure Mikado’s cheeks went
even paler.
“Either way, you probably shouldn’t meet with her today at all, should you?”
“Huh…?”
“You’re just going to drag her into this.”
“…!”
Anri had nothing to do with this sort of thing.
Mikado could sense that she was harboring some kind of secret, it was true.
She had a katana when they went to rescue Masaomi from the Yellow
Scarves. She was clearly familiar with Celty. These things were enough to
suggest that she was hiding something personal.
But secretive or not, Anri was still his friend, as well as his crush. He had to
be certain that she wouldn’t get drawn into this issue of his. He’d made up his
mind on that.
Then, he remembered something.
A phone call with Izaya, where the older man said, “If you don’t want to get
dragged in, just don’t identify yourself with the Dollars.”
And just before that, Masaomi had given him a similar warning in the chat
room. Don’t act as one of the Dollars for a while.
Perhaps Masaomi had known that this was going to happen.
Even in his confusion, Mikado was nearly certain that this was true.
Masaomi had his own different information network. Perhaps he’d found
something about Aoba’s group.
Would that mean that if he gave them an answer as a Dollar, he would be
spurning Masaomi’s considerate advice? But wouldn’t that also mean using his
friend as an excuse to escape this chaos?
Despite his indecision, Mikado did manage to give the waiting boy an answer
to his most recent question—but it was partially following the advice of his
friend.
“Well, if I don’t claim to be with the Dollars…then she won’t get dragged in.
Simple, right?”
Aoba might be disappointed by such a weak answer, but Mikado didn’t care.
He decided that getting beat up by these young hooligans was acceptable if it got
him out of the present situation.
That was how pressured he was feeling.
But the boy with the angelic smile would not allow his beloved
upperclassman to escape.
“You can’t do that, can you?”
“…Huh?”
“I know you’re not perfect, but you wouldn’t abandon your besieged
comrades and pretend to be an ordinary person, would you?”
“…!”
The whisper of the devil, as pure as silk.
“It’s easy to solve the problem. Hand us over to Toramaru as sacrifices. Order
us to crush them instead. No need to torture yourself over it.”
He made it sound reassuring, but the suggestion was more of a challenge.
Normally, Mikado would claim that he could never do such a thing and start
giving orders to the other Dollars in a way that would ensure no one got hurt.
But in his current state of mind, he hit the brakes before he could get to that
idea.
Part of it was the warning from Izaya, whom he trusted. And during that
phone call, he had suggested that perhaps Mikado’s true fear was of the Dollars
leaving him behind.
Now Mikado suspected that if he exhibited his duty to the group and offered
them information and plans, he would only be providing evidence to prove
Izaya’s point.
He also worried that acting as one of the Dollars would be a betrayal of
Masaomi’s warning and the sentimental consideration that led him to deliver it.
And most of all, he feared that by admitting that he was inextricably part of
the Dollars’ structure and getting involved in this battle, he would most certainly
drag Anri and Masaomi into a repeat of what happened with the Yellow Scarves.
Still, if he was going to be pressured into doing something just because he
was afraid of Aoba and his gang, he’d prefer to make the decision on his own.
Mikado Ryuugamine was easily swayed by others. But when it came to the
team of his own making, even he didn’t understand his own actions sometimes.
Even now, some kind of emotion was swirling deep in his gut.
The same sensation he felt when they faced off against Yagiri
Pharmaceuticals was bursting up from inside of him now.
He just didn’t know exactly what that emotion was. And as a result, his
confusion continued unabated, plunging him deeper into his quagmire.
“But…even still…”
This is weird. He’s not acting like the normal Mikado, thought Aoba. The first
to notice the change in the other boy was the one who caused his confusion in
the first place.
The Mikado he knew, once challenged like this, would either refuse their
suggestion entirely or deliver some kind of verdict on the matter.
But some odd sense of hesitation within him was holding him back,
shackling his feet, and preventing him from making that decision.
Did…someone get to him first?
He didn’t know that Mikado had received a warning from Masaomi Kida, his
closest friend and confidant, not to act as one of the Dollars.
He didn’t know that this was not actually Masaomi, either, but someone else
using Masaomi’s online handle as a means of manipulating Mikado.
But Aoba could tell.
Izaya Orihara…?
He could sense the presence of the man who used a tiny key to lock Mikado’s
mind away.
There was no evidence to support this, only Mikado Ryuugamine’s odd
reaction. Of course, human behavior is not perfectly predictable. But Aoba could
feel that something was off, not in the sense that it “wasn’t like Mikado,” but
more that it “wasn’t like the founder of the Dollars.”
And if someone was exerting influence over Mikado’s connection to the
Dollars, that left only a handful of possible names.
I can’t be sure…but if he got to him, was it meant to be a nasty trick against
me? Or does he seek to use Mikado for his own purposes, just like I do?
Aoba silently cursed the meddling Izaya Orihara but kept the simple smile on
his face aimed at Mikado.
“It’s all right. Take your time. How about this? I’ll set your limit as our
meeting time with Miss Anri.”
“Uh…”
“Once the time comes, I’ll go ahead and call her. I’ll say that something came
up suddenly, and you couldn’t come today. But I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“W-wait a second!” Mikado stammered. He was more concerned about the
latter half than the part about himself. “What do you mean…?”
“Oh, I’m going. Of course I am. And if we’re not going together, she’s going
to worry, you know?”
He sent a glance to his companions guarding the front door of the factory and
narrowed his eyes.
“But you will be staying here.”
Watching all this from outside the factory was a shadow.

Being careful not to be spotted by the boys inside, Celty Sturluson thought
feverishly.
Hmmm. What should I do?
Her intention here was not to spy on the goings-on of these street delinquents,
of course.
She was searching for Akane Awakusu on behalf of the Awakusu-kai, to
bring the girl to safety.
Right after receiving that job, she and Anri were attacked by a mysterious
biker, so she had attached a shadow string to their attacker’s motorcycle and
followed it here. Unfortunately, the inhabitants of the factory were keeping her
from following the trail inside.
I’m pretty sure their vehicles are in here. And these kids…don’t look like the
types to kidnap the grandkid of the Awakusu-kai boss…
Inside the building, Mikado’s face went pale as he examined his phone, and
the boy who looked like Mikado’s underclassman smiled like he was invincible.
Well, it doesn’t look like they’re going to start whaling on Mikado, so…this
might take a while. It’s a good thing I muted my e-mail notifications.
Originally, Celty had the notification sound on, but she got so many Dollars-
related text messages that she generally kept it off now. It did vibrate, but with
all the boys inside getting the same messages at around the same times, her own
sound was well hidden.
Partway through, she remembered that she could disable vibration, too, and
promptly did that.
She considered leaving the scene temporarily, but she was worried about
Mikado now. They weren’t strangers—in fact, he was one of the few “friends”
she had, who knew her identity and still treated her kindly.
She also considered rushing in to help him, but Mikado might consider that a
bad thing, and above all, this struck her as something he needed to answer on his
own. Besides, if she raised a fuss here, it might attract the attention of her foe,
the owner of the motorcycle, and put Mikado and all the other boys in danger.
Celty continued to monitor the situation, unaware that she herself was under
surveillance.
Boy, he’s really got himself wrapped up in something here, hasn’t he? And
that Aoba boy—he doesn’t look so tough, but he’s quite the evil schemer. Then
again, the first time Shinra brought Izaya over, I thought he looked like an honor
student… You can’t judge people on appearances.
Celty was herself a member of the Dollars, but it wasn’t her definitive place
in the world. Perhaps it would’ve been if she’d spurned Shinra’s love, but for
now it was just one of many circles for her, and she considered the others no
more than online chat friends.
But she also knew Mikado in real life, and she wasn’t going to simply
abandon him and find another place.
I wonder what he’s going to do.
Ordinarily, one would assume that asking a well-behaved boy like Mikado to
be the leader of a gang had to be a joke. But Celty knew that Mikado was not as
normal as he seemed.
The first time she had met him, he fought against a high-ranking executive of
Yagiri Pharmaceuticals and didn’t back down a step. Of course, it was an
argument rather than a fistfight, but still, he fought all the same. She thought of
him as someone with firm personal fiber.
But the Mikado she was watching today was oddly hesitant.
Perhaps he was indeed worried that Anri could get dragged into this mess.
But he’d actually be safer if she was involved. In fact, it would be major
trouble for whoever stood in her way.
Celty knew that Anri was the host of Saika and admired her power. She
hadn’t told Mikado this, of course, but he was beginning to get a notion of the
situation. She tried to analyze his decision-making.
I’m betting that even if he knew, Mikado would choose not to get her
involved. Even if he was fully aware of Saika’s power. And yet, if Anri came to
him and demanded to help, he wouldn’t say no.
Celty recalled that Mikado knew what she was and realized that it was the
abnormal and extraordinary that he desired above all else. If Anri wanted to
dwell on the extraordinary side, he wouldn’t try to stop her.
Then again, Celty had just taken a job from the Awakusu-kai and been shot at
with an anti-matériel rifle; if anything, Mikado’s situation still seemed
tremendously ordinary to her.
All this gang and turf and warfare stuff… I know high school was tough for
Shinra—is it like this for everyone? I wouldn’t know about this.
Back when Shinra’s group was in high school over five years ago, Celty had
witnessed a number of large-scale battles between the teens.
But they weren’t these giant gang wars between teams like the Dollars and
the Yellow Scarves, more like personal fights between adjacent individuals
staking out their personal territory.
At the center was always Shizuo, who just wanted a peaceful life.
Controlling the strings from behind the scenes was Izaya, who stayed a step
outside of the fights.
And Shinra just wandered to and fro between them.
Shinra would probably say something like, “Go ahead, apologize and get
beat up. I’ll fix you up for free, and we can call ourselves even.” While Shizuo
would say, “Quit askin’ me all this pain-in-the-ass crap!” and beat everyone up.
And Izaya…
What would Izaya do? That Aoba boy reminds me of him.
And then Celty noticed something.
Oh…I get it. Izaya wouldn’t get himself into this situation to begin with.
They’re the sort of people who loathe their own kind, so they wouldn’t approach
a kindred spirit and ask him to be their leader… Only if they were setting a trap
maybe.
Meanwhile, she continued silently watching the interior of the factory.
Completely unaware of her enemies watching her every move at that very
moment.
It’s been a while.

Still, nothing major was happening inside of the factory building.
Mikado would look down, ask Aoba something, then gather information on
his phone, but the process didn’t seem to be going anywhere.
How long has it been now?
Celty checked the time on her phone and found that nearly an hour had
passed since she had arrived at the factory.
Just as she was wondering if it was about time that she either barged in to
help him or gave up and left, Aoba smiled and thumped a fist into his open palm.
“Okay, I think it’s time to call Miss Anri now.”

“N-no, wait,” Mikado started, but a large young man clapped a hand to his
shoulder.
“I don’t want you yelling out something inconvenient over the phone, so I’ll
contact her through text. Actually, my apologies. I already did that five minutes
ago.”
“Wha…?”
“Which means that I need to leave now if I want to make it in time. You stay
here and think things over…while you’re watching the reports come in from the
Dollars falling apart in this war.”
“W-wait!”
Mikado’s shout brought Celty to a standing position.

…Yeah, maybe I should do something about this now. It’s looking like that
Aoba boy is about to leave, so I’ll help after he’s gone.
As she watched Aoba go, Celty recalled how she felt about him earlier—
specifically, his resemblance to Izaya Orihara. There was nothing concrete about
her feeling, but it was more than enough to be wary of him.
Something tells me I shouldn’t get involved with that Aoba boy. Also, once I
take Mikado ahead to Anri, I should swing back to this factory. I’ve still got my
thread connected to that bike.
Just when she was gauging the best time to leap out—at the worst possible
moment—something sounded off.
“Da-dum, da-dum, dummmm~.”
The descending jingle from the show Mysterious Discoveries of the World,
whenever a participant answered a quiz question wrong.
Coming from her own cell phone.
Nwhaaaa—?! I forgot to turn off my actual ringtone!
She’d muted her text notifications but forgotten to mute the incoming calls.
A while ago she’d tried out a number of different ringtones, and when Shinra
happened to overhear that one, he panicked and said, “Wait, Celty! Nobody else
calls you but me, since you can’t talk! So what does this mean?! When I call
you, it’s like getting a wrong answer?! Listen, if I’ve done something to wrong
you, I apologize—just let me know what level of disappointment you’re at first!”
She found that response so amusing, she set it to be the specific ringtone for
calls from Shinra’s number.
The ringtone was so out of place in the present situation that she couldn’t
help but recall its genesis, but it was the very worst time to get caught up in
memories.
As she scrambled to stop the phone from going off, Celty noticed that
through the factory window, Mikado, Aoba, and every other young man inside
the building was staring out at her in disbelief.
“Hello, Celty? Mr. Shiki’s here at the apartment now and wants to talk about
the job you’re working. Do you have some time soon? Hello? If you’re listening,
why aren’t you sending your usual secret signal? Hello? Hellooo?”
But the voice coming through the phone speaker did not reach Celty’s ears.
“…The Black Rider?”
“Celty?! What are you doing here?!”
For the first time, the smile was off Aoba’s face. Mikado’s voice was
disbelieving.
And immediately after their questions overlapped—
“What are you doing here?” demanded the other boys, their angry voices
echoing around the massive building.
Celty put a finger to the mic on her phone and tapped to signify that it
“wasn’t the right time for this,” taking out her PDA with her other hand.
With countless little tendril-like shadow fingers from her left hand, she typed
out a message and held the screen to the window for the nearest boy to read.
“I am but a simple passing urban legend. Just pretend that you never saw
me, or I’ll come to haunt your dreams tonight.”
Near Kawagoe Highway, Shinra’s apartment
“You think this is some kinda joke?!” bellowed a young man’s voice from the
phone speaker.
Shinra sighed and turned around. “I think Celty might be indisposed at the
moment.”
Across from him, Shiki was sitting in a chair with his arms folded, looking
pensive.
“…Please continue trying to get in touch with her. We really need all the help
we can get right now.”
“Sure thing. You believe me, right? I don’t think Celty knows that Akane was
here, and I wasn’t informed of the nature of her job.”
“I do believe you. If you really wanted to, you could easily remove all traces
that Shizuo was here. And Celty would have kept her job private from you to
prevent you falling into danger. I’m just…irritated at the unfortunate
coincidence,” Shiki admitted. His expression grew a bit harder, and he returned
to the target of his duty. “More importantly, you mentioned a teenage girl that
took Miss Akane out to meet a friend… Any ideas on where they might be?”
Something in the tone of Shiki’s voice and the glint in his eyes sent a chill
down Shinra’s back, but he did not let it show in his response.
“That’s a good question. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl that would
know a hundred different meetup spots, so if I had to guess a few, I’d say in front
of Tokyu Hands on Sixtieth Floor Street; the Lotteria on the other side; or, in
terms of spots around the train station, the fountain near the Metropolitan exit,
West Gate Park, or the Ikefukuro owl at the east gate.”
“…”
Shiki glanced over at his subordinates, and a number of them started for the
door with their phones out. They were probably going to instruct other Awakusu-
kai forces to head to all those locations.
“To think that little girl was actually the granddaughter of the Awakusu
president!”
“…I don’t think I need to point out that everything happening here is—”
“Nothing to worry about. You know how much I value confidentiality, don’t
you? The only person I tell things to is Celty, and she’s aware of all of this
already,” Shinra reassured him, looking for a sugar packet as he prepared some
coffee.
Suddenly, the sounds of destruction and the angry yelling of young men
erupted through the speaker of the phone, which was still on the call in the
kitchen.
“?”
Naturally, Shiki heard it as well. He raised an eyebrow.
“…Sounds like there’s some trouble.”
“You think this is some kinda joke?!” a broad-shouldered delinquent demanded.

Celty easily shrugged her shoulders.
If she still had her head, this was the exact situation that sighs were made for,
she thought.
She leaped nimbly through the empty windowsill and into the building,
tucking her phone away into her riding suit and holding out the PDA as she
approached Mikado.
“…”
Aoba Kuronuma watched Celty with suspicion as his comrades buzzed
around him.
It wasn’t his first sighting of the Black Rider. He’d been present in the van
with Mikado just a month ago as she rode around them.
That experience was enough to give him a suspicion that she was something
else, something inhuman.
She produced shadows out of her body, rode a motorcycle that made no
engine noise, and—if you believed the footage on TV—there was nothing inside
that helmet.
Some claimed that she was a magician, but they probably didn’t know that
for sure.
If that’s all a magic trick, then magic tricks might as well be real magic
spells.
And he recalled that Mikado had referred to the rider as Celty.
“…Eavesdropping? Or did Mr. Mikado summon you here with his phone to
ambush us?” he asked, glancing over at the other boy. Mikado was staring at
Celty wide-eyed, though. It seemed he was just as surprised at the Black Rider’s
presence as everyone else.
Celty, meanwhile, silently typed on the PDA as she walked over to the two
boys without a shred of hesitation.
“I was just passing by and happened to overhear you. But it feels like I
shouldn’t be commenting on this.”
“…”
“…”
Upon seeing the message, both Mikado and Aoba went quiet, but for
different reasons. Celty continued typing without waiting for a response.
“So don’t mind me. Please continue.”
“…”
“…”
Their reticence deepened into silence. A seemingly unbreakable stillness
filled the factory.
“…Who…?”
Who the hell do you think you are? one of Aoba’s companions was about to
ask.
Just then, the rusted metal doors slid open, shattering the silence of the scene.
Standing in the light shining through the recently closed entrance were a
number of men.
They appeared to be a year or two older than the boys inside. Due to
Mikado’s and Aoba’s baby faces, an impartial audience might assume they were
five or more years apart instead.
The men wore matching leather jackets with logos on the sleeve reading
TORAMARU. A large version of the logo decorated the backs of their jackets,
although Mikado and Aoba couldn’t see it.
A number of them held two-by-fours and metal pipes. They weren’t here for
a meeting, but a full-on war.
“…Toramaru,” Aoba grunted, his smile completely gone.
One of the jacketed men, his head bandaged up, stepped forward. His eyes
widened when he recognized Aoba, and he told his comrades, “I found ’em…
It’s them. These are the guys who jumped us and burned our bikes.”
“Bingo,” a man in a flared uniform at the center of the group said
menacingly, cracking his neck. “Once we’ve done all these guys, we’ll go back
to report to the boss.”
“What about our other guys patrolling around? Should we call ’em in?”
“Nah… I think we’ve got enough here.”
“Okay,” the associate replied, already on the move.
He lifted his piece of wood and swung it down at the face of one of the
delinquents stationed near the door. The boy recognized the attack just in time
and crossed his arms in the path of the dry weapon.
Wood cracked and snapped.
The weapon broke quite easily, suggesting a crack was already present, but it
was still strong enough to deliver a considerable blow. The boy was hunched in
the same defensive position, his face a grimace of pain.
That attack was the signal to begin. The teens inside the factory roared with
anger, ready to strike back at the young men in their leather jackets—
“Stay cool.”
Aoba’s command was like a dose of cold water poured over their fury.
It wasn’t a shout.
Just a clear, loud statement.
Everyone present, including the attackers, looked at Aoba.
Once he was assured that he had their attention, he looked over—and said
something that carried a very special significance to Mikado Ryuugamine.
“We’ll hold them off here, Chief! Hightail it now while you have the
chance!”
“Eh?”
He was baffled. He didn’t understand what Aoba meant.
Two seconds later, realization came to him, and he looked toward the
entrance in a panic.
They were all staring at him.
“N-no, it’s not…”
“Listen up, boys!” Aoba yelled, cutting off Mikado’s protest. “Don’t let ’em
lay a finger on our chief! Get ’em!”
“Rahh!” “Hell yeah!” “Die, bitch!” “Don’t mess with the Dollars!”
Emboldened by Aoba’s lead, the rest of the delinquents rushed headlong for
the gang in leather jackets.
“Sounds good… Let’s just settle this once and for all!”
“Rahh! If you’re the guy leading these shitheads, then stay here and face off
with me!”
Toramaru responded in kind and closed in on the younger boys.
“W-wait! Hang on!”

Mikado’s frantic cry could no longer rise above the fray.
One of the two people who actually heard him was Celty. The other was
Aoba.
The younger boy spun around on his heel and wore his usual innocent,
plucky smile for Mikado. “Okay, we’ll hold them off here, Chief! ”
“Um, h-hey…”
Before Mikado could form a proper statement, someone behind him
bellowed, “Die, you Dollars sons of bitches!”
“Uh…”
He spun around and saw a metal pipe being swung down at his face.
—!
Just as he was certain that it was going to strike him, a black hand shot out
and caught the pipe.
“C-Celty!”
“Who the hell are y…? Whoa!!”
She tangled up the jacketed young man with her shadow and tossed him aside
so that she could show Mikado her PDA screen.
“I know you won’t be happy about it, but we should just scram for now. This
misunderstanding will be difficult to clear up.”
“B-but…”
She plucked Mikado off the ground before he could say anything and carried
him through the window to the outside. Once there, she hopped directly onto
Shooter, affixed Mikado to her back with shadow, and took off.
“Damn! Don’t let them get away!” shouted the jacketed men inside the
building, but Celty charged onward. She typed up a message for Mikado behind
her.
“Let’s just head for your meeting place with Anri now. We’ll keep you two
safe at our apartment until this all blows over.”
“…”
Mikado had no response to the message.
He’s probably not happy about that, Celty figured. Knowing his personality,
she thought the order to stay in the dark and hide would not be welcome. But she
didn’t have the time to hear out his argument or wishes.
She had another enemy to fight, one separate from all this chaos.
In the end, Celty never noticed the presence of her observers.
Amid the chaos, she never recognized that a transmitter had been placed on
her motorcycle.
Perhaps Shooter had tried to alert her to it in his own way but ultimately
prioritized getting his master away from the dangerous, unpredictable scene first.
Celty raced down the road to get away from the factory building, completely
forgetting about those who had attacked her.
Without realizing that more chaos awaited at her destination.
Roof, building next to the factory
Once the Black Rider was out of sight, Vorona looked at her cell phone and
nodded with satisfaction. “Transmitter is in operation. Now Black Rider’s
location is trackable. Happily ever after.”
“So now we just sleep until the rider goes back home?”
“Slon is foolish, confirmed. We return, negative. Like us, rider will detect
transmitter. If thrown onto long-distance truck, we earn backbreaking journey
and loss of assets. Too bad, so sad. Naturally, to avoid outcome, we pursue
immediately,” Vorona replied, uncharacteristically harsh.
Slon shrugged. “Fine, fine. Strange to see you so fired up about this; you
don’t get that excited for our normal jobs.”
“Half work, half interest. I fulfill my desires. I also receive payment. No
problem. Another attractive day on this planet.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but when your attractive mouth
says the planet is attractive, it must be a real beauty, indeed.”
The two “professionals” headed down the stairs, bantering in a decidedly
amateur fashion.
“Still, I didn’t think the rider would fall for our bait so easily. I guess that
monster’s pretty careless after all.”
“Affirmative. But denial that opponent is simple. None assume a bear falling
into trap is stupid prey, challenge bear to fight. It is like laughing at stupidity of
butterfly to get caught in spider’s web.”
“…Oh! That reminds me… Speaking of spiders, how come they never get
stuck in their own webs? I’m so ensnared in this mystery that I can barely take
another step.”
Even now, with business at hand, Slon couldn’t help but wonder. Vorona did
not reply with exasperation or disgust. She simply rattled off the answer
mechanically.
“Spider. Utilizes two types of thread. Easy to test by touching. Central
threads absent of adhesion. Extending threads in all directions also absent of
adhesion. Only spiral threads traveling around center capture prey. The end.”
“But when they’re wrapping up their prey, wouldn’t the threads tangle them
up, too?”
“Spider secretes special material from body. Material negates adhesion.
Provides resistance to stickiness. So even clinging thread can be touched to a
degree. Happily ever after,” she concluded, racing down the stairs at full speed.
Slon nodded with a beaming, satisfied smile. “I see! So if you were the
spider, I would be the secretion. Only together can we bring in our target.”
“Choice of metaphor doubtful. Me, secrete Slon. Denial on account of
extreme displeasure. Erasure of your existence desired.”
“…I’m going to pray that your lack of Japanese experience is making that
sound harsher than intended.”
Right as their conversation finished, so did the stairs, dumping them out into
the space in front of the factory. Several motorcycles were racing out of the
factory building onto the street at that moment. Meanwhile, the ruckus was
continuing inside, suggesting that the gang had split into two groups, with one
staying behind and the other chasing after Celty.
“…That reminds me. There was a kid on the rear seat of the Black Rider’s
bike.”
“Affirmative.”
Being unfamiliar with the visual aging of Japanese people, the pair probably
assumed that baby-faced Mikado was as young as an elementary school child.
Vorona headed to her newly procured motorcycle and answered, “Possible
that it intends to use him as food supply.”
“Are you just completely making this up?”
“Affirmative. Monster does not exist in my book knowledge. No meaning to
imagining its actions. Truth is hidden in darkness until confirmed with my own
eye,” she said in cryptically broken Japanese.
Vorona straddled her bike with a tinge of excitement, strapped on her helmet,
and muttered, “I have hope…that you find a way to please me, black, mysterious
monster.”
Several minutes later, Ikefukuro, Ikebukuro Station east gate
There are certain spots that young people in Ikebukuro use as meetup locations.
Around the train station, the most notable are the underground “prism
garden” at the fountain under the Metropolitan exit or the statue at the east gate
known as the Ikefukuro.
Both spots are accessible even when it’s rainy, which makes them useful and
typical meeting spots for walking around Ikebukuro.
The Ikefukuro is a punny owl (fukuro) statue that, like the statue of the
faithful dog Hachi, serves as an easy, identifiable meeting place.
Right in front of the owl, a girl wearing round glasses was speaking to a little
girl five or six years her junior.
“We’re going to meet up with a boy named Aoba. He should be here any
moment now.”
“…Okay.” The little girl, Akane, nodded as she squeezed the hand of the
older one in glasses, Anri Sonohara.
Akane looked totally healthy now, with no signs that she had recently been
ill. Anri found that change reassuring, but a part of her was still nervous.
I wonder what it was that came up all of a sudden for Mikado.
After Aoba sent her a text message, she had decided to wait here, but she
couldn’t dispel the strange nerves that plagued her.
Was that “business for another day” that he’d mentioned yesterday happening
today? Usually if he had a message for her, he’d just text her directly. So the
secondhand message was concerning. Could something bad be happening to him
now?
Her own experience last night, when the foreign attacker nearly slashed her
across the stomach, cast Mikado’s strange behavior into a darker light.
What if…something happened to him because of me…?
She wanted to believe that it was just a sudden, harmless thing that popped
up for him. But maybe the attackers from last night had identified Mikado as
someone close to her.
And not just him. They might pose a threat to other people she knew like
Mika Harima, Masaomi Kida, Seiji Yagiri, or her other classmates.
After all, she didn’t know a thing about the purpose or identity of the
attackers. There was no saying what could happen.
She tried sending a message to Mikado’s phone, but he hadn’t responded yet.
She considered calling him, but she didn’t want to be a bother if his reason for
skipping out was legitimate.
So she decided that it was best to wait for Aoba to arrive and explain in detail
—except that the memory of the glinting scissors from last night set her
shivering.
Not because she was reliving the instant that a deadly weapon was turned on
her. The shivers were coming from imagining if it was turned on Mikado or her
other friends.
What would I do…if that happened…?
She put up a stoic exterior, but she could sense the fear and anger swirling on
the inside. Yet ultimately, Anri was able to keep herself at bay from the waves of
emotion, capturing these events as part of the “world inside the painting frame.”
The same way that people watching a movie might be affected by anger or
fear, but very few actually screamed and ran out of the theater or leaped to their
feet and yelled, “Go to hell!”
Meanwhile, Saika’s cursed words echoed on and on like always within her.
I love you.
Those simple words, chanted and sung, a hundred, thousand, million times—
the eerie monster sword that droned through her.
A simple “I love you” on its own could be considered trite and shallow. But
even the shallowest words take on a shining luster if repeated for eternity.
Whether that shine is sinister or sacred is a different matter entirely—but Anri
was incredibly jealous of the cursed blade for being able to say those words
proudly.
While she was frustrated with herself for not being able to banish all her fear
and anger to the other side of the frame, Anri was still more concerned about
Mikado and Celty being chased around by those mystery attackers than for her
own safety.
So she quietly waited for Aoba to arrive, letting none of this show on her
face.
“Oh, Sonohara. What’s up?”
“…Ah, Kamichika…”
It was one of Anri’s classmates. The girl was with a group of friends who
were chatting as they waited a short distance away.
She was similar to Anri in her reserved plainness, but they were neither good
friends nor distant acquaintances. Since they didn’t interact regularly, it was hard
to know what to say, and an uncomfortable shadow lurked between them.
“Um, is that your sister?”
“Oh no, just a girl I know… What about you, Kamichika?”
“Um, some of my friends from middle school arrived here yesterday, so I’m
showing them around the area. We were just over at the west gate, and now
we’re heading for Sunshine.”
“Ah, I see.”
A pause settled over the stilted conversation. In order to ease the discomfort,
Anri’s classmate, Rio Kamichika, noted, “Oh, right. If you’re walking around
today, you should watch out. It seems like there are street delinquents starting
fights all over the place.”
“Fights?”
“The Dollars are fighting with some motorcycle gang from somewhere…”
“…”
Anri’s mind reacted to the word Dollars.
“I see. We’ll be careful.”
But her flesh body, trapped inside the frame, merely replied in a flat affect
with no other visible emotion.
Just as a third awkward pause threatened to intrude, one of Rio’s friends
approached and tugged on her sleeve. “Come on, Rio, I’m hungry. If she’s your
friend, why don’t you invite her along to eat?”
“Sorry, Non, I’m coming! So, um, what are you doing next…?”
“Oh, actually, I’m meeting someone here…”
“Ah, okay. Well, um, I’ll…see you at school,” her classmate said, smiling
uncomfortably as she left.
Anri watched her go, then lamented, I’ve got to learn to be more social…
She had volunteered to be the class representative in the hopes of changing
her normally passive self. But she didn’t seem to be much different now than
when she was bullied for being a thorn in Mika’s side.
Eventually her mind wandered to the topic of the Dollars. She knew that
Mikado had some kind of connection to the Dollars—and possibly a deep one.
But she had never asked him about it directly. He’d seen her with a katana in her
hand, but he wasn’t asking her about it, either.
Perhaps there was a meaning to waiting until Masaomi Kida came back, so
the three could talk in earnest. Anri longed for that moment and feared it.
She was afraid that if they all learned one another’s truths, their relationship
would break down. You might say it already had, given that Masaomi was no
longer around—but Anri wanted to believe.
She wanted to think that if the other two could actually accept Saika, her
abnormality, that she might learn to forge human connections in a way she never
had before.
Perhaps that was overly optimistic and convenient to her own needs, but she
clung to that hope.
At the same time, she made a decision.
That she would accept Mikado and Masaomi, no matter what darkness they
possessed within. She would not gaze at them within the frame, but bring them
inside with her, understand them as they truly were.
It was this hope she kept in mind as she waited for Aoba to show up.
She wanted the peace of mind of knowing that Mikado was safe, of finding
out the nature of his sudden business.
But what she actually saw was a group of unfamiliar men in suits.
“Miss Akane.”
There were three of them. They were oddly imposing, and despite being in a
particularly crowded part of the train station on a holiday, the people around
them naturally found a way to give them space.
The first one of them to speak addressed not Anri, but the little girl holding
her hand.
“!”
Akane stared back at them with a look of shock plastered on her face.
Not fear—pure surprise.
“We’ve been looking all over for you. Come along, please.”
“H-how did you…?” Akane stammered, faltering back a step. A firm hand
grabbed her shoulder.
She spun around to see another man in a suit, looking down at her in
consternation. “Please behave now, miss.”
“S-stop! Let go, or I’ll scream that you’re kidnapping me!”
“You want to call the police and explain the situation? We can do that if you
want, but it’ll cause more trouble for you than us, Miss Akane.”
“Ah…” She was at a loss for words.
“?”
The only one with a question mark plastered over her head was Anri. “Um,
excuse me…”
“Are you the young lady Dr. Kishitani mentioned?”
“Uh…”
“We’re sorry about this. I understand you’ve been caring for Miss Akane. We
will take her from here.”
None of it made sense. Dr. Kishitani was probably the doctor-looking man
who lived with Celty. She always referred to him as Shinra, but Anri could
remember seeing the nameplate on the apartment saying SHINRA KISHITANI.
So was it thanks to him that these men were here?
None of them seemed to be Akane’s father. And the fact that there were
several of them ruled that out. But it also didn’t seem like a kidnapping. They
weren’t hostile at all—in fact, they seemed very respectful of the little girl.
Altogether, Anri believed they were here to take the runaway back home. But
she still didn’t know who these men were.
“Um, excuse me, are you relatives of hers…?” she asked hesitantly, trying to
be as pleasant as possible.
One of the men considered this question for a moment, then muttered,
“Well…we’re not actually related, but given that she’s the old man’s
granddaughter, she might as well be family to us…”
This vague explanation only confused Anri further.
Wait, so if she’s the granddaughter of their “old man,” meaning “father”…
then that would make Akane their daughter or niece. But she’s not family, so
she’s not a daughter. So that would make them…her distant uncles…?
Yet the obvious variation in age and facial features among the men didn’t
make this clear, either. Anri was totally at a loss for how to proceed, so she
decided to ask further about Akane’s situation—when a source of even greater
confusion arrived.
“Sonohara!”
“M-Mikado! And Celty?!”
Rushing down the stairs toward Ikefukuro from the surface was an out-of-
breath Mikado and the always eye-catching Celty.
“I—I thought you were busy today. And what about Aoba…?”
“I’ll explain later! And—”
Mikado stopped himself midsentence. There were four men standing beside
her, looking tense, and surrounding the little girl holding Anri’s hand.
—?!
Based on their ages, the men seemed unlikely to have any connection to
Toramaru, but Mikado couldn’t help but get immediately nervous, given the
situation.
What if he had already gotten Anri into trouble on his account? He glanced at
her, then at Celty. But Celty was frozen just like he was.
Pitch-black riding suit and full-faced helmet.

The crowds enjoying their holiday couldn’t help but stare at Celty in her
rather suspicious outfit.
But perhaps due to the sheer number of people blocking lines of sight, many
others were coming and going without noticing the striking figure in their midst.
If you wanted to cause a stampede with this larger crowd, you’d either need an
ultra-famous singer to appear with musical accompaniment or to send a full-
grown lion into their midst.
Still, a few of them noticed the infamous Black Rider among them and pulled
out phones to snap pictures, except that Celty stealthily extended tendrils of
shadow to cover the lenses and protect herself from photography.
Normally, she wouldn’t care, but being caught together with Mikado and
Anri would make her feel guilty.
So she rushed up to Anri, taking pains to protect her acquaintances, and…
…Is she…in trouble?
There were four gentlemen of a certain professional aspect present, watching
her warily. One of them bowed to her.
“Hello there.”
Huh?! W-wait…have I met these people before…?
“Did you get word from Dr. Kishitani or Shiki, too, Celty?”
“Perfect timing. Can you help us escort her safely?”
Oh, of course! They’re Awakusu-kai…
But what were these Awakusu members doing with Anri? Was it possible that
they figured out Anri was involved in the street slashings?
Then, she noticed the little girl holding Anri’s hand, and that fear evaporated
—to be replaced by a new question.
Huh? Um…wait, what? Is that…Akane Awakusu?
She came to a startled stop. That little girl was the very Akane Awakusu she
was tasked with finding. If Celty had a head, her eyes would be bulging out of it
right now. She turned to the Awakusu men and started to type.
“Actually, I’m only here to talk to that young woman with the glasses—”
She was interrupted by a bellow of rage.
“Hey! Get back here!”
“Quit skitterin’ around like a little rat!”
She stopped typing and looked up, startled by angry shouts making a scene in
broad daylight.
You’re kidding… They followed us all this way?!
It was a group of five or six young men in leather jackets. The irate bikers
were drawing more attention from the crowd than Celty’s arrival had. Some
people were scrambling away to steer clear, while others watched from what
they perceived to be a safe distance or from behind nearby pillars.
Nobody had rushed to alert the police or staff yet, only because they had
merely shouted and not descended into violence yet.
Hang on, there’s even a police box right at the corner! So they’ll go to any
length to catch the head of the Dollars…Mikado!
She considered using her shadow to tie up all the men, but wouldn’t that just
cement the idea that Mikado was the leader in their minds?
Celty’s moment of hesitation allowed the Awakusu-kai men to act instead.
“Stop causin’ a ruckus right at the train station, you obnoxious little turds!”
The mobsters knew that Celty had been chased around by bikers last month,
so they assumed these new ones were after her, too, and were doing her the favor
of brushing them off.
But while the bikers faltered briefly, they quickly regained their poise and
shot back, “Ahh? What the hell do you want?!”
Akane jumped in fear. The four Awakusu men reacted instantly, glaring at the
bikers. “Act your age; don’t scream in front of the kid. We’re busy here—get
lost.”
Again the bikers stood their ground, bristling at the dismissive attitude of the
older men. “What? You with the Dollars, too? First it’s little kids, then office
ladies, now even the gangsters are in the group? Dollars don’t have no standards,
do they?!”
Mikado felt his chest contract. Their slander of the Dollars felt like a denial
of his entire existence.
The Awakusu-kai, unsure of what the young men were talking about, began
to wonder if they were on drugs. One of them asked, “Wait, are you the
shitheads trying to go after Miss Akane…?”
He spoke it quietly enough to keep Akane from overhearing. Naturally, the
Toramaru bikers didn’t understand what that meant, either, and took it as a
threat. Without noticing the girl behind the yakuza, they said something they
would very much regret.
“Quit messin’ around and just hand over that damn kid!”
“ “ “ “ “!” ” ” ” ”
The expressions of the Awakusu men changed instantly.

The Toramaru members said “kid,” referring to Mikado.
But to the Awakusu-kai, the “kid” in this situation was none other than Akane
Awakusu.
In their minds, someone was after Akane, and it had something to do with
Shizuo Heiwajima attacking the gang’s office. Given this information front and
center in their minds, they couldn’t be blamed for assuming the bikers were
talking about the girl.
“…You got some balls on ya. What syndicate are you workin’ for?”
“Wh-what?”
“Or did Yodogiri send you after us? What kinda chump change did you just
sell your lives for?”
“Wh-what the hell you talkin’ about?”
For the first time, the bikers seemed uncertain in the face of the increasing
hostility of the suits. One of those men took Akane by the hand and led her over
to Celty, saying in a voice only she could hear, “Take the little miss to safety
please, Celty. Shiki should still be at Dr. Kishitani’s place.”
Uh…hang on. What do I do now?
She recognized that the men were mistaken about something, but there
wasn’t time to clear it up for them. And in any case, Akane couldn’t be left to
fend for herself where a fight was about to break out.
So Celty just gave up, took the girl’s hand, and raced off.
“Aah!” Akane shrieked, but Celty typed, “Don’t worry. I’m on your side,”
into the PDA, with a little smiley symbol to give it a friendlier air. The girl read
it as they ran and looked back for Anri in confusion.
But Anri was there next to them, her hand in Celty’s. Next to her was
Mikado, who was also holding Celty’s hand.
This was very confusing to Akane, but Anri’s presence was a relief, so she
decided to go ahead and keep running. Not to mention, she might be happier
pulling away from the Awakusu-kai men, anyway.
With the extra shadows stretching out of her body, Celty temporarily boasted
four arms.
As the crowd watching the scene noticed this, they began to stir uneasily.
“Are you serious…?” “Did he just grow arms?!” “What was that?!”
“You mean that wasn’t a special effect?” “A magic trick?!” “Whoa!”
“No, I’m serious, the Black Rider’s like ten feet away from me!” “Holy
crap!”
Curious gazes were all around her, but Celty had learned not to care by now.
As before, she simply used her shadow to sense the surroundings and deftly
block the cameras of any cell phones.
“W-wait, damn you!”
One of the young men in the leather jackets tried to pursue. Naturally, he
planned to go after Mikado and Celty, while all the Awakusu gentlemen saw him
chasing after little Akane.
“No, we have business with you.”
“Whuh—?!”
A firm hand grabbed the biker’s collar from behind, and he toppled to the
ground.
Celty watched this happen as she raced up the stairs of the east gate.
Her motorcycle was parked on the street in front of the station. This was a
parking violation, but she justified her actions as an emergency in this case.
Four on one bike…not gonna work! I guess I’ve got to do this one again!
Celty touched Shooter’s back, sending shadows into it and giving a signal.
The motorcycle’s rear half began to evolve, regaining the true form of the Coiste
Bodhar, the dullahan’s steed.
This was not the simple horse form that she had used several times in the last
year, but the true original Coiste Bodhar of Ireland—meaning a full two-wheeled
carriage pulled by a headless horse.
Sorry, Shooter, you’ll have to put up with a bit of extra weight!
Celty placed Anri and Mikado on the carriage seat, where she would
normally sit, and fashioned a seat belt out of shadow to hold them in place. She
used a similar trick to strap Akane to her own back and leaped onto Shooter’s
horse form.
This transformation, of course, happened in broad daylight, in crowded
Ikebukuro, during the Golden Week holiday, in full view of easily over a
hundred pedestrians and waiting taxi drivers.
As the wide-eyed crowd watched, helplessly transfixed, Celty put similar
shadow-fashioned helmets on her three fellow passengers—this would be a
much more efficient solution than covering every single camera out there.
Lastly, she grabbed black reins and lashed them hard.
The headless horse’s whinny echoed across Ikebukuro’s east gate rotary.
Let’s go, Shooter.
The pitch-black carriage started to ride.
Slowly at first, but it soon caught up to the speed of traffic, an old-fashioned
horse-drawn carriage on the asphalt of the big city.
Thattaboy, here we go! Celty encouraged her mount, then offered up a prayer.
Not to any god, but to the flow of the entire city, a force of fate.
Please…if you’re listening…don’t let us run across that terrifying motorcycle

cop!!
The crowd watched the whinnying carriage ride away with utter astonishment.
But among them were some who kept their cool, relatively speaking: Vorona
and Slon, who had trailed Celty to that spot.
They each rode their own motorcycle into the rotary, where they witnessed
the stunning transformation.
Through the wireless units in their helmets, Slon said to Vorona, “Okay…this
thing literally is a monster.”
“Affirmative. But problem is not that spot,” said Vorona. Her tone was as
cool as ever, as she pointed out, “The boy was riding in rear with her. Problem is
truth that two more have been added.”
“Oh, that’s why the bike turned into a carriage. What would you say if I told
you I was so fascinated with how that works, I won’t be able to sleep tonight?”
“Answer impossible. I recommend investigation of your own.”
She rolled forward slowly, having technically answered his question. The
light was green now, but traffic had been stunned still by the previous sight.
Eventually the cars in the back that hadn’t seen what happened starting honking.
Beneath the raucous noise, Vorona explained, “Added two are related to job.”
“What?”
“One is bespectacled girl that claims blade from skin. The other is little girl,
target of kidnapping. Certain—zero criteria for denial.”
“…Really? Now that you mention it…,” Slon muttered, following Vorona on
his own bike. It looked smaller, carrying his larger body, but it was actually the
same model as Vorona’s.
As she followed the carriage, Vorona rationally considered the situation.

Eventually, she said, “Bespectacled girl and young girl are from different clients.
Distinct duties. Confirm?”
“Affirmative.”
“Yet different duties are gathered as one. Add Black Rider to make three.
Inexplicable.”
“…You mean the rider’s a connection between the two jobs?” Slon asked.
Rather than confirm or deny this, Vorona continued, “Coincidence,
inevitability—unknown. Possibility that the link is the boy Black Rider took
from factory: greater than zero.”
“Good point…”
“Depending on factors, possibility that client is trying to set us up: greater
than zero. I propose necessity of acting carefully,” Vorona said. She believed she
spoke these words calmly. And anyone unfamiliar with her who heard them
would feel a mechanical chill to them.
But Slon, who had known her for a long time and was used to her odd
Japanese, was aghast.
“You’re excited, Vorona.”
Underneath her helmet, the professional’s mouth twisted the faintest bit.
“Affirmative. I am…in the midst of a pleasing tension.”

May 4, day, chat room
.
.
.


Kuru: It is a pleasure to be among you, my companions across the

cyberspace. As we are in the midst of a holiday week, naturally
none of you are present. But regardless, I pay this visit to the
empty void of the Net to record the events Mai and I have
witnessed before the adrenaline should fade from my veins.
Mai: Hello.
Kuru: Oh? I had assumed we would pick up directly where we left off
last night, but it seems that Bacura has written something. And
the backlog before that point has been erased. Alas, such is
fate. One can never know when a chat room record might
vanish into the ether, for it is only data and manipulable by its
owner.
Mai: Weird.
Mai: Bacura says it’s been a week.
Kuru: Meaning that even records cannot be trusted—the chat is like
any normal conversation. Thusly! Like the typical conversation,
it is right and proper that we view a chat through the lens of
our own perception. No doubt our brother would smirk at this.
That smirk would become a mocking laugh within my mind,
leading to burning flames of hatred…
Mai: Bacura was here yesterday.
Kuru: Oh, that is correct. As I observe this comment anew, I must
admit that it is rather strange. These are grave circumstances.
If he is truthful in having no memory of this, then no doubt
some impostor has been using Bacura’s name in his place. Or
perhaps it is his doppelgänger… The legend says that meeting
one’s doppelgänger causes death, but does it hold true over
the Internet as well?
Mai: Scary.
Kuru: Or perhaps he wishes to erase the embarrassment that was
“Shin Kuroni City” from yesterday by making it look like
someone was using his name. If we are to prove his claims,
we will need a statement from his so-called traveling partner
and lover, but does such a person even exist? If she does,
then I have been most rude.
Mai: Two-dimensional waifu.
Kuru: Ah, but the chat room is a mysterious thing. Even when no one
is present, the place does exist in concept. And yet, if no one
opens the page, the space exists nowhere. Perhaps it is just a
string of numbers on the database of a server somewhere, but
that is simply data, and not a “place” to speak and hold court.
Mai: I don’t get it.
Kuru: And yet, when there are observers such as we, this chat room
is indeed a real, extant place. Even though there may be
monsters prowling this chat that do not exist in the real world.
Even though there may be some mythical string of text that
causes any to see it to go instantly mad, as long as the page is
not opened, none w
Mai: Over the character limit.
Kuru: Pardon me. None will be able to confirm it! It would be a true
Schrödinger’s Cat. I daresay that Schrödinger himself had
never dreamed that such a cyberspace would one day exist!
Though I certainly do not believe that he proposed his famous
cat example for this purpose.
Mai: I don’t get it.
Kuru: And in this case, we are the fabled cat in the unopened box for
those who have not yet loaded this page. When someone
does peer in on this secret conversation of ours, what state will
we be in then? Will we still be talking, or have left the room, or
have taken poison and died? And even opening the webpage
will not reveal the state of our actual selves in the real world!
Mai: Hey.
Mai: Aren’t you gonna write down what happened?
Kuru: Oh my, how silly of me. I have been chastised by Mai, both on
the Net and in person, to transcribe the events of the day. And
I certainly do not wish for the truth I will now relate to lose its
impact by the length of my prattling.
Kuru: So I shall tell you…of the event that transpired before my very
eyes!
Mai: Yay.
Kuru: It happened as we were walking through Ikebukuro before
noon. We were engaging in some shopping with a wonderful
luggage-laden person from abroad whom we have recently
befriended, when we glanced into the sky without a second
thought. To my great surprise, what should appear atop the
towering buildings but a man wearing a bartender’s outfit.
Mai: Shizuo.
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched.
Kuru: Let us set aside for now the matter of whether or not this was
the famous Shizuo Heiwajima. At any rate, this bartender
gentleman was not simply staring into the sky or attempting to
commit suicide by leaping. Actually, in a way, his actions could
be described as suicidal—he was leaping from rooftop to
rooftop down a height of two stories’ worth!
Mai: It was cool.
Kuru: One misstep could have plunged him to his certain doom, so
what could have driven him to such an action? We were
helpless to do naught but watch. The way he leaped from each
window frame to the one opposite was like a beast—no, a
jumping spider! In my memory, it was so wicked and sensual! I
do think I might lose control!
Mai: Hello.
Bacura: Hi there.
Bacura: Um,
Bacura: I want to ask you something,
Bacura: Was I seriously here yesterday?
Mai: It’s true.
Kuru: Why, what a pleasant meeting, Bacura. Are you frightened by
the appearance of your doppelgänger? Or have you gathered
some evidence that proves your lover is a three-dimensional
person and not a figment of your imagination? In either case, it
was very naughty of you to have been spying ever since we
arrived in the chat room. Simply lascivious.
Mai: Peeping Tom.
Bacura: No,
Bacura: After I logged out,
Bacura: I left it in backlog view,
Bacura: And when I just got home now, I saw you two were posting.
Bacura: So I rushed to log in.
Mai: Oh, I see.
Mai: Sorry.
Kuru: Oh ho? I suppose we can let that story stand. Whether the
aforementioned posts were supplied by you, or by an impostor
using your name, or by a split personality, or by a
doppelgänger, or the dying will of Schrödinger’s cat as it was
being poisoned, it is immovable truth that we remember the
username Bacura writing the term “Shin Kuroni City.”
Bacura: I’ve been wondering,
Bacura: Why do you keep writing,
Bacura: This,
Bacura: Shin Kuroni City?
Bacura: Is it the name of the final stage in a bullet hell shoot-’em-up?
Mai: Synchronicity.
Bacura: So it’s a pun.
Kuru: But it was Bacura who said it.
Bacura: Aaaah,
Bacura: Now I really want to read the backlog.
Bacura: By the way,
Bacura: Up until yesterday,
Bacura: Was TarouTanaka here in the chat?
Mai: He was.
Kuru: As was Setton and Saika. The only one absent was Kanra.
Bacura: Kanra wasn’t here, you say.
Mai: Nope, gone.
Kuru: He is a rather capricious person who comes and goes like the
wind, so perhaps he is reading this chat room at this very
moment. If you happen to know any accursed words that
would drive Kanra to madness, now might be your best chance
to put them into action. You were the one who told him to tsun-
tsun-tsun-tsun-die.
Mai: Scary.
Bacura: Nah,
Bacura: That was just a joke.
Bacura: Anyway, thanks a bunch.
Bacura: So long.
Mai: Good-bye, then.
Kuru: My goodness, and no reaction whatsoever toward our story of

the bartender leaping off buildings. He must have been in a
terrible rush. Or perhaps our story reminded him of something
terribly important he needed to do? And now it is too late to
find the answer.
Mai: Aww.
Kuru: Perhaps we ought to scatter to the wind now as well.
Mai: Good-bye, then.


.
.
.
Interlude or Prologue E, Akane Awakusu
The world blessed the girl’s existence.
By any reasonable measure, she enjoyed an extremely high standard of

living.
She lived in a large home on the outskirts of Ikebukuro that looked
comfortable, not cramped and urban.
She was protected and raised by a kind mother, understanding father, fierce
grandfather, and many others in her vicinity who cared for her and valued her
opinion.
However, this luxury did not mean she was spoiled. The girl was raised with
a healthy mind-set.
From the moment she was born, she never lacked for anything.
In fact, she was so unfamiliar with the concept of need that she had no way of
knowing just how blessed she was.
The girl was happy.

Until she learned what her father and grandfather did and the underbelly of
the world around her.
It began with a cell phone.

Her father was unhappy about this, opining that a little girl in grade school
was too young for her own phone. Eventually, he gave in for security purposes,
and she got her own private line.
Not just a phone line leading to other people to speak with.
This invisible line could weave its way through the Internet—a magic door
that showed her a brand-new world. She didn’t have her own computer, so this
was her first experience online.
Some downplay the Internet by saying that it’s nothing but a virtual world,
but on the other side of those computer-generated walls was something in the
real world. Online chat partners might be wearing virtual masks, but they were
people, not just artificial intelligences that existed solely in the ether.
If she connected to pay sites, her real capital would dwindle. And the malice
that led to scams was also coming from the real world.
By having a phone, the girl found herself connected to an unlimited number
of realities.
Even if she didn’t actually want that to happen.
In school, she was bright, energetic, and almost never had to worry about
being bullied.
—Almost never because of an incident she once witnessed.
About half a year ago, a girl in her class was being bullied. The others
shunned her and even put a bunch of dead bugs into her bag.
The girl happened to see them in the act and sternly told off her classmates.
“Bullying is a very bad thing!”
The girl was raised in a happy environment, and her action was rooted in her
own morality.
But it was an action that took every last ounce of the girl’s bravery.
Even in her naive youth, she could feel it on her skin. If she did this, she
might be the next target.
But she still opened her mouth to speak and protected the bullied girl.
She didn’t regret it.
At least, not at that moment.
The result: She succeeded in stopping the bullying at that point.

So did she end up becoming the new class target?
The answer is no.
Things went stunningly well, and peace returned to the class within just a few
days, as if there had never been any nastiness to begin with.
She wondered if it might actually be continuing in secret where she couldn’t
see, but there were no warning signs to suggest this.
After that point, the girl became the central figure in the class.
She was the class representative in the student body, but she didn’t hold it
over anyone. She did her best to stay on good terms with the other children, and
the smiles never ended around her.
She was happy.
And she assumed that all the classmates who smiled and laughed with her
were happy, too.
She never even doubted it—that was how pure a heart she had.
At her young school-going age, she began to believe that life was a
wondrous, purely joyous thing. If she ever found someone who was unhappy,
she wanted to help them, out of the goodness of her heart.
Such feelings often lead to forcing good deeds onto others. But at least in her
case, she helped the people around her get along, put together playdates, found
ways to visit the beach and mountains, and eventually became a central figure in
her entire school, not just the class.
She wanted to grow up and find a job that brought even more smiles to those
around her.
The girl didn’t understand her grandfather’s job, but she knew that her father
sold paintings to a variety of businesses.
There were a number of paintings around her house of distant vistas,
paintings that looked very expensive. She didn’t understand much about the
pricing of art, but they did look very pretty to her.
They’re such beautiful paintings, so I bet a lot of people are happy when they
see them. What a wonderful job Daddy has. Oh…I know! I’ll make paintings. I’ll
be a painter! I’ll make so many, many paintings and have Daddy sell them!
With this idea in her head, the girl began to study art.
The people around her supported her idea, but when she talked about her new
dream, she noticed that her father and grandfather shared a strange look.
At any rate, the girl started with blessed circumstances and then found a
dream for herself on top of that.
Into this life full of blissful happiness came the present of a cell phone.
The girl treated it as a safety measure and a means to contact her family and
hardly ever used the phone—but it ultimately forced her to confront a truth.
She didn’t get a call from someone.
She didn’t connect to some secret school-related site.
The first incident was physical in nature.
Such a simple thing: She forgot the phone at a friend’s house.
The girl rushed back in a panic to retrieve it.
And just when she was about to ring the bell, she heard her friend’s voice
from the backyard.
She went around the side to call out to her friend and heard her own name
coming from the friend’s mother.
“You better not have caused trouble for Akane Awakusu, I trust?”
Huh?
Confusion stopped her progress toward the yard.

There were three or so friends over at the house at that moment.
She had left a while earlier and only just got back to pick up the cell phone
she forgot.
So why was her friend’s mother mentioning her just now?
Had she done something strange at the house?
But that didn’t line up with what the mother had said.
What did she actually say?
The young girl considered the possibility that she had misheard.
But her friend’s response completely obliterated that idea.
“I know, Mom! I always make sure to do what Akane tells me!”
…Huh?
Her time stopped.

Her world froze.
It was the annoyed voice of a child who is scolded just before starting her
homework and replies, “But I was just about to start!”
The girl was in such a panic that she couldn’t put this together, but an
objective listener would undoubtedly assume that listening to Akane Awakusu
was treated as an obligation on par with doing homework.
“And I hope that none of the rest of them did anything to upset her, either!”
“We didn’t!”
“Is that true? Because I don’t want anything coming back to hurt us!
Goodness, I just hope you wind up in a different middle school,” the mother
said.
The girl’s friend sounded bewildered and a bit guilty. “But…Akane doesn’t
boss us around or act selfish. It’s okay. You’re just making a big deal out of it,
Mom.”
The tone of voice suggested not the defense of a friend, but the generalized
dislike of a parent deciding the facts of a situation regardless of the truth.
Breathing heavily, her mother snapped back, “It doesn’t matter if Akane’s a
good girl or a bad girl! Those Awakusu people are scary! If you ever get into a
fight and hurt her somehow, there’s no telling what they’ll do to us!”
…
…?
…??? …?
Still the girl couldn’t understand what her friend’s mother was saying.
All she could tell was that her chest was feeling hot.
Ultimately, Akane Awakusu ran away.
She shouldn’t be there, she knew. And so she ran.
Her cell phone was still at the house, but she didn’t care about that anymore.
She just wanted to get away from her friend’s house as soon as possible.
She didn’t even attempt to fathom what that conversation was supposed to
mean.
But fate did not let her escape.

That night, Akane’s cell phone was delivered to her house.
Her friend’s parents drove it over themselves.
They took the car to give back something that their daughter could easily
hand over the next day at school.
She watched them bow to her mother.
Her mother said, “Go ahead, Akane, thank them properly.” As she lowered
her head, she tilted it a bit to look at their faces—and saw only polite smiles with
no hint as to what lay behind them.
Later on, an older acquaintance of hers remarked, “A cell phone is a little

brick of information. They probably figured it was better to return it themselves,
before your folks assumed they were prying into their daughter’s life.”
The statement sounded quite matter-of-fact, but Akane couldn’t just say, “Oh,
I see,” and leave it at that.
After all, this was the incident that ended up toppling the whole house of
cards.
With her cell phone back in safe hands, Akane decided to try connecting to
this Internet thing. At first, she was deathly afraid of it and had no idea what she
should be doing.
Until that point, she had never been online before. The only thing she knew
was the e-mail address assigned to her phone. But as the days went on and she
learned more and more, the intelligent young girl began to get the hang of
traversing the Net.
She was still going to school like usual. And the friend in question was
interacting with her like normal.
In fact, it was so much like normal that it frightened her.
It was enough to make her wish that she’d simply misheard that backyard
conversation.
But when she connected to that new world through her phone, the truth she
found was cruel and cold.
By the time she had learned how to use search tools, the girl was ready to
look.
She typed in the name “Awakusu” and summoned up her courage to browse
the results.
Medei-gumi Syndicate, Awakusu-kai
It led her to an article on the Internet encyclopedia Fuguruma Youki.

It contained a detailed explanation of the “organization.”
Some parts of it were too hard for the elementary school girl to understand,
but she got enough of the big picture.
She now knew what kind of organization the Awakusu-kai was.
When she realized that was also the moment she noticed she was shivering.
This is wrong.
It must be some kind of mistake.
She had seen the word Awakusu-kai here and there around the house.
She knew that in the room with the family shrine, there were paper lanterns
with the characters for “Awakusu-kai” on them.
It’s not right.
It had to be a simple coincidence, a shared name.
She tried to convince herself of that…
Until the moment that she found a picture of her grandfather, labeling him the
chairman of the Awakusu-kai, and her world stopped.
Then, on a page from a different search engine, she found text describing
them as “hiding in plain sight as an art dealership,” and her frozen world began
to crumble.
Even then, she didn’t shout or wail or scream.
She just closed the browser window, empty eyed, and called one of her
friends—the girl she had saved from being bullied.
She called the girl she always assumed had been her friend since then and
asked, “Why does everyone always do what I ask them?”
Something in the tone of her voice must have frightened the girl. Her friend
hemmed and hawed for a bit but eventually broke and started to explain the
truth.
“…Actually…everyone said we should pick on you next, Akane. They told
me that if I picked on you, they would leave me alone. But…then one of the kids
said that your dad was scary and that we shouldn’t mess with you…”
When one of them let it slip to their parents, the rumors spread quickly
around the neighborhood families. “Our children are attempting to pick on the
granddaughter of the Awakusu-kai chairman!”
Some of the adults panicked and started to command their children, “Don’t
you dare disobey whatever that Awakusu girl says to you.”
She was the beloved granddaughter of the Awakusu. And if it came to light
that their children were the ones tormenting her and the mobsters raised a fuss,
they would have no moral leg to stand on.
So the obvious choice was for those parents to lay down strict rules for their
kids: “Don’t you ever upset Akane.”
And if they ordered their children to stay away from Akane, that might be
seen as shunning, another type of bullying. On the other hand, if they got too
close and wound up having an argument and hurting her, that would be bad as
well.
So the adults ordered them to uplift Akane Awakusu and make her feel good.
This was around the time that TV stations started doing pieces on secret
school websites. Those terrified parents worked the URL out of their children
and browsed the bulletin board to see if their children were bad-mouthing Akane
there.
The extreme reactions of these concerned parents drew notice, spreading to
other parents and children, until ultimately, no one dared to cross Akane.
She became the queen of the class, and she had no inkling of the true reason
why.
Akane never looked down on anyone. She always assumed they were on the
same level.
But she didn’t know that everyone else was treating her like a precious doll
placed far above their heads.
No one could really answer the question, Would the Awakusu-kai’s chairman
and waka-gashira actually throw around the name of their organization to
threaten civilians over their daughter’s school relationships?
But the demonstration of abject fear from a portion of the parents spread to
the others like wildfire.
If they didn’t take precautions and Akane did end up the target of bullying
within the class, could they say for certain that the Awakusu-kai officers
wouldn’t come after them with threats?
The lack of a firm voice guaranteeing their safety meant that fear was
allowed to grow unchecked, thus leading to this rather twisted state of events.
She couldn’t glean all these subtle details just from what her friend told her,
but the perceptive girl was able to grasp the general atmosphere surrounding her.
After hanging up, Akane stared at the floor of her room in total shock for
minutes.
She thought she was happy.
As a matter of fact, she had been.
But she also thought that everyone else was just as happy as she was.
She believed that her class was an ideal one without bullying, where
everyone was free to speak and be valued.
But her very existence was stealing that freedom from her classmates.
Yes, it eliminated bullying from the class. But now, that result meant nothing
to Akane.
Time passed by her numb senses until she heard her mother calling from the
dining room. Dinner was ready.
Her father and grandfather were often busy, so it was quite common for
Akane to eat dinner with just her mother, but she never thought of it being
lonely. Whenever she did see her father, he was kind and gentle to her. She loved
her father.
The girl summoned her courage and went down to eat dinner with her
mother.
She wore her usual smile and carried on with her usual lively conversation.
But on the inside, she told herself, Don’t let your guard down.
After dinner, she kept that fake smile on until she closed the door of her room
and started to clean up her desk for something to distract herself.
In the midst of this, she dropped a sketchbook while moving it off the desk,
and it fell open to a drawing.
It was a portrait of the class eating lunch. On each and every face was a
delighted smile.
Very, very happy smiles, heartfelt and full.
Looking at that drawing finally caused her to break down.
“Aah…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
She tore the drawing out of the sketchbook, wadding it up, ripping it apart,
throwing it aside.
“I’ll make so many, many paintings and have Daddy sell them!” Her
childhood dream echoed in her head.
The young girl cried and wailed, not even understanding why she was so sad,
and tore up more and more drawings.
The things she had seen, those happy smiles on her classmates—all lies.
And it was her existence that had forced those lies into being.
In a wild fit, she tore her drawings, her dreams, to shreds.
Just a few seconds felt like a long, long eternity to the girl.
And that elongated time negated all the happy life she’d led.
But halfway through tearing out the sketchbook pages, she stopped.
It was a drawing of her father’s and mother’s faces.
Upon seeing this picture of her family, the girl came to a realization.
While she was shocked to learn what the Awakusu-kai actually was, she
could never actually bring herself to hate her family.
“Akane? Akane! What’s the matter?!”
Before long, her mother had rushed into the room, drawn by her daughter’s
screams.
Akane didn’t know what she should do. She leaped into her mother’s
embrace and cried.
The world blessed the girl’s existence.

But that blessing did not guarantee her happiness.
For a while after that, the girl led a life that was somewhat broken.
She could sense that her heart’s distance from her family—especially her
father—was growing steadily.
Her father Mikiya could sense that his daughter had realized what he did for a
living and was trying to keep close to her so she couldn’t drift away.
At school, she put on her best fake smile so as not to let her true feelings
show.
She was both shocked at learning the truth that her personal world was coated
with lies and unable to summon the strength to break down those lies.
The rest of the class continued to play along with Akane, and she allowed
herself to play along with their lie.
It was a world of nothing but lies, including her own.
That world blessed the girl’s existence.
And then, several months later…

The girl made up her mind to finally run away from home.
Not because she knew that she could make it.
It was just on faith that if she went to a place where no one had heard of her
or the Awakusu name, something might change.
She used the Internet function on her phone to gather information on running
away.
Searching a few helpful keywords pulled up a number of good sites.
After hesitantly dipping her toes into the forums there, she was approached
by a man with the username Nakura.
He helpfully answered her questions, no matter how naive, and offered
thoughtful advice. In a sense, it was inevitable that Akane, with her lack of
Internet knowhow and damaged state of mind, would grow to trust this man.
Then, he suggested that they meet up. Even Akane grew wary at this, and she
decided to stake out the meetup place to ascertain what kind of person her chat
partner was—only to find that it was a beautiful woman with long hair.
The girl timidly approached, and the long-haired woman smiled and said,
“Are you Akane? Hi, I’m Nakura.”
Akane’s eyes bulged. She was not expecting this beautiful, smart-looking
woman.
It had never once seemed to her that Nakura would be a woman.
She was very kind to Akane, enveloping the girl’s damaged heart with
warmth. The release and rebound from her fear that Nakura would be a
frightening man was so strong that Akane immediately opened herself up, and
they met a number of times after that.
After a few meetings and conversations, the woman introduced her to a man.
“I hear you want to run away from home?”
This young man, who called himself Izaya, was a work partner of Nakura’s.
In the presence of these people with a strange knack for working their way
into her mind, Akane finally explained her situation.
And as soon as she said it, she regretted it.
Akane realized her legs were trembling. Would they be afraid, too, now that
she’d told them about her link to the Awakusu-kai?
What should I do?
What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?
They’re going to be terrified of Dad and Grandfather, too.
But instead, a gentle palm landed on top of her head.
Izaya caressed Akane’s hair and smiled at her kindly. “If I told you it’s all
okay and there’s nothing to be afraid of, that would be a lie…but you’re still
you, Akane.”
Her heart was already halfway broken. And those cracks were all it took for
him to worm his way inside.
From that point on, Izaya fed her all kinds of information and taught her
special web addresses only cell phones could reach and novel ways to use her
device.
Then, one month became the next…and she realized that she had run away
from home.
It really was as sudden a realization as that.
She hadn’t been home since late April.
She was sending her mother texts that she was staying at a friend’s house and
not to worry, every single day.
The first night, she really was at a friend’s house: Nakura’s. She wasn’t lying.
The next day, Izaya took her to a manga café, and the day after that, she slept
in a twenty-four-hour restaurant.
All her actions were according to Izaya’s instructions.
But she didn’t find this to be strange or questionable.
She recalled that this was exactly what she’d hoped for—an environment that
would see her for who she was, not just the daughter of the Awakusu family.
It was true that she was a little lonely being separated from her parents.
But maybe if she ran away from home, her father and grandfather would
think twice about their work and how it frightened people.
Deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple, but a part of her glowed with
optimistic hope and kept her dedicated to her cause and numb to homesickness.
But then, when it finally felt like she was going to give up, Izaya asked, “Do
you hate your grandpa and dad?”
Taken aback, Akane recalled when she tore up her drawings. She looked
down and mumbled, “I don’t know.”
Izaya smiled kindly at her. “This isn’t the kind of problem I can give you the
answer to. Just think it over until you know,” he said. But then his expression
went dark, and he murmured, “But there’s no guarantee they’ll be safe by the
time you have your answer.”
“Huh…?”
“Well, your dad and grandpa cause fear in many people. That’s what you
were worried about, right?”
“Y-yeah…”
Whatever it was that he was talking about, it was frightening her. Izaya held
out a piece of paper. It was a photograph of a man with blond hair and black-
and-white clothes. Behind the lenses of his sunglasses, his eyes were sharp and
lupine.
“This is Shizuo Heiwajima. He’s considered the most dangerous hired killer
in Ikebukuro.”
“K-killer?” She held her breath.
And with an absolutely straight face, Izaya told the frightened girl, “And it’s
possible he could be going after your dad and grandpa.”
“…What would you do if that were the case?”
There was no compulsion in his statement at this point.

It was just a question.
But it was also just another string tangling itself around her heart.
And then she was caught in the midst of the fray.

While still blessed by the world, as she had been since birth.
The Black Market Doctor Gets Sappy, Part Five
Please, have some tea as we wait, Mr. Shiki.

It’s all right. Everything will go smoothly with Celty on the case.
I would appreciate it if you didn’t scowl like that.
Please believe that I’m not just being lackadaisical.
In any case, we can’t do anything until the results become apparent. So if you
hold onto hopeful optimism, that will at least cut down on the stress and fatigue
as you wait. “Good fortune comes to he who laughs,” as the saying goes.
Actually, I’ll admit that I’m relieved to learn that the job you hired Celty for
this time was protecting a young girl. If it had been the other way around, like
“kill the guy going after her,” I very much doubt that Celty would have accepted
it.
She does the courier job because she doesn’t have any better options, but in
reality, Celty’s just a normal girl.
…Huh?
…Oh yes. Well, you do have a point.

That’s absolutely true.
The dullahan’s original job was to warn people of their coming demise.
Depending on the type of legend, some of them were treated like Grim Reapers
that collected the souls directly.
But that’s quite a different thing than just killing people left and right. You’re
acting like she’s some kind of personification of death or a zombie, but the truth
is, she’s a type of fairy.
…What kind of blood is in the basin…? You know…that’s a good question.

Hey, maybe it’s just tomato juice. Reality often turns out to be mundane.
By the way, Mr. Shiki, how do you know so much about dullahans?
I’ve heard that gamblers these days are intellectuals. Does that make you a
card-carrying member of the intelligentsia?
Huh?
No, no, I wouldn’t call you yakuza.
After all, in the three-card game of karuta, the eight-nine-three cards,
pronounced ya-ku-za, are the worst possible hand to have. It would be terribly
rude of me to refer to you as the worst hand in the game to your face, wouldn’t
it?
Look, it doesn’t really matter if you personally don’t mind or not.

The thing is, I’m not a naive enough dreamer to call you and your group
“proper” old-school yakuza of the valorous type.
I don’t know how things work in other gangs, but there’s only a handful of
people in the Awakusu-kai that I would consider to fit the “chivalrous” yakuza
ideal, full of manly compassion, never harming innocent civilians, and not
dealing any drugs whatsoever.
Oh, really? Mr. Akabayashi fits the type, even with the way he looks?
Well, anyway, given what I’ve just told you about how I see your group,
maybe you understand why I’m hesitant to let Celty work with you.
And yes, I’ve given up on attempting to steer clear of you. If there’s any
future incident where I screw something up working with you, it will have
nothing to do with Celty.
So once you’ve finished dumping my body in Tokyo Bay, please don’t extend
the punishment to her as well.
This is a personal request just to you, Mr. Shiki, since you’ve known both me
and my father.
Tell Celty that my final words were “My soul is floating right around you,
Celty. Just look for it. We’ll be living together forever, my dear.”
…What? What was that sigh for?
…
N-no, no, not at all!
I certainly don’t have any plans to get myself killed for a mistake!
…Sorry, that was thoughtless of me.
Your people didn’t have the chance to leave their own final words.
…Please don’t glare at me.
I don’t like the thought of someone doing such a grisly act in Ikebukuro,
either.
…But asking purely out of personal curiosity, how did the three men die?
?
What’s this camera for?
…
Oh, there are pictures of the deceased on it?
And I’m supposed to look at them once, then delete them all?
Well, here goes…
…May they rest in peace.

I’ve seen all the pictures now.
May I give you my personal opinion?
Not as an unlicensed doctor, but as a longtime friend of Shizuo Heiwajima’s.
This isn’t his work.
…I’m not trying to defend him.

Yes, about a third of me wants to believe that he’s innocent…as his friend.
But that alone won’t be enough to persuade a man of your stature, would it?
If you want more concrete points of evidence, I have a few to list…
For example, let’s say that Shizuo flew into a big enough rage to want to kill
a person.
A rage so tremendous that it might even envelop three members of the
Awakusu-kai.
Well, I happen to think the bodies are remarkably well-preserved for that.
Take this body driven into the wall, for example. Shizuo has the arm strength
to rip a guardrail out of the ground—if he drove someone’s face into the wall
with all his force, you wouldn’t be able to identify the face of the victim. You
wouldn’t even find a skull, I daresay.
The other bodies are relatively intact as well.
They do look like they were killed with bare hands.
But they’re just too pristine.
There’s almost no sign of a struggle from these…subordinates of yours, you
said? Do you think that Shizuo could kill all three of them without any kind of
response?
And this doesn’t look like one of his usual rages with some unlucky and
tragic consequences this time. At least, not based on these photos. I mean, aside
from the spot where the one body was driven into the wall, there’s essentially
zero damage to the room.
…Plus, I can’t imagine why he would be in that building to start with.

I’ve never heard him say anything about going there.
And you don’t ever recall having beef with Shizuo, do you?
…So if it’s not Shizuo, then who would it be? As for that, I haven’t a clue.
After all, it’s not my business to know who the Awakusu-kai have professional
difficulties with at any moment.
That’s right.
I don’t know what sort of troubles the Awakusu-kai are in, and I have no
intention to start learning now.
Only if it has something to do with Celty, that’s the only exception.
She popped back in yesterday for just a moment and took a spare helmet.
I’m assuming that means something happened to the first one.
I think that Celty’s gotten involved in something quite dangerous.
Oh no, this isn’t meant to be a complaint directed at you, Mr. Shiki.
And I’m not actually that worried about anything happening to Celty herself.
She’s very strong, as you know.
I just don’t want to see Celty’s grieving face.
Yes, I said face.
Just because she doesn’t have a head doesn’t mean she’s got no face. Or
expression, I should say.
I can tell by her motions, by the mannerisms of the shadow that flickers
around her. And I bet I’m the only one who can do that.
The thing is, Celty’s too kind for her own good.
In exchange for being extremely hardy herself, she gets incredibly upset
when people she knows get hurt.
She might be extending this sense of sympathy to your young mistress
already.
She looks horrified when she hears about children dying, even if they’re not
related to her in any way.
It didn’t always used to be that way, but Celty’s changed in the last few years.
I suppose that coming into contact with people has made her more human.
I’m basically adrift from the concept of morality, so she probably wasn’t
getting that much of an effect from me personally.
At any rate…
If I had to guess, I’d say that Celty’s probably above average for a human
when it comes to caring for others.
When faced with the opportunity to save another person for no personal gain,
most weigh that sacrifice based on factors like the labor involved, social
standing, and personal safety.
But Celty has very, very little to weigh on that scale.
She doesn’t even have a head. The only things she can lose are her pride and
a life without guilt. And because she lives a healthy lifestyle without pride or
guilt, Celty saves people. If anything, she puts all her weight onto the “save” arm
of the scale.
That’s what makes her so wonderful.
At the very least, I lack a human heart.

And Celty just keeps getting more and more lovely. She really is far too good
for the likes of me.
Which is exactly why I don’t want anyone else to have her or for her to be
sad. I don’t think that an unlicensed doctor like me is suited for Celty. But I still
love her.
I guess what I’m saying is that if my name was on Celty’s scale as something
else to lose, that would be a very heartwarming thing.
…Huh?
…Shiki? Mr. Shiki?
…Hello? Did you fall asleep?
No, you were just annoyed? Oh, well, that I understand.
If anything, I’d be worried if you sympathized with and understood my
situation. If you were able to understand that, you’d see what makes Celty so
lovable, thus making you my rival for her love.
So that’s Celty’s personality in a nutshell. Have no fear.

If Celty’s found Akane Awakusu, she will protect the girl with everything she
has.
Even if the Awakusu-kai rescinded its contract for this job.

Chapter 5: Everything Resolves
and Explodes
Somewhere in the Kanto region
Izaya Orihara was in a town in the northern part of Kanto, the region of the
country around Tokyo.
He was in the process of walking from a train station on one line to a station
on another and, as with everywhere else, was surrounded by families carrying
out their Golden Week vacation travel.
But his eyes were glued to his phone screen.
He was busy reading as he walked, but despite the very crowded
environment, he somehow never bumped into anyone.
Some kind of chat room was displayed on the screen of his phone. He
watched the list of users with names like Bacura, Kuru, and Mai leave the room,
then smiled gleefully to himself.
It’s just about time.
He tapped the power button on the phone and shut down the Internet screen.
As soon as he did, the phone began to vibrate with a call from someone.
The name on the screen read “Masaomi Kida.”
Bingo.
He flicked the screen playfully, then reached for the ANSWER button.
“Hello?”
“…Hello.”
“Ahh, it’s you. What’s with the sudden call? Didn’t we finish talking this
morning? Or did you start to miss the sound of my voice? That’s a lot of baggage
for me to deal with. In fact, I just don’t have time to cheer you up, so let Saki do
the heavy lifting in that department.”
“And I don’t have time to listen to your stupid jokes.”
“What’s the matter? You sound angry to me,” Izaya taunted.
Masaomi’s response was thick with rage through the speaker. “What did you
say to Mikado?”
“You were the one logging in with my username in the chat room, weren’t
you?”
“Where’s your proof?”
“Nobody else would do something like this.”
“It could be a conspiracy by Kuru and Mai. We don’t know what kind of
person Setton might really be, either, and Saika has a history of trolling our chat
room, if you remember.”
“That’s my proof, just now: I accused you, and rather than directly saying no,
you tried to distract me with other answers.”
“And you think that’s going to persuade a jury? But I suppose I can give you
a passing grade. Sure, it was me who used your name online. I’ve got to admit,
it’s very tough to pull you off accurately.”
“…What did you say to Mikado?”
“Why do you think I said something to Mikado? You were just talking with
Kuru and Mai in the chat room. Did they suggest that they had seen you talking
with TarouTanaka?”
“If the Izaya Orihara I know is fraudulently using my name to achieve
something, I can’t imagine what else he would do. If you were trying to screw
me over, you would just do that in real life.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. So what do you intend to do about this?”
“Answer my question…”
“If only we had the time for that. Aren’t you aware of what’s happening in
Ikebukuro right now?”
“…Huh?”
“Ah, right. You’ve been shutting out all Dollars information ever since that
big brouhaha. Well, I don’t blame you, I suppose.”
“What are you talking about…? Is something happening in Ikebukuro now?”
“Why don’t you just call Mikado and ask him yourself?”
“…Izaya, you son of a…”
“Why can’t you? You’re great friends, aren’t you? Just call him and clear the
air. Tell him Izaya Orihara’s a terrible, evil man, and everything you heard from
me yesterday came from him, so forget all about it… Probably too late at this
point, though. But let him hear your voice. Why don’t you just do that?
Assuming that you’re really bound by irreplaceable friendship.”
“…Knock it off.”
“However you might see it, that’s definitely how Mikado does. He’s just too
soft for his own good. There’s no helping him. But that’s what makes him so
worthwhile. The perfect sacrificial lamb.”
“I told you, knock it off—!”
Midbellow, Izaya hung up.

“I don’t like being yelled at. Besides, I’m already at the station.”
He reached the station for his connecting train. He had a pass card, but he
went out of his way to buy an individual ticket. Once he had checked the arrival
time of his train, he started fiddling with his phone again, checking messages.
“Well, it’s no fun to have the Dollars kicked around continuously like this…
so…,” he muttered, then removed a second phone from his pocket.
He began to hit the buttons on this new phone—with fingers full of certain
malice and twisted love for humanity.
One hour earlier, all-girls’ academy
On a major street running under the Metropolitan Expressway from Ikebukuro

Station to Sunshine City, two men faced off in front of an all-girls’ school.
One was a dashing young man wearing a thin beanie, while the other young
fellow had a straw hat and bandages on his face and arms.
The injured man, Chikage Rokujou, wore a confident smile on his face, while
Kyouhei Kadota, in the beanie, scowled as if chewing on something bitter.
“…Son of a bitch.”
Kadota’s phone had just gotten a message. The text on the screen was an
emergency warning.
The Dollars were under attack at locations all around Ikebukuro.
“What are you…what are you people doing here?” He glared.
“I just came to pay you back for the fight you started,” Chikage replied, all
smiles. “Take it all—no change needed.”
“So…this is vengeance for the guys who me and Shizuo beat right here?
Then, you got a crazy misunderstanding. We didn’t do that as the Dollars. I was
just pissed off and had a personal argument.”
As he stared down his opponent, Kadota paid close attention to the sounds
around him and Chikage’s line of vision. Perhaps this man was just a decoy, and
others would ambush him from the sides or rear.
But he didn’t detect anyone around them except for ordinary pedestrians. A
few of them glanced at the two men oddly facing each other in the middle of the
sidewalk, but as soon as they detected the gang member nature of the two, they
would look away and distance themselves.
Chikage leaned back against the wall of the girls’ academy where it bordered
the sidewalk, his eyes glinting wickedly through the bandages. “Well, in that
case, it was our fault to start with, so I don’t blame you for that. But I did go
after that Shizuo Heiwajima guy for takin’ it overboard, though.”
“…Oh. Did Shizuo do that to your face?”
“He kicked my ass. What is that guy, a supervillain?” Chikage grunted. He
fiddled with the brim of his straw hat and asked, “So we closed the book on that
matter… But do you know what your Dollars did in Saitama?”
“?”
“…That look on your face is telling me no.”
Kadota’s brows were furrowed. Chikage collected himself and began to
explain.
“Man, what a loony gang y’all are. Don’t even know what your own mates
are getting up to.”
“…”
“If you only went after our guys, then I might be able to write it off as
payback for what we did in Ikebukuro…but you beat up others who just
happened to be there at the time, like some of our little brothers. You can’t
expect us not to retaliate for that.”
Chikage twisted his neck, cracking the vertebrae, and lifted his back from the
wall.
“Plus, you burned our bikes up and even threw a tag on our symbol, spelled
‘Dalars’ like a real smart-ass. How long do you think it took us to put up that tag
in the first place? We found somewhere outta the way so it wouldn’t get erased,
and they tracked it down and got rid of it.”
“Beats me, man. Besides, tagging itself is being a pain in the ass to society as
a whole,” Kadota snapped.
“…Well, fair enough. Forget that part.” Chikage grinned. “I never expected
to get a lecture from one of the Dollars about ethical behavior. You’re kinda
fun.”
“So what do you want with me? You’re the head of Toramaru, right?”
More messages poured into Kadota’s phone. He didn’t divert any attention to
them, but he continued glaring at the other man.
“If you came seeking me out, and it wasn’t for payback against Ikebukuro,
then what is it?”
“You’re one of the big shots in the Dollars, right?”
“Huh?”
Hang on, since when have people been saying that? Kadota wondered,
aghast.
Chikage blazed straight ahead with his question: “Who the hell is the boss,
then?”
“…”
So that’s what this is about.
Kadota sighed. He finally realized that the situation around him—not just this
man here, but everything going on with the Dollars—was a much bigger pain in
the ass than he thought it was.
“I’ve got business with him, so drag that guy out here now.”
“Dunno.”
“Come on, you can do this for me.”
“No, I’m saying…I dunno who leads the Dollars.”
This time it was Chikage’s turn to come to a halt.

Huh? No way… You can’t tell me you don’t know the guy who runs your
entire gang. On the other hand, I had trouble figuring that out using the
Internet…
“Don’t bullshit me, man. You gotta know,” he insisted.
“You know much about locusts?”
“Is this a joke?”
“Just hear me out. You know locusts? Travel in swarms. They eat up all the
wheat and grain in swarms of thousands, millions, even billions,” Kadota
explained, reaching out to touch the academy wall and stretching his shoulders.
By moving to the edge of the sidewalk, foot traffic could pass much easier now.
People flowed by, no longer curious about the conversation happening between
the two young men.
“You think those locusts know who their leader is? I don’t know if they even
have leaders like queen bees or ants. The Dollars do apparently have some kind
of leader, but I don’t know who it is, and I’ve never taken orders from ’em.”
“…”
“What I’m sayin’ is that the Dollars ain’t bees or ants. They’re locusts or
those schools of ocean fish. Or if I had to make it simpler… Well, maybe this
ain’t the best analogy, but they’re like a country or a tribe, possibly. If a guy
from one country kills someone in another country, all the people in the first
guy’s country look like enemies to them. So what you’re doing right now…it’s
like if they decided to blast ’em with air strikes or terrorist bombings, innocent
civilians be damned. Get it?” Kadota explained, with more than a bit of irony. He
waited for the other guy to react.
“I don’t think you’re right about that,” Chikage argued. “Pretty much all of
the Dollars are there because they want to be, right? If anything, it’s more like a
school club or athletic team.”
“…Maybe.”
“Think about how often you hear about someone on a sports team causing a
scandal and taking down some of his teammates when he gets kicked out. If
you’re calling yourself a member of the Dollars team without considering that
possibility—whether it’s fair or not—that just makes you an idiot,” he argued,
responding to Kadota’s jab with what he meant to be a challenge. But instead of
having the intended effect, Kadota actually smiled.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“What?”
“It’s true—if you’re gonna rep a team and enjoy the benefits of their
reputation, you can’t just turn around and say, ‘Not my problem, peace!’ when
things go bad. At any rate, I’m ready to hear out and accept the truth…but just
because others don’t get it and mess around doesn’t mean I wanna laugh at them
and say they got what they deserved,” Kadota muttered, somewhat resigned.
Chikage sensed some change in Kadota’s attitude, turned to face the other
man directly, and asked, “What are you trying to say?”
Kadota just grinned a bit.
“I’m saying that I accept your fight.”
“…Hah!” Chikage gasped, delight coloring his features. “I like you. You’re
old school. Not a gang member, more like one of those classic schoolyard
bosses.”
“We’ll stick out here. Let’s find somewhere else to do this,” Kadota
suggested.
Chikage shook his head, smiling. “Nah, no need.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It’ll be over in a second.”
Chikage was airborne before the last words were even out of his mouth.
Just as he had done when sneak attacking Shizuo Heiwajima, he leaped off a
guardrail.
This one was not a dropkick, but a side kick as he twisted diagonally. The
sole of his right foot closed in on Kadota’s temple.
But the perfectly timed kick hit nothing but air.
Kadota swayed out of the way just before the blow, backed up a step, and
waited for his opponent to land.
The passersby stopped in astonishment when they saw a young man abruptly
leap into a kick attack on the sidewalk and hastily pulled back to keep their
distance.
“How many hours does a ‘second’ take for you?” Kadota taunted. He noticed
the murmuring around them and said again, “Let’s go elsewhere.”
“…Good idea,” Chikage said. He had noticed from Kadota’s smooth evasion
that the man was an experienced fighter. He decided to accept his opponent’s
suggestion and followed obediently.
Is there even a good place to fight around here, though? There are police
outposts all over the place…and as far as I can tell from all the shrines and
parks I visited with the honeys yesterday, they’ll all be crowded during the day…
Chikage began to wonder if they were heading for the roof of some office
building. Instead, right at the intersection with Sixtieth Floor Street, near the
Tokyu Hands building, Kadota hailed a taxi next to the light.
He opened the door and slid right inside. Noticing that Chikage wasn’t
following, he looked out and asked, “What are you doing? Get in.”
“We’re gonna take a taxi to the place?” the other man asked, stunned.
Kadota smirked.
“Listen, I’m a working man. I can afford a taxi, so get in.”
Raira Academy Field Two, behind the storage shed

The athletic field at Raira Academy, not too far from Ikebukuro Station, was
covered in green grass.
There was a field next to the school building, too, but it was too small for
baseball, soccer, and lacrosse teams to practice on at the same time, so a number
of the school’s sports teams headed to this secondary field for their activities
instead.
At the moment, the kabaddi and girls’ soccer teams were having practice, so
the sounds of activity echoed around the storage shed, most notably with odd
chants of “Kabaddi, kabaddi, kabaddi…”
Chikage marveled from the corner of this secluded field. “Never expected to
see a place like this in the middle of Ikebukuro.”
The shed was surrounded by trees, giving it the appearance of a park. There
was a good amount of space between the fence and the shed building and plenty
of cover to keep the rear hidden from anyone in front of the shed.
As Chikage looked around the place, Kadota did some easy arm stretches.
“They were originally going to put another storage building in this spot, but once
they started using the first one, they realized that was all they needed.”
“You seem pretty well-informed.”
“I used to go here.” Kadota snorted. “At the time, this was one of our favorite
fighting spots. I’ve seen a lotta people laid out here, thanks to Shizuo. Not a bad
place for a nap, what with all the shade.”
“Gotcha. So you feel like taking one right now, you’re saying?”
“Sorry, not interested. Now that Raira’s all settled down, this is more of a
date spot for couples looking for a quiet, private place at night.”
“Damn, that’s a good tip. Gotta take the honeys here sometime.”
They looked at each other and laughed. When the laughs cooled down, their
faces tightened.
“So, shall we start? You sure you’re not gonna use that weapon you’re
packing? It’s a short wooden sword or something like that, isn’t it?” Kadota
asked.
Chikage put a hand to the thing stashed under the back of his jacket. “Oh, so
you noticed?”
“I caught a glimpse of it when you jump kicked at me. You’re injured
already, so I’ll give you the handicap of a weapon.”
“How about I lend it to you to give you a leg up, old man?”
“I’m not even twenty-five yet, you brat.”
And after those simple insults, without further signal, the two started running
at each other. Arms and fists collided, and the sounds of the kabaddi and girls’
soccer teams’ voices were joined by the dull thudding of flesh.
But they did not realize that the Dollars were truly everywhere in Ikebukuro.
Kadota did not even know that he was considered a big shot among the
Dollars.
And they also did not realize that at this point in time, an e-mail was already
making its way around the Dollars, sent by the student manager of a certain girls’
soccer team on campus.
“Kadota just walked around back at Raira Field Two! He was with some
scary-looking guy—it could be those people attacking the Dollars now! I doubt
Kadota would lose in a fight, but I can’t help but worry! \(> <)/”
Along with a helpful cell phone snapshot of the two walking along.
At that moment, somewhere in Tokyo, abandoned factory
“…Man, that was a hell of an interruption,” Aoba sighed.

He was still in the factory building after Mikado and Celty left. The squabble
was finished now, and his Blue Squares comrades laughed and joked around him
—while men in leather jackets and biker uniforms lay prone on the ground.
The Toramaru bikers were all knocked out, surrounded by bloodied pipes and
broken two-by-fours.
The delinquent youths hadn’t escaped unscathed; many of them had suffered
some kind of injury in the fight. Aoba himself had a scratch on his face and a
little trail of blood coming from the corner of his mouth.
Still, he surveyed the scene with confident, undamaged pride and said, “I’m
glad you’re all doing well. If nothing else, you guys can take punishment.”
His tone was quite different than when he addressed Mikado. The younger
boy’s comrades laughed off his snarky compliment and said, “Hee-hee! Easy-
peasy. These guys are just pussies.”
“You know, it’s not that convincing when you’ve got blood pouring down
your face, Neko.”
“What, this? Nah, it’s tomato juice. Hee-hee!”
“You know, it’s a good thing Yatsufusa isn’t here.”
“Yeah, if he was, he might be dead right now.”
“Since he’s so sickly.”
“Dude’s just a bean sprout.”
“That Mikado guy was pretty bean sprouty, too, huh?”
“Yeah, Aoba. That was my first time seeing the guy. You sure he was the one
who started the Dollars?”
“You better not be messin’ with our heads, Aoba.”
“If you are, I’ll kill you!” “I’ll take your girlfriend!”
“Wait, does Aoba even have a girlfriend?”
“You know, those twins.”
“…Yeah, I’m killin’ him! You’re a dead man!”
“Calm down.”
“Aoba’s acting tough, but he took some shots. He might actually die.”
“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” “Hee-hee!”
“…Listen, Kururi and Mairu kissed me, but that doesn’t make them my
girlfriends…”
“Now I remember! I’ll kill you!”
“Wow, first-name basis?” “You’re that close already?” “I’ll kill you!” “Die!”
Aoba ignored his companions’ idiotic jokes and threats and stared them all
down coldly. “Besides, if you think Mikado’s a bean sprout, that makes me one,
too.”
His eyes stopped on one groaning man in a leather jacket trying to get to his
feet. Aoba walked over toward him. “Plus, I’m betting that he’s never even been
in a fight before.”
Aoba drove his knee into the biker’s face, right as the man was standing up at
last. He screamed and passed out on the spot, and Aoba stepped on his back as
he walked over him. “Which might be exactly why he was able to create the
Dollars in the first place.”
“I don’t get it.” “Yatsufusa’s the only one who can figure out what Aoba
means when he gets weird like this.” “Doesn’t he make a good match for those
crazy twin chicks, though?” “I’ll kill him!” “Knock it off, Yoshikiri. You got
porridge for brains?” “Okay, you die!” “Oh, there’s a cockroach.” “Catch it!”
“Fry it up!” “Wait, is that bet still on?” “Seriously, porridge.” “What? Cockroach
porridge?” “…” “…” “…Bleagh!”
That mental image caused a number of the delinquents to gag, and they ran
out of the factory.
While all this nonsense was happening around him, Aoba was lost in thought.
The question is…how did they know this place?
His mind worked silently as he stared down at the biker he was using as a
footrest.
I could threaten them for answers…but these are the kind of guys who don’t
rat out their friends.
…Did Izaya Orihara leak the information…or am I overthinking this?
No, if anything, you need to overthink him to keep up.
Another message lit up Aoba’s phone. Similar ringers went off around the
gang, indicating that it was a Dollars’ mailing list text.
It said that Kadota, a well-known member of the Dollars, was heading for
Raira Academy Field Two with a suspicious-looking man.
Man, if the cops found out about this mailing list, that would be bad.
Actually…did Mikado set up this list? When I checked the history, it sounded
like one of the members suggested the idea, and then it just sprang into being.
Does that mean an investigation wouldn’t lead it back to Mikado?
Aoba opened a photo file attached to the e-mail.
Huh? Isn’t that…?
He looked at the man shown next to Kadota.
The Toramaru boss? Well, it doesn’t look like they’re going to talk out their
troubles.
“Hey, can anyone rush over to Raira Field Two to check it out?” Aoba
suggested.
A boy with dyed brown hair elected himself out of the crowd. “All right, I
can go.”
“Thanks, Gin.”
The kid named Gin headed to a corner of the factory. He hopped onto the
motorcycle parked there with practiced ease.
“Whoa, you just gonna ride off with that?”
“Well, I was just noticing,” Gin said with a laugh, bringing the engine to life
with a roar, “they left the key in the ignition.”
The abandoned bike’s engine revved. The other youths in the building
exclaimed at his sheer good luck.
“No…wait. Get off that, Gin.”
Nobody else was bothering to prevent him from stealing the motorcycle, but
Aoba sensed something suspicious, dangerous, at play.
“How come, Aoba? Are you seriously gonna give me a sermon about how
stealing is bad?”
“And are you going to pretend you’re not the type to claim stuff that’s been
abandoned in a factory?”
“Well, that’s still a crime.” “What, it is?” “Sure is.” “If you pick up a bicycle
left at the dump, the cops’ll pull you over. Didn’t you know that?” “Are you
serious?!” “Damn, I’m afraid of bikes now!”
Aoba examined the motorcycle thoroughly, ignoring the typical jabbering of
his friends. He noticed that there was a black thread tangled around the rear of
the vehicle.
…What is this?
It didn’t seem to be made of any fiber Aoba had seen before. It was so dark
that it almost seemed like shadow in physical form and was as smooth as nylon,
but without any hint of reflection.
The thread extended from the motorcycle and out of the factory in an
unbroken line.
This stuff looks a lot like the Black Rider’s suit.
“Hey, Gin, change of plans. I bet all these Toramaru guys’ bikes are parked
near the factory. Take one of those instead.”
“Huh? How come? What’s going on?” Gin asked. Aoba thought about the
Black Rider from earlier and announced his next plan of action.
“I’m gonna follow this thread. No idea where it goes, though.”
Sunshine building, sky deck, Ikebukuro
The Sunshine 60 building was once the tallest in Japan.

But even now, when the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building in
Shinjuku reigns supreme, the sixty-story building is a visual symbol that looms
over Ikebukuro, serving as a landmark of the neighborhood to all who live there
or visit.
The complex contains an aquarium and an indoor theme park, but despite
these and other tourist attractions, one of the most popular spots remains the
observation deck. Even higher than that deck is a rooftop “sky deck” that opens
on weekends and holidays like Golden Week.
In a corner of this sky deck, a man in a bartender uniform looked out upon
the city.
“…Shoulda figured I can’t see that fleabrain with a telescope…”
Once he was certain that he had temporarily shaken his Awakusu-kai
pursuers, Shizuo headed for the Sunshine building and made his way up to this
rooftop observatory.
This was because he considered a crowded location a safer shelter from the
mobsters than someplace secluded. And unlike a department store within the
building, this place was a bit easier to manage in terms of watching who was
coming and going. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he
couldn’t stay all that long.
Well, it doesn’t seem like they’ve contacted the police at all, he considered,
letting the cool breeze blow over his heated body. So…what now? They might
have gone to the office or Tom’s place already. And I shouldn’t trust that
Kasuka’s or Shinra’s places will be safe, either… Shit.
Izaya had played him for a fool, and now peril was approaching his job,
family, and friends. It made him furious to realize how easily he’d been framed.
Shizuo gazed over the magnificent view of the observation deck and thought,
Actually, maybe Celty could ride her motorcycle up the wall to this spot. If I need
to, I suppose I could have her haul Izaya up here for me.
But no sooner had he considered this than he realized that it would be
dragging Celty into this stupid mess, too, and instantly ruled the option out.
Plus, if I knock Izaya off this platform, that would be traumatizing to the
people on this deck. Can’t do that, he thought. It was a sensible idea for a person
who made such little sense himself. He mulled over his future prospects.
He was on the run from the Awakusu-kai. If he struck back at them at any
point, it would be tantamount to admitting his own crime. Once that happened,
they would come after him by whatever means necessary to restore their dignity
and honor.
Shizuo wasn’t afraid of fighting them alone, but that would almost certainly
lead to the Awakusu-kai taking his brother and friends hostage.
They might even go after that little Akane girl, just for being around me, he
thought, worrying about the girl who tried to kill him without realizing that she
was actually an Awakusu VIP herself.
Even if he wanted to surrender himself to them, he still needed evidence that
he wasn’t the culprit first. And if anyone had that evidence, it would be Izaya
Orihara.
And I don’t think…he killed those three guys.
Izaya didn’t have the physical strength to kill three men in that manner. And
most importantly, he couldn’t possibly have a reason to make such a certain
enemy out of the Awakusu-kai.
So maybe he got information that someone was going to kill the Awakusu-kai
and manipulated me into going there…
That—conniving—son—of—a—bitch.
Shizuo felt anger rising within him again. He considered heading for Izaya’s
hideout in Shinjuku.
If that paper on the door was a fake, the information broker still may not be
inside, but he might find something useful. And if Shizuo could use that to
negotiate with the Awakusu-kai, it might actually succeed in getting them to
chase after Izaya instead.
I wanted to pound him into Tokyo Bay myself, but whatever, he’ll reap what
he’s sowed. Well, he has to, or the others will be in danger.
With this plan settled, Shizuo was ready to leave the rooftop deck—and
realized that his phone’s text notification sound had been going off.
You know, I think I heard it going crazy while I was on the run, too.
He opened up the phone and received a ton of information all at once.
The Dollars are under attack…? Wait, the Awakusu aren’t attacking them all
over the place because of me, are they?!
Soon he realized that the situation was not what he first assumed. A biker
gang from Saitama was racing around Ikebukuro, beating down anyone who
dared rep the Dollars.
…Is this a war?
Shizuo had been through more than enough of that stuff in high school, so it
seemed less worrisome than what he was dealing with now. He was ready to
focus on his own situation again, except…
Is it just me, or is this timing a little too perfect?
It could have all been a freak coincidence, but given all the stuff that had
happened to him in the span of two days, he began to realize the variety of
nonsense going on in Ikebukuro at the moment, particularly around himself.
The next-to-most recent message had a photo attached. “Isn’t that Field Two
at Raira?”
It was the place he often used in high school when other schools wanted to
tussle and he had no choice but to designate a fighting spot. Against this familiar
backdrop were two familiar faces.
It’s Kadota and…that guy from two days ago. From what Tom said, he was
the boss of some group called Toramaru. Kid must be tough—he can’t have
recovered from what I did to him yet.
Recalling the fight from the other day allowed Shizuo the ability to rationally
organize some of the incoming information.
So does that mean Toramaru are the ones attacking the Dollars? If that’s the
case, that Chikage guy didn’t really seem all that unreasonable to me. Well…I
bet Kadota is capable of handling that, he decided optimistically. He then
opened up the most recent message that had just lit up his phone.
His expression hardened.

…I feel sick.
The look on his face changed dramatically.
This wasn’t the same kind of anger he felt toward Izaya and his own
stupidity.
The e-mail was from a sender named Nakura.

The title was “Crucial intel!” and the subsequent content of the message
read…
Near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building, basement garage
An enormous mass of shadow slid into the quiet parking garage.

There you go, well done! Thank you, Shooter!
Celty stopped her carriage in the corner of the lot, stroking the headless
horse’s back.
There were hardly any cars in the garage, perhaps because everyone was
traveling for Golden Week.
She freed Mikado and Anri from the shadow seat belts in the rear seat of the
carriage, then removed Akane Awakusu from her own back and set the girl down
on the ground.
The little girl looked dazed and didn’t get more than a step before she
crumpled.
Uh-oh, you okay? Celty wondered, extending a helping hand, but Akane only
trembled. Oh…of course.
She’d just been lashed to the back of a bizarre creature producing tendrils of
shadow, then taken on a breakneck race through Ikebukuro’s street. The girl
didn’t know this, but Celty had even gone to the extreme measure of creating
momentary shadow bridges ahead of her to get them past two red lights along
the way.
I guess I’m not too shabby after all, Celty thought, proud of herself for
pulling off a maneuver she hadn’t been sure would work. A number of drivers
had slammed on their brakes when they saw it, and she was relieved that they
didn’t cause any pileups.
The trickiest part had been just before entering the driveway down into the
garage.
Anyone was bound to notice a shadowy carriage riding around in the middle
of the day during a busy holiday. If she stopped at her own apartment building, it
would inevitably lead to a crush of police and media there. She was normally
careful to avoid attention, but that was impossible with the carriage.
So Celty came up with a plan: She went up an alley before arriving at her
building, made sure that no one was watching, then crafted a station wagon body
of shadow that would hide Shooter and the carriage from view.
It would be alien on close examination, of course, but at a distance, it was
just an oddly large black station wagon, and this was how they were able to slip
into the parking garage before they caught any attention.
“It’s okay. I’m on your side, Akane. Don’t worry,” Celty typed into the PDA,
using simple words to ensure that the girl would understand, and showed it to
her.
Akane watched her with suspicion at first, but after reading the message, she
seemed a little less wary. “Are you a good guy, mister…?”
“Actually, I’m a miss, not a mister,” she wrote.
Akane gasped and started bowing in apology. “I—I’m sorry! Miss!”
“It’s all right. I’m not mad.”
This exchange seemed to have softened the tension of the situation, and
Akane looked up—only to see the headless horse at the back of the scene. She
gasped and hid behind Anri.
Oh, crap. Celty glanced back at her partner and realized that the sight of a
horse without a head was a bit much for a child to bear. And then…
Huh? Shooter moved to hide behind the carriage after Akane shrieked,
keeping his headless neck out of the girl’s sight. Oh no, Shooter’s taking it pretty
hard!
Shooter had greater intelligence than the average horse and could tell that
Akane was afraid of him. He couldn’t be blamed for being upset that the
passenger he worked so hard to transport was also deathly afraid of him.
In fact, the sight of Shooter’s headless neck drooping toward the ground was
the very expression of depression. Celty rushed to stroke his back with one hand
while she typed up a message with the other. When the message was finished,
she returned to Akane and showed the frightened girl the screen.
“It’s all right, Akane. You remember that sweet-bun hero who fights germs?
Well, just like him, that horsey needs to switch to a new head after he uses his
powers. So there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Celty went back to Shooter, fashioned a piece of shadow armor in the shape
of a horse’s head (with a unicorn horn to boot), and placed it on Shooter’s neck.
The cyborg Shooter followed Celty’s lead at a calm pace back toward Akane.
The girl flinched once, but now that the horse had a head—or at least a helmet—
she felt bold enough to stare at the creature’s body from behind Anri’s back.
“Go on, he’s not scary,” Celty typed on her PDA for the girl. Akane looked
up at Anri.
“It’s safe. That’s a very nice horse,” Anri reassured her with a smile, having
been on his back on multiple occasions before. Shooter’s tail flapped back and
forth in response.
Emboldened by this guarantee, Akane examined Shooter again and tried
petting his leg. The headless horse could tell that her fear was ebbing and
happily knelt down to facilitate easier petting.
He’s so easy to please, Celty thought, relieved that her mount was back to
good spirits.
Meanwhile, Mikado felt a bit uneasy about how quickly the girl had
proceeded to petting the horse.
Would you normally get used to the idea right away, just because she put a
helmet on it? he wondered, feeling the girl’s actions were a bit off. Perhaps, like
him, she was predisposed to accepting the extraordinary quicker than others.
His guess was incorrect, but not entirely off the mark. He couldn’t have
known that a part of Akane Awakusu’s heart was already broken in some way.
Instead, he wondered, Who is this girl, anyway? She seems to know Sonohara
and Celty…
Mikado felt a bit uneasy about being the only one out of the loop in this
situation.
And recognizing this unease, he recalled the words that Izaya had told him
that morning.
“…It’s not the Dollars going out of control that you’re afraid of, is it?
“…Aren’t you just afraid that they’re going to change and leave you
behind?”
He had denied those words on the spot.

He had shouted, “That’s not true!” out of sheer reflex, but the words were out
of his mouth before he even registered the statement. As a result, he didn’t
actually know if it was wrong or not.
With this exchange at the front of his mind, Mikado told himself that it had
nothing to do with his current situation and decided he would ask them about
this strange girl.
“So, um, who is…?”
Just at that moment, the phone in his shirt pocket started buzzing.
—!
That sound dragged Mikado back to reality.
The shock of their carriage escape had driven out all thoughts of the Dollars
and the danger facing them and him both, a fact that he recalled at last.
What…what should I do?
The sense of confusion from the factory returned at once. But if he bottled it
all up himself, he would only repeat his anguish from that scene all over again.
He looked at Celty. His problem seemed like the kind of thing he couldn’t tell
anyone about, but here was someone who actually knew that he was a founder of
the Dollars. He made up his mind to ask her…
“Oh, this is Akane. She seems to know Mr. Heiwajima somehow,” Anri said,
picking up on what Mikado started to ask earlier and introducing the girl to him.
“Huh? Oh, uh, right.” Mikado came back to his senses. If he told Celty all
about his problems, Anri would learn everything. And in doing so, he would
involve her in his mess just by her presence here.
What the hell am I doing? How could I not realize something as basic as
that?
He was even more confused than he realized. Mikado decided that what he
needed most was to rest his mind.
Yes, I was the one who started the Dollars. So I’m responsible for what
happens…
He’d had this thought in one form or another for a long time. But this
particular instance was too much for him to handle on his own, and the stakes
were too high for him to keep it to himself.
He knew that. Mikado knew that.
Which raised the question: Who to tell?
Celty would be the quickest answer, as she knew who he was, but between
those stone-faced men earlier and this little girl, she seemed to have some issues
of her own to deal with.
Another person who knew him as a founder of the Dollars was Izaya Orihara,
but they’d just talked on the phone this morning. He couldn’t call him again for
help so quickly.
But this probably isn’t the time to hesitate about………
Then, he remembered one other person who probably knew about him.
Masaomi…
He didn’t know how much Masaomi had learned through that squabble
between the Yellow Scarves and Dollars. But he probably should assume that his
status as founder was a known fact. For example, that warning from the chat
room yesterday could be taken as a prediction of today’s events happening to
Mikado.
Thanks, Masaomi. If it wasn’t for that warning…I might have been
intimidated by Aoba into doing what he wanted, Mikado thought, not realizing
that the Bacura he was thanking wasn’t actually his longtime friend.
But Aoba isn’t…normal. At this rate, he’ll get what he wants from me…and
take over the Dollars.
That’s the last thing I want.
The Dollars can’t belong to someone specific. That’s not how it works.
He murmured a few generic comments to convince Anri that he was
listening, but on the inside, Mikado was steeling his resolve.
I’ll talk to Izaya.

I can’t ask him to solve everything for me, but if I talk to him, I might see a
direction to move forward.
He had no idea that this was the same route his former best friend Masaomi
had already taken.
And without realizing that this same course of action led Masaomi to disaster
—Mikado began to feel a kind of safety in the idea of Izaya.
While this was going on, Celty was trying to type up an explanation of why
the girl was here.
“Well, how do I explain this? I was asked to protect her for a job. I can
provide more detail when we get up to Shinra’s apartment.”
Mikado’s phone vibrated at that moment. It had gone off a number of times
while he was strapped into the carriage, but naturally, he hadn’t been in any state
to check his text messages.
It could be about Aoba’s group getting up to no good after he ran off. He had
no idea what was happening in that abandoned factory right now.
He opened the messages list, wondering if he’d find out new information
about that, and selected the most recent one at the top.
It came from one Nakura.

Oh, I recognize that name. They write on the Dollars’ board sometimes,
Mikado recalled, but that was the extent of his connection to the name.
But the title, “Crucial intel!” naturally piqued his interest.
It might be a dud, but Nakura had been registered on the Dollars’ site from a
fairly early stage of its existence.
The e-mail contained both the message body and a photo attachment.
“…?”
Mikado’s face went briefly blank when he saw the contents.
With his wits already slightly scrambled in this situation, he didn’t have the
ability to put together what this Nakura person was saying.
Or perhaps he did—and just didn’t want to admit it.
“…No way,” he gasped the moment the meaning of the message sank in.
“…Mikado?” Anri asked with concern.
“What’s the matter?” Celty added.
But Mikado’s ears and eyes did not take in these words.
His every nerve was focused on the screen of the phone, trying to formulate a
hypothesis that might explain that it was just a mistake.
But no matter how many times he reread the text, the letters stayed the same,
and the faces in the attached photo were still there.
“No…no, you can’t!” he mumbled in disbelief. He looked up with a violent
start, then bowed to Celty and Anri. “I’m sorry, Celty! I—I’ve got to go
somewhere, right now! Sorry to you, too, Sonohara! You should just head home;
I don’t think I’ll make it out of this today! Also, if Aoba tries to contact you,
whatever you do, don’t answer!”
“Huh…? M-Mikado?”
“Hello?”
Anri and Celty were confused by Mikado’s sudden change. Akane twitched.
But he merely bowed to the three women—and like a fugitive under pressure
darted out of the parking garage.
Near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building vicinity
On a side street right off a busy national route, two motorcycles were parked in a
hidden spot with a good view of Shinra and Celty’s apartment building.
At the mouth of an alley, one of the riders had a map open, suggesting to any
passing drivers that they were looking for a shortcut around the busy area.
As a matter of fact, the map was camouflage—Vorona and Slon were looking
over it toward the place where the black station wagon had entered.
As they tracked the Black Rider’s strange carriage, it suddenly entered a side
alley. The bikers continued to prowl around the block, pretending to have been
thrown off the trail so they could watch the far exit of the alley. Instead, they saw
a strange black station wagon emerge. It was hard to tell from a distance, but the
vehicle gave off no reflection, as if it were absorbing all light.
They watched the station wagon until it slipped into the basement garage,
waited to confirm that no other vehicles emerged, and decided that they’d found
the right building. But…
“Someone just came out,” Slon noted.
Vorona glanced over without moving her head. “It’s the boy Black Rider was
ferrying. Actions seem to be solitary…”
“In any case, we can pretty much assume that building is the Black Rider’s
hideout.”
“Too soon. Perhaps they merely hid in the parking lot temporarily.”
“All right… What about the boy, then?” Slon asked.
Vorona hesitated. He had no direct connection to their contract. But given
that he was surrounded by three different targets—the Black Rider, Akane
Awakusu, and the mysterious girl in glasses—he couldn’t just be a random
passerby. Perhaps they could turn him into bait to lure out one or more of the
targets.
Vorona noted the boy’s alarmed behavior and decided, “Boy’s identity is
target for consideration. I will follow him. Request Slon remains here to
continue pursuit of Black Rider and bespectacled girl. Please understand.”
“Understood—I’m on it.”
Vorona rode forward onto the national route and rolled along slowly,
following the boy without overtaking him.
The gaze that she poured onto his back was that of a cold-blooded predator
tracking frantic prey.
Basement garage
“Ah…M-Mikado!” Anri called out, startled by his sudden departure.

But he continued without stopping up the ramp to the surface and vanished.
“I wonder what happened…,” she murmured nervously.

Behind her, Celty’s helmet tipped downward in thought. What could it be? It
looked like he was examining a Dollars message…
It was probably a notice that Yumasaki or one of his other acquaintances was
under attack by Toramaru, she expected, and she opened her own phone to
check.
Let’s see. The newest message is…
Celty froze.
As soon as the e-mail body and photo attachment loaded, she understood why
Mikado just took off running.
In fact, she wanted to go racing away, too, but Akane’s worried look came
into view, giving her the power she needed to stifle that impulse.
“Um, what’s the matter, Celty?” Anri asked. Celty wondered whether or not
she should show it to her.
But Anri’s piercing gaze won out, and Celty dropped her shoulders in defeat
—and showed her the phone.
When the girl took it and glanced at the screen, she saw…
FROM: Nakura
SUBJECT: Crucial intel!
BODY: So the Dollars are under attack by this motorcycle gang
called Toramaru.
Well, I just saw their leader’s GF eating out in Ikebukuro!
I don’t have the guts to attack them, but if anyone else can,
good luck!
It’s the girl on the left in the photo!
The message was simple.

The attached photo was of a number of young women.
It was from a camera phone and framed so that anyone familiar with
Ikebukuro could instantly tell where they were.
The photo was taken clandestinely while they were eating, so no one was
looking at the camera.
The girl on the far left of the picture looked youthful and naive.
Huh? Wait a minute…
Anri saw the face inside her picture frame to the outside world.
She realized that she’d actually seen this face before and quite recently.
But before she could recall why the girl looked familiar, she noticed the girl
on the right edge of the photo.
…Oh…
Kamichika…?
It was Rio Kamichika—the very girl she’d run into at random just minutes
earlier. It was indeed Anri and Mikado’s classmate in the picture, but Anri was
able to remain calm.
Let’s see… And this Nakura person in the Dollars…is saying that they should
capture Kamichika’s friend on the side…
It was happening in the world inside the frame. To Anri, this event might as
well be happening on the other side of the planet.
But the boy Mikado had seized Anri’s arm from her spot before the painting
—and started to drag her into the other side.
Whether Mikado actually wanted this to happen or not was irrelevant to Anri.
“Celty,” she said, suppressing a particularly violent wave of cursed chanting
and staring at the dullahan with great purpose, “I’m going, too.”
Celty considered forcing the girl back but realized that Anri probably
wouldn’t listen to her, anyway. She gave up and typed, “The people from
yesterday might attack again, so don’t go anywhere without folks around. I don’t
think even you can handle being shot with guns. And I recommend being back by
nightfall.”
“Of course…oh, and…thank you! Don’t worry, Akane. She’s very nice, so
you can wait here with the doctor, okay?”
And just like Mikado had done moments before, Anri bowed and rushed off.
Her pace was much faster and stronger than her appearance and manner
would lead one to imagine.
“Do you read me, Vorona?”

“Affirmative.”
Slon was testing that the wireless communication devices in their helmets
were working.
Vorona’s motorcycle was just barely within sight for him, but the boy they
were tracking was invisible behind the passing cars.
Slon glanced in that direction for just an instant, then back to the girl running
down the sidewalk on the far side of the street.
“It’s the target girl with the glasses. She’s racing like hell after the kid.”
“Chasing after the boy? Absence of mistake?”
“…Yep, seems pretty certain to me. I’m not seeing the Black Rider yet,
though.”
“Understood. I will follow both the boy and the girl. Catch two birds in a
bush,” Vorona replied simply.
Slon joked, “That’s not how the saying goes. I’m sure you can handle it, but
remember, we don’t know anything about the boy, either. It’s hard to believe that
girl produced a katana from her stomach, but we’ve seen that Black Rider
monster in action, too. Watch out if his hand suddenly turns into a gun.”
“Affirmative. He will be worthy opponent.”
Vorona’s voice lilted somewhat through the wireless, revealing to Slon that
she was in a state of excitement.
“…Enjoying yourself, Vorona?” he muttered.

Her expression did not change, but there was an element of ecstasy to her
voice as she murmured something to herself.
“Presume the boy is also unnatural. I welcome that situation for its own
merit.”
Somewhere in the Kanto region
Izaya made his way through the express train packed with vacationers from car
to car as it took them away from Tokyo.
At the connection to the two-story green car, right where the stairs separated
the two floors, he quietly pulled out his phone to check his messages.
This was not from the Dollars’ mailing list, but Izaya Orihara’s own
information network.
He checked over some reports, and his face twisted with pleasure.
So, Mikado…which path will you take?
Whichever one you choose, it is certain to entertain.
Ahh, I just can’t wait. This is why I can never give up people watching.
He grinned gleefully, but that expression changed dramatically when another
face floated into his head.
…Seems like Shizu’s doing his best to stay on the run. He should just fight
back.
That weirdly calm part of him is detestable.
At that point, his phone buzzed with a new call.
The incoming call screen read: “Awakusu-kai Shiki.”
Izaya thought it over, then powered down his phone and muttered to himself.
“Out of respect to your fellow passengers, please do not engage in phone

calls while on the train…”
Near Kawagoe Highway, apartment building, Shinra and Celty’s place
“…No answer.”
Shiki shut his phone.
“Were you calling someone in your group?”
“No, Doctor, your friend. The one who isn’t Shizuo,” Shiki murmured coolly.
Shinra shrugged and protested, “You make it sound like I only have two
friends to choose from.”
“There’s more?”
“No,” he admitted.
But Shiki was already lost in thought.
I figured that Izaya would know something about this…

Something’s wrong. If it wasn’t Shizuo Heiwajima who hit our guys…then
who was it?
As a matter of fact, Shiki himself was starting to doubt the assumption that
Shizuo Heiwajima was their culprit. Part of that was what Shinra had said
earlier, but more importantly, Shizuo had no motive.
But what reason would there be to kill men of their stature with bare hands?
…Was it the serial killer Hollywood? he wondered, recalling the freak they’d
been chasing a while back.
Hollywood’s true identity is Ruri Hijiribe. It’s hard to believe because I didn’t
see it myself, but if the other guys can be trusted, she’s got some kind of
superhuman strength. And Ruri Hijiribe is in a relationship with Yuuhei
Hanejima, Shizuo’s little brother…
So there’s a connection, but it’s a very unnatural one. First of all, why would
Ruri Hijiribe kill the Awakusu-kai now, of all times, especially when they were
no longer after her? If it was meant to be a warning, wouldn’t she allow herself
to be seen for the message to be clear?
…Let’s ask a different question: Who would stand to gain if our guys…no, if
Director Mikiya’s guys got killed?
It was an occupational hazard that Mikiya, the waka-gashira and future head
of the Awakusu-kai, had many enemies.
If they looked at this aggression as being against the Awakusu-kai as a whole,
rather than a pointed move against Mikiya’s agents, the number of potential
suspects would skyrocket.
But if this was a direct play against Mikiya himself, a number of those close
by might rise to the top of the list.
I don’t want to think about that.
Now that Mikiya, the company president’s son, was set to inherit the lead,
there would naturally be some other senior members who did not think highly of
this favoritism.
Aozaki chief among them. Akabayashi…might seem to have little interest in
leading at first glance, but…
The officers Aozaki and Akabayashi were very different men, but they were
both famed and feared battlers who’d been known for years as the “Blue Ogre
and Red Ogre of Awakusu,” respectively. Their presence or absence would have
a significant effect on the sheer muscle power of the organization.
Aozaki indeed had his doubts about the worthiness of Mikiya to lead the
group in the future, especially when compared to his own prowess. In deference
to Dougen Awakusu, their boss, he followed Mikiya’s orders, but they often
clashed over this and that.
Akabayashi, unlike the straightforward and easy-to-read Aozaki, was an
aloof man whose motivations were often inscrutable. His flashy-patterned suits
and bizarre canes were meant to give him the appearance of a clown and helped
him hide his true intentions.
Just the fact that he was difficult to predict made him a person to be wary of.
But even if his motives were unknown, his skill was a known quantity and only
improved by his ability to hide weakness.
Shiki considered other members of the organization, but none of them had
enough reason to be considered a lock for suspicion. If anything, in the current
situation, everyone was a valid suspect, even him.
…But why now? When reconciliation between the Medei-gumi and Asuki-
gumi is close at hand…
…Unless that’s the entire point.
The Medei-gumi, the Awakusu-kai’s parent syndicate, was in the midst of a
reconciliation with their longtime rivals in the Asuki-gumi, leading to an
eventual partnership and integration.
The details of that integration were being worked on now, which made it a
particularly delicate time to have any weakness exposed. Or put another way,
this was exactly the time that each side would be attempting to seize upon the
other’s weakness. Of course, if such machinations went too far, the entire
reconciliation could be dashed on the rocks.
…If it got out that three of our men were killed by Shizuo Heiwajima, a mere
civilian…that would bring shame upon the Awakusu-kai, if not the Medei-gumi
as a whole.
That was why Shiki had the bodies disposed of quickly and discreetly,
without informing the police. If the cops found out and the story made its way to
the media, things would turn into a circus.
Plus, the lurid fact that three men were killed by bare hands, not guns or
blades, would drive the media into a frenzy of fascination. If that happened, all
their dignity would be lost.
A plot by the Asuki-gumi to screw over the Medei-gumi…? We can’t rule that
possibility out.
With the resources the Asuki-gumi has, they could easily hire an outside
expert in bare-handed combat. Which leaves the problem of Shizuo.
From what he knew, several of Aozaki’s men had suffered at Shizuo’s hands
as youngsters. That was a past they would be dying to erase. In fact, Aozaki had
requested the chance for his team to hunt down Shizuo.
…If Aozaki happened to be pulling strings, then after framing Shizuo as his
suspect, it behooves him to eliminate that suspect as soon as possible…
No. Not good to make so many assumptions.
The moment that he reached down to pick up his third cup of coffee and
sharpen his thoughts, the door to Shinra’s apartment flew open.
“…”
He turned warily toward the entrance and saw Celty there with Akane in tow.
“Oh, Celty! Welcome back! I’m so glad you’re all right!” Shinra exclaimed
theatrically, hugged Celty, and rubbed Akane’s head. “And you’re safe, too,
Akane. That’s good—you didn’t get hurt anywhere?”
“…I’m fine. Thank you, Dr. Kishitani,” Akane said with a grin. Unlike her
prior fright, this was a truly childlike expression of total relief.
But Akane’s smile drove shock into Celty’s core.

What?! How did she get so close with Shinra?!
“Ah, I see. That’s good. Hey, do you want me to make you some hot cocoa?”
Celty was stunned by this utterly alien version of Shinra. There was no
sarcasm to him at all.
Is…is Shinra developing a lolicon side…?!
Owing to his typical weirdness, Shinra’s actions here were not attributed to
being “kind to children,” but tragically misconstrued into a much darker light.
In other circumstances, Celty might have wailed, “Waaah! Shinra, you pedo!
Was the only reason you liked a girl without a head because it just made her that
much shorter?!” and run out the door…but given the serious nature of the
moment, she didn’t reach that level of panic.
Shinra left for the kitchen to make cocoa, and Shiki emerged to take his place
from the dining room.
“I’m glad to see you safe and well, Miss Akane.”
“!”
The little girl went stock-still when she saw him. She looked away, afraid he
might scold her, but Shiki was simply happy to see her unharmed.
“We were worried when you ran away from home…but all that matters is that
you’re not hurt. You weren’t in danger, were you?” he said, in the formal tones
of a relative stranger, but he seemed very considerate of her feelings.
Wow…I thought Mr. Shiki was the cold and imperious type all along. I didn’t
know he had a gentle side, Celty thought, impressed.
Akane mumbled, “I’m sorry,” in a barely audible voice.
Shiki just shook his head. “Save that for your parents first of all. I’ll call them
right now.”
“…You aren’t mad?”
“If anyone can scold you, it’s your parents. I’ll give you plenty of complaints
after that—right now, I just want to be happy you’re all right.”
He took out his phone, gave Akane a teasing smile, and offered some cruelly
playful advice.
“I would get ready for a slap on the cheek if I were you, miss.”
At that moment, Awakusu-kai office, meeting room
With the emergency meeting over, the room was considerably quieter.
A man wearing a flashy suit held a cane in his right hand and fiddled with a
cell phone in his left as he leaned back in his chair. He was checking his e-mail,
and with each piece of information that came into his view, he leered happily.
“…Whaddaya doin’, Akabayashi?” asked Aozaki, who was just passing by
the open door.
“Me? Checkin’ my mail.”
“Checkin’ your— Do you have any idea what’s going on right now?”
“Of course I do. And I also know that raisin’ a big fuss on my own won’t do
shit. So instead, I’m tryin’ to get a handle on what’s happening out in the city.”
“Oh. I would have figured they were messages from women,” Aozaki
mocked, but Akabayashi’s goofy grin stayed put.
“It’s real interesting stuff. Even an old fart like me can get all kinds of info
from these ‘Dollars’ kids, just by registering for a mailing list.”
“…Dollars?”
“Just one of those color gangs around Ikebukuro in the last year. They don’t
stand out much—I mean, for cryin’ out loud, the color they rep is ‘camouflage,’”
Akabayashi sneered.
Aozaki snorted. “You must be busy, then. That Kuzuhara motorcycle cop
showed up and Jan-Jaka-Jan’s yield dried up, so now you’re beep-boopin’ on
that computer, looking for a replacement gang?”
“…‘Beep-booping on the computer’? What year did you fall out of, Aozaki?”
he shot back, then lightened his tone again. “Listen, cell phones are a real handy
tool to have around. For example…I just heard back from the guy I sent to help
Shiki. Seems they had a little tussle with some motorcycle gang going after Miss
Akane.”
“…What?” Aozaki went pale. “Disrespected by a buncha biker-gang
punks…? Did Yodogiri hire those chumps to put up a fight?”
“From what I understand, when they learned we were Awakusu-kai, they ran
off. Can’t catch motorcycles on foot, and Akane’s safe now, so no big deal.”
Akabayashi grinned happily. He fiddled with his phone again. “Seems like the
biker gang’s from Saitama…and they’re beefin’ with the Dollars.”
The smile plastered across his face deepened, twisted.
“Is it really coincidence that Ikebukuro’s goin’ so wild all at once?”
“And if it ain’t…and someone’s actively tryin’ to make everything here go

crazy all at once…then I’d say that’s our cue to stand up, Mr. Aozaki.”
Somewhere in the metropolitan area, Masaomi’s apartment
“Hey, Masaomi.”
The windows were open, bringing the fresh May breeze into the old
apartment.
Inside, a cheery voice well-suited to the spring atmosphere bounced off the
walls.
Masaomi turned away from the window to look down at Saki Mikajima
where she was reading a book. “Huh? What is it?”
“Aren’t you going?”
“Going where?” He smiled back.
Beaming like the gentle morning sun, Saki shook Masaomi to his core. “To
your friend.”
“…”
“I didn’t mean to overhear your call with Izaya, but you were shouting. I
couldn’t help but absorb the information. Sorry,” she said in an otherworldly
voice. Masaomi’s mouth hung open silently for several seconds.
He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
Masaomi turned back to the window and stared out for a moment, trying to
buy time to calm himself down. He slowly turned back, composing his thoughts
—and her face was right there.
Close enough that their noses could touch.
The sight of Saki’s smile at such inescapable proximity completely banished
all the thoughts from his mind.
“Ah…”
He opened his mouth to say something, anything—when Saki turned away
from him, then leaned against his back.
“Wh-what’s that for?”
The wind brushed her hair, tickling it over Masaomi’s mouth and wafting the
scent of shampoo into his face and mind.
“Are you still scared?”
“…Yeah,” he admitted, unable to push her away.
At a distance, the image might be one of a happy couple sharing a sweet
moment, but something about Masaomi’s expression and actions was stiff.
“What are you afraid of?”
“…”
“You don’t want to go back and find out that this friend is sick of you, isn’t
that right?”
“That’s not all of it…but I guess that’s basically what it comes down to,” he
mumbled, looking up at the ceiling.
Saki closed her eyes. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure they don’t suddenly hate you,
Masaomi.”
“…How can you be so sure? You don’t even know Mikado or Anri.”
Saki didn’t flinch in the least at the mention of the feminine name Anri. She
spoke like she was soothing a child. “I don’t know them, but I’m sure it’ll be
fine.”
“Very optimistic of you.”
“I don’t know your friends, Masaomi, but I know you. And if you chose
them, then I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“You’re exactly the kind of person who falls for scams, Saki,” he bemoaned,
but the smile never left her face.
“Plus, I don’t like seeing you look so lonely.”
“…I’m not lonely. I’ve got you,” he said in all honesty.
But Saki promptly cast doubt on it. “I’m not so sure.”
“Oh, come on.”
“After all, I’m your lover, but I can’t be your friend, can I?”
“…”
He fell silent. She reached up and grasped his hand resting on her shoulder,
then followed up. “But if it just so happens that your friends don’t like you
anymore and you’re feeling depressed…I’ll be here to embrace you. That’s my
job as your girlfriend.”
“Saki…”
“Don’t ever forget that you have a place to come home to, right here. But I’m
not the one who can save your friends—you are.”
She turned herself around and squeezed Masaomi with a playful smile.
“…That’s right. Thanks, Saki.”
He looked at her smile and thought about it. Perhaps her innocent playfulness
was not a sign of serene wisdom, but something broken within her.
He got the sense that he himself was broken somehow, too. The cause lay
within him.
He fell from a great height and broke. That was it.
But just before he fell, someone else most certainly pushed him on the back.
Or more accurately, pushed him upward as he climbed up to that height, then
suddenly let go as soon as the footing became unstable.
Now that same man was pushing his friend.
Masaomi looked at the floor, then made up his mind.
I’m gonna save Mikado.
That it took Saki’s words and a strong resolve to make such a simple decision
was perhaps a sign of his brokenness.
He smiled back kindly at Saki—and after a minimum of preparation left the
apartment.
To save the friend who turned his back on the ordinary and continually fled
toward the center of chaos, Masaomi set off running.
Into the midst of that very chaos.
Somewhere in Ikebukuro
While Masaomi willingly makes his way toward the fray…

We move to a side street, drastically quieter than the station-facing
thoroughfare it spun away from.
Even in the midst of a crowded holiday, there are alleys in any city that
remain lonely and foreboding, but there was a strange density to the crowd found
in this otherwise unremarkable Ikebukuro alley.
When passersby glanced down the alley and noticed the gathering, they just
as quickly looked back and continued on their way, realizing that the men
belonged to some kind of street gang.
If this was at the station, the shopping district, or any number of famous
locations, it would be reported at once. But they were in an out-of-the-way spot,
and it was just a big gathering of gangsters, so people chose the simple path of
action instead: Just stay away.
Of course, if they could see past the wall of people at what was happening
beyond, some might risk personal danger to inform the police—and it was
precisely to prevent this outcome that they were forming such a wall.
Inside the alley on the other side of that wall, a girl said nervously, “Um…
wh-who are you people…?”
Next to Rio Kamichika were several girls her age, huddled together in fear.
It was the very group of girls who had been walking around Ikebukuro after
they ran across Anri.
After leaving their restaurant, they had walked away from the shopping area
to find someplace quiet like a park to relax in. Along the way, one of the girls
checked her phone and came to a halt.
“…What’s this?”
“Hmm? What’s wrong?”
“H-hey, I just got a bunch of messages from this mailing list called ‘the
Dollars’…and isn’t this…us at the end?”
She held out her phone to show off a picture of the interior of the restaurant
where they had just been eating—and there they were, right in the photo.
“And it says here that they’re looking for you, Non… Do you know what this
is about…?” asked the girl with the phone. Just then, it buzzed again with a new
e-mail. She opened it and looked at the text.
“Found the girl. We’re about to have a party together.”
The attached image was of the sidewalk they had walked down just minutes
before—and their backs, directly in view.
They felt their skin crawl and started looking around. Almost immediately
they noticed a pack of men walking toward them. And coming from the other
direction, another group of men with a similar air to them.
“L-let’s get out of here,” one of the girls said, and on cue, Rio and her friends
rushed toward a nearby alley. Ultimately, this only trapped them in an even more
abandoned place.
One of the gangsters surrounding the girls cackled, “Who are we? What? You
really have to ask? We’re the bad guys.”
The men were blocking both ends of the alley, leaving no escape.
“I-if we scream, the cops will be here right away…,” one of the girls
threatened, but the men just laughed.
“Oh, but the fights happening all over are keeping the cops busy, I’m afraid.
More importantly, listen up—Non, right?” the same guy teased. He then jutted
his chin out in a threatening manner and snarled, “It’s all thanks to your dumb-
ass boyfriend flexing his muscle all over the place that the cops are occupied.
Get it?”
“…Rocchi?” the girl said. It was an odd name.
But Rio and the others recognized it at once. That was the nickname Non
often used to refer to her boyfriend. The gangsters wouldn’t know that, but it
was clear from context that Rocchi was the boss of Toramaru in question.
They cackled and leered, slowly closing the circle around the girls.
“Rocchi, Micchi—it doesn’t matter, bitchies!”
“Okay, okay, okay, easy, easy, easy, there, there, there. All you have to do is
come with these nice gentlemen. Yeah? Yeah? Yeah?”
Their tone was light, but there was a dangerous gleam in their eyes. At this
rate, it seemed likely that all the girls, not just Non, would be loaded into a car.
Non glared angrily back at the men and said in a low voice, “Fine…I’ll go
along with you, as long as you let them go—you don’t need them, do you?”
“N-Non…you can’t do this!” Rio protested, but one of the men brusquely cut
her off.
“Nope, nope, nope. We’re not doin’ that. No can do. If we let the others go,
they’ll tell the cops. And then they’ll be right on top of us. Nopesy-daisy.”
A different man clamped a hand over one of the girls’ mouths.
“Aa—”
He was preventing her from screaming. A knife held to her throat made the
threat clear.
“See that? See, see? Raise a fuss, and I’d guess that your friend here’s gonna
get slit.”
The sight of a glinting silver blade against pale flesh immediately silenced
Rio and her friends.
Somehow there was a black van parked at the mouth of the alley now with
the sliding door open. “Can you fit five in there?”
The frightened girls were grabbed by their arms and mouths, a mass
kidnapping at the hands of over a dozen men right in the middle of the back
alley.
“Sure, as long as we stack ’em up.” “I wanna get stacked in that, too!”
“What are you, a monkey?” “I wanna be a part of this exciting live teen girl
performance!”
“Damn, you’re such a creep!” “Hey, you think it’s true that the guy who was
with Kadota is Toramaru’s boss?”
“Yep, for sure. I’ve seen him before.”
It was a chat.
The way they were talking as they went about their business was like
watercooler talk.
This matter-of-factness drove home the reality of the situation to the girls and
thus began plunging them into despair…
“W-wait a second!”
The scene was interrupted by the sound of a young boy’s voice, completely
out of place.
Everyone in the alley spun around to see, behind the gangsters, a boy glaring
at them, his shoulders heaving.
“Wait…Ryuugamine?”
Rio recognized him as her classmate. Not a close one, but a male student who
occupied the same distance from her as Anri did.
He responded by summoning all his courage to yell, “Wh-what are you doing
to them?!”
The gangsters glanced at one another, brows furrowed, then made shooing
gestures at him. One of them growled, “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you,
kid.”
“Y-yes, it does.”
“Huh?”
“I—I’m one of the Dollars, too. I saw the message…and rushed right here!”
That was a statement that cost Mikado considerable courage.

But either because he was still in a confused state or because he was afraid of
having any of the Dollars arrested, he had not reported anything about the
incident to the police.
He was there solely as a Dollar.
“B-but…you shouldn’t…be taking girls…,” he stammered. One of the
gangsters laughed and approached.
“Yeah, yeah, shut up, kid,” he said and kicked at Mikado’s solar plexus.
It wasn’t an impressive kick, just a lazy, amateurish swipe.
Shizuo Heiwajima would have failed to notice it, then seen the footprint on
his stomach and furiously punched his foe up to a second-story height.
Izaya Orihara would already have his knife pointed at the sole of the man’s
shoe.
Masaomi Kida would simply dodge it and counterattack.
Celty would already have him wrapped up immobile in her shadow.
But in physical terms, Mikado was just your average—below average,
actually—teenage student.
In these circumstances, he was tragically “just a boy.”
“Ugh…”
Mikado fell to the ground, groaning. It felt like there was a large ball of
heavy lead in the pit of his stomach.
Before the pain arrived, bitterness flooded into his brain, screaming orders
not to move to the rest of his body, but all his nerves were unable to stand the
agony and screeched, Roll around! in their tiny, needling voices.
“Ah…gakh…”
“If you’re Dollars, then you should know there’s no rule that says the Dollars
can’t take girls hostage,” the man spat. They were older men looking down on a
boy, informing him of how the Dollars worked from a superior position.
Naturally, they had no idea that Mikado was really the founder of those very
Dollars. But if they heard that and actually believed it, would their attitude really
change?
Mikado tried to consider the possibility, but even through the blinding pain
he understood that the answer was no.
Even if he had said that exact same thing as the founder of the Dollars, they
would not react any differently. That was how the Dollars worked.
“In fact, there are no rules governing us at all. Specially not anything that
says we have to listen to a little kid like you,” the man said, putting his foot on
the kneeling boy’s shoulder.
As he crumpled to the asphalt, Mikado thought, Yes, of course. He’s
absolutely right.
There were no rules.
No one could order another member to do anything against his will.
I built it to be that way.
Mikado gritted his teeth at the irony of it. Meanwhile, the gangsters talked
among themselves.
“Man, there really are all kinds in the Dollars. If there are kids like this,
maybe someone else saw the message, pussied out, and reported us already?”
“Let’s get back to Raira Field Two already. I don’t wanna get caught here, so
let’s just kick Toramaru’s asses, bring the chicks into someone’s house, and call
it a day.”
Mikado’s teeth grinding intensified.
No.
This is…wrong.
They’re all…wrong.
This…
This isn’t the Dollars I wanted to make.
He wanted to disavow every last bit of the reality unfolding here.

Mikado got to his feet, desperately stifling his urge to vomit, and yelled at the
men ignoring him and heading to their van.
“Stop it…!”
“…What?”
The man who appeared to be the central figure of the thugs—the Dollars—on
the scene raised an eyebrow and sneered, “What? I didn’t hear that.”
It was a taunt, but one with pressure behind it.
Mikado didn’t back down. He summoned the voice from deep in his gut.
“The Dollars don’t do…cheap, cowardly crap…like taking girls hostage!”
“…Shuddup!”
The gangster punched Mikado in the face. He wasn’t going to think over the
implication of a boy he saw as inferior calling him a cheap coward.
“We don’t wanna get reported on, so three of you stay behind and pound this
kid to sand.”
“Hey, wait, we wanna have fun with the girls.”
“You’ll get your chance! Come on, how long will it take you to pulverize one
stupid kid?!”
Mikado tasted iron inside his mouth as he lay on the ground. He’d probably
cut the inside of his mouth somewhere. Maybe even broken a tooth.
But none of that mattered to him at this moment.
The man who just hit him wasn’t paying any attention to him at all.
That was more humiliating and agonizing than the pain.
Perhaps even more so than the fact that he failed to save the girls…
By the time he recovered from the pain, the van was long gone, with only
three of the men remaining behind.
“Hey, get up, kid.”
“Urgh…”
Mikado wanted to at least land one punch back, but he’d never thrown one in
his life. It was all he could do to move the joints past his shoulder.
His attempt, which was possibly weaker than that of an experienced grade-
schooler, feebly hit air. Mikado tumbled off his feet amid mocking laughter. He
didn’t even know how he’d wound up on the ground again.
A merciless kick hit him in the side while he lay facedown. They stomped on
his arms and legs, and while he didn’t suffer any broken bones, he could feel the
sensation of muscle fiber and sinew fraying.
“Aah…aaaaaah!” he screamed.
One of his torturers laughed and said, “Hey, kid. You remember me?”
“…Hrg…uh…wha—?”
Through vision blurred with pain, Mikado tried to focus on the man
overhead, but his skull was pressed down by a thick-soled shoe.
“It was over a year ago… You were with that guy who busted my ex’s cell
phone, right? I remember you, because I never saw a kid in high school with
such a baby…face!” he finished, putting his weight forward to press Mikado’s
face against the asphalt. Mikado’s nose twisted, and blood began rushing out of
his nostrils.
“That Black Rider came along and interrupted what was going on… Are you
lil’ buddy pals with the Black Rider, too? Yeah, right.”
Wait, is he…?
He didn’t recognize the man, but his mind was working hard through the
throbbing pain. But what the man said next brought it back. It was such a minor
thing, he could have completely forgotten all about it.
“I only found this out recently once I joined the Dollars. It’s Izaya Orihara,
right? The guy who busted my phone. I guess he’s famous?”
Ah.
It was just after Mikado first came to Ikebukuro—when he saw Anri being
bullied and saved her. Izaya came along and stomped on one of the bullies’
phones.
A few days later, a guy claiming to be that girl’s boyfriend was waiting
outside the school gate—and Celty knocked him out in one blow.
Something krickked inside of Mikado.
It wasn’t because he was kicked. But somehow, his ears picked up the sound
of his own backbone creaking.
“Let me guess: Did you think because you knew someone famous, that made
you a good fighter? Or did you think that being Dollars with us made you our
equals? Huh?”
The man stomped on Mikado’s back, but he couldn’t even feel the pain
anymore.
Something was surpassing all that pain, some kind of emotion he’d never
even felt before.
He remembered.
Mikado completely remembered the man before his eyes.
“Little chumps like you being in the Dollars is nothing but a pain in
the…ass!”
The man kicked Mikado’s head—right as he muttered something in his mind.
A statement that Mikado would never ordinarily make.
Oh, no kidding…
He’s…
He’s…that worthless idiot.
That was the first clear change to come to the boy named Mikado
Ryuugamine.
But as it happened entirely in his head, no one noticed the change.
He didn’t get any further than that thought. The blow to the head knocked
him completely unconscious.
“Got the girl! Now we just beat down Toramaru’s boss, and the Dollars will rule
Ikebukuro!”
The man fumed with pent-up fury as he read the flippant e-mail.
He reached out to a nearby street sign and clenched it, his arm rippling under
the bartender shirt.
“…Son of a bitch.”
After a silence of just a few seconds, he began to walk.

His steps were slow and deliberate, and he left a handprint dent in the pole of
the sign behind him.
Shizuo Heiwajima was heading for a very specific destination, smoldering
with rage.
“Mikiya will be arriving soon downstairs. Let’s go,” Shiki urged Akane, as Celty
watched.
Three of his men were alert on standby, circling Akane close enough to keep
her safe and far enough away to keep her from panicking.
“…Do I…have to go back home…?”
“Miss…”
“I mean, I’ll say sorry to Dad and Mom. I’ll apologize…but…”
“Miss Akane, I understand that you don’t think highly of our work. But the
first thing you should do is have a proper talk with your parents. They don’t
want to involve you in our world under any circumstances. Please believe that.”
Celty watched Shiki in wonder as he talked to the girl.
Hmm. He’s like a different person altogether. The way he speaks and the tone
of voice is the same, but somehow his attitude is different. If only he could be
that gentle and mild all the time.
But in truth, Celty was more delighted that the girl was safe after all.
I’m glad we’ll be able to send her back to her parents before the day is over,
she thought, remembering the mystery attacker who went after her and Anri the
previous day. Based on the timing, I can’t imagine that they have nothing to do
with the request to protect Akane. But at least at the Awakusu-kai stronghold,
those weirdos will think twice about attacking, assuming they were a threat to
the girl.
If it were night already, they might use that powerful gun to blow up the
vehicle in transit, but that would be a major stretch in the daylight. It’d be one
thing if it was a full-blown war between yakuza syndicates, but the goal of the
enemy had to be taking Akane Awakusu hostage. Drawing attention and getting
the police involved would only make that harder.
But we can’t rest easy. We still don’t know why Anri was attacked… I suppose
I should follow behind the car in secret once it leaves.
As Celty was silently swearing to continue overseeing Akane’s safety, the girl
in question was still in conversation with Shiki.
“At any rate, stay at home for a while, miss.”
“…Did something happen?” she asked politely, but Shiki hesitated to answer.
Good grief, she really is sharp for her age.
“Even if something did, it’s our job to ensure that it doesn’t affect you. Please
don’t worry.”
“…Are Dad and Grandpa okay?”
“?”
“Did Big Brother Shizuo do anything to them?”
Time in the room stopped flowing.
Shinra had told them it was Shizuo Heiwajima who brought the girl here. But
as for what happened before then—the details of how she came across Shizuo in
the first place—all Shinra said was, “I only heard sickbed rambling, so you may
have better luck asking Akane yourself once things calm down.” That had been
Shiki’s plan, until this moment.
How? She couldn’t possibly know about this struggle between Shizuo and the
Awakusu-kai. Unless he was feeding her nonsense when they were together?
Shiki’s face had gone into a hard scowl for just a few seconds, and Akane
didn’t miss it. She asked tremulously, “D-did…did he really do something to
them?!”
“No, they’re fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Shiki reassured
her with a smile, but Akane wasn’t listening. She started trembling and
mumbling to herself.
“I knew it…I should have killed him when I had the chance…”
…?
What…did she just say?
It was mumbled and hard to hear, but he could have sworn she just said
something about “killing when she had the chance.”
Shiki instantly felt an odd, nagging feeling.
Something had changed in Akane since she ran away from home.
Yes, she had always been a bit precocious for her age. He understood that she
had learned about the family business before and been stunned by the truth.
But the way she was acting now was strange.
Shiki considered this change, trying to recall others who had exhibited
similar behaviors.
Like those women on the run from loan sharks, at the end of their rope and
about to fall apart…
He abruptly stopped that train of thought. He wanted to tell himself this
wasn’t true, but he couldn’t afford to be totally optimistic.
“Miss, what did you just…?” he started to ask, deciding that ascertaining the
truth was vital now—but just then, with the worst possible timing, one of his
men approached.
“The director’s car is here.”
“Got it. We’ll go down in a second,” Shiki commanded. He stashed his
doubts away for the moment and started to escort Akane down to the street.
“Thank you for your help. I’ll get in contact very soon about what comes
next. We’d still like to hear a detailed account of what happened last night,
Celty,” Shiki said, bowing deeply. Akane smiled and waved at Shinra.
After the two left, Celty sat down on the sofa.
“What in the world is going on? What’s this about Shizuo?”
“Hmm? Is something the matter?” asked Shinra, coming forward with coffee
in hand. He glanced at Celty’s PDA.
“Akane said something about Shizuo, and then Shiki went stock-still,” she
wrote, hoping to get some minimum of information before she left to follow the
car.
Shinra spread his hands to indicate that he was at a loss. “Oh…I wish I knew
the answer to that, too. Seems like the Awakusu are after him,” he said with a
wry smile.
But Celty, who had known him for years, recognized that it was a flat smile
that did not reach his eyes. That was enough to tell her the situation was tense.
“Seems like this is spinning into something much bigger.”
Celty hadn’t envisioned it growing to envelop Anri and Mikado and realized
that she regretted getting involved with this job. But now that she had met
Akane, she couldn’t very well just abandon the helpless girl.
Plus, the fact that Akane was here, even if just for the night…might be
enough for those mystery people to set their sights on us here.
The odds were low, but without knowing the identity of her assailants, she
couldn’t afford to relax.
Celty proceeded around the apartment, checking on the status of their defense
measures. Meanwhile, Shinra wondered aloud lazily, “Anyway, I think the
Awakusu-kai are chasing him around over a mistake… The question is why
Izaya would cause them to make that mistake…”
“What? Izaya’s involved with this?”
“So I understand, if Akane is to be believed…and as long as someone else
isn’t assuming Izaya’s identity.”
This time he smiled properly. Celty smiled back with her shoulders and typed
out, “I don’t think anyone could fake being Izaya other than him.”
“Good point.” Shinra chuckled.
Okay, time to go.
Celty got up, sensing that the car would be leaving right about then.
An enormous sound outside the building froze her in the act of standing up.
—?!
What? What?!
She looked around Shinra on instinct, thinking it must be a gas explosion.
Instantly, he was holding her, enveloping her body.
Wh-what are you doing, Shinra?!
“Watch out, Celty! Get down! It’s a terrorist attack! I saw something flash
down below through the window!”
“Calm down! I’m fine—you get under the table!”
Was getting under the table the right emergency response after an explosion?
She wasn’t sure, but there was no time to think it over. And yet, Celty found
herself thinking about something even less necessary at that moment.
Shinra…
Were you trying to protect me?
She felt her chest growing hot, despite the lack of any blood flowing through
it, and headed to check out what happened outside, when…
Through the window, Celty’s odd sense of “sight” noticed the members of the
Awakusu-kai, hunched over on the street covering their eyes and ears, and a
motorcycle racing away from the scene.
And under the arm of the rider atop the large bike, the little body of Akane.
Celty leaped through the open window frame and down onto the veranda.
A few minutes earlier, near Kawagoe Highway
“Hey, Aoba, how long we gonna keep walking?”

“Yeah, we don’t wanna get surrounded here again.”
Aoba headed down a narrow alley, following the black thread, while the few
other boys behind him complained. They clearly had no interest in this strange
thread extending from the bike in the abandoned factory.
Aoba grinned and replied, “C’mon, stop worrying. Just think about it. It’s
already crazy that this thread is running all across town, right? And no matter
what we tried, we can’t cut it. I thought it was stretching out like rubber, but no
matter how far it stretches, it never gets thinner. It feels weird, like you’re
stretching and contracting smoke.”
“Biiiig deal.”
“…It could be the discovery of the century. But whatever. Have you heard
anything from Gin yet?”
“He sent a text. Says he’s watching from the corner of the field, but the
Toramaru boss is still in the middle of the fight.”
“Man, that’s a long fight. But from what I hear about Kadota, he’s the all-
around type who can handle both short bouts and endurance battles. At this rate,
the other guys will probably catch those girls first…”
Aoba’s analysis was cut short by a sudden blast from the nearby street.
“?!”
The people walking nearby paused, and the cars on the street hit the brakes,
filling the area with the piercing sound of screams and tires squealing.
“What was that?!”
Aoba ran to the corner of the big street where it intersected with Kawagoe
Highway and carefully leaned around the building to see what had happened.
Up ahead, at the side of the street, was a luxury vehicle. The all-black auto
was instantly recognizable as the kind typically used by criminal organizations.
“…Yakuza?” the boys wondered and noticed that a number of men were
crouched down around the car.
A visual scan turned up no obvious movement—but there was the
ostentatious sound of a raucous motorcycle engine.
Just when the bike raced up to meet the black automobile, it simply picked up
a girl from the chaotic scene, light as you please.
The large rider never lost speed as he raced away from the spot—and slipped
down another side street separate from the one Aoba was peering out of.
“What the hell was that…?”
Suddenly, he noticed that the black thread left the alley and proceeded in the
direction of the car in question.
They stepped around the corner and onto the sidewalk lining the big street to
get a better look at what had actually happened, when they noticed something
new.
Along the apartment building right next to the black car, about four or five
stories up, was an odd black shape.
“The Black Rider!”
It only took an instant, but Aoba recognized it.
A figure in a black riding suit, leaping over the apartment veranda, plunging
down to the ground. And growing out of that figure’s arm was something like a
black rope, attached to the railing it had just jumped over. It stretched like rubber
and extended downward, lowering the rider slowly to the ground.
Faced with this impossible otherworldly sight, Aoba’s reaction was sparkling
eyes and a mumbled “Found you…”
But unlike Mikado’s sparkling reaction when he first saw Celty for himself,
this one was the cold, cruel glimmer of a snake with prey in sight.
One minute earlier, near Kawagoe Highway, outside Shinra’s apartment
“…Dad…”
“Akane!”
For the first time in several days, father and daughter met.
She peered timidly out from behind Shiki as the intimidating man
approached.
Her body was trembling in preparation of a smack for her misbehavior, but
instead, her father’s thick arms enfolded her. Mikiya Awakusu knelt and hugged
his daughter to stop her quavering.
He was right in sight of his bodyguards and Shiki, but Mikiya chose to play
the role of father to his daughter at this moment.
“I understand you hate Dad and Grandpa’s business. That’s all right. But
don’t make your mother worry.”
She hesitated at first, then clutched her father’s sleeve and mumbled, “…
rry…I’m sorry…! I’m glad you’re safe, too, Dad…”
It occurred to Shiki at this point that he had probably misheard whatever she
said minutes ago. But…
…For having run away from home, she sure accepted him quickly…
Something’s odd here.
…“I’m glad you’re safe”…?
Why would she be worried for Mikiya’s sake?
Just at the moment that doubt and suspicion began to bloom up again—
He caught sight of a small object flying toward them from the street.
—?
?!
When Shiki finally recognized it, he covered his face and heart with his arms
and tried to leap with all he could out of the way.
But it was too late. Before his brain could even send the signals through his
nerves, the thing flashed—the air erupted with noise and light, and everyone in
the vicinity lost their vision and hearing momentarily.
Explosion.
The world was suddenly shrouded in the darkness of light.
The only Awakusu-kai members on the scene who instantly understood what
happened were Shiki and Mikiya.
It was a flashbang.
A special hand grenade that unleashed a powerful, dazzling light that briefly
stunned the senses of any humans nearby. It was most famous as a tool used by
the police and Special Forces when busting in on hostage takers.
Mikiya’s hearing was completely ruined, but he could still see just a little bit.
This was thanks to the relative weakness of the grenade and the fact that he had
his back to it, clutching his daughter.
Realizing it was an attack, he sheltered his daughter’s body and glanced
around—but his ringing ears did not catch the sound of the approaching
motorcycle engine.
A man descended from the bike. He was large, wearing a full helmet, and
about a head taller than Mikiya; that was all he could discern through the haze of
his vision.
The man grabbed Akane’s arm and tried to pull her away.
“Son of a—!”
He leaped up to his feet, but the rider grabbed him by the collar with one
hand and easily lifted him off the ground.
“…!”
The man pried Akane away from Mikiya and tossed him back onto the black
car.
“Gahk!”
His back slammed hard against the side of the car, and the air shot from his
lungs so fast, he felt like they’d exploded. Still, he managed to stand again and
face the attacker…
But the man was already back on his bike with Akane in tow, and he rode off
unharassed by any of the other mobsters, who were still struggling to recover.
One other man saw what had happened from close range.
Shiki had the instinct to cover his face with his arm. Even then, the light that
reached the corners of his eyes left them grayed out. This was largely the effect
of good luck, as the flashbang went off extremely quickly after being tossed.
With his ears ringing from the blast, he saw his boss thrown right before his
eyes. He jumped into action the instant he recovered, but the bike was already
riding away.
That monstrous strength…
All he could envision was the sight of his murdered subordinates from this
morning.
But that wasn’t Shizuo. He’s not that tall.
The man’s frame was noticeably larger than Shizuo’s. Of course, he could
have been wearing a muscle suit and elevator shoes, but Shiki was already losing
faith that their culprit was Shizuo.
But this wasn’t the time for poring over possibilities.
As his ears gradually cleared up, Shiki took action—and dragged the stunned
Mikiya into the bulletproof vehicle, where he would be relatively safe.
And then he saw.

Through recovering ears, he just barely heard.
Mikiya screaming something at the retreating motorcycle.
And the words were…
“…do.”
“…ado! Mikado!”
A familiar voice cut through his woozy wits.
Who is that? Umm…that’s Sonohara, his dazed mind was just able to deduce.
“Mikado! Are you all right? Hang in there!”
His mind slowly sharpened into focus, and he recognized something strange
about the voice.
Oh, that’s different. I’ve never heard Sonohara so panicked like this. What
happened?
As he steadily awakened, he felt increasingly strange about himself as well.
Huh? My body hurts… Why?
What was I doing just now? Oh…right.
I got punched. And then…and then…
Sonohara was… Wait, why is she here?
Mikado’s mind finally reached the state of awareness, and he began to take
the current situation into account. His eyes flew open.
But his vision was too blurry to reveal much. He seemed to be lying faceup
on the ground, and he could vaguely see Anri’s face looming over him.
“Hi…Sonohara…”
“Mikado! Thank goodness…!”
It was too blurry to make out her expression, but Anri’s voice was full of
relief. He felt apologetic, grateful—and, remembering what had just happened to
him, more than a little pathetic.
Oh, right. I got my ass kicked.
You know, I don’t think I’ve heard Sonohara emote like that since Masaomi at
that factory building.
That’s good. At least I know she was as worried for me as she was for him.
His head was still fuzzy, and his normal priorities seemed to be having
trouble forming their proper order.
Oh yeah, that reminds me… Where did those guys go?
If they were still nearby, Anri was in danger.
Mikado did his best to force his pained body into a sitting position. But as he
did, a shadow writhed in his blurry sight.
“Y-you…monster!”
Huh?
The voice belonged to one of those thugs. He was swinging his arm down,
hurtling a silver thing toward Anri.
Watch out!
Instinctively, Mikado tried to push Anri to the side.
But just before he made contact, a sharp metallic sound echoed off the alley
walls.
Anri’s upper half twisted, and something extended from the end of her arm—
yes, shining and silver.
A metal pipe…? No…
A katana?
The next instant, the silver shaft struck him on the side of the head, and the
large man slumped to the ground like a masterless puppet.
Mikado recalled a scene from several months past.
When he rushed in to save Masaomi, surrounded by the Yellow Scarves—and
saw Anri in the factory, holding a katana.
There’s a Sonohara I don’t know in there.
Right as the silver object disappeared, seemingly sucking into Anri’s arm,
Mikado’s vision finally cleared up in full.
“Um…are you all right…?”
“Y-yeah,” he mumbled.
He slowly rolled upward and saw three men knocked out on the pavement,
including the one from just now.
“What is…?”
“…”
She just looked at the ground in silence.
Clearly something had just happened. But there was no way to tell exactly
what that was.
None of the men were bleeding, but they all bore marks on their bodies that
suggested they were struck with narrow metal pipes.
Then, there was Anri, who was staying quiet, but not out of any apparent lack
of understanding.
Plus, there was what I just saw…
That did not seem to be a hallucination.
It was very curious, but seeing her look of discomfort, Mikado decided to
shake his head and put her at ease.
“N-no, it’s okay. I won’t ask.” He smiled kindly, his face swollen.
“Th…thank you, Mikado…,” she mumbled, managing a tiny bit of a relieved
smile, and touched his shoulder. “Are you all right? Do you need a medic,
or…?”
“No, I’m fine. I can get to my feet,” he said and hastily stood up to reassure
her.
That’s right. We swore to tell each other our secrets when Masaomi was back.
That shouldn’t have been such a simple statement to make.
After all, he had just seen a teen girl holding a katana-like thing, of which
there was now no sign whatsoever.
The situation was already beyond common sense at that point—but Mikado
wasn’t particularly bothered.
Any doubt he felt toward Anri was overshadowed by a much more powerful
emotion.
I…I couldn’t do a thing.
I couldn’t do anything for them…and I needed Sonohara to save me…
It was my weakness…that might have put her directly in danger…
He was racked with guilt and shame but had no recourse for those feelings.
All he could do was reassure her weakly, “I…I’m fine.”
“Then we should take you to a hospital or Dr. Kishitani’s…,” she suggested,
but he just shook his head.
“I don’t feel any broken bones, so it won’t be necessary… More
importantly…we’ve got to go help Kadota…at Raira Field Two…”
“Huh…?” She was taken aback at this idea.
He saw the doubt and worry in her face, then looked down at the ground and
mumbled, “Sorry…but I’ve just got to go… We need to save those girls…
They’re going to use one of them as a hostage in that fight…and I get the feeling
they have no intention of just releasing her afterward.”
“Mikado…it sounds like we should tell the police…”
“…No. If we just run to the cops, who knows what those guys will do to the
girls in revenge. Plus, getting the police involved is just going to make things
worse for Kadota.”
“…”
His words were half-true, half-false. Anri could sense that.
She wasn’t entirely ignorant of his situation, either. She knew that there was
some kind of ominous connection between him and the Dollars. It seemed like
he was afraid of the police getting involved and putting pressure on the gang.
“…”
After a momentary silence, Anri sucked in a quick breath and said, “Then I’ll
go.”
“You can’t…”
“…You’re not going to tell the police, are you? Then I’ll go. I want to save
Kamichika, too, you know.” After a brief hesitation, she added, “And…I think
I’ll be able to help you.”
There was determination in her statement.
Mikado sensed her intent immediately. The image of the girl with a katana
flooded into his brain, drowning out everything else.
She was going to help him—even if it ended up exposing her own secret.
He didn’t know what that secret was, but he could tell that it was extremely
important to her.
Mikado looked down, extreme indecision crossing his youthful features.
But realizing that Anri would probably follow along no matter what he said,
he gave up and accepted her determination as equal to the way he selfishly
insisted on rushing into danger.
“…All right. Let’s go.”
Anri rushed out of the alley, following the boy’s lead.

Immediately afterward, a woman in a riding suit emerged from the shadows.
She muttered, “Raira Field Two,” and returned to where she had parked her
motorcycle nearby.
“Boy and girl are stupid. Correct is immediate report to police structure. All
else is their ego and selfish logic or perhaps hope.”
Vorona had witnessed Anri knock out the much larger young men with the
back of her blade.
“Now I can eliminate bespectacled girl before law enforcement acts,” she
muttered.
Through the wireless set in her helmet, she heard Slon say, “Do you read me,
Vorona?”
“Affirmative.”
“I’ve got Akane Awakusu unharmed. She might be in a state of shock, but
anyway, I’ve got her in the truck. I haven’t been followed.”
“Utter excellence. Analyze location of Raira Field Two and report to me.
Then, move truck there,” she commanded briskly. But there was a pleasant smile
playing across her lips.
“This is great ecstasy. We can achieve all of job today.”
“When job is over, then I can focus on Black Rider’s vanquishing to heart’s
content. Fortuitous.”
Ikebukuro, Raira Academy Field Two, around back
Compared to the areas around the train station, the space was so lonely, it hardly
seemed like Ikebukuro at all.
It was surrounded by trees and should have been a pleasant, peaceful place—
if not for the smell of blood.
“Damn… How freakin’ tough are you, man?” muttered Kadota, blood
streaming from the corner of his mouth, cheek puffy around his right eye. He sat
down on the curb between the dirt and the field grass and rasped, “If you were at
full health, it would be me sprawled out over there.”
A few yards in front of him lay Chikage Rokujou, spread-eagled on the
ground.
There was fresh blood blotting the bandage wrapped around his head, and he
seemed to be having trouble just breathing.
Chikage slowly replied, “I dunno… You’re pretty tough yourself. Besides, if
I was gonna blame my injuries, I wouldn’t have started this fight in the first
place… You weren’t holding back just because I was wounded, were you?”
“If you mean, did I hold back to avoid killing you, then yeah. I ain’t cut out
for prison life,” Kadota spat sardonically.
Chikage chuckled, then slowly raised his left arm to examine his wristwatch.
“Ahh… Was I knocked out for a bit just now?”
“Yeah. A bit. ’Bout to pass out myself.”
“Gotcha… Y’know, this is the first time I’ve ever lost twice in a row… Shit,”
Chikage groaned, but there was a smile on his face for some reason.
“I don’t think you need to count getting knocked out by Shizuo.”
Kadota stood up and walked over to Chikage. He surveyed his opponent but
did not look down on him. After some consideration, he suggested, “Look, I’m
not sayin’ you have to listen to me because you lost, but could you pull your
Toramaru guys outta here for today?”
“…”
“I’ll use my connections to try to track down the people who were messing
around in Saitama and force them to make things right. Can you hang on until
then?”
“…Do the Dollars usually sell each other out?” Chikage mocked.
But Kadota didn’t seem upset. He grinned impishly and noted, “The Dollars
don’t have any rules. Not even rules against sellin’ out people you don’t like.
Anyway…this is a personal thing, not a Dollars thing. I, Kyouhei Kadota, am
going to help you because I don’t like those guys. So what’s the problem?”
“Man, you’re evil,” Chikage said. He chuckled on the ground.
Kadota grinned back. “The Dollars are a congregation of evil. What else
would you expect?”
Soon they were both laughing out loud. The scene grew light with mirth.
“Knock it off with the sappy friendship bullshit, Kadotaaaaa!”
And then it was ruined by a coarse, crude bellow.

“?”
“Who’s that?”
The two men turned in the direction of the voice and saw a pack of about
twenty young street toughs heading their way.
The one who appeared to be in charge spat on the grass and shouted, “What,
you have one fight, and now you’re best friends? What is this, the shonen manga
playbook? Has hanging around with that freak otaku Yumasaki ruined your
brain, too?”
Kadota showed no sign of panic at the oncoming gang. He replied, “It
happens a lot more than you’d think, outside of manga. And really, is that the
best insult you have?”
Then, pity entered his eyes, and he murmured, “Oh, I get it. You don’t have
any friends.”
“Wha—?!” the thug yelped, eyes wide.
Chikage managed to rise to a sitting position and added, “C’mon, don’t pick
on the poor guy. With looks like that, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, either. It’s not
fair to taunt the lonely.”
“…Fugoff! Gah!” screamed the goon, the bridge of his nose turning red.
But Kadota wasn’t even looking at him anymore. “Speak Japanese. This is
Japan.”
The delinquents were furious at being completely ignored, but they kept their
cool by remembering what their overriding priority was.
A derisive shout was directed at the badly injured Kadota. “You talk a lotta
shit, boy! You think you can stand up to us in that condition?”
“…Who says I’m gonna fight you?”
“Shuddup! Listen, Kadota, I never liked you from the start! Actin’ like you’re
some big shot in the Dollars, when you hardly do anything in the first place!”
“Huh?” Kadota asked. This accusation seemed to come out of nowhere. But
that was what Chikage had said when he first made contact, too. Somehow
things had gotten very troublesome without his knowledge, but he was unable to
figure out why they considered him to have this position.
“The Dollars don’t even have a direct hierarchy of any kind. So we don’t like
you actin’ like you’re some kind of exalted officer!”
“I don’t remember telling anyone I was an officer,” Kadota sighed, scratching
his head. He took a step toward the newcomers.
They suddenly stopped, faltered half a step in caution. Kadota was well-
known as an expert brawler. Of course, they didn’t believe they’d lose with their
numbers, but none of them wanted to be among the first few to take a punch
from him.
Tension infused the scene—and Kadota finally had the chance to ask what
had been bugging him.
“So anyway, who are you guys?”
“ “ “ “…!” ” ” ”
That honest question was enough to finally drive them over the cliff into
rage.
They were afraid of him, or at least conscious of him, realizing that this was a
big chance to seize his infamy for themselves—they were here exactly because
they hungered for that glory—and the guy didn’t even seem to recognize his own
status.
For those who terrorized Ikebukuro under the Dollars’ name, there could be
no more direct a form of insult.
“…Damn, we’re lucky today. First we crush Toramaru, then we get to lay
Kadota low!” one of them crowed to hide his shame.
Veins bulging on his temple, one of the punks pulled out an extending police
baton.
“I figure we’ll get a little bit of infamy from bein’ able to say we crushed
Toramaru. Like I said, just a little—they’re only some dinky gang from the sticks
in Saitama!” he mocked, pulled back the club, and swung it toward Chikage’s
face.
But…
Ga-gya! There was a sharp metal squeal, and the special police baton stopped
just before Chikage’s cheek.
“Huh…?”
Somehow, there was a rodlike object in Chikage’s hand. A mottled handle of
red and black, and a sheath…
It looked a bit like a wakizashi, the short swords used by samurai, but there
was no hilt.
“What…is that?” the thug mumbled, stunned that this mystery object had
stopped his baton. Chikage clutched the black-and-red sheath in his left hand and
drew the handle with his right.
A long silver object appeared from the sheath, humming softly as it slid out.
At a distance, it did indeed look like a wakizashi or perhaps a long yakuza
knife. The delinquents’ expressions changed dramatically.
But on second glance, the weapon had a very odd shape. It looked like a
blade at first, but there was no edge to it, just the facing of a thick steel
bludgeon. At the base of the gently curved rod was a hook-like protrusion, which
made it look like a combination of a jitte, a short blade with hooks used by
police in the Edo period, and a katana.
Kadota was the only one who recognized the weapon. He fixed Chikage with
a curious gaze. “A kabutowari, huh? That’s a stylish weapon,” he said, referring
to an old-fashioned “helmet-splitting” tool meant to catch blades in the hook
near the handle so they could be broken.
“I bought it at a souvenir shop when I was on vacation in Kamakura.”
“Oh, you mean that store right in front of the giant Buddha statue?”
“You know the place? It’s really cool. I bought a bunch of stuff there, but this
one really spoke to me. Had to teach myself how to use it, though; nobody
around offers lessons.”
Despite the light, breezy chat they were having, the situation had not changed
or improved for the two. The thug with the police baton was still enraged at
being ignored.
He pulled the baton up high, ready to split Chikage’s head open—but that
was when his target leaped into action.
At the same time that the attacker raised his arm, Chikage twisted his body
and whipped around the blunt kabutowari, cracking it against the thug’s nose.
The attacker’s aim looped and drifted upward. An instant later, he fell to his
knees, and as if on command, jets of blood shot out of his nostrils.
“…”
Just a few feet away, the thug’s companions gulped, feeling cold sweat break
out on their skin.
They had the advantage. And yet the fountain of blood seemed to have erased
that illusion from their minds.
“You were saying?” Chikage smiled, kicking over his victim and putting a
foot on his head. That pleasant grin was utterly the same as the one he’d worn
when chatting with Kadota.
“…Are you sure you weren’t going easy on me earlier?” Kadota wondered.
Chikage tilted his head side to side. “Nah, I don’t use weapons as long as the
other guy doesn’t. I didn’t go easy on you, and I ain’t goin’ easy now. That’s
that.”
He tapped his own shoulder with the kabutowari rhythmically, turning to the
thugs with a sadistic leer. “Yeah, it might be tough to take all of you down…but
the first five at least will suffer a gouged eye or a broken collarbone.”
“…!”
The punks held their breath and looked among themselves. With a group that
large, they couldn’t lose the fight. But none of them wanted to be among those
promised five. It was because they were likely to win that none of them wanted
to risk undue harm.
Kadota took a step forward, ready to lay on more pressure.
“And if I’m taking part, too, you can expect another five will get an ear torn
off.”
“…You think we’re just a joke?” snarled one of the men calling themselves
Dollars, but there was no strength in his voice.
They were on a different scale.
All the hoodlums had to admit that the two men they faced were made of
sterner stuff than they were individually.
There were just two of them, both badly wounded, and yet they were
intimidating twenty.
But there was no turning back now. The leader of the group, his expression
bitter, gave an order to someone around the side of the storeroom, where Kadota
and Chikage couldn’t see.
I was hoping to rough ’em up first, before I showed them…
Perhaps he was still rankled by how that weird kid had called him
“cowardly” earlier—but at any rate, the head of the thugs decided to trot out his
trump card earlier than planned.
From around the shadow of the building appeared a number of girls, held
down by other punks.
“…Non…?!” Chikage gasped, eyes bulging. His teeth gnashed as he realized
what was going on. The girl, meanwhile, took one apologetic look at him and
mumbled.
“…I’m sorry, Rocchi… We got caught.”
Ikebukuro, Raira Academy Field Two, the path heading around back
Mikado and Anri reached the athletic field slightly later than the group of men
did.
They moved stealthily, hiding around trees and walls, as they made their way
toward the rear of the storage shed, where they knew they would find Kadota.
The voices of the kabaddi team still drifted over the field, and it was hard to
imagine a large fight was about to break out up ahead.
But in fact, the student athletes hardly ever came back to the storeroom, so it
was essentially its own discreet location. They brought all their supplies from the
school building, so the storeroom itself hardly served any purpose.
With this fact in mind, Mikado realized that it was extremely unlikely that
any fights or altercations ahead would be witnessed or reported to anyone. In the
normal course of events for the Dollars’ mailing list, he had read things that
suggested some members used it as a hangout, day and night.
He considered sending out a message saying, “You can’t take girls hostage.
Let’s all stop them!” but given the danger that someone might alert the police
and make the situation even more complex, he played it safe and deleted it at the
last second.
…We just can’t do it.
With innocent girls held captive in harm’s way, there was really no call to
“play it safe,” but Mikado was so amped up that he was unable to realize this in
the moment.
Plus, if this is truly turning into a criminal matter, the normal members aren’t
going to want anything to do with it.
When he first got the Dollars together in the real world, it was like a club
meeting, with many of those who attended there out of sheer curiosity. But
thinking back on it now, the Dollars had changed since then, bit by bit.
Once the Dollars’ existence had been verified as fact, many began to use that
name as a tool for its power.
Mikado did not attempt to stop them or call them out. He knew that he had no
such authority. And the end result was this event today.
Whatever it was that Aoba’s gang was plotting, the possibility was always
there for something like this to happen.
It’s my fault. All because I never did anything about it…
…?
He realized that something about this thought struck him as wrong.
But his legs carried him onward while the nature of that understanding still
eluded him.
Peering around the side of the storeroom, he saw the group of punks from
before facing off against two men. They had the girls held hostage, which
suggested that the man standing next to Kadota was the leader of Toramaru.
“…We have to get around them somehow and save the hostages…”
But Mikado was there without a plan or any preparations, so his range of
actions was limited. He could pretend to call the police to cause chaos or use the
fire extinguisher in the storehouse to create a smokescreen…
Without turning around to face Anri, he said, “I’ll jump in there somehow,
and if that doesn’t work, you go get the poli…”
griing
He paused in the middle of his sentence when he heard the strange metallic
sound.
“Huh…?”
He spun around…and saw a most bizarre sight.
Anri was now holding a katana for some reason—and using it to block a
knife held by a sudden assailant wearing a helmet.
—?!
For a moment, he thought it was Celty, but the color of the riding suit was
different. And the curves of the suit were more pronounced, undoubtedly
feminine.
Wh-who is that…?
Meanwhile, the helmeted woman stabbed at Anri, twice, three times. Anri
deflected the attacks with her katana and swiped back at the assailant’s legs. But
the attacker narrowly evaded, retreated a few steps, then brandished the knife
again.
“S-Sonohara!” Mikado yelped, totally baffled by the situation.
“…Get away from here,” she cautioned, lifted her sword, and took a stride
forward.
But her opponent pulled back even farther than that, took something out of
her waist pouch, pulled out a pin, and lobbed it at Anri.
Huh?
In a sense, it was exactly what Mikado generally sought in life: the
extraordinary.
What is that?
But it was so far out of the bounds of the extraordinary, he imagined that he
couldn’t process it, couldn’t prepare himself—and it flew right toward them.
It’s a bo…
The object floated in an arc toward them, and he only identified it when it
was several feet away.
Then brilliant light filled his eyes and eradicated the confusion from his
mind.
“Huh…?”
“Wh-what was that?”
The thugs from the Dollars had Chikage Rokujou’s girlfriend held hostage.
They controlled the reins.
But their control was momentarily broken by a blinding flash. Something had
gone off on the other side of the storage building where they couldn’t see.
It vanished in a second, and there was hardly any sound, but the suddenness
of that flash was so eerie that they were all momentarily taken aback.
The same thing went for Kadota and Chikage, who were facing away from
the flash. Their heads swiveled around to look, eyes wide.
It was just a few seconds—less than ten that their concentration was drawn to
the fading remnants of the flash.
Someone with more battle experience, or who recognized the source of the
light, would have come to his senses sooner. But the Dollars thugs hadn’t been
around that long, and they didn’t know what caused this kind of flash.
And as a result, the temporary void in their minds led to an extreme turnabout
in the situation.
One of the men felt something splatter against his arm.

“…Huh?”
He was the one holding a knife to the girl named Non, and there was a liquid
splashed on that arm now.
He looked down at that arm and saw—
“Ciao.”
A young man, half-Japanese and half-white, with narrow eyes.
“Y…Yumasaki!” the man shouted in alarm.
Then, he recognized the unique, pungent smell wafting up from his arm—and
saw the canister of lighter oil in one of Yumasaki’s hands.
And then the Zippo lighter in the other.
“Wh-whaa—?! W-wait…get that away!” the thug screamed, trying to
distance himself from Yumasaki, who used that opportunity to grab Non’s hand
and pull her away from the group.
“Ah…h-hey, what the hell!”
“What do you think you’re doin’?!”
“When did you get here, you otaku freak?!” they bellowed and leaped onto
Yumasaki—except that several men butted in and blocked their way.
It was only five or so, but their attitudes set them apart from the rabble of
street toughs.
“Sorry, everyone’s off on vacation this week, so this was the most I could
scrape together. Hopefully we’ll be able to pull off some elite ass kicking:
quality over quantity. Brawl Brawl Revolution!”
“…The fuck?! You’re just barnacles hanging off Kadota’s ass!” the leader of
the thugs bellowed, but it was too late by then. The newcomers’ ambush started
on those holding the girls hostage.
“W-wait…aagh!”
To hold down the girls or let go and fight? Most of the punks didn’t even
have the moment needed to consider these options before they were under
attack.
Released at last, the girls gathered around the beckoning Yumasaki, and thus
the remaining hoodlums rushed to jump him. But instead, they ran headlong into
brilliant orange flames.
“I guess in a certain scientific sense, this would be considered pyrokinesis. I
wanna take a class from Miss Komoe—yeeha!”
“Whaa—?!”
The thugs came to a stop, feeling the heat of the air on their skin. Instead of
the oilcan in Yumasaki’s hand, there was now a spray bottle of some kind.
“Don’t try this at home, kids!” he said with a dazzling smile and let go of the
spray trigger.
It was the simplest kind of flamethrower: a lighter and a spray bottle of
flammable liquid. If used incorrectly, the spray can could easily explode with
disastrous consequences. Local news broadcasts often covered these extremely
dangerous events when they resulted in injury and fire.
Yumasaki was well aware of this, and he was using the tools to keep the
hoodlums at bay. The initial spray of flame was over, but the lighter was still
engaged in his other hand. They wouldn’t dare approach as long as he was at the
ready.
Kadota recognized the group that had sprung to his aid and cried out, “You
guys…”
Just then, a woman in black clothing—Karisawa—appeared behind him out
of nowhere and said, “The truth is, we only thought we’d come check out your
fight, Dotachin, but then those weirdos showed up, so we hid and kept an eye on
things.”
“…But how did you know to come here?”
“Dollars’ mailing list. You can look up what it said later. Anyway, why was
everyone just spacing out for a second there? That was how Yumacchi was able
to rush in and save the day.”
“Hmm? Oh, there was a weird flash over there,” Kadota said. He spun around
to check the direction of the flash—and heard numerous motor engines coming
from the opposite end of the area.
Beyond the fence of the field, motorcycles were emerging through the trees,
piloted by young men in leather jackets.
Once they determined there was no gate, they stopped the bikes and started to
climb right over the fence to approach them.
It was a group that had cornered a different bunch of Dollars in a different

location.
They had finished off those Dollars and were forcing them to summon more
members, when they noticed the expressions of their victims changing. Sensing
something was wrong, they had grabbed a phone from one of the Dollars and
checked his e-mail—and found a picture of their boss in what looked like a park.
In the next message, there was a photo of his girlfriend.
Belatedly, they had started heading to their leader’s aid, gathering up those
comrades who were healthy enough to fight along the way.
Chikage watched his gang members arrive and muttered, “Why are they
here…?”
Then, he looked around and realized that somehow, he was right in the
middle of the hoodlums.
“Huh…?” “Whoa!” “It’s you!”
They had been so distracted by Yumasaki’s new group that Chikage’s sudden
presence startled them, and they reached out to grab him…
Except that the first one caught a kick to the groin and crumpled.
The second one lifted a two-by-four to swing, until the tip of the kabutowari
cracked his two front teeth.
The third pulled a knife and tried to slash at Chikage’s arm, but his first strike
hit the kabutowari’s hook, and the other man twisted hard, breaking the blade.
“Wha…brgh!”
The attacker lost his balance and got a blow directly to the face. In just
moments, Chikage had knocked out three men.
“So since you’re desperate enough to take girls hostage to get what you want,
I’m guessin’ you’re also desperate enough to die. Yeah?” he said menacingly.
Meanwhile, the other Toramaru members had scaled the fence and were
rapidly approaching.
“Boss! You all right?!”
“No prob,” he reassured them.
Their eyes were bloodshot with rage as they asked, “Can we do all these
guys, boss?”
“Hang on,” Chikage cautioned. He spun around and slammed the kabutowari
against the collarbone of a man who was trying to sneak up on him from behind.
“It’s kinda chaotic here, so don’t attack anyone unless they try to hit me or you
guys. I’ll do the finishing blows; you just knock ’em off their feet.”
His tone of voice was lazy and matter-of-fact, but there were glimpses of
fiery, demonic rage in its depths. Sensing that danger, one of the hoodlums
turned away from them, trying to escape.
An arm wrapped itself around his neck.
“Who said you could run away?”
“K-Kadota…”
“C’mon, let’s enjoy this.”
Kadota slammed the hapless, gurgling goon onto the ground with a lariat and
stood up, grimacing.
“…If these kinds of scumbags are coming outta the woodwork, maybe it’s
time to split from the Dollars.”
One minute earlier, around the side of the storeroom
Vorona blinked at the exact moment the powerful flash happened.

She had thrown a specially modified flashbang with minimal power. Unlike
the one Slon tossed outside of Shinra’s apartment, this one had no blast, just a
blinding flash.
She was protected by the light-blocking film over the helmet, but the other
two in the direct path of the flash would be essentially blind, even if they had
closed their eyes.
The loss of their vision would last more than just a few moments, but it was
not long overall. Vorona promptly moved into action, intending to inflict a
wound on Anri Sonohara that would leave her immobile. She plunged her knife
toward the girl’s side.
But the arm that held the katana whipped around and blocked the knife blade.
Metal rang, and the girl slid the sword downward, trying to slash Vorona’s
legs. She leaped backward to evade it. Sensing that even a graze from that katana
would be dangerous, she put herself at more than the usual safe distance away.
Can she see? Vorona wondered, based on the precision of the girl’s
movement. She looked at her target’s face—and paused.
Anri’s eyes were shining bloodred, just like last night—even brighter, in fact.
They glowed.
That was all it took for the girl to appear alien, inhuman.
Vorona smiled. This was a being that did not exist within her knowledge.
Was she human or something else?
For a woman who lived to determine the strength and frailty of humanity, this
girl and the Black Rider, alien things in human form, were extremely fascinating.
Vorona noted Mikado, who was bent over and covering his eyes, and said,
“That boy appears just human. Unfortunate.”
“…If you hurt him, you will pay,” Anri threatened, eyes narrowed.
Vorona smiled and said, “Singular question. Please offer answer.”
“…?” Anri came to a momentary stop.
“Which are you, human or monster?”
“…”
Vorona approached as she waited for the answer, throwing knife jabs in
between katana swipes. Anri deflected each attack and answered, “I am…
neither.”
Vorona leaped abruptly to the side and pressed a switch in the handle of the
knife. The blade shot out of the grip like a bullet toward Anri’s midsection.
But she simply turned and deflected the projectile away. From within the
picture frame, Anri continued, “I am only a parasite.”
Anri’s eyesight hadn’t recovered by this point yet.

The flashbang burned her retinas, leaving her sense of sight just a white haze
—but residing within her, Saika could still feel: the palpitation, the breath, the
footsteps, the creaking muscle of her beloved humanity. Even the slight noise of
the enemy’s knife cutting through air…
Saika sensed everything caused by humanity.
All thanks to her twisted love.
Vorona didn’t know about Saika, but she did realize that something about
Anri’s katana was special. She had given up on the idea of breaking it, and if
forced to use firearms, she was losing confidence in her ability to “get the job
done without fatality.”
For one thing, injuries by gun in Japan were treated like a grave matter. All
the girl had to do was hide the katana, and “a normal girl was suddenly shot by
an attacker” would be all the truth that remained.
It would be major news, drastically affecting her ability to complete her job
in Ikebukuro. She might find it difficult to even stay in the area, much less do
her duty.
Let’s see…, Vorona thought, and decided to test Anri. She spun around,
pulled a fresh knife from her waist, and headed toward Mikado, who was still
bent over and rubbing his eyes.
“…!”
Anri rushed after her in a panic—but Vorona merely looked over her shoulder
to make sure that the girl was following her lead.
Without her sense of sight, Anri had to rely on Saika’s senses to follow.
Based on that strange projectile knife and the flash grenade, it was unwise to
fight at a distance with this foe, Saika’s experience warned her. So she obeyed
and chased after Vorona to keep close.
Part of her was desperate not to see Mikado hurt as a result of this, and that
urge ended up plunging her into greater chaos.
Vorona was rushing straight ahead—into the midst of the violent brawl the
groups of delinquents had just started.
“Is that you, Aoba? Things are getting interesting over here.”
“Oh yeah?”
Aoba was getting a call from the companions he sent to keep an eye on
Kadota’s fight. He listened to the report without much visible sign of emotion.
“Anyway, their crazy fight ended, they awoke to the power of friendship,
then a bunch of weirdos came along with hostages, there was a huge flash
somewhere, and fire, and—”
“…I can see this is my fault for assigning reconnaissance duties to you, Gin,”
Aoba lamented. He paused and ordered, “Just set all that aside and tell me what
you’re seeing at this very moment.”
“Oh, okay. Well, there’s a guy in a riding suit…a different person than the
one in the riding suit from the factory. They just jumped in with a knife…”
“…?”
What the hell is going on over there? Aoba wondered, gauging that it might
be best if they headed over to the scene, too. Then, the report through the phone
got even more confusing.
“Okay, so that rider is currently…fighting a chick with a katana. Damn,
what’s up with her? She, uh…I think she’s wearing red sunglasses or
something… She looks like she’s our age—and she’s got some nice tits! Damn!
Oh, shit, did you see that move?”
“…?”
The explanation wasn’t making any more sense, but something about it made
Aoba uneasy. He told the boy to take a photo or video instead and send it over.
Less than a minute later, he opened the new message, looked at the photo
attachment—and gasped.
There she was, a girl with a katana in the midst of a crowd.
It was a bit blurry, but there was enough detail for Aoba to recognize the face.
“…Miss Anri?”
A few minutes earlier, Raira Academy Field Two, street
Well, shoot.
Celty looked down from her hiding spot on a building roof.
There was a truck below: undoubtedly the same one that carried the bike of
the mysterious attacker from last night.
It contained a ridiculous gun of the sort you only saw in movies, games, and
documentary footage of foreign wars, and the woman had shot at her with it. It
was only a day ago.
I’m sure she’s in there…
Celty hadn’t been sitting there, twiddling her thumbs when Akane left the
apartment building. She took her guard job seriously and affixed a little shadow
thread to the girl’s clothes, just in case. She gave the thread properties like liquid
or smoke so that it wouldn’t tangle around her neck or sever a fingertip. The
little black thread would stretch and stretch the more you pulled on it.
But even Celty didn’t think that this impossible means of tracking would
come in vitally useful within just minutes of placing it. She followed the trail of
her own shadow, pulling it back into her body—and found it leading right to that
same truck.
Because she had been extremely careful, riding Shooter—who was back to
motorcycle form—around from rooftop to rooftop out of sight, she was fairly
certain they hadn’t noticed her tracking them.
Along the way, she startled a company worker or two trying to hide from his
duties on a roof, but she made sure to give them a polite nod of the helmet.
Surely that would help hush up what she was doing.
So anyway, what now? I’ve hardly ever had any experience with hostage
takers…and I have no way of knowing what’s going on inside the truck.
They might have a knife pressed to Akane’s neck or a bomb tied to her so
that if she tried to run free, it would blow her up.
This seemed unlikely, she had to admit, but these were the people who fired
that preposterous rifle in the middle of a peaceful street. They might do
anything.
And why are they here? Isn’t this…?
Just a short distance away was Raira Academy Field Two, where the girls’
soccer team and kabaddi team were practicing.
Kabaddi, huh? It looks fun. I bet I can never play, because I can’t chant,
“Kabaddi, kabaddi,” like the rest of them…
She looked further beyond. At the end of the field was the roof of a storage
building surrounded by trees, on the other side of which Kadota would be facing
off against that strange man.
I hope he’s all right… I bet that Kyouhei guy is fine, since he seems good in a
fight. The problem is Mikado’s group. Where are they now…?
She scanned the area, including the truck. Her sense of vision was similar to
that of a human being’s, and in the corner of it, something flashed.
—?!
The light was clearly unnatural.
It wasn’t from a bulb of any kind, but the sort of expanding light caused by a
small explosion.
The flash came from right next to the roof of the storage building. The wall
around the building made it difficult to see from the direction of the field, but
with her height advantage on top of the roof, Celty saw it clearly.
She expected to hear the blast a few seconds later when the sound reached
her, but nothing came.
What was that…?
Sensing some foreboding, she turned her attention back to the truck parked
near the entrance to the field, just in case something changed while she was
preoccupied with the distraction.
Huh?
What she saw stunned her so much, she nearly leaped over the edge of the
roof.
What…is he doing here? Is he going to save Kadota?!
As she watched in disbelief, a figure strode boldly through the gate of the
field.
A man in a very distinctive black-and-white uniform—the kind a bartender

would wear.
Beside the storeroom
It was suddenly quiet in the shadow of the storeroom.

Stuck between the bustle happening out back and the athletics on the field,
one boy groaned, “Urrgh…”
Mikado was still temporarily blinded from the flash. But his hearing was fine,
and he’d heard the conversation between the attacker and Anri.
“That boy appears just human. Unfortunate,” the voice had said in awkward
Japanese, but he could detect the insult in it.
“Just” a human. That was it.
He wasn’t stunned by the unfairness of the attack. It was the statement.
Just a human.
That he was pronounced “just a human” was the worst shock of all to
Mikado.
To be precise, it was the very fact that he was shocked at being described as
just a human that was so shocking to him.
What…am I?
I just have an admiration for the extraordinary.
There’s no need for me to be extraordinary myself…
Amid his confusion, Mikado recalled Anri’s words: “If you hurt him, you
will pay.”
…She protected me.
I intended to keep her safe, and she was the one doing it for me…
…I knew this would happen.
She took down those three punks in just a second…
…No, what am I thinking?
That’s not what I want to say.
Wait—
Weird…
Then, what was I… What was I…trying to think about…?
Mikado assumed that he was still confused by that sudden flash moments
ago.
But even as he tried to tell himself that, Anri’s words echoed in his head.
“I am only a parasite.”
…What was she saying?
I seem to recall some statement to that effect when we first met…
But…she’s not latched onto Harima anymore…
At this point, a dark urge rose within him again.
But unlike the scorn he felt for the man who kicked him earlier, this was
anger at himself.
If anyone’s a parasite…it’s me.
Just for starting up the Dollars, he felt like he was special, despite being
unable to accomplish anything for himself. He didn’t think that he viewed
himself as special, but the truth was clear now.
Their mysterious attacker labeled him “just a human” and essentially ignored
him, wrote him off. And that realization was a hurtful insult like no other.
I’m such…a pathetic creep…
He began to feel sorry for himself.
And yet, Mikado stood up, hoping there was still something he could do.
The light that blinded his eyes faded, bit by bit.
When his eyesight was functional enough to see again…
There was a man dressed as a bartender, hoisting a motorcycle on his

shoulder.
“…?! Sh-Shizuo?!”
“Ahh…right, right. You’re what’s-his-name. Celty’s friend…Ryuugasaki? I
met you when we had that hot-pot party at Shinra’s place.”
“Th-that’s me. But…it’s Ryuugamine.”
“Hmm? Oh, right, right. Sorry.”
The sudden appearance of the strongest man in Ikebukuro nearly knocked
Mikado for a loop. He was hoisting the bike over his shoulder with all the cool
effort of a dancer holding a boom box.
The living legend tangled Mikado in even more strings of confusion, but
Shizuo’s voice was cold enough to dash his overheating brain.
“Uh, anyway. You’re in the Dollars, too, right?”
“Huh? Oh, uh, yes!”
“Right… It doesn’t seem right not to tell anyone, so given that you’re my
junior from Raira, I might as well tell you…”
Mikado nodded firmly to express his attention. Shizuo looked downcast,
slightly apologetic.
“I’m off the Dollars now. That’s all—spread the word.”
Huh?
“…Huh?” Mikado’s internal confusion made its way directly out of his
mouth. “Wh-why?!”
“You saw that message. I don’t wanna breathe the same air as guys who’d
take women hostage. It’s that simple,” he said and strode forward.
“So now that I’ve told you, I’m going to consider myself to have no relation
to the Dollars whatsoever.”
Mikado couldn’t stop him. All he could do was wait for his eyesight to clear
up.
He was praying that the conversation he just heard—that everything that had
happened in this crazy day—was nothing but a dream.
Behind the athletic storehouse
“Huh? Is that Anri?”

The woman in the riding suit and the girl with the katana had appeared out of
nowhere. Few noticed the two in the midst of all the other chaos, but some did.
Yumasaki had gone to free the hostage girls around the back, and when he came
back, he was surprised to recognize the girl fighting with the sword.
Fortunately for Anri, this was after Rio Kamichika ran off with her friends.
“Whoa, that’s Anri,” murmured Karisawa, who was also returning from
seeing Kadota back to the fight.
Her acquaintance was fighting with a katana, eyes blazing red.
Either through sheer coincidence or some psychic soul link, both Yumasaki
and Karisawa, despite not being in audible range of each other, simultaneously
muttered, “Shakugan no Shana?”
* * *
“What an incredible twist of fate. Anri’s a Flame Haze…,” Yumasaki

marveled, wildly incorrect.
Next to him, a girl said, “Wait, that’s Rio’s friend. Is she in the kendo club or
something?”
“Huh? Why didn’t you run away?”
“Because Rocchi’s still here,” said Non, Chikage’s girlfriend (out of many),
watching Anri with wonder. But her eyes went wider when she saw what was
beyond the girl. “Wow, look at that.”
Yumasaki followed her suggestion and gazed across the brawl.
“…Ah.”
There was a demonic presence walking toward them, carrying a motorcycle.
When Anri Sonohara’s vision began to clear, and she could sense her
surroundings as a human does again, she suddenly dropped into a worried panic,
her movement clumsy.
While she’d been blinded and fighting through Saika’s sense alone, she had
somehow been dragged right into the midst of the Dollars’ fight.
If she was seen, it would cause an uproar. She tried to process that fear and
haste as events from within the picture frame—except that one element, the fear
that Mikado, Masaomi, or Mika might leave her, reached within her world and
delayed her reaction for just an instant.
Vorona’s leg sweep caught her cleanly, and Anri’s body lurched. The
attacker’s knife plunged toward her, certain to land true—until it was stopped,
ringing loudly, by a weapon like a cross between a jitte and a wakizashi.
“…Kabutowari…,” mumbled Vorona, whose mind contained the knowledge
of that weapon. She glared at the man who interfered with her fight.
“Interruption is not good. I will be displeased,” she announced threateningly
at Chikage, the interloper.
He grinned and shook his head. “Look, I like catfights as much as the next
guy…but put the blades away. Be a shame to scar those beautiful faces and
bodies, wouldn’t it? If you wanna fight, let’s set up some mud wrestling.”
He couldn’t see Vorona’s face through the tinted helmet, but Chikage’s
attitude was determined the moment he could tell that she was female.
Meanwhile, he held onto Anri’s arm, ensuring that for just a moment, neither
woman could swing her weapon.
“…”
Who is this man? He is strong…but seems amateurish, thought Vorona,
looking up to determine if this meddler was worthy of being her foe. But…
“…? …?!”
Her attention was grabbed not by Chikage’s face, but by something she saw
over his shoulder.
A man shrouded in bartender’s clothes, carrying her own motorcycle as he

approached. A sight that made her doubt her own sanity.
Even the others wrapped up in their group brawl, who hadn’t noticed when Anri
and Vorona slipped among them, did come to a stop when they saw the stunning
sight of Shizuo carrying the motorcycle.
The members of Toramaru who weren’t familiar with him just stared and
murmured in disbelief, while the Dollars who did know to fear Shizuo looked at
one another in grave worry.
The seemingly unstoppable battle came to an abrupt halt from nothing more
than the appearance of Shizuo Heiwajima on the scene.
“Wait, aren’t you…?”
“Shizuo?”
Chikage and Kadota muttered. Shizuo surveyed the scene. “I heard…there
were girls taken hostage. What happened with that?” he asked.
His tone was surprisingly placid. Outside of context, you might think he was
quite a well-mannered young man.
Anri heard Saika’s cursed voices swell within her and glanced carefully at her
attacker, who was still held in place by Chikage.
Vorona couldn’t move.

She could hear the hooligans around them calling this man Shizuo.
But why was he carrying her bike over his shoulder?
And how was he able to lift well over two hundred pounds of machinery so
easily?
Slon and Semyon might be able to do it, but probably not single-handedly.
And they were big, burly men, not like this fellow.
Most concerning of all to her was the strange shivering in her body that
started the moment she saw Shizuo.
…What is this?
Perhaps this feeling, this unfamiliar sensation, was similar to her the way that
Anri felt when Saika rose up in excitement at Shizuo’s presence.
It was the voice of instinct, or perhaps her “soul,” disciplined by years of
experience.
The instant Vorona saw Shizuo, she knew. She knew that this man was an
impossible thing, far beyond the bounds of common sense.
Every cell in her brain sang its urge to fight the man before her, and every
muscle screamed to run away.
An ordinary person could not recognize Shizuo’s danger at first glance. They
only came to that understanding once they witnessed his anger, what he could do
to a vending machine or car, or came to grips with their own bodies flying
through the air.
But just as certain wild animals are extremely perceptive when it comes to
sensing danger, all Vorona’s knowledge and experience told her beforehand that
Shizuo meant danger.
It was the palpable fear of standing before a tank cannon. And in a way, it
was also the unreal feeling of knowing that a distant guided missile is pointed
your way.
Vorona was so excited by this unfamiliar combination of sensations that her
cheeks flushed.
“Yeah, we rescued the hostages, thanks to Yumasaki.”

“I see. That’s good. By the way, whose bike is this?” Shizuo asked casually.
The rider in the full helmet raised her hand. “Motorbike is mine.”
“Hmm…? Oh, gotcha. Sorry, I thought it belonged to these hostage-taking
scumbags, and I was gonna throw it at them. If it’s not, it wouldn’t be nice to
smash it, I guess,” he said, somewhat horrifyingly, and lowered the motorcycle
to the ground. “By the way, who are you? You’re dressed like Celty… You know
her? In fact…what are you doing over there?”
He noticed Chikage, standing between the two women brandishing blades,
and concluded, “Ah, must be a real sordid situation, then.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Chikage protested.
But Shizuo ignored him and continued, “So…which one’s the piece of shit
who took the hostages?”
His voice was calm and orderly. But anyone who knew Shizuo understood
what was packed behind that expression. His glance naturally settled on the
leader of the hoodlums—he found his suspect.
“Y-you…you bastards…,” the dumb sap screeched, then went for broke.
“So…so what if it was, huh? Whaddaya gonna do about it?!”
He pulled a butterfly knife from his rear pocket and made a beeline for
Shizuo.
“Diiie!”
He didn’t seem to know what he was doing with that knife. He swung his arm
around wildly as he approached. Shizuo slipped sideways around him and gave
him a light punch.
There was a dull cruk.
But the knife didn’t fall to the ground.
The man, who didn’t notice what had happened, tried to stab Shizuo right in
the stomach, then realized his weapon was gone.
“Huh…?”
Then he saw it.
His wrist was out of its socket, broken and pointed straight down.
“Ah…aaaaaaah!!” he screamed, noticing the pain and the state of his hand at
last.
“…Shut up, you scumbag!”
Shizuo grabbed the man by the collar, bent backward, and hurled him with all
his strength.
“ ”
The man flew directly horizontal, parallel to the ground, his scream unable to
break free of his lungs.
The large young man’s body shot forth with even greater force than the
human cannonball at the circus—and embedded itself into the fence over thirty
feet away.
He passed out, limbs twisted in an ugly way. Satisfied, Shizuo glared at the
remaining hooligans.
“Yeep!” “O-oh, shit…”
With their leader defeated, all the Dollars unaffiliated with Kadota scattered
to the wind.
“…Despicable to the very end, huh?” snarled Shizuo as he watched them run,
teeth gnashing with the last smoldering embers of his annoyance.
Guess I should scamper off and look for that fleabrain myself. I can use the
last of my irritation to crush his limbs…
He decided to just leave—but when he looked up, the woman in the riding
helmet was blocking his path ahead.
“What? You want some—” he started, then felt something poke his chest.
“Huh…?”
It was the gleaming silver tip of a knife.
Though he wouldn’t have known it, this was the same murderous Spetsnaz
knife that had been utilized against Anri moments earlier.
“…”
The next second, the knife, which never got more than a fraction of an inch
into Shizuo’s chest, dropped to the ground.
Time stopped for everyone who saw it happen.

Those who knew Shizuo envisioned the woman’s body flying through the air.
She had tried to kill him, but that image of the inevitable result popped into
their minds before they could even wonder why she would do such a thing, and
the resulting fear stopped them in their tracks.
Only the woman moved within this frozen time.

She spun away from Shizuo and ran straight for the entrance to the field.
“…”
A moment later, Shizuo understood what she had done to him.
He saw the rip in his clothes and the slight presence of blood—and slowly
muttered, “I ain’t into hitting women, and I don’t plan to start…”
The experience of being stabbed reminded him of the face of the man he
called “fleabrain,” and with his teeth grinding, he leaped into motion.
“…But I hope you’re all right with that expensive-lookin’ helmet being
crushed, dammit!”
Vorona heard the bellow of rage behind her as she ran. She flipped the switch of
her helmet communicator on and said to Slon, “I will return in thirty seconds.
Request to prepare gun. Quickly, quickly.”
“Huh? Hang on, what’s happening? Is it the Black Rider?!”
“Denial. I think it is human. In fact, I hope it is human creature. It is
unbelievable, but I am in a state of excitement. I exist in the space between
pleasure and fear.”
“What are you talking about…? Anyway, you say danger’s coming? I’ll open
the rear trailer and start the engine!”
“Understood.”
At that moment, she saw something pass beside her at phenomenal speed.
…My bike.
Her motorcycle shot past her at the same velocity as the man who’d been
thrown into the fence. It crashed into a tree, utterly destroyed. Vorona processed
all this and kept running without looking back.
He probably did not intend to hit me. Foolish man. But this is not a foe whom
I can ignore…just for being an amateur!
The mental pressure was incredible. It was like feeling a fighter jet’s
machine-gun spray bearing down on her. In an instant, the sweat on her back
dried to nothing.
He is not like the Black Rider. Not like the bespectacled girl.
He does not possess their eerie alienness.
He is undoubtedly…human!
She ran and ran, delighted in a way to feel this terror from a “human.”
Ran to the truck, to get her equipment and use all her strength to determine
the fragility (the toughness) of the human named Shizuo.
But this unprecedented level of excitement did cause her judgment to suffer.
She failed to consider one possibility.
The extremely crucial possibility that another enemy lurked in the vicinity of
the truck.
Near Raira Academy Field Two, rooftop
What’s going on?

Celty sensed a faint rustling in the air.
She thought she might have heard Shizuo bellow and then saw the rear door
on the truck below swing open, followed by the sound of something slamming
into a wall and disintegrating.
Wh…what was that?!
She focused on the scene below with greater alarm—and saw a woman in a
riding suit fleeing from the entrance of the field.
It’s the one from yesterday!
And then, right behind her…
Huh? Shizuo?!
As he chased the woman, Shizuo saw the rear door of the truck parked outside
the field swing open.
He assumed it was unrelated to anything, until she just jumped right inside.
The truck started to peel off—she was getting away!
“Oh no you don’t!”
Shizuo darted around the rear of the roofed truck, hoping to hop aboard it, but
in the next moment, he saw something bizarre.
Right at the helmeted woman’s fingertips was the kind of rifle you’d only see
in a movie. He witnessed the scene just at the moment she was going to pick it
up.
But even more distracting to Shizuo was the sight, in the fore part of the truck
bay behind the woman, of a young girl trussed up and gagged.
…Huh?
He immediately recognized the girl’s face and clothes.
The word die and the crackle of electricity—the features of their first
meeting.
Akane?! What is she doing here…?
In the second that he paused, the woman had steadied her gun.
Oh, crap. I’m gonna get lead poisoning! he thought, which is not what most
people worry about when they see a gun. He darted toward the unmanned paid
parking lot on the side away from the field.
A number of metal objects shot through the place where he had been
standing.
There was hardly any sound—it must have used subsonic rounds and a
silencer.
“Tsk…”
What’s up with these people?! Shizuo thought, half-angry and half-curious.
Why is Akane here…? Why would people kidnapping Akane attack me, too? If
there’s anything that connects me to her…
Suddenly, he recalled what she had said that morning: “Big Brother Izaya.”
…! Oh…of course. That fleabrain tried to use Akane to kill me…and when
she failed, he hired someone else to finish the job and silence the girl as well…
He was not entirely correct about this. But…
I’ve had enough…
I’ve—had—enough—of—that—fleabrain’s—shit!
The vision of his archenemy’s face completely obliterated his attempts to
control his rage meter. He looked around for something to grab…
In a corner of the small lot, he spotted a rusted old car with a piece of paper
stuck to the windshield.
“This car has been abandoned for over half a year. We will soon need to have
it scrapped. If you own this vehicle, please contact me at ”
Shizuo flashed an angry smile and approached the vehicle.
“Request to briefly stop the car, Slon. First shot was evaded. Greater agility than
I imagined.”
“Got it.”
Vorona waited at attention, gun in hand, watching out of the rear of the truck.
He might swing around the side of the parking lot or hop over a wall, but in
either case, there was only one direction she could see out of the truck.
She heard the breathing of the girl behind her and complained, “Was it
impossible to at least hide with burlap sack or sheet?”
He might have seen her. If he gets away and reports this to the police, that
will be trouble.
…Now I have a reason to finish him off.
…I am happy…
Belatedly, Slon realized that Vorona was referring to Akane Awakusu and bit
back petulantly, “Oh, come on. He’s running around the city on the lam from the
yakuza. Plus, it was your idea to come out here…”
“Quiet. Silence, please.”
“?”
Vorona thought she sensed an unfamiliar sound behind Slon’s voice.
…Just my imagination…?
The next moment—
There was a terrific metallic crash, and “something” flew into the street from
the cover of the parking lot.
“…Что?” she mumbled in Russian when she recognized the object. It was the
same sound she made when she saw Anri’s body produce the katana.
In other words, it was just as stunning and unreal, if not more so.
“Hey…what was that, Vorona?!”
“…Request we launch vehicle. Quickly!”
“G-got it,” he replied hastily. He must have seen it in the rear mirror, too.
In the opening shots of Westerns, one often sees tumbleweeds rolling across
the path.
But this was much larger—a tumblecar, if you will.
Local residents and witnesses of the event would later describe it thusly: “A
blond bartender kicked an abandoned car like a soccer ball.”
But the only ones who would ever believe them were others from Ikebukuro
who had witnessed Shizuo Heiwajima’s legend in the flesh for themselves.
Vorona had been through many, many experiences in her life.

But even she had never experienced anything like this.
Perhaps if her father Drakon or Lingerin, veteran mercenaries, soldiers, and
adventurers all combined their past experiences into one, they could react to this
situation—but Vorona was simply too young to accomplish this.
She compensated for her youth with density of experience and knowledge
gleaned from books, but even Vorona had never read a book that contained the
answer to the question, What do you do when a car comes suddenly tumbling
toward you?
Perhaps the answer was in a video game strategy guide, but Vorona had never
touched a video game in her life.
For an instant, she thought she saw a shadow flit between the tumbling car
and the parking lot. Her finger tightened on the trigger by impulse—but then the
car was upon her.
!
She backed up hastily, just narrowly avoiding where the car fell to earth. The
massive bulk of metal clattered and rolled past the truck with a tremendous
racket.
That was close… Where is he?
The bartender, whom she assumed would be behind the car, was nowhere to
be seen.
! The car was a distraction!
She promptly scanned the area, figuring that he had to be hiding
somewhere…
But she didn’t realize what he did.

Parkour with pure strength.
Shizuo kicked the car and took off running, using the wall and electric pole to
launch himself to the second floor of the apartment building next to the parking
lot, then ran along the veranda parallel to the truck.
And just as Vorona started to move back to the truck’s rear door—Shizuo was
airborne.
He leaped into the truck at a diagonal angle from above.

From Vorona’s perspective, he might as well have teleported there.
She swung her gun to face him without missing a beat, but Shizuo’s absolute
speed was a hair faster. He grabbed the barrel of the rifle and clenched his hand.
It bent as easily as if it were a plastic straw. Vorona judged that firing might
cause an explosion and promptly let go of the weapon.
She crouched down, sweeping her leg in an attempt to knock him down out
of the truck bay—but he steadied himself against the wall and caught her kick
right where it was aimed.
…!
A painful sensation shot through Vorona’s leg, as if she had kicked the wall of
the truck herself—or more accurately, kicked a large hunk of metal welded to the
truck.
Hand-to-hand combat…is pointless.
She pushed back on her numb foot to put space between her and Shizuo,
pulling a spare pistol from near her feet and pointing it at him…
But where do I aim?!
The gun in her hands was quite small caliber, and the bullets loaded didn’t
have much piercing power, either. Ordinarily, that actually made them more
lethal to humans, but in this particular individual’s case, she had no confidence
that it would pierce his wall of muscle. And her attempt to stab him with the
Spetsnaz knife had stopped just under the skin.
…But he cannot strengthen his eyeballs.
Vorona instantly shifted her aim to his face.
I wish we could have had a proper fight. I’m sorry…
Was that silent apology meant for her opponent or herself for failing to satisfy
her desire?
But this was not the time to hesitate. Before Shizuo could react, she pulled
the trigger…
Pulled…
Pulled…
But not all the way.
?!
The trigger would not move farther.
She glanced down and saw—a black shadow tangled right around her gun.
Impossible! It’s the Black Rider!
She spun around to see that there was the Black Rider’s motorcycle, right
behind them.
That completely silent bike.
Vorona had never even conceived of a vehicle with such excellent sneaking
ability.
Just then, a voice came through her helmet.
“Hold on tight!”
Celty felt relief flood into her breast when she confirmed that the woman’s
gun was not going to fire. Even Shizuo couldn’t walk away from being shot in
the face at that range, she suspected.
I mean…normally that would be fatal. But anyway…good boy, Shooter! Way
to not make any noise! Now, if I can just subdue that strange woman with my
shadow…
She raised her right hand and prepared to exude a fresh one. But before she
could, the truck went from moving along at a good clip to a sudden slam on the
brakes.
Oh no…!
The rear of the truck rushed up to meet her, and Celty had to pull sideways in
an emergency brake. She was just a bit too late—Shooter made contact with the
truck and toppled over.
Celty quickly exuded shadow toward the asphalt, creating a temporary
training wheel that helped push up the fallen motorcycle into a standing position
again.
Absolute insanity! What about Shizuo…?
She turned to face the truck again.
Inside the rear…
The moment the truck hit the brakes, Shizuo promptly punched through the
side wall of the vehicle. That successfully kept him from being thrown out of the
car, and he took that moment to glance again at the girl stashed at the innermost
part of the rear bay.
Yep. That’s Akane, all right.
Then, he noticed that the truck’s sudden braking had caused part of its stack
of cargo to collapse. A box fell down onto the table, upon which was an array of
knives, some of which flipped upward and started to descend right toward the
helpless girl.
!
The next thing he knew, Shizuo had ripped his arm free of the wall and was
jumping forward. The force of his jump was so powerful that a piece of the floor
was pulverized. It propelled him through the air so that he shot to cover Akane’s
body like a cannonball—and the knives hit his back instead.
He felt a faint twinge of pain at the impact but turned back toward the rear
door of the truck, otherwise unaffected.
There was Celty, recovered from her fall and sidling up to the vehicle again.
Shizuo picked up Akane, bolted to his feet, and leaped with the strength of a
wildcat.
!
Vorona tensed, certain he was going to attack her—but he had no thought for
her at all. Shizuo jumped straight out of the truck altogether.
This action might have been unthinkable for Shizuo just a few years earlier.
Who would have predicted that he would not give in to a thunderous rage,
but instead prioritize the safety of another person—a girl he barely knew, in fact?
But his troubles with Saika had taught Shizuo how to utilize his strength, and
now he was leaping out of the truck to keep Akane safe.
Normally, jumping out of a moving car would seem to be the opposite of
keeping her safe—but Celty saw him leap out and fashioned a net of shadow that
caught the two in midair.
He was enveloping the girl’s tiny body to keep it safe, and there was a good
chance he’d have been successful, even without Celty’s help. But the dullahan
couldn’t help but feel a cold sweat at her friend’s sheer recklessness.
…If there had been a dump truck coming up behind us, the poor girl could
have died—and he’d still be fine…
While Celty lowered the two to the ground, the truck made its way onto Meiji
Street. For the same reason as yesterday, she decided not to go in too deep.
…Akane’s safe, and that’s what matters, she told herself and glanced over at
Shizuo. He had Akane untied now, and she clung to him, her eyes and shoulders
trembling with emotion.
Thank goodness, Celty thought. But she was confused by what Akane said
next.
“Why…?”
Shizuo looked back at her in confusion.
“Why…did you save me? I’m trying…to kill you…”
“…Wow, still present tense?” he snorted, but she looked at him doubtfully.
Huh?
“I mean…I mean…”
“Well, whatever… Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said and smiled, not in the false way he did this
morning, but a proper, hearty smile. He patted her head.
“If you got hurt, you certainly wouldn’t be able to kill me, then.”
She gazed at that smile uncertainly, but then her lips curved a bit, too, and she
said, “Yeah…”
…
What are they talking about?
Wait, um…what’s going on?
And weren’t Shiki and Akane talking about something like this earlier…?
Without having the full context of the situation, all Celty heard was a rather
violent and ominous conversation.
But they were both smiling, so she considered this a good sign and decided to
send Shiki a message.
Raira Academy Field Two
“So what was today all about, anyway?” Yumasaki asked.

Kadota started to explain, but all that he could summon from his throat was a
sigh. “Look…I’ll tell you over dinner.”
The hoodlums had run off, and Chikage had ordered his Toramaru mates to
disperse, so out of the forty-plus who had been here previously, just Kadota and
his friends remained. After their temporary evacuation, the hostage girls left, too,
once they realized they were safe. They were talking about their plans to inform
the police, so sooner or later, the unconscious man still stuck through the fence
would get hauled in.
“Speaking of which, if we don’t move soon, we’ll get dragged in, too… What
should it be? Simon’s?”
“I think Russia Sushi is temporarily closing early this evening.”
“Damn, really?” Kadota asked, slightly crestfallen.
Karisawa suggested, “Then, how about that Taiwanese place right near
Russia Sushi? The one above the arcade.”
“Oh, the one at the bowling alley…? Good idea. Dang, we should have
invited Chikage, too,” Kadota lamented.
The plan seemed settled, but then Karisawa stepped over a line. “You know,
after your fight with that…Chikage guy? I saw some friendship budding there.”
“Please don’t get started on any corny shit.”
“Look, I’m just saying! From my perspective, that’s some real juicy shipping
material right there!”
“…I get the feeling there’s a lot of stuff you won’t ever understand until you
die a time or two,” Kadota grumbled.
Yumasaki joined the conversation to protest, “Karisawa! You know, it’s
people like you who always see Boys Love material in honest rivalry and male
friendships that are ruining things! That’s why whenever there are a ton of male
characters, jerks just assume, ‘Oh, it’s just a fangirl bait series.’ Apologize!
Repent for your actions!”
“Why? I mean, you can ship objects on objects and make it gay. Remember
the other day, when we were arguing about which was the top and which was the
bottom when pairing CD and DVD?”
“Just shut your mouths. You’re not even arguing the same topic!” Kadota
snapped.
Things seemed back to normal already. The swelling around Kadota’s eye
and the blood dripping from his mouth were ugly, but there was no pain or regret
in his expression.
The others gathered around and were starting to debate whether the meal
should be split evenly or all on Kadota when Yumasaki noticed Anri loitering
around nearby and called out, “Oh, are you in, too, Anri?”
At that very moment, Karisawa snuck up and grabbed Anri from behind.
“Eek!”
“That’s right, Anri. I have so many questions for you today!” Karisawa
leered, groping the poor girl all over. “Where did you hide that katana, huh? Are
you really a Flame Haze? Or just a girl with glasses who loves to cosplay?
Perhaps a busty, beautiful incarnation of the cursed blade Muramasa?”
“Knock it off, you lecherous creep,” Kadota said, pulling the older girl off
Anri.
When Karisawa noticed how troubled Anri looked, she cracked a smile and
said, “Or if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. All girls have their
secrets, after all.”
“That’s right. Even if you were a wicked demon lord plotting world
domination, I bet we could treat you the same way we always have! In fact, a
cute demon lord with glasses might make me want to get closer than—mlph!”
Kadota put his hand over Yumasaki’s mouth to shut him up and asked Anri,
“What’s up? Looking for something?”
“Uh…sorry…,” Anri mumbled and bowed. She swiveled around on the spot.
“I don’t see…Mikado anywhere…”

On the street, next to Raira Academy Field Two
“Hey Rocchi, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I feel amazing. Your gentle caresses healed all my wounds, Non.”
“You liar. I hope Kiyo-puu or one of them chew you out again tomorrow,
Rocchi,” Non protested, her cheeks flushed.
Chikage smirked. “If I kiss you, will you forgive me? Will Kiyo-puu forgive
me, too?”
“I think you should probably just die.”
The couple walked along the narrow street toward the train station, flirting
and pretend-arguing.
Chikage had already sent the Toramaru guys back home. Some of them had
gotten knocked out at the abandoned factory, but the healthy ones collected them
up, and Kadota was informed that they were leaving, thus ending the day’s
hostilities.
It was hard to believe that the couple had been in the midst of violence and
danger just minutes before.
They were interrupted by a youthful voice.

“H-hey, wait!”
“Hmm…?”
Chikage looked back and saw a boy standing in the middle of the alley, out of
breath, bruised and beaten. “What’s up, kid? Coming back from a fight?” he
asked.
He looked like he was either in middle school or early high school. Chikage
had no idea what he was after, but he stopped and faced the boy.
Despite the unhealthy paleness in his cheeks, the boy looked at Chikage with
bold intent and spoke.
“…I will…take responsibility.”
“Huh? For what?” the leader of Toramaru asked. Mikado tried to respond, but
—
“Oh, Rocchi! That’s the kid I mentioned. The one who tried to save me, even
though he was in the Dollars.”
“…!”
Non’s statement caused Mikado to close his mouth.
“Ah, gotcha… So you’re taking responsibility ’cause you couldn’t protect
Non? That don’t matter. If anything, I wanna thank you.”
“N-no…it’s not…it’s not that!” Mikado protested. He summoned strength
from the pit of his stomach. “I’m…I…I founded the Dollars.”
“…What?”
“I know what the Dollars did…to you and your friends… So the root cause of
this whole war was me! So go ahead…do whatever you want to me. Just…
please don’t mess with Ikebukuro anymore! I’m begging you…!”
Mikado was half expecting to be killed on the spot, such was the measure of
his determination. He started to get down on the ground to prostrate himself.
But then Chikage’s hand grabbed his arm.
“Stop it. A man shouldn’t just grovel like that. Especially not in front of a
woman—even if she’s already my girl.”
“…B-but…”
“You think this doesn’t make me look like a chump, having a kid begging to
me like I’m a big shot, while I’m out with my girlfriend? And besides…you
really expect me to believe a scrawny-lookin’ kid like you is the leader of the
Dollars?”
“…”
Those words gouged at Mikado’s heart with their painful truth. He stared
forward, holding his silence, and Chikage grinned a bit.
“But you don’t look like you’re lyin’ to me.”
“Th-then…”
“However. That doesn’t mean I can just take you at your word.”
“Huh…?”
“In my mind, the guy who started the Dollars is a real piece of shit who stays
out of danger, watches his team grow, and pits them against one another…treats
it like it’s all a big game.”
Mikado fell silent again; he wasn’t sure what that accusation meant. But the
concept of a scumbag treating it all like a game was a shock to him. He realized
that perhaps there was a part of that inside him.
Chikage put a hand on Mikado’s shoulder. He spoke slowly, letting his
message sink in.
“There’s no way a guy with eyes this honest is the head of the Dollars.”
“…!”
“If you’re sayin’ you were actually the ‘start’ of the Dollars…then I got a
warning for you. Let them go now. You’re too pure to shoulder that load.”
“Wha…?”
“The ordinary life suits you, kid. From my perspective, just bein’ able to live
the proper life makes you worthy of respect… Guys like you shouldn’t be goin’
out of their way to come to this side.”
Did Chikage realize what he was saying, or was it all just a coincidence? His
words were a blunt denial of Mikado’s entire existence. The boy could say
nothing.
Before he left, Chikage said, “But if that doesn’t work for you, come to
Saitama. You wanna go one-on-one, I’ll be there… Well, as long as I don’t have
a girl with me. In either case, I’m not into hitting defenseless folks.”
Mikado watched him go—and never found a response.

He had no answer.
He didn’t understand the emotion flooding up inside of him.
He almost identified it as “frustration,” but he was so afraid to face that truth
that he emptied his mind instead and stared into the sky.
Objectively, Mikado’s silence lasted less than a minute.
But to him, it felt like a compression of hours, days—even months of time.
If he admitted it to himself, his life would change. And that knowledge
required enough mental fortitude that it squashed all that time into just a few
seconds.
No…I wasn’t afraid of the Dollars changing and leaving me behind.
I was afraid of this city leaving me behind.
He crossed to the side of the street, rested an arm on a nearby light pole, and
buried his face in his elbow.
But…I made a terrible mistake.
Before he faced off with Chikage, Mikado checked the latest Dollars update
on his phone.
It said that the various squabbles around the area were being forcibly ended
by the sudden arrival of Awakusu-kai muscle.
Most likely, some in the Awakusu got wind of the information and decided to
clean up the incident before any of it made its way upward, like swatting at
pesky flies.
In the end, all the trouble that surrounded them was essentially ordinary
business for the adults in the Awakusu-kai, lurking deeper than the Dollars ever
could.
That was what Mikado thought.
What he assumed.
It was my imagination that the city was passing me by.
I never caught up to the extraordinary parts of this city to begin with.
He just stood there, alone, tears flowing.

He bit his lip, stifling the sobs down in his throat.
And the boy cried amid the city of Ikebukuro, as though trying to devour all
the sadness himself.
There was just one person watching him.

Mikado…
One young man who watched the boy from behind, fists clenched.
A youth about the same age as him: Masaomi Kida.
It was half coincidence that brought him to be present for this moment and
half fate.
He had returned to Ikebukuro to assist his old friend Mikado from the trouble
that plagued him. Through some connections, he found out what was happening
with the Dollars and rushed to Raira Academy Field Two.
Somehow, he happened across that very scene between Mikado and Chikage
on the way.
Masaomi hid around the corner out of sight, watching them. He heard
Mikado’s statement of intent and the conversation that followed, and it made it
impossible for him to emerge.
When Mikado put his arm against the pole in silence, Masaomi knew that he
was crying.
He sensed the same amount of sadness in his friend that he felt when he
himself was leader of the Yellow Scarves.
And that was why he couldn’t go to him. He knew that if he tried to speak to
Mikado, to comfort him, it would only add more pressure.
If there was anyone Mikado wanted to see least at that moment, it would be
Masaomi or Anri Sonohara.
Seeing himself in Mikado’s shoes, he wanted to rush to his friend, to say
something that would make him feel better. It seemed that if anyone could do it,
it would be him.
But ultimately, he couldn’t show himself to Mikado.
He had run out on his friend already. What could he possibly say that was
meaningful now?
If he said something careless, gave some false reassurance, it would hurt
Mikado far worse than he already was now.
…I’m not the place Mikado needs to return to now.
It’s Sonohara. It’s Raira Academy.
Masaomi had rushed back to the city for a singular purpose—and now he cast
it aside and turned his back on Mikado.
All I can do now is wait for him to recover…and then…talk to him…
Shit, that’s not right. That’s not right.
I was just want…to be with him and Anri…like old days…
…Dammit. Why…why am I…?
He recalled his own sadness from the past…

And the next thing he knew, Masaomi was tearing up, too.
That was the end of the scene.

Ultimately, Masaomi was unable to reunite with his friends.
Most likely, if he had shown himself just then, it would have hurt Mikado
terribly. Perhaps it would have pushed their friendship even further apart.
But considering what would happen later, even knowing it would hurt
Mikado and destroy his presence of mind, maybe Masaomi should have said
something after all.
Masaomi himself would understand this later.

But of course, later is not now.
Chat room
Saika: no one is here today

Saika: it’s lonely
Saika: sorry for saying weird things
Saika: i’m sorry

.
.
.
Epilogue and Next Prologue
May 4, night, McDonald’s, Ikebukuro east gate location
“And? What ended up happening?”

Tom popped a chicken nugget slathered in mustard into his mouth. Shizuo
tugged at the straw of his milk shake and tilted his head. “I don’t even know
myself… I just got this call from Shinra saying, ‘I think the suspicion on your
head is gone,’ and that it was fine now… I was walking around earlier and
nothing happened, so…whatever.”
“But why were the Awakusu-kai after you in the first place?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“?”
Tom gave him a quizzical look. Shizuo twirled his straw around to even out
his shake and said, “Shinra settled things up with them, as I understand it, but
only on the condition that I never tell anyone what I saw.”
“Hmm. Well, I don’t wanna get any blowback, either. So I won’t ask for
details.”
“Thank you,” Shizuo said earnestly and nodded his head.
Tom added, “Oh, and the boss says he’ll consider today paid leave for you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, but he’s gonna give you twice as much work tomorrow to make up for
it.”
“Well, that’s fair, I guess…”
Through some wordly wisdom of Tom’s, they transitioned straight out of that
dangerous topic and onto the safe ground of tomorrow’s work.
The name Awakusu-kai never entered the conversation after that, and
ordinary life returned to Shizuo.
Somewhere in Ikebukuro, Awakusu-kai office
At one of the several Awakusu offices within the capital, in a room officially
known as the “president’s office,” two men were having a very terse
conversation.
“…I’m glad the young lady came back safely, Director,” said Shiki.
“…Indeed,” replied Mikiya Awakusu, his face a mask.
Shiki did not betray any facial emotion, either, as he continued, “As you
ordered, I’ve made it clear to all around that Shizuo Heiwajima was clean. Is this
acceptable?”
“Yes.”
Right after Akane was grabbed from their hands, Shiki’s ringing ears had
enough clarity to make out what Mikiya bellowed.
“That son of a bitch backstabbed me!”
As soon as he heard that, Shiki called his subordinates off the search for
Shizuo Heiwajima.
A notable build and notable gear. Even amid the smoke and confusion,
anyone with enough vision to spot those two simple facts could put together a
very good suspicion as to the other party’s identity—but only if you had met the
guy before.
Now that he was certain they were alone, Shiki pressed Mikiya for the truth.
“Those three bodies. Were they ‘dogs’?”
“…That’s right.”
“Something tells me the cops wouldn’t put three separate spies in our group.”
“Second one was Asuki-gumi. Last one was from a foreign syndicate… I’ve
never been so insulted,” Mikiya admitted.
Shiki nodded. He didn’t ask anything further. The information he’d gleaned
in that short period of time was enough to form a hypothesis.
It was Mikiya who had ordered the killing of those three men.
He had hired the Russian hit man Slon to take out three of his own men,
propped up some fake evidence framing the Asuki-gumi, and used that for
leverage in the negotiations. That was probably the extent of it.
But the introduction of the unstable variable that was Shizuo Heiwajima and
the unlucky fact that one of the youngsters had spotted him at the scene had led
to the unexpected outcome of a civilian suspect.
A plan for leverage had suddenly flipped around and exposed a possible
weakness to the Asuki-gumi. The Awakusu were forced to scramble to cover up
the situation and had Shizuo Heiwajima chased down as a suspect.
But once he had realized that not just Shiki, but also Akabayashi and
Kazamoto were starting to catch on, Mikiya had started formulating his next
plan.
Shiki didn’t know how much the debt of gratitude for his daughter’s rescue
played a part in Mikiya calling off the chase on Shizuo. But it was certain that
this man was not one steeped in the nostalgic yakuza principles of honor,
obligation, and compassion.
Was his parental love for his daughter even real? Shiki wondered for a
moment, then decided that it wasn’t his business and continued, “As for the
cleanup…”
“I have Akabayashi and Aozaki on the case.”
“Two lieutenants? Directly? And those two, in specific?”
“They’re old-school, hands-on guys. They wanted a chance for a face-to-face
meeting with the other guys’ agent. But…I’ll admit, I was stunned when I heard
their offer,” Mikiya Awakusu said, then paused and looked into the distant sky
before continuing.
“I guess…parents care about their children, no matter what country you’re

in…”
Totally unaware that such a conversation was going on in the Awakusu-kai office
at that moment, Shizuo peacefully finished his vanilla shake and furrowed his
brows.
“That reminds me. Next time I see that woman in the riding suit, I’m gonna
rip that pricey-looking helmet off and crumple it into a ball…” He growled to
himself, giving in to a minor recollection of rage.
Tom leaned slightly away from him and sighed. “I dunno, after you kicked a
car at her, I doubt she’s ever gonna want to come across you again.”
Somewhere in Tokyo, construction site

Vorona and Slon had set up their base of operations at a construction site that
was put on hold due to the recession. They were discussing their upcoming
plans.
“…I am half-pleased, half-displeased.”
“You can’t help it. Fortunately we’re still within the time limit for two jobs.
We’ll have another chance to abduct Akane Awakusu…and at worst, we can just
snipe that girl with the glasses,” Slon said blithely. Once night had fallen, Vorona
was back to her expressionless ways.
They sat on piles of construction materials, talking over a small light. There
were empty meal boxes from a convenience store there, which they had eaten as
they discussed various bloody and ominous topics.
But such violent matters were everyday things for them.
Vorona stuffed the garbage into a bag and opined, “I do say…this city is
wonderful. My ego is the mind-set to finish work quickly and attempt hunting of
Black Rider and Bartender.”
Contrary to Tom’s expectations, she was practically humming with desire to
attack Shizuo again. She recalled all the people and things she’d met over the
last two days and trembled with pleasure, despite those feelings being hidden
behind a mask.
“The job you took was over this morning, Slon? Then, if we conclude our
current work, I propose temporary hiatus. Please confirm.”
“Confirm? What, I don’t get veto power here?” he laughed.
“That’s true. You don’t have any veto power—not right now.”
“!” “?”
The gravelly male voice from the shadows of the construction site caught
Vorona and Slon by surprise. They jumped to their feet and looked into the
darkness.
A large man slowly walked forward into view.
“Who are you? Request you name self promptly.”
“…That badge… The Awakusu-kai?” Slon murmured, recognizing the sigil
of the Awakusu-kai on a pin on the man’s suit. But the man’s appearance, the
ferocious, bestial atmosphere that surrounded him, identified him as more than
just a rank-and-file soldier.
The man spread his hands and said, “My name’s Aozaki. But I’m guessing…
that you kidnappers know the reason I’m here.”
“Aozaki…,” Slon muttered. “Aozaki the hard-liner lieutenant?”
“I’m surprised you know the Japanese word for ‘hard-liner.’ Consider me
impressed.” Aozaki smirked lazily. The man carried an air of danger about him,
but a different type than Shizuo’s earlier in the day.
Vorona quietly challenged him. “Are you a fool? A high officer of your
organization appears solitary in midst of the likes of us?”
“…But you’re not so good at Japanese, are ya, missy?” the large Awakusu
officer chuckled. “The thing is, I ain’t that stupid—not like that idiot.”
“Why, how cruel, Mr. Aozaki.”
All the hair on Vorona’s body stood on end.

“I merely heard that one of the young miss’s kidnappers was a mysterious
foreign beauty and had to see for myself. I don’t think that makes me an ‘idiot.’”
The lilting, lighthearted voice came from right next to Vorona.
Her eyes shot sideways and found a man sitting beside her with an
ostentatiously patterned suit and tinted glasses. That, combined with the
flamboyant walking stick, made him look like he came straight out of a movie—
but he was just sitting there, not doing anything else.
“The name’s Akabayashi. I forgot my badge, but just like that gorilla-faced
fellow over there, I’m a valued member of the Awakusu. It’s a pleasure.”
It was as though he’d been sitting there right next to them, from even before
the start of their meal. Of course, that couldn’t have been the case, but it was a
sign of how abruptly he appeared—without being detected by either Vorona or
Slon.
She’d discarded the pistol wrapped up in the Black Rider’s shadow, but there
was a new gun and knife at her waist. Slon was skilled in the art of killing with
his bare hands, and if they got to the truck nearby, there were plenty of weapons
there.
So Vorona felt confident enough to wait and see what these men wanted—but
with perfectly atrocious timing, Aozaki grinned and shook his head. “But unlike
that idiot who showed up alone, I naturally brought plenty of men along with
me.”
Instantly, there was the sound of whipping air, and then flesh bursting.
“Gaaaaahh!”
There was blood gushing from both of Slon’s knees, and without the ability
to support his own weight, his large body buckled to the ground.
“Slon!” she shouted, pulling the handgun from her side and pointing it
straight at the man in the ugly suit next to her. She was intending to take him
hostage, but—
“Well, what a delight.” The man named Akabayashi was somehow holding
her arm.
—?!
“You mean I get the chance to dance with such a charming young lady?”
I—I can’t pull…the trigger…!
A numbing sensation like electricity shot through her arm where the man was
holding her, robbing her wrist of movement. Akabayashi casually got to his feet,
hand still on her arm—and she wasn’t able to witness what he did next.
She couldn’t make out any details. It was only when her back landed on the
floor that she realized it wasn’t Akabayashi and the world spinning, but her.
There was no pain. Akabayashi used his arm to slow her rotation and “place”
her body on the ground.
With Slon’s groaning in the background, Akabayashi snatched the gun and
knife away from Vorona, tossed them aside, and cackled at the two Russians.
“Well, well… Be honest: Did you think this would be ‘easy’? You thought a mob
in soft, peaceful Japan would be a pushover compared to what you’re used to
back in the motherland?”
He pinned Vorona down gently with just a single hand and knee. She was
stunned to realize that despite the lack of any pain, she couldn’t move an inch.
“You thought that compared to folks like you with plenty of kills—even some
soldiers and mercenaries among them—the Awakusu-kai would be a walk in the
park? Look, I won’t deny it. For as young as you are, I don’t even blame you for
thinking it.”
“…”
“But the thing you need to learn is, when you’re young, you can get carried
away…and pay a terrible price for it. Plus, if a couple of old badgers like us can
handle you this easily, you’d have to be dreaming to think you could hunt down
Shizuo Heiwajima. And I hate to be the one to shatter a young girl’s dreams, but
you could easily get yourself killed picking a fight with him.”
Then, Akabayashi turned to the darkness behind Aozaki and called out, “If
the daughter of our new trading partner dies in our territory, that makes it a bit
harder to sleep at night, eh?”
Right on cue, a fresh face appeared from the gloom.
This one was familiar to Vorona and Slon.
“…Wha—?!”
“Egor!” Slon gasped, holding his legs.
There were bandages wrapped around the man’s face, but they still
recognized the features of Egor, a high-ranking member of the arms-dealing
business that was their old haunt.
“It has been quite a while, you two,” Egor said in Japanese, perhaps out of
consideration to the yakuza in their midst. “You’ve really gone on quite an
adventure. And we are out quite a lot of money as a result.”
“…?” Vorona was in a state of confusion; she didn’t know what was
happening.
Akabayashi explained, “The thing is, normally we’d be charged with takin’
you two out to the mountains or down to some basement, but this Egor fellow
showed up at our office and had a little chat with us. Turns out your old man and
the president of that arms trader suggested that they could offer us advantageous
prices on their wares, in exchange for pretending that we never saw the young
lady.”
“Wha…?”
“I mean, that’s a no-brainer of a deal for us: Just ignore one girl and get
wholesale prices on weapons? But that big fellow there will have to go, I’m
afraid. To let you both walk, they’d need to up their offer to a lifetime of free
hardware.”
“…I refuse! If you will murder, I am shared! If you affirm this sympathy, my
life is denied!”
“Ha-ha-ha, no idea what the hell any of that means. Sleep tight,” said
Akabayashi. He pressed a painless injector to the girl’s neck. Meanwhile, Slon
was completely unconscious, thanks to a kick in the face by Aozaki.
“We’re going to deal with this guy now.”
Once they were certain the two were out, Aozaki picked up Slon and hauled
him back into the darkness of the construction site. Akabayashi sighed, his lazy
grin gone now.
“It’s just not my style to make a girl sad.”
“…Sorry about that, Mr. Akabayashi.”
This voice came from yet another new figure who was now standing at
Akabayashi’s side—the chef from Russia Sushi. Next to him were Egor and
Simon, dressed in his own clothes for once.
“…We’ll be responsible for helping her see sense. Let us handle it.”
“Please do. I’m a bad guy, I know it, but I’d have trouble sleeping if this
pretty young thing killed herself over this.”
“Ohhh, Akabayashi, when you sleep bad, you eat shark. I make you shark fin
sushi and caviar sushi, you get market price, sleep soundly happily, with bowl of
shark fin soup,” Simon offered.
“Maybe I’ll stop by while the girl’s still sleeping,” Akabayashi said, simpered
again, then walked off, tapping his shoulders with his walking stick.
Aozaki’s subordinates lurking around the periphery vanished as well, leaving
only the group of Russians and the sleeping Vorona.
“Shall we go, Simon? Carry the miss.”
Simon picked up Vorona as he was ordered, and Egor headed into Vorona’s
truck, probably to do some cleanup.
The sushi chef watched the peaceful sleeping face of Vorona and mumbled in
Russian, “Miss Vorona is still Vorona, Egor. See, kids still haven’t firmed up
yet… They can still turn out any number of ways. Any way they want.”
“…Which is what makes ’em so scary.”
At that moment, somewhere in Tokyo, abandoned factory
By night, the abandoned factory was even eerier.

For some reason, the lot still had power, so the rusted interior of the building
was lit by nothing but a few naked bulbs.
“…What is it, Mr. Mikado? Why did you call me here?” asked Aoba
Kuronuma. Standing across from him was Mikado Ryuugamine, still wearing the
same clothes from earlier in the day.
He was spinning a pen in his right hand, occasionally tapping it against an
empty barrel next to him.
Around Aoba were the same Blue Squares from that morning, coincidentally
arranged in the same layout even.
But in this case, it was Mikado who had made the summons.
“Yeah…sorry about that. There was all that stuff during the day, I had to call
you back.”
“It’s fine. I guess we’re even when it comes to calling at strange times of
day,” Aoba said with his usual innocent smile. Mikado returned it with the same
kind of smile he wore at school.
But this reaction arose suspicion within Aoba. Wait…what if he’s set up a
trap with that Black Rider…?
He was rattled underneath, but still played it cool on the outside. “So what
did you want?”
“Well…I’ve been thinking about stuff,” Mikado said, looking a bit mournful
and smacking the barrel with the butt of the pen. “I think the Dollars as they are
now…are in the wrong. They’re definitely not the Dollars I wanted. Some
people fit the ideal, like Kadota’s group…but there are plenty who don’t…”
“I suppose not.”
“But the thing is, the Dollars don’t have rules to regulate them, and the
moment you create rules, they’re no longer Dollars. In a world without rules, the
only way to make your desire come true…is through strength.”
He looked down sadly and clicked the barrel again. “Plus…Shizuo quit the
Dollars today.”
“Oh…really?” Honest surprise crossed Aoba’s face; he hadn’t heard about
that.
Mikado just nodded. “If you guys will be my source of strength…even if
you’re trying to use me for something else…I’d gladly accept that deal.”
“Really?!” Aoba beamed angelically.
Gotcha.
But on the inside, his grin was devilish.
Oh, Mikado, you’re so simple. I never expected it to be so easy.
He hadn’t foreseen all of today’s events, of course. But in the sense of
intentionally fomenting a gang war and shoving reality into Mikado’s face, it
was surprising just how successful he was.
I’m sure Izaya Orihara had something to do with it, too, Aoba thought,
envisioning his nemesis’s lurking shadow. For now, he was satisfied with getting
Mikado under his wing.
I suppose that means things are within expectations so far for both me and
Izaya. The rest comes down to which of us can gain the better advantage.
Then, he reflected on the events of the day. We identified the apartment
building where the Black Rider likely lives. I can get more information on that
tomorrow. Also…I’m a bit more interested in Anri now. I’m sure Izaya knows
way more than I do about these topics…but he still hasn’t bent the Black Rider
into being his pawn. If I can get one up on him there…
While his mind was working furiously on plans, his face never strayed from
that innocent expression he wore when playing the role of Mikado’s junior.
Mikado asked him, “Then, come over here and sign this contract.”
“Contract?”
“Well, yeah. We’re entering a fair agreement. It’s only natural, right?”
…Well…I guess this is appropriate for him. I might as well be careful with
this—he might be planning to utilize my signature for his own ends.
Aoba had never heard of a paper contract for a deal like this, but he chalked it
up to Mikado not being familiar with the ways of the underworld.
So he walked over to Mikado and asked, “What should I write?”
“It’s this contract here,” the older boy said, pointing at a sheet of paper
resting on top of the barrel.
What could be on it? Did the founder of the Dollars have some trap prepared
within the text, or was it just a straightforward proposal?
Aoba was reaching out for the paper, wondering what the contents would be,
when something caught his attention.
It’s blank?
A sharp, instantaneous pain shot across the back of his hand reaching for the
paper.
“…! Ah…ah…”
The agony stemmed from the fleshy bit of skin between the thumb and index
finger—from the back of his hand through to his palm. Aoba stared at his
fingers, unsure of what had just happened to him.
Then he saw.
The very pen that Mikado had been holding was stuck right through his
hand, with the blood from the wound dripping down atop the blank white paper
in a pattern of vivid red.
Aoba looked back to Mikado—and when he saw the other boy, he froze.
He hadn’t done himself up with cosmetics. He hadn’t changed the shape of
his face.
But for one fleeting moment, Aoba felt like it wasn’t Mikado standing there
next to him.
Such was the cruel coldness in the eyes of the boy who had just stabbed
Aoba’s hand with a pen—eyes that cast judgment on everything they surveyed.
“H-hey, Aoba!”
“Whoa, what the fuck!”
Aoba held out his unhurt hand in an order to his furious comrades. “Mr.…
Mikado…what is…this…?”
“You brought Sonohara into this… That’s my answer. It’s also my very first
order.”
“…”
“…Suffer my anger.”
Mikado’s face was all cold fury. Through the terrible pain, Aoba was able to
gasp, “This is…quite a demand.”
“…If you don’t like the deal, then take that pen and stab my hand. Stab my
throat. Go and tell the cops and the school.”
“…”
“What I just did to you justifies that response.”
Amid the coldness, there was also sadness. Amazingly, Aoba smiled back at
him.
“…Very well. This…this paper stained with my blood is the contract.”
He picked up the bloodied paper with his left hand and smiled, deeper this
time.
“From today on…you are our leader. The strength of the Blue Squares…is at
the Dollars’ disposal.”
“…Good.”
Once he had Mikado’s agreement, Aoba looked up, grimacing against the
pain—and froze solid.
The other boy’s icy demeanor from just three seconds earlier was totally
gone, and now he was smiling the way he always did around school. “Thank
goodness…I’m so glad you agreed! Sorry about your hand. Oh, I brought some
disinfectant and bandages. Hang on, I’ll tie it up for you; just hold your arm
above your heart!”
Mikado was like a fussy nurse’s office attendant, the way he was setting up
the bandage.
But seeing the normal Mikado—more Mikado than Mikado even—sent a
horrifying thrill of fear through Aoba, a feeling that he had just seen something
truly alien.
The other Blue Squares felt that eeriness as well. The normally chatty
hooligans were watching the two boys in absolute silence.
With the sweat running down his back like a waterfall, Aoba said a silent
monologue.
Izaya Orihara. Do you realize?

Both you and I…may have underestimated Mr. Mikado.
It’s possible that he’s actually something more than you or I realized…
Something different, unknown.
Do you realize this, Izaya Orihara…?
Awakusu-kai office
“Izaya Orihara…”
Shiki said the name aloud to himself, looking at the number on his phone
screen.
He’d called the number several times already, but the info broker never
picked up.
Normally, “info brokers” were people who collected certain information from
particular sources—club barkers, street thugs, pachinko parlor employees—and
sold them for loose money. Hardly any of them actually made a livable income
on information alone.
Izaya was one of those lucky few, gathering information from countless
“collaborators” all over the city and using his particular set of skills to glean
deeper information from what he learned.
The Awakusu-kai made use of his services from time to time, but this was the
first time they’d been unsuccessful in reaching him.
Why did Shizuo Heiwajima wind up in that spot? Miss Akane hasn’t told
Mikiya much about the topic, it seems…but if anyone stands to gain by screwing
over Shizuo Heiwajima, it’s his archnemesis, Izaya Orihara. It’s quite possible
that he had his own connection to those Russians.
It was nothing more than conjecture at the moment, but Shiki was already
eyeing Izaya with suspicion.
Well, whatever. I’ll let him flounder for now. But…he’s still a kid. I’ve met
him a few times, and he’s clearly just a kid. And you never know what a kid
might do when he gets carried away.
He sighed and left the room and, as he shut the door behind him, muttered
aloud.
“If he goes haywire…we’ll just have to bury him.”
Somewhere in Japan, near a train station, shopping district
“…Yes, it’s just fine.”

“ ”
“Even if the Awakusu-kai are looking for me, I’m not in Ikebukuro
anymore.”
“ ”
“…Right… Right. I understand that. Anyway, I hope you’ll continue to
patronize my services.”
“ ”
“Oh, please… I just think it’s the Asuki-gumi who are best suited to
controlling Ikebukuro, that’s all.”
Izaya hung up on the call and wandered through the night.

He was in a provincial city in northeast Japan. He’d come here, far from
Ikebukuro, through only the power of his cell phone and his wallet.
It was the middle of the night, but the pub-lined street was packed with
people. Izaya hid himself among the throng as he pondered the situation. There
were slight traces of both irritation and joy in his features.
All wrapped up in just a single day… I’m liking how Mikado is shaping up.
He’s probably accepting the Blue Squares’ offer by now. I’m guessing he’ll put it
like, “Let’s use each other.” I suppose what happens in the future just comes
down to who can seize more pawns—him or the Blue Squares.
Izaya wasn’t aware of Mikado Ryuugamine’s “change” yet, so he didn’t
consider the matter much deeper than that.
The thing that doesn’t make sense to me is Shizu. Why didn’t he fight back?
Why didn’t he just strike back at the Awakusu-kai men chasing after him…?
When he was on the run from the police, he threw vending machines and cars at
them. What, did he learn from being arrested? I doubt it! Well…in any case, it’s
irritating. It’s impossible that Shizu could have grown as a person. Anyway, I
should get started on the next move…
At that point, Izaya’s phone vibrated.
He glanced down at it, expecting it would be Shiki from the Awakusu-kai
again—but the number on the screen was unfamiliar.
“…”
Cautiously, he decided to answer the call.
The voice on the other end was also unfamiliar to him.
“Ah, hello, hello! Is this Izaya Orihara I have the pleasure of addressing?!”
It was the voice of an amiable middle-aged man.
Despite his suspicion, Izaya decided to respond. “Yes…speaking.”
“Ah, excellent! I was hoping to voice my opinion on something!”
“Opinion?”
“Well, it’s quite a problem. Thanks to your meddling, throwing that Shizuo
Heiwajima monster into the Awakusu-kai, my plans have gone a bit awry. If
Akane Awakusu and Shizuo Heiwajima hadn’t made contact, everything would
have gone fine. Thanks to your little ‘prank’ on Heiwajima, I’m out quite a bit of
money.”
“…Who are you?”
“Oh, pardon me! I most certainly didn’t place this call for the purpose of
criticizing you! I’m really not worthy of naming myself, I’m afraid, but as a
means of getting closer, I’d like to voice my opinion…and impertinent as it is, to
ask a favor…”
“Just tell me your name,” Izaya demanded, striding through the crowd. But
the man on the other end of the line still wouldn’t introduce himself.
“As for my opinion… Well, it’s really more like a warning… The thing is,
you’ve got a bit too big of a profile.”
“Huh? Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“No, I’m saying that you stand out in a crowd. That well-defined fashion
sense of yours makes you stick out from others. In a good way! You see, in my
line of work, my ability to determine these things is an asset. But in your case, I
don’t think mingling with the crowd is an effective means of hiding.”
“…”
A trickle ran through Izaya’s brain, a sense that something was wrong.
“And as for the favor…”
The man on the other end paused.
“For just a while, would you mind taking a nap? In the hospital.”
He heard the voice from both sides.

The next instant, something thudded into his body.
“So you were poking around, trying to get dirt on me, I understand. Even
using that young couple. Look, it’s kind of embarrassing, so I want you to stop.”
That sense of the voice coming from both sides only lasted for an instant—it
was back to being audible only through the phone speaker.
“Children should be children. Play in your own yard—stay in Ikebukuro.
Otherwise, you never know when you might get hurt!”
Izaya slowly came to a halt.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t twist it in, so I doubt it’ll be fatal.”
He looked down and saw the color red.
“If you’ll forgive my audacity, consider that a warning.”
The moment he realized the red color was his own blood flowing, Izaya
finally spoke.
“Shit… Got too cocky.”
With a faint smile, he crumpled to the ground.

A passerby noted the trail of blood spots behind him and screamed.
Through his fading wits, Izaya heard the man’s voice coming through the
phone.
* * *
“Oh, and I forgot. It’s probably not necessary to say…but my name is Jinnai
Yodogiri. A pleasure to make your acquaintance…”
Then he hung up, and then Izaya heard only the unrest of the crowd around
him.
Oh…damn.
Gotta…call Namie…
He picked up the cell phone—but that caused his wound to open further.
Izaya passed out, far from Ikebukuro, and wound up in the hospital.
He had no idea his name would be national news by the very next day…
“By the way, was there ever a connection between Jinnai Yodogiri and the
Awakusu-kai?”
“Hmm? That talent agency boss who went missing? Now that you mention
it…I think something may have happened with that…or not. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, Shiki said that I should tell him if I see the guy.”
“Mr. Shiki knows many people, after all. Oh, maybe it’s got something to do
with Ruri Hijiribe.”
A black market doctor and dullahan were chatting as they watched the movie
Vampire Ninja Carmilla Saizou on Daioh TV late at night.
By normal standards, this was about as abnormal and extraordinary a couple
as could be imagined, but here they were lounging on the couch in the living
room, enjoying a normal, lazy evening at home.
Not long ago, Shiki got in touch, letting her know that things had calmed
down, and they didn’t need her services as bodyguard for now.
She got a larger reward than they had agreed upon, probably for saving
Akane, so Celty was in a very good mood that night.
Mikado wasn’t hurt that bad after all, and Anri turned out just fine—this is
great.
We went through a lot today, but it all ended up working out in the end.
From what Shiki said, it sounds like they caught the kidnappers, so it’ll be
easier to walk around in the open, too.
…Oh, right.
The movie ended, they chatted some more, and then Celty decided to bring
something up.
“By the way, Shinra.”
“What is it?”
“Um…thanks.”
Shinra looked mystified, so she shyly typed out, “When they tossed that
flashbang on the street today…you tried to shield me from the blast, didn’t you?”
“…I don’t remember that.”
“Don’t be shy,” she chided him, as a means to hide her own shyness. “Say,
want to go on a vacation tomorrow?”
“Huh?”
“I turned Shooter into a carriage for the first time in ages today, and it
occurred to me…you and I could easily sit in there together. So I thought we
could go and drive around the shores of some distant lake. Though I don’t know
if drive is the right word for a horse-drawn carriage…”
“Celty…!”
He made a tearful attempt to embrace her, but she fended him off and typed
another suggestion.
“However, this will be a vacation. You can’t wear your lab coat.”
“What! No way! I’m certain I’ve said before that my coat is meant to contrast
with your…”
She covered his mouth before he could say any more nonsense and typed up
another message in the PDA.
“I’ll compromise and meet you halfway.”
She hesitated, then continued.
“Maybe I’ll wear something you want…the kinds you write about in your
journal.”
That night, a nearly delirious Shinra almost fell over the veranda of the
apartment—but that’s a story for another time.
While Celty the monster made plans to go on a vacation and escape her boring,
everyday life, a boy who was nothing if not human was saying good-bye to his
ordinary life, in a much different sense.
After Aoba and his friends left, Mikado stared up at the night sky and
muttered to himself, “So…no going back.”
He felt something burning in the pit of his stomach, there in the factory.
I’m surprised I don’t regret it more.
I’m going to take them back. The Dollars from that night, one year ago… The
real Dollars…
I’ll return the Dollars to the way they should be, all on my own. Then I can
hold my head up high…and face Sonohara and Masaomi again.
He knew that this was nothing but an excuse he was making to himself.
In truth, his stabbing of the other boy’s hand had nothing to do with Masaomi
and Anri. It was just feeding his own ego, deep down within himself.
The realization made him sick to his stomach.
I’m sorry, Masaomi. I didn’t heed your warning not to act as one of the
Dollars.
That warning had placed a limit around Mikado’s actions for the day.
And for breaking that warning, he apologized, over and over, to his friend
Masaomi—not realizing that it had come instead through the deceit of Izaya.
Mikado paid his regrets, again and again, to his unseen friend.
But he did not know what the name Blue Squares really signified.
All Mikado knew was the simple fact that they had once fought with
Masaomi’s gang.
And without realizing what his new team once did to Masaomi and his
girlfriend—Mikado Ryuugamine willingly sank into the depths of hell.
Like an insect. Like a beast.
Without even realizing where he was headed.
The boy’s youth silently began to writhe.

AFTERWORD
*Vorona’s knowledge on various subjects was written with the help of

dictionaries, reference books, encyclopedias, and so on. However, if there are
any mistakes, the responsibility for those rests solely in this book; you may
consider Vorona to have incorrectly memorized them.
So anyway, hello, I’m Ryohgo Narita. Thank you for picking up this book!
This most recent story was told in two parts, but in a sense, you could think
of this as the beginning for a certain character. Yet it’s going to be several
months of story time until that pays off, so the next volume will be more of a
short story collection: May 5! A combination of epilogues on this story’s events
and totally unrelated asides, like the chatter you might hear on the streets after a
big incident.
“Shocker! Mika and Seiji’s syrupy date, threatened by the wicked sister’s
shadow!”
“Shizuo shines with the ladies.”
“The people of the Awakusu family.”
“Celty and Shinra’s romantic getaway.”
…Plus some glimpses at the smaller characters like Yuuhei and the twins,
perhaps. These are just my current plans and subject to change. Whatever comes
out next, I hope you will enjoy it.
And now…I have an announcement.

You may have seen this in various marketing materials already, but just in
case you’re the type to rush in, buy the book, and read it without paying further
attention, I will make the grand announcement now.
Drumroll please…
THE DURARARA!! SERIES IS GETTING A TELEVISED ANIMATED

SHOW!
Heh-heh-heh…fwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!
It’s been over a year since this idea was first floated behind the scenes. Every
time I saw people saying stuff like, “DRRR cannot possibly be animated,” I
thought to myself, Fwa-ha-ha… You’ve underestimated the times, my sweet
child! How many times did I have to fight the urge to post the news on my
website by reminding myself about the NDA? Thinking about it now, that was
very childish of me; I should be grateful to the NDA. I think that’s the fourth
time I’ve made that joke now.
So it was over a year ago that an animation company first brought me this
lovely offer—but as you might guess, there were marketing strategies and
various budgetary concerns that held back the announcement until now. I
certainly can’t run to my website and flippantly type, “Gonna get an anime,
yahoo-za!” so the whole time, I felt like the barber who saw that the king had
donkey ears—except my life wasn’t at risk. The fact that I get to enjoy this
feeling for the second time in my life is due to so many people, most important
of whom are you readers. Thank you all!
At any rate, given how truth and rumors swirl in equal measure online, I
couldn’t make a big fuss by saying, “Oh, this is BS” or “Hey, you! Where’d you
get this top secret info that even I didn’t know?!” Thankfully, that all ends today!
Now it’s open season on announcing news! First thing is, ==CENSORED==
…Pardon me. It seems the voice cast, network, and airing times are still a
secret.
I’m sorry, dear readers, that I must leave you in the fog, so to speak, but there
is one piece of information I can reveal to you now, a tangible morsel to digest.
Beginning with director Takahiro Omori, the series layout, music, character
design, and all other main creative duties will be handled by the same staff that
did Baccano! The Brain’s Base studio will also return to do the animation!
So whether you enjoyed the Baccano! anime or haven’t seen it yet, please
look forward to the upcoming Durarara!! animation!
Also, in the July issue of the monthly G Fantasy magazine, there will begin a
DRRR manga drawn by Akiyo Satorigi. Again, if you’re interested, please stop
by a bookstore and check that out! I haven’t seen the finished version yet, but
my excitement is high ever since seeing the ten-page prelude. I’ll be eager to see
that as a fellow reader.
The world of Durarara!! continues to expand; I hope you’ll stay along for
the ride!
*The following is the usual list of acknowledgments.

Papio. To managing editor Suzuki and the rest of the editorial office, especially
Mr. Miki, who served as the model for a character, and Messrs. Kawamoto,
Takabayashi, and Kurosaki.
To the authors of those works I used for in-jokes, sorry again. I hope to repeat
the transgressions in the future.
To my family who do so much for me in so many ways, my friends, fellow
authors, and illustrators.
To the souvenir shop Sankaido in Kamakura, for assisting me when I
purchased the kabutowari I depicted Chikage Rokujou using. (I hope to
introduce more weapons in the future!)
To Director Omori and the rest of the anime staff, and Akiyo Satorigi and
Editor Kuma for the manga adaptation.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, for providing such wonderful illustrations and design,
despite being busy with his Yozakura Quartet series.
Thank you all so very, very, very much!
June 2009 — “While rereading the School Heaven Paradoxia manga by Beruno
Mikawa”
Ryohgo Narita
newsletter.
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RYOHGO NARITA

coincidental.
DURARARA!!
Yen On
New York, NY 10104
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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.)
ISBNs: 978-0-316-43968-8 (paperback)

978-0-316-47428-3 (ebook)
E3-20170620-JV-PC
I’ve written about the city’s holidays in a number of books before this.
Today, I’m going to change tacks and talk about human holidays.
A day of rest for a person is meant in a literal sense: to rest one’s body.
But in practice, it doesn’t work out that way.
During a holiday, people actually go out of their way to travel, to celebrate to
the point of exhaustion, to throw themselves into their interests or otherwise
expend their physical stamina.
Do you have personal experience with this?
You do, don’t you?
You don’t?
Fine. I lose.
I apologize.
I’m sorry.
I was ignorant of people.
I made assumptions about people.
Forgive me…! Forgive me!
……I suppose that’s enough apologizing for now. I’ll now continue speaking
to those of you who answered my question in the affirmative.
It’s possible that those who use their holidays to tire themselves out are the
ones who seek the extraordinary. While it might break from the dictionary
definition of the word, a temporary break from the everyday schedule could be
considered a form of “rest” for this type of person.
It’s not resting the body.
It’s not resting the mind.
It’s not the body or the mind that relaxes…but the entire “state” of everyday
repetition.
By doing this, one is able to enjoy the flavor of ordinary life when it returns.
You know how it works.
It’s like taking a sip of water to cleanse the palate when eating good food.
So what do those who lead extraordinary lives do for their day off?
Do urban legends such as the Black Rider even have holidays?
It’s tough to answer.
Does someone who always eats extremely rich food take a holiday by
drinking water, or do they chug even richer soy sauce instead? That was an
example—don’t try that at home, or you’ll regret it.
You’ll…you know…die.
Perhaps those who truly submerge themselves in the extraordinary simply
surpass that level and have a certain kind of death wish instead.
Do those folks actually have holidays, or is every day a holiday for them?
We can only learn the truth by asking them.
But the city itself does not differentiate between their ordinary or
extraordinary lives, between work and holidays.
Ultimately, it’s human beings who view these things and judge them.
The city does not differentiate between its humans. It simply envelops all our
actions.
If only it knew that, like soy sauce, it’s dangerous to drink too much.
But I suppose that a city’s stomach is much stronger than a person would
imagine.
—Excerpt from the preface of Shinichi Tsukumoya, author of Media

Wax’s Ikebukuro travel guide, Ikebukuro Strikes Back 3
Extraordinary α Hospitalization Polka
May 5, Tohoku region, hospital
“It’s time for your inspection, Mr. Orihara!” said the young nurse.
The pale hospital room smelled of a mix of chemicals and just a bit of
something sweet—either flowers or fruit.
Given that this was a private room, the smell had to be from a gift to
whatever patient was next door.
It was with that suspicion in mind that Izaya Orihara’s mind rose into
wakefulness.
Oh, right. I’m in a hospital, he realized, looking at the unfamiliar woman in
the room with him.
“What time is it, ma’am?”
“Let’s see—it’s nearly nine o’clock at night. Hang on, I’ll switch your drip
feed.”
She promptly rolled back the blanket and the sleeve of his gown, checked the
status of the needle in his arm, and then switched out the bag of liquid.
Suddenly, Izaya was aware of a strong pain in his stomach. He squinted,
holding his breath against the sensation.
Finally, his wits were sharp again.
He recalled exactly what had happened to put him in this situation.
It had happened twenty-four hours earlier. Someone had stabbed him, and
he’d collapsed on the street in a city in northern Japan. And now here he was,
waking up in a hospital bed.
It was his third inspection. Or possibly the fourth.
The police had come before dawn, he recalled. Izaya remembered talking to
the detectives, as he watched the nurse go about her business.
The detectives had asked him all sorts of questions, but he firmly maintained
that something had bumped into him, hard, and then his stomach was bleeding.
They asked him for more personal details, but the first greeting they’d given him
was “Mr. Orihara,” so he knew they were probably at least aware of his address
already, among other things.
What started as a solitary journey for enjoyment had ended with a stabbing at
the hands of some lunatic, he told the detectives.
“Please, officers, find whoever did this. If not for my sake, then for the peace
of mind of the local residents,” he pleaded with a smile, though even he had to
admit that the act was a bit much.
Izaya Orihara knew that his attacker was not just “some guy,” but a man
named Jinnai Yodogiri. The man had told him as much on the phone, right
before the attack.
But Izaya didn’t tell the detectives that.
He wanted to avoid revealing their connection and making things any bigger
than they already were. Plus, he knew the police were unlikely to actually catch
the man.
He could have made up some kind of description to tell the police, but Izaya
didn’t know if the shopping area had security cameras and where they might
have been or if there were witnesses to the attack—any of which could expose
holes in his story.
Any careless lie at this point could come back to bite him, if it were proven
false.
Could be too late for that. Izaya smirked to himself, recalling the way the
officers had looked at him. Those weren’t gazes of sympathy for an attack victim.
They were the searching gazes of hunters. I should assume that they already
spotted the knife I keep in the hidden pocket of my coat.
The police didn’t mention it at all, but if they wanted to, they could haul him
in for possession of a weapon. He was the victim in this case, but to the local
police, he was also a suspicious outsider who might be up to no good.
I should get out of here overnight.
On the very first inspection, he heard about the condition of his wounds.
Miraculously, there was hardly any damage to his interior organs. He had no way
of knowing whether that had been Yodogiri’s intention or not.
Great, guess I’ll have to owe Shinra a favor again, he thought, snorting as he
envisioned the face of his friend, a black market doctor. And you can never be
certain what he’ll do, either…
Just then, the nurse finished up her task. “You’re all done. And looking pretty
healthy, if you ask me, so it might not be too long before you’re discharged,” she
said with a grin.
He returned it out of habit. “That’s too bad. I was just thinking that this
hospital is so comfortable, I wouldn’t mind staying longer.”
“Are you imagining that flattery will get you something? Listen, you’re a
young man, but even still, this is quite a healthy recovery. You’re practically
ready to walk out the day after you got stabbed.”
“All thanks to the doctors and nurses here,” Izaya said. He wore a smile, but
underneath it, darkness lurked.
Yes, the pain was a part of that, but more pressing was the image of a certain
man’s face, which the nurse’s words had put into his head.
The thing is, I know a monster who can take a direct stab from a knife and
only suffer a fraction of an inch cut, he thought, envisioning a man in a
bartender’s outfit.
Izaya turned to the nurse and asked, “Do you suppose the newspapers and TV
stations are talking about me getting attacked?”
“Hmm… Now that you mention it, I think TV King ran a segment on you in
their Scooped! Morning Star program. They even mentioned your name. Why do
you ask?”
“…Ah. I see. No, I just didn’t want my friends to worry.”
TV King, huh? That’s a local affiliate of the Daioh TV network.
And the show she mentioned was a news program that Daioh TV ran
nationally. Assuming that word of the attack had reached Tokyo by now, one
concern occurred to Izaya:
If the incident was aired as part of this morning’s news…
That’s about enough time for the quick-acting types to start reaching this
hospital here.
May 6, 2:00 AM
The hospital was surprisingly quiet after dark.

Izaya silently waited in his bed.
Here we go. Will someone show up? Or will my guess be wrong?
He recalled all the bad karma he’d left behind up until the moment he was
stabbed.
He’d fed the pair of Russians info and attempted to use them to eliminate two
monsters who represented obstacles to him. He’d set up that animal in the
bartender’s suit to run up against the Awakusu-kai and forced the girl who had
fused with the cursed blade to exit the stage.
While these spontaneous plots moved along, he flapped his wings like a bat,
hovering between yakuza groups like the Awakusu-kai and the Asuki-gumi. It
was possible that his manipulation of the Awakusu head’s granddaughter had
been exposed, too.
In addition to these things, an info broker tended to earn malice through his
job. He had dirt on so many people that he couldn’t begin to guess their number.
In essence, Izaya created nothing.
The information agents that made their business by dealing with the police or
criminal groups were typically barkers for cabaret clubs or bar bouncers. The
line of work was a suitable side gig for those who had an ear close to stories on
the street—managers who swept up runaway girls, hostesses at nightclubs, and
so on.
But Izaya was different. He made connections with those “part-time brokers”
and occasionally made use of their services so that he possessed an information
network that spread throughout the city like a spiderweb.
When useful information washed into his web, he found a way to profit from
it. He could manipulate the mood of the city itself.
He didn’t create anything.
He just found a way to make money.
Izaya understood what he was doing was deplorable, that he traded in rumors
and stories and begged for cash in response.
But more importantly, he knew that even more deplorable types—who would
happily fork over the money for that information for a chance to screw others
over—were as numerous in society as grains of sand on a beach.
It was his personal business, but it was not the point of his life.
The point of Izaya Orihara’s life was to love humanity—in a way that only he
could manage or understand.
So, who’s going to show up?

He couldn’t help but grin, sitting in absolute silence, the hospital room lit
only by the faint glow of the dimmed hallway lights and the stars through the
window.
If it’s him, he might have seen me on the news and run here on his own two
feet, Izaya thought, his smile curling into a snarl at the thought of the bartender-
vested monster. Maybe this time he’ll finally get the long prison sentence he
deserves for rioting in a hospital… As long as I survive the incident, that is.
If not him, maybe Anri Sonohara. At this point, she might actually be able to
carve me up into pieces.
What if it’s someone less expected, like Masaomi Kida or Namie Yagiri? Or
perhaps those Russians.
And I can’t count out the possibility of an Awakusu hitman…
Maybe no one shows up at all. I wouldn’t mind. I could celebrate my own
good fortune.
Sitting in his hospital bed, Izaya was full to the brim with excited
expectation, like a child thinking about tomorrow’s school field trip.
The wound on his midriff throbbed with each anticipatory pulse, but by this
point, even the pain was just a bit of spice to heighten the sensations of the
moment.
An hour later, when the first inklings of sleep finally began to creep into
Izaya’s brain, a fresh sound vibrated his eardrums.
Here we go.
This was not the pacing of the nurse on the night shift, but the careful, quiet
steps of someone trying to hide their presence.
Not quiet enough, though. The sound echoed with a rhythm that Izaya’s ears
found pleasing.
I wonder who it is. I doubt it’s him—he wouldn’t bother trying to sneak. And
the Russians wouldn’t be sloppy enough to make any sound at all.
It was probably either an Awakusu-kai member or Masaomi, Izaya thought,
right as the door to his room opened.
A shadow slid into the room.

“…?”
A young woman, her expression dark and foreboding.
But in contrast to her gloomy features, she glared at Izaya’s starlit face with
searing intent.
“I finally…found you…”
The note in her voice was complex: possibly hatred, possibly fierce joy at
finding a fated rival.
“Uhhhh,” Izaya replied, totally baffled.

Ordinary A: Rendezvous Bolero
May 5, morning, Shinjuku
“…So, he never came back,” the woman muttered as she watched the pot bubble
away.
Through the rippling air above the pot, her hair shone, long and black.
Namie Yagiri stood in an apartment bordering Shinjuku’s central park,
thinking about the absent owner of the residence…
But the moment only lasted a few seconds.
“This stew turned out better than I expected. If he’s not going to come back, I
should take it to Seiji instead.”
She tasted the broth of the dish. Namie’s harsh expression softened and
reddened a bit as she thought of herself and her lover Seiji hunched over the hot
pot.
If judged solely on appearances, she would seem to be a woman with a
childish side for her age.
But that was only if you didn’t know the truth: that she was thinking about
her brother.
—And that she wasn’t thinking of familial love, but the carnal, lusty type
instead.
Namie turned off the stove and reached for the TV remote.
She sat down on the sofa with graceful ease, stretching her legs and
inadvertently exuding feminine beauty into the otherwise empty room.
On the TV, the morning news programs were just starting up.
What’s with this? The TV in here is way nicer than the one in his other
apartment.
She proceeded to glare lazily around the interior of the room. While she
might have been acting like she owned the place, as a matter of fact, she’d only
been there for fifty hours.
Ordinarily, she worked as an assistant to an info broker, out of an apartment
located in a different building in Shinjuku. Now that office was empty, though,
due to present circumstances.
The info broker took out this apartment as a refuge in case a certain man who
wore a bartending outfit came after him—and now he was even hiding from
Namie, apparently.
He was supposed to contact her at night, and even that hadn’t happened.
“He can be surprisingly sloppy about certain things. Perhaps that bartender
boy caught him and beat him to death,” she muttered as she flipped through the
channels. She stopped when it landed on a horoscope segment that she usually
watched. Her expression went lustful as she imagined her brother’s face.
The next instant, a familiar name came over the TV speakers.
“A citizen from Tokyo named Izaya Orihara was traveling alone when he
suddenly collapsed, bleeding from his abdomen…”
—?!
An abrupt shock to her senses from an unexpected source.
Izaya…Orihara?!
Did she mishear, or was it a different person by the same name?
Her mind suddenly engaged and active, Namie listened closely to the
newscaster.
“…the street of a shopping area near the train station. Witnesses claim they
saw Mr. Orihara fall to the ground, bleeding. The victim is currently receiving
treatment at a local hospital, where police say he had lacerations matching those
of stab wounds. They believe it was a random attack by a passerby. As Mr.
Orihara recovers, we will wait for more detailed information…”
“Whoaaa…”
The chyron on the screen said, “Injured: Izaya Orihara.” There was no photo
to identify him, but it seemed pretty certain that the news report was about the
very man whom she worked for. Even the kanji for his name were the same, and
it was a strange enough name that all doubt was removed.
Still, the knowledge that her boss’s name was all over the news didn’t
provoke any reaction other than pale cheeks.
He got stabbed.
She changed the channel. The other networks were all discussing some
celebrity’s love life or airing morning anime, so it didn’t seem like a major
national story.
Well, if they take it as just some squabble between thugs, it wouldn’t be
treated like a huge deal… And I guess that’s not far off the truth.
Izaya had plenty of personal baggage. Namie was well aware of that after
working for him all this time.
She wasn’t particularly inclined to get involved in his personal business, but
her employer getting into trouble wasn’t a desirable outcome, either, so she tried
to keep herself aware of information that might end up affecting her.
Still, there were so many possible attackers she could think of, the fact that he
was stabbed didn’t seem all that notable.
“…”
Namie’s number was placed in his cell phone as a “pizza place,” so she
wasn’t worried about the police calling her out of the blue based on that. Would
they even bother to track down the individual numbers unless it turned into a
murder case? Or did the police regularly go to those lengths for aggravated
assault?
Oh… Does this mean really bad news for him?
Namie spontaneously wondered if what was a simple assault today might
escalate into a murder attempt within the next few days. Now that the incident
was news, and he was reported as being taken to a nearby hospital—what if that
boy dressed as a bartender saw the report? What if some other person in an
antagonistic position saw it?
Realizing that her employer’s life might be in grave danger, Namie
murmured…
“Well, in any case…I suppose I’m off work for the next few days.”
She stood up, apparently satisfied with just that knowledge and nothing else.
Namie shut off the gas and put a lid on the pot that was still more than half
full, her boss’s face already banished to the realm of the subconscious.
In fact, it might not even have been in the subconscious—everything,
including any concern for his life or death, might as well have vanished from her
brain entirely.
“Seiji…”
She looked out the window blissfully.

…As if she saw her beloved little brother somewhere in the night skyline.
May 6, midday, Ikebukuro, in front of an apartment building
There was a kind of shadowed, downcast beauty to the girl’s face.

Her black hair shone in the sun, and her features had a whiff of foreignness to
them. Not in the sense of being from a country overseas, but of something
inhuman, like a painting.
Strangest of all was a large scar that ran around her neck. It looked like a
surgical scar, as if to suggest that her head had once been severed and reattached.
When one stood next to her, the sight was jarring enough to make one
wonder if this was some fantasy realm, rather than the real world. No doubt there
were some people who had been enraptured by her upon their first viewing.
However…
“Morning, Seiji!”
The bubbly, excited voice that escaped from her lips totally undid any effect
her appearance created. It was the voice of someone without any troubles
whatsoever, someone who believed that the entire world was in her corner.
Answering her call from the entrance of the apartment building, smiling
briefly, was a young man. “Morning, Mika.”
Seiji was dressed in his own clothes, not a school uniform, but one look at his
face was enough to identify him as a high school student.
As for Mika, she looked young but often gave off an older appearance due to
her otherworldly features. As long as she avoided speaking, that is.
“Where are we off to today? I’ll go anywhere if it’s with you!”
Innocent words. Childish voice.
It was the kind of silly, bubbly thing that people said when they just started
going out, but as a matter of fact, Mika and Seiji had been a couple for over a
year at this point. When they first met, she would speak to him in polite forms of
speech, but at Seiji’s request, she now took a closer, more natural tone of voice
that was appropriate for their intimacy.
There was love, hope, and the rock-solid conviction of their relationship in
her eyes. She looked as though she had just met the man of her dreams minutes
ago.
By contrast, he was totally calm and collected and easily shrugged off her
passionate gaze.
“Let’s see… Wanna go catch a movie or something?”
Seiji gave her a weak grin and placed his hand on her shoulder.
May 5, midday, café
The café located in the basement of the major electronics wholesale store exuded
elegance. It often found itself host to meetings after work or lengthy, relaxed
visits from friends and lovers.
A corner of the stately café buzzed with the excited voices of teenage girls.
“And as soon as he put his hand on her shoulder, Miss Harima just grabbed
onto his and squeezed! And he said, ‘Hey, it’s hard to walk like this,’ but his face
sure wasn’t complaining! It’s incredible how they never get tired of each other.”
“…Heat…” [They’re so in love.] The gloomy-looking girl spoke to her
glasses-wearing partner, who was all amped up. Aside from the difference in
attitude, hairstyle, and the glasses, they looked completely identical.
Sitting across from the twins and listening intently was Namie, dressed in a
business skirt suit.
“…”
She was silent as the twins described the events as excitedly as if they were
their own personal experiences. Overwhelmingly silent.
“…Miss Namie?” asked the girl with the glasses, noticing something strange
in her attitude.
There was nothing adding up to an expression on Namie’s face. But her eyes
were full of enough freezing force to stop anyone else in their tracks—enough to
cause a trickle of sweat down the bubbly girl’s back at least.
“What’s the matter, Miss Namie?”
“Nothing. Please continue, Kururi Orihara and Mairu Orihara.”
“Um…when you use our full names like that, it sounds a bit…intimidating.”
“…Danger…” [I’m scared.]
The girls tensed and crept toward each other, sensing something swirling
within the woman sitting across from them. The twin with the glasses—Mairu—
decided to dispel the cold touch of fear by putting on a formal smile and
continuing her report.
“After that, they went to the Metropolitan movie theater, where they’re
watching Vampire Ninja Carmilla Saizou’s Beginning now! Or perhaps it’s over
already?”
“…A bit…” [Ten minutes left.]
“Ah,” Namie murmured, lifting her coffee to her lips. “Thank you for all your
observations and reports. Here is a token of my appreciation.”
She slid a card over the table without emotion. It was a bank cash card.
“That shouldn’t leave any traces behind, but I can’t guarantee it’s one
hundred percent safe, so I recommend that you withdraw the entire balance and
destroy it. The pin number is zero one six four. You’ll find three hundred
thousand yen, as we agreed upon.”
“I’ve meant to ask,” Mairu piped up apologetically, “do you really mean to
give us all that money?”
“Of course. Why? Do you have some suspicions?” Namie replied, baffled at
the idea. Even the questioning tilt of her head was captiviating—but the cold
nature of her face froze the spines of anyone who saw it.
“It just seems like a lot of money for watching what your brother does and
telling you…”
“That is silly. For one thing, understanding more about Seiji is so valuable
that it cannot be measured in currency. I merely arrived at the sum by calculating
the amount of time that you watched him and converting what Izaya Orihara
paid me during that period. It is not worth your concern.”
The sisters leaned in and whispered to one another.
“Sounds like Iza is paying Miss Namie a hefty hourly wage.”
“…Test…struggles…” [Maybe since it’s his first time hiring someone, he
didn’t know a reasonable rate.]
Namie was close enough to hear what they said, but she gave no reaction
whatsoever. She merely said, “I happen to think that I offer value greater than
what he pays me. Watching over your capricious family is far tougher work than
I ever imagined.”
They replied, “Oh, you mean that someone stabbed him?”
She paused and then, seeming to realize something, asked the twins, “Have
you…heard about what happened to Izaya?”
“…Station…morning…heard…” [The police called this morning to tell us.]
“Mom and Dad are both overseas for work, so the fuzz came to us first. I told
them, ‘He can rub some spit in the wound and be back on his feet in no time!’
Then the lady on the phone yelled at me for talking about my own family like
that.”
Kururi admonished, “…Annoyance…” [Of course she did.]
But there was no pain or worry in her face about the fact that their brother
was stabbed. Perhaps he really didn’t mean that much to them.
For her part, Namie wasn’t interested in her employer’s family bonds, so she
immediately switched topics. “Well, there’s one thing I’d like to confirm about
what you just reported.”
“What’s that? Just to clarify, my report contains subjective opinions, but no
embellishment!” Mairu stated.
“What does Seiji…normally call her?”
“Huh?”
The twins looked at each other, not understanding the question. So Mairu
gave her an off-the-cuff answer.
Without thinking, unfortunately.
“Umm, normally, he just refers to her as Mika. Usually, Miss Harima talks all
polite with other people, in a way that gets kind of weird, but lately, she’s been
way more frank and blunt when she talks to him. According to another
upperclassman we asked, they just started doing that as a mark of celebration for
reaching a year together, so—” Mairu blabbed, until she was cut off by a strange
sound.
Krakl.
With a dry crunch, the coffee cup fell from Namie’s hand. It bounced off her
knees and fell to the ground. Fortunately, she had finished the liquid, so nothing
splashed out onto her clothes or the floor. But Kururi and Mairu were more
focused on her hand.
Within her fingers was the snapped-off handle of the cup.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am! Are you all right?” stammered an employee, who
rushed over at once. He assumed that something was faulty with the cup and that
it had shattered on its own.
“…I’m fine. Nothing to worry about,” Namie said, still cold. She gave the
apologizing man the broken piece and sent him away, then lifted her cup of
water.
Again, it was an elegant action, but Kururi and Mairu didn’t fail to notice one
crucial detail.
There were no cracks in the cup. She had broken off the ceramic handle with
nothing but the strength of her fingers.
“Um, Miss Namie?”
“…Mystery…?” [What is it?]
The girls thought they sensed the cloudy presence of hatred in the air before
them, and they pulled away slightly.
But Namie just looked past them, off into the distance at something,
seemingly oblivious to them, and mumbled to herself.
“…by my name…”
“Huh?”
“…”
The words she then repeated were so obvious and self-apparent to the twins
that they would have been funny if not for the powerful essence of madness
behind them.
“Seiji’s never even…called me…by my name…”
It was at that point that the twins noticed that her voice was full of both sheer
murder and bottomless jealousy.
Both in levels that were far beyond the ability of the ordinary mind to
comprehend.
Thirty minutes later, theater lobby
Allow me to explain!
Carmilla Saizou is a vampire ninja!
He is the son of a vampire father and human mother,
an agent of darkness with mastery over the ancient
skills of the shinobi!
Despite his hatred for the vampire blood that runs
in his veins, he prowls the shadows and fights the
dark side of New Tokyo to preserve its peace!
In the first two movies, Saizou saved first New
Tokyo, then Edo, and in this third movie, he’s making
his second trip through time—to medieval Romania!
There, he’ll meet his father in his old human-
hating days…as well as a brand-new enemy.
After a deadly battle that spans space and time,
Saizou will find his own truth…
Seiji Yagiri looked up from the movie pamphlet often handed out with tickets
in Japan and asked the girl next to him, “How was it?”
“It was sooo exciting! I got to sit next to you the whole time!” Mika Harima
bubbled, winding her wrist around Seiji’s arm.
“That wasn’t what I meant.” Exasperated, he turned to Mika and gave her a
thin smile.
But his smile wasn’t a reaction to the words she’d just said.
He was smiling in response to the smile that her sculpted face reminded him
of.
Seiji Yagiri was a man who lived in love.

He would take on a tank with his bare hands for the woman he loved. If he
needed to tear out his own heart to keep her alive, he would do it without
questioning (but only if he truly needed to).
Yet the target of this love was not the innocent but ominous girl clinging to
his arm.
Technically, it was just her face.
What Seiji loved was the model face, the head that rested atop the body of
Mika Harima. If, say, the woman at the ticket counter of the theater happened to
have that same identical face, Seiji would just as quickly move on to adore her
instead.
Was that really love?
Some might agree, if you claimed that you only loved sculpted heads.
But setting aside any deeper definitions of what love was, Seiji’s individual
case was a little bit more complex than just being infatuated with a woman’s
physical appearance.
He did not judge people entirely by outward looks. If a woman came along
who was even more beautiful than Mika, it would not change his mind in any
way.
It was through a great number of twists and turns, following a life driven mad
by a particular woman’s head, that Seiji was in his current relationship with
Mika Harima.
And until the moment that he found the woman’s real head, Seiji Yagiri
would continue his pretend love.
He did it because looking at Mika Harima’s face kept him from forgetting the
real woman.
He believed that was love.
Mika Harima was a woman who lived in love.

And what she loved most of all about it was the concept of herself being in
love.
So her partner’s concerns were none of her own. She wouldn’t think twice
about breaking into her partner’s house for the sake of living out her love. She
wouldn’t think twice about planting a hidden bug in her beloved boyfriend’s
apartment.
Even if Seiji fell in love with another woman, she wouldn’t hate him for it.
Even if Seiji hurled hurtful names at her, she wouldn’t despise him for it.
She would still love him, because her love was the most important thing in
the world to her.
Her love was far, far, far more important than even the feelings of Seiji, the
subject of that love.
So she would continue to love Seiji Yagiri—from the bottom of her pure-
black heart.
Once, he had confessed his feelings to her: “I do not love you.”
She could still hear the words in her mind, clear as day.
“But as long as you’re around, I won’t forget my love and dedication for her.
Therefore, I accept your love. At least, until the day I get her back…”
And then he had embraced her.
Had done it willingly.
That was enough.
That was all the reason she needed to cherish Seiji Yagiri.
He accepts me. He accepts my love.
And so, she thought of the one that he truly loved through her.
The true owner of her face.
When she and Seiji found her, she would break that face into pieces right
before his eyes and devour its every drop of blood, its every strand of hair. Then
Seiji’s love would truly be hers.
He might be furious. He might kill her.
She understood that. But it was an entirely trivial detail.
Mika Harima’s thoughts on the matter were thorough and unblemished.
She had faith.
She believed that this feeling, which an ordinary person might consider
insane, was actually the thing called “love.”
As for the “real owner” of the face that featured so heavily in this boy and
girl’s love—well, it was not quite as mundane as one might think.
For the owner of the face was just the face itself.
It was a woman’s severed head that still lived on today, even after being
separated from its body.
She was not human.

She was a type of fairy commonly known as a dullahan, found in Scotland
and Ireland—a being that visits the homes of those close to death to inform them
And the head that this knight carried was none other than the target of Seiji
Yagiri’s undying love.
A year ago, Seiji stole a test subject from the pharmaceutical company that
his family ran. That subject was the very symbol of beauty that had been his
object of worship from a young age—the dullahan’s head.
After a series of events, he had to eventually give up the head. Instead, he
received the presence of a girl whose face was reconstructed to look just like the
dullahan’s: Mika Harima.
Seiji ended up unable to tell the difference between the two faces—the head
he loved and Mika’s after plastic surgery.
The final blow was a mocking insult that arrived at the moment he realized
his own inability to do so.
“Well, well. Looks like you couldn’t even tell the difference between the real
thing and a counterfeit.”
He couldn’t remember who had said it. Probably someone whom he didn’t
know very well. But those words became shackles that ensnared his love and
tore it to bits.
“I mean, if we’re being honest, that just shows you how real your love for
that head is. Nice work, pal.”
Seiji’s love shattered in that moment.
But he didn’t give up.
What was broken could be rebuilt.
So he let Mika stick around, to ensure that he didn’t forget his love for the
head—to serve as an admonishment toward himself.
Mika Harima was nothing but a conduit for Seiji’s love for the head; she was
but a terminal.
So for the sole purpose of confirming that his love was real, Seiji continued
to play out a pretend relationship with a woman he did not love.
Several minutes later, Ikebukuro
After leaving the theater, the couple decided to wander around the area. They
started walking down Sunshine 60 Street toward Tokyu Hands, apparently
without a specific destination.
Thanks to the extended holiday, the neighborhood was even busier than
usual.
The crowds of a Tokyo metropolitan area took on different hues depending
on the place. It was rare that they could be summed up and described with a
single term, the way people talked about the fashion of Shibuya or the nerds of
Akihabara, but even in Shinjuku and Ikebukuro there were distinct flavors to the
crowds.
Seiji and Mika stood out somewhat from the general crowds here, but the
excitement of the holiday easily hid what distinguished them.
“What did you think of the time paradox in Saizou?”
“Good question. It’s the same thing I thought about the second movie; it
didn’t look like the future was changed that much, so what if it wasn’t really the
past he went into, but a parallel timeline? One that was close enough for Saizou
to learn about his father’s past… That was my takeaway. What did you think,
Seiji?”
“Pretty much what you just said.”
“Really?! Yay!” Mika giggled.
Without fanfare, he noted, “When I see stuff with monsters or vampires, I
can’t help but think of it,” referring to something highly relevant to the two of
them.
“…You mean the head?”
“Yeah.”
Seiji didn’t hesitate to bring up the topic, even out in public like this. He
turned to face the girl walking next to him.
Mika Harima was no simpleminded fool. Seiji understood that.
His first impression of her personality was that of a stupid stalker who
overrode people and never listened to them. But once they started going out, he
realized that this was merely one crazy side of her and that she was also very
cunning and intelligent.
Still, there were many mysteries about her.
Why me?
He had to wonder.
Yes, he had saved her and her friend from some thugs about a year ago. But
he’d heard that even before that, she’d fallen in love with him at first sight
during tests.
However. However.
This love at first sight, the gratitude of his help—whatever “fate” she might
feel about their connection—were they all really worth risking anything and
everything to make good on?
He had once split Mika’s head open. He had tried to kill her.
And yet Mika Harima was still madly in love with Seiji Yagiri. She had put
irreversible fake scars around her neck (albeit largely through coercion) and
went under the knife to replace the face that she’d been given by her parents. She
didn’t regret any of this.
That was why it was so hard for Seiji to understand. If asked whether he
could risk his life for love, he would answer yes. But he’d never had a broken
arm or been in a situation with fatal consequences. Looking back, he thought the
closest he’d ever been might be that moment when he picked a fight with the
man in the bartender’s outfit, but he’d been so worked up that he didn’t have
time to worry about his safety.
Could he, for example, continue to uphold his love through terrible torture?
He believed he could, but there was no way to know the truth without actually
experiencing it.
But he bet that Mika could probably keep loving him, even through torture.
He just had a feeling.
Why?
If Seiji was a total narcissist, he might reach the conclusion that he was just
that irresistible. Or if he fell in love with her, too, that doubt might never arise. If
their relationship was half-hearted, he would grow afraid of her love.
Yet, to him, she was nothing but a conduit. So when viewed objectively, he
was left with nothing but questions.
What does she see in me?
Seiji had pondered this question many times.

But every time his mind wandered down that path, he eventually remembered
the real head and told himself that this question wasn’t worth worrying about.
Over and over again.
He got so tired of wondering that he just asked Mika outright. Predictably,
she just answered, “Why, because it’s you, of course!”
Now that they were on closer speaking terms, she would just say, “Because
it’s you!” but that didn’t make it any better of an answer.
And today, after more than a year of the same thing, Seiji once again said, “I
know I keep telling you this, but it’s not you who I love.”
“…I know.”
“So why do you love me?”
“Because it’s you, Seiji. I have no other reason.”
Her answer was the same as always. Seiji sighed and decided to move on to a
different subject.
“Sis has been missing for over a year, too… I’m guessing that she knows
where the head is.”
“…Are you worried about her?”
“Huh? Why would I be?”
“I mean, she’s probably on the run from all kinds of people… Maybe she’s in
danger,” Mika suggested, surprisingly thoughtful for once.
Seiji just grimaced and said, “She’s not that helpless. She’s tough—and evil.”
He didn’t seem to want to get any further into the topic, as he cracked his neck
and looked around them. “Let’s get some lunch.”
The street was packed with a variety of fast-food options, cafés, and coffee
shops, as well as Taiwanese food and ramen down cramped side streets. Seiji
patted Mika on top of the head and asked, “You in the mood for anything?”
“I’ll eat anything you like, Seiji!”
This, too, was an utterly typical exchange.
I feel I read a passage in a book once that said men didn’t like women who
were too passive. Not that I really care. I’ll accept the head for whatever
personality it has, assuming it can actually talk.
Anyone else would have found that statement creepy, but Seiji merely
followed his gut like always and picked out a direction for the meal.
“Maybe we should get some sushi for once.”
They headed for Russia Sushi, right next to the bowling alley.
Along the way, Seiji’s eyes were drawn to a particular spot.

“…Hmm?”
He realized that a familiar face had just passed before his eyes.
“Ryuugamine. Is that you, Ryuugamine?”
“Huh?” replied a surprised boy with a youthful face. He glanced at Seiji and
Mika and then smiled. “Ohh, Yagiri and Harima. Out on a date?”
“Yeah… Hey, what happened to your face?”
Their schoolmate at Raira Academy, Mikado Ryuugamine, was walking
through the crowd with bandages and bruises all over his face.
“Oh, this? Nothing much… Just fell down the stairs at my apartment.”
Mikado laughed. Seiji sensed something amiss but judged from the smile on the
other boy’s face that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer anyway, so he
decided to play along.
“Yikes. Well…be careful.”
“Thanks,” Mikado replied, still smiling benignly. “It’s hard to believe that it’s
been over a year already, huh?”
“Hmm? Oh…yeah.”
Seiji understood what he was referring to. A year ago, an incident had arisen
having to do with the head, and Seiji had caused a great deal of trouble for
Mikado. Technically, it was his sister who had put Mikado in danger—but Seiji
decided to apologize for his part in whatever his past actions had brought about.
“Listen…I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Hey, I didn’t do anything. That was the Dollars as a whole.”
“I see.”
“And you and Mika are part of the Dollars now, so there’s nothing to feel
guilty about.”
…?
That was when Seiji recognized what felt off.
Mikado almost never brings up the topic of the Dollars on his own.
The Dollars were a street gang that existed in Ikebukuro, repping the
mysterious color of “nothing at all.” Seiji knew that the other boy was a member
of the gang. And based on the way Mikado acted and the places he found
himself after the incident, Seiji knew that he was more than just a rank-and-file
member.
But Seiji had no interest in questioning him and finding out those details. He
wanted only to pursue his love. And while he still felt guilty toward the Dollars
and Mikado, it didn’t seem like learning those details was going to get him any
closer to his desire.
Since then, they’d simply treated each other like classmates. Yes, there had
been that strange hot-pot party at the Headless Rider’s apartment they had both
been invited to for some reason, but other than that, they weren’t really friends.
Just plain old classmates.
But even then, or perhaps because of it, Seiji had his misgivings. It was
strange that Mikado had suddenly brought up the topic of the Dollars without
being asked.
“Yeah…I can’t forget what happened that night, either,” Mikado said,
unprompted. Who was he talking to? By the time Seiji decided that it was
probably to Mikado himself, the other boy was already walking off and waving a
hand.
“So long, you two. If you ever need anything, just let me know.”
“Huh? Uh…yeah, sure,” Seiji replied weakly, taken off guard.
“Mikado,” Mika said, picking up Seiji’s slack and removing her smile for
once.
“Huh?”
“Don’t ever make Anri cry, okay?”
“…”
“?”
Mikado fell silent, while Seiji was just confused. The stern look on Mika’s
face melted away, and she giggled and waved. “Well, see you at school, then.”
“Er…right. Later.”
Mikado smiled gently as he left, and then the couple resumed walking to
Russia Sushi.
“…Did you think he was acting weird?” Seiji asked casually.

Mika nodded without batting an eye. “Yeah. He didn’t seem like the usual
Ryuugamine.”
“And his face was all messed up. Wonder what happened,” Seiji added,
turning back to look in Mikado’s direction.
Mika took him by the hand and started pulling him toward the sushi place.
“Well, it’s nothing we need to worry ourselves with! Shall we go?”
“Huh…? Oh, yeah, sure.”
If anything weird happens, I guess I can ask him about it at school, Seiji
decided and followed Mika away from Sunshine 60 Street.
But there was just a whiff of strangeness about the activeness with which
Mika was leading the way, too.
From the shadows, a lone woman watched the couple.

“…Seiji…”
Namie gazed at her little brother’s back with an expression of ecstasy in her
eyes. She was so relieved to see him looking hale and hearty that her body was
undergoing a mild episode of intoxication.
Oh my God… How can he be so cute? And I’m only looking at his backside!
It wasn’t an act; Namie really did feel dazzled by the sight of her brother’s
back. As a matter of fact, there were at least ten other young men of about the
same age and with a similar hairstyle as Seiji in the vicinity—but within a single
second of arriving, tipped off by the twins’ report, Namie had correctly identified
Seiji from the crowd.
Unfortunately, that also meant spotting the girl walking with him.
“…Mika…Harima…,” she murmured, biting the inside of her cheeks. She
used enough force to pierce the flesh just a bit, flooding her mouth with the tang
of blood.
Namie narrowed her eyes, tasting the iron on her tongue.
This…is the taste of that little cat burglar’s blood…
She was imagining the sensation of leaping out and biting Mika on the neck
until her head ripped loose. Biting her own cheek was merely a way to make the
illusion more real.
Namie trailed the couple, driven by an insane love for her brother and furious
hatred at her romantic rival.
“Hey, pretty lady! You doin’ anything right—?”
In the last several minutes, several men had tried to talk to her, either trying
to pick her up or scout her for some modeling job or other.
“…Get lost.”
In each case, Namie’s expression froze, and she turned her lethal gaze on
them with frosty precision. A man might react with hostility when treated with
derision or annoyance, but Namie simply gave them a mechanical, truthful
message of “You’re not wanted here,” without emotion.
In each case, the men instinctually understood. She was a woman who could
kill out of habit, out of practicality, without even wanting to—and they were the
only candidates in target range.
“…Whoops, coming through!”
Fortunately for these men, they were practiced enough to sense when a
woman was trouble and could withdraw instantly to look for safer prey.
The process repeated several times as Namie tracked her brother and the girl,
until she saw them go through the entrance of Russia Sushi—at which point she
turned on her heel and strode back through the crowds down Sunshine 60 Street.
Meanwhile, her eyes burned with the flames of cold madness and lust as hot
and sticky as magma.
Russia Sushi
“Here, you get crab sushi. Eat raw, eat boiled, eat cooked. People good, town
good, flavor good. Crab makes world go round.”
“I think you mean ‘cash.’”
“Not good for young person to talk about cash, cash, cash. You get cashed
out. But if crab goes round, cash goes round. You trade my crab with your boss’s
cash. Round and round, merry-go-round. Russian crab and Japanese cash
exchange. Revolving sushi. Good deal all around.”
“…”
Seiji lifted the boiled crab nigiri to his mouth and shook his head.
Russia Sushi was famous for sticking out, even in Ikebukuro. It featured a
traditional Japanese interior that clashed with Russian decor and was run by a
white chef and a black waiter.
Seiji had been here with Mika several times now and was a loose
acquaintance of the staff, but today was different.
“Who’s that, Simon?”
There was an unfamiliar young white woman among them, dressed in a
traditional Japanese uniform, like Simon. The combination was somehow mildly
erotic, because even to Japanese sensibilities, her looks were undeniably
attractive.
Yet there was an unpleasant pout on that pretty face, and she simply stood
inactive in the corner of the restaurant. She stared into space with murder in her
eyes, ensuring that no customer would have the courage to approach her.
“Oh, young master Yagiri, you like her? Her name Vorona. You take her to
go, A-OK. Then you have girlfriend and mistress, one in each hand. Best to eat
with those you love, makes everything taste good. Plus ten orders of sushi,”
Simon joked, but the woman was not amused.
“…Negative. I am under no obligation to sell my own flesh for the profit of
the company. I request a boycott. But if your words are meant in the spirit of
contract job, I confirm.”
“Ohh, this is famous Japanese sexual harassment trial. Sexual harassment
bad, no sekuhara. If you do sekuhara, then you do hara-kiri. And after cutting
stomach, sushi all fall through hole. Our business go up in flames,” Simon
lamented as he returned to the kitchen.
Seiji continued to stare at the woman he called Vorona, until Mika tugged on
his bicep, her cheeks puffed in comical anger.
“Stop that, Seiji. You’re not supposed to look at other women!”
“Huh? Oh yeah,” he said, but something weighed on his mind.
That’s strange. Usually, she wouldn’t care; she’d just say, “I’m not worried,
because I’m hotter than her, anyway!”
I wonder if it’s because she’s foreign. The head has a foreign face, too…
Maybe it’s a sore spot for her. Probably not worth worrying about, though.
That was about the depth to which Seiji considered the strange, subtle change
in his false girlfriend before he moved on to another thought.
After that, Mika continued the meal in her usual way, teasing and chatting
with Seiji the whole while. She clung to him like a brand-new girlfriend, excited
and naive, while he maintained an aloofness that was cool but never cold.
It was an odd, artificial mixture of personalities, but at a glance, they
appeared to be a fairly close romantic couple.
Later, the woman named Vorona spoke to the chef about something and then
slunk into the back with a nasty look on her face, but by that point, Seiji had
stopped having any interest in her.
“…You know, I think it’s incredible that Yuuhei Hanejima keeps doing these
Carmilla Saizou movies. He’s a big enough star that he doesn’t have to stoop to
doing that silly role, but they say he’s already signed on for another sequel.”
“What’s the next one about? Is that where his rival Dracule Sasuke comes
back to life?”
“That’s the one. Y’know, for being such dumb movies, they get really great
makeup effects from Tenjin Zakuroya. I really liked the way they did up Ruri
Hijiribe in the first one.”
“Aren’t Ruri Hijiribe and Yuuhei Hanejima going out now?”
They continued their meal, engaging in simple watercooler talk.
“Even coming from a guy, I think Yuuhei Hanejima’s a pretty cool, good-
looking actor. I know not everyone loves the pair, but I think they suit each
other.”
“Well, I think you’re way better than Yuuhei Hanejima,” Mika interjected in
typical fashion.
“Mika, your phone’s ringing. Mika, your phone’s ringing.”
Suddenly, a ringtone recording of Seiji’s voice went off somewhere in Mika’s
bag, and she rustled around and pulled her phone out of it.
“…You sure that ringtone isn’t too creepy?”
“You think so? I don’t mind it at all.”
“When did you record me saying that, anyway?” Seiji grumbled. Mika
looked down at the screen.
Unlisted number.
She narrowed her eyes, then pressed the call button anyway and held the
speaker up to her ear.
“…Hello?”
And at the moment she answered the call, her holiday did an about-face.
“…Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Hang on.”

Mika got up from her seat with a smile on her face. “Sorry, Seiji, it’s a call
from a friend. Mind if I go outside to take it?”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said easily. She waved to him, exited the sushi
restaurant, and stood to the side of the door to continue her call.
He watched her go, then glanced down at the sushi menu and thought to
himself, It’s really rare for Mika to take a call from a friend. Is it Sonohara? You
know, that reminds me—I seem to recall Sonohara and Ryuugamine talking
about new cell phones recently.
Speaking of which, I don’t really get their relationship, either. I can tell that
he likes her. I said something about that to him at the end of our first year, but I
don’t know what happened after that, if anything.
Mikado Ryuugamine was very close with a girl named Anri Sonohara, who
was Mika’s friend.
Their relationship was famously visible within the school, but it was hard to
say if they were really lovers or not. They were close enough that a student who
didn’t know them that well might be surprised to hear that they weren’t a couple.
But until recently, there had been another member of their group.
I suppose Ryuugamine would know the reason Kida left school.
Masaomi Kida was Seiji’s schoolmate until he dropped out at the end of the
last school year. They were in separate classes, so they’d hardly ever spoken, but
Seiji knew that Kida hung around with Mikado Ryuugamine and Anri Sonohara
all the time.
Some people said Kida had left due to the shock of the other two hooking up,
but given how vague and uncertain their relationship continued to appear, there
was a lack of evidence to support the rumor, and it soon died away.
But if Mika’s got even a single friend, that would be Sonohara.
And even that girl had hardly ever called Mika on the phone. She recognized
that his relationship with Mika had its own peculiar circumstances and was
considerate enough not to bother Mika about the details—but that only made this
call all the more suspicious.
After a while, the young woman came back into the restaurant. She wore an
awkward smile, winked, and held up her hand sideways in apology.
“Sorry, Seiji… I agreed to help a friend with a problem, and now I’ve got to
go meet them,” she explained, bowing her head.
He leaned toward her and asked, “Are you talking about Sonohara?”
Maybe it’s like that other time when they asked her to teach them how to cook
fish the way she does, he wondered.
Mika beamed and said, “Yeah, that’s right. She’s got some kind of family
thing to talk about. Honestly, I’d prefer to just hang out with you, but…”
“Listen, it’s fine with me. I was thinking that you ought to treasure your
friends a little more, in fact.”
“Aww, really? As long as I have you, Seiji, I don’t need any of my friends.”
“Stop being macabre and just get on with it,” he muttered.
Mika bowed again, smiled wistfully, and then announced, “I’ll see you
tomorrow, then!”
“Yeah.”
She set down three thousand-yen bills on the sushi counter as she headed for
the door.
“Oh, hey, I’ll pay for it. Hey! Wait!” Seiji said, grabbing the bills, but she
either didn’t hear or simply ignored him as she left the building.
He was about to chase after her when the waiter returned with his order. “Hi,
here your food, miso soup with crab.”
Seiji hesitated and then decided to stay and finish his meal alone.
I can give her the money back tomorrow.
Fifteen minutes later, Tokyo, warehouse
“…Hello.”
They were on a block near the national highway route, distant from the
shopping district.
After separating from Seiji, Mika made her way here, to a building labeled
YAGIRI PHARMACEUTICALS, STORAGE WAREHOUSE NO. 3. For being a warehouse,
the building was surprisingly clean and orderly. In fact, from the outside it
looked like nothing else but a research facility. The exterior was a pure white,
with large gateposts like the entrance of a hospital.
But that was only in terms of the exterior. On the inside, it was—sure enough
—a warehouse, with a central storage room the size of a small gymnasium,
surrounded by hallways, a few airtight little rooms, a bathroom, and a small
break room with running water.
The warehouse itself was split into sections with screens, each area
containing a stock of materials—tools or pharmaceutical products—effectively
carving the large room into a bewildering maze.
The warehouse floor appeared little used; spiderwebs gathered in the corners
of the space, and tufts of dust and debris littered the floor. Light from the outside
entered the building through the glass doors at the entrance, but the interior
illumination was not on. Even the location of the switches was a mystery,
creating an eerie gloominess to the structure—a far cry from the clean, updated
image of an advanced pharmaceuticals company.
Near the entrance, Mika leaned forward and called out loudly and sternly,
“Hellooooo?”
Her voice echoed off the hospital-like entrance. Yet there was no reception
area of any kind, just a door to the main storage area farther on and walls of
stacked cardboard boxes and other supplies in between.
Mika took a step inside and glanced down the hallways branching off in
either direction, but there was nothing down them until they ended. It was as
though this building had been completely removed from the normal routine of
the rest of the city.
She headed carefully down one hallway to the open door leading into the
building’s center. But no sooner had she taken a step into the storage area than a
loud clicking sound came from the antechamber behind her.
Mika spun around to see a woman standing before the glass doors that led
into the building, locking them shut.
An elegant woman with long hair hanging down her back. Mika recognized
her at once.
“I’ve been waiting… Or should I say, I’m afraid I’ve been keeping you
waiting…Mika Harima.”
Something in the way she spoke put Mika into a poetic state of mind. If ice
could burn, it would emit the kind of air this woman spoke—such was the
freezing cold burn of Namie’s voice.
“I’m so sorry, my dear. You’ve been enjoying a very, very long dream…of
the kind that can never come true for you.”
Raw, overwhelming emotion was apparent to any who might hear that voice.
But Mika Harima was not frightened. If anything, she glared back at the
woman with a challenge in her eyes.
“It’s been a while…Sister-in-law.”
grikk
grikk
grrk grik
A strange sound emerged from the front room.

Mika recognized it as the sound of Namie’s teeth grinding.
Namie stood before the glass doors. The light from the outside silhouetted
her, shrouding her expression in shadow. Mika couldn’t make it out from where
she stood, but the facial expression made no difference. The teeth grinding was
all the information she needed to understand that the situation was dangerous.
She was probably smiling. On the surface for sure, but it was quite possible
that she was smiling with all her heart, too.
At least, that was how it seemed to Mika.
“One year…”
As a matter of fact, there was indeed a note of bliss in the words that next
came from Namie.
“It’s been one year and one month since Seiji left me. In that time, we’ve
both had dreams to tide us over. I’ve been having a nightmare, and you’ve had
the briefest, most ephemeral dream of fleeting pleasures… Oh, I’m sorry. Ha-ha,
would an ignorant little girl like you even know what the word ephemeral
means?”
“…Don’t assume I’m uneducated.”
“Why, I have a hard time imagining any truly educated, cultured person
forcing their own fantasies onto Seiji and shamelessly picking the lock to his
house,” Namie retorted, her words dripping with sarcasm.
Mika merely chuckled and shot back, “I’m amazed to hear a line like that
from the woman who was going to dump my dead body and then decided to give
me plastic surgery for her own devices the moment she realized I was still alive.”
“…”
“As a matter of fact, I’m quite grateful to you, Sister. Thanks to you giving
me this face, Seiji and I are finally able to be together.”
gcrakk
A louder crunch echoed off the walls this time.

They stood feet apart, but Mika could very nearly feel the boiling loathing of
the other woman on her skin.
Unperturbed, she tilted her head back to offer a condescending challenge:
“After all, as long as I can love Seiji the way I want, I don’t need education or
culture.”
The grinding was no longer audible. Namie unwound her arm from around
her waist and held it up. “Don’t you dare…call me ‘Sister-in-law’ again…”
In her hand, she held a shining silver object—surgical scissors.
“Don’t you dare…say Seiji’s name…without the respect it deserves!” she
screamed and hurled the scissors.
They flew right at Mika’s face like a particularly large dart.

The scissors cut through the air between Mika and Namie with incredible
speed…
And then an ugly sound filled the space.

It was the cell phone call that had summoned Mika Harima to this location.
“Hello?”
As soon as she answered the call in the middle of her lunch at Russia Sushi,
the female voice on the other end had said, “I want to talk to you in private
about Seiji. I’d prefer if he didn’t hear about this. Is that all right?”
The caller gave no name, and Mika did not ask for one. She played along and
responded in a breezy tone so that Seiji could hear.
“…Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Hang on.”
Once she was outside the restaurant, the woman on the other end continued,
“I’m guessing you managed to fool him. You really are despicable, the way you
can just lie to Seiji like that.”
“Says the woman who messed with my face for the express purpose of
deceiving her brother,” Mika replied, fully aware that she was speaking to
Namie.
The other woman didn’t miss a beat or take the bait. “I didn’t lie to Seiji. I
loved him,” she said, a bizarre excuse. “If you want that head the two of you are
looking for…I could give it to you.”
“Huh?”
“However…I want to talk to you in person first.”
A lie.
Anyone who knew Namie even the least bit could instantly understand that
she was lying.
“…Do you really expect me to believe that?”
“Listen, I’m not sure what to do, either… If I hand over the head to a foreign
company, I have a guarantee that the police and Yagiri Pharmaceuticals’ muscle
will protect me…but I want that to be my final resort.”
“…”
“But if I give Seiji the head, it will steal Seiji from me. I want to avoid that. If
there’s anything where our interests are aligned, it’s that, isn’t it? So…I want to
discuss what to do with the head—without Seiji knowing about it.”
Nothing in what Namie said was trustworthy. Nothing.
But Mika took her up on the offer, anyway.
As suggested, she came alone, without informing Seiji.
And now there she was, staring down the oncoming point of a pair of
scissors…
But Mika was neither stupid nor ignorant enough to come without caution
nor preparation.
Still, even though she was neither stupid nor ignorant, her choice of
preparation was a rather odd one for a teenage girl.
Metal twanged awkwardly.

The next moment, the scissors were stuck in the ceiling, and a silver object in
Mika’s right hand reflected what little light there was in the entrance.
“…What’s that?” Namie asked, glancing at the object.
“Isn’t it obvious? You did receive an education, didn’t you?” Mika mocked.
Namie snapped, “Of course I know what it is. The implication of my question
was why you are carrying such a thing.”
Her eyes were narrowed, staring at the tool in Mika’s hand.
It was a trowel—the kind used in gardening, with a pointed tip. At first she’d
thought it was a kitchen knife, based on the size and shine; but no, it was just a
compact hand shovel.
The item was totally out of place in Mika’s outfit, in this location and
situation. And yet she had swung it out of nowhere, deflecting Namie’s scissors
in midair.
Why is she carrying that thing around? the other woman wondered. The
question was only natural.
There were two women in an unoccupied building. One threw a pair of
scissors, and the other deflected them with a hand shovel. The sequence of
events was patently bizarre.
But the girl at the center of this abnormality merely grinned and said, “A part
of me believed.”
“?”
“I knew this was a trap, but a part of me wondered if you might actually have
a good reason to give me the head. I mean, you’re still Seiji’s sister.” Mika
chuckled. But her eyes were not laughing. “Just by being related to Seiji, you
have the gift of my unconditional trust. Isn’t that great? You’re so lucky! You
should be much, much, much more grateful to him! You should be grateful to
God. You should be very, very, very, very grateful that you were fated to be born
in Seiji’s family!”
“Enough jokes. I want to know why you have that trowel,” Namie demanded.
Mika looked up at her and smirked. “Well…if I actually get the head, I’ll
need a shovel, won’t I?”
“…?”
“I’ve been doing lots of tests, assuming that it’s about the size of a
watermelon. I packed meats and bones of different sizes and toughness inside,
did some tests…”
“What are…you talking about…?”
There was no abnormality in the girl’s voice. That was what helped Namie
realize that she wasn’t bluffing or attempting to rattle her with nonsensical
threats.
Mika was speaking the truth, nothing more.
“I figured that an edge this big…would be about the right size. But I can’t
imagine the taste. I can’t imagine how a dullahan’s head will taste.”
A nasty, cold shiver ran down Namie’s back. An ordinary person would have
trouble instantly processing what the girl was saying. But Namie, who had
already ventured into the realm of the abnormal, understood what she meant
within seconds.
Because she knew that if she were in that position, she would do the same.
So, she’s— Yes, I understand now.
“Are you claiming you intend to be one with the head? That’s totally
illogical.”
Mika beamed, satisfied that the other woman understood her plans, and
admitted, “That’s right. But so what? What’s your point?”
“…I have no point.”
Namie Yagiri’s frown softened somewhat. She took a moment to consider
things.
Yes, she would do the same thing if she were in Mika’s position. If Seiji
loved nothing but it, then just getting rid of that head wouldn’t be good enough.
It would only become eternal within his own mind that way.
She had to be the head.
She would attempt to be one with the head, no matter how preposterous and
illogical that might be.
Well…I suppose the difference is that I’d shave the head’s face off and place
it over my face instead.
In fact, Namie was in a position to do exactly that. The reason she wouldn’t
and hadn’t was because she still had pride in her position as his big sister. She
couldn’t abandon all the love she’d built up that way.
It was this understanding of her own nature that made the presence of Mika
Harima unforgivable to Namie.
“I need…to reassess my opinion.”
She reached down to her waist belt, running her fingers over an object
attached to it. Then she pulled it loose from its case, revealing an eerie silhouette
to Mika.
“Before, I just assumed you were a pesky nuisance…but from now on, I’ve
upgraded you to the level of rival.”
In Namie’s hand was an aged medical saw, its blade rusted here and there.
She took a crisp step forward and, like flowing water, accelerated toward
Mika.
With the tool in hand as her weapon and her twisted love for her brother her
source of energy, Namie Yagiri turned into a hunter, closing in on her prey of
Mika Harima.
“But in either case…what I do to you will be the same.”
A few dozen minutes earlier, on a cell phone call
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Dr. Kishitani? It’s been a while.”
“Oh? Ohh, ohh! It has been a while! You’re still alive—should I be
congratulating you on that?”
“…We can skip the pleasantries. I’d like to schedule an emergency surgery—
can you come to Yagiri Warehouse Three? It’s easy to get in there still because
Nebula hasn’t started clearing it out yet.”
“Goodness me, has someone shot you? You certainly sound well enough over
the phone.”
“…Actually, I’d like to request the same operation as last year. I want you to
re-create a woman’s face. It’s the same girl as the last time, so it should be
familiar enough, I believe?”
“Uhh…I’m not going to ask about the circumstances. Is tomorrow night all
right?”
“You can’t do it now?”
“I’m afraid I’m off duty today. I’m not in Tokyo at the moment.”
“Ah…that’s too bad. She was unlucky.”
“…She was?”
“Yes.”
“If you don’t show up, I’ll be forced to carve up her face myself…and I’m
guessing it will be quite painful to her.”
“And I suppose the humane thing for me to do is stop you?”

“It’s too late for you to do anything now, Doctor. But you were never the type
to be concerned with things like this, were you?”
“Well, in this case, that girl happens to be Celty’s cooking teacher.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. If my intent was just killing her, I wouldn’t
bother to call you.”
Namie ended the call there but continued speaking into the dead receiver.
“However, on your express request…I can make sure her tongue and right
hand still work.”
Present moment, warehouse interior
“Knock it off and play nice… I was planning to leave your tongue and right hand
functional…but if you keep darting and sneaking around, I can’t even guarantee
that.”
The piles of wooden crates and cardboard created a simple maze in the
warehouse, like miniature stacks of shipping containers on a dock. Namie
prowled among them with her bone saw, taunting and threatening.
“I’m an amateur at plastic surgery, you know.”
They’d been playing tag for nearly ten minutes already.

Namie was on the prowl, reveling in her hunt like a monster.
After Mika just barely managed to block the first attack with her trowel, she
knocked Namie over and escaped into the warehouse. Amid the gloom of the
mazelike interior, lit only by the outside light coming through the open hallway,
Mika’s voice echoed, “I’m surprised! I would have assumed you were just
coming to kill me!”
“If that were the case, I would have just piped in poison gas the moment you
entered the building.”
The queen of envy strode boldly, steadily, like the guardian of the labyrinth.
In addition to the case for the saw, she had a number of other waist pouches
equipped on her belt.
“I don’t want you to disappear; I want you to regret trying to steal Seiji from
me. Plus, if you go missing…Seiji might take it upon himself to search for you,
won’t he? He’s kindhearted enough to do that… I don’t want him to waste his
time like that, but I also don’t want to show him your dead body, if I can avoid
it,” Namie said, trembling slightly as she envisioned her brother’s face. “He’s
just such a good boy… You can easily imagine him racked with grief over your
death, even if you were just a stopgap solution. And I wouldn’t want you to
confuse that emotion with love.”
“Ah-ha-ha-ha! Well, at least we agree that Seiji’s full of kindness!”
“Don’t you dare…use his name so casually,” Namie menaced, her voice’s
pitch suddenly lowering. She twisted and swung into a reverse roundhouse kick,
aimed at a cardboard box on a steel shelf. The movement was as precise and
deadly as a metal-cutting machine.
The box shot off the other side of the shelf.
There came a short, sharp gasp from close beyond.
Damn, I missed.
Namie wasn’t a master of any particular martial arts, nor did she have the
brute strength of a fellow like Shizuo Heiwajima. But she had been trained in
self-defense methods since a young age—and when her emotions got the best of
her, she could employ her body’s full potential to deliver lethal blows like this
one.
As a matter of fact, she could have easily broken her leg. She’d be feeling the
damage in her muscles and joints tomorrow.
But all that aside, Namie was not the type of fool to let her momentary
opportunity escape.
She instantly launched herself off the floor and through the box-sized hole
she had just created. It was not the superhuman movement of a gymnast or of a
daring thief limboing through laser security, nor was it the sort of thing that an
ordinary human would ever do without some amount of hesitation or
preparation.
Namie could easily have significantly hurt herself in the attempt, but she was
fearless, sliding across the long shelf and popping up to peer around the spot
where she’d knocked off the cardboard box.
She’s not here?!
But she had heard the gasp come from right around this area. It was only
seconds ago.
She glanced down both sides of the makeshift hallway bounded by standing
shelves of materials but found nothing.
Where…?
Her ears, laser focused by the tension of the scene, picked up the sound of
something shifting, scraping. Not from the left, right, front, or rear—but above.
“…!”
She looked up and tried to leap out of the way, but it was too late.
“Hi-yah!”
Mika, who had held her breath and climbed the shelving after that kick to the
cardboard box, leaped onto Namie from above.
“Hi-yah”? Who are you acting cute for, you little bi—?
“Ah!” Namie gasped as she was slammed to the floor. Mika was sitting atop
her chest, practically straddling her. The skin of her thighs beneath the skirt
pressed against the swell of Namie’s breasts, soft flesh against soft flesh.
It would make for an erotic pose—if it weren’t for the hand shovel held
menacingly against Namie’s throat.
“Don’t move now ,” the girl said impishly, staring down at the demon
woman. She prodded her throat with the tip of the trowel.
Namie’s chest rose as she inhaled, rubbing against Mika’s thighs through her
shirt. The girl on top grimaced and noted, “You’re hiding more under those
clothes than I thought, Sister-in-law. Ha-ha!”
But her eyes were not laughing. Or rather, they were—but with a tinge of
madness that was a far cry from ordinary good humor.
“So, how about it? Are you going…to tell me…where to find the head?”
Bit by bit, the end of the spade prodded harder into Namie’s throat. Despite
being in danger of losing her life, her first instinct was to offer praise: “I’m…
impressed. I didn’t think you were physically capable of this.”
“Let’s just say I’ve had experience climbing up apartment building walls and
over fences.”
“Now you’re just bragging about your criminal record. Why don’t you save
your stories for a blog? Then you can get flamed, tell Seiji you’re leaving him,
and kill yourself,” Namie spat mockingly.
Mika merely put more weight on the blade. Bit by bit, bit by bit. But
suddenly, the pressure stopped, and the shovel fell out of her hands.
“Wha…? H-huh…?”
The tool rolled off Namie’s throat to clatter against the floor of the
warehouse.
“Why…can’t I…squeeze…?”
“About time it started working,” Namie grumbled. She held her left hand up
so Mika could see. It was holding an object, likely taken from one of the
pouches on her belt, just like the rusty saw.
“It’s a painless injector I bought from Nebula a while ago. You didn’t feel a
needle, did you? Maybe more like…being grabbed by fingers trying to pry your
leg away?” she taunted, tossing the injector onto the floor.
Powerless to stop itself, Mika’s body toppled and rolled to the left, allowing
the other woman to switch places with her.
“That’s an old muscle relaxer I cooked up years ago. Don’t worry—it won’t
kill you,” Namie said, taking a seated position over Mika’s waist so she could
stare down at the girl. “What a horrid, hateful face you have. That doctor did
good work,” she murmured, stroking Mika’s cheek.
“Ah…”
“Now, out of curiosity…how far have you and Seiji gotten?” Namie asked
suddenly. It was the kind of question a close girlfriend would ask another teen.
Only in this case, there was no curious, excited grin on her face—there was no
smile at all.
“Please…don’t make me say it out loud,” Mika said in embarrassment.
“Have you…kissed yet?”
“…”
Mika merely looked back at Namie and then averted her eyes again.
“…So you have,” the older woman said, taking the girl’s response as
confirmation.
“S-so…so what if I— Mmph?”
Namie leaned closer and covered Mika’s mouth with her own.
“Mm! Mmm?!”
Mika tried to struggle, to flop her limbs around, but her body wouldn’t take
orders. After several seconds that felt like an eternity, Namie slowly pulled back.
Her eyes were cold, full of hatred and disgust.
“I cannot stand the thought…that your face still bears the sensation of kissing
Seiji. I feel sick doing this with another girl, but focusing on the fact that I’m
indirectly kissing him almost puts me in a trance…”
Namie’s mouth curled into a mocking smile, triumphant now that she had
paralyzed her opponent. Then it took on a crueler note, and she pulled a bottle of
medicine from another pouch.
“You know, I could have just carved it off with the bone saw,” she said,
holding up the unlabeled brown bottle, “but instead, I think I’ll use this fast-
acting solution designed to melt human skin off without being fatal. It’s not my
own formula, but it’s just so hard to work with sulfuric acid without killing the
patient, you know?”
“…”
“Whoever made this sure was a sicko…but it seems like the perfect medicine
for your problem, no?”
There was no bluff, no threat in Namie’s eyes—only truth.
Mika instinctually understood that the woman was about to obliterate her
face. But without being able to control her body, there was very little she could
do to protect herself.
“Go on—cower in fear. I want to see that face of yours twist and contort with
terror,” Namie taunted, holding the bottle over the girl’s head. But Mika did not
scream or beg for mercy.
Namie sighed and went for the bottle’s lid. “Do you have any last words
while you’ve still got that face?”
Was that question meant to be an act of mercy or merely a demonstration of
her superior position in the situation?
In either case, that question succeeded in drawing a macabre answer out of

Mika Harima.
“Ephemeral and fleeting are words applied…to the vicissitudes of life. The
rise and inevitable fall of all things.”
“…Huh?” Namie squawked, pausing in surprise.

Mika smiled lazily up at her, so easygoing that it might have been the effect
of the muscle relaxant, and it was in that tone of voice that she continued,
“When we first…came into this building…you asked if I knew the meaning…of
the word ephemeral. Well…I do know it. I know…a whole lot of things…”
“…And? Is that your final statement?”
It was just empty bravado. One last act of futile defiance.
Namie knew it was so. She wanted to believe it was.
She wanted to believe that the rising foreboding within her was nothing more
than a figment of her imagination.
It took only seconds for Mika to shatter this futile hope.
“Kanra…is Izaya Orihara.”
Huh?
For a moment, Namie couldn’t process what she’d just heard.
Kanra was the username that her employer Izaya used to interact with a
specific chat room online.
Why would she mention…?
Then she paused.
Wait…how does this little bitch know Izaya’s username in the first place? And
has she ever…even met Izaya…?
“Tarou…is Ryuugamine.”
“…”
“Setton…is Celty. Saika is Anri. Bacura is Kida. Mai and Kuru are Izaya
Orihara’s sisters, Mairu and Kururi.”
This time, an undeniable chill ran through Namie’s body.
Mika continued, her smile beatific, “And the username that both Izaya
Orihara and you use when manipulating people…is Nakura.”
“Wait…”
“Ryuugamine is the founder of the Dollars… Anri is possessed by a demon
blade named Saika… Kida is the leader of the Yellow Scarves. But I suspect that
none of the three is aware of the others’ secrets.”
Namie wanted to stop her, but now her body wasn’t reacting. Was it instinct?
Curiosity? Or just plain fear?
“The people who tried to hurt Anri yesterday and the day before…are a pair
of Russians…Vorona and Slon…which mean ‘crow’ and ‘elephant,’ respectively.
Izaya Orihara…hired them…”
How does she know this? Namie wondered. This creeping question
eventually made every muscle of her body tense. How much does she know?
“Slon’s connection to Izaya Orihara…is deeper than Vorona’s. So Izaya heard
about the Awakusu-kai’s contract for Slon through him…and tried to entrap
Shizuo Heiwajima. Someone stabbed him last night…and now he’s in the
hospital.”
“…!”
Every single sentence was a definitive blow.
The last one was something Namie herself had only learned this morning—
but none of it should have been in Mika’s personal range of information.
“How…do you know these things?”
“Don’t be silly… It’s the same way…as always. Do you know…how
cheap…and incredibly small bugs can get…nowadays? So I’ve…been placing
them around…all the people who are likely…to get involved with Seiji. And I
know a few things…about hacking…”
“…!”
“Izaya Orihara was the only one…who found the bug right away…but as
long as whomever he talks to on the phone is bugged…I can still hear from
him… Shall I reveal some things that don’t involve you? Like last night, Mikado
took a ballpoint pen, and…”
“Enough. Be quiet.”
Planting bugs…? That can’t be, Namie thought. She was frozen in place.
“What do you think…? I know lots of other things…such as the fact that you
and Izaya…are also connected to the Asuki-gumi…”
“This…this can’t be… You’ve never shown any sign of this before… In fact,
if you always knew all the things you just said…you could have stopped them
from happening!”
“Huh…?”
“The stuff with your friends! When that idiot Izaya led your friend on and
screwed everything up…if you knew all about that—in fact, if you knew about
Saika!—then you could have helped avert all that disaster! That ugly business!
Before Masaomi Kida got hospitalized!”
“…”
Mika looked just a little bit sad. “Anri doesn’t know…that I know,” she said.
“I don’t think she’s aware that I’ve been brushing up on her and Ryuugamine…
the same way that I planted a bug in Seiji’s room.”
“But…that shouldn’t matter…”
“If I told her that I knew everything…and helped her directly…that would
mean getting personally involved in all that mess. It would be one thing if that
was just me. I don’t care about Anri and Ryuugamine being disgusted with me or
getting arrested. But…”
She closed her eyes. That brief pause was all Namie needed to understand
what she meant. Sure enough, the answer was as expected.
“If Seiji learned about Ryuugamine’s secret circumstances, he might claim he
owed that boy a favor and get involved with it… He mustn’t know. Seiji might
seem brusque and aloof at first…but at heart, he’s extremely kind. Just like the
time he saved me and Anri from those thugs…”
“…”
“So…I decided to learn and learn and learn and learn and learn and learn and
learn about everything, even the people around him. So that I could make sure
Seiji doesn’t get involved in any of the danger they pose…”
Mika fell silent. Namie said nothing for a while, too. Silence fell upon the
warehouse, as if time had frozen.
But…
“…I understand how you feel. And I understand now that you are far more
capable than I ever gave you credit for…and far more abnormal,” Namie
murmured, unstopping the glass bottle.
Mika glanced at it, smiled, and then thought, I wonder, if I blow really hard
when she tips over the bottle, will some of the liquid splash back on her? That
way I can take her down with me… Actually, never mind. Seiji would be sad if a
family member was terribly hurt.
Meanwhile, Namie slowly twisted the cap on the bottle. She had no idea what
selfless thoughts were running through Mika’s mind, but even if she did, it
wouldn’t have stopped her hand.
And yet, just at the moment that the glass bottle was about to open, Namie
did stop. Not of her own will—but because a very familiar hand suddenly
reached in to grab her by the wrist.
“…That’s enough, Sister.”
“S…”
The moment she heard the voice, Namie felt that her heart might stop as well.
Her shock might have been from haste, joy, or twisted love—or perhaps all
three.
“Seiji!”
“Seiji?!”
Both women were stunned.
“Why…?”
Why is he here? Mika wondered—but Namie had no doubts whatsoever. She
cast the bottle aside, stood up, and clenched Seiji’s body tight.
“Seiji…oh, Seiji! I’m so glad…I’m so glad you’ll still call me ‘Sister’!”
“Ow, ow— Sis, you’re hurting me,” he said, prying his way loose of the
affection. “Are you all right, Mika?”
“Y-yes…”
“I see. That’s good,” he said simply, then turned to Namie. “Sis…”
“S-Seiji…?”
Gone was the demonic possession from just moments ago. Now Namie gave
him a look like a puppy caught in the rain.
He sighed and muttered, “I don’t know what happened here…but I think you
understand you crossed a line.”
“Um…”
“If you had damaged Mika’s face just now…I would have hated you for it.”
“…!”
Namie knew that. She was prepared to undertake her plan and suffer that
consequence. But as soon as she heard it from his own mouth, she realized how
brittle her determination had been. Terror ran through her.
“H-how long have you been watching…?”
“…Since about the moment you kissed Mika.”
“…!”
If anything, it was Mika who looked shocked at this. The fact that she had
known all the secrets of Mikado and the others had itself been a secret—from
Seiji. And now he had heard all about it. He knew that she had bugged not just
him, but all his friends.
“Ah…aaaah…”
“I saw you two kissing, and I had no idea what was going on, so I kept
watching…and then it seemed like things were getting dangerous, so I stepped in
to put a stop to it,” he said. His expression was dark, just like the warehouse
itself, so he could have been exasperated, or he could have been mad.
Both Mika and Namie looked away uncomfortably. Eventually, Namie broke
the silence to ask, “H-how did you know where we…?”
“I left the sushi place and went home…and I met Sonohara out in front of
that old curio shop that went out of business.”
“Huh…?”
“I asked her, and she said she hadn’t called you. So then I called you and got
your voice mail, and I started getting worried. I called everyone we knew, and
that got me nowhere…so eventually I got desperate and tried the people we met
at that hot-pot party…”
Seiji paused, scratched his cheek, then continued, “Dr. Kishitani said you’d
probably be here…”
Namie suddenly pictured the face of the man she’d talked to no more than an
hour ago.
That…that four-eyed freak! I swear…I’ll get rid of him one day—along with
that Black Rider!
She began to plot how she would get back at the black market doctor, magma
bubbling in her heart—when something covered her raging, quivering lips.
—?!
Her sight went black. It felt like something was touching her cheeks and nose
as well. She heard Mika gasp much louder than before.
…?
Suddenly, light came back—and she saw Seiji’s face, pulling away from hers.
“See? It’s really unpleasant to have something like this happen from a person
who isn’t your lover, right? So you ought to apologize to Mika besides
since way back that’s—to female friends of mine and you’re
always ”
Less than half the words that Seiji was saying were reaching Namie’s brain.
…?!
Because she suddenly realized that the sensation she’d felt was a kiss from
Seiji.
…!—?!—?—!—!—?!
The next thing she knew, Namie Yagiri was running from the spot.
“Huh?! Sister, wait! Where’s the head—?!” Seiji called out after her, but she
was already out of hearing range.
Impulses exploded within her, fiercely pumping from her heart and through
all the muscles of her body.
Like a living engine, Namie Yagiri could not help but sprint at full speed for
the next five minutes, before the muscles collapsed with fatigue at last.
Five minutes later, Ikebukuro
“Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not angry.”
“You are angry.”
Seiji and Mika were arguing as they walked away from the Yagiri
Pharmaceuticals warehouse. Technically, he was the one walking, carrying her
on his back and hoping to hail a taxi while she recovered from the effects of the
drug. But something was wrong with her attitude.
“Fine, fine, you aren’t angry. At least tell me what I did.”
“…You have no idea how a woman feels, Seiji,” she said, turning her head so
that her cheek rested against his shoulder. “I know that you really love my face,
not me…that you love the real head…but that just makes it even more important
if you’re in love not to kiss your own sister…”
Mika never cared how much Seiji spoke to other women, but for some
reason, her way of thinking was different at this moment. Was it because this
was Namie Yagiri, the woman who declared herself an official rival for his love?
…I’m the worst. He learned my secrets; he should be far more angry with me
than the other way around…
She felt disgusted at the way she was taking it all out on him. She buried her
face into the middle of his back, ready to let the tears flow—
“I didn’t.”
“…?”
He openly admitted, “When I grabbed her face and pulled it closer, I put my
fingers in between our mouths, just like this.”
He held out two fingers and laid them sideways over his lips, then craned his
neck and wondered, “For some reason, she assumed it was a real kiss… Based
on the way she raced out of there, it must have really creeped her out. Funny,
given how much she used to hug me…”
Mika’s mouth was hanging open in shock. Eventually, she closed it and
scolded, “Even still…that’s terrible.”
“Really? It is?”
“Yes. This sort of thing doesn’t work on logic,” she said, practically sulking.
“Ha-ha!” He couldn’t help it.
“…What’s so funny?”
“You finally did it.”
“…Did what?” she asked, looking up.
He glanced over his shoulder at her and happily explained, “Normally, you
just go ‘Yeah, yeah!’ and play along with whatever I say. So this is…kinda
fresh.”
“Seiji…”
“Plus, there have been lots of surprises today.”
“…!”
Mika tensed. She’d been placing “spies,” so to speak, on all the people Seiji
knew as a tool to keep him out of danger. It was an action she didn’t want him to
know about, a side of her that even she knew was abnormal.
Mika Harima did not think that sneaking into the home of her beloved and
placing bugs there was abnormal. It most certainly was, but not by her standards.
However, she did understand that spying in this manner on people she did not
love was abnormal by most people’s standards.
Only she knew where her arbitrary, vague boundary between what was
normal and abnormal lay—but what mattered now was that Seiji had learned
about the thing she herself recognized as abnormal.
“Umm…”
She knew she had to say something, but no words came. Normally, she could
talk about her love for him without ever running out of words, but now she
found herself at a loss.
Thankfully, he spoke before she needed to.
“Sorry.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t try to pretend I’m a saint or anything. I’m just nosy. If I find out
someone I know is in trouble, I suppose I might be inclined to stick my nose into
it, too.”
“Seiji…”
Why…? Why is Seiji the one apologizing?
She tried to say something, but once again, Seiji filled the gap.
“But…I’m not going to deny what you did for me, Mika.”
“…”
“I’m starting to lose my grip on what exactly love is. All I know is that I love
the head. I can’t explain it. There’s no logic to it. That’s all I can say. I don’t love
you, and I only care about my sister as my sister—whatever she happens to
feel.”
“Yeah…I know.”
She’d heard that speech many times before. His words were unbearably
direct, but there was no lie in them.
After a while, he continued, “But the one thing I won’t do is deny you. I
might try to stop you, but I won’t deny your thoughts. I respect your love. I just
might not accept it.”
“…!”
“If you caused trouble for someone else out of your love for me…I don’t
have the right to stop you from doing it. I heard you mentioning Ryuugamine’s
name and some weird words like Kanra and Saika or whatever—but I’m not
going to worry about it.”
He doesn’t love me.
“You can tell me the details of that stuff later. Then we can discuss what we
should do. After all, maybe something in all that trouble you don’t want me to
get involved in has a connection to the real head.”
“…Right.”
But he’ll allow me to love him.
She nodded with a smile, and he sighed. “And despite all this selfish stuff I
just said, somehow you still love me. What is it about me, anyway?”
The same question as always. But today, Mika had a different answer than
usual.
“I’ll tell you if you decide to love Mika Harima!”
“…Can I love you as a friend?”

“No, only as a lover.”
“Then I guess I’ll never know the answer.”
Mika could pour all her love into him. That was enough for her.
What she truly cared about wasn’t Seiji’s heart. It was her own love for him.
It was an abnormal girl’s eccentric love.
On the other hand, Seiji’s lack of love for her and his acceptance of that
abnormality also made him a resident of the abnormal side.
For now, Mika felt that her love was blessed and celebrated.
For now.
Seiji shuffled through the town with Mika on his back, the sun making its
slow descent toward the horizon. They continued their nonsensical discussion
while ignoring the curious gazes of onlookers, existing only in their own little
bubble.
“Still can’t move your limbs?”
“Nope.”
“Liar.”
“Yep.”
“Whatever. Guess I missed the chance to ask her…where the head is.”
“I don’t think she even knows anymore.”
“…Maybe. Maybe that Izaya Orihara you mentioned has it. I’ve heard that
name in rumors before—maybe I’ve actually met him somewhere. I could try
finding out where he lives and sneaking inside.”
“There’s no need to do that.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve found three different apartments Izaya Orihara has and snuck inside
them multiple times…but I never saw any heads.”
“…Oh. Well, there goes that option.”
“Yep.”
“Also, I don’t think sneaking into people’s homes is a good idea.”
“Yep.”
“…What would you have done if you found the head before me?”
“Eaten it.”
“What?”
“If I become one with the head, then you’ll love me, won’t you?”
“Probably not. In fact, it’s pretty much impossible in the first place.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’d stop you.”
“By killing me?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew it.”
“…Do you hate me now?”
“Huh? Why would I?”
“Never mind.”
“What about me? Not my face, but Mika Harima? You hate me
now?”
“Not really…”
“Then…you love me?!”
“Not really…”
“Aww…”
“Don’t ‘aww’ me.”
“Okay, I was kidding. That was a fake ‘aww.’”
“Wow, you gave up fast.”
“…”
“…”
They vanished into the bustle of the city, continuing their endless
conversation.
Her love was abnormal.
His sister’s love was abnormal.
But in a way, the boy who bore their love and shrugged it off without batting
an eye might have been the most abnormal of all.
The city of Ikebukuro accepted even this abnormal love triangle, playing the
same tune it always did.
Swallowing them into its grand flow.
In ways slow, gentle, and majestic.
Night, Shinjuku, apartment
In the usual apartment, its owner still absent, Namie took a shower.
“Seiji…”
How many times had she murmured that name today? It had been at least a
hundred times during this shower alone. She pressed her lips and then clutched
her body.
I suppose that counts as the first time I’ve ever kissed a man…
The qualifier kissed a man either meant she was disregarding her prior kiss
with Mika or that she had experienced it with other women in the past—but in
any case, there was nothing in her mind but the image of her beloved brother
now.
She let the cold water wash over her, trying to chill the burning fervor of her
flesh. If she didn’t, her very sense of reason might crumble into ruin.
Seiji…
“Ha-ha.”
Seiji!
“Ha—ha-ha, ah-ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…”
Maniacal laughter spilled out of her mouth as his name repeated and echoed
in her mind.
There was a saying that love lasts three years while marriage gets stale in
three days—but Namie’s love for her brother would never get old.
There was a reason for that, of course; loving her brother was as natural as
breathing for her. No human being grows “tired” of breathing.
And just like breathing, Namie could not survive without loving him.
She would continue living, subsisting on her love for her brother.
She would do so tomorrow and the day after that…until the day Seiji no
longer existed. Perhaps even beyond that day…
“Seiji…”
She exhaled that breath of desire, the heat of it dissipating into the Ikebukuro
night.
Ordinary B: Outcast Concerto
Six years ago, Ikebukuro
What is this?
What am I looking at?
He was a tremendous fighter.

Even among the mobsters that the government euphemistically termed
“violence groups,” he wielded a violence that was second to none.
The rest of society knew him as a strongman, and he believed in that strength.
He had thrived in the shadows of modern society on his might alone; he had
made a living just by being good at fighting. He could be proud of that life.
New-school “intellectual” yakuza, the Anti-Organized Crime Law… These
changes were the wind; they meant nothing to him.
It was important to adapt with the times, but the law of the street still reigned
supreme: If you didn’t command respect and fear, you were done.
All he could do was handle things the way he knew best.
A few years ago, some men who worked for a fellow in his line of work—a
rival of his, some said—were beaten up by a kid in a bakery. He felt pity, mirth,
and anger all at once. It had to be a joke. He didn’t believe the story.
Later, that very kid would don a bartender’s uniform and become a kind of
urban legend—but the man couldn’t have known this at the time.
So he decided to keep fighting, to show his companions how a real man
fought.
Fight, fight, fight.
He sought to gain everything he could see through sheer violence alone.
He knew it was impossible. But he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t stop.
No stopping the endless impulse from within.
The intoxication of violence.
There was no way not to test the technique honed by true experience, the
muscle built and forged.
No way not to display it.
Even if nothing but ruin lay ahead, he was determined to use his strength
exactly as he desired.
Then, one day…

He met a monster.
What the hell is this?
It was not the oft-rumored Headless Rider on a silent motorcycle—but the

more recent phenomenon of a slasher with a katana.
No one knew about it at the time.

They couldn’t have known.
Even now, only a scant few aside from him actually knew the truth.
This slasher was a shape-shifting monster in the truest sense of the word.
A red-eyed monster sprouting katana blades from all over its body, leaping
and darting like no human being could.
He didn’t know the monster’s name.
“Damn you…”
He didn’t know the name of Saika, the cursed blade that loved humanity.
“What the hell are you, dammit?!”
He received no answer.
The tip of the monster held in that red-eyed human’s hands cut through a part
of his body.
And then time passed…
May 4, late night, Tokyo, club
A club pulsing with lascivious sound and light.

It was classified as a “café” for the purposes of the Adult Entertainment
Business Act, but in reality, it was closer to a nightclub or a disco of the previous
era. The proprietors rented out the space every night to a different production
company, hosting events of all kinds.
Tonight, young men and women danced and writhed on the dark floor,
indulging in a variety of pleasures, their bodies and minds stimulated by the
insistent pounding of the bass subwoofer.
Some danced to the beat of the music, some watched the dancers, some
savored their drinks and the tunes, and some let their excitement move them to
call out to members of the opposite sex.
All these activities and more were captured in vivid detail by the pulsing,
strobing light system. But in addition to all the above, there were some people in
this particular club who carried out their own activities, unaffected by the
overwhelming stimuli.
Inside the men’s bathroom, the club’s sound system was muffled.
“Hey…you’re holding, right?”
“I brought the money for it. Okay? Okay?”
Young women in heavy makeup hissed impatiently. They felt no hesitation or
anxiety about being in the men’s room.
Facing them were three tough-looking men. Striking tattoos were visible
around their collars, and while they weren’t any older than their early twenties,
they surrounded the younger girls with an eerie, menacing vibe.
The slimmest of the three men leaned in with a wide smile. “Yeah, yeah.
Don’t worry. We’ve got the stuff.”
Relief flooded over the girls’ faces. But there was little color in their skin,
which was slick with a sheen of messy sweat.
“The problem is, you know how hot this stuff is right now. It’s hard to come
by on the street. You know how it goes, right? So I’m gonna keep the price the
same, but this is all you get,” he said, producing a ziplock plastic bag and
dangling it in front of the girls. There were white pills inside.
One of the girls reacted with despair. “But…that’s only half the usual
amount…”
“Actually, to tell the truth, I was saving this for a VIP customer, but you girls
look really desperate, right? And we hate to sit back and do nothing for cute girls
who really need help.”
“…Fine. Then…I’ll pay double…just gimme the normal bag,” she gasped,
not even able to complete a full sentence in one breath. She was swallowing
quite often, as if desperately thirsty.
One of the men rubbed each of the girls’ cheeks in turn and laughed. “Don’t
worry—we’ll help you find some work to pay it off. Don’t look so gloomy,
sweet cheeks.”
The man with the bag waved it in front of their faces—like dangling a carrot
in front of a horse.
But this carrot was snatched up by a sudden cross breeze.
The sound of flushing water came from one of the stalls.

“?”
The men glanced over at it, annoyed.
It was the stall closest to the door, but it had been empty when they first came
into the bathroom—or so they thought. And unbeknownst to the girls, the men
had two friends on guard outside the bathroom to tell anyone who wasn’t a client
or a friend that the janitor was working inside.
“…”
Perhaps it was one of those guards who used the stall, but they hadn’t noticed
anything before this point. Not even the sound of the door closing.
“C-come on, gimme…,” said one of the girls.
“Shut up,” one of the men commanded, watching the door cautiously.
The next few seconds felt many times longer. Whoever it was, he was
probably police.
If it was just an ordinary visitor to the club who managed to wander in while
the guards weren’t paying attention, he would be easy to threaten or drive off.
But they hadn’t even heard any toilet sounds, nor the unrolling of paper.
Whoever was in there simply flushed the toilet, nothing more.
When the door began to open, that confirmed that whoever was in there
wasn’t flushing to mask the sound of his business. In other words, he had gone
into the stall, went completely silent, then flushed—but why?
They weren’t inclined to think that he merely spat into the bowl. And the
very presence of an unannounced visitor was quite far from the expected for
them. This was their turf, the place they used to peddle an illegal drug—and their
experiences had taught them to be wary of what just happened.
“Hey. Who’s there, huh?” one of the thugs threatened, inching closer to the
open stall door.
It opened silently, and a man emerged.
Contrary to what they had been afraid of, he was not an investigator.
But neither was he just a normal person who had wandered into trouble.
“Hey.”
He was rather odd.
“Look at you young fellas. All worked up, doing your thing.”
A tall man dressed in a flashy suit. Somewhere in his thirties, they gauged.
Not young, but not yet middle-aged, either. He was slender and wiry with a scar
on his face—not a pushover by any means. There were expensive tinted glasses
on his nose and an ornately designed walking stick in his hand; he was like a
memorable character from an old movie, decked out in props.
Despite the walking stick, he had no trouble moving around. He smirked at
them as he made his way lazily out of the stall. The tattooed youngsters glanced
at one another.
“Come on, old man.”
“Listen, we’re doin’ business, so would you kindly fuck off?”
“…”
The last of the trio said nothing. He merely stared at the man’s face, as if
reminded of something.
Meanwhile, the girls were desperate to get the plastic bag they’d been
promised. The one dealer pushed them back, while the other two approached the
man without fear.
“This bathroom’s out of order. Go somewhere else.”
“My, my, kids these days are so hot-blooded! Uh-oh, am I gonna get my front
teeth yanked out for saying that? Actually, you’re probably too young to get that
reference, aren’t you?”
“The hell you talkin’ about, old man?”
“Oh, it’s fine if you don’t know. Read more manga! You could use some
bizarre adventures. Young folks like you shouldn’t be old and cynical like me—
you gotta get your fix of hard work, friendship, and victory!” the man cackled.
He cracked his neck and held out his free hand.
“…?”
The others paused. Held between his fingers was the same little plastic bag
the tattooed men had been taunting the girls with earlier—only this one was
totally empty.
They stared at the man in the tinted glasses, expressions frozen. He smiled
and continued, “Sorry to interrupt your deal. The fellas at the door had some
pretty nasty stuff in here, so I was just flushing it away. You know how it goes
with toxic material—either sterilize it or flush it down the drain. I don’t think
it’ll clog any pipes; I’m assuming it dissolves in water.”
“…You asshole!”
The dealer grabbed the older man’s collar with a powerful hand. He didn’t
even spare a thought for what might have become of those guards at the door.
“Oh, come on now, guys.” There was a brragk sound, like a wet stick
snapping. “You don’t grab the collars of your superiors.”
He moved slowly, smoothly—and somehow, the body of the youngster was
now spinning through the air in a gorgeous arc. The only part of him that clashed
with that pristine curve were the fingers that had been grabbing the collar, now
broken and twisted.
Yet the spinning man didn’t even scream. His body hurtled over and over
until he landed flat on his back.
“?! Gh gh-kh-kh-gk!—?!—?—!”
It was worse than having the breath knocked out of his lungs. He felt like all
the oxygen and carbon dioxide in his blood vessels was being squeezed out as
well.
A sensation that was impossible to distinguish between pain or numbness
stole upon him, starting with the fingertips—and then he felt a shock run through
his Adam’s apple.
The man’s walking stick was pressed against his throat. The hapless
youngster passed out from the pain.
“You’re lucky I’m not trained in martial arts, fella. I’d have broken more than
your fingers,” the older man said. The other two dealers froze in place. Time
seemed to stop still.
“H-hey, what are you doing? Sell us the stuff!” the girls clamored, breaking
the silence. “We have nothing to do with this dumb fight!”
One of the tattooed men bellowed, “Shut up!”
“Aaah!”
He elbowed one of the girls in the face as she tried to snatch the bag over his
shoulder and then turned back to their foe.
“Now that’s no good.” Suddenly, the strange man was right in his face. He
saw his own features, agape with shock, in the reflection from the tinted glasses.
“Wh-whoa—?!”
He tried to swing out on impulse, but there was no technique to the punch,
just arm strength, and his fist hit nothing.
“Your elbows aren’t meant to hit girls. You gotta be gentle with ’em.”
Suddenly, the tattooed man felt a clamp on his ear, pulling him downward.
“Aah…hey…you’re gonna rip…”
The threat of a lost ear jolted his body’s instincts, and he automatically
lowered himself to keep that from happening. The man in the tinted glasses
easily flipped the bruiser’s feet out from under him, forcing him into a painful
kiss with the bathroom floor.
“Bwuh…fuck! Blrgh?!”
Furious, he tried to stand, but to no avail. A foot stomped on the back of his
head, breaking his nose and front teeth and sending him into the land of
unconscious dreams.
His two partners’ fate was sealed in stone now. The final drug dealer had
terror imprinted on his features.
Now I remember.
But his fear was not caused by the violence wrought by the interloper.
Guy with a walking stick, flashy suit, tinted glasses.
He had recalled who this man was and what group he was affiliated with.
That’s him…Akabayashi from the Awakusu-kai!
“W-wait, sir! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry about this!” he wailed, getting down on
hands and knees to beg on the bathroom floor.
“Hey, c’mon, kid. That’s nasty. Don’t put your hands on the bathroom floor,”
Akabayashi said with a chuckle—a strange admonishment from a guy pressing a
man’s face into said floor. “And let me give you a piece of advice: A man
shouldn’t prostrate himself of his own accord. And I ain’t of a mind to accept an
apology that cheap. You got me?”
The prostrate young man felt the sweat on his body go cold. Through
trembling lips, he mumbled, “I’m…I’m s-so sorry! I…I didn’t realize you were
Awakusu at first! I never would have challenged you like that…”
“Listen, you don’t gotta apologize like that. If anything, I was the one who
picked this fight with you.” Akabayashi smirked. Then, for the first time, the
permanent smile weakened a bit. He crouched and muttered, “If you’re gonna
apologize, I’m the wrong person. Right?”
“Huh…?”
Akabayashi picked up the little baggie of drugs and held it in front of the
dealer’s face. “This club has a number of business ties to our operation, you see.
I hate to sound like a stereotype, but I’m obliged to ask: Who said you could
deal this shit on our turf? Hmm? Tell the nice man.”
“Er…well, I…”
“Mmm?” Akabayashi tilted his head curiously, his eyes never leaving the
young man’s face.
“I wasn’t…umm…!”
When he caught sight of Akabayashi’s eyes through the tinted lenses, he felt
every muscle in his body tense up. “I—I—I d-didn’t know this was Awakusu-kai
territory! I s-swear, we’ll pay your share f-from now on…!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha,” Akabayashi laughed mirthlessly. “Oh dear. You really don’t
know anything, do you?”
“H…huh…?”
“Don’t you know the law, kid? Here in Japan, pills like these are illegal. But
as far as I knew, you could be selling little hard candies, so I made sure to have a
friend of mine examine them before I came here.”
He shook his head theatrically and leaned closer to the young man. “And the
thing about the places we run, like right here? We don’t write the laws any
different when it comes to dealin’ this stuff. Got that?”
“Wha…?”
Are you kidding me? Why did I never hear about that?! the young man
thought, stunned.
Akabayashi waggled a finger in his face and tsked. “But even if we did play
that way, you don’t really think we’re the kind of easygoing folk who will accept
an answer like, ‘I’ll pay your percentage off the top, sorry about that,’ do you?”
“Uh…I…”
“So it’s time to choose.”
“Ch…choose?” the young man rasped. He realized that his breathing had
been gradually getting faster and heavier. It was hard to tell what this man was
saying. All he knew was that his fear of the Awakusu-kai was quickly being
rivaled by that of the man before him.
He recalled the knife he had in his pocket. Should he use it or not?
Will it even work? He’s a yakuza. No, I can’t.
It’s not like anyone knows who I am. If I kill him, I can get away.
I can’t. I can’t escape from the yakuza. But what if they don’t find out?
Dammit, why is this happening to me? It’s not supposed to be like this!
Will my knife even work on this guy, anyway?
He probably has a bigger one. Or a gun. I can’t. I can’t.
I can’t. I can’t, I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t…
A cavalcade of thoughts rushed through his brain, but not a single one was
hopeful.
“The thing is, I’m what you’d call a hypocrite. See, since I am in this line of
work, I do plenty of bad stuff—running gambling, setting odds, brokering sales
of crabmeat of suspect origin. But personally, I just can’t stand the drugs. That’s
right—it all comes down to personal likes and dislikes. So feel free to call me a
hypocrite.”
Akabayashi took off the glasses and leaned closer to the young man, who
looked back into those eyes and realized something was wrong.
One of his eyes looks weird… Is it a prosthetic?
It was an odd thing to be preoccupied with at the moment. The information
was meaningless to him.
“Years ago, I was in love with a lady whose old man did her wrong on
account of these drugs. Ever since then, I’ve really, really hated ’em. And the
reason I’m with the Awakusu-kai now is because my likes and dislikes can
actually mean something.”
Akabayashi chuckled dryly—and then abruptly stopped. His smile waned.
“Ah…right. You were going to choose… Which option do you prefer?”
“Um…option?”
“For the Awakusu-kai to tie a bow on you fellas and hand you over to the
cops? Or to simply have both your arms broken?”
! ! !
The youngster’s breathing went so ragged it simply caught in his throat for
several seconds.
The man was going to use him as bait to strike a deal with the police. And if
he said no, his arms would be broken. Given what had just happened to his
partners, he knew better than to assume it was a bluff.
“N-no…no…stop, p-please…I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he blubbered and rubbed
his forehead against the bathroom floor again.
Akabayashi grimaced and shook his head. “For God’s sake, how does a guy
with the guts to get a tattoo whimper and whine like this? You’re a disgrace to
your artist.”
“Th-these are just decals! W-we’re not that tough, sir! I—I play it straight
most of the time! It’s just a little m-money on the side, they said! It wasn’t my
idea! I just did what they said! Please let me go! Please, please!”
“Ha-ha. In that case, you’re a disgrace to whoever made that tattoo sticker…
Well, damn.” Akabayashi chuckled, got up, and snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, some young men in suits entered the bathroom.
“Huh? Wha—?” the dealer babbled.
“If someone’s calling the shots for you, then we need to hear some more
details,” Akabayashi said, waving to the suits. “Take him away. Let Kazamoto
handle the rest.”
“Yessir.” “Right away, Mr. Akabayashi.”
The men in black bowed and got to work. Akabayashi rapped the floor with
his stick and, in rhythm with the beat, said, “The thing is, I’m a bit squeamish
when it comes to interrogation methods.”
All the frightening vocabulary words had an effect. The young man finally
stopped groveling and got to his feet.
I gotta run.
Even a small-time dealer wearing fake tattoos to look tough knew what
would happen if he got taken to the yakuza office. He pulled out his knife and
made a beeline, swinging it around threateningly.
“Hey, shithead!” “Knock it off!” Akabayashi’s subordinates yelled, but the
fleeing man wasn’t listening. The glint of light off the silver blade as it swung
about wildly elicited screams from the girls hiding in the corner of the bathroom.
“Outta my way! You wanna get stabbed?!” Fake Tat screamed, which was
funny, because if he was going to hit anyone swinging the knife around like that,
it was going to be a slash instead.
Akabayashi exhaled.
Not a sigh. Just a brief collecting of breath.
The young man raced straight toward him in the center of the bathroom.
“Outta—”
—my…way?
Something lightly struck the hand swinging the knife around. An object,
something cylindrical, had stretched out from his blind spot and knocked the
blade out of his hand.
The walking stick?
By the time he realized it, the tip of Akabayashi’s cane was already out of
sight again. The man’s body rolled across the floor, and the end of the stick
appeared from a different direction this time.
Although he held the stick like a spear with both hands, there was hardly any
of its length above the left hand, so the young man’s instincts told him that it
wouldn’t reach him. That wasn’t true, of course, but the visual information his
brain received resulted in that fateful illusion.
Akabayashi pushed the other end of the stick with his right hand—a very
simple action—but to his victim’s eyes, it looked like the point of the walking
stick stretched from out of nothing.
“Whua-ffh!”
A scream of surprise and a grunt of shock both issued from his mouth
simultaneously.
The tip of the cane pushed into his throat, crushing the Adam’s apple. He
didn’t feel pain or numbness. The only thing his nerves and brain registered was
something bursting.
His eyeballs instantaneously shuddered into the back of his head, and he
collapsed to the floor like a rag doll.
“Okay, get him outta here,” Akabayashi directed the men in suits, still
smiling easily.
Once they had carried the unconscious dealer out of the bathroom,
Akabayashi turned toward the end of the stalls. “Now, about you girls…”
“Eeek!”
“P-please don’t…”
Until just recently, the girls had been desperate for the drugs, but the brief
scene of violence and resulting conversation had made it quite clear whose
presence they were in. Fear won out over desire, and they were now huddling in
the corner, trembling.
“Listen, don’t shiver and shake like that. Y’see, just an hour or so ago, I had
to make a very pretty Russian lady sad. I’m feelin’ down about upsetting the
female kind right now.” He chuckled, pulling out a pocket handkerchief and
offering it to one of the girls. “Look at that nosebleed. Was that from the elbow?
You all right? You oughta see a doctor.”
“Er, uh…thank you, sir.”
“You really should be quick about it. Need an escort? I mean, you’re lookin’
pretty pale.”
“Er, uh…n-no, I’ll be…fine.”
The girls were shivering, trying to avoid looking into his eyes. They didn’t
understand what he wanted.
“P-please, help, I’ll…I’ll do anything…anything!” one of them pleaded,
ready to cry.
“Aww. Oh dear. Do I really look that scary?” Akabayashi asked self-
deprecatingly. He rapped the floor with the stick. “Don’t you realize how lucky
you are? If I were someone else, you might’ve been sent to an establishment for
grown-up ladies, or perhaps a home-visit service, or a DVD filming studio.”
This only made the girls shiver harder.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to claim you owe me a favor. You
heard me earlier—I’m a hypocrite, right? I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I’m
going to go the extra mile for you.”
In a way, it was an even worse punishment he was proposing.
“I’m going to send you girls back home and take it upon myself to explain to
your fathers and mothers exactly what kind of medication you’ve been taking.”
“…!”
“And the rest is up to you and your families. See? You’ll be in a hospital no
matter what.”
“Oh, and…depending on circumstances, there might be some business

between your families and us.”
Several minutes later, in a taxi
Akabayashi gave his subordinates their orders and left the club alone. Then he
got into a cab, muttering to himself.
“Always leaves a bad aftertaste when you make a girl cry.”
The driver overheard this and decided to meddle. “What’s that? Have a fight
with your lady?”
“Let’s call it that. No punches or anything, but she was quite sad about the
whole thing,” Akabayashi said, shaking his head.
The elderly driver laughed and scolded, “Shouldn’t do that. You gotta be
gentle with women.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying.”
A few minutes later, Akabayashi’s cell phone rang. It played the latest hit
from the singer Ruri Hijiribe.
“Oh, sir! What do you know, it’s your lady friend!”
“Ha-ha-ha…if only,” Akabayashi replied, indulging the driver.
He hit the accept button. “Hello? It’s your buddy.”
“Don’t answer the phone like a creep. It’s me,” said the caller—Akabayashi’s
fellow Awakusu-kai lieutenant, Aozaki.
He’d been involved with the Russian trouble just a few hours ago, so
Akabayashi assumed the call was related. “What is it, Aozaki? Something
happen with our Russian guest?”
“No, it’s not that. You hear about the young miss?”
“You mean how Heiwajima and the Black Rider helped her? I’m guessin’ that
Mikiya’s probably giving her a scolding for running away from home and feelin’
relieved on the inside.”
The “young miss” was Akane Awakusu, the daughter of Mikiya Awakusu,
underboss of the Awakusu-kai, and furthermore, she was granddaughter of
Dougen Awakusu, the head of the organization. She’d run away from home for
the past few days and wound up in quite a bit of trouble, including being
kidnapped by the Russians in question. It was only this evening that they got
word she was safe again.
“No…not quite. Apparently, she’s been acting odd,” Aozaki answered.
“Odd?”
“Well…this is all secondhand, so I don’t know for sure, and it ain’t really my
business to care. But you’ve known her pretty well since she was a little girl,
yeah?”
“I suppose. I’ll ask Mikiya about it tomorrow… Funny that you should be
concerned, though. I thought you hated Mikiya,” Akabayashi teased.
“Don’t give me that shit,” Aozaki growled through the speaker. “Yeah, I’m
not fully on board with Mikiya, but Miss Akane is the old man’s granddaughter.
If anything happens to her, we go to war. Of course I’m concerned.”
“But isn’t that what you want, Aozaki?”
“…I said, don’t give me that shit, you bungling clown,” Aozaki snorted,
clicking his tongue, and hung up.
Akabayashi looked down at his phone, shaking his head.
At that moment, the driver asked, “Is this a good spot for you, sir?”
“Uh, sure. Just up at that corner.”
“You got it.”
Compared with earlier, the driver’s smile was forced and unnatural. He’d
heard enough from that call to recognize Akabayashi’s occupation.
“Sorry I couldn’t give you a longer trip fare. Here, keep the change for your
trouble.”
“Oh! Oh no, sir! I couldn’t take this whole bill!”
“Trust me, it’s fine,” Akabayashi insisted, shoving the ten-thousand-yen bill
into the driver’s hand. He exited the taxi, cracked his neck, and looked up at the
neon-lit night sky of the big city.
“…Things’ve been strange lately.”
The Black Rider.
The return of the slasher.
The rise of the Dollars.
Trouble with Ruri Hijiribe.
Jinnai Yodogiri.
And now this incident with the Russians and Akane.
“Well, there’s always been troubles in any city,” he muttered to himself, then
headed for the apartment where he spent his nights.
But even still, things’ve been strange. It’s like the light and the dark side of
town are bleeding together. Maybe those folks on the bright side are having
trouble keeping to their own.
He looked back up at the sky, realizing that it was pointless to wonder. The
light of the town and the dark of the night mingled, hiding the stars behind the
muddled haze.
Akabayashi gazed at the ambiguity and mumbled, “I don’t like that sky.”
“Bright or dark—make up your damn mind.”

Six years ago
The man who had dyed himself with the color of violence would hurt others
again today.
He felt a glow of ecstasy every time he saw the scars he inflicted on someone
else.
That scar is me.
The blood they shed, the red of their exposed flesh, the sound of their bones
breaking—these are the things that make me as a person.
It was less a statement of pride or ideals than a shallow fantasy, a daydream.
He would fall apart unless he hurt someone.
This self-created illusion acted as a wicked mold of his instincts.
In this city, the scars he left on others were his footprints.
With each act of violence, his glory grew and so did his intoxication.
With no fatigue and no reflection upon the past, as if it were his reason for
living.
Change came to him at last when he took on a certain job.

The owner of a certain business owed a debt, and the man’s organization took
it on.
It wasn’t quite in the midst of the busy shopping district, but it was still land
in the capital.
So the job was quite simple: Seize the land as collateral for the debt.
But things went awry. Somehow, the owner got the money and paid back
what he owed.
A simple story of bad luck, if it had ended right there.
But the business owner, seemingly mad, demanded money from the
organization.
He tried to blackmail them, to threaten them with legal trouble for an illegal
collection scheme.
The owner’s mind was probably not on sound footing at that point.
They decided that he could not be reasoned with and gave the man a new job.
Put the hurt on him.
Nice and clean. Nice and simple.
The owner had a family, too, so if necessary, the man was allowed to involve
them.
Of course, it couldn’t look like the work of the man’s organization, so he had
to make it appear as a robbery and rough them up in a nonfatal way.
On the night of the new moon, the man put on a ski mask and headed for the
business in question.
It was an antique shop in Ikebukuro.
The name: Sonohara-dou.
May 5, morning, home of Mikiya Awakusu
The residence of Mikiya Awakusu, waka-gashira underboss of the Awakusu-kai,

was virtually indistinguishable from any of the other homes in the distant
suburbs of Ikebukuro and gave no indication that its occupants were anything
but normal.
On the contrary, it was the kind of house so pristine that the cynical might be
prompted to claim, “The only people who would live in a house so nice are the
ones who do dirty deeds for dirty money.” In short, it was just a very fancy
house.
Once inside the home, the tottering steps of a young girl rushed to greet him.
“Mr. Akabayashi!”
“Ahh, young miss. It’s nice to see you again.”
In fact, it had been years since he’d popped his head in. In the past, he’d
often come by to visit and spend time with the girl, but now that Akane was
getting on with school, he had bowed out and kept his distance, respecting
Mikiya’s wish to keep the family business a secret from her.
Ultimately, that concerted effort had fallen through, and she had learned the
truth of what her father did for a living. From what Akabayashi heard, it was the
reason she ran away from home, but thankfully, she was back safe and sound
now.
“…I heard you wanted to see me, miss?”
“Yeah!” she said, nodding vigorously. She seemed to be bursting with lively
cheer, but that seemed unnatural for one who had been kidnapped just a day ago.
Normally, he would have gotten the details of the incident from Mikiya at the
office. Instead, it was Mikiya who had approached him.
“My daughter wants to talk to you. Will you come to the house with me?”
“Me? What for?”
“I wish I knew, but she won’t tell me.”
Acting odd indeed, he’d thought, recalling the phone conversation with
Aozaki the night before. Still, Akabayashi wrapped up his afternoon business
early and headed off to see Akane.
Once the little girl saw him in person, she reached over to tug his sleeve, eyes
sparkling. “I have something I want to talk about in private, Mr. Akabayashi.
Can you come to my room?”
“Now, Akane,” Mikiya warned, but the man waved him off.
“Oh, it’s fine, Director. I don’t mind.”
He started off to follow the girl, but this time it was Mikiya who pulled on his
sleeve.
“I trust I don’t need to warn you not to fill her head with nonsense?”
“I know, sir.”
“And keep your hands to yourself.”
“…Mikiya, do you actually know how old your daughter is?” Akabayashi
snorted, shaking his head.
“Ah. Y-yes, of course, sorry. I thought maybe you had intentions of…”
“No, I didn’t. Not in the least, Mikiya.”
“You’re right… I’m sorry. It’s just, I remember when you were looking after
some girl somewhere a few years back. I thought maybe your tastes ran… No,
never mind. Ignore me. You weren’t messing around with that kid, either.”
“No, it’s fine. I get it—I don’t have a wife or even a woman. Some folks
whisper that I’m not a ladies’ man in the first place. Ha-ha,” Akabayashi
chuckled easily and headed for Akane’s room without sign of offense.
When he walked through her door, Akane greeted him with a serious
expression on her face. “Listen…I want you to keep this a secret from my
parents.”
“Of course, I get it,” he said with a smile, crouching down to put her at ease.
She started off innocently enough. “Umm, so…uhh…”
But then it got much worse.
“How can I…get good at killing people?”
Her eyes were innocent, pure, and so serious.

Well, I’ll be damned, Akabayashi thought, feeling a rare cold sweat break out
on his skin.
He sighed—but never let that easy, lazy grin leave his lips.
This is a hell of a lot more than “acting odd.”

Thirty minutes later, in a car
“…So what was it that Akane asked about? She said ‘talk to you later,’ right at
the end. Are you going to see her again today?”
“Oh, it was just a bit of small talk. And a secret, too.”
They were in the backseat of a luxury car on the way to the Awakusu-kai
office. Akabayashi smirked carelessly as usual from the seat next to Mikiya’s.
“…Akabayashi.”
“Really, it was nothing major. Maybe what happened yesterday gave her
some ideas? She said she wants to get stronger. I happen to know someone who
runs a dojo—more like a sports gym—that teaches women and children self-
defense in addition to the usual stuff. I said I’d take her there this afternoon.”
“Oh…I see. Why would she ask you, though?”
“Ha-ha, well, that’s the funny part.” Akabayashi chuckled, pulling out his cell
phone.
“What are you doing…?”
“Do you know how the young miss learned about our work?”
“…No.”
“This thing here.” He showed Mikiya his phone screen, which was displaying
a webpage.
“Ahh…I recognize that.”
It was an Internet encyclopedia—Fuguruma Youki.
The site was a freely editable online encyclopedia in the mold of Wikipedia,
where users congregated to add their own information and build a massive
database. While much of the information was faulty or based on rumors and lies,
these things could be corrected by other users or even the people featured in the
articles themselves.
“I had the younger guys correct a lot of the particularly sensitive bits.”
The site’s article on the Awakusu-kai had all kinds of detailed information on
their operation—even down to the names of principal members—right there in
the open for anyone to read. Mikiya saw his name on the phone screen and
scowled.
“So she could have seen it on her phone? Convenience is making our job
harder now.”
“This is what happens when you give a kid an online-accessible phone
without thinking. But the cat’s out of the bag now, and that ain’t my problem.”
Akabayashi chuckled.
Mikiya glared at him, then down at the phone again, where he saw his
underling’s name on the article as well. It featured simple profiles of the group
members, and his read, “A capable fighter with many legends under his belt.
Along with Aozaki, they are known as the Red Ogre and Blue Ogre of the
Awakusu-kai, respectively.”
“Look at how they puff us up. Basically, the young miss read this nonsense,
and since she knew me from her childhood, she decided to ask me for self-
defense help.”
If Akabayashi wore a permanent, lopsided grin, Mikiya’s face was equally
frozen in a frightening scowl. “Well…better you than Aozaki. But I would have
hoped that Akane would talk to me or her mother first.”
“Ha-ha, she probably just doesn’t want to make you folks worry more than
she already has. She’s a good daughter.”
“My daughter trying to keep me from worrying is the most concerning thing I
can fret over. So…I assume this dojo or sports gym or whatever is a trustworthy
place?”
“Oh yes. It’s a regular old place, no yakuza operation. It’s the one over near
Zoshigaya Cemetery. You know that German fighter, Traugott Geissendorfer?
It’s kind of a worldwide chain that teaches his dojo style…”
The conversation continued on in this manner.

At this point, Akabayashi was not outright lying, but he also wasn’t telling
the entire story. And for his part, he knew that Akane hadn’t told him everything,
either. He chose not to pry into it—but the girl had clearly been partially broken
by someone.
Resigned, Akabayashi decided that what Akane needed right now was to
interact with more people, those who wouldn’t treat her like something exotic
and special. The best option for that was the dojo.
There will be plenty of other girls there, too.
He mulled over the benefits of asking Akane for more information later in the
afternoon versus keeping his distance and observing her more.
Next to him, stone-faced, Mikiya decided to broach a completely different

topic. “You cracked down on some kids pushing last night, didn’t you?”
“Ah, that? I put Kazamoto in charge of it.”
“…Well, it’s turned into a bit of a thing.”
“Pardon?”
Despite all the ups and downs of what happened with his daughter, Mikiya’s
frank, flat delivery betrayed no emotion. “I assumed they had to be working
under some group or other…but nothing. They say it’s just a regular college
club.”
“Club?”
“They’re students at Raira College… Just normal students by most accounts,
but those ones you pulverized all had the same stickers on their necks, right? The
fake tattoos.”
“That’s right, they did,” Akabayashi said, recalling the young men from the
previous night. He’d nearly forgotten the details already.
They had flashy tattoos visible around their throats and collarbones, but even
they admitted that the marks were just removable decals.
“Raira College is actually a fairly prestigious school. Just goes to show, there
are idiots to be found anywhere.”
“I see. So I guess they just cultivated and mixed those pills themselves?
Y’know, there’s something to be said for young entrepreneurship.” Akabayashi
chuckled, shaking his head.
Mikiya noticed that the smile did not extend to his companion’s eyes and
glanced at the cell phone again. “Well, they’re certainly crafty. Everyone in their
operation from the dealers on up communicate only through phones. They
change numbers regularly, so they must be using burners.”
Burners were phones registered under falsified names designed to be used for
short periods of time. It was easy enough to pay a large number of people a small
amount of money (or a bit of debt relief) to sign up for a phone and then collect
the phones for anonymous use. Once the cellular contract ran out or the police
got involved, the phones were unusable, so you just switched to the next
disposable phone. It was a favored tactic for scam artists and others outside the
law.
As a matter of fact, Mikiya and the Awakusu found burners to be handy tools
at times, too. “Kazamoto said he’d run the numbers of the phones past his burner
dealer, but it’s not clear if we’ll be able to track down whoever’s at the center of
this operation. Apparently, they’re all college students, though…”
Mikiya tsked his tongue, his expression still flat. “It’s an ugly time to be
alive. Normal-lookin’ kids, using the Internet or whatever to get into our side of
the business? People talk about the yakuza blending in with regular professionals
—but these kids are just straight-up normal.”
“Good point. If those guys yesterday didn’t have the fake tattoos, they’d just
look like ordinary fellas who happened to be well-built.”
“…By the way, you know about a group of kids called the Dollars?”
“Where’s this comin’ from?” Akabayashi asked, not bothering to mention or
deny his registration as a member of that very group.
“Well, the kids who Kazamoto ‘questioned’ yesterday told us a whole bunch
of stuff…but one of the things they mentioned was that there was some kind of
upper organization that they only talked to on the phone…”
“Apparently, they were founded after the Dollars’ model—only this group
just sells drugs online.”
The same moment, Awakusu-kai headquarters
The Awakusu-kai was an organized crime operation, or what the rest of society
termed a “violence group.” It was a large group, one of the midsized members of
the Medei-gumi Syndicate. No one outside of the gang had a firm grasp on their
total number, but the name itself carried quite a bit of clout within Ikebukuro.
In the depths of the office building that the group used as a headquarters, a
spare room held an overbearing atmosphere, as a person spoke in a gravelly
voice.
“Ahh. There is no problem with that matter.”
The timbre of the voice marked him as a significantly elderly man. But there
was powerful strength to it, as well as a solid menace, like a looming craggy
mountain.
“We have no intention of souring our relationship with you. However, we
cannot handle the matter ourselves, you understand. With reconciliation with the
Asuki-gumi at hand, it would not do to have rumors that we are killing our own.
If he screwed up, that would be one thing, but this is entirely your own request.”
There was no answering voice from within the room; he was apparently
speaking on the phone.
“But…I can promise you that however you wish to settle things with him, the
Awakusu-kai will not take action. If he should meet an unfortunate accident or
turn up missing, that would not weaken our position with the Asuki-gumi.”
He spoke in clear, polite language, neither debasing himself nor patronizing
his conversation partner. It was clinical and businesslike, with no hint of
personal emotion.
“On the other hand, you will not harm anyone else of ours. If anyone else, be
it member of our organization or their relatives, is brought into this—there will
be a reckoning.”
After this there were a few more statements, and the speaker ended his call. A
wrinkled hand set down the receiver gingerly, as if licking at the air.
During the call, he had been perfectly composed and utterly in control, but
his next words were a lament. “Even after decades…I just can’t get used to this
phone thing.”
Hanging lanterns and a little shrine altar decorated the space, making it the
only room in the place, decked out as it was like some kind of securities office,
that looked like the chamber of a traditional yakuza.
Sitting in the back of this head honcho’s office was the speaker, sunk deep
into a rich leather chair. It creaked, releasing some of the suffocating tension in
the room. He leaned back behind his desk—which was simple in design but
clearly built of very fine wood—and gave a toothy grin.
“Funny thing is, most of my teeth are fake by now. Got a couple of bolts
jammed into my pelvis. Wouldn’t that make me a— What’s the thing from the
movies? Cyborg? A robocop? And somehow I don’t know my way around a
machine. God musta made some mistake with me.”
He rubbed the silent phone receiver and addressed the large man standing
near the door. “What about you, Aozaki? You like phones?”
Aozaki and the old man were the only ones in the room. He bowed his head
and rumbled, “If you want me to, boss, I’ll destroy my own cell phone in a
snap.”
It sounded like a joke, but the tone of voice indicated otherwise. The old
man, Dougen Awakusu, just chuckled and shook his head.
“If you don’t call me ‘Chairman,’ you’ll get an earful from our director and
Shiki, too.”
Dougen was in his early sixties, if appearance was any judge. His actual age
was a mystery, but the full white beard did a good job of projecting maturity. It
was well-kept, so he looked more like Santa Claus than some ragged old hermit
from a fairy tale.
The other man, one of the most combative and aggressive of the Awakusu
officers, said politely, “There’s no one around to hear me, boss. So was that call
about the you-know-what?”
“Hmm? Ahh yes. Is that what you’re here to talk about, too?”
“Indeed. I’m surprised that those remnants are still going after him—and
even more surprised that they actually called you directly, boss. Say the word,
and I’ll have them wiped out within a day,” Aozaki said.
His words were rough, but his deference to the boss was unmistakable. He
was an overbearing man by nature, and he often slighted Mikiya, the actual heir
to the group—but he had nothing but deep respect for the Awakusu boss before
him.
“Ha-ha, I’m sure you could. You’re not the Blue Ogre of Awakusu for
nothing.”
“Don’t mention that, please. It makes it sound like I’m just great pals with
that Red Ogre guy.”
“What’s the harm in that? You know you respect Akabayashi’s skill.”
“Oh, he’s trustworthy in a fight, that’s for sure, but it means nothing against a
whole organization. He might have that little group of pet bikers under his wing,
but the man’s not suited for working with a team.”
Aozaki paused, squinted up at the ceiling.
“Which is probably why stuff like this comes up.”
Dougen Awakusu cackled dryly and said, “Perhaps. Those remnants want
nothing more than to kill Akabayashi. Nothing else matters to them.”
“What group are they affiliated with now?”
“You promised to snuff them out in a day without knowing the answer to that
question? Well…I suppose I should have expected that from you.”
Dougen leaned forward off the back of the chair, resting his elbows on the
desk. He tapped the surface with his index finger and smiled cruelly.
“Apparently, a number of them got out of jail recently and decided to start their
own group. It operates under the guise of a small realty office.”
“They never learn.”
“Can you blame them? They’ve still got their suspicions,” Dougen said,
stroking his beard with an eager smile.
“They still think it was Akabayashi who killed their old boss.”
There was a rumor about Akabayashi.

While he was an important officer with the Awakusu-kai, he hadn’t come up
through the organization. In fact, he had originally been a muscle man for a rival
group that had fought with the Awakusu for territory in Ikebukuro.
He wasn’t really just a disposable muscle man used for suicide missions, but
a highly prized all-around weapon for the group. His presence there was
invaluable…
But the group did not last.
The kumicho—the boss of the group—was murdered.

At the same time, the police discovered a large drug-smuggling operation the
group was running and arrested most of them. It was essentially disbanded.
But Akabayashi, one of the most notable of its members, was absent from the
major arrest. And he had been the bodyguard with the kumicho when the murder
happened.
These two facts were enough to plant suspicion in the minds of the men who
got caught. Perhaps he had killed the boss and ratted them out to the cops.
Their suspicions festered and grew, but no evidence supported them.
And now, Akabayashi was a principal member of the Awakusu-kai, their

former rivals. Regardless of suspicions of murder, this was more than enough to
earn the rancor of his former comrades.
But then the Awakusu-kai were brought under the umbrella of the Medei-
gumi, and the remnants of that now-rival gang were totally powerless to do
anything about the matter.
And now, the man in question was known as the Red Ogre of Awakusu.
However, most of the fame behind that moniker stemmed from his past exploits;
since joining the Awakusu, he had been a valuable member but was seen as a
relative moderate among the muscle flexers.
And of course, there were those like Shiki, who saw Akabayashi’s aloof
attitude as a mask to hide his true nature and stayed cautious of the man.
“Most of the ones who handled the drugs are still locked up, but for those who
did manage to get out early, I bet they were sure Akabayashi did it, once they
found out he’s with us now.”
“Normally, when you kill your own, you don’t last long in our world. Where
there’s smoke, you gotta assume there’s fire…and yet you brought him aboard,
boss.”
“I suppose I like to go against the grain. And I wasn’t going to be shy about a
few rumors when there was good money to be made. Somehow, he really gets
around with the younger folks.” Dougen cackled.
“But you just cut down that money tree on the phone right now,” Aozaki
cautioned.
“Perhaps I did.”
“Let us settle our score with Akabayashi.”
That was the request the brand-new group had been making of Dougen
recently.
They were former rivals, fresh out of prison. Normally, this matter would
have been ignored, but from the very start, these fellows seemed suicidally
desperate.
“We don’t intend to start anything with you. But none of us can go to our
deaths knowing that we haven’t avenged our boss. If you cover for him, we’re
prepared to go out in a blaze of glory.”
Ultimately, Dougen ended up giving them his answer, minutes ago: “If you
make it unrelated to our group, through accident or disappearance, we will not
retaliate.”
This wasn’t out of some yakuza tradition of honor or recognizing a wrong
that ought to be made right. It wasn’t out of respect for their desperate gamble to
avenge their slain leader.
To Dougen, it was sheer practicality: Starting a war now would make the
Medei-gumi look bad and lower their standing before making peace with the
Asuki-gumi.
On top of that, men fresh out of prison would naturally be under police
scrutiny. Starting trouble with a desperate gang was a risk for very little reward
—even if they could be crushed “in a day,” as Aozaki promised.
They were no fools. They were men of the night, responsible for building the
darkness of Ikebukuro.
“You see, I can’t betray my men…but I can abandon them.”
Six years ago, Tokyo, near Sonohara-dou
It was supposed to be like any other night.
The job was simple: Act like a robber and rough up a store owner.
He had given up a tender conscience long ago. He never even thought about
guilt anymore.
What possible threat could the owner of an antique curio shop pose?
The man’s arrogance was a symbol of his violence.
He had little interest in money or women. But he didn’t glorify poverty, and
he wasn’t attracted to men. He just loved being a conduit for violence.
“If necessary, involve the wife and kid,” they’d told him, but he wasn’t
particularly interested in doing that. He just wanted to rough up the owner and
be done with it. He’d never been violent against women and children, but it
wasn’t out of some sense of kindness or chivalry—he just found no interest in
doing so, because it wasn’t worth bragging about.
He didn’t know how he started learning how to fight. What was more
important was that he had honed his skill through constant combat and
experience.
He had no interest in humans themselves—they were vivid targets for
exhibiting violence, but little else. His fist was clenched today for the sole
purpose of displaying his strength, to create new scars that would speak of his
existence.
But as he approached Sonohara-dou, he noticed a figure standing in the

street. He had chosen a moonless night, so the only light to illuminate the person
was the flickering streetlamps. He couldn’t really tell who it was.
“Hey…who are you?”
He couldn’t just ignore them and continue on his way.

There was a long silver object in the figure’s hand—a katana.
“…A shock trooper sent to eliminate me? If you think havin’ a sword will
give you the edge, you’re gonna learn a real painful lesson,” the man threatened,
cracking his neck aggressively.
Normally, he would seize the advantage by throwing something before
talking, but on this day, he didn’t. Something about the figure, something eerie,
chilled his instincts.
Once he was within ten steps of the katana’s range—
The blade flickered, like a heat haze in midsummer.

That ripple in the darkness threw off his sense of distance. It felt as if the
figure had approached five steps within a single flicker of the streetlight.
But in fact, there was another part of the scene he felt closing the distance.
The sword…stretched…?!
The blade should have been an ordinary length for a katana, but in the span of
that brief moment, it changed shape, stretching to nearly double the length.
The man knew from experience that while a solid thrust or iai drawing of a
blade could create the illusion of shifting distance, this was not one of those
cases.
The reason he couldn’t understand it was because the truth was that the blade
really did stretch.
The streetlight flickered on again, and he was able to see the figure clearly.
A woman?!
It was a woman wearing indoor clothing—her eyes glowing red like the light
on a police car.
Wait, is that who they talk about…?
Like two red moons shining from her eye sockets.
Gleaming. Blazing.
The slasher…
The next time the light flickered on, his mind reached further depths of
confusion. Somehow there was another katana stretching for him, but from
where her shoulder met her neck, rather than her hand. The tip reached out to
him, desperate to pierce his skin.
—!
He leaped sideways on reflex, evading the two oncoming blades by just the
slimmest of margins. When he recovered his stance and turned back, ready to
fight, his body froze.
What is this?
Blades.
Not just from her shoulder.
What the hell is this?
The silver of the blade was protruding from her limbs, her back, her stomach
—even the ends of her long hair. It wasn’t chaotic growth like wild mushrooms,
but functional and methodical, sprouting from locations like her elbows, such
that the blades were like bits of body armor.
A mechanical puppet, a robot bristling with blades.
Those red glowing eyes had to be made with light bulbs, he imagined. It was
an utterly nonsensical image, but the thing was there. Right in front of him.
It was a monster. The slasher was a monster.
A red-eyed monster sprouting katana blades wherever it wanted on its body,
performing impossible feats.
He didn’t know this monster’s name.
“Dammit…”
He was unfamiliar with Saika, the cursed blade that loved humanity.
“What the hell are you, dammit?!”

There was no reply. The monster clutched in the red-eyed woman’s hand
spurred its wielder’s body onward into a direct leap toward the paralyzed man. It
was the jump of a female lead in a romance movie, leaping into the arms of the
man she loved.
But this sword’s lips did not caress the man’s mouth or his cheek.
He managed to break out of his emergency paralysis and tried to move out of
the way.
But the tip of the sword stretched out even farther…
And split his right eye, directly down the middle.
Present day, Tokyo, empty room
There was an air of abnormality shrouding the shop.

It was an empty building that combined a storefront and living space under
one roof, plopped down in the midst of an ordinary residential area far from the
station and shopping district.
There was a sign out front reading SONOHARA-DOU, but the letters were faded
and missing so that it was nearly impossible to make out any longer. All the
furnishings that identified it as an old antique shop were still there, but the
display cases visible from the outside were full of nothing but piled-up dust.
It was obvious at first sight that the building was abandoned, though the
details of the empty display cases and oddly patterned pillars gave the place a
type of presence that went past strange and right into creepy.
A man stood in front of it, unbothered by this aura, giving the building a
wistful look.
“Five years, and this place still hasn’t sold. Figures.”
After dropping Akane off at his acquaintance’s gym, Akabayashi came to

visit this abandoned store by himself. He wasn’t doing anything in particular—
just staring at the place through his tinted glasses—when he heard a faint voice
nearby.
“…Mr.…Akabayashi?”
“Hmm?” He spun around and saw a girl standing there. She looked shy and
quiet and wore the Raira Academy uniform, along with a pair of glasses. She’d
probably been watching him approach with trepidation before calling out, but the
gangster broke into a grin.
“…Ohh! Is that you, Anri? You’re so much taller now. How long has it
been…? Two years?”
“Yes, it’s nice to see you again… What brings you here?” Anri asked,
bowing. She didn’t seem afraid of the man.
“Oh, I was just in the area. What’s with the uniform? Shouldn’t you be on
break today?”
“I had to show up at school for the class representatives’ meeting… I was just
getting home now.”
“Gotcha. Must be hard having to go to school during your vacation,”
Akabayashi offered with a breezy smile.
“Umm…I really should thank you for what you did.”
“You know, you say that every time we meet, but you really don’t need to.
I’m the one who owes a debt to…to your mother.”
“But…if you hadn’t helped me find a new apartment back then, who knows
what might have happened to me…? I lost my father and mother and had to
leave the house…”
She put on a rare, gentle smile, one of pure gratitude.
Anri Sonohara lost her parents years ago in an incident.

She wound up passed around among her relatives, a time of great upheaval—
and ultimately, they sold off many of the remaining Sonohara-dou items to put
together a fund that would pay for her living costs until she was an adult.
The person who helped deal with this inheritance fund was a man named
Akabayashi, who came to pay his respects at her parents’ funeral. Later, when
she decided to move out on her own and save her relatives the trouble,
Akabayashi was there to help arrange an apartment for her. He claimed that he
owed her parents a favor and helped her with a number of very important things,
all for free. She felt nothing but gratitude toward him.
She bowed, over and over, so Akabayashi scratched his head uncomfortably
and changed the topic.
“So, uh, is that the Raira uniform? You’re in high school already, then.
Wait…second year?”
“Yes, that’s right…”
She bowed yet again, and Akabayashi scratched at his cheek this time.
Suddenly, he recalled things Mikiya had said in the car earlier in the day:
“I don’t know if it’s like a game to them or what, but even in this college club,
the guys at the top are bad news. They believe they’re totally safe from trouble,
even against the real thing like us… They had beef with another gang in the past,
and the fellows in that group got attacked.
“You need to be careful. Don’t hang around with Akane too much. I’ll set it
up so that someone else goes to the dojo tonight to get her.
“In any case, this is very abrupt stuff, so while I’ll spare some protection for
Akane, I don’t have the extra leeway to guard you, too. You’ll have to fend for
yourself.”
Something about what Mikiya said snagged in Akabayashi’s head. He said to

Anri, “I’m curious—I have a question about school fads for you.”
“Y-yes…? Well…I’m really not that up on fads, either…”
“It’s fine. I’ll take whatever you can tell me,” he said and decided to bring up
the name, figuring she wouldn’t know. “Anri, have you ever heard the name
Dollars at school?”
Her breath briefly caught in her throat. He noticed the change and asked,
“You know something, then?”
“N-no…just…that I’ve heard a friend talk about it… But I don’t know any
details.”
“…”
It was painfully obvious that she was lying. Akabayashi wasn’t going to rake
her over the coals for it, but he also wanted more information.
“Ah, I see,” he said and patted her on the shoulder with a smile. “They’re
dangerous folks I hear, so steer clear of them. And if anything happens, you let
me know at once.”
“Oh no… I couldn’t impose on you any further…”
“No, I insist. You know I got a lotta clout around here, right? So call on me
for anything. You got a problem? Just call that number I gave you. On the other
hand…since I’m so well-known, there are folks who don’t like me. So if you
happen to see me around town and don’t have anything to ask, feel free to ignore
me.”
“Uhh…”
Perhaps she didn’t realize what he did for a living; in which case, the girl
probably thought he was acting rather strange. Akabayashi gave her his usual
tilted grin and was about to say something to put her at ease—
When a third party interrupted him.
“Is that you, Sonohara?” said the voice. He spun around to see a young man.
“Oh…Yagiri,” said Anri. It was Seiji Yagiri, the boyfriend of her best friend,
Mika Harima.
The newcomer glanced around the area. “Wait, so…does that mean you’re
done with whatever you were doing with Mika?”
“Huh…?”
She was confused, and now, so was he.
Recognizing that the two were friends, Akabayashi turned his back and
waved to her. “Well, I’ll just be going now. You take care of yourself, hear?”
“Oh…yes! Of course! Thank you!” she replied, still bobbing up and down,
until Akabayashi left the vicinity of Sonohara-dou.
“So who was that?” Seiji asked.
She smiled and said, “That was Mr. Akabayashi. He knew my mother…and
he’s done a lot to help me.”
“What does he do?”
“Umm…I heard he delivers fresh crabs or runs a café or something… I think
he does all kinds of stuff.”
“Huh… Seems like a strange guy…”
Seiji was still curious about Akabayashi, but then he came to his senses and
returned to the topic on his mind.
“Oh, right. So are you saying you weren’t the person who called Mika
earlier?”
“What…?”
Within seconds, Seiji Yagiri realized the truth and headed in a rush for a
certain pharmaceutical company’s warehouse lot.
But that’s another story.
Six years ago
A shock ran through the skin around his right eye.

He could feel that much.
But whatever happened after that was a mystery.
A voice.
“I love you.”
A voice, an overwhelming voice that drowned out everything else,

commanded his brain.
It was coming from around his eye, where he just felt the shock.
Oh, I see.
Understanding was instantaneous.
That katana hit my right eye…
And it was as if the eye itself was screaming in pain.
The voice raced from his eye through the rest of him, shredding his nerves,
his bones, his muscle, his brain.
It was an unstoppable flood of words that threatened to wash his mind away.
It was as if they had form, a solidity like lead that rocketed around inside his
body.
For the first time in his life, he felt fear. He felt his mind and flesh being
devoured from the inside out.
The voice speaking of “love” might erase him entirely. It might alter him, re-
create him as something else.
The man who lived through nothing but violence now felt a bizarre, foreign
fear.
However—amid his fear, he felt a different impulse rising within him.

This, too, was an overwhelming urge that he had never experienced before.
Hey… What the hell is this? Why now? What am I thinking?
But all the while, the voice grew, increasing its pressure.
It grew to hold its own will, flooding his heart with words of love and
and
and
love
love
was all
ve, love, love, lo
ause of love.” “So mu
ust love people.” “Don’t be ridicu
“Don’t talk about who you love, that just
o, no, no! I love all, all, all of humanity equally
“Shut up for a second.”
What do I love? Don’t be ridiculous! It’s everything

love blood splatter.” “I love hard bone.” “It’s love.” “Nice
so I forgive you.” “So you can forgive me, too, okay” “I won’t
all of this.” “Ah!” “The slice of meat during the moment of
ecstasy
I just love the soft and yet hard muscle that rips right apart!” “And
there’s
that hard bone, so smooth and supple, weak yet sharp, tough and
cracking!” “Love
trembling and soft and silky and squishy sticking and sticking and sticking
tight together
as voices echo with cries of love, yes? I’m so jealous I wish I had words of
love to speak but I
don’t so I want you to love me instead I want to be filled but yes oh yes but oh
yes I’m so jealous even dying can be a form of love lust is a powerful form of
love but no you can’t try to narrow love to a definition that’s blasphemy against
the heart there is no definition of love all that you need are those simple words I
love you I love you I love you I love you
“Shut up.”
I love…lo…? …ve? …love…love…love…love?
“I said, shut the fuck up, stupid eye!”
The echoing words of love inside of him abruptly stopped.

At the same time, there was a click, a snapping sound from around his right
eye.
The first was merely a mental sound; the second was a physical process in his
retina.
“…!”
It was actually the slasher who was most surprised by this change.
He had reached up to the eye that was just cut—and gouged it out with his
own hand.
Then he crushed it in his palm and stood boldly before the slasher. The fear
from moments ago was gone now, and in what light could be gleaned from the
now-stabilizing streetlight overhead, his remaining eye glared fiercely.
An ordinary person might have yelped in the face of that glare. But the
slasher chose to speak to him instead.
“…You’re really something.”

“…”
“I’ve never seen someone escape from this girl’s voice before. Saika was so
shocked that she drew back inside of me. Maybe she’s feeling like she just got
dumped,” the woman said, her voice soothing, perhaps even relieved.
It certainly didn’t sound like the voice of a mad, indiscriminate attacker. She
walked closer to him. The countless blades were gone from her skin, leaving
only the one katana in her hands, now its ordinary length.
“I’m happy… I thought no one would ever try to stop her…”
Large tears spilled from her glowing red eyes. The droplets caught that red
light, making it look as though blood was dripping from her tear ducts.
“Are you going…to finish me at last?” she asked. It sounded like a request to
die.
He shook his head. “No…sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Then he started striding forward, no fear of her deadly sword. “But…I had
something I wanted to tell you. I had to shut up that annoying noise first—that’s
all.”
Already he was within the katana’s range. But she did not slice at him.
“What’s your name?”
“…”
“Actually, never mind. I don’t need your name.”
Then he was close enough to reach out and touch her. He came to a stop
there.
And as the red-eyed woman watched in surprise and confusion, he spoke.

—Spoke the words brought by that other impulse within him, spoke his mind
in a way he had never done before.
“…I’m in love with you.”
“…Huh?” she said, red eyes wide.

Those simple words represented his entire life being staked on a gamble.
He had built himself through the scars he’d inflicted on others. And now the
words tumbled out of him as if he were trying to eject all those ugly red marks at
once.
“For the first time in my life, I believed a woman was beautiful. I wanted to
hug and squeeze one.”
“…”
“I don’t care if you’re human, or a monster, or even some kind of Buddhist
goddess. All that matters is that I love you as a woman,” he said, his speech
getting gradually faster as his self-control failed to hide his agitation. “Even I
know that this is crazy to say, comin’ right after we just met, and you sliced my
damn eyeball…but I ain’t pretending it’s based on logic. Please—marry me!”
The entire scene had only taken a few minutes. She was a monster. He just
lost the sight of one of his eyes forever. Anyone would assume that his sanity
had buckled under the extreme circumstances.
But the man’s brain was operating quite normally, successfully withstanding
the pain and loss of that eyeball. It was much later that he realized that not only
was it “love at first sight,” it was also “love at single sight.”
A person he’d only ever identified as a target to be hurt—a “weak, fragile”
woman—had turned out to be a presence every bit his equal, completely capable
of killing him.
The ghostliness of those glowing red eyes, the feminine figure, the flowing
black hair melting into the darkness of night—all these things melded together in
womanly beauty and enchanted his heart.
He’d never professed love before.
This innocence, his first ever feelings of romance, got under the cracks of his
protective pride—his violence—and shot it someplace far, far away.
But that very first confession ended in failure.

“…Thank you. I’m very flattered that you said you love me, even like this,”
she chuckled with a hint of sadness. “But I’m afraid I can’t return the feeling.”
She shook her head and spoke the only two words that could cut him deeper
than her katana already had: “I’m married.”
“…!”
“I still love my husband and daughter. So I can’t reciprocate your sentiment.”
The sheer finality of that statement made his knees quake. Whether through
sadness, anger, embarrassment, or the strange beauty of her rejection, he
promptly slapped his cheeks with both hands. The blood drooling from his
mutilated eye socket stained his hand even further. Intense pain shot through his
face.
But he held fast without yelling, silencing the trembling in his knees through
willpower alone.
“I see… That’s too bad. But…can I at least get your name?”
“…”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to bother your husband or daughter.”
She seemed hesitant, but something in his gaze eventually convinced her. She
summoned up some level of commitment and said, “That’s right… If you harm
my daughter or husband, I will cut you down with everything I have.”
“Ha-ha… I’ll have earned it.”
“My name…is Sayaka Sonohara.”
The name jolted him.
Sonohara.
The name of the antiques dealer he was just about to go beat up.
“Well, well… I guess it’s fate. You just saved your hubby.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Talking to myself.” He smirked. Then he turned his back on the
slasher and walked away from the scene. “My name’s Akabayashi. Let me know
if you ever get tired of that husband of yours.”
“Believe me, I’m a worthy enough man to take care of both you and your
daughter.”
Present day, Ikebukuro, taxi
“Yo, Akabayashi,” said a familiar voice over the phone.

“Is that you, Aozaki? You really do love calling me when I’m in a taxi, don’t
you?”
“I don’t give a damn about your schedule or where you are.”
“So what’s the call about, then? If it’s about the young miss, things have
calmed down a bit.”
“Nah. I just called to say my farewell,” said the low-pitched, jovial voice
through the phone.
“Why’s that? You gonna kill me once and for all? Or are you staging a
mutiny and leaving the Awakusu-kai?”
“Don’t be a moron. You know there’s nothing to be gained in that.”
“Of course not. If there’s one thing that’s real about you, it’s your devotion to
Chairman Awakusu.”
“Just shut up and listen,” Aozaki snapped in irritation. “You’ve been living
too free these days.”
“Those ghosts from five years ago have come back to destroy you.”
May 5, night, ruined building
Quite a ways away from the center of the city stood an unfinished building, its
construction halted for some reason or another.
The first two floors were finished like any other building, but everything
above that was stuck in skeletal form, the concrete bars standing open in the air
and looming eerily over the night.
Men quietly surrounded the building.

“That him?”
“Yep, it’s him.”
The men in hoodies had bandannas wrapped around their faces. What little
skin could be seen of their arms and necks featured fake tattoo stickers with
similar patterns. They carried metal pipes, knives, two-by-fours studded with
nails, and other crude weapons. These weren’t youngsters about to enjoy a
spooky rite of passage at a haunted abandoned building—they were outfitted to
bust those ghosts themselves.
“I can’t believe we’re gettin’ paid two hundred thousand just to wax that old
man.”
“Even better, they said they’re also gonna give us the lion’s share of the
shipment when we re-up.”
“I heard they were gonna raise our commission on deals.”
The information each of them possessed was varied and wild-eyed, but the
tattoo-stickered men all shared one particular fact: Their job was to go into the
abandoned building and kill the man named Akabayashi.
Hardly any of them knew that he was a lieutenant of the Awakusukai. For the
most part, they were unaware of the Awakusu-kai at all. But they were drug
dealers drawn to a reward for killing a man, so it was possible that even if they
did know what the Awakusu-kai was, they would still leap at the offer.
In essence, they were the lowest, most disposable pawns in the drug
operation. But here they were, right at the destination of their target.
“Man, the Dollars are so useful,” one of them said, staring at his phone.
Earlier this evening, he posted to the Dollars’ message board a picture of
Akabayashi attached, saying, “I’m looking for this man. I owe him my life, but I
don’t know where to find him! Let me know if you see him, so I can thank him!”
And in the very same evening, they found out that he used this abandoned
building as a hideout.
“Just when I figured we’d never find his lair, it turns out he’s doin’ a
homeless gig.”
“I dunno, man, I heard he’s crazy tough.”
“Nah, no worries,” said another of the gang. He held up a cylindrical object:
a Molotov cocktail. “I brought a couple of these, so we can just burn the building
down.”
He seemed gung ho on the idea, and the others laughed and agreed that it was
a good plan. Some of them grabbed the bottles with eyes glazed over; they’d
clearly been dipping into their product.
“So once he runs outta the building, we just nab him, take him out into the
hills, and…end of story.”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s burn it down.”
They all laughed, including the ones who still looked sober. In that sense,
from the moment they put on fake tattoos, they were already losing their grip on
reality.
The same moment, inside
“…I can’t believe you’d show yourself like this, Akabayashi,” said a stone-faced
man, sitting on a toppled oil drum inside the abandoned building. There were
nearly a dozen men with him, all clearly members of the underworld.
Standing across from them, dressed as usual with walking stick in hand, was
Akabayashi. He maintained his breezy, aloof manner in the face of their open
loathing and said, “Well, it’s a summons from the gentlemen who taught me so
much, back in the day. I can’t just blow that off.”
“You talk different than you used to. Was that all just an act to fool us back
then? Or are you playing coy like this now so you can devour the Awakusu from
the inside like you did to us?”
“Actually, you may be surprised to learn that people change and grow. I
always assumed that I would be the same person forever after I hit twenty…but
the thing is, shocking experiences have a way of changing you,” he announced,
rapping the floor with his stick. “Such as being attacked by a slasher on the street
or falling in love with a woman at first sight for the first time in your life.”
“Cut the bull—”
“On the other hand, you said you wanted to talk one-on-one, but it looks like
you’ve got quite a gathering of familiar faces here. Unless I’m mistaken or
hallucinating?” Akabayashi said, cracking his neck as he surveyed the group.
The other man’s expression softened a bit. “That’s right, I’m the only one
talking. No guarantees about anything else, though.”
“Ah, I see. I didn’t see any cars around the building, though. Did you all walk
here?”
“…?”
The confident smile never left Akabayashi’s face, even in his present danger.
The other man cautiously replied, “No…we thought you might get spooked and
run. So we parked them a ways off. But I didn’t really think you’d show up. If
necessary, we were going to rustle up someone you knew and kidnap them as a
hostage.”
“Which is exactly what I showed up to prevent. But it helps that you don’t
have cars,” Akabayashi said, scratching his cheek. His grin deepened.
“…?”
“Well, if you had lots of cars around, you might get spooked and run, after
all.”
“What the…hell are you talking about?”
“My line of thought was the same as yours. Yeah, we can talk one-on-one,
but I’m not so much of a hero that I’d bother to fight you all on my own.”
“?!”
Suspicion flitted across their faces.
Did the Awakusu betray us?
They tensed up, preparing for some sudden sign, but they still needed to find
out what Akabayashi was really doing.
“So…you really don’t realize that the Awakusu left you out to dry, do you,
Akabayashi?”
“What’s that? You already cleared this up with the boss?” he replied.
Now the other man was truly confused. “The Awakusu-kai will not interfere
with you and me in any way. You might have thought you called for backup, but
no one’s going to—”
Ktok.
Right in the middle of the man’s menacing speech, Akabayashi cut him off
by rapping the bottom of the stick on the floor.
“Ha-ha-ha. When did I say anything about the Awakusu-kai?”
“?!”
“It never occurred to you that I might have connections beyond just the
Awakusu?”
“No way…!”
Belatedly, the men reassessed the fact that they had called Akabayashi here to
make him pay the price for killing their old boss. A nasty sweat broke out on
their backs.
Did he bring in yet another yakuza gang…?
“…You’re bluffing.”
“Think so? Go ahead and look out the window,” Akabayashi taunted.
The man glanced over at one of his companions, signaling that he should
look outside. The bald man sucked in his breath and headed for the window. He
approached the empty window frame carefully, keeping his weight low as he
watched for snipers.
Suddenly, the room was full of the sound of breaking glass.
But the building was incomplete, and there were no panes in the windows.
The source of the sound was soon quite apparent.
The man with the shaved head instantly began to scream, his body enveloped
in flames.
“Aaauuughh! Gaaaaahhhh!”
Some kind of liquid was spreading on the ground, and a second later, it, too,
was ablaze.
They realized it was a Molotov cocktail immediately, but before their bodies
could react to that knowledge, more flaming bottles entered through the window,
shattering in rhythm.
“Outside! There are people outside!” screamed the bald man, who had
succeeded in putting out the flames on his face by rolling on the ground. Just
before the first bottle had hit him, he’d seen a crowd of figures surrounding the
building.
Some of the men inside rushed farther to the back of the room, while others
headed for the window on the opposite side. One of them put his back to the
wall, peering through the window from the side—and pulled out a gun.
Without hesitation, he started firing into the crowd outside.
When the very first pop went off, the drug dealers assumed that something inside
the building must have exploded. They only realized their mistake when one of
them trembled and crumpled to the ground.
“H-hey, what just…?”
“Oh, G-God, my…my leg…”
There was a round hole in the thigh of his jeans, with a red stain spreading
outward from it. They only realized it was a bullet wound when the second and
third shots rang out.
“Oh, shit! It’s a gun! Holy shit, the guy’s packin’!”
“Kill him!”
Foolish as it was, they were still under the mistaken assumption that they
were dealing with a single man. If they were at least professionals used to
undertaking an attack of this sort, they might have scouted out the place and
made sure to confirm a number inside. But not only were they rank amateurs,
they also weren’t even all sober. The gang was in no state to carry out their
mission.
Those few who were in a proper state of mind wisely fled the scene, but most
of the agitated men decided instead to charge into the building in search of
vengeance.
A small war had just erupted, here in this building far from the center of the
city…
And neither side understood who it was they were fighting.
Inside the chaotic, flaming building, the man who had faced off with Akabayashi
bellowed, “Akabayashi, you son of a bitch! You set us up!”
The ex-con looked around, but there was no sight of his foe anywhere. As a
matter of fact, Akabayashi had slipped out at the moment the bald man first
caught flame and drew the attention of all his fellows.
“I knew you killed the boss, Akabayashiii!”
From where he was standing, the man in question murmured, “It wasn’t me.”
He was leaving the building via the back door, as nonchalantly as if nothing
was happening. “I just let it happen.”
On the ground at his feet were two men with fake tattoos, who were supposed
to be guarding the door. Once he had put a little distance between himself and
the building, he saw several police cars drive past.
“Oooh, there they go. Perfect timing—glad I reported it ahead of time,” he
said, hiding out of sight as the cars passed. He started down a back alley to get
farther from the scene. Inside one of the cars, an officer had the receiver in his
hand, probably to report a confirmation of the burning building and gunshots.
Akabayashi headed away, pulling out his phone to check the Dollars’ home
page and delete his own post reading, “Oh, I know him. He’s staying at an
abandoned building here on the map in this link.”
The post had a picture of the building, too. He deleted it all, shut off his
burner phone, and returned it to his pocket.
Then he looked up at the night sky, wearing his usual smirk, and muttered to
himself.
“Yeah, the Dollars are useful. But truth is they’re also pretty scary.”
May 6, morning, Awakusu-kai headquarters
“Skirmish breaks out between criminal organization and youth gang! Sixteen
injured! Mass arrests in the middle of the night!”
The tabloid front page blared the latest lurid news, behind which an elderly
man murmured, “Oh, look at this, Aozaki. Ruri Hijiribe’s going to put out a
photo album.”
He was looking at the celebrity news page, totally unrelated to the front-page
article, and cackled, “There’ll be a three-thousand-unit limited edition, too.
That’ll fetch a good price. Couldn’t ya just buy ’em all up and sell ’em on that
hee-bay thing?!”
“I don’t know… I’m not the right guy to ask about that. Check with Shiki or
Kazamoto…”
“Ahh. Well, at any rate, tell one of the kids to go and buy three for me.”
“Please, boss, think of your age. You gotta set an example for the young
guys,” Aozaki pleaded. He glanced at the front page of the newspaper held open
across from him. “So, boss…did you know this would happen?”
He was referring to the outcome of the two incidents involving Akabayashi,
of course. All those men fresh out of jail who had gone after him were promptly
arrested again. The kids with the fake tats were all rounded up, too, which would
certainly set off quite a lot of police and media investigation into the student-run
gang.
While neither group was a real enemy to the Awakusu-kai, the incident
certainly cleared two potential annoyances out of their hair and had the added
bonus of drawing police attention away from them for a time.
Without taking his eyes off the paper, Dougen Awakusu answered, “I had a
hunch. A bit of this, a bit of that. I knew that Akabayashi could handle his own
matters—and it seems that someone else was watching out for him, too.”
“…Whatever do you mean?”
“I suspect someone tipped him off that he was being targeted. He couldn’t
have arranged such an elaborate trap in advance without knowing about it,”
Dougen commented, his eye peering over the top of the paper at Aozaki.
“I don’t know who would have done such a thing, sir…but I suspect that
since we weren’t going to take action, that person figured words didn’t count.”
“Hah! Never took you for the type to tell jokes. So you wanted to settle your
score with Akabayashi yourself, huh?”
“Now you’re the one joking, boss,” Aozaki replied, shaking his head with a
grin. “Maybe in the old days, but now that he’s gone soft, there’s no point to
killing him.”
“You know, soft can be a good thing, too. Lots of stuff bounces off you when
you’re soft…”
The phone on the desk rang. Dougen fumbled the receiver loose, cleared his
throat, and put it to his ear. From Aozaki’s position, what sounded like a scream
of anguish squeaked through the speaker. Perhaps the brand-new gang that got
itself arrested last night was now calling for help.
Dougen maintained the same cold, steady tone of voice he always did when
on the phone. “Why, I don’t know what you mean. We said we wouldn’t take
action against you, and that was that. If you tried to attack Akabayashi and
wound up in a trap, that’s none of my concern.”
They were no fools. They were men of the night, responsible for building the
darkness of Ikebukuro.
Dougen ended the call and returned to his newspaper—with a sadistic smile
on his lips this time.
“You see, I can’t betray my trading partners…but I can abandon them.”
Five years ago
The man changed after his meeting with the slasher.

He told people that he’d been attacked by the slasher but made up the details:
“It was a huge old man, over six feet tall, with white hair.” He was actually just
quoting a manga he’d read recently, but no one recognized it, so the others
within the group merely laughed and said, “Turns out he’s human after all.”
Because of his injury, he got a temporary reprieve on the Sonoharadou job.
He’d started the job, and he would finish it, he said. So he spent his time
investigating the business, trying to find a way to save them—to save that
beautiful, bewitching slasher…
One day, he learned that the slasher had struck at Sonohara-dou, killing the
two parents.
The husband’s head was lopped clean off, while the wife’s stomach was slit
in a manner resembling seppuku.
The daughter was still alive but in a state of terrible shock, unable to speak.
When he heard about it, he couldn’t believe it at first.

A terrible sense of loss infused his entire being. It was far worse than the
feeling of losing his eye—it felt like his entire life was being ripped away.
But through his grief, he knew.
He knew that the wife, Sayaka Sonohara, had committed suicide.
She was the slasher, after all. Whatever happened, she ended up cutting off
the head of the husband she loved, then turned the blade on her own belly.
But why had she done it?

Weren’t her husband and daughter equally precious to her?
It wasn’t the entire family, just her husband, who she killed before
committing suicide, leaving only the daughter alive. Whatever could have
happened to her body?
He was temporarily broken out of this train of unanswered questions by the

sound of his boss’s voice.
“Hey, Akabayashi. No need to worry about Sonohara-dou anymore.”
“…Sir?”
Akabayashi was often tapped to serve as the yakuza boss’s bodyguard, in
recognition of his skill. Today, the boss was heading to his favorite lady
companion’s house alone, taking only the one guard.
“The people who own Sonohara-dou are both dead, as you know. And now
we get the land without having to deal with them. Long live the slasher!”
“…”
“Whoops. I shouldn’t have mentioned that—forgot you lost your eye to him,”
the boss said, a distasteful sneer on his face. “But the place would’ve been done
for in either case.”
“…?”
“I gave the owner a little taste of medicine, you see.”
“…?!”
It was obvious what he meant by “medicine.”
Akabayashi had always hated drugs. As a man to whom strength and
violence were everything, the idea of making your own bones more brittle was
unfathomable to him. He didn’t have a crusade to stop the gang from doing its
drug business; he just didn’t bother to think about it.
The boss cackled with delight and explained, “We already had a contract that
gave us the right to seize his land as collateral, but I figured we could squeeze
more out of him… So I made him an offer. Take out life insurance on your
family and let’s make some money, I said.”
“…!”
“From what I hear, he was always the violent type at home. But once he got
hooked on the dope, it got way worse. That stuff must’ve really fucked with his
head,” his boss bragged—he’d probably had a few drinks. “They didn’t put this
in the papers, but from what I heard, the kid had marks around her neck. The
police thought it was the slasher who did it, but I’m betting that at some point,
the old man tried to strangle his own daughter! All to raise the money to support
his drug habit!”
“…”
“See? Crazy, right? You’re not gonna get the insurance if you kill the brat
yourself! But maybe he actually thought he might get away with it? In either
case, it’s laughable.”
The yakuza boss might as well have been intoxicated on his own speech. He
wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings.
“The thing is, that kid looked like she’d grow up to be a pretty fine-lookin’
woman herself! I figured I could whip up a convincing little IOU form and
collect on the girl—she could make us a fortune! Maybe I could even get first
dibs? Then again, she’s only what, twelve? Can’t have much experience yet,
gah-ha-ha!”
There were a number of things the boss wasn’t paying attention to—that he
failed to pay attention to.
One: the increasingly icy manner of the bodyguard charged with attending to
his safety.
Two: the fact that they were in a totally empty back alley.
And three: that a man with a knife was approaching with murder in his eyes.
“Hmm…?”
At last, the boss noticed the third of these details. The man with the knife
stared at the gleeful yakuza, seething with hatred.
“You bastard…”
“Who the hell are you? Who’re you with?!” the boss demanded.
But the tear-streaked young man with the knife responded, “You’ll pay…for
what you did…to my sister…”
“Huh…? Oh, I get it. You must be that one girl’s brother. Yeah, now I
remember seeing you in that family photo she carried around.”
“You got her hooked…on your damn drugs! It’s all because of you! Now
they say…she might never wake up and walk around again!”
Apparently, the interloper had a score to settle with the boss over the gang’s
drug-dealing operation.
“Hah! If anything, you should be thanking me for letting her last memories
be blissful, then! C’mon, Akabayashi, do your job. Grab this ungrateful little
shithead and squeeze the life outta…ah…ah…ah…”
He spun around to give Akabayashi his orders but froze in place.
As the saying goes, one can look down on another person like an ant—but in
Akabayashi’s case, the gaze he was giving the shorter man was full of such
disgust and anger that he might as well have been trying to squash that ant
through visual pressure alone.
The gaze was so strong that the boss felt as though his shoulders were being
held down. All that unstoppable pressure was emanating from the prosthetic
right eye.
“Wh-what the hell…are you staring at me…like that…for…?”
He could barely even form the words to accost his subordinate. The pressure
flowing from Akabayashi was so all-consuming that the boss completely forgot
that he was in a dire situation that allowed for no distractions.
Several minutes later, the yakuza boss was lying facedown in the street,
twitching. Red liquid pooled beneath his upper half.
A short ways away, the young man trembled, his knife dripping with blood.
“…”
Akabayashi took a step closer, causing the boy to turn the knife toward him.
But either he instinctively realized he didn’t stand a chance against a much larger
man, or he was satisfied at completing his revenge; in any case, the young man
sat down on the spot.
“Kill me… Just kill me already! I can’t… There’s nothing I—”
Akabayashi slapped him. “If you die, who’s going to take care of your sister?
Huh?”
“…! …? H…huh?”
The boy turned his trembling face to look up at Akabayashi. He clearly didn’t
understand what the man was saying.
“Just…go. Hide the knife and get out of here. If you’re lucky, they’ll chalk
this one up to the slasher.”
“…?! Ah…aaah… Th-tha…thank you!” he stammered, getting to his feet
and hiding the knife under his shirt.
No doubt the young man had no idea why his life was being spared, but
hearing the word sister had brought some measure of control back to his mind
and spurred him away from the scene.
“‘Thank you’?” Akabayashi murmured, looking down at the corpse of his
boss. “Don’t thank me, kid… You should hate me.”
“I just turned you into a murderer…”

Present day, near a Yamanote Line station, shopping district backstreet
“Ooh, Ruri’s got a photo album coming out? Better get my preorder in.”
Akabayashi strode down the street, reading the same tabloid as Dougen
Awakusu had.
Suddenly, his eye stopped on a particular word in the article. “Oh, right, she
changed agencies. And they haven’t found Yodogiri yet? Guess Shiki’s got his
hands full.”
The word in question was the name of Ruri Hijiribe’s new talent agency.
“Jack-o’-Lantern, huh?”
It was a very peculiar and memorable name, but Akabayashi snorted and
thought, Hell, it’s me.
While it wasn’t widely known in Japan, a jack-o’-lantern was a pumpkin-
faced spirit often associated with Halloween. It started off as an Irish legend: a
human turned away from heaven for his wicked deeds but also shunned from
hell for cheating the devil and therefore doomed to wander the earth as a ghost
forever, carrying a lantern carved from a pumpkin.
In the world of the yakuza, the most forbidden act was to kill one’s parent—
the boss.
Akabayashi didn’t do the deed himself, but there was no denying that he
abandoned his boss to a certain death. Naturally, he wasn’t going to wind up in
heaven, either.
He was something like a ghost, unable to exist fully in the light or the
darkness, wandering aimlessly.
Maybe calling myself a jack-o’-lantern is a stretch. That’s cooler than I
deserve.
Akabayashi chuckled as he walked along the street, paced from behind by a

smaller figure.
This sneaking follower carried the sharp glint of a knife in its hands.
However…
“Yah!”
“!”
Akabayashi knew he was being trailed. He spun around, grabbed his
assailant’s hand, and snatched the knife right out of it.
It turned out to be a boy, maybe fifteen years old.
“Come on, kids should be kids, not playing with toys like this. Go back home
and play some video games. You can’t hurt anyone doing that.”
“Eep! Aa…aaah!”
The boy raced away. Akabayashi watched him go and tucked the knife into
his pocket. “Hmm… Does a small knife count as recyclable? Or is it classified
as metal garbage?”
He wondered about the boy. There had been a tattoo sticker on his neck,
which meant he was one of the remaining members of that gang. Or perhaps he
was hoping to get in, and they ordered him to stab Akabayashi as a means of
initiation.
I’ll be damned. If it weren’t for the fake tat, I really would have no idea.
He considered the Dollars and the way Anri reacted yesterday and couldn’t
help but feel that something in the atmosphere of the city was eerily lukewarm.
It’s like the kids these days really don’t know how to tell the difference
between day and night. Not that a pumpkin head like me has any room to call
them out.
He murmured, “Still, I’m allowed to pray.”
If possible, I’d like to at least keep the boundary between day and night clear
—so that Anri and Miss Akane can avoid being collateral damage.
He thought about the daughter of the first woman he ever loved. The way she
was growing up to resemble her mother reminded him of the slasher.
Maybe…
Just maybe, if he continued wandering the boundary line between hell and
heaven like a jack-o’-lantern, he might one day run into that slasher again.
That’s stupid. I must be reading too much manga.
He smirked at himself again, rapped his walking stick, and continued on his
way.
“But if the girls say they prefer the night…well, it ain’t my place to stop
them.”
And so, the man began to walk as the sun set,

Following the boundary line between the light side of town and the dark.
With the scar of his first-sight love burned permanently into one eye,
The man once more vanished into the depths of the city, smiling easily.
Ordinary C: Collection Rhapsody
At first, the rumors were absolutely true.
“Hey, did you hear?”
“You mean Shizuo Heiwajima?” “It’s Shizuo.” “Him.”
“Walking around with a girl.” “Shizuo Heiwajima.”
“Maybe nine years old.”
“Heard he fought with yakuza.”

“Climbed a building with his bare hands.”
“Heard he kicked a car.” “Got stabbed by a girl.”
“But the knife wouldn’t sink in; it just clattered onto the ground!”
“They saw him jump from the car carrying a girl.”

“He threw a bike one-handed.”
“Dude’s crazy.”
The rumors spread through the Internet, phone calls, and even word of
mouth.
Of all the events taking place during May’s weeklong holiday, there was a
clear, odd pattern.
The topic of one man’s extraordinary feats stood out from the others, as
though he were rampaging here and there throughout Ikebukuro without rest.
By default, he was a notable sight in Ikebukuro by virtue of being the “man
around town in the bartender’s outfit.” Normally, that could also apply to street
barkers and the like, but because he also featured blond hair, sunglasses, and a
dreadlocked partner, he was always immediately identified as a man to stay
away from.
However, the more someone got to know him, the more their approach and
assessment of his character changed.
“Shouldn’t be approached” could turn into “Do not approach at any cost,”
“Nicer than I thought,” “Run at first sight,” “Get down and beg,” “Give up,” or
any number of other options—varied but always extreme.
In the same way someone might describe a monster that no one else had ever
seen, these extreme opinions led to equally extreme rumors, placing severe stress
upon the actual facts of the matter.
“Hey, did you hear?”
“You know that Shizuo Heiwajima guy?” “That monster.”
“I heard he died.”
“Got smashed by a car.” “Trying to protect a girl.”
“Hit by a dump truck.” “Shizuo.” “It was him.”
“Ran into a motorcycle.” “The yakuza pushed him off a rooftop.”
“He died from getting stabbed by a woman.” “No shit.”

“He has a kid.”
“Isn’t that crazy?”
All of it was nonsense.

And in terms of extremes, the one phrase—“Shizuo died”—was so shocking
to most that it spread with incredible speed.
As that message outpaced the rest, the rumors underwent corrections.
Would Shizuo Heiwajima die from being hit by a car?
Clearly not, according to the people who knew Shizuo best or followed
rumors about him the most.
Shizuo Heiwajima would not die from something like that, they knew, which
necessitated a correction to the rumor.
Through the logic, biases, and desires of a great many people, the rumors
were buffeted and sanded down to one unified form.
A rumor that has spread too far can become an urban legend.
And when an urban legend gains the clarity of form, it spreads even further
and deeper.
For example, among young delinquents at a club.

“…Hey, you hear?”
“’Bout what?”
“Shizuo Heiwajima.”
“…What about that monster?”
“He…got hit by a truck, and he’s really hurt.”
“…For real?”
“Yeah. He was on the run from the yakuza, jumped off a building, and then…
wham.”
“So…he’s all torn up right now, huh?”
For example, among drug dealers hoping to eliminate Shizuo and gain
notoriety for themselves.
“But I heard he’s still up and walking around like normal.”
“I don’t care how hurt he is—I ain’t gonna pick a fight with him while he’s
still got all his limbs.”
“I ain’t afraid, I’m just sayin’, you gotta be sure you can kill him…”
“In that case, I got something else for ya.”
“He got himself a girl.”
“No way?!”
“I hear he’s been walking around the city with a girl.”
For example, among the remnants of a street gang Shizuo once crushed.
“…If you ask me, Shizuo being weakened is a once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity…”
“You don’t know, he might have just been showing that girl around town…”
“No, get this! Turns out that chick is damaged goods.”
“Huh?”
“I’m serious—Shizuo’s got a kid! A kid old enough to be in school!”
“Are you crazy?!”
“I mean, how old is that guy?!”
“I bet he went out with her back in high school, when he was the biggest
player. Then she shows up after a few years and goes, ‘The kid is yours!’”
All of it was nonsense, but in the end, they’d all believe the rumors.
And that was because those rumors stimulated a desire deep within their
hearts. It was less that they firmly believed the stories than that they clung to
them, in their wish for them to be true.
Because the ultimate desire of all those who believed the rumors was…
“…Do you think…right now…”
“…we might have a shot at Shizuo Heiwajima?”
The rumors had only been around for a single day.

But they succeeded at spurring certain people into action.
Action that could only lead to their downfall, according to those who knew
the truth.
May 5, day, Ikebukuro, old apartment
Loud rapping upon the front door disturbed the quiet of the apartment, a shabby
place at least thirty years old.
“Mr. Sugawa? I know you’re there, Sandayuu Sugawa,” came a young man’s
voice between the rhythmic pounding of the fist. After a brief pause, the door
opened up, revealing a very sickly face.
“Good afternoon. I think you know why I’m here,” said the man with
dreadlocks, grimacing, running through his protocol. Behind him, a man in a
bartender’s uniform yawned. He had blond hair and sunglasses, making him look
just like a bodyguard.
As the terrified young man stared out at them, the one who knocked said,
“Well, let’s get that money, shall we?”
Tom Tanaka was a debt collector.

But it wasn’t for shady black market lenders. He belonged to a company that
had contracts with a wide variety of slightly more reputable businesses: brothels,
sex hotlines, singles websites, rental video shops.
Such businesses sometimes needed to collect late fees or unpaid bills from
their customers, and so Tom’s company was called on to perform this step—all
within legal boundaries.
Of course, some types of debt collection could only be performed through a
lawyer, and as far as the video rentals went, they didn’t know if the shops
actually had the permits required to do that business. So Tom operated in a kind
of gray zone that was actually not that ambiguous in the least, much like the
unsavory loopholes exploited by pachinko parlors to function as gambling dens.
If it was the type of job where they took money from seniors without
families, Tom and the bartender-looking man with him, Shizuo Heiwajima,
would have quit ages ago. But there was no common sympathy for those who
failed to pay for their sex hotlines and porn tape rentals.
Perhaps if someone tried the hackneyed, old “I’m trying to find my long-lost
sister” excuse for calling the hotlines, they would at least do their due diligence
in trying to determine the truth, but Tom had never run across someone
attempting to use that line.
They didn’t try to pretend that it was a social good they were performing, but
otherwise, it was like pretty much any other job.
On the other hand, some of those late on their payments never intended to
pay up, and out of that group, there was always a percentage engaging in illegal
activities, so the job was not without its risks. Therefore, Tom regularly
performed his duties with his bodyguard-slash-assistant, Shizuo Heiwajima.
“Listen, if you want, we can take this to court and have the whole matter
cleared up. But neither of us have time for that, do we? We’re not ripping you
off; we didn’t charge more than was explained to you. And come on, man—the
money’s one thing, but at least return the tape, yeah? It’s two hundred yen per
day, so how many tapes did you borrow to rack up one hundred fifty thousand in
debt?!”
“W-w-wait, wait! I never said I wouldn’t pay up! I have the tapes I copied up
in an online auction now! Once I get the money for that, I can pay you back!”
“Are you dubbing our—? All right, cut the shit and stop messing with the
business model. Listen, I’ll ignore that for today, but I need one or the other:
money or tapes.”
Tom got tired of arguing and tried to wrap up the process, realizing that he
was dealing with a more miserable scumbag than he figured. He started to step
inside, but the man pushed him back and wheedled, “W-w-wait, please! All
right! I’ll pay, I’ll pay!”
“That’s better. And if you’re short, you can take out a high-interest loan to
make up the difference.”
Wow, he sure broke quickly, Tom thought. But then the creep smirked over
Tom’s shoulder toward the man standing out in the apartment hallway.
“Hey, what about you? Why don’t you pay the late fee for me, Shizuo
Heiwajima?”
“Wait, don’t—” Tom panicked.
“What?” Shizuo asked icily, turning his head with an eyebrow raised.
Oh, shit. This can’t be good, Tom thought, sensing that Shizuo could explode
in mere seconds. He stepped away from the door, sidling up to his partner and
asking, “Let me just ask…do you know this guy?”
“Nope…never seen him before in my life,” Shizuo replied brusquely.
The man inside smirked. “You’re a famous guy—everyone knows you. I
could tell immediately from the outfit.”
“Oh yeah…?” Shizuo said, clearly getting angrier. Tom inched farther away
from the two.
The oblivious debtor was paving his own path to hell. “You’re Yuuhei
Hanejima’s brother, isn’t that right?”
“…!”
Don’t—! Tom nearly screamed. …Wait a second, why have I never heard
that?
“Oh yeah…? And what if I am his brother?”
“He’s superrich, isn’t he? I bet you get a little tiny cut of that fortune. You
must have a little chump change lying around.”
Damn, if I knew this guy was suicidal, I would’ve had Shizuo wait farther
away!
Tom retreated down the apartment steps until he had evacuated to the ground
level—right around the time the man delivered his clinching remark.
“So if you don’t want all the tabloids to find out that he’s got a thug of a
brother like you, you’d better pay my—”
The only thing it clinched was his own downfall, however.
There was the hollow sound of some piece of a whole being removed, right at
the same time that the man stopped talking. Shizuo had grabbed the man’s face
with one hand and instantly separated his jaw.
“…What was that about money?”
He let go, and the indebted man’s jaw hung loose. The mouth was gaping
wide enough to fit a fist inside. His jaw quivered in the air like a cat’s cradle; he
reached up to touch it but seemed not to understand yet what had happened.
“Ah, agagagah, agah?”
“I’ve heard enough from you. Now shut your filthy mouth.”
“Ah, agaaa! Agagagagah!” the man stammered, unable to actually close his
mouth. Shizuo took a step forward.
“…I said…shut it!”

* * *
Tom heard him from outside the apartment building. The next moment, there
was a violent crash. He looked up to see a second-floor window smash.
The reason why soon became apparent.
The body of the man who owed them money flew through the shattering
glass, smashed into a tree planted on the apartment lot, and then fell next to Tom,
breaking a few branches along the way.
His clothes happened to catch on the branches, so he wound up hanging at
eye level with Tom, who surveyed the debtor with pity.
“Hey, you lucked out.”
“H-h-hewp… I—I’ll tell the cops…I—I—I’ll sue…”
His jaw was miraculously fitted back into place, so perhaps Shizuo had given
him an uppercut. Tom looked at the ghastly man with the trembling voice and
calmly asked, “And what story are you going to give to the cops?”
“…Eh?”
“Perhaps you’ll tell them, ‘I got in trouble for borrowing pornos and making
illegal copies to sell online, so I tried to blackmail the collector and got beat up’?
I’d pay to see that trial. We could invite your dad and mom to come see you
plead your case.”
“…!”
“But if you’re smart enough to decide that you don’t want to be famous for
the wrong reasons, we’ll be nice enough to pay for your broken window,” Tom
said, brushing his dreads off his ears and shrugging.
“It’s only getting tacked on to your late fees, though.”
Ten minutes later, Ikebukuro
“Dammit, just because you’re not killing them doesn’t make this right.”
“…Sorry, Tom.”
They were on their way back to Ikebukuro Station from the collection spot,
and Tom had been lecturing Shizuo about what went wrong.
“You bend a five-hundred-yen coin in front of their eyes to intimidate them
so that you don’t have to resort to violence! In fact, I bet you could tear one of
those coins in two with your fingers, right?”
“Yeah…but I’m pretty sure I heard that it’s against the law to bend or stretch
coins like that.”
“What…? Oh, true. Good point. Well, we can think of another method,” Tom
admitted, bringing the conversation to an awkward, temporary truce. They
walked through the crowd, thinking hard.
“Man, that guy really was an idiot, wasn’t he? He knew who you were, and
he went ahead and threatened you… In fact, it was kinda like he didn’t know
anything about you except that you’re Kasuka’s brother.”
“…I suppose you’re right.”
“The funny thing is, any street punk worth his salt would give up just by
looking at you…but lately, you get the occasional normal person who has no
idea about what you’re like and feels foolhardy…”
“…Sorry,” Shizuo muttered.
Tom turned to him in surprise. “Why are you apologizing?”
“Uh…I just figured, if I was keeping control of myself better…”
“Yeah, but that has nothing to do with the fact that there are total idiots like
that guy. I know I gave you that lecture, but honestly, you did pretty good back
there. In fact, it kind of makes me sorry for getting you involved in this
dangerous line of work,” Tom said, facing forward again.
Shizuo watched his boss from behind and said, “Thank you,” but he didn’t
seem to be quite convinced himself.
Tom sighed and then checked his watch. “It’s a bit early, but I suppose we
could get something to eat.”
“Let’s hit up Russia Sushi and have ourselves a feast.”
Russia Sushi
She was in a very bad mood.

There was sadness, anger, and frustration mixed together and brought to a
boil, then pushed down where it couldn’t get out—until nothing showed on her
face but the faintest trace of sullenness.
But thanks to her already attractive features, the look could also be
interpreted as mournful.
The white man behind the sushi counter stared back at that grimace and said,
“Hey, Vorona. This is a service business. Stop sulking, or you’ll drive our
customers off.”
“…Negative. My face is not crafted in melancholy. It is as normal,” said the
woman named Vorona, albeit in rather odd Japanese.
A large black man cleaning tables smiled amiably and said, “Oh, that no
good, Vorona. That face bad. Customer is God. God must be forgiving. If patient
Buddha only forgives three times, then God must forgive hundred times. One
hundred trips to pray to Ebisu, god of luck and good business. So smile wide like
Ebisu.”
“Meaning unclear. Semyon’s Japanese is a bizarre fantasy.”
The man behind the counter mumbled, “Look who’s talking,” but Vorona
ignored him and looked away, stone-faced.
“Besides…I have just abandoned my partner. Impossible to reach that
circumstance.”
Vorona was a freelance jack-of-all-trades contractor.

Since coming to Japan, she’d worked for a variety of people and committed
every sort of crime. Assassination, weapons smuggling, kidnapping—if the
police ever caught her, she’d spend the rest of her life behind bars or be
extradited back to Russia.
With her partner, Slon, she’d been working primarily in Ikebukuro, but after
drawing the ire of a local yakuza group, the Awakusu-kai, Slon’s legs got shot
up. They took him away, and Vorona determined that it was best not to hold out
hope that he was alive.
As for her…
…
Rather suddenly, she realized that her unhappiness was not out of grief for
Slon.
The owner of the shop sharpened his knife and said, “But you must have
known that this would happen. From what I hear, you lost three other
companions before making it to Japan. If you didn’t bother getting vengeance for
them, why get all worked up about revenge for this particular partner?”
“…If the time exists to perish, I am first. That was my assurance. In my home
country, one foolish enemy was sloppy for the reason that I am a woman. As a
result, Slon and I live,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. Her head dipped. “This
time is further worse. In the instant we should have died together, I was allowed
to live through Father’s benevolence… It is humiliation.”
In fact, she was under a crippling amount of stress—but not because she’d
lost her partner.
If she were the type to treasure the lives of others, she wouldn’t have gotten
involved in this business in the first place.
It was simply that she wasn’t able to forgive herself.
I want to destroy everything. Including myself.
She’d been overcome by the urge right after she woke up, mere hours ago.
That initial impulse would have been carried out violently if it weren’t for the
two Russia Sushi employees who were there to hold her down.
“Calm down,” Denis had told her in Russian. “Go ahead and get your
revenge on the Awakusu-kai if you must, but don’t wreck up our place.”
Strangely, that brief statement was all it took for her to wrestle her impulse
under control.
“Am I…weak?” she asked.
Denis said, “You’re not stronger than Drakon,” and Simon told her, “We’re
not the ones to decide that.” Pondering the meaning of that helped to restore her
sense of rationality.
She asked if it was possible to rescue Slon, knowing it wasn’t—and so the
replies she got were unsatisfying. She understood why it was happening.
“Not having anything to do will fill your mind with pointless thoughts,”
Denis and Simon said and told her to help out around the restaurant.
Vorona didn’t consider this to be a cold suggestion. When she worked for
Colonel Lingerin, it was quite common for people to die during routine jobs, so
even on the rare occasions one had time to mourn the dead, it was always while
on the move.
She decided that letting her emotions rule her was pointless and unproductive
and decided to follow their suggestion. However…
Me, a waitress? It’s ridiculous.

She surveyed the restaurant, wearing a feminine uniform. The interior should
have been strongly reminiscent of home, but given that it was all in service of
being a sushi place, there was no denying the alien feeling.
It was a wrong Russia, the kind of Russia you saw in a movie filmed for
some far-off country.
President Lingerin would love it, but my father, Drakon, would be annoyed,
she thought. Her eyes landed on the two Russians hard at work. And…why are
they doing this in the first place? They must be crazy to set up a restaurant in a
place like this.
All her memories of Denis and Simon were from the distant past. They each
had their own history before coming to work for Lingerin’s arms company, and
then a few years ago, they both abruptly moved here to Japan.
I’m certain that Denis made quite a lot of money working for President
Lingerin…but setting up shop in this expensive place would have wiped out
almost all his savings.
…Actually, I shouldn’t bother trying to figure this out.
After they held her down to calm her this morning, they hadn’t bothered to
pry into Vorona’s business any further. If they weren’t going to be nosy, she
should at least return the favor.
The problem was, once she drove those thoughts from her head, she had
nothing left to do but reflect on the last few days’ memories.
What…am I doing?
All she wanted was to determine the strength of humanity. It was a question
in her head since childhood that she could never learn from books alone.
And eventually, that question became her reason for living.
But the events of the recent past brought her to a sobering realization: that
she might not have the strength needed to learn that truth.
I am weak.
The Black Rider was a true monster and didn’t count.
She’d assumed the man in the bartender’s suit represented the best possible
value for her test. But then, up against the Awakusu-kai man, she’d been utterly
helpless.
Then was everything I’ve done pointless…?
It felt like her pleasure, past, and hope for the future had all been negated,
taken away from her. She was filled with anger at her mental vulnerability for
feeling this way and her physical weakness at being unable to save one man.
These thoughts swirled through her head as she stood in place.

Denis told her to “watch them work and steal their ideas,” but she didn’t
know where to start with that. For one thing, she had zero service industry
experience. She had read about some of its secrets in books, but she had never
seen a business that combined Russia with sushi, in real life or in any text.
On the other hand…
She’d been merely standing in place, observing everything that happened
from the moment the restaurant opened—and realized that the guests seemed to
be extraordinarily preoccupied with her.
Is it so strange for them to see a foreigner? But that applies to Denis and
Simon, too.
It never even occurred to her that it had something to do with her looks and
feminine gender. Any regular would be surprised at the sudden appearance of an
unfamiliar waitress, while a new customer would find it hard not to look at the
beautiful foreign woman brooding in the corner with her hands on her hips.
Simon turned to a young couple, barely older than children, and said, “Oh,
young master Yagiri, you like her? Her name Vorona. You take her to go, A-OK.
Then you have girlfriend and mistress, one in each hand. Best to eat with those
you love, makes everything taste good. Plus ten orders of sushi.”
…I did not hear of taking to go. Is that part of the business plan here? I don’t
mind doing the same job, assuming a customer respects my talents…but I’m
certainly not going to sell my actual body, thought Vorona, who failed to take
Simon’s comment in jest.
She scowled and said, “Negative. I am under no obligation to sell my own
flesh for the profit of the company. I request a boycott. But if your words are
meant in the spirit of contract job, I confirm.”
“Ohh, this is famous Japanese sexual harassment trial. Sexual harassment
bad, no sekuhara. If you do sekuhara, then you do hara-kiri. And after cutting
stomach, sushi all fall through hole. Our business go up in flames.” Simon
laughed, but Vorona did not understand what he meant.
The customers who had just been subjected to two very different but equally
baffling forms of Japanese reacted with either awkward amusement or total
confusion but otherwise kept eating. Vorona sensed their reactions and was
coming to the acceptance that she probably wasn’t meant for this line of work
when Denis spoke to her.
“Hey, Vorona. Collector’s out back, so get the white envelope off the office
desk and hand it over.”
“…”
“If you can’t serve customers, you can at least give them the money in the
envelope, right?”
“…Affirmative,” she admitted, reluctantly passing through the kitchen
toward the back.
Next to the back door was a small office. She took the thick envelope off the
desk and opened the door.
“Whoa.”
There was a familiar man standing there.
“…!”
Instantly, Vorona crouched and swung her leg up to kick at his groin.
“Easy, easy.”
He caught the kick soaring upward between his legs with one hand and
pushed it back, simultaneously sweeping her planted leg. Vorona quickly found
herself sitting flat on her butt, though the man had eased the pressure on her leg
so that there was no pain.
“…!”
If only I had a weapon…
It galled Vorona that at this moment, the only idea that came to her mind
involved relying on gear. Still, she stared malevolently at the man in the
patterned suit.
“Ooh, scary. I figured I’d check in on you when I came to collect the crab
money, but I didn’t think you’d be the one handing it over. I thought you’d still
be bedridden. Suppose I’ll have to save the caviar sushi for another time.”
“Akabayashi!”
“What, you remember my name? That’s so sweet. A guy feels good when a
fetching young lady like you is familiar with him,” he said, smirking wryly as he
reached out to take the envelope from Vorona. Then he turned his back on her,
totally unafraid.
“Sorry to disappoint you. I’d give you a little more time, but I’ve got another
young lady to escort at the moment. Maybe some other occasion.”
“I request orders! Has Slon already been being killed?”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What if someone hears you talking about killing
and all that?” he said, looking around hastily before continuing. “Well, I suppose
it’s up to him whether he gets spared or buried.”
“…?”
“At any rate, there’s certainly going to be a price paid. Mikiya and Aozaki are
pragmatists at heart. They’re probably weighing the value of either finishing him
off to make things right or keeping him around to use as a pawn.”
He tapped his own shoulders with the walking stick, then turned his back on
Vorona once again. “Ultimately, it’s the chairman who will call the shots. But if
your buddy spills the beans on your client, that fella named Yodogiri…well,
maybe the scales will tip toward a more amicable outcome.”
“…”
Should she rejoice in the possibility of Slon’s survival or find some new
weapons and raid the Awakusu-kai to rescue him? Vorona couldn’t even be sure
how she should react to Akabayashi’s statement.
Time simply passed. How long had it been?
She glared powerlessly in the direction that Akabayashi had gone, until a
cheery voice said, “Oh, here you are. What wrong? Your tummy hurt?”
“…Denied. Woe is fruitless,” she replied, getting to her feet as if nothing was
wrong.
Simon shrugged and asked, “Did you fight with Akabayashi? Fighting bad,
you get hungry. And Akabayashi bring us cheap crabmeat. You make
Akabayashi angry, crab get more expensive, us and customers go hungry.”
“Is that crab a smuggled good?”
“He said what he send us is national product. He don’t say what nation.”
“…”
While the conversation was not entirely satisfying, Simon’s voice did help
her regain herself. She went back inside the building.
I suppose…it’s all over.
In that brief period, dark feelings swirled into her mind.
I abandoned plenty of companions on the way here…and I had to be saved by
my father and President Lingerin, the men I betrayed and severed all
connections to… How do they see me now? With disgust? Or pity?
Perhaps I have no reason to live anymore…
After her consecutive defeats and what Akabayashi just told her, even her
motivation to avenge Slon was gone.
No, that was always an excuse. I wasn’t nearly as mad about Slon’s defeat as
I was at my own uselessness. What should I do now…?
She made her way through the kitchen into the restaurant, pondering these
heavy topics…
There were now two men sitting at the counter where the young couple had
just been.
She recognized one of the men. Not by facial features, but by his distinctive
dress.
Even Vorona, who found it quite difficult to distinguish the fine details
between Japanese faces, could identify his features at a glance.
He had blond hair and wore sunglasses to go with a bartender’s uniform.
“Well, when both you and Kasuka get so famous, you can’t prevent guys like
that from coming around. I think you ought to get used to this.”
“…Okay.”
“I know it wasn’t your idea to be famous. But I think if you keep that fact in
mind, it’ll actually make a big difference in your life.”
“I guess so…”
Tom and Shizuo had picked up their conversation from earlier as they waited
for their sashimi tray.
“By the way, did you thank that doctor from yesterday?” Tom asked.
“…Oh, actually, not yet.”
“Well, that won’t do. He helped you out in a pinch—I don’t care if you guys
go way back, he deserves a proper thanks.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It slipped my mind with all the other stuff going on,”
Shizuo explained. He took out his phone and called up the black market doctor.
“Hey…Shinra? Sorry about yesterday. I wanted to thank you for your help…
What? Oh…yeah. I’ll call you later, then.”
He was going to walk outside to continue the call but never got further than a
hovering position above the chair.
“What’s up?” Tom asked.
“I guess he’s busy. He said to call back tomorrow. In fact…it sounded like he
was gonna cry.”
“Oh yeah? Well, no rush, I guess. You can do it any…oh?” Tom paused when
he saw a woman appear from the kitchen. “Who’s the babe? She’s staring holes
in us.”
“…You’re right,” Shizuo added. “In fact, I don’t think she’s ever done a shift
here before.”
Tom glanced at the woman staring at them while her mouth worked silently,
then leaned over the counter to ask the chef, “Hey, boss, when’d you pick up that
fetching lady? Is she Russian, too?”
“Correct. She’s in training—doesn’t even know how to carry out a fresh
towel. Think of her as a Russian decoration for now,” he answered brusquely.
Tom grinned and asked, “How do you say ‘You’re adorable’ in Russian?”
“Вы очаровательны.”
“Vee, ocheravatenen,” Tom mimicked. Then he turned to the woman. “Hey,
vee ocheravatenen.”
The white woman looked back at Tom with suspicion and then turned to the
chef behind the counter. “What is he saying? It is unclear. Suspicion that words
are not Japanese.”
The chef smirked and shook his head. “Вы очаровательны.”
“…Provide a clear reason that you would engage in such social pleasantries.”
“That’s just what that fella there said to you.”
“In the language of what country?”
Confused and surprised, Tom leaned over to Shizuo and whispered, “Was my
pronunciation that bad?”
“I wouldn’t know the difference, but I guess a native speaker would.”
“Wow, I guess I embarrassed myself,” Tom said, trying to hide the redness
behind his cup of tea. Just then, the platter of sashimi came across the counter to
them.
Tom reached out with his chopsticks, glanced at the woman again, and
wondered, “Is she glaring at us or something?”
He almost stopped himself from bringing it up, but he knew that Shizuo
wasn’t stupid enough to accost a woman for staring at him and so it was safe to
proceed.
“Really? Whoa, that’s harsh,” Shizuo said, his eyes tearing up. He had just
eaten a bracing sushi roll stuffed with wasabi. His vision was so blurry that he
didn’t even bother to look in her direction. “Probably because you did such a bad
job hitting on her.”
“You think so? Well, yeah…I guess you’re right.” Tom sighed, grabbing a
slice of yellowtail.
The chef leaned forward and said, “By the way…you two said you were short
on help recently, didn’t cha?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. There’s been an uptick in folks trying to welch on their fees,
so it’s getting hard for me and Shizuo to cover everything on our own.” Tom
grimaced.
The chef nodded—then glanced over at the woman.
“Feel like taking that decoration off my hands?”

Ikebukuro, in front of a dojo
In a mixed zoning area near Zoshigaya Cemetery bustling with apartments, small
homes, and industrial factories, two oddly clashing people spoke in front of a
particular building.
“And don’t worry—you’re just stopping by to introduce yourself today. If
you decide you don’t like it, you can tell me.”
“O-okay.”
The tall man was Akabayashi, and the nervous-looking girl standing next to
him was Akane Awakusu.
Akane wanted to be stronger.

For the last few days, she’d been through experiences that few grade-
schoolers—few adults, in fact—had ever faced. And in this case, she was not the
helpless victim, but the agent causing the chaos.
Right after her return a few days ago, she received a tearful embrace from her
mother and then got a lecture. But even in the middle of the scolding, she heard
the phrase so glad you’re all right many times, so Akane felt less like she was in
trouble and more that she was guilty of inflicting pain.
Yet there was a conflicted feeling inside of her still: Shizuo Heiwajima.
She was attempting to kill a grown man, and yet he had also saved her life.
Even she was having difficulty deciphering exactly how she felt about him.
While he may have saved her, Akane didn’t yet have an answer as to whether
she should kill him or not.
It seemed that even this most obvious of questions was beyond her ability to
answer.
The world she had known had turned out to be a facade, constructed by fear
of the name Awakusu. This was all unbeknownst to her, and when she learned
the truth, that facade had crumbled into dust.
The wedge placed there was preventing her from re-creating her world,
leaving it—and her—broken. And like a bad drama, that was when she had
gotten kidnapped.
On top of that, she had met the impossible Headless Rider on her headless
horse, things that shouldn’t and couldn’t exist in the real world. All these details
were enough to melt the pieces of her broken worldview into a sludge.
Things had settled down now, but Akane was still in pieces.
That morning, when Akabayashi visited at her request, the first thing she had
said was “How can I get good at killing people?”
The man, an employee of her father’s, looked startled at first and then hid his
surprise behind a tight smile. “What’s this all about? You got it in for
somebody?”
“No. It’s not that…but I have to kill him.”
“…Sounds scary. Who are you talking about?”
“I can’t tell you,” Akane said, shaking her head.
Akabayashi didn’t get angry, nor did he get upset; he just smiled. “Why not?”
“If I say, you guys will go after him, won’t you?”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked matter-of-factly.
Akane nodded. “He’s a good person. But I have to kill him.”
It wasn’t an answer that made a lot of sense, so Akabayashi kept trying to get
to the bottom of her reasoning. “Do you want him to die?”
“No. I don’t want to kill him.”
“…Then why?”
“If I don’t kill him, he might kill people I care about…”
“Who told you that?”
“…I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes sorrowful. Akabayashi recognized that she
wasn’t going to be able to tell him the answer, so he approached from a different
direction.
“But what if that person is lying to you?”
“…I can’t tell.”
“But just a moment ago, you said this person you have to kill is good… Are
you sure of that?”
“…I can’t tell,” she repeated. She shook her head, but it wasn’t a means of
shying away from the question. “I can’t tell right now. Everyone, even my
friends…my friend’s mother…the teacher…Father…everyone was lying to me. I
don’t even know if I can trust you or not…”
“…”
“So I believe that he’s good, but now I can’t believe myself…so…umm…”
It was clear that the girl did not have it all straight in her heart. She looked
down at the ground, as if ready to burst into tears, but the only things that
emerged next were words. “But I can’t. I have to be stronger.”
“Why is that?”
“If it turns out he’s bad…and I’m weak, then that’s the end of me. I can’t just
worry about what I should do if he’s bad… But I can’t talk to Father, either.
Because they’re all yakuza, right? So he might die before I can even figure out if
he’s good or bad…”
“This is quite a surprise. Does everyone your age nowadays think about
grown-up concepts like this?” Akabayashi asked, impressed. He pondered for a
bit, then grinned and said, “Well, I get your point. If you find out he’s a bad guy,
and you’re going to stop him or protect yourself, you’ve gotta be stronger than
him. And at your age… Well, I’d like to believe that us grown-ups aren’t
impatient enough to kill a guy before figuring out if he deserves it or not…”
He shrugged and suggested, “Here’s an idea: Just because you might be up
against a killer doesn’t mean you have to be stronger than them at killing.”
“Huh?”
“There’s a thing called self-defense. Rather than killing bad guys, it helps you
get stronger so that you can protect yourself and the people you care about.”
Several hours later, Akane was here in front of this building, with Akabayashi
as her escort.
The building had a sign on the front that read TRAUGOTT GEISSENDORFER’S
RAKUEI GYM, and there was a poster of a tough-looking foreign man hung next
to the entrance.
“It makes it sound like he owns or is affiliated with this place, but that
Traugott guy actually dabbles in a lot of different fighting styles. What they
teach here just so happens to be one of them, so they use that connection as a
marketing gimmick. I guess he doesn’t mind them using the name, either.”
“Ohhh?” Akane replied. She didn’t seem to be entirely present. It was less
that she failed to understand Akabayashi’s explanation and more that she was
preoccupied with a great feeling of uneasiness.
An unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar people—these are certainly things that
elicit anxiety. But to Akane in particular, there was a fear that even in this new
place, she would encounter the same false smiles and words she’d been around
all her life. Would they, too, be afraid of the shadow cast by the Awakusu-kai?
Would they secretly hate her because of it?
Akane’s childhood mind grappled with this very adult apprehension. Her
body trembled, and she was about to consider giving up and backing out when
she heard an excited girl’s voice nearby.
“Ahhh! That Awakusu-kai mobster is abducting a little girl!”
“?!”
The mention of the name Awakusu caused Akane to start. But at the same
time, she noticed something odd: The girl’s tone of voice was far too cheery for
someone bringing up the feared Awakusu name.
She timidly turned around right as Akabayashi said, “Oh really, Mairu? Do I
look like that bad of a guy?”
“How can you blame me for thinking that, Mr. Akabayashi? You couldn’t
look any fishier if you tried!”
“Well, damn.” He smirked. The girl cackled.
She had to be about five or six years older than Akane, with braided hair and
glasses. While those things might normally suggest a gloomy, withdrawn
personality, this girl was lively and bracing. There was a bundle, probably a
martial arts outfit, slung over her back, as if she were coming back from a
workout.
“As a matter of fact, this girl’s name is Akane. She’s our chairman’s
granddaughter.”
“Oh! Does that mean she’s gonna grow up to be the yakuza lady bossing the
guys around?!”
“…! …!”
Akane was stunned. She assumed she would have to hide her background at
the gym, but Akabayashi told the truth to the very first person there. Her mouth
trembled in shock, and without a better idea of what to do, she began bopping
Akabayashi on the back.
The girl named Mairu took a step closer and helpfully suggested, “Ha-ha!
Best plan here would be a sudden attack to the privates!” She unleashed a quick,
sharp kick at Akabayashi’s groin.
“Yikes!” he mocked, dodging at the last possible moment with a smile.
“Man, I’ve never had two girls try to kick me in the balls in the same day
before.”
“What? Twice? That must mean you made another girl cry this morning. You
are a bad guy!” Mairu teased with a huge grin. She turned back to Akane and
said, “Well, whatever. So you’re going to be my junior here! If you pay attention
and obey my orders, I’ll make you my special henchman and even teach you my
signature secret attack, the Thumbtack Special!”
“Cheap barrier of entry for a cheap attack.”
“Shut up, Mr. Akabayashi!” she shot back. Mairu was doing all the talking,
and Akane hadn’t said a word yet. The existence of a person who knew her as
the “granddaughter of the Awakusu-kai chairman” and still acted this way was
extremely new and surprising to her.
“Well, in any case, you’ll be my little-sister fellow pupil, so if there’s any
problem at all, you come and tell Sis! Here, come with me and I’ll introduce you
to Master!”
“Great. I’ve already spoken with the manager, so you can take her through
the rest of it. Personally, my recommendation is pole fighting, but I think the
fundamentals should come first. Give Akane’s dad a call when you’re done, and
he should send a car to come get her.”
“Um, wait, what?”
Akane was unable to wrap her head around how fast things were moving.
Akabayashi waved and left, and Akane just watched him go as Mairu dragged
her inside the building.
On the inside, a little flame kindled at the excitement of things taking an

unexpected course.
Ikebukuro, apartment building
“…Can’t imagine what the boss is thinking, agreeing to this,” Tom grumbled as
he climbed the rickety, old apartment stairs.
As usual, the person they were about to meet on the fourth floor of this
particular building had abandoned his tab, and they were heading to collect from
him—but unlike normal, there was another assistant in addition to Shizuo.
“I submit a doubt. I have not heard the contents of the job our group is
performing,” said the white woman named Vorona, in her usual strange
Japanese.
The chef at Russia Sushi had said she was too unfriendly to work in the
service industry and asked them to take her for their job, as long as he called
their boss. So here she was.
I figured he meant that she would go and do office work for him… Instead,
she’s collecting with us?!
The only way Tom could imagine a woman collecting debt was if she was a
landlord or the manager of a bar—the thought of traveling around with a woman
as a coworker was one he had never entertained.
Vorona had changed from her uniform into plainclothes, and he had to admit
that her figure had been accentuated by the change in a most bewitching way.
Damn… Yeah, it sounds nice working with a hot chick, until you actually
have to do it…
In this case, the woman was supremely standoffish and seemed acutely
disinterested in men. Tom answered her question by saying, “We’re collecting
money from bad people who owe it and aren’t paying up. Got that?”
He tried to make it as simple as possible, since her Japanese was questionable
at best. Vorona nodded to indicate understanding and said, “Collection of
protection money. Roger.”
“No, no, it’s not protection money… You know what, never mind.”
Seriously, I’m not sure about this.
Would they fail to be taken seriously if there was a woman with them? Tom
wondered. It wasn’t his intention to belittle women, but there was no guarantee
that the targets they were going to collect from would feel the same way.
Actually, they could belittle all they wanted, but if that disrespect extended to
Shizuo, and he got carried away and killed someone—well, that was the worst
possible outcome.
Also, I feel like this babe keeps staring him down. Is that just my
imagination?
As for Shizuo, he’d been traveling along in silence with his arms folded,
apparently deep in thought. Perhaps he himself was trying to figure out what he
might have done to deserve all the staring.
Just then, Tom reached the target’s apartment. He tried ringing the bell for
starters and immediately heard the lock opening from within.
When the door opened, it revealed a man with an old-fashioned “punch
perm” of the kind tough guys wore in the ’80s.
“…Who the hell are you?”
“I’m guessing you’ll understand if we say we’re here on behalf of the dating
site Arachne?” Tom said by way of introduction. The permed man’s face froze
for a moment.
“…! No idea what you mean.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. But your phone number has already used one hundred
seventy thousand yen worth of services. It’s all in the contract, so the normal
legal channel would involve having the lawyer collect, but neither of us wants to
get the court involved, do we?”
“Shuddup! Quit talkin’ yer mumbo jumbo, or I’ll kill you!”
“If you found that explanation to be ‘mumbo jumbo,’ then we might need to
bring in an interpreter,” Tom suggested, annoyed. The permed man found this
amusing; he wore a crude smile.
“Sure thing…I got an interpreter.”
“What?”
“C’mon, boys!” the man shouted toward the interior of the apartment.
A number of men marched up to the doorway. They all had the appearance of
tried-and-true low-class thugs, and they filed out to face Tom’s group in the
hallway of the building. Years of experience and intuition told Tom that they
were just ruffians, not professional criminals.
Triumphantly, the man with the perm returned to Tom and gloated, “What did
you want interpreted? Were you gonna hand over that chick to us, maybe?”
Good grief, Tom thought. Normally, Shizuo would just snap and be done with
it, but since we have Vorona with us today, I guess we should back down.
He turned toward the young woman. And if they won’t let us walk away, we’ll
at least have to make sure she gets a…way…? Huh?
Vorona had been standing right behind Shizuo just a moment ago, but now
she was gone.
“Huh? Whaddaya want, ba…buh?!”
He suddenly screamed.
Huh? Tom spun around to face forward again, and in the process, he noticed
that Shizuo’s eyes were bulging. When his spin finished, Tom’s eyes bulged, too.
“Wha—?!” “Hey…you…ah!” “Hrg?!” “Whoa?!”
He saw the men groaning and collapsing, as Vorona spun and moved between
all of them. It was like an action scene in a movie.
Vorona’s moves were just as flashy and brilliant as her appearance. She
flowed from target to target, striking the men in the chins and throats with her
elbows and toes, knocking them unconscious one after the other.
Once they were down and immobile, she started going through their pockets.
Soon she was handing Tom a small pile of wallets. Sadly, the Japanese language
of her statement was a far cry from the smooth, practiced action moves.
“Please teach the precise amount of money to be deducted. If it is lacking,
shall we conduct a home search?”
Even then, at the very moment that Tom and Shizuo shared a glance…
…the rumors raced through the town.
“Hey, you see that?”
“Shizuo.” “That was Shizuo Heiwajima.” “With a woman.”
“Was that injury story made up?” “No idea.”
“There was definitely a woman.” “Maybe she’s with the dreads guy?”
“Nah, I saw them in town.” “She was hot.”
“And the whole time they were walking…she was staring at Shizuo.”
Several hours later, Ikebukuro, Kishimojin Temple
“I can’t believe I wasn’t expecting something like that, knowing that she was
connected to Simon and that sushi chef,” Tom lamented.
They had visited a number of other targets after that, and every one of them
had either tried to hit on Vorona or threatened the group—with the result that
Vorona knocked them out so quickly and handily that Shizuo didn’t even have
time to get angry once.
“Try to spare a thought for the guys who have to mop all this up…”
“Mop up? Do you mean to dispose of the dead bodies? I have heard the
standard method of Japan is sinking into Tokyo Bay.”
“No, there’s no standard of the sort. Can you try to explain this to her,
Shizuo?”
“…I’m not really in a position to say, actually,” he replied.
They came to a temple for revering Kishimojin, a Buddhist goddess of
protection. It was on the route from a Toden trolley stop toward Ikebukuro
Station. Their next job was close by, but they decided to stop here at the
Kishimojin Temple and take a breather.
It was a quiet location in the middle of a residential area, with countless trees
in the expansive temple grounds, their leaves catching and splitting the
reddening light of the sun—an oasis of tranquillity in the midst of the vast,
bustling metropolis.
The trio, however, was in a very strange mood when it decided to stop for a
break. For his part, Tom was silent as he tried to think of how he should broach
the topic at hand—but to his surprise, it was Shizuo who broke the ice with
Vorona.
“You seem like you’re pretty tough. You practice some kind of fighting?”
“…”
She stared at him, clearly conflicted. Whatever emotional knot was behind
the look on her face was completely beyond Tom’s understanding.
After a long silence, Vorona sighed heavily and said, “I have learned only the
first of first steps in many things. In youth period, through texts. In puberty,
through battle. Denis and Semyon…the one you call Simon, taught me self-
defense.”
“Ahh, those guys… So if you started in childhood, does that mean your dad
was a fighter, too?”
“My father was expert in a fighting style called Systema. Systema was the
only style I did not learn. It is…similar to rebellion against Father. I would
appreciate if you do not pry.”
“I won’t ask, then. In any case, you’re pretty incredible.”
“…It sounds like farcical jest coming from you,” Vorona insisted.
Tom jumped in. “Huh…? Wait, do you know about Shizuo?”
“In Ikebukuro, it is impossible not to hear rumors,” she lied. She had only
learned of Shizuo’s prowess once she saw him in action the day before. But
because she’d been wearing a helmet and they hardly spoke, Shizuo did not
realize it was her yet.
Perhaps Vorona had heard a rumor or two about a man wearing a bartender’s
outfit. But she would have laughed off stories about throwing vending machines
one-handed as a joke.
After yesterday, she had experienced his strength firsthand.
Perhaps this man, she contemplated, recalling that moment and the sight of
him kicking a car like a ball and overturning everything she thought she knew.
Perhaps this man could prove it to me, I hoped. Perhaps he could give me the
answer to the question of humanity’s frailty.
But the excitement of that moment had totally fizzled into nothing overnight.
It was me who was unfit all along. I am…weak. What is the point of striking a
block of clay to determine how strong steel is? All this means is that the people I
destroyed to get here…were weaker than clay.
This was total nonsense, of course, but Vorona had settled into another glare
at Shizuo. She didn’t hate him. The fierceness in her eyes was actually directed
at herself.
For his part, Shizuo didn’t realize he was being stared at. He gazed up at the
sky over the temple and murmured, “I dunno what rumors you heard about me,
but I think you’re more incredible than I am.”
“…It is unclear what you are saying.”
“I just happen to have physical strength. That has nothing to do with whether
a person is really strong or weak. If anything, the folks like you, who worked
and worked to train themselves, are way stronger people than I am. That’s
worthy of respect.”
“…”
I am more incredible than him? What is he saying? Maybe I just misheard
him, Vorona thought.
Tom spoke up to fill the silence. “That reminds me—you said there was some
fighter you respected. What was the name again…?”
“Traugott Geissendorfer. He’s unbelievable.”
“See, that’s crazy to me. From my perspective, you’re the most ridiculous of
all, Shizuo. If you wanted to, you could easily bulk up and win gold medals. And
once you get a bunch of them… Wait, are the medals pure gold?” Tom
wondered.
“Gold medals used in Olympics are not all pure gold. Consideration for host
countries with poor economy. Over ninety-two-point-five percent pure silver
with six-gram coating of gold. Only pure gold medals are Nobel Prize until
1980. Even modern Nobel medal is seventy-five percent gold with pure gold
coat,” Vorona answered.
She’d meant it to distract from the previous topic, and it succeeded in
surprising Tom. “Wow…I feel like I just saw another incredible side of you.”
“How come they stopped using all gold for the Nobel Prize? They didn’t
have the money?” Shizuo asked. His curiosity reminded Vorona of Slon and
briefly rattled her heart, but her instincts took over and produced the answer
from memory.
“Nobel award has cash prize. But medal of pure gold is too soft. A simple
bite leaves a mark. Even little accidents cause string of marks, distortions.
Alloys prevent disfiguration.”
“Oooh, I didn’t know that…”
“Tough, smart, and beautiful. You’ve got everything,” Tom remarked, but it
did not please Vorona.
“…Denied. I am not beautiful, smart, and certainly not—” she started to say,
words intended to convince herself, but she paused partway. There was a girl
near the entrance of the temple grounds, shouting with innocent excitement.
“Ohhh! Shiii-zuuu-ooo! How are youuu?”
The trio turned and saw a girl with braided hair and glasses, a rolled-up dojo
gi slung over her back. Behind her was another girl who looked identical to her
except for a gloomy expression, and then a little girl who was clearly several
years younger than them.
Shizuo recognized them all. “Is that Mairu and Kururi…and Akane?!”
The little elementary-age girl hiding behind the twins saw Shizuo and trotted
forward at a run.
“Big Brother Shizuo!”

“Hey, it’s me. Listen up.”
“The rumor was true!” “I was just watching Shizuo from afar!”
“This little girl ran over to Shizuo and just straight up hugged him!”
“Really?” “Shizuo’s kid?”
“So not only was the woman part true, so was the kid!”
The rumor raced through a specific class of people like a thunderbolt.

Cell phones and the Internet acted as a medium, giving shape to the rumor in
real time—and provided these rumormongers with almost pathological
excitement.
“How many people can we get here right away…?”
The rumor that was more wishful thinking than logic turned out to be true.
Of course, in reality it wasn’t true at all, but they were now convinced of its
accuracy, anyway.
And that was because they needed it to be true, which meant that considering
any other possibility was pointless.
Excitement overtook the gossiping gaggle’s bodies, gifting them with a
dynamic agency they could never exhibit otherwise—no matter what their goals
were.
“I dunno what’s gonna happen, but I want at least a dozen guys in some
cars.”
“Once the girls leave Shizuo’s side, we’re gonna kidnap ’em.”
Why is Akane Awakusu here?

Vorona quietly scanned the area, surprised. She suspected that some of the
Awakusu-kai were nearby.
I’m wasting my time, she realized. They could certainly be watching her now,
but they would not do so from out in the open where she would see. And without
any gear on her person, she would be helpless if anyone on the level of that
Akabayashi man showed up.
No, wait… We already settled the matter. As long as I do not touch that Akane
girl, the Awakusu-kai will not harass me. On the other hand, I don’t know how
sincere they are about that deal, so there’s nothing wrong with being cautious.
In any case…I will not rest easy within the security Father bought for me.
Meanwhile, the three girls chattered and squealed, though the majority of the
noise was coming from the one with glasses.
“Hey! Hey! Who’s that pretty lady?! Can I hug her?!”
“Don’t do it,” said Shizuo, grabbing the girl by the back of her collar and
holding her aloft like a cat.
The other one, wearing a gloomy face, bowed to Tom. “…Earlier…bag…
thanks…” [Thank you for the bag to hide the money the other day.]
“Oh, sure. Don’t mention it,” he replied.
“And since we got another three hundred thousand this morning, we were
able to carry it around in that bag, Kuru!”
“Three hun—!” Tom gasped. He decided to tap the girls on the shoulders and
advised, “Listen…this isn’t really my place to say, but…don’t do anything that
would disappoint your parents. You’re such sweet kids—you shouldn’t sell
yourselves short like this. I mean, three hundred thousand yen is a lot of cash,
but it’s an asset you shouldn’t put a price on…”
“?” “?”
The twins looked confused. Tom’s lecture was based on an entirely mistaken
assumption.
Akane, meanwhile, clung to Shizuo’s pants as she looked up at him with a
beaming smile. “Thanks for yesterday, Big Brother Shizuo!”
“Hmm? Oh, sure, don’t mention it. Kids like you oughta be more free-
spirited; don’t go dragging your obligations around with you,” he said with a
grimace and stroked her head. Akane squealed and pressed his hand down with
her own.
Seeing this, Vorona thought, She is so carefree. Especially for having been
abducted by us just yesterday. Or…perhaps it’s actually a sign of strength that
she’s already overcome her hardship. I suppose I really am weaker than
anyone…
Next, Shizuo addressed the twins: “So what are you two doing with Akane,
anyway?”
“We’re more surprised that you know Akane, Shizuo! Turns out that she just
joined my dojo today! My training for the day is over, so once Kuru came by, I
decided to give Akane a tour of the area!”
“Oh, your dojo? So it’s for self-defense? Not a bad idea, actually,” Shizuo
replied.
“D-do you think so? Then I’ll give it a shot,” Akane said, smiling.
Shizuo’s grin faded a bit as he considered something. He turned back to the
twins. “Speaking of which…what’s up with your fleabrain brother?”
“…Surprise…?” [Huh…?]
“Don’t you watch the news on TV, Shizuo?”
“What? Well, I left early to do the collection rounds. Why? Was there
something interesting on the news? Did they finally arrest him?”
“It’s a secret. You should check the papers or the Internet when you get back
home. You’ll be amazed!”
“…Brother…safe…” [Izaya escaped with his life.]
“?”
Shizuo wasn’t sure what she meant by that and was going to ask for more
information when Tom cut him off: “Hey, Shizuo, we gotta go hit up that place
already.”
“Right,” he grunted, switching back to work mode.
“This place will be a little delicate, as there’s a family involved, Vorona. Do
you mind waiting this one out?” Tom continued.
“…I am on standby?”
“Well, we don’t want you putting on a big display like the last few. Why
don’t you just stay here with these girls and chat over some tea? Uh, tea not
included.”
Tom Tanaka’s best quality was his ability to adjust to any person’s needs.
Once he got used to them, he could adapt and learn to get along with anyone,
even people like Shizuo and Vorona, who normal folks would instantly be too
afraid to approach.
One of Tom’s on-the-fly adjustments was recognizing that Vorona, who was
more suited to action and not negotiation, was best left behind on this one. Of
course, he was still going to bring along Shizuo as a valuable means of ensuring
his own safety.
“Well,” he decided, “it’s a good thing we’ve got so many girls here to keep
you company. Shizuo and I should be back in, oh, about ten minutes. You can
wait alone if you really want, but I’d hate for you to feel lonely on your first day
at the job. Can I ask you girls to hang out here?”
“Sure.”
“…Pleasure…” [I’d be happy to.]
“I’ll wait here until you come back, Big Brother Shizuo!”
With those approvals in place, the four women decided to remain on the
temple grounds.
None of them realized that they were being watched.
“Hey, Shizuo just split off from the girls! You ready yet?!”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be less than a minute.”
“Also, I doubt they mean anything, but…there are also two teenage girls
there who seem to know him.”
“So we’ll grab them, too.”
“Really? All of them? You sure, man?”
“Well, the rumor I heard is…”
“Yesterday, the Dollars abducted a group of, like, five girls, including some
motorcycle gang boss’s lady.”
Several minutes later
“Ohhh, you know Simon? So does that mean you know Egor, too?!”
“…It is a surprise. It is outside of expectations that you would recognize
Egor.”
“…Surprise…strange…” [This is quite a coincidence.]
Vorona and the girls found it no trouble at all to keep up a conversation after
Tom and Shizuo left. She had assumed there would be a long silence with
nothing to talk about, but the girl with the braids and her gloomy identical
companion weren’t intimidated by her in the least.
To everyone’s surprise, they found they had some strange things in common.
Vorona decided to obey her new boss’s orders and stay there so she could
continue the conversation.
But what should I do after this…? I’m much closer now to the man in the
bartender clothes, which is good. I know his name. But what now? Do I wait for
my chance and attack him from behind? But…why?
Even the nature of the hope she clung to was beginning to evade Vorona.
Suddenly, Akane tugged at her sleeve.
“…Are you a friend of Big Brother Shizuo?”
“Huh?”
It was the very girl she kidnapped the day before. Apparently, the girl did not
recognize her. For her part, Vorona considered the girl to be merely an element
of a past event and not worthy of any personal sentiment.
“…Friend…? Rejected. Shizuo and I are nothing but work companions.”
“Oh, I see,” Akane said, looking relieved for a reason that evaded Vorona.
But it didn’t matter, because in the next moment, the Russian woman
detected an anomaly in the area.
A number of cars stopped on the adjacent street and opened their doors,
almost entirely at once.
—!
Alarms went off in Vorona’s head. She crouched immediately and glanced
around the temple grounds.
Emerging from several nearby vans was a group of men wearing ski masks,
like bank robbers did. They didn’t have any visible weapons, but they did seem
to be carrying ropes and sacks.
“Huh? What? What’s this? That doesn’t look good!”
“…Bad…?” [Kidnappers?]
Sure enough, the men were on a beeline right toward them. They were racing
at full speed, their sacks rustling with a violence that would be menacing to an
ordinary person.
But that was the key part: to an ordinary person.
They would spread out in a circle around the girls and put the sacks over their
heads. Once the girls were blinded and panicking, they’d load them into the cars
and drive off.
Very simple job.
But not an easy one.
The area happened to be empty at the moment, but a resident might pass by at
any time. In order to minimize the risk of being witnessed, the men were going
to have to be rough, if necessary. All they had to do was pull off this job, and
then they could use or destroy the weapon that was Shizuo Heiwajima in any
way they desired.
However, they certainly didn’t imagine that the women who were with
Shizuo also happened to be deadly weapons, when handled improperly.
The white woman looked like the biggest and strongest of the group.
The man who attempted to throw his sack over her head was the first to taste
the weapon’s bite.
“…You seek to target me?”

Vorona let out a short breath, leaped off the ground—and aimed her right foot
squarely at the jaw of the man, with all the torque of a chameleon’s tongue
flicking out. Her steel-plated boot passed right through his upheld arms, the high
kick smooth and flowing.
Her toe connected with his chin with pinpoint accuracy. The man’s eyes
rolled back into his head, and he passed out, unaware of what had actually
happened to him.
“…Huh?”
The men who witnessed this action experienced a temporary mental fog, a
void of experience. It was not fear at Vorona’s strength—it was simple lack of
understanding of what they’d just seen.
But when the mind stops, the body often does not.
The men raced toward their targets, temporarily careless and preoccupied,
only to receive a very painful counterattack—not just from Vorona, but all the
girls.
“Goddammit, stop stru…gah!”

Mairu jabbed her fingers in the eyes of the man trying to hold her down. She
didn’t crush the eyeballs, but it was enough to make him leap backward. She
then used those extended fingers to grab his ski mask so that he yanked his head
free as he pulled away. With his face exposed, she swung her hands forward to
slap him right on the ears—the kind of dangerous, precise strike meant to rupture
the eardrums.
One of the other men automatically looked over when he heard the sound of
his companion screaming and rolling on the ground. That was enough time for
Kururi to pull a spray can out of her pocket and deploy it.
It was a small can, like a purse-sized perfume bottle. It contained a self-
defense substance of her own design, based on store-bought mace.
The reason it was only based on the common market product was so that it
could be several times more powerful.
“Wha…wha…?!”
The largest of the attackers, seeing that his buddies were going down left and
right, finally noticed that something was wrong.
“Dammit, screw this crap!” he ranted, grabbing the nearest girl, the slow-
looking one with the spray can, so that he could subdue her through brute force.
But because he was so tall, he failed to notice the youngest girl approaching his
feet.
“…What?”
There was a brief crackle, and he looked down to see—
“Y-yah!”
Akane Awakusu hit him right on the leg with her stun gun.
She’d gotten the gun from Nakura the other day as a means to kill Shizuo.
Fortunately for the man—and Akane—Shinra had modified the device while
Akane was sleeping to ensure it wouldn’t be fatal.
Of course, nonfatal is not the same thing as nondebilitating.
Froth bubbled out the man’s mouth and nose before he could even scream.
Akane switched the stun gun off immediately and hid behind Mairu.
Why does she have a stun gun? Vorona wondered. Well…after what just
happened to her, I suppose she was given one for protection. But she seems very
adept with it…
Vorona pondered this question as she knocked out the men one after the
other. At first, she assumed that this was a hit squad sent by someone seeking
revenge against her or perhaps some new group of kidnappers to abduct Akane
Awakusu after she had failed.
“Sh-shit! What’s up with these bitches?!” the men wailed in panic.
“Who said kidnapping them would work against Shizuo? Whose bright idea
was this?!”
At this, Vorona suddenly understood.
Aha… We’re supposed to be hostages against Shizuo… They wanted to take
down Shizuo Heiwajima.
She suddenly realized she was smiling. Don’t make me laugh.
A man lunged for her from the side, and she stomped her heel hard onto the
top of his foot. When he grunted and lurched forward, she spun and slammed her
knee into the bridge of his nose.
You think you…are capable of toppling him?
Recall.
Recall.
Those who you destroyed in the past.
These men here are nothing but soft putty, a far cry from even those old
victims.
But as she knocked them out left and right with her bare hands, Vorona began
to recall other things.
Her own nature, forgotten after consecutive defeats.
Her pathological urges that she could not control.
It’s not enough. These men are not enough. Humanity is…not this frail.
Shizuo Heiwajima…is not this frail!
The urge to destroy, which had given her so much pleasure, came to her
under the guise of finding out if humanity really was a frail thing. But that urge,
which meant nothing more to her than an excuse to kill for pleasure, was now
changing in subtle ways.
Strong… I want to be strong.
Strong like that man, harder than diamond and vaster than the tundra forests!
If I can destroy Shizuo Heiwajima, then perhaps…I can gain fulfillment I shall
never find elsewhere.
These thoughts roared through her mind as she kicked, struck, toppled, and
overwhelmed the men—a forced smile plastered across her face.
She told herself that it would only be a true smile when she defeated Shizuo.
“Uh, cr-crap! Let’s pull back!”

The men fled in panic, totally unprepared for the resistance they received.
They raced for their vans, but one of them was already pulling away.
“H-hey, you idiot! Wait, don’t lea…”
But once they got to the street, they realized why the car took off. From the
other end of the street, two men with distinctive appearances were approaching
—one in a bartender outfit, the other with dreads.
“I-it’s…Shizuo!”
“Quick, get in!”
They piled into the remaining car as if they were fleeing from some
horrifying dinosaur, some of them even hanging off the door handles as it pulled
away.
Tom watched in confusion as the cars full of screaming men departed. “What
the hell was that all about? Did they have a fight?”
Shizuo glanced toward the temple, saw that Akane and the other women were
all standing around normally, then shook his head and remarked, “Fighting right
in front of the goddess Kishimojin. Have they no shame?”
As a matter of fact, the men had been attempting something far worse than a
simple fight; fortunately, their plot ended in spectacular failure.
The men raced off out of sight, too terrified to consider their good fortune
that they were not spotted in the act by Shizuo.
“…There was a mistake in my answer to your prior question,” Vorona murmured

as the man in the bartender getup approached. She was back to her usual stony
expression, and her voice was so quiet that only Akane heard her.
“Huh…?” the girl said, confused.
Vorona didn’t bother to stay quiet. She came right out and said, “Shizuo
Heiwajima. He is my prey. Eventually, I will destroy him. That is truth.”
“…! N-no! You can’t!” Akane pleaded. She tugged on Vorona’s trousers.
“I’m going to beat Big Brother Shizuo!”
Young as she was, even Akane couldn’t have described exactly what emotion
it was that had just risen within her heart. She simply heard Vorona say that she
would destroy Shizuo, and that complex interplay of emotions delivered a single
answer to her.
I need to kill Big Brother Shizuo. But I don’t want to… Umm, umm…
She wasn’t able to find a way to rephrase her words, so all she could come up
with was a vague follow-up.
“I have to do something about Big Brother Shizuo!”
“…Answer is unclear. Please provide reason that you hold ownership of my
prey.”
“I…I don’t know all that complicated stuff!” Akane argued back. Meanwhile,
Mairu and Kururi simply watched the argument, wide-eyed. It was just then that
Tom showed up.
“Huh? Where’s Shizuo?” Mairu asked.
Tom gestured over his shoulder with his chin.
“Just getting a can of coffee from the vending machine back there,” he said
before noticing the argument going on. “Hey, what’s…?”
“Shizuo is mine.”
“No! You can’t touch Big Brother Shizuo!”
“…………? …?!”
Huh?!
This development was so abrupt and absurd that Tom’s eyes grew to the size
of golf balls behind his glasses.
W-wait…what?! What’s going on here?! When did the situation turn
into…this?!
Meanwhile, Shizuo finished up his coffee and reentered the temple grounds.
“Big Brother Shizuo!”
“Hey. Have you been getting along with them?” he asked Akane, rubbing her
head. She turned and glared daggers back at Vorona.
Shizuo never saw the fireworks going off between them.
“Dammit! What the hell was that? Who were those chicks?!” one of the thugs
ranted back at their hideout, yanking his ski mask off.
They were the remnants of a street gang crushed by Shizuo in the past. The
few that remained back at the base rushed up to see what happened.
“What do you mean? You guys failed?!”
“Well, I guess I see why she’s Shizuo’s woman… Damn it all!”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. We can wait for that kid with the stun gun to
start walking alone and nab her then.”
“Yeah, we left a few back there to keep an eye out. As long as they keep
watching, the chicks’ll definitely split up, so we can get them one by one,” one
of the returning men bragged. He hadn’t learned his lesson yet.
Of course, these were guys who’d been beaten by Shizuo once and were
actually going for a second attempt—learning wasn’t their strong suit.
In this particular case, they weren’t going to get a second attempt.
“Are these your lookouts?”

There were some dull, heavy thuds at the entrance, where two large lumps of
flesh were now placed. The men were unconscious, their faces red and swollen.
Then the people who brought them back to that pummeled state entered the
hideout.
“What?! Who the…fu…?”
They were very menacing figures, over ten in total. These men wore a variety
of outfits—black suits, sweat suits, work clothes—but all of them contained that
air of deadly seriousness that marked them as being of a professional nature.
“Who was it you said you were going to kidnap?”
“Er, uh…”
“Going after Miss Akane, of all people? Did y’all want to be metal men that
bad? Should we go take a trip to the smelting tank and see what happens?”
“Eh…? Eh…?!”
These men were all part of the Awakusu-kai.
Some members who had been secretly keeping watch over Akane saw that
she was making contact with Vorona and called for backup—then the gang
attacked and was promptly beaten, only for a few of them to return to the scene
as lookouts.
The Awakusu men subdued them without drawing Akane’s attention and
worked the location of the hideout out of the hapless lookouts. Naturally, the
thugs had no idea who Akane was or what she represented, so this was all a
terrifying mystery to them.
“Wait…! Hang on, we don’t know… We were just… Shizuo?”
“Save your breath. We can hear all the details back at the office. Get your
story straight now while you have the chance.”
“W-wait, no…”
“See, if your story is bad, then the next step is coming up with your last will
and testament—not that we’re actually going to pass it on.”
The Awakusu-kai men got right to work with clinical precision. Given that
they were merely taking some punks who got beat up by a group of girls back to
the office, it was a very, very easy job indeed—one they conducted without
mercy.
And that was how rumor and hearsay contributed to the downfall of one
particular gang.
Ikebukuro
Akane and the twins left, so the debt-collecting trio headed off to its next job.
Tom kept glancing toward Shizuo as they walked, occasionally offering a
cryptic comment.
“…Well, given who your brother is, I guess you’ve got the looks…”
“What’s up, Tom? You’ve been acting weird.”
“Nah…it’s nothing. Ignore me.”
“?”
Shizuo was still curious, but he gave up asking Tom. Instead, he turned
around to Vorona.
“By the way, Vorona…”
“What is it?”
“Have you and I met somewhere before?”
“…?!”
Did he figure it out? Vorona wondered, instantly tense.

She’d had her face covered, and the only words she’d said to him were
“Motorbike is mine.”
The bike in question had been destroyed, and there was a firefight following
that, but she’d been in her riding suit and full helmet the entire time, so he hadn’t
seen her face. Still, a perceptive person might have noticed.
She decided to take great care with her answer. “It is secret. Do you mind that
I wish to refuse the answer?”
“…”
Shizuo didn’t reply. He walked over to a nearby vending machine and bought
a can of coffee. It seemed strange, since he’d just had one a moment earlier—but
this one he gave to Vorona.
“?”
“It’s on me.”
“…”
“See…before now, I bounced around between a lot of jobs… It’s the first
time I’ve ever had a junior coworker to mentor,” Shizuo said with a grin. “Tell
you what, I’ll let go of the fine details. You seemed like you were getting along
with Akane, and if Simon introduced you to us, I’m sure you’re a good person.”
“…”
It’s like he’s a completely different person from when he kicked that car. And I
still can’t tell if he realizes who I am or not.
“Well, here’s to a good working relationship,” Shizuo said and pressed the
can of coffee against Vorona’s cheek. It squashed the flesh out of shape, but her
expression was still as blank as ever.
“…Fwank you.”
Shizuo Heiwajima… What a strange man.
As far as she knew, he was the toughest human alive. Yet she still knew
nothing about him.
Over time, I shall learn more and more. And once I know everything, I will
destroy him. That is my reason for living, Vorona decided and drank the coffee.
It tasted rich and dark, with just a little bit of sugar. Oddly, it seemed rather
sweet to her.
Vorona turned to Shizuo, face as impassive as ever.
“…Thank you…sir.”
“H-hey, did you hear?!”
“The guys going after Shizuo got nabbed by the Awakusu-kai.”
“For real?” “How come?!” “Guess his bird’s an

Awakusu relative.”
“What does that mean?” “Is Shizuo the Awakusu-kai
heir?”
The absurd rumors circled all over Ikebukuro, changing constantly.
“You hear? Did you hear, man?!”
“Shizuo’s the secret love child of the Awakusu-kai chairman?!” “Whoa,

really?!”
“Yeah, with a Russian woman!” “So that’s why Shizuo’s blond!”
“I thought that was hair dye? “Crazy!” “Okay, don’t mess

with him.”
“I’m not scared!” “But who wants to make an

enemy of the Awakusu-kai?”
And once the rumors got truly absurd, those half-hearted ruffians
immediately believed in them.
They had no choice. They had to believe them. Many wished it to be true
with all their heart.
I really, really don’t want to have to deal with a monster like Shizuo.
This wasn’t the hope that they might actually beat him—it was even more
powerful, something like basic animal instinct.
So they clung to the rumors. As long as the rumors were true, they had a
valid reason to fear Shizuo. Where before they could not shy away from one
man and retain their pride, the presence of the Awakusu-kai backbone gave them
a proper rationale for not attacking the individual in question.
And that secret desire of theirs gave birth to more rumors.
Several months later, a third-rate tabloid took the story seriously and wrote an
article proclaiming, “Yuuhei Hanejima’s Grandfather: Yakuza Boss?!” Not only
did they get into trouble with his talent agency, it also attracted the attention of
the Awakusu-kai, nearly putting the publisher into bankruptcy.
But that’s another story.
New rumors were born every day, racing through Ikebukuro—to serve as a
bridge between the ordinary and extraordinary, between people and city.
“Hey… Did you hear?”

Ordinary D: Lovey-Dovey Chaka-Poko
Chaka-poko, chaka-poko.
The carriage trundled along behind the horse.
The silhouette suggested a relaxed, regal air as it glided through the light and
shade of the trees, as elegant as a leaf drifting through the vast expanse of time.
All except for one detail…
The silhouette of the carriage was indeed nothing but a silhouette.

It was black without reflection, the very absence of light. A carriage
somehow expanded from a two-dimensional plane of shadow into a three-
dimensional object.
It was the kind of carriage that nobles would have traveled in not too long
ago, but in this situation, it was like an illustration taken from a children’s book
—a pop-up shadow-play children’s book, perhaps.
If anything added to the strangely alien nature of the sight, it was the horse
pulling it, which wore a Western-style horse helmet that, like the rest of the
carriage, was pitch-black and nonreflective.
Seen through the window of this shadow-play carriage come to life were two
figures that couldn’t have been more different.
One was a young man wearing a white coat that stood in stark contrast to the
carriage. The other was dressed in a manner befitting the vehicle’s owner—black
clothes that seemed to be made of shadow itself.
The woman in black took out a PDA and showed it to the man.
“It’s the first time I’ve tried making a roofed carriage. I guess I can do it,
after all,” the screen read.
The man in white beamed immensely. “Of course. Nothing is impossible for
you, Celty.”
“It’s hard to take that as a compliment, because you say that sort of thing to
me all the time.”
“Unfair! Fine, Celty—I shall challenge the limits of human possibility if
that’s what will serve as proof of your hard work. Just give the order: What must
I do? I could write a thousand pages of poems about your beloved Ikebukuro and
print more copies of them worldwide than the Bible!” he babbled. The woman in
black just typed into the PDA in silence.
“Shinra.”
“Mhm?!”
“Shut up for a bit.”
“…Mm.”
The man named Shinra sulked like a scolded child. The woman named Celty
shrugged and jabbed at him with an elbow.
“Don’t get so depressed. All the highs and lows are too much to deal with.”
“…But you can’t blame me for being excited!” Shinra said, his eyes
sparkling again. “We haven’t gone on a vacation together since I was a kid and
you let me ride on the back of the motorcycle!”
“Does that count as a vacation?”
“Well, if you don’t think of that as a vacation, that makes this our very first!
It’s incredible—what a historic day! Should I think of this as a honeymoon?!”
“Be careful to behave—unless you want one of those posthoneymoon ‘Oops,
I’ve made a mistake’ divorces.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Shinra grumbled, all good behavior. His shoulders slumped,
and he looked down—then leaped up off his seat, looking as if a lightning bolt
struck his mind, shouting, “Y-you didn’t deny that this was our honeym—
Gahk!”
The carriage jolted, and he slammed his head on the interior ceiling.
“A-are you all right?!”
“Owww… I’m fine… Just saw stars for a moment…”
“Are you sure you’re all right? Sorry, maybe I set the ceiling a bit low. I’m
not wearing my helmet, so my sense of height is a bit off,” Celty typed into her
PDA. She rubbed his head tenderly.
“No, it’s fine. It’s just the right height. It was my fault for jumping up like
that.”
“No, I mean, are you sure you’re all right? I don’t really have a good gauge
on how much it hurts to hit your head…”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. You’re better off not knowing. Also, that was the third
time you asked me if I was all right. Your kindness is the most effective ice pack
of all, Celty.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she typed and then turned toward the window.
Oh, Celty, Shinra thought. She must have red cheeks right about now. What a
sweetheart.
As a matter of fact, he had no way of knowing if her cheeks were really
blushing.
She didn’t have cheeks to flush in the first place.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know; more accurately, she just couldn’t remember.
When someone back in her homeland had stolen her head, she had lost all her
memories of what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that
had brought her here to Ikebukuro.
memories were still lost.
Celty, however, knew who had stolen her head originally.
She also knew who was preventing her from finding it.
But ultimately, that meant she didn’t know where it was.
As long as she could be with those human beings she loved and who accepted
her, she could happily live the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face,
who held the strong, secret desire to live within her heart.
But even for the very embodiment of the unusual and extraordinary, Celty
had her own flavor of ordinary life.
She was a courier in Ikebukuro, taking various kinds of cargo to designated
locations for money. Some people treated her like an odd-jobs guy who could do
anything you needed, but she considered all of it to be a part-time job. She was
not a professional.
Until about a year ago, she figured that if she did this job and traveled all
over every inch of Ikebukuro, she might increase her chances of finding her head
—but at this point, her dedication to the job was more rooted in just feeling
guilty about the people who wouldn’t receive their important items otherwise.
In the past, she took on jobs that might have skirted the law, but now she did
her best to avoid things of that nature. It was one thing if she got chased by the
police or criminal organizations, but now she had people to care for—people she
didn’t want harmed by this trouble.
On the other hand, Shinra Kishitani—the person she cared for first and
foremost—was a black market doctor, an occupation designed to attract trouble.
Celty was essentially honest and caring by nature. She took her job seriously
and even went out of her way to help people on her days off. She kept herself
busy. On the days when she really was at leisure, she played games with Shinra
and relaxed around the house—essentially the same things she did after she got
home, anyway.
So in that sense, today’s vacation was an actual holiday for her, a real break
from tradition.
They were in the mountains, far from the city.
Just a carriage trundling along on a path with a view of a lake.
It was isolated by design; they had picked out the location for this very
reason. In the summers, people used the area for haunted house challenges—
there were some ruined buildings around that were rumored to contain ghosts.
In that sense, a headless woman riding a carriage made of physical shadow
was certainly appropriate, but in fact, even that was out of place: Japanese ghost
stories rarely had European-style carriages.
Celty and Shinra were worried about this at first, but they ultimately went
with the location and embarked on a day-trip vacation.
The idea had been Celty’s at first, to give Shinra a chance at some leisure
time. He did so much for her on a regular basis that a vacation seemed like a
good plan.
She fashioned herself a gothic black dress to match the carriage. In place of
the helmet she normally wore, she had a ladies’ hat with a matching cape. If they
were pure white, it might have looked like an ornate wedding dress, but being
made of shadow, they were more like mourning clothes.
But despite Celty’s widow outfit, Shinra was perpetually hyped. At his
request, she’d been “trying on” various shadow clothes all day, rather than just
her typical riding suit. Given his utter devotion to her, no one could blame Shinra
for being excited.
For his part, he wasn’t wearing the usual doctor’s coat, either. It was a special
outfit he put together for the trip, albeit just as white-centric as ever.
His eyes sparkled brighter than ever before, and with every new outfit Celty
changed into, he raised a cheer of delight.
In this case, “changing into” was more literal than usual: She was merely
reshaping the shadow that covered her body.
May 5, midday
“Say, Celty. About the changing, I have a request. If possible, I’d really like to
see you remove your clothes each time so I can watch you wriggle your bare
arms into the slee— Buh!”
She answered his request with an elbow. “Pervert. What if someone saw me
changing inside the carriage?”
“Hey, if you’ve got the goods, show ’em off-aff-ahf-aaah!”
He did his best to smile through the pain of a twisted cheek. “Sorry, I was
lying. I don’t want anyone else to see you. Your changing scenes belong to no
one but me-hee-haaa!”
The flick to his temple did far more damage than he was anticipating.
Meanwhile, Celty had rearranged the shadow she was wearing into a new outfit.
“I’m all done.”
Shinra read the words off the PDA being held in front of his face, then
glanced over the device at Celty.
There she sat, looking somehow shy and embarrassed, in a girl’s school
uniform of all black.
“I brought the red scarf from home and tried wearing it, but it just made me
look like a girl at one of those brothels, I think…”
The fact that she had no head made her more like the victim of a freakish
school murder mystery than a prostitute, but Shinra did not mention this. He
assumed a very serious look and folded his legs atop the carriage seat.
“What’s wrong? Is it weird after all?” she asked, uncertain what this reaction
meant. She was about to reform the shadow clothes to the usual riding suit when
Shinra suddenly bowed his head, tearing up.
“I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. Will you go out with me?”
“That’s really creepy, Shinra. What’s gotten into you?”
Maybe that blow to the head earlier really did a number on him, she
wondered, suddenly worried. Perhaps she ought to turn the carriage around and
rush him to a hospital.
Shinra wiped his tears and grabbed her arm. “No, no, I’m sorry. See, I always
wanted to make one of those high school declarations. I used to dream of how I
would ask you out if we went to the same school…”
Celty shrugged and typed, “You’re a lot of trouble, you know that?”
“Even when other girls asked me out, I had to tell them, ‘You’re nice and all,
but you still have a head on your shoulders’…”
“Go track down those girls and beg forgiveness, right now. Also, is the
insinuation here that you would take any woman without a head?” she shot
back.
Shinra shook his head violently. “No, not at all! I would love you without
reservation, Celty, whether you had a human head, or a cardboard head, or some
amalgamation of slugs and earthworms!”
“That’s disgusting!”
Actually, I’m kind of amazed that there were girls who liked this freak, Celty
reflected. You’ve gotta be a real eccentric…
“But once the rumors got around, the girls got creeped out and stopped
approaching me. In fact, Shizuo once unfairly complained to me that the girls
were avoiding him, too, all because of me.”
“That’s not unfair at all.”
“It isn’t? Well…I guess you’re right. Of course you are,” Shinra said and
laughed like a child.
Eccentric? she thought. Well, I guess that does describe me. The eccentric
who loves a woman without a head, and the eccentric who fell in love with him.
Smirking inwardly, Celty typed away on the PDA’s keyboard.
“Why are you so focused on clothes, anyway? Something tells me this is more
of a male thing than you specifically.”
“I don’t know about other guys. All I know is my own reason. To me, you are
unlimited possibilities. If I’d been born in a different time or place, I know we
would have met all the same, just under different circumstances. And I want to
experience all those possibilities!”
“I didn’t realize it was such a grand vision.”
“Oh, that’s just my excuse. The truth is, I just want to see you in all different
outfits so I can get all horn…,” he said, stopping in the middle of his sentence
and bracing himself.
“What happened? Can’t you go on?”
“Oh, I j-just figured I’d get another elbow… Wait, I seem to recall another
instance of this, a few months ago…”
Celty tried to remember. That’s right. Things were happening just like this,
and then…I think that was when Emilia rang the doorbell and interrupted us.
She just grabbed Shinra and hugged him. I could barely believe it.
She could laugh it off now, but at the time, Celty had been on the verge of
jealousy. She felt both ashamed of that behavior and secretly pleased at the
reminder of how much she loved him.
Honestly, I wonder…why did I fall in love with him?
In her past, somewhere among the memories locked in her head, had she
experienced a life like this one, as a proper fairy back in Ireland?
On a vacation with her lover: a very picturesque moment of bliss, according
to a human being. Had she ever experienced bliss like this in her old life? What
was her life like back then?
She couldn’t deny being curious. But…
“What’s wrong, Celty? Are you feeling bad?!”
“No…,” she replied, looking at Shinra’s face.
At this point in time, her present life was far more important than whatever
was in her past. She decided to enter a teasing message into the PDA and placed
it on Shinra’s knees.
“And what were you going to do…after you got all horny?”
“Huh…? …!”
“If you get all horny here in this carriage, what’s going to happen to me?”
“…”
Huh? He’s not saying anything, she realized. Normally, he would act
surprised at first, then burst into excitement. Instead, he merely stared down at
the PDA in silence, his face neutral, if not downright serious.
Uh-oh… Did I tease him so much that he got mad?
She was going to snatch back the PDA to type out an apology when Shinra
clutched her hand.
“Celty…”
He looked deadly serious, which was not his normal way. But the redness in
his cheeks was kind of creepy.
“I, erm… Thanks.”
Oh…
“Thank you…Celty.”
He’s thanking me?!
“I’ll try my best!”
Your best at what?!
She really wanted to type these quick-fire responses out, but she still hadn’t
retrieved her PDA yet. If she was thinking calmly, she could have just stretched
out her shadow to get it back, but Celty was nowhere near calm at the moment.
Every last facet of her being was radiating a general state of fluster.
He reached toward her shoulder, his eyes dazzling and sparkling.
No, w-wait…
When Shinra was fooling around like usual, she always socked him to get
him to stop, but when he looked this serious, Celty was suddenly unsure of what
she wanted to do.
At least let me cover the carriage windows! she pleaded silently, when—
A ringtone went off in Shinra’s pocket. It was the new song from Ruri
Hijiribe, a singer whom both Celty and Shinra greatly admired.
Celty took advantage of the situation to snatch Shinra’s phone and press it
against his face.
“Mrrlb!” he protested, the cell phone jammed into his mouth. Celty finally
got back her PDA and sent out a multitude of tiny finger shadows to type for her.
“You’ve got a call, Shinra.”
“Forget about it. Now’s not the time.”
“Don’t forget, you’re a doctor. Legitimate or not, there are people’s lives in
the balance waiting for you.”
“Well, if you insist…,” he said, dejected, and answered the phone.
“Hello?”
Meanwhile, Celty took the opportunity to think.
Wow, that was a shocker. It’s not like we’ve never done anything like that…
but I wouldn’t have expected it here. Plus, I feel a bit embarrassed knowing that
Shooter’s just nearby…
“Oh? Ohh, ohh! It has been a while! You’re still alive—should I be
congratulating you on that?”
Still alive…? He must be speaking to the Awakusu-kai, or someone along
those lines.
“Goodness me, has someone shot you? You certainly sound well enough over
the phone.”
Yeah. I knew it.
“Uhh…I’m not going to ask about the circumstances. Is tomorrow night all
right?”
Tomorrow night. So it’s work—I guess we won’t be spending the night around
here.
“I’m afraid I’m off duty today. I’m not in Tokyo at the moment.”
Well, that’s all right. We’ll plan out another occasion, maybe rent a cabin in
the mountains.
“…She was?”
Wait…he’s looking a bit paler now. What are they talking about?
“And I suppose the humane thing for me to do is stop you?”
No, really, what are they talking about?! Is it Mr. Shiki claiming he’s going to
bury a body or something?! Why confer with Shinra, then?!
“Well, in this case, that girl happens to be Celty’s cooking teacher.”
Why did my name come up?! Teacher? Cooking teacher?! Oh, d-does he
mean…?
“Huh? They hung up.”
“What was that, Shinra?! Who was calling?! When you said ‘teacher,’ did
you mean Mika?”
Shinra registered Celty’s apparent consternation and thought hard.

What should I do? If I tell her what the call was about, I’m certain that Celty
will immediately rush off to help her. That much is a guarantee. That’s what
makes her Celty. And I sure do love Celty!
While Shinra might have been satisfied with the bedrock status of his love, he
was hesitant to be truthful here. The woman he had just talked to was the very
person who ran off with Celty’s actual head. It was quite possible that things
might go strangely and end up putting the head back into Celty’s hands.
And Yagiri did clearly say that her intent wasn’t to kill.
So given all the factors at play, he made a quick decision and gave her a
huge, guilt-free smile—and a total lie.
“It was Seiji Yagiri. He just got into a little fight of some kind. Nothing to
worry about.”
“Oh. I see.”
“…”
“…”
Yes, Celty literally typed out the ellipses to emphasize her silence.
“………………………”
The headless woman in the schoolgirl uniform held up her screen to his face,
using her shadow tendrils to continue typing. Each additional ellipsis put more
pressure on Shinra’s conscience.
“…Ha-ha! Oh, Celty,” he pleaded awkwardly, but she sent forth more
shadows to hold him down.
“Don’t lie to me! It’s her! That had to be Namie Yagiri!”
“Ohhhh! You’ve learned to detect when I’m lying, just by looking into my
eyes! I love that—it’s like our hearts are more connected than ever!”
“You wouldn’t say ‘Has someone shot you?’ or ‘You’re still alive’ to Seiji
Yagiri!”
“What a detective you are, Celty! Fine…I’ll fess up,” Shinra said, sighing.
“Namie is planning to revert Mika’s face to its original state. But Mika really
enjoys that face, you know? So she wanted to know if I could do some surgery
on her tomorrow, while she’s sleeping. So the question was, is it humane?”
“I see.”
“And I wouldn’t want to get in trouble for something like that, would I? I
mean, she’s your cooking teacher. So when I brought that up, she got mad and
hung up. The reason I lied is because I was afraid that if I brought up Namie’s
name, you might go after her to chase down your head…”
Celty withdrew the shadows that were holding Shinra’s body down. “You’re
such a fool, Shinra. How often do I remind you that I don’t care about the head
anymore?”
“I know you say that, but I’m still scared. Maybe the head will manage to
suck you toward it instead.”
“You’re overthinking this. Anyway, what is that woman up to? Does she
finally feel guilty about messing with that girl’s face? It’s ironic that Mika herself
doesn’t want her old face back.”
As he read Celty’s message, Shinra thought to himself, I’m sorry, Celty. She
just doesn’t understand the dangers that Namie Yagiri poses… The call was
actually way more menacing than I made it sound. I still just don’t want you
anywhere near Namie…and that head.
By baldly lying at first, and then fessing up by telling what was almost the
entire truth, Shinra ultimately succeeded at throwing Celty off the trail. It was
less that he tricked her than that he simply omitted some crucial details, but at
any rate, it successfully kept Celty away from Namie.
Well, after that…I guess we can’t just pick back up where we left off…plus it
feels like I just abandoned poor Mika. But hey, she said she wasn’t going to kill
her…
He glared down at his phone, blaming it for dousing the steamy situation with
a bucket of cold water, and was about to turn it off when Celty showed him a
new message.
“How about I change the mood by switching into my next outfit?”
Instantly, all thought of Mika Harima and Namie Yagiri was gone from his
head.
“What? Already?!”
Of course, given that he had originally performed surgery on the girl’s face in
order to fool Celty, it was hard to see how abandoning Mika was any worse than
what he’d already done.
“No, Celty, wait! I want to savor feeling like a student a little while longer! I
want to look up to you as my upperclassman…but then, I also want to be the
older student treated with reverence…,” Shinra babbled.
Celty suddenly stopped, then used her shadows to hold down Shinra once
again.
“Aaah! What’s this?!”
“Sorry—hang on a bit.”
She sent a message to her headless horse, Shooter, and brought the carriage to
a stop at the side of the road. As Shinra watched with bewilderment, she exited
the booth.
“Wait…where are you going, Celty?! Hang on! Don’t abandon me! If I did
something wrong, I’ll fix it! If it’s about last week’s episode of Mysterious
Discoveries of the World getting erased, I apologize!”
His plaintive cry vanished into the woods, which Celty walked through, still
dressed in a school uniform.
Ten minutes later
After what felt like an eternity in the carriage alone, Shinra was overjoyed to see
Celty return, as if nothing out of place had happened.
“Celty! You came back!”
“You always overexaggerate.”
“But…but…I was really starting to think that you’d abandoned me once and
for all.”
“Don’t be silly. I would never leave Shooter behind,” she typed curtly, while
undoing Shinra’s shadow bonds. “Actually, I felt something for the first time in a
while, perhaps a fairy presence? So I went to give my acknowledgments.”
“Fairy?”
“In Japan, I guess you’d call it a yokai, or a god of the mountain, or
something. Anyway, there’s lots of stuff out in the forests here. It reminds me of
the woods back home,” she noted wistfully, but given that she had lost her head
and most of her memories, that particular detail had to be very vague indeed.
Shinra chose to avoid poking that topic. Instead, he smiled and asked, “So,
did you get to say hello?”
“Yes…well… There wasn’t any outright hostility or anything. It just said,
‘Welcome to Japan’…and then…”
She typed out her hesitation into the message, her shoulders hunching in
apparent embarrassment. “It said it hadn’t seen one together with a human in
quite some time, and…it wished me luck.”
“Well, we’ll do it proud! What a nice spirit! But wait…does that mean it was
watching us?”
“It said…the man was making so much noise, it couldn’t not hear us…”
“…”
If she had a human face, it would be beet red. Combined with the school
uniform, he thought, the restless fidgeting made Celty look just like a youthful
student.
“Ha-ha-ha, in that case, let’s show off and— Gwufh! Wh…why?!”
He had put his hand on her shoulder, earning him a jab to the throat.
“More importantly, Shinra…what was that about last week’s show…?”
“Eep!” Shinra was tied down with shadow for a third time before he could
make any excuses.
“I was saving that for later… I was hoping that we could try to guess who
would win the top prize on the show!”
“Aaaaah! S-sorry, Celty, sorry! I’ll make it up to you with something worth a
gold prize from the show—no, crystal prize! It’ll be worth it!”
“Dum-dummm! (foghorn sound) Instead, you get tickles!”
“N-no! Not when I’m tied down and helpless! I’m sorry, Celty! It’s too much
for me, but on the other hand, being tickled by you is a heavenly thought, but on
the first hand, please no, please no, please yes!”
Ten fingers of shadow stretched forth, about to descend upon Shinra’s
helpless flank—when his phone abruptly rang again.
“…”
“You can answer it,” she offered, picking up the phone with her shadow
fingers and holding it to Shinra’s ear. His expression was a mixture of relief and
disappointment as he spoke.
“Hello…? Oh, hi, Shizuo.”

Shizuo, huh? He had a rough time of it yesterday, too, Celty thought,
recalling how her friend had thrown motorcycles, kicked cars like balls, and
saved little girls. She chuckled secretly, a bit of mirth that tamped down the burst
of annoyance she was feeling.
“No, no need to thank me. Actually, I’ve got my hands full at the moment—
or should I say, I’ve got them tied down… Yeah. Yeah, no problem. We can do
that tomorrow.”
That was apparently the end of the call. Shinra sighed heavily and said, “I’m
sorry, Celty… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize now,” she replied, all snarkiness gone. She freed Shinra and
looked out the window of the carriage.
The lake in the middle of the forest reflected the sunlight, a brilliant gleam
flickering through the trees. The presence she felt earlier had waned. There were
no figures around them anymore, not even any animals.
The moment was beautiful, and the timing was right.
Then Shinra said, “I kind of wish you’d punished me a little,” and she
decided that she would tease him for his perversion.
“If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get,” she typed into the PDA and
covered the carriage windows with shadow.
“Whoa, it’s pitch-black!”
Heh-heh-heh, he’s panicking.
“What’s going to happen?! What will become of poor little me?!”
Now I’m going to sit back, do nothing, and watch him writhe.
“Actually, sitting in the dark with a girl wearing a black school uniform kinda
gets me all warm and tingly inside!”
That’s a good reminder that I was going to change outfits.
With the cover of total darkness, Celty felt at ease enough to undo her
shadow outfit. It had taken considerable care to do it earlier without showing off
too much skin, but in the darkness, she could afford to be more daring…
Just at the moment that her skin was most exposed, Shinra’s cell phone went
off, sitting on the front-side seat.
The phone screen lit up the interior of the closed space, pulling back the
darkness—and giving Shinra a glimpse of the soft curves of Celty’s body.
“Wha…?!”
Hyaaaa!
…
Hyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?!
She panicked, instinctually covering Shinra’s eyes, then her own body, with a
layer of shadow. Shinra felt around blindly for his phone, picked it up, and then
answered in a daze.
“Hello… Hello…? Ahh…it’s you… Yeah, I know… Probably at Yagiri
Pharmaceuticals, Warehouse Three… Your sister was saying something about
luring her there or whatever… Yeah. So long,” he said, his voice bleary and
absent. Celty hadn’t been taking the words in, though.
She was in a mild panic, far too preoccupied to pay attention. Once she had
replaced her shadow clothes and desperately regained control, she finally opened
the carriage windows to the world again.
When the soft light of the forest caught her properly, they showed that she
was so hasty in dressing that she was now clad in pitch-black armor of the type
she wore back in Ireland. It was very strange to see her with that look, holding a
modern PDA—but Shinra did not even register the armor.
“D-did you see that, Shinra?”
“…Huh?”
“I—I know you’ve seen that back home, but I’m not as comfortable with
being seen in a place like this. Plus, as I said, Shooter’s right there…I’m quite
shy about it,” she typed in little fits and bursts. Shinra merely smiled with
beatific serenity.
“It’s all right, Celty.”
“What’s all right?”
“You’re so cute, Celty. Hee-hee.”
“Gross!”
I broke him! I broke Shinra! she realized, as he laughed eerily to himself. She
tried slapping him to bring him back to his senses.
“Get a grip! You hear me? Get a grip!”
“Bwuh! Bwap! …Oh. Oh, Celty. Why are you wearing armor?”
“Huh? Uh, er…because…”
“Armor… I see. It’s the dullahan’s basic cultural garb. I had never considered
this! It might downplay your femininity, but I can sense your cuteness oozing out
of it!” raved the man. Celty had pulled him out of the realm of fantasy only for
him to travel to yet another dimension.
But for her part, she didn’t seem to mind the compliments. Given that it was
her basic outfit in the distant past, this seemed to be an affirmation of what she’d
always been. In fact, she was so embarrassed with delight that she started to
change yet again.
“No! Wait, Celty! Let me take a picture!” Shinra pleaded, holding up his
phone as her shadows began to writhe. At the instant that she changed into new
clothes, with part of her arms and legs exposed—though not as badly as the
previous instance—Shinra pushed the photo button with perfect timing.
Except that another call arrived at the same time, switching the phone out of
camera mode.
“Aaaaaaaah!” Shinra shrieked in rage, nearly screaming. “Wh-who did

that?!”
“Well, that’s one of the more bracing ways I’ve ever heard a person say hello
over the phone.”
“Oh, it’s Izaya. Good-bye.”
“Hey, don’t hang up. Listen, I’m bored, and I can’t move right now. I finally
got the chance to borrow the hospital phone.”
“Hospital? You’re in the hospital?”
“You didn’t watch Daioh TV this morning, then. I got shanked yesterday.”
“Oh, cool. Good-bye.” Shinra abruptly hung up.
“…Who was that from?”
He blithely answered, “Izaya. Says he got stabbed and is in the hospital now.”
“What? Is he all right?” she typed, alarmed—then reconsidered and replaced
that message with: “Well…whatever the details are, he probably earned it,
right?”
“Of course he did.”
“And if he called you, he must be doing just fine.”
“You bet. He sure sounded fine over the phone.”
Realizing that neither she nor Shinra were at all concerned for him, Celty
considered the topic of Izaya. I guess he’s just the type of person you don’t worry
about when he gets hurt…like Shizuo, but for a different reason…
“Still, I think you might have been treating him a bit coldly right there.”
“It’s fine. Izaya’s the kind of masochist who loves people even when they’re
mean to him.”
“Oh, look who’s talking. Still, you have to watch out for infections and blood
clots with stab wounds. You should probably apologize later. I mean, Shizuo and
Izaya are the only friends you have…”
“Yeah…I should. If you say I should.”
Yet again, Shinra’s cell phone went off.
“See? Speak of the devil. Izaya’s probably feeling lonely and worried, after
being stabbed like that.”
“Fine… Hello?” he said into the phone. Celty watched him, smiling inwardly.
“Yes… Yes… Huh…? No, I’m a friend of Izaya’s… Sorry, I’m on a vacation
right now… Reason he would be hated? Geez…there are so many, I couldn’t
begin to narrow it down. He’s been getting himself into trouble ever since high
school. Me? No, I’m clean as a whistle.”
Whatever conversation he was having, it was a little strange. He didn’t seem
to be talking to Izaya. And the phrase clean as a whistle gave Celty a little start.
Now that I think of it, I’ve hardly heard any idiomatic expressions or
extravagant vocabulary words from him today. Usually, he likes to throw them
around to display his intellect. Maybe…he’s feeling nervous or forgetting to do it
because he’s enjoying the trip… I really hope it’s the latter.
Just then, the call ended.
“Who was that?”
“…The police.”
“Huh?”
“They wanted to know if I knew anything about Izaya getting stabbed. They
probably just redialed the number from the hospital phone. Phew! I was terrified
that they found out I was a black market doctor! Felt like I was dragged from my
vacation dream right back into real life.”
Shinra slumped his shoulders, and the phone went off yet again.
His cheek twitching, he answered the call—and heard Izaya’s voice through
the speaker.
“Yo. Did you just get a call from the cops?”
“Yeah, thanks a lot.”
“I see. Well, it’s been so boring here. You were bragging about being on
holiday, so I got a little mad. Thought it would be funny if the cops called a black
market doctor. How was it? Exciting? Did the extra thrills just rekindle things
with Celty? I’m assuming she’s there with you.”
“Ha-ha-ha! I wish you’d rekindle your body and burn to death.”
Shinra hung up and went back to being dejected.
Once again, the phone rang.
“If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to tell everyone about that thing from
middle school, Izaya!” Shinra snapped in a rare display of anger—but there was
no response.
“…?”
He thought this was strange, until he realized that next to him, Celty was
holding her own phone up to around where her head would be. He checked his
screen.
Above the number was the contact name—CELTY, MY HONEY.
He looked from the phone to Celty, back to the phone, and then figured it out.
“Ha-ha!” he giggled, and then his face softened to a grin.
“Thank you, Celty. I really do love you.”
The words she’d heard hundreds, thousands of times…

They came both from Shinra’s mouth and from her phone.
Sandwiched between both sources of sound, she came to a sudden
realization.
Oh. I get it.
This is happiness.
She took her hands away from the PDA keyboard and sat back to listen to
Shinra talk. She allowed his voice into her mind, and he read her emotions to
produce words. Sometimes, they just stared at each other.
It might have looked like Shinra was holding an entire conversation on his
own, but in truth, he was deftly reading her emotions, giving the impression that
they were having a two-way discussion.
Eventually, he closed his mouth, and they sat shoulder to shoulder for a
while.
Oh. I see, Celty thought idly.
It was something so ordinary, so matter-of-fact, she hadn’t felt it necessary to
even think about before.
But, to Celty, just the recognition of this fact made the entire holiday
meaningful.
I really do…love Shinra.
After this, they would run across an attempted murder in the mountains, get
attacked by a bear that escaped from the zoo, and wind up in the crosshairs
between two groups attempting to win a prize by finding the supposedly extinct
Japanese wolf, among other events with a higher level of “extraordinary” than
usual—but those are stories for another time.
For now, unaware of these future events, Celty and Shinra were enveloped in
love.
The black carriage trundled along with its pair of lovebirds aboard—chaka-
poko, chaka-poko.
And right on the beat in between those sounds, Shooter the shadow horse
issued heavy snorts through the cracks of the helmet that was supposed to
represent its head.
As though they were heavy sighs of exasperation over the two lovey-dovey
dopes in the back.
Chaka-poko, chaka-poko, shuffa-huff, chaka-poko.

Epilogue & Next Prologue: Ordinary Fugue
Ikebukuro, in a car
“See, that doesn’t just apply to series; it also holds true for voice actors. The act
of putting down other actors just to prop up the actors you like isn’t despicable
for a voice actor fan—it’s despicable for a human being.”
“You can’t avoid that. Those kids are too dumb to know how to applaud their
favorite actors, so they have no choice but to put down others. You have to
ignore them and give them pitying glances.”
“I don’t know, Karisawa. That sounded unnecessarily harsh to me…”
“The real question is, should it be Fan x Hater? Or Hater x Fan?”
“Oh, you’re shipping them now? Wait, is this between two boys or two girls?
The distinction is crucial.”
Like any other day, Yumasaki and Karisawa were carrying on with their
nerdy arguments as the van rolled on.
“It was so peaceful today,” Kadota said, reclining in the front passenger seat,
which was lowered all the way back. Sitting next to him, hands on the wheel,
was Togusa.
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Well, after all the crazy stuff that went on yesterday, I figured we were due
for a follow-up…”
“But it’s more usual for nothing to happen.”
“Yeah, I get that…but think about the last year. We’ve seen a bunch of shit:
Headless Rider, cursed swords…” Kadota grimaced. Togusa smiled, too.
“That’ll change your outlook on life, for sure. I could believe in ghosts or
aliens right now. Those are the second most-unbelievable experiences of my life
after sitting first row at a Ruri Hijiribe concert.”
“…Really? That was your number one? I wonder where Kaztano got those
tickets,” Kadota said, stretching and looking out the window at the town rolling
past. “See, the thing about the world is it always finds a balance. While we’re
here relaxing and doing nothing—I’m not gonna bring up that hackneyed bit
about orphans in some war-torn country across the globe—there’s probably
some other spot in Japan where things are all wild and out of control.”
“What’s your point?”
“We’re involved in this Black Rider and Dollars stuff now.” Kadota smirked,
pulling his beanie on and adjusting the seat back to its upright position. “We just
gotta be prepared for all that trouble to come find us.”
Tohoku region, hospital

It was deep into the night, and the hospital was silent.
A woman with murder in her eyes was now at Izaya Orihara’s bedside.
Clearly, she was not here to wish him well. In fact, the knife in her hand said
she was more likely coming to finish him off.
There was just one problem: Izaya could not, for the life of him, recall who
she was.
“Who…? Who am I…? Oh…of course. I suppose that I was never even
worth remembering to you…”
“It must be true since I honestly can’t remember you,” he said. It sounded
like a sardonic rebuttal, but it was a simple fact.
She didn’t get angry. In fact, there was even a little smile on her lips when
she leaped into action.
“And now, this person not worth remembering will be the very one who kills
you.”
She hurtled up onto the bed, landing with both knees.
“Gah!” Izaya gasped, the impact shuddering through his body and wrenching
at his wound.
“Ha-ha… Serves you right. Now the tables are turned… You’re the one
who’s immobile. I’m the one who lives.”
“…?”
Now the tables are turned? What…what is she referring to…?
Something beyond the door of his memory was pulling at him, hard.
But he couldn’t recall what it was.
As he scrabbled at his memories, the woman held her knife right to his throat.
“I won’t make it simple… You don’t believe there’s an afterlife, so you don’t
think there’s any suffering afterward, do you? That means we have to get all
your suffering in while you’re alive, don’t we?” She grinned, seeking agreement.
An ordinary man would tremble at her obvious madness. But Izaya was less
afraid than he was stunned by what she had just said. The impact rippled the sea
of memories, bringing fragments of the past up between the waves.
Why would she be mentioning the afterlife…?
No, wait…I remember talking about that.
Yes, I did…
That’s right! It was a year ago…
The night I first met Mikado Ryuugamine!
“Are you going to try screaming for help? That would be great… I’ll take
you hostage—you’ll look really pathetic on tomorrow’s news. The man who
fancies himself an information broker in Shinjuku, brought nearly to death by a
mere woman—come see the emperor’s new clothes! I’m sure that bartender you
hate would be delighted to hear about it,” she gloated.
Izaya buckled down, forgot the pain, and gave her a dazzling smile.
“Actually, Shizu never even checks the news. He doesn’t want to get annoyed by
a stupid story and then destroy his TV.”
Ignoring the screaming agony of his wound, he bolted upright, rolling off the
hospital bed with the woman. His IV needle popped out, sending clear liquid
flying through the darkness.
“Ah!” she gasped, trying to regain her position, but the gap in fighting
experience was devastatingly clear. Izaya might have been the analytical type,
but he’d been in plenty of deadly brawls with Shizuo Heiwajima and other
ruffians.
Instantly, he was on top of the woman, wresting the knife away from her. He
tossed it back and forth, playing with it, and grinned. “Seems like you took some
lessons…but not enough of them, I’m afraid.”
“…Kill me. Then you’ll be a murderer. I don’t know if there’s an afterlife,
but at the very least, I can spend my final moments imagining your miserable
state as the police chase you down.”
“Kill? Kill you? That’s silly!” he mocked, shouting loud enough that his
voice might have reached the next room over. “I would never bother to do that!
I’m not charitable enough to kill a suicidal person for them!”
“…So you do remember.”
Izaya Orihara had not actually recalled the woman’s face or name. But he
could remember exactly what she was.
Last spring, he had been dabbling with a particular type of game. He went
online under the alias Nakura, luring people from pro-suicide websites into real-
life meetings, then taking everything from them but their lives and observing the
results—an extremely cruel, tasteless game.
This woman was one of the two suicidal victims whom he last met, on the
night he finally got tired of the game. What did those women look like? How
were they dressed? Were they beautiful or ugly, stylish or unfashionable? What
did their voices sound like; why did they want to die; did they even want to die
at all?
Izaya thought he had forgotten all of it. But what memories he did have were
enough to tell him that she was one of those two women.
She was not worth remembering in the least.
But now she was here as an entirely different person.
And that knowledge, that truth, lit a fire to explosives that had been dormant
deep in his heart.
“Ha-ha… Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

He laughed, easily loud enough to be overheard. He laughed, and laughed,
and laughed.
“Yes. Ahh, yes, yes! Insignificant, unmemorable you! But now, the half-
hearted wannabe suicidal has embraced hatred of me, nurturing it over an entire
year, found my location in less than a day based on the news, and came to find
me!”
“…?”
She stared at him in suspicion, completely baffled.
“That’s right! You came here! You came here! I don’t know how you tracked
me down, but could there be anything better?! You betrayed my expectations of
you!”
Izaya got to his feet, dragging the woman up with him by the arm—and then
embraced her, squeezing tight like reuniting with a lover after years of absence.
“Thanks to that…Thanks to that, I remembered! I’ve been able to return to
my roots.”
Yes, that’s right. That’s right. Perhaps, after obtaining that head…I was
underestimating humanity. I assumed that there was something greater than
humanity.
“But how about this? Look, me! Take notes, me! Humanity is brilliant!”
“…”
Had there ever been a lottery winner who celebrated this much? The woman
felt a thrill of horror at this level of excitement from him—but her hatred was so
strong that it won out.
“I don’t know what you mean, but I can say one thing.”
“You’re a disgusting excuse for a human being.”
“That’s fine,” Izaya said, grinning from ear to ear like a child who’d just
gotten the toy he always wanted. “No matter how much you hate me…”
“I love, love, love you—to an almost irrational extent.”
Several minutes later, a nurse reported to Izaya’s room after receiving word
that there was noise going on in the middle of the night.
She found nothing there—no Izaya, no woman, no changes of clothes or
belongings.
Where did Izaya Orihara go?

Those who knew Izaya would find out—but not for a little while yet.
“Boy, that was wild.”

“I never would have expected that.”
An exchange of text and words was happening inside an old elevator.
“Just when I thought we’d actually found an extinct Japanese wolf, it turned
out to be a werewolf? It was just crazy. And those priestesses at the shrine were
weird. They seemed kind of vampiric.”
“It’s the first time I’ve seen one of those aside from you and Saika, but you’re
still the best of them all!” Shinra raved.
They were reminiscing happily about the adventures of their vacation,
exhausted. Once they’d started riding on Shooter—as a two-seat motorcycle
again—they hadn’t been able to talk, so now was the time they could finally
discuss all the wild events of the day.
The elevator stopped rising, then opened. Celty put a cap on the discussion
by saying, “Let’s start by taking a shower.”
“How about together for once?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
She knuckled Shinra’s head and started walking down the hallway, her mood
buoyant.
The usual schedule would return tomorrow. Today’s memories would be the
fuel that carried her through the day’s courier work.
But before she could reflect any further than that, she heard a very
unexpected voice.
“Good evening.”
It came from up ahead.

From the mouth of a boy sitting in front of Shinra and Celty’s apartment
door.
“I thought you might not be back tonight. Another ten minutes, and I
would’ve left.”
The boy looked even younger than Mikado Ryuugamine. Celty recognized
him at once.
It’s him!
The boy who had offered Mikado a deal in that abandoned factory, just one
day ago.
“Mikado wouldn’t tell me anything about the Black Rider, so I had to get
here on my own.”
“Who are you?” Shinra asked.
The boy smiled softly and said, “Aoba Kuronuma. I’ve met the Black Rider
on a few occasions.”
“And I’ve come here…to be friends with you two.”
…
Celty had years of experience observing humans.
The only people who spoke about becoming friends on a first meeting were
either the blindingly innocent or the devious. The boy named Aoba Kuronuma
was undoubtedly the latter.
The red color seeping into the bandage on his hand only made Celty feel
more nervous. What if that “normal schedule” did not return to their lives after
all?
Aoba mocked her anxiety, waving the bloodied hand in the wind.
It waved and wavered, blown by the clammy breeze…
Quietly matching the anxiety and uncertainty saturating the city.

Wave, wave, waver, wave.
A holiday does not exist to rest the body.
It is not for resting the mind.
It’s not the body or the mind that relaxes…but the entire “state” of everyday
repetition.
That is what I wrote at the beginning.
But there is something you must not forget.

On the morning that you tell yourself to drink deeply of the extraordinary on
your holiday, so that you might return to the ordinary in a refreshed state—do
not forget that the usual repetition may not return.
What did I tell you? The city does not distinguish between ordinary and
extraordinary, work and rest.
It always comes down to people to see and judge these things.
Human beings.
So there’s no guarantee that the new day the city provides for you after a
holiday will be the same as what you had before.
There is always change and evolution within the typical day—but I do not
speak of such small matters.
This would be akin to eating healthy every day, then enjoying the occasional
steak on the weekend. Except that rather than returning to healthy food, you are
suddenly served a full-course poison mushroom meal.
If you do not receive the ordinary life you expected and instead must swallow
a bizarre set of circumstances you never wanted…
I suggest you pray.
And trust that your stomachs are at least as strong as the city’s.
—Excerpt from the afterword of Shinichi Tsukumoya, author of Media

Wax’s Ikebukuro travel guide, Ikebukuro Strikes Back 3
AFTERWORD
Hello, I’m Ryohgo Narita. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Or if you’re new,
welcome. I hope you stick around!
Anyway, as those of you who bought this book around its release date
probably already know…
THE DURARARA!! TV ANIME SERIES HAS BEGUN AIRING!
As of this writing, I’ve seen a few episodes already—and I can barely contain
my excitement at their quality. In fact, I’m so excited I’ve got a fever of 101
degrees. Okay, that was a lie. I’m just sick. But I’m also so happy that I could get
up and dance to express my delight!
But enough about me being silly. I’d like to provide a little afterword to each
of the stories in this book.
RENDEZVOUS BOLERO
Namie and Mika are both top-class “broken” characters among the female cast
of Durarara!!, but I feel like their relative lack of profile in the story allowed
them to be passed off as normal for too long. Actually, I was considering a
backstory where Namie took on a girl who was approaching her brother and
seduced her to pull her away from Seiji…but it would have pushed the page
limit, and I had moral concerns, so I didn’t write it in. If you’re a fan of the yuri
women-who-love-women romances, please employ your imagination.
OUTCAST CONCERTO
This is a story of Akabayashi, my personal favorite. But as a matter of fact, I

named most of the Awakusu-kai figures after editors at the Dengeki Bunko
office, so my personal editor often says things like “I have a hard time imagining
this guy being the hero of the story, because I always see Takabayashi’s face on
him.” It’s not fair! Anyway, there’s also the mother of a character whom I won’t
reveal for fear of spoilers. It’s a bit different from the usual Durarara!!
COLLECTION RHAPSODY
On the other hand, this one was very appropriate, in my opinion. Shizuo thinks
of his ideal woman as an older lady, but in order to find out more about that,
you’ll have to wait for an original anime story in the near future (major
announcement!). After this, I think Akane and Vorona will remain as regular cast
members orbiting around Shizuo. The cast tends not to grow much in
Durarara!!, so the introduction of new members is a valuable occurrence.
LOVEY-DOVEY CHAKA-POKO
In this story, the sound chaka-poko is used to represent the clopping of horse
hooves, but I got the term itself from the famous novel Dogra Magra. That
aside, I really wanted to put Celty into a school uniform. I considered adding a
cheerleader outfit and elaborate kimono, but I doubted that anyone really cared
that much aside from me and Shinra.
HOSPITALIZATION POLKA
At first, I planned for Izaya to have an extremely boring Golden Week with no
visitors. But a certain character in the manga edition (I won’t say whom) was
drawn so incredibly cute that I had to put her back into the story… That led to
quite an interesting development with Izaya. I wonder what will happen? Even
the author doesn’t know.
Speaking of the manga, the comic edition of Durarara!!, drawn by Akiyo
Satorigi, is running monthly and just had its first volume released!
I’m very much enjoying Durarara!! in these new forms, drawn and animated
from different points of view. I really hope that all of you out there enjoy this
multimedia blitz as much as I do, if not more!
By the way, the first DVD of the anime series is already slated for release in
February. Not only will I be writing a short story for it, but there will be other
bonus goodies as well, so if you’ve got some money burning a hole in your
pocket, I highly suggest checking it out!
On top of that, the Baccano! artbook by Katsumi Enami will also be coming
out, so give that a peep, too! My days are overflowing with excitement and pride
knowing that so many things are coming out related to my works. Thank you for
all your support!

Papio. To managing editor Suzuki and the rest of the editorial office.
To my family who do so much for me in so many ways, my friends, fellow
authors, and illustrators.
To Director Omori and the rest of the anime staff, and Akiyo Satorigi and
Editor Kuma for the manga adaptation.
To the anime writers, starting with the series writer Mr. Takagi, Ms. Ohta and
her idea for Kaztano’s background, Mr. Nemoto who depicted a part of Shizuo’s
backstory, and Mr. Murai and Ms. Yoshinaga whose ideas served to influence
even my writing process.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, who took time out of his busy schedule to provide the
thrilling and enticing front cover and interior illustrations, as well as some
design work for the anime.
To all the above, the greatest of appreciation!
“Celebrating his temperature sinking under one hundred during the writing of
this afterword”
Ryohgo Narita
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RYOHGO NARITA

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!!
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through
Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.
Yen On
New York, NY 10104
yenpress.tumblr.com

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by
the publisher.

Names: Narita, Ryogo, 1980– author. | Yasuda, Suzuhito, illustrator. | Paul, Stephen
(Translator), translator.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015041320 | ISBN 9780316304740 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316304764 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316304771 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN
9780316474290 (v. 8 : pbk.)
Subjects: | CYAC: Tokyo (Japan)—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Science Fiction /
Adventure.
ISBNs: 978-0-316-47429-0 (paperback)

978-0-316-47430-6 (ebook)
978-0-316-47430-6
E3-20171020-JV-PC
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.”

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.”
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: 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: ’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.

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.
Kanto region, night
A number of cars raced along a seaside road.
The black vehicles had tinted windows, preventing anyone from knowing what was
happening inside.
Yet following them was a single motorcycle. This one hung far behind the others, the
rider clad in a suit that was even darker than the night. The lone rider trailing the
caravan ahead drove at a speed well over the legal limit.
The chase might have been a scene from an action movie were it not for a few details
that put it into a different genre.
For one, the motorcycle made no engine noise, only the occasional roar like a horse
whinnying. For another, there was no headlight or license plate on the bike, which, like
its rider, was completely black, of a shade that seemed to suck in all light.
Lastly, the figure riding the bike was holding an enormous pitch-black scythe that
spanned at least six feet.
A reaper’s motorcycle that came to life from shadow art, it was ready to drag in the
cars up ahead back into the world of darkness.
So if one focused primarily on the bike, it was more like a scene out of a horror movie.
There was no headlight to illuminate the way, but the vehicle found itself easily closing
the gap.
No cars came the other way. Perhaps the road was little used.
This dramatic chase continued for a while until, just as the motorcycle was about to
catch up to the last car in the row, one of the vehicles began to slow until it came level
with the bike, window rolling down.
A red-painted bowgun emerged from the black maw of the window. It fired
immediately at the rider’s chest.
But just before the arrow could land, the rider’s body produced a black shadow that
grabbed it and transformed into a bow of its own, then shot the projectile back.
It stuck into the arm of the man inside the window, who shrieked.
Suddenly, another car slowed to approach the bike, and from this open window, a
flaming bottle came hurtling. Again, the rider’s shadowy “suit” grabbed the Molotov,
holding it in the air within a black froth that sucked the oxygen free until the flame
went out.
The bottle flew back into the car from where it came, landing on the hand of a man in
the act of pulling out a black pistol. He fired at that very moment, while his hand
holding the gun burst into vivid flames.
That car slammed into a guardrail and came to a stop, screams coming from the
interior. The rider continued forward into the center of the group of vehicles.
Suddenly, the lead vehicle changed directions and headed from the road toward the
warehouses along the seaside.
The bike kept pace, chasing along after that lead car, when—
From the far end of the warehouse district came a massive explosion—and the
appearance of a helicopter.
It was a small three-seater, not some massive military chopper, but it was still not the
sort of vehicle that an individual simply owned.
The helicopter’s spotlight caught the silent rider, marking it clearly as it raced between
the warehouse buildings.
Next, one of the men on the aircraft pointed a submachine gun at the motorcycle and
opened fire. Like the helicopter itself, his attack was undisciplined and clearly
nonmilitary; the man was spraying fire in a vain attempt to hit the shadow cyclist.
But even those shots from the hail of bullets that did land accurately were swallowed
up by the rider’s scythe, which had transformed into an umbrella. The bullets simply
sank into the black mass without deflecting away.
A number of bullets that missed their mark hit the lead car’s door and tires, sending
the orderly line of vehicles into a swerving frenzy.
The shooter on the helicopter paused then, realizing the effect his gunfire was having,
and instead pulled a pin from a hand grenade and tossed it down at the black
motorcycle.
When the rider recognized the nature of the small rolling object, it toppled the bike
sideways to evade—but the projectile exploded too quickly, and the blast tossed the
small vehicle into the water across from the warehouses.
“All right! Yeah, in your face!” crowed the helicopter’s gunman, preparing to fire some
more into the sea—when he noticed something amiss.
The motorcycle had fallen into the water with a suspiciously small and quiet splash.
The surface of the night sea caught the spotlight and threw it back, making it
impossible to see down into the water.
He was squinting to get a better look, when the anomaly registered not in his eyes, but
his ears.
That horse whinnying that the bike made instead of an engine roar was coming up
from the sea.
“Wha…?”
It wasn’t his mind playing tricks.
The shooter and pilot both stared, wide-eyed. An even more bizarre sight burned its
way into their retinas.
A huge, singular shadow emerged from the water as thick as a tanker truck.
It stretched and stretched through the air, yawning its wide mouth in the direction of
the helicopter and cars like a black dragon—until the black motorcycle shot from the
opening.
In other words, just before the motorcycle would have fallen into the water, it created
a tunnel of shadow that churned through the sea like a mole burrow before it came up
to breach the surface again.
The shooter in the helicopter screamed and tried to spray more gunfire, unable to
believe what he was seeing, but his magazine promptly ran out, and he had to
exchange it for a fresh one.
That was plenty of time for the rider. Its shadow extended to the front car of the
escaping line, engulfing the whole body with a black wave.
When darkness covered the windshield, the driver could no longer see and tried to
swerve away, but the shadow grabbed at the tires as well, essentially forcing the car
into emergency braking.
But that was only the start.
Now rooted to the car, the shadow bulged and grew like a tree, its branches reaching
up to the helicopter directly overhead. The darkness clung to the blades and gently
slowed their rotation.
The craft rocked, turning slowly, and looked poised to fall and crash—until the shadow
tree grabbed the body with countless more branches and held it in place, creating a
massive new sculpture that loomed over the warehouse district.
“…”
The rider stopped the bike just in front of the giant tree, then added shadow stairs
that climbed the trunk up toward the tangled helicopter. Once at the cabin, the rider
pulled the SMG from the unconscious shooter’s hands and turned to walk back down.
“W-wait… you monster… Why didn’t you let us fall?” groaned the pilot, glaring at his
attacker.
The rider pulled a PDA out of its chest and showed the LCD screen to the pilot.
“Well, if I let you crash, you’d have died, right?”
“…Uh, what?”
“I don’t want to get in trouble with the cops for excessive self-defense. Besides, I’m not an
assassin or a serial killer, so I’d feel terrible about it. Also, I saw on TV recently that these
small helicopters cost like forty million yen? I mean, I know it doesn’t belong to me, but
it’d be such a waste to crash it.”
For having just exhibited such ghastly, inhuman powers, the rider’s statement was
both painfully human and even a little… frugal?
The shadow rider looked at the pilot’s face and seemed to hit on an idea.
“Well, if you’re not unconscious, I guess I can just ask you.
“Where’s the ‘Hakujoushi’ you kidnapped?”
Two hours later, mansion, Tokyo area
“Hakujoushi! Yay! You’re all right!”
A young girl raced over to the rider and a brilliant white snake—and clung happily to
the reptile.
The force of this embrace would be enough to snap the backbone of a thin snake, but
this white one was as thick as a beer bottle and big enough to strangle the girl if it felt
so inclined.
But the white snake merely licked at the girl’s cheek gently, its big eyes shining.
“Thank you, courier! You saved Hakujoushi for me!” raved the girl, the snake still
flicking her cheek with its tongue.
The courier—Celty Sturluson—typed back a “You’re welcome” message.
“Thank you so very much.”
“We don’t know how to thank you…”
“It’s just my job. I delivered them to the police already, so if you submit a stolen car report,
they should wind up in jail.”
She took a thick envelope from the girl’s parents, waved to her and the snake, then left
the mansion.
Celty had received the wealthy couple’s request to save their daughter’s kidnapped
pet, but she hadn’t imagined at the time that it would involve a vehicle chase with
helicopters and guns.
After Celty questioned them, she learned the thieves were after a different type of
property, but they stole the entire moving truck, which just so happened to contain
the pet in transit.
The fact that the wealthy couple had sought Celty’s assistance rather than the police’s
suggested to her that perhaps the snake was being kept in violation of some law or
regulation, but she did her best not to think about it.
I wonder, if my existence was admitted officially by the world at large, would I be put on
the endangered species list? It’s usually the person who discovers the species whose name
ends up being attached. I guess that would make me Celty Kishitani.
Hee-hee. That makes it sound like I got married and changed my name, she thought
blissfully. But then she turned her attention to the snake that she’d just brought here
in her cage of shadow.
Hakujoushi is a pretty wild name for a pet, though. I wonder if they named it after
“Hakujaden,” the Chinese legend of the white snake. Or maybe they took it from the
Megami Tensei series…
Hakujoushi was the name of a snake monster from China. A thousand-year-old white
snake turned into a beautiful woman in an attempt to seduce the man it loved. By the
end of the story, the monster is revealed and locked away—but among the various
evolutions of the legend over the years, some had a happy ending where human and
monster fell in love.
Celty revved her bike, thinking dreamily of the classic tale of interspecies marriage.
A story of love between human and monster.
Just like me and Shinra.
Ireland—a being that visits the homes of those close to death to inform them of their
impending mortality.
The dullahan carried its own severed head under its arm, rode on a two-wheeled
carriage called a Coiste Bodhar pulled by a headless horse, and approached the homes
of the soon to die. Anyone foolish enough to open the door was drenched with a basin
full of blood. Thus the dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a herald of ill
fortune throughout European folklore.
One theory claimed that the dullahan bore a strong resemblance to the Norse Valkyrie,
but Celty had no way of knowing if this was true.
When someone in her homeland stole her head, she also lost her memories. It was the
search for the faint trail of her head that had brought her here to Ikebukuro.
Now with a motorcycle instead of a headless horse and a riding suit instead of armor,
she had wandered the streets of this neighborhood for decades.
But ultimately, she had not succeeded in retrieving her head, and her memories were
still missing.
However, Celty knew who stole her head.

But ultimately, that didn’t mean that she knew its location.
As long as she could live with those human beings she loved and who accepted her,
she could enjoy being alive the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face and held
this strong, secret desire within her heart.
The “freakish” woman realized that she was daydreaming about her lover and willed
herself to concentrate on the road.
She revved the engine, which produced the sound of a horse whinnying, and reflected
on the day’s job.
Who could have guessed that tracking down an abducted pet would lead to the
destruction of an entire criminal enterprise? I’m glad I got them all tied up and presented
to the cops, guns included… but more importantly, that was my first time facing a
helicopter. It actually wasn’t that bad. I felt like I was Angelina Jolie for a moment.
To her foes, she wasn’t an action star, but more like Jason, Freddy, or a Xenomorph.
That didn’t bother Celty in the least, though. She happily pulled her Coiste Bodhar up
into a wheelie.
The sight of a horse rearing back and whinnying at the moon spooked the drivers of
nearby cars, who all found reasons to move away from her… but Celty failed to notice
a shadow approaching the eerie Headless Rider.
“Yo, No-Head.”
The deep male voice rose above the growl of the bike engine and rattled around inside
Celty’s helmet.
As her entire being turned to ice, she slowly focused in the direction of the voice.
There was the familiar man she always swore she never wanted to see again: the
officer on the police motorcycle, Kinnosuke Kuzuhara.
“What was that, a two-hundred-foot wheelie? You realize you can’t give the old ‘my
front tire slipped and came off the ground’ excuse for that, right? And that’s the least
of your problems.”
…?!
The instant he stopped talking, fear exploded inside of Celty. Sensing the shift, her
Coiste Bodhar leaped forward, picking up speed.
I’m s-s-s-s-s-s-sorry! I’m sorry! she chanted in her mind, terror rattling her being in a
way that even the barrel of the submachine gun did not inspire—and kicking off a
brand-new chase scene.
Only this time, she was the frightened girl on the run from the monster.
One week later, near Kawagoe Highway, top floor of luxury apartment building
“I was scared, so scared… I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Celty typed into her PDA as she slumped
onto the shoulder of Shinra Kishitani, her roommate.
The Black Rider didn’t need to breathe physiologically, but she made motions like she
was heaving against his shoulder and trembled incessantly.
“How? How is that biker cop able to evade all my shadows?! I stretched out just like I did
with the helicopter, but the motorcycle just tilted sideways and passed between them. He
even chased after me by riding on the midair shadows I sent from my hand!”
Celty raced all through Tokyo, then leaped into the river next to Ochanomizu Station
and created a shadow tunnel through the water, like she did against the helicopter.
That, at least, was enough to shake off the biker cop, but by the time she got home to
Shinra, she collapsed into his arms.
As had become the routine after every Kuzuhara chase, Shinra rubbed Celty’s back
before she could have a full-blown panic attack. He said, “It’s probably intuition and
experience. Someone at his level who can keep calm can probably see all your shadows
coming before it happens.”
“But being able to predict them doesn’t mean being able to ride on them! When he did
that, I sent a tendril from another shadow to try to tangle up his tires, and he used his
headlight to blind me and simply vanished the next moment!”
“So you can be blinded by brightness, even without eyes?”
“It’s not like squeezing your eyelids shut, but it’s still difficult to see when there’s a bright
light shining on you… But enough about theory! What should I do, Shinra? Do you think
if I attach a headlight and plate—which Shooter will hate—he’ll leave me alone from
now on?”
She had to be delirious from fear still. Shinra watched her babble on nonsensically,
blushed over how cute he found it, and told her, “Settle down, Celty. Either way, that
won’t work once they decide to run your plate number or ask for your license. Anyway,
hurry up and get yourself together. You’ve got a guest.”
“?”
A guest? For me?
Curiosity helped Celty regain some measure of rationality, and she saw a pair of
women’s shoes in the entrance.
Then she glanced down the hallway and saw, bowing from the doorway, the figure of
Anri Sonohara.
In a completely normal office building, fairly removed from the center of Ikebukuro…
There were a variety of signs on the outside, from a private investigator to a dating
website office to a hookup hotline to a marriage arrangement business to a loan shark
office to a real estate agent—all manner of businesses, but as a matter of fact, the
second floor up through the top were all interconnected companies.
Depending on the circumstances, the various offices would move from floor to floor,
such that the building on the whole operated as one general conglomerate.
Up on the top floor, in an ordinary office, three people returned from their rounds and
started packing up to go home.
“Dammit, you just had to rip out that traffic mirror. You’re lucky we were able to fix
it—but what if some poor kid got into an accident because of that?”
“Sorry, I kinda lost it for a second…”
“Speaking of kids, that just floored me today. How does an elementary school kid rack
up five hundred thousand yen of charges to a dating site?” wondered the dreadlocked
Tom Tanaka.
The blond man next to him, Shizuo Heiwajima, merely grunted, “Yeah, I know.”
Standing behind them was a Russian woman, Vorona, who looked curious. “Negative.
Payment was extracted smoothly from the parents. Lack of any physical trouble or
combat.”
“No,” Tom said with a sigh. “I didn’t mean it like they literally knocked me to the floor,
see…”
It seemed like the usual end-of-work routine of any other day, until a female desk
employee on an internal line pressed the hold button and called out, “Mr. Heiwajima,
you have a visitor. They’ve been sent to the reception room.”
“Oh? Uh… okay.” Surprised, he headed toward the reception area near the front of the
office, which was separated by a standing screen.
“A visitor for Shizuo?” Tom wondered. “That’s rare.”
“Searching possibilities. Perhaps a complaint for the forklift destroyed three days ago.”
“Nah, the boss cleared that one up… Oh, maybe we didn’t really fix the traffic mirror
after all?”
Tom and Vorona approached the screen, too curious to resist the topic, and peered
into the reception area. They found Shizuo wearing a very unnatural smile—and a
handsome young man with an utterly flat expression devoid of all emotion.
“Whoa, now there’s a face you don’t see every day. No wonder they let him pass right
into the office,” murmured Tom.
“On the contrary, it is a face seen every day. On television and posters,” Vorona replied.
She had a point, in fact. The face was very familiar to anyone who watched a regular
amount of TV.
“What’s up, Kasuka? Why are you here?”
“I said I’d wait until you finished with work… It’s not a problem, is it?”
“Oh, it’s totally fine. I was actually just leaving for the day. So what’s up?” asked Shizuo,
more cheerful than usual now that he was talking to his younger brother, Kasuka
Heiwajima.
Still emotionless, Kasuka looked back at the entrance of the office. “Actually, I wanted
to ask you something… First, there’s someone I want to introduce you to. Should we
go somewhere else, maybe?”
“Nah, here is fine. Are they waiting outside or something?”
“Yeah… there are reasons.”
Kasuka smoothly made his way to the entrance and opened the door into the hallway.
Through it walked a hooded girl, who timidly set foot inside the office.
“Um, it’s… nice to meet you… ,” she said, her voice faint as she bowed. She was a
coworker of Kasuka—Yuuhei Hanejima—with rather mysterious eyes.
“…! Whoa, isn’t that Ruri Hijiribe?”

“Affirmative. Matches facial photograph from celebrity yearbook inside my memory,”
Vorona told Tom. Quiet murmurs arose from around them.
“No way… Is that really her?”
“I just bought two copies of her photo book…”
“And is that the real Yuuhei Hanejima?! Hey, can I take a picture?!”
“I want an autograph.”
“Can I shake her hand?”
“If he’s Heiwajima’s brother, does that mean he’s a good fighter, too?”
“Isn’t Ruri Hijiribe amazing?! I guess it’s true that she’s just as hot without makeup!”
“Whew!”
Tom turned around and saw a small crowd gathering near the screen—it was the
entire remaining staff in the office, all leaning up against the partition. In fact, it was
more than just this office; somehow, people from other floors of the building had
heard the news and come up to mingle.
“What the hell are you people doing?! Get lost! Go on! Get back to work!” Tom hissed,
figuring that Shizuo would snap if he found out. He decided that he ought to clear out
and go back to his desk for safety, too.
Vorona was the only one who still kept her back to the screen, assuming a ninja
position as she eavesdropped on the reception area. She probably figured that she
would listen in and try to learn some weakness of Shizuo’s through his family
connections.
But to everyone else watching, the assumption was a much more peaceful and
heartwarming one: “Oh, if she’s curious about Shizuo’s family, it must be because she
likes him…”
“Oh… I’ve seen you in magazines or whatever. You’re, um… ,” Shizuo started to say.
“Someone important to me,” Yuuhei finished simply.
“…Right, that,” Shizuo mumbled and examined Ruri Hijiribe again. “Is she trembling?”
Yuuhei answered, “Ruri’s seen you fight up close before. Just recently.”
“Wha—?!”
Shizuo flinched awkwardly. He’d never heard such a convincing reason for someone
to be afraid before. A few seconds later he returned to Ruri and said, “Uh, well… s-
sorry about that.”
“Oh n-no, it’s all right! I’m sorry, actually.”

A few months earlier, after having seen Shizuo from a proximity close enough for him
to smash her with a bench, Ruri had developed a subconscious fear of him. But she
couldn’t explain that to him now. Yuuhei had told her that his brother would
understand if they just explained the situation properly, but deep down, she really
wanted more time to work herself up to that point.
Shizuo could sense something more than simple fear in her reaction and noted it with
curiosity but didn’t push the matter. He sighed and said to Yuuhei, “Uh, listen… it’s nice
of you to run things by me and all, but shouldn’t you report to Dad and Mom first of
all…? In fact, people make a big enough deal about you admitting the relationship. If
this is about marriage, won’t that kick up a fuss?”
“Actually, that’s not what we wanted to talk to you about.”
“Huh? What is it, then?”
Yuuhei told him in his flat, mechanical voice:
“Do you know about… the Dollars?”
Shinra’s apartment
“Um… I’m sorry to barge in on you like this.”
Anri Sonohara bowed and apologized repeatedly from a dining room chair, glasses
glinting in the light. Celty shook her helmet back and forth and held out her PDA.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Shinra lured you in here.”
“Lured her in! Celty, that’s so cruel! You make it sound like I was trying to cheat on
you! They say that ‘a fallen blossom doesn’t return to the branch, and a broken mirror
cannot shine,’ but I would never knock your flower off the branch, nor would I break
any mirror that reflects your beauty!”
His answer was as nonsensical as always, and Celty could do nothing but shrug her
shoulders in annoyance.
According to her story, Anri had been wandering around the town, considering if she
should ask Celty something, when Shinra had passed by and called out to her.
“Anri, you really shouldn’t follow suspicious men like him around.”
“Okay, before I offer a rebuttal, I need to say this. For whatever reason, hearing Celty
call me suspicious really doesn’t feel that bad. I suppose the word suspicious contains
some hint of mystery and eroticism—babufh!”
“Why would you talk about that in front of a teenage girl?” Celty demanded, as Shinra
doubled over following the knee to his gut.
The woman turned back to Anri and asked, “What did you want to discuss?”
“Well… it’s about Mikado…”
“Ah, you want romantic advice? Asking me and Celty might not be the right decision,
then. We are in such a torrid state of constant love and perfect equilibrium, you see.
I’m afraid we might not be much help when it comes to repairing an upset relationship.”
“N-no, Mikado and I aren’t like that,” Anri protested, her face going red.
Celty quickly covered Shinra’s mouth with her shadows.
Well, it’s quite obvious from a glance that Mikado’s rather smitten with her… but while
he might have a shot, their situation seems rather delicate and complex, so it’s probably
best not to set things off.
She waited for Anri to raise her head again so that she could show her a message on
the PDA.
“What is it about Mikado, then?”
“Oh yes… Um… I’m not really sure how best to say this, but… Mikado’s been acting
strange recently.”
“Acting strange? Like he’s low energy or going on about odd things…?”
“No, just the opposite… He’s gotten very bright and lively and happy,” Anri replied. She
seemed to be unsure if she should continue, but her willpower eventually won out.
“Just like… when Kida was around.”
Half a day earlier
“Ah, Sonohara. Congrats on making it to the end of the year!”
Mikado spotted Anri at the class representatives’ meeting just after the end-of-year
ceremony.
“Congratulations to you, too,” she said quietly, bowing her head meekly in stark contrast
to Mikado’s crisp greeting.
“You got any plans for summer vacation, Sonohara?”
“Uh… w-well, no major plans…”
“Ahh. Well, if you’re ever bored, just hit me up.”
“Uh… okay.”
Normally, such an invitation would be a delight. A year ago, she wouldn’t quite know
how to respond, but since getting to know Mikado, Masaomi, and Celty, Anri Sonohara
could tell that a part of her was changing.
So she should have been able to smile and accept his offer with an open heart—but a
different reason was preventing her from doing that now.
There was simply something wrong with the way Mikado was acting these days.
A number of interrelated incidents had happened during Golden Week, the weeklong
string of holidays in May.
A mysterious woman had ambushed her on two consecutive days, for one—but Anri
was more worried about the injury Mikado had suffered at the hands of a youth gang.
When she’d leaped to his aid, she was afraid that he’d seen her using her katana.
She’d been spotted with a katana before that as well, when she rescued Masaomi Kida
from a mutiny within his own gang, the Yellow Scarves. But this could have been a
much more direct and damning witness.
Her sword was the cursed blade Saika, a being that dwelled within her body and
continuously chanted words of love. That made her alien and inhuman, just like Celty,
and she was worried that this revelation might cause Mikado to reject her. But on the
contrary, he hadn’t mentioned it once since the holiday ended.
Yet that was not a source of relief. The incident had changed Mikado.
He was back, you might say. That desperation to act cheerful in the wake of Masaomi
Kida’s absence was no longer there.
She didn’t notice for the first few days, because she was more preoccupied with
concern for his injury and worry that he’d be terrified of her freakish nature… but
eventually, she realized that the occasional hints of uncertainty and regret that she’d
caught on Mikado’s face since Masaomi had left were no longer surfacing.
There was purpose and vitality in Mikado’s smile, his words, and his actions—as if
he’d just found his reason for living.
That should have been a good thing.
But clearly, it wasn’t that Mikado had forgotten about Masaomi or was totally over him.
She almost wondered if he had reunited with the boy somewhere, so she had asked
him if something good had happened recently.
But when Mikado replied with a joke of the kind he never usually told (“I guess you
could say talking with you is a good thing!”), that only underlined Anri’s feeling of
unease.
Something happened during that incident… But they do say that people grow over time…
Maybe I’m just getting the wrong idea…
Anri was shy and reserved by nature, so she couldn’t come out and say, “You’re acting
strange these days.” Instead, she had simply continued her high school life with this
strange feeling eating away at her.
She watched the world objectively through the picture frame.
Perhaps this unique mental position of hers was what allowed Anri to recognize that
the particular painting she liked so much had developed a different coloring.
Anri had sensed that something was wrong as summer vacation began, but it wasn’t
until Mikado’s parting statement that day that she recognized her unease was
stemming from an actual anomaly.
On the way home from school, at the place where they usually split off for their
respective homes, Mikado had sported a more serious look on his face. He turned to
her and said, “Hey, Sonohara.”
“Huh? Y-yes?”
They’d been chatting idly the whole time, so the look in his eyes took her aback—but
that was nothing compared to her surprise at his following words.
“Whatever secrets you have, I don’t mind.”
“…Huh?”
What?
“Sure, maybe I can’t really be a source of support to you…”
What is Mikado… talking about?
Mikado Ryuugamine.
Masaomi Kida.
And Anri Sonohara.
Each of the three had a secret.

Mikado was founder of the Dollars.
Masaomi was founder of the Yellow Scarves and its central figure.
Anri housed an inhuman being inside of her named Saika.
Anri had learned Masaomi’s secret, and Masaomi had heard about Mikado’s status
from the info broker.
Now Mikado seemed on the verge of discovering Anri’s secret, enacting a strange
three-way relationship.
Anri was close to learning Mikado’s status, but she wasn’t attempting to get to the
bottom of it.
There was a tacit understanding between the two: They would only reveal their
respective secrets to each other when Masaomi came back.
But now Mikado was coming close to broaching the subject of Anri’s secret. In a
roundabout way, he was reaching for the inner parts of her heart.
“…But no matter what you are, I’m sure that I can help create a place just for you.”
“…”
She had wanted to say something, to ask something, but she couldn’t find the words.
Did he take her silence as discomfort? Mikado’s smile had grown even brighter and
more confident.
“I’m going to make it so Masaomi can come back,” he finished. “I’ll make a place for
everyone… so there’s no need for you to worry.”
No.
Deep down beneath her hesitation, Anri denied Mikado’s words.
She recalled something Mikado had said months ago.

“He’ll come back.”
“Oh…?”
“I’ve known Masaomi since we were young. He’ll absolutely come back.”
“Um,” Anri stammered, clearly troubled.
Mikado had come to his senses and said, “Oh, s-sorry. That was weird of me… Well, get
in touch if you need anything!”
He had hurried away to hide his sudden embarrassment. Anri had still been upset, but
she never attempted to stop him from leaving.
Something’s… wrong.
That was all Anri knew, all she could tell herself as she had wandered through the
shopping district of Ikebukuro.
On multiple occasions, she had thought of asking Celty for advice, but at each instance,
she decided that it wasn’t right to get the woman involved in her personal matter and
closed her flip phone.
Just as she was deciding to head back home, someone called out to her from behind.
In the end, the thing that had pushed Anri Sonohara to consult with Celty…
“Hey, is that you, Anri? How’s Saika doing these days?”
…was an extremely forward and indelicate statement from a man in a white lab coat.
Now, back to the present.
“Earlier, he believed that Kida would come back on his own, but now Mikado’s talking
about creating a place for Kida to return to… It just feels so strange…”
She wasn’t sure how to phrase her feelings. But the only way to get to the bottom of
the vague haze of wrongness was to review the day’s events in fine detail.
“I see. So rather than believing in his friend, he’s believing in his own power.”
“You’re right, that doesn’t sound like Mikado,” Celty typed before folding her arms in
thought.
Usually making an effort on your own is a positive thing… Why does this strike me as
odd? Plus, the part about it starting after Golden Week is troubling… I have a bad feeling
about this.
I wonder… Did something happen between him and that Aoba Kuronuma boy?
The one idea that floated into Celty’s head brought her back to the final night of Golden
Week.
It was right after she and Shinra had gotten home from their little vacation.
May 5, night
“I’ve come here… to be friends with you two.”
A boy named Aoba Kuronuma had stopped Celty and Shinra on the way home late at
night.
“How did you find out about this place?” Celty asked.
Aoba smirked. “A lot of it was simple coincidence. But don’t worry. I’m not going to tell
the police about it.”
The mention of the word police brought to mind the face of a particular motorcycle
cop, causing a shiver to run down Celty’s back.
“I’m not sure what’s going on here. Do you mind if I ask?” said Shinra to the boy,
stepping forward to protect Celty. “You said you wanted to be friends, but coming over
to a person’s house before that point is really rather rude of you. Perhaps it was
through great personal toil and turmoil that you found this apartment, but you do
realize that we might not necessarily value that hard work,” he added smoothly.
Aoba shrugged and answered, “Yes, I know it’s rude. But I doubt I could have gotten
any closer to the legendary Headless Rider any other way.”
“I’m not interested in getting closer to anyone who would cause trouble with biker gangs
like Toramaru. Besides, didn’t you consider the possibility that I’d just silence you for
good?”
“Ah, right. You heard my conversation with Mikado, right?” Aoba smiled, leaning
against the hallway wall and narrowing his eyes. “You can’t really silence me. My
friends all know this location, too. If I go missing, the cops and tabloids will descend
on this place like an avalanche. Then again, it might go up in flames before that.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, sorry. I’m not intending to push you around. I’m just like Mikado… I want to get
closer to you and the people around you, that’s all.”
He’s lying. He’s aiming for something after we get to know each other, Celty’s instincts
told her. She considered how to proceed.
But the first one to act was Shinra, taking another step forward as he adjusted his
glasses. He stared closely at the boy’s face, gave a faint smile, and said, “You’re just like
Izaya Orihara.”
“…I’m offended that you would compare me to him,” spat Aoba, his cocky confidence
instantly gone at the mention of that name, a scowl now on his face.
Clearly satisfied with himself, Shinra’s cold smile grew. He leaned in closer. “Yes, I said
that assuming that if you knew him, you’d be upset. And as I suspected, you do know
about Izaya. Let me guess: Did he put you through some painful experience in the
past?”
“…What makes you say that?”
“Because your methods are exactly like his. It was less of a coincidence and more of a
familiar tip-off, you might say. But I didn’t say you were a copycat. I think your nature
is exactly like his, from the foundation.”
“…Well, geez. Not only does the Black Rider know him, but so does the cohabitant.”
Aoba glared back at Shinra, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his assessment.
“Hatred of one’s own kind, they call it. Both you and Izaya are the type who get
annoyed when the world doesn’t dance in the palm of your hand. Of course, someone
like that isn’t going to be happy about a kindred spirit moving in. After all, if the world
is dancing on someone else’s palm, how will it dance on yours? You’re such greedy
people. The only thing I want to hold in my palm is Celty’s hand.”
“?…!”
Aoba tried to bite back his words, unsure what Shinra meant by that. He found the
answer along with a small pain down the nape of his neck.
When did he take that out of his bag? There was a sharp scalpel in Shinra’s hand now,
its end pressed to the back of Aoba’s neck. Just a little bit of pressure, and he could
easily slide it around into the flesh of his throat and sever his carotid artery.
“Here’s a warning.”
Shinra’s face was no different than usual. He had that simpering, lackadaisical look, all
the while holding the means to easily end the boy’s life.
“I don’t care what you and Izaya get up to plotting. But if you think you’re going to
destroy the happy life that Celty and I have here, you will make yourself a sworn
enemy for life.”
Meanwhile, despite that imminent threat, Aoba showed no signs of fear. He even
smiled a bit as he looked back at Shinra. However, a shimmer of sweat had risen on his
palms and forehead.
“…I see. So you have that kind of relationship with the Black Rider.”
Black shadows snuck in between the two men and pulled them apart in an attempt to
diffuse the danger in the air.
“Knock it off, Shinra. It would be stupid to commit murder over this.”

“But, Celty—”
“I don’t want you to turn this into a police matter and leave me all alone. Also, I refuse
to let you commit a horrible crime for my sake.”
“…Celty!”
As a matter of fact, Shinra was a criminal just for being a black market doctor, but that
fact didn’t register in his mind at all. He looked at Celty with the sparkling eyes of a
child.
Aoba couldn’t see the messages on her PDA, so he didn’t realize what an obnoxiously
private conversation they were having. He could, however, sense that the imminent
danger from Shinra was gone.
“I don’t know what you two are talking about, but you don’t have to treat this like some
huge thing. I apologize if I’ve upset you in any way… All I want is an e-mail address
where I can contact you, and then I’ll back down.
“…Oh, and… please keep this little meeting a secret from Mikado.”
In the end, they gave him their contact info, but he hadn’t gotten in touch since then.
Celty had brought up the idea of secretly packing up and moving if he really started to
push them around, but the total lack of communication was even spookier.
I wonder if there’s some connection there. I haven’t seen Mikado since Golden Week,
either…
Meanwhile, Shinra nodded to himself and started analyzing Anri’s recollection of past
events.
“Yes, the phrase ‘I’ll create a place just for you’ does sound like your typical hotshot
one-liner, but it seems a bit strange coming from a kid like Mikado. And it wasn’t as if
you’d confessed your deepest, darkest fears to him or anything. The way he dropped
that out of the blue almost sounds religious in nature.”
He pored over this for a while, then eventually gave Anri his honest opinion, with no
malice whatsoever. “Honestly, someone telling you that without any good justification
just sounds like he’s trying to play out the role of a hero. I guess Mikado’s turning into
one of those annoying— Gbogbuf!”
“What gives you the right to call anyone ‘annoying’?!” Celty demanded, driving her fist
into Shinra’s side.
She turned to Anri. “I get the picture. And in fact, I might have an idea of what it’s about.”
“Really?” the girl replied, eyes wide.
Celty carefully considered the message to write on her PDA. “Just between you and
me—how are Mikado’s friendships at school?”
“Huh?”
“Is he getting along closely with anyone in particular these days?”
“W… well… I’ve often seen him with a younger boy named Kuronuma from the student
committee… but it’s just like usual with everyone else. He’s not getting involved with
anyone fishy… I think.”
“Gotcha.”
The problem is that Kuronuma kid is the fishiest one of all. I suppose he must play nice
while at school. Should I tell Anri? If I don’t explain things now, that might leave her
vulnerable to him abducting her or something… but on the other hand, if it has nothing
to do with Mikado changing, that might just make things worse between them…
Shinra, freshly recovered from his gut pain and sensing Celty’s hesitation, decided to
tell her a lie.
“Well, I don’t know this Kuronuma boy, but perhaps he has something to do with the
problem.”
“Um… but… he really doesn’t seem that bad…”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, because as I said, I’ve never met him, but there’s no harm in
being cautious, is there? And shouldn’t you know better than anyone that people can’t
be judged on appearances?”
“…I suppose so… ,” Anri admitted, though she wasn’t immediately in agreement. Celty,
however, was impressed by Shinra’s quick thinking.
Nice one, Shinra! That should make Anri automatically careful around Kuronuma!
She nodded her helmet, playing along with the suggestion. Anri thought it over for a
while, but her face still showed concern.
“If Mikado really has changed somehow, what can I even do about it?”
“On the one hand, you could do just about anything, and on the other, maybe there’s
nothing you need to do.”
“That’s an irresponsible answer,” Celty typed, annoyed. “Just because it’s not your
problem doesn’t mean you should give her an answer that says nothing.”
Shinra simply grinned. “Look, he’s a boy. Within the process of growing up, sometimes
you feel like you’re special and that your way of thinking is the coolest there can be.
Guys get caught up in themselves and think everything they do is cool.”
“Is that what they call ‘chuunibyou’ online? Sophomore Disease?”
“Yeah. It’s like measles. As the name says, it’s a disease that usually strikes around the
second year of middle school, but sometimes there are folks like Izaya who never
recover from it. It’s not strange at all for a guy to catch it in his second year of high
school. Basically, as long as he’s not getting wrapped up in some kind of weird cult, he
should recover all on his own.”
Shinra offered this advice with a laugh—but neither he nor Celty were aware of certain
things.
True, Mikado wasn’t under the sway of some suspicious new cult.
But to the boy named Mikado Ryuugamine, the Dollars as he idealized them were
already an object of faith.
And those Dollars were no longer one unified force.
Ikebukuro
The popular idol Ruri Hijiribe was suffering the advances of a stalker.
After a brief explanation of this fact, which sounded like the sort of thing one saw on
the cover of a gossip rag, Yuuhei began to give his brother some background.
“The person stalking Ruri seems to come and go on the Dollars’ message board… but
I don’t know anything about the Dollars. So as I was tracking rumors around, I noticed
your name come up, and that made me wonder if you might know more about them
than I do.”
“Ahh… gotcha. Well, I’m not in the Dollars anymore. I kinda signed up on someone’s
invitation… but a lot of them were annoying, and I got tired of them, so I told someone
I know in the group that I quit. That was the end of it,” said Shizuo, looking up at the
ceiling as he recalled the events of a few months ago. “But even when I was active, the
most I ever did was check their board on my phone and make a few posts. I don’t even
know what the team is like, really.”
Kasuka noticed something mournful and lonely in Shizuo’s expression. “Ah… sorry
about that. I didn’t mean to make you remember anything stupid.”
“Nah. You shouldn’t worry about it. We’re family—don’t come bowing and scraping
when you need help,” Shizuo said with a brief smile. Then he turned to Miss Hijiribe
and said, “…Sounds like you’ve had a tough time, huh? Did you try contacting the
police?”
Ruri flinched at being addressed so abruptly but regained her poise and explained,
“Well… it started when something was jammed inside my lock, so I could no longer
get inside my home.”
“? You couldn’t get in?”
Normally, a stalker, once aware of the target’s address, would try to break the lock to
sneak inside and maybe plant listening devices. The idea of keeping her out of her
home didn’t add up.
“I thought it was just a prank at first… but then it kept happening every day. The police
said there was a man hiding his face on the security camera, but they haven’t caught
him yet. Once they started patrolling the area, the stalker started leaving bloody
crosses all over our photo shoot locations, with the crucified being photo collages of
various movie monsters with my face attached over them…”
The creepy nature of the stalking was striking, of course, but Shizuo was more
preoccupied by a different detail.
“? Wait a second— If this guy knows where you’re scheduled to shoot, doesn’t that
make him someone involved in your business?”
“The police thought the same thing at first. But everyone has an alibi… and when we
did more research, we found out that some fans online were making deals and plans
over my work schedule. But even though some of those really crazy fans are noted on
some industry blacklists… all of them had alibis,” she said.
“This group trading idol information is within the larger Dollars, apparently. I tried to
register on the website as a test, but it seems like there are a number of little
communities, or user groups, within the Dollars, and you can’t get in with them unless
you have someone to welcome you in,” said Yuuhei, his voice without emotion, like a
robot reading the information in front of it. But Shizuo knew his brother well enough
to read the subtle shifts in his state of mind.
“Look, I get that you’re pissed, but you gotta calm down, Kasuka. There are things you
can’t notice unless you’re in a rational state of mind,” he advised, which was hilarious,
given his own nature.
“Yeah… you’re right. Thanks.”
Neither Vorona from a distance, nor Ruri sitting right next to Yuuhei, could sense even
the barest hint of irritation from Yuuhei. This brotherly conversation perplexed them.
Oblivious to their confusion, Shizuo continued, “Sorry, man. I’m not so good with the
heavy-thinking stuff. If only I knew a bit more about the Dollars, I could help more…”
Someone who knows lots about the Dollars. Pretty sure I know someone like that…
somebody who would know this sort of thing…
For an instant, the face of someone who would know way too much about that sort of
thing floated into his mind, but he had to banish the image when a vein started
throbbing on his temple.
Let’s rule out the fleabrain. But I bet Kururi or Mairu might actually fit the bill. No,
wait—if I explain the situation, they’ll bug me about meeting Kasuka. I’m certain the
boss would know, but I can’t cause any more trouble than I already have…
After a while, he recalled the face of a Dollars member who was well-known for
mastery of the Internet.
Feels like someone I shouldn’t owe any more favors to than I already do… but I guess
advice is always free.
“All right, I’ve got a person to ask. I’ll head over there right now—you in?”
“Are you sure? Am I imposing on you?”
“I told you, there’s none of that between family,” Shizuo said with a gentle laugh.
Everyone else in the office listening in felt like they’d just witnessed something
exceedingly rare but pretended to continue on with their work, in case mentioning it
out loud caused the usual Shizuo to return.
Just then, a very pleasing little sound softened the air.
“Mewww.”
The unmistakable sound of a cat.
“Are you awake now?” Yuuhei mumbled down toward his feet, then addressed Shizuo.
“That reminded me. I had one other thing to talk about.”
Without any emotion, he lifted up a little pet carrier resting next to the sofa and
focused on the Scottish fold rubbing its face on the inside. It was an adorable cat, like
a little ball of fluff, and probably still a kitten.
“Ruri’s hiding out at my apartment for the time being, but the thought of it getting
attacked by a stalker while we’re both gone is horrible… But on the other hand, all the
pet hotels around this area are full, so we can’t just leave it somewhere.
“We’ve been looking for someone who can take care of Dokusonmaru, just for a little
while.”
“Um, I’m really sorry for just barging in on you like this,” said Anri as she prepared to
leave. They’d had a nice conversation but ultimately hit a roadblock.
Knowing that Mikado was the boss of the Dollars, Celty could conjecture a number of
things on her own, but she knew it wasn’t right for her to be the one to reveal that to
Anri. She decided to just let the conversation end there. If Mikado truly got himself
involved in something imminently dangerous, her silence wouldn’t be an option
anymore, but she didn’t sense that level of danger at the moment.
Still, Mikado’s aberrational behavior was a fact, and she figured that it would be a good
idea to talk with him the next time she ran into him around town.
Celty checked her watch and said to the girl, “It’s too dangerous to go out this late. You
should spend the night.”
“Uh… b-but I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that!” Anri stammered. The dullahan
clapped her on the shoulder bracingly and typed a reassuring message into the PDA.
“Don’t hold back. You’ve stayed over several times before. But if you really don’t like it
here, I won’t force you to stay.”
“N-no, it’s not that at all!”
“If you need pajamas, you can use some that I wear from time to time. Hmm… I hope the
size fits.”
Shinra watched the two abnormal beings discuss their youthful sleepover plans with
warm satisfaction in his eyes—but just then, a sudden doorbell ring doused a bit of
cold water on the pleasant mood in the apartment.
For being a luxury apartment, it was on the older side, so the doorbell ringer wasn’t
just at the front door, but in all the rooms as well.
“Who could that be this late?”
It better not be Aoba Kuronuma, Celty worried, while Shinra went to open the front
door—revealing a familiar figure bearing an unfamiliar one on its head.
“Mewww.”
Upon seeing Shizuo Heiwajima standing there with a tiny cat meowing on his head,
Shinra burst into uproarious laughter. He was promptly kicked across the room. Celty
thanked her lucky stars she didn’t have a mouth to laugh with, but it was still hard to
keep her shoulders from trembling.
She didn’t realize that she was about to experience an odd reunion of sorts.
One day, chat room
Kid has entered the chat.
Kid: Nice to meet you.
Kid: I don’t think anyone’s around to see this, but regardless, nice to meet you.
Kid: Psychic
Kid: Sorry, auto-correct. Saika invited me to join up.
Sharo has entered the chat.
Sharo: Evening.
Kid: Good evening.
Kid: Nice to meet you. Are you from this message board?
Sharo: Heya. No, I just joined up on invitation from someone here.
Sharo: I’m guessing that none of the ordinary members are around at the moment.
Kid: Oh, I see. That’s a coincidence.
Sharo: Actually, I was just hanging around waiting for someone to show up before I
logged in, lol.
Kid: Got it. (lol)
100% Pure Water has entered the chat.
100% Pure Water: Sorry, I was keeping an eye on things, too. Mind if I join in?
100% Pure Water: I was invited by a friend, but I’ve never done anything like this
before. Hiya!
100% Pure Water: Well, that was a very flippant greeting. What if everyone else is
actually older than me?
Kid: We can’t see who anyone is, so I don’t think anyone will be upset about rudeness.
Sharo: Age doesn’t really matter, does it?
Sharo: I read some of the backlog. That Kuru’s quite a character, huh?
Sharo: I think we can all address each other as equals.
Kid: I’m not used to this sort of thing, so I’ll revert to speaking politely.
100% Pure Water: Everyone should be free to do their own thing! Kya-ha!
Sharo: “Kya-ha” is pretty annoying, though. (lol)
100% Pure Water: Aww! (lol)
Saki has entered the chat.
Saki: Good evening.

Saki: I’m Saki. Bacura invited me to participate here.
Saki: It’s nice to meet you all.
Sharo: Oh, good evening.
Kid: What is this, newcomers’ day at the chat room? (lol)
100% Pure Water: Hello!
Chrome has entered the chat.
Chrome: Evening. Nice to meet you all.
Chrome: I like all the activity.
Chrome: I’m also a recent invitee.
Saki: Good evening.
Kid: It’s a pleasure.
Sharo: Evening. Wow, look how much we’ve been chatting, and it’s all just
introductions so far, lol.
Sharo: How is it that none of the original members are even here? lol
Bacura: Good eveniiin’!
Bacura: Whoa,
Bacura: What’s going on here?!
Saki: Hi there.
Chrome: Good evening.
Sharo: Aha, is this one of the old-timers?
Kid: Old-timer is a bit rude.
100% Pure Water: -Ning!
Bacura: Things are active in here.
Bacura: Sorry,
Bacura: I’m a bit nervous since the only person I know in here is Saki, lol.
100% Pure Water: That’s so cute. I love the innocent types.
Bacura: Sure, thanks, lol.
Kid: Well, we’ve all been invited to join this chat room, but I don’t think any of us are
aware of what usually gets discussed here.
Bacura: Oh,
Bacura: It’s mostly a place to trade info about the area, primarily Ikebukuro.
Sharo: I see.
100% Pure Water: So are you all from Ikebukuro?
Bacura: Saki and I are currently living in a different location,
Bacura: But we lived in Ikebukuro before that.
Kid: I work in Ikebukuro.
Sharo: Oh, so you’re a proper working fellow?
Kid: No, it’s more like a part-time job. And let’s not pry into ages, shall we? lol
Saki: I agree.
Sharo: Y’know, I looked through the backlog… and I noticed a previous session about
people stalking Ruri Hijiribe.
Sharo: And how the stalker might be in the Dollars.
Sharo: I’ll just ask: Is anyone in here a member of the Dollars?
Bacura: Right after we all agreed not to pry into private affairs, lol.
Sharo: Oh, come on, Dollars affiliation or not should be fair game.
Chrome: I’m in the Dollars. Registered in name only, though.
Kid: Same for me, I registered but nothing else.
Bacura: Whoa, whoa.
Saki: Then me and Bacura will have to sign up next time.
Bacura: Nope, not gonna happen, lol.
Sharo: I’m curious about them myself. Someone I know takes part in the group.
Sharo: So what’s the honest scoop? Do the Dollars get chicks?
Sharo: Because I will Doll up in that place to get some.
Bacura: Doll up, huh?
Chrome: Do you suppose that stalker story is really true?
Chrome: It’s scary to think that some of the other people who took our very same
registration are criminals.
Chrome: And it doesn’t sound like there’s any movement within the Dollars to turn in
the culprit.
Kid: Well, I’d be fine with handing over a report if there was actual evidence.
Chrome: It’s true that there seem to be multiple little communities within the Dollars
currently. I hear that some folks are acting like a real gang, picking fights, mugging
people, even running scams.
Kid: It’s an unpleasant time we live in.
Chrome: Around May, there was that crazy incident where the yakuza and some
college group tried to kill each other.
Chrome: The college students were using the Dollars’ name as a front to sell drugs or
something. Several of their members were actual Dollars.
Kid: I see.
Kid: You think there are people like that within the group?
Bacura: Let’s not start talking about this violent stuff right off the bat.
Bacura: Why can’t we just discuss interests first?
Bacura: Like your favorite date spot in Ikebukuro.
Saki: Are we going to Ikebukuro?
Bacura: No comment.
100% Pure Water: My recommendation would be Tokyu Hands!
Bacura: That’s a good one. You can spend all day there without getting bored.
Chrome: If you want to avoid boredom, the Seibu Loft Department Store is good, too.
Sharo: Well, they’re nice for not being bored, but those aren’t real date spots.
Sharo: Rather than a date spot, I’d prefer a location where I can meet girls easily in
the first place.
100% Pure Water: Like a hostess club?
Sharo: Not exactly. I like those, but what I’m looking for is a bit different.
Chrome: What about a dating website?
Sharo: Is that a date spot? Were we not talking about date spots?
Bacura: Oh!
Kid: Nice to meet you.
100% Pure Water: Hey, nice evening!
Mai: Good evening.
Mai: Yay.
Mai: There are lots of people.
Kuru: Well, well, it is lovely to encounter so many new and familiar names at once.
Mai: It’s lively.
Mai: I’m happy.
Kuru: Then perhaps I shall start by offering a topic of discussion. Just minutes ago, it
seems you were all abuzz with the matter of Ruri Hijiribe’s stalker and the possible
connections to the Dollars… From what I understand, there is somewhat of an internal
struggle happening within the Dollars.
Kid: Internal struggle? Didn’t know about this.
Chrome: I haven’t seen any information to that effect on the boards I watch, either…
Kuru: I am speaking of the real world. It seems that about two months ago, some
mugging gentlemen who name-dropped the Dollars were attacked by another group
of Dollars. The details are contained in a weekly tabloid that goes on sale tomorrow,
and I acquired an early copy.
Kid: Is this true? I find that interesting.
Kid: What’s the story?
Bacura: I don’t know if I can believe that.
Bacura: For one thing,
Bacura: If it’s an internal war,
Bacura: How does that work? It’s not like the Dollars function as a typical gang…
Saki: Settle down.
Chrome: I’m getting excited now.
Sharo: Hey, if a bunch of worthless thugs want to wipe each other out, that’s fine by
me.
100% Pure Water: I’m scared. What if Chrome and Kid get attacked, too?
Mai: Nia
Bacura: Nia?
Kuru: Please excuse that. Mai rolled over laughing next to me. She probably dropped
her chopsticks onto the keyboard.
Kuru: At any rate, the Dollars are like the history of Japan itself. In the past, it was a
kind of primitive communism, a vague organization that helped one another and
shared information. But as the various factions within the Dollars settled into
establishment, the various communities within the group began to wield their power.
Thus, like the Warring States period of Japan, you have a number of smaller nations
coming to life within the whole of the land.
Kuru: Among them, you had a nation that was particularly violent, until it was crushed
by a team of elite warriors. Little is known about this elite gang, except that their one
feature is the use of ski masks and bandannas with a striking shark-teeth design. They
seem to be imported.
Bacura: Uh.
Bacura: Are you serious?
Kuru: What is the matter? Does this ring a bell?
Kid: Oh yeah, I’ve heard of that, too.
Kid: Those are the caps that an old gang from Ikebukuro used to wear, the Blue
Squares. Only a small number of them, though.
Bacura: Must be a coincidence.
Sharo: What’s the matter? Does someone you know wear a ski cap like that?
Bacura: No,
Bacura: I was mistaken.
Chrome: More importantly, we have many newcomers here today, so why don’t we
continue the introductions?
100% Pure Water: Okay, how about we list our favorite movies?
100% Pure Water: Mine’s the Blair Witch Project!
Kid: I like pretty much anything.
Bacura: My favorite is,
.
Apartment building rooftop, Ikebukuro
While Celty was caught between the worries of a girl and Shizuo’s cat troubles, a boy
who didn’t realize what he was putting Anri Sonohara through was busy smiling at a
group of other boys.
“I’m really glad that nobody got hurt,” Mikado Ryuugamine said, grinning serenely.
“But don’t go out of your way to put yourself in danger.”
He was addressing a group of about half a dozen youths on what looked to be the roof
of an apartment building. One of the group was acting as its representative in talking
to Mikado, while four others lounged around the rooftop, paying little attention to the
goings-on. The only light on the eerie nighttime scene came from the faint rooftop
illumination.
Relieved that they hadn’t suffered any serious injuries, Mikado exhaled and asked, just
to be certain, “And anybody who didn’t show up today is fine, right?”
The youthful boy facing him, Aoba Kuronuma, grinned. “Mm-hmm. None of my guys
are that stupid.”
“Stupid is a pretty cruel word to use for getting injured,” Mikado said with a grimace.
Aoba looked down at the shark-tooth-patterned hood in his hand and said, “I’m
impressed that you knew where those guys were working.”
“Yeah… I looked into their Dollars community. I needed Mr. Tsukumoya’s help, though.”
“That’s the weird guy who pops in and out of the message board, right?”
“You shouldn’t call him weird. He’s quite successful, written books and everything.”
Shinichi Tsukumoya was a member of the Dollars, as well as a writer of a number of
guides to the neighborhood under the title Ikebukuro Strikes Back.
Mikado had never met or seen him, so he had no idea what Tsukumoya’s real name,
age, or even gender were, but after contacting him the other day, Tsukumoya was able
to tell him which community corresponded to the folks who were mugging people
using the Dollars’ name.
He used his administrator status to view the conversation there, identified a few of
the users, and had them monitored so that he could take action against them.
All Tsukumoya did was find the original board, and Mikado didn’t tell him his plans
after that. Perhaps the man could sense the boy’s intention, but he hadn’t come back
to say anything about it.
Mikado was the only one of the original Dollars still around from the group’s founding,
but he considered Tsukumoya to be a member from a very early stage.
I wonder if he was there at our first meetup last year, he wondered.
Meanwhile, Aoba’s smile was gone. “Hmm… Well, if you trust him, then that’s all right,
I guess…”
As a matter of fact, Aoba was attempting his own research into the man named
Tsukumoya, but no one in the Dollars seemed to have actually met him in person. That
led Aoba to believe that he was someone who would only claim Dollars membership
online, and thus wasn’t worthy of overt caution.
The real problem was the name Mikado mentioned next, that of a man who actually
involved himself in the Dollars’ affairs in reality.
“If I could talk with Izaya Orihara, that would be great… but I can’t get in touch with
him lately.”
“…”
“There are still many folks whose backgrounds I don’t know about yet. I bet I could
learn a lot from Mr. Tsukumoya, but I don’t want to keep bothering someone I don’t
even know in real life. I’d rather pay money to Izaya, if it comes to that. I wonder what’s
up with him…”
“Being an info agent is a shady job, right? Maybe he got stabbed by a yakuza and buried
already,” Aoba joked, looking aside.
Whatever had happened in the past to cause his attitude, it was clear that the look in
Aoba’s eyes was full of hostility toward Orihara, no matter how he tried to hide it. Did
Mikado recognize the subtle shift in the other boy’s expression? Either way, he
shrugged and said, “You really shouldn’t say something like that, even as a joke. He’s
really helped out a lot with some of the Dollars’ problems.”
Mikado Ryuugamine had forgotten something.
“Don’t get involved with Izaya Orihara.”
He’d received that warning from his best friend on the very day he moved to Ikebukuro.
But others he’d heard warnings about, like Shizuo Heiwajima and Simon, turned out
to be nicer than first expected. So perhaps he couldn’t be blamed for overlooking his
friend’s advice.
And perhaps some of the benefits Izaya had brought to Mikado had sapped the critical
functions of his brain, like sweet poisons. Just as they did to Masaomi Kida when he
was leader of the Yellow Scarves.
So Mikado didn’t yet realize that Izaya Orihara was a man who posed a danger to him.
If he’d been suspicious of Izaya, he might have looked into the man’s past.
Perhaps he would have learned what Izaya once did to Masaomi Kida—or what Izumii,
Aoba’s older brother, did to Masaomi.
If he had done these things, he most likely would not have partnered with Aoba
Kuronuma and his friends. Ironically, perhaps it was because Mikado felt that Izaya
Orihara was a friend—Aoba’s sworn enemy—that he was joining forces with Aoba at
all.
I wonder how much Mikado knows about the fight between the Blue Squares and the
Yellow Scarves?
That was a constant question within Aoba. Did he know everything already and was
just using them for his own ends with intent to betray them at the very end?
…No, that’s too far outside of my expectations.
From the very beginning, Aoba and Mikado’s relationship was supposed to be one of
using and being used.
Where he went wrong was assuming that ultimately he would be able to gain a leg up
on Mikado, but that seemed unlikely to happen at this point.
He hadn’t underestimated Mikado Ryuugamine. If anything, Aoba had made contact

with him specifically because he highly valued the boy’s abilities and connections. But
until the incidents of Golden Week happened, Aoba had assumed that due to Mikado’s
naive, simple nature, he could win control over him in the end.
But then he had realized:
The simplicity within Mikado was shrouded in some kind of thick madness.
“By the way, did you hear the rumors that there’s a Ruri Hijiribe stalker… within the
Dollars?” Aoba asked bluntly.
Mikado gave him the exact same smile he always did at school. “Yeah, I did.”
A smile.
One of unbearable gentleness.
Neither fake nor wicked.
Just a plain old, typical, pleasant smile.
As Mikado Ryuugamine said the usual statement…
“We need to get people like that out of the Dollars as soon as we can.”
Luxury apartment, Ikebukuro
It was just after midnight that the ringtone played on Adabashi’s cell phone.
A Ruri Hijiribe song echoed off the walls of his apartment.
He listened to several seconds of that voice, that crystalline, heart-throbbing voice.
Wavering, savoring, he pressed the call button.
When Ruri’s voice abruptly stopped, he put on a sticky, smeary smile.
“Hello? Hello?”
“…Oh, it’s you,” Adabashi replied, and the man on the other side reacted with relief.
“Ah! Thank goodness. You always pause before you start speaking on the phone, so I can
never tell. I’m just curious, is there a reason for that?”
“…I am busy savoring.”
“Pardon?”
“I savor the abrupt ending of Ruri’s voice. By my hand.”
“Okay,” the other voice said, nonplussed. Adabashi recalled the sensation in his
fingertip and ears from moments earlier and let delight twist his entire face. A burning
desire leaped deep in his stomach.
“The sound of Ruri’s voice, that soul-shaking beautiful voice, clicking off with the flick
of my thumb, as if being crushed, her entire existence being flattened. I am savoring
that very moment, so it is perfectly natural for my voice to emerge only once that
moment is done. Isn’t that right?”
The person on the other end of the line replied to this clearly insane comment with a
hasty “Uh, yeah, sure, I understand. But I can’t possibly match the depth of your love, so
I only understand it halfway… It’s amazing, Mr. Adabashi. You say the same things as
Father.”
“Don’t compare me to that terrible excuse for a father,” Adabashi spat, clearly annoyed.
He narrowed his eyes and continued, “Not to a worthless man who would sleep with
some total stranger of a woman—neither Mom nor Ruri—and get himself easily killed
by Ruri herself.”
“Well, actually, as you may already know, Ruri Hijiribe is no ordinary woman. Father’s
murder was actually quite—”
“That’s not what I mean. The murder isn’t the problem. If anything, I’m jealous,”
Adabashi said, recalling the sight of his father’s death with slack features. “The
problem is why Dad was sleeping with some stranger. I could understand sleeping
with Mom. She’s getting up there in years, but whatever… But if he’s going to sleep
with anyone else, it should be Ruri. How can you sleep with another woman when
there’s Ruri? It makes no sense.”
“Aha! Yes, you’ve got a point there. I quite understand,” said the other person.
“So,” Adabashi asked, “what do you want?”
“Oh, nothing much. I told you before how I could sell you Ruri Hijiribe information before
anyone else, if you did something for me. I was wondering if I could call in that favor
now.”
“…What is it?”
“It seems that Ruri Hijiribe has made contact with the Headless Rider of Ikebukuro. I
don’t know how they’re connected or what she wants… but when you reach out to
Hijiribe, I would appreciate a report of everything you might learn about the Headless
Rider. Just a report is fine. I’ll even slip in a bonus if you can throw an extra challenge at
the rider, assuming you can get away afterward.”
As the man spoke smoothly, Adabashi raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean
this Headless Rider is stronger than me?”
“Well, if you were… let’s say… what was that one fighter’s name? If you were tougher
than that Traugott fellow who won that whatever-it-is tournament, that would be one
thing. But I don’t suppose you’ve seen the Headless Rider in person, have you?”
“…”
As a matter of fact, Adabashi had seen the Headless Rider on several occasions.
But they were all during simple rides through the city, where one’s strength or
weakness was impossible to determine.
He’d heard the stories about eerie inhumanity, however, and from the way this man
was talking about them, the rumors were likely true.
“…So what’s with this Headless Rider?”
“Oh, it’s just that the rider’s activities have grown more overt lately. I’m getting many
messages from my clients wondering if it’s the real deal or not.”
“…”
“I run a business, so if someone shows up and needs my services, I have to leap into action
and achieve certain things. So I think it’s time that I get a proper assessment. There’s
also the fact that I had some personal work interrupted… work that was supposed to
help guarantee my safety.”
Adabashi didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t particularly care, either.
Ruri Hijiribe had made contact with the Headless Rider. Whatever that ultimately
meant, he still had only one goal:
Whatever impediments might or might not appear, he had to achieve his love for Ruri
Hijiribe.
“Well, fine. If you learn something more… something about Ruri, tell me…
“You gotta tell me… Mr. Yodogiri…”
Parking lot, Ikebukuro

“Must be nice not to have anything to do like you guys, while Kadota’s busy working
the night shift,” Togusa said from the driver’s seat of the dormant vehicle, peering
through the rearview mirror to the back, where Yumasaki and Karisawa sat.
The boy and girl looked up from their books and raised voices of protest.
“We do, too, have things to do! I’ve got seven more manga on my slate by the end of
the day!”
“And I’m watching four late-night anime programs!”
“Exactly! You have nothing better to do!” Togusa snapped, hoping to silence them, but
the other two only pouted and sniped back:
“Oh yeah? Well, when you’re not out collecting rent, you’re pretty much a jobless
freeloader too, Togusacchi.”
“Yeah, what she said.”
“No, I’m not! I’m cleaning empty apartments and sweeping halls and all sorts of stuff,
you idiots!”
“But your sister said that she was handling those jobs,” said Karisawa.
Togusa’s rebuttal caught in his throat.
“And I heard your brother takes care of the business and legal stuff.”
“W-well, that’s not… I mean… I’m around in case trouble ever arises… ,” Togusa mumbled
unconvincingly.
Just then, he was saved by the sound of his cell phone text notification. A brief Ruri
Hijiribe ringtone played, which he faithfully listened to through to the end before he
looked at the message.
“I’m too busy catching up on all my messages, you guys. Stop interrupting me.”
“What? You started this by interrupting our reading!”
“And you claimed to be busy, yet you sat there listening to the whole ringtone.”
Togusa reacted to this totally fair criticism by shaking his head in a you just don’t get
it gesture and said, “As if I could pause Ruri in the middle of her song, fool.”
Normally, Saburo Togusa’s role in the group was to look down on Yumasaki and
Karisawa for their overt otaku tendencies—but when it came to his car and Ruri
Hijiribe, he displayed an even greater tenacity than they did. If there was anything all
three of them would be interested in buying, it would have to be the CD singles of the
anime theme songs sung by Ruri.
As it happened, the message Togusa just received involved Ruri Hijiribe as well, so he
got into the right frame of mind before perusing the text.
“Wow… Oh man… I wonder if Ruri likes Scottish folds…”
It was a periodical e-mail newsletter from her official fan club. Togusa read through a
bit more of the article, then turned to the pair with the kind of blissful expression that
he never wore otherwise.
“Whoa… they’re gonna reprint her photo album! Man, I gotta get a copy of that, too!”
“…Are you going to buy another copy each time they print more, Togusa?” Yumasaki
asked hesitantly.
“? Why wouldn’t I? You guys always buy two copies of manga, right?”
“Well, sure, one for posterity.”
“You’d have to be a real freak to buy another copy for every printing, though.”
“And you get super-pissed whenever your car gets scratched. You’re way more high
maintenance than we are, Togusacchi.”
Togusa ignored his friends in the backseat, closed the e-mail, and started up the
phone’s browser. Once there, he accessed the special Ruri Hijiribe community within
the Dollars’ group, “Mobius Bandage.”
Right after her relationship with Yuuhei Hanejima went public, the community was in
an uproar. They turned on the idol they’d worshipped, calling her a “traitor” and “used
goods,” and demanded their money back. They loathed and raged against Yuuhei,
while others just egged them on for kicks. Togusa was one of the few who never let his
fandom waver, despite the shock. He wasn’t one of the levelheaded types who could
always remember that an idol was nothing more than a false image, though; he
trembled with envy but was able to tell himself, That perfect human being, Yuuhei
Hanejima, is a far better man to make Ruri happy than me. Dammit if they don’t belong
together! Thus, he weathered the online storms and worked to stabilize the
community.
Through all of that, Togusa had become one of the senior members of the fan club. He
scrolled through the article comments in silence, enjoying the trading of opinions—
until he happened across one statement that put a scowl on his face.
“That asshole’s still around?”
“What’s the matter?” Yumasaki asked, surprised by the sudden change of attitude.
“Oh… it’s just this insider kinda guy who’s been hanging around.”
“Insider?”
“Yeah. Today he’s posting, asking if anyone’s interested in Ruri Hijiribe’s secrets.
Apparently, he’s got some secret photo or something—the guy’s always going on about
stuff like that. His username’s Sacrificial Boy. What a weirdo,” Togusa fumed.
“Well, you sound outraged, but I bet you’re secretly curious, huh? You wanna know
Ruri Hijiribe’s naughty secrets?” Karisawa teased.
“Don’t you dare talk about her that way. You will show Ruri respect while in my car,”
Togusa demanded with all seriousness.
The other two just looked annoyed. “Ugh, come on, man. You weren’t even that
obsessed with her when she was just starting out.”
“I was young back then. I failed to fully understand her many charms.”
“Oh man, now he’s acting even worse. What should we do, Yumacchi?” Karisawa
wondered.
Yumasaki mulled it over for a few moments. “I guess there are people like that in the
voice actor fan community, too. Like the honorable Kamijou in Index. He was just some
guy at the start, but now I find it difficult not to show some kind of respect.”
“Oh yeah. That makes sense to me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’d better not be comparing Ruri to
some stupid manga character,” Togusa warned, a vein throbbing at his temple, but he
sensed that they were not going to see eye to eye on this and returned to the
conversation in the article.
Yumasaki and Karisawa stared at the back of the driver’s seat, then leaned closer
together to whisper, “By the way… wasn’t there that rumor about Ruri Hijiribe having
a stalker?”
“Another rumor says it’s someone in the Dollars.”
“…That’s right. Even in our web group, everyone’s going crazy trying to ascertain the
truth of the matter,” said Togusa, who had overheard every word of their conversation.
He exhaled hugely, then stared forward with murder in his eyes. “If I ever find him, I’ll
drive this car right into his house and over his bed…”
Yumasaki was stunned but couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a joke or not.
“Well, uh… if you do that, please save it for a time when we’re not in the backseat.”
Apartment building rooftop, Ikebukuro
“Oh, it’s you, Mom. Oh yeah? He’s already back?”
They had to pause their conversation so that Aoba could take a sudden phone call. He
seemed to be talking to his mother about some brother of his.
I probably shouldn’t interrupt, Mikado thought. He waved good-bye, then turned to leave
the rooftop.
“Oh, hang on, Mom… Mikado, I wanted to say…”
“We can continue this tomorrow. Go back to your phone call.”
“Err… sorry. I’ll text you later,” Aoba said, bowing.

Mikado resumed his bid for the door.
“Heya.” “Nice work today.” “Night.”
“Good night, guys,” Mikado said to the menacing young men…
…still wearing that transparent smile, the kind that one gave to longtime friends.
Mikado descended the building and exited to the street, where he noticed two
motorcycles parked out front. The riders seemed to be in an argument, so he started
walking well around them to avoid getting involved.
“…you were doing? Huh?”
“That’s none of your busi…”
From what he could hear as he passed, it sounded like your typical argument. Mikado
side-eyed the two men along the way.
One was wearing a flashy leather jacket with a spine printed on the back, while the
other was dressed in a black suit, which seemed out of place on a motorcycle. He had
some kind of metal bracelet on, but it was hard to tell the fine details.
Probably just a quarrel between different biker gangs. Though it was rare for them to
be in Ikebukuro to begin with, the sight reminded Mikado of the battle with Toramaru
two months ago…
And so he scampered away from the building, his expression just a bit mournful.
“Mewww.”
The cry of the kitten brought some much-needed warmth to the room.
The cast assembled in the space was far from peaceful by definition: Ikebukuro’s fighting
puppet, a black market doctor, two huge celebrities whose relationship was subject to
media coverage, a girl with a terrible secret, and a headless dullahan.
But a cat has no understanding of the meaning of these things, and thus, it freely
brought comfort to the scene. It had jumped down off Shizuo’s head, had wandered
around the apartment, and was now purring happily atop Anri’s thighs.
“…So, where were we?” Shizuo asked.
“We were talking about the Dollars,” said his brother.
“Oh, right. I couldn’t really think of anyone who knows about the Dollars, but I knew
Celty was way deeper in the group than me, so I figured coming here was the best
option,” he explained.
Shinra shook his head in disbelief. “And that’s why you brought Kasuka and Ruri
Hijiribe over here? How cruel! You could have at least given us a warning first!”
“Huh? Well, I could see the lights were on from a distance. So I realized you guys were
probably home and came over…”
“…I’m sorry. I hope we’re not intruding,” said Ruri, who was shrinking in her seat.
Shinra vigorously shook his head. “Not at all! If anything, it’s the opposite! Celty and I
are fans of both Yuuhei Hanejima and Ruri Hijiribe, as a matter of fact! I would have
preferred to know in advance so we could prepare a roast turkey and a cheesecake
and whatever else!”
“Uh… thank you… And you were a huge help to me, er… back then.”
“Hmm?” Shizuo wondered, looking back and forth at Shinra and Ruri. “You two know
each other?”
Ruri was mumbling, unable to clearly explain, so Shinra stepped in and offered, “She
was terribly hurt a while ago. Yuuhei was the one who found her, and he brought her
to me for treatment.”
“Oh, right, I do remember introducing you to Shinra around early spring… but why
Shinra instead of a regular doctor?” Shizuo wondered.
In fact, it was he who had given Ruri Hijiribe her terrible injury, but since he didn’t
know that, explaining the situation would require revealing that she was the serial
killer Hollywood.
Ruri was at such a loss to provide an answer that she was considering getting down
on her hands and knees to confess the entire truth—when Yuuhei answered for her.
“There’s a monster in show business…”
“Ah, gotcha. One of those things. That makes sense, then,” Shizuo said, folding his arms,
though it wasn’t clear how he interpreted the statement. “So anyway, that’s the story.
You know anyone who might have the scoop on the Dollars’ insider info? Also, take
this cat off my hands.”
“Hmm, that’s a difficult task. Who would know stuff like that? And the cat will depend
entirely on Celty’s opinion.”
While Shizuo and Shinra hashed it out, each of the women in the apartment was
plagued by her own particular demons.
Celty Sturluson.
Anri Sonohara.
Ruri Hijiribe.
Each of these women was considered “alien” by the standards of modern society.
Celty was a dullahan and not human to begin with, while Anri housed the cursed blade
Saika within her body, and Ruri inherited inhuman blood.
The instant Ruri came through the door, Celty could sense something. She knew Ruri
Hijiribe, of course—both she and Shinra liked the popular actress. That should have
been their first meeting, but she was immediately possessed with a certain conviction.
I’ve… met her before?
The first piece of evidence was the way her eyes bulged briefly when she first saw
Celty. It wasn’t the same kind of surprise that people usually had when they saw the
Headless Rider.
The other evidence was the extremely rare sensation of the inhuman that Celty picked
up in Ikebukuro only once in a blue moon.
In fact, this woman felt uniquely both human and alien—a combination that Celty
recalled once ferrying as “cargo.”
No, uh, wait.
I remember the woman hiding her face with sunglasses and a hat, but… but then she
came back as an impostor dullahan to save me from trouble…
Was that actually Ruri Hijiribe, the girlfriend of Shizuo’s brother?
What in the world?
I mean, really, what in the world?!
She sat down on the couch, trying as best she could to act calm while holding down
the waves of confusion.
Meanwhile, Ruri was seated next to Yuuhei at the dinner table, grappling with complex
feelings of her own about Celty.
What should I do? I didn’t realize the Headless Rider was at this doctor’s place. I wonder
if she knows that I was a “customer” here that one time…
She felt guilty about the idea of hiding information but didn’t know how to explain,
either. So she focused on Shizuo and Shinra’s conversation as a means of distracting
herself from the panic.
As for Anri Sonohara, who didn’t know anything about the connection between the
other two, she had arrived at the conclusion that Ruri didn’t seem to be entirely human
through different means.
The instant she saw Shizuo, the voices of the cursed blade within her body swelled.
She pushed them through to the other side of the picture frame so that they stopped
bothering her, but as soon as Ruri Hijiribe approached, the voices took a sudden turn.
Confusion.
Saika was supposed to love all human beings equally, but the voices of love temporarily
hushed and began to whisper among themselves.
“Is she a person? Or a monster? Do we love her? Or not? Is she human?” went the
unanswered questions, ringing in Anri’s mind.
What does this mean? Is Ruri Hijiribe… not human?
Is Celty aware of this…?
The three women sat back and observed, each harboring her own doubts and questions.
As the third-wheel between the other two, Anri watched Celty and Ruri closely; they
seemed a bit stiff and awkward, which lent credence to her suspicion that they knew
each other somehow.
She was going to sit back and blend into the scenery—except that Dokusonmaru had
other ideas. He stood up in her lap, stretched, and started to climb up her uniform
shirt with his little paws.
“Eek!”
He quickly got up to her chest, where his belly pressed against her ample cushioning
as his back legs scrabbled in thin air.
The sight of the kitten scrambling on Anri’s chest was both cute and somewhat erotic,
but given that the men in the apartment were the older Shizuo, the dedicated Shinra,
and the stone-faced Yuuhei, there was no particular excitement from them.
Dokusonmaru’s adorable cries continued unanswered.
But something about the scene caught Shizuo’s attention when he heard Anri shriek,
jogging his mind.
* * *
“Oh, right, that’s right. There’s that other guy who often hangs out with that girl over
there. You know, he showed up to the hot-pot party. Ryuugasaki… no, Ryuugamine?”
“Huh? Oh, you mean Mikado Ryuugamine.”
“That’s the one,” Shizuo said. “When all that fighting was going on during Golden Week,
I told that Ryuugamine guy I was quitting the Dollars…”
“Huh?”
“Huh?”
Huh?
Shinra, Celty, and Anri all had the same question.
Was it possible this had something to do with the matter the three of them had just
discussed—that of Mikado’s strange behavior?
“This is the first I’m hearing that you quit the Dollars… Why?” Celty asked him.
Shizuo shrugged, a bit taken aback by their surprise, and began to explain his decision.
“Well, I was feeling like it was getting to be too much trouble. Or maybe I should say
that I didn’t wanna be involved with folks who would kidnap girls. But I didn’t really
know how to actually quit, so I figured I should probably just tell someone. He
happened to be in the park at that moment, so I told him I was quitting the Dollars.
And that was that.”
Celty considered this information.
That must have been a shock to Mikado to learn that he was leaving. It’s a shock when
anyone quits, but Shizuo was a particularly big name within the Dollars. Did the impact
of that make him start acting weird…?
That seemed a little too simplistic and dramatic, so she shelved the idea. If that was
going to upset him, he would have acted depressed, if anything. It didn’t seem like the
sort of shock that would actually make him more cheery.
“If I run across him, I’ll make sure to ask. Mikado’s still a kid, so I don’t really want to
drag him into our problems.”
“Yeah, true. Don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Shizuo told her, then
lifted up the teacup on the table to his lips, right as Shinra said the most inconsiderate
thing possible, given the circumstances.
“I happen to think asking Izaya would be the quickest route. Why don’t we come clean,
reconcile, and seek his help?”
There was a spectacular cracking sound, and the pieces of the teacup fell from Shizuo’s
hand onto the ground. Tea stained his wrist and knees, and a number of veins bulged
out on his face.
“…Sorry, Celty. I’ll pay you back.”
“Huh? Why are you apologizing to Celty and not to mee-gee-gee-gee- gee—?”
Shizuo lifted Shinra up by the base of his neck toward the ceiling.
“There’s no ‘reconciling’…because I’ve never been friends with that fleabrain in the
first place!”
“Settle down, Brother,” Yuuhei said.
“…All right. Sorry,” the elder brother said, lowering the doctor before he made good on
his threat to throw the man out the window.
He’s like the Beast, showing mercy at Beauty’s request, Celty thought, but she didn’t
dare mention it. Instead, she typed, “It’s your fault for saying that. Take a hint,” and
showed the message to Shinra.
However, she couldn’t deny that when he brought the topic up, the first face she
thought of was Izaya’s. Then she remembered that not only had she not seen him
recently, she hadn’t heard a word, either.
Oh, right, he got stabbed and hospitalized. No contact since then.

In fact, Daioh TV had run a single news report about a stabbed hospital patient going
missing, but Celty didn’t catch that one, so the most she thought about Izaya at the
moment was that he hadn’t been giving her work for a while. Now that they actually
needed his help for something, she realized the strangeness of his recent absence.
He’s trouble when he’s around and an inconvenience when he isn’t… though I guess that
might be a bit mean to say.
She began to consider the situation anew but was abruptly distracted by a tiny
“Mewww” from Dokusonmaru, who was now perched on Anri’s shoulder.
It was as if he was trying to dispel the gloomy atmosphere descending upon his
keepers with his little voice.
Apartment, Shinjuku
Masaomi Kida paused his examination of the last several days of chat log and turned
to his partner, Saki Mikajima.
“Hey, Saki.”
“What is it, Masaomi?” she replied, but before he could begin to explain, she followed
up with, “Are you going to Ikebukuro?”
“…What are you, psychic? Well… I’m not going right this second. It’ll be tomorrow.”
“You’ve been worried about the Dollars since that one chat room session. When you
learned about the Blue Squares being in the Dollars.”
“Well, if you’re just going to say all my thoughts out loud, it kind of defeats the purpose
of me pulling myself together enough to make this statement in the first place.”
The Blue Squares was a street gang that once repped Ikebukuro and often squabbled
with the Yellow Scarves, which Masaomi had created for fun with his fighting buddies
in middle school.
He had no good memories associated with the name, but it had to be even worse for
Saki, since they were the ones who broke her leg.
But Saki merely smiled and, in a voice like a comforting blanket, said, “I barely
remember it. Everything that happened back then is like a really hazy dream.”
Masaomi looked at the way she was staring at the floor and suspected that she was
lying. The sound of her screaming coming through the phone speaker when they
snapped her leg still echoed inside of his skull. But he chose not to press her on it.
“Well, ya can’t do much with a dream.” He sighed. “Pretty soon you’ll be forgetting your
memories of me, too.”
“That’s fine. We’re making new memories right now.”
“Wow, you move on quick.” Masaomi smirked, shaking his head. “The person named
Kid in the chat room mentioned guys wearing shark-teeth ski masks. Those guys were
in the Blue Squares. I hardly ever saw them… But if they’re trying to take over the
Dollars like they did the Yellow Scarves… I can’t just sit back and let that happen.”
“Why do you have to go, Masaomi? For your friend?”
“That, too… but the main thing is… I want to settle my own score with those Blue
Squares. Sure, maybe I’ll just forget all about them as an adult… but at this moment in
time, I can’t imagine myself getting over it,” he said, looking sadly at Saki.
She gave him a smile that spoke of absolute forgiveness. “I’m not going to stop you. I
know I can’t. I wish I could convince you that it’s dangerous, though.”
“Hey, no fair saying that out loud. It’s supposed to be internal monologue.”
“I don’t need to play fair. All I’m doing is waiting here.”
“For me to return?” he asked. “Don’t bother.”
But Saki shook her head. “For you to crack jokes and laugh the way you used to.”
“…You really don’t play fair, Saki.” He leaned over and bumped his forehead against
hers. “Don’t worry. Once I find a place I can actually return to, I’ll come and bring you
along.”
“You claim you need to find one, as if you haven’t already picked it out.”
“…Yeah… I’m going back to ’Bukuro. There are lots of folks I’d like to introduce you to
and folks I’d like to meet you,” he said, thinking of his childhood friend and the girl
with the glasses.
Saki turned her face away and looked sideways at him. “Your father and mother?”
“Wha…?! C-come on, it’s a bit early for that! I mean, yeah, we’re not students anymore,
but w-we’re still young…”
“I’m kidding. You mean your old friend and my rival, don’t you?” She grinned, all-
knowing.
Masaomi’s mouth hung open for several seconds, until he smiled in resignation and
exhaled a long, long breath.
“You just don’t play fair, Saki.”
Ikebukuro
“Hey, it’s Ryuugamine.”
“Ah…”
On his way home, Mikado was flagged down by Kadota, who was wearing a different
outfit from his typical gear.
It was a work uniform with chalky-white spots scattered on it, probably from stucco.
There was a sack in his hand that looked like it was carrying work tools.
“Oh, hi, Kadota. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yo. Whatcha doing out here at night?”
“Just on my way home from a friend’s. Do you work this late?”

“Yeah, I’m on break from my night shift. Just ate dinner, heading back now.”
Aside from the Blue Squares members, Kadota was the one guy in the Dollars who
Mikado encountered more than any other. It felt strange and novel to see him without
Yumasaki and the others, but Kadota didn’t act any differently toward Mikado.
“So, you still doing the whole Dollars thing?”
“Huh? Why wouldn’t I be?” Mikado asked as he walked.
Kadota seemed strangely confused by this. “Huh? Oh, okay. Well, it’s just that there are
some weird folks doing bad stuff with the Dollars’ name. And they fought with
Toramaru back in May.”
“Oh, please, don’t be silly. I wouldn’t quit the Dollars over something like that. Plus, I
know about the folks using the Dollars’ name to get away with bad stuff… I just don’t
accept them as part of the group,” he said firmly.
“Yeah, but the whole thing about the Dollars is that you can do whatever you want…”
“Yes, you can do whatever you want. That includes criticizing the people doing bad
things.”
“…Well, sure, I guess so,” said Kadota, who clearly felt something was off about the
other boy but couldn’t tell what it was. He decided to change the subject. “Have you
been in touch with Kida lately?”
“…Not in person. Online… now and then,” Mikado answered, looking away.
“Gotcha,” Kadota replied. “Well, I don’t know why he up and left Ikebukuro, but as long
as he’s doing well, online or otherwise, that’s good.”
Kadota wasn’t aware that Mikado was the founder of the Dollars. He knew about his
friendship with Masaomi Kida and his acquaintance with Celty, but he’d never really
asked about the reasons or anything. But Kadota did hear the rumors about Masaomi
quitting school and felt a certain kind of loneliness at him no longer rushing around
town trying to pick up girls.
“I bet he has his own reasons, though,” he said, not caring to delve too deeply—when
Mikado, face forward, delivered a headstrong response.
“It’s all right. As long as people like you guys are around, it’ll all work out!”
“What?”
“You’re like the perfect example for the Dollars,” Mikado said without a hint of shame.
“…Come on, don’t give me that.” Kadota groaned. “People were talking before like I was
some kind of influential member of the Dollars. It’s all crap. Besides, anyone can join
and do whatever they want, so there’s no example or model to copy in the first place.”
“Still, I feel like the Dollars could be at peace if there were more people like you and
Celty around. If only all the people doing bad stuff in our name were gone, and it was
an actual beneficial group of people helping one another.”
Yeah, that sounds nice to say, but in reality, it would be kinda creepy and way over-
formal, Kadota thought, but he couldn’t just say that right to Mikado’s face. He had to
express his doubts in a less direct fashion.
“But that’s just your ideal situation, right? That doesn’t mean your ideal matches
everyone else’s.”
“Yes, it’s the ideal,” Mikado admitted. “But being in the Dollars also gives me the right
to want to approach that ideal…”
He glanced in the opposite direction from Kadota and fell silent. The other man
opened his mouth to say something, but Mikado pushed onward with his usual gentle
smile.
“Well, my house is this way. So long.”
“…Yeah. Later.”
They parted ways at an intersection and headed down different streets, one an
alumnus of Raira Academy and one a current student.
Kadota was never able to shake his feeling of strangeness about Mikado’s attitude. He
continued thinking about what the cause could be—until he landed on the mental
image of one man’s face.
Kinda seemed like Ryuugamine knows Izaya… Let’s just hope he’s not like the old Kida
and is going off into a weird direction because that guy’s filling him with hot air. But I
bet Izaya’s too busy to waste time playing around with a kid.
He thought about his old classmate as he headed back to work. Mikado only seemed
like he was below Izaya’s interest because Kadota didn’t realize who he really was.
Y’know, I haven’t heard a single rumor about him lately. Hopefully he didn’t piss off the
Awakusu-kai and get his ass buried in the mountains somewhere… though that would
probably be a satisfying end by his standards.
It was a violent thought but an appropriate one for Izaya. Meanwhile, a motorcycle
drove past.
“…”
Kadota noticed the jacket the biker was wearing and raised an eyebrow. “That’s weird.
Haven’t seen one of those since that crazy biker cop came to town,” he murmured to
himself, watching the bike drive off.
“That was a Dragon Zombies jacket.”
Outside Russia Sushi, Ikebukuro
“Heyyy, customer, you come tomorrow, day after, and forever after. I send you to
eternal sleep,” Simon said, ushering out the final customer of the day.
They’d already closed the hanging shutter, so all that was left was to clean up the
interior. The only people around were the occasional passing drunk, a stunning
contrast to how crowded the restaurant was during the day. But something out there
seemed to wriggle and writhe in his peripheral vision, so he quickly focused on it.
It was the sight of someone turning around the corner at that precise moment, the
black outfit simply vanishing from view around the bend.
“…?”
Simon continued to stare in that direction, sensing that it had not been yet another
drunk or youngsters out carousing at night.
“What are you doing, Semyon? Get in here and start cleaning,” came a voice from inside
the shop, so he shrugged and went back through the door.
Watching from one of the alleys across the street was a man, leering happily to himself.
“Looks like they managed not to get into any trouble with the Awakusu-kai. Wonder
how that got resolved,” he said to no one in particular, putting his hands into his thin
summer coat. “And to think that Russian girl would end up working for Shizu of all
people.”
He slowly left the scene, letting just a hint of frustration tinge his actions.
“This is what makes people so fascinating,” he said, grinning fiercely and springing
down the center of the empty street.
Springing, springing.
Like a child headed to the bus for a field trip.

Chat room
Kuru: I think that I might know who Sharo is.
Mai: Really?
Sharo: You serious? Aw, damn.
Kuru: You must be the actress Sharon Stone.
Sharo: You just took that from my username!
Mai: Bzzzt.
Sharo: It would be hilarious if Sharon Stone was just hanging around this site,
speaking Japanese, and pretending to be a man.
Kuru: Perhaps you are Charon Walken the stuntman? How wonderful! I’ve seen all
your movies!
Sharo: Who is that?!
Mai: A foreigner.
Sharo: Clearly! That’s obvious! But who are they?!
Kuru: Google it.
Sharo: Ugh!
Kuru: You truly are worth teasing, Sharo. As a matter of fact, I really do know your
identity, but I prefer to leave it ambiguous to the rest of the group. I would think you’d
be grateful for that. Consider my blunt rudeness toward you on our first online
meeting to be evidence of my knowledge.
Mai: You did it.
Sharo: Not in the least!

Saki: Charon Walken is a famous stuntman in America. He’s the younger brother of
the actress Gloria Walken. He doesn’t get publicized much since he’s just a stuntman…
but he’s actually rather similar to the actor Yuuhei Hanejima.
Sharo: Thank you for the detailed answer. So he’s famous, huh?
Kuru: What’s this? You were suddenly much more polite there than with us. Those
who change their attitudes depending on the person are destined to end their lives
alone and mistrusted. Just kidding. I hope that you take my words seriously, consider
the measly nature of your own life and the greatness of ours, and treat us with the
respect we deserve.
Mai: Yay!
Sharo: Screw you guys.
Saika: fighting is bad
Kid has entered the chat.
Kid: Good evening.
Kuru: What a lovely encounter, Kid.
Mai: Good evening.
Sharo: ’Sup.
Kid: Saika is correct.
Saika: good evening
Kid: That sounded like the sort of thing that people who know each other off-line
would say to each other, but we are all very recent acquaintances. (lol)
Kid: You’re going to make us think that you’re really fighting. (lol)
Sharo: Whoopsie.
Mai: Sorry.
Kuru: Why, it appears that I became too self-absorbed in teasing Sharo and breached
accepted online manners. I am very truly ashamed…
Saika: sorry
Kid: Why are you apologizing, Saika? (lol)
Saika: thank you
Kid: No, please don’t worry about it.
Sharo: Speaking of Yuuhei Hanejima, that reminds me.
Sharo: Seems like his girlfriend, Ruri Hijiribe, really does have a stalker.
Kid: She does?
Kid: Was there news about that?
Sharo: No, I just overheard everyone talking today, and they said she’s had a stalker
for ages.
Sharo: It’s even a big rumor online.
Kuru: Ah yes… I am aware of that rumor, too.
Saika: i’m sorry
Saika: i have to get up early so i’m leaving now
Sharo: So long.
Mai: Good night.
Saika: sorry kid
Saika: i hate to leave just when you showed up

Kid: Please don’t worry about it. (lol)
Kid: Sleep is the best choice when you’re tired. As long as it’s not eternal.
Kuru: Oh dear. What a shame, just when the night is beginning. But we shan’t hold you
back. The greatest bliss in life is the moment of drifting under a warm blanket when
one is tired. In that sense, a wounded person on the brink of death who claims to be
getting sleepy might just be under the effect of the brain sensing its doom and
attempting to ease the suffering through bliss.
Kuru:… Kid seems to have summed up my thoughts more succinctly while I was typing
that very long message.
Mai: That’s funny.
Mai: Ah.
Mai: Kuru’s really bummed out next to
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched.
Saika: good night everyone
Kid: Good night.
Sharo: Oh, speaking of Ruri Hijiribe, do you know anything, Kuru?
Kuru: Pardon me. I was chastising Mai for telling silly lies. What I know is that the
media caught wind of her relationship and snapped a roll of photographs of a
passionate kiss… and in fact, there are some mysterious men in the middle of the
pictures, who are not reporters and not in any way related to Ruri Hijiribe and Yuuhei
Hanejima.
Kuru: If you click this link you may view the photos.
Kid: Hmm, let’s take a look.
Sharo: Ah yeah, that’s the story I heard, too.
Kuru: I suppose the stalker could be harassing Yuuhei Hanejima instead, but those
were clearly men in the photo… and I would prefer not to imagine gay stalkers.
Sharo: But what’s stalking Ruri Hijiribe gonna get you? She’s already smooching
Yuuhei Hanejima, right? Kissy-kissy-poo-pooh. You’d think they’d give up at that point.
Kuru: Perhaps the fact that they cannot abandon their obsession is what defines them
as stalkers? Ultimately, loving is an act that fulfills oneself. By freely serving the object
of one’s love, one receives the happy, loving smiles that warm the heart. The actions
of a stalker are merely a negative of that service of another.
Kuru: There are numerous kinds of stalker. Some truly believe that they are doing it
for the sake of their target. Others just want unthinking control. Some know it is for
their own sake but do it in the belief that love is holy. And lastly, there are those who
seek the destruction or displeasure of their target in order to fulfill their twisted
desires.
Kid: That last one isn’t love, it’s just plain lust.
Kid: Though it’s true that there are plenty of people like that out in the world.
Sharo: Well, if it’s someone who wants her all to himself, wouldn’t he try to kill Yuuhei
Hanejima, too? Scary, huh?
Mai: I don’t want that.
Mai: Won’t let him kill Yuuhei.
Kuru: Settle down, Mai. Yuuhei is not the sort of gentleman who would perish from
the likes of a miserable stalker. He will use his considerable financial, spiritual,
influential, and humanistic power to protect himself and his loved one. The stalker is
in checkmate. Very soon his despicable corpse will be crucified atop Tokyo Tower for
all to see.
Mai: Yay!
Sharo: Damn, that’s one hell of an obstruction of business for Tokyo Tower!
Sharo: But some folks are saying the stalker is one of the Dollars, right?
Sharo: Wouldn’t the Dollars stick up for that stalker, knowing he’s one of their own?
Kid: I can’t imagine that. The Dollars are not as cohesive and structured as an actual
gang.
Kid: The stalker coincidentally having a relative in the Dollars, maybe. But the Dollars
as a whole would never rise up to protect him. They say there are middle schoolers,
housewives, and active police officers among the ranks, after all.
Sharo: Man, the Dollars sure are a weird group, aren’t they?
Sharo: I hear rumors about a leader, though.
Kid: Oh? I thought there wasn’t supposed to be a leader.
Kuru: I also was under the impression that there is no vertical hierarchy in the Dollars…
Mai: Are you a liar?
Sharo: I’m not lying! It’s a story this guy named Horada was spreading in prison.
Sharo: Oh, crap.
Sharo: I didn’t mean to share anyone’s real name. Can I delete that?
Sharo: Oh, whatever. He’s in prison, anyway.
Kid: Please tell us more.
Sharo: Okay, so this… Mr. H., shall we call him?
Sharo: I happen to know many ruffians and thugs, which is how I heard this story…
but this fellow whose name begins with H and ends with -rada was boasting in prison
that he knew who runs the Dollars. He just won’t say any actual names.
Sharo: In fact, he said that if he ever got out, he’d use that info to blackmail the leader.
Of course, you wouldn’t expect anyone to believe such a rumor if they knew it came
from a guy fresh outta the slammer.
Kuru: You seem to know many menacing types.
Sharo: It’s funny, because I myself am utterly impeccable of character.
Kuru: You’re a liar.
Sharo: Hey!
.
Once, she had a dream.
A dream of giving shape to fantasy with her own hands.
Ruri Hijiribe was born in a small town in the mountains of the Kanto region of Japan.
It was a town full of old families hailing from the Meiji era, and her house was bigger
than most.
But her father and grandfather’s business failed, and the house burned down for
unknown reasons. Then her mother went missing. To this day, the only thing standing
where her home had once been was charred wooden remains.
She had lost a place to come home to.
But she still had a dream.
Those terrifyingly powerful monsters of the silver screen that overwhelmed humanity.
She’d always been drawn to these freakish abnormalities from a very young age.
But thinking back on it now, perhaps she’d felt the same admiration for her grandmother.
“Say, Ruri. What brought you down this path?” asked her teacher, Tenjin Zakuroya,
after she had started her career as a makeup artist. When he had first hired her, Tenjin
was lax enough to claim that it was because she was cute—but she proved her skill at
the job, and despite the many inappropriate statements he made about her, he had
never, ever crossed the line into action.
This question came during the first time she created a monster mask with her own
hands. It was a total creation of her imagination, and something about it must have
struck him. Tenjin had stared at the freakish mask before turning to her to ask that
question.
“Well,” she began, but she stopped to think about it because she’d never been asked
that before. She decided to be open and honest.
She spoke of the heavy atmosphere that pervaded her famous home, the thirst for pure
destruction as a result of that oppression, and the admiration for those monsters who
symbolized that urge.
She felt blessed by her ability to create monsters on her own. And lastly, she felt hope
that the monsters would be able to do what she could not.
Ruri thought that was all there was to it but found that her heart still wanted to spill
forth.
“…Plus, my grandmother might be part of it.”
The very first time she told another person what was truly in her heart was also the
first time she admitted a feeling she’d never been able to put into words before.
The Hijiribe household crumbled into dust after the business failure of her grandfather
and father—but both of them were from outside the family, men who married Hijiribe
women and were brought inside.
Her grandfather regretted destroying their fortune, but afterward, he seemed to have
a terrible weight off his shoulders and was actually kind to Ruri for once. Before then,
he’d been yet another person putting silent pressure on her, but once the family’s
fortunes were laid low, he started telling her about her grandmother.
“You look a lot like your grandma.”
From that point, he talked about how much he loved his wife, where they traveled,
what they talked about, what they dreamed about, and so on.
Thinking back on this now, Ruri thought there were a number of odd aspects to his
stories.
For all the lovey-dovey talk, he never once spoke of how they actually met and fell in
love.
For some reason, the other people in the town seemed afraid of her.
And most importantly, Ruri did not know what her grandmother actually looked like.
There were plenty of photos of him around the house. But there wasn’t a single bit of
physical evidence of her grandmother, and she heard nothing about a divorce or even
her death in the past.
And she was never seen around the house in any form.
Her father said, “She probably got tired of Father and left him.”
Her mother just smiled and said, “If you’re a good girl, maybe you’ll meet her someday.”
And then, one day, the kids in town told her, “I know your secret! Your grandma’s a
monster!”
The woman in her grandfather’s stories seemed like the furthest thing from the word
monster. For all that Ruri knew, her grandmother was a human being in the warmest
sense—someone who was kind to all, never lost her smile, and gently cared for her
thoughtless husband.
But the children chanted that she was a monster and that as her grandchild, Ruri had
to be a monster, too.
And this accusation—coming completely out of the blue—delighted her.
She had no idea what kind of monster she was supposed to be.
She had no idea why they said her grandmother was a monster.
But while she made a show of being upset, she was pleased on the inside.
She even felt a sense of security, like being enveloped in a warm blanket.
Those incarnations of destruction she saw on the TV screen, those freakish monsters
who wielded the freedom of obliteration—now she was closer to them than before,
kindling a special kind of deep-down admiration for her missing grandmother.
The woman her grandfather loved for her endless kindness was reviled and feared by
the townsfolk as a monster.
It was a contrast of two very opposing images, neither of which had any physical form.
So Ruri felt a kind of reverence for this grandmother without a photograph.
She was the bridge between Ruri and the incarnations of destruction and freedom, the
monsters Ruri could never be—the link between fantasy and reality.
“I see, I see, that makes sense,” her teacher said, nodding as he reached out to touch
her mask creation. “So that’s why it seems so warm and inviting for being a monster.
It all adds up. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll be able to create your grandmother’s
face, the one you’ve never seen.”
It was a rather abstract expression to use, she thought. Tenjin Zakuroya continued,
“I’m going to be doing some work on a movie with a rather interesting title: Carmilla
Saizou. The kid playing the lead is an interesting guy, too. Very cold, and yet he burns,
the son of a bitch.”
Again, it was strangely abstract and hard to grasp what he meant. Then he turned to
Ruri and said, “You do the kid’s makeup. Make him a warm, inviting vampire.”
Ultimately, Ruri’s work on Vampire Ninja Carmilla Saizou was recognized by the world
at large. The World Film Village Federation listed her among the list of “100 Juiciest
SF Makeup Artists,” and her fame began to grow along with her master’s.
This event changed her fate again.
“It’s nice to meet you. I am Kujiragi from Yodogiri Shining Corporation.”
It was soon afterward that the businesswoman with the sharp suit and expensive
glasses showed up.
The woman named Kujiragi took Ruri to a very fancy black limousine, inside of which
an elderly gentleman waited.
“It’s a pleasure. My name is Jinnai Yodogiri.”
When the elderly man was done with the introductions and formalities, he presented
Ruri with a new path in life.
“One of my talent scouts came to me, breathless, carrying your photo. It was from an
article in a film magazine about upcoming special effects makeup artists. I had a glint
of intuition.”
Ruri, whose own intuition did not tell her why she was in this limousine, waited for
the explanation with curiosity.
Would you believe it? After seeing her photo, Yodogiri and his company wanted her to
be a model.
At first, she refused—her intuition couldn’t grasp the point. She wasn’t meant to be a
model, of course.
But he found the chink in her mental armor and drove one specific word into it.
“The monsters you create are truly special.
“How would you like to be a monster of an idol and take flight to challenge the whole
world?”
“…!”
She squeaked a silent breath and felt her entire body twitch.
“……?”
Then she realized that she had fallen asleep in her seat and drifted into a dream.
“Are you all right?” asked Yuuhei, who was watching her closely from the seat next to
hers.
Suddenly, she noticed Shinra, Shizuo, Celty, and Anri all staring at her with concern.
“…Oh… um… I’m so sorry… Here I am, imposing on you all, and I can’t even get through
this important conversation without…”
“No one’s blaming you,” Yuuhei said. “You haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days.”
Shinra grinned. “In fact, it wasn’t an important conversation at all. When you started
nodding off, I was just launching into a lecture about the lexicological roots of a
number of idiomatic phrases. Of course you got sleepy! Oh—speaking of lexicology,
perhaps you were engaging in a bit of hypnopedia: That would be sleep- learning!”
“Was that supposed to be clever?”
“Oh, please, Celty. Don’t hold back—give it a good chuckle like you know you want to.”
“You get your sense of humor from your dad, Shinra. And it’s just as funny as if it came
through a gas mask,” Celty announced, annoyed.
Shinra acted devastated by this statement, falling over the table and muttering curses
at his father under his breath.
Ruri watched this pleasant picture unfold and recalled the next part of the scene she’d
been dreaming.
At Yodogiri’s insistence, she started a side job as a model.
Her dream had taken a twist.
It was twisted for her.
But her dream was still her dream.
She’d gone into the business of creating monsters when she realized that being one
was impossible—but then she began to think that being a “monster” as an idol, a
person who exerted incredible influence on her surroundings, might bring her closer
to her grandmother anyway.
If she’d known just a bit more about the world, she might have realized that show
business wasn’t quite as simple as that.
But although she’d been naive, Ruri did not take show business for granted. It was
Yodogiri’s clever words that rattled her and shifted her position.
At first, she felt like she was doing a good job.
In the shift from a model to an idol singer, she became popular enough to easily sell
out a concert hall for her events.
There were so many people who cheered her on that she nearly forgot her dream for
a time.
She felt like she’d gained some kind of powerful force at her disposal, without having
to become a monster. While she was closer to her grandmother, who was both feared
and beloved, the monsters of her dreams steadily began to fade, replaced by gratitude
to Yodogiri for bringing her to this place in life.
But Yodogiri himself did not forget about the monster that slumbered within her.
For Yodogiri himself knew that Ruri Hijiribe truly had the blood of a monster in her
veins.
“By the way, have you had any contact from your relatives?”
“? No…”
Her father and grandfather had been against her show business career, so they never
sent outward displays of support. Yodogiri knew that, too, so why would he ask?
Sensing her suspicion, Ruri Hijiribe’s employer smiled gently and explained, “No, I’m
aware of your father. I’m speaking of your mother or grandmother.”
“Uh… no…”
“Please, don’t be upset. I’m just saying, your mother or grandmother could be
watching you sing on TV. And if so, they might attempt to reach out to you, that’s all.
Things like that have happened with our company’s talent before, so I thought I’d ask.”
“Oh, I see… ,” she replied, then considered the matter.

Yes, she’d told Yodogiri that her mother had left. But she’d never once mentioned her
grandmother to him.
Maybe Master Zakuroya told him, she decided, not sensing anything deeper to
Yodogiri’s question at the time.
But that conclusion was very quickly dispelled.
As she envisioned the face of her special effects teacher for the first time in ages,
Yodogiri smiled and asked, “Oh, there are some people I want you to meet in a little
while—is that all right?”
“Huh?”
“We have a friendly get-together with a number of business folks who frequently
sponsor TV dramas, including the president of Adabashi Life Insurance. Kujiragi can
fill you in on the finer details.”
“Okay… ,” Ruri replied, a bit taken aback by the suddenness of it.
But when the boss of her company was bowing to her and saying, “I’m sorry to throw
this at you when times are so busy. Feel free to back out if you really can’t make it,” she
felt completely obliged to accept the plans.
Without knowing what would happen at the “friendly get-together.”
Without knowing that the day’s events would cause her monster blood to awaken…
“Mewww.”
An adorable little sound from Ruri’s feet roused her from those despicable memories.
She came to her senses and looked into the face of the kitten, which had climbed down
from Anri’s chest and wandered to Ruri’s side.
“Mewww?” it wondered, head tilted as if to ask why she wouldn’t play with it. Ruri
disengaged her mind from the distant past and gave the creature a friendly smile.
Yuuhei Hanejima’s pet cat was named Yuigadokusonmaru, or “Mr. Egocentric.” Yet, at
odds with the ridiculous name, the kitten was essentially the very personification of
cuteness.
Dokusonmaru and Yuuhei had done a lot of heavy lifting in easing the pain of the scars
in Ruri’s mind. It seemed strange that a girl who dreamed of being a monster would
find solace in a kitten, she thought, and then turned to the topic of her current
problems, not her past ones.
…I can handle my own problems if it’s just me. I can take care of a simple stalker on my
own… and if I can’t—well, then it’s just me who suffers.
In fact, given the strength of the serial killer Hollywood who dwelled within her, she
could dispatch a single stalker without breaking a sweat.
But she couldn’t take solace in that. She wasn’t alone anymore—she had other things
to protect.
If trouble ever came to Yuuhei and Dokusonmaru…
She harbored an inhuman power within herself. A monster known as Hollywood who
had claimed several victims already.
Even knowing it was hypocritical of her, she set aside the matter of her own monster
crimes to pray that no one she cared about would become a victim of this stalker.
If anyone was going to be a victim, let it be her alone.
All the kindhearted monster could do was pray—but to what God, she did not know.
And yet…
The stalker had his own twisted love for Ruri Hijiribe.
For in his love, he knew that she possessed a kind and caring heart.
And thus, he also knew just the right way to break it…
A few hours later, Kawagoe Highway, Ikebukuro
Adabashi walked through the night.
Slowly but surely along a path next to the national route.
But he was not walking to his destination. He had already arrived there.
On the rooftop of the building across the street from Shinra’s apartment, Adabashi
continued a long, solitary walk. He paced back and forth endlessly along a stretch of
about three hundred feet.
“…”
With each step, he snapped his teeth together.
Click, click, as if counting up some significant activity.
He had been doing this for hours, walking back and forth near the lip of the rooftop,
watching the building across the street, the entrance of Shinra and Celty’s apartment,
all the while, as relentless and mechanical as a windup toy.
At times he pulled out a cell phone and engaged in communications with it, but he
never stopped walking or clicking his teeth, no matter what.
Just when the sky to the east was starting to get lighter, a man and woman left Shinra’s
apartment, followed moments later by a man in a bartender’s outfit.
Ruri Hijiribe was hiding under a hood, but Adabashi recognized her at once. He
stopped pacing and leered cruelly downward at her from his high vantage point.
But he did not leave his position; he merely continued to monitor the location closely.
Suddenly, a number of men appeared about sixty feet ahead and behind the trio,
traveling along with them—bodyguards, clearly.
“…”
They’d probably been hired by the production agency that managed Yuuhei and Ruri.
All the bodyguards were hardy and menacing, and even with the large gap between
them and the trio, it would clearly be difficult to attack Ruri now.
But Adabashi was not in a hurry.
He knew:
That he could not attack Ruri Hijiribe now, whether she was under guard or not.
He knew:
That standing behind Ruri and Yuuhei was the most famous brawler of Ikebukuro.
He knew:
That if he somehow was able to attack Ruri Hijiribe alone, he would likely be defeated.
Because he also knew:
That Ruri Hijiribe was a monster.
Adabashi followed Ruri’s progress from the rooftop with his binoculars.
Once he had confirmed that the trio were empty-handed, he made a shhhheh sound
through his teeth.
His unique laugh repeated quietly and steadily as he looked at the screen of his phone.
How did he get it? Did he take it himself? It was a photo of the same group heading to
this same apartment.
The resolution was crude, but he could make out a pet carrier in Yuuhei’s hands and
what looked like a little kitten riding on Shizuo Heiwajima’s head.
Next, he switched to another photograph.

This one was of an article in an entertainment magazine, which featured a picture of
Ruri wearing a gloomy smile and, standing next to her, Yuuhei in his usual
expressionless state. Normally, talent agencies preferred to cover up evidence of their
stars’ romantic flings to preserve their meticulously managed images, but in the case
of Yuuhei and Ruri, they decided that it would actually boost their profiles. Apparently,
the president of the agency had shopped around the idea for the article to the tabloids.
In the picture, Ruri was clutching an adorable kitten to her chest. The caption under
the photo read, “That’s Yuuhei Hanejima’s lucky cat Yuigadokusonmaru being lovingly
caressed in Ruri Hijiribe’s arms!”
“Dokuson… maru.”
The carrier bag and the cat itself had been there when they came to this apartment
building. But after leaving the building, they had neither.
Adabashi turned back to the building across the street and slowly let his gaze slide up
it from the street level. When he confirmed that the only window with lights on
belonged to the top floor, he hissed with laughter again: “Shehhh, shehhh.”
Kisuke Adabashi.
He knew:
That Ruri Hijiribe was the serial killer Hollywood.
He knew:
That Ruri Hijiribe had killed his father.
But he did not hold a shred of hatred toward her.
If anything, he loved her with all his heart.
At least, according to his own definition of love.
He knew:
That he could not love Ruri Hijiribe by destroying her body.

But he could destroy her heart.
And he knew what to do in order to achieve that goal.
He stared and stared at the top floor of the building, hissing with laughter all the while.
It was like a musical fanfare celebrating the fulfillment of his love.
When his laughter subsided at last, Adabashi logged in to his special online community
within the Dollars—and began to spread his pure, malicious love.
The sky to the east continued to brighten.
The sun would rise soon to shine upon him.
He silently left the rooftop with that in mind.
His only thoughts regarding how he would love Ruri’s precious cat and the people who
were taking care of it.
A blissful smile spread across his features.
The next day, morning, Shinra’s apartment
“…So why did you call me here?”
It was the day after the gloomy night at Shinra’s apartment. The one giving voice to
her curiosity was a girl dressed in casual clothing—Mika Harima.
“We just figured that if we wanted to know about stalkers, we should turn to you.”
The girl looked at Celty’s outstretched PDA screen and acted so stereotypically
outraged that she might as well have had cartoon puffs of smoke coming from her ears.
“What a horrible thing to say! I am not a stalker!”

The young man at her side sighed and corrected, “No, you were a stalker.”
“Exactly! Like Seiji says, I was a stalker!” she pronounced with a proud smile, changing
her tune on a dime.
Annoyed, Celty typed, “Well, I just gave you the situation. I was wondering what sort of
defenses we could mount against a stalker… For example, is it easy to break the locks on
newer apartments like this one?”
“Huh? Oh, don’t be silly, Celty. The locks on this apartment aren’t new at all.”
“What?”
“I’m going to go outside, and you lock the door behind me! Wait in here, Seiji! Knowing
you’re inside will give me extra motivation!” Mika hurried out of the apartment.
“Your friend is very, um, active,” Celty typed to Anri, after locking the door.
Anri smiled. “Yes, she’s really unbelievable.”
“…Well, yes… in a way…”
Meanwhile, the doorknob started rattling and turning. From the other side of the door,
Mika could be heard saying, “There are a bunch of ways you can get through these
older locks. Even a child can learn to use a thumb-turn rotator or a bump key after a
day of practice. You should really buy a new lock. You might want to ask your landlord
if you can switch to an electronic key… There!”
The door clicked, and a second later, it swung open.
—?!
“That was quick!” Shinra exclaimed.
“Y-you did that all while you were talking? How is that possible?!”
“Sorry, trade secret. Besides, Celty, can’t you trickle your shadow into the lock, then
make it firm to act as a key? That’s way more unbelievable than what I can do.”
“You might have a point there, but—” Celty protested, while Shinra considered the
issue.
“Hmm… What do you think, Celty? Maybe we should put some serious thought into
changing the locks. Or should we just move?”
“Good question… But it was a whole lot of work to come up with a convincing story for
the landlord and the people in the floor below, so I’d prefer not to repeat that process,”
she typed, showing it to Shinra. Then she cleared the screen and wrote a new message
for Mika. “Are you sure that other people can do that as easily as you just did?”
“Only if they practice at it. But you can just look that stuff up on the Internet now. It’s
a scary time to be alive. You’ve got to take care of yourself!”
Anyone who knew Mika personally would think, “Speak for yourself!” but Anri merely
smiled uneasily, while Seiji averted his eyes with a sigh.
“I see…”
Celty recalled when Aoba first visited her two and a half months ago. He had been
waiting outside the apartment then, but the thought of him getting inside to wait for
them gave her the chills.
Shinra sensed her unease and clapped his hands. “Well, I suppose I can at least ask the
landlord about changing the lock. I can say that Shizuo forced it open and broke it.”
“That’s kind of a cruel thing to say.”
“Well, he’s already destroyed our handrail on the stairs and our cups. Anyway, we can
pass this anti-stalker advice on to Ruri and Yuuhei, so let’s eat lunch and take our time
discussing the matter. There’s not much to eat here, so I’ll grab the delivery menus…
Wait, where did they go?”
“I think the new ones are still in the newspaper slot.”
Celty and Shinra headed toward the dining room in the back. Anri was about to follow
them when Mika tapped on her shoulder.
“Hey, Anri.”
“?”
“How’s Mikado doing?”
“Wha…?”
Why would she suddenly ask about Mikado? Anri looked back at her, slack-jawed,
totally confused.
“What about Mikado?”
“Nothing. Just wondering if you’ve made any progress. Have you kissed yet?”
“K-kissed…? Mikado and I aren’t like that,” Anri protested, turning red.
Mika cackled and leaned in. “Oh, come on, I’m teasing you! But you’ve noticed that he
likes you, right?”
It was a direct question, but Anri couldn’t answer. She just hung her head.
“…”
“Well, that’s okay. Just come and ask me anytime you have questions about stuff—
anything at all! As long as I’m not doing anything with Seiji, I’ll give you advice!”
“That’s not exactly an unconditional guarantee,” Seiji grumbled.
But Anri couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She merely said, “Thank you,” with a
rare, warm smile.
That day, reception room, Jack-o’-Lantern Japan Talent Agency, Higashi-Nakano
“Okay, okay! I like that you’re here ahead of schedule—that’s good! No wonder you’re
our top piggy banks, our money trees, our premier talent! Our other kids should take
a page from your book: humble even after success!”
The fluorescent lights bounced softly off the polished white floor of the office building,
giving it a clean, crisp look. But the atmosphere clashed with a voice that was neither
clean nor crisp.
The man had white skin and slicked-back blond hair, dark sunglasses and facial
stubble, a white suit and crocodile-skin bag, expensive rings and a thick cigar in his
mouth—the Hollywood image of a fat-cat villain if there ever was one.
This odd fellow was Max Sandshelt, president of Jack-o’-Lantern Japan, and he rarely
ever spoke at less than full excitement.
“From what I hear, you’ve been waiting for twenty minutes. Well, that’s fabulous. You
make your boss feel like a real big shot! Is this like that story about the time Monkey
Hideyoshi warmed up the sandals of Shogun Nobunaga while he was a servant? Wait…
what if Mr. Yuuhei and Miss Ruri warmed up sandals with their own backsides…?
Wouldn’t that bring in a fortune if you sold ’em online?!”
“There is a high likelihood that your sales pitch will be shot down, so I recommend
scrapping the idea—unless you are hoping for the board to relieve you of your duties,
sir. As far as the meeting time is concerned, you were twenty minutes late. They
arrived exactly on time. Please learn from their example,” said his secretary, her words
so cold they chilled to the bone.
“…”
The man winced, then walked over to Yuuhei and Ruri—who were standing in front
of the sofa in the middle of the room—and clasped their shoulders, one hand to each
person.
“Hey, time is a minor detail. Compared with the full thirteen-point-six-billion-year

history of the universe, twenty minutes doesn’t even exist. Time is money? Yes!
Exactly! But life isn’t all about money. You know? What’s truly important is heart and
soul! These money-grubbers, you can see the sickness in their faces. How are you
gonna be the singer beamed into everyone’s living room looking like that? My point is,
don’t complain about me being twenty minutes late!”
Then he gasped, realizing something, and turned around to face his secretary. “Hey! I
think I may have just said something profound! Write that down!”
“Your excuse for being late?” asked the secretary, her gaze icy, but she did jot down a
note.
Yuuhei was as expressionless as ever while his bizarre employer carried on, but Ruri
looked around uncomfortably, unsure of how she should be acting.
I’m still not used to how… excitable he is…
Despite that, she didn’t dislike him. If anything, a personality this large was just the
thing to help her forget the nightmares from her previous agency.
Max snapped his fingers in a sign to his secretary. She placed a document envelope on
top of the reception desk, bowed, and left the room.
“?”
As Ruri watched, Max picked up the envelope and said gravely, “Er, Mr. Yuuhei, do you
mind turning toward the corner of the room? I’m not sure if you should see what I’m
about to pull out from this envelope. But I still want you to listen, so focus your ears
back behind you. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Yuuhei. The megastar followed the odd instructions without a complaint,
turning to face the wall.
“? ? ?”
As the question marks piled up over Ruri’s head, Max took a photograph from the
envelope and handed it to her facedown.
“We got this in the mail yesterday, along with a very familiar extortion note. Probably
from that stalker of yours.”
“…!”
“Maybe the best option is not to show stuff like this to our brightest stars, for your
own safety… but my stance is always to come clean and find a solution ASAP. I want
your help so we can turn this stalker in or bury him in the darkness forever,” Max said.
He seemed to feel no hesitation about bringing up the s-word topic around Ruri. She
nervously took the photo and turned it over.
“…?…!!!”
The instant she recognized its contents, she gasped, the breath caught in her throat,
and her skin went an even paler shade of white. Max started to ask her something,
then found that her response confirmed his suspicions.
“So it’s real. It didn’t seem the same as those obvious fakes scattered around our shoot
locations, so I thought it was best to check, just in case.”
“B-but… how…?”
Her eyes were fixed on her own image in the middle of the photograph. Her body
trembled.
Dozens of seconds passed in silence. To Ruri’s senses, the moment felt several times,
ten times as long.
Max shrugged and muttered, “The longer this silence goes on, the more Mr. Yuuhei
looks like some kinda Japanese ghost in the back… It’s freakin’ me out. At any rate, you
have any idea who might’ve sent this photo?”
“Um… before that…”
“Hmm?”
“Can I show this to Yuuhei, too?”
Yuuhei came back from the corner of the room when they called him. Ruri looked
down at the floor and handed him the picture.
“…”
He looked it over in silence.
In the center of the blurry photo was a woman, obviously Ruri. Despite her eyes being
covered, that pale skin and her attractive features were identifiable at a single glance.
The setting of the photo was a room in some kind of building.
A window was visible, but the blinds were closed, so you couldn’t see outside.
There were numerous strange details.
Hardly any furniture of any kind in the picture.
A blue canvas sheet on the floor instead of a rug.
Men in suits surrounding her, all of them wearing some kind of mask.
And strangest of all, blood dripping from Ruri’s wrist, which one of the men was
collecting in a wineglass.
For the several seconds that Yuuhei held the photo, Ruri flashed back through her
memories of that horrible event.
The color of her blood.
The men laughing.
And… the sight of her father.
The images flickered through her mind one after the other, snippets of statements
ringing in her ears.
“This is her?”
“I’ve seen her in the magazines.”
“I’m getting too excited for my age.”

“This isn’t a game, Mr. Adabashi.”
“Hmm… but is it true?”
“Well, there is indeed something otherworldly about her features.”
“We gave her a ‘routine health test’ that indicated her true nature.”
“Actually, I’m excited enough that I don’t even care if she’s human.”
“Mr. Adabashi, please control yourself.”
Shall we give it a test?”
“Are you sure, Kujiragi?”
“I don’t mind.”
Along with the sound of the voices, she also felt the returning sensation of something
cold being inserted into the flesh of her arm. Right after the cold came searing pain
that shot up and down her spine, causing convulsions from brain to toes.
Why me?
Why this?
Why is it happening?
All of the whys bounced around her head. Only the intermittent flashes of agony told
her body that this wasn’t merely a nightmare.
“…Incredible. The wounds just close right up.”
“Especially now. It’s the middle of the night.”
“Does she even age?”
“We won’t know except through the passage of time.”
“But it’s worth a test.”

“Where did President Yodogiri find her?”
“He recently learned about the Hijiribe bloodline.
“The house was burned, and she was gone…
“But he saw her photo in a film magazine by chance.
“The resemblance was so striking, he had to check.”
“And the tests were positive?”
“Very, very lucky, that Yodogiri.”
“You need luck in this line of work.”
“It’s good to hear that her cells are special, even within the family.”
“Do you suppose that means… we have a chance, too?”
“Want to try sucking her blood, just to see?”
“Then you’ll all be accomplices.”
A variety of voices rattled as her memories jumped through time.
The part where they sipped her blood, as shown in the photo, was only the very
beginning.
More images, sickening just to think about, popped into her mind before vanishing again.
All the while, echoing in her brain was the soft and horrible voice of Jinnai Yodogiri.
“Hello there, Ruri. You’ve got another meeting with Mr. Adabashi’s group today.
“You don’t want your monstrous identity to be revealed, after all…
“And you certainly don’t want the rest of the world to know what they’ve done to you,
do you?
“Don’t be mistaken—I’m not doing these things to you out of hate.
“If anything, they’re for your own good.
“Your entire being can be saved for this mere price.
“You don’t need to understand what I mean now. It will come in time.”
“In time,” she did understand—but there was still no meaning to his actions.
Everything Yodogiri said was nonsense.
But she was already losing her ability to be skeptical of his claim.
Ruri headed to her concerts, expression as fixed in place as a doll’s.
Only when she acted or sang could she actually regain control of herself.
The moment she could use her own voice to sing her songs in front of people who
didn’t know about her soiled self, her inhuman nature, or the dark secrets of Yodogiri
The moment she could overwrite everything and play a different version of herself.
That moment was the only thing that supported her and kept her mind whole.
The sight of the fans who watched her with tears in their eyes helped keep her on her
feet.
The fictional worlds that enveloped the characters she played helped keep her heart
intact.
She refused to cross the line.
She denied her own mind’s collapse.
But that would reach a breaking point soon.

“Your father came by.
“After your mother disappeared, and he vanished, too, following the fire.
“He said, ‘Give back my daughter.’
“I think he’s realized who we are.
“So, to put it simply, well, we asked him to leave for now…
“But we’re the only ones who know where to find him. Do you understand?
“If you love your father, you can make things much, much easier for us all by playing
our obedient, faithful ‘product.’”
It was simple.
She learned by coincidence that her father was dead.
She’d been trying to find information on his whereabouts by searching the Internet
and eventually crossed paths with a man who went by the username Shinichi
Tsukumoya, who gave her what she wanted to know for free.
That was the first step to her eventually learning the truth.
Yodogiri and his people had already murdered her father.
The “accomplices” who drank her blood had covered up everything.
All traces of the murder, all tracks of her father, even the tiniest memento of him.
She remembered screaming.
Oddly enough, she was able to calmly process that she was screaming.
Ruri Hijiribe remembered the moment—the exact instant that the monster within her
was born.
It wasn’t an awakening of the blood. In fact, nothing bodily changed at all.
But there was a monster born in her mind.
It would later be hailed in the newspapers as “Hollywood,” then promptly disappear—

a murderous monster bent only on revenge.
Her mind returned to the beginning.
The scene in the photograph, the moment when all this began, came to life.
That was the first day in the process of her destruction.
The day she learned that she had inhuman blood in her veins—via a conversation
among strangers.
The day those strangers drank the blood flowing from her arm.
It was all absolutely insane. Like some kind of demon-summoning ritual.
But there was no demon, of course. She simply lost blood, lapped up by others to no
effect.
The concept of the blood that flowed from her body, trailing into the mouths of
unfamiliar men, filled her with an unbearable nausea.
This photograph was taken right in the midst of that nauseating ritual.
She decided to show it to Yuuhei, even as she felt that it would be the end of everything.
Whether he rejected her or accepted her, she would live with the decision.
He had saved her life and her heart once before—he alone was worthy of being her
judge.
Whether he insulted her for being defiled or gave her kind words of pity and mercy,
Ruri Hijiribe would accept anything that Yuuhei did.
“…”
He stared at the photograph in silence.
Her expression tense, Ruri began to explain, “Earlier… when I tried to tell you about
my past… you said that you didn’t need to hear it.”
“I did.”
“But at this point… I think I really should tell you…”
It took all her determination to begin the discussion, but Yuuhei’s answer was not
quite what she expected.
“Do you really think that telling me is going to improve the outcome?”
“Huh…?”
“I think you’re kind of shocked by this. We should wait until you calm down. When
you’re rattled, it’s best not to rush into any hasty decisions.”
“…”
“My words mean nothing. Only you can overcome your past.”
They were like lines from a movie hero. In fact, he might as well have been quoting
from his own past scripts—but Ruri, who’d been feeling desperate and despondent,
was as stunned as if he’d dumped freezing water on her.
She stammered and hemmed as he placed the photo back on the table, facedown.
Max then decided that it was the best time to say, “Wow, you two really make a great
couple. You know, we sold out of your new photo album, Miss Ruri, so why don’t we
put out a combined book full of couple photos of you two?”
And then, without missing a beat, he continued directly into the topic at hand. “If you’d
just told me this stuff from the start, I could’ve tried to help! Showbiz is full of secrets,
my girl… You should never keep your secrets to yourself. Your secrets belong to the
entire agency! That’s right—all for one! What’s yours is mine! When I first came to
Japan, I didn’t know how things worked, so I took on all those vampire tabloid writers
myself with a cross and stake, whoopin’ ass left and right…”
“…!”
It all sounded like a joke coming from him, but at the end, Ruri twitched and trembled.
Yuuhei put an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
As usual, there was no expression on his face, but somehow, those cold doll-like eyes
calmed her down.
Meanwhile, Max nodded and grunted as he slid the photo back into the envelope, not
losing an ounce of his general state of agitation. “Well, if it’s real, there are options we
can take. If you have any idea where this photo came from, tell me. This Jinnai
Yodogiri… I heard he was bad, but this is extreme…”
“…”
“Your biggest selling point is your squeaky-clean image. What kind of idiot puts that
type of talent into this niche type of adult video?!”
“…Huh?”
“It’s obvious from your expression that you’re really disgusted, not acting… I respect
any woman who goes willingly into adult films as an actress, but the thought of any
man who forces an unwilling subject into a film like this makes me sick! Hang on…
that’s still a crime here, too, right?”
Ruri murmured, taken aback by his unexpected comment. He leaned forward and
patted his agency’s prize talent on the shoulders. “It musta been hard… but it’s all right
now. Yuuhei Hanejima will heal the scars you bear! And as his employer, that basically
means that I will be the one who healed you. So whenever times are tough, think of
my face to get through it. Then you’ll have a happy new year! That’s a new you, one
step closer to the grave, a journey made in hell! Hey, that gives me an idea: Your photos
should be maid and butler themed.”
He smacked a fist into his palm and continued, “Good idea. Brilliant! And Yuuhei’s
sequel to Silence of the Manservants is about to be unveiled, so we can use that as a
promotional tie-in. I gotta get the secretary to jot that one down! Hang on, guys. Sorry?
Yes! Sorry!”
And he scrambled out of the room.
The stream-of-consciousness rambling left Ruri with her mouth agape. At her side,
Yuuhei said, “I think… he might actually understand the truth.”
“Huh?”
“That the picture wasn’t really from the set of a triple-X film.”
Yuuhei looked at the doorway the president left through and said reassuringly, “He
might be selfish, dedicated to his greed, and an unabashed outlaw, but at least he’s a
nice outlaw. I think you can trust him.
“He’s just really, tragically awkward, just like me.”
The same day, afternoon, on the street, Ikebukuro
“Mraaaow.”
A precious sound trickled from the pet carrier in Anri’s hands. Dokusonmaru was
rolling on his back inside, tummy catching the light that slipped inside the case.
Mika’s face crinkled into a grin as she fawned over the cat. “Aww, you’re so cuuute!
Widdle-widdle-widdle!”
She wiggled her fingers next to the bag, and the cat squirmed one paw in response.
“A lot of people talk to cats the same way they talk to babies, huh?”
“Maybe they’re pretending that it’s their own child.”
“No way, our babies will be much, much cuter!” Mika exclaimed.
For some reason, something about this mushy sentiment made Anri’s cheeks color,
and she had to look away.
“The problem is that both Shinra and I are available at irregular times, due to the nature
of our work. We might not be able to have someone watching the kitten at all times,”
Celty had typed on her PDA. With everyone else at a loss for a solution, Anri
volunteered to take the cat—and here she was now.
She owed Celty for countless kindnesses, so she wanted to make that up to her, no
matter what form it took.
Shinra said that he felt satisfied with the cat in Anri’s care, while Shizuo’s group said
that they could rely on someone Celty trusted—and just like that, the cat was with her.
It was all so quick and easy that Anri began to worry if it was really right for her to be
responsible for an animal with so little resistance from them. Then Yuuhei said,
“Dokusonmaru doesn’t take to bad people. It’s all right,” and that settled the matter.
“Man, you’re so lucky, Anri. You got to meet Yuuhei Hanejima and Ruri Hijiribe!” Mika
laughed.
Anri shook her head. “They’re supposedly such famous celebrities that I got nervous
and could barely say anything…”
Of course, the real reason she couldn’t speak was the strange reaction that Saika had
to Ruri, but she couldn’t say that here. She just smiled sadly like she often did and said,
“Thanks for hearing me out today.”
“Don’t even mention it! Seiji said you could come with us, so it’s no problem at all.”
After that, Anri split off from the couple and headed back home.
Mika asked her if she wanted to get something to eat, perhaps at a restaurant that
allowed pets, but Anri didn’t want to interrupt her time with Seiji, so she took the cat
and headed out into Ikebukuro.
She failed to notice the shadow who incessantly watched her progress.
Celty’s group had been naive. They assumed that the stalker would not bother with
Anri, since she had no connection to Ruri.
They assumed that a stalker whose activities were outside the bounds of common
sense would abide by rationality.
The price for that lack of caution was the lurker trailing Anri now.
Oddly enough, just like the time when the slasher attacked Anri half a year earlier.
However, there was one difference between this person and the slasher.
The shadow watching Anri now continued to follow, neither approaching nor falling
back, and when she got to her apartment, it simply vanished without taking action.
As if satisfied with just knowing her address.
The only thing the shadowy figure did, just before disappearing, was open its flip
phone and turn on the screen for a brief moment.
At that moment, Russia Sushi, Ikebukuro
“Okay, today we have new rolled sushi. Little norimaki rolled in big norimaki.
Whirlpool and rolled omelet and whirlwind put to shame, you try brand-new
matryoshka roll,” said Simon, proudly advertising the restaurant’s newest item, while
Mika and Seiji sat at the counter, ordering a few cheap individual items for an early
dinner.
Simon’s new item was an extremely narrow roll of typical norimaki sushi rolled inside
of a medium-sized norimaki, which was itself the center of a large norimaki, making
one giant norimaki in total. The ingredient at the center of the smallest roll was
simmered seaweed, making the entire thing no more than layer upon layer of seaweed
and rice, just like the traditional Russian nesting dolls.
Seiji lifted the sushi to his mouth and asked Mika, “What’s wrong? You seem down.”
“Huh?… Oh, geez! How could I be down when I’m at your side?!” She laughed hastily.
“…Is it about Sonohara?” he asked.
“…Yeah,” she admitted reluctantly, unable to deny this.
Mika looked down at her tea for a moment, then back at Seiji. “I couldn’t help but
realize that she’d ask Celty for help and advice, but she wouldn’t come to me.”
No one would have told her that, but Mika was aware that Anri had been seeking
advice from the dullahan. Mika likely knew this through a wiretap of some sort, but
Seiji didn’t touch the topic. He looked down and dipped his head toward her.
“She’s probably being mindful of the both of us, which means that in a way, it’s my
fault. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Seiji! In fact… I was just feeling bad about it because I
haven’t gone and hung out with Anri in a while, either…”
As a matter of fact, during their first year at Raira Academy, she had never once given
Anri this much thought. That was because Anri had found her own place in the world:
with her two new friends, Mikado and Masaomi.
As Anri grew happier and more outgoing, bit by tiny bit, Mika felt reassured in her
choice to delve into love with Seiji.
She loved Seiji more than anyone in the world. But he wasn’t the only person in her
heart, just the highest on the priority list.
Her feelings for him were different from the love that he once had only for Celty’s head,
but she also had room in her heart for her close friend.
And then things changed for Anri.
The slasher incident caused a rift between the Dollars and the Yellow Scarves, and as
a result, Masaomi Kida left Ikebukuro.
Mika noticed that this event had thrown a dark shadow over Anri’s mind. Anri did still
reach out and talk to Mikado—but the last few months had grown steadily worse for
her.
Despite knowing the truth through her own unique sources, Mika wasn’t able to reach
out to Anri directly to discuss these things. She continued living in her love with Seiji,
despite the self-loathing.
On the inside, she felt just a bit lonely. A loneliness that couldn’t be filled with Seiji’s
love or hers for him.
And she wasn’t cowardly enough to use Seiji to fill the hole left by worry for her friend.
“Anri’s got the ability to look at things very objectively, even when they’re centered
around her… but it also makes her feel like her own life isn’t her concern. It makes it
harder to stop things in their tracks… so that she doesn’t turn away when she’s in
danger.”
She sipped her tea and, for the first time in ages, said the name of a male classmate
who wasn’t Seiji.
“If only Ryuugamine or Kida could act as the brakes to keep Anri in line…”
Evening, Sunshine 60 Street, Ikebukuro
“…”
Masaomi Kida was at a loss.
He stood at the intersection in front of Cinema Sunshine, watching the scenery shift
around him.
It had been half a year since he’d left Ikebukuro.
He’d visited once, during the battle between the Dollars and Toramaru, but left just as
quickly. It had truly been ages since he had the chance to stand around and just watch
the city like this.
It hasn’t changed much. It hasn’t… right?

Sure, there were changes in the store decorations and advertisements, but Sunshine
60 Street was pretty much exactly as he remembered it.
If anything was different, it was the lack of the yellow scarves that temporarily
flourished, bringing things back to the gang-less, peaceful appearance that had been
the default state of things a year ago.
Students, office ladies, salarymen on the way home, foreign families—each passed by
Masaomi, living in their own localized orbits of culture and atmosphere.
There were slightly more young people in their street clothes out on the street, owing
to it being the first day of summer vacation. Girls lined up at the movie theater,
indicating the strength of the latest Yuuhei Hanejima star vehicle.
…But I’ve got it bad, man. All the normal people just look like Dollars to me now.
He was back in town at least, but now he didn’t know where to start gathering
information.
I guess this is when I should go and pay my respects to Kadota. But… I left off on such bad
terms with him, and I never properly thanked him for saving me from that asshole
Horada. It’ll be awkward to just show up and talk… but I just gotta do it. I need to settle
all my old accounts… if I ever want to see Mikado and Anri again.
He slapped his cheeks to get his mind in gear and focused on his surroundings. He just
needed to look for Kadota’s height or Yumasaki and Karisawa’s appearance.
At this time of day, the nerds would be at one of the big bookstores, perhaps Toranoana
or Animate, checking out the latest releases.
Masaomi began looking around with that in mind, but after a few minutes, he had
already spotted a familiar face. Or more accurately, a familiar outfit. And even more
accurately, the man and his outfit were familiar to Masaomi, but the reverse was most
likely not true at all.
Well, if I settle things one by one… the very first one might kill me. Sorry if I die, Saki.
He wiped the trickle of cold sweat from his brow and called out to the man in the
bartender’s outfit walking behind his dreadlocked companion.
“Hey… Shizuo Heiwajima…”
“That cat your brother brought around yesterday sure was cute, though,” Tom
murmured out of the blue.
“Affirmative,” Vorona agreed. “Appearance of cat scaling Shizuo’s head is accurately

described as lovely.”
“If anything, I’m more of a dog person,” Shizuo griped. Even as the coworkers chatted,
he was a bit preoccupied, worrying about the stalker attacking Yuuhei and Ruri.
Shit, if I just knew who it was, I could punch him up to the roof of the Sunshine building…
Unaware of the violent fantasies in his companion’s head, Tom rubbed his stomach
and said, “Well, we finished up early today, and work went well, so once we turn in the
collection, why don’t we celebrate a little at Russia Sushi?”
Vorona responded to her boss’s suggestion with a shake of the head. “Suggest idea
similar to a declination. Taking sustenance at an establishment containing
acquaintances should be avoided due to reasons of nervousness and embarrassment.”
“Don’t say that about them. They’re your fellow countrymen, right? But if you really
insist, I guess we could eat sukiyaki at Mo-Mo Paradise’s Ikebukuro location. You in
the mood for anything in particular, Shizuo?”
“I’m down for whatever.”
“Hmm, what should we do? Head down Meiji Street for some Okinawan food, maybe?”
The trio walked along leisurely through the neighborhood as the sun began to set.
Then a shadow crossed their path.
It was a thin boy, his hair bleached blond.
“Hmm? What’s up, buddy? You want something from us?” asked Tom, assuming from
the kid’s superficial appearance that he was some past challenger of Shizuo’s coming
back for revenge.
But the boy lowered his head, his expression deadly serious, and said, “I’m sorry… to
interrupt your work. I must make an apology… to Shizuo Heiwajima…”
“Oh yeah?” asked Shizuo, who’d been largely ignoring the boy until his name was
mentioned. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is… Masaomi Kida.”
“Masaomi Kida?” Shizuo repeated, his brow wrinkling.
Huh? I’ve heard that name before. But when? I think it was about six months ago…
Vague shreds of memories collected in the back of Shizuo’s mind.
Cold rain. Hot lead.
“…Hmm?”
A powerful shock that ran through his side and leg.
“You want someone to blame? How about the guy who gave me the orders and the gun?”
A vulgar, despicable man’s voice, covering terror with bravado.
“Masaomi Kida’s your man!”
A stumble of the leg. Approaching asphalt.
The sensations and images flickered through Shizuo’s mind.
“Oh yeah,” said his boss, Tom, not Shizuo. “You’re the Yellow Scarves guy…”
Sensing the moment of no return, Masaomi clenched his fists like a man preparing for
death. Imagining the imminent possibility that his next words might end with his neck
being snapped in half, he opened his mouth and firmly announced his presence.
“I was the leader of the Yellow Scarves, the guys who shot you… Masaomi Kida.”
Mikado’s apartment
“That’s weird…”
Mikado Ryuugamine sighed as he sat at his desk, facing the computer. He was looking
at the admin page of the Dollars’ message board.
In order to determine the truth of the rumor that Ruri Hijiribe’s stalker was within the
Dollars, Mikado was utilizing his admin access to view all manner of Ruri-related
pages on the Dollars’ community site.
But he was looking at the screen in disbelief, like something strange was going on.
High school was a precious time, limited to, usually, just three years of one’s life. And
summer vacation was even more precious.
He had to laugh that he was spending his first day chained to his computer inside, but
he didn’t have an ounce of regret. Mikado thought about his hometown with a fresh
miso rice cracker hanging from his mouth—a gift from back home.
I took the trip home early last year, but this year I warned them that I wouldn’t be back
until Obon… If possible, I want to at least put a pin in this matter. I have no idea exactly
how far until I’ve “put a pin” in it… but I at least need to do everything I can…
It was his childhood friend from back home who put Mikado into this state of
determination.
Those memories eventually grew to include Anri Sonohara, as the trio spent its first
year at Raira Academy together.
He’d gone to karaoke and bowling with other boys and girls from the school, but at
lunch and after school, and during all school activities in general, the three of them
were a unit.
There were times that he worried Anri wasn’t hanging out with other girls, but he
enjoyed the time they spent with Masaomi so much that he never remembered to
actually broach the topic with her.
And now, Masaomi was missing from the picture.
Time had stopped inside of Mikado until the day of Masaomi’s eventual return.
When that happened, all three would openly discuss their secrets so that time could
progress once more.
At least, that’s what Mikado believed.
The change in Mikado happened during the holiday in May.
The incident that unfolded had left him shocked in many ways. The violence of the
“extraordinary” that he’d sought so fervently had left his world just a little bit bent.
Now, he intentionally avoided the chat room where he was able to talk with Masaomi.
He was determined not to let the online connection water down his commitments.
Mikado was forgetting the rush of emotion he’d felt when first chatting with his friend,
under the username of Bacura.
Perhaps that was just the extent of the shocks from that Golden Week incident.
But Mikado’s beliefs did not change. When he and Masaomi and Anri were together
again, they could finally keep moving forward.
That feeling hadn’t changed in the slightest; what had shifted was the idea that he had
to protect this place for the three of them, this home to return to, with his own hands.
Or if needed, to build it himself.
That thought alone altered Mikado Ryuugamine’s gears—and sent him rolling in a
totally different direction.
Mikado sat back from his long session of online tinkering and sighed.
…So that’s what it is.

Whatever this epiphany was, he continued his work and started downloading a
number of files from the Internet.
And then…
“…? Huh?…?!”
When he opened the image files to look at them, the expression froze on his face.
And when he read the text files attached to them, the color from his face began to drain
away.
“No way…”
After several seconds of trembling, he quickly pulled out his phone and placed a call
to a number on his contacts list.
“………Ah! Hello? It’s me…”
“What’s wrong, Mikado? You sound short of breath,” Aoba greeted him from the other
end of the line.
Mikado spoke his orders hastily, in a tone of voice that he rarely ever used:
“Sorry to bug you, but… I need you to get your people together right now.”
Somewhere in Tokyo, a man said, “The Dollars haven’t changed a bit.”
The woman at his side said something in response, but he ignored it and continued
talking, juggling two knives all the while.
“From what I hear, Mikado’s undergone a bit of a change lately… I can’t wait to see how
he’s grown for myself.”
The young man grinned, just as the cell phone in his waist pocket played a ringtone.
“Hello? Anything interesting to mention?” he asked, his voice cheerful for the party on
the other line. But the smile suddenly vanished from his eyes, remaining only on his
mouth.
“Ahhh. Shizu and Kida, eh…?
“I wonder—why is Shizu still breathing, anyway?”
“You’re that kid who was running around hitting on girls last year, aren’t you?”
“…”
“I see… So you’re the one whose name those sick bastards were shouting,” Shizuo said,
cracking his neck and taking a step forward.
“Hey, Shizuo,” Tom warned, but when he saw the look on his partner’s face, all he could
do was shrug his shoulders.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not here to make excuses,” Masaomi said and
gritted his teeth.
Yup, I’m about to die.
He sensed a tingling in his fingertips and clenched his fists tighter.
I thought I might squeak through this, but I might really be a goner this time.
Preparing for the punch to crack his neck or perhaps just rip his entire head loose,
Masaomi felt his life start flashing before his eyes.
I’m sorry, Saki. You deserve better, Anri, Mikado.
But instead, the only thing Shizuo did was poke Masaomi on the forehead with his
index finger and scold, “I’m older than you, y’know. You gotta treat me with a bit more
respect.”
“…Huh?” Masaomi mumbled, his head tilted backward.

“I heard the story from Celty. Those punks were just bullshitting around, weren’t
they?”
“Celty?”
Masaomi didn’t know the Headless Rider’s name, but he recovered from his confusion
quickly enough and protested, “But still, the root of the whole matter lies with me! If
I’d taken proper control of my men, you wouldn’t have been shot…”
Shizuo’s right hand loomed within reach of Masaomi. It approached his forehead
again, the thumb holding down the middle finger this time.
“I told you to be respectful.”
He playfully flicked the boy’s head.
“Whup!”
Masaomi grunted in the manner of a sound effect and fell to the ground.
It was a total overreaction for your ordinary forehead flick, but given that it came from
Shizuo, its power was probably more like a nonlethal rubber bullet used for pacifying
crowds.
Shizuo stood over the boy on the ground, arms crossed, and said, “Well, I’ve wiped out
those stupid punks, and I don’t have any ill will toward the Yellow Scarves… but I’m
guessing that alone wasn’t enough for you. So consider that forehead flick as settling
our account.”
Tom crouched down next to the boy. “I wasn’t gonna say anything since you didn’t
seem mad about it,” he mumbled, examining the state of Masaomi’s eyes, which were
rolling upward from the effects of a concussion, “but can’t you hit him any softer than
that?”
“That’s weird… Did I really do it that hard…? I mean, even for me, it’s still just a flick
of the finger, you know?”
Shizuo tried flicking himself in the forehead a number of times. The impact made very
un-flick-ish sounds like thwud and kaplam, but Shizuo himself didn’t react much
beyond a slight tilt of the head.
“I announce a question. Forehead flick is a secret technique of what martial art? It does
not exist among the knowledge of any book I have read. From the movement of the
finger, I theorize it is a type of finger-pointing.”
“So I’m guessing you don’t know about the hand-slapping game, either…”
Meanwhile, Masaomi’s vision was finally starting to clear up.
The dude in dreads leaned over and asked, “Hey, you okay?”
“Uh… s-sorry.”
“Don’t hold it against him. That was his way of going easy on you. I know that you
might think getting a good solid punch would be a better way to square up your
account with him… but that could easily be fatal, y’know?”
“…Good point.” Masaomi grimaced, but he was still uneasy, like there was something
eating at him.
Is that really it? I mean, Shizuo got shot… right…? Is that… all it takes… for me to…?
Emotions swirled inside of Masaomi’s head.
Sensing that inner conflict, Tom stretched and said, “Hey, if you’re not hurt that bad,
lucky you. By the way, kid—you hungry?”
“Huh?”
“Whenever anything big happens, the best thing is to stuff yourself with food. C’mon,
I’m buying.”
Umm… this is the guy… who’s always with Shizuo, right…?

He stared at the older man, who rubbed his neck and explained, “My name’s Tanaka—
I’m Shizuo’s boss. Call me Tom. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, it seems like a real
pain in the ass, but I’m betting that you’ll be better off getting it all out of your system,
right? And I don’t like knowing that my employee’s involved in something that isn’t
quite cleared up all the way. It makes me uneasy. So let’s get something good to eat
and make sure everything is even between us.”
“But… I came here to apologize. Why should…?”
“Oh, I didn’t say I was gonna buy it for free.”
“Huh?”
Masaomi unsteadily got to his feet, and Tom smirked at him.
“You were the leader of the Yellow Scarves or whatever, right? I’m wondering what’s
going on with them now… Mind telling me whatever you might know?”
Anri’s apartment
“There, there.”
Anri scratched Dokusonmaru’s throat with the tip of her finger. The cat rolled back
onto the floor, spreading its limbs and displaying its belly. She rubbed his tummy with
her palm, and he squealed, “Nauu,” and proceeded to writhe with pleasure.
Once she had set up the cat’s litter box and other items from the carrier bag, Anri didn’t
have much else to do other than play with the kitten.
She saw much of her childhood cat in Dokusonmaru, and she found herself fondly
reminiscing.
The calico cat had been like a friend to young Anri, back when her home was attached
to the family business, the curio shop Sonohara-dou.
She had no fun memories from back then, but at least the ones of her mother and that
cat had been a sort of solace to her.
Until Anri’s father kicked the cat and killed it.
I guess even celebrities like Ruri Hijiribe have their troubles…
Anri hadn’t paid much attention to the sense of something abnormal she picked up
around the actress. After all, she herself wasn’t entirely human, either, to say nothing
of Celty.
But there was no feeling of camaraderie from that, and she couldn’t even tell if Ruri
herself was aware of it. Anri was much more concerned about the girl being stalked
than anything regarding her nature.
I wonder… if this stalker is someone like Mika. Or maybe they’re more like Niekawa…
That girl Haruna Niekawa had attacked her half a year ago. The memory saddened Anri.
Why do they do those things…? I don’t really understand…
She recalled the sensation she’d picked up from Ruri and felt a sudden chill.
Was her concern about Mikado really a normal, ordinary feeling?
Anri wasn’t human to begin with; could her instincts and concerns really be trusted?
She knew from the start that she wasn’t normal. So she couldn’t be sure if her feelings
were truly accurate or not.
Just as it had been when she’d hung out with Mika Harima, the time she’d spent with
Mikado and Masaomi formed a kind of baseline.
Now, one of those two people was acting strangely—similar to when Masaomi Kida
had been acting strangely and got into trouble involving the Yellow Scarves.
Except this was different.
When Masaomi had been acting strange, she’d still had Mikado at her side.
But now she had no one.

Were her worries about Mikado actually accurate?
Would an ordinary person look at the situation and decide that it was actually Mikado
who was being reasonable?
She had no one to answer her doubts.
“…”
Thinking about the fond days of their little trio had caused her hand to stop petting
the cat. It mewed and tried to rub against her, making her smile.
Saika had no interest in cats and repeated the usual words of love inside her head, like
at any other moment.
Hearing the words of love for humanity repeated en masse made her consider
something: If she fused entirely with Saika, would that make her able to accept Mikado
and Masaomi, no matter how much they changed?
She recalled something Izaya Orihara had once said:
“If you really want a tranquil, peaceful life, you should use that katana to slash everyone
you know.”
No…
“Once you’re the queen, you’ll get what you want.”
You’re wrong… That’s wrong!
She felt revulsion in the pit of her stomach and swallowed spit.
Despite the sudden gloomy mood, Dokusonmaru wriggled and stretched. The cat’s
cute, innocent nature took the sting out of her feelings, and Anri smiled and relaxed a
bit.
…Huh? Wait… am I allowed to keep pets at this apartment? she wondered, a fresh
concern to mull over. But soon she was back to petting the cat’s belly.
“There, there…”
Haruna Niekawa and a mysterious masked assailant: Those people were responsible
for the two times Anri had been attacked at her apartment.
Now a third shadow she was unaware of watched her home—while she allowed
herself to relax in a momentary haze of peacefulness.
And as she played with the cat, her mind continued only to recall her memories of
Mikado and Masaomi.
Sunshine Street, Ikebukuro
“Um… why don’t we just go to Russia Sushi, then? I can pay my own way.”
At Masaomi Kida’s suggestion, Shizuo and Tom were able to convince Vorona to drop
her resistance to eating at the sushi place.
“I’ve got to thank Simon for something, too, so I might as well do it now…”
“What? You know Simon, too?” Shizuo asked.
“Well, the kid was the boss of the Yellow Scarves, so you’d figure he knows people around
town,” Tom said.
“…”
“…You know, I’ve been wondering, is there some painful memory you associate with
the Yellow Scarves or what? If so, I’m sorry—I won’t bring it up again,” Tom said to
Masaomi, who looked downcast.
Vorona, who had no illusions about being considerate, said, “There is a question. The
period of existence of the Yellow Scarves easily exceeds one millennium ago by
Gregorian calendar. I cannot believe its leader currently exists in modern society. Or
does the boy bear a similarity to folklore beings such as the Headless Rider?”
“…Lady, the way you talk is kind of mysterious and sexy.”
The Headless Rider, huh? Speaking of which, I wonder how the Headless Rider knows
Mikado. All that asshole Izaya would say was, “Why don’t you ask Mikado yourself?”
Masaomi started to grind his teeth at the memory of that hateful face but thought
better of saying his name when he remembered that someone next to him would likely
explode with rage on a different level if he were to hear it.
Geez, man. I hate to think of things in these terms, but if I can just wrap things up with
Shizuo Heiwajima first, it’ll make it a lot easier for me to get to the other stuff, mentally
speaking.
Actually, forget about Shizuo, what should I say if I run into Anri or Mikado?
Masaomi heaved a deep sigh and then heard…
“There is a warning. Walk facing forward and hear closely,” Vorona murmured, her
voice sharp. Masaomi held his breath.
“?” “…?” “What is it?”
They all turned to her in confusion, and she hissed, “Please face forward.”
While her strange version of Japanese had sounded goofy before, Masaomi felt his skin
prickle at the suddenly serious tone of her voice.
“We are being trailed. Distance is slowly closing. Hostility is unknown, but caution is
required.
“…I suspect the follower is not alone.”
“Anyway, I’m going to tour a bit of the area around Yuuhei’s apartment, followed by
Ruri’s, just in case. She might be staying with Yuuhei now, but the stalker could break
into her apartment while she’s away.”
Celty reached for the front door, helmet in place.
“…That’s fine, but I’m worried about something.”
“What is it?” she asked, tilting the helmet.
“If you’re prowling around outside of the apartment… ,” Shinra hesitantly admitted,
“won’t the cops think… you’re the stalker…?”
Just minutes after that typical conversation ended and Celty had left, the doorbell
rang, and Shinra turned to the door with suspicion.
After such a brief interval, he would normally assume it was Celty coming back for
something she forgot, but she’d taken the spare key when she left. Ever since the
incident with Aoba, Shinra began locking the door even when he was home, and Celty
slipped the spare key into the sleeve of her shadow-made riding suit.
Given that they’d just been discussing the stalker, Shinra headed to the door with some
trepidation. On the other side of the peephole was a man wearing a delivery company
uniform.
Shinra’s apartment was deluxe, but the building was fairly old, and it still didn’t have
a unified entrance or delivery box for the purposes of tenant security.
“Delivery!” said a voice on the other side. Shinra opened the door, relieved.
He left the chain on, just in case. He was going to sign the form and have the man leave
the package outside.
“Hang on, I’ll get my stamp…”
Shinra reached into the pocket of his white coat when—
At that very moment, an ugly piece of metal squeezed through the gap.
It was the heavy black shape of a large chain cutter.
By the time Shinra noticed it, he was too late.
It snapped through the metal chain, setting the loose ends free.
“…”
The door slowly opened all the way, revealing the grinning delivery worker.
“I’m guessing… you’re not a deliveryman,” Shinra quipped in a cold sweat.
The man twirled and contorted, throwing himself into a high kick at the side of Shinra’s
head.
Shinra felt his brain jolt against his skull and veins on his face snap.
Oh, that was… bad…
It’s like being slapped… by… Shizuo…
I’m gonna pass………
Wait, why is he gearing up? Is he going for… another… one…?
Am… am I going… to……… die?
His consciousness stretched, pulling everything into slow motion, as the man dressed
as a delivery worker drove another kick into Shinra’s body.
……………………………Cel……… ty.
Let’s see, Yuuhei’s apartment should be right around… here.
Celty was taking a route to her destination using narrow roads and back alleys to cut
down on the likelihood of drawing her nemesis’s attention.
When she came to a section that featured a number of similar buildings all in a row,
she took out her phone to get an accurate location.
She had loaded up the navigation screen and was looking for Yuuhei’s address when
the screen shifted and a ringtone played.
Celty looked at the displayed number and paused before she hit the answer button.
Huh? It’s from Mikado. Why now?
Had he perhaps realized that Anri was worrying about him? Did Mikado learn that she
had come to talk to Celty and thus tried to make contact for his own advice?
That was her reason for hesitating initially, but then another thought occurred to her.
Huh…? But why is he calling rather than texting?
If he was calling her, knowing that she couldn’t speak back, perhaps it was an emergency.
She quickly hit the call button and pressed the phone to her helmet.
“Hello? Is that you, Celty?”
Mikado’s voice echoed inside the helmet, making it loud and clear for Celty’s mysterious
sense of hearing.
“If you can hear me, tap the mic on your phone!”
Celty tapped next to the little mic hole.
Mikado replied with a mixture of relief and haste, “That’s good! I’m going to continue
talking under the assumption that you can hear me! Are you at your apartment now?!”
What could it be? Does he want to come over to talk about something?
Very quickly, she realized that could not be the case. The level of anxiety and distress
in his voice suggested something more important than something that simple.
“If you’re away from home at the moment, go back immediately!”

“?”
“I’m not worried about your safety… but Shinra could be in trouble!”
Night, Ikebukuro
“…Ah, well. There, you see?”
The young man in the black coat ended the phone call report he’d received and
smirked to himself. “Look at that mess. All over some stupid gang squabble that even
the yakuza wouldn’t bother with. I feel for Shinra.”
He got to his feet, chair creaking, and looked at the scenery out the window.
It was the top floor of a fancy apartment building close to Ikebukuro Station.
He gazed out at the activity around the station, leering with the excitement of a child
facing a grand feast, and he murmured to himself:
“They’re all helpless without me around.”

Chat room
Kid: Seems a bit quiet in here tonight.
Sharo: It feels like only the new people are here.
Chrome: Maybe we’ve just been talking in here for so long that the old-timers feel
awkward about joining in.
Sharo: You’re probably overthinking it.
Sharo: Bacura’s not showing up today, right?
Saki: That’s right. He’s busy.
Kid: I see. I can only participate on my phone, so forgive the slow typing.
Sharo: Whoa, seriously?
Sharo: You chat crazy fast for being on a phone. Major respect.
Saki: That’s amazing.
Kid: You’re giving me too much credit.
Sharo: Does anyone have anything interesting to talk about? I’m so bored every single
day. I’m on my feet all day, and my sister bugs me about taking the job seriously. She
sure is bossy for being flat.
Saki: Breast size has nothing to do with that.
Kid: That would be sexual harassment.
Chrome: I happen to have an interesting topic.
Sharo: Wait, lol, I don’t wanna get sued over this, lmao. Anyway, if my sister saw this,
she’d split my head open for sure.
Kid: What kind of topic?

Sharo: Hmm? Oh, you got something to share, Chrome?
Chrome: It’s about Ruri Hijiribe’s stalker… Apparently, the culprit is within the Dollars
after all. I heard this from a friend, though, so I can’t vouch for its accuracy.
Chrome: Oh, and this is just between us. Do not repost this info on any Ruri Hijiribe
fan club boards, please.
Kid: I understand.
Saki: My lips are sealed.
Sharo: Well, either way, this chat room will show up on Internet searches, right?
<Private Mode> Chrome: How about this, then?
<Private Mode> Kid: Oh.
<Private Mode> Kid: You can do this?
<Private Mode> Sharo: Whoa, what is this?
<Private Mode> Saki: It’s private mode. Sometimes I use it with Bacura.
<Private Mode> Chrome: I’ve selected all members currently participating in the
chat to this private mode discussion.
<Private Mode> Chrome: Now it won’t show up on searches. In fact, it doesn’t even
get saved in the log.
<Private Mode> Sharo: Hard-core!
<Private Mode> Saki: This must be serious, right?
<Private Mode> Kid: So what did you learn about the stalker?
<Private Mode> Chrome: Well… Ruri Hijiribe has a stalker, as you know.
<Private Mode> Chrome: It seems this person is on the talent agency blacklist.
<Private Mode> Kid: Oh. But the tabloid said all of those people had alibis…
<Private Mode> Chrome: Exactly. That’s the issue.
<Private Mode> Chrome: The people on the blacklist who’d been bothering Ruri
Hijiribe.
<Private Mode> Chrome: They’re working together!
<Private Mode> Saki: Together?
<Private Mode> Sharo: Hmm? What do you mean?
<Private Mode> Chrome: There isn’t just one stalker.
<Private Mode> Chrome: It was different people working together, making it look
like the actions of a single guy.
<Private Mode> Kid: Ha-ha, so that’s how they had alibis.
<Private Mode> Kid: It wasn’t that they all had alibis for one thing; they had different
alibis for separate events, ruling them all out as a singular culprit.
<Private Mode> Chrome: Exactly.
<Private Mode> Chrome: But it’s interesting, isn’t it?
<Private Mode> Chrome: It’s on the Dollars’ site itself that this rumor is spreading.
<Private Mode> Chrome: It kind of seems like they’re having an internal battle. Isn’t
that fascinating?
<Private Mode> Kid: Could be a kind of purge.
<Private Mode> Chrome: Oh my.

Kanra: Heya! It’s everyone’s favorite idol sweetheart Kanra, back in glorious action!
Kanra: What, what, what? Everyone abruptly stopped talking a few minutes ago.
Kanra: Could it be that you’re all engaging in some hot orgy in private mode?!
Kanra: Eek! That’s sexual harassment, you guys!
Kanra: Wait. What, what? These are all people whose names I don’t recognize.
<Private Mode> Chrome: Who is this… extremely excitable person…?
<Private Mode> Kid: Oh, I asked the person who invited me here.
<Private Mode> Kid: Apparently, that’s the oldest old-timer in the chat.
<Private Mode> Saki: In fact, that’s the admin of the group.
<Private Mode> Sharo: I wanna sock ’em.
<Private Mode> Chrome: Really? Wow, that’s annoying. Seems like one of those guys
who tries to act like a girl online…
.
Frivolous.
It should have been a frivolous incident.
Stalking incidents sometimes lead to tragedy, ending in murders or abductions.
They should never be described as “frivolous,” and yet…
Stalking of celebrities is a constant fact, and if the culprit were caught before trying to
act on Ruri Hijiribe, it would all be over with.
A part of Celty clung to this idea.
Perhaps she’d been naive in some way.
Perhaps she’d been careless.
She was used to being chased around by yakuza, motorcycles gangs, even the police—
and yesterday she’d had to deal with a helicopter and submachine guns.
So there was a part of her that came to underestimate the gravity of a stalking
situation.
If only she’d learned about it just after Haruna Niekawa had attacked Anri Sonohara.
If only it’d been after she’d seen a news report on a serious stalking.
If she’d been able to keep in mind the alarming nature of a stalker beforehand…
She considered a number of different things she could have done, but it was too late
to overturn any result that had already happened.
And the “result,” in terms of how it affected Celty…
…was bloodied on the floor, panting weakly.
Shin… ra?
When she got back home and opened the front door, she could scarcely believe the
sight before her.
He was so proud of his white coat, the item of clothing that he claimed “formed the
perfect contrast with your black!”
There were times that his brilliant white coat got splattered with a bit of blood—but
in this case, Shinra’s coat was clearly stained in his own as he lay in the hallway.
“…………………”
She tried to scream.
She tried to shout Shinra’s name.
But without a head, Celty couldn’t vibrate the air to produce those sounds. The most
she could do was rush to his side and gently lift him up.
He noticed her presence but was only able to move his eyeballs in her direction.
“…a… ah… C… el… ty?”
Blood was flowing from his head and mouth. He obviously shouldn’t be talking.
And yet—Shinra still smiled.
He smiled with total relief upon seeing her face.
Or perhaps it wasn’t for his own satisfaction but an attempt to comfort her, recognizing
her obvious shock and distress.
“It’s all right… This isn’t life-threatening… I think… but… I’ve broken… a few bones…
I’ve been hit by Shizuo before, so I figured I could handle some punishment… but he
just kept… kicking and… kicking… and…”
“Stop talking! I’ll call an ambulance!”
“No, no… not an… ambu… lance… Besides, how will you… call it?”
—!
Of course. She couldn’t speak over the phone. And she couldn’t force Shinra to make
the call. But if she just called and had it on mute, couldn’t they trace the location and
come for him? And she felt like she’d heard about people unable to speak, sending in
faxes for help.
Paper! Where’s the paper? Oh, maybe I can turn my shadow into… No, I can’t! Oh, Shinra…
Don’t die, Shinra! Don’t leave me all alone here! she thought, turning desperate.
Shinra’s eyelids drooped as he mumbled, “Call Dad… or maybe… Emilia…”
He used what strength he had left to open his eyes again, looked at Celty’s helmet, and
beamed.
“Celty… that beautiful heart of yours is going to waste. You need… to… smile… more…”
And with that, he blacked out.
Stop it! Stop acting like you’re about to die!
She enveloped his body in shadow and gently lifted it into the air. Then she leaped
over the side of the stairs, spreading out a fine spiderweb that allowed her to float
down softly to the ground.
Down in the parking lot, Shooter gave a little whinny, just as alarmed as Celty by
Shinra’s state. She attached Shinra to Shooter with shadow, then transformed
Shooter’s body the way she had when transporting the snake the other day.
Taking great care not to jostle Shinra’s body, she assembled a fixture like those on soba
noodle delivery motorcycles for hauling cargo and headed out as quickly as was safe.
Dammit, why… why?! How stupid am I?! How could I be so careless about a stalker?! I’m…
I’m so helpless! I’ve been spending all my time with a doctor… and I can’t do a single bit
of emergency aid to treat him! What have I been doing…? What have I been watching
him do all along…?!
Without the face of a culprit to focus on, all of Celty’s anger was forced at herself as
she raced through the night.
But while regret and anger ruled her emotions, she prayed the entire time for Shinra’s
safety.
Ikebukuro
Kisuke Adabashi watched the black motorcycle as it raced past him and hissed his
strange laughter: “Shehhh, shehhh.”
He leisurely took out his cell phone and sent a message to someone, then indulged in
fantasy with a satisfied look on his face, as if to suggest that was the end of his job.
His trek stimulated the soles of his feet, supporting one crystal-clear vision within his
mind’s eye.
A vision of collapse.
He desired for the “illusion” of Ruri Hijiribe to crumble into nothing within his mind.
Within his sight.
On the surface of his skin.
Under his feet.
Between his nails.
Atop his tongue.
Beyond his eardrums.
Along with the rhythm of his soul’s pulse.
Collapse.
Every last element that made up Ruri Hijiribe, crumbling into dust and becoming part
of him. The absurd vision and the swell of desire for it from the very base of his being
brought him an undeniable bliss.
Kisuke Adabashi loved Ruri Hijiribe.

But perhaps worshipped was a better word than loved.
Kisuke had lived a comfortable life, thanks to being born the son of a life insurance
company executive. But a violent nature had caused others to shun him from a very
young age.
When he learned that his father left for suspicious “meetings” every now and then,
Kisuke assumed that he was going off to visit a mistress and decided he would
blackmail him, despite this person being one of his parents.
But what he saw there was a ritual too grotesque to describe—with the upcoming
model Ruri Hijiribe as an unwilling sacrifice.
Grotesque.
That had been his instinctual reaction the first time he saw it, too.
But at the same time, he recognized that thing as a girl with an inhuman air being
carved up, body and mind, by normal humans—the familiar hands of his own father.
It was both grotesque and an undeniable source of excitement to him.
Not just simple twisted lust. He was consumed with an almost unbearable desire to
make every part of her his.
And especially not his father’s.
He wanted to beat and defile that goddess of a girl with his own hands, to scoop out
her heart and destroy everything that she was.
Kisuke Adabashi loved another person for the first time in his life at that moment—if
you could call it that.
With his eyes veiled by love and admiration, he followed Ruri Hijiribe. And in the
moment that his father was murdered by the serial killer Hollywood, Kisuke instantly
understood.
It was none other than Ruri Hijiribe who had committed the deed.
It was nothing other than the alien, superhuman power that dwelled within her.
The instant he realized this, his admiration turned to worship.
However, his worship was not of Ruri herself, but the feeling of completeness and
liberation that would come when he destroyed her. To Kisuke Adabashi, pure pleasure
itself was God.
And to him, Ruri was like the Holy Mother who gave birth to what was sacred.
A man helped guide him to the Dollars’ website.
Right after his father’s funeral, he attempted to make contact with Ruri Hijiribe
through his own means—running into the police on some occasions and earning the
caution of a number of talent agencies, who spread his information between them.
But one day, after several months, a man reached out to him.
The very root of evil who had brought Ruri Hijiribe and his father together: Jinnai
Yodogiri.
Through his help, Adabashi steadily dipped his toes into that sordid part of society,
and with the information Yodogiri provided, he now effectively led the entire
community of stalkers targeting Ruri Hijiribe.
It was a social place where they could all exchange information, a group within the
Dollars’ website that almost no one was aware of. Only those scant few members could
view the board, and they recruited by posting offers to sell secret photos of Ruri
Hijiribe on the normal Dollars’ communities and watching the reactions closely to
detect the scent of more of their “kind.”
Because the public-facing community was self-run by a man using the nickname “Red
Carpet,” it didn’t stick out much. From there, anyone who bit on the original sales pitch
could be lured to the first secret website, and from there, to more lurid and obscure
places until the group had isolated the right kind of people.
These were people who would commit any crime for Ruri Hijiribe, up to and including
killing the girl herself.
Adabashi never expected to recruit around ten such people in total. A number of them
were already identified and blacklisted by show business companies; the entire
website gave off a distinctly dangerous vibe.
Or perhaps it was just something about Ruri Hijiribe that was able to drive human
beings to madness…
There was no answer to this question, so Adabashi simply and faithfully acted on his
desires.
The stalkers worked on their alibis and slowly but surely closed in on Ruri.
All of them were aware of Ruri Hijiribe’s “alien” abilities, though it wasn’t clear if all of
them truly believed those powers existed. But only Adabashi knew about her
Hollywood secret.
That stimulated his sense of superiority and drove him to a greater degree of madness.
Destroy.
Destroy Ruri Hijiribe.
With my own hands.
In a sense, it would be impossible to physically destroy the serial killer Hollywood.
But Adabashi had an idea.
If the destruction of Ruri’s body and mind was what gave birth to Hollywood, then
couldn’t he just destroy that killer’s mind, too?
The photograph Yodogiri had provided to him, he sent on to her current agency.
After a bit of time, he was going to send it to publishers and spread it over the Internet.
He could have been doing that today, for that matter, but he had other business.
Ruri Hijiribe and her lover, Yuuhei Hanejima, were starting to worry about the
stalking, and they appeared to be seeking advice from acquaintances and family.
He’d been wary of the Headless Rider’s cohabitant at first, but he turned out to be
nothing but a wispy, soft man in a coat. After delivering plenty of nonlethal damage,
Adabashi whispered, “Ruri Hijiribe is mine,” into his ear.
If the man had any consciousness left, that information would soon reach Ruri’s ears.
Around this point, the other people involved with her would be suffering similar
attacks from members of the community.
What a shame. I would have liked to deal with that cat, too.
But Yodogiri had a request about the Headless Rider, so he couldn’t defy that
command. In order to utterly destroy Ruri Hijiribe, in order to utterly love her, the
man’s help would be necessary.
Adabashi’s mind understood this, but his heart swirled with twisted desire still.
Cat. The cat Ruri Hijiribe held.
I want to grind it into paste.
I want to love it in Ruri’s place.
A girl from Raira Academy took Yuuhei Hanejima’s cat home with her, where she
apparently lived alone. Whatever their connection was, if he “destroyed” the girl and
killed the cat, how much damage would that inflict on Ruri Hijiribe?
He was utterly jealous of the companion who got to perform that act, but then he
considered that his pent-up desire would be unleashed by destroying Ruri herself. His
eerie hissing laughter echoed through the streets of Ikebukuro.
Just then, Ruri’s singing voice emerged from his cell phone.
Adabashi allowed the song to play, indulging in it until he eventually picked up the call
and savored the abrupt end of her voice, as always. But this time, his pleasure was
ruined by a near scream coming through the phone.
“It’s not—it’s not what you said!”

“?”
He recognized that voice. It wasn’t Yodogiri.
It was the very man Adabashi envied—the other member of the community who was
tasked with destroying the cat and the girl.
He was a former salaryman who wore a suit everywhere, and his voice screeched with
what could have been taken as either pleading supplication or fury.
“Y-y-you screwed me over! What was that?! Who were those masked people?!”
“Masked…?”
“They—th-th-they ambushed me! I was trying to set the girl’s apartment on f-f-fire! And
then they rushed me…… Aaaaaaaah, here they cooooome!”
“Hey, what happened?! Hey!” he shouted at the phone, but a scream was his only reply.
Before long the call dropped.
“…”
Something was going on.
That much was clear.
Had Ruri Hijiribe hired bodyguards to protect the cat?
Or was it someone else connected to her?
Adabashi considered a number of different options, then banished the thoughts and
leered.
The most important fact he had learned from that call was that the girl and cat were
still unharmed.
“Shehhh, shehhh,” he hissed eerily, heading toward a nearby parking lot.
There he found his car and started driving it directly toward the girl’s apartment.
Despite the danger that his companion had been in, he was utterly delighted.
After all, the loss of that companion just meant that his own love for Ruri Hijiribe
would be deeper and richer than before.
Near Russia Sushi, Sunshine Street
“What do you mean, we’re being followed? Some street thug?” Tom asked Vorona,
keeping his voice low as they continued walking.
“I cannot provide a conclusion. But it is not the professional act of a career soldier or
assassin. Extremely amateur work, but caution is advised.”
Without turning his head, Masaomi focused on the sounds his ears were picking up,
while Shizuo swiveled his eyes back and forth, an eyebrow raised in skepticism.
Despite it being the onset of night, they were in the middle of the shopping district,
which was as crowded as ever. Tom reset his glasses irritably and cracked his neck.
“…Either they’re victims of Shizuo who are looking for payback or someone angry at
me for collecting on their debt… In either case, they aren’t going to try anything with
so many people around. We can ask the boss at Russia Sushi to let us out the back.
Then we can slip around and see who’s watching the…”
Vorona cut Tom off mid-speech. “Here it comes.”
“Huh?” he squawked.
Vorona spun around. There was a man approaching with something in his hands, but
her abrupt movement caught him by surprise, and he froze.
That confusion lasted only a second, but that was all Vorona needed. And even if he
hadn’t been startled, she still would have had the initiative on him.
“Wha…? Bwaoah!”
Her kick snaked around his body and caught him hard on the flank. A small chemical
bottle dropped from the heavyset man’s hand. The cap was already open, so the liquid
spilled onto the ground and the tips of his shoes.
“H-hyaaah!” he shrieked, desperately trying to remove his shoe as he clutched his

bruised side. Based on the way the liquid bubbled and hissed at the toe of his shoe, it
was probably some kind of acid.
“Whoa, are you tossing acid around in public? You gotta be kidding me.” Tom groaned.
Shizuo’s forehead vein pulsed. “You son of a bitch… What were you gonna do with that
bottle? Huh?”
He took a step forward and reached out with one hand to lift up the heavy man—just
as Masaomi noticed another person approaching Shizuo out of the corner of his eye.
This one was a short man carrying a sharp ice pick.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! Are you serious?!
“Watch out!” Masaomi shouted, darting around to cover Shizuo’s back. He lifted his leg
in a front kick to drop the man before he could swing the pick down—but the next
moment rendered that action meaningless.
Another boy rushed in on the attacking man from the side and drove a stun gun
directly into his flank.
“……………… nnzz-z-z-buh-buh-buh!”
The high-powered Taser caught him right near the kidney. The man’s muscles crackled
and convulsed, and he fell writhing to the ground, still holding the ice pick.
This mysterious new boy grinned in satisfaction, then raced off without a word.
Huh? Who was that?!
Masaomi watched the boy run away, totally baffled, until his attention was drawn to a
certain object that made his pulse jump to double the intensity.
It was a bandanna wrapped about the boy’s neck, detailed with a shark-teeth pattern.
Masaomi felt every hair on his body stand on end.
It wasn’t fear. It was pure shock that jolted his entire being.
Was he… a Blue Square…?
Before he could even process everything he was feeling, Masaomi had turned to
Shizuo’s trio and shouted, “I’m sorry! I’ve got to go now! I’ll come back and talk to you
again sometime!”
He bowed and raced off after the kid with the bandanna.
“Huh? Hey, wait,” Tom started to say, as he was wrenching the ice pick out of the short
man’s hand, but Masaomi ignored him.
He recalled his reasons for returning to the city.
Why are they helping Shizuo?! Altruism? Are they plotting something?! Infighting…? Or
is it just a coincidence that he had the same bandanna as them? What if I’m totally
mistaken…?
Shit! I can’t get tripped up by this… now!
Masaomi dispelled the various questions that plagued him and focused on his pursuit
of the boy.
There was no guarantee he would find the answer at the end of this.
But he had to keep running.
Goddamn Blue Squares…
What the hell are they plotting this time…?!

Anri’s apartment
When the text message alert went off, Anri stopped playing with Dokusonmaru for the
moment and picked up the phone.
It’s from Celty.
Was she wondering how the cat was doing? Anri checked the message, expecting
something trivial.
“Shinra hurt stalker here be careful Anri”
“?!”
The message had clearly been written in a hasty panic. Anri’s blood turned to ice.
She wrote back, “Are you all right, Celty?!” and glanced out the window.
For now, nothing seemed off. She thought she’d heard a noise outside earlier but had
paid it no mind.
After watching and waiting for several moments, the message response arrived, still
in the same minimal shorthand.
“I’m fine just took Shinra to hospital be careful Anri”
I wonder what happened…? I hope Dr. Kishitani’s all right, she thought, then realized
the culprit could be after Dokusonmaru and focused on the window again.
Why would this stalker be so intent on destroying their peace of mind?
Why would the stalker hurt the person they loved so much?
It was a different kind of stalking activity than what Mika did, and Anri couldn’t
understand it. Then she gasped, looking down at herself.
They cannot love without hurting…
She lent an ear to the voices of love chanting in her mind and murmured to herself.
“I guess… it’s like Saika.”
Ikebukuro
Masaomi raced through the neighborhood, chasing after the boy who resembled one
of the Blue Squares. The boy glanced back at him as he ran, realizing he was being
chased.
Masaomi was reminded of the past tragedy of his own making.
Don’t stop running.
His overwhelming fear of the Blue Squares had prevented him from saving someone
precious to him. He’d kicked off that conflict, and yet he wasn’t able to leap into the
middle of it.
Don’t… stop!
Bit by bit, his legs were starting to protest. He hadn’t sprinted in a long time.
Damn, I guess physical education was a more important class than I gave it credit for!
he lamented, feeling the cost of quitting high school early, but he kept his pace after
the Blue Square jockey.
The youth ahead of him ran out of the shopping district and did not come to a stop
until the area was devoid of people.
“…What’s up with you?” he asked Masaomi, mouth covered by the bandanna.

Masaomi came to a stop several feet away, hands on his knees, panting and heaving.
“Look… I don’t know what’s going on, but thanks for helping out back there.”
“…Doesn’t seem like you came sprinting after me all that way just to thank me.”
“Nope… and sorry if I’ve got the wrong idea… but are you from the Blue Squares?”
“!”
The boy did react to the mention of the name.
“Guess that’s bingo.”
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, suddenly cautious and with a hint of hostility.
Masaomi took a deep breath to steady his lungs and then stared the other boy directly
in the eyes. “First the Yellow Scarves, now the Dollars?”
“…”
“What are you up to? Who’s leading you guys? Did Izumii get outta juvie?” Masaomi
demanded, one question after another in rapid-fire.
Underneath his bandanna, the Blue Squares kid sneered. “You got somethin’ to do with
the Yellow Scarves?” he spat.
“…What if I do?”
“Your age is over. And let me make it clear: I was helping the guy in the bartender outfit,
on orders. I wasn’t saving you.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. That means I can hit you without worrying about who owes
whom what. So you might want to answer my questions before it turns into a fight,”
Masaomi menaced, shaking out his wrists. “Because I’ve got plenty of stuff to settle
with you guys, going back.”
“Well, well, look who’s a hotshot. If you think you’re that tough—”
The mocking boy’s eyes drifted slightly off of Masaomi’s face.

Then his sentence was finished by another youth bearing down on Masaomi’s back
with a baton.
“—then let’s see some proof!”
The police baton hurtled down at Masaomi.
Near Anri’s apartment, Tokyo
“Hey, did you find the arsonist?”
“He was a slippery bastard.”
A number of young men were wandering around a narrow alley. They wore bandannas
and ski masks adorned with shark-tooth patterns and had been on the move searching
for someone, but they were now getting tired and slowing to a walk.
They’d strayed quite a ways from the shopping district, and the back alley was
surprisingly empty for being in the middle of the crowded metropolis.
“What’d Aoba say?”
“He should be searching around here, too…”
“Hey, there’s a car. Get over to the side.”
The youths all moved to the edge of the alley, but the car coming down the narrow
road turned off its lights and decelerated.
“?”
It came to a stop right in front of them, and the driver killed the engine.
Something was wrong.
It made no sense that the car would stop in the middle of the alley to begin with.
They’d all moved out of the way, so why wouldn’t it continue past them? Why stop
right in front of a pack of dangerous hoodlums?
As the boys chewed on these questions, a man emerged from the car. He was thin, but
beyond that, his age and demeanor were hard to determine from the streetlights.
The only distinct feature was the eerie sound of air hissing, shehhh, shehhh. They could
sense something unsettling about the man.
“The hell do you want?” one of their rank demanded.
The thin man promptly walked up to the group and shrugged. “Hey, kids, I was looking
for some directions.”
“Directions?”
The boys glanced at one another, not expecting that question.
Who would stop to ask directions from a gang of tough-looking guys wearing ski
masks?
They looked back at the man, hackles raised—just as a high kick caught the youth
closest to the man in the temple.
Victim A blacked out instantly before he even had time to scream.
The rest of the young men were briefly stunned, giving Kisuke Adabashi enough time
to hiss once more and repeat, “C’mon, tell me the way.
“The way to love Ruri Hijiribe so tenderly, so delectably.”
Ikebukuro
“…Waste of my damn time.”
Grumbling, Masaomi was bleeding from his head.

He’d avoided a direct blow, but the graze had been enough to break the skin. He wiped
his face with a handkerchief and looked down at the two Blue Squares at his feet.
“Well, damn. Both of you passed out? That’s ridiculous…”
They weren’t weaklings by any means, and Masaomi was an experienced brawler. If
he hadn’t knocked out the first boy quickly, they probably would have taken him down
together.
But he hadn’t expected to beat them both unconscious, and that made it much harder
to get answers.
If I’m not quick, the cops are going to show up. Damn… guess I gotta use this.
He reached down, pulled one of the boys’ phones from his pocket, and started
checking the message history. He was surprised at how guilty he felt about it, but there
was no other good option now.
He at least needed to find out what the Blue Squares were up to, infiltrating the Dollars
like this.
Not that I think this is really coming to Mikado’s aid…
The next moment, something in the message list caused Masaomi’s entire body to turn
to ice.
MIKADO RYUUGAMINE
Right there was the name of his best friend, the one he’d been trying to help out.
And it wasn’t in the message history—it was right there in the inbox, very recent.
When Mikado Ryuugamine received word that several of the Blue Squares had been
defeated, he looked sad, but his fingers continued the mechanical task of typing out
directions.
“Gather a few heads near Anri Sonohara’s house and stay on guard. Do not let Sonohara
notice your presence.”
Mikado knew what Adabashi’s goons were doing.
Having noticed the stalkers’ actions on the Dollars’ site, Mikado was able to view their
communications using his admin privileges. Through means that were not legal, with
back doors very close to virus-based hacking, Mikado seized their information.
Included in the data he pulled this evening were photos of Celty’s apartment and
Shizuo’s face, among other things, presented as “info on believed acquaintances of
Ruri Hijiribe.” With this came a discussion about several of the members attacking the
targets.
Mikado promptly discarded the commonsense opinion that they wouldn’t dare attack
out in the open. What he had seen of their communications made it absolutely clear
that these people were not of sound mind.
He called Celty immediately to give her a warning—but he did not send a message to
Anri, from whom he was hiding his role as creator of the Dollars.
He would protect her with his own ability, the Dollars’ ability, rather than cause her
undue worry. That was his reason for not telling her anything.
While he didn’t think Shizuo really needed help, he sent a few men to stop the stalkers.
But this was ultimately nothing more than an excuse he told himself.
Mikado Ryuugamine was not prioritizing Anri’s safety but his idea of the Dollars.
No one understood this, least of all Mikado.
No one… except for Aoba Kuronuma.
You idiot.
Mikado…
What are you doing…?
What the hell are you doing, Mikado?!
Impulse shot through all of Masaomi’s muscles. He ran.
Ran in the direction of Anri’s home.
Ran.
Ran.
Ran.
Ran.
He drove all his surging urges, anxiety, anger, and everything else into the ground
through the soles of his feet, slicing his way through the air to push onward.
The message made it clear that Mikado was the one giving the Blue Squares their
orders.
Masaomi knew they’d infiltrated the Dollars, and his trip to Ikebukuro was meant to
ensure that their poisonous tentacles didn’t reach Mikado—only to find that Mikado
Ryuugamine had been their first host body to leech onto.
Mikado…
The leader of the Blue Squares was supposedly some kid named Aoba Kuronuma. But
it was Mikado himself who was giving them their orders.
Perhaps this Aoba Kuronuma was leading him on, or Izaya Orihara was pulling all the
strings from behind the scenes.
There were a number of possible explanations, but none of them changed the
inarguable fact that Mikado was the one giving the orders.
Do you have any idea what you’re doing, man…?!

Mikado seemed to think that he was purging the Dollars of all the punks and hooligans,
using the Blue Squares as his private muscle.
Shit…
Masaomi knew the cause.
It was that conflict with Toramaru during Golden Week.
Goddammit… If I’d known this would happen, I would have reached out to him then…
But there was no use reflecting on the past now.
You might think you’re the king on his throne, giving orders via text from a safe space.
You might think this is all a game… but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re on this
side now!
Masaomi wanted to do whatever it took to stop Mikado, including storming his house
and beating him if necessary. But there was something that prevented him from doing
that now.
What, does that mean Anri’s in danger?
He’d been alarmed at the appearance of Anri’s name in the final message—and when
he realized that someone was going after her, he leaped into action before his brain
knew what he was doing.
Mikado… what the hell are you fighting against?! Dammit… dammit!
The target of his rage was actually himself.
He ran and ran, blaming himself, unable to forgive his cowardice, determined to be
better than that version of himself.
Why… did I have to…?!
Dammit…!
Anri’s apartment
“…Shit… that was close.”
The salaryman panted and tried to catch his breath behind Anri’s apartment.
Somehow I made it all the way back here, and it doesn’t look like they left any guards.
They ran off in a hurry somewhere. I wonder what happened.
Shit… I dropped my lighter and one of the oilcans. They’ve probably picked them up by
now. That lighter was expensive, too…
Well, whatever. I have backup plans for starting a fire. I’ve got to get this job over with
so I can lie in bed and imagine Ruri’s wailing face.
Bet the news of the burned bodies of the cat and girl will be a huge deal. And once they
report on the connections between her and Ruri, she’ll be even more broken.
What a humbling thought. I can feel my blood surge!
The man pulled an oilcan from his work briefcase and began to spray its contents
around the back of the apartment building.
Once he lit the fuel, he would rush around to the front, so that he could dump more oil
on the girl’s head as she escaped out the door and light both her and the cat on fire.
The plan is perfect.
He laughed.
If anything, it was a perfect plan for getting arrested, but his imagination was unable
to see that possibility.
It had nothing to do with eliminating evidence or pulling off the perfect crime. He
didn’t even understand that what he was doing was a crime.
This will make Ruri even more beautiful.

When he was done spreading the oil, he pulled matches out of his pocket to light the
fire.
That was when a sound that did not fit the scene reached his eardrums.
“Mewww.”
“Huh?”
An adorable, delightful sound came from behind him.
When he recognized it as the cry of a tiny kitten, he abruptly swung around—and saw
a girl standing there.
“Wha…? Eh… Huh?”
“What are you doing…?” the girl asked. She was holding a pet carrier bag, out of the
front of which poked a little cat head that meowed at him.
“…!”
The instant he recognized that this was Dokusonmaru, Yuuhei’s pet cat and beloved
companion to Ruri, the man took a plastic bottle full of gasoline from his pocket.
“Huh—h-huh-hello… Would you crisp up a bit for Ruri’s sake?” he stammered and
promptly attempted to splash the contents of the bottle on the girl.
But some kind of silver flash sank into the plastic and twisted the bottle from his
hands.
“Wha…?”
He realized that he had somehow missed the fact that the girl had a sharp, shining
katana in her hands.
And that her eyes were glowing red like the setting sun.
“Wh-what’s that? A k-k-k-k-katana’s not fair, is it? D-didn’t your mother ever tell you
not to point that at others?” he stammered, stricken with fear.
Anri stared at him implacably and moved Saika closer to him. She was unable to
fathom why her immolation would be to Ruri’s benefit.
And more importantly, she could tell that no right-minded person would attempt to
kill a stranger and a cat on their first meeting.
Saika is truly remarkable if she can love even a person like him, she thought with
detachment as she sank the tip of Saika into his ear.
“Gua… ah?… Ah! Aaaaahhggh?”
The voices would be eating away at him from the cut on his ear. Anri was used to them
from ample experience, but to a first-time listener, it would be as if the entire world
was replaced by the voices, such was the avalanche of sensation that overwhelmed
Saika’s victims.
He started to lose consciousness from the voices alone, despite his only physical
disturbance being a tiny cut on the ear. Anri stared at him dispassionately with just
the faintest hint of anger in her eyes.
“…Forget about Ruri Hijiribe… and turn yourself in to the police for attacking Dr.
Kishitani.”
What Anri didn’t realize was that while this was indeed a stalker, it was not the same
person who attacked Shinra.
In fact, she had no way of knowing that the “stalker” was actually a group. And thus,
she fatefully relaxed.
She told herself that the stalking incident was over.
And thus created a blind spot in her consciousness.

Behind Anri, air hissed through a narrow space.
For a moment, she wondered if Dokusonmaru had sneezed—but the sound clearly
came from the opposite direction of the carrier bag.
“?!”
A chill ran through her entire body. She spun around—and felt a fierce kick slam into
her side.
There was a sharp, metallic ring, and Anri’s body floated up into the air.
“…!”
She’d fought off attackers on multiple occasions before, but the impact she felt at this
moment was greater than any she’d suffered against Haruna Niekawa or the masked
attacker with the pruning shears. In a proper faceoff, she would have easily handled
the blow with her blade, but the ambush left her unable to react, and so the kick
knocked her sideways off her feet.
She slammed into the wall of the building before she could scream, driving all the air
out of her lungs. The carrier bag was tossed into the air and tumbled onto the
pavement with Dokusonmaru still inside.
If it weren’t for the instantaneous reaction of Saika guarding her side with the blade,
the impact would have easily broken her ribs.
And yet, despite having kicked the edge of the cursed blade, the man’s foot didn’t
appear to be cut.
“What a surprise… what a surprise… wasn’t it?”
The attacker examined the slice in the end of his shoe and stared at her. “If I weren’t
wearing safety shoes, that would’ve slashed me… What the hell are you? Are you even
human?”
“…”
She wasn’t in any state to speak at the moment, but looking into the red of her eyes
caused Kisuke Adabashi no small amount of glee.
“Is it because Ruri isn’t human, either? Do all of you inhuman types gather up
together…?”
Adabashi was quite matter-of-fact about the idea; he didn’t seem alarmed or
frightened by Anri’s eyes in the least. He lifted his steel-plated safety shoes, preparing
for the finishing blow.
But then—
“Fffhh!”
Dokusonmaru leaped out of the carrier bag, which broke open upon impact. The kitten
hissed threateningly at Adabashi, then started racing away in the other direction.
“Whoa… Don’t run away now…”
Adabashi went after his top priority, the cat he’d seen cradled in Ruri Hijiribe’s arms,
and completely lost all interest in Anri, who was still recovering from the physical
shock of her blow.
He quickly vanished, and although Anri wanted to shout, her throat wouldn’t work,
leaving only the half-unconscious man with bloodshot eyes next to her, who asked,
“Are you all right, Mother?”
“Okay, we’re going to head back to Sonohara’s apartment now, sir.”
The boys wearing the Blue Squares’ bandannas over their faces bowed to the other
boy with the ski mask and goggles and headed off.
So… that’s Aoba Kuronuma.
Masaomi identified the leader of the boys by the deference he received and glared at
his target from the shadows. He’d noticed them on his way to Anri’s apartment,
hopped over a nearby fence, and spied on them from out of sight.
I seem to remember this street as the place where Anri got attacked by the slasher
before…
He stuck close to the concrete block wall, using the few hollow blocks as a little
porthole to observe what was happening in the street. He could easily be charged with
trespassing, hiding where he was now, but the situation was too important to worry
about things like that.
Okay. If that Aoba guy gets isolated, I’ll grab him and get his story. No… wait. Should I be
hiding here, or should I rush ahead to Anri’s place? But if I’m not careful along the way,
those guys could easily spot me…
After several seconds of consideration, he decided that Anri’s safety was more
pressing and that he should try to find a way to her apartment without being seen.
But in the next moment, a cat on the street corner meowed.
The little Scottish fold was just a kitten but raced down the asphalt with a kind of feral
athleticism rarely seen in animals its age.
“Whoa, what’s with that cute little cat?”
“Huh? Isn’t that…?”
The Blue Squares noticed the animal approach, then race between and past them—
and a few seconds later, Masaomi spotted something that was an absolute 180-degree
shift from the sweet little kitten.
—?!
A thin man, wiry with muscle, appeared on the next street, his eyes glittering. He raced
toward the boys, who had their backs to him while watching the kitten; leaped high
off the ground; and planted a spinning kick right to the neck of one of them.
“Out of the way!” Adabashi hissed as the boy’s body flew through the air. The hapless
target fell to the ground, taking the boy with the ski mask down with him, and did not
move after that. The ski mask boy stuck beneath him shook him to no avail.
“Wh… what the hell do you want?!” the remaining boys demanded, closing in on
Adabashi. One of them pulled out an extendable police baton, and they took places to
flank their victim.
“Out of my way. You’ll all just get in the waaay!” Adabashi roared, visibly agitated, and
approached them without fear.
The one with the baton pulled it back to swing as a fierce kick caught him in the solar
plexus. He didn’t even have time to swing it forward.
Anyone viewing the scene might have thought that the man’s leg actually stretched.
The boy bent over double and writhed on the ground, stomach bile spilling forth onto
the bandanna over his mouth.
“Wha…?”
Adabashi noticed the other boy’s attention turning to his fallen comrade, and he did
not miss the opportunity. He carried his blissful love, that act of human destruction,
imagining Ruri Hijiribe’s suffering with each and every blow.
Holy shit. He’s not Shizuo or Kadota, but he’s pretty damn tough, Masaomi thought,
holding his breath after seeing the two teens knocked out in mere moments.
Was he the enemy going after Anri? In all honesty, he wasn’t the sort that Masaomi
could challenge to a direct fight and win.
Should I call the cops… and have them evacuate her?
It seemed if push came to shove, he’d have to hold back that freak until Anri had time
to escape. He was about to leave his hiding place—when another shadow darted into
his field of vision.
It was the kid with the ski mask and goggles, the one who’d been knocked over by his
fallen comrade. He’d moved the other boys to the side of the road, then raced off after
the attacker at top speed.
He attempted a weak rolling sobat kick at the attacker’s back, a powerless swipe that
was probably just mimicking whatever he’d seen on TV. It thumped lifelessly against
the man, who turned around in curious surprise.
What the hell was that?! What a total amateur this Aoba kid is!
Masaomi had no idea that, in fact, Aoba Kuronuma was completely useless as a fighter.
If the veteran brawler known as Yoshikiri were present, it might be a different

situation, but unfortunately for the Blue Squares, he wasn’t here at the moment.
As a result, the most experienced fighter present was either the attacker or Masaomi.
And as for Masaomi…
Adabashi slowly turned and glared at the boy who’d just attempted to hurt him. He
stared down, looming a head taller than his prey, and hissed with laughter.
“You know… you’re about as tall as Ruri Hijiribe. But without the breasts.”
“?”
“Okay. As of right now, you are Ruri.”
“…?…?!”
Adabashi’s wide palm caught the boy around the throat.
“…!…!”
“Don’t bother responding. If I hear a male voice, then I can’t pretend you’re Ruri and
destroy you, can I?” Adabashi taunted, clutching the boy’s windpipe.
He let go of Aoba’s throat and grabbed the back of his head. As the boy coughed and
gasped, Adabashi drove his head directly into the nearby wall.
The goggles cracked, and the boy’s nose seemed fit to break.
“Aaaah, if only you really were Ruri!” Adabashi lamented, bliss in his eyes, as he drove
the face into the wall, over and over.
He’d been holding back at first, so the damage wasn’t as bad as it looked, but he
gradually put more and more strength into it, smashing harder and faster as he grew
more excited.
When he saw blood seeping into the ski mask, his exhilaration reached a peak, and he
swung the boy back much farther, preparing to crush his face for good—when a man’s
voice interrupted him from behind.
“You can’t even give me enough time to call the cops, you… sadistic freak!”
A kick caught Adabashi directly in the crotch.
His legs hadn’t been spread that far apart, but the toe of Masaomi’s shoe passed right
between his knees and smashed the attacker’s groin with perfect accuracy.
“?! ?! ?! ?? ?? !! ?! Nnnnnnnng?!?!!!”
He fell on the spot, completely unaware of what had just happened.
Incredible pain burst in his lower stomach, as if something had just grabbed his
internal organs and squeezed. He was just barely staying conscious through the agony.
Did that do the trick?
Realizing that the attacker would have killed Aoba Kuronuma if given the chance,
Masaomi paused his attempt to contact the police, hopped over the wall, and rushed
over to kick the attacker from behind.
The sneak attack should have ended the fight just like that.
“Gaaahh!!”
But the attacker’s mind overrode the pain, and even with his limbs weakened, he
managed to strike at Masaomi’s feet with a low kick.
“Whoaaaa!”
Masaomi fell to the ground, spinning, as though a hard river current had swept his feet
out from under him.
“Do you… know Ruri, too?” the attacker asked with a smile, which was a strange thing
to say for someone who should have been in a violent rage. With a trembling leg, the
attacker pressed down on Masaomi’s stomach. “If I kill you, will Ruri be terribly,
terribly sad?”
“The fuck are you talking about?! Who the hell is Ruri?!” Masaomi hissed, the loudest
he could manage with a foot pressed into his gut.
“Oh… oh… Well, that’s fine,” Adabashi said, shaking his head and hissing. “Ruri is kind
enough that knowing total strangers died because of her would cause her great pain.”
Okay, is this guy on some kind of drugs?! Actually, holy crap, this is really bad!
The man was putting more and more weight on Masaomi.
Shit, I should’ve just abandoned the stupid… Blue… Squares… Why did I have to come…
to their… aid…?
But he knew the reason why.
If he abandoned these people now, he would never be proud enough to present

himself to Mikado, Anri, or even Saki again. He couldn’t promise himself that he’d
show his face to them again someday, but if anything, it was a kind of personal moral
compass within him that forced his hand.
I’m so stupid… First with Shizuo, now this… I must be suicidalalololgh…
Just as he felt the stomach acid starting to convulse and churn, there was a sound of
glass breaking against the man’s back.
“?”
“?”
Neither Masaomi nor the attacker understood what it was at first—until the man’s
body was suddenly wreathed in pale-blue flames, lighting the dark alley an eerie color.
“Yaaaaahhh!!”
The flames spread from his back up to his ears, the blue color shifting to yellow and
red. He stripped his shirt off and began to run—and within moments, he was gone.
Masaomi didn’t have the strength to chase him, of course. All he could do was heave a
sigh of relief that he was all right and look around to see what had happened.
It’s him…
He saw the boy in the ski mask lying splayed on the asphalt, barely breathing. There
were fine cracks in the goggles, almost entirely blocking his sight. Next to him was a
can of lighter oil, and clutched in his hand was a Zippo lighter.
Did he… just go right out and burn that guy without a second thought…?
Even in self-defense, splashing oil on a person and lighting them on fire was not a
decision made by a sound mind. He did know one person who would do that sort of
thing—but even subtracting for the otaku part, the guy clearly wasn’t of sound mind.
At least Kadota’s around to keep Yumasaki in line when needed… but this guy’s out on
the loose and trying to use Mikado…
“So you’re Aoba Kuronuma?”
Masaomi glared down at the boy lying in the street. He picked him up by the collar.
“You’re coming with me until we can confirm Anri’s safety. You have my thanks if this
was supposed to be protecting her, but if you’re trying to use Mikado for some kind of
plot, you’ll have to answer to me,” he threatened, his eyes hard.
The boy in the ski mask slowly turned to face Masaomi. As if he couldn’t believe what
he was hearing. As if gazing at a mirage in the desert.
“?”
Masaomi watched and waited for a more meaningful response.

He was too ignorant of the situation to understand.
The way that the other Blue Squares had treated him with deference made Masaomi
assume that the kid in the goggles was Aoba Kuronuma—but Masaomi didn’t know.
The Blue Squares always treated Aoba Kuronuma as an equal, nothing more.
He didn’t know.
Masaomi just didn’t know.
The boy in the ski mask was not Aoba Kuronuma.
There was only one person whom the Blue Squares treated with the respect of a
leader.
And that one boy looked up at Masaomi and opened his mouth.
“………………………………………… Masaomi?”
It was the voice that Masaomi Kida had wanted to hear more than any other.
And the voice that he wanted to hear coming from that particular ski mask least of all.
Wha…?
Mika… do…?
A voice he never imagined he would hear.
He prayed that he had merely misheard it.
But as Masaomi clutched the boy’s collar, dumbfounded, the boy reached up and
pulled off his mask and goggles—revealing a bloodied, familiar face.
“Masaomi…? It’s not… a dream, right?”
“Mikado…? It can’t be… can it?”
Masaomi let go of the collar and fell to his knees.
He had to say something.
But the absolutely shocking and unexpected reunion left his mind a blank.
“What… what the… hell was that?” was the only statement he could produce.
Mikado used a handkerchief to wipe his face, occasionally grimacing and hissing,
“Ouch!” He’d probably fractured his nose, his cheekbone, or perhaps both.
“H-hey… you okay?! You need a hospital… no, an ambulance… ,” Masaomi mumbled,
just before he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.
A station wagon pulled over on the side of the street. From the backseat emerged a
youthful boy with a bandanna tied around his forehead. He rushed over to Mikado’s
side.
“Mikado! Are you okay?!” he shouted. He was followed by a much taller boy who went
around to check on the other fallen Blue Squares.
“Yeah… I’ll manage. But he really got the others bad…”
“Looking at your face, he got you pretty bad, too… So, who’s this?” the boy asked
Mikado uncertainly. He had realized that Masaomi did not seem hostile and thus didn’t
treat him like an enemy—for now.
“…Masaomi… Masaomi Kida. My friend.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed when he heard the name. “Oh, so you’re…”
There was a subtle interplay of emotion in his voice. But Masaomi did not miss the
instant when his mouth started curving into a grin.
Still, he didn’t particularly care. Masaomi called out to Mikado, who was getting to his
feet and leaning on the shoulder of the real Aoba.
“H-hey… Mikado…?”
The others were heading straight for the car, but then Mikado turned back, his
expression a little somber. “I’m sorry… Masaomi. Just wait… just wait a bit longer.”
“Huh?”
His face expressed sadness but not in a pathetic sense. It was like the look he would
give in elementary school when he borrowed a video game and forgot to bring it back
with him.
“Wait… What do you mean?”
They needed to talk. But he had no idea what to say.
Mikado saw Masaomi, panicking and confused, and smiled.
Just like he did in the old days. Like when they were in elementary school.
He smiled the way he did when he asked, “Is that you, Kida?” when they reunited in
Ikebukuro.
Smiled. Smiled. Smiled.
That same smile, just like the old Mikado.
It was exactly what froze Masaomi this time and kept him from finding the words he
wanted to say.
Is that…
…really you… Mikado?
The boy smiled like always, despite the blood streaming from his face and the
likelihood of multiple bone fractures. The note of innocent pluckiness in that smile
caused a freezing trickle of sweat to run down Masaomi’s back.
The smile was eerie. It was like watching him smile as he headed out into a roof-
ripping hurricane without so much as a raincoat.
Masaomi remained silent until Mikado spoke again, still wearing that same old smile.
“Just a bit longer.”
“Huh?”
“Just a bit longer, and I’ll have made it… The place for you and Sonohara to come home
to.”
Masaomi felt his own spine creak. That was the signal for a cold shiver of fear to race
from his legs up through his body.
Yet he still stepped toward the car, feeling like he had to talk to Mikado.
“H-hey… Mikado…?”
But his old friend didn’t stop again. Without turning, Mikado continued in a murmur,
“So… I want you to wait until then. I know I’ll find a way… to save you and Sonohara.
And until that point… I don’t think we should meet.”
That was the clincher. Masaomi couldn’t ask anything after that. All he could do was
stand still.
“What’s up with the stalkers?” Mikado asked Aoba.
“One of them ran off with his eyes all red. The other one—probably the guy who did
you in, Mikado—I think he used a car to escape. At the very least, Anri should be safe
for now,” the newcomer replied.
“Ah… that’s good.”
Once he was in the car, Mikado stuck his head out of the window and mentioned to
Masaomi, as if just remembering it, “Sorry, Masaomi, I need you to do one… no, two
things.”
“You need my help…? Wh-what is it? Don’t hold back, man! Tell me anything!”
Just tell me. You didn’t want this to happen, did you? So spit it out… Ask me to help you!
Masaomi could only envision his own selfish desires—but once again, Mikado just
gave him that smile.
“I’m going to meet Sonohara in a minute… and I want you to keep this a secret from
her. The fact that I was here… and that I was trying to save her.”
“Huh…?”
“And the other thing is… I want you to return that cat to her.”
Masaomi followed Mikado’s gaze down to the ground at his feet.
“Mewww.”
An adorable little kitten had sidled up to his legs at some point and was frolicking
around his shoes, begging to be played with.
How long did Masaomi stand there, frozen in place?
It was until the moment that Mikado’s car pulled away, so objectively, it probably
wasn’t even a minute long. But to Masaomi it felt as though several hours had passed,
or perhaps that he’d been unconscious for several days, such was the sudden sense of
loss that plagued him.
Mikado’s car vanished at just about the same moment that Anri came stumbling in
from the shadows.
“…Anri,” he mumbled. Her eyes got huge when she saw him, and she started trotting
toward him on unsteady legs.
“Kida…?! Why… why are you here?!” she shouted, unable to hide her surprise. It’d been
half a year since their last encounter.
With dazed wits, Masaomi realized this might be the first time he’d ever heard her
raise her voice. He stammered, “Uh… err… Actually, I was just passing through here.”
It was a completely unbelievable excuse, but Anri didn’t seem to give it a second
thought. She smiled as she asked, “Kida… where have you been all this…?”
But before she could finish her question, Dokusonmaru cried, “Meow.”
“Dokusonmaru! Kida… did you save this cat…?”
That was when she noticed that he was injured in several places. She was still suffering
the aftereffects of the attack herself, but the sight of shoe prints on Masaomi’s shirt
told her he didn’t only find the cat.
Before she asked about what happened to him, she decided that she should express
her gratitude.
“Thank—”
“Sorry, Anri!”
“Huh?” she mumbled, taken aback.
“I swear, I’ll explain later! Just, please… please hang on for a bit!” he said, triumphing
over his sense of grief with determination.
Upon seeing the bafflement on her face, Masaomi thought to himself, I suppose I must
have looked like Anri does now a few minutes ago. Sorry, Anri. I’m so sorry. But… I don’t
have the right to talk to you yet.
He knew that you didn’t need the “right” to talk to a friend, but it was that personal
moral compass interfering again. He had to assume that his instinct was correct.
Masaomi stared right at the girl and stated, “I… I will return to you guys. And when I
do, I will absolutely give you a proper explanation… Sorry!”
And then he turned his back on her and raced into the night.
“Huh…? Kida? Kid—?!”
She was about to follow him but then stopped her legs of her own accord.
Just a sliver of Saika’s blade protruded from her hand.
A particularly strong rush of “voices of love” pulsed out of it.
“Let’s cut him.” “Let’s cut him?” “Let’s cut him!”
“Let’s love him!” “Let’s love him?” “Let’s love him.”
“You love him and Mikado and everyone else, don’t you?”
“So let’s get them both—”
“…!”
Anri shook her head vigorously and forced the extended piece of Saika back into her
body.
No… that would be… wrong…
She’d used her ability to push the world around her through the picture frame as a
defense mechanism around her heart. But Mikado and Masaomi were undeniably
making their way from inside the frame over to her side of the scene.
Which made her very nervous.
When she was no longer able to view them objectively, when she truly wished for them
to be a part of her own world—would Saika’s wicked ability reach out to seize them,
too?
It was precisely because Anri lived with the incessant voices—could never ever turn
them off—that she was so afraid of this.
If she ever allowed herself to love someone, would she sink to being one of Saika’s
voices and end up hurting people she truly cared about?
For a girl who considered herself a parasite, losing a host was the most frightening
concept imaginable.
As if sensing her fear, Dokusonmaru rubbed up against Anri’s legs and cried, “Mewww,
mewww.”
Inside a station wagon, Ikebukuro
“I need to ask you for something, Aoba.”
“What is it?” the younger boy asked, shoulders bobbing.
Mikado continued, “I’ll probably be out of my home and bouncing around between
manga cafes for a little while, so you won’t be able to reach me the usual way. We
should discuss that again later.”
“You’re leaving home? But why?”
“…Because Masaomi might decide to barge right into my place. And I think it’s best if
I don’t talk to him at all until the process of ‘sorting out’ the Dollars is finished…”
Mikado looked out the window, a mild note of loneliness contained in that usual smile
of his.
“I don’t want to get Masaomi or Sonohara involved, if I can help it… This is a problem
that needs to be solved within the Dollars.
“When I invite Sonohara and Masaomi, the Dollars should be more…”
He trailed off there, looked away, and smiled.
Perhaps he was reminiscing about his past with his two friends or imagining their
future together. Perhaps he was doing both.
“…”
Aoba sensed a mild kind of madness lurking in that smile of Mikado’s. He chose not to
comment, and he closed his eyes.
Then he envisioned the various possible futures—and he, too, smiled.
But unlike Mikado, his smile was brimming with wickedness.
Ikebukuro
A park near Ikebukuro Station offered a distant view of the Raira Academy campus.
There, Masaomi leaned against one of the trees lining the park and considered things.
The night was late now and the foot traffic much lighter. He took out his cell phone
and decided to call Saki first. After he told her that he’d be home late, he placed
another call.
“…Yo. Is that you, Yatabe?”
“?! Shogun?!” exclaimed the man named Yatabe with a voice full of surprise and delight.
“None of that shogun stuff,” Masaomi said, annoyed. “Listen… I’m here in Ikebukuro
now. Think you can meet up for a bit? With all the other guys, if possible…”
“The other guys? Meaning the OG Yellow Scarves?”
“Yeah. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of stuff to get off your chests… I want to talk to you guys
about something, and I’m willing to suffer a beating if that’s what it takes. Or maybe I
should be honest and say that I want to use you.”
“C’mon, don’t be a stranger. We’re used to our shogun following his whims! Plus, we
know the story! I heard that you whooped Horada’s ass before he finally got arrested!”
Masaomi couldn’t prevent the smile from spreading across his face, talking to his old
friend like this. Half a year ago, he was certain that he’d never team up with this color
gang again.
This was a guy he’d actively avoided talking to, and yet he felt more natural talking to
him now than he ever did before.
Hey, Mikado.
If you’ve fallen down into this side… then I’ll make sure to pull you back up.
Until just minutes ago, he’d been prepared to punch him, if that was what it took. But
after seeing Mikado in person, Masaomi realized just how naive he’d been.
Mikado wasn’t ordering the Dollars around like it was some meaningless video game,
and he wasn’t being manipulated by his junior from school, Aoba. He was in too deep
for a good pop to the cheek to wake him up.
Masaomi had been trying to save someone who didn’t ask for help. Even he could tell
that he was just as guilty as Mikado for trying to foist off his own obsessive good deeds
on someone who didn’t need them.
But even with that in mind, Masaomi did not reverse his intentions.
That’s right, I’m gonna save you all on my own. No matter how much you cry about it.
You’ve known for years just how selfish I am, haven’t you?
Masaomi and Mikado, Anri and Masaomi. Though they shared brief reunions, there
was no sign that the three would come together soon. The hopes and fears of each
created a rift among all of them.
And with that little budding root of discord sprouting in Ikebukuro, the boys and girls
had yet to find their place.
Chat room
<Private Mode> Saika: thank you so much
<Private Mode> Kid: It’s fine, I mean it.
<Private Mode> Kid: I didn’t think that I’d figure out how to use private mode before
you did, though.
<Private Mode> Saika: i’m sorry
<Private Mode> Kid: Why are you apologizing? lol
<Private Mode> Kid: By the way, I was curious.
<Private Mode> Saika: what is it
<Private Mode> Kid: What does your username mean, Anri?
<Private Mode> Saika: saika? song of sin
<Private Mode> Kid: Yes, but is it from something?
<Private Mode> Saika: umm it’s a name from a fairy tale my mother told me
<Private Mode> Kid: Oh, I see… I hope that didn’t bring up any bad memories.
<Private Mode> Saika: no don’t let it bother you
<Private Mode> Kid: Whoops, sorry, I’ve got to go. One of my associates is calling for
me.
<Private Mode> Saika: good night then
Kid: I was having a secret chat with Saika.
Kid: Doesn’t seem like anyone else is showing up, so I’ll leave now.
Kid has left the chat.
Awakusu-kai Head Office, Tokyo
“Are you all right, Akabayashi?” Shiki asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m just finishing up… now,” he replied, shutting his phone.
“Making some kind of deal?”
“You could say that. So what is it that you wanted, Mr. Shiki?” he asked breezily,
addressing his fellow Awakusu-kai lieutenant.
Akabayashi rapped on the floor of the meeting room with his cane as he sat in his chair,
a characteristically lazy leer on his face. On the other hand, Shiki was wearing his
characteristic glare as he stood.
“Did you learn anything about the Dollars?”
“As much as anyone else might.”
Just a few days ago, the topic of the Dollars had arisen in an officers’ meeting.
The gang took form over the Internet, they said, but there were times that other
groups copying their methods took to selling drugs and making a mess of the
Awakusu-kai turf—thus raising the suspicion that the Dollars themselves might be the
foundation with these others as offshoots.
“Do you mind if I handle this matter of the Dollars, then?” Akabayashi had offered,
thereby assuming control of the situation.
“Have they taken any noteworthy, concrete actions?” Shiki asked.
“It seems to be a bit of a purge, actually,” Akabayashi explained. “From what the kids
in Jan-Jaka-Jan were able to tell me, some folks within the group who were engaged in
muggings and phone scams are getting driven out of the Dollars. The big story right
now seems to concern a stalker of Ruri Hijiribe, though.”
“Ah yes… Kazamoto was furious about that. Something about his own subordinate
being front and center in the rumors, treated like a stalker with his pictures floating
around…”
“As a matter of fact, I saw that picture myself in a chat room unrelated to the Dollars.
Had a good laugh.”
“It’s not funny.” Shiki snorted, exhaling cigarette smoke.
Akabayashi shrugged. “Oops, you’re right. Very sorry… At any rate, I don’t think we
need to worry about the Dollars for now,” he claimed, but then he added, “Let’s just
hope they don’t take their purge overboard and turn into some kinda hard-line cult.”
“I don’t care what they turn into,” Shiki snapped. “But if there’s a problem… I expect
you to solve it, Akabayashi.”
“Shouldn’t you be the one on the lookout, Mr. Shiki?”
“?” Shiki narrowed his eyes.
“That info broker kid is under your jurisdiction, isn’t he?”
“…”
Shiki did not comment.
Several hours earlier, a liaison from Jan-Jaka-Jan, rubbing a wristband fashioned like
a snake, delivered a personal report to Akabayashi.
“We’ve been keeping an eye on Mikado Ryuugamine, and it sure seems like he’s taking
the lead in purging the ranks. I’m also concerned that he’s carrying it out with what
looks like the old Blue Squares.”
Akabayashi got information on the Dollars’ leader by having one of his men in prison
threaten it out of a man named Horada. After hearing that the boss was only a teenager
in school, he assumed it really was just an Internet club, but learning that the guy was
teaming up with the former Blue Squares to hunt down members of his own gang
made Akabayashi curious.
“Also, while I don’t think it’s directly related… we spotted some Dragon Zombie guys
for the first time in a while when we were staking out the Dollars’ boss. They could
have been observing the Dollars, too. Plus—although I’m not sure this means
anything—someone saw Izaya in Ikebukuro the other day. He’s been up to some fishy
stuff. People have talked about him being Dollars for ages, so I wondered if he had
something to do with this.”
So the Dollars themselves seemed all right for now—it was the periphery that was
looking suspicious. Out of a sense of caution, Akabayashi decided to treat both Mikado
Ryuugamine and the Dollars as a whole with careful scrutiny.
Then he got another report, one that was the most concerning of all, though it had
nothing to do with business.
“I’m pretty sure that girl with the glasses that you helped out years ago was there,
too… It seems like she’s… if not lovers with Ryuugamine, at least pretty close. We’ve
spotted her leaving school with him, in fact.”
Anri Sonohara was the daughter of his first love, and Akabayashi cared for her like a
much younger sister.
The fact that she had a relationship with the leader of the Dollars was troubling,
though not directly related to his job. If Akabayashi weren’t the type of person he was,
he might be worried sick about it.
“…Seems like things are getting fishy enough in public, too,” he muttered mostly to
himself, but Shiki noticed.
“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, just a personal matter. Anyway, are things all clear with the info dealer? He was
out of commission for a while, and I hear he’s come back out of nowhere.”
“Yes… As I’m sure you know, I do have him… chained, in a way. Aozaki was not happy
about it, though,” Shiki said, his eyes sharp as spears.
Akabayashi chuckled, his own eyes hidden behind tinted sunglasses. “Of course he was
against it. He’s consistently said that we shouldn’t let that ‘chain’ go free.”
“I was against offing the guy, of course… but I was against letting him loose, too.”
Nebula Medical Research Facility, Nerima Ward
Shinra Kishitani came to on a bed in a research lab where his father, Shingen, and
stepmother, Emilia, worked. It was twelve hours after he’d been brought in, and he
had been in critical condition at several points.
His initial state of consciousness was heavily dazed, his wits so faint that no one else
realized he was awake at first.
What is this?
Despite his steadily clearing mind, he couldn’t move a finger. The only physical
sensation he felt was a blanket on top of him. As wakefulness steadily arrived, he
recalled the reason he couldn’t move.
Oh, right. That weirdo got me. No wonder, after I got the crap kicked out of me like that.
Hmm? What? Is there something soft resting on my stomach? Heavy, soft… double
mounded…
C-could this be… Celty?!
Then his mind snapped to absolute attention, and he forced his eyes to open.
Pain beat in his entire body to the rhythm of his pulse, but he ignored that to look
down toward his navel—where he saw a pure-white gas mask.
“I should have known! This is what I get for getting my hopes up!” he bellowed, the air
ripping from his lungs.
The exertion rattled his airway, his chest began to hurt, and he started coughing. The
racking of his body caused the gas mask to wriggle a bit.
Huh? The location of the mask seems weird… Is that not Dad after all?
His vision was clearing to the point that he could see that it was not his father wearing
the mask—but his father’s second wife, Emilia Kishitani.
The mask had slid off her face and happened to be pointing at Shinra, while Emilia
slept soundly atop his chest. She must have dozed off while watching over him and
used his torso as a pillow.
Oh, it’s just Emilia. You know, the breasts did seem a bit too ample to be Celty’s. On the
other hand… my ribs are broken… and this is kind of heavy…
A normal man might be aroused by the close contact with Emilia’s bountiful bosom,
but given that she was his stepmother and not Celty, Shinra was merely disappointed.
He didn’t even blush.
Instead, he began to nudge her body, hoping to slip her off him.
“Mother, wake up please! Where is Celty?”
“Hee-hee-hee… Shingen, I won with your mah-jongg discard. It is a royal straight flush.
Now I am requesting that you remove clothing.”
“Is she… sleep-talking?! Ah! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…”
His painkillers had worn off. Bones and muscles all over his body were screaming for
help.
Just when he had largely given up on waking Emilia, the door flung open, and Celty
charged into the room.
“Aaaah! Celty?! It’s not what you think! I woke up, and Emilia was already sleeping
here…”
If it were a rom-com manga, Celty would have flown into a jealous rage and stabbed
him. And in fact, Shinra was putting up a desperate defense in that fashion, convinced
that she would stab him anyway.
Instead, Celty rushed up and reached over Emilia to fling her arms around his neck.
“Mgwuh?!”
His body screeched in protest at the awkward angle of pressure, but he merely smiled
and blushed, his weakened blood pressure suddenly rising.
“I heard your voice coming from in here… I’m glad… I’m so glad!” she typed into her PDA
and rubbed his cheek. She was too busy genuinely celebrating Shinra’s recovery to
care about Emilia.
“I was so, so worried! Oh, if you had died, I… I might have taken your head back home
with me instead of mine…”
“…I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be serious or a joke, Celty. You’re scaring me,” Shinra
snarked, but in truth, he was jubilant. He lifted his arms to hug her close, ignoring the
protests of his muscles—and paid the price of five extra days in the hospital for that.
Once they had fully celebrated their respective good health, Shinra brought up a
question that had been weighing on his mind.
“So whatever happened with that stalker scare?”
“…I’m not sure, but I heard that one person turned himself in, Shizuo beat several more
to a pulp before they were arrested, and then they ratted out more and more of their
group.”
There were a number of startling facts about the case, including the revelation of
multiple stalkers—but most concerning to Celty was that Adabashi, the ringleader,
had not been found yet.
“It seems like he was the one who did this to you,” she typed briefly, but Shinra had the
ability to sense her subtle emotional cues.
“Celty,” he said softly.
“What?”
“Don’t ever become a murderer over something trivial.”
You very nearly could have died! That is not trivial! she wanted to protest, but she took
Shinra’s request as it was intended.
“Don’t worry. I’m going to search him out and find him, but I won’t kill him.”
She got to her feet and, with some small measure of guilt, typed, “I just… can’t promise
he’ll be unharmed by the time I hand him over to the police.”
It should have been a frivolous incident.
But the events exposed an unexpected weakness within Celty’s heart.
Celty almost never got truly rattled by anything, even when shot with an anti-materiel
rifle or attacked by countless cursed blades—and chased by motorcycle cops? Well,
that last one was a different story.
But when she learned that Shinra had been attacked, the news rocked her harder than
anyone else could imagine. In fact, from the moment that Shinra had been brought
here until he had woken up, Celty had been so distraught that she had barely been able
to even produce her shadow scythe.
“Your love for Shinra might, in fact, be slightly different from the love that human
beings normally feel for one another,” Shingen had told her. “In a sense, it might be
even purer than human love.” Once he had learned that Shinra was all right, he left the
lab.
Along with this sudden revelation of weakness, Celty detected another change in her
heart.
It’s the first time… I’ve ever wanted… to actually murder a human being. But the part
that I truly cannot forgive is my own weakness.
The regret, guilt, and frustration that she hadn’t been able to protect Shinra acted like
a stake in her heart, pinning her negative emotions down. The stake was still there
when she left Nebula Medical Research Facility.
I reassured Shinra… but if I come face-to-face with that Adabashi character… will I really
be able to cling to my sense of reason? What if I can’t bring myself to stop the blade in
time and sever his body in half? This is bad. I’m losing confidence in myself…
Doubt and worry plagued her mind as she raced through the night.
She did not realize that for the past several days, someone had been observing her
riding around on her motorcycle.
Backseat, luxury vehicle, Ikebukuro
“What do you think, Mr. Yagiri?” asked a good-natured man entering his silver years, a
spry smile on his lips.
Sitting next to him in the back of the fine car was Seitarou Yagiri. “I see. It’s better than
I imagined. From what they show on TV, I had just taken it for some wrathful monster
that acted on impulse alone…”
“Personally, I would have preferred Ruri Hijiribe, but the stalkers were quite a
disappointment, and I’m not sure what to do now,” the other man said, making a show
of sadness, though the true depth of it was hard to ascertain.
Seitarou considered the Celty who passed the car window outside a moment ago and
the Celty he’d just watched in the footage on the in-car monitor, and he exhaled a long
breath.
“I’ll admit I was expecting to get a glimpse of Ruri Hijiribe’s extraordinary nature… but
I have to say that the state of that Headless Rider has piqued my curiosity more than I
figured it would.”
“Is that so?”
“I am filled with desire.”

“First you possessed her head, and now you want her body? Only a fairy can get away
with such adulterous bewitching.” Yodogiri smirked.
“All of them,” Seitarou muttered.
“Pardon?”
“The body of the dullahan that fell into the trap of your latest promotion and the girl
possessed by the cursed blade. And Ruri Hijiribe. And beyond that, the dullahan’s head
that my niece made off with… I want them all. That is what I am saying to you.”
Seitarou cracked his neck and looked at the footage of Celty’s body on the monitor, his
eyes gleaming like a boy pulling the wings off a dragonfly. “It seems that the body has
given up on finding the head… but now I feel like experimenting with sticking them
back together again. With them both fully under my command, of course.”
“…So you’re not just after an affair—you want an entire harem.” Yodogiri chuckled.
Seitarou snorted and snapped, “Enough crude jokes. Just tell me if you can assist me
or not.”
“I can make the effort. If the dullahan and the blade wielder learn that I was
orchestrating the stalking incident, I’m certain they will come looking for me.”
“Using yourself as bait? You are a strange man.” Seitarou sighed, but Yodogiri never
lost his thin smile.
“Using yourself as bait is the best way to handle, kill, and sell off the supernatural. If
Adabashi gives up my name, she’ll go to the ends of the earth to come after me. She’ll
chase me and corner me. That is when you’ll see me at my best,” he proclaimed, then
scratched his head in embarrassment. “But I suppose I miscalculated a bit. I haven’t
had tabs on Adabashi’s whereabouts since last night.”
“…”
“I’m fairly certain I know who’s responsible… After all, he’s got a grudge against me
for stabbing him. It’s not good for young people to be tied down to their past, don’t
you think? Ha-ha-ha.”
Seitarou merely stared at his conversation partner, unable to determine where the
boundary was between joke and truth. Then a thought occurred to him, and he asked,
“I noticed that you look different from the way you were in the paper. Did you get
surgery?”
“Yes. Well… the Awakusu-kai and the police are both after me. Wearing a recognizable
face is no recipe for survival, after all. Ha-ha-ha.”
Seitarou looked at him with pity, but he wasn’t concerned enough to press further.
However, unbeknownst to him, the man who once hired Vorona to kidnap Akane
Awakusu and the man talking to Seitarou now were, in fact, completely different in both
looks and voice.
What was more, if Seitarou had happened to be listening to the phone conversation
between Yodogiri and Adabashi several days ago, he would have noticed that the voice
of the man sitting next to him now was also completely different.
But as he was not aware of these things, Seitarou Yagiri felt little caution toward his
riding companion. Instead, he reflected upon a conversation with a friend wearing a
gas mask.
It was just a day ago that the friend had called him, right when the man’s son had been
grievously wounded.
“You’ve really done it now.”
“Why, what a perceptive fellow you must be. Except that I haven’t done anything at all.”
“If you knew what was going to happen and did nothing about it, you are in essence an
accomplice. With what has happened to my son, there’s one thing I can do for you as a
friend… and that is to punch you as hard as I can.”
“Well, what are friends for? Then, the next time we meet, you’ll get your punch in. But I
have no intention of allowing anything more than that, even to you.”
That was the end of the phone call, and the man hadn’t contacted him since then.
But Seitarou knew Shingen well and understood that he was not the type of man to
back down and leave things at that. With that in mind, Seitarou chose to prioritize his
own greed and made his twisted deal with Yodogiri.
He was more concerned about interference from Shingen than the man sitting next to
him. He sat back, wearing a confident smile, and predicted his friend’s next move.
“He is a man who will use any means necessary. I wonder what he’s got planned…”
One day earlier, Rakuei Gym
In fact, Shingen moved quickly after calling his friend.
He chose his destination immediately after the call and headed there by foot. When he
arrived, gas mask still attached, he proudly and confidently announced his entrance:
“For reasons that are private, I owe my longtime friend one good punch. However, you
may be surprised to learn that I’ve never thrown a punch in my life! I want you to teach
me a very good killer knockout punch—preferably one that is easy to learn!”
“Piss off,” grunted Eijirou Sharaku, cheek twitching.
But the man in the white gas mask who barged into the gym did not back down. He
pulled out his wallet to continue the negotiation.
“I have money! Plenty of money! If you doubt me, it would please me to slap your cheek
with a wad of bills!”
“It wouldn’t please me! And if you need a killer punch, why don’t you just use that?
See? Problem solved. Piss off.”
“Damn… Well, I’ve been called a man who will use any means necessary…”
“…Whatcha gonna do?” the instructor asked warily.
Shingen leaned in and whispered, “You can wear my mask and turn into me, then
wallop Seitarou with a Russian hook! How about that? Perfect, isn’t it?! And I’ll pay
you to do it, too! One hundred thousand yen in cash!”
“…Actually, that is kinda tempting… gwuah!”
A fierce chop swung in and caught Eijirou on the side of the head.
“Stop this nonsense conversation and take over. I’m done already, so you’re in charge
now, Brother.”
The attack came from a young tomboyish woman. She sneered at Eijirou and turned
to leave the gym.
“Hey, Mikage! You better watch out, because I’m detecting a serious lack of respect for
your old broth… Hey, what about dinner?”
“I’ll eat out.”
The woman’s appearance stood out thanks to her short-cropped hair and rippling abs
showing through the part in her shirt, and if not for her face and the unmistakable
swell of her chest, she could easily be taken for male. One might describe her as
“active” or “sporty,” but “tomboy” really said it best.
After she left the building, Eijirou lamented, “I dunno what it is with her, but she
always packs up early these days. I swear she found a man. Anyway, why am I telling
you this?”
“Well… the finer points of your situation aren’t my business, but might I say one thing?”
“What?”
Eijirou waited with bated breath for the man in the gas mask to dispense his wisdom.
“I wouldn’t mind if that boyish girl there were the one to pass off as me. In fact, the
idea of a woman dressed as me punching someone else is actually a turn-on, in a
somewhat perverse way… What do you think?”
“Piss off!”
“Now, just a moment. As a matter of fact, my son is currently in the hospital. It occurs
to me that if his father comes to visit having turned into a young woman, the sheer
surprise of it might actually speed his recovery. Could you see your way to helping out
a concerned citizen and—”
“Piss! Off!”
A short while after that odd-couple comedy routine played out at the fighting gym in
Ikebukuro, Adabashi returned in a daze to his home, burns running from his back to
his ears.
He parked his car in the lot and headed to the door, wincing in irritation at the pain in
his back—but the injury wasn’t the only thing annoying him.
It was that his sacred love for Ruri Hijiribe had been interrupted by another. And on
top of that, on his car TV, he’d just caught the press conference put on by her agency.
That picture of Ruri, the one he’d been preparing to send to all the media outlets, was
already there on the screen before he was able to send it.
“Photos of Ruri Hijiribe’s latest movie leak online!” the segment raved. “Leak
suspected to have occurred due to a virus on Max Sandshelt’s computer after he was
browsing pornographic movies on the Internet!”
The shocking photograph was being passed off as a still from the filming of some top-
secret horror suspense movie.
What? What the hell is that? How dare they… How dare they all try to block our love…
The combination of irritation and frustration filled him with a sudden impulse to
destroy someone—anyone would do.
He clenched his teeth audibly and then saw a man waiting, standing before the
building staircase. He was young, but he stood with his back to the light so that his
face was mostly obscured.
“…”
Adabashi had enough sense to realize that causing an incident in front of his own place
of residence was not smart, so he reeled in his raging desire and prepared to pass by
the man.
But then the man addressed him first.
“Yo. Are you burned or something? Because you reek like charred hair.”
“…?”
“What was that from? Lighter oil or a Molotov? It doesn’t feel hot at first, but once your
clothes are ablaze, that’s when it gets bad. By the way… who did it to you? It wasn’t
that squinty-eyed otaku, was it? Hya… hya-hya-hee-ha-ha-ha-ha!” the man said,
clapping his hands in delight.
Adabashi raised an eyebrow, not understanding what he meant, and made a simple
decision.
I will destroy him with a kick.
He launched a full-frontal kick, ignoring the pain in his back—and in the next instant,
Adabashi’s foot bent at a horrible angle with a tremendous sound.
“?!?!?! G-g-gaaah?!”
There was a thick rubber mallet in the man’s left hand, which he had swung right at
Adabashi’s foot, timed to the rhythm of the kick.
Adabashi rolled and writhed on the ground, screaming in agony, while the man
beamed down at him. It was the same kind of smile Adabashi wore when he smashed
photos of Ruri Hijiribe to dust.
Through his seething moans, Adabashi focused enough to look up at the man’s face,
dimly lit by the streetlight.
He was maybe twenty years old at most—and covered in deep, dark burn scars that
ran from the right half of his face down to the end of his arm.
“I’ll… kill… you…” Adabashi grunted, reaching and straining for the man.
Then something slammed into the back of his head, instantly knocking him into deep
darkness.
In the post-screaming silence, a woman’s voice said, “What kind of game are you
playing? Do you really want to go back to juvie?”
It was a woman with close-cropped hair and boyish features: Mikage Sharaku. She was
the one who had kicked Adabashi in the back of the head to knock him out as he was
rolling on the ground.
The man with the hammer said, “Shut the hell up… You don’t tell me what to do! Ha-
ha… Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Heee-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-
ha!”
The burned man laughed and laughed, though it wasn’t at all clear what was funny.
Behind him, a number of men appeared, wearing bone-motif riding jackets. They lifted
Adabashi’s unconscious body and hauled him into a van parked in a corner of the lot,
then drove it away just as quickly.
“Well, whatever. C’mon, let’s go,” she said to the laughing man, and they left as well.
The only evidence of the scene was a few bloodstains from Adabashi at the entrance
of the building.
Chat room
Sharo: And it took thirty minutes to get the guy in the gas mask out of there.
Chrome: What a disaster.
Saki: A white gas mask? That’s really something.
Kanra: Was this guy actually real? You aren’t pulling our leg, Sharo? lol
Sharo: Absolutely serious.
Mai: I wanted to see it.

Mai: I should have practiced late.
Kuru: It is a true modern urban legend. We should create a rival legend to match the
Black Headless Rider. Call him, say, the Gas Mask Freak. I daresay his true identity is
made of gas. If he removes the mask, his body dissipates into a gas and vanishes into
thin air!
Kanra: Scary!
Chrome: You know, there was that old movie called The Human Vapor.
Kanra: Oooh, are you a movie buff, Chrome?!
Chrome: I like movies as much as anyone else does.
Sharo: The Human Vapor is a pretty old one…
Kanra: You’ll have to give me some suggestions, then!
Chrome: That’s a good idea…
Luxury apartment building, top floor, Ikebukuro
Namie Yagiri was stunned.
She tensed up and nearly dropped the documents she was carrying.
At her old company job, she was famous for having ice in her veins, but now she was
nearly on the verge of tears.
She was facing a laptop computer and a small netbook set up on the desk—and seated
between them, taking turns typing at each one, was a man.
The same chat room was displayed on both computers. He was logged in as Chrome
on one computer and Kanra on the other, holding a conversation with himself and
even humming. For the very first time, Namie found herself feeling sympathy for the
man.
I could always tell he didn’t have any friends… but I didn’t think he’d turn to chatting
with himself online…
She shook her head, pretending she hadn’t seen this, and turned away. Then Izaya
Orihara leaned back toward her and cackled, “Ah-ha-ha. You’re probably thinking that
the guy with no friends is up to something weird, huh?”
“It’s not weird. It’s pathetic.”
“Call it whatever you like. Having multiple personas out there on the web just makes
it easier to manipulate the collective opinion, see…”
He had each account announce that they were logging off, then shut the computers
and stood up. “Plus, it’s very rude of you to say I have no friends. I love all the people
of the world, and everyone is my friend and lover, okay?”
“Forcing your love on people is just how a stalker thinks.”
“Really, now? Coming from you?” he shot back.
She glared at him. “And why did you rent this huge place in Ikebukuro, anyway? You’re
actually going to get yourself killed by that bartender this time.”
The mention of the word bartender brought a brief scowl to Izaya’s face, but it soon
vanished as he explained, “Well… the reason I came back to this neighborhood was to
provide some troubled youths a life without relief or solace, I suppose.”
“Huh?”
“You see, relief is what stalls development. Take Shinra, for example. No matter what
he gets involved in, he has the relief of knowing that Celty and Shizu are out there to
help him out of it. And that attitude ended up getting him into the hospital this time.
So I intend to be very harsh to my friends now. Out of friendship. If Shinra calls me up
to tell me he’s been hospitalized, I’ll say, ‘Oh,’ and hang up on him.”
“That’s not harsh. That’s just being an asshole. And would he ever call you on the
phone, anyway?”
Izaya ignored Namie’s comment and leaned back on the desk to take in the room
around him.
“Of course, I consider everyone in this room to be a friend, too.”
In fact, there was quite a variety of humanity there with them:
A girl loitering next to a bookshelf and staring daggers at him.
A number of men and women in leather jackets with the backbone pattern of Dragon
Zombie on them.
A smiling woman with red eyes and thin black hair down to her waist.
A large man dressed in bandages, who was at least six feet tall.
A thin man passed out on the ground, his leg broken.
A number of men with shaved heads near the entrance of the room, their demeanor
marking them as mobsters.
There were other men and women of varying degrees of eccentricity elsewhere in the
room, all of them listening to Izaya with different facial expressions.
One man who bore ugly burn scars on his face leered viciously. “Well, I never
considered myself a friend of yours… All I can say is that I wanna kill Yumasaki and
Kadota, I wanna kill Aoba, I wanna kill Masaomi Kida, and then I wanna kill you at the
end before I can really be happy.”
“Knock it off, Izumii,” said Mikage Sharaku, who was next to him.
But Ran Izumii continued, “That’s right, Yumasaki… Yumasaki… Ooh, that otaku fuck…
I’ll kill him so bad… Roast that smirking face of his until he looks just like me… Ha-ha…
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
The others around Izumii watched him as he went from muttering to full-blown
laughter. Izaya stared right at him, still smiling, and said, “For having such a cute name,
you approach things in the most extreme manner, Ran. But that just makes you more
human to me.”
Then he paused, spread his hands, and addressed the entire room.
“Welcome to the Dollars. The Dollars will welcome you all equally.”
Then he turned to the wall-spanning window and gazed down at Ikebukuro, full of
wonder.
The girl in the shadow of the bookshelf spat, “Get sniped,” but he ignored that curse
and lifted something from the table.
He tossed it up into the air like a basketball, then caught it before pointing it toward
the view of the city.
“It’s a familiar sight to you, too, isn’t it?”
And so the man who waltzed back into Ikebukuro held Celty’s head up in the palm of
his hand with great delight—and showered the beloved people in the room with one
of his most beatific smiles.
“So, as a sign of our close friendship… why don’t we have a little hot-pot party, everyone?”
Hello, it’s nice to see you folks again for the first time in a while. I’m Ryohgo Narita.
So, that was Volume 8 of Durarara!! for you… I technically did wrap up the case here,
but it was really more like a long prologue for the story of Mikado, Anri, and Masaomi.
At the end, I felt like I was setting myself up for angry comments like, “You just
ballooned the cast and made things all crazy and out of control!” But have no fear, I
intend to keep the books ahead focused on just a few characters each. Instead, there
won’t be any scenes for anyone outside of each book’s main cast of five to ten
characters (think Mika/Seiji from Volumes 2–6), but you never know—your favorite
might end up getting the focus in the next book! Although… I don’t think I’ll ever say
the words “The next Durarara!! will feature Horada as the protagonist!” But then
again, Horada was used to great effect in the anime, so I have to admit I might be
reluctant to leave him out.
…Yes, the anime!
We’ve received rave reviews from all around, and I am beside myself at the wonderful
anime it turned out to be… The TV airing just ended this month, but there are plenty
of ways to enjoy it still, including the Bandai Channel, MovieGate, downloads on PS3
and PSP, on demand from Animax, and the usual DVD method, of course. Please check
it out!
I cannot overstate my gratitude to Director Omori, the voice actors, and everyone else
on the anime staff. Just as I felt with Baccano!, the anime has gained so much from
those who came to the table.
One of the benefits is reverse importation of character designs. Togusa is an example:

He’s become much more versatile for me after the anime. At the start of this book, I
was planning to have an epic stalker versus Togusa scene, but I didn’t feel right about
taking a design that was inspired by the anime and making it the centerpiece, so I
tucked him away in his usual spot.
At any rate, having a multimedia franchise means coming into contact with so many
other creative people who bring new ways of looking at Durarara!!, so I feel like the
time has been very valuable to me. Thank you all!
And speaking of other media forms: Some of you might already be aware that a PSP
game called Durarara!! 3-Way Standoff is coming out! As with the Baccano! game on
DS, it’s being developed by Netchubiyori, and I’m really excited to find out what kind
of game it’ll be!
On top of that, Square Enix will be putting out a Durarara!! comic anthology!
A number of different artists involved with the G Fantasy magazine will be drawing
their own version of Durarara!!, and it should be a really vibrant and varied collection
of work!
On top of that, there’s also Everything Durarara!!, a guidebook of sorts that covers all
the characters and glossaries of both the anime and novel versions of the series, so
check it out!
There are other things as well, but I’m running out of room for ads, so you’ll have to
keep an eye on the official Durarara!! website, the Dengeki website, and Dengeki
Bunko Magazine for the latest updates!
As for my future plans, I’ve written about a thousand pages on various projects in the
last several months, so my mind and body are starting to lose it a bit. I think I might
take a bit of a break before my next book (although there are always smaller things
like DVD extras and bonuses that can’t be ignored).
Damn… this means my total page count is accelerating, and yet my volume counts are
slowing down. People will be saying, “Narita’s writing speed has really hit the skids
these days!” Even though I’m writing twice as much content as when I started!!
But enough about that trivial nonsense. My plans are for Vamp! V in the fall, followed
by Durarara!!, Volume 9 and Baccano! 1711, then 5656 II. I’ve been writing here and
there for my MW Bunko project, but the pace is slow and there’s no planned
publication date yet.
If you’ve gotten here from the Durarara!! anime and read all the way up to this latest
volume, please, please do check out some of my other series…
By the way, I also wrote a tribute story for the special edition of A Certain Scientific
Railgun 5, out this month! I felt nervous about depicting someone else’s characters,
but if anyone reading this afterword is a fan of the Railgun novels and anime and has
already finished A Certain Magical Index, you should definitely pick that up!
To my editor, who has to put up with my constant nonsense at all times, Mr. Papio. To
managing editor Suzuki and the rest of the editorial office. To the proofreaders, whom
I give a hard time by being so late with submissions. To all the designers involved with
the production of the book. To all the people at Media Works involved in marketing,
publishing, and sales. I’m so sorry for pushing the schedule especially late this time!
To my family who do so much for me in so many ways, my friends, fellow authors, and
illustrators.
To Director Omori and the rest of the anime staff, and Akiyo Satorigi and Editor Kuma
for the tremendous manga adaptation.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, who took time out of his busy schedule with the Yozakura OVA to
provide his wonderful interior illustrations. The cover nearly took my breath away
this time!
“Trying to synthesize a dullahan in Dragon Quest Monsters: Joker 2”
Ryohgo Narita
RYOHGO NARITA

DURARARA!! Vol.9
First published in Japan in 2011 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
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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yenpress.tumblr.com

the publisher.

9780316474290 (v. 8 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316474313 (v. 9 : pbk.)
Adventure.
ISBNs: 978-0-316-47431-3 (paperback)

978-0-316-47433-7 (ebook)
E3-20180227-JV-PC
Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue: Schoolmate
Chapter 1: Information Broker
Chapter 2: Iza
Chapter 3: Fleabrain
Chapter 4: Vice President
Chapter 5: Izaya Orihara
Epilogue & Next Prologue: Me
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
I’m sorry for taking up your time, Mr. Nakura.
“Erm, Kujiragi, was it? What does an insurance broker want with me?”
I’ll just be direct. Are you familiar with someone named Izaya Orihara?
“Izaya Orihara? Sure. He went to the same school as me, and I wouldn’t forget a name
that odd. Why, did he finally get himself into major trouble? Insurance fraud, maybe?
He didn’t use my name again, did he? Let me just say that whatever it is, I’m not
involved. Haven’t seen him in ages, either.”
What do you mean, “finally”?
“Oh, you haven’t met him in person? You would understand what I mean if you had.
It’s clear from a glance that he’s abnormal. Then again… maybe he would act like a
regular guy around a woman like you. He always did have a fair number of female
followers who seemed to worship him.”
You mentioned that he might have used your name “again.”
“Yeah… see, I sold him my name.”
Sold him your… name?
“So, I was talking with him in person, and he said there was stuff he wanted to buy
without his family finding out, so he wanted to use my name on the online shopping
form. I declined at first, of course, but then he offered me a pretty hefty amount of
money. I figured it couldn’t do any harm; it’s not like I was giving him my credit card
or bank account numbers.”
What did he actually do with it?
“A couple of things got delivered to me. Orihara would give me advance warning they
were coming, and I lived alone, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings. But I was
curious about the contents. There was one time I opened a box and told him it was by
mistake.”
What was inside?
“Just normal books. Maybe a bit erotic, but in, like, an ethnic studies kind of way. And
he wasn’t that angry about my excuse that it was a mistake.”
Was he just an ordinary student at school?
“Ordinary? Well, I hardly ever saw him attend any classes at Raira College. Not that he
was unique in that regard, as plenty of people skipped class all the time. Every now
and then, I did see him on campus talking to some weird guy wearing a lab coat. I
thought it was a medical student at first, but apparently, he was from outside the
school… Actually, scratch that. He’s the guy Orihara was joking about, saying that he
was a black market doctor so if I ever got shot, I could see him without having to get
the cops involved.”
“Oops, sorry, you were asking about Orihara. But like I said, he wasn’t your typical
dude, and I kept my distance from him. As I mentioned, aside from the groupies, the
only normal friend he had might’ve been that one guy in the lab coat. In fact, he
must’ve been a friend, if he was bringing the guy onto campus.”
Do you suppose he was isolated?
“I heard stories about how in high school he fought all the time with some super-crazy
badass guy named Heiwajima. He’s not actually that bad when you get to know him,
though. But I’ll repeat, he was not normal.”
And you decided to give this person you weren’t even close to the use of your name and
address?
“Yeah, it sounds bad when you put it that way… but it wasn’t just me.”
Not just you?
“He was actually borrowing the names of a number of different people during college.
Most of them were women but a few guys, too. And I was kind of hard up for cash, so…”
Is there anything else you know about him? His background, for example.
“Look, I told you, I’m not the guy to ask about that sort of stuff! Seriously, if my work
finds out that I lent out my name for these weird shenanigans, I’m going to get so much
side-eye, you have no idea!”
Pardon me for asking. I merely heard a rumor that you were close in college.
“And who told you that, huh? Man, what a pain in my ass. I don’t even know…”
Is something the matter?
“Actually, now that I think about it… I don’t know a single thing about Orihara.”
Is there someone else who might know more about him?
“Well, now that I think about it, I wonder if anyone at that college actually knew about
his past or his background. I doubt the groupies were anything more than shallow
infatuations… If anyone actually knows personal details about him, it’d have to be the
guy in the coat I mentioned.”
And what is his name?
“I dunno. I’m kinda getting shivers over here, realizing that I might’ve made a terrible
mistake back then. Ooh! I just felt it for sure. Shiver down my back. Maybe lending him
my name was actually a really stupid thing to do…”
It’s all right. No one used your name to do anything. As far I know, at least.
“Well, that’s good… But are you really trying to look into his background? Does that
mean he actually did do something—?”
I’m afraid I can’t discuss internal matters with you, other than to say that his name
popped up as the recipient of one of our insurance claims.
“…Ah, I see. So you suspect some insurance fraud going on… Well, that does sound like
something Orihara might do. He’s very good at taking advantage of people… Oh, right,
that reminds me. I remember him saying that his hobby was human observation at
some point.”
Human observation?
“Pretentious, right? Who says, ‘My hobby is human observation,’ as a college student?
That guy does. But it’s not necessarily a condescending thing. It’s like… you know how
when cat people see cats and just find them irresistibly cute? Whether the cat is angry,
or sulking, or just sleeping, or whatever.”
But wouldn’t you call that sort of cat-watching behavior condescending in the first place?
“Not like that, really… Let me take the human-cat comparison a bit further…”
…?
“I bet that if he saw a cat get run over by a car, or the instant it died of illness, or if a
cat tore out another cat’s throat, he’d still have the same reaction to it.
“…Like, ‘Aww, that’s so cute.’”

“How do you feel, Mr. Info Dealer?”
The place looked like a bar. But the open shelving for liquor display was empty, and
the wallpaper was peeling here and there. It wasn’t in any state for business.
“Or do you prefer that I call you by your full name, Izaya Orihara?”
The voice in the darkened room belonged to a young woman.
She looked to be in her midtwenties. She was dressed like an employee at a high-end
boutique, her makeup light and her pixie cut just a tiny bit permed.
Despite her mature looks, her tone of voice was on the young side. There was no
response.
Sitting in a number of rusted bar chairs around her were darkened figures.
The significant majority of them were female, but some of the shapes were burly and
male. If the lights had been on and the place were clean, the scene might look like
hostesses, waiters, and their bodyguards.
But it was the person sitting in the center of the establishment that totally ruled that
possibility out.
The man sat in a tasteful steel-frame chair. His outfit looked black in the gloom, but it
was impossible to make out the design without more light. Still, whether the lights
were on or off made no difference to him.
His head was totally covered by a heavy burlap sack, the kind used to ship coffee beans,
hiding his face and hair from view. The sound of his breathing was audible, but he
didn’t respond to the woman’s question. His hands were tied behind his back, and
without being able to see, he wasn’t in any state to get to his feet.
“Ah, you can’t talk back. I guess that makes sense—you took a lot of heavy blows on
the way here. Oh, did you break all his teeth?” the pixie-cut woman asked, turning
around in her identical chair to the figures behind her.
“We didn’t break him down,” one of the nearby women offered curtly. “It’d be a waste
since he’s so good-looking.”
“Ah, fine then. That leaves us with more fun ahead anyway,” the ringleader replied. Her
voice was as youthful as a teenager’s, leaving her real age hard to discern in the
darkness.
Turning back around, the domineering, short-haired woman gave no explanation to

the man in the hood as to the nature of her group.
“So, Mr. Info Dealer, do you understand why it is that you’re here now?” she asked him
once more, and again there was no answer. The only sound was heavy breathing
through the fabric. He might not have even been conscious.
“I’ll give you a hint. My nickname… is Earthworm. Does that ring a bell?”
At the mention of that nickname—more of an insult, really—the sack over his head
slowly rose.
“Ha-ha! He reacted! Oh man, this is great! He’s like a puppet or something!” the woman
named Earthworm cackled, like one of the weirdos in high school teasing a younger
student, and prodded the burlap sack where his forehead would be. “I’m going to give
you a piece of advice, Izaya Orihara.”
“…”
He remained silent, so she continued, “You might be a big-shot info broker or

whatever, but I think you’ve been standing out a bit too much, don’t you?”
“…”
“We learned that there was some freak out there sniffing around after us, so we looked
into it, and what did we find? You. You’re a real funny guy, aren’t you? About as funny
as playing old maid with a deck of fifty-two old maids, from what I hear,” Earthworm
went on, an analogy that did not make much sense.
The man in the burlap sack breathed, nothing more.
“Now, an info broker’s one of those guys who goes around talking to red-light ladies,
cops, the errand runners for the really scary men, and the barkers trying to drum up
business for their brothels… and then sells the things those folks know to others for a
little side money, right?”
“…”
“Yet, that’s your main business, you proudly call yourself by the title, and you’re
famous for it. Wouldn’t that make you the worst kind of info dealer?” She giggled. “I
mean, the guys who sell secrets to the police and the scary men have to hide their
identities, or they’re really in trouble, right? Otherwise, they get arrested or lose a joint
off their finger. Or get fed to the fishes in Tokyo Bay, am I right? Huh?”
It was as if she were telling a lurid fairy tale to a child. “Now, I’m going to give you a
piece of advice: People who want to stand out like you do are the people least suited
to this line of work. Have you learned that lesson now?”
“…”
“Are you listening to me? Okay, forget the hint. I’ll just tell you the answer. Those scary
men at the Awakusu-kai paid you to snoop around after us, didn’t they?”
Earthworm rolled her wrist around, drawing a circle on the forehead of the silent man
through the burlap. His head rolled with it, loose and unresisting, as though he were
totally drained.
“Then again, I’m not sure if my ‘advice’ is going to help you very much.”
“…”
“You won’t ever be able to do this job again, will you?”
Her youthful exuberance at the chance to be cruel clashed with her age.
Who were these women?
And what in the world was happening in this abandoned bar?
That story began a few days earlier, when the info broker Izaya Orihara received a
work order from the Awakusu-kai.
Early August, Tokyo
“Feels like it’s been ages since I rode in this car.”
In the backseat of a luxury sedan, Izaya Orihara sat next to the left window, watching
the city pass by. The young man wore a thin black summer coat over his similarly black
shirt. He turned to the other passenger and said easily, “Your face is fond and memorable,
too, Mr. Shiki.”
“You think so? Feels like we met just the other day,” said an imposing man in his thirties
or forties, with striking narrow eyes and an inscrutable expression. “I heard you took
a blade to the guts—you all right?”
“Yeah… it made the news, didn’t it? At least there were no photos of me.”
“Who got you?”
“I’m looking into that myself. There are plenty of people with misplaced anger at me,
I’m sure… but I doubt you came all this way to ask me that, no?”
“It’s half personal interest, half work obligation. I mean, if someone’s knifing an info
source that we utilize, it could signal a hostile intent toward us, that’s all,” Shiki said,
stretching his neck to the side. “By the way, Mr. Orihara, are you familiar with someone
named Nakura?”
Shiki was deferential, despite the obvious age gap. There was a chilly sharpness to his
voice, however, and the interior of the car felt tense on account of it.
Izaya was not affected, as far as his tone was concerned. “Nakura? Is that a last name
or a first name? I feel as though there might have been someone named something
like that in my middle school or college, or…”
“Well, someone by that name put a bunch of funny ideas into the head of our boss’s
little girl…”
“She’s still in elementary school, right? Just because Ikebukuro is safe these days
doesn’t mean you can allow her to mingle with bad guys. Or is this a woman you’re
talking about?” Izaya asked, not alarmed in the least.
After a few seconds of silence, Shiki moved on to the heart of the matter.
“…Well, that’s enough chitchat. There’s something I want you to look up for us today.
We can’t afford to be overt about this, and it’s a bit touchy to be hiring an ordinary
detective for the matter.”
“I can ascertain the sort of job it was just from the fact that you came to me. The
Awakusu-kai don’t suffer in the least for cutting me loose to take the fall,” Izaya retorted.
The man didn’t bat an eye. “Does the name Amphisbaena mean anything to you?”
Without missing a beat, Izaya replied, “Amphisbaena… A legendary lizard said to live
in Libya. A poisonous beast with two heads on the front and back end of its body.
Various poets and storytellers have devised various evolutions for the mythical being,
such as bat wings. It’s even been used as the centerpiece of Western noble sigils.”
“…I didn’t know any of these things. The only thing I knew was that it was a dragon
that showed up in Western mythology.”
“I’d say that puts you in rare company all on its own. Its recognition in Japan is
minuscule. If you had to look that up, then I assume whatever you want with me has
to do with the word.”
Shiki nodded. “There’s a group named Amphisbaena… or a business, if you want to

call it that. They’re running an underground casino.”
“Oh, really? That’s not the name of any gambling establishment the Awakusu-kai runs,”
Izaya noted, which suggested he was aware of them all.
Shiki neither confirmed nor denied this suggestion. He didn’t even make a face at the
taunt. “I’m sure you’re aware our organization is finding it difficult to open such a
business directly. If we try to do it the public way, and there’s even a hint of our name
attached to it, there’s no way we’ll get a license. Now, a private apartment setup is a
different story… but that’s not the point.”
Shiki paused for a breath, then met Izaya’s eyes through the rearview mirror. “Our
style is more to demand tribute from unaffiliated gambling operations happening
within our turf, especially when they’re engaged in the more illegal stuff. And the
problem is, we can’t figure out where these people are working from.”
“You can’t?”
“We’ve heard rumors for a while about a secret members-only casino. At first, most of
us ignored it as an idle rumor. But after a while, we started losing more and more
customers from both the tribute-paying operations and our own direct gambling
rings, so…”
“I see… I’m willing to hear more about this.”
According to Shiki’s explanation, the recent influx of believability in the Amphisbaena

rumor came from an accidental leak of information from a frequent customer at one
of the shady loan offices that the Awakusu-kai propped up. They put the screws on the
guy and forced him to show them where the place was—only to find that it was merely
a party space for rent. At the time they showed up, the place was holding an event
hosted by a wedding planner.
They tried threatening the customer again, but he seemed baffled by the whole thing.
The location where the casino set up had its own members mailing list, but the only
things it mentioned were party events and nothing that identified the place as a
gambling establishment.
Ordinarily, the building’s owners would never allow a client such rental space for
gambling, but according to the man, this exclusive club didn’t allow you to cash your
chips or even buy them with money in the first place.
“Ahh. So the money exchange happens somewhere else. Sounds just like one of the
prize exchange businesses that pachinko parlors use to complete the loop,” Izaya said,
a thin smile on his lips.
Shiki remained stone-faced. “There’s no exchange of chips at all, apparently. Everything

is managed through smart cards. To the manager of the party space, it looks like
they’re just playing some kind of tabletop video game event without any money
involved.”
“Indeed.”
“If the police were handling this, they could just follow the message trail from the
members, but for us to attempt the same thing, it’d be much trickier. They use some
foreign servers in the process, and this isn’t a big enough deal for us to make contact
with the local folks in our line of work overseas to handle,” Shiki explained with a little
shrug, though his voice was still as sharp and hard as ever.
Izaya was not one to be cowed by intimidation, however. “Based on what you’re saying,
it sounds like a pretty bold operation or at least a reckless one. Gambling electronically
without physical chips? Anyone could raise a fuss any time they lose, claiming that the
numbers were manipulated. ‘I don’t owe you this much,’ and so on.”
“Precisely. But I suppose they’ve got some system to manage that… Amphisbaena’s
methods are extremely risky in every facet of their operation. They’re not interested
in mitigating their risks walking the tightrope; if anything, it appears as though they’re
not even aware how far there is to fall.”
“And you want to smack them down to earth,” Izaya said, with his biggest smile yet.
Shiki ignored him. “The guy we got this initial info from hasn’t received any contact
from their mailing list since. I find that strange, as if they somehow knew we were
aware of them and just up and vanished. So now we’ve got to switch tactics.”
“And so you turned to an outside freelancer like me. Very convenient, if you need to
cut me loose.”
“If this was just an issue within our own turf, we wouldn’t need to go to such lengths.
But when the rumors get around to the backyards of other Medei-gumi groups, the
situation changes somewhat. At the very least, we’ve got to figure out if some other
operation is backing these guys. Otherwise, all the local groups will fall into suspicion
and backbiting.”
He paused, then exhaled.
“In other words, I want you to get the scoop on these guys.”
A few minutes earlier, Tokyo, on the street
“Hang on. Let’s talk this over.”
The message hovered in the palm of a figure wearing an all-black riding suit.
Technically, on the screen of a PDA in said palm.
The rider sat atop a motorcycle with no headlight, no plates, and a thick black coloring
that, like the rider’s suit, practically absorbed the light. Even the frame and wheels
were entirely black, making the whole thing look like the shadow of a bike that
somehow turned three-dimensional.
But in contrast to the abnormal, almost mystical appearance of this motorcycle, the
people standing before it couldn’t have been more of a slap in the face from reality.
“Ah. You want to give up and call a lawyer now?”
Standing at the head of the group of motorcycle cops was a man who grinned down at
the rider with predatory satisfaction. The rider in black shivered and typed another
message into the PDA.
“F-from what I learned, within Tokyo limits, even when horses are treated as light
vehicles, they’re not obligated to have lights on. And under the law entry for headlights,
it says, ‘Horses and cows are excepted.’”
“Damn… you got me.”
“I got you…? You… you dirty cop! This is tyranny! False charges! You’re a disgrace to your
profession!” accused the rider, suddenly all indignant fury.
The leader of the police group, Kinnosuke Kuzuhara, sneered. “Oh, so you’re going to
keep claiming that thing’s a horse?”
“I’m glad you see things my way.”
Maybe this would actually work out, the rider thought with relief.
Kuzuhara gripped the handlebars of his vehicle and said, “And you’ve been riding this
‘horse,’ which we’ll classify as a light vehicle for the purposes of this argument, the
same way that you would in traffic as a motorcycle?”
“Uh.”
“How many of the differences in traffic rules for light vehicles and two-wheeled vehicles
can you name for me?”
“Umm… well………”
More and more ellipses filled the rider’s PDA display, a sure indication of hesitation.
“Can you at least see that sign there?” Kuzuhara asked, pointing at a traffic sign with a
20 on it, indicating the speed limit in miles per hour. “Did you know that even a bicycle
is required to follow the posted speed limit? And did you know that you were well
over the limit when you were trying to get away from us just now?”
“…?!”
“You’ve got a lotta nerve, ignoring my commands to stop for a full five minutes. So let’s
see some identifi— Ah! Hey!”
Without so much as a rumble of engine noise, the black motorcycle and its rider shot
forward and peeled away.
Despite the eeriness of its totally silent progress, the traffic cops raced after it without
hesitation, protecting the public streets of the nation’s capital with aplomb.
Even if their target was an inhuman monster.
She was a type of fairy commonly known as a dullahan, found from Scotland to Ireland:
a being who visits the homes of those close to death to inform them of their impending
passing.
carriage called a Coiste Bodhar that was pulled by a headless horse, and approached
the homes of the soon to die. Anyone foolish enough to open the door was drenched
with a basin full of blood. Thus the dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a
herald of ill fortune throughout European folklore.
Someone back in her homeland had stolen her head, and she’d lost the memories of
what she was. It was by following the faint trail of her head that she had come here to
Ikebukuro.
Celty had wandered the streets of this neighborhood for decades.
But ultimately, she had not succeeded at retrieving her head, and her memories were
still lost.
However, Celty now knew who had stolen her head.
She even knew who was preventing her from finding it.
But that also meant she didn’t know where it was.
So long as she could live with those human beings whom she loved and those who
accepted her, she could happily go on the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face, someone
who held this strong, secret conviction for happiness within her heart.
Tokyo, luxury sedan interior

This amalgamation of the abnormal, the Black Rider, shot past the car in which Izaya
and Shiki sat.
Izaya watched the pack of biker cops race after her and grinned happily. “Look how
hard the police’re working to protect us all. I feel safe in Tokyo today.”
It almost sounded like a taunt in the direction of Shiki, who was a yakuza lieutenant,
but he didn’t appear bothered by it. Though he didn’t go out of his way to agree with
it, either.
“Ever since that particular officer showed up, it’s been much more difficult to hire that
courier.”
“Kinnosuke Kuzuhara. I would assume that the name Kuzuhara is familiar to you folks.”
“…”
“Who was it in the police’s anti-yakuza task force? Yumeji Kuzuhara? I believe it was
because of him that Mr. Kine ended up kicked out of the Awakusu-kai—”
Shiki cut him off midsentence. “Curiosity killed the snake, informant.”
For the first time, Shiki spoke not with detached civility but with the direct bluntness
of one at least a dozen years older than the listener. But there was no anger in his
voice—if anything, Shiki was smiling. Still, his words were heavy, sharp—dangerous.
Izaya remained as aloof and natural as ever in the face of the thick, overbearing
menace across from him. “Oh, I think you mean cat, Mr. Shiki,” he prodded.
“In the West, they say a cat has nine lives… but the snake is a symbol of immortality
and eternal rebirth, isn’t it? Seems fitting for you, the way you can get beaten and
stabbed and just shrug off a layer of skin before coming back.”
“…You’re better read than I would have expected, Mr. Shiki,” Izaya sniped. “Do you
enjoy manga?”
Shiki ignored him. “I don’t care about your philosophies. The only thing we need to
know is whether you ingest the lesson or if you keep it on your tongue until you spit
it out. That’s all.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Curiosity might kill the cat after nine tries, but unnecessary curiosity will require a
slightly more elaborate punishment, informant.”
“…”
A brief instant of silence.
“Now let’s return to the topic of the job,” Shiki said mechanically, as if his brief foray
into poetics had never happened. “There is one piece of information we have gleaned
about Amphisbaena already.”
“Which is?”
“Are you familiar with our guy Akabayashi?” Shiki asked. Akabayashi was a particularly
combat-minded lieutenant in the Awakusu-kai.
“Yes, he’s the one who sponsors Jan-Jaka-Jan, isn’t he? From what I hear, for being such
a hard-liner, he’s really softened his tune lately.”
“You never know; he could just be hiding his claws. And surely a man who makes his
living collecting information wouldn’t be naive enough to expect that softness equates
to safety.”
“Good point. So… what is it about Mr. Akabayashi?” Izaya wondered, his eyes glinting
with the exact type of unnecessary curiosity that Shiki had just warned him about.
“While you were out of the picture following your stabbing, he had a bit of a tussle
with the younger folk. Some stupid college kids cooking up their own homemade
drugs and selling them. Akabayashi managed to stomp them flat, but we still haven’t
caught whoever was putting them up to this in the first place.”
“And you think it was Amphisbaena who was supplying them?” Izaya asked, putting
two and two together. But Shiki’s answer was not what he expected.
“No… but it’s possible that whoever it is, they’re beefing with Amphisbaena.”
“Oh?”
“We caught one of the low-level dealers. He claimed he was told to search for
Amphisbaena by the guys in charge. Though we have no idea how much they actually
know about the little snakes, either.”
“I see. And is researching this dealing operation part of the job?” Izaya asked.
It was a perfectly reasonable question, but Shiki just shook his head and handed Izaya
an envelope. The younger man took it, looked inside to confirm the presence of
multiple Yukichi Fukuzawas looking back at him from their ten thousand–yen bills,
then stuffed it into his summer coat pocket.
Once Shiki was satisfied that the other man had accepted the money, he answered the
question.
“We are looking into the drug operation through a different avenue, so it’s not
necessary to focus on them. However, if it gets out that we’re feeling for Amphisbaena,
that might cause this other group to fall under scrutiny, too. Please be careful about
that possibility.”
Izaya looked away, a sign that he wasn’t interested in any further talk—until another
question occurred to him.
“And what’s that other avenue, by the way?”
The only response he got was Shiki’s sharp, heavy grin. “What did I just tell you about
unnecessary curiosity?”
“Point taken. I won’t ask you about it, and if I decide I want to know, I’ll do that on my
own.”
“…”
“I’d rather not be turned into grilled snake just yet, after all.”
A few minutes later, the car arrived at its destination in Ikebukuro. Izaya stuck his right
hand into his coat pocket and reached for the door handle with his left.
“Normally, you drop me off at the same spot where you pick me up, but not this time,”
the young man said boldly.
The Awakusu-kai lieutenant didn’t bat an eye. “Oh, the reason for that is simple. I’m
only dropping you off here since I have an errand to run.”
“?”
Izaya opened the door and got out, wondering what he meant by that.
There was a girl standing there.
“…”
She was at least a dozen years younger than him.
Taking a moment, Izaya noticed where the car had stopped.
There was a large sign reading RAKUEI GYM, and the building under it was bustling
with the sounds of chants and slapping sandbags.
Over his shoulder, Izaya heard Shiki say, “I’m just picking up the boss’s daughter while
I’m here.”
He looked down at the girl before him, who had her dogi uniform rolled up and slung
over her back. He recognized her.
Akane Awakusu.
The girl who once attempted to kill Shizuo Heiwajima, due to Izaya’s own plotting.
Shiki glared back and forth between Akane’s stunned features and Izaya’s back. The
Awakusu yakuza squeezed the steering wheel and swallowed.
But the only recognition that passed between the two of them fell on Izaya’s side.
“Hi there, nice to meet you! You must be Akane Awakusu, huh?” he said, as if it were
perfectly ordinary for someone to be on a first-name basis with the daughter of a
yakuza boss.
“Huh? Er, um… yes!” the girl said, initially startled, then suspicious. But as soon as she
noticed Shiki in the car behind Izaya, relief came over her features.
Shiki asked the girl, “Is this the first time you’ve met him, miss?”
“Yes. Um, I’m Akane Awakusu. Nice to meet you!” she said, a bit nervous but without
any hint of deception. It was the kind of nerves some people would have upon meeting
a stranger, nothing else.
Shiki examined her expression closely, then told Izaya, “Well, remember our work
arrangement.”
“Indeed. I should get on that now.”
As Izaya left, he brushed Akane’s head. She looked at the stranger’s face, all curious
confusion, then promptly forgot about him as she headed into the car.
Got to be careful around Shiki. He’s too sharp, thought Izaya once the car had rolled
away. It’s a damn good thing I never messed with Akane in person.
He thought of how he had manipulated Akane to make her want to kill Shizuo, and he
grinned to himself. Then there was that poor sap who had used the name Izaya to make
contact with Akane on his orders. His grin grew into a beaming smile.
The same way a cat person might beam at the sight of kittens playing.
Chat room
100% Pure Water: Yep, nobody’s around during the day!
100% Pure Water: I suppose everyone must be busy!
100% Pure Water: I feel kind of lonely…
100% Pure Water: Actually, which members are the originals? Kanra, Setton,
TarouTanaka, Bacura, Saika, Kuru, and Mai?
100% Pure Water: How is it that all of you came to know each other?
100% Pure Water: Are you friends in real life or just online acquaintances? I’m
curious.
100% Pure Water: I came on Kuru’s invitation, so I’m kind of like IRL friends with Kuru
and Mai, but even they won’t tell me who everyone is. Maybe they don’t actually know
anyone here.

Bacura: The call went out, and here I am.
100% Pure Water: Whoa! Wild, were you spying on the place?
Bacura: Where there are girls,
Bacura: There are guys checking them out. Such is the privilege of Team Boys!
100% Pure Water: Oh, geez, are you sure I’m a girl? I could just be playing one online!
Bacura: Actually,
Bacura: There’s always the possibility that Sharo or Kid are girls, you know.
100% Pure Water: Ah yes. Because we don’t know each other’s identities.
100% Pure Water: But if Sharo was a girl, that would be quite a gap between appearances
and reality. (lol)
Bacura: Hey, I get moe for the gap.
100% Pure Water: Are you one of those people who uses the word “moe,” then?
Bacura: I’ll do anything to keep the conversation going with a girl.
100% Pure Water: No, really, are you actually monitoring this chat room all the time?
Bacura: Well,
Bacura: I’ve got a program set up to alert me whenever someone logs in.
100% Pure Water: I don’t believe this! How much do you love this chat room anyway?!
100% Pure Water: Wait, is it possible you’ve got your mind set on someone in this chat
group? No, that’s not possible. You’ve already got Saki!
Bacura: No idea what you mean.
100% Pure Water: Oh, come on! It’s totally obvious from your interactions! Did you
think nobody could tell?!
Bacura: I reserve the right to remain silent.
100% Pure Water: Hmph. Then I suppose I won’t ask!
100% Pure Water: In that case, do you have any real friends from the old guard?
Bacura: Whoa, whoa,
Bacura: Let’s not do this.
Bacura: It’s not cool to pry into each other’s private lives.
100% Pure Water: I didn’t realize you were so uptight. Don’t you get curious? Don’t
you wonder about the people on the other side of the screen?
Bacura: Some things you’re better off not learning.
Bacura: And if things are going well here,
Bacura: Then there’s no need to go digging any deeper.
Bacura: So long!
100% Pure Water: He’s gone.
100% Pure Water: But what if he really is thinking about someone else here?
100% Pure Water: On another topic, TarouTanaka hasn’t shown up in here lately.
100% Pure Water: TarouTanaka, if you’re watching, please come back to us.
100% Pure Water: I bet you’d like to be introduced to the newcomers!
100% Pure Water: Well, that’s all from me!

100% Pure Water has left the chat.
.
“But still… you must have done some research into us, right?” Earthworm said, her voice
bright in the dim room. “About Amphisbaena?”
There was no thought for hiding the identity of the group, suggesting that the burlap
sack covering the man’s head wasn’t meant for that purpose.
“Well? Were you or weren’t you snooping on us?”
“…”
“Didn’t you think what you were doing was dangerous?”
“…”
Still there was no sound coming from the sack but breathing and no vocalization.
“Were you thinking we weren’t yakuza, and therefore, we’d be nicer… and wouldn’t
bother to abduct you?”
“…”
“Nope, nope, no—no—no, nuh-uh, no way! You’re a disgrace to your profession. Don’t
you know young folks snap easily these days? We’ve got calcium deficiency. The
fourteen and unders are killin’ it up in the killing fields, knowing they’re protected
from the death penalty by juvenile law. But I’m in my twenties, so whatever. On the
inside, I’m eternally that little boy smushing ants on the playground, got it? But don’t
worry—I’m a girl. A girl with the mentality of a little boy. Isn’t that cute?”
“…”
Even these taunts did not elicit a reaction from the sack.
“I wonder, Izaya Orihara. Can you even hear me?” she wheedled, poking at the sack.
“Want me to take this off?”
“…”
The man’s head rose slightly, turning in the direction of her voice.
“Ooh, he reacted! Hey, can you bob your head for me?”
The man with the burlap sack on his head shook it up and down with a vigor he hadn’t
shown thus far.
“Ha-ha! You’re finally looking lively again. Too bad I’m not gonna take the sack off,”
Earthworm gloated, her narrowed eyes appearing to drown in pleasure. She grabbed
his nose through the rough fabric. “It’s scarier than you thought to have a bag over
your head the entire time, isn’t it?”
“…”
“It’s dark, all the smells and sounds are muffled, you can’t eat anything, and your
breath makes everything stuffy and damp. I wonder if it would smell if you ate garlic
beforehand. But I doubt you’d have that problem, since you seem like you’d be
obsessed with preventing bad breath. I’ve seen pictures of you, and you’re always
looking cool and suave.”
She wasn’t giving away the full breadth of her information about him, just delivering
enough to make him uneasy.
“But that burlap sack is scary, right? I tried it myself, and I couldn’t take more than five
seconds. I was terrified it would ruin my makeup.”
She flicked the forehead of her captive through the cloth.
“I’m sorry that we’re just so devastatingly fascinating and cute that you couldn’t help
but try to research us,” she said theatrically. “But you see, our owner really hates being
spied on like this. Personally, I’d love to show you more and more of what you want to
see, but I can’t disobey the owner. It’s the tragedy of the employee, you know?”
“…”
“Quiet again? Wait, you haven’t said anything to begin with. I’d kind of like to hear
something, even if it’s just a scream.”
Earthworm reached over to a nearby table and picked up a pair of scissors, then closed
the blades loudly next to the sack, snip, snip.
Their captive leaned away to avoid the shears, but Earthworm continued her torment,
moving the blades closer.
“But it’s a good thing not to speak, huh? I just accidentally mentioned the owner, so
you’ve probably figured out there’s someone higher than me in this organization.”
“…”
“I guess that makes you a successful info broker, huh? Not talking is the best choice.”
Earthworm chuckled.
She sat back down, and her voice cold and hard this time, she warned, “But it’s not
going to work. Nope, nuh-uh. You might be able to hold your silence, but we already
know everything there is to know about you.”
Cruelty shone in her eyes, and her lips turned up in sadistic pleasure. “Your dear daddy
and mummy are doing financial business overseas, aren’t they?”
“…”
“Obviously, we can’t just fly over there to see them… but you do have two darling little
sisters close by. Kururi and Mairu, I believe?”
The man lifted his head.
A pitiable prisoner, shaking in denial.
Earthworm leaned forward, unable to help herself from squirming with affection for
her miserable prey. Her words were cold.
“My friend is going to pick them up now. I’m sure you must be very happy to see them
soon, Big Brother Izaya.”
Again, time retreated several days to earlier in this tale…

Along Kawagoe Highway, Shinra’s apartment
“Today was just terrible…”
Celty was typing onto the computer screen, while it was her live-in partner, Shinra
Kishitani, whose voice actually filled the room.
“Are you all right, Celty?! Your sadness is my sadness! As the saying goes, ‘A wife’s
words can move mountains,’ which means the woman of the house actually has the
most say in everything! I know we haven’t had a wedding yet, but you are essentially
my wife, and your laments have my heart twisted in agonizing knots! But, Celty,
you’re… koff… ugh…”
It was Shinra’s usual sort of rant but delivered without his usual intensity. His voice
gave out abruptly, and Celty raced over to him to see what was the matter.
“Oh, sorry, Celty. It’s all right; I just got a glob of saliva down my windpipe…”
“Oh… that’s good. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be complaining when you’re in this state…”
She was looking down at her partner, who was completely bedridden.
After a recent attack, Shinra was left with broken bones all over and significant
internal damage. He had spent a full week at the Nebula Medical Research Facility
before he was declared stable enough to recover at home.
Normally, he should have been at a regular hospital, but as a black market doctor,
Shinra’s apartment already had some medical devices. Plus, this way he didn’t have to
answer any uncomfortable questions.
He was able to hold conversations as usual, but everything else required Celty’s help,
plus the occasional extra hand from his stepmother, Emilia.
Things were tough for Shinra. Celty hadn’t been able to figure out how the bedpan
worked at first, so she’d just lifted him entirely over to the bathroom with her
shadows. When she’d tried to cook porridge for him, the result had been more like a
burned cracker. But by now, things had settled down, and life was returning to normal
for Celty, bit by bit.
That didn’t mean she was mentally back to her regular self, however.
“I’ll work to make up for your absence, Shinra!” she claimed and rushed off to run jobs
between her shifts attending to him—though that was really just an excuse to get
outside.
Celty’s real goal was to gather information about whoever had attacked Shinra. Her
driving force was the rage she felt at her beloved being injured. Perhaps sensing what
was going on with her, Shinra did his best to look lively and happy.
“But the traffic cops are out in force these days, so you should be even more careful
than usual.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“There’s not a single thing for you to apologize for! If anything, I should apologize for
not being able to jump up and hold you!”
As a matter of fact, the first time he tried to force himself up to leap on Celty, he
doubled over in pain and heard the sounds of his own body creaking under the
pressure of his weight. Once Celty threatened to leave him if he kept hurting himself,
he finally calmed down and behaved.
Shinra was flat on his back with a special kind of bed desk that allowed him to use the
computer from a prone position so that he could see the record of Celty’s messages.
He grinned happily.
“I’m so glad you came back safe and sound, though. That knowledge is the best medicine
I could have, Celty.”
“Shinra…”
“Even these last few days, hearing you talk about what happened outside really eases
the pain for me. From Shizuo’s impostor to the girl with pyrokinesis, the ordinary stuff
and the weird stuff—it’s like you’re taking me to all these different worlds through
your stories. It’s silly for a doctor to claim that illness starts in the mind, but I really
feel like you’re the best medicine I could ever have.”
His words were more wonderful than Celty could process but also more gut-wrenching.
Shinra’s injuries were far more serious than his smiles would suggest. Nebula’s
experimental painkillers should have been easing most of the pain, but the injuries
themselves weren’t going to heal anytime soon.
It could be a month until full recovery—or three or maybe six. Would there be
lingering effects? Celty knew nothing about medicine, so she couldn’t say.
What have I been doing all this time…?
Couldn’t she have worked as Shinra’s assistant in his illegal doctoring business rather
than running courier jobs? That would have at least given her some skills that might
have come in handy now.
The emotions that came over her were wild and conflicting: Each time, it was Shinra’s
words that eased her mind but also gripped her conscience with guilt. However, Shinra
never demanded any responsibility from Celty. He could sense her anguish and tried
to steer the conversation away from touchy topics in a subtle attempt to show her she
wasn’t at fault for what had happened.
“Maybe I had this coming.”
“Coming…? What do you mean? Yeah, what you do for a living is illegal, but the
punishment for that happens when you get arrested and sentenced. You aren’t hurting
people… well, except for the time you did surgery on Mika’s face… and all the other bad
stuff you’ve done… But… anyway, if you turn yourself in, then I’ll summon my courage
and surrender to that cop, as frightening as it is to me! We’ll be in prison together!”
“…Prisons aren’t coed, Celty.”
“No way!” she hastily typed.
Shinra’s expression softened, and he explained, “I meant, maybe I had it coming because
of Izaya.”
“Izaya?”
“When he got stabbed and hospitalized, he called me, and I basically shut him down,
didn’t I? My friend got stabbed, and I hardly felt any concern for him at all. So I
probably had this coming.”
“No way… Izaya totally earned what he got! Everybody hates him for a reason! He
practically wears karma as an outfit every day he steps outside!”
It was an odd analogy, but Shinra merely chuckled and looked up at the ceiling. “I
suppose you’re right. And I doubt that Izaya expects he’ll live to die of old age.”
“Of course not.”
“And yet, he’s still one of the few friends I have…”
“I feel like the problem is that you’re friends with him in the first place… ,” Celty said,
then realized that the man she was talking to was in love with her—a headless
monster—and she mimicked heaving a sigh.
“Okay, you’ve known Izaya since you were both in middle school, right?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know much about him at that age… Was he always like that?”
“Ah. I’m not sure what to say. In middle school, Izaya was the type not to make contact
with others. Even now, I doubt he has anyone he can truly speak the honest truth to,”
Shinra said, face pensive as he considered the friend he’d known for over a decade.
“I’d bet I’m the one he’s actually talked to longest, over the course of his life…
“So I suppose the only people who would know the younger Izaya better than I do
would be… his family.”
Ikebukuro, near Rakuei Gym

“Hey, Big Brother Iza! Die!” a cheerful voice called out.
Simultaneously, a foot launched itself at the back of Izaya’s neck in a vicious high kick.
“…!”
He dodged it in the nick of time and sighed, his usual detached smirk gone. “I can’t
believe you’d tell your own immediate family member to die. It’s so sad. Since when
did you get to be one of those inmates in the asylum of our depraved, detached modern
society, Mairu?”
“Wow, I can’t believe I’m being lectured by illness in human form! And you’re not
supposed to dodge!” grumbled a girl with a braid, dressed in a black karate gi. A
moment later, another girl in regular clothes appeared.
“…Brother… Well…?” [Big Brother, how are you doing?]
“My own sister just tried to break my neck. How do you think I am?” Izaya replied.
The girl with the glasses dressed for karate—Mairu Orihara—puffed out her cheeks.
“Well, Shizuo said that if you went crashing into a dump truck with a smile on your
face, he’d introduce us to Yuuhei! I was just trying to see if there was a way to fake it
and fool him!”
“Well, this is remarkable. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone killing their own
brother as a means of meeting a celebrity.”
“Hey, you might not actually die! Shizuo could get run over by a dump truck and
survive!”
“Please don’t act like every person is a talking golem made of steel like he is—and that
might be paying him a compliment he doesn’t deserve. At any rate, you’d better get
out of the middle of the street or a car will hit you well before any dump trucks come
along.” Izaya played the brotherly role, concealing his disgust at the mention of
Shizuo’s name with nothing more than narrowed eyes.
That was careless of me. When he dropped me off at Rakuei Gym, I should have imagined
that Mairu would be here, Izaya thought, annoyed at himself.
His sisters glared at him. “All I did was head outside to make sure Akane left safely, and
then you’re getting out of the Awakusu-kai’s car like that! Whatever happened to all
the excitement about you possibly getting buried in the mountains?!” Mairu protested.
The other girl, Kururi Orihara, looked away and mumbled, “…Further… Sisters…
Passed…” [Plus, you didn’t even notice us.]
“Hey, you two are doing all kinds of stuff behind my back, aren’t you? How much is
Namie paying you? This is why giving kids big allowances is a bad idea.”
“You can’t lecture me about that, Bro, not after you made a bunch of money running a
gambling ring for baseball during middle school!” Mairu shot back, sticking her tongue
out like a child.
Kururi hesitantly dipped her tongue out as well. Izaya groaned.
“I can’t imagine who influenced you to turn out so twisted,” he mumbled to himself.
“On the other hand, viewed objectively, you make quite interesting observation
subjects—”
He suddenly noticed something odd.
Mairu and Kururi were both looking behind him, mouths open as if to grunt in surprise.
“…!”
His honed instincts told him to spin around. And not just turn but to lean his center of
gravity so that he could leap out of the way.
His decision was the correct one.
Before he even saw anything, the shift in the air told the hair on his skin about its
presence.
A roundhouse kick toward his face.
His instincts had warned him of the oncoming attack before his sense of reason did.
And this kick was several times more powerful than the one Mairu had just tried to
use on him.
As his front half snapped backward like a spring, he sensed the shoe of the kicker
grazing the tip of his nose. Just that sensation alone was enough to make half his face
go numb, but he couldn’t stop there.
Izaya chose to escape via the ground, laying his body horizontal and tumbling to the
asphalt like a gymnast. Immediately, a series of heels struck the ground, following his
path as he rolled. It was like a scene from some Jackie Chan movie.
Within a few seconds, Izaya was back on his feet some distance away, a knife now in
his hands. He looked at his attacker cautiously but wore a smile on his lips. “Ah, good.
From the look on my sisters’ faces, I thought it might be Shizu at first.”
“I see. And will that be your last will and testament?” said his opponent, a man in a
black dogi with facial stubble.
Mairu spoke to the man with obvious familiarity. “Master, why are you out here?”
“You girls stay back. I’m going to kick your brother to the curb. I don’t think you want
to see your family member beat to crap.”
The man—Mairu’s martial arts teacher, Eijirou Sharaku—cracked his neck and took a
threatening step toward Izaya.
“Who, this guy? We don’t care…”
“…Affirmed…” [Yeah.]
“I guess it was foolish of me to expect familial love from either of you,” Izaya snapped,
his cheek twitching.
But his sisters weren’t done. “But to you, me and Kuru and Mom and Dad are no better
than strangers when it comes to your targets for observation, aren’t we? If you’re
going to treat all of humanity exactly the same, you can’t expect your family to love
you back!”
“…Sad…” [What a sad man.]
“This isn’t the time or place for that— Whoa!”
He had to lean away to avoid another fierce kick from Eijirou. They were attacks that
any beginner to martial arts would be helpless to stop, but with all his concentration
focused on the task, Izaya was just able to dodge and hold a conversation at the same
time.
“Doesn’t seem to reflect well on your profession that you’re attacking an amateur out
on the street, Eijirou.”
“So, you’re going to claim that a guy who can dodge my attacks and carries a knife
around with him is just a harmless amateur?”
There was naked, deadly malice in the karate master’s repeated attacks, but his face
didn’t reflect it. His eyes were tired and annoyed, as if everything in the world was just
a bother to him. “And what kind of guy forgets what he did to a man’s beloved sister
and just strolls right past that man’s dojo expecting to be treated well?” he snapped.
“It’s a public street, isn’t it? And I don’t remember any permanent scars being left on
Mikage.”
“Whether you violated her or not isn’t the point. It was that damn mouth of yours that
caused her to quit school! Or have you forgotten about that?”
He wasn’t Shizuo Heiwajima, but Eijirou Sharaku was certainly dangerous to cross.
And more to the point, if Shizu spots me getting into trouble here, I’m screwed.
He knew it was time to extract himself from the situation and decided to exploit his
foe through dialogue.
“If you want me to feel the same way you did, then I’m not the target of your revenge.
It should be my sisters, right? Just go to them and use your clever wits to convince
them to do whatever it is you want. Then you might just get me to double over.” Izaya
chuckled.
“How could you, Big Brother Iza?! You’d sell your own sisters?! Plus, doubling over is
what you do when you’re laughing!”
“…Sinister…” [You’re the worst.]
“And this is coming from the sister who told me to die so that she could meet her
favorite celebrity.” Izaya snorted.
But Eijirou did not find any of this funny. He glared at the other man with those sluggish
eyes of his.
“I wouldn’t dare mess with a precious pupil of mine, even if they’re related to the scum
of the earth.”
“Master…”
“And in another five years, when your body has properly ripened, then I might think
about it!”
“Amazing work, Master! You shifted my opinion of you from shining to rock-bottom in
three seconds!”
Eijirou did not reply to Mairu’s “encouragement.” Instead, he assumed the odd, unique
stance of the Rakuei Dojo, preparing to continue to assault—when a third party’s
roundhouse kick hit him on the back of the head.
“Gwuh?!”
The kick wasn’t at full power, so Eijirou merely fell forward rather than passing out.
When he understood who’d kicked him, he shouted, “M-Mikage! What the hell was
that for?! Don’t tell me you’ve still got a thing for him!”
It was a tomboyish woman with short, spiky hair. There was cool anger in her
expression as she surveyed her older brother and said, “Listen to you, out in public
yelling about me being violated or whatever… Are you simply the type of person who
cannot learn the concept of delicacy and propriety unless it kills you?”
“N-no, wait! I understand the theory that the only good me is a dead me, but are you
sure it’s true?! Consider the source of your information before you allow false rumors
to lead you astray!”
“Shut up, you moron. Fighting in the middle of the street? Are you completely dedicated
to destroying our reputation?”
“Oh, and I suppose sucker kicking your brother in the back of the head makes you a
paragon of honor?!” Eijirou protested as he got to his feet.
“A martial artist should be on battle footing in all his daily endeavors, right? You’re
going to complain that you couldn’t sense a sneak attack?”
“You think that means you’re allowed to just do anything you want to me?! What’s
next? Are you gonna headshot me with a rifle from a rooftop and say, ‘This is a battle,
not a game. Guns are fair play’?! I suppose then some little kid could light Traugott’s
house on fire, and that would make him the new fighting champion of the world! Wow,
this be-ready-at-all-times philosophy sure is wild! Wait, where was I going with
this…?”
“First of all, he would just walk out of the flames unsinged, and he’d also dodge any
bullet. Plus, none of those arguments are a defense for why you let yourself get hit by
my attack, nor are they excuses for the way you just humiliated me in public,” Mikage
said, sound effects of menace practically visible in the air behind her.
“Wait, Mikage! There’s just one thing I want to get straight first.”
“…What is it?” she asked, pausing in her approach when she saw how serious her
brother looked.
“Are you saying… you’ve never been with a man?”
“…”
“Not even a kiss?”
“…”
““…””
Mikage said nothing. Mairu and Kururi also awaited the answer with bated breath.
But what emerged from Mikage’s mouth was not related to the question.
“Die.”
“You’d tell your own brother to d— Whoa!”
Eijirou parried the fist that came rushing for his Adam’s apple, but that was only the
first of a series of blows to his vital points from every limb Mikage had.
“Hey, whoa, geez—dang, is there no end to this combo? Come on, wow, what was that?
Was that new?! Does it have a name like ‘Something or Other Dance’ or ‘Flowing
Purgatory’ or something! Yow! Yow! Yow!”
Mikage executed a combination of attacks that never stopped, and Eijirou accurately
parried them all as he jabbed at her. Mairu and Kururi watched this choreographed
sibling argument, entranced, until they remembered their own brother was here.
Except that when they looked around, he wasn’t anymore. There were only casual
observers, taking in the spectacle from a safe distance.
Along Kawagoe Highway, Shinra’s apartment,
“…And that’s what Izaya’s sisters are like. I bet even he thinks they’re more than he can
handle.”
“I’ve never heard of twins who were so… fictional… ,” Celty typed, hardly able to believe
the stories Shinra was telling her.
“I think it was about the time we were at Raijin High that Kururi and Mairu became
the way they are now. They were still early in elementary school at that point.”
“Oh.”
“I bet even Izaya understands that his sisters are the way they are partially due to his
influence,” Shinra said, reminiscing. Celty was sitting with her legs folded next to his
head, affording him a glimpse of knees and thighs. Her shadow-made riding suit was
100 percent flush to her skin, making her silhouette very accurate to the flesh. The
sight was making Shinra fidgety.
“What do you suppose Izaya said to his twin sisters when they were just about to start
grade school? He said, ‘You’re identical in every way. Is there even a point to living the
exact same life?’ And he did it in a way that five-year-old girls would understand.”
“Sounds like he got himself up to some shenanigans that any set of twins in the nation
would strangle him for…”
“Actually, I don’t think he bore them any malice as twins. He probably just wanted to
see them look depressed or start fighting or something. Not to hurt them but just
because he wanted to see it.”
“I know you think that’s vouching for him, but it only makes him sound worse… ,” said
Celty’s message, typed from the PDA and traveling through the home network to the
screen of the laptop that Shinra could see from his bed. This made the conversation
smoother, as she didn’t have to show him her PDA each time.
“But where Izaya went wrong is that he didn’t realize the girls were more abnormal
than he thought.”
“Abnormal?”
“They split up their personal features by rolling dice, hoping to be a combination of

only good things. They believed that people help fill in each other’s flaws. The
impressive thing is that they’ve been trying it for a decade now.”
“It’s kind of… touching? Should I be saying that?” Celty wondered, crossing her arms.
Shinra stared at the ceiling for a while, then conjectured, “Maybe… they were hoping
Izaya would like them, at the beginning.”
“What?”
“Sometimes the only thing worse than anger from a family member is disappointment.
My dad often said that the disappointment he sensed from me and my mom was really
hard, every time he experienced it.”
Celty thought of Shinra’s father—a freakish man who wore a white gas mask everywhere
—and typed gingerly, “Well… he certainly does a lot to make himself a disappointment.”
“When you’ve got young girls who are looking up to their much older brother, and he
asks them, ‘What’s the point of being a twin?’ you can bet they’re going to do whatever
they can to win his favor.”
“So you’re saying they tried to become complete human beings to make their brother
happy?” Celty guessed.
Shinra nodded as best as he could from a prone position, then winced. “It feels like
they mixed up the means and the end at some point. They’re so obsessed with being
the perfect person that they’ve already drifted away from Izaya. As proof of that, now
they’re fawning over Yuuhei Hanejima, the perfect superhuman. Honestly, it’s a waste
for them to be stuck in the palm of Izaya’s hand anyway.”
“Well, I don’t know much about those twins, but if you say so, then I’m sure it’s true. Then
again, I don’t know who is suited to dancing on Izaya’s palm.”
“Are you sure? Couldn’t that be what we’ve been doing all along?”
“If it happens, I’ll jam my scythe into the tender flesh under his fingernails,” she typed.
“You’re quite the extremist.” Shinra laughed, but her reply caught him by surprise.
“I’ll make sure I free you from the palm of his hand, even if I can’t join you. Don’t worry,
Shinra.”
For a moment, Shinra’s mouth hung agape as he tried to process that statement.
Then it sank in. He mulled it over in his head, and his sense of reason crumbled.
“Celtyyy! Please, you can’t talk about leaving me alone; it’s just too saaa-agh!”
Shinra?!
He bolted upright, shrieking, and Celty had to forget about her typing to hold his body
still.
“Ouch… I can’t imagine a world with you-oogh… Parting is such bitter sorrow… hrg…
Despair…”
“Just stop moving! Look, I’m sorry! I think I understand what you mean! I was just
kidding! We’ll run away together! Together forever! Just stop worrying!” she typed
frantically into her PDA and thrust it in Shinra’s face. Meanwhile, her shadow was busy
cradling Shinra’s body firmly under the blanket.
“I’m sorry, Celty. I’m calm now, I’m calm now…”
The slapstick routine was heartwarming in a way, but the sound of Shinra’s agonized
groans refused to leave Celty’s mind.
“Just leave all the chores to me and focus on resting. I’ve cleared things up with the
Awakusu-kai, so they’re not going to rush any of their patients to you.”
“Don’t overwork yourself, either, Celty.”
“I’m fine. I’m turning down any jobs that would keep me away from home for long
periods.”
Just then, Celty’s PDA buzzed with the ringtone she used for messenger jobs. It was a
new line of work for her, and the clients who used it were very limited in number.
She felt a streak of extreme foreboding. The idiom speak of the devil flashed through
her mind, which seemed to suggest that Shinra’s way of thinking had infected her—
and one glance at the screen showed her that the premonition was correct.
The name Izaya Orihara was displayed there. Reluctantly, she replied to the message.
Celty@MonHun Long Sword Main: What do you want?
Izaya Orihara:… Are you playing a video game?
Then Celty realized her handle name was still set up for the sake of her online game
friends, and she hurriedly fixed the text string.
Celty@: It’s not what you think. Shinra’s the crafter and gunner; I just use my sword
to cut off the tails.
Izaya Orihara: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Realizing how completely confused she was, she frantically sat up, took the time that
a normal human being would use to breathe deeply, then corrected herself.
Celty@Actual Work: Sorry. What do you want?
Izaya Orihara: You seem strangely adept at changing your username. Anyway, I wanted
to hire you for a job.
Celty@Actual Work: I decline.
Izaya Orihara: I wish you wouldn’t be so dismissive of me.

Celty@Temporarily Closed: I don’t have time to take on your shady jobs. Sorry.
Izaya Orihara: Well, well.
Izaya Orihara: Too busy taking care of Shinra, perhaps?
Celty went still.
…How does Izaya know about Shinra’s injuries? I mean, he is an info dealer, but… did
Shinra tell him himself?
While she mulled this over, Izaya continued messaging.
Izaya Orihara: Based on the delay in your response, I’ve got a guess as to what you’re
thinking.
Izaya Orihara: “How does he know that Shinra is hurt?”
Celty@Temporarily Closed: What’s going on? Are you involved in this?
Celty@Temporarily Closed: If tha
Celty@Temporarily Closed: If that’s the case, I’ll sew your eyes and mouth shut with
shadow and hand you over to Shizuo.
Izaya Orihara: Let’s not get hasty. Type calmly, please. And by the way, it wasn’t me.
Even I’m not stupid enough to attempt to maim or kill one of the few friends I have.
Izaya Orihara: But I am an info dealer, so I do have some level of insight as to who and
how you might’ve been targeted. I might be able to strike a little deal.
Celty@Temporarily Closed: Really?
Izaya Orihara: Of course, you’ll have to run a little job for me in return.
Celty@Temporarily Closed: You’re going to give me information on the guy who hurt
your own friend as payment for running a job for you?!
Izaya Orihara: Well, I’m sticking my neck out doing this. I’m not running a charity.
Izaya Orihara: So what do you say? Interested in hearing more?
Celty@Temporarily Closed: What time and place?
“What’s the matter, Celty?” Shinra asked, seeing her frozen in place with the PDA in
hand. “It’s Izaya, isn’t it? Is he asking you to do another crazy job?”
“Well, it is from Izaya, but it doesn’t seem to be a big deal. I’m going to step out for a bit.”
“Um, Celty…?” he called out. She was getting up in a hurry. “Did Izaya say something to
you?”
“Uh, I just told you… He’s got a job for me.”
“May I see your PDA?”
“How do you think you’re reading this?” Celty replied, nonplussed.
But Shinra’s expression was quite serious. “No, I want you to show me the messages
you were just trading with him.”
“You want to violate my privacy? What, do you think I’m cheating on you with Izaya?”
“…Celty… you know I can tell when you’re lying, right?” he said simply, but there was
power and a kind of sadness to his words.
“…Well… all right.”
Celty was perfectly capable of leaving with her secret intact, but she couldn’t just turn
her back on Shinra after hearing that tone in his voice. She gave up, switched the PDA
screen over to the message history, and showed it to him.
“…Figures. I knew it was something like that.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you’d try to stop me, so…”
“Well, of course I would… but then you’d just say sorry and rush out the door, wouldn’t
you?”
“…I’m sorry,” she said, shriveling as she realized he could completely see through her.
But Shinra only gazed warmly at her, a soft smile on his lips.
“On the other hand, I’m used to getting dragged around by his wicked schemes. It’s
been happening since middle school.”
“Huh?”
“I’d like to know the reason I was attacked, too… but I don’t want to place any burden
on you. So I was going to stop you at first, but if that won’t work, then I’m going along
with it.”
Indeed, there was nothing but acceptance in his features. Slowly, he raised his
bandaged body, grimacing with pain, and traced the nape of Celty’s neck.
“Let’s show whoever broke in here what we’re made of—together. I can’t move from
this spot, but I can at least use my brain.”
“But if it really is one of Izaya’s schemes…”
“Like I just said, if we’re only dancing on the palm of Izaya’s hand, then at least I’m
with you, Celty.”
“Shinra…”
Warmth filled the space between them. Shinra could have stayed there for an eternity,
but he had one thing he needed to set straight.
“Promise me, Celty. If you find out who the attacker was, don’t go charging in alone.
You must return here at least once. Even if Izaya brings you a guy standing right there
and says he’s the one.”
“And what will happen if I break this promise? Will you decide you hate me?” she asked,
even though she had no intention of breaking it.
Shinra’s head shook left and right. “I would never hate you, would I?”
“What would you do, then?”
“If you break this promise…”
“Then what…?”
Shinra paused before describing her penalty.
“There will be… tears.”
“Huh?”
“Much wailing… and gnashing of teeth… by me.”
“By you?!” she quickly wrote, but he didn’t appear to be joking.
“Yes. If you betrayed me, I would be heartbroken! A man in his midtwenties would be
wailing and blubbering! Sagamihara downstairs is going to come up and ask what all
the fuss is about! Do you want to see a grown man acting this way?”
“Um, I’ll admit it. I don’t wish to see that…”
She leaned sideways, unsure of how to react. After Shinra’s next statement, her backbone
turned to ice.
“Also, I can complain to your online game friends and make things very uncomfortable
in your little guild.”
“Understood. I will keep my promise. Rest assured of that,” Celty replied at once. She
briskly prepared to leave, then headed out of the apartment.
She had to admit that Shinra’s final penalty was very harsh indeed—but the fact that
he knew her well enough that he could pinpoint such a precise issue made her glow
on the inside.
Chat room
Kuru: We have waited for quite some time, but Kanra still shows no sign of appearing.
Mai: No-show.
Kuru: What a truly obnoxious boor, showing up and wreaking havoc when not
expected and never being available when one has a need to talk. The utility of the
Internet is that it fosters communication between distant people. Is it possible that
Kanra has grown not just physically distant but emotionally as well? What a sad state
of affairs.
Mai: Sad.
Kuru: Now we must record our frustrations with the world to improve our mood. For
example, why is it that the convenience store carries so many cashews and almonds
but hardly ever a hint of walnuts? Particularly when mixed-nut packages have the
entire trio of cashews, almonds, and walnuts!
Mai: It doesn’t matter.
Mai: Eep.
Mai: That was naughty, Kuru.
Kuru: Oh, really? So merely a light pinch on the calf is enough for you to label me
lascivious? I can see where your mind goes. One wonders what sort of places I could
pinch that would elicit accusations of harlotry! Perhaps an experiment is in order.
Mai: Stop, stop, stop.
Sharo: Enough of that, you little sluts.
Sharo: Stop harassing each other online already.
Mai: Hello.
Kuru: Oh my, at last another person comes along, and it’s the one I don’t wish to see.
Sharo: Well, most humblest of humble apologies for not living up to your expectations,
princess.
Sharo: Kakh! Ptu!
Kuru: Either your digital glob of spit marks you as an absolute lout or an online wizard
capable of conjuring a wide and precise range of emotions… In either case, my disgust
is a simple fact that cannot be avoided.
Mai: Spit is gross.
<Private Mode> Sharo: By the way, Mairu and Kururi…
<Private Mode> Kuru: Oh my, whatever is the matter, Eijirou Sharaku?
<Private Mode> Mai: What’s up, Master?
<Private Mode> Sharo: You guys really do trade personalities online…
<Private Mode> Sharo: But anyway, has your brother still been AWOL after that
meeting?
<Private Mode> Mai: Yes.
<Private Mode> Kuru: As a matter of fact, it had already been ages when we saw him
this morning.
<Private Mode> Sharo: Ah. See, I thought he had vanished into Shinjuku…
<Private Mode> Sharo: So what was he doing in Ikebukuro today?
<Private Mode> Kuru: Who knows? We might be family, but we don’t watch him all the
time…
<Private Mode> Mai: He seems to be doing something with the Awakusu-kai.
<Private Mode> Sharo: I see…
<Private Mode> Sharo: Well, if you find out what he’s plotting in Ikebukuro, tell me.
<Private Mode> Kuru: Very well. It pains us, as his sisters.
<Private Mode> Kuru: To think of our uncontrollable brother being set loose on the
town…
<Private Mode> Kuru: On the other hand, speaking of the relationship between you
and Mikage…
<Private Mode> Sharo: Not talking about that. It’s not meant for this avenue anyway.
<Private Mode> Sharo: It’s not up to me to say. Ask in person at tomorrow’s practice.
<Private Mode> Sharo: And you oughta get some exercise, too, Kururi.
<Private Mode> Sharo: You’ve got better proportions than Mairu, so it’d give me
something to look at.
<Private Mode> Kuru: Oh my, sexually harassing teenage girls online.
<Private Mode> Mai: Disappointed.
<Private Mode> Mai: Disappointed in my master.
<Private Mode> Sharo: C’mon, the Internet’s all about being more open, right?
Kuru: How can this be? Sharo is sexually harassing me in private mode. The
overwhelming shame and degradation has my brain in a heat expansion that threatens
to rupture my skull from within. His words are a curse upon me… They are like claws
that rip my clothes as I slumber peacefully in the virtual society that is the World Wide
Web!
Mai: It’s awful.
Mai: I’m going to tell on you.
Mai: To your sister.
Sharo: Stop, stop, stop! Fine, I get it! My bad! I was just kidding around, geez. Guess it’s
my fault for not doing a sexual harassment bit with someone who realizes when a joke
is a joke. Clearly, I must be the bad guy here!
Sharo: You guys make a good pair.
Mai: We’re not a pair.
Kuru: We are essentially two halves of one person. It would be rude to any proper pair
to compare us to them. So although there are none present, please apologize to them.
Sharo: Why would I do that?! Then again, it’s way easier to apologize when no one’s
there.
Saika: good evening
Sharo: Eek! Saika’s here?!
Saika: huh
Saika: i’m sorry, have i caused you trouble
Kuru: No, there’s nothing to be concerned about here. As you’ll see from the backlog,
it is just Sharo acting in an embarrassing manner on his own.
Kuru: By the way, Saika, I wanted to ask you something.
Saika: what is it
Kuru: I haven’t seen Setton in here for about ten days. Do you know anything about
that?
Saika: no
Saika: i don’t really know
Saika: probably busy

Kuru: I see. I was merely wondering, as many of the old-guard members have not been
present lately.
Saika: that reminds me, is TarouTanaka doing well
Mai: Haven’t seen him.
Kuru: No, I haven’t seen him at all, either. I suppose his exceedingly boring name made
me forget about him! It really does seem like this chat room is undergoing a
generational shift. It would be a shame, when we just brought in new members to make
the place livelier.
Kuru: Now it looks like the successors have simply pushed the original members out.
Mai: Let’s make it fun.
Mai: I’m sleepy.
Kuru: Oh my, look at the time. How did it get so late?
Kuru: We shall have to continue this tomorrow. Drugs and lack of sleep are the skin’s
worst enemy.
Kuru: Speaking of which, I’ve heard of a group selling drugs in the city these days…
Saika: are they pharmacists
Sharo: Uh, we’re not talking about door-to-door salesmen here, lol.
Kuru:… We can explain it later. But if any of you are friends with Setton or TarouTanaka
in real life, please do convince them to pop in here again!
Kuru: Online chat is only fun when you have plenty of people to bring together!
.
“Say, what’s the connection between Mikage Sharaku and you, info dealer?”
“…”
As before, the man with the burlap sack over his head and the woman who called
herself Earthworm faced each other from their respective chairs.
The woman now had a cell phone in her hand, and she was checking some kind of
information on it.
The man was different, too; the sack was drenched with water, expanding and
contracting with each breath.
“I asked you a question. It’s not very nice to ignore me,” Earthworm said with a little
laugh. She grabbed a bottle of mineral water from the table. “Or are you too thirsty to
speak?”
She chuckled to herself and held the plastic bottle over the top of the sack, then tilted
it without further ado. Water gushed out, falling onto the burlap sack in a little vertical
torrent. It rolled down the already-wet surface of the fabric, but the room was so dark
that there wasn’t even a reflection of light, just the splattering of drops on the ground
that gave away the presence of liquid.
Then she stood up, leaned in close to the sack, and licked at the flowing water. The tip
of her tongue pressed against the man’s cheek through the rough surface, and she
could sense the softness of flesh in the way it gave.
“That’s nasty, Earthworm,” said one of the women behind her, laughing.
But Earthworm merely cackled back and ran a finger over her own tongue. “Like I give
a shit about being nasty now. Oh, I just spilled some of our precious, precious water.
Will you go buy some more?”
“How many?” the subordinate asked suspiciously. Earthworm leaned closer to the
man’s ear and hissed in a loud stage whisper.
“Get me some two-liter bottles… about three dozen of them.”
Seventy-two liters in all.
Based on what just happened, the man trapped under the sack had to know how this
water would be used. But just to drive the point home, Earthworm asked him, “And
what do you suppose we’re going to do with all that?”
“…”
“Bzzt! Time’s up.”
She crossed her index fingers in an X shape, not even a second after asking the
question. She then placed her hands right in front of his face so that her crossed fingers
could squash and pinch his nose.
“The correct answer was we’re gonna keep pouring it on your head forever!” she
announced, like a game-show host describing a prize. Then she narrowed her eyes,
and without inflection, she continued, “As punishment for losing the game, we’ll make
your sisters drink, too, when they get here.”
“…”
“But don’t worry, all right? It’s not going to be that bitter stuff they feed to people for
laughs on TV. I’m not that mean-spirited. I wouldn’t give them something that
hideous,” she assured him, waving her hand. Her face lit up. “We’re just going to feed
them each just about ten liters of delicious mineral water.”
“…”
The man’s head rose; he had been still until that point.
“Oh, don’t worry, that wasn’t a euphemism for drowning them, okay? But given that
you deal in information, you probably know there’s a lethal limit for water ingestion,
right?”
“…”
“But I’m not the sciency type, so I don’t know how much you actually have to drink to
die, ha-ha. Would ten liters work? What do you think?” she prodded, excitedly waiting
for the water and sisters to arrive. “Whoa, wait, what? You don’t seem… that panicked
yet?”
“…”
“That sucks. That really hurts. You don’t understand how important this is to me.” She
was straddling her chair backward, rocking it back and forth. “Oh, wait. Say, are you
assuming your sisters can’t be caught that easily?”
“……”
She caught a minute twitch of his head and leered. “I hear the younger of the twins is
the star of the Rakuei Gym girls’ division. And the older one has a bunch of toys like
stun guns and sprays. Against a few ordinary men, you might actually be right in that
assumption.”
“…”
“So we decided to take some steps. First of all, what do you think about taking Kururi
hostage while she’s alone? You’re super-super-close with your sisters, right? Like
make-people-sick-just-watching-you level.”
Earthworm dangled the empty plastic bottle between her thumb and ring finger and
lightly bopped it against the forehead under the sack. She punctuated the punchy
rhythm by asking, “Are you wondering how I knew that?”
“…”
“Did you think you were the only info broker who was in the know?”
She knew that silence would be his only answer at this point. No point in allowing him
a chance for rebuttal.
“You see, there are others like you out there… but you don’t know about them. Because
unlike you, they’re too good to let their names and faces get out. Like I said earlier,
you’re actually an amateur, aren’t you? What would you call it, a semipro? Ha-ha, that’s
so funny!”
“…”
The man in the burlap sack shook slightly, not indicating any semblance of mirth.
Earthworm ignored his reaction and pressed the bottle against his forehead.
“Now… this other info dealer… Uh, to avoid confusion, let’s say this is Informant B,
okay? And you’re Informant A. Well, we managed to buy a whole lot of info about A
from B! It was quite funny how much we learned!”
She got up from the chair, slowly walked around to the back of his, and gently rested
her hands on his shoulders. Then she leaned over, pressing her chest into his
shoulders, and spoke right into the back of his neck, where the burlap sack was tied
just loose enough not to suffocate him.
“You’re an info broker, too, right? So you’ve got some killer stuff to tell us, I bet.”
“…”
The man writhed. Earthworm savored his reaction to the breath on his neck and did
it again. “You have a job making money from things people don’t want others to know,
their deepest, darkest secrets. Surely you could have seen this possibility at some
point?”
“…”
“Not that being prepared for the consequences excuses your actions.” Earthworm
snorted. She lifted her head to whisper into his ear, “Know anything about the group
Heaven’s Slave?”
“…!”
She sensed his back tense, and her narrowed eyes went as wide as a snake’s.
“Aha, I saw it! You do know something, don’t you…?”
“…”
“You can’t go back to holding your silence. It won’t work! Oh… unless you’re saving it?
Once the darling little sisters of Izaya Orihara arrive, we can all listen together.”
She was looking at the burlap sack the way a child would look at her birthday presents
all wrapped up in paper.
“So back to the topic… What’s your connection to Mikage Sharaku?”
“…”
“She’s not just a coach at the gym your sisters visit… right? Informant B told us quite
a lot about that. Remember?” she said, turning to her companions around her. They
merely smiled in the gloom. She took that as confirmation and turned back to him,
pleased.
“When Mikage was in high school, she was one of your little groupies, wasn’t she?”
“…”
“Quite amazing that you had such a flock of followers. Are there any still involved with
you to this day? Or did you make sure to settle your tabs with all of them?” She was
taunting him, but something about this line of questioning gave her another thought.
“Huh…? Wait, if you were that popular, you’d be a big man around town. I hate to keep
asking this, but why is it that you wanted to be an info broker when you’re so well-
known already? It’s dangerous. I can’t believe you survived up to this point.”
“…”
Despite the taunts and insults, the man under the burlap sack still did not speak.
“Did you think having a yakuza sponsor meant no one would dare come after you? You
thought wrong! We don’t want a fight with the senior Awakusu, to be sure, but we’re
dangerous enough on our own to mess with the lower members. I think you’ve seen
that for yourself.”
“…”
“Now, I’d be lying if I said I had no concerns… but we’re safe with our owner. If it comes
to trouble, the owner will clear things up with the yakuza. I’m talking about a very
scary man, all right? If you think I’m bad, you can’t even imagine what’s coming,”
Earthworm said, half speaking to herself as she stared at the ceiling, then returned to
her seat.
“Oh, right. This bit of info didn’t come from Informant B… but I suppose it went
without saying, right? You’ve been famous around Ikebukuro since your high school
days, Izaya Orihara?”
“…”
“There was some big fight, yes? I’m not familiar with the details because I don’t live
here.”
She took out her phone to remind herself of the particulars.
“It says you fought with someone named Shizuo… Heiwajima?”
Time rewound once again.

Early August, night, Ikebukuro, in a park
“The… goddamn hell! Did that son of a bitch send you?!”
Along with this enraged statement, an illegally parked motorcycle was lifted high into
the air.
There were no cranes or forklifts present, merely a man lifting over two hundred
pounds of metal with absolute ease, using nothing other than his own muscles.
Another young man fell to the ground in shock. The silhouette of the powerful man,
backlit by the lights of the park, must have looked like a grim omen of death.
“N-no, wait, easy, easy, buh-buh-bud-buddy—,” the young man stammered, his teeth
rattling.
Temples twitching, bike held aloft, Shizuo Heiwajima said, “What’d you say? Bloody?
Don’t worry—you’re about to get bloody, all right…”
“Calm down, Shizuo. He’s honestly gonna die if you throw it at him. And that’s an
expensive machine. It’s not a fair punishment for illegal parking,” said a resigned voice
near the bike-wielding incarnation of death and violence.
This other man had distinctive dreadlocks, and behind him was a white woman with
knockout proportions and a flat expression.
“It’s stupid for you to become a murderer just because the guy dropped his name. Isn’t
that right?” he continued without much force
Despite that, Shizuo relented and lowered the motorcycle to the ground.
“…Yeah.”
His fury at the quaking youth was still there, though. He glared at his prey as if the act
would allow him to clench the boy’s heart in his hands.
Tom Tanaka, the man with dreads and glasses, cut between the two and bowed to the
rider quite anticlimactically. “Sorry about startling you like that.”
“Er, uh, wha—?” The sitting duck gaped, his body trembling as he struggled to
understand. He looked like an ordinary college student, except that he had three cell
phones, one in his shirt pocket and two on either hip. It was pretty clear he wasn’t
leading a perfectly innocent life.
Tom’s brow furrowed. “But you’ve got your own problems, man. I have no idea what
you thought you were doing, but you had to have done your research before crossing
him, right? How could you possibly think that saying, ‘You know Izaya Orihara? You
guys are good friends, huh?’ was a good idea? On top of that, you never ask a question
to a stranger that way, because he’s gonna think you’re picking a fight! Got that?!”
“S-sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry! I’m really, really sorry!” the young man groveled.
Behind Tom, Shizuo was calming down, his breathing steady again. He glared at the
kid.
“So… what was that about me and the fleabrain?”
“S-s-suh-suh-suhhy!”
He was so freaked out that he couldn’t even pronounce the word sorry. Only by
averting his eyes from Shizuo was he able to regain enough composure to speak with
understandable clarity.
“I, uh, I am not your enemy! If—if—if anything, we’ve got a score to settle with that
Izaya guy, too… And we’re looking for him now!”
“What…?”
“Er, I mean, the leader of our group, it turns out that Izaya had messed with his
girlfriend… s-so he’s goin’ crazy trying to track the guy down!”
“So, what’d you wanna ask me?”

Several minutes later, they were in a quiet spot deeper in the park for easier discussion.
“R-right, well, we’ve been… uh… looking for information on this Izaya Orihara
asshole… but he’s real hard to figure out, and we have no idea where he is…”
“Hell, I wish I knew where to find him. Then I could pulverize his skull myself…”
The Caucasian woman, Vorona, chimed in flatly, “A proposal of curiosity since ancient
times exists. Is Izaya Orihara a life-form classified as a hated and fated foe of Sir
Shizuo?”
“No, Izaya Orihara is a fleabrain because he’s like a parasite. He sneaks up on you, and
before you realize it, he sucks your blood. You gotta be careful that he doesn’t latch on
to you.”
“Understanding is complete. Acceptance and acknowledgment have completed

simultaneously,” she said, which was about the longest and strangest way anyone had
ever said, “I see,” and then filed the definition of Izaya Orihara away in their mental
dictionary.
As a matter of fact, when she had been running odd jobs with her partner Slon, she’d
taken on a contract from Izaya to hurt Anri Sonohara—but Vorona was so
disinterested in her clients that she either forgot his name and face or never knew
them to begin with.
Thus, she registered the name Izaya Orihara under the nickname “Fleabrain,” not
realizing her own odd connection to the man.
Meanwhile, the young man interjected, eager to please, “Y-yeah! Yeah, exactly! He’s a
real piece of shit, this Izaya guy! The boss is super-pissed! He wants to kill him for
stealin’ his girl!”
Tom promptly threw some cold water on that idea. “Listen, I get that he’s mad about
losing his girlfriend, but would you mind not involving us in your murder fantasies or
whatever? Shizuo already loses his composure enough just by hearing the guy’s
name.”
“…Don’t worry. If I grind him into a bloody pulp, I’ll make sure to do it in a way that
doesn’t cause trouble for you, or Vorona, or the rest of the company,” Shizuo assured
him, quite serious.
“You know that’s not what I mean,” Tom snapped. “First of all, you can’t do that without
‘causing trouble’ for us, and like I keep telling you, there’s no reason to throw your life
away over a total scoundrel like him!”
“…Listen, if the fleabrain’s going to kick the bucket somewhere that I can’t see him,
that’s fine…”
To no one’s benefit, Vorona chimed in, “If I carry out the assassination, there’s a high
confidence that the evidence will reach a negative amount. Multiple methods exist to
exterminate the pest Izaya.”
Shizuo met this bloodcurdling suggestion with a raised eyebrow. “C’mon, you shouldn’t
say stuff like that, even as a joke,” he said, ignoring the fact that he himself had just
mentioned murdering Izaya multiple times.
He patted Vorona on the head and said, “I appreciate the sentiment, though. Thanks.”
“…”
Vorona looked up at him in silence, then averted her eyes.
Shizuo and Vorona kinda seem like they’re having… a moment? Tom thought, conflicted
about the combination of friendly interaction and conversation topic. I don’t know if
this qualifies as a good moment, but… I guess it is? Or am I wrong?
Even further out of the loop was the stranger, who decided to break the growing
silence by bowing to Shizuo and returning the discussion to the topic at hand.
“Um… so… um… I don’t expect you know where to find him, but… if you’ve fought with
Izaya Orihara, maybe you’d know some tics of his, or patterns, or something like a
weakness that we could exploit?”
“Weakness? You don’t need a weakness. Just find that skinny-ass fleabrain and beat
the crap out of him until he’s dead. But… like a flea, I suppose he’s really good at
speeding away. The only one who could catch him was Shishizaki back in high school…
That’s right, ever since high school… Ahhh, the way that filthy flea was always jumping
and hopping around…!”
Anger welled up in Shizuo’s eyes as his reminiscing took him further into the past,
muttering to himself.
“Um… uh-huh… ,” said the young man, who sensed danger and tried to wrap up their
conversation so he could withdraw.
* * *
Then another voice split the night, one totally at odds with Shizuo’s.
“Vooo-rooo-naaa! Good eveni-yaah!”
With an odd combination of greeting and combat shout, a slender figure leaped on
Vorona from behind.
“…”
Vorona blocked the attacker’s leg in silence and threw the person to the ground with
one flowing motion. However, in the instant the attacker touched the ground, Vorona’s
arms were suddenly empty, the mystery figure flipping in the air to land upright.
“Tch! So much for my plan to squeeze Vorona from behind!” said Mairu, laughing.
Kururi trotted up behind her and quickly bowed to the group. “…Night…” [Good evening.]
“I considered a need to ask before exchanging evening greetings. Why did you leap
upon me and attempt to grapple? It is possible I would eliminate you by force. That is
danger.”
“It’s just a little physical closeness! You’re such a force of eroticism, I figure we ought
to take inspiration from each other to up our games! And you’re so strong, you know?
So I want to attack you to find out which of us is tougher. I’d be fine with taking you to
the ground or being taken myself. Really, I just want to touch your skin to see how
smooth it is. Can I just touch it? Please?”
“It is unclear what you are saying. I request you release an explanation,” Vorona said,
confused.
Rather than answer her, Mairu waved to Shizuo. “Hey, Shizuo! Hi there! Sorry, I tried
to waste dear Brother Iza today and failed!”
Right at that instant, the young man’s eye twitched. “Brother Eeza?”
He mulled over the meaning of this unfamiliar phrase, repeating it to himself—until a

furious voice drowned out his own.
“Hey… why do you have three cell phones…?”
“Huh?”
The man turned to see Shizuo, his eyes flashing so dangerously you could actually tell
through the sunglasses. He was so menacing that he could’ve been ready to attack at
any moment.
“A guy walking around with three or four phones makes me think about that fleabrain…
You aren’t getting up to some shady shit like him, are you? Actually, don’t answer that;
I can just crush you to a pulp anyway…”
“W-wait, hang on…”
“If you don’t want that to happen, then disappear in the next three seconds… got
that…?”
Just before Shizuo could start with one, the kid turned on his heel and sped out of the
park like a rabbit.
The twins and Vorona looked extremely nonplussed. Tom, however, got the picture.
He patted Shizuo kindly on the shoulder.
“See? That was nice. Sure, he probably thinks you’re crazy for snapping at him over
having three phones, but at least he’ll keep a safe distance from you in the future.”
“…That’s not what I was doing. I honestly did get mad because it reminded me of that
fleabrain,” Shizuo replied. He turned to Kururi and Mairu and warned them, “Don’t
wander around the town for a while. Best not to advertise that you’re the fleabrain’s
family.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“…Mystery…” [Why do you say that?]
Shizuo gritted his teeth in annoyance. “It seems like that moronic fleabrain is up to
something again.”
Then he paused, unsure of whether to continue or not. He clucked his tongue. “Look, I
don’t wanna say this to you, but if push comes to shove, he’d happily abandon you two
to save his own skin, in my opinion. Sorry if you disagree with me there. But I’m
worried about you. You need to be able to protect yourselves.”
For a moment, he worried that he was stepping outside of his comfort zone with that
statement. The next moment, Kururi and Mairu each grabbed an arm.
“Hey, what are you doing?” he demanded.
Mairu cackled, and Kururi merely smiled. “So, you’re secretly really nice, huh, Shizuo?”
“…Respect…” [It’s wonderful.]
“I knew it! So is Yuuhei’s kindness actually something he got from you?”
“Knock it off! Don’t compare me to Kasuka. It’s not fair to him!” Shizuo snapped, both
arms still held tight by the teenage girls.
“Requesting proximity from Sir Shizuo. Arm-related bonds diminish efficacy of work.
It is impossible to understand why you undertake these actions,” said Vorona, trying
to separate the girls from Shizuo.
Tom watched the humorous scene with a shake of his head and scratch of his cheek.
“Things sure are lively over here.
“…Let’s just hope that nothing ends up happening.”
At that moment, Ikebukuro, building rooftop
“Nice to see you again, courier.”
Under a faded black sky, where the neon lights of the city erased any trace of the stars,
Celty was shrouded in a darkness so deep that even the bright lights could not
penetrate it. Standing opposite her and waving was Izaya.
“How’s Shinra doing? He was getting treatment with Nebula’s latest equipment, so I
figure he’ll recover faster than if you’d taken him to Raira General Hospital. Or…
depending on how the home recuperation is going, I guess that could be worse.”
“…Where did you hear all that?”
“Hey, I have my own information network. Feel free to imagine that I have spies within
Nebula, if that will help you—but I doubt it will do you much good. I mean, just finding
a spy isn’t going to change anything.”
It was the exact same Izaya whom Celty had always seen when he hired her to run jobs
for him. And it was this fact that made her so annoyed.
Shinra claimed this man for a friend. And even though Shinra had been terribly hurt,
and Izaya knew all about it, he was acting the same way he always did.
“If you were behind that attack on Shinra, then I think it’s quite useful to find your spies,”
she wrote, channeling that frustration and suspicion. She showed the message to
Izaya, but it had no effect on his attitude.
“Ooh, very scary. What did I tell you? I didn’t plot the attack on Shinra. I can’t imagine
what benefit that would hold for me.”
“You seem like you would do anything because it ‘seemed fun.’”
“That is quite cruel. Do I really seem like such a hedonistic thrill seeker? I’m not as
omnipotent or liberated as I would need to be to do any little thing that seems fun.
Being a monster, you might find this hard to understand, but human beings live within
many varied strictures. Total freedom is a luxury afforded only to those who are
prepared to ride headlong to their miserable deaths. And I don’t want to die yet—
simple as that,” he said, all glib pomposity.
This only amplified Celty’s irritation, which she poured into her PDA.
“…So Shinra got terribly injured, and you don’t feel a thing?”
“When I got stabbed and told Shinra about it, he said, ‘So long,’ and hung up the call. If
I seem distant, it’s only because I’m matching his level of concern.”
“Damn… We were still worried about you… after that! Instead, you called the cops and
set up traps, and… Besides, if you don’t like something being done to you, then don’t do
it to others! And… and you got stabbed because you deserved it!”
“And Shinra didn’t?” he shot back.
Celty stood her ground. “I’m here to find out whether that’s true or not. You said you
had information on the culprit? If you tell me you were lying, I really will truss you up
and toss you to Shizuo.”
“I’ll lie to others and even to myself, but not when it comes to business. I wouldn’t have
much of a business if I did that. You can think of lying as a kind of side hobby of mine.”
“Many people turn their hobbies into a job.”
“Good comeback. But let’s just get down to business, shall we?”
He straightened up from leaning against the rooftop fence and made his way toward
Celty. But she trained her attention on the surroundings and warned, “Hang on.”
“What is it?”
“…Who are the people around us?”
She was speaking about the men elsewhere on the roof, lurking in the shadows of the
building’s water tank, loitering against the walls, watching them. The sight of the
bone-patterned jackets they were wearing jogged something in Celty’s memory.
“Hey, aren’t they from Dragon Zombie?”
Izaya clapped his hands. “Yes, brilliant! I’m surprised you remember them; they
haven’t been riding for a while.”
Dragon Zombie was the name of a motorcycle gang that roamed far and wide through
every corner of Tokyo. They often jostled with Jan-Jaka-Jan, the group that had
Awakusu-kai backing, until they’d simply vanished from the streets not long ago.
Jan-Jaka-Jan had gone into hiding around the same time, which led Celty to suspect
they were just laying low out of fear of that ferocious traffic cop. But the last thing she
expected was to see them here on a rooftop, with nary a bike in sight.
“What are they doing here?”
He really is the mastermind behind Shinra’s attack after all, isn’t he? And now he’s
brought some goons around to take care of me next…?
Her shadows writhed in alarm. If need be, Celty would plunge the entire rooftop into
shadow.
Izaya waved a hand in benign denial. “Oh, don’t worry; you’re fine. No need for
paranoia. These guys are both my transportation and my bodyguards, in a way.”
“Bodyguards…?”
“I got stabbed, didn’t I? I haven’t found the guy who stabbed me yet, but you know how
people take things out on me, right? So I have no choice but to pay for personal
protection. You know how they’re cracking down on bikers lately, don’t you?”
“I’ll admit you’re right about that,” Celty typed, shivering as she recalled her white-
knuckle chase with Kinnosuke Kuzuhara yesterday. “But don’t act like you’re so
innocent and people just have it out for you.”
“I was kidding. Even I understand that my actions and personality have rightfully
earned me some enmity.”
“Have you considered trying to change your personality for the better?”
“If I feel like it,” Izaya said without interest.
Celty wasn’t particularly dedicated to correcting his ways, either. “Fine, I won’t pay
attention to them. What do you need me to ferry?”
“Hang on, let’s do this in order. This will actually be a multiday job.”
“Not so fast. I have to take care of Shinra at home! I can’t just leave for several days!” she
protested, but he shook his head like it was no problem.
“It’s fine. I’m not going to tie you down the whole time. It’ll last several days, but I only
need a bit of time each day.”
“A bit at a time?”
“It’s simple. I just want you to be my assistant. There are some items of information I
need to ascertain, and I need someone who can act freely, who isn’t tied down by their
position or affiliation.”
“So ask your little Dragon Zombie friends.”
He wasn’t moved by this suggestion. “I need them to focus solely on my personal

defense. My life is rather precious to me.”
“Then why are you asking a courier to do information gathering for you? That’s outside
my line of business… ,” she protested, but even Celty knew she had no choice but to
accept.
She needed the information he promised to pay her—the culprit of Shinra’s attack—
and she would just have to do what he asked of her. She could tie Izaya up with her
shadows and threaten him, but she knew he wouldn’t give up his info, being blessed
with an abnormal amount of willpower in that regard. She could only negotiate
halfheartedly.
“I’ll give you my best if I accept, but you’d better not renege on your end of the deal by
claiming it wasn’t up to your expectations.”
“I understand. You’ll have the information you want, so long as you don’t completely
betray me or shirk your duties. Besides, what I want you to do really isn’t very far from
your ordinary courier work. In a sense, I would want a courier to do it.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, annoyed at the vagueness.
Izaya grinned like some mischievous scamp, patted Celty on the shoulder, then hopped
up on top of the rooftop fence and sat on it.
Once she might have been horrified at the possibility that he could fall, but Celty chose
not to coax him down. She simply waited for him to speak.
He looked down at her from his vantage point and clapped his hands.
“You see, the item I want you to ferry for me…
“…is information.”
One hour later, Tokyo, nightclub
It was your stereotypical nightclub, the kind you’d see in any Hollywood movie with a
nightlife scene. The dark dance hall pulsed with sensual music, and an array of
dazzling colored lights tore through the gloom. Up on the third floor, isolated from the
pounding music and lights, was a private room—where a number of college students
who seemed totally out of place were lounging.
The walls were a shade of blue that brought the city’s night sky to mind. In the middle
was a white marble table, surrounded by soft black leather couches. The interior
screamed VIP.
“Nice space, huh?” said a man, a dart in his hand.
On the wall was a well-used dartboard and not the digital kind. It provided the room
with a kind of analog, old-fashioned class.
“Until the end of last year, the second floor of this place was a hangout spot for people
in our business. Apparently, it got shut down around that point because the Awakusu-
kai and the cops got wind of it.”
“Uh, doesn’t that make this a bad place to hang out?”
“No, look on the other side. They already took all the bad luck with them. Besides, my
dad owns this club, so I can do what I want here. I told him I need a study room, and
he said I can use it whenever I want, as long as no one’s reserved it.”
The young man, who looked like the sort of honor student who would never waste his
time at a nightclub, hurled the dart at its board.
It stuck with a crisp thock, the only sound in the room for several seconds.
The bull’s-eye prompted no reaction from the young man. Perhaps he played some
kind of sport, for despite his studious look, he was not wispy but actually somewhat
muscular. He was the classic rich kid blessed with strength, looks, and attitude—the
perfect owner for the picturesque room.
The silence was broken at last by the very young man who threw the dart.
“…And did Shizuo Heiwajima actually believe that made-up story about my girlfriend
being toyed with?”
Another young man standing near the door—the very same one who had spoken to
Shizuo in the park—put on an ingratiating simper and scratched the back of his head.
“Oh yeah, he bought it. He was every bit the monster that people say he is, but I guess
he ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed! Plus, I did actually bring back some information
about that Izaya Orihara guy! And honestly, while he might be an info broker, I don’t
think he’s worth worrying yourself over, Mr. Shijima.”
“It was about the girl who appeared to be his sister… right?”
“That’s right! The kid with the glasses said ‘Brother Iza,’ loud and clear! And the other
girl with her looked pretty similar, so maybe they’re all siblings.”
“Ahh, interesting. Sisters. That could certainly be fodder for a deal,” said the man
named Shijima. He took a fresh dart and assumed the tossing position. “So where does
she live?”
“Huh?”
The low-level member froze. It was a perfectly natural follow-up question, yet he had
no answers to give to his boss.
“If those girls are not here now, then it must be because you trailed them and
discovered where they live, at least. Correct?”
“Uh, well… this Shizuo guy was about ready to rage, so I kinda had to just bug outta
there…”
“I see. That’s too bad. Well, I guess we can look into that tomorrow,” Shijima said,
smiling. The other young man chuckled a bit to hide his shame.
Then Shijima looked closer at the other fellow and said, “Hmm…? Is there something
stuck on your eyes?”
“What?”
“There’s a mark or something, right around your eyelids. Close your eyes for a second.”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
Obediently, he closed his eyes.
Less than a second later, something struck his nose.
“Dzuh?! Ah… aaagh!”
He opened his eyes, taken aback. Right in the middle of his viewpoint, stuck between
the right and left eyes, was the blurred outline of two sticks. Actually, it was just the
one but so close that he couldn’t focus it into a single image.
His initial impression was that he’d been attacked by some tiny lizard or perhaps a
bee. He swung his hand at his nose to brush it away. But the instant he swiped the
object sideways, gouging pain exploded in the middle of his face.
“Yiaah!”
Whatever it was that stuck in his nose fell out with the impact. The young man held
his bleeding nose and looked down at the object on the ground.
“Wha…?”
Is that… a… dart…?
Understanding arrived at the same moment as a dark, looming figure.
“Sh… Shi… Shiji… ma? Aaaah! Nnnnng!”
Suddenly, Shijima, who’d been standing in the center of the room, was now right in
front of him, jabbing a dart into the youth’s shoulder. The pain in both wounds
resonated with each other, churning the insides of his brain. Pain throttled his body,
preventing any kind of understanding from taking root.
“Wh-what?! What d-did! I—?!” he stammered, clutching his shoulder and backing
away to huddle against the wall in the corner of the room. The reaction of the others
was mixed, from fraught apprehension to cackling laughter.
“Are you trying to say, ‘What did I do?’” Shijima suggested, then answered the question
himself. “It was what you didn’t do, obviously.”
He leaned down to pick up the dart on the floor, then promptly hurled it at the
cowering man in the corner.
“Hyeeaugh?!” he shrieked, terror segueing into pain.
Shijima strode over, lifted his foot high, then drove it down hard, directly onto the dart
sticking out of the man’s thigh.
“Gaaaah!! Rghrlrrzlkggg!”
The guttural shriek filled the room. But just as the soundproof walls prevented the
music from the dance club from getting in there, so, too, did they keep his screams
from getting out.
Tears were streaming down his face, racked with confusion and terror, while agony
gripped his spine. Shijima smiled benignly down at him, still pressing on the dart with
his foot, and said, “Shizuo Heiwajima, not the sharpest tool in the shed…? Are you sure
you’re not thinking of yourself? I haven’t got a second to waste here. Not a second to
waste. Not—a—sec—ond—to—waste!”
With each syllable, he pressed his weight down through his foot, eliciting moans from
his victim like some kind of depraved, broken wind instrument.
“You ought to be thanking me. If I hadn’t warned you to close your eyes, you might’ve
tried to dodge and ended up losing some of your eyesight.”
At last, Shijima removed his foot and turned away from the agonized man. The rich
boy was done with his failure of a follower now and spoke to the rest of his flunkies
instead.
“I can’t have you treating this like some kind of informal college club… Actually, I don’t
mind that. But I’m not the problem here. The problem is that I’m the one who takes the
brunt of Kumoi’s anger.”
Kumoi.
The name turned the room to ice.
Even when the dart of punishment had stuck in the young man’s nose, it hadn’t been
this silent. But the sound of the name Kumoi hitting their eardrums quieted even the
laughter of those who had enjoyed seeing all the blood.
The sound of the hapless youth groaning in the corner might have still been there, but
the information didn’t reach their brains—such was the focus inspired by the name
Kumoi.
“H-hey, Shijima, did you hear from Kumoi recently?” asked one of his friends, sitting
on the leather sofa.
“Obviously,” Shijima said, his pleasant smile back. “After all, not only did we fail to get
rid of the Awakusu-kai’s Akabayashi, we also fought some totally unrelated mobsters
and made it into the paper. Take a guess… do you think Kumoi’s just going to let
something like that slide?”
Although the benign expression never left Shijima’s face, a single drop of sweat ran
down his cheek.
“We’ve brought shame upon Heaven’s Slave,” he said, undoing the shirt button on his
right cuff. He tugged the sleeve up to his elbow.
“…”
The entire room was silent again. Some averted their eyes from the sight, while others
looked closer, unable to believe what they were seeing.
There was a very long, strange red mark on his right arm.
From just below the wrist up to his shoulder ran a series of long parallel lines.
Almost like musical notation, thought one of the men, then realized, No, not almost.
It was musical notation, the five-line staff to hang notes upon.
Sure enough, here and there on the lines was an ugly red dot, some of which even
contained the fine stem that marked them as eighth notes.
“Th-those cuts… How? Why?”
“Hmm? Oh, Kumoi made them himself.”
“With… a knife?”
The man probably had to ask, lest he be consumed by the surrealism of the scene. The
word knife had popped up as his rational mind tried to latch on to something that
would make sense of it all.
That’s right. It must be a knife wound. Yeah, like the kind of thing stupid punks do now
and then. A sort of dare, like stubbing out a cigarette on your arm.
Yeah. Nothing else to it. I’ve seen worse on TV shows and in manga. And it beats getting
your pinkie finger chopped down to size, right?
Rationalizations came and went through his mind. But the fresh wounds staring him
in the face spoke much more eloquently of pain than his imagination could.
Better than actually losing an arm or a finger? Perhaps, but these were not just
scratches. They were deep enough to reach muscle.
Even then, their brains worked hard to rationalize this, their imaginations telling them
that “this punishment wasn’t that bad.”
Shijima simply shook his head, cutting off the blissful escape route of ignorance.
“This might be healing faster if that was the case,” he said and approached the
dartboard with an easy nonchalance that no one else in the room shared at that
moment. He pulled out three of the darts stuck there and rolled them around in his
palm.
“He gouged out each line, one by one, with these darts.”
“…”
Both chills and sweat ran down their backs.
An act of composition, performed through the destruction of flesh, with a tool not
designed for cutting. Just the thought of this brought a cold, hard lump to their bellies.
“Oh, but it was still way better than the time he drilled my teeth without anesthesia.
Although, he did say I had to scream to the tune that he was carving on me. I tell you,
Kumoi’s got a brilliant sense of humor,” Shijima said, laughing.
No one replied. The man named Kumoi was apparently their leader, but nearly all the
punishment he meted out for failure fell upon his right-hand man, Shijima.
“You know what he said? We’re the shadow of the Dollars,” Shijima said, his words the
only heat in the frozen scene. He turned to the dartboard again. “He said we’re fine
being second place. All we have to be is a little shadow, hiding behind the mass of the
Dollars… We just lack the next bit of strength we need to solidify ourselves for good.”
Thock. A dart landed cleanly on the bull’s-eye again.
“We steal Amphisbaena’s system entirely for Heaven’s Slave’s use.”
Thock. Another one struck the target. His eyes narrowed fanatically.
“That’s what Kumoi wants.”
Thock. The final dart hit home.
Shijima’s words were the only sound in the room after that. The sound of despair.
If only he didn’t look so incredibly happy as he said them.
“We no longer have an out.”

Chat room
Saika: good evening
Saika: it’s nice to be here
CallowCadet has entered the chat.
CallowCadet: Greetings, my name is CallowCadet!
CallowCadet: Erm, this is my debut in this chat room.
CallowCadet: I found out about this place from Setton! It’s nice to meet you all!
Saika: nice to meet you
Saika: my name is saika
Saika: it’s a pleasure
Saika: so are you a friend of setton’s

<Private Mode> CallowCadet: It’s me, Anri.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: I just remembered that Celty invited me here.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: There’s been some stuff recently, and now all I can do is
stare at my computer.
CallowCadet: Yeah, that about sums it up! I’m glad to be here!
<Private Mode> Saika: are you dr. kishitani
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Correct! I don’t suppose there’s anyone else Celty would
invite anyway.
<Private Mode> Saika: are you feeling all right
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Oh, right. You heard from Celty, didn’t you?
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Well, at least I’m able to type on the computer.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: With a special desk that points to me, lying faceup on
the bed.
<Private Mode> Saika: please take care
<Private Mode> Saika: i’ll pray for your recovery
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Thank you, I will take care. Don’t worry too much.
<Private Mode> Saika: thank you for your consideration
<Private Mode> Saika: so you learned how to use private mode right away
<Private Mode> Saika: that’s amazing
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: It’s not too hard to go by feel, being familiar with
computers already.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: I would’ve liked to say hello to others, too, but you’re
the only one here now, I take it?
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: You don’t need to apologize for anything, Anri… I mean,
Saika.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: By the way, are you typing on a phone? That must be
hard.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: By which I mean, you’ve been in lowercase the whole
time.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: I just told you not to apologize, lol.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: If I make you say sorry a million times, Celty will really
let me hear it later.
<Private Mode> Saika: how is celty
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Oh, she’s doing fine! She’s still out and about, though.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: You know, when it comes to computer auto-correction

and conversion and all of that,
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Why not ask Mikado for help?
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: I’m sure he knows all about that sort of thing.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: In fact, I don’t think anyone would complain if you
invited him here to this chat.
<Private Mode> Saika: i’ve thought about that too
<Private Mode> Saika: but i don’t want ryuugamine to see the name saika
<Private Mode> Saika: i’m not ready for that yet
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Ah, I see. Well, I understand that feeling.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Mikado would be able to intuit that Saika was involved
with the cursed blade incident.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: So it would be awkward for him to realize you’re using
its name.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Well, you can take it at your own pace.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Unlike me, both you and Mikado are on the shy side.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: But as far as your status as the cursed sword, and how
you choose to live…
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Or even how you wish to reveal the truth to Mikado…
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: I’m certainly here and willing to talk anytime you want.
<Private Mode> Saika: thank you
<Private Mode> Saika: that’s very kind of you
<Private Mode> Saika: you and celty are the only ones i can talk to about saika
<Private Mode> Saika: so i appreciate you being there
<Private Mode> Saika: but isn’t it a bother to you
<Private Mode> Saika: isn’t my presence going to cause trouble for you two
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Don’t let it bother you, I said!
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Listen, I’m only saying this because we’re in Private
Mode…
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: The truth is, Celty thinks of you like a very close friend.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: And Celty’s friends are my friends.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: So I’ll hear you out—assuming I have the time.
<Private Mode> Saika: that’s great
<Private Mode> Saika: that makes me very happy
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Wow, you’re making me feel kind of self-conscious, lol.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Well, let’s consider this a brief parting of the ways.
<Private Mode> CallowCadet: Now removing Private Mode!
CallowCadet: I suppose I shall return and make a proper entrance when more people
are here!
CallowCadet: Thank you for being the first to welcome me here, Saika!
Saika: thank you
Saika: see you later
CallowCadet: And you! So long…
CallowCadet has left the chat.
Saika: see you later
Saika: i will log out for now too
Saika: thank you
Saika: i hope to speak with everyone present too
Saika: i’ll do my best

Saika: good-bye
.
“And now, I’ll be making a proper introduction of Izaya Orihara for you all. Clap, clap,
clap!” she said. The others around her dutifully performed the actual clapping.
The darkened room was now soft and gloomy, lit by the wan light of candles. There
was a little Mont Blanc dessert on the table, uncharacteristically stuffed with over
twenty small candles. It was essentially like one giant candle in all, sending waves of
flickering light around the room.
“Izaya Orihara’s birthday is May fourth! That’s so neat! That means he’s assigned to
one of the front seat numbers in the class! He’s so grown up! Wow!”
“…”
“Did you know that Izaya Orihara is twenty-five years old? But he tells people he’s only
twenty-one. Why is that? Is it really so scary that you’ll be turning thirty in just a few
years?” she mocked, but the man under the burlap sack just shook his head, not taking
the bait.
“This is incredible. Silence for two hours now. The truth is, I’d be happy to punch you,
and kick you, and stab you, and gouge you, and yank things out of you to make you
scream, but that’s really no fun, is it? We’ve got to save all that for when your precious
little sisters arrive! Am I right?” Earthworm seemed satisfied with herself.
She lifted the plate with the cake on it and brought it up toward the sack. “Even
through the burlap, you can see the light of the candles, right?”
“…”
His breathing got louder, and he arched his back, trying to keep his distance. The
bundles of candles moved even closer, sticking out of their cake pedestal.
“Look, I’m sorry about getting the fabric all wet earlier, okay? That was mean of me.
So I want to dry it off for you.”
Even through the dampness, he would likely feel heat. But the man’s reaction left no
clues as to his emotional state. What was under the bag—fear, despair, or boundless
rage? The anticipation and endless possibilities percolated under Earthworm’s own
placid exterior.
She could remove the sack at any moment. But now was not the time.
To her, suppressing her raging desire to find out was its own form of bliss.
Earthworm’s hobby was imagining the debasement of others.
The moment of wondering what expression her desperate prey was wearing—and her
hunger to see it—was the only moment that she ever felt truly alive.
I kind of want to burn his hand a little bit.
No. Shouldn’t do that. Gotta wait for his sisters first…
She had to suppress that deep-down desire for torture and cover it up with her easy
smile. That was the only way to maintain composure.
She wanted to push the flame even closer and see it burn the fabric.
She wanted those perfect features from the photograph to burn and twist in anguish.
And once he was so tormented that he could no longer move, she wanted to lick the
wounds.
Earthworm imagined the taste of his blood on her tongue and the sound of Izaya
Orihara’s screams.
Imagining these sensations allowed her to feel happy to be alive. She’d done this over
and over—to the enemies of Amphisbaena, to the enemies of her and the owner. Over
and over, all kinds of people, all the time.
As soon as they lost consciousness, or screamed and rolled around, and she took the
sack off to see, the woman would lose interest. Based on the photos, Izaya Orihara’s
physical appearance was right up Earthworm’s alley. So she was determined to be
very, very careful in choosing her moment with him.
She would indulge in waves of pleasure when the moment arrived, and she saw the
perfect expression of despair on his face, and then she would lose all interest in
imagining Izaya Orihara.
Meanwhile, she returned the cake to the table.
“As a matter of fact, this cake isn’t for you. It’s my birthday this month. Sorry, you can’t
have any.”
She looked down at her phone and read off more of Izaya Orihara’s personal information.
“Five foot nine, one hundred twenty-eight pounds. Pretty good physique, man. I
might’ve preferred you a bit taller, though.”
“…”
The man under the burlap sack inclined his head weakly, eliciting a chuckle from his
captor.
“You’re wondering how I knew your weight? Well, I do. Remember when I said my info
source was good?”
“…”
She imagined the expression he must have been wearing and explained, “But these
numbers are from over half a year ago, so they might be different now. You took out
life insurance yesterday, didn’t you, Izaya Orihara? And you had to enter your height
and weight, didn’t you? The info agent I deal with can even access that level of data.
Isn’t that amazing?”
“………”
He inhaled briefly, as though ready to speak, but ultimately did not. Instead, his
shoulders rose and fell. Earthworm felt an itch deep in her stomach and returned to
the phone.
“You’ve got seven family members listed, including yourself. Your paternal
grandfather’s name is Torakichi, while his wife’s name is Natsu. Your maternal
grandparents are both gone. Have you been performing your memorials for them? All
your prayers?”
“…”
The slightest of movements from the sack could have been either a nod or a shake of
the head. He probably wasn’t thinking about it at all. But based on his reactions, it was
clear that he could hear her voice.
She continued, “Your father is Shirou, and your mother is Kyouko… And then there are
your two sisters, who are en route as we speak.”
“…”
“Raijin Elementary School, Raijin Middle School, Raijin High School, then Raira
College. That’s an elevator school—very nice. Then again, Raira’s not so special, is it?
Rai-Rai-Rai-Rai. Everything Rai. Catcher in the Rai,” she gibed, a little private joke, then
got to her feet.
She moved her chair next to her human pet and sat down directly to his right. She then
placed her index finger on his right thigh and traced a little circle there. The man’s
breathing went ragged as he resisted the tickling sensation.
“So… I hear that you were quite the honor student at Raijin Elementary.”
“…”
“When you were in high school, you were fighting with this Heiwajima person all the
time, as I understand. But the worst was in middle school, wasn’t it?”
“…”
This time the sack was completely still and silent.
“What’s wrong? Not feeling lively anymore?”
She reached over to the table for the cake again and attempted to place the plate on
top of the burlap sack on his head. It took several seconds due to the rough texture of
the sack, but ultimately, she succeeded in getting the dish to balance.
“…”
“Don’t let it fall, okay? Hold in those sneezes! If it falls down, it’ll burn your clothes. Oh,
but don’t worry, we’ve got plenty more water to dump on you if that happens.”
The man’s head went absolutely still, which allowed Earthworm time to delve into her
imagination. The sweet scent of the cake, the pristine features of the face beneath the
sack, the likely humiliation—perhaps terror—splayed across them.
The shiver of anticipation and delight and the sight of the flickering candle flame put
her into a brief state of self-hypnosis. Shortly thereafter, she said, “Ready for me to
continue?”
“…”
“I hear you were the vice chairman of the children’s council at elementary school? You
were quite the little hero during the school athletic day and a frequent recipient of
awards for studying, poetry, and slogans. It also mentions some stuff about essay
contests. I sure would like to read some of your childhood essays. Can you imagine
that? Me reciting them aloud here.”
She cackled, then added, “But this is the strange part. How does such a model student
end up as a total problem child by high school… or should I say, a model student to
outward appearances, who was involved in so much foul play behind the scenes? I
hear there was quite a lot of very nasty trouble that befell Raijin High for the three
exact years that Izaya Orihara was there.”
“…”
“But hardly anyone actually suspected you of anything. There might have been
teachers who sensed the truth, but you never got suspended or expelled for anything.”
She bobbed her head, impressed, then got up again and walked around her victim. In
a wheedling voice, she asked, “So why did Izaya Orihara turn out to be such a bad boy?”
“…”
“Even our partner, Info Dealer B, hasn’t figured that one out. Which makes sense—if
you knew that, you wouldn’t be an info dealer; you’d be a psychic. I was wondering
why our owner became evil enough to create Amphisbaena, so I asked him… and he
didn’t know, either.”
She nodded, spread her hands, and looked up at the ceiling. It was a flickering sea of
red, reflecting the light of the candles.
“But I do happen to know the period that you turned bad, in fact.”
She slowed down, swimming in the soft light, and said, “Shinra Kishitani.”
It seemed as though the flickering of the candlelight wobbled briefly. Earthworm

continued staring at the ceiling rather than at the man next to her.
“I believe he was a classmate of yours in middle school, yes?”
“…”
“I still don’t know why it happened that way…
“…but it turns out you stabbed that Shinra Kishitani boy with a knife and got taken to
the police as a young teen?”
Time rewound again.

Night, Kawagoe Highway, Shinra’s apartment
“By the way… I noticed this wound hasn’t disappeared yet.”
Celty had changed Shinra’s bandages and was wiping him down with a wet towel. She
looked over his torso, which lay uncovered.
She hadn’t noticed yesterday, due to the distraction of his fresh wounds, but upon
closer examination, she spotted the mark from a stab wound of some kind in Shinra’s
side.
“Oh! It’s kind of embarrassing to have you staring at an old wound of mine, but at the
same time, it’s rather thrilling! Oh my, what should I do?! Tell me, Celty—what should
I do?!”
“Sit still,” her PDA said, and she continued the task of changing his bandages and wiping
off his sweat.
She had ended up accepting Izaya’s job and was now back home on standby until she
got the call from him. When Shinra heard the facts, he’d said, “He’s got to be plotting
something,” and then added a whole series of statements along the lines of “Just be
careful, okay?”
Of course, Celty knew it was an obviously suspicious offer, too, but she couldn’t decline.
So here she was, trying to focus on caring for Shinra, while something unsettling nagged
at the back of her mind…
And then she spotted Shinra’s old scar.
Once she had changed his bandages and put freshly laundered pajamas on him, Celty
brought it up again.
“Gosh, it’s been forever. Ten years, is it?”
“Yeah, that long. And yet it feels like it was just yesterday. At this rate, I could blow past
the median life expectancy and die of old age just around the corner.”
“That’s nonsense. You’re not even at half the life expectancy value yet. So… I guess those
scars really do last…”
As an inhuman being—a dullahan—Celty was humanlike but held several differences.

She was very tough to kill by nature, and any knife or scalpel cuts would heal in fairly
short order with no sign that there had ever been a wound.
So the sight of this ancient gash on Shinra’s side felt like a reminder of the distance
between them. It stuck with her and made her feel oddly unsettled.
“I suppose I’ll have this for the rest of my life,” he said, sensing that Celty was bothered,
and slapped at his side in a show that scars weren’t a big deal.
“Oofh,” he grunted, immediately doubling up in pain at the impact.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just having you at my side feels like it’s helping heal me.”
“I just wish it would heal that old scar, too,” she typed, intending to downplay his
consideration with a little joke. But then a thought occurred to her, and she asked, “But
what did you do to leave such a permanent mark? You said you got dragged into a fight
in class or something.”
“Yes, I got carved up a bit with a knife.”
“A knife?!” she wrote back, stunned at his nonchalance. “Getting stabbed by a knife is no
laughing matter! You said it was a fight, so I was imagining that you got pushed and fell
down some stairs or something!”
“Well, that was when there was still a wall between us.”
It was actually just a year and several months ago that Celty and Shinra began a
mutually loving relationship. But in the sense of them living together, they’d been
acquainted for over twenty years.
At the time, the only thing this meant to Celty was that the alien “human” man she
lived with had a son who’d gotten hurt. She registered this fact and felt sorry for the
juvenile but thought there was no need to dig any deeper than that. In fact, she sensed
that she shouldn’t.
“But I loved you, wall and all!”
“Listen, that’s very sweet of you to say, but that’s not my point. Since when do middle
schoolers have fights involving knives?!”
“Oh… right. Yeah, when I got this injury, we still hadn’t really talked yet.”
“Actually… I guess you’re right.”
It really is odd, when you think about it. From a young age, Shinra always sought me out
and told me all kinds of things. That didn’t change when he got hurt, but for whatever
reason, he never told me about why he got hurt.
She felt like she was about to see a new side of Shinra and wasn’t entirely sure if she
really wanted to ask or not.
“But you see, I have my own conflicting thoughts about this scar… I’m sorry, Celty,” he
said, averting his eyes in embarrassment.
She looked at him, lying faceup on the bed, and decided not to ask.
Yeah. I’m curious, but not enough that I want to place more burden on him. Everyone has
a thing or two they don’t want to reveal to anyone…
And then, contrary to what she’d just at last decided, Shinra began to speak.
“It all began right around the time I began middle school, I think…”
“Wait, so you’re going to tell me after all?!”
Twelve years ago, Raijin Middle School, Class 1-3

“Hey, you wanna join the biology club? I mean, you wanna create it with me?” asked a
boy with glasses.
“Sorry, not interested,” replied a different boy.
These were the first words exchanged by Shinra Kishitani and Izaya Orihara.
The school’s entrance ceremony was over, and they were sitting in their homeroom
after the whole class ran through their personal introductions. The children re-formed
in little groups of friends from elementary school, hopes and worries about the new
stage of school mingling in the air. Only Shinra and Izaya seemed out of place from the
rest.
There were several former Raijin Elementary students in the class, but none of them
approached Izaya Orihara to talk. He wasn’t upset by this; if anything, it seemed
natural.
Izaya was an honor student, but only in the sense of his grades—he was not a model
student in the least. He was genteel on the surface and popular with the girls, but he
interacted with school in a way that was passive and removed.
One of his elementary school classmates would later say of him, “He was kind of like
an alien. But he was a good guy.” Many others held similar opinions, and perhaps the
most “honor student” aspect of him was the way that everyone would always caution,
“He was a good guy, but…”
So he wasn’t hated by others, but neither was he particularly liked.
During lunch break, when the other students would sit in the classroom chatting or
play kickball out on the field, Izaya would always be in the school library. It was almost
as though he was intentionally isolating himself.
When the students would split up into teams for the yearly field trip, Izaya was always
the last one out. When the others realized this, there would be a competition to recruit
him. (“What, you’re not in a group?! Come with us!” “No way, we’ve got room!”) That
was Izaya Orihara’s odd existence in elementary school.
Izaya himself preferred to be one step away from the crowd. He understood that he
was considered an honor student. But he never mocked the people around him or
looked down on them.
Really, he enjoyed the gathering place that was school.
The other students in his vicinity chatted happily, fought one another, conferred in
secret about whom to bully, cried when they were the targets of that harassment—all
of which was enjoyable for him to watch.
And the more he got involved, the less he was able to see.
If you considered two groups of people, one of which liked sitting in the back row of a
movie theater to take in the entire crowd along with the film and the other preferring
to be in the very front row for the maximum possible size of image regardless of
quality, elementary school Izaya was undoubtedly among the former.
So his isolated status was, if anything, preferable to him. He’d been observing the
students in the new class coalescing into various social groups with pleasure—when
an innocent young boy with glasses interrupted this activity.
It was the one who had introduced himself as Shinra Kishitani during class. Izaya
recalled that he’d described himself in a surprisingly dark way: “Mom got sick of Dad
and divorced him, so now it’s just the three of us, including Dad.”
If there are three after his mom left, that must mean he has a sibling, Izaya realized and
tried to return to his observation.
“It’s okay if you’re not interested. Let’s just make a biology club.”
“…”
Izaya instantly disliked this boy, who refused to take no for an answer. Then when he
realized how rare it was for him to feel that way about another person, Izaya suddenly
found his interest in this Shinra Kishitani.
“Kishitani, right?”
“Call me Shinra. Umm… what was your name again?”
“…It’s Izaya Orihara.”

“Oh, right, right! Orihara! I’m going to call you Orihara, but you can call me Shinra,” he
declared, an oddly selfish kind of demand.
“And why did you want to create a biology club with someone whose name you didn’t
even know?” Izaya asked, annoyed.
“Because of what the teacher just said. As long as you have at least two students, you
can make your own club here.”
“My point was, why me?”
It was probably just because Shinra had seen him sitting alone in class, but he wouldn’t
be able to admit it, Izaya assumed. Hence the question with the answer he already
knew—now Izaya could enjoy finding out what response the other boy would give
him.
It easily surpassed his expectations.
“You like observing living things, don’t you? You’re cut out for biology.”
“Huh?”
He hadn’t said anything to that effect during his introduction to the class. For a
moment, Izaya wondered if Shinra was thinking of someone else, but no other student
in the class said anything along the lines of “I like animals,” either.
For some reason, Izaya’s bewilderment bred more confusion in Shinra.
“Huh? But you said it during your introduction.”
“Said what?”
“You said, ‘I like watching people in various occupations.’”
“…”
He liked watching people.
But Izaya understood that if he described his hobby as “human observation” in an

introduction in front of the class, he would only stand out in a bad way. So he phrased
it in a way that sounded closer to a proper hobby to escape attention. He just didn’t
expect that anyone would take his answer and invite him to join the biology club
because of it.
“What does that have to do with biology?”
“People are biological.”
“…”
That simple, obvious answer made Izaya even more intrigued. “Humans are just
another species among millions on the planet Earth” was a statement you heard often
in these eco-conscious times. No doubt other classmates would appreciate it, too.
But anyone who would bring out that line to describe potential observation targets
for a biology club was more than a little off. Izaya hesitated a bit, then shook his head.
“Sorry, I’m just not interested.”
“Okay. I guess that’s that, then,” Shinra said, taking Izaya by surprise. “I’ll just try again
tomorrow. There’s no time limit to applying for a club.”
“Hang on. Don’t you think my answer is going to be the exact same thing a day from
now?” Izaya asked.
He prolonged the conversation not to bust Shinra’s chops but because he was curious
and felt that something was off, and he wanted to know what that was. But at this point
in time, Izaya wasn’t able to decipher the cause of that feeling.
“How about the day after that?”
“Same thing.”
“Please. You can be the club president.”
“Why would you offer me the position that has the most hassle?” Izaya snapped.
It certainly wasn’t the kind of back-and-forth you heard between total strangers, and
in fact, it was quite rare for Izaya to engage in banter like this at all.
“Why don’t you just invite someone else who isn’t me? One of your friends from
elementary school.”
“Do I look like I have friends?” Shinra replied simply.
“…Sorry. You’re right; you don’t.”
“Too bad! I have one, in fact!”
“Hmm. Can I punch you?” Izaya asked, eyes narrowed.
Shinra ignored him and said, “Unfortunately, that friend is at a different school. So I
really don’t have any here.”
“And I doubt you’ll make any, either. Rest in peace. Or should that be ‘you get what you
deserve’?”
Izaya was a bit surprised that the responses were coming from him so freely. His
stance on maintaining a neutral distance from others could be broken very easily, as
it turned out.
The thought that all kids from other elementary schools might be this way was a very
depressing one, but Izaya convinced himself this was a property unique to the
Kishitani boy.
“But still, there’s got to be at least one other person who likes biology, right?”
“I don’t know. But there’s another reason I asked you specifically. I don’t actually want
someone who’s super into biology and is going to take it all seriously. I really want just
the minimum of activity. Like, someone who would raise sea monkeys at the most.”
“What…? So you don’t actually like animals?”
Club activity wasn’t mandatory at this school. If he wasn’t interested, he could just be
one of the kids who went home right after class. Why was he so fixated on this club?
But before Izaya could ask the question aloud, Shinra explained, “To be honest, I don’t
actually want to run a club… But someone I like said, ‘Ever since elementary school,
you haven’t had enough friends, Shinra. Why don’t you try being in a club?’ And since
it’s more like a one-sided crush at the moment, I don’t want her to decide she doesn’t
like me, so…”
“…I didn’t think there was any human being who cared about you enough to worry like
that, to say nothing of having a crush.”
“You really don’t hold your opinions back for someone I just met today. Also, I’d like to
offer a correction to your statement about a human being who cares enough to worry,
but… Oh, never mind. My point is, you look like you’d join the biology club and not
bother to care much. C’mon, let’s start a club and look for chupacabras or whatever.”
“That’s… not a biology club.”
Thus, Izaya promptly turned him down on the first day of school—but the unique
weirdness of Shinra Kishitani stuck with him, and the very next day, he began a period
of focused observation on his classmate. He also took pains to nonchalantly make
contact with other students who went to Shinra’s elementary school, in an attempt to
build a more accurate profile of him.
“Oh, so that’s the same school that, uh… Kishitani went to, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Hey, Orihara, are you in Kishitani’s class?”
“Yup.”
“He’s weird, right? You can’t tell what the hell he’s thinking.”
This was almost exactly the answer Izaya was anticipating, but he wasn’t disappointed
by it. “I don’t wanna say too much, because I don’t like bad-mouthing people, but… it
doesn’t seem like he has many friends.”
“Actually, he doesn’t have any… Oh, except for Shizu.”
“Shizu?”
It sounded like a girl’s name. Maybe this was Shinra’s crush, the person who was
worried about his social life, Izaya guessed. It took all the next sentence from the other
boy’s mouth to prove him wrong.
“It’s this freaky guy named Shizuo… He’s super-tough in a fight and gets mad in a snap,
and everyone keeps their distance from him. Kishitani would just walk up to him like
it was nothing and ask, ‘Can I dissect you?’ The guy made no sense.”
“Ah, I see your point.”
“But the weird thing is, Shizuo would talk to Shinra like normal… and trust me, he was
a freak! He threw the teacher’s desk!”
Threw it? That’s probably just a theatrical way of saying he tipped the desk over.
“Okay, thanks for your help. Let’s hope that guy gets arrested before he hurts anyone,”
Izaya commented and left the hall.
He couldn’t have dreamed that he and that “freaky guy” would end up attempting to
kill each other on countless occasions.
After that, Izaya continued his secondary education where he left off, paying special
attention to the human named Shinra Kishitani—until one day, he came to a realization.
It didn’t arrive during some event or moment of clarity. It just popped into his head
out of nowhere, like the instant you realize you forgot something.
Shinra Kishitani represented his exact opposite in life.
He had hardly spent any time watching others. In fact, to be blunt about it, Shinra
Kishitani seemed to have no interest in humanity at all.
In the way that Izaya loved watching all different kinds of people, Shinra simply didn’t
have a care about them in the first place.
What’s his deal, then? What does he watch that gives him life?
Izaya had spent his life watching others, and this was a remarkable feature that he’d
never seen in a person before. That realization brought a fresh question to his mind.
Over a month into the school year, he finally went to Shinra.
“I’m fine with being in your biology club if I’m only the vice president.”
He wanted to know why Shinra Kishitani had no interest in people.
So for the purpose of exploring this warped fascination, Izaya decided to play along
with Shinra’s idea.
It was the birth of the first-ever Raijin Middle School Biology Club.
Twelve years later, Ikebukuro, Raira Academy pool
“So in other words, Iza… you got into some kind of trouble again.”
“…Exasperation…” [I just can’t believe it.]
It was summer vacation, and Raira Academy’s pool was open to its students.
Seated at the poolside, kicking their feet slowly through the glittering water, two girls
were busy explaining something to a boy leaning against the fence behind them. He
glanced back and forth between their backs and… other features and sighed. “So why
are you bothering to tell me this?”
Aoba Kuronuma spoke to them in a much blunter manner than he did with Mikado.
“Why did you even bring me here to the pool anyway?” he complained.
Despite his swimsuit, he didn’t seem ready to swim. He wore an open black shirt and
stood conspicuously far away from the water.
Mairu Orihara scooped up a handful of pool water and splashed it at his feet. Her
relatively athletic body was wrapped in a competition swimsuit, while Kururi wore a
bikini with a spiderweb pattern. Neither outfit was according to the school rules, but
those didn’t apply outside of school hours.
The Raira Academy school building was eight stories tall, as big as some colleges, and
the pool was located on the sixth floor, strangely enough. It was an indoor pool with a
glass ceiling so that it could be used on rainy days, and the windows offered a nice
view of Ikebukuro.
Aside from the swim team’s activity hours, the pool was open to students during
vacation, so anyone could use it provided they brought their school ID. There was no
practice today, so the pool was split between racing lanes and a free-swim space.
Kururi and Mairu were kicking their legs into the free area, and the boys nearby were
alternately giving them wolf whistles or staring and then hastily turning their gazes
away. Aoba was in the latter category, if any, except that he had the advantage over the
other boys in that he was there on their invitation.
But he didn’t know why yet, so he stood back, playing it cool, as he secretly let his heart
throb at the sight of their figures in swimsuits.
Mairu splashed more water at him with glee. “Well, you’re curious, aren’t you? You
want to know more about our weird brother.”
“…”
He returned her question with a brief smile.
“I suppose I’ll just say that I don’t know what you mean.”
Their brother, Izaya Orihara, was a spiteful enemy of Aoba’s. He and Izaya had sparred
remotely through a number of events in the past, and a particular circumstance at the
present held them in strict hostility toward each other.
He’d never spoken about this to the twins, but they seemed to know something about
it already. He was neither alarmed nor frightened by this circumstance, however. He’d
been talking to the two for about four months, and he felt he had a good grasp on what
they were like.
Compared with an ordinary family, they hardly had any contact at all with their
brother. Instead, they had their own network of information and were surprisingly in
the know of the various shadowy goings-on of the city that Aoba had a hand in.
“Look, you don’t have to hide it. It’s fine; we’ll keep it a secret from him.”
“You can tell him if you want. He already knows all about me.” He looked around,
making sure the twins were the only ones within earshot. “If you had a normal family
and he knew what I was like, I assume he’d give you a proper warning to ‘stay away
from that Aoba Kuronuma boy.’”
“Wow, are you self-obsessed or what?”
“You… Fun…” [You’re really funny, Aoba.]
Aoba grimaced. He should’ve expected these reactions from them. “Fine, fine. You got
me—I was drunk on myself.”
“But don’t worry; we have a pretty good idea of what you are, but that doesn’t mean
we’re disgusted by it. And you’ve helped us out with a bunch of stuff.”
“You think too highly of me,” he said.
“There was that secret Raira Academy website where somebody was trying to set us
up for something awful, and then it just vanished from the Internet all of a sudden,”
Mairu said. The girls looked up at Aoba, who studiously avoided their gazes.
“Look, let’s not talk about that. So… what’s your sicko of a brother involved in now?”
“Well, according to this guy named Tom… there’s some group, either a gang or a biker
group or whatever, and he messed with the girlfriend of their leader. See, our brother
used to have a whole bunch of girls following him around. Like a playboy, I think they
call it?”
“Passion…” [He’s such a philanderer.]
Aoba pored over this fresh round of information.
Woman troubles, huh? But would Izaya Orihara do something that would earn him such
a straightforward grudge? It’s too simple.
But… on the other hand, I guess I don’t really know what people would do when women
are involved. I do know he’s not the kind of guy who would get so infatuated with a
woman that he’d forget his due diligence.
All the while, the twin girls were splashing and frolicking seductively in the water.
“Kuru, did your boobs get even bigger? Pretty soon you’ll look like Miss Sonohara, or
President Kine from the art club, or Miss Yumikawa, the student body vice chair.”
“Negative.” [Stop that.]
“Yet despite your protests, you chose to wear a bikini. That just goes to show how
secretly slutty you are! I love it!”
“…Public.” [People are watching.]
Aoba watched the two girls tickle each other in the water, the only betrayal of his cool
exterior being the spots of red on his cheeks.
“…Hard to know where to rest your eyes,” he mumbled to himself.
All in all, Aoba was acting thoroughly in line with the innocence of his youth, and he
needed something to drive away the impure thoughts that were plaguing his mind. He
found that unraveling the mysteries of Izaya Orihara was a good replacement.
So… I know he came back to Ikebukuro. If I feed his location to Shizuo Heiwajima, that
might be a good way to vex him… but he’ll just find a new place after he gets away, and
that’ll be that. It’s better that we know where he is than to have him in hiding. And I’m
sure he knows I know his address.
Aoba understood that trusting in his opponent’s ability was the best possible way to
give him the maximum caution.
Maybe I’ll sit back and test his boundaries for now. I don’t want Mikado getting dragged
into anything at this point…
His thoughts were abruptly dashed by the feeling of cold water hitting his body.
“Wh-wh-whaat?!”
His shirt was drenched. No sooner had the chilly water landed on him than it began to
warm to a tepid temperature. Down in the pool, Mairu had impishly sliced her arm
along the surface, which produced the sheet of water that drenched Aoba.
“Don’t act like a little kid!”
She’d snuck it past the gaze of the school monitor. There were no admonishing whistles.
“Ah-ha-ha-ha! Sorry about that! It’s what you get for looking so serious at the pool!”
“That’s not an apology. Now my clothes are all gross. What am I supposed to do now?”
Aoba grumbled, wondering if he’d really been making a face. He took a step closer to
Mairu to give her a piece of his mind about his wet clothes—when something soft
pressed itself against his back.
“Play…” [Hiya.]
“Huh?”
It was a girl’s voice, quiet and seductive, right at his ear.
Only when he recognized that it was Kururi did he understand that she was hugging
him from behind.
Huh? What?! Kururi? When did she—?!
Is that soft sensation what I think it is?! Is this some kinda porn game?
Is she… pushing me? Wait, I’m falling…

Aoba turned mid-plunge, a mixture of excitement and surprise on his features, and
saw Kururi standing there, a partially deflated beach ball held in her hands.
Oh.
A beach ball?!
So I guess that wasn’t her chest.
That’s a shame—I mean, good— I mean, I’m fallub-blub-glub
He toppled into the water next to Mairu before he could finish the thought.
When he emerged upright, the other girl in the swimming goggles was cackling. Above
him, he heard Kururi say, “Health…?” [Are you all right?]
“All right, enough horsing around!” came a shout from the pool monitor. That prank
hadn’t escaped his notice.
“We’re sorry!”
“…Apology…” [I’m sorry.]
“Uh, s-sorry… Wait, it wasn’t my fault. I was the victim!”
After all three of them apologized, Aoba removed his completely drenched shirt and
laid it out next to the pool, then gave Mairu and Kururi his meanest side-eye.
“To think I trusted that you weren’t the kind of person to play such pranks, Kururi.”
“When we play pranks, we play them together.”
“Same…” [Exactly.]
“So are you just excited about being at the pool during summer vacation, Kururi?” he
asked.
She answered by way of descending into the water again. The two girls took positions
surrounding Aoba.
“W-wait! I’m getting out, I’m getting out,” he protested, trying to get away from them,
but they each grabbed a hand as he reached for the lip of the pool and dragged him
back into the water.
“You know you love this, Kuronuma. Stop trying to hide how excited you are.”
“…Fondness.” [That’s so cute.]
He was a weak-willed boy being humiliated by girls, but all the male classmates who
passed by the pool looked at him with envy.
“Hey, Aoba, what’s the deal? Are you actually going out with those two?” one of them
called out.
“They’re just playing you, dude.”
“Kuronuma doesn’t have the guts to go out with a girl,” they mocked, to hide their
naked jealousy. None of them had girlfriends, obviously. But they were completely
correct, and Aoba had no response.
He was a bad guy—he’d created the Blue Squares, brought Mikado into them, and
plotted to use the Dollars for his own ends—but he had almost no experience
interacting with girls, even as friends. He was completely out of his element with these
twins.
But his classmates had no idea about that or his secret side, so the only thing they
muttered about among themselves was “Look at that lucky wuss, getting along with
those hot twins.”
“Damn, I’m so freakin’ jealous.”
“Should we go somewhere else to look for girls?”
“You know, I heard a story about some upperclassman from Raira hitting on all kinds
of girls around town last year.”
“Yeah, I saw him a lot when I was in middle school. I hear he dropped out, though.”
“Really?”
“It was about him eloping with a girl or something.”
“You sure? I heard he got a job so he could save up for their wedding.”
“In any case, I’m jealous. They’ve got girls.”
“…This is getting sad.”
Their attention gradually transitioned away from Aoba, and they trudged off to the
locker room to change. Aoba watched them go, then dunked his head into the water
and exhaled, cooling both his body and mind.
…And hoping that the girls on either side of him wouldn’t melt the core of malice at
the center of his being.
Tokyo
“…So you can see what a problem I’m stuck in. They’re both majorly hot. I was so tempted
to just give up on everything and dive right into Kururi’s ample chest.”
“I’ll kill you!” the tall boy snarled into the phone, grinding his teeth.
However, on the other end of the line, Aoba was totally undisturbed.
“I’ve heard you say ‘I’ll kill you’ so many times, I’m bored of it, Yoshikiri. Besides, they’re
both gunning for Yuuhei Hanejima, got that? And not as groupies—they’re dead serious.
I guess knowing the guy’s brother makes them think they’ve got a decent shot.”
“Aoba… are you really gonna bring up the name of the one guy who practically defines
being a player? Are you doing this to me intentionally?”
“Save up your rage at successful men for when we destroy Izaya Orihara.”
“I’m assuming this Izaya Orihara guy really is a player, then.”
“From what I understand, he had these, like, cultist groupies that followed him around
ever since his high school days. And Kururi and Mairu call him stuff like Big Brother and
Iza.”
“…All right. I get the picture. And after you were splashing and giggling it up at the pool
with those twins, I’ll kill you along with him.”
“So you’re going to kill me either way,” Aoba said, snorting. That mirth only fueled
Yoshikiri’s irritation further.
“And you’re just making me mad because you want to die, right? And that’s why you
decided to call me?”
“Nope, that’s not it. After I had lunch with the girls, I did some independent research on
something Izaya’s been struggling with lately.”
“Lunch?! You had lunch… with two girls?!”
“That wasn’t the point of that statement. Just listen to me. There’s this weird group called
Heaven’s Slave that’s selling drugs around Tokyo. They’re squabbling with the Awakusu-
kai now.”
“…Never heard of ’em. So what did you eat?”
“Russia Sushi. Anyway… Heaven’s Slave doesn’t get around in Ikebukuro, so it’s no
wonder you haven’t heard of them. ’Bukuro’s pretty safe as a general rule, and any place
that might deal in that sort of stuff is probably running under Awakusu-kai supervision.
They’ve got a guy named Akabayashi who’s legendary for his hatred of drugs.”
“Got it. So you bought these girls lunch, thus putting you into a natural high without
the need of chemical assistance. You must be very proud.”
“Actually, they paid for the food. They’re kind of rich, actually.”
“They paid! For! Your! Lunch! Wowwwwww! So you didn’t pay for their food, you
didn’t even split the bill; you must feel like such a pimp, eh? They paid for your lunch!
And then you came running to tell me about it! Wowwwwwwwww! I’m gonna kill ya!
Die!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now, Heaven’s Slave is the name of both the dealers’ group and the
product itself. Or at least, that’s my assumption. And to finally get to the point, they’re
putting out feelers for Izaya Orihara.”
“…How do you know that?”
“There’s a nightclub they’re using as a base right now, and an old friend of mine works
there. I was trying to look up something about Izaya, and he happened to have this bit
of intel. These guys who normally hang out in a private room at the club suddenly hit the
dance floor and started sniffing around for traces of Izaya Orihara.”
“Hang on. Even you know where they hang out, Aoba. You really think the Awakusu-
kai yakuza wouldn’t know that, too? Why haven’t they crushed these guys yet? Or do
they have backing from some other mafia?”
“I don’t know if there are other yakuza involved, but I bet the Awakusu-kai are waiting
for the right moment. There’s this guy named Shijima in the group, a college student. His
parents are apparently pretty big rollers with weight to throw around. And there’s
barely any info out there about the group’s leader. It’d be easy to get that info if you nab
Shijima and some of the others and pry it outta them. But it seems like they’re waiting
for the right moment to take that step most effectively.”
“I see. And do we factor into this somehow?”
“Just watching for now. I don’t know how Izaya Orihara figures into it, but it’s probably
best if we shore up our position now, while we have the chance. We can’t just ignore it,
obviously, so we’ll be watching with maximum vigilance.”
“All right. Die.”
“Now you’re not even justifying your death threats with a logical reason, Yoshikiri… But
anyway, the point is, there’s some weird stuff afoot. From what I hear, even the remnants
of the Yellow Scarves are acting funny.”
“Sure it’s not your older brother pulling some shit again?”
“No… I’m not talking about the old Blue Squares we had infiltrate them. I mean the guys
we were beefing with back then.”
“Oh, those guys. The time that we were around seventh or eighth grade, right?”
“You used to brawl it up with high schoolers back then, Yoshikiri. And you almost never
lost.”
“The ridiculous thing is that for being older than me, they were so much weaker.
Seniority’s an urban legend, man.”
“That’s not how the word seniority works, but whatever. Actually, I’m amazed you even
know that word. Who’d you hear it from, your grandma?”
“…I’ll kill you!”
“I’m telling you, you’re really bringing down the value of the death threat, Yoshikiri. I’ve
heard it so many times, it doesn’t frighten me anymore. Why do you have such a small
vocabulary anyway? Don’t you know any words other than I’ll, kill, you, and seniority?”
“…~~~!”
Yoshikiri issued a high-pitched screech of rage, gripping the phone so hard the plastic
creaked.
In the distance, another boy called out, “Hey, Yoshikiri, pass me the phone.”
“…”
“I’m done over here. He’s the only one left.”
Yoshikiri ground his teeth one last time, then tossed the phone to his companion…
…and with his other hand, he blocked an incoming metal bat.
“Hello? Hey, it’s me. You know me. Wire me some cash, will ya?” joked the other boy
into the phone.
“Oh, hey, Gin,” Aoba replied. “Where’s Yoshikiri?”
“He’s finishing off the last guy,” said the boy named Gin as he watched Yoshikiri put
the heel of his shoe through the front teeth of a rough-looking guy. “He’s so talented,
man. How is he able to fight and talk on the phone at the same time?”
There were a number of other young men on the ground around Yoshikiri, either
unconscious or writhing in pain. He’d taken on all of them with one hand, two feet,
and one forehead during his conversation with Aoba.
“And it was all I could do to handle just three of them. But hey, we weren’t able to be
around during that whole stalker incident. It’s a shame to the Blue Squares’ name that
the one stalker took down so many of our guys. I can’t believe it.”
“C’mon, don’t take it that way. That stalker was way tougher than he had any right to
be. I’m more concerned about that Yellow Scarves guy who took out two of our own
elsewhere.”
“That’s embarrassing, too. Two-on-one, and we lost? When your family gets shown up,
so do you. That’s why me and Yoshikiri are out for blood this time, to make up for it. I
put out the call for our best muscle to roll over the competition today, and you know
what happens? The Nitari brothers wanted to watch some anime, Neko’s with his girl,
and Houjou’s asleep. So it was up to just the two of us to do all the damn work.”
There were more victims at Gin’s feet, but he had blood trailing from his temple, too.
It seeped down onto the cell phone.
Aoba didn’t sound particularly concerned. “Yeah, Yoshikiri might be a good fighter, but
he’s not a good thinker. I’m pretty sure the only word he said over the phone was kill.”
“What? Why? What did you say to him?”
“Just that I went to the pool with Kururi and Mairu.”
“Oh, fuck off and die. And why the hell aren’t you here anyway?” Gin demanded.
Aoba laughed. “Sure, I’ll die one day. I’m only human. But I’d like to live to be eighty.”
“Really? You think you’re gonna get to live another eighty seconds?”
“Why is it that every person in this gang is so unbelievably rude?” Aoba wondered aloud.
“Hey, just be happy you’ve got someone with you at all. If the real pieces of shit like
you didn’t have guys like us around, you’d go antisocial and end up spending the rest
of your life behind bars!” Gin accused.
“I play good at school, so I actually have lots of friends.”
“Okay. Whatever you say. Die. Shi-ne! If I wrote that in English, it would be S-H-I-N-E!”
“That’s not English, just English letters. Why would I want to shine and sparkle?”
“Uh… shine and sparkle from a nuclear reaction inside your body that kills you, bitch!
I hope you burn into ash, loser!” Gin’s taunt was like a kid in the schoolyard.
Aoba sensed that this back-and-forth could last forever, so he decided to get down to
business. “So…? How’s Mr. Mikado doing?”
“Oh, he’s alive. You wouldn’t believe what a wuss he is in a fight. He passed out, so
we’ve got him in the car. He’s no better than you or Yatsufusa, actually. I can’t imagine
why he wanted to participate in purging the Dollars himself. The boss is supposed to
hang back and yuck it up while the muscle does the work.”
“Actually, I might not be his match in a fight, either,” Aoba murmured happily, mostly to
himself.
“Even I can’t imagine… how he might turn out after all this.”
After he hung up, Aoba gazed at the scar on the back of his right hand.
“I really am looking forward to seeing what becomes of you, Mikado.”
Then he recalled something Gin had just said to him: “…If I didn’t have anyone with me
at all…? I don’t want to think about it.”
An image floated into his head, the brother of the twins he liked—the face of a man he
thoroughly disliked.
“I don’t want to turn out like that piece of shit.”
He squinted in displeasure, shut his flip phone, and thought—

Speaking of people hanging around, what’s the connection between that one doctor and
Izaya?
The man in the white lab coat had held a scalpel to Aoba’s throat when he’d tried to
make contact with the Headless Rider. He seemed dangerous.
You’re just like Izaya Orihara, the man had said.
Aoba reflected on him.
They’re not… simply friends, I suspect.
He’d been curious and looked into it once.
But the answer he found was strange: In middle school, Izaya Orihara stabbed the man
who would later be a black market doctor, Shinra Kishitani, in the stomach.
Usually, that would lead to hatred. To enemies.
But they say they were in the same high school after that…
So really, what is their relationship like?
Twelve years ago, summer vacation, Raijin Middle School, biology classroom
“I look forward to your accomplishments, Vice President!” Shinra beamed, clapping

him on the shoulder.
Izaya smirked. “I take that to mean you intend to do no work of your own?”
“Whoever said that? I’m just going to cheer you on.”
Shinra was sitting in one of the rotating seats in the biology classroom, spinning wildly
like it was some kind of toy. They’d established the biology club after all, and the school
assigned them to the classroom of the same subject. Shinra was the president, and
Izaya was the vice president.
Their primary activity was cultivating plants, but because it revolved mostly around
carnivorous ones, it wasn’t very flashy. Most other students either found the
insectivores curious or creepy, and nobody really wanted to be personally involved.
But there were a few eccentrics who joined at the founding, and they performed
upkeep on the plants in rotation, which left each individual with little to do. But that
was entirely the point—they’d chosen carnivorous plants that were especially easy to
care for.
Thus, the brevity of time they had to dedicate to the club was second only to those
with no extracurriculars at all, and as long as they had containers with actual plants
growing in them, no one could accuse them of propping up a fake club for credit.
But when summer vacation came around, their faculty advisor told them they’d be
making a presentation at the school culture festival, so they needed to plan some kind
of exhibition now while they had time. Someone had to visit the school to take care of
the plants anyway, a duty that Izaya accepted, though they told the school they would
be coming on rotation.
Now, on the first day of summer vacation, they were supposed to have a meeting at
the clubroom with all members present. But all the others preferred not to come to
school at all and told Shinra or Izaya on the last day before vacation that they’d let the
two bosses handle everything.
“Since everyone else just ditched us, I guess that means we get to make all the
decisions. And since I fully intend to press all the responsibilities onto you, that means
you get to call the shots. Good for you!”
“Let’s see. Here’s my idea: You die right here, then I observe the state of your
decomposition and display the results at the culture festival,” Izaya replied. It sounded
like something a serial killer would do—but aside from the fact that an individual
couldn’t legally do this in Japan, Izaya understood that this was, in fact, a legitimate
area of study. There was a research group that placed cadavers in various places and
examined the results for science.
Let’s see, where is it…? he wondered, consulting his memory. To his good fortune,
Shinra saved him the trouble.
“Ah yes, there was a lab at a college in Tennessee that’s attempting that experiment, if
I recall. They call it a body farm, don’t they? They receive donated corpses and place
them in various environments, then take detailed data from the decomposition, insect
festering, and so on. That forensic data helps the police estimate the time of death in
murder cases, for example,” he blathered.
“You’re… rather well acquainted,” Izaya remarked, surprised.
“Dad’s a researcher for Nebula. He always talks about stuff like that during dinner.”
“I think I’m beginning to see why your mother left him.”
“Hey, I didn’t think you remembered that bit from my introduction.” Shinra laughed.
He wasn’t upset at all about the crack at his family. Without losing his smile, he
followed that up with “But I wonder… what would happen if we didn’t decompose?”
“Huh?”
“I don’t mean saponification, when we’re preserved well enough that our body fat just
hardens up. I mean, if a dead body stays perfectly pristine, does that mean it can be a
proper object of love for other people?”
What the fuck is he talking about? Izaya wondered. Was Shinra confessing that he was
a necrophiliac?
But as usual, rather than anything else, Izaya found this idea quite fascinating. He said
nothing, waiting for Shinra to continue.
For his part, the other boy didn’t act like he’d just confessed some deep secret. Quite
matter-of-factly, he said, “What if there was an incredibly beautiful dead woman, like
the only thing that was different was that her heart wasn’t beating?”
Okay, so this is a necrophilia thing. Izaya always felt that Shinra was bizarre; now he
was excited to hear whatever sexual fetish lurked under this eccentric’s exterior.
Then the conversation took an odder turn.
“The body never decays. It’s just a body that looks beautiful. But you can’t truly
experience love with a body. You can love it, but it can’t return that love, can it? It’s just
a dead body.”
“Of course it can’t. The best you could do is a ventriloquist act, if you had an overactive
imagination.”
“But what if the body could move around?”
“…You mean… it’s a zombie?” Izaya replied, but Shinra was quite serious.
“No, I don’t think that’s the right term. It’s not all gross and decaying like that. So let’s
say you’ve got a dead body moving around that doesn’t decompose. In other words, if
it went from a dead body that ought to decompose to a perfectly preserved zombie…
could you reach a mutual understanding? Could you fall in love with it?”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“What if the zombie was nice? One that didn’t eat brains or bodies? What if it could
understand us, like at the level of a dog? What if that zombie could give you the
gentlest smile you’d ever seen? What if that zombie could talk to you like a normal
person and tell silly jokes, and the only difference was that its heart wasn’t beating?”
The president of the biology club tapped on a container holding one of their
carnivorous plants as he spoke. He was too straightforward about this to be joking, yet
the subject matter was so nonsensical that it was impossible to take seriously.
“If it didn’t decompose, still looked pristine, and could tell jokes… then I guess that
would be more like a special kind of human being that could move around without a
working heart… right?”
“And what if that zombie didn’t have an upper half? Say, she could writhe her gorgeous
hips and use her shapely feet to write on paper in order to communicate?”
“That seems… much less human.”
Izaya was having a very hard time figuring out where Shinra was taking this. It was
very rare that Izaya felt confusion on account of someone else, but for whatever
reason, this boy’s statements had an oddly bewildering effect on him.
The extent of Izaya’s conclusion about the last few months was that something made
Shinra Kishitani different from anyone else he’d seen before.
“Would it be weird to fall in love with a zombie that’s only a lower half?”
“I guess it would be more like a foot fetish that’s so extreme it becomes weird?”
“Ah, I see. I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Shinra remarked, impressed. Izaya had no
idea what was so profound about his sarcasm.
“If loving a human is normal,” Shinra continued, “and anything else is abnormal, where
does the boundary lie? Assuming that the kind of familial love you feel for pets is
something else entirely.”
“…?”
“If being alive or dead is one such boundary, then what about someone who’s not alive,
not dead, not human, but incredibly close to it? If you fell in love with such a person,
would that be normal… or weird? What determines abnormality, and what makes
something proper? I’m sure the location of that boundary changes for each person, of
course.”
Just then, a fly in the room approached the planter and landed on a Venus flytrap,
causing its jaws to snap shut and trap the insect in a cage of green.
Shinra looked off into the distance and commented, “If that plant could somehow
communicate with us through telepathy, do you think we could reach an understanding?
Do you think it would be abnormal to feel love or friendship with it?”
…No, really, what the hell is he talking about? Izaya wondered, his mind racing behind
his placid exterior. He reached one possible answer.
Not alive but not dead… So, like a manga character?
Is that what this is about? He’s looking for advice about being in love with some anime
girl? Seems weird to compare her to a zombie without an upper half or whatever.
“Look, I don’t think it’s a huge deal. Some folks like to give their plants names and treat
them like people. I don’t know if any of them get so attached that it’s the same level of
attraction they feel toward the opposite sex, though. And as long as they’re not hurting
anyone, who cares who they love?”
In truth, Izaya enjoyed observing people in the act of harming others for the sake of
love, but he chose to hide his true nature and play the role of common sense here. But
once again, Shinra went in an unexpected direction.
“Actually, I want to love, even if it does mean hurting someone.”
“Whoa, what?” Izaya snorted.
This Shinra Kishitani guy… He’s just weird.
He doesn’t watch people. He’s not like me. Not like the others.
Shinra has no interest in people. But… that’s not the entire explanation, either.
He doesn’t hate people, or look down on those around him, or even feel disgust at the
world. That’s not the reason for his lack of interest.
He just doesn’t see them. It’s like he’s so obsessed with something, people are just part of
the background.
…This guy… What in the world is he seeing? I can’t tell what the object of his obsession
is.
I would understand if it was some character in a manga or a movie. Some people are just
like that… but I feel like Shinra is different.
Shinra noticed that Izaya was lost in thought. He waved his hand in denial and said,
“You don’t have to think that hard about it. That was just an example, the thing about
hurting people. Anyway, can I ask you to watch the plants for real? I’ll come and do my
part, like once or twice a week.”
The sudden shift in topic was jarring; Izaya still wanted to follow up with the other
thing. But due to his policy of staying at a comfortable distance, he didn’t speak his
mind directly.
I’ve got time. I can figure out what his deal is at my own pace.
He flashed Shinra his usual breezy smile and shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I feel better at least
coming to school periodically, rather than just being on vacation the entire time.”
“Okay, cool. I mean, I’d prefer to be at home as much as possible. I just don’t want my
family to think I’m not taking my club activity seriously or whatever.”
“Good point. And there’s a bit too much here to actually take it home to care for it,”
Izaya said, noting the numerous planters arranged on the sills of the biology class
windows.
Shinra was quickly putting his things away, perhaps sensing he had talked too much
about something, whatever it was. “Well, I’m going to leave. I’ll come to water them on
Friday. Just call me if anything happens before that point.”
“Sure. Until then, I’ll enjoy being the king of the biology class.”
“Just watch out for revolutions. You’re the kind of guy who gets sloppy and winds up
guillotined by the common folk.”
“That’s… quite an appraisal.”
For not having any interest, he sure is sharp. And in this case, I have to agree with him,
Izaya noted critically.
Shinra scampered out of the room. He was smiling like a little kid who was looking
forward to his school field trip. There must’ve been something great waiting for him
at home.
What a weird guy. I’ll have to keep observing him. But it’s dangerous to get too close.
Gotta be cautious, Izaya thought, more sure than ever about Shinra Kishitani’s
abnormality. He looked up at the ceiling and smirked.
“King of the biology class, huh?” he repeated, pleased with himself. “This is looking
very convenient for my purposes.”
One month after that, the king of the biology class’s reign came to an end in a most
unpredictable way.
He would be ushered into police custody for the crime of stabbing the club president,
Shinra Kishitani—an outcome that even Izaya could not have imagined at this point in
time.
Twelve years later, Rakuei Gym

“Your brother?” Akane Awakusu asked.
Dressed in her black karate gi, Mairu kicked at a sandbag. “That’s… right! When you…
left! Yesterday, the… guy! Who got out of your… car! Was my broth… er! Izaya Oriha…
ra!”
She punctuated every few syllables with a different kind of kick, her feet thudding
against the heavy bag.
“Izaya?” Akane repeated, looking befuddled.
“Why, do you recognize the name? Were those scary Awakusu-kai guys talking about
him?”
“No. It’s the same name as someone I know,” the little girl said.
Mairu stopped kicking and reached out to steady the bag before turning her head to
ask, “Oh yeah? I thought Izaya was a pretty rare name… Maybe it is Iza, just in disguise.”
“It’s not. He was much skinnier than your brother, Mairu… And he said Izaya wasn’t
his first name; it was his last name.”
“Oh, I see. Well, anyone’s better than my brother. Stay away from him for your own
good, okay?” Mairu warned. She didn’t ask Akane anything else about the story,
because she wasn’t really interested to begin with.
She went back to training against the sandbag.
For her part, Akane recalled the man she knew named Izaya.
There was Nakura, the woman she’d met online. Nakura then put her in touch with
another man she knew, the one who’d given her advice on how to survive as a runaway.
He taught her about Shizuo Heiwajima and gave her a stun gun. Thinking back on it
now, with a clearer mind, he’d been very fishy in a way.
But she hadn’t told anyone in the Awakusu-kai, including her father, about Izaya or
Nakura. If they found out about the involvement those two had in her runaway spree,
who knew what her father might do to them in secret. She couldn’t bear the thought.
So Akane had been quite steadfast in protecting the names Nakura and Izaya under
duress—even though she was at least knowledgeable enough now to recognize that
something had been off about them.
And after that point, I stopped getting messages from Nakura…
Even still, Akane prayed that the people she’d encountered hadn’t met an untimely
fate at the hands of the Awakusu-kai.
I wonder what they’re doing now.
Tokyo, in a vehicle
“So, you suspect that Orihara asshole, Mr. Shiki?” asked the young driver.
From the backseat, Shiki muttered, “Just a hunch, that’s all. Got nothing behind it yet.”
“But he seemed totally cool when he and Miss Akane met face-to-face yesterday… and
she was acting like she’d never met him before.”
“Maybe so. But even if he was involved in her running away from home, I doubt he’s
stupid enough to have put himself out there directly. I really was just dropping him off
along the way to picking her up yesterday, honest.”
His voice was tense and thick, the emotion physically suppressed beneath it. Shiki had
no intention of speaking his truthful mind after that.
The driver sensed the land mine waiting there and cleverly altered the subject.
“You think that Orihara guy’s gonna find something on Amphisbaena?”
“I’m not holding out hope. But I’m not counting him out, either. He’s clearly got a
different set of information sources than ours.”
“And we can’t just… take his over or something?” the driver asked, unable to leave the
fascinating topic of Izaya alone.
Shiki just shook his head.
“If the way his system worked was that straightforward, we’d have done it already.
And for one thing, he’s impervious to threats, and his network vanishes if we kill him.
The best answer is just to use him properly. Well… second-best, maybe,” he said,
correcting himself.
He glared at the man in the driver’s seat and warned, “It might be best for the
Awakusu-kai if we simply get rid of him altogether, rather than make use of him. But
we just don’t know that yet. He’s that tricky of a man to deal with, got it?”
“You could get rid of him easy if you wanted to, Mr. Shiki.”
“You think so? I’ve heard he does business with the Medei-gumi directly. So as their
subordinates, if we want to kill him, we’d better have a damn good reason. We’d have
to tell them he’s playing with fire and that it’s going to be the death of you.”
It was probably Shiki’s idea of a joke, but the driver felt terror in his spine as though
needles of ice were being inserted there. He was done asking about Izaya at last.
For his part, Shiki held his silence and considered what had happened over the Golden
Week holiday.
The biggest question is Shizuo Heiwajima. Why did he come to the place where our guys
got whacked?
Over Golden Week, the gang’s leader-in-waiting, Mikiya Awakusu, secretly paid
Vorona and Slon, a pair of guns for hire, to eliminate some moles in their midst—but
for whatever reason, Shizuo Heiwajima appeared on the scene, which forced the
Awakusu-kai to mark him as a wanted man.
It’s certainly possible that Izaya Orihara would’ve known about Slon’s job, because even
if Slon himself didn’t give away the game, Orihara would be able to follow or tap him
and put the picture together for himself. Then, right at the moment that he’d have
finished his hit job against the Awakusu-kai moles, he lured Shizuo Heiwajima to the spot
of the hit…
You really couldn’t pull that off unless you knew about the nature of the job beforehand.
I suppose I should assume there was some other connection there, aside from Slon and
his contract.
But if one thing’s for sure, it’s that you can’t trust Izaya Orihara.
Eventually, the driver gave in to the pressure of Shiki’s silence. Glancing through the
rearview mirror, he asked, “How’s the other thing going? Those students who are
messing with Mr. Akabayashi.”
“Ah… them. We’ve got a handle on one kid who’s high on their totem pole. The problem
is, his dad and gramps are big civic figures. If we piss them off, we’ll have more
problems on our hands than just inside the Medei-gumi.”
“What’s the plan, then?”
“Honestly, the ideal scenario would be if the people distributing Heaven’s Slave ended
up in a death struggle with Amphisbaena, but…”
Shiki chose not to say the second half of that sentence aloud. He merely thought it.
…But writing that scenario requires the Amphisbaena info we hired Izaya Orihara to
get… and I don’t like that, not one bit.
Tokyo, rooftop
“Hi there, courier. Were you enjoying your time with Shinra last night?” Izaya asked,
his typical smirk greeting Celty, despite the fact that she found it very unpleasant.
With obvious disgust, she typed, “Don’t you dare try to imagine what our home life is
like. What kind of enjoyment are you imagining?”
“Well, that’s rather hostile. I would have figured that you’d take my statement as
positive acknowledgment that you and Shinra have a very cozy relationship.”
“Anyway, I heard about a little something.”

“Heard about what?” Izaya replied without a hint of curiosity.
She shoved her PDA into his face. “About the scar on Shinra’s torso.”
“…”
“He fessed up and told me the entire story.”
“For whatever reason, he really will tell you anything. Even in high school, I don’t think
he told a single soul about that,” Izaya grumbled, shaking his head. The grin he wore
suggested that he expected this might happen, however. That was enough to convince
Celty.
“You can’t be trusted.”
“What next, then? Will you quit the job?”
“No, that’s a different story. Whatever happened in the past, you’re still one of Shinra’s
few friends. Technically speaking.”
“Friend…? Do you really suppose Shinra thinks of me and Shizu as friends?” He chuckled.
“What do you mean?” she shot back.
“He has no interest in people. Out of everything in this wide, wide world, the only thing
he’s truly paying attention to is you. Shizu and I might think of Shinra as a friend, but
he barely notices us. In the end, he’ll always prioritize you. I bet the only reason he
puts up with the two of us is because you told him something about treasuring his
friends years back, didn’t you?”
Celty’s fingers paused. It was true that she’d been saying something like that to Shinra
for ages.
Shinra had once helped out at Yagiri Pharmaceuticals in order to fulfill his own desired
love, she recalled. He would even lie to me if it would allow him to be with me.
But ultimately, he captured her heart for good on the very night this lie was exposed.
She envisioned Shinra as she knew him, based around her connection to him—and
slumped her shoulders.
“…I suppose I can’t dismiss that out of hand. He’s not the type of person to distinguish
between good and evil, and it’s questionable if what he feels toward you and Shizuo is
what normal people would call ‘friendship.’”
“Right?”
“But what is ‘normal friendship’ anyway? Can you really define something that nebulous?”
She understood the special nature that defined her and Shinra—but she couldn’t deny
that hearing Izaya insult her man made her angry.
“Besides, you’re pretty abnormal, too, if you think the only thing that defines a friend is
whether they prioritize you or not.”
“You’re mistaken. I think of everyone in the world, including Shinra—well, not Shizu,
obviously—as being my friends, and my lovers, and my family.”
“So you’ve got an interest in every human being alive, and Shinra has none. I still think
Shinra’s the more normal of the two of you,” Celty argued, unable to help herself. Really,
she just wanted to get to the topic of the job.
Izaya spread his hands in a gesture of wounded pride. “Shinra’s more normal than me?
Listen, I’m not trying to insult him, but if you really heard the entire story of his scar,
then you must understand, right? Shinra’s never been normal.”
“You might be right about that.”
“And you’re the one who drove him crazy. You might not have intended for it to happen,
but Shinra Kishitani was nevertheless bewitched by a dullahan—an otherworldly
being. It might be his own belief that you are greater than human, but once that idea
took root, it only makes sense that he’d consider humanity to be of lower importance,
right?”
He was obviously trying to rattle Celty, but she neither avoided his challenge nor felt
bothered by it.
“Yes, I understand that. I’ve never thought of myself as being all that special, but I do
agree that it might be because of me that Shinra ended up so abnormal.”
“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to do anything. I’ll be with Shinra to the end,” she declared.
Izaya’s eyes slid away. He snorted. “Is that meant to be some kind of atonement? Don’t
you know that spoiling him will only make Shinra’s hatred of humanity—no, not
hatred, his disinterest in humanity—even worse?”
“Maybe it will. But right now… I don’t want to be separated from him. I realized this
stronger than ever when he recently got hurt. I can’t forgive those who hurt him, and I’m
willing to play along with your distasteful work to get even.”
“…”
“You see, Shinra does love me… and I love him, too.”
Izaya read the long, long message, and his lips loosened into a little smile. He shrugged
and turned his back on Celty. “You’re making me embarrassed just by reading that. I
wonder if the reason you can say that without pause is either because you’re more
human than human or because you’re not human at all… But in either case, you’re a
monster, so I’m not interested.”
“You’re all talk.”
“But I’ve got nothing else to say.”
Izaya walked toward the rooftop fence and picked up a bag that had been resting
against it.
“So, let’s discuss this job.”
Several minutes later
Outside the building, the rider in the black suit rubbed the seat of her motorcycle. In
the figure’s left hand was a black carrying bag for a laptop—the item Izaya Orihara
had entrusted to the courier.
A man hiding behind a vending machine spoke into his phone.

“It’s the Black Rider. Confirmed.”
On the other end of the line was a soft-spoken man. “So the rider’s connected to Izaya
Orihara.”
“Hey, Shijima, what’s Kumoi saying?”
“He’s curious as to what Orihara’s ferrying around, but we know for sure that he’s been
looking into Amphisbaena the last few days. Maybe he’s already found something.”
“Shall I keep watching?”
“…Nah, we don’t want the Awakusu-kai destroying Amphisbaena. Remember, the whole
point of this is for us to take over their system entirely.”
Shijima’s Heaven’s Slave group learned about the existence of Amphisbaena shortly
after Akabayashi dealt the drug dealers a devastating setback. Among their buyers was
someone who’d made some money at Amphisbaena’s secret casino, so as a test, they
snuck a few of their own in to gamble there.
But after a few times trying their luck, every one of their friends stopped getting the
usual notices informing them of the location of the next casino event, all at once.
Shijima had to assume that Amphisbaena were onto them.
In fact, that customer of theirs who had first told them about Amphisbaena also
stopped getting the notices, and he complained that it was their fault. However, that
gentleman didn’t argue for long once they threatened to withhold his drugs.
They found the reason for their being disinvited quite easily. The casino used special
chips in the shape of large coins that were only distributed to members. They served
as identification when making a bet and recorded wins and losses electronically.
Upon dismantling one and examining it, they found what looked like a bug and a
transmitter. Amphisbaena must’ve been gleaning information through the chips,
which helped them identify potential sources of danger that they ought to close out of
the loop.
The devices didn’t have very powerful batteries, of course, but the chips were
exchanged for new ones at every casino event. They claimed it was to prevent against
tampering with internal data, but in light of this new information, it seemed clear that
it was actually so they could pop in fresh batteries on a short turnaround.
With an intercept and a GPS transmitter, they could effectively collect the secrets of
their members and utilize that information for extortion and blackmail when needed.
But if anyone found out about the transmitter, it would lead to trouble. Shijima
suspected it must’ve sent some kind of emergency signal when dismantled, which
ensured that they could cut loose any casino members who violated their trust.
“Kumoi wants that system. I think it’s quite fascinating myself. If we choose our place
carefully, we could even create our own new network for selling Heaven’s Slave. I’d like
to have connections to get those bugs and transmitters wholesale, too.”
“So we’re not going to just destroy them,” said the man watching the Black Rider.
On the other end of the line, Shijima said, “That’s right. Just a discussion… or a fair
transaction at the minimum should be sufficient. And there’s no point to any of it if we
don’t have personal information on who we’re dealing with.”
“And that’s what we’re leaving up to this Izaya Orihara guy.”
“That’s right. If he’s doing this on behalf of the Awakusu-kai, we’ve got to handle him
before he finishes the job.”
“Handle?” the man repeated.
If there was any doubt as to the clinical nature of that term, Shijima eliminated it by
making his meaning ice clear. “We don’t want the Awakusu-kai finding out this stuff.
Once we’ve got the information, it would be best if he quietly vanished.”
“So you’re gonna kill him?”
“Don’t say that out loud in the open. What if someone overhears you?”
“Wait, I thought you said that in the worst-case scenario, we could at least make a deal
with him,” protested the man, unnerved by the ease with which Shijima suggested a
hit.
“That was referring to Amphisbaena,” clarified Shijima, who seemed confused. “They’re
at odds with the Awakusu-kai. But Izaya Orihara is working for them. So how would we
join forces with him?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Why are you so pessimistic about this? Yes, we failed, but the point is, we’ve already
attempted to kill Akabayashi before.”
“But he’s just a civilian,” said the man, still persisting.
Shijima’s tone stayed even. “Dogs working on the Awakusu-kai’s orders aren’t ‘just
civilians.’”
“But…”
“Hang on. I just got a message from Mr. Kumoi.”
“…?!”
The lookout’s mind, which was still lukewarm with indecision, instantly froze as
though clutched by dry ice at the mention of Kumoi’s name.
“I’ve got to go see him.”
“…Are you… serious?”
“Yeah… I might have some new scars to show off next time.” Shijima sighed. He chuckled
and suggested, “Maybe I’ll force Izaya Orihara to pay the price for these injuries.”
With a little smile, Shijima offered one last bit of evidence for his argument.
“See? Now we’ve got another reason to kill him, don’t we?”
Twelve years ago, last day of summer vacation, Raijin Middle School
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, it’s not your problem, is it?”
“Hey, I told my family that I thought of you as a friend.”
“And?”
“So if it becomes a question of why my friend was doing this and I didn’t stop him…
that’s a problem for me.”
“Are you an idiot, Shinra? It’s like you have no free will of your own. Are you just a
puppet who does what your family says?”
“I’m fine with being a puppet if it means I’m connected by a string to someone I care
about.”
“This is a pointless conversation.”
A student from the art club happened to overhear this quiet argument on the way past
the biology room. It was clearly a disagreement but didn’t seem likely to escalate into
a fight, so the student continued onward.
Five minutes later…
“What was that sound?!” demanded a PE teacher who’d been giving lessons down on
the field and came running up to the room when he heard the sound of breaking glass.
He found a student on the ground, tape wrapped around his bloodied torso. His face
was pale and his breathing shallow.
“Kishitani?! What happened?!”
Shinra Kishitani gave a bloodless smile to reassure the teacher and quietly muttered,
“I got… stabbed a bit. Can you… call an… ambulance?”
A few hours later, Izaya Orihara finally made his appearance, turning himself in to the
police for processing.
The vice president of the biology club stabbed the president and then ran.
What happened between the two? Shinra Kishitani and his father did not file charges,
and the school was terrified of what the news would do to appearances—so the
incident simply faded into the shadows of history, never reported.
The only permanent records of it were on Shinra’s stomach and Izaya’s past.
Chat room
TarouTanaka: Hello.
TarouTanaka: It’s been quite a while.
TarouTanaka: I just read the backlog. It looks like we’ve had many new people join.
TarouTanaka: My name is TarouTanaka.
TarouTanaka: I’m sorry I haven’t been available recently.
TarouTanaka: I think it’s likely I won’t be able to visit for a while yet.
TarouTanaka: Oh, not because I’m in trouble or anything, just that I’m busy…
TarouTanaka: If I’m able to drop by again, I’ll try to be a newcomer and make up for
lost time.
TarouTanaka: I’d like to be able to enjoy some fun chats about Ikebukuro with Setton
and everyone else.
TarouTanaka: Well, that’s all.

<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: This is visible only to you, Kanra. I mean, Mr. Orihara.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I’m not sure if you’re seeing this or not, but I wanted to
say it anyway.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I’m involved in a bunch of stuff right now.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: You might be aware of it already.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: But I’m not doing any of this because someone else told
me to.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I just wanted you, of all people, to know that it’s of my
own volition.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Honestly, I’m afraid.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: But I know that this is something I need to do…
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Maybe I shouldn’t be wasting your time with all of this.
I’m sorry.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: You can totally ignore all of this if you want…
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I just wanted to make sure that at least someone else
witnessed how I’m feeling right now…
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: Just having that knowledge will be a source of strength
for me.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: At our first meeting last year, you said something to me.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: “If you truly want to escape the ordinary, you need to
keep evolving.”
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: But I wasn’t able to evolve.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I wanted to cling to my ordinary life.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I want to have the same life with Sonohara and
Masaomi that I had before.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I want to take it back.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I want those Dollars. From that night.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I’m not looking for the extraordinary anymore.
<Private Mode> TarouTanaka: I just want those days to come back to me.
Bacura: Hello.
Bacura: TarouTanaka,
Bacura: It’s too bad you won’t be able to come for a while.
Bacura: Let’s talk again sometime.
<Private Mode> Bacura: Mikado,
<Private Mode> Bacura: If it’s about the other day,
<Private Mode> Bacura: I’m not worried about it.
<Private Mode> Bacura: In fact,
<Private Mode> Bacura: From your and Anri’s perspective,
<Private Mode> Bacura: I’d expect you to still be mad about me up and leaving like that.
<Private Mode> Bacura: But,
<Private Mode> Bacura: There’s one thing I want to say.

TarouTanaka: Hello, Bacura.
TarouTanaka: Well, thanks for letting me say my mind, everyone.
TarouTanaka: So long.
<Private Mode> Bacura: Mikado.
<Private Mode> Bacura: There was a bit of time between then and when you logged off,
<Private Mode> Bacura: Were you messaging someone in Private Mode?
<Private Mode> Bacura: I’m not going to ask who,
<Private Mode> Bacura: But listen,
<Private Mode> Bacura: I want to get in touch,
<Private Mode> Bacura: When you log in again, check the log,
<Private Mode> Bacura: And if you feel like talking, respond to me here.
<Private Mode> Bacura: I’ll call you.
.
.
.
“So, Izaya Orihara. You’re friends with that Black Rider, huh?”
“…”
“You’ve had that urban legend riding around and looking for scoops on us, haven’t
you? As well as Heaven’s Slave. Did you have the rider contact them, perhaps?”
“…”
In the darkened bar, Earthworm was still talking to the hooded man.
The cake had been put away however long ago, and there were now three dozen two-
liter bottles of mineral water neatly arranged on the counter of the bar instead.
As usual, Earthworm was doing all the talking; the man with the sack over his head
said nothing in response.
Did that count as conversation? For Earthworm’s part, she certainly felt like they were
sharing a mental connection.
“Like I said earlier, neither the owner nor I know much about them… but if they’re
going to get in our way, we need to crush them soon. So if there’s anything you know
about this Heaven’s Slave, I’d love to hear it now.”
“…”
“In either case, once your sisters arrive, you’ll want to talk, I think. Or should I smash
your fingers one by one with a hammer? There’s still a stain on that table from the last
person we had to do that to… Wanna see? Oh, right! You can’t see through that sack!
Ha-ha, sorryyy!”
Beneath the hood, her conversation partner’s face and mind alike were racked with
fear. The repetition of threats was the only way Earthworm knew how to
communicate, and it was the only time she felt a connection to another person.
“You know, I think you and I can get along much, much better.”
“…”
She put one hand to his neck and held a bottle in her other. Liquid sloshed around
inside it, loud enough so that he could hear.
“Want respite?”
“…”
“Don’t want to die?”
“…”
“Worried about your sisters? Or about yourself?”
“…”
The man maintained his silence throughout each of the rapid-fire questions.
But Earthworm was happy with that. Silence was, in fact, the very thing that fed her
soul more than anything else.
Even though she hadn’t been inflicting any direct pain, the woman sensed that the
man’s commitment to silence was considerable. Normally, a person would at least hurl
back an insult or two by now, but he’d been admirable in his restraint.
“Say, are you feeling secure in your situation? Are you finding solace in the idea… that
you and your sisters couldn’t possibly be killed today? You wouldn’t do that, would
you? I mean, you couldn’t… not if you’d actually found out what we’re like.”
Earthworm giggled and slowly unscrewed the cap on the bottle.
“I love our owner! I would do anything for the owner.”
“…”
“And I mean anything…”
She chuckled darkly. The bottle tilted over the burlap sack until the liquid inside
slowly poured out. It dripped in fine formations with hardly any splatter, maximizing
the amount that seeped into the fabric. She rotated the bottle carefully and evenly
around his head so that the entirety of the sack was soaked but not his clothes or the
floor.
“I would’ve been fine with using acid to melt that bag and your face into disgusting
blobs, but I wasn’t feeling how gnarly and sinister that is. I wanted a different effect…
Something brighter!”
As she spoke, the smell of the liquid filled the room. It was a very distinct odor that
was obvious to anyone who’d smelled it before: kerosene. Not as distinct as in the
moment of extinguishing a kerosene lamp but plenty strong enough to identify it.
“Are you holding up? Not suffocating? And don’t breathe in too hard and get high,
okay? Wait, does kerosene get you high the way paint thinner does? Anyway…”
“…”
“Well, when your sisters get here, we’ll be doing a variety of things to them… and at
about the halfway point, I’ll burn the sack, okay? Then it’ll burn off, and you’ll be able
to see exactly what’s happening to them. You’ll want to hold your breath when it’s
burning, okay? The fire will suck the oxygen out of your lungs. No guarantees on how
many minutes that will take to finish.”
If she actually lit a fire, the burns would make it impossible not to breathe, but she
knew that already.
What kind of face would emerge when the sack burned away?
Fear of death? Sadness at what was happening to his sisters? Boundless rage?
Despair? Or eyes full of purpose, having not lost their hope?
Any one of them would do, thought Earthworm.
“I wonder what people will do. If they’re placed in a desperate situation with a loved
one, will they care for themselves in the final moment or for the other? I happen to
think human beings are designed to prioritize themselves in the end. Do you know
anything about that, info dealer? You’ve got lots of information about human beings,
right?” Earthworm asked. It was an impossible question to answer, and because of
that, she didn’t expect an answer for it, either.
The real purpose of the question was to fan the flames of his fear and unease. But her
total inability to get a rise out of him was impressing her.
What move could she make to put pressure on him now? Go with the classics and pull
out his fingernails, or remove his clothes and use a soldering iron to tattoo a message
on his skin?
She was just about to lose her battle against restraint and move to actual physical
torture when the sound of multiple footsteps came from the entrance of the bar.
“Oh, we’re out of time…”
“…!”
“Looks like your sisters have arrived. ”
Like a housewife signing off on a long-awaited home delivery, Earthworm leaped to

her feet. But instead of heading over herself, she delegated the duty to another woman.
“Go and open the door.”
The young woman obeyed and headed to the entrance. As she watched her go,
Earthworm told her captive, “It’s a moving family reunion! I do believe I might shed
some tears!”
“…”
She giggled in anticipation of the coming scene…
…but the mirth stopped within just a few seconds.
When her subordinate opened the door to let the visitors in, they were not the people
Earthworm expected—but a group of about ten unfamiliar young men.
Who?!
Are they the info dealer’s men?! No way!

The Awakusu-kai? No, they’re too young!
How did they know this place? I mean, who are they?!
They can’t be cops. They look younger than me…
Who? Enemies? Friends? Danger?
Owner… Help me, Owner!
The thoughts echoed and burst through her mind, until at last, she settled on the one
figure she trusted more than any other to come to her aid.
Though no one answered that silent call of hers, of course.
Her companions were just as shocked as she was, wary of the intruders at the
entrance. But the young man at the center of their group simply spread his hands and
spoke bracingly to the entire bar.
“Greetings, members of Amphisbaena. We are not yet your allies, but neither are we
your enemies.”
“…Who are you?” Earthworm demanded. Unlike the wheedling taunt she used with
the man in the burlap sack, her voice was now taut and sharp with instant vigilance.
The young man identified her as the central figure of the group and made an
obsequious bow. “Pardon me. My name is Shijima.”
“I am the second-in-command for distribution of the Heaven’s Slave drug.”
Then time rewound to half a day earlier.

Tokyo, on the street
“Hey… What’s that the courier’s holding?” asked one of Heaven’s Slave’s young dealers
to his companion.
The other one sighed and muttered, “Same thing as yesterday, a laptop bag.”
“You think it’s a laptop in there?”
“Probably. Or money or… casino chips, maybe.”
This was the third day they’d been keeping tabs on the Black Rider and Izaya Orihara.
They considered just abducting Izaya directly, since he probably knew something they
could use, but he had Dragon Zombie goons for protection, so they couldn’t get him
while he was on the move. He was also quick enough to give them the slip when they
tried following him back to his hideout, so they couldn’t get to him that way, either.
As for the Black Rider, they could trace the urban legend on the job, but once again
were unable to follow the trail back to any kind of home base. On the bright side, they
were able to put together a good picture of what the rider was doing on the errand.
At each location, the courier made contact with people of various positions and
affiliations. One of them just so happened to be a Heaven’s Slave customer, so when
they called him later, they learned that he was also a client of Amphisbaena’s
underground casino, and he claimed he’d been asked over and over about that.
By using his drug source as leverage, they were able to pry some interesting
information out of him: The Black Rider had bought his Amphisbaena chip at a truly
preposterous price. He seemed to think he could just claim that he “lost it” the next
time the casino opened, but they would likely never contact him again.
More concerning was the fact that the Black Rider was collecting the casino’s
electronic chips, riding around in search of several different members to retrieve them
from. That occupied the young men’s attention and drew it away from Izaya.
Following in their car, the dealers eventually realized the Black Rider was taking a
different action from usual today. She stopped the bike on the side of the road, pulled
a laptop out of the bag, and opened it up.
“…What’s going on there?” said the thug in the passenger seat, watching the woman
through a pair of binoculars. He was able to make out what looked to be a map on the
screen.
The rider closed the laptop and stuffed it back into the bag without turning it off. It
was probably in some kind of sleep mode. As they followed the motorcycle, the dealers
decided to call Shijima and relay this new information.
“Is there any way you can steal that laptop?”
They wanted to explain that it was impossible, but the mental image of the member
with the dart stuck in the bridge of his nose convinced them to at least say, “We’ll try,”
before hanging up.
“Steal it…? How we gonna do that?”
“We can’t just hit the bike to make it stop, not in the middle of the city like this…”
They continued their stealthy pursuit, feeling gloomy.
But just then, they witnessed something unexpected. Just a bit ahead, the Black Rider
slowed down and pulled over to the entrance of a rather quiet, secluded park. She
checked something on the laptop again, then headed into the green space.
There was a man sitting on a bench there, who watched as the courier approached and
showed him a cell phone or some other device.
Is he another member of that casino? they wondered, just as they noticed something
else.
Hanging off the handlebar of the motorcycle was the bag that held the laptop,
completely unattended. The courier must have assumed that the conversation would
only take a second.
“…!”
It was the best opportunity the dealers could have hoped for. They sidled up to the
motorcycle, reached out the window of their car, and quietly lifted the bag off the
handlebar.
Yes! And the courier hasn’t noticed yet!
They were ready to roll quietly away and vanish before anyone noticed their crime,
except…
Hhhhrrreeeeeeeeeee!!
The black motorcycle produced a sound like an enormous horse bellowing and lifted
its front half into a wheelie, despite the lack of anyone riding it.
“Wh-wh-what the—?!”
Even more shocking, the bike’s outline was writhing and shifting like smoke, morphing
into the form of a giant horse without a head.
“An anti-theft…? No, what the fuck is that?!”
“Muh-mon… mons, monstraaaah! Whaaaaa—?! Aaaaah!”
At the sound of the beast’s whinnying, the courier spun around and came rushing back
from the bench.
“F-f-f-fuh-fuh! Floor it!” stammered the man in the passenger seat. It took him so long
to get the words out that the driver already had his foot jammed onto the pedal.
They achieved their goal. They had the courier’s laptop. The only thing left to do was
get away, they told themselves, teeth chattering. They raced for the thoroughfare ahead.
In the rearview mirror, the courier was bearing down on them.
“Aaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaah!”
They drove.
Drove, raced, sped.
The car’s engine rotated fit to burst into flame as they peeled away without a thought
for potential accidents, obstacles, or anything that wasn’t putting as much distance as
possible between them and the Black Rider.
Once on the main road, they sped significantly over the speed limit before darting
down one side street, then another, desperate to escape. After turning the third corner,
the driver looked into the mirror—and saw nothing behind them. After the fourth,
they were back on the main road, part of an endless flow of vehicles, where the
passenger had time to scan the area.
The Black Rider was nowhere to be seen. The only disturbance was from the car
behind them, which honked at their forceful merge into the lane.
All was normal.
It was exactly what you’d expect to see in the city. No room for monsters here.
In a daze of half disbelief, they set to check on the laptop in the bag. The man in the
passenger seat got out his phone to let Shijima know.
“Thanks. Bring me the laptop at once. Kumoi will be slightly pleased with this.”
Despite the clipped nature of his statement, he sounded a bit reassured about it, but
that was nothing compared with the relief of the dealers.
Once their pulses returned to normal levels, they shared a look.
They had escaped.

From there, we head forward, to a dark place.
Tokyo, out-of-business bar
“Heaven’s… Slave!”
Somewhere in Tokyo, inside an establishment that had once been a bar, Earthworm’s
eyes went wide upon hearing the introduction from the man named Shijima.
She’d just been about to torture the info dealer to get the information she wanted
about this group—so why were they here all of a sudden? She’d never heard that they
were allies of Izaya Orihara’s, but maybe that was just a sign of her own lack of
understanding. If it was true, this was a perilous situation.
Just as Earthworm began to wonder if she could use the man with the burlap sack over
his head as a hostage, Shijima proved that to be unnecessary.
“Ah, is that the info broker the Awakusu-kai hired to give them info on you… Izaya
Orihara?” he said with a brief glance at the imprisoned man.
Hesitantly, Earthworm replied, “You… don’t know him?”
“Hardly. Although we did utilize him to discover this location.”
He snapped his fingers, and a man came through the door with a laptop, which he
placed on the counter so that everyone could see the screen. There was a map on it,
with a horde of red dots arrayed all over the diagram.
“This is the program that displays the locations of the transmitters embedded in all
your chips. Although I admit I don’t know what sort of system you’re using yet.”
It was the Amphisbaena chip-management program.
“…! How did you…?!” Earthworm gaped.
Shijima shrugged. “How, indeed? And how did we decipher the signals being sent by
the chips? You’ll have a better answer from him than me, I suspect.”
“…The info dealer?”
“He gave the Black Rider this laptop to do his snooping around for him,” Shijima said,
glancing at the tied-up man with an oddly happy smile on his lips.
For her part, Earthworm stared at the bound man in shock. “I had no idea he knew
that much… So does that mean he knew the location of this hideout a long time ago?”
“Who can say except for him? All I know is that we were following him around, he went
into a building, and a group of your people came back out. They were carrying a very
large suitcase, big enough to hold a grown man. And the funny thing is, one of the red
dots on this map was moving along with them.”
Shijima approached the seated man and began to feel around in his pockets. On the
third try, he found and removed a single casino chip.
“See? Here it is. He had one, too.”
“…I guess we can chalk that one up to our people for not properly searching him first,”
Earthworm said, glaring at her companions. They turned to one another and began
the process of deflecting responsibility.
Shijima watched the distress among the group and asked, “So, are you the leader of
Amphisbaena?”
“…No. The real owner hardly ever shows up among us. I don’t know where he is.”
“That’s a clever way of doing it. Our leader is rather similar. But we’ll have plenty of
time to talk about that later, once we’ve gotten rid of this info dealer,” Shijima said,
resting a hand on the head of the man under the burlap sack. “We figured that we were
going to abduct him and do it ourselves, but now you’ve saved us the trouble. I guess
there was no need to send anyone after his sisters after all.”
“…? You were after his sisters, too?”
“What? You too?” Shijima looked a bit surprised.
The caution never left Earthworm’s gaze. “I just gave the order about an hour ago to
take them both, one at a time.”
“…Well, that’s a shame. We understand that the girls are dangerous on their own, so
we sent some of our best after them. I’m not afraid of the two sides getting into a
squabble… but I’d prefer if we didn’t draw the attention of the police. I suppose I’ll call
my people off. We don’t need the hostages anyway.”
He pulled out his cell phone. “I hope you believe me when I say we’re not interested in
being hostile with you. I came to discuss business… and I’d prefer to avoid the
Awakusu-kai finding out about it. That’s all.”
As he spoke, he looked through the list to find the text addresses of his dealers who
went to abduct Kururi and Mairu Orihara, but a ringtone filled the room before he
could finish. It came not from Shijima’s phone but from one on the counter of the bar.
“…Is that me?” Earthworm wondered. It said the number was unlisted.
Who is it? Maybe… the owner?
She answered the phone, equal parts worry and excitement. “Hello…?”
“…”
The other end of the call was silent. Shijima was curious about this sudden call, too,
his fingers still as he listened in.
But just then, he got a call, too, the vibration clear in the quiet room.
“…?”
His call was also from an unlisted number. With trepidation, he answered it.
What he heard was a woman saying, “Hello? Hello?” into her phone, right in front of him.
“…Huh?”
A shiver of cold air slid down his back. Earthworm looked abruptly toward him as she
heard his grunt through the phone.
Neither of them understood what was happening. Then, after a few seconds, a third
voice entered the call.
“Hey.”
“Who?” “…Who’s there?” they asked, Shijima and Earthworm hearing each other through
the phone and the air.
The other person on the call announced in a clear, crisp voice, “I’m glad the three-way
call seems to be working. I’ve never tried it before.”
“Who are you…?”
“Oh, sorry, sorry. We haven’t spoken yet, have we? But you both know me pretty well, I’d
say.”
“…No way.”
Both underbosses got the same nasty premonition.
And then, as though measuring the perfect amount of time for his payoff, the man on
the phone introduced himself.
“Would you recognize the name… Izaya Orihara?”
Both of the listeners heard a rolling sound then, right near their eardrums. It was the
sound of muscles tensing due to their jaws clenching.
Why now?
Why did he have their numbers?
But the situation was so bizarre, so unexpected, that they were both late to arrive on
the most important question of all.
In unison, they turned their heads, ever so slowly, toward a single spot in the room.
To the man with the burlap sack over his head, who had been silent all day.
Again in unison, they wondered the exact same crucial question.
Then…
…who is he?
At that moment, Ikebukuro, office
“Huh? That’s weird…”
“What is it, Tanaka?” asked his coworker.
Tom Tanaka looked around and answered, “I’m supposed to be on the night shift with
Shizuo and Vorona… but I don’t see Shizuo anywhere…”
Vorona was scanning the area right there with him, but there was no sign of the man
in the distinctive bartender outfit anywhere in the office.
“He’d better not have gotten involved in more funny business.”
In a dark place
“You’ve both got rather extreme methods, wouldn’t you say? Abduction! Are we going to
find out that you’ve been responsible for a number of missing detectives, too?” said the
voice on the phone.
Earthworm hardly registered it.
Who…? If the man on the phone is Izaya Orihara, then… who’s under this sack?
She knew Izaya Orihara’s face from photos. It was this source that she’d been using to
envision the face of the man under her care, enjoying his potential expressions. And
now the entire basis for her actions had been overturned.
Numerous possibilities came and went inside her head, but they were all groundless
fantasies that melded into the swirl of chaos, which, combined with the unexpected
arrival of Heaven’s Slave, took her brain into a deep, dark place.
“…”
With her mind empty, Earthworm reached over to the burlap sack and placed her hand
on the knotted drawstring. It was still tied tight.
“…I’m going to take this off. I mean it,” she muttered; it was unclear whether this was
to the man underneath or herself. She made to simply rip the bag right off his head
with the knot still tied tight. She stuck her fingers under the opening around his neck
and yanked the fabric upward.
In the space she opened, the hair hanging down the back of the man’s neck was black.
Ikebukuro, office
“Hey. Sorry I’m late,” said Shizuo as he came through the door.
Tom exhaled and grumbled, “What happened, man? You’re never late like this.”
“Sorry. I had to help the boss with something.”
“Oh, I gotcha. Say no more.”
“What is the conduct of a duty contracted from the president?” wondered Vorona.
Tom exhaled harder this time. “It’s basically bodyguard work. Our boss has a number
of enemies, see… but I can explain that all some other time.”
Relieved that Shizuo’s absence hadn’t been due to some unexpected trouble, Tom took
his phone and headed for the door.
I’ll take peace and quiet over unpredictable excitement any day of the week, he thought,
as he headed out to his notably violent job of collecting unpaid debts from deadbeats.
“Let’s just head out there and do a normal day’s work.”
“Gotcha.”
“I am understanding.”
…With two subordinates who were even more violent and dangerous than the job
required in tow.
At that moment, Rakuei Gym
“Hey, where’s Eijirou?” asked a man with a squat silhouette, like a giant tree stump.
But being squat did not mean he was actually short; in fact, he was reasonably tall, but
that paled in comparison to his bulging armor of muscles like melded tires.
“Sir! Eijirou hasn’t been seen all afternoon!” said an apprentice.
“So he’s gone and run off again. The little bastard… ,” said the muscled man, Eiichirou
Sharaku—Eijirou’s brother. He exhaled a breath as massive as he was.
“And it’s one thing if he’s just ditching work… I just hope he’s not getting into some
fight on the street again.”
In a dark place
Like Earthworm, Shijima was in a mild panic.
That isn’t Izaya Orihara?
As the woman desperately tried to rip the burlap sack off the seated man’s head,
Shijima focused on the voice coming from the phone.
“So you’re Shijima, huh? It would’ve been more interesting if that Kumoi person had
come.”
“…You know about Mr. Kumoi?”
“No, not really. Listen, I would’ve been happy not picking on you, but not only did you
make an open attempt on my life, you also thought you could get my sisters involved. And
that’s a problem for me.”
Shijima ground his teeth together.
How much does he know? And… more importantly, what should I do? Get away from here
for now? Does he have his own cat’s paws in the room with us? If anything, I can’t even
trust my own people anymore! Who’s the guy tied down? Is he with Izaya, too?!
If the man who was tied down started to struggle, would it be dangerous if they were
here?
What if he was a police officer or Awakusu-kai yakuza? What if he saw their faces?
Out of these two possibilities, Shijima’s concerns about the former gradually faded.
The man sitting in the chair, judging by the state of his body, had little physical training.
In fact, he seemed to have no connection at all to brute strength or martial arts.
At that moment, Tokyo, back alley
“…Man, this is the biggest pain in the ass I ever had. Look at this. Look at y’all. Buncha
morons with no value but in numbers,” slurred Eijirou Sharaku, who stood in the midst
of a crowd of about ten men, all knocked out.
At odds with the violent machismo of the scene, a bright and cheerful girl’s voice said,
“Are you okay, Master? Are you hurt?”
“Course I ain’t. And shouldn’t that be my question to you?” he griped to Mairu, who
giggled.
“But if it were just me, it really woulda been bad. These guys were super-tough!”
“You’re damn lucky I happened to be skippin’ work to wander around town and just
happened to spot you and those morons followin’ you around.”
“Yeah, right. I bet you were keeping tabs on me. This morning, I talked about how some
weird guys’ve been stalking me for days! And you’re just shy and humble enough not
to admit what you were doing! Thanks for lookin’ out for me, Master! You sure you
aren’t into little girls?!”
“Hey, where’d that last part come from?! That had nothing to do with your thanks!”
From a distance, another man watched the pair talk. He was of a different affiliation
than the people who actually attempted to attack her—he was from the group selling
Heaven’s Slave.
There was a bowgun in his hands, which he had trained right on Eijirou’s body.
You gotta be kidding me. I was gonna shoot her in the leg to make it easy to carry her
away, and then this happens… Oh well, at least they’re alone now. I’ll get rid of the guy
first.
He had no thought of giving up on the plan— in his mind, the best idea was to take the
girl and blame it on the strange group that attacked them. The bowgun was modified
such that it was easily lethal if it struck the wrong spot. After witnessing the man’s
power in combat, the watcher pulled the trigger without a second thought.
But…
“Besides, Mairu… Whoa!” Eijirou yelped, twisting backward.
Something collided into the alley, the sound ringing out.
His right foot was extended high over his head. A second later, some kind of long object
fell from above, rotating wildly. He snatched it out of the air and saw that it was a
bowgun dart.
“…”
Without speaking, Eijirou picked up a stone from the ground at his feet, then hurled it
at the bushes of the park just beyond the alleyway. The rock shot like a bullet right into
the leaves.
“Buh—,” came a brief shout, then the sound of something collapsing.
Satisfied that he’d hit his target, Eijirou rolled and cracked his neck. “If you’re gonna
try to sneak attack, you either gotta snipe from farther away or light my house on fire
while I’m asleep. Am I right?”
“Y’know, you threw that rock really hard. If you hit him in the wrong spot, he might
even be dead,” noted Mairu, looking at the bush.
“I’ve been thinking,” Eijirou said. “A martial artist needs to be ready at all times for all
possibilities, so a sneak attack ain’t exactly unfair… but if you flip that around, then
anyone who tries to ambush a martial artist in public can’t complain if they wind up
dead, y’know? This ain’t regulation competition.”
“Hopefully, the police agree with you.” Mairu grinned. Eijirou headed for the bushes,
grumbling. While he went, Mairu’s smile vanished, and she took out her phone.
She’d been on the way to see her sister, and this abrupt encounter made her worry
that Kururi was under attack, too. Fortunately, she answered the phone immediately.
Mairu warned her that it was dangerous and that she should wait in a crowded place.
Kururi’s answer surprised her.
“Safe… already… done…” [It’s all right, everything’s done here.]
“Huh? What do you mean, it’s done?”
“…Spooky… Saved… Me…” [The Headless Rider protected me.]
“…Thank… Thank…” [Thank you very much.]
Kururi bowed to the being standing across from her right after she hung up on Mairu.
Her voice was tiny, barely audible.
Celty kindly typed, “If you want to thank anyone, thank your brother.”
“…Brother…?” [My brother?]
“He asked me to watch over you while your sister was safe at the dojo,” said Celty, who
was standing in the midst of a group of unconscious men. They were all wearing
protective goggles and masks, like survivalists—but only on their faces.
Most likely, they’d had advance warning that she carried a defensive spray with her.
The strange thing was that a different group of men had attacked in the middle of the
first one. They were smart enough to run right away.
Relieved that the girl was safe for now, Celty couldn’t help but wonder one thing.
Where is Izaya himself, and what is he doing now?
In a dark place
“Oh, this is quite enjoyable. I love hearing panic over the phone,” said the man on the call.
Shijima ground his teeth together even harder, and in as calm a voice as he could
manage, he asked, “What do you want?”
“What do I want? Let’s see… is that Earthworm over there? Anyway, the Amphisbaena
girl seems to have set down her phone, so could you make sure she’s holding it? We can’t
continue without that.”
Shijima might as well have tsked his tongue in irritation. He approached the woman,
who was still trying to rip off the burlap. “He wants you to get on the phone.”
“What…? What do I have to say to…? Ugh, forget this!”
She was clearly battling her own confusion. She kept tugging on the knot of the sack
with her left hand and reached down to pick up the phone with her right.
“Hello, are you back on the call now? I can hear you breathing.”
“…I just… want to know… who this guy is!” Earthworm screamed, all her confidence
and cockiness replaced with panic.
The delighted man on the other end of the call announced, “It’s time for a quiz!”
“Huh?”
“Is this a joke?”
“Question one. What do Lizard, the owner of Amphisbaena, and Kumoi from Heaven’s
Slave have in common?”
Both Earthworm’s and Shijima’s hearts skipped a beat. It must have felt like they’d
both been drenched in ice water, such was the chill the question caused to run over
their skin.
“How do you know… the owner’s nickname is Lizard…?”
The quiz show MC on the phone ignored Earthworm. “Bzzt! Out of time. The correct
answer is they both have symmetrical moles under each eye! On to question two!”
“How… how do you know… what the owner looks like?!”
“…”
While Earthworm stammered and failed, Shijima was pale and silent. No one else in
the room understood what they were talking about; both Earthworm’s and Shijima’s
subordinates were looking around in confusion.
“This question is about the man in the burlap sack. Do you suppose that under the sack,
he’s got… moles on his face?”
“Huh…?”
“…!”
“And lastly, question three! What I want to know is, Who will we find under that sack—
Lizard… or Kumoi…?”
Their brains shut off for just a single moment.

Earthworm didn’t want to know what the caller meant. But Shijima’s mind was
consumed with a different kind of fear.
You’re kidding, right…? C-could Izaya Orihara really have taken Kumoi…? But if true,
then that’s very bad news.
He recovered from his mental paralysis and instantly found his mind flooded by a
number of different thoughts that pushed him into immediate action.
“That’s a lie… a dirty lie! The owner… It can’t be the owner!” Earthworm wailed,
clutching her head and crouching as she remembered all the things she’d done to the
man before her.
Shijima stepped between them, and feigning internal calm, he said, “This is pointless.
I’ll cut the knot open.”
He removed a small knife and slowly, slowly brought it toward the man’s neck. But
then…
…the arm with which he held the knife suddenly stopped moving—as it was held in
the grip of the man in the burlap sack.
“Huh…?”
“Wha…?”
His hands should’ve been tied behind his back, but now they were free. And not only
was his left hand firmly on Shijima’s arm but the right was holding his own knife, out
of nowhere.
“What were you going to try just now…?” the man taunted, holding up the knife to his
own neck and carefully inserting it into the gap between his skin and the fabric.
With a few popping and ripping noises, the knot flew open, along with a corner of the
sack mouth. He then folded his knife and slowly pulled off the kerosene-soaked fabric.
What emerged was a smile.

It was not a smile of derision, or of loving friendship, or of delight; nor was it creepy
or pleasant. It almost seemed intended to be impossible to interpret.
“Hi,” said the smile.
But Earthworm and Shijima knew that this was no true smile; it had another proper
name. But their knowledge surpassed the chaos and confusion in their minds and
dragged them down into total darkness.
“Or should I say, it’s nice to meet you?”
“Izaya…” “Orihara…?” they said one after the other.
It was none other than the same Izaya Orihara they’d seen in so many photos.
So who was on the phone, then?
And why was he here?
And why was he laughing?
Mysteries, mysteries, mysteries.
A cavalcade of inexplicable phenomena assaulted Shijima, who’d only just recently

arrived. But Earthworm had been here with him all along, and now she looked ready
to cry. “Owner… help me?” she whined.
“Now, I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting to have kerosene dumped on me. Oh, and since you
asked, unlike paint thinner, you can’t get high off this stuff.”
“Huh?”
“Ah yes, I suppose I have some questions to answer. As for whether people are
essentially self-interested or put priority on others… the cliched answer is ‘It depends
on the person.’ And that’s the fun part, that every case is different. Is human nature
good or evil? Will reason or desire triumph? Will hope or despair win out in the end?
The thing that makes humanity fun is that there’s no single answer.”
That was Izaya Orihara’s answer, inexplicable smile on his lips, to the quiet questions
Earthworm had asked him minutes earlier.
“Oh, and as for the lethal level of water, it’s somewhere between ten and thirty liters.
It depends on the person’s weight, so for Kururi and Mairu, even less than ten liters
could be pretty dangerous.”
“…”
“As for the connection between Mikage Sharaku and me, I guess I would call her one
of my old groupies. You’d have to ask Mikage what it all meant to her. I got her involved
in a bit of an incident back then, which ended up with her leaving high school… so I
suppose she might still hate my guts.”
“…”
From the moment he removed the hood, Izaya’s and Earthworm’s positions had
completely switched. Now it was the man doing all the talking and the woman unable
to speak. The fact that he was responding to everything that had happened in the room
today was sure proof that he was the very man who’d been wearing the sack the entire
time.
“…H-huh? The… info dealer…?”
“Oh, you can speak again? I’ll admit, your idea of torture was quite entertaining. I was
expecting you to pull all my fingernails out, but you really didn’t want to physically
hurt me.”
“…Uh… ah.”
“How was it? I know I didn’t scream at all for you. Is my voice the way you imagined
it? You were enjoying imagining my face underneath that sack, but I don’t need
imagination. I’m enjoying the reality of the situation, the outcome… I love that stupid
look on your face, for example. Oh, but when I say love, I don’t mean I actually love you
personally. Just to make that clear.”
Then Earthworm recognized at last that the voice she heard over the phone and the
voice of the man speaking to her in person were completely different.
“Oh… uh… then… who’s on the phone…?” she mumbled, looking back and forth between
the phone in her hand and Izaya. The voice on the other end of the line broke into a
crude laugh that was nothing like the way it had been speaking before this.
“Ha-ha…! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Hey, did you give away the game already, you piece of shit?!
Fine, whatever! Here’s question four! Who… am… I?”
At that moment, the door to the bar opened to reveal a man with a phone pressed to
his ear. The right half of his face had a horrible burn scar, and the eyes behind his
sunglasses glinted with malice.
A number of men appeared behind him, wearing riding jackets with bone patterns on
them, making the reasonably spacious bar feel even more crowded. The last of them
was a muscular woman with spiked hair, but by this point, Earthworm had lost all
interest.
“What… the hell…? Who are these people…?”
Shijima’s companions were overwhelmed, too, huddled in a corner of the bar, so that
there was a tense three-way standoff developing. But a proper standoff would be
better balanced between the factions. Izaya and his third party had the reins; both
Amphisbaena and Heaven’s Slave were clearly intimidated.
What orders to give? Unlike Shijima and Earthworm, who were feverishly thinking
about their next step, Izaya seemed unconcerned with any change in the situation.
“Let’s see, what else did you ask me?” he wondered. “Oh yes! As far as my weight and
height go, you don’t think insurance company info is that easy to get your hands on,
do you? You’re not Tsukumoya here. And even if you tried to hire him, I doubt he’d
accept your offer.”
“…”
“And those numbers? I simply gave you my own height and weight. I take care of my
health, you see. I always weigh myself after a shower.”
“…Wha—?”
Just stop it, Earthworm wanted to shriek, but her brain was in such chaos that she
could barely even breathe, much less work her tongue.
“You… gave me… your… what? Huh?” she mumbled, practically sleep-talking.
Izaya chuckled and asked her, “Did that Informant B you hired, the one whose name
or look you didn’t reveal… happen to go by the username Chrome?”
“How. Did. You…?”
“Listen, that was me.”
“…?… Huh?”
He put a hand to Earthworm’s cheek and spoke to her, slow and gentle, like to a puppy.
“The truth is, I was aware of you before the Awakusu-kai hired me. You made contact
with an online info dealer that I operate under a different name.”
“You’re joking…”
“I’m not. In fact, it made me laugh that you came to hire my services while I was
working the job for the Awakusu-kai. When I saw ‘I want information on Izaya
Orihara,’ I had my first real belly laugh in ages. I almost thought I was going to rip open
my stab wound from this spring,” he said, rubbing at his side.
Then something in his smile changed. It was more wicked now, clearly plotting.
“So I realized something while I was working with you.”
“No… Stop…”
“It kind of seems like your group’s ‘owner,’ as you call him, hasn’t made contact with
you in quite some time, has he? Perhaps he’s actually abandoned you…”
“Stop it!” she bellowed, bringing the low background hum of conversation to a halt.
“Kill… him…”
“Oh?”
“Hurry! Someone do it, anyone! Just kill him and get him out of my sight!” she shrieked
to her companions in the back of the bar.
Right on cue, Shijima sent a meaningful look at his companions. He jutted his chin at
the spiky-haired woman in Izaya’s crew, a silent signal to take her hostage.
About a half-dozen men perfectly interpreted his gesture and rushed upon the woman.
Bjurnk.
It was like the sound of a cardboard box being stomped on.
“…That wasn’t even a sneak attack, you guys,” said Mikage Sharaku, the spiky-haired
woman in question. She looked practically bored.
She’d spun in place and slammed an elbow directly into the nose of the first man to
reach her, who’d grabbed her collar.
“Haaah?!”
The other men faltered, alarmed by the sight of their buddy gushing blood from his
shattered nose. In the next instant, Mikage’s toe slammed into the temple of one of
them. It was a one-legged high kick at maximum power, and the steel-plated toe of her
safety shoe knocked him unconscious before he even had time to scream.
Then, without lowering her leg, she bent her knee, and with perfect balance, she
rammed her toes into the neck of another man. She didn’t break the skin, but it did
make a disgusting sound, propelling air out of his nose and mouth. His eyes rolled
upward, and gravity pulled him down to the ground.
“…”
Mikage lowered her leg, glared at the remaining Heaven’s Slave dealers, and then gave
them a beckoning gesture with her hand.
Nearby, the members of Dragon Zombie watched without much concern. Clearly, they
understood that she didn’t need any assistance.
“Who the hell is she…?” Shijima muttered as Mikage continued to kick ass.
Izaya shrugged. “That’s Mikage, the girl who popped up in the conversation a minute
ago. So, where were we…?”
He started to say something but was drowned out by the sound of breaking glass
behind him. Izaya spun around to see Earthworm holding a broken bottle in each
hand, glaring at him with a look of madness.
“What… is your deal…? Why did you do… such a preposterous thing…?! Why would
you go to the trouble of pretending to be kidnapped… just to get here…?”
“This is lovely. You’re much more natural in this mood than when you were putting on
that terrible wheedling voice earlier.”
“Answer the question!”
“Very well. I suppose I’d say it’s a similar purpose as to what Shijima over there said.”
Shijima flinched at the unexpected mention of his name. But Izaya ignored him,
hoisted himself up to sit on the bar, and began to explain.
“I could have just contacted the Awakusu-kai, told them about this location, and had
them shut it down. But it would seem a bit mean to let those big bad men have their
way with you helpless youngsters, wouldn’t it? So I came here in an attempt to
convince you to stop running your illegal casino, I suppose. You see, I’m not your
enemy.”
“…?”
“As for the rest of it, I was engaging in some human observation. You can actually see
out of that bag pretty well. It seemed like a rare opportunity to glimpse the adorable
face of an amateur torturer. So I let you capture me, expecting that some finger bones
and nails would be a worthwhile price to pay for that. Pretty simple, really.”
Earthworm’s features twisted at the nonchalance in his voice, and she turned to her
group, bottles brandished. “What are you doing?! Hurry up and… ,” she started before
her voice trailed off, “…kill… him…?”
She fell completely silent once she noticed the state of her companions.
“?”
Shijima followed her lead and glanced at the members of Amphisbaena—and like
Earthworm, he, too, stiffened on the spot.
Izaya kicked his dangling legs as he sat on the bar counter. “Do you know how I was
able to get here unharmed? Without a single punch or kick? As well as how I was able
to get out of the ropes tying my hands back?”
“…What’s going on here?”
“I bet you don’t. In fact, I don’t think you’ll even believe me if I explain it to you.” He
smirked and looked toward the back of the room to see for himself.
All the members of Amphisbaena had the deep-red color of blood where their eyes
should have been white. They all stood there—eyes crimson, faint smiles on their lips,
and totally still.
“The truth is, I’d have been happy to take my time and allow your subordinates to
betray you, but with this Heaven’s Slave stuff, there wasn’t enough time. So I cheated
a little. For that matter, the Black Rider is kind of like cheating, too.”
The mention of the Black Rider brought a glimmer to Shijima’s mind.
No way. Did he… intentionally get us to steal the laptop…? In order to lure us… no, to lure
me here?
But his suspicions vanished in the face of the red-eyed group. He assumed they were
under the influence of some kind of drug; the idea that it was some supernatural
phenomenon was beyond his imagining at the moment.
Earthworm was under a similar impression. She spun back to the info broker, clutching
her broken bottles. “Izaya Orihara… what have you done to my subordinates?”
“What did I tell you? You aren’t going to believe my answer,” he replied.
She leaped at him, as though that response alone were good enough reason to kill him.
The propulsion of her jump was explosive. In fact, the speed of it surpassed the range
of almost everyone present. Even Mikage, who was still fighting near the entrance,
stopped in her tracks for a moment and uttered a note of impressed surprise.
Without losing an ounce of momentum, the torturer thrust the deadly weapon in her
right hand at Izaya’s throat, intent on proving that she was more than met the eye.
With a little flick of the wrist, she’d easily be able to sever his carotid artery.
But at the last possible instant, Izaya dodged out of the way and toppled back behind
the counter. She raced around the bar, but he was already gone.
“Where did you go?!” she bellowed.
Yet now he was somehow on the outside of the bar counter. He shrugged his shoulders
and said, “Gosh, I’m not sure what to do. I don’t like hitting girls.”
“That’s very funny, Izaya Orihara! You want to play the chivalrous gentleman now, after
all of this…? I suppose you’d be happy to let me kill you, then!”
“I don’t think the chivalrous label really fits in this case. And I certainly would prefer
not to be murdered.” He chuckled.
With superhuman agility, she leaped up on top of the counter, ready to jump on him.
“Instead, I’ll let my friend handle this,” he said, right as a shock ran through her knee.
“…?!?!”
Something in her body broke. She lost all sensation below the knee and toppled to the
counter.
“~~~~~!…!”
She couldn’t even breathe due to the pain radiating from her knee to her entire body,
much less scream or speak. The bottles fell from her hands all the way to the floor,
where they shattered loudly.
Through the terrible impact of the pain, Earthworm tried to jolt her brain into motion,
to make it tell her what happened. The answer came to her not through her logical
mind but through her eyes and ears.
“You just scored a zero on that quiz, didn’t cha?”
Resting his elbows on the counter right in front of her was a man whose voice she
recognized. It was the man who’d pretended to be Izaya on the phone.
“Which means it’s time for the pretty young lady to undergo our very entertaining
penalty round.”
“Rgh… aaau… Son of a… Fuck,” she swore, all thoughts of ladylike behavior gone. She
glared at him through the pain. Right on cue, the man with the sunglasses and the burn
scar on his face swung down his rubber-coated hammer onto her fingertip.
“…………!!!”
Coincidentally, the location where he crushed her finger was the exact same spot she
had smashed on her enemies in the past. Her own blood ran over the old stain.
She screamed, and Ran Izumii, the man in the sunglasses, shoved a piece of cloth into
her open mouth.
“Mrruh!”
Instantly, Earthworm understood what the fabric was. The rough texture against her
tongue and the nose-stinging odor of oil told her it was the burlap sack over Izaya’s
head just minutes ago.
“Happyyyyy birthdaaaay!” Izumii jeered, pulling out a lighter—and sure enough, he

immediately set the fabric in Earthworm’s mouth ablaze.
A few dozen seconds later…
Earthworm was at Izumii’s feet, covered in agonizing wounds. She’d rolled off the
counter onto the floor to put out the flaming fabric stuffed in her mouth. That part of
the plan succeeded, but she wasn’t thinking about the minefield of broken glass on the
floor. Her unharmed knee fell prey to Izumii’s hammer next, and the pain of all this
knocked her completely unconscious.
“Ha-ha… Y’know, this reminds me of the old days. Don’t it?” Izumii cackled madly,
rolling the woman over with his foot. “Hey, she’s pretty hot when you get a good look
at her.”
And despite the huge crowd present in the room, he reached out for her clothes, and…
“Knock it off, Izumii,” warned Mikage, bringing him up short.

“What the hell? Why you stoppin’ me? She’s a sicko; she’s tortured multiple people,”
he complained.
“Yeah, so I’m not going to stop you if you smash her face with that hammer or burn
her alive,” Mikage said without batting an eye. “But if you’re going to defile her as a
woman… it’ll be my turn to hurt you, Izumii.”
He clicked his tongue in obvious disgust and dropped his hand to his side.
“I don’t gotta follow your orders… but I suppose you can owe me one. You’re gonna
make up the favor to me yourself, right? Huh?”
“Go ahead, assuming you can get the best of me,” she retorted, murder in her voice.
He clicked his tongue again and left the room, leering.
Having watched the scene in stunned disbelief, Shijima was relieved that at least one
of the more dangerous individuals was gone. But it also imparted a terrible truth to
him: All his Heaven’s Slave friends who’d attacked Mikage were wiped out.
What is this? What… am I watching happen?
There was only one thing he knew for sure: At this moment, he had not a single ally in
the bar who was capable of helping him.
Izaya Orihara approached him and whispered into his ear, “Hi. You capable of talking
yet?”
“…”
“By the way… when I was wearing the sack earlier, you tried to stab me, didn’t you?”
“…!”
Shijima flinched and spun around despite himself. All his people were either knocked
out by Mikage or groaning on the floor, unable to stand. They wouldn’t be able to hear
Izaya’s whisper.
“It’s all right. I’m not going to reveal that to your friends. Very bold of you, though. It
takes real guts to assume that it’s Kumoi under the sack and go in for the kill.”
“…”
“My assumption about you and Kumoi was right, it seems,” Izaya crowed.
Shijima felt the sweat running through his clenched palm. “What… are you going to do
with me?”
Izaya replied to the young man’s question by glancing at Earthworm first, then saying,
“If you want, you and your people can stop getting into mischief that draws the
attention of the Awakusu-kai, then give yourself up to join the Dollars. I can set you up
with them.
“With the Dollars’ information network… you might even be able to learn the location
of the missing Amphisbaena owner and your Kumoi.”
“Very clever of you to pull the grandson of a powerful man into the group,” said a
woman outside the entrance to the bar, when Izaya stepped through it.
“I wasn’t trying to get access to an influential figure. He was just a little bonus I
received for taking the Awakusu-kai’s contract,” he told the long-haired woman.
Haruna Niekawa smiled and said, “So what should I do now?”
“I have a feeling I won’t find any success trying to convince that Earthworm girl. Would
you give it a shot for me?”
Haruna smiled and smiled and smiled, her eyes sparkling. For some reason, there was
a bandage wrapped around her neck. “If I do as you say, will you really let me see
Takashi?”
“Whether you can or not depends on you. All I do is give you the information.”
“Hmm…”
The next moment, there was a sharp metallic sound between the two. Izaya had his
knife free, which he’d used to block Haruna’s own knife lunge.
“…Too bad. I figured that if I could control you, I’d know Takashi’s location right away.”
“The thing is, I love human beings. I’m not interested in the least in being under the
control of some inhuman monstrous thing.”
“Says the man who’s making use of a monster,” she retorted.
He shrugged. “You’re right. It’s half against my better judgment. But I’ve made use of
the dullahan for so many things already, I had to draw the line there. I won’t use your
power unless absolutely necessary, and in this case, things were going to get very, very
messy without you.”
He paused, then admitted, “Actually, I respect you as a human being. You’re not like
Anri Sonohara, who completely accepted Saika and gave up on being human. You
conquered Saika through your own power and rule her as a human.”
“My Saika is a weak thing compared with that little thief,” she said, grinning as her
head inclined to the side. “And… it wasn’t my own power. It was the power of my love
for Takashi.”
Izaya smiled back at her, waved, then turned away.
“Have no concern. Your Saika power might be weaker than Anri Sonohara’s, but that’s
what makes you stronger.”
“You’ve beaten Saika’s stranglehold on you twice now.”
Several days later, Tokyo, in a luxury sedan
“…So it turned out that Amphisbaena had already effectively ceased activity. The club
owner nicknamed Lizard was already long gone by the time I started looking into him.
I’m sure he’s far away by now. I have no doubt that the usual customers at the gambling
rings you oversee will be returning shortly,” Izaya proudly declared, sitting on the left
side of the backseat.
In his usual way, Shiki said, “And you don’t know the whereabouts of anyone aside
from the leader?”
“I did look into it, but the majority of them were ordinary civilians. I doubt we’d learn
anything from talking to them, and given the fact that the group is inactive, what’s the
use of putting the screws on them?”
“That’s for us to decide… but fine. If they start up again, you’re going to give us the full
list for free.”
“Certainly. And since I didn’t manage to track down their leader, I don’t need any
follow-up payment. Just the up-front money will do,” Izaya said, shrugging sadly.
“By the way, about those college student dealers… ,” Shiki began, “they’ve been gone
from the market for the last two days. Any thoughts about why that is?”
“Dunno. Maybe they fought it out with what’s left of Amphisbaena,” Izaya suggested
gleefully.
Shiki grinned—and offered earnestly, “Info Broker… don’t assume the world will always
work out in your favor.”
His words were delivered with a smile but as heavy and piercing as a bullet to the gut.
Unfazed, Izaya took the statement head-on and shot back, “Oh, please. It’s the fact that
things don’t always go your way that makes the world fun.”
Shiki glanced at Izaya without changing the angle of his head and steepled his fingers.
“You don’t think we’re totally ignorant, do you?”
“…”
Izaya said nothing, but Shiki didn’t push him any further on that point.
“So, getting back to business… Ah, right. Our Akabayashi wants to speak with you. You
may contact him at a convenient time,” Shiki said, back in work mode.
Izaya replied, “Yes, I’ll get back to him soon.”
He grinned, then laughed sardonically.
“I make my living by being used by everyone I can.

“That’s what being an info dealer… no, what being Izaya Orihara means. That’s my bliss.”
Hi, Nakura. Nice work.
“…”
I was listening in with my earpiece. Very nice acting. You’re such an accomplished liar.
“You’ve made me do it so much, I can’t help but learn.”
I have to admit, your ad-lib about it being “clear at a glance that he’s abnormal” was an
inspired choice.
“Was there a problem with that?”
No, not at all! It’s just that if you truly sensed I was abnormal, I don’t think you’d have
let me use your name or enlist your help for this little act. It kind of made me laugh.
“Please, Izaya, don’t do this to me. That Kujiragi woman wasn’t from an insurance
company, either, was she?! Just please, please, please don’t get me trapped in some
kind of yakuza thing!”
Why, your skills of observation are first-rate now. You’re right, the part about her being
an insurance salesperson was a complete lie. But her name actually is Kujiragi. Don’t
worry; she’s not quite like a yakuza.
“R-really?”
Yes, really. If anything, you should be thanking me. You were nearly targeted by the
Awakusu-kai from two directions.
“…Huh?”
Do you remember, back in senior year of high school… when you and I created that little
group called Amphisbaena?
“Y-yeah… the one that was like an extension… of our old middle school baseball betting
club. We created it in secret without anyone knowing our identities.”
Right, that’s the one. And you called yourself Lizard.
“But that shut down right away…”
Do you remember how one of the members was a girl who went by Earthworm?
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Of course not. Even I didn’t know about her. Either she was way on the bottom of the
totem pole, or she participated in the betting and fantasized about being a member of
the group.
“So what about this Earthworm girl?”
She took over the Amphisbaena name and started messing around in the Awakusu-kai’s
territory. And her gambling operation was way bigger than anything we built back then.
“…Huh?”
It was quite entertaining, really. Even though you—as Lizard—were gone from the scene
years and years ago, she practically worshipped you. “Owner” this and “Owner” that.
“Wait, wait, hang on. What are you talking about?”
Somewhere in her brain, she must’ve thought she was your girlfriend and convinced all
her followers of it, too. Claiming that only she could make contact with the club’s owner,
and so on.
“I’m not seeing where this is fitting together!”
It’s fine; you don’t have to worry. It’s all been solved.
“It… it has?”
The most brilliant part of all, though… was that their sworn enemy… was Shijima.
“What?! Y-you mean… right after we graduated college, when we created that
experimental underground club for legal drugs… that Shijima?”
Yep, Shijima the rich boy. I never showed my face for any of it, but you were kind of like
the founder for his support group, using the alias Kumoi.
“Wh-what did he do now?”
He created an illegal drug instead of a legal one.
“…What?”
And he claimed that it was all on “Mr. Kumoi’s” orders.
“Wait! Wait, wait! Hold on! You can’t— That wasn’t me!”
That was a funny reaction. Are you sleepy?
“No, I’m not! Why is he using my alias like that?!”
Shijima’s a pretty clever guy, actually. He made himself the number two of the operation,
and by undergoing some fictional punishment courtesy of Kumoi, he instilled fear in the
other members. They were terrified of Kumoi.
“…”
But he was committed, man. He actually drilled holes in his front teeth and scarred up
his own arm with the pointer of a dart. At that point, it’s really more like a kind of cultish
belief system.
“I can’t take this anymore. You gotta stop it! What should I do…? Please help me!”
What do you mean? I did help you. There’s no cause to worry about Shijima anymore.
“Is that true…?”
Yeah. So you have nothing to fear.
Anyhow, with that out of the way, here’s to a long and fruitful relationship.
“…”
And if it ends up being necessary… we can just have Shinra change your facial features
again. After taking those moles on your cheeks off and tweaking your looks, I doubt that
either Earthworm or Shijima would recognize you at this point.
“What should… what should I do?!”
You don’t have to do anything.
“…”
If you regret any of this, complain to your past self. I’ll call you again later.
“Uh, f-fine. So long.”
Bye-bye.
“…
“…Aaah.
“Aaaaaaah! Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“Why… why do I have to suffer through all this? Why?!
“What the goddamn hell?! What did I do? What did I do to deserve…? Well, I guess… I
did.
“Why… why did I have… to do that…?!”
Twelve years ago, last day of summer vacation, Raijin Middle School, biology room
“So that’s why I think your baseball gambling is a bad idea.”

“Are you still going on about that? Give it a rest.”
How long had they been arguing about this? Izaya glared at his club president,
obviously annoyed at his tenacity.
He’d agreed to come to the classroom to take care of the plants during the week of
summer vacation for his own reasons. By having a quiet place to hang out regularly,
he had the perfect location for running a baseball betting operation.
Students would come to the biology class, stating a desire to check out the carnivorous
plants there. Almost all of them were just saying that as an excuse to come and visit
the bookie, Izaya. Thanks to that cover, the operation lasted without teacher
interference—until today, the last day of summer vacation, when the club president,
Shinra Kishitani, happened to witness the betting in action and continued his
persistent argument against Izaya’s plan.
Shinra Kishitani wasn’t making his argument out of a sense of righteousness. Izaya
understood that, too.
It was more that he wanted to make himself seem like a righteous person, in order for
his crush to find him worthy. This annoyed Izaya, who refused to stop his little pet
project.
Shinra wasn’t emotional. He didn’t get angry or sad about it; he just kept making his
arguments, ad nauseam.
“Are you stupid, Shinra? Or are you just some kind of puppet without his own free will,
doing whatever your family wants you to do?”
“I’d happily be a puppet, if it meant I was connected to my beloved by a string.”
“This is a waste of my time.”
Truly annoyed now, Izaya refused to continue the conversation for a while. Eventually,
the silence was broken not by Shinra or Izaya but by a third party who opened the
door to the classroom.
“…Izaya?” mumbled the boy.
Shinra smiled and raised a hand. “Hi there, Nakura. Did you come to see our carnivorous
plants?”
The boy with the little teardrop moles beneath his eyes ignored his classmate and
walked up to Izaya.
“…What’s the matter? The book is closed for the day.”
That alone was enough to identify Nakura as a regular at the baseball betting desk.
Shinra looked back and forth between the two, his expression betraying nothing.
“Hey… could you lend me some money? Pleaaase?” Nakura asked, his face empty and
lips trembling.
“I don’t loan out money.”
“Then give back all the money I bet up to yesterday… I’m in trouble, man. My dad’s
gonna find out I’ve been taking cash from his wallet if I don’t put it all back.”
“That’s your problem, not mine. I never once forced you to make a bet.” Izaya laughed
coldly.
Nakura’s lips trembled again—and he yanked a little paring knife out of his pocket,
holding it up with even more unsteady fingers.
“…Are you serious, Nakura?” Izaya asked, his eyes narrowed.
“Give it! I said give it here! Give… Gibback… my money!” Nakura yelled, his demand
punctuated by the rattling of his teeth. He could barely pronounce the words; he
probably didn’t even fully understand what he was saying. Either way, the boy moved
closer to Izaya, step-by-step, the blade held out.
“Honestly, I can’t imagine there’s anything to gain by giving you that money back. I
know you’ve been stalking people who actually won money with me. They’ve been
complaining about you,” Izaya revealed.
Nakura raced toward him.
“Ju… just give it back! Give it… back!”
“You’re such an idiot,” Izaya said, just the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and he reached
for a nearby chair to prepare for the attack.
Just when things seemed primed to explode, Shinra jumped in between the two.
“Waiggah!”
He was probably trying to say “Wait,” but Nakura neither slowed down nor stopped,
even with the other boy in the way. And the impact against Shinra’s stomach turned
his command into the word waiggah.
A side effect of the impact was the sudden introduction of blood to the biology room
floor.
When Nakura saw the blood on the knife in his hand, his face went ghostly white.
“Uh… wha—? N-n-no—no—no, I… I was only… It was just a threat… to Izaya… ,”

Nakura stammered, his head shaking, unable to admit what he’d just done. “It wasn’t
me— I didn’t— It’s not my— Aah, aaaaaaah!”
He dropped the knife and raced out of the room. Izaya rushed over to Shinra and saw
the spot on his side where the knife hit him. The gash wasn’t so big that his innards
would poke out, but there was a gush of blood that left a spreading red mark on
Shinra’s clothes.
“Hang on, I’ll call for an ambulance,” Izaya said, pulling a cell phone from his bag—
which was rare at the time—but Shinra grabbed his wrist.
“First… go to the storage closet… and get the… tape.”
“Huh?”
“…That will at least… stop the… bleeding.”
“…Right.”
For being stabbed in the gut, Shinra gave orders with easy familiarity. Izaya obeyed
and got the tape.
Shinra used a special wrapping method to seal his gash, then smiled at Izaya. “Ha-ha.
I guess being the hero doesn’t suit me, huh?”
“You probably shouldn’t talk right now.”
“I thought,” Shinra said shyly, “that if I became a hero… the one I love… might praise
me… urgh!”
“Easy, man…”
“It’s all right. This isn’t going to be immediately fatal. My organs are all right, and
miraculously enough, it didn’t breach the peritoneum… urgh!”
The sight of Shinra, pale-faced, brought a particular emotion to Izaya’s chest: jealousy.
He understood that he was meant to observe other human beings. He was always to
be in a higher position than the people around him.
But unlike him, Shinra Kishitani truly was from a different dimension.
How many people could stand in the way of a rampaging knife not out of instinct, not
out of a sense of heroism, but because they wanted to impress someone else? Love is
blind, according to the saying, but in Shinra’s case, it was also insane.
It seemed that his moral core as a person came from a completely different place than
all other human beings—including Izaya.
He was alarmed enough at this moment that he couldn’t accurately understand his
emotions as it happened, but upon later reflection, Izaya decided that Shinra viewed
humanity from a different dimension. But unlike him, Shinra did not actually love
human beings. And still, Izaya envied him.
A classmate who occupied a dimension separate from those around him, different
from even Izaya. And it was this emotion that caused his finger to stop before it hit the
button to call the hospital.
“…Hey, Shinra,” he said, addressing his wounded, groaning classmate with a thin smile.
“Do you think… we could say that I stabbed you?”
“Ow-ow-ow… Huh?”
“And in return… I’ll spend my entire life making Nakura regret what he did.”
Twelve years later
“And what did you say?”
“Uh, I’m pretty certain I just said, ‘Yeah, sure,’” Shinra replied. He was still prone on the
bed.
“I can’t believe this,” Celty typed, annoyed. “You really were capable of truly dynamic
actions, even as a child.”
“Heh-heh. I just played the goody-goody honor student around you.”
“Sorry, but you didn’t come off as an honor student, either.”
“I didn’t?! Urgh!” he yelped, wincing as his broken bones creaked.
Celty hurriedly calmed him down and wiped the sweat from his neck.
The scar on his side was a stab wound from a classmate, which Izaya had taken the fall
for, and ever since, he’d used the real culprit as his own cat’s paw.
That was the truth as Shinra had explained it, several days ago, but after further
discussing the details today, she sensed that something still didn’t add up on Shinra’s
side. The story sounded very appropriate for him, but on the other hand, something
nagged at her.
“And you were fine with that? It must’ve been hard to get along with the very classmate
who stabbed you, like nothing ever happened.”
“Actually, it wasn’t a big deal. I was never interested in him to begin with. But
afterward, when I thought about it more, I was furious that he stabbed me. I thought
it served him right that Izaya was using him for all he was worth.”
“…I’m surprised you would feel that way.”
“Well, if I died from being stabbed… that would be one thing, but more importantly, I
couldn’t see you again. So with that in mind, stabbing me is like trying to steal you
from me. Of course, I can’t forgive that!” Shinra ranted.
Celty made another sighing motion with her shoulders and changed the topic to the
payment for her recent job. She’d gone around collecting strange chips, intentionally
allowed the laptop to get stolen, and protected Izaya’s sister from harm, and
apparently, that was all that Izaya needed. He summoned her with a message that said
the job had been completed safely.
Then he gave her a surprisingly hefty envelope of cash, along the information he owed
her…
Jinnai Yodogiri.
Izaya claimed he was the plotter who sent that stalker after Shinra. It’s hard to believe…
but I’ve never known him to be the type to lie in that context. And considering that this
man was Ruri’s former agency president, the stalker angle does seem plausible.
…But what bothers me even more than that… What bothers me… is…
“What’s wrong, Celty?”
Shinra’s voice made her snap back to her senses.
“Er, it’s nothing,” she typed.
“Are you hiding something from me, Celty?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to tell you what it is.”
“…That’s not fair, Celty. That leaves me with no options,” he said, screwing up his face
like he was going to cry. Then he sighed and favored her with a smile. “It’s fine. I won’t
force you to say. Oh, but just to be sure: It’s not that you’re cheating on me, right?”
“Don’t worry; it’s not that.”
“Oh, good. I’m not worrying, then. Wow, that bit of relief just made me feel sleepy…
Yawn…”
He closed his eyes and steadily drifted off to sleep. She watched him nod off and felt
her heart being constricted.
She hadn’t been worried about the bit of truth she received from Izaya as payment for
her help. The problem was the powerful presence she felt in the moment she got that
information.
It was an unforgettable sensation. The presence of her own head.
That’s it, all right… Izaya has my head.
The woman from Yagiri Pharmaceuticals was on the run with her head. Given Izaya’s
abilities of information collection, it was very possible he’d already made contact with
her and gotten the head.
That faint sensation she’d always felt around here was incredibly strong at the
moment, sharper than she’d ever felt it. It was such a concern to her that she went
back to their meeting spot a few hours later, but the sensation of her head was back to
being as fuzzy as it had always been.
So it’s possible Izaya had it there with him! But… for what purpose?
I can’t trust him. But… if I tracked him down and demanded the head back… what would
happen?
If her head returned, what would happen to her life and memories as they existed
right now? Would it be like Shinra feared and cause her to forget about everything
with him in Ikebukuro and compel her to return to her original duty as a dullahan,
never to return to this life again?
That possibility made Celty more afraid to come into contact with her head than ever
before. The only way to keep the fear under control was to gaze at Shinra’s face.
Shinra.
She didn’t find the answer she needed, but the sight of him brought deep relief to her
conflicted heart.
When he got attacked, the level of her fury convinced her how irreplaceable he was to
her—and her sense of relief now did much the same.
Celty was reminded of something she’d thought about before.
Was this the same emotion as what human beings called love? She didn’t know. But
she wanted it to be true. She hoped that she and Shinra could be connected by the
same emotion.
And so, without a god to pray to, she prayed to the neighborhood of Ikebukuro instead.
Ikebukuro, on the street
“The courier didn’t say anything after all. I’m pretty sure she knew, though.”
“I know this is only the thousandth time I’ve said this, but… you really are the worst
person in the world. I hate that Headless Rider… but in this one case, I feel some sympathy
for her. In a sense, she wasn’t the one who seduced Seiji; it was just her head,” Namie
said, her voice thin through the phone speaker.
Izaya rolled his head around and said, “At least the basis for your hatred is crystal clear.
But in any case, I knew she wasn’t going to demand it back. My curiosity was toward
any possible changes in the head… but there certainly wasn’t anything visible.”
“This is a joke. You profess to be a lover of humanity, and here you are looking for hope
in the world after death.”
“No, just the opposite. My love for humanity means I want to keep watching it forever.”
“So you’re God now?” she snapped, exhausted.
He shrugged. “I said no such thing. I’m not trying to do anything with humanity. I just
want to watch it. And in order to keep things interesting, to poke them just a little bit
now and then.”
“An evil god, then. Perhaps Loki from the Norse myths?”
“First Mr. Shiki, now you. Is there a mythology trend these days?” he shot back.
After a few more similar barbs back and forth, Izaya finished the discussion of work
and hung up the call. He walked down the street, recalling what Celty had said as
they’d parted:
“I have to admit, my opinion of you has improved today. You asked me to protect your
sister… so I suppose you’re still human enough that you’d worry about your own family
members.”
He couldn’t tell if that was just a bit of flattery to hide her shock at sensing the head or
if it was her true opinion. But either way, he had denied the allegation.
You’re wrong, courier. Absolutely off the mark.
The only reason I had you protect my sister… is because I didn’t want her ending up at
that bar… where Haruna Niekawa was. That’s all.
As he strolled through Ikebukuro, Izaya let his mind wander.
To him, his sisters were essentially the same as anyone else, albeit often difficult for
him to know how to handle. To Izaya Orihara personally, family members and
strangers both essentially occupied the same category as friends.
But then he remembered his middle school days, when Nakura stabbed Shinra—the
very genesis of this entire string of events, in a way.
Now that I think about it… that might be the one single event that had a clear and
undeniable effect on shaping who I am as a person.
He recalled the jealousy and inferiority he had felt when it happened and wondered if
perhaps Shinra Kishitani was less of a friend to him than a rival. And rather than a
target of hatred like Shizuo Heiwajima, might he actually be something Izaya should
strive to be?
But then he thought of Shinra today and laughed. “No, of course not.”
Still, I can’t deny that I was jealous of how firmly, confidently alien he was.
And now he was betraying that friend of his. A friend by the definition of the rest of
the world, not Izaya’s own twisted standards.
He’ll be pissed if he finds out I brought the head very close to Celty.
“Ha-ha!” he chuckled, imagining the sight of the one actual friend he had consumed by
rage.
Nothing to be afraid of.
That was how he’d always lived; he laughed—
and laughed—
and laughed—
and laughed—
—and clenched his right hand into a fist, then rammed it into a telephone pole.
The sound was violent, but there was no one else in the alley to hear it.
Whatever expression he made, whatever reason he clenched his fist, whatever he was
thinking—no one in the entire world could know.
Because…
“Oh, there he is! Iza! Brother Izaaaa!”
“…Clan…” [Brother.]
“Oh? What’s gotten into you two? It’s rare for you to call out first before you attack me.”
When Izaya spun around at the sound of his sisters’ voices, he wore the same smile he
always did.
“I think better of you after today, Bro! You asked the Headless Rider to protect Kuru
from harm?!”
“…Doubt…” [Is it true?]
“Oh, don’t be so naive. I was doing something I didn’t want the rider finding out about,
so I utilized you to keep her out of my hair,” he revealed.
But to his surprise, the girls looked at each other, then broke into smiles.
“That still works for us! Thanks, Iza!”
“…Gratitude…” [Thank you.]
“I swear, it’s so difficult to tell what you’re thinking.”
“That’s because you’re never honest about your emotions.”
They took sides, escorting Izaya down the road as he grimaced. On the right, Mairu
looked up at her brother and commented, “Hey, Iza, you might treat us the way you
would treat any other person, but we still think of you as family. So don’t forget that,
okay?”
“What’s this? That’s a very sweet thing to say,” he said, glancing at his sister—she
usually just attempted to jump kick him while screaming “Die!!”—but the girls wore
the same innocent smiles they always did.
“So if Shizuo ever kills you, we’ll shed a few tears before we celebrate!”
“Minuscule…” [Just a few.]
“…I was a fool for expecting familial love from you.” He chuckled and strode ahead of
them.
Mairu noticed his right hand and wondered, “Iza, is your hand swollen?”
“…Health?” [Are you all right?]
He laid his left hand on Kururi’s worried head and lied, “Yeah, I was getting chased
around by Shizu. That’s when it happened.”
“Ohhh. So you earned it.”
“You girls should stay away from that muscle-bound monster, too. You’ll end up dead.”
And thus they vanished into the night.
The city welcomed and accepted everything—such that their words melted into the
background thrum, just as if they were having a normal family conversation.
The next day, Ikebukuro, Russia Sushi
“It’s been so peaceful lately.”
Yumasaki was sitting at the counter, waiting for his sushi.
Next to him was Togusa, who raged, “It hasn’t been peaceful at all! They arrested
someone who was trying to set fire to Ruri’s friend’s house… What a terrible world!”
“Yeah, but they caught ’em. So it’s all right.”
“They didn’t catch Adabashi, the piece of shit who was behind it all! Dammit… If I just
had a headshot to go off, I’d take my van all over the city looking for him so I could
feed him to my tires!”
“Calm down, Togusa,” said Kadota, sipping his hot tea.
Simon looked up from cleaning the back counter and said, “What this? Karisawa is on
vacation? Did she catch sick? You catch sick, you need stamina. You buy sushi souvenir
to take her, very good.”
“No, she’s just having a meeting with some of her cosplay girlfriends today. I’m feeling
pretty lonely because I have no one to talk manga with,” Yumasaki lamented.
“Oh, you sigh, all happiness escape through mouth,” Simon said sagely. “Where is
escaped happiness? Rumor says inside salmon roe. You order ikura. Apart from
Karisawa, but your hearts together. Stomach is full, heart is full. Three of you eat four
portions. Battle to avenge Karisawa.”
“Avenge her? Listen, Simon,” Kadota started, about to correct his use of language, when
the door of the restaurant opened and ushered in a new customer.
“Welcome to Russ… Oh! Long time no see, boss!” greeted Simon happily. Kadota’s
group was shocked, however—and Denis, the head chef, addressed both the new
customer and the seated group at the same time.
“There’s a table open in the tatami area. You want to move back there?”
The new customer bowed to Kadota and said, “Do you mind?”
“Kida…”
“Sorry. I spotted you guys coming in here… and I was hoping we could talk.”
“Uh, sure, if you want…”
Two things surprised Kadota. One was that Masaomi Kida was back in town.
The other was that he was wearing a bright-yellow scarf around his neck.
Ikebukuro
By the time Anri Sonohara left the Junkudo bookstore, the sun was descending toward
the horizon. She headed back home, bookstore bag stuffed with cookbooks for
beginners. She didn’t have any particular goals to achieve during the vacation, but her
heart was singing all the same.
Kida’s back in town. It might only be for the moment… but he seems to be doing well.
During the recent uproar with the stalker, Masaomi Kida had saved the kitten Anri was
cat sitting. She didn’t know why he was there, and ultimately, he ran off without
speaking much.
But still, it made her happy. Mikado would be delighted when he found out, too. He’d
been acting strangely in recent days, and perhaps Masaomi’s presence would make
him return to normal, she hoped.
But there had been no progress since then. Still, Masaomi’s promise that he would
come back to them was her bedrock. And there were two things she needed to do to
prepare for the inevitable moment that Masaomi returned for good, and the three of
them went back to being friends like before.
One was that she wanted to be able to cook for the two boys.
And the other was that she wanted absolute control over Saika.
They were two completely different goals, so she decided to start by buying some
beginner cookbooks. As for the other goal, she had no idea how to even begin. At this
very moment, like all other times, Saika was whispering words of love under her skin.
She held the voices at bay, keeping them within the picture frame of her mind as she
hiked the path home, when a voice over her shoulder made her stop.
“Oh! It’s Anri! Heyyy!”
There were two women standing there. One was unfamiliar, but the other she
recognized: Erika Karisawa.
“Good evening, Karisawa,” she said, her expression and mind softening. Karisawa had
seen her when she allowed Saika to surface but still interacted with Anri the same as
before, which made her a very precious friend indeed.
“You were at Junkudo? Ooh, what’d you get? Manga?”
“No, just some cookbooks… Oh, er… ,” she stammered, noticing the other girl suddenly.
Karisawa laughed and said, “Oh, this is Azusa Tsutsugawa. She’s a cosplay friend of
mine. Sometimes she rides around in Togusa’s van, too, so it’s good for you to know
her.”
“Oh, I see! Um, my name is Anri Sonohara. It’s nice to meet you…”
“Don’t worry—you don’t have to get all stuffy with me,” said the girl, who dressed
femme but talked like a tomboy. “I’m Azusa Tsutsugawa. Nice to meetcha!”
Anri dipped her head again, slightly taken aback, then asked Karisawa, “You aren’t
hanging out with Yumasaki and the whole group today?”
“No, we just had a little meeting for our cosplay group. Actually, this is perfect timing!
There was something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Anri.”
“?”
Karisawa’s eyes sparkled with excitement. She didn’t realize that what she was about
to say would change the fate of the girl she was speaking to.
“Hey, Anri… do you want to try cosplay? You really should do it!”
“…Huh?”
Anri was even more confused by the question than the lead-up, so Karisawa explained.
“It doesn’t even have to be an anime character! We can start with something easy, like
a maid outfit or a miko shrine maiden!”
Night, West Ikebukuro Park
With no earthly idea that the girl he once cared for was in danger of being dressed up
as a miko, Akabayashi of the Awakusu-kai met with a client.
It was long after all the children had gone home, so Akabayashi sat in the empty swing
and handed an envelope to the information dealer he was with.
“It’s really no big job. It’s just a bother for a guy like me to go sniffing around the
civvies, if you know what I mean.”
Izaya Orihara took the envelope with the same smile he always wore and said, “I’m a
bit surprised. I thought you distrusted me, Mr. Akabayashi.”
“Oh, I do. About as much as one can. I happen to think you’re probably working with
the Asuki-gumi, among others. Am I right?” His posture in the swing was totally still.
“Would that be a problem? The Asuki-gumi are part of the same Medei syndicate,
aren’t they? And the answer is no, I’m not.”
“Surely you understand that it’s not as simple as that.”
Izaya grinned at him and pulled a photograph out of the envelope. The instant he saw
it, the nature of his smile changed subtly.
Akabayashi’s left eye didn’t miss that. “You reacted. You know him?”
“He’s from the school I went to. What did he do?”
“Well, the daughter of someone who once did me a great favor has been seen walkin’
around town with this kid… and the stories I hear suggest he’s part of one o’ them
street gangs. Now, I ain’t the type to interfere in young romance, but I can’t help but
be curious if the boy’s got himself involved in something shady,” Akabayashi explained,
watching him carefully.
Izaya’s hackles rose. Akabayashi… an inscrutable man. Is this job meant to measure who
I am as a person…?
On the inside, Izaya wore a confident smile, and on the outside, his usual expression.
“All right. If he’s involved in anything strange, I will convince him to stop.”
“Thanks. I figured that hiring an info broker closer to his age would be a safer bet than
a private eye. And the girl’s parents, the folks I owe a great debt, they’re in heaven now.
I’d feel terrible to them if anything happened to her,” Akabayashi said in the manner
of small talk.
“Are you sure the father’s in heaven?” Izaya dared to ask.
“Ha-ha-ha, you really are an info broker. I suppose you’d have to know things like that.”
He was referring to the fact that the girl Akabayashi mentioned was Anri Sonohara
and that her father had been abusive—but Akabayashi’s expression didn’t change. In
fact, given how quickly he answered after Izaya’s barb, he’d been expecting the
provocation.
He really is inscrutable. Between him and Shiki, the Awakusu-kai sure have a lot of folks
you can’t ever count out, he observed, bowing obsequiously and putting away the
envelope.
“Then I will look into this job for you,” Izaya said.
“I’ll take a thorough look at the current state of the boy named Mikado Ryuugamine.”
The boys passed each another, while the adults’ plots twisted and curled.
A great vortex was building beneath Ikebukuro.
And not a single person could predict what awaited at its center.
Hello, it’s nice to see you folks again for the first time in a while—if it has been. I’m
Ryohgo Narita.
This was the ninth volume of the Durarara!! series. We’re almost to two digits, and it’s
only thanks to your support that we’ve come this far. Thank you so much, all my
readers!
I often get questions from people who only read the Durarara!! series saying, “Why
can’t you write faster?” Well, the fact of the matter is that I’m currently penning five
different series for the Dengeki Bunko line at the same time, and in between each
Durarara!! volume is a number of other books… so if you’re interested in what else I
have to offer, maybe check out Baccano!, Vamp!, Etsusa Bridge, or Hariyama-san at the
Center of the World…
At any rate, it’s been over a year since the airing of the Durarara!! anime, and so much
has happened in that time. While much of that has been wonderful, it’s also meant a
huge uptick in workload that has knocked me on the ropes. It’s been a strange year in
which I’ve somehow slipped into a dimension where I have more work than when I
used to put out seven novels a year, but I was able to make it through thanks to the
glory of the Durarara!! anime, manga, and related merchandise and the support of
everyone still reading!
This month also marks the release of the final DVD of the series!
I’m overcome with emotion, but it’s a mixture of both happiness and sadness. The year
full of excitement over the Durarara!! anime is over, and now I’m grappling with hope
and worry for what comes next.
The last volume will include Episode 25 as an OVA—but like Episode 12.5, it has my
original idea and character dialogue reformatted to work as a script. I came up with a
huge amount of dialogue, thinking, There’s no way they can cut this down to thirty
minutes, but the work the director and scriptwriter did to distill the best parts is
simply breathtaking…
Not only does it feature essentially every character, it even includes some like Max
who hadn’t appeared in the anime, so it should be quite lively. Please do enjoy it, along
with the final televised episode!
I wish to express my incredible gratitude to Director Omori, Mr. Takagi the head writer
and his staff, and all the people at Brain’s Base studio for their fantastic work. But as
it happens, another series that Omori, Takagi, and Brain’s Base worked on, Baccano!,
is getting a Blu-ray box set!
As of this writing, I haven’t yet seen the increased quality and fidelity of the Baccano!
Blu-ray, but I can tell you it was a tremendous adaptation of my novels, so whether
you have or have not seen it already, please do check it out along with the Durarara!!
anime!
Another very exciting development: Suzuhito Yasuda is putting out an art book based
around his work on Durarara!! and other series! It’ll be coming out alongside an art
book for his manga Yozakura Quartet, serialized in the monthly Shonen Sirius
magazine. I’m really happy that Durarara!! gets to be involved in such a major release!
I’m sure there will be more details and advertisements as it gets closer to release, so
please check out the Yasuda world for its involvement with the Durarara!! and Etsusa
Bridge series!
…Hmm, I feel like all I’ve done is plug related products, so let’s discuss Durarara!!,
Volume 9 and my recent circumstances.
This was a story about Izaya. So far I’ve had Izaya suffering some horrible fate at the
end of every third volume. Whether or not he broke that jinx this time around will be
up to your personal opinion.
As for me… I’ve been using my PSP to Hunt some Monsters and Ronpa some Dangan.
…Sorry.
Now that I’ve finished this book, I’ve been fully enjoying Monster Hunter Portable 3rd
at last. But just when I thought I’d be dedicating all my attention to MH, along came
the shocking Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc. It’s totally driven an ice pick into my
brain…
It’s kind of like a high-speed, white-knuckle psychedelic murder mystery combining
action and puzzle solving and packed with totally out-of-this-world characters. It
completely knocked me on my ass!
You should definitely look up Danganronpa if you haven’t heard of it and see if its
twisted sense of style suits your taste!
Wait… am I just plugging unrelated products now?!
* The following is the usual list of acknowledgments.
To my editor, who has to put up with my constant nonsense at all times, Mr. Papio. To
managing editor Suzuki and the rest of the editorial office. To the proofreaders, whom
I give a hard time by being so late with submissions. To all the designers involved with
the production of the book. To all the people at Media Works involved in marketing,
publishing, and sales. I’m so sorry for pushing the schedule harder than it’s ever been
pushed before!
To my family, who do so much for me in so many ways, my friends, fellow authors, and
illustrators.
To Director Omori and the rest of the anime staff, and Akiyo Satorigi and Editor Kuma
for the tremendous manga adaptation that just released its third volume at the end of
the year.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, who took time out of his busy schedule with his art book and
manga serial to provide his wonderful interior illustrations. I’m sorry that I turned the
text over to you so late in the process…
To all of the above, the greatest of appreciation!
January 2011—“Getting His Mind Invaded by Squid Girl”
Ryohgo Narita
RYOHGO NARITA

DURARARA!! Vol.10
Yen On
New York, NY 10104
yenpress.tumblr.com

the publisher.

9780316474344 (v. 10 : pbk.)
Subjects: CYAC: Tokyo (Japan)—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Science Fiction /
Adventure.
ISBNs: 978-0-316-47434-4 (paperback)

978-0-316-47435-1 (ebook)
E3-20180606-JV-PC
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
“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.”
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.”
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.”
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.
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.
100% Pure Water: Oh, right. Saki, you’re Bacura’s friend or girlfriend in real life,
right?
Saki: Yes. We live together.
Sharo: She admits it!
Sharo: Wow.
Sharo: What?
100% Pure Water: Eeek!
Kid: That sounds very passionate.
100% Pure Water: Then what’s Bacura doing today?
Saki: He’s busy with work. He’s been out all day.
100% Pure Water: Sounds like a hard worker! Just make sure you treat him well
when he gets home so that he doesn’t work himself to death.
Sharo: What if you treat him a little too well and keep him up all night, and then he
gets into a car accident in the morning from lack of sleep?
100% Pure Water: That’s dirty! You’ve got a dirty mind, Sharo! Diiiirty!
Sharo: Really? That counts as a dirty joke, Water?!
Saki: What do you mean by “treat him a little too well”?
Saki: Can you please explain that to me? ;)
Sharo: Sorry, forget I said it. It really was a bad joke.
Chrome: Oh, speaking of asleep at the wheel… did you hear about the hit-and-run today?
100% Pure Water: Yikes! Where? Where did it happen?
Chrome: It wasn’t that far away from Ikebukuro.
Chrome: I mean, if it was in the middle of Ikebukuro, there’d be so many witnesses

that they’d get caught right away.
Sharo: Was it on the news?
Chrome: No, I don’t think it’s been on the news. It wasn’t fatal.
Kid: Then how do you know about it?
100% Pure Water: Were you the one who hit and ran, Chrome?!
Chrome: Of course it wasn’t me.
Chrome: Haven’t you checked the Dollars message board?
Kid: Actually, I haven’t yet today…
Sharo: Oh, does that mean this is Dollars related?
Chrome: No, it’s much simpler than that.

Chrome: It was just a Dollars member who got run over.
Chrome: The problem is, it wasn’t your typical member.
Kid: Meaning?
Chrome: The victim was a fairly prominent person in the group, someone named
Kadota.
Sharo: Hey, that’s a pretty well-known name around the Ikebukuro region.
Sharo: Are you serious?! Kadota’s dead?!
100% Pure Water: Don’t be morbid!
Sharo: Look, I wasn’t excited about it or anything like that!
Chrome: According to the info on the Dollars board, it’s not life-threatening.
Chrome: But he hasn’t regained consciousness yet.
Kid: Let’s hope he wakes up soon.
Kid: So if it was a hit-and-run, does that mean the driver hasn’t been found?
Sharo: It’s just a matter of time, I bet.
Sharo: There are some crazy motorcycle cops out there these days.
Sharo: Haven’t you ever seen them playing tag with the Headless Rider?
Chrome: Didn’t you say something like that before, Sharo? lol
Sharo: It’s a wild enough thing to bring up multiple times.
Sharo: You’ve got to be a real idiot to do a hit-and-run, though.
100% Pure Water: They probably panicked and drove off without thinking, I’m
guessing?
Kid: That’d be better, at least.
Chrome: ?
Sharo: “Better” is not the same as “good.”
Kid: Oh no. I didn’t mean to imply that anything about this is positive. I’m sorry.
Kid: I should’ve been clearer. I mean, I only hope it’s just an ordinary hit-and-run.
Chrome: What do you mean?
Kid: I’ve heard of Kadota, too. It’s a name you’re bound to come across in any deeper
examination of the Dollars.
Kid: He doesn’t like to admit it, but many Dollars accept him as one of the outward
faces of the group.
Kid: And he’s been run over by someone who drove off. Let’s just hope it’s a coincidence.
Sharo:… You think someone hit him on purpose?
Kid: It’s a possibility, that’s all.
Kid: For example, there was that story about Ruri Hijiribe’s stalker being among the
Dollars.
Kid: Let’s say there was another Ruri Hijiribe fanatic, almost on the level of a stalker.
What if they saw the entire Dollars as an enemy of Ruri because of that? Or more
simply, what if someone hurt by a Dollars member in the past wanted revenge? But
without a leader, who can they go after? Well, how about Kadota, who’s the most well-
known of them all?
Sharo: So you think it might not be personal but just a consequence of him being a
kind of representative for the group? That’d really suck for him if it’s true.
Kid: That’s still not the worst that could happen.
Sharo: What?
100% Pure Water: Ba-bump, ba-bump…
Chrome: Oh, I get it.
Chrome: You’re saying… what if that’s just the beginning?
Kid: Exactly.
Kid: They’re saying the gang that reps yellow is back in action, too. The Yellow Scarves,
I believe?
100% Pure Water: What? Do you think they’re starting a war?!
100% Pure Water: That’s scary. That’s really scary!
Kid: We might be getting ahead of ourselves with that.
Kid: But the elements for unrest are all there.
Kid: Especially with the rumor that Shizuo Heiwajima left the Dollars.
Sharo: Yeah. Even if you hated the Dollars, with Shizuo around you didn’t dare pick a
fight with them.
Kid: And then there’s this story about a purge within the Dollars.
Chrome: I heard about that one, too.
100% Pure Water: What do you mean, purge?! That sounds really scary!
Kid: In any case, I’m sure the police are keeping tabs on the Dollars by now. That
means they can’t make any big moves, but all the other gangs are free to take potshots
at them.
Kid: The Dollars are known for not having a color. But all the Yellow Scarves and Blue
Squares have to do is remove their bits of cloth, and they’re no different from the
Dollars. If they abandoned their pride and honor, they could attempt to bring down
the group…
Chrome: It would be like the incident with the slasher, perhaps.

Chrome: They never actually caught the slasher, when all was said and done.
Kid: Most importantly of all, the biggest risk factor is the fact that it was Kadota who
was in the accident.
Kid: It’s like the cleanup-hitting slugger on a baseball team getting hospitalized from
an accident.
Kid: They have no Shizuo Heiwajima DH and no Kadota cleanup hitter. It’s the perfect
opportunity for another gang to make their move.
100% Pure Water: Ahhh! Geez! Geez! This is all Bad News Bears over here!
Chrome: ?
Sharo: He’s gone off the deep end, lol.
Kid: What’s the matter?
100% Pure Water: We’re all… Well, I’m an Ikebukuro resident, at least! Kid and
Chrome, you can’t keep scaring us with all these freaky stories! Look, you’ve frightened
Saki into silence!
Kid: Please pardon me. I’m sorry.
Chrome: You’re right. Saki hasn’t replied to any of this.
Sharo: Maybe she fell asleep?
100% Pure Water: Saki, are you awake?
100% Pure Water: Helloooo?
.
The next day, Shinra’s apartment, near Kawagoe Highway
“Kadota’s in a coma?!”
Shinra Kishitani was stuck in his bed, covered with bandages and casts all over. The
black market doctor failed to practice what he preached—good health—and now he
was bedridden in his own apartment until he recovered.
While his injuries were bad enough that it would take him half a year to fully recover,
thanks to the help of his beloved life partner, he seemed fairly happy with the whole
arrangement. He was often smiling through the pain and inconvenience.
Now that smile had turned into shock at the news that said beloved life partner had
just brought to him.
“It was a hit-and-run, apparently.”
“Hit-and-run?!”
“Yeah. He got hit on some street, and the locals who heard the noise came out, found him
on the asphalt, and called for an ambulance,” the life partner typed onto her PDA,
rephrasing the information she gained via e-mail.
Shinra peered up at the screen to read her message and made a face. “Is his life in
danger?”
He wasn’t that close to Kadota, but they had known each other in high school, and he’d
invited the other man to this apartment on multiple occasions. Most important of all,
he was one of the few people who knew about and accepted the nature of Shinra’s
partner.
Shinra cared about his partner above all else, so it was only knowing of her safety that
allowed him the wherewithal to be concerned about anyone else. Unlike the
circumstances in which a different friend got stabbed, here he was genuinely worried
for Kadota.
“He did pull through, but he’s still unconscious for now. Let’s hope he recovers.”
While his partner typed worried messages on her PDA, none of her emotions showed
on her face.
But that was only because she didn’t have a face to begin with. Instead, her concern
manifested by the trembling of the darkness that issued forth from the surface of her
severed neck.
impending death.
of the soon to die. Anyone foolish enough to open the door was drenched with a
basinful of blood. Thus, the dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a herald of ill
When someone back in her homeland had stolen her head, she had lost her memories
of what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that had brought her
here to Ikebukuro.
still lost.
Celty knew who stole her head.
But that meant she didn’t know where it was.
she could happily go on the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face while she
held these strong, secret desires within her heart.
She assumed nothing would change. In fact, she prayed that nothing would ever
change, that she would always be her “usual self.” But this summer seemed determined
to turn every part of that on its head.
Her head, in fact.
She finally knew the location of her head, the very reason for her being in this country
in the first place.
But once she was in the presence of the person who possessed her head, she had
backed down. She’d done nothing.
It’d happened right after her beloved Shinra was attacked, and she was consumed with
rage at the time. She still hadn’t fully processed the waves of emotion that had
overcome her then. Did the same thing happen to human beings? Or was she different
from them in this regard, because she was a dullahan?
Ironically, this worry of hers was a very human kind of concern. Nonetheless, Celty
didn’t know how much difference there was between her heart and a human’s. It was
hard enough just for two human beings to process emotions the same way. As a
different species altogether, the idea had always plagued Celty.
In this case, she’d been in an extreme state of mind when she’d heard about Kadota,
which only made things worse.
Why are all these crazy things still happening?
Oddly enough, she was worried about the same things that people had been talking
about in the chat room without her last night.
Is there some connection between all this? I’m sure the stalker panic is unrelated, but
something just feels wrong. And I can’t believe that the Jinnai Yodogiri who Izaya was
talking about has anything to do with Kadota… Could it really have been just an
accident? Or is something bigger going on that I don’t know about?
Her fear led to doubt, and that doubt fueled only more fear.
Normally, being next to Shinra helped Celty ease that fear, but because she was
keeping the fact that she knew the location of her head a secret from him, the guilt was
another kind of shackle chaining her down.
“Well, even if I were in perfect health, I’d still recommend that he go to a normal
hospital after being hit by a car. We’ll just have to hope for a solid recovery.”
“Huh? Oh, good point,” she typed, coming back to her senses. She focused on the matter
of Kadota again. “I’d like to go and visit him, but I don’t think the hospital will let me in…”
“Well, if he doesn’t wake up, they’re not going to allow visits, period.”
“Good point.”
“But it is worrying,” he said, his expression clouded.
Celty put a reassuring message into the PDA. “It’ll be all right. He’s a tough guy.”
To her surprise, Shinra added, “No, Celty, you’re the one I’m worried about.”
“Huh?”
“If Kadota comes back around, he’ll still be in the hospital for a while, right? I just hope
no funny business happens with the Dollars in the meantime. We’ve seen this with
Mikado—when people get in trouble, you can’t help but get yourself involved, Celty.”
Oh my goodness. He’s on the same line of thought as me.
There were times when Shinra showed himself to be keenly capable of reading Celty’s
feelings, but if he was actually tracing her line of thought here, he’d have to be a
psychic.
No, it’s okay. Shinra’s not psychic. We just happened to be thinking about the same thing.
I didn’t know he was worried about that kind of stuff, though, she reassured herself and
put that feeling into words to Shinra.
“I’m not so sure. The Dollars don’t have a hierarchy. I bet Kadota being gone isn’t going
to change anything in the big picture.”
“You sure about that? I’ve always thought that Shizuo served as a physical restraint
and Kadota served as a mental restraint—both to others and to the group. If you
messed around, Shizuo was going to flatten you, whether you were in the gang or not.
That’s a simplistic view, I’ll admit.”
“But you’ve got a point.”
“Meanwhile, if you got on Kadota’s bad side as an outsider, he would galvanize a part
of the Dollars around him to fight you off, and if you were an insider and he went after
you, you’d have a real bad time within the Dollars,” Shinra explained.
Celty didn’t have a real counterargument.
“He denies he’s a big public figure in the Dollars, but the thing about big groups is that
when stuff happens, people look to someone they can rely on. There just aren’t that
many people out there who are strong enough to make decisions about everything on
their own. I bet even Mikado was leaning on Kadota for a lot of stuff.”
“That might be true, but…”
It only made Celty feel worse; Anri had told her that Mikado had been acting strangely,
too.
I just hope that Kuronuma guy doesn’t use this opportunity to start any funny business.
Shinra seemed to sense her concern. He sat up in bed, ignoring the pain. Before she
could ask him if he was all right, he gave her a kindly smile.
“It’s okay, Celty. You should do what you feel is right, no matter what happens to the
Dollars. If you have to take on the rest of the entire world, I’ll still be with you.”
“Shinra… thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me for anything. I’m doing this for my own sake.”
“Well, don’t worry. I’m not going to be that foolish,” she typed quickly, to hide her
bashfulness. The little tendrils of shadow coming from her fingers flitted about,
dancing over the keypad like black flame.
“In any case, you should be more worried about Kadota than about me. You don’t have
any outright friends other than Izaya and Shizuo, so that’s one of the few acquaintances
you can actually talk to casually.”
“Oh, please. What are you expecting from me? When my friend Izaya got stabbed, I
didn’t even bother visiting him.”
“Forget about Izaya—he earned that one!” she typed, chuckling on the inside.
The feeling of normalcy returning only made her wish harder that Shinra would heal
soon, so that she could feel this way forever.
But life was not going to be so kind.
Right as she got up, intending to fix something simple for Shinra to eat, her cell phone
buzzed.
Who is that?
Celty pulled it out and saw a message from an unfamiliar source. She opened it up,
assuming it would be another spam e-mail from a dating site or an overseas scam.
Then time stood still for a brief moment.
The title of the message was “This is Aoba Kuronuma.”
Aoba Kuronuma.
The name of the boy who knew what Celty was, where she lived, and who was trying
to put weird ideas into Mikado’s head. The boy she’d been worried about making his
move just a few minutes ago.
Her worst fears were confirmed true at the worst possible moment.
“I’d like to talk to you about something. Can you come outside for a bit?”
The short message put another chain of unease around Celty’s heart.
At that moment, Shiki’s private office
“And what is it that brings you here today, Mr. Newswriter?”
“…”
They were in the art trading office that Shiki used as his business front for the
Awakusu-kai. Shuuji Niekawa sat on the leather sofa for guests, but contrary to its
plush softness, he was as stiff as a board.
This was the second meeting of Niekawa and Shiki, the first of which had been for the
purpose of a column called “Tokyo Disaster Almanac” for a tabloid that mostly ran
features about street gangs.
“Given that you didn’t bother to schedule an appointment first, I’m guessing you’re not
doing research for a piece.”
“C-correct. Listen, I hate to bother you about a personal matter, Mr. Shiki, but…”
“I don’t mind. If anything, it’s bringing us closer together,” Shiki said with a thin smile,
putting himself on equal footing with his guest. “But whether I help you or not
depends on the request. Given that you came to me, I would assume it’s a particular
kind of trouble that you have.”
Shiki’s eyes gleamed with a chilling light, sensing the truth. Niekawa was worried
about his daughter and came to the office out of sheer desperation, even knowing the
nature of the people he was seeking out.
The writer steeled his courage and said, “Well… I’m embarrassed to admit it’s a family
matter…”
Several minutes later…
“I see. Your daughter and the Dollars.”
Shiki gave Niekawa a hard look now that the entire situation had been explained.
“P-please, anything you can do. I just need to know more about them,” Niekawa
stammered.
Shiki put his hands up in a calming gesture.
“Are you sure you actually came to the right place? Common knowledge is that the
Dollars are a street gang, but they’re really just a bunch of amateurs. Like an online
club that anyone can join, full of teenage girls, office workers, even little kids. They
don’t even have operations that pay tribute to more professional outfits like us or
others in our line of work.”
“Yes, I… I’m aware of that… but it sounds like the Dollars are getting more dangerous
these days.”
“It stands to reason that such types would be in the group. Because of the nature of
the gang, the Dollars aren’t a monolith—they’re more like a mountain made of several
strains of rock. There might be water and plants growing on top, but there could be
sulfuric acid running beneath it.”
“…”
Sulfuric acid was an even stronger choice of words than poison. Niekawa was stunned;
it didn’t sound like a simple threat. As a beat writer, he came into contact with many
kinds of people, and it was easy for him to imagine what this meant in terms of the
underside of society.
“I-I’m aware of that, Mr. Shiki. It’s exactly why I’m worried. Including past attempts,
I’ve talked with people all over town who claim Dollars membership, and I’ve never
gotten any good information from them. None of them recognize my daughter’s face
or name. I haven’t even got any leads on the people who she was trading messages
with… So I came to the conclusion that maybe the people who make their living on the
underside might have better connections…”
“Ah, I see… Usually, I’d advise you to contact the police or a detective and have you
leave, but I’ll assume that your presence here says you’ve already run through all your
other options.”
For his part, Shiki treated the writer as though he was perfectly aware of who he was
dealing with. He didn’t bother to try hiding the truth. He let the consequences be
known.
“I can’t offer you help personally, but I can introduce you to someone who might be
able to provide you with the information you seek,” he said.
“Y-you mean Orihara? I haven’t been able to contact him. It looks like he moved out of
his office in Shinjuku…”
“No, I’m not speaking of an outsider. I mean someone within my organization.”
“R-really?! A-and what would I owe you for…?”
Niekawa was prepared to hand over everything he owned, what little there was. But
even then, he wasn’t sure he had enough for the likely asking price. He could reach out
to an expert from the publisher who knew about this exact kind of negotiation, but he
wasn’t going to get others involved in his personal matter.
But the answer wasn’t a number.
“Don’t be silly. This is a give-and-take relationship, isn’t it, Mr. Newswriter?”
“Huh?”
“I cannot accept your money,” Shiki said, shaking his head. He leaned forward, placed
his hands on his knees, and fixed Niekawa with the stare of a lion hunching toward its
prey. A friendly smile crossed his face.
“Instead, the next time we need help, we’ll ask you for advice. That’s all that’s necessary.”
Based on the words alone, some might think Shiki a kind and generous man. Others
might find him the chivalrous kind of yakuza who was rarely seen in modern times.
But Niekawa was well aware that this did not describe the actual offer Shiki of the
Awakusu-kai was making him.
They were going to use him, a tabloid writer, as part of the group’s shady business.
Rather than making it a onetime financial transaction, Shiki determined that it was
more worth his time to keep a connection to a writer at a magazine that circulated in
convenience stores and bookstores, even if the publisher was tiny. The last time, he’d
introduced an external information source, but this time it was to another person in
the same organization. That was surely a sign that they intended to maintain a
working relationship with him.
You’re going to be our lapdog, Shiki was saying. He’d probably get asked to write about
them favorably in an article. In a sense, having that kind of personal connection to the
Awakusu-kai was a much worse outcome than a simple financial loss.
But then Niekawa recalled just how abnormal his daughter had been acting over the
past year. He took several long breaths, steeled his courage, and bowed his head.
“I understand. Your generosity is greatly appreciated, Mr. Shiki.”
“Don’t be silly. As I said earlier, this is a reciprocal relationship, Mr. Niekawa.”
The first use of his actual name rather than “Mr. Newswriter” didn’t inspire friendliness
in Niekawa. He felt like icy vines were tangling around him.
“I’ll phone my colleague, then. He can be a… slippery fellow, but I bet you’ll get along
with him just fine.”
“Um, a-and who is this…?” Niekawa asked, nervous about the new Awakusu-kai
member he was about to become acquainted with. For the first time, Shiki gave him a
wicked grin that had nothing to do with salesmanship.
“…Well, they call him the Red Ogre, but don’t worry. His horns and fangs have been
well-rounded down by now,” he lied.
Apartment bar, Tokyo
“Ahh. A Mr. Niekawa, writer for the Tokyo Warrior. Understood. Well, I’ll be at the usual
bar, so just send him my way.”
In the back of a bar built into an ordinary apartment, Akabayashi ended his call and
sipped his plum sake. He swallowed, then gaped and murmured an apology.
“Oops, I didn’t mean to completely derail our conversation by taking that call. My bad.
I must be getting old—I just assumed I was drinking alone, like always.”
“Please don’t let it bother you. We were nearly done anyway,” said a young man
dressed in black despite the summer heat. His smile was as cold and jagged as though
it were etched into obsidian—this was Izaya Orihara.
Akabayashi picked up where those chilly words left off and asked the info broker, “So
are these materials correct…? Is this Mikado Ryuugamine the founder of the Dollars?”
“Yes. I was quite surprised when I found out. One of the students at my alma mater, a
central figure of the Dollars!” he remarked theatrically.
Akabayashi swirled his cup and smiled. “Let’s not stoop to bullshit, informant. You
knew that in the first place, and it was why you approached Ryuugamine at all, isn’t
it?”
Izaya could only shrug and throw his hands up. “I’ll leave that to your imagination. You
asked me for information on Mikado Ryuugamine, not information on myself, right?”
“Am I hearing this right? Are you willing to sell the details of your own schemes for the
right price?”
“People’s thoughts and feelings aren’t a product to be sold, Mr. Akabayashi.”
“Ah. Quite. Accept my apologies, then.”
They chuckled without a hint of mirth.

He really is hard to get a handle on. The Red Ogre of Awakusu…
Because of his aloof attitude and the tinted glasses that hid his eyes, it was very hard
to read Akabayashi’s mannerisms. It was a toss-up as to who was less forthcoming
with information, him or Shiki, Izaya mused. But the two men were temperamentally
different.
Shiki kept his mind locked behind hard iron, while Akabayashi was as impossible to
grasp as liquid—except he wasn’t just harmless water but gasoline or some other
unsettling substance that could explode at any moment.
Izaya was not afraid, however. He returned to their chat about business. “Isn’t that why
you came to me in the first place? You knew he was an important figure to the Dollars.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I did hear a fascinating rumor from a guy fresh outta the clink.”
Akabayashi put his finger on the picture of Mikado Ryuugamine sitting on the table
and began to rotate it. “I’ll admit I thought you’d keep the Dollars’ boss a secret from
me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I figured that having an associate in my profession learn something like that
might be inconvenient for a fellow in the business of selling information.”
“You think too highly of me. I’m not clever or powerful enough to orchestrate plots
that involve keeping secrets from the Awakusu-kai,” Izaya said, not rattled in the least.
“Is that so? A guy like you ain’t living if he ain’t plotting, as far as I can tell.” Akabayashi
lifted up the photo he’d been spinning and stuck it into the pile of materials that Izaya
had given him. “The kind I’d have beaten to death without a reason in the old days.”
“Let’s not make any threats.”
“Please don’t worry. I’m not that young anymore. The old bloodlust is gone. Plus…” He
paused and took another sip of his plum sake.
“Plus?”
“It looks like I don’t need to bother. That young fella in the bartender getup is trying
to beat you to death himself. Leave the violence to the younger generation, I say.”
“…”
For an instant, the smile vanished from Izaya’s lips. Then he expelled that moment of
weakness with a sigh. “Please don’t be silly. What can that beast of a man do?”
“It’s rare to hear about a human being who can beat a wild animal in a fight.”
“Which is why we have weapons. Individually and socially.”
Akabayashi considered this for a moment, and his gaze sharpened behind the glasses.
“And are you planning to use the weapons of society?”
Izaya didn’t answer him. All he did was smirk.
Akabayashi didn’t seem annoyed. He straightened up the papers and stuffed them
back into the manila envelope. “That’s all right. Well, you keep bringing me info on
Mikado Ryuugamine. I’ll make sure you’re paid for the trouble. Did you want to order
anything? The T-bone steak is excellent.”
“I’d love to take you up on that offer, but I’ve got business to get to…”
“If you say so. The downsides of being a hard worker! Just don’t work yourself into an
early grave,” Akabayashi said, waving good-bye to Izaya as the younger man stood.
Something in that friendly advice sounded like a warning. “Information overload is
bad for the constitution.”
“…I appreciate the advice.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?” Izaya came to a stop.
“I’m sure you know there’s smoke coming from the Dollars lately,” Akabayashi said in
his breezy manner. “Be careful. The Dollars are like an entire neighborhood to
themselves, and the town’s beginning to smolder.”
“Even if you were the first one to light that fire, the sparks don’t stay contained to any
one place,” he said cryptically, practically to himself, as he stared down at the surface
of his drink.
“When an arsonist sits back in a safe spot to watch the fire he set, it ain’t rare for him
to get burned by someone else’s blaze. Especially in our world, y’know.”
Night, Namie’s apartment
Namie Yagiri was on the run.
She’d stolen the head of a dullahan, an extremely precious secret, from her former
company and had been on the run ever since. But she wasn’t trying to get as far away
from Tokyo as she could. Even worse than being caught was the thought of being
separated from Seiji Yagiri, her beloved little brother.
At first, she’d been living in an apartment arranged by her new employer, Izaya
Orihara, but because she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, she now
rented a different place under a false name.
She took the utmost caution that she wasn’t being trailed whenever she “commuted”
to Izaya’s office and had never gotten sloppy about it once. If there was any way in
which she was playing fast and loose, it was that she assumed nobody working for
Yagiri Pharmaceuticals was going to cause a fuss in broad daylight, so she didn’t take
any real pains to disguise herself. She was also forgetting that she had attempted to
abduct Mikado Ryuugamine on the street once, but since it’d been well over a year
since then, without any reprisal, the idea never crossed her mind.
But in the interest of upholding her good name, let it be said that she was otherwise
exhibiting every last bit of caution, as usual. She arrived home absolutely certain that
no one was following her.
This time, however, there was one factor that set off her sense of wariness. Normally,
there was almost no traffic past the apartment building at this time of day—but now
there was a single black van parked down the street. It was very large and seemed
totally out of place in the cramped, dense streets of urban Japan.
“…”
With a mild uptick in her sense of caution, Namie glanced around the area without
slowing her pace or stopping.
The next moment, all her senses went absolutely taut.
Right as she had turned to look behind her, she saw another black van emerging from
the entrance of the alley she’d just been walking down.
They trapped me!
She hoped it was just a misconception, but that wasn’t a good enough reason for her
not to take the next logical action. Rather than bolting into a sprint, she kept walking,
feigning total calm.
If the people in the black cars were enemies trying to track her down, they’d be
assuming she would bolt into action as soon as she realized it. By playing defenseless,
she could wait until the closest possible distance to act.
With this idea in mind, Namie continued acting dumb, all her nerves on edge just
enough to keep the strings from going completely taut, while she formulated the most
effective way to escape.
But no sooner had she started on this bold idea than another man appeared near the
door to her building. When she saw his face, the strings she’d been keeping as loose
as possible tugged so hard they threatened to snap.
It was a face she knew very well.
“It’s been a while, Namie,” said the man with the graying hair, without much emotion.
“Don’t tell me you thought we had no idea about this.”
Cold sweat trickled down Namie’s back.
“President… Yagiri…”
The man sighed and shook his head. “I have your severance papers all filed. You don’t
need to use that formal title with me anymore. Just call me Uncle Seitarou, like you
used to.”
He sounded wistful and disappointed. Seitarou Yagiri took another step toward his
niece. “We’ve been aware of where you were the whole time. I just wasn’t sure if it was
right to put pressure on my dear niece like that.”
Namie snarled and clicked her tongue at this ostentatious show of concern. “You used
my father’s company like a sacrificial tool, and now you’re going to play the family ties
card, Uncle Seitarou?”
“You’ve got a point,” he admitted and straightened his cuffs. After checking the time
on his wristwatch, he reached a hand toward Namie. “We can catch up later, though.
We don’t want to block the street here.”
“…Don’t you mean, we don’t want to attract attention?” she snapped sardonically.
“Precisely. We would appreciate your cooperation,” said an icy female voice, sending a
shiver down Namie’s neck.
“?!”
She spun around to see a woman dressed in a business suit.
Who? When did she…?! Wait… I recognize her!
The businesswoman wore expensive glasses and a very sharp-looking suit. The cold
gaze on her pretty face put Namie in mind of an emotionless cyborg from some kind
of tokusatsu action movie with special effects.
That’s… the secretary of Yodogiri, the guy Izaya’s been investigating…
Namie recalled the name written beneath the long-range photo of the woman she’d
seen on the computer screen and stared her in the face.
“Kasane Kujiragi…”
“I’m flattered you know my name.”
“What would the secretary of Jinnai Yodogiri be doing with Uncle Seita…?!”
Namie pretended to be stunned, then stopped in the middle of her sentence to throw
a surprise palm right at Kujiragi’s face.
“…!”
It was true she’d been stunned at first, but the idea to do a sneak attack instead popped
into her head.
I don’t know why Uncle’s with her, but I’m not putting up with any bullshit.
While Kujiragi’s line of sight was momentarily impeded, Namie used her other hand
to pull the stun gun out of her open bag and swung it toward the woman’s solar plexus
without missing a beat.
But before she could connect, Kujiragi twisted, evading the business end of the
weapon and grabbing Namie’s wrist. The chilly texture of her leather glove froze the
sensation in the wrist. The stun gun hissed and crackled just short of Kujiragi’s suit.
“Ugh…!”
“…”
Namie glared at the other woman with disgust, but Kujiragi was still emotionless in
the face of her foe.
“You look quite smug about all this,” Namie spat. “Are you the frigid type, like that
Russian mercenary girl?” This helped her put on a brave face while she shifted her
center of gravity for a counterattack.
…? I can’t… move…!
But it felt as though the point on her right wrist where the other woman had her
pinned might as well have been the center of her being. The pressure on that point
alone caused pain and tightness all over her body.
“I’m under no obligation to answer that question,” Kujiragi said, ignoring the barb. She
put her free left hand up to the elbow of her other arm, the one holding Namie’s wrist.
“?”
Namie was confused by this, wondering what it meant. Then there was a quiet click,
and a jolt ran through her entire body.
“~~~!!”
Understanding came instantly. A very strong electrical current had just run through
her captive wrist.
A stun gun… No, a stun… glove?!
It was a freakish chimera of leather glove and stun gun, with an electric cord
connecting the glove to an external control mechanism. It was the kind of tool you’d
see in a preposterous spy action movie—and Izaya Orihara had once bought one,
mostly for fun. If the metal electrode was embedded in the palm of the glove, maybe
that explained why her grip felt so cold.
Only because the surge of electricity had been a momentary pulse and not a constant
current was she able to summon the concentration to analyze the situation this way.
But while her mind recovered instantly, her muscles refused to respond.
Kujiragi ignored Namie, who was glaring up from her knees, and asked Seitarou,
“What shall I do? I can knock her out, if you want.”
Either she was going to use another blast from the stun glove or some kind of drug.
Namie tried to think of a way out of this, despite her uncooperative physical state. But
Seitarou’s answer stopped that line of thought in its tracks.
“No, you can just tie her up. I’d rather not have to wait for her to wake up when we
bring Seiji around.”
Something crackled at the back of Namie’s skull.
“We know that no other residents nearby are home. You can’t scream for help, Namie.
And if the people at the top of the building happen to notice, nobody’s going to
interfere with an uncle bringing his niece back home to her parents. There’s no lie in
that.”
Namie ignored his mocking barb and repeated the name. “Sei… ji…?”
All the tension went out of her body. Slowly, so slowly, she glared up at her uncle, like
the demon-possession subject of some kind of supernatural video footage.
“It’s the most effective way to get you to obey, isn’t it?” he said. “It’ll only hurt Seiji a
little bit, but if you don’t want that…”
Instantly, on willpower alone, Namie ignited her paralyzed muscles and lunged at her
uncle with fangs bared.
“Wha…?!” Seitarou faltered, frightened for an instant that she might actually sink her
teeth into his windpipe. But she came up short.
Kujiragi wasn’t taken unawares by Namie’s sudden lunge. She kept firm pressure on
the other woman’s wrist. Namie snapped back as though held in place by wires.
Another current ran through her from the stun glove, sending her into convulsions.
“…! Ah… ghk…!”
Again, it only lasted for a moment, but the strength was truly gone from her muscles
this time.
“Please be careful what you say, President Yagiri,” the woman warned. A number of
figures appeared behind her, men in suits from the black van. Two more showed up
behind Seitarou from the other vehicle.
“People like this can even override their own sense of pain for the sake of love.”
“Huh…? Ah y-yes. You’re quite right, Kujiragi.”
The use of the word love seemed to throw off Seitarou quite a lot, but he was too
preoccupied to go into it. He was still grappling with the fact that he’d been
momentarily frightened by his niece’s aggression.
“You’re a very bad girl, Namie. Threatening your own uncle with violence!” the man
scolded, conveniently omitting the fact that he just stated the intent to take his nephew
hostage. Kujiragi had a set of thumbcuffs in her hands now, and she used them to chain
Namie’s hands together, then motioned to the men to load her into the car.
But Namie sprang to her feet on her own, defying them. “If you do… anything to Seiji…”
She neither fled nor complied, summoning all the strength she had for one last
proclamation: “I will use a machete… to flay all the skin off your bodies… I will melt your
flesh with acid… and I will whittle your bones with a grater, starting with your toes…
while you’re still alive… Hell, I’ll do it even if you’re dead already!”
None of this threat was a lie in any way. Seitarou had known her since she was a child,
but if he hadn’t witnessed her utter fury a moment earlier, he would have taken this
for a tasteless bluff.
Now he wasn’t so sure. Namie Yagiri was utterly intent on making good on her threat,
Seitarou was certain of it. But he still held the upper hand. With Seiji Yagiri as his
shield, she couldn’t harm him. She would prioritize the safety of her brother over her
own life, he knew.
“You have a filthy mouth, Namie.”
“…”
“Do you think Seiji will like someone who speaks of such violence? Not that he would
ever pay attention to anything other than that head,” Seitarou taunted. That only
inflamed Namie further. Behind her, Kujiragi’s eyes narrowed.
On this day, Namie Yagiri vanished from Ikebukuro society.
She vanished from the sight of Izaya, her employer.
All the while, the only thought on her mind was of her beloved brother—the one thing
more important than her own life.
At that moment, Raira General Hospital
As the night grew later, visiting hours concluded, and the hospital waiting room went
quiet. Normally, there would be no one there at this point, but in fact, there were
around ten people sitting silently in the general waiting area with pained expressions.
Among them were Anri Sonohara and Erika Karisawa.
Kadota was in his second surgery now. He’d been back and forth between the ICU and
operating room, all without regaining consciousness. His father was in the waiting
room immediately outside the operating room now that he was off work, but all
nonfamily members were forced to wait in the general waiting area for news of the
surgery’s outcome.
While he wasn’t in critical condition anymore, he was far from safe. This worrisome
state lasted for over an hour after the surgery began, and there was no sign of it ending
anytime soon.
All Anri could do was stare at the floor in distress. Karisawa turned to her and said,
just quietly enough that only Anri could hear, “You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s
boring waiting around, isn’t it?”
Anri was quiet to begin with, and now her voice was barely audible. “No, I want to be
here.”
“Well, if you insist. But I’ve owed him so much over the years, and Azurin and Rei have
crushes on Dotachin, so it makes more sense for us to stay.”
Azurin and Rei were two of Karisawa’s cosplay friends, girls around Anri’s age or a bit
older. She’d been around them on a few occasions over the last few days. Karisawa had
revealed their affection for Kadota on their first meeting, right in front of them.
The girls had looked panicked and bopped Karisawa’s shoulders with teary eyes,
wailing, “Why would you just spill a secret that big?” But now they were sitting silently
at the front of the waiting area, shoulder to shoulder, praying for Kadota’s recovery.
“Trust me, they aren’t the only girls after Dotachin. He doesn’t realize it because he’s
really dense, but the truth is, women are really into him,” Karisawa said, oddly
detached, with her usual smile. “I bet you barely slept at all last night, Anri. I’m so
sorry. This really isn’t your problem to worry about.”
“That’s not true. I owe Kadota for his help on many occasions…”
And for Ryuugamine and Kida, too, not just me…

She chose not to mention that part and rushed past it by asking, “Have you slept at all,
Karisawa?”
Anri had gone back home already and only returned to the hospital when she heard
about the second surgery. When she got there, all she saw was the smiling Karisawa
in the waiting room, dark bags under her eyes.
It wasn’t just Karisawa, either. Azurin—Azusa Tsutsugawa—and the others looked like
they’d spent a sleepless night. Kadota’s father had gone to his daytime job without a
wink of sleep and came to the surgery waiting room without any rest.
“Enough about me. Everyone else here is more worried about Dotachin than their own
health right now. In a sense, none of us can survive without him around.”
“Huh…?”
“Dotachin’s a genius when it comes to helping people. He can’t see someone in trouble
and not do something. He’s such a stereotype that way—you don’t even see people
like him in manga anymore. All you have to do is look at how many people here have
been touched by his life to see what an old-fashioned helpful guy he is.”
Anri thought back on the events of the day.
After the news about Kadota’s accident, she tried to help Karisawa calm down the
panicking Azusa and others, then followed them to the hospital. The visiting hours for
the hospital were long over, but there was a group of ten to twenty people outside the
hospital regardless. When she learned they were all people who rushed here out of
concern for Kadota, Anri was amazed at the sheer power Kyouhei Kadota held.
Once it was revealed he wasn’t in critical condition anymore, some of the people
trickled away, but from what she’d heard, his visitors had been coming and going
throughout the following day, and there had always been at least one person present
for Kadota’s sake at any time.
“Even though there’s no way to see him yet. Must be annoying for the hospital to have
people constantly flowing in and out at all hours. Well, whaddaya gonna do?” Karisawa
laughed, so gently that it would be easy to forget about the bags under her eyes.
Anri could tell that her smile was helping ease her own nerves. But it also gave her
another question to think about.
Dozens of people had come to lend their support to Kadota over the course of the day.
That said a lot about the feelings Kadota inspired, but there was something that
bothered Anri about it: These people were those whom Kadota had helped in the past,
but the most prominent of all had never shown up.
She figured that person would be in the inner waiting room along with his family, but
that didn’t explain why Karisawa was out here. After a few minutes agonizing over
whether she should ask or not, Anri finally gave in to the unpleasant pressure
burgeoning inside her.
“Um… where are Yumasaki and, um, the van driver…?”
Karisawa looked away for a few seconds. Instead of answering the question, she
continued what she’d been saying earlier.
“…You know, Dotachin acts all grumpy most of the time, but the truth is, he’s always
searching for new ways to help.”
“?”
“Once he decides he’s on your side, even if you’re the kind of scumbag who ordinary
people would cut ties with, he’s going to stick with you to the end. If you do something
wrong, he’s going to chew you out,” Karisawa said, her voice steadily getting deeper
and darker. Anri subconsciously held her breath. “You see, Dotachin’s our support…
and our brakes.”
“Brakes?” Anri wondered.
Karisawa stared at the ceiling as she spoke. There wasn’t much of an expression on
her face anymore, just like how she’d looked in her apartment, right after they first
heard about the accident.
“I guess it’s not entirely true that the reason I’m here is purely out of concern for him.
I believe in my heart of hearts that Dotachin’s a lot tougher than the ordinary person.”
“Then why…?”
“The reason I’m here… is so that I can find the answer as soon as possible once he
wakes up.”
“?” Anri gave her a quizzical expression.
Karisawa continued, “Then I’m going to call Yumacchi and Togusacchi and tell them
all that Dotachin’s awake, and it’s all okay now.”
Her voice was dry. There was no anger within it, but Anri found it intimidating
nonetheless. A year ago, she might have been able to shrug that tone of voice off as
someone else’s problem, but now that she was closer to a number of different people,
she’d learned enough to sense the cold flames hiding behind it.
Karisawa exhaled, glanced at Anri, then smirked self-deprecatingly. “Otherwise, they

won’t stop.”
“Won’t stop…?” Anri asked. Instantly, her brain told her she shouldn’t have asked this,
but there was no going back now.
In a voice so quiet no one else could hear, Karisawa admitted to her, “If they find out
who did the hit-and-run before the cops do… I think they’re going to find the guy and
kill him.”
“…!”
“Especially Yumacchi. Once he snaps, only Dotachin can stop him.”
Anri knew this wasn’t an exaggeration. Because what Karisawa said next came with
her typical smile.
“That’s what I want to do, too.”
Her smile told Anri’s instincts that this statement was the truth. The other girl could
do nothing but allow Karisawa’s words to hang in the air as uncontested fact.
The sounds of rain began filtering in from outside, moistening the mood within the
quiet hospital. Naturally, Kadota was still unconscious—there’d been no word of the
surgery being finished. Anri could feel the general unease around her generating into
a different kind of fear.
I wish I could be confident that I’m overthinking things… but this makes me worry that
something bad might happen to Ryuugamine and Kida, too…
It was just a nasty premonition with no evidence to back it up. But the ugly trend of
events that she’d witnessed around her for the past six months seemed to be picking
up momentum. She wanted to deny it, but there was nothing she could use to sweep
the feeling away.
The sound of the intensifying rain danced within her, matching the rhythm of the
words of love that Saika sang from the inside.
In a park, Tokyo
At a central park in an area neighboring Ikebukuro, students from Kushinada High

School were loitering in front of a convenience store close to the school.
Kushinada was known in the area for having many delinquents. In the past, it had been
a stout counterpart to Raijin High in Ikebukuro, but after Shizuo Heiwajima graduated,
and Raijin combined with another school to become Raira Academy, it no longer had
its old troublemaker reputation. That meant Kushinada High became the accepted
kingpin of the schools in the area.
The biggest thugs among the seniors were hanging out in front of the store when the
rain began pouring down. The clouds that had been drenching Ikebukuro were over
here now.
“Aw shit, it’s raining.”
“It’s not too bad yet.”
“Damn, this new brand of pudding is so good.”
The teenagers lounged around, largely unconcerned with the precipitation for now.
They heard the sound of a car entering the parking lot. A van was coming their way.
Normally, they wouldn’t care, but this vehicle had one extremely prominent feature
that caught the delinquents’ attention.
“Dude, are you shitting me?”
“That is hella anime right there.”
Drawn on the side door of the van was a beautiful anime girl, so prominently that no
one could look away from it. That was the only part of the van that had any kind of
anime print on it—the rest was ordinary. In that sense, anyone who was familiar with
the concept of gaudily decorated itasha cars would consider this to be half-assed, but
these teenagers had never even heard of the term, so it was all the same to them.
“C’mon, let’s clown on this nerd.”
They approached the vehicle as a pack and got ready to accost the driver when he
stepped out of the van. Maybe they could even hit him up for his cash—but when the
driver got out, the nearest boy was taken aback.
Instead of an otaku dweeb getting out of the car, they saw a young man with mean
eyes and an attitude that said he was clearly used to fighting and not keen to mess
around.
Ahh, might as well.
They decided to go ahead with the plan anyway, but before they could accost him, the
van driver said, “That’s Kushi High’s uniform, yeah?”
“Huh? What you want, old man?”
“Yeah, what’s it to you?”
They crowded closer. The driver said, “You’re on summer vacation, but you’re wearing
your uniforms to go out and harass people. Man, you guys never learn.”
“What?! You disrespectin’ us, bitch?”
In an instant, they had him surrounded. Tension was thick in the air.
After a few seconds of intense stare downs, the situation was defused by a large youth
who popped his head out of the store. “What the hell are you guys doing?”
“Huh? Oh, this guy was starin’ us down, so…”
The way they explained themselves made it clear that this new kid was the leader of
their little group of hoodlums. All the group fury that had been ready to explode on
the driver vanished as they waited for their orders.
“What…?” The leader of the group squinted at the man they were surrounding. Then
his eyes widened. “Oh, shit… that’s Mr. Togusa!”
“Huh?!”
The boys surrounding their target turned as one and gaped at Saburo Togusa.
“Yeah… You’re the youngest Kurakawa brother, right?” Togusa asked.
“You used to be like a hero to my brother! What’s the matter? Did these idiots say
anything to you?”
“I’m s-so sorry! I had no idea you were from our school!” the teens stammered, bowing
their heads in apology upon a fierce glance from the larger boy.
Togusa held up a hand to keep them from getting down on the ground to beg. “Don’t
worry about it. I’m honestly just an alum now, that’s all. I didn’t come back here after
five years to act like a big shot around the current students.”
“Th-thank you, sir!”
The younger students bowed and scraped repeatedly to him; the school was
apparently quite strict on hierarchy. The leader, the one named Kurakawa, gave him
just a single bow before asking, “So what brings you here today? You’re not just
passing by, are you?”
“No… I came by to see if I could ask something…”
“…Is it about Kadota?”
“Oh, so the news reached you, too?” Togusa chuckled with a little shrug. There was no
mirth in his eyes.
“Listen… we’d love to help you catch whoever did it, but… ,” Kurakawa mumbled,
trailing off.
Togusa waved his hand. “No, I get it. I’m in the Dollars. You don’t want stories
spreading around about Kushinada High bein’ part of the Dollars, do you? As a
graduate myself, I get why that wouldn’t be great.”
“…Sorry, sir. I appreciate it,” said Kurakawa, bowing again. That had saved him the
trouble of having to admit something rather uncomfortable. Then the question
occurred to him again. “Wait, but… then why are you here today?”
Togusa gave him a gentle grin and said, “Actually, I was worried I might affect your
ability to find a job and live your life.”
“?”
“Look, a graduate committing vehicular manslaughter isn’t going to help Kushinada

High’s reputation get any better, is it? I figured I should go and apologize to y’all first,
rather than the teachers and staff, since you’re the ones who’ll be affected. If the worst
should happen, I want you to pass the message on to everyone else.”
“…?!”
Kurakawa reacted to this statement of intent by glancing over at his buddies. “M-
manslaughter…? You gonna kill the guy who ran over Kadota? That’s a joke… right?”
Togusa didn’t answer the question. He watched the sky, where the raindrops were
getting larger and fatter. “Well, Ruri didn’t get seriously hurt, so I was figuring her
stalker could get off easy with just getting killed by a car…”
Who’s Ruri? His girlfriend? they wondered. But his quiet pressure filled the air, and
they couldn’t interrupt him to ask.
“But this guy ran over one of our guys and drove away. Obviously, he’s gonna have to
suffer hell. Am I wrong?” Togusa asked, flashing a smile. They couldn’t say a word. He
continued, “So if whoever did that hit-and-run is one of your group, I don’t want you
to hide ’em. That’s all I’m asking for.”
As the rain beat harder and harder on the roof of the van, Togusa gave the younger
kids one last warning and got back into the driver’s seat, leaving them speechless.
“I’d hate to have to run over some kids from my old school.”
The van left, and the rain came down even harder, but the teenagers were stuck in
place. The sensation of cold water on their skin brought them back to their senses.
The van with the anime print was gone. They had to wonder if what had just happened
was nothing but an illusion.
Part of the reason for that was the hope that the deep, homicidal glint in the other
man’s smile was nothing but a dream.
Parking garage, Tokyo
As rain lashed the city, about ten boys were hanging out in a large karaoke room just
outside the neighborhood. They didn’t show up there as a group but instead trickled
in over time.
They wore different outfits when they walked in, but once inside, they all took out new
items to attach to themselves.
One had a ring with a yellow tiger’s eye decoration.
One had a yellow wristband.
One had sunglasses with yellow lenses.
One had a yellow leather belt.
And despite the summer heat outside, there was a yellow scarf wrapped around the
neck of the boy in the very back of the room—Masaomi Kida.
“So who’s still missing? Just Yatabe?” he asked, seated in a chair. His tone of voice was
light and informal, but everyone else there understood this was just a facade.
These were the members of the Yellow Scarves, and they were not there to sing. Each
person or group to come through the door delivered a fresh report on what was
happening in the city to Masaomi.
They had a deal with the employees at the karaoke establishment, so their use of this
place as their meeting area was a secret from the outside world. The members here
now were the original Yellow Scarves’ core, the ones Masaomi had known since he’d
transferred to Tokyo for school.
During the war with the Dollars half a year ago, Horada’s former Blue Squares faction
had managed to eliminate the original squad of Yellow Scarves from the gang, and
several of them had suffered physical injuries in the process.
But when Masaomi Kida put out the call to the original crew, every last one of them
showed up. Some of them hadn’t even been involved in that confrontation; they were
simply schoolmates of Masaomi’s at Raira Academy. They knew about Masaomi’s new
life with Mikado Ryuugamine and Anri Sonohara, and they knew about his
relationship with Saki Mikajima, so they played it cool and acted like strangers at
school. He didn’t want to drag them back to the gang, and they didn’t want to get
involved in his new life.
This time it was different, however. Masaomi Kida had given them a direct invitation
to the resurgence of the Yellow Scarves. They’d always trusted his judgment, so now
they rushed eagerly to his side. While the gang was a fraction of the size it had been
half a year ago, they were back to being the original Yellow Scarves of two years past.
It was an unexpected outcome for Masaomi.
He had abandoned the Yellow Scarves once, and when he’d returned in order to catch
the street slasher who’d attacked Anri, he had failed to notice what was happening to
the group with Horada’s Blue Squares and as a result had put his friends in danger.
He didn’t presume that asking for forgiveness would work. He put in the call expecting
them to beat him up until they were satisfied or to just not show up at all.
Instead, they celebrated his true return. They didn’t want his apologies. The guilt in
him was so strong that it drove his determination even harder—so he delivered a
message on the first day they all met up.
“The reason I came back to this city, repping the Yellow Scarves, was my own selfishness.
A friend of mine, a friend I care about as much as you guys, is going the wrong way in
life. I’m gonna beat the crap outta him to stop him, if I have to… but I might not be able
to pull this off by myself. So please… if you don’t mind, lend me your help. Let me use you
all… for my own selfish reasons.”
And the original Yellow Scarves crew accepted his selfish reasons as their own.
“C’mon, Shogun, you know you’ve always been that way.”
“Yeah, and you’ve always indulged our selfishness in return.”
“Besides, it’s just plain fun doin’ stuff with you, man.”
“It’s creepy when you apologize to us, Shogun.”
“You guys really wanna keep calling me that?”
While their personal relationships were varied—some had always looked up to him,
and others were old Raira Academy schoolmates who were always on equal footing
with him—they were all consistent in calling him Shogun. Masaomi found that both
pleasing and a bit excessive, and he smiled just the way he used to back in the day.
“Now that I think about it, getting called Shogun is just plain embarrassing.”
“You just started thinking that now?!”
“There’s no way it’s a bad thing!”
“Not at all.”
“You’re gonna be Shogun for life!”
Seeing their faces light up brought Masaomi the absolute determination he’d been
hoping for. From this moment on, he would be Mikado Ryuugamine’s enemy.
If his friend was so tangled up in the complex strings of the Dollars that he couldn’t
get back, Masaomi was going to cut them for him. He had to be his enemy in order to
save him.
Before that oath to himself could soften, Masaomi faced the group.
“There’s something I want you all to know. I want this to be an absolute secret between
all of us. This doesn’t leave the room. The guy I’m willing to beat up to stop is named
Mikado Ryuugamine. Some of you might know him.
“He’s the founder of the Dollars.”
That was over a week ago. Now that he’d revealed Mikado’s secret, there was no
turning back.
But Masaomi felt no regret. If there was anything he regretted, it was that when the
leader of Toramaru told Mikado, “You’re not cut out to be a leader,” he had left without
consoling or reassuring his friend in any way.
If he’d just said something, even knowing it would hurt the both of them, Mikado might
not have broken down at that moment. In fact, Masaomi’s trip out of the city was
probably part of the reason as well. He had wondered if it was the right choice, but
given his mental state at the time, he didn’t think there was another option.
That just made it all the more important that he didn’t hold back now. No running
away. He had to pull Mikado out of that swamp, even if it meant being the villain.
Before Anri worried any more than she needed to.
First was getting an accurate picture of the state of the city and rustling up as many of
the old members as possible. Masaomi and the rest of the OG crew had started meeting
every day at this karaoke spot to trade information and discuss plans.
The only one left to arrive today would be Yatabe, after which they’d issue their
reports and discuss future preparations.
“I woulda figured Yatabe would be here by now,” Masaomi muttered. The rest of them
looked at one another.
“I hope something didn’t happen to him.”
“I’ll try to call.”

It was hard not to be worried after what happened six months ago. One of the group
pulled out his phone to make contact—but Masaomi’s buzzed first.
“…It’s Yatabe,” he said, once he read the screen. The rest of the group looked relieved.
“Hey, what’s up? You’re late!”
They could hear Yatabe’s voice through the phone, which put them even further at
ease—until Masaomi’s expression hardened, and tension crackled through the room
again.
“…Yeah, okay… No, it’s all right. Bring him with you,” he said cryptically, then hung up.
“Yatabe’s outside the building.”
Without changing his expression, he shrugged and continued, “But he’s got a guest
with him.”
“Hey, hiya, hiya, how many days has it been, Kida?”
A few minutes later, Yatabe showed up in the room with Yumasaki, who had his
backpack over his shoulder, acting like it was any other day. There was definitely one
very odd aspect to this, however: the fact that he was alone.
Normally, he was with the rest of Kadota’s little clique or with Karisawa on one of their
trips around the usual bookstores and anime shops.
Masaomi knew that Kadota wasn’t in any state to be out and about, though. “I really
didn’t expect to see you here.”
Obviously, Masaomi had been around him many times, but the rest of the group looked
highly uneasy. While he was just one guy, the ones who had been Yellow Scarves for
years knew Yumasaki as a former member of the Blue Squares. Since Yumasaki had
also saved Masaomi’s girlfriend Saki, it was a delicate and uneasy mix of emotions they
felt, with no clear choice of how to react.
Instead, Masaomi carried the conversation with their visitor. “I’m surprised you knew
where to find us,” he noted.
Yumasaki didn’t bother to play coy. “Actually, I feel bad admitting this, but… Yatabe?
Basically, I followed Yatabe here. They say he’s like your right-hand man, so I figured
if the Yellow Scarves were getting back on the scene, he’d have to be involved.”
“…How did you figure out where to find Yatabe?”
“I bought the details from Izaya.”
“…That piece of shit,” Masaomi muttered, his cheek twitching. Guess we’d better use a
different meeting spot next time.
It was absolutely imperative that they avoid Izaya having tabs on what they were up
to. Mikado was working with Aoba Kuronuma, the former Blue Square, and there was
no way Izaya wouldn’t mess with them. In that sense, Masaomi was very aware of what
kind of person Izaya Orihara was. Of course, he’d learned that lesson from personal
experience, so obviously he would be wary.
The brief flash of past memories irritated him, but he shoved that aside and asked
Yumasaki, “So what is it that brings you here?”
“Oh, come on, Kida. You know why,” said Yumasaki, his eyes narrowing even further.
He leaned against the door, grinning.
Masaomi wasn’t sure how to respond, so the other boy spoke first.
“Are you the ones… who ran over Kadota?”
Tokyo
A building located outside of the urban center lay dormant, the renovation process
paused for some reason. There were scorch marks here and there on the concrete
walls and floors, and parts of the wooden floor had holes, possibly caused by bullets.
Up to the second floor, it looked like a typical, functioning building, but everything
above that was in the process of construction when it was stopped. The exposed
beams cast an eerie silhouette against the night.
A number of youths were hanging out on the second floor. Most of them had the proper
delinquent appearance to suit this barren place, but the two at the center of the group
didn’t seem like they belonged here at all.
The two baby-faced boys were Mikado Ryuugamine and Aoba Kuronuma. As Aoba
examined the area, Mikado said, “This place looks all messed up. What is it?”
“A company was paying for renovation when business was good, and then their
funding went sideways, and so it’s been abandoned ever since. And there was some
yakuza squabble or something recently, which only pushed people further away—
except for the ones who like killing time with tests of bravery,” Aoba answered with a
chuckle.
Mikado patted the concrete wall. “It does seem like a good place to use as a meeting
spot. I’m just not a fan of how far from Ikebukuro it is.”
“Farther is better. If we’re constantly meeting up in the middle of ’Bukuro, people are
going to realize where we are right away.”
“I see. That’s a good point,” Mikado admitted. He sat down on a mound of construction
materials left in the corner of the room, opened a laptop, and booted it out of sleep
mode.
After about fifteen seconds of tinkering, he nodded in satisfaction. “Good, looks like
we get a signal here. Now we can tell what’s going on with the Dollars.”
Even more important to Mikado than the commute was whether they could get online.
That was a big factor in Aoba recommending this location as their base of operations.
Mikado was soon connected and collecting information. Rather than using the laptop’s
trackpad, he deftly tapped the tab key and a number of shortcuts to control the
browser, literally surfing the web with his fingertips.
Yoshikiri, Gin, Neko, and the other Blue Squares watched in amazement as he typed as
swiftly as a sewing machine threading stitches, but Aoba was paying more attention
to the speed at which the screen and Mikado’s eyes shifted.
Is he actually reading all that?
Fast fingers or not, he’d have to stop to actually read and process what he was seeing
on the screen. But Mikado never stayed on a single tab more than a few seconds at
most while he was reading. The only exceptions were when he was actually entering
information for himself.
The comparison of the rapidly shifting screen info and the look of hasty, furious
concentration on Mikado’s face thoroughly impressed Aoba, although there was a
good amount of exasperation in there, too.
Without slowing the pace of his keyboard commands, Mikado murmured, “Seems like
things have gotten really bad over the course of today.”
“For the Dollars?”
“Yeah. It’s probably because of what happened to Kadota.”
It was true that the Dollars were acting strangely around the city. No matter how much
he denied it, it was public knowledge that Kadota was a figurehead for the group.
Therefore, he had always been a hammer hanging over the heads of those who wanted
to use the Dollars’ name for their own personal gain. In fact, Kadota’s presence alone
had been keeping in check the same people whom Mikado was now using the violence
of Aoba’s Blue Squares to suppress.
If only we had another… five or so people like Kadota, this might not have happened to
the Dollars, Mikado thought as he typed. Some people on the Dollars message board
were openly cheering Kadota’s injury. One post said, “Tonight’s dinner tasted great,
knowing that Kadota nearly died!”
Mikado used his admin privileges to ban those users from the board. In the past, he
might’ve left it alone, but now he was using his authority without hesitation. It was
one very clear change within his personality, but he had no recognition of it.
He continued the process of gathering and sorting information, annoyed at the very
undesirable state of his Dollars now, when he came across one particular post and
stopped typing.
“…?”
Aoba noticed the odd change in his friend’s demeanor and leaned in to stare at the
screen for himself. The information he found there was very interesting to him, indeed.
Karaoke place, Tokyo
“…It wasn’t us. Do we look rich enough to have a car?” Masaomi shrugged in answer to
Yumasaki’s question about Yellow Scarves involvement in the hit-and-run. “But I
understand why you’d suspect us. It’s only been a few days since I went to talk to
Kadota. Honestly, if I were in your position, I’d probably suspect me, too…”
“What? No, I’m not suspecting you, Kida.”
“Huh?”
“I’d like to think I know you decently well. You might not be a saint, but I know you’re
not a piece of shit. You don’t seem like the kind of character who would do the same
thing Izumii did to Saki,” Yumasaki explained. The use of the word character seemed
fitting for him. “But while I know you, I don’t know all about the current Yellow
Scarves. Can you state the group’s innocence for a fact? Elements of unrest within a
group and characters who go on joyrides when the boss isn’t looking are a fact of life,
and not just in books. It’s a borderless zone between reality and fiction.”
“Well…”
“You can’t deny that. That’s what it was like half a year ago, right?”
“…”
Masaomi had no answer.
“Plus, there are already rumors online about you guys getting back together.”
“…”
“Someone was raising hell about you guys planning an ambush, drawing the first
blood.”
“…I see,” Masaomi muttered, his expression hard.
Yumasaki continued, “In fact, since no culprit was ever caught in the slasher case, people
online are acting like the war between the Dollars and Yellow Scarves never officially
ended.”
It was like he was giving them a synopsis of a show, describing events to them that
they had experienced for themselves just half a year ago.
“If this war was like a comic book or a novel, the reader would think that if the Yellow
Scarves were back in action, the slasher and the Dollars were working together, and
that as the victim, the Yellow Scarves would be looking for revenge. So what’s the
easiest way to get back? Drive your car over one of the most famous and powerful
Dollars…”
“I’m saying that starting up the Yellow Scarves again means facing those suspicions…
get it? So let me ask you one more time. Can you swear that none of you had anything
to do with running over Kadota?”
One of the Yellow Scarves got annoyed with the questioning and interjected, “Hey,
man, give it a rest—”
“Stop,” said Masaomi, cutting him off. He carefully steadied his breathing, surveyed the
entire group in the room, then told Yumasaki, “I believe everyone here, and I can swear
to you I didn’t do it. If it turns out one of our guys ran over Kadota…”
“Then?”
“…then I want you to do whatever will make this right for you.”
“…”
Yumasaki said nothing. Eventually, the edges of his mouth curled up, and he put his
hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll take your word and search for the true culprit.
Sorry for doubting you guys like that.”
“Please… I understand. If we learn anything, we’ll let you know at once.”
“That’d be great. Honestly, I’m glad to hear you’re not responsible for this one.”
On his way out, he glanced at a pile of songbooks on a table in the corner of the room
and exclaimed with delight. “The cover of this album list is of Haruka Nogizaka.”
“Huh? Uh… okay,” Masaomi mumbled, assuming he was talking about some anime or
another.
Yumasaki waved at him, and before he left the karaoke room, he added, “I’m really glad
that the portrait of Nuit Etoile didn’t get burned.”
He left them on that incomprehensible note. Silence filled the room for several
moments. Eventually, one of Masaomi’s friends turned to him and said, “Before rumors
start up that we did Kadota, maybe we should go chase that guy down and kick his—
Agh!”
Masaomi smacked his friend on the skull and gave him a furious expression. “If you do
that, it only makes us look more suspicious to everyone else, idiot!”
“Oh, y-you’re right. Sorry.”

“Also, you’re acting like kicking Yumasaki’s ass is just a given.”
“Huh? But… he seemed so wimpy,” his companion said, completely confused.
Masaomi glared at him and sniffed loudly and conspicuously. “Are y’all stuffed up or
something?”
“Huh?”
The rest of them followed his lead and sniffed the air.
“Wh-whoa… is that… gasoline?”
“Probably kerosene. Whatever it is, it smells like something that’ll burn quickly, doesn’t
it?”
The Yellow Scarves all noted the stink in the air, the acrid tang of paint thinner.
“He had that stuffed in his pockets or his backpack. And if we had run over Kadota,
and he figured that out by visiting us, this whole room would be…”
“Oh yeah! I forgot one thing!”
The door of the room bolted open, cutting Masaomi off.
“Whoa!” “Eeep!”
The sudden appearance of Yumasaki’s face in the doorway elicited cries of surprise
from the nervous crowd.
“What? Why are you all so startled? Wait, is there the ghost of a beautiful girl right
behind me…?”
Clearly, Yumasaki was back to his normal self. But the smell of kerosene was indeed
wafting off him in a haze, particularly from his backpack. The boys in the room felt
sweat run down their spines.
“No, there are no ghosts there. What is it, Mr. Yumasaki?”

“Oh yeah, I meant to ask: Did you hear the big news? You didn’t have anything to do
with it… right?”
“What news?” Masaomi asked, raising an eyebrow.
Yumasaki nodded to himself and continued, “Well, I was just checking the Dollars’
message board for myself, and… well, I don’t know if it’s as much of a surprise as it is
a long-awaited moment of reckoning.”
“What are you talking about?” Masaomi asked again. The other young man’s eyes
widened slightly with agitation.
“Apparently, Shizuo Heiwajima finally got arrested by the cops.”
Ruined building, second floor, Tokyo suburbs
“Shizuo, getting arrested…? You think it’s true?”
The interior of the torn-out building rang with the background noise of pounding rain.
When he first saw the message on the Dollars’ board, Mikado wasn’t sure if he should
believe it or not.
“Shizuo Heiwajima arrested!”
He could see the newspaper headline in his mind.
Of course, there wouldn’t be any such article, but to Mikado, it might as well be as
shocking and disruptive as a news story about a famous celebrity getting arrested for
drug possession.
On the other hand, he was certainly guilty of numerous counts of destruction of

property, and in fact, it was a very curious thing that he hadn’t been taken in before
this point. But the fact that he’d been chilling out recently just made this sudden
detainment all the more unexpected to Mikado.
“It’s still just a message board post, so we can’t say for sure. Maybe he hasn’t actually
been arrested. The police might have taken him to the station for a simple questioning.
Or maybe he just visited the station for some reason or another, and whoever saw it is
blowing it out of proportion,” Aoba suggested.
“Good point,” Mikado noted. “There have been rumors like that before… but the person
who wrote this post has been one of the more reliable and believable sources of intel
before.”
“…Are you saying you remember each username and the things they post?”
“Not all of them. Just the ones that stand out.” Mikado grinned, but he looked worried.
In this moment, he was a normal teenager concerned about someone he knew. If you
tried to tell anyone that this boy was one of the founders of the Dollars, they’d laugh
it off.
That wouldn’t last long once they heard what he said next.
“But… I’m glad.”
“What?” Aoba said, curious as to what could be good about this.
Mikado smiled warmly and explained, “I’m glad that if Shizuo really got arrested, at
least it was after he quit the Dollars.”
“…”
Aoba didn’t know anything more about Shizuo Heiwajima than the rumors said. But if
he were here and heard that statement—even if he was a chill person—wouldn’t he
accost and punch Mikado for those words? It certainly seemed that way to Aoba and
suggested that this was exactly the spot inside of Mikado Ryuugamine that was so
spectacularly broken.
Did it break because Aoba and his friends had shown up? Or had it always been broken
and only became obvious now? There was no way to know. But Aoba understood that
this damaged part of Mikado was exactly the kind of place where people like him could
take root and thrive.
Perhaps it was for this reason that Aoba found himself showing Mikado true deference
and (partial) honesty. He was someone Aoba could use, as well as an object of fear.
Mikado Ryuugamine was truly unlike anyone Aoba had ever met.
Yeah, I can see why that fan of humanity would be pleased, Aoba thought, not daring to
say the words aloud. “But what are you going to do now, Mr. Mikado?”
“Do?”
“Kadota’s in the hospital, and Shizuo Heiwajima got arrested. If the Dollars are a hunk
of raw meat, then Kadota’s the preservative, and Heiwajima’s the fire that surrounds
it to keep it safe from harm, right? Kadota’s sharp gaze kept it from going bad, and
Shizuo’s scary enough to keep all the hungry hyenas from the outside at bay. All you
needed to do was carve up the meat and serve it however you wanted.”
“That’s… quite a vivid analogy.” Mikado grimaced.
Aoba traced scorch marks on the concrete wall with his fingertips. “But at this rate,
the meat’s going to spoil before you even finish cooking it.”
“Until now, my way has been to put the meat in a cold, dark place where the animals
can’t see it, and it won’t go bad—in other words, go underground and hide. But that’s
not what you want for the Dollars, is it?”
“Hmmm. Yeah, I’d say that’s accurate,” Mikado agreed, after a pause to think it over.
Aoba turned his back on him and spread his hands. “The Dollars are a group where
anyone can help anyone else, regardless of standing. While there are limits to what
they can do, it’s still a fascinating thing that you can share information online without
knowing who anyone else is. I find that quite attractive.”
“?”
“So when I heard about Kadota’s accident and realized this might spell major
consequences for the Dollars… I started thinking. I decided to ask for the help of
someone who could take over for Kadota or Shizuo, someone who could be the new
face of the Dollars, their symbol…”
“The symbol of the Dollars?” Mikado repeated, propping his face on his hand to think.
“Someone not in a position to be in the public eye but with little to lose as a result.
Someone who can move about freely,” Aoba hinted. He paced around the ruined
building. Meanwhile, his Blue Squares friends leaned back against the walls, grinning
as though they already knew the answer.
“Someone everybody knows but nobody knows well,” he continued. “And yet, someone
well-known to be a member of the Dollars. There’s still one left.”
“…You don’t mean—”
Mikado gaped as a face popped into his mind. Technically, it wasn’t a face at all but a
body with a helmet.
“The person I’m thinking of would probably be happy to help cleanse the Dollars.
Someone normal people would view with envy and curiosity and whom the enemies
who are eating the Dollars from the inside out would see as a freakish terror.”
“Isn’t that right, Headless Rider?”
At the top of the stairs leading from the first floor of the abandoned building up to the
second, a shadow appeared. A literal shadow, the entire body aside from its helmet
covered in a riding suit made of shadow itself.
It had been quite some time since Mikado had been in the presence of the urban
legend in the flesh.
“Celty?! What are you doing here?!” yelped Mikado, utterly shocked.
Ummm, she thought, I wish I knew the answer.
Aoba had told her to come up when he called for her, so she’d been waiting on the first
floor. But she had no idea he was planning for it to be such a dramatic entrance. This
made it look like she and Aoba were thick as thieves, aligned with the same goals and
dreams, a thought that did not put Celty at ease.
Determined to explain to Mikado in detail exactly how it was that she came here, she
thought back on the details.
A few hours earlier…
“I want you to help me… no, me and Mikado.”
Celty had answered Aoba’s summons to the quiet basement parking garage. She
figured he would bring a bunch of his cronies, but to her surprise, he was alone.
Very bold, I’ll give him that. Or is he trying to keep me from seeing his friends’ faces?
She kept her senses on alert for anyone hiding nearby as she typed into her PDA.
“Help you?”
“Yes. You heard about Kadota’s accident, right?”
“Yeah. I found out just before you contacted me.”
“This is a major problem for the Dollars. It means the Dollars are losing one of their
principal public faces. I’m hearing that some people are already using this opportunity
to get into trouble they couldn’t otherwise,” Aoba said, in the tone of a middle manager
lamenting the future. “Now that Shizuo Heiwajima’s quit the gang, we really need a
new symbol, I believe.”
“And you want me to be that symbol? No thanks.”
“You didn’t consider that very long.”
“The best part about the Dollars is that we don’t have recognizable symbols.”
That’s right, she told herself. There’s no way Mikado would want this.
But the forcefulness of her reply did not stop Aoba in his tracks. “It won’t be forever. If
someone disgraces the name of the gang, you show up and make them behave with a
show of force. You’ll be helping the normal Dollars who aren’t doing anything wrong.
It only has to last until the people who are harmful to the group stop messing
around—out of their fear of you.”
“From my perspective, the most harmful person to the Dollars is you.”
“You might be right about that. But I’m behaving now, aren’t I?” he said, without a hint
of shame.
Celty rolled her nonexistent eyes and changed her tack.
“What are you after?”
She had witnessed the moment Aoba made his move on Mikado. But she hadn’t seen
the point where Mikado actually made his decision. Was he really on the same team
as Mikado now? If so, how had he convinced Mikado? Celty was significantly wary of
Aoba Kuronuma—far more than his age would suggest was necessary.
He really is just like Izaya, she felt, though she’d never tell him that.
Aoba thought over her question for several seconds, then grinned. “A place to swim…”
“What?”
“I want a place to swim. That’s all. That’s a metaphor, of course.”
“Just tell me clearly what you want.”
She thought she had an idea of what he meant but felt it would be dangerous to play
along and decided she should force him to clarify.
“It’s hard to put into words,” Aoba prefaced, searching for the right way to explain
himself. “I’ve got emotions that probably won’t exist in another five years, the kind
only a twisted person in his rebellious phase feels. I guess I’m testing to see how high
I can ride that feeling before it just vanishes entirely…”
It was almost like he was just talking to himself. Annoyed, Celty typed, “What do you
mean, hard to put into words? You just want to break things.”
“If that was true, I’d be working out and challenging Shizuo Heiwajima to a fight. And
if we wanted to pick on the weak, we wouldn’t have joined the Dollars. We can do that
on our own.”
“So what is it?”

“Like I said… the phrase that best describes it to me is ‘I want to swim.’”
This wasn’t getting them anywhere, so Celty decided to drop that particular detail.
Instead, she asked, “Are you sure about this? Even if I agree to your offer, I have no
intention of following your orders. I might determine that you pose the most danger of
all and hunt the Blue Squares right away.”
“That’s fair. But I think you’ll find that means you’re taking down Mikado, too.”
“That’s ridiculous. Mikado’s not like you.”
“…How much do you actually know about Mikado, Headless Rider?”
…Huh? Uh, I guess that’s a good question.
“Well, I would say he’s like an ordinary friend to me… ,” she typed to save face. Then it
occurred to her that she only knew Mikado Ryuugamine’s hidden title and a part of
his personality. Just that he was the Dollars’ founder and a bit of what he was like in
person. There were times, as with Anri Sonohara’s Saika, when she was more aware
of what was going on around him than he was, but she couldn’t say she actually knew
Mikado Ryuugamine.
And when Anri told her something was wrong with Mikado, that was like a thorn
tearing away at the image of Mikado in her mind.
“All right, I’ll admit, maybe I don’t know him super-well…”
“Then wouldn’t it be a bad idea for you to state a bunch of very forceful ideas without
knowing where Mikado is mentally?”
That one stung. Celty had to stop and think.
Eventually, she bobbed her shoulders and typed a suggestion to Aoba on her PDA.
“Then let me talk to Mikado first. We can have this discussion after that.”
And back to the present.
Yeah, that’s right. I came up with the idea on the spot, because I felt like he was going to
talk me into a corner…
“Huh? Wait, huh? What does this mean?! I know you two met once outside of the
factory before… but when did you become acquaintances?!” Mikado yelped, looking
back and forth between Aoba and Celty like a pathetic puppy. “Okay, technically, I guess
you were acquainted at the point you met, but you seem like you’re… friendly? Is that
it? What’s going on, Celty?!”
…Yes, this is the usual Mikado.
She had been prepared to see Mikado done up with a Mohawk and a studded leather
jacket, but this was the same old baby-faced pushover she knew. He stumbled over to
her, so she typed, “It’s been a while, Mikado.”
“Yes, it has. But why are you really here?”
Before she could type the answer to that question, Aoba interjected, “I spotted her at
random, so I chased her down to apologize about what happened during Golden Week.
Then we exchanged e-mail addresses, and we’ve been keeping in touch every now and
then.”
He really has no shame, does he?
In fact, he had barged into her apartment building and caused a scene with Shinra, but
he lied like a true natural.
I did tell him to keep that night’s events a secret from Mikado, admittedly… Guess I’ll play
along. But you’d better watch out, kid…
Celty erased the message she’d started writing and replaced it with “Yeah, that’s about
right.”
Mikado looked satisfied and relieved by her message. He told Aoba, “I had no idea that
ever happened. You could have told me.”
“Sorry. I thought it would make for a fun surprise.”
“Well, it sure was a surprise! I never expected to see Celty in a place like this… Oh!”
Mikado seemed to remember something. He mumbled to Celty, “Can I ask you a
favor…?”
“What is it?”
“Can you keep me being here a secret from Sonohara? I actually told her I was visiting
my parents back in Saitama, so…”
“You did? Why did you lie to her?” she asked.
He wore a sad, lonely smile. “I don’t want her to worry, and I don’t want her to know
what I’m doing now.”
“…I see,” she replied and mulled this over.
It is odd, to be sure… but what is he doing here with the Blue Squares in the first place?
Is it something he can’t admit to Anri? In fact, I hadn’t noticed until just now… is Mikado
injured?
There were fairly fresh marks on his face and skin. Out of concern, Celty typed, “You
look beat up. Who did this to you?”
Was it Aoba’s gang? Did they beat you up and force you to do what they said? If so, I
could just truss them all up here and take Mikado home safe and sound, and that would
solve the whole matter.
It was the quickest and simplest answer to this whole problem, and a part of Celty
wished it were true. But Mikado’s answer was completely different.
“Oh. It was some bad guys.”
“Huh?”
“I need to be working harder than anyone, but I’m so weak at fighting that I just get
knocked around instead. It’s so pathetic and frustrating,” he said, distraught.
Something about this struck Celty as off. But she found it very hard to pin down exactly
what it was that bothered her. All she knew for certain was that something was
strange.
When Aoba mentioned things like “cleansing the Dollars” and “trying to make the group
healthy,” I figured he was talking about getting rid of the people who were doing
muggings… They aren’t saying that Mikado’s going around trying to fight them himself,
are they?
She had no idea that this unfathomable idea of hers was actually correct.
So did he use Aoba’s group to put a stop to the muggers in the gang, and one of them
happened to find out about Mikado and got back at him in revenge? And he doesn’t want
me to let Anri know, to keep her from worrying…
That seemed like it made sense to her. She continued, In that case, I suppose I could put
a stop to those hooligans, but at any rate, it doesn’t change that Mikado’s getting himself
into dangerous stuff here.
No… wait. If I can talk Mikado down here, that might remove the cause of Anri’s worries.
That’d be two birds with one stone! I figured I could use my Dollars connections to get
info on this Jinnai Yodogiri, but it might be easier just to solve the problem here first.
She was still furious about Shinra being attacked. If she happened to see Adabashi, the
actual attacker, or this Yodogiri man, all that pent-up anger was likely to explode, and
she didn’t know what she would do then.
But Celty wasn’t the kind of person who let anger cloud her judgment such that
nothing else entered into her mind. Like Kadota, she had a tendency to help others in
need, and in this case, she was indebted to Mikado Ryuugamine for something in the
past.
It was an incident that helped her feel that it was okay for her to not have a head and
still be allowed to live her life. If the Dollars hadn’t existed, that incident might never
have been resolved the way it was. The fact that she was a member of the team, and
the truth that she was indeed a part of this city, was helping her find personal
salvation.
How can I use this situation to repay that debt? Should I help Mikado or force him to stop
what he’s doing…?
She wasn’t sure what the answer was, but her first step toward finding it would be
asking Mikado for his thoughts.
“Before we continue, I want to clear something up… What is it that you’re using Aoba
and his friends to accomplish?”
“Huh?”
“I’ve only heard the barest details from Aoba. I want to hear this from you. What do you
want to do with the Dollars, Mikado?”
“Well, that’s obvious… ,” he said, not at all hesitant. Celty awaited his answer, feeling
nervous.
Ktok.
A crisp sound echoed off the walls of the husk of an interior, cutting Mikado off. In fact,
it was so firm and strong that it erased both Mikado’s voice and the sound of endless
rain for an instant.
It was impossible to tell where the echoes were coming from. Everyone, including
Celty and the Blue Squares, looked around for the source of the sound.
Eventually, their eyes met on the same point.
“Sorry to interrupt your conversation.”
From the stairs connecting the first and second floors, the spot where Celty had been
just a minute earlier, came a man’s clear voice—followed by the man himself,
ascending the steps.
“It’s just, from down here, I can’t see what’s written on your phone, or computer, or
whatever it is.”
Mikado and Aoba both looked totally nonplussed. They didn’t know this man. The
same went for the other Blue Squares, who were at a loss for how to deal with the
unexpected visitor.
Only Celty recognized the man, and she exhibited a different reaction from the others.
Wait… What?!
It was so sudden that she wasn’t prepared for it. Shock raced through her.
Wh-wh-why? Why is he here?!
She recognized the man.

“Who would’ve guessed I’d end up in this place multiple times in the span of a year?
Coincidence is a scary thing.”
He was a tall man in his thirties, wearing a dazzlingly patterned suit. He was at that
age: not young but not entirely middle-aged, either. There was a striking scar on his
face that drew the eye.
Resting on his nose was an expensive pair of tinted glasses, and he clutched an
ostentatiously designed cane, making him look like he just stepped off a classic movie
set.
Despite the cane, he didn’t seem to have difficulty walking. The earlier sound was just
him rapping the end of the cane against the concrete walls or floor.
Ah. Aaah. Ah.
“Celty?”
“Do you know him?”
Both Mikado and Aoba noticed that she was acting strangely. But she didn’t have the
presence of mind to respond to their concern.
Mr. Akabayashi?!
He was one of Celty’s courier customers, one who often had her deliver goods like fresh
crabs.
Of course, she knew he wasn’t really in the seafood business. She also knew that his
real line of work made him exactly the kind of person to keep away from Mikado at this
very moment.
Why… why here?!
No one heard her silent cry, of course.
Akabayashi graced his sudden entrance with a lazy smile. “I don’t know what y’all
were talking about before this, but do you mind filling me in on the conversation?”
“You don’t mind, do you, Mikado Ryuugamine?”
Chat room
Chrome: Oh, nobody’s here.
Chrome: Normally, it’d be livelier at this hour.
Chrome: Well, it’s midsummer, so I suppose they’re spending time with their families
and partners.
Chrome: I had a hot-pot party just a short time ago.
Chrome: It was fun.
Kanra: Goood eeeevening!
Kanra: It’s everyone’s beloved idol, Kanraaa!
Kanra: What’s this? Just Chrome tonight?

Kanra: Why, isn’t this so very sad and lonely.
Chrome: Indeed.
Kanra: Hot pots are wonderful, aren’t they? Everyone gathering around it, eating and
chatting. It’s so much better than eating alone.
Chrome: Indeed.
Kanra: Oh, but don’t you think the best thing of all is when you’re alone with that
special someone, blowing on that hot oden soup to cool it off? Ooh, it’s so romantic!
Eeek!
Chrome: Indeed.
Kanra: Are you just blowing off responding to me-ow? I’ll tug on your cheeks until
they’re all saggy!
Chrome: Indeed.
Chrome: So, Kanra.
Kanra: Ooh, what is it? Eek!
Chrome: Shouldn’t you be jumping off the roof of a building by now?
Kanra: What?! What do you mean by that?! That makes no sense! Ooh, you meanie!
Chrome: But the fact that you’re angry is proof you do understand.
Sharo: Heya.
Sharo: Man, after the day I had at work, I’m just beat.
Sharo: You guys are like an odd couple.
Kanra: Good eve-meow! Sharo, you should change your name to Meowro! That
would be cute!
Sharo: Sad.
Sharo: This is really sad, Kanra.
Chrome: I agree.
Chrome: I agree with Sharo.
Kanra: Awww! What’s with you two? A real man wouldn’t pick on a sweet, helpless
girl like me!
Chrome: That’s a good point. Or it would be… if you were a sweet, helpless girl.
Sharo: Right, right. And you can consider me a chick if you want.
Kanra: Arrrgh! Why can’t you learn from Kadota’s example?!
Sharo: What’s up? You know Kadota?
Chrome: Did Kadota happen to know any sweet, helpless girls?
Sharo: Huh? Were you acquainted with Kadota, too, Chrome?
Chrome: No. As I said yesterday, I just check the Dollars’ website for information often.
But from what I can tell on there, he doesn’t seem to have much feminine
companionship.
Sharo: Mmm. Well, like *I* said yesterday, I see him around town a lot. There’s a chick
he’s often hanging out with, but she doesn’t seem like his girlfriend, and she definitely
ain’t helpless.
Kanra: Oh, you brutes! There you go ignoring this sweet, helpless lady and talking
about other women! How rude!
Kanra: Fine, fine! Then I’ll tell you a little piece of information that will make you
willow-thin sissies tremble with fright!
Sharo: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m so scared.
Chrome: Isn’t that precious.
Kanra: There might be a war between a motorcycle gang and a color gang in
Ikebukuro!
Sharo: Huh?
Sharo: Now where did you get a dingbat idea like that?
Kanra: It’s true! Remember how Kadota got run over by that car? Meow!
Sharo: Shut up with the meowing.
Kanra: Are you aware of the recent rumors about the Yellow Scarves coming back?
Kanra: They’re saying the Yellow Scarves might be preparing to wage war against the
Dollars, right meow.
Kanra: That whoever ran over Kadota was with the Yellow Scarves, and it was meant
as a declawration of war.
Kanra: But did you know there are other rumors, too?
Sharo: Hey, I thought this was gonna be something silly. It sounds like bad news.
Sharo: You oughta be serious when you segue into a topic like this.
Sharo: And enough with the cat shit.
Chrome: What’s this other rumor?
Kanra: There are actually two rumors.
Kanra: One is that the Dollars are having an internal purr-ge.

Kanra: In other words, it was one of the Dollars cat-nibalizing a rival. Scary!
Chrome: Cannibalizing?
Chrome: But Kadota’s a prestigious member of the Dollars. Why would they…?
Kanra: From what I hear, Kadota’s a very chivalrous and upstanding person. Unlike
you two!
Kanra: So if anyone was abusing the Dollars’ name for personal gain, Kadota would
put them back in line. If anything, Kadota was the one who was meowsing up their
plans.
Sharo: Okay, I get it.
Sharo: I guess that makes sense. The Dollars aren’t one of those tight-knit groups
where everyone’s on the same page.
Sharo: Technically, I’m one of them, too.
Kanra: The other rumor is… DragonZ.
Sharo: Dragonz?
Sharo: Er, got that mixed up. DragonZ?
Chrome: You mean Dragon Zombie, the motorcycle gang?
Kanra: Ding-dong, ding-dong! Dinga-ding-dong! As your prize for being correct, I give
you a meow-meow. Meow!
Chrome: No thanks.
Sharo: Ohhh, you’re talking about that motorcycle gang.
Kanra: Indeed! People wearing the Dragon Zombie jackets were seen loitering around
the spot where Kadota’s accident happened.
Sharo: As if they did Kadota?

Kanra: Dragon Zombie doesn’t just ride meowtorcycles. They’ve got cars, too.
Kanra: They could be making their move fur the Dollars’ territory.
Chrome: I see…
Kanra: But the thing is, those two rumors aren’t actually mutually exclusive.
Sharo: Huh? Why’s that?
Kanra: As a matter of fact, people are saying there are Dragon Zombies within the
Dollars! Tons of them!
Sharo: Huhhh?
Sharo: Well, anyone can join the Dollars, so I guess it’s totally possible…
Sharo: But wait!
Sharo: Is this what Dragon Zombie’s trying to do, then?
Sharo: Infiltrate the Dollars, take them over from the inside, and create one huge
Dragon Zombie?
Chrome: That would certainly seem to fit all the stories.
<Private Mode> Chrome: By the way, Kanra…
<Private Mode> Chrome: There’s something I want to speak to you about in private.
<Private Mode> Kanra:
<Private Mode> Chrome: What’s that? You just posted a blank line. Like a total newbie.
<Private Mode> Chrome: So… who are you?
<Private Mode> Chrome: You’re not Kanra, are you?

Kanra has left the chat.
Sharo: Huh?!
Chrome: I wonder what happened.
Sharo: Ah-ha! I bet Kanra got bummed that I spoiled the big surprise and ran off…
Chrome: Perhaps Dragon Zombie already put a hit out.
Sharo: D-don’t scare me like that…
Izaya’s apartment, Ikebukuro
“Never expected that one of my throwaway accounts would end up being used by an
impostor.”
Izaya leaned back, his chair creaking, and wondered who might be using the Kanra
name.
At first, he suspected his sisters, but a check of the IP address removed that possibility.
Based on the things they were saying, and the fact that they chose to use the name
Kanra, the admin of the room, it would seem to be a malicious act by someone who
knew that Izaya was Kanra.
“Tsukumoya…? No, I doubt it’s him… Well, I guess it doesn’t matter who it is.”
He imagined whoever it might be behind the false Kanra, posing as him and stirring
up trouble, and grinned wickedly.
But then his smile abruptly vanished.
“…I don’t like the cat puns, though. Not at all…”

Outside the hospital, night
“…”
Kadota’s second surgery was successful, and his vital signs were active and stable,
much to Anri’s relief. But he was still unconscious, so she checked in on his good friend
Karisawa instead.
“I’m going back home to take a shower and clean up,” she said, “so you should do the
same, Anri. When Dotachin wakes up, I’ll make sure to tell him that if he’d recovered
a bit faster, he could have seen a sexy fallen angel maid with a big rack and glasses!”
She laughed and got up to console Azusa and the rest of her friends. Anri felt she didn’t
have a right to intrude on that, so she said good-bye and exited the hospital.
I want to talk to someone, she thought, suddenly very worried, and she pulled out her
phone. It felt like a rebound after being in the waiting room with so many people
praying for Kadota’s health; the moment she stepped outside, she abruptly felt very,
very alone. This never happened before…
Until she’d met Celty in the Saika incident, that loneliness had completely shut off her
mind, removing her from reality—“the other side of the painting”—and making her a
passive observer of everything that happened.
But now things were different.
The loneliness she felt now was on this side of the painting, a tangible emotion that
she didn’t just register but actually felt—and it had a dramatic effect on her state of
mind. Alarmed that she could sense herself missing even the endless voices of Saika
within her, she decided to reach out to someone to make herself feel better.
She wasn’t ready to talk to Mikado yet, and Masaomi seemed to have a different phone
number now, so she couldn’t contact him if she wanted to.
It doesn’t seem fair to only reach out to them when I need something, though…
She decided on a number to call. Someone who had been a friend for a long time, even
back when she had been shut off from the world and only had the slightest crack
through which to relate to others.
A girl who hadn’t been particularly close recently due to her own relationship but
someone who still called Anri a friend: Mika Harima.
But no one was picking up. The ringtone just droned on.
“I wonder if she’s out somewhere…”
Perhaps she was with her boyfriend, Seiji Yagiri. If so, calling her would be an
interruption of their private time, so Anri accepted that she would just have to be lonely
and headed home.
But at the moment, she was unaware. She had no way of knowing.
As of that very day, Seiji Yagiri and Mika Harima had both vanished from their homes.
Ikebukuro, night
The Special Forces traffic officer Kinnosuke Kuzuhara—he of the infamous white
motorcycle—turned off his engine in an alley.
It was the place where the hit-and-run had happened a day earlier. On a light pole
nearby was a sign asking for eyewitness accounts, which a woman was reading.
Kuzuhara had finished his patrols for the day and was on his way back to the station
to process the tickets he’d written over the course of his shift. But while he was a very
talented officer, he wasn’t always strictly by the book, and he’d decided to take a little
shortcut. Once he made sure it was legal to stop on this street, he called out to the
woman.
“Hey, Maju. Are you off duty today?”
“Oh… Uncle!”
“Apparently, there was a hit-and-run here. It didn’t turn into a whole big thing since
there wasn’t a fatality, but it’s caused a lot of talk around the station,” Kinnosuke said
to his niece, who was in plainclothes. He glanced around the scene, which still bore
minor scars from the incident, and snarled, “Can’t believe people think they can pull
this kind of stunt on my beat and get away with it.”
“We’re just lucky we didn’t catch a body. But it seems like things are going to get
rough… It was pretty wild at the station today.”
“Yeah, it was a big shot in one of the street gangs that got hit,” Kinnosuke agreed. He’d
written tickets for Togusa’s van on multiple occasions, but he didn’t realize that the
guy who always sat in the passenger seat was the victim of this incident.
“It’s a very strange, unique gang—one called the Dollars. All the folks over in Juvenile
were on edge, saying there might be a war about to break out. I haven’t been into the
office today, so I don’t know for sure, but in town everyone’s talking about Shizuo
Heiwajima being arrested. I’m sure it’s been crazy over in Community Safety.”
“Shizuo Heiwajima? Oh yeah, I’ve heard of him. I spot that bartender getup every now
and then while I’m on patrol.”
In fact, that one Horada shithead was talkin’ up Heiwajima, too.
Not that long ago, a busted-up car with a broken street sign embedded into it ran up
alongside Kuzuhara’s motorcycle in traffic. After he’d arrested the occupants, they had
wailed something like “It’s not us! It was Shizuo Heiwajima who broke the sign! We
only tried to run you over because we thought you were the Black Rider!”
“You may not know this, Uncle, but he’s extremely famous in Ikebukuro. They say he’s
got connections to the Dollars, and I’ve even heard stories that suggest he’s friends
with the Headless Rider you’re always chasing around.”
“…Oh? That monster?” Kinnosuke Kuzuhara grinned, unaware that monster was a term
the Black Rider usually used to refer to him. He asked his niece, “So he’s in booking
now?”
“You were the one who was at work today, Uncle. You’d know better than me.”
“That’s a good point. Speaking of which, I’d better get going. Thanks for the update,”
he said in closing and then proceeded toward the station. “So even that monster has
human relationships, huh?” he grumbled, as the air of the city swallowed him whole.
“In that case… you shouldn’t be riding with such a damn death wish, you idiot.”
Night, Sunshine Street, Ikebukuro
The night Shizuo Heiwajima got arrested, Vorona was in a foul mood.
Her inability to understand and process why she was so irritated only stoked her
irritation further. It put her into a spiral of uncomfortable annoyance that she could
not escape.
Normally, when she walked around in public, she was the constant target of pickup
artists and talent scouts, but they must’ve sensed the fierce look in her eyes from a
distance, because nobody bothered her tonight.
“Hey, don’t get too worked up. He’ll be out real soon,” said Tom Tanaka gently, walking
a few steps behind her in recognition of her mood.
She didn’t seem to be aware that he had been trying to cheer her up at all. She raised
an eyebrow and said, “The progress of my understanding is at a standstill. What kind
of connection can exist between Sir Shizuo’s apprehension and arrest and the upset
condition of my mind?”
“Okay, so you do recognize that worked up means ‘mad’ in this context…”
Vorona’s Japanese was always very hard to parse, despite her perfect pronunciation.
The president of Tom’s company once theorized, “She’s probably just stringing
together as many fancy, stuffy words as she can in a row, thinking that makes it
beautiful Japanese or something.” But not only was it not beautiful Japanese, it was
almost impossible to have a conversation with her until you got used to it.
“And yet, and yet, there is no end to seeds of suspicion. Why Sir Shizuo…?”
The police brought Shizuo in that evening. It wasn’t a formal arrest with a warrant but
instead an agreement by all parties. His arrest was for suspicion of assault on a civilian.
When the notice of damages was submitted, the police quickly arrived at the building
where Shizuo worked. One detective in plainclothes and five uniformed officers was
unprecedented for such an arrest, which spoke to how infamous the name Shizuo
Heiwajima was to the department.
The company president told him, “We’ll go through our lawyer, so deny all charges,”
but Shizuo simply confessed, “I can’t claim I’m being framed here. I’ll be fine,” and went
peacefully with the officers.
“Before he started working with us, there was a time he got arrested for something he
didn’t do. They suspended his sentence, so he didn’t get jail time, but he was put in a
holding facility for a while, I hear,” said Tom as they walked.
“It is inconceivable,” said Vorona. “Despite the clarity of his innocence, the sentence
was still executed upon him?”
“They knew he was innocent of the first crime. But when they caught him, he snapped
and threw a vending machine at a cop car and all this other stuff. So he got nabbed for
destruction of private property and obstruction of justice. From what I hear, he was
lucky he didn’t get attempted murder.”
“But the possibility is more high ranking that he is under observation for a different
matter,” Vorona insisted.
In her mind, Japan had some of the strictest police observation and legal order in the
world. With the illegal activities and possession of weapons that she’d been engaging
in, it had taken all the tricks of the trade for her to hide her tracks from the cops. So it
was shocking to her that Shizuo could tear out guardrails and light posts and not get
arrested.
Tom sighed and looked up at the night sky over the city. “Whenever he breaks something,
the boss pays the cost of the repairs for him. So each time, Shizuo owes him more
money and has to work even harder to pay it off.”
“Is it not a violation of law to demand labor due to personal debt?”
“Technically, there’s some fine print about subtracting a percentage of what he owes
from his salary, which is apparently allowed. But on the other hand, this debt
collecting we do is actually supposed to be carried out by a lawyer. So it’s kinda shady
all around.”
“Then it is even more impossible to understand. Why should Sir Shizuo…?”
“Do you want him to be arrested?”
“No, that possibility is nonexistent,” she stated flatly.
Tom shrugged and grinned. “If they try to make a case against Shizuo for destruction
of property, there are disadvantages to them, too,” he said, relating something the boss
had told him.
“?”
“For example, let’s say you’re bringing your case to a judge who’s never seen Shizuo’s
strength in person. If you tell them, ‘This suspect broke a power line pole out of the
ground and swung it around like a weapon,’ how are they supposed to take you
seriously?”
Vorona started to nod her head in agreement, then paused. She wondered, “It is
mysterious. Would they not be able to provide any amount of evidence? It should be
possible to ascertain with video footage. Besides, I cannot think he would deny any
crime he is responsible for.”
“See, that’s a problem in its own right. Let’s say Shizuo really did tear out a guardrail.
The people who don’t realize that Shizuo’s just uniquely special that way are going to
think, Are these guardrails made with material so weak and shoddy that a person can
break them barehanded? Is this the kind of sloppy workmanship our tax money is going
toward?”
“…!”
“Nobody says that the buildings Godzilla knocks down are just cheaply built, but the
world treats Godzilla as a fictional creature. Shizuo’s strength belongs in the realm of
fiction. And how much do you think it would cost to install streetlights and guardrails
that even Shizuo can’t break?” he asked, smiling slyly at Vorona.
Her expression was a mixture of both understanding and unwillingness to accept what
he was saying. “Is this a valid philosophy for a policing organization?”
In a sense, she really didn’t know that much about the workings of the police
department back in Russia, either. The books and newspapers held reports of past
scandals and corruption, but they contained no information beyond that. And Vorona
was not well suited to inferring the reality of a situation from what was written.
As she mulled this over, Tom replied lightly, “Who knows? I basically trust the police
about halfway, and I don’t have a problem helping them with an investigation. On the
other hand, there’s a tendency for police in any country around the world to look at a
dead body that is obviously fishy and willingly classify it a suicide. So I guess there’s
no legal body that perfectly executes justice. Guess we’ve just got to pray that Japan’s
police are gonna take their job seriously.”
“Then why did it happen to him today of all days…?”
“Oh, that’s easy. They couldn’t arrest him on destruction or vandalism, for the reasons
I just said, so they were searching for a way to get him on assault. See, the types
Shizuo’s usually hurling and punching around are the guys who have good reasons not
to get the police involved, even if they wanted to report him. So the fact that someone
actually pressed charges against him was kind of like their big chance to nab him, if
you want to put it that way.”
Then he sighed and continued, “I’m not gonna believe any story that says Shizuo beat
the crap out of a woman for no reason. Either it’s some stupid misunderstanding, or
someone’s trying to set him up again.”
Suddenly, his expression turned even grimmer.
“What I’m worried about… is that in the middle of questioning, he’s gonna snap and
start trashing the police station. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
After that, Tom asked Vorona if she wanted to pop into Russia Sushi, but she was
feeling apprehensive about seeing Simon and Denis still, and so she wriggled out of it
as diplomatically as she was able.
On her way back from the office to the apartment she was given to stay in, Vorona
considered what might happen to Shizuo now. If he really did start struggling inside
the police station, wouldn’t it be rather easy for him to break free? He could probably
smash the bars or walls of the holding cell with his bare hands or snap off the cuffs as
easily as candy.
The Japanese police wouldn’t open fire on an unarmed person—and in Shizuo’s case,
he might be perfectly fine even if they did.
Sir Shizuo, the wicked criminal who escaped. I could challenge him to a proper fight in
self-defense. But I do not believe I have advanced to a winning level. And I have not paid
him back for the can of coffee. Or the time he took me to the establishment with delicious
cake…
Without realizing it, her expression clouded. Why am I looking for reasons not to fight
with him?
The reason she hung around with him was that he represented a kind of goal for her
entire life. He was, unlike the monstrous Headless Rider, an example of whole,
completed human strength.
Once the two of them could engage in destroying each other to their hearts’ content,
her long-held questions might finally find answers.
Is the human being a brittle or hardy creature?
Unable to see anything but physical strength, the realization that there was a desire
not to fight inside her was baffling, impossible to understand. And thus, she walked
home in the dark, a frown on her face, as she grappled with this unknown haze that
hung over her.
…Until a large figure blocked her path.

“It’s been a while, Vorona.”
“……?!”
The appearance of the large silhouette set every nerve in her body on edge, revving
her muscles into combat status immediately.
But at the same time, she realized she knew the man standing before her.
“Slon?!”
He was well over six feet tall, with a sizable aluminum cane to match. Almost all his
exposed skin was covered in bandages, making him look like a mummy, but the overall
figure and atmosphere of him was enough for Vorona to be positive that this was her
former partner.
A few months earlier, during a period of hostility with the Awakusu-kai, both Vorona
and Slon had been apprehended. But thanks to a deal between the Awakusu-kai and
some Russian arms dealers, Vorona was set free, and Slon was taken to another
location associated with the yakuza group.
“Your survival was possible?! In what place have you been doing what actions until the
present moment?!”
While Akabayashi had told her Slon might be alive, she didn’t have any clues to his
whereabouts, and he had never been anything more than a work partner, so Vorona
never had much reason to do anything but pray for him. Still, the sudden meeting took
her by shock, eliciting a rare wide-eyed look from her.
“Yeah, some stuff happened,” he said, reaching up to his mouth and pulling out a
denture plate with a good ten false teeth in it. He started talking as he put it back. “I
loss abou teng oee teefh buh eh… let me go.”
She couldn’t make out what he said when the denture plate had been out, but she got
the idea. It was easy to imagine that all over his body were particular kinds of scars
that one would never suffer through ordinary circumstances.
Slon took a step toward Vorona, jabbing the tip of his cane into the asphalt as he
dragged his foot closer. “The Awakusu-kai essentially dispatched me to be an assistant
of sorts to an information broker. I should be dead, but somehow I’m still alive—I’ve
no idea what kind of secret deals went on to make that happen.”
“I see… I am relieved to confirm your life.”
“It’s a bit too early for relief.”
“?”
She gave him a quizzical stare.
“You ought to stay away from this city for a while,” he warned her. “This place is going
to be very dangerous for you.”
“Unable to understand. I feel this town is exceedingly gentle. Absurd to compare to

conflict areas. Elements suggesting danger are essentially nonexistent.”
“That’s true. But I’m not saying the city is dangerous. I just mean, you’re being used like
a cog in a brewing conflict now. You and me, in fact.”
“Cog?” she wondered, so curious about Slon’s concern that she momentarily forgot her
joy in their reunion. “Then I desire it. If they seek to plunge me into a vortex of intrigue,
I shall make them embrace regret over the sheer difficulty. Who is the agitator? I shall
dispense with them immediately.”
“You can’t handle it. Especially not now.”
“What does it mean? I request explanation,” she demanded, slightly irritated.
Slon’s mouth curved into a sneer. “You’ve felt pleasure in the tepid warmth of this
place. You can’t fight like you used to anymore, can you?”
“…! You dare expose me to such vituperative obloquy?!”
“I… don’t even know what that means,” he said.
Sensing that she’d been insulted, Vorona began formulating a plan to knock Slon out
cold, when a voice from beside them dashed her aggravated nerves.
“You shouldn’t tease her like that, Slon. Often a nice lukewarm bath is better for you
than hot or cold. Perhaps lurking in this peaceful atmosphere has made her far more
dangerous than she was before.”
“…Did you follow me just to tease us?” demanded Slon.
The young man shrugged, glancing at Vorona, and said, “Hardly. I’m just curious about
your former partner.”
She asked Slon, “Who is this?”
Instead of Slon, the man himself gave her a friendly bow. “Actually, I hired you to do a
job for me once, but I guess I didn’t see you in person, did I? Izaya Orihara. I run a
unique kind of information-dealing agency that exists to help those who need to know
things.”
“Izaya… Orihara,” she repeated, realizing she recognized that name. She turned to him.
“I remember you.”
“Ooh, you remember the names of all your clients? Very professional of—,” he started
to say, until a vicious kick from Vorona came rushing toward his nose. “Whoa!”
He dodged out of the way just in time, fell several steps backward as he caught his
balance, and slipped behind Slon. “My goodness! I’m hard-pressed to say whose kick
is fiercer, yours or Mikage’s! Has she lost any of her edge after all, Slon? Why was she
trying to kick me anyway?” Izaya wondered.
“Sir Shizuo’s eternal, unchanging blood enemy. So I have heard of you. By finishing
your life here, it is possible to return the debt I owe him. Hatred of you is nonexistent,
but I desire your ruination. Accept your destruction.”
“Well, well… So Shizu’s made friends not just with kids who love giant monsters but
girls close to his own age, too.” Izaya laughed with interest. But Vorona, who had
observed many people over her years, detected that there was almost extreme
aggravation behind his smile.
“But anyway,” he continued, “I’m very interested to see whose pawn you end up being,
given my interest in human observation. Also, I’m quite generous and merciful. Even
if you are on the side of that metal-boned monster, I’m perfectly content to love you as
much as any other human being.” He followed this up with a delighted cackle.
Vorona recalled how Shizuo Heiwajima had called this man “vermin” and found herself
agreeing with his assessment. He is a man like an insect. He smiles, but it is just an insect
mimicking a human.
She smoothly stepped away from him, finding him eerie. She understood why Shizuo
had warned her to stay away from the man now. He was like a termite: He devoured
the foundation of where people lived, until the house collapsed with the owner still
inside.
When she worked for her father in Russia, she had seen a number of men like this. One
of them had been a senior member of the Russian mafia, the recollection of which only
increased her wariness of Izaya Orihara.
“Hmm. She doesn’t seem to like me very much. Let’s go, Slon.”
“…Go? Where? I finished all my work.”
“There’s been some funny stuff happening, and now I can’t get in touch with Namie. I
think someone may have gotten the jump on us,” he told Slon, his cackling at odds with
the seriousness of the situation.
Despite the fact that Vorona was right there listening, he told Slon, “Let’s wrap this all
up by tomorrow morning. That way, the former partner you’re worried about won’t
wind up as a pawn in their scheme.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t mind her overhearing it—he was choosing his words intending
her to hear them. A deep furrow ran through Vorona’s brow. I do not like it. What is
with this man?
She didn’t detect obvious malice from him, but the sensation was palpable that his
very presence was harmful. Perhaps that was just a sign she was being influenced by
Shizuo, Tom, and the entirety of Ikebukuro itself. But if so, she didn’t recognize that it
was happening. She glared at Izaya with outright hostility.
He grinned back at her, practically basking in her hatred, and then left the alley. After
he was gone, Vorona’s expression remained hard.
Something was happening in Ikebukuro. And it was somehow connected to their

presence here.
“…”
The scene from a few months ago, when the man named Akabayashi easily held her
down, flashed into her head. There had been some secret agreement between her
father and the Awakusu-kai, without her knowing about it—and that humiliation, of
knowing that her life had been in the palm of others’ hands, sharpened her thoughts.
I won’t let that happen to me again. If anyone dares to try to use me to his own gain, he
had better know that I will extract the price from him.
Ice enclosed her heart. Her features were looking more like they did when she first
came to this place. Shizuo Heiwajima served as a kind of brake on Vorona’s tendencies.
Just as Kadota served to slow down Yumasaki and Karisawa, so did Shizuo Heiwajima
represent a goal, a purpose that burned and bubbled within her.
And now there was no man to stoke the fires of her heart.
Was this intentional or coincidental?
The taunts of Izaya Orihara, the man Shizuo called vermin, poured their cold venom
into Vorona’s veins.
Ruined building, 2F, Tokyo suburbs
“You don’t mind, do you, Mikado Ryuugamine?”
The man’s unexpected appearance completely changed the complexion of the scene.
“Huh…?”
No longer did Mikado merely stare with suspicion. Now his body froze.
The man did nothing special. All he did was speak the name.
But his bearing, his breathing, the weight hidden behind his voice, the inconceivable
fact that he knew Mikado’s name on their first meeting, the eerie inscrutability of his
tinted sunglasses—all these things combined to form pressure and put Mikado
Ryuugamine into an impossibly nervous state.
More than when he faced Seiji Yagiri’s sister during the Dollars’ first meetup.
More than when he heard Anri had been attacked by the street slasher.
More than when Celty took him to the old factory, and he saw Masaomi bruised and
scarred.
More than when they escaped from the motorcycle gang in Kadota’s van.
More than when Aoba and his friends exposed his secret identity.
More than when he was attacked by Ruri Hijiribe’s stalker, that being of pure violence.
The terror he felt in this moment far surpassed anything that had come before it.
An unfamiliar man coming out of nowhere called his name. That was all. That was
what caused Mikado’s body to scream danger alarms of a kind he’d never heard before.
Because the man’s voice was like countless serpents, tearing at the skin of his body
and wriggling through his veins to strangle his entire physical form.
I’m going to die. This is bad. What is? I don’t know. But I’ll die.
Why? No. I don’t want to die. This is bad.
Who is he? It’s dangerous. I’ll die. Gotta run.
Who? Oh God. He’ll kill me. I don’t want to die.
There are still things for me to do. Oh no.
I don’t wanna die oh no oh no oh no oh no I don’t want to die here I want to live I want
to run away I want to escape I need to get away but I can’t but I have to stay here but I
can’t afford to die I have to do something do something do something something
something something—
He didn’t even know why he sensed death or why he felt so afraid. All he knew was
that his instincts were screaming at him.
“…!… Ah…”
But the extreme tension sucked all the moisture out of Mikado’s mouth, leaving him
unable to speak properly. Instead, sweat oozed out of every pore, and his jaw flapped
uselessly—until the man rapped his cane against the asphalt.
The crisp sound struck Mikado’s eardrums, and the mysterious man gave him a lilting
grin. Unlike just a moment ago, there was no feeling of suffocation in the air.
“…? Oh, uh…”
Realizing he was free from his bondage, Mikado examined the other fellow again. The
man in sunglasses snatched up the cane and tapped it over his own shoulder. “Well,
I’m relieved.”
“?”
“At least you’re able to freak out when the right signals are sent.” He chuckled and took
a step closer. “If you were the kind of crazy asshole who looks unaffected when shit
gets real, I’d be forced to do something about it.”
This threat finally seemed to put things into a perspective the Blue Squares could
understand. They sauntered forward.
“Hey, what was that, old man?”
“Don’t you know we rented out the place?”
Several of them converged on him, and one even reached out to grab his shirt.
“Make them stop, right this instant,” Celty typed into her PDA and showed it to Mikado.
“Huh?” he grunted—right as the boys surrounding the man began to fly into the air,
one after the other. Of course, they weren’t doing this of their own accord.
“?!”
Neither the baffled boys nor the people who’d been watching from a safe position
understood what had just happened. All they knew was that they landed on their
backs, hard, and were too stunned to get up again.
“Was that some psychic power?” Mikado wondered out loud. Normally, no one would
ever assume such a thing could be true, but it helped when you were in the presence
of Celty, who was also a being that couldn’t be true.
The man burst into laughter. “No, no, stop that. It’s just a technique. If I could use
superpowers, I’d already be a… be a… ya know? What should I be, courier?”
Celty wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot like this. “Don’t ask me,” she typed. “It
depends on the power, I suppose.”
“I suppose that’s true. Guess I oughta keep thinking about that one.”
Mikado couldn’t see the PDA screen from his position, but it was clear from the way
they were acting that it was like idle banter. “Um, Celty, who is this gentleman?” he
asked, awkwardly formal.
Celty thought it over and asked Akabayashi, “Should I tell him?”
“I don’t mind. If I wanted to hide, I wouldn’t have shown up here.”
With his permission, Celty turned to Mikado and Aoba and revealed, “This man is Mr.
Akabayashi. He’s an officer with the Awakusu-kai.”
“The Awakusu-kai? You mean…”
“Yes, he’s one of… those people.”
Mikado’s spine trembled at each word.
When compared to the name of their parent syndicate, the Medei-gumi, the Awakusu-
kai was a much more obscure one—but in all his travels over the Internet looking for
information about Ikebukuro, Mikado couldn’t help but spot it here and there.
He was well aware of what the Awakusu-kai did for a living. He thought he was prepared
for the consequences. And he also hoped that this moment would never come.
But the appearance of Akabayashi was like a fairy come to warn him of his own death.
The Dollars were digging into the seedy underbelly of the city, trudging too deep into
its darkness.
Aoba gave Akabayashi a fierce stare, too, but his hand darted up in a signal to his
companions not to do anything more.
The man at the center of all this tension and nervousness merely smirked and rested
against a pile of construction materials next to Mikado. “This is quite a coincidence. I
happen to be familiar with this place. Perhaps you learned about it after the big
brouhaha that happened here a while back?”
“?”
Mikado didn’t know what he was talking about, but Aoba did. He looked away self-
consciously. Akabayashi spotted the change in his attitude, but he didn’t comment on
it.
“Well, we can set that aside for the moment. Mikado Ryuugamine, do you wonder how
it is that I know your name?”
“…No. It’s because you’re, uh…”
“Listen, it’s fine. You can come out and call me a yakuza, all right? It’s just that the term
doesn’t come from good origins. There are others in my line of work who would be
angry if you called them that to their faces. Be careful.”
“…Thank you for the warning. So… well, I assumed that being a… yakuza, it would be
easy for you to find out who I am…”
Mikado understood how much power organized criminals had as a whole, if not the
Awakusu-kai specifically. Just their ability to track down people who vanished from
loan sharks alone was enough to tell Mikado that they had investigative capabilities
that he could only dream of.
In this case, however, the Awakusu-kai’s organizational ability had nothing to do with
it—Akabayashi had bought the information off Izaya Orihara, that was all. But Mikado
couldn’t have known that.
“I see. It’s good we’re on the same page. Basically, some friends of mine by the name
of Jan-Jaka-Jan trailed you kids here, which is how I found you. Even I’ve gotten a
surprise with it all—I never suspected you’d be friends with this courier here,” he
intoned sagely, glancing at Celty. “But I digress. Surely you know what it means that a
guy like me is here, right? You do?”
Mikado swallowed hard. “Are the Dollars… causing you trouble…?” he croaked.
I’m scared. I don’t want to consider the worst-case scenario… but these people aren’t like
Yagiri Pharmaceuticals at all.
He stifled his trembling and clenched his fists, determined to face the truth. Ever since
he first saw the power of the Dollars at that IRL meeting, he’d had a feeling that those
people who made their living on the underbelly of society would eventually come after
them.
But Mikado chose to cling to a faint, optimistic hope that things would work out in that
regard. After that initial crowd scene, he couldn’t help but feel that the Dollars were
invincible and omnipotent.
The attack by Toramaru in the spring put cracks in that illusion, and the appearance
of this man now completely shattered it. He’d heard that mobsters these days were
getting more into white-collar crime, and fewer of them were identifiable on sight.
If you ignored the facial scars and clothes, this man wouldn’t seem all that dangerous
or violent. He definitely didn’t come across as an office worker, but he could probably
pass as a music producer, for example.
Even still, the moment he said the name Mikado Ryuugamine, the boy felt an undeniable
omen of his impending death.
I have to do something… Will he demand some kind of tribute payment? Or will he just
try to crush me? I have to avoid either of them at all costs…
He considered having Celty stand between them, but he didn’t know what kind of
relationship she had with the Awakusu-kai and couldn’t force her to do something she
didn’t want to.
Meanwhile, Akabayashi continued in his lilting way, “Well… I don’t know if I’d call it
trouble. I can’t speak for my coworkers, but on a personal level, I don’t wanna do
anything to normal civilians.”
“…Okay.”
“I guess it’s like… how do they say it in manga or news programs? The light side and
the dark side of the city? My job is to watch over the boundary between the two.”
“…Okay,” Mikado repeated. He couldn’t say anything else.
“So mostly what I do is, when someone starts wandering over onto our side of things,
we give ’em a little kick to send them back where they belong. But if they still insist on
coming this way, we either bring them into the fold on our team, or we crush them.”
Akabayashi rapped his cane again, staring Mikado right in the eyes through his
sunglasses. “So which is it going to be? You can get flattened under our heel, or you
can join us.”
“…”
Silence covered the building for a long moment. What felt like much more than just a
few dozen seconds passed, until Mikado slowly and firmly said, “Couldn’t there be a
third way?”
“You don’t like either option? That’s your right. Let’s hear your idea,” Akabayashi said.
He essentially had Mikado pinned now that he’d expressed his resistance to the
suggestions offered.
“The Dollars will walk along the borderline. We’ll get into little fights and have some
meetings in town, but we won’t, under any circumstances, cause trouble for the
Awakusu-kai… Would that be possible?”
“That’s a real fine line you’re talking about. Trouble comes in many forms.”
“In that case, could you explain in more detail? We have no intention of getting in your
way. We just… want a place for ourselves.”
“A place, huh?”
Tak.
Another rap of the cane. He was testing Mikado.
“You’ve got plenty of places for yourself on the light side of town, don’t you? I see that
determination in your eyes, Mikado, but it doesn’t make you as cool as you think.
That’s the same look gamblers have when they’re in too deep and refuse to see it. All
you have to do is stop making bets, but then you start saying that being in the midst of
the thrill is where you belong, and they all drown in the end.”
“…”
Even Mikado couldn’t tell himself that Akabayashi’s examination was wrong. He
understood that it was a dangerous path he was walking at this point in life. But there
was still something he wanted to keep safe: that illusory, idealized version of the
Dollars that he witnessed on the night of their first meeting.
He knew it was just a fantasy, but he couldn’t stop the rush of emotion that churned
within him. He was trying to make that fantasy a reality—walking a boundary line in
a different sense from the one Akabayashi described.
“Then I want your advice on how not to lose my bet.”
“You don’t bet. That’s it,” Akabayashi said crisply. “You don’t look like the kind of guy
who’s clever enough to walk that tightrope. But I’ll oblige you. I know a bit about the
Dollars now. I can see that if I take you out of the picture, it’s not as though the Dollars
are going to stop whatever they’re doing. So I’ll just have to go after the ones that stand
out to me.”
He got up from the scrap pile, and Mikado opened his mouth to hold him back. It wasn’t
that the fear had left his system—if anything, the thought of leaving without another
word frightened him even more.
“Um, sir!”
“What?”
“L-let’s say… that people from the Awakusu-kai tried to kill some of our friends, for no
good reason. Would trying to save them count as causing trouble? If you were selling
drugs, would warning our friends not to buy them count as causing trouble?”
For just a moment, the leer vanished from Akabayashi’s face. “You think our guys
would just beat the shit out of an ordinary civilian for no good reason?” he asked, eyes
narrowed.
Mikado clenched his fist harder and said, “But… you’re yakuza, aren’t you?”
“Mikado!” Celty typed into her PDA, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed to
Akabayashi’s.
The two men glared at each other for a moment.
The threatening energy coming from Akabayashi was far beyond what he had
exhibited at his entrance, but Mikado didn’t look away. Then Akabayashi’s face
crinkled up again, and that simpering leer returned.
“Ha-ha. You’ve got a point. And I did say you were allowed to call me that. I guess
you’ve got one on me there. Fine, fine, we’re yakuza,” he said and tapped his forehead
with the cane. “And if you see your guys getting the shit beat outta them, you go ahead
and report it to the cops. You don’t even have to get yourself hurt.”
“Huh? Uh, a-all right.”
“And rest easy. We’re not a drug outfit, and if anyone out there is trying to deal bad
stuff on the street… I’ll be the first one to get rid of them,” he said with a chuckle, but
Mikado didn’t miss the flare of fury behind it—even if he didn’t understand what it
meant.
Akabayashi glanced between Aoba, who had been silent the whole time, and Mikado.
Lastly, he flipped a glance at Celty. “Well, today was more of a warning than anything.
I’m not here to get in your ear about this and that. Just sending a message to let you
know that folks like me are watching with interest now.”
“…I see. Thank you for being considerate.”
“There you go. Humility is a good thing. Honestly, if you just stepped away from the
Dollars, everyone would be much happier. Your parents would be very sad if they
found out you were a big shot in this gang… and there’s that girl you’re good friends
with, right? What was her name? The one with the glasses…”
“Sonohara has nothing to do with this!” he shouted, not realizing how much force he
was putting into it. Instantly, his expression changed from desperation to aghast
disappointment.
“Just goes to show how important she is to you, eh? You should learn to mask your
expressions. Not going to be so easy to walk that tightrope, is it?”
Naturally, Mikado had no idea that Anri and Akabayashi went way back. The fact that
he’d given up her name (Sonohara) and his affection for her to a member of a mob
organization was the worst disaster of the day so far.
Akabayashi continued, “Did you even know I’ve been a member of the Dollars for
months?”
“?!”
“How is a guy who doesn’t even have a grasp on what’s happening in his own
organization going to tell how he is or isn’t causing trouble for us, huh? So young, so
naive.” Akabayashi chuckled and headed for the stairs. “Tell you what, Headless Rider,
I’ll ask you for more details at a later time.”
“Very well. But Mikado isn’t stupid enough to pick a fight with you guys.”
“Let’s hope not.”
“I believe in him.”
Akabayashi read her reply, nodded, and stopped just before he descended the stairs.
“I want to ask something of you—speaking as a member of the Dollars,” he said.
“?”
“A friend of mine’s having some trouble related to the group.”
He turned toward the stairs and shouted down to the first floor.
“Hey, Niekawa! You can come up now!”
Niekawa?
It was Celty who recognized the name. In fact, she knew of two people whom it fit, and
it was not a common name by any means.
That was why it was no surprise when, as another figure hurriedly climbed the stairs
seconds later, she recognized him.
“Th-this innocent-looking kid? Really?” the man said when he saw Mikado.
“Yeah. At the very least, he’s the closest to a leader within the Dollars right now,”
Akabayashi explained.
Celty hastily typed up a message. “Mr. Niekawa! You’re the Niekawa from Tokyo
Warrior, right? What are you doing here?!”
“Uh… wh-whoa! Th-the H-Headless Rider!”
“I already told you my real name earlier! It’s Celty Sturluson!” she snapped, which was
neither here nor there at this point. “Why are you here?! Do you know Mr. Akabayashi?!
If you’re going to run a story on what Mikado’s doing, don’t expose him please! It would
really hurt some people!”
“N-no, no, I’m not following a story… ,” Niekawa stammered. Neither one seemed to
understand where the other was coming from, which only made Mikado even more
confused.
“Do you know him, too, Celty?” he asked.
“Well, I talked to him once for a story involving Shizuo,” she explained.
Niekawa brushed the PDA out of the way and bowed to the boy who could have been
his son in terms of age. “If you know more about the Dollars than anyone else, then
please help me find my daughter who’s run away from home… Haruna is supposed to
be in the Dollars!”
Celty felt like her senses were drifting away from her.
Haruna was the one who was really tied to Saika. And now she’s… with the Dollars?
Each new face and name in this conversation was a further pillar of her past that she
tried to process, but all she really wanted right now was to get away from this place,
to go back home and see Shinra again.
Help me, Shinra. Help me. I think… I might be stuck in something really bad right now,
Celty thought rather belatedly.
Thus, the Headless Rider and prominent member of the Dollars could only lament her
situation.
Late night, Tokyo
Yumasaki finally noticed the person trailing him when he was getting close to home
and the presence of people around him was thin.
His apartment was quite a ways from the center of the city. When he had work, he
walked to the train station, and on days that he hung around with Kadota’s group,
Togusa would usually pick him up in the van—so it was rare that he was walking home
alone late at night on a day he wasn’t working.
His already squinty eyes narrowed further as he considered who might be following
him.
(1) A hot vampire girl?
(2) A mysterious monster? (Then I get saved by a flame-haired, burning-eyed beauty.)
(3) A girl from another world who looks to me for help?
Under normal circumstances, these were the only three options he would consider.
But in the present situation, he was mulling over two different possibilities that would
otherwise never occur to him.
(4) Did the Yellow Scarves follow me home from the karaoke place?
(5) Is the person who ran over Kadota following me next?
He surreptitiously changed his route, taking him past a twenty-four-hour parking

garage, which he headed directly into. It was an unmanned garage—any vehicles still
here were going to be there until the morning, and there was no booth guard handling
tickets.
The choice of a location with security cameras was to get a possible look at whoever
was trailing him, of course—and also to lower the chances of any crazy business
happening to him. On the other hand, if it really was option five, he would be the one
attempting the crazy stuff.
“…”
Yumasaki stood in the middle of the second floor and waited. All was quiet for a while,
and he was beginning to think that maybe he’d been mistaken.
But a few seconds later, there was a dry, clattering, scraping sound in earshot. It was
metal scraping against asphalt, coming up from the first floor of the garage, steadily
approaching, until a man appeared around the top of the ramp.
“…?”
This only made Yumasaki more confused. First off, he didn’t look like one of the Yellow
Scarves. If it was someone he’d never seen before, that put option five in the realm of
possibility—but Yumasaki thought he recognized this man somehow.
He also learned the source of the scraping sound: The man had a long-handled
construction hammer in his hand, and he was dragging the head along the asphalt like
a child scraping the tip of his umbrella on the ground.
A mysterious man lugging a hammer around. But as soon as he spotted Yumasaki and
spoke, the mystery all but vanished.
“It’s been a while… a real long while, hasn’t it? You punk-ass otaku bitch… ,” he said,
delight and hatred present in equal measure.
“…! Are you… Mr. Izumii?!”
“…Mr. Izumii. Mr. Izumii, huh? Mr. Izumii, Mr. Izumii, Mr. Izumii…”
Izumii repeated his name incessantly, the ends of his mouth curling into a smile.
“The asshole who burned my face and arm still has the gall to call me ‘Mister,’ huh?
Gosh, the respect just fills me with such joy… bitch.” Despite the smile, his voice was
full of rage and loathing.
Yumasaki gave him a long, hard stare and said, “Just one thing. I want to ask something
first.”
“What?”
“Were you the one who ran over Kadota?”
“…Ahh, I see what you mean. Yeah, that traitor got run over and sent to the hospital,
huh?” Izumii laughed with pure delight.
Yumasaki’s expression did not change. “You have one big car, don’t you, Mr. Izumii?
Did you use that to hit him?” he demanded, really more of an accusation.
Izumii had a strong grudge against Kadota, who once betrayed the Blue Squares and
led to their downfall. If Kadota’s hit-and-run was intentional and not just a
spontaneous accident, Izumii was the natural first suspect.
But Izumii reacted by wiping the smile off his face and snarling, “My car…?” His
temples pulsed, and he abruptly lifted the hammer. “You ruined that car when you
burned it out with that goddamn Molotov!”
All his pent-up rage exploded in that moment, and he hurled the hammer right at
Yumasaki with a bellow. Yumasaki yelped and jumped to the side of the weapon, which
hurtled past him like a boomerang. It missed (barely), but the force was enough for
Yumasaki to lose his balance and topple to the ground.
“Hah! Moron!”
Izumii lunged forward to close the gap between them. Somehow, he had another
smaller hammer now, one made of vulcanized rubber. He made to immobilize
Yumasaki by swinging a kick at the younger man’s head.
Yumasaki curled up on the ground just in the nick of time, causing Izumii’s toe to catch
him on the shoulder instead. “Urgh!”
It was only the shoulder but a full-force toe kick. He was lucky it didn’t dislocate the
joint entirely. Yumasaki struggled to get up, withstanding the shock that rolled
through his body—but Izumii placed his foot on Yumasaki’s side and pressed down.
He leered down sadistically at his helpless opponent. Then he recalled what had
happened just before Yumasaki and Kadota betrayed him the first time and uttered a
callback line much like what he’d said then.
“So here’s your question. After I kill you, whose head am I gonna go smash like an
egg…?” He bent over while maintaining the pressure on Yumasaki’s side and then
lifted his hammer. “Here’s a very generous hint… It’s someone who’s currently… in the
hospital!”
Before Yumasaki could even hypothetically ask what the answer was, Izumii swung
the hammer down toward his head…
…except that a fireball consumed his upper half.
“Eeeh… eeyaaaa!!”
Izumii buckled and fell off Yumasaki, reliving the trauma of his past experience with a
terror. He leaped away to a safe distance, making sure no part of himself had caught
on fire, and screamed, “You… you’ve got another one of those tricks up your sleeve
again!”
Yumasaki slowly got to his feet and smiled the way he always did. “Aww, geez, I’m really
sorry about this, Mr. Izumii. I’m a flame type, despite not wearing red.” In his right
hand was a specially modified lighter. This was his own homemade flamethrower,
which could shoot a jet a bit shorter than a baseball bat in length, though only a few
times—making it better for sneak attacks than anything else. Still, it was effective
enough to get Izumii away from him and on the defensive.
“Yumasakiii…”
“Now that I think about it, if you had run Kadota over, you would’ve gone back and
stuck him in the van rather than leaving him behind.”
“Obviously… I’d drive him straight out to the mountains to bury him!” Izumii swore.
Yumasaki shook his head and said, “Well, I apologize. I shouldn’t have suspected you,
but on the other hand, if you’re going to attack the hospital next after me, I guess I
can’t afford to roll over and let you win.” His eyes went wider than usual, as he toyed
with the weaponized lighter in his hands.
“Sounds like fun… So after I kill you, I’ll use that toy to burn your body instead… ,”
Izumii growled, his eyes brimming with murder. Yumasaki promptly reached for the
backpack he’d left on the ground, pulled something out of it, and took a step farther
away.
“Huh? What is that, another Molotov? C’mon, bring it on. You really think that’s gonna
take me out, huh?”
“I would’ve preferred if you’d transitioned over to me by saying, ‘First, I’ll destroy that
illusion,’” Yumasaki said cryptically.
“Wha—?” Izumii glowered. Then his ringtone went off.
“?”
But it was Yumasaki who was startled by it.
Izumii’s fury instantly disappeared from his eyes. He put another step between himself
and Yumasaki and answered the phone.
“…I see. Yes, thank you. Okay… Okay.”
Just seconds ago, it would’ve been unthinkable to see Izumii acting this deferential.
Yumasaki was so confused that he was trapped in place for the moment, question
mark over his head.
“…I understand, sir. I’ll be right there, sir.”

Sir?!
Yumasaki’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t imagine a more unlikely word for Izumii to
say. Meanwhile, the other man hung up his call and spat.
“You’re lucky, otaku. You get to live a few more days. You and Kadota,” he said, back to
his usual snarl. He turned his back on Yumasaki. “There are plenty of former Blue
Squares who got a bone to pick with you and Kadota. Just be careful not to let anyone
else kill you before I can.”
Then he clicked his tongue and left the parking garage. Yumasaki picked up the long-
handled ball peen hammer that Izumii had thrown and grunted “Don’t get killed by
anyone other than me? Mr. Izumii, you’re even more of a 2-D character than I gave you
credit for. It’s too bad that such good lines are wasted on such a low-rent person,
though. Maybe I need to rethink my assessment of him.”
Yumasaki then realized that his back-and-forth with Izumii had actually cooled his
head down quite a bit. “Speaking of rethinking things, I really said some awful things
to Kida and his friends. I’ll have to go apologize to them, after I burn the real culprit.”
Obviously, he wasn’t going to forgive whoever ran over Kadota.
“…But it’s a bit inefficient just walking around, and someone might come after me like
this again…
“Guess I need a place to hide for the time being… Yes, exactly! I need a hideout!”
At that moment, Anri’s house
Unable to get to sleep, Anri decided to mess around with her cell phone instead. The
usual chat room she hung out in appeared to be dead at the moment.
I just get a really bad feeling about this… What is it? Whatever it is, it’s awful…
She couldn’t shake that feeling, so she typed in the address of the Dollars’ message
board, hoping to at least get some up-to-date information on the city. It was a social
forum that Celty showed her, where she could get hard-core, real street-level info on
what was happening.
She was hoping to find some kind of clue about the hit-and-run on Kadota, but nothing
jumped out at her. Disappointed, she scrolled through the entire board for anything
interesting at all.
At the top of a subgroup titled “Latest Updates,” there was a thread titled “Top Priority:
Searching for Runaway Daughter.” Apparently, helping people find runaways also fell
under the Dollars’ stated activities.
It didn’t seem to have anything to do with Kadota’s incident, but Anri opened it up
anyway, wondering if it was something she could help with.
“…Huh?” she gasped aloud.
There was a name and picture attached to the post. The moment she saw them, both
the unknown anxiety plaguing her and the voices of Saika that sought human love
pulsed much stronger.
The connection between the two was clear.
It was the girl who once fought Anri and ultimately was re-enslaved by her Saika.
Haruna Niekawa.
A girl with beautiful, long black hair and a pleasant, gentle face.
The instant it registered on Anri that this girl was now missing, her world lurched and
rotated. She felt disoriented, practically dizzy, and racked with fear.
It felt like she was being sucked into something very big and very frightening.
And she was worried she would cause the same thing to happen to people she cared
very much about.
The next day, noon, ruined building in the burbs
“What did you want to talk about alone like this?”
Celty was back in the same torn-up building, this time summoned by Mikado. Unlike
yesterday, Aoba and his cohorts were nowhere to be seen—it was just the two of them.
“I wanted you to know a bit about what’s going on with me… Remember, we were in
the middle of something important yesterday when all those people showed up and
made things complicated.”
“I see.”
Celty had wanted to speak to him as soon as possible, too, so she had no reason not to
take up his offer. In the daytime, the building was so different than it was at night that
she almost wondered if she was in the wrong place. The battery-powered lights the
boys had brought were gone, and the interior was a dim mixture of sunlight and
shadow.
But Mikado’s expression was exactly the same as the night before. He’d probably
turned this way for quite a while now. There were a few scratches on him now, but
that childish, slightly weak-willed look of his hadn’t suddenly transformed into an
adult one over such a short period of time.
It feels like something’s different about him, though, she thought. Something’s different
about his personality or his mannerisms. Or… in fact, he might be reminding me of the
Mikado who used the Dollars to set that trap for Namie Yagiri. That had been over a
year ago now.
Celty decided to start with some small talk. “How long has it been since the two of us
had a chat like this?”
“I’ll admit, it feels strange when I have a conversation with you, Celty. It’s like being in
a dream. Or like I’ve just become the hero in a movie or something.”
“You aren’t losing track of the difference between reality and fiction, are you?”
“…What are you trying to say?” He chuckled, looking a bit worried.
“Anri was telling me about you the last time we met,” she typed.
“Sonohara was?”
“She was saying you’d gotten very cheerful recently. Mysteriously so,” Celty said,
consciously omitting the fact that Anri was quite worried about him.
Mikado muttered a doubtful reply under his breath, but after another pause, he
smiled. “I see… Yeah, maybe she’s right.”
“Did something good happen to you?”
“I don’t know if it’s good or not… I don’t know. Life is fun right now, I guess.”
“Fun? In what way, exactly?” she asked, her helmet tilting out of curiosity.
“I have a goal, a purpose. I’ve found what I want to do, I guess… but in the past, I was
just going with the flow around me. Then I realized I can’t just do that…”
“I see.”
Based on that statement alone, it was easy to understand this as a withdrawn boy who
found a dream and learned how to be proactive—but Celty had seen many people in
her life, and this also struck her as the sort of thing that people stuck in shady
multilevel marketing scams said as well.
“And the goal you’ve found to dedicate yourself toward is an internal purge of the
Dollars?”
“…How much do you know about that? Oh, geez, Celty. Yesterday, you said you wanted
to hear it from my own lips, and today you go and say it before I can,” he said, turning
to the window with a sad little smile. “That’s right. But it’s not anything as drastic as a
purge. I want to return the Dollars to how they used to be. That’s all it is.”
He placed his hands on the frame of the window, which had no pane or even a sash—
just a hole in the wall—and stared out at the distant sky as he waited for Celty’s
answer. She stood next to him, soaking in the sun, and held out her PDA.
“All I know is what the rumors on the town say. I suppose the fact that everyone was
talking about it was why Mr. Akabayashi showed up.”
“The real gangsters… are scary guys.”
“Just so you know what you’re getting into, he’s actually the most reasonable of the
Awakusu-kai members. If it were Aozaki, he could’ve had everyone there beaten to a pulp.
If things had gone even worse, you all might be in a far-off blast furnace once owned by
a now-bankrupt company, mixed in with the melted slag.”
“D-do they dispose of bodies that way now…? I guess it would be a good way to hide
them,” Mikado said, his lips twitching at the thought.
“Apparently, if the police conduct an investigation, they can find foreign substances left
within the iron.”
“Please don’t talk about that right now. It’s hitting a little too close for comfort,” he
said.
Looking at him now, Celty couldn’t see anything other than a teenage boy in his
features. She wanted to believe in the expression he was giving her, but now that
Akabayashi was involved, there was no room for just skating along and hoping it all
worked out. Perhaps there was a way to distance the young man from the group.
“Calm down and think about it,” she typed. “I’m not trying to scare you straight. I’m
saying you’re in a position that could very well cause that to happen to you, Mikado.”
“…I know.”
“Do you, though? You would risk those consequences to turn the Dollars back to what
they used to be? I know they’ve changed recently, but there have always been members
who have messed around with mugging and so on. You make it sound lofty, but you really
just want to reform the gang so it’s more convenient for your ends, don’t you?”
“If the Dollars becoming peaceful is what’s convenient for me… then I guess you’re
right,” he said. The firmness of his manner threw Celty for a loop.
“Mikado, what will you gain by kicking out the headaches with violence? They’ll just
leave the Dollars and start doing the same thing again in secret. Violence doesn’t solve
anything.”
“…I’d say Shizuo solved a lot of things with violence.”
“If you ever said that to his face, he’d kill you.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?” he persisted. Celty felt a shiver run through her. “Listen, Celty. I
don’t think what I’m doing is perfectly right and just… I mean, just creating the Dollars
in the first place wasn’t the right thing to do, according to society, you know?”
“Well, the police have it out for me, so I have no room to judge,” Celty said, thinking of
the motorcycle cop and shivering. Then she scolded herself for getting frightened and
continued typing. “If I were a human being leading an upright life, with nothing to hide
from society, I’d probably knock you out to force you to quit the Dollars. But I live in a
much deeper, darker part of town, and I’m not even human.”
“…”
“But I still like to dream about a happy life with Shinra. It’s my own selfish desire. So I
don’t have the right to stop you from doing what you want. But as someone who’s lived
a bit longer than you, I want to give you a warning.”
She slumped her shoulders a bit mournfully, turned her attention to Mikado’s face,
and typed some more. “Where did you get those cuts on your face? I bet you kicked out
some Dollars, and they got back at you. You know it’s going to get worse than just facial
bruises pretty soon, right?”
“…These weren’t the result of revenge.”
“What?”
In the same flat affect he’d been using all conversation, he explained, “When I’m
getting them to leave the Dollars, if they don’t want to listen to me, it inevitably turns
into a fight… but I’m not much of a fighter at all, so…”
“Hang on. Are you saying you’re the one getting into fights?”
“Huh? Of course I am.”
“Of course you…? I just assumed you were giving orders to Aoba and his little goons to
make them do the dirty work…”
“It’s true that Aoba’s team works on my orders… but the Dollars have no vertical
hierarchy. That’s my ideal, and that’s how I started it. It would be crazy for me to put
the people I care about through danger for my own reasons,” he said, with a smile that
suggested it was a very odd thing for her to insinuate. That only made the shiver
running through Celty worse.
Mikado, what’s going on? What happened to you?
A number of things had happened to Mikado during the events of the Golden Week
holiday. But Celty hadn’t been there for them, so it wasn’t until this conversation that
she realized how the boy was changing.
Yes, something is wrong. It’s clear that Mikado is acting strangely. No wonder Anri’s
worried for him.
After a bit of hesitation, Celty decided to make a bet.
“I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this or not.”
“?”
“Did you know… there are rumors this week about the Yellow Scarves reuniting?”
The Yellow Scarves were potential foes of the Dollars. They had clashed in the past.
But this gang in particular held a very special meaning to Mikado.
“…I’ve heard the rumors. They’re going around and giving pitches to all their former
members, apparently,” he said vaguely. He leaned through the empty window frame to
catch the comfortable breeze. Celty sensed this gesture was meant to buy time or hide
something from her.
“Things ended without a lot of resolution half a year ago. But you know what’s going on
now, don’t you?”
“…”
“About the Yellow Scarves and Masaomi.”
Mikado responded to Celty’s blunt question with a pleading smile. “Celty, please pretend
I haven’t noticed.”
“What?”
“That and the fact that I founded the Dollars. Sonohara’s secret, too… I’m sure you
know about all these, Celty, but Sonohara and I have an agreement. We’re only going
to speak about these things when the three of us are back together.”
“…Okay, but what if the Yellow Scarves attack the Dollars again?” Celty asked. She just
wanted to know what Mikado was going to do.
The boy opened his mouth and replied, “I would fight them, of course.”
It was so simple and straightforward that Celty assumed at first that it must have been
a mistake.
“What are you talking about? Are you insane?”
But it was just a sign of how far apart Celty’s hopes and Mikado’s ideas were.
Mikado Ryuugamine smiled—that same innocent, youthful smile—and revealed one

extremely momentous fact.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve got Aoba leading an attack on them right now.”
Back alley, Tokyo
“Damn! I didn’t think they’d be coming after us this soon,” said one boy, leaning against
a fence, breathing heavily. There was a yellow scarf around his arm, indicating that he
was a member of the group of the same name. “Go figure, they’re making the rounds
in broad daylight.”
There were three boys closing in on him. They had been at the abandoned building
with Mikado last night. They wore the bandannas and ski caps of the Blue Squares,
which stuck out like little else in the middle of the city during the day—but there was
a black van stopped at the entrance to the alley, blocking the events within from
witnesses.
Aoba peered through binoculars from inside the vehicle. He happily murmured, “Let’s
see how faithful his oath to Masaomi Kida really is.”
“If you wanted to hurt him enough to get the answer, wouldn’t it be easier just to trail
him there?” asked an older guy, sitting in the driver’s seat.
“If he doesn’t spill the beans, that’s fine,” said Aoba. “This is a declaration of war. We
just need to make an example of somebody.”
“Y’know, it’s kind of weird how you talk down to me, when I’m four years older than
you, but then you treat Ryuugamine with total respect,” grumbled the driver, who had
a sporty, spiked haircut.
“Why wouldn’t I? Mr. Mikado is someone worthy of my respect,” Aoba replied, laughing
in the face of the driver, who looked to be around twenty years old. On the inside, he
considered a conversation he had with Mikado.
“Let’s hope you’re able to proudly go and visit Mr. Kadota as soon as possible, sir. Along
with Miss Sonohara and Mr. Kida, too,” Aoba had said.
“That’s true. But in a sense… this was a good thing.”
“Good?” Aoba asked.
Mikado smiled like he always did around school. “I knew that if Kadota found out about
what I was doing, he would absolutely try to stop me… and I don’t want to have to fight
him. I know I wouldn’t win,” he had said bracingly. “Plus, now he doesn’t have to take
part in this whole big thing I’m going to orchestrate… where we temporarily crush the
Dollars into dust.”
“He’s gonna destroy as much of the Dollars as he can so he can rebuild it. By the end,
I bet he’ll even offer up the Blue Squares as a sacrifice.” Aoba chuckled.
The driver’s eyes bulged. “Hang on, man—that sounds scary! Why are you letting him
boss you around, then?!”
“Calm down. My purpose here is to expose the interior of the Dollars over the process.
I’ll drag that pretentious info broker out into the open… and if I can sacrifice him to
the Awakusu-kai, that would be the best outcome.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about…”
Aoba peered through the binoculars and said excitedly, “Mr. Mikado’s going to expand
the sea we swim in beyond imagination. That’s what I’m saying.”
Ruined building
“What are you saying? Get a grip! Get a grip!”
“Don’t be silly, Celty. I’m perfectly rational,” Mikado said, laughing. She grabbed him by
the shirt.
“No you’re not! What, do you think the Yellow Scarves are being manipulated by bad
guys, like before?! If anything, that’s clearly your group this time! Do you really think
Aoba’s that trustworthy?!” she typed, which was more bracingly honest than anything
she’d said yet, but Mikado was utterly unshaken. It was as if he knew all that already.
“It’s not an issue of trust. Aoba uses me, and I use him. That’s all this is.”
“Mikado!”
“You know about me and Masaomi and Sonohara separately, but you wouldn’t know
what exists between us.”
“Don’t try to mislead your way out of this with that adolescent garbage!”
Except… I’m the one who’s trying to mislead myself.
He was right that she had no idea what sort of bonds existed between the three kids.
She couldn’t possibly know the feelings of each of them, as they clung to their individual
secrets.
Celty was shying away from the inconvenient fact that she couldn’t speak to these
things. She wanted to continue her argument, to play righteous in front of Mikado—
except that the utterly familiar ordinariness of his smile stopped her in her tracks. The
very same way that when Masaomi reunited with Mikado, that smile froze him in
place.
“I think the strings between Masaomi and I are so tangled up that there’s no way for
either of us to escape.”
He smiled. The kind of open, singular smile that one would say with a statement like
Mmm, this ice cream is amazing!
“So my only option is to burn all the strings so we can start over again.”
“Mikado…”
Was there anything she could say to get through to him anymore? It seemed doubtful
to Celty at this point. He bowed to her apologetically.
“I don’t know what it is that Aoba’s trying to make you do, but I know I don’t have the
right to ask you to take part.”
“But… at the very least, it would be a huge help if you could look the other way while
we do what we’re doing.”
Back alley, Tokyo
“So, what’s it gonna be? If you come peacefully, you might not even get hurt that bad.”
The three youths cornering a Yellow Scarves boy closed in menacingly.
“Seriously, why did you guys have to show up?” demanded the cornered youth,
although he didn’t sound all that frightened about it.
“Huh?” they grunted.
“It’s just like Shogun guessed. Now I look like an idiot for saying this was a waste of time.”
“What…?”
Before they could process what he’d meant by that, a number of boys wearing yellow
accessories appeared from the shadows of the alleyway.
“Wha…?!”
They showed up from the rear of the trio, who suddenly blanched. Even more Yellow
Scarves came climbing over the fence, and very soon it went from three-on-one to
eight-on-three.
“Shit,” said Aoba, who was watching the scene in the alley with his binoculars from the
safety of the van.
“What’s up? Should we bug out?”
“No, better to stay put. If they realize we’re here, they could pop our tires,” he said,
stone-faced, and then put on a sharp smirk. “Not bad. If they’re here on Izaya Orihara’s
intel, this sort of plan makes sense.”
He turned to the boy sleeping in the reclined seat next to him and shook him. “Houjou,
wake up. Houjou!”
“…Wuhh? Just gimme five more hours… ,” mumbled the boy blearily.
He was quite large, practically a pro wrestler. He had well over twice the muscle on his
significant frame than Aoba did; when he shifted his weight, the entire seat creaked.
He had long black hair tied into a ponytail in a way that looked old-fashioned for one
so young, like some kind of armored samurai.
Aoba smacked him on the cheeks and shouted, “You’re supposed to say five minutes,
dumb-ass! We’ve got an emergency. Eight baddies! If we take too long, more will come,
so the goal is to get outta here! Got that?”
“…Damn, why’s it gotta be me? Take Yoshikiri or Neko, man,” complained Houjou. He
opened his eyes slowly, cracked his stiff neck, and sat up.
“Well, you fell asleep in the car, so you’re here now. C’mon, time to work,” said Aoba,
opening the door and tugging on the arm of the giant. The sleepy boy allowed himself
to be moved outside. He stretched, facing the sky, and cracked every joint he possibly
could before glancing toward his surrounded companions down the alley.
“Damn, my family’s already got multiple generations of sleep loss… You’re a real hard-
ass, Aoba.”
“The hell are you talking about? The only thing you like more than fighting is sleeping.”
Aoba chuckled, then looked at the scene in the alley for himself.
“Then again, our gang’s full of guys who love fighting most of all, so maybe you’re
actually smarter than the rest of us, Houjou.”
Five minutes later, karaoke place
“Oh, they got away? Okay, no worries. They had guys waiting in ambush—shit happens.”
Masaomi was taking the report over the phone quite well.
“More importantly, anyone on our side get hurt? Uh-huh… uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. Well,
tell them not to get carried away,” he said considerately and hung up.
Yatabe, who was sitting next to him, spoke right on cue. “So they did come after us…
You think it was that Kuronuma guy’s decision?”
“No… that might have been on Mikado’s orders,” Masaomi replied.
Yatabe was shocked. “What?! Oh, but that’s only because he doesn’t know you’re the
Shogun here, right?”
“The way he’s been acting, he might have done it knowingly.”
“Whaaat?”
“I know what Mikado’s up to, and I’m trying to destroy the Dollars. Turnabout’s fair
play.” He leaned back in his chair to stare at the ceiling, remembering the way Mikado
had looked earlier. The smile vanished from his face, and he made a silent oath.
Just you wait, Mikado. If you’re really in so deep you can’t escape, I’ll turn into a scumbag
myself and dive into those depths until I find you.
It wasn’t just Mikado and the Blue Squares. Masaomi was silently formulating a plan
to deal with the entirety of the Dollars. He narrowed his eyes venomously and
envisioned one man’s face.
Even if I have to use the help of the most wicked, conniving bastard.
And if it turns out he’s actually behind all this bullshit, I’ll just destroy him myself.
Underground parking, luxury hotel, Tokyo
“That reminds me. We still don’t know where Izaya Orihara is?”
In the basement lot of a fancy hotel several train stations away from Ikebukuro, an old
man walked with a young woman at his side—Kujiragi.
She bowed. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. Since we made contact with Namie Yagiri yesterday,
we’ve completely lost sight of Izaya Orihara.”
“Hmph… Very well, then. He’ll trip one of our nets soon enough. And it’s about time
we put Shijima into motion, I suspect. My word, but the food here was simply divine,”
he added, changing topics on a dime as if to suggest just how little he really cared
about Izaya Orihara. The memory of the hotel restaurant’s full course dinner put a
blissful smile on his lips. “Freedom is truly a wonderful thing. Now I can dine in such
luxurious surroundings without having to fear the Awakusu-kai’s retribution.”
“Of course, Mr. President.”
“Yes. However, the only way to truly experience freedom is to taste the lack of it first,
you see. There’s no way to appreciate it unless you know how to yearn for it.”
“A profound statement, Mr. President,” his secretary replied robotically.

Yodogiri would have continued lauding the noble joys of freedom if not for the buzzing
of the phone in his back pocket.
“Oh? How strange for my phone to go off instead of yours, Kujiragi,” he marveled and
answered the call. The voice that spoke belonged to none other than the vanished man
they’d just been talking about.
“Hello there, Jinnai Yodogiri. It’s been a little while.”
“…? And you are?”
“Oops. Was it a different Jinnai Yodogiri who stabbed me earlier? Then I’ll need to
introduce myself again. I’m Izaya Orihara, just a humble little info agent in Ikebukuro. Is
that okay?”
“Why, my word! We were just talking about you! But how in the world did you get this
number?” Yodogiri asked, coming to a stop with a sticky smile on his face.
“One doesn’t get far in my line of work without being able to acquire such information.”
“And what did you want to speak to me about?”
“Oh, pardon me. I have a bad habit of letting the preface run long. I’ll be short and to the
point,” Izaya said. He continued, “Where is Namie Yagiri now?”
“…What is this? I haven’t a clue what you mean.”
“I searched for her through Yagiri Pharmaceuticals and was getting nowhere. I
wondered if she might be spending time with you instead.”
“Oh dear. But even if that were the case, would I have any obligation to tell you the
answer?” Yodogiri replied smarmily.
“Hmm, I suppose not. This is the problem with Japan, you know. How can you not be
compelled to give me information? Then I suppose I’ll have to ask nicely instead,” said
the teasing voice over the phone. “If you’re not going to tell me, could you at least go to
sleep for a bit?”
“Pardon?”
“Be a grown-up and don’t get yourself caught in the middle of fights between children,
please. You’ll only get yourself hurt.”
“What is that supposed to—?” the old man started to say.
Then a shock ran through Jinnai Yodogiri’s body, and he fell unconscious without
knowing why.
“…”
Kujiragi silently witnessed what had happened right next to her.
In the middle of the call, a car drove down the slope to the garage and struck Yodogiri.
It probably took him by surprise because the driver had killed the engine, put it in
neutral, and let the momentum of the slope carry it downhill.
It had rushed upon them without lights or sound. Yodogiri could be excused for not
noticing it while he was on the phone. But Kujiragi had sensed it coming just before
the impact.
She had enough time that she could have braved the danger to push him aside and
save him, but instead, she simply watched as the violence unfolded.
“…”
The next moment, the car’s engine started again, and it raced back up the garage slope,
leaving Yodogiri on the ground. For an instant, Kujiragi caught sight of the driver, who
looked like your typical hoodlum—except his eyes were so bloodshot the white parts
were entirely red.
Her only reaction was to take out her cell phone and place a call.
“Hello? What is it, Kujiragi?” said a voice, which sounded rather similar to the one
belonging to the old man on the ground next to her.
“President Yodogiri Number Eight is injured. Please come and take his place, Number
Five.”
“Injured? What hap— — — —?”

The voice on the other end cut off abruptly. An instant before the call dropped, Kujiragi
heard another car engine and an impact just like the one that had happened next to
her.
“…”
She still didn’t change expressions. Instead, she called a few other numbers—except
that none of these even connected. The old man on the ground next to her was
unconscious, but she didn’t bother calling a hospital. She just kept punching in
numbers.
After a while, it was her phone that received a call. It was from a number she’d never
seen before. She immediately hit the answer button and brought the phone up to her
ear.
“Hello, Miss Kujiragi. Do you know who I am?”
“Mr. Izaya Orihara,” she said, still in the manner of a secretary.
Izaya chuckled to himself. “Well, your boss didn’t want to give me Namie’s location, but
I was thinking that perhaps you might.”
“I’m very sorry to admit that the decision is not mine to make,” she answered. It was
as though the unconscious old man at her feet wasn’t even there.
For his part, Izaya was unfazed by her refusal. “Come now, we both know that’s not true.
Your decision should be taking precedence over everything else. It’s why I’m waiting on
pins and needles for the wisdom of it, isn’t it?
“Your decision as the leader of the Jinnai Yodogiri group.”
Rental building roof, Ikebukuro
“Who did you hear that from?” asked Kujiragi through the phone. Nothing in her voice
suggested she was alarmed by having the very essence of her being exposed.
Izaya smiled happily. “I didn’t hear it from anyone. I just investigated the situation in
various ways and came to the conclusion that the answer couldn’t be anything else.
Besides, there’s a Kujiragi in the census, but that’s not even your real name, is it? So
the identity is real, but you killed the owner to take its place, perhaps?”
“I did not kill anyone to steal it. It was a proper transaction with the owner’s consent.
She’s currently living out the life she really wanted in Southeast Asia somewhere, I would
guess. Whether she’s happy doing it or not is for her to say.”
“You’re quite honest. I was only going on half conjecture. But anyway, I don’t have
possession of your actual name… so I figured I would start by exposing your position
and getting those pitiful old decoys out of the way.”
“There’s no reason to pity them. They made the decision to chase personal profit and
engaged in wicked acts knowingly. From society’s viewpoint, one might say they’ve
earned what’s become of them,” Kujiragi answered robotically.
Izaya couldn’t help but shrug. He was currently in hiding along with Slon. He’d split up
the Dragon Zombie members working for him into several smaller teams, all currently
in action. This provided cover from anyone prying for information on him, while he
was free to hide and undertake a totally different set of actions.
Still, he kept his eyes on the surrounding rooftops for any sign of danger. “That’s very
cold of you. You’re such a pretty woman; why don’t you express more emotion? On
that matter, Jinnai Yodogiri’s been a broker in that field for over twenty years, I hear…
so if you don’t mind an extremely forward question, how old are you, Miss Kujiragi?”
“I thought it was a widespread social understanding that asking a woman her age is
frowned upon.”
“Come on, don’t stonewall me. You can’t be past your early twenties. Is it makeup?
Surgery? Some other special reason?”
“I don’t feel any need to answer that,” she answered without any emotion whatsoever.
Izaya found this fascinating.
“Okay, okay, let’s change the subject. Was it you who was using my nickname in the
chat room? At first I thought you had someone else do the job, but when I traced it
back to your personal PDA, I was stunned.”
“Your information-collecting abilities are tremendous. Did you hack me?”
“Oh, my methods are neither here nor there. The point is, you sought to isolate me
within the Dollars, where I had set up base, by spreading rumors about Dragon
Zombie while the rest of the Dollars were fighting over the Kadota incident. The fact
that you did this in a tiny chat room with maybe ten people in it must’ve been meant
as a prank or a warning perhaps.”
As a matter of fact, when he realized she’d both figured out he was acting as Kanra and
then imitated him, it came as a surprise—but he hadn’t been working very hard to
hide it. Namie and his sisters knew, for example, so it wasn’t that big of a loss.
That was what made him wonder if she’d gotten the information from Namie. “By the
way,” he said, “it’s one thing for you to imitate me on the chat… but why all the cat
puns? Are you trying to humiliate me?”
Of all the questions he could ask Kujiragi, this was the one he was most curious about,
even more than the matter of Namie’s safety.
Once again, Kujiragi’s answer was in a totally flat affect.
“It was cute, wasn’t it?”
“…I’m having trouble gauging who you are as a person,” Izaya said, trying to stifle a
laugh. It was hard to do after hearing a line like that spoken with no irony whatsoever.
The spasms in his stomach made his voice tremble.
“So that’s it? A personal taste thing?” he mocked. “You weren’t doing it to make fun of
me but because you really just thought that was making Kanra act like a cute girl?
Kujiragi, on your days off, do you put on cat ears and a tail, make poses and say ‘meow
’ as you stand in front of the meow-ror?”
This was met with a long, thoughtful pause. In the same flat and mechanical manner,
Kujiragi replied, “That doesn’t sound bad. I’ll try it.”
“Please have mercy. My sides can’t take this.”
Izaya was so taken with this unexpected side of Kujiragi that he almost completely
forgot about the matter of Namie’s location—until his sense of reason won out at the
last second. He took a deep breath to steady his mind.
“So you don’t intend to tell me where Namie is?”
“I don’t feel the need. Did you orchestrate a number of traffic accidents just to ask that
question?”
“If necessary, I’ll cause many more. The guys I had Niekawa cut were thugs who were
opposing me, so I feel no pangs of conscience. I love humanity so much that even the
troubles of those who are manipulated into being guilty of harming others are like a
beloved little treasure to me,” Izaya monologized—like the villain he was.
In fact, he didn’t wait for Kujiragi to reply: “To be honest, without Namie it takes much,
much longer to sort my data. And knowing the incredible sense of pride she has, I can’t
help but wonder what sort of face she’ll make when she gets rescued by the boss she
hates.”
“I don’t think much of your hobbies.”
“That’s the last thing I expected to be judged on by a woman involved in human and
monster trafficking. It’s ironic, isn’t it? You sold Saika to Shingen Kishitani, and now
it’s come back around to be your enemy.”
He opened the laptop sitting on the simple table setup before him and gave Haruna
Niekawa instructions through the Skype text chat function, intending for her to bring
together all the thugs under Saika’s control and have them abduct Kujiragi.
“I’m sorry, but you people are interfering with my ability to observe the outcome of
the Dollars,” he said.
“And I’ll admit that you and Shizuo Heiwajima were interfering with my ability to
procure my products.”
“…?” The name of Izaya’s nemesis caused his fingers to pause.
“So when you tricked Shizuo into walking right into the police station, you did me quite
a favor. I have to express my gratitude for that.”
“And why… would Shizu be a problem for you?” Izaya asked, gauging her reaction
carefully. Something felt off.
“When people like Shizuo Heiwajima are around, the children are distracted. Although
it seems like Haruna Niekawa’s children already gave up on him.”
“…”
Kujiragi continued on her own. “Saika was in my grasp twenty years ago. That means
everything. Do you know why I simply gave up a sword that powerful?”
“Is there some secret power to it that only its owner would know about?”
“I suspect its current wielder doesn’t even know about it… Saika’s reproduction isn’t
entirely done by cutting others to create children and grandchildren. There is another
way. I call it branching.”
Branching.
He considered what this might mean, and alarm bells went off in his head. And in the
act of conceiving all possibilities, Izaya spun around.
He was too late.
“It means breaking Saika in two, then reforging the pieces as separate blades, that’s all.”
As she spoke, Izaya saw the large man who had been standing guard in the back leap
toward him with speed and agility that didn’t seem possible given his leg injuries.
Before he even recognized that it was Slon, Izaya registered one simple fact.
The color red.
Eyes red and full of blood, racing toward him.
Half a second before the muscles of Izaya’s body could fire into motion, the red-eyed
Slon grabbed Izaya’s neck—and slammed him into the concrete roof.
Basement parking garage
“Mother… I have Izaya now. What shall I do?” said a different voice over the phone,
several seconds after a loud, violent noise.
“Take him to office twelve. I need to ask him about the dullahan’s head.”
“Understood.”
Kujiragi hung up the call and closed her flip phone. When she was Yodogiri’s secretary,
she never uttered a single unnecessary word, but now she allowed herself a private
comment with the faintest of emotions behind it.
“Thank you, Izaya Orihara. I’m grateful to you for destroying the Jinnai Yodogiri
organization.”
Ignoring the old man unconscious on the ground, she headed for the exit of the garage,
her leather pumps clicking. She even ignored the luxury car she’d driven here. She
would use her own two feet.
“I acknowledge you as an impediment in the district of Ikebukuro. The third, after

Dougen Awakusu and Shinichi Tsukumoya.”
Free from the shell of Jinnai Yodogiri, of the daily repetition that kept her locked in
place, she admitted some appreciation for the man who shattered that very cage to
pieces.
As she left the garage, the sunlight seemed to pierce her skin. She felt the powerful
prickle, but all she did was narrow her red eyes—not bloodshot, but pure, shining
red—with a look of pure, unbridled joy on her face.
“Thank you for my freedom.”

Chat room
Kuru: It was quite lively just two days ago, but it seems there is little activity today.
Kuru: It is a shame, as I was prepared to offer a good two dozen thoughts on last
night’s catatonic catastrophe of cattiness from Kanra.
Mai: Nobody’s here.
Kuru: Let us hope it is just a momentary loneliness. It seems to me that when

something odd happens in the city, there is a sudden lack of attendance here. Could
this perhaps be some den of thieves, where all involved have some major role to play
behind the scenes?
Mai: Scary.
Kuru: I do detest being lonely, so I shall hope that Kanra, at least, returns soon. If my
hunch is correct, when things are peaceful again, life will return to this little chat room.
As a resident of Ikebukuro, I wish for nothing more than the arrival of that happy day.
Mai: I don’t like being lonely.
Mai: Please be fun againnn.

.
Shinra’s apartment along Kawagoe Highway, evening
I wonder what to do now.
I wasn’t able to persuade Mikado in the end. If anyone’s going to get any further with
him, it has to be Anri or Kida… I can’t believe I’ve been alive for centuries and I can’t
convince one single boy to see the light.
If she had a head, Celty would have sighed multiple times by now. That thought only
reminded her of her own troubles, which depressed her further.
I’m having enough of a time taking care of myself…
Only a few days had passed since she learned Izaya had possession of her head, and
she hadn’t fully processed it yet. All the things that had sprung up in succession gave
her a very convenient excuse not to think about it.
I know I shouldn’t be relying too much on Shinra… but I really want to see him right now.
If only we can be alone with our love, I’m sure that will solve all this for me.
This was an illusion, of course, but it demonstrated how Shinra was the greatest source
of comfort to her. Even Shooter had rubbed his neck against her in the basement
parking lot, trying to cheer her up; there was no way Shinra wouldn’t recognize her
depressed mood.
That’s fine. I want him to cheer me up.
No! I can’t! He’s the one who’s hurt; he’s the one who needs help! It would be so unfair of
me to be the weaker one and lean on him for comfort…
She smacked her helmet with both palms for a quick burst of energy as she headed to
the apartment. Right as she reached the top of the stairs, she happened across
someone coming out of the elevator.
“Oh my. Celty, are you returning to home?”
“Hello, Emilia.”
Emilia was Shinra’s stepmother. She came to help Shinra at home when Celty wasn’t
available, which was quite often recently. At first, Celty felt jealous at the thought of
her taking care of him, but every time she talked to her, Emilia spoke so fondly and
obnoxiously about Shingen that Celty’s initial distaste was wearing off. She was seeing
Emilia more and more as a new member of the family.
On the other hand, Emilia’s cooking was catastrophically bad, so most of the time
dinner ended up being so-so food that Celty whipped up, using the groceries that
Emilia brought. She’d probably just been out buying food for Shinra.
Celty looked down at her hands, feeling appreciative—only to stop in surprise. The
grocery bags seemed stuffed with several times more food than usual.
“Why so much stuff?”
Emilia gave her a radiant smile and puffed out her ample chest. “Today is Party Day of
the week! I hereby summon all effort to provide for everyone, you shall view!”
“Er, right.”
Celty quickly rushed to open the front door, wondering what was going on.
There was a horde of shoes, neatly arranged inside the apartment entrance, and she
could hear the bustle of a large group of people coming from farther in.
Huh? What? What’s going on?!
For a moment, all her troubles were gone from her mind. Celty raced into the main
room. From there, the group that was crowded into Shinra’s recovery room turned to
face her.
“Well, hello there, Celty. It’s been a while!”

“Heya.”
Y-Yumasaki?! And, um… the driver guy!
“…Hello.”
“Oh, Celty! Long time no see! Actually, we just met the other day, didn’t we? I see Seiji
every single day, of course, so when it comes to other people, it always feels like it’s
been a while!”
Seiji Yagiri and Mika Harima?!
“Greetings, Celty. How have you been?”
Shinra’s father! How dare he show up here!
“It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Egor.”
Who’s this?!
“Celty! Welcome home! Oh, I missed you! It’s strange, the more people are around, the
lonelier I get. There’s nothing like having you here, Celty!”
“Hang on, Shinra! What in the world is going on here?! Why is everyone at our house?!”
she demanded, pushing Shinra down as he struggled to get up despite his pain.
“Oh, well, you see, Mother was cleaning the apartment, and first it was Yumasaki who
came over and said, ‘Can we turn this into a secret fort? It’ll be really cool!’ I didn’t
know what that meant, so I asked him to explain, and in the meantime, Seiji and Miss
Harima came over and asked me to hide them here, right?”
“…And then?”
“I didn’t know what that meant, so I asked them to explain, and then Dad and Egor
showed up, and I didn’t know what that meant, and Emilia said she was going to cook
because tonight is a pajama party or something, and while I was asking them to
explain, you showed up.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t know what that meant?!” Celty demanded, holding her
helmet in confusion.
Seiji mumbled, “Um, if it’s a problem, I can just look for a different place.”
“Seiji.” She wobbled with the waves of disorientation and placed an unsteady hand on
his shoulder. “You’ll be the most rational person to talk to, I suspect. Can you just start
by explaining why you and Mika are here?”
“Okay. Well,” Seiji started off.
Celty relaxed, feeling that she would finally get the straightforward answers she was
seeking—when the sliding door to the room slammed aside, and a woman barged in
with fury on her face and loathing in her voice.
“Get your filthy hand off Seiji, you slut!”
Huh?
Instantly, Celty felt not confusion but a simple emptiness, the lack of any functioning
mental power. She went beyond empty-headed into the realm of astral projection,
realizing she was somehow viewing herself amid her surroundings.
Finally, she recognized that the woman who had just appeared was Seiji Yagiri’s sister,
the very person who had taken her head and run away with it: Namie Yagiri.
Whaaaaaat?!
Hang on, wha…?
Why? What is she doing?! Here!
Whaaaaaaaat?!
“tyfhgoisdgkpokp@,” she typed, so stunned by the entrance that her shadow fingers
trembled and failed to produce an intelligible sentence on the keyboard.
“Ugh. I told you not to come out until Celty was good and relaxed,” lamented Shinra
from his bed. His lover was as panicked as the time she saw the video of the aliens
flying out of a meteor.
It’s really rather strange, I must admit, he thought, surveying the chaos of the room.
Something is happening. I can tell that something is most definitely going on in
Ikebukuro, and I suspect that at the center of it all are the Dollars… and Celty.
I don’t like it.
His beloved was getting dragged into something, and he couldn’t even walk at the
moment. It was driving him crazy.
But Shinra’s love for Celty was not so shallow that he would be fit to sit around and do
nothing but lament his fate.
Well, this development… can shove it.
With his heart full of determination, Shinra closed his eyes.
Maybe we just need some kind of opportunity to get back at this unfortunate
development. And not just one, many of them. A number of possibilities, capable of
affecting all this unpleasantness surrounding the Dollars. Whether they’re good or bad
possibilities, it needs to be something big, something huge that can change this situation…
The ruckus centered on Namie and Celty roared in his ears. On a much lower, deeper
part of his mind, something in his own consciousness went razor-sharp.
The only thing left is to seize the opportunity, all of us here together…
We’ll find whoever’s laughing with this situation in the palm of their hand—and dig our
nails into their flesh.
…Oh yes, we will.

Tokyo
Whether it was the opportunity Shinra sought was unclear.
But it was true that somewhere beyond his understanding, a number of uncertain
variables were writhing away.
“So we still don’t know who ran over this Kyouhei kid, huh?” said a large man sitting
on a luxury sofa to the man standing at the entrance of the room.
“Yes, sir. I don’t know how the police view it, but the word on the street is that the
Dragon Zombies might have done it. There’s no evidence to back it up, though,” said
the other man. Going by appearances, he was the least likely to speak in a formal
setting—Ran Izumii.
Contrary to his ordinary hunchbacked posture, he was now straight-backed, listening

closely to the man on the couch.
“Shiki thinks that Slon guy is gonna be an adequate shackle on Izaya… but I don’t trust
him as far as I can throw him. You got that, Izumii? Not that I’m expectin’ much from
you, either.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I dunno what that info broker and your brother think they’re up to, but I smell some
nice solid business comin’ off the Dollars. However it plays out, the Awakusu-kai will
get what it wants.”
The heavyset man, Aozaki, rumbled with laughter, his armor of flesh shifting and shaking.
“No goddamn way am I lettin’ Akabayashi have something this profitable.”
Half a day earlier, late night, police station, interrogation room

“I’m telling you, I don’t know that chick,” said a man in a bartender uniform. The suit-
wearing detective slammed the table, just like on the TV shows.
“Lies! Three days ago in the afternoon, you crushed this woman’s hands. Admit it!”
“Why would I do something like that?”
I guess the shows were wrong. They don’t actually have a lamp on the table in here,
Shizuo thought, doing his best to distract himself. He was playing cool as a means of
minimizing his irritation, but he could tell that he was close to bubbling over on the
inside.
“It’s one of those, uh, false accusation things. You should really take a closer look at
that woman who’s accusing me,” Shizuo repeated. It was all he’d been saying. He knew
he should use the legal term false accusation because the president at his current work
company had taught it to him after Izaya had framed him before.
The detective put on a disgusted grimace. “A thug like you, callin’ for false accusation?
You think tryin’ to play savvy here is gonna keep your ruse from gettin’ exposed? Huh?”
Ordinarily, this kind of mockery would have Shizuo exploding with fury, but right
before the cops had taken him, his boss said, “I’ll get you a lawyer by tomorrow, so
don’t blow up before then.” Tom had also advised him, “If you tear up a police station,
that blowback is gonna hit your famous brother, too. If you start to feel like you’re
gonna snap, think of him.” It was just enough of an incentive that Shizuo was able to
keep his fury stored in the pit of his stomach instead.
But the police questioning had been oddly unnatural. It would be one thing if they
outright treated him like a criminal, but it was almost like they were trying to make
him mad, instead. They hurled insults at him that had nothing to do with his charges
and sometimes just abandoned him for an hour or more. It was as if they were holding
him here in the station until they could successfully get him to commit some other
crime they could actually arrest him for.
And while the detectives were threatening Shizuo with a trip to a holding cell, that
didn’t make much sense, either. He hadn’t been arrested. He was accompanying them
voluntarily for questioning. Why were they talking about putting him in a cell?
He’d heard about cases of train gropings, where in the process of escorting a suspect
from the train station to the police, at some point it officially became “an arrest on the
scene by the transit employee, later turned over to the police.” Wondering if this was
a similar setup, Shizuo continued focusing on his brother, Kasuka, to keep his cool.
They showed him a picture of his accuser, but he had absolutely no recollection of the
woman. She had a pretty face, if a bit heavy on the makeup. According to the police’s
accusation, he took her to a bar that had gone out of business and broken both her
hands in the act of assaulting her. But at the time that it’d supposedly happened, he
was already home and in bed—he just didn’t have anyone to prove his alibi because
he lived alone.
After they’d gone in circles long enough, the detective changed tactics and tone of
voice. “I hear your brother’s a celebrity, huh?”
“…Leave Kasuka out of this,” Shizuo said, narrowing his eyes as he felt a vein throb on
his temple.
“Fair enough, this has nothing to do with him. But don’t you hear a lot of stories these
days about celebrities getting caught with drugs?”
“What?”
“It just makes me wonder—if you deny doing anything and we go and search your
brother’s home, would we find any little packets of white powder?”
“…”
Something crackled and snapped inside of Shizuo. But at the same time, an alien
sensation sneaked over him, holding his rage at bay. This was a taunt so direct, so
ballsy, that it actually made him calmer.
This is almost getting funny. Something’s going on if they’re trying this hard to get me.
“…Why? What did I do to make you guys hate me so much?”
Maybe when he got arrested a few years ago, the vending machine that Shizuo had
thrown at the cop car had hurt this guy. On the other hand, you heard stories about
disgraced cops in the news these days. Wasn’t he afraid of that attention? Or were they
always this dirty, all the time?
The detective in the suit leaned in close to Shizuo and muttered, “I’ve got nothing
against you. I just need to make sure you don’t walk around Ikebukuro for a while.”
“…?!”
What the hell?! Is that fleabrain paying this guy off?!
The thought of his least favorite person in the world caused Shizuo to glare at the cop.
“…Hmm?”
And then he noticed. The man’s eyes were bloodshot—just enough to be suspicious.
And Shizuo had plenty of experience looking at eyes like that.
He tore his gaze away, watching the other officer who was taking notes on the interview
—and saw the same effect in that man’s eyes, too.
“Are you all… under that one sword’s effect…?”
“What’s this? You already knew?” The detective and officer grinned. “Technically, we
have a different parent, though.”
“?”
“The point is, it doesn’t matter what you say. If you don’t admit your crime, me and
that guy there can beat the shit out of each other and claim you did it.”
The two policemen wore wicked, knowing smiles.
But so did Shizuo.
“I see… So it’s cool, then,” he said.
“What?”
“When I was a kid, I had a lot of experience with the guy who ran Juvenile Division…
and even after he retired, I’ve always had a measure of respect that I showed the
cops…”
The desk that Shizuo’s hands were resting on suddenly creaked, as though bending.
“But knowing it’s not the police in here, but you guys, means I don’t hafta hold back…
any longer!”
The next moment, a powerful shock ran through the interrogation room.
But it wasn’t the sound of Shizuo throwing the desk or punching the investigator.
It was the sound of the door being kicked open. Another man walked into the room.
“Pardon the interruption.”

His dress was wildly inappropriate for the location. The man was wearing full traffic
mobile force garb—in short, he was a motorcycle cop.
“H-hey! What the hell is this, huh? What’s Traffic doing barging into one of our—,”
demanded the detective, but the motorcycle cop shoved him aside and leaned closer
to the stunned suspect.
“Hey, I hear you’re friends with that Headless Rider, yeah?”
“…And what if I am?” Shizuo replied, wide-eyed.
The motorcycle cop growled. “The next time you see that thing, tell it, ‘I don’t care if
you don’t mind, do the other cars a favor and turn your light on.’ I can catch the rider
and hassle ’em about the plates and license, but I want you to pass that message on
first.”
“…”
“That’s all I wanted to say. So long.”
The conversation was so one-sided that Shizuo didn’t even have the time to get angry
about it. The interrogators glanced at each other. One of them turned bloodshot eyes
onto the traffic cop to demand what he was doing there.
But then there was a second deafening eruption. As the investigator had approached,
the officer grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall of the
interrogation room, like a pro wrestler throwing a lariat.
“Guh… hrk…”
The traffic officer had him pinned against the surface, dangling from his right hand.
He glared at the helpless man through his sunglasses.
“…Don’t pull this stupid bullshit.” He hurled the investigator to the floor and turned to
leave. “If you try anything like what I heard from outside the room, well… I hate to pull
on personal connections, but I know a guy in Internal Affairs who can come pay a visit
to you two.”
“Ugh…”
Whether out of guilt or fright at the mention of IA, the interrogators said nothing more
to the traffic cop and watched him go with clenched jaws. Shizuo had to chuckle to
himself.
“What’s so funny?”
“There you go. There are still upright cops around here. That was a close one—I almost
assumed the entire police force was like you,” Shizuo said, sighing with true relief. He
glared at them with renewed purpose. “You oughta thank that motorcycle cop.”
“Why…?”
“Thanks to him, you get to live to see another day.”
But behind the bold words, Shizuo himself was grateful. The events within the
interrogation room gave him the impression that the entire police force was his
enemy, but there were still officers worthy of trust. That knowledge by itself gave
Shizuo the motivation to continue his lonely fight against uncontrollable rage.
“So… let’s pick up where we left off. I’m havin’ fun. I’ll take whatever you can dish out.”
That was how Shizuo’s true battle began—the fight against his own anger.
How long could he withstand the urges rising within him? He was prepared for a long
and lonely battle, his own personal hell, a challenge the opposite of what he’d
experienced when fighting Saika.
“I wanna get out of here unscathed… and go to visit this parent of yours, so I can pay
my respects, you see?”
Raira General Hospital, daytime
Twelve hours after Shizuo Heiwajima and Kinnosuke Kuzuhara came face-to-face, and
at the same time that Celty Sturluson was talking alone with Mikado Ryuugamine, Anri
Sonohara was visiting Kadota’s hospital for the third consecutive day.
The first and second days, she was sincerely concerned for Kadota and didn’t have
anything else to do with her time, but today, she had a reason to come see Karisawa.
“Ugh, he totally doesn’t know where we’re supposed to meet up!”
“Why isn’t he here yet? Real talk, this guy is hashtag flaking.”
“Quiet in the hospital, please.”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
When Anri reached the hospital, there was a gaggle of young women with various
looks and personalities waiting at the entrance. They seemed to be waiting for a
friend. Anri felt a bit jealous, seeing all these girls around her age, chatting away.
In the past, the only person I ever felt like this about was Harima.
With all the things that had happened since she started high school, she could tell she
was changing in some ways. This knowledge was the reason Anri continued telling
herself she needed to be stronger.
It was really hard for her to see friends having fun talking like this, when she was so
preoccupied with how to coexist with Saika. Maybe she’d been close to having that for
herself at one point, and now it was slipping away from her grasp.
Mika Harima wasn’t close to her anymore because of her relationship with Seiji Yagiri,
Masaomi went missing, and even Mikado seemed to be distant these days. The only
thing to keep Anri company was the shrieking of Saika.
“I’ll cut them! I’ll cut every last little thing!”
“I’ll do the loving instead!”
“I’ll love your beloved friends for you!”
The voices were even louder than usual today. And she knew why.
Haruna Niekawa.
The girl she had cut was within the Dollars.
What was her mental state now?
Why did she join the Dollars?
Was she still in love with that teacher?
What if she surpassed Saika’s control again and was trying to take over the group?
What if Haruna had already cut Mikado?
So I’ll cut him first! Mikado belongs only to me!
“?!”
For the first time in ages, Anri was actually surprised by Saika’s voice. It had almost
felt like her own internal voice speaking.
This cannot last.
She’d been thinking it over since last night, and her ultimate conclusion was that
trying to solve everything on her own was just making the pain worse. But she had
few people to discuss her problems with; Celty was quite busy, and she still couldn’t
get in touch with Mika.
So she came to a decision.
“Ooh, Anri, you came again today! Hang on, are you sure you’re not in love with
Dotachin? Mikado’s gonna cry his eyes out!” said an older girl standing outside the
entrance to the hospital. Her voice was as loud and cheerful as anyone’s, despite her
pain. “He’s been proceeding well since the operation. They say Dotachin might even
open his eyes soon.”
“I see…”
Anri decided she would reveal everything to her in the hopes of receiving some advice.
It was unfair of her to unload her own troubles when they were here to support Kadota
in his time of need, but there was no way she could stop herself now.
“I’m sorry, Karisawa.”
“Huh? What for? Why ya apologizing?”
“I know it’s a bad time, with Kadota and everything… but there’s something I was
really hoping I could get off my chest to you…”
“Aw, geez. You shouldn’t worry about that. C’mon, come and leap into Big Sister’s
arms!” Karisawa cried, puffing out her chest.
Whether she was in a good mood with Kadota’s news or was just making a show of
acting tough, Anri was buoyed by her response, and so she expressed herself as
honestly as she felt.
“Karisawa… I want you to know everything about me.”
Unfortunately, her choice of phrasing could have been better.
“………What?! No way, is this a yuri confession?! Listen, I’m more than happy to play for
either team, if you know what I mean, but—but—but what does this mean? Are we in
some forbidden love rectangle with Mikado and Kida?! Then again, if you and I hook
up, then maybe Mikado and Kida will, too, which solves the whole situation, right…?”
As a fangirl fujoshi, Karisawa was used to suggesting pairings like these, and Yumasaki
and Kadota weren’t around to stop her today. Poor Anri had no idea what she was
talking about at first, but as understanding settled in, her face went bright red.
“N-n-no! It’s nothing like that!”
“Aw. Darn.”
Anri was about to ask what she meant about that, tears welling up in her eyes with
mortification, except that an overly familiar male voice suddenly cut in, drawing their
attention.
“Ohhh, there you are! Hey, it’s been a while, you two!”
They turned to see the owner of the voice, who was now surrounded by the girls who’d
been waiting at the entrance to the hospital grounds.
“Listen, I heard about what happened to Kadota, and I wanted to pay him a visit. You
know where his room is? I forgot his given name, so they got suspicious up at the desk.”
“Uhhh…”
Anri felt like she recognized the man from somewhere, but she couldn’t pin it down.
“Uh-oh, did you forget about me? Man, that kinda hurts. But I did have my face beat to
crap at the time, with mummy bandages wrapped all over it. In fact, I’d prefer if you
forgot all about that. Shall we begin our fateful first encounter all over again?” the man
blabbered. The girls surrounding him started to beat on him with their fists without a
word. “Ow, ow, ow! Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop trying to pick them up!”
He faced Anri and Karisawa again, more serious this time, and continued, “So, uh, let’s
see, the girl with the glasses was the one katana catfighting with the helmet-wearing
lady, right? And the other girl with you is Kadota’s friend, right?”
This description was enough to jog Anri’s memory.
The man was wearing multiple thin layers, and he had a straw hat on his head. It was
like he had just popped right out of a photo shoot for a men’s casual fashion magazine.
“Oh, right, you’re—,” Karisawa started to say, but the man interrupted her with a click
of his fingers and his own introduction.
“Chikage Rokujou, at your service! Any girls are free to call me Rocchi as a nickname!”
Chikage Rokujou.
The leader of Toramaru, a motorcycle gang based in Saitama.
As well as the man who, without meaning to, utterly crushed Mikado’s dreams once
before.
Did he represent one of the opportunities Shinra was hoping for?

At this point in time, that was a question nobody could answer.
Evening, second floor of an abandoned building, Tokyo
Completely unaware that Chikage Rokujou—a man whose fate was closely entwined
with his own—was back in town, Mikado greeted the return of Aoba’s injured friends
with his usual worried expression.
“Are you sure you’re all right? Maybe we should take you to the hospital…”
“It’s fine. This is nothing to these guys—they’re too dense to even notice it,” Aoba said,
laughing it off. The ones who were actually injured didn’t find this funny at all.
“What gives you the right to speak for us?!”
“You didn’t do jack shit, Aoba!”
“What? What do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t woken Houjou up?!”
Houjou had done most of the heavy lifting, and he was now fast asleep in the car. The
other members didn’t take kindly to Aoba attempting to claim Houjou’s credit for his
own.
“Stop fighting!” clamored a panicked Mikado.
But the boy suffering the complaints of his comrades only laughed. “It’s just fine; we’re
only playing around. This doesn’t count as fighting.”
“Are you sure? It definitely looked like they were hurling real hate at you.” Mikado
murmured, suspicious, but he recovered quickly and said, “So who is it who wants to
see me?”
“He’s just downstairs.”
Apparently, some member of the Dollars had heard the rumors about an internal
purge and had come offering the use of his own community to further that goal. A
young man who could have easily predicted that this was a location used for violence
—and yet strode in anyway.
Aoba and his friends had checked with Mikado first, and he said it was worth hearing
him out, which was why they were meeting here today.
“Hey! Can you come up here now?” Aoba called out. A young man ascended the
staircase. Aside from the fact that he was wearing long sleeves in the summer, he
seemed perfectly normal.
Mikado greeted him with a bit of nerves and wondered, rather ironically, if this guy
was even capable of fighting. “Um, hello. My name is Ryuugamine.”
The young man looked at the obviously younger boy across from him and responded
to Mikado’s bow by holding out his hand with a nice smile. “I’m Shijima. Nice to meet
you.”
“Oh, uh, right. It’s nice to meet you, too.” Mikado hastily took his hand and shook it.
Mikado Ryuugamine had no way of knowing that just days ago, this young man had
accepted that he was a loser and given up hope on everything.
And that now, deep in his heart, he was thinking, I’ll be damned if I’m the only loser
around here. I’m going to take down as many with me as I can.
Mikado didn’t know what the young man was plotting, and naturally, the young man
didn’t know what Mikado was plotting, either. But the large, swirling flow that
enveloped the Dollars got another twisted kink when they met.
And thus, without a clear answer yet as to who had run over Kadota, the countless
spinning wheels surrounding the city began to turn, all at once, with no single initiator.
Not even the city knew what the thread being spun would ultimately form.
The breeze that blew through Ikebukuro simply spun the clattering wheels.
Without pause and without mercy.

The following piece of text is the same thing I wrote in the afterword of Baccano! 1932
Summer, which came out in June, but given that not all my readers follow both series,
I decided to reprint it here. Please forgive the redundancy.
I don’t know when you might be reading this. At the time that I’m writing this, Japan
is on the road to recovery. Fortunately, the area where I live was unhurt by the
earthquake, but at a time when so many relatives, acquaintances, and readers are
suffering, it’s hard for me to even know how to offer condolences to my own extended
family. Everyone says, “They don’t want to hear your empty encouragement,” while on
the other hand, I’ve also heard directly from those affected, saying, “I just want a word
of comfort.” So I spend these days thinking long and hard about what words I can
prepare for others.
But if you’re reading this afterword, then I choose to believe you’ve regained enough
of an ordinary life that you’re able to read a book, at least. I hope this volume will help
lead you to the next thing in that process. When I write books, I hope they’ll be idle
entertainment, something you can read while eating popcorn or hold with sweaty
palms. Times might be hard right now, but I’ll keep writing in the hopes that what I
create is worth your idle entertainment time once you’ve got enough normalcy left to
sit around, reading books and eating popcorn.
So, here we are at the very special tenth volume of Durarara!! at last.
After I brought out Celty’s head in the last one, I thought, Whew, this was the biggest
story leap since Volume 2! But then I heard a lot of people saying, “We want to see more
about the main trio’s story!” That was a bit sad for me, given that I consider Celty the
main character, but I did choose to push forward the story surrounding Mikado quite
a bit this time. Since I write Durarara!! in alternation with other stories, I was planning
to focus each individual book on a particular character, but at that pace, I’d be on call
for another ten books at least. (And in fact, I did have plans to write books about
Togusa, Vorona, and the main Awakusu-kai cast.) I didn’t want it to get long in the
tooth, so I decided to rush forward with the Dollars story line so that I could finish it
up.
My plan is to wrap up the Dollars/Saika/Yellow Scarves story line in Durarara!!,

Volume 12, with whatever comes afterward to depend on Celty’s status at the end of
Volume 12. I haven’t thought that far ahead, so whether there is a Volume 13, or I
change the title and start a new series, or just end the whole thing is still up in the air.
I hate to be so amateurish that I intentionally push the story forward a whole bunch
and yet throw you into a cliff-hanger ending, but if you don’t mind, you could check
out one of my other series while you wait for Volume 11… (Baccano! is up next, but
there are a number of other possibilities I’m considering after that.)
It’s been about half a year since the last DVD of the anime series came out, but Mr.
Yasuda still has a Durarara!! art book coming out (along with another art book from
Kodansha, both of which are great!), and the manga version of the Saika arc is about
to start in G Fantasy magazine. On top of that, there’s an augmented version of the PSP
game with more content on sale, too. The Durarara!! world is ever expanding, so I hope
you enjoy all the places it goes!
To my editor, Mr. Papio, and the rest of the editorial office. To the proofreaders, whom
I give a hard time by being so late with submissions. To all the folks at ASCII Media
Works.
illustrators.
To Director Omori, Akiyo Satorigi, and everyone else involved in the various media
projects, including anime, manga, and video games.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, who took time out of his busy schedule with his art book in June
and Devil Survivor 2 and Yozakura Quartet manga serials to provide his wonderful
illustrations.
July 2011—Ryohgo Narita

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the publisher.

9780316474344 (v. 10 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316474368 (v. 11 : pbk.)
Adventure.
ISBNs: 978-0-316-47436-8 (paperback)

978-0-316-47437-5 (ebook)
E3-20181010-JV-PC
Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Intermediate Chapter: Nowhere (Wo)Man
Chapter 4: You Scratch My Back, I’ll Scratch Yours
Chapter 5: Like Father, Like Son
Chapter 6: Ivory Tower
Intermediate Chapter: Trapped Like a Rat
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
An excerpt from Shinichi Tsukumoya’s closed blog
Let me tell you about Kasane Kujiragi.
She is undoubtedly and unashamedly a perpetrator, but she is also a victim.
However, being a victim does not make it okay to be a perpetrator. She is a criminal
who deserves to be judged by human beings for her actions.
I say “by human beings” for a reason, of course.
Kasane Kujiragi.
This is not her real name, but bringing up her old name would only make this story
more complicated. So within the posts of this blog, I will refer to her only by that name.
Kasane Kujiragi might be human, and she might not.
To be precise, her mother was something not quite human.
A folklore yokai?
A monster?
Some evil spirit?
A demon?
I can only guarantee that she is not an angel, but the precise label is not important, really.
The point is, Kasane Kujiragi was born to a human man and “something” not human.
But there’s no need for me to go on and on about her mother here. Such stories are
best left to rats who reek of blood.
In any case, she has inhuman blood running in her veins.
And though they are separated by a generation, Ruri Hijiribe contains the same blood.
Yes. Kasane Kujiragi and Ruri Hijiribe are relatives. Ruri’s mother and Kasane Kujiragi
are sisters from different fathers. That would make Ruri the niece of Kujiragi.
Does that seem weird to you?
Kujiragi doesn’t look that old, does she?
Well, her mother’s blood does confer certain things, but as a matter of fact, she really
isn’t that old. Though sisters, she’s over twenty years apart from Hijiribe’s mom.
But enough talk about middle-aged childbirth.
Kasane Kujiragi.
To make a long story short, she was sold. Right after birth.
Ruri Hijiribe’s grandmother did some hanky-panky after she left home, and when she
gave birth to her daughter, that child got sold off to an old man named Jinnai Yodogiri.
What kind of a mother does that, right?
Okay, maybe she had some circumstances, but I don’t know about that. It all happened
years ago.
Anyway, this guy Yodogiri teaches the little girl all kinds of tricks of the trade, even at
her age. That’s probably around the time she got Saika.
And after that old man died, out of convenience, she kept the name of Jinnai Yodogiri
alive by using appropriate doubles as she went.
Her life is spent devouring people and monsters, as Jinnai Yodogiri.

She didn’t ask for it.
She just didn’t know any other way to live.
I bet the talent was always there. As long as she lived that way, she never struggled to
support herself. In fact, if she’d lived any other way, Kujiragi would no doubt have
starved to death as a child.
Her mother sold her, and Jinnai Yodogiri broke her down as a person and fit her into
his mold.
If Izaya Orihara is a natural villain, then Kujiragi is a miscreant built by human hands.
That’s what I meant when I said she’s a perpetrator and a victim.
Again, it doesn’t excuse her actions, by any means. That’s what I wrote above.
And when it came to the way she treated Ruri Hijiribe, there might have been some
personal sentiment involved.
Just think about it.
A woman who has the same blood as her, chasing her dreams and leading a brilliant
life in the spotlight.
It makes sense that she’d want to torment and toy with such a woman, right? Just roll
her right down into hell.
But only if Kujiragi still has the very human emotion known as jealousy.
Now, I happen to know more things than the average person. I know things, and then
I know things.
But I can’t read people’s minds, and I certainly can’t read monsters’ minds.
Maybe if you searched all across the entire world, you’d find some person or monster
with the superpower to read minds as if they were transparent—but it ain’t gonna be
me.
So I can’t really imagine it.
I can’t foresee what Kujiragi will do next, broken free from the shackles of Yodogiri.
She’s been completely released from Jinnai Yodogiri.
While still possessing the “power” of Jinnai Yodogiri.
Freedom.
If Kujiragi tastes this to her heart’s content and tearfully reforms herself to live for the
sake of others and the betterment of the world… Well, that’d be nice, but I’m not
counting on it.
There’s only one thing I can say to you, intrepid discoverer of this blog.
Just be careful that she doesn’t drink the blood flowing fresh from your veins, that’s
all.
Social Networking Service: Twittia
Kisshi—Wearing my gas mask rn
Kisshi—The air today tastes so fresh through my mask
Kisshi—My son got me to set up this account on private, but what do I post?
Kisshi—It’s all in how you view it. With zero followers and locked posts, no one else
can see what I’m posting here
Kisshi—In other words, I’m free
Kisshi—The true freedom I’ve always sought is here. Cyber freedom!
Kisshi—Actually, I wasn’t really looking for freedom that much
Kisshi—But at least I can say whatever I want here
Kisshi—And if no one else can see it, this should make for a handy journal
Kisshi—Plus as long as I’m online, I can see it from anywhere on earth
Kisshi—As many secrets as I want. This is the knot in the tree where I can whisper
that the king has donkey ears
Kisshi—Nebula is currently pooling a large slush fund under the guise of “association
expenses”
Kisshi—But in this case, “association expenses” is exactly the right term for it
Kisshi—Because the money is literally going toward “associating” with something

nonhuman
Kisshi—The division of Nebula of which I’m in is searching for nonhuman people

whose presence hasn’t been publicly admitted.
Kisshi—The Headless Rider unsettling Ikebukuro at the moment is one of our

research subjects, for example
Kisshi—Other divisions are researching nonsensical topics like the undying and a
“liquor of immortality” and such, which is preposterous. Yes, there are various
spiritual creatures about the earth, but obviously there is no such thing as a person
who does not age or die
Kisshi—Which is a lie. I know for a fact that they do exist. And on that note, perhaps
vampires exist, too. It was reported that the previous chairman of Nebula’s business
rival, the Gardastance Group, was a vampire
Kisshi—… But I don’t know why I’d write that if no one ever reads it
Kisshi—I’m connected to the entire world, and yet no one will see me…
Kisshi—I wonder if this is what it feels like to be an exhibitionist who only struts
around in the nude in pitch-darkness?
Kisshi—Ha-ha… if this ever gets out, Nebula will execute me for spilling trade secrets
Kisshi—What an incredible thrill. The excitement of living on the edge
Kisshi—Why, I don’t think I could sleep on the night that I accidentally reveal
classified information
Kisshi—But I’m not revealing my real name, and based on the contents, surely these
just look like the ramblings of a madman
Kisshi—My, but what a terrible and wondrous age we live in
Kisshi—A sea of information that stretches across the world, supported by networks
Kisshi—Just like brain cells, exchanging information through synapses

Kisshi—Perhaps there might emerge some higher being, with humanity itself as its
brain
Kisshi—I bet if I said that in the presence of other scientists, I’d be laughed out of the
room
Tsukku—@Kisshi Perhaps it has already been born
Kisshi—Who’s that?!
Kisshi—I’m supposed to be locked and nonpublic!
Kisshi—I’m sorry! I’ll pay whatever you want! Please forgive me!
Tsukku—@Kisshi It’s me, Tsukumoya. It’s nice to speak to you again, Mr. Kishitani
Kisshi—Oh, it’s just Tsukumoya
Kisshi—Well, that’s a relief. But don’t I have a right to privacy?
Tsukku—@Kisshi I’m sorry. It’s just that you never show up on the Net, Shingen
Tsukku—@Kisshi I wanted to let you know about something
Kisshi—For the moment, I will not ask how you are able to speak to me, when my
account is unlisted and you are not following me. It seems nothing is impossible to
you
Tsukku—@Kisshi Um, I can’t do the impossible online
Tsukku—@Kisshi I’m not some deus ex machina
Kisshi—Now hang on a moment. You can change the fonts on this website?!
Tsukku—@Kisshi what no of course not
Kisshi—Now you are mocking me on two different levels, and I do not like it!
Kisshi—Whatever. What did you want?

Tsukku—@Kisshi Seitarou Yagiri’s group has made a move to capture Namie
Kisshi—Ahhh
Tsukku—@Kisshi It looks like their goal is to get Celty’s head
Tsukku—@Kisshi It’s probably none of my business, but I thought I should tell you
Kisshi—I see. Well, I am grateful for the information
Kisshi—You know, I’ve always been curious, why exactly do you take our side?
Kisshi—I can’t imagine a reason that a man like you would side with any one party
Tsukku—@Kisshi I’d say it’s because I’m a fellow Dollars… but a lot of the shine is
wearing off them lately
Kisshi—So whose side are you on?
Tsukku—@Kisshi I’m on the side of the people who love this city
Tsukku—@Kisshi Whether human or not
Kisshi—I see. Then I shall question you no more. Treasure your love
Kisshi—And if possible, I would appreciate that you treasure my privacy, as well
Tsukku—@Kisshi Can’t do that
Kisshi—…
System Information: Username “Kisshi” has deleted their past activity log.
Outside Namie’s apartment—in the past
Namie Yagiri was in the greatest peril of her life.
“You have a filthy mouth, Namie.”
She was outside her apartment, surrounded by Seitarou Yagiri, Kasane Kujiragi, and
her uncle.
“…”
Her life wasn’t in peril. Well, in a sense it was, but Namie wasn’t going to let a little
thing like a life-and-death situation endanger her choices.
“Do you think Seiji will like someone who speaks of such violence? Not that he would
ever pay attention to anything other than that head.”
To her, the existence of her younger brother, Seiji Yagiri, was everything. But if she
were to be captured here, that would limit her options to save him. And most
importantly of all, she couldn’t allow Seiji to be used as a hostage—couldn’t let him be
subjected to danger on her account.
So, in that sense, her entire life was indeed on the brink of a great peril.
Kujiragi held tight and immobile as Seitarou finished, “Have no fear. We do not plan to
eliminate you.”
But they weren’t giving her freedom, his cold gaze said. He turned and gave a signal to
the men in suits surrounding them. Namie tried to resist, but perhaps due to the stun
gun shock, she couldn’t even move her limbs. The men in suits were practically
dragging her away—
When help arrived on swift wings.
“That’s far enough!” cried a muffled voice, and a white figure emerged from the shadow
of the wall, sweeping speedily toward the group.
“?!”
Seitarou gaped at this sudden intruder—until he realized that the whiteness of the
mystery person was due to a lab coat. “Kishitani…?!”
Shingen Kishitani.
An old acquaintance, a transactional partner regarding a certain head, and a

researcher affiliated with the foreign conglomerate Nebula, which had purchased
Yagiri Pharmaceuticals.
And at this moment, his enemy.
The sight of the white gas mask over the man’s face all but confirmed his identity to
Seitarou—but the sharpness of his actions swept the floor out from under that
confidence. As far as he knew, Shingen Kishitani was not capable of running that fast.
And certainly, the actions he was taking now—pulverizing the capable men in black
suits without any trouble—was not within Shingen’s capability.
“…”
Kujiragi stepped forward to intercept their interloper. She readied for a knee kick as
he rushed forward, his center of gravity low.
But the man leaped off the ground just before he reached her, soaring high into the air.
Rather than landing directly on Kujiragi, he wall jumped off the side of the adjacent
car to get past her to the man holding Namie—whom he gave a fierce toe kick to the
jaw.
With the guard knocked out, he scooped up Namie’s body and turned back to face
Kujiragi.
“Something about your presence… ,” Kujiragi said, her expression unchanging.
But before she could elaborate, she was interrupted by a muffled voice, coming from
the same spot as before.
“That’s far enough!”
It was the same voice and words as the last time.

Everyone turned to see a man.
He wore a white gas mask and a white coat, the same outfit as the man who rescued
Namie.
Indeed, it appeared that the man who’d been shouting and the man who had just
rescued Namie were different people.
“Fwa-ha-ha-ha… It would seem the timing is fortunate. It was a good thing I had a
surveillance net around that girl.”
“…Shingen… Kishitani?” mumbled Namie, who wasn’t entirely over the electric shock
but had enough wits about her to recognize the voice of the man in the gas mask. “All
of… you people… spying on me… Such poor taste.”
“An employee of Izaya Orihara, accusing others of being in poor taste?” replied the gas-
masked man who was carrying her.
On closer inspection, the shape of his mask was slightly different from Shingen’s, and
Namie instantly recognized they were different people. But she didn’t seem alarmed
or confused by this state of events and said to the presumably unfamiliar man, “That’s
right. He’s probably got the worst taste of anyone in the world. What’s your point?”
“Ouch,” the masked man said with a shrug.
His Japanese was fluent, but little hints of an accent here and there gave Namie the
suspicion that he was actually foreign. But she didn’t have the time to inquire further
at this point.
There was still the obstacle of Kasane Kujiragi standing in their way, after all.
“And how do you intend to extricate yourself from this situation?” she shot back. “I’ll
make certain you are properly thanked for saving me later, but I’d appreciate hearing
your plan first.”
For her part, Kujiragi wasn’t taking any risks in attacking them. Most likely, she’d
judged from the attacker’s movements that he wasn’t an easily subdued opponent.
A furious, frustrated Seitarou ordered, “What are you doing, Kujiragi? Use any means
necessary! Just eliminate him and—”
But the mouth he used to issue that command and the rest of the body attached to it
were now five yards removed from their previous location.
A third white shadow had descended behind Seitarou without a sound and struck him
in the lower back like a pile driver. Had his arms been held at the same time, the force
of the attack would have surely dislocated them—but the attack was not meant for
maximum damage, only to physically knock the target out of the area. It was successful
in that regard; the company president went flying like a tumbleweed in a Western.
Seitarou hit the ground and rolled until he slammed into the wall. His eyes rolled
backward, and a streak of blood trailed from his mouth, from biting something on the
impact.
Kujiragi apparently considered her tactical disadvantage as this new attacker arrived,
and she mechanically switched from fighting back to assisting her boss instead.
As she helped him up, Seitarou saw that Namie had recovered enough to stand on her
own, and next to her, the three men in gas masks stood in a direct line facing him. They
were rotating their heads and shoulders in a hypnotic circular rhythm, much like some
kind of corny boy band.
“Fwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Does it confuse you that I have multiplied into three, Seitarou?
And this is not even the end of it. My body doubles can multiply with every act of
human desire, until the entire earth is overrun with me.”
“…Hrg… gah… ,” Seitarou gasped, blood-flecked spittle spraying from his mouth. It
wasn’t clear he had even registered Shingen’s taunt. “What do you… think you’re…?”
The member of the masked trio standing at the lead stopped and proudly answered,
“My, my, who would have expected that you, of all people, would forget a contract! I
believe I told you this about my son: that I would come and punch you. And I believe
you accepted those terms, as long as it was one punch.”
“That’s horseshit! You didn’t do that just now, someone else did! And I authorized you
to punch me, not to kick me!” Seitarou bellowed, the blood flying from his lips.
Shingen shook his head. “That’s quite an entertaining hypothesis, but do you have
proof of it? I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that my… my Nebula punch was so
powerful that you confused it for a kick.”
“That does not matter now! Why have you interfered with our business?!”
“And why must I be forced to explain myself to the likes of you…? Have you grown
arrogant in your old age? Humanity is not your slave. People grow by overcoming
unexpected obstacles and challenges. Don’t you agree, Kasane Kujiragi?”
The woman, who hadn’t been expecting a direct address at that point, squinted for a
moment. Then she said, “I do not sense any need to answer that question. What reason
should I have to reply?”
“I’ll pay you ten thousand yen.”
In an airy tone, the gas-masked man right behind Shingen said, “Oh, you are just the
worst, Shingen.”
“Be silent, my doppelganger, Gas Mask Number Two!”
Kujiragi considered his offer in silence, her expression completely flat. For several
seconds, she looked down, then said, “That seems an outrageous sum in reward for
answering a question that does not involve secrets. I cannot accept such a seemingly
suspicious offer.”
“Okay, how about five hundred yen?” asked Shingen, pulling a five hundred–yen coin
from his pocket. He tossed it toward Kujiragi.
“…Actually, you really are the worst, huh?” said Gas Mask No. 3, the one who had kicked
Seitarou.
But Kujiragi caught the coin, and when she was satisfied that it wasn’t fake, replied,
“Very well. I will give you my answer to that question.”
“You’re actually going through with it?!” snapped Gas Mask No. 3.
Kujiragi ignored him, propping up Seitarou in her arms, and explained, “It is true that
humanity is not Seitarou Yagiri’s slave. An unfair reality will likely cause him to grow
as a person, with the condition that he must be capable of overcoming it first. However,
if one broadly interprets the status of humanity to be in the thrall of someone, or of
rules, or of instincts… then one might say that all humanity is, in fact, a slave to
something else—perhaps to the world at large.”
“Is that your idea? Or is it Jinnai Yodogiri’s idea?” Shingen asked sharply, but Kujiragi
just shook her head.
“I do not understand what you are saying.”
“I’ll give you another five hundred yen.”
“It is one of President Yodogiri’s lessons,” Kujiragi said, catching the coin.
“What kind of conversation is this?” wondered No. 3, but the others ignored him.
Meanwhile, Shingen muttered to himself, “Ah yes, I see. She hasn’t changed in twenty
years. She was just a young girl back then… I suppose this would make her a poison
that cannot be poisoned by society.”
Then he turned his gaze upon the prone man. “Now, Seitarou. It is I who wishes to ask
what you think you’re doing. Whatever it is that you’re making a deal with Jinnai
Yodogiri about and manipulating his secretary Kujiragi to achieve, you haven’t
announced any of it to Nebula headquarters in the least!”
“I’m not under any obligation to—”
“You do have an obligation,” Shingen boomed haughtily through his mask. “Wasn’t
there an item in your contract that states, ‘You must report prior to handling any
matters pertaining to the business, even if personal in nature’? Naturally, it only
suggests anything relating to the handling of pharmaceutical products… but you do
know that Celty’s head qualifies for that category, I trust.”
Seitarou could only mumble and mutter under his breath. Shingen continued, “Things
are becoming highly troubling now, thanks to you. I am not your supervisor or
babysitter. But on the other hand, that means that if you are acting suspiciously, you
cannot weasel your way out of it with me.”
“Oh, don’t be silly… My company president’s position is nothing more than a stepping-
stone, compared to what we’ve seen.”
“You are like the apocryphal tomb raider who attempts to rob the mummy’s tomb,
only to succumb to being a mummy yourself. Only you’re so incapable of cradling that
mummy that you have no right to even be a mummy. You’ll just wind up as a man
wrapped in bandages, burning in the fire and brimstone of hell!”
“Do you have any room to speak? You’re the man who used a cursed sword to steal a
dullahan’s head,” Seitarou snapped back, full of hatred.
Shingen was unperturbed. “I am already a false mummy. As your friend, I am merely

warning you not to follow my example, and yet you cannot even take my warm advice
on good faith… What a sad and foolish thing we human beings are!”
Seitarou was about to bellow back at him, but a stab of pain through his body left him
moaning and coughing.
Kujiragi replied instead, “I do not detect any such elements of fondness and caring in
your conversation.”
“Aha… You would appear to have keen abilities of observation. Very well. It is foolish
to give away information to the enemy, but out of respect for the greatness of your
imagination, I shall answer honestly! It is true! What I said to Seitarou just now was
utter nonsense! Indeed… I am the sort of man who can lie right to his old friend’s face
without compunction… A very bad man, indeed! You might even say that I am the
baddest man in all this city!”
“…”
“And good and evil are separated by the slimmest of margins… You might even say
they are sides of the same coin. In other words—! Because I am the greatest villain to
be found in this city, that gives me the right to refer to myself as its most laudable saint
as well! How wicked you people must be to treat this saint with hostility. Therefore,
let us define the violence I wielded in saving Namie to have been judiciously applied
in self-defense. Why, I could have sworn Seitarou was going to kill me back there. How
very frightened it made me, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…”
It was difficult to tell how serious Shingen was being. He pulled something out of his
coat. Nearby, the men that Gas Mask No. 2 had knocked out were beginning to recover
and get to their feet, which suggested that combat could break out again at any
moment.
But just before the men in suits could stand again, Shingen pulled the pin on the smoke
grenade he was now holding and tossed it into the middle of the street.
“Fwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Until we meet again, Seitarou! The next time, you’d better have
changed your name to Akechi the great detective! And I shall be the Fiend with Two
Faces!”
Then the smoke grenade burst, and a curtain of all-concealing white completely
enveloped a small corner of Shinjuku.
The same day, evening—Shinra’s apartment, near Kawagoe Highway
“Next in the news, a very friendly saltwater crocodile measuring seventeen feet long
appeared in a river in Saitama today. Local residents took to calling it Salty and tossed
raw meat to the creature…”
In a penthouse apartment, with the large TV as background accompaniment, Celty

Sturluson listened to Shingen Kishitani brag on and on.
“And it was only because I was able to multiply myself into multiple bodies that she
was saved. If not, those scoundrels would have taken Namie away, and who knows
what kind of scandalous things they would have done to her?”
“I see. Good for you,” Celty typed into her PDA without much emotion, but it did nothing
to suck the wind out of Shingen’s sails.
“By the way, when I mentioned ‘scandalous things,’ what did you imagine I was
implying specifically? Think of this as a simple psychology test. I want to know how
much you, as a monster, have in the matter of human desires, or getting more directly
to the point, just how far you have gotten with Shinra in the ways of—gmmf!”
A tray came flying through the sliding doorway of another room and smacked Shingen
right on the temple. He turned toward its hurler, holding his head. “Why would you do
that, Shinra?! I did not raise you into the kind of son who throws a tray at his father!”
“And I didn’t raise you into a father who would sexually harass his son’s girlfriend!”
“Grr… I did not get raised by you, period… They say a son grows in his father’s example
and a father grows by watching his son, but I was always so busy with my work that I
hardly ever had time to watch you… If the result of that fact is my current situation,
then I must heartily acknowledge—my bad!”
The target of Shingen’s speech was Shinra, who was wheelchair bound. He couldn’t
walk yet, but with Celty’s help, he was at least able to sit in the chair now.
“But fear not, Shinra. As I just explained, I went to the wicked source of your current
predicament and socked him a good one! Normally, I would take him to court and
reduce him to utter ruin, but I thought that exposing you and Celty to the legal system
would be a poor idea. So be grateful to me that I did not make it into a big deal.”
“A big deal, huh?”
“You and I are creatures of the darkness. Shadows ought to stay low and quiet.”
As a sign of perhaps how cool and nihilistic he was, Shingen punctuated this statement
by spinning the tray that had hit his temple around his finger.
But then…
“Next in the news, an apparent smoke screen device went off in a residential block of
Shinjuku this afternoon, sending large clouds of smoke around the area…”
The sound of the newscaster on the television caused the tray to slip from Shingen’s
finger.
“According to eyewitness reports, a number of men wearing white outfits were seen
running from the…”
The newscaster’s voice cut off mid-sentence, replaced by the laughter from a comedy
show. Shingen slowly raised his head, remote control in hand, and faced his son, who
was looking at him with dead eyes, and Celty, who merely held up a PDA screen with
an ellipsis typed on it.
“There is no longer any place to hide in this new information society… The network
has become light that shines through the darkness. Don’t you feel that it has surpassed
the boundaries of mankind? I fear the data revolution… might have all been a terrible
conspiracy to transform humanity into a higher being.”
“Don’t try to weasel your way out of this!”
Celty’s shadow wove its way around Shingen, squeezing him tight.
“Gwaaaah! W-wait, Celty! I can explain! Let’s all just ta-ta-ta-talk—”
The only one who came to Shingen’s aid was a man who Celty did not recognize.
“Please wait,” he said. “The responsibility lies with me for providing him with that
smoke grenade.”
The young man was obviously not Japanese, but his command of the language was
excellent.
“You know, this is a good opportunity to finally ask… Who are you?” Celty typed, not
realizing that he was none other than the “bandaged man” she herself had ferried as
cargo before.
“Greetings. My name is Egor. I am an old companion of Simon and Denis from Russia
Sushi.”
“Simon?”
Now that he mentioned it, he did look as if he could be Russian. But why would Simon’s
friend be handing out smoke grenades? Celty was confused, but to be fair, confusion
was becoming a familiar state of mind for her.
The reason she was able to stay oddly calm when talking to this unfamiliar Russian
was probably thanks to the other people present in the room with them.
Seated by the window of the large common room were Walker Yumasaki and Saburo
Togusa. They’d been on edge until recently, when Karisawa sent them a message
saying, “Kadota’s heading toward recovery, and he might open his eyes by the end of
tomorrow,” and they relaxed quite a bit.
“Y’know, Mr. Kishitani’s dad is a pretty cool guy. When you wear a white gas mask like
that, you can’t help but be curious what kind of face is hiding underneath. Could be a
half dragon—or it could even turn out to be a gorgeous girl!” said Yumasaki.
“You want a dude with a deep-ass voice to turn out to be a girl…?” Togusa replied.
Shingen boomed, “Fwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! If my identity is to be a beautiful young woman,
then I am not opposed to that fate. As a matter of fact, my previous wife and I—Shinra’s
mother, I mean—once did a bit of clothes swapping indoors. I seem to recall it being
rather… enticing.”
Celty typed a message into her PDA and showed it to Shinra.
“How does it feel to have your dad admit to his sexual fetishes out loud?”
“I would prefer if you would console me without comment, Celty.”
“Hey, don’t worry, Shinra! We did not exchange underwear, so that does not make me
a pervert!”
“SHUT UP PERVERT!” Celty typed for emphasis, thrust the message into Shingen’s face,
then turned her attention to the other side of the room.
“Seiji, Seiji! Should we exchange clothes, too?!”
“Nah, that’s creepy.”
“Okay, but is it all right if I put on your jacket and roll around on the ground with it?”
“…Yeah, I guess that’s okay,” Seiji Yagiri replied without much interest to Mika Harima’s
sappy request. On the other side of Seiji, Namie grabbed his arm, her temple twitching.
“My goodness, whatever is this little cat burglar playing at? When Seiji was a little boy,
he wore my old hand-me-down pajamas. So would you please cut out the mimicry, if
you don’t mind?”
“Huh? Those were your old pajamas? I’m pretty sure they were men’s pajamas…”
“I wore them first and stretched them out to make them easier for Seiji to wear,” Namie
said, blushing like a teenager.
Seiji didn’t seem to think much about this revelation. “Oh, you did? Thanks, Sis.”
Namie managed the impressive feat of simultaneously smiling at her brother while
shooting death rays at Mika past him. Celty couldn’t help but lament.
This place is doomed. The only people who seem normal are that man named Egor and
the driver of the van. Then again, if Egor was working with Shingen for whatever reason,
that would make him involved in the criminal underbelly.
She glanced at the long-haired young man, hoping for at least some kind of normalcy…
“Hey, Yumasaki. If they sold the right to switch pajamas with Ruri Hijiribe, do you think
it would be insincere to pay for that with money? Because even if it is, I don’t know if
my willpower could hold out, if given the option…”
All the normal people are gone! Celty despaired, making the gesture of sighing in
disappointment. She had to make the gesture, because she wasn’t actually capable of
sighing.
Instead, black shadow oozed and writhed from the cross section of her neck.
basinful of blood. Thus, the dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a herald of ill
And it wasn’t that she didn’t know; more accurately, she just couldn’t remember.
When someone back in her homeland had stolen her head, she had lost her memories
of what she was. It was the search for the faint trail of her head that had brought her
here to Ikebukuro.
still lost.
However, Celty knew who had stolen her head.
But that meant she still didn’t know where it was.
she could happily go on the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face. One who
With that reflection in the background of her mind, Celty typed a message on her PDA
for Namie, whom Shingen had apparently rescued earlier.
“For now… let me just say one thing to you.”
“I have no reason to lend an ear to whatever you want to say. Or lend an eye, I suppose,
in this case.”
“…Do you understand the situation you’re in right now?! Do you recall what you did to
my head?!” Celty threatened, her shadows oozing outward as she brandished the PDA.
But Namie looked utterly smug as she replied, “Yes, I’m aware. I also remember that
the doctor sitting in the wheelchair was an accomplice.”
Ugh! Well, that weakens my position…
Namie Yagiri had spent years studying Celty’s head and was the very person who had
made off with it after the first in-person meeting of the Dollars. While Celty’s drive to
reclaim her head might have weakened a bit, that didn’t mean she had nothing to get
off her chest.
But given that she had already forgiven Shinra—who had helped Namie hide the head
and even did plastic surgery on a teenage girl’s face—Celty really didn’t have it within
her to maintain her hatred of this woman. If Celty were a true hero on the side of
justice, she might have chastened Namie Yagiri for her human experimentation, but
she couldn’t pretend to be perfectly in the right, given that she was a courier who often
worked with mafia types.
“…I’m not actually all that fixated on it anymore, but I might as well ask, Am I correct in
assuming that Izaya Orihara has my head now?”
“I want to ask you that too, Sis,” said Seiji, sneaking a glance at the question on the
PDA.
“Seiji… ,” she murmured, looking at her brother with a conflicted expression. She was
silent for quite a while, until she exhaled at last in resignation and shot Celty a dirty
look. “That’s right… I gave the head to that sarcastic asshole. Right after I ran away
from you outside of Tokyu Hands, in fact.”
“…Right after?”
“Yes. It was within half a day, I think.”
Celty clenched her fists. That devious fox. He already had the head placed somewhere
during the Saika incident, and he had the gall to demand thirty thousand yen from me…
But I’ve never felt its aura as strongly as I did this recent time…
“I don’t think that freak had it placed in just one spot, though. He moved it around
from place to place. Sometimes he brought it into his office and tossed it around like a
ball.”
That… is what he does with someone’s head…? Celty thought, her shoulders twitching.
But it was Seiji who expressed his anger first.
“How… how could he torment her that way…?”
“Well, uh, ‘her’ in this case would actually be me.”
“Izaya Orihara… you bastard…” The usually stoic Seiji seethed, clenching his fists.
Namie embraced her brother around the back.
“It’s all right, Seiji. If you want to stab him, I’ll give you all the help you need. In fact,
there’s no reason for you to dirty your hands on him at all. I would gladly eat a fifteen-
year sentence for you.”
“Learn to have some principles!”
“Huh? Principles? A monster freeloading at a human’s apartment has the gall to

lecture me about principles? A woman who does illegal courier work on a motorcycle
without a license plate?”
Those barbs cut Celty deep. Shinra thought, The fact that she gets depressed rather
than angry here is one of Celty’s cute aspects, but he knew that if he spoke it aloud, the
barbs would turn into knives that tore at her flesh instead.
Conscious of Shinra’s somewhat twisted attention on her, Celty made a show of

heaving her shoulders into a sigh, and typed, “All right… Forget it. I’ll hold on to what I
want to say to you. Just know that I haven’t forgiven you for that. Trust me, I gave Shinra
his punishment.”
“Oh? Punishment, you say? Let me guess, you punched him once, then made up, and
went on to engage in some kind of beastly mating ritual?”
“How did you know that?!”
Celty’s shadows burst out of her like steam from a heated kettle. Shinra tried to back
her up by saying, “That’s very rude of you, Namie! It wasn’t beastly! If anything, Celty
at night is as cute and sweet as a baby rabbi—bwubrulbwobb,” until she stuffed
shadows into his mouth to stop him from talking.
“Wh-wh-why would you think that was a good thing to say at this point?!”
“Now, wait a moment, Celty! What do you do with my son at night? I think I have a
right to know more!”
“Shut up, you family of creepers!”
It was into the midst of this argument that Yumasaki cluelessly spoke up.
“Pardon me—what do you mean by ‘head’? Did Izaya do something again?”

“Oh. Umm… well…”
Crap. I’m going to have to explain the whole story, she realized.
“The truth is, it turns out that Izaya is currently in possession of the head I’m missing…”
“What?! Celty, you mean that your body’s going out with Dr. Kishitani… while your face
is going out with Izaya?! Is this two-timing?! If you ever admit this on your blog,
prepare to get flamed in the comments!”
“Er, no. My head and body have separate consciousness… I guess…”
“…Ah, meaning… ,” Shingen started to say, until a black blade jabbed at his throat. “Wh-
what is this all about, Celty?! I haven’t said anything to…”
“Trust me, I can tell. You were about to drop some kind of disgustingly crude joke at my
expense.”
“Why, this is madness, what proof do you have of that…?” he protested, but the way he
was clearly trying to avoid looking at her was proof enough.
She was about to string Shingen up with shadow when Namie chimed in, her voice
dripping with glee. “Yes, that’s right. Izaya and your head were in love.”
“Huhhh?!” Celty typed in the process of spinning around 180 degrees.
But Namie was speaking to her brother now. “So I hate to be the bearer of bad news
for you, but you must give up on that fickle, unfaithful woman. Did you realize that
Izaya and that head speak deeply of their love for each other every night? But while
her mouth says, ‘Izaya this, Izaya that,’ her body desires that doctor over there… That’s
right, she’s a wretched slut! You’re too good for some tawdry whore like her, Seiji!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, enough of the nonsense accusations!” Celty typed, bumping up the
font size for emphasis. Then she paused before continuing, “I mean… it is nonsense…
right? The head doesn’t wake up on its own… right?”
“That’s a good question, isn’t it? And yet, it has nothing to do with you, does it?”
“Of course it has something to do with me!” she typed, while Shinra leaned forward in
his wheelchair and shouted, “It’s got nothing to do with you, right, Celty? You already
gave up on that head!”
“Uh. Oh, um. Y-yeah. Yeah, I wish I could agree… but it was a part of me once, and I guess
I feel a bit nervous about it being in Izaya’s hands…”
“It’s all right! No matter what might be happening to your head, wherever it is, I can
make you a hundred times happier!”
“Shinra… ,” she replied, overcome with emotion, but then thought better of it and
pulled the PDA back. “No… wait. You almost swept me away with the momentum of that
statement—but was what you said even a good thing?”
“Does it actually matter? It’s fine, Celty. Izaya has almost no interest in anything that’s
not human. He probably either used it as an actual ball or, at best, treated it like an
expensive vase.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better about it at all… ,” she retorted.
Meanwhile, Seiji spoke forcefully to his sister. “It’s all right, Sis. It doesn’t matter to me
how much love she feels for other people. All I want is for the last person she ever
smiles at to be me.”
“Seiji… Ugh, it kills me to admit this… but I love how perfectly ‘you’ that faithful
sentiment is…”
What in the world is going on here?!
“It’s all right, Seiji! Even after that head is gone from the world, I’ll still be here to smile
for you!” interjected Mika.
“Be silent, cat burglar,” Namie spat back. “I hope you lose all nine of your lives and get
your guts pulled out for shamisen strings.”
“What a horrible thing to say! But if I can still play beautiful music for Seiji as a
shamisen, then I guess I’d be happy!”
Are you lot being morbid or romantic? Make up your mind! Celty thought, apparently
the only person in the room who seemed willing to call out other people on their
nonsense—even if she didn’t fully understand what was happening.
It was Yumasaki, a third party in the conversation, who put an end to her brave
attempt at enforcing normalcy once and for all:
“Oh, I get it, Seiji. The warlord who ruled the postapocalyptic wasteland said
something very similar! He said that as long as the woman he loved was by his side at
the end, all was well! That’s what love means!”
“Thank you… thank you! I’ll do my best to follow this teaching!”
“You know, you’ve got a pretty strong attraction to two-dimensional elements, falling
in love with a dullahan head! If you want, I can give you some kinky doujins about
dullahans and folklore monsters whose heads fly off.”
People make those things?! The world out there is way too big! And so is Yumasaki’s
strike zone, for that matter! Celty thought, even more confused than before.
Shinra asked, “Yumasaki, will you show me those comics later? Just the ones about the
dullahan, thank you.”
“Shinra!”
“Don’t worry, Celty! It’s not like I’ll take any woman, as long as she’s a dullahan! I just
want to try re-creating whatever sexy situation that comic depicts, that’s all! My only
purpose is to do sexy stuff with you! Please, my dear!”
“How dare you say that in front of other people as though you’re being the reasonable
one!”
She let the tendrils of shadow that had been reaching for Shingen divert toward Shinra
and forcefully dragged him upward.
“Ow-ow-ow-ow, I’m sorry, Celty, don’t get so ang… Koff!”
For just a moment, he looked truly pained, as if Celty’s shadows had gotten into his
injury site. Frightened, she instantly dispersed her shadow like mist and hurried over
to the wheelchair.
“I’m sorry, Shinra! I was just doing the usual thing… Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s good physical rehab.”

“I’m really sorry… ,” she said, wilting.
Now that he was free from her shadows, Shingen said, “You know, Celty, for being so
bold most of the time, you really become so very soft around Shinra, don’t you? I shall
have to add that to my research report for Nebula.”
“Wait. What research report?”
“Ha-ha-ha! When I submit observation reports on nonhuman beings like you, I get a
bonus! Even reports on romantic feelings like the ones you just displayed!”
It was Yumasaki who jumped on Shingen’s explanation. “Wait a moment, Dr.

Kishitani’s father! There are nonhuman reports?! Like on vampires who look like
young girls but have been alive for centuries, or wolf women who play hard to get?”
“Heh-heh-heh… Between you and me, friend of my son—of course! It’s not my
assignment, but I do happen to have seen reports on ancient loli vampires who love
video games and beautiful werewolf girls who love to eat.”
Several of these words, muffled by the gas mask, caused reactions in Yumasaki, his
eyes shining bright through his narrow eyelids.
“Oooh! Dr. Kishitani, you’re a lot more familiar with our kind than I thought! This is
incredible! It’s the entrance to the 2-D world! Please, I beg of you! I’d sell half my soul
for an introduction to that vampire! Then I can use her supernatural powers to find
out who hit-and-ran Kadota and give ’em the old huppety-ho!”
“Hit-and-ran? Kadota? What is all this? Anyway, even if I wanted to, I don’t have the
connections to put you in touch. More importantly, I’d either be docked pay or
discharged from my position.”
Sensing that things were getting even more out of her control, Celty took a deep breath
(or made the motion of it anyway) and emitted shadow onto the ceiling, drawing a
word balloon like in a comic book, complete with speed lines and large shadow letters.
“Don’t make things even more complicated!!”

Ikebukuro
Meanwhile, the one person who knew the location of the head—Izaya Orihara—was
in great danger.
While in contact with Kasane Kujiragi over the phone, he was attacked by Slon, who
was under the control of her “other” Saika, and knocked totally unconscious.
The over-six-foot-tall Slon slung the lifeless Izaya over his shoulder and headed down
the emergency staircase.
“Sorry, Izaya Orihara,” the Russian man said, his Japanese flawless. “You probably
thought you were going to manipulate me into being a double agent against the
Awakusu-kai… but you never noticed that I was working for Matushka.”
Saika.
The cursed sword that Jinnai Yodogiri had sold to Shingen Kishitani. The weapon that
had severed Celty Sturluson’s head from her body.
As fate would have it, that blade was passed down from a woman named Sayaka
Sonohara to the body of her daughter Anri, where it continued to sing its love for
humanity. By cutting others, it instilled the curse of its love in them, creating “children”
as it continued to infect humanity as a whole—except that Anri did not desire this, and
for the time being, she showed no signs of creating new children with her blade.
However, Saika’s body was not only in the singular blade that Anri Sonohara held.
At the time that it was sold to Shingen, there were already two cursed blades.
It had been broken in two, the pieces reforged.
While this might make them shorter, at the point they were absorbed into a human
body, the shape itself was meaningless. In the hands of a skilled practitioner like Anri’s
mother, the blade could grow to many times its length on her willpower alone.
At any rate, one of the “branched” Saikas wound up with Anri Sonohara. The other
resided within Kasane Kujiragi’s body.
At some point in time, Kujiragi had cut Slon, and on her orders, he now knocked out
Izaya Orihara to take him to Kujiragi’s base of operations.
Slon reached the bottom of the emergency stairs, the whites of his eyes violently
bloodshot, which was the symbol of Saika’s children. He prepared to load the cargo
into his vehicle.
“Whatcha doing, Mr. Slon?”
He spun around and saw two men wearing jackets with a dragon emblem stitched
onto them. They were members of Dragon Zombie, the motorcycle gang Izaya used as
henchmen.
“…He fell down the stairs and hit the back of his head against the floor. I’m taking him
to the hospital,” he made up on the spot. The problem was, he was so comfortable lying
to them that nothing in his voice actually suggested any haste or concern.
The two Dragon Zombie thugs glanced at each other, then asked, “Shall we take him?”
“No, I can manage on my own.”
“We can’t have that, sir. You’re hired help from the Awakusu-kai. We can’t have you
taking him right to the Awakusu-kai office, for example.”
So they hadn’t trusted Slon in the first place. Independent of the matter of Saika, Izaya
must have warned his other cohorts to be wary of the Awakusu-kai.
“…Ah, I see. In that case, I’ll ask for your help,” he said, and no sooner were the words
out of his mouth than he hurled Izaya’s body at one of the Dragon Zombies.
“Wha…?!”
The man wasn’t able to support the shock of all that weight and toppled backward.
Meanwhile, Slon lunged forward toward the remaining man, caught him with a vicious
hook to the chin, then spun back and kicked the falling youth in the same spot.
They weren’t catastrophic blows, but the instant shock to the brain was enough to give
them concussions, and the two motorcycle thugs fell unconscious.
“…It’s a good thing it was you guys,” Slon muttered. “If you were Kine or Sharaku, it
would have meant more work for me.” He picked Izaya’s body back up and loaded it
into his car.
He started the car and took off, leaving the two unconscious men behind.
But the moment he turned the corner, another member of Dragon Zombie poked his
head around the side of the building. He pulled a wireless communicator out and
started speaking to someone on the other end.
“…It’s me.”
“The little fish has been hooked.”
Fifteen minutes later—Tokyo
In a quieter residential area, quite a way off from the commercial sector, there was a
residence with its own yard.
Slon pulled his car into the garage of this building, which looked like a completely
ordinary home. Then, hidden from the outside, he opened the inner garage door to the
house and started to load Izaya inside—when he sensed the sound of motorcycles in
the distance.
They were idling, not riding, but he didn’t feel that they were just waiting for a light to
turn.
Did they follow me?
He spun around and learned that his suspicion was correct.
Just outside of the garage entrance was a young woman with a tomboyish air. Her
buzz-cut hair and masculine musculature marked her as none other than Mikage
Sharaku, one of Izaya’s companions; she and Slon had interacted on multiple occasions
before.
She glanced at the unconscious body in his arms. “I don’t really understand what’s
going on here.”
“…”
“May I take this to mean an agent of the Awakusu-kai has finally showed his true colors?”
“Not quite. But the circumstances are not actually that far off,” Slon said. He
approached Mikage with Izaya in his arms, preparing to try the same trick as a few
minutes before. “I doubt you’re alone. Does your driver use a bike, too? I guess I’ll
finish off the both of you and wait for more orders from Matushka.”
“Orders from Matsu-what?” repeated Mikage, who didn’t know any Russian.
Slon ignored her and took another step closer. Then he hurled the unconscious Izaya
toward Mikage.
But she kicked Izaya’s body directly back at Slon, and while he was busy receiving the
impact, leaped to the side. She kept launching herself—off the car, off the wall of the
garage—gaining altitude until she could issue a vicious kick at Slon’s head. He only
barely avoided it in time.
“Very good, young lady.”
“Don’t dodge, you big lummox,” she snapped back, glaring at Slon from the roof of the
car. The man tossed Izaya onto the garage floor and took distance from Mikage.
Suddenly, pain shot through his lower back, like his internal organs had just exploded,
and Slon fell to the floor without even a scream.
“…It’s over,” said a man with a shaved head to Mikage, clicking off the baton-type stun
gun in his hand.
But she just surveyed the man with a grumpy look on her face and said, “Hey, I was
just getting to the good part. Why’d you have to interfere, Kine?”
“Because it’s my job,” said the man, who removed a pair of thumbcuffs from his pocket
and placed them on the hapless man now foaming at the mouth. A shot to the kidneys
was said to be the most painful place to receive a zap from a stun gun, and Slon had
taken one for several seconds. The only way you could tell he wasn’t dead was all the
twitching.
Mikage sensed that their conversation wasn’t going to end in any consensus, so she
gave up on complaining and hopped off the car. “You know, for being a master
mercenary from Russia, he didn’t put up much resistance to your sneak attack. So
should I be praising your skill instead?”
“Nah… He wasn’t using all his ability. Kinda felt like he was under something else’s
control, so that probably dulled his senses a bit.”
“…True, his eyes were bloodshot. Kinda like the folks that Haruna beat, now that I
think of it.”
Haruna Niekawa was originally a child of Saika, a victim of Sayaka Sonohara, but she
had conquered the curse and learned to wield its power for her own ends. Later, Anri
Sonohara cut her, too, placing another layer of the curse upon her—but she broke free
of that as well and was now lurking somewhere in Ikebukuro as a collaborator of
Izaya’s.
After a period of silence, Mikage suggested, “Do you think… she betrayed Izaya?”
“I dunno. But as far as I know, this house isn’t owned by the Awakusu-kai,” said Kine.
With Slon’s feet cuffed up, too, he turned his attention to the other man lying on the
floor. “Let’s hear what you think, Izaya Orihara.”
And then the man who was supposedly unconscious lifted his head and smiled at
them.
“Oh, goodness, when did you see through my pretend-sleeping, Mr. Kine?”
“When Miss Sharaku there kicked you, I saw how you gritted your teeth. So how long
have you been awake?”
“Since about when the car pulled into this garage. I figured it was better to stay down
for the time being,” Izaya offered. He gave Mikage an awkward grimace. “I didn’t expect
he was going to use my body as a physical diversion, and I definitely didn’t expect that
you would kick me back at him. Er, sorry, I lied there—actually, I had a feeling it would
happen, which is why I gritted my teeth in the moment.”
“Oh… should I have kicked you in a more painful way?”
“No, thank you. You might’ve cracked my ribs,” he said, laughing her suggestion off as
he looked down at Slon. Then he cleared up their suspicions, as though being an info
dealer meant he was obliged to explain: “Yes, Slon was under Saika’s control. But it
was neither Anri Sonohara nor Haruna Niekawa who was in control.”
“Ohh.”
“It was Kasane Kujiragi. She also possesses Saika.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mikage wondered.
Izaya chuckled. “We’ll have plenty of time later for me to explain it to you.” Then he
took a look around the garage and smiled. “This was quite a stroke of good fortune.
The moment I declared war on Jinnai Yodogiri… er, on Kasane Kujiragi, I find out the
location of one of her secret hideouts!”
“…I assume you’ll explain that part later, too.”
“But of course! One thing is certain: If we wait here, we should be able to meet Kujiragi
in person eventually. She’s just expecting that Slon will have me trussed up and on the
verge of death.”
“So with that out of the way… shall we set up a surprise party and hide?”
Kawagoe Highway—Shinra’s apartment
“Okay, so let’s put all this information together,” Celty typed, now that she had heard
everyone out at last. She shrugged her shoulders to mimic taking a deep breath. “First
of all, Yumasaki and the driver are searching for whoever hit Kadota. And because they
were attacked on the way, they needed somewhere to hide for a moment and chose this
place.”
Sweat drop running down his forehead, Togusa asked, “Um… do you not remember
my name or something…?”
“…I’m sorry.”
“You could at least come up with an excuse! It’s Togusa, okay! Written with ‘crossing’
and ‘grass,’ because if you cross Ruri around me, your ass is grass!” he wailed, even
getting a little bit teary-eyed. It seemed that receiving an honest apology was only
making him feel more miserable.
Once she had properly apologized to him again, Celty continued, “So Namie Yagiri was
attacked by her uncle named Seitarou and the secretary of someone named Yodogiri,
because they wanted my head. And according to Shingen, it’s the secretary, named
Kujiragi, who’s actually controlling this Yodogiri person.”
“Well, there was a real Jinnai Yodogiri who was the true mastermind, but he’s dead at
this point,” Shingen added.
“I see,” Celty typed. “And Seiji and Mika sensed they were in danger of being taken hostage,
so they came here.”
“That’s right. Mika warned me about this. And we thought that since Dr. Kishitani
works in the black market, he might know good places to hide.”
“Okay… I’ll be honest, that’s very perceptive of you, Mika.”
“Yes. I had Yagiri Pharmaceuticals bugged, and when I heard them talking about that
on the tape, I got so scared…”
“…Well, what you just said was scary in a different sense, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t
hear it,” Celty typed, sensing her very mind sweating. “At any rate, we’ve learned that
Izaya’s even scummier than I imagined. I need to track him down and squeeze the head
out of his grasp.”
“Celty!” shouted Shinra in consternation.
“Don’t worry, Shinra,” she typed. “I’ll get the head back without touching it directly and
have Shingen’s company hold on to it. I don’t mind a bit of research, but I’ll make sure
we have a deal so that they’re not mutilating it.”
Then she stopped to think for a bit and added, “If I do take the head back for myself, it’ll
be decades in the future. After I’ve already outlived you, Shinra.”
“Celty…!” he repeated, enraptured.
But the elder Kishitani tossed cold water onto the scene: “Now just a moment, Celty!
I’ve got two problems with your idea!”
“…What are they?” she typed, infusing her motions with disappointment to make up
for the lack of visual organs to side-eye him with.
Shingen puffed out his chest and boomed, “First! Are you confusing Nebula with some
kind of unconditional storage safe that is at your disposal whenever you want?!”
“I said you could study it, so if anything, I’d expect you to be grateful… but fine, point
taken. What’s the other thing?”
“You just called me Shingen! I seem to recall that I demanded you refer to me as
‘Father’ or ‘Papa’!”
“Shut up!”
Just then, Shingen’s new wife Emilia emerged from the other room, grinning, and
exhibited some of her unusual Japanese. “Yes, most understooded. I have no problem
of Nebula taking claiming of Celty’s head.”
“E-Emilia. You really shouldn’t—”
“It is fine. As long as enough coaxing is coaxed, all will be well.”
“Who’s going to do the coaxing? The company or me…?” Celty asked, then decided she
really didn’t want to know. She turned her attention to Namie to ask about the man
who had the head now. “What is Izaya actually plotting? Does he have collaborators
working with him?”
Namie looked away as she considered this, then glared back at Celty with unconcealed
disgust. “I’m under no obligation to answer that. I’m grateful to that freak dressed in
white for saving me, but don’t forget that I have nothing in my heart for you but
hatred.”
“Wait… what did I do to deserve that…? I know I helped Mikado and ruined your research
team, but that was just what you guys deserved…”
“That doesn’t matter! I hate you because of how your head has seduced my poor Seiji!”
“That one definitely isn’t my fault!” she typed as quickly as if she had screamed it.
But that didn’t do a thing to extinguish the fires of Namie’s misplaced hatred. “If you
demand that I produce the answers or leave, I will walk right out of that door without
a moment’s pause.”
Then she pointed at Shingen and, as if to change the subject, said, “Oh, right. One more
thing: That freak dressed in white was perfectly aware that Izaya had the head, too.
He’s known for a while.”
“Wha…?! This is the precise situation where you play it cool and keep things like that
to yourself, Namie!” Shingen protested. “I was successfully dodging around the topic
by acting like a perv, and now you’ve gone and ruined it!”
Celty turned slowly. “Shingen Kishitani… You again…”
Shingen briefly tried to avoid her attention, then gave up and sighed through his gas
mask.
“Well… I suppose there’s no use trying to hide it now. Yes, I knew where the head was,
but I admit that I let Orihara go, because I was curious about how he would use it and
what the results of his approach would be, coming from a different perspective than
Nebula’s. Perhaps he could have gotten ahead of us!”
“Huh?… Oh, that was a pun. It’s hard to understand what you’re going for when they’re
pronounced the same way, idiot!”
“I am not an idiot! I am your father-in-law, and you should address me as such!”
“Shut up, freak!”
Celty badly wanted to tie him up with her shadow, but it didn’t feel right to do it while
Emilia was watching, so she kept her fury confined to words for now. That was the end
of that topic, which left Celty uncertain of how she should bring up the topic of the
Dollars and the Yellow Scarves.
How should I do this? Will talking about me and Mikado just make things even more
confusing and chaotic here? After all, it involves Mr. Akabayashi and the Awakusu-kai,
too. Namie and Shingen are one thing, but the kids like Yumasaki and Mika don’t deserve
to be dragged into that.
When Shinra noticed that she wasn’t typing into her PDA anymore, he spoke up. “Well,
in any case, the question now is, ‘What do we do?’”
“Shinra?”
“Look, we’re all here now, right? It must mean something. Shall the whole group of us
gathered here collaborate on something? I know it’s a bit overblown, but we could be
a team or a gang.”
“Like the Dollars?” Togusa asked skeptically.
Shinra shook his head. “No, we’re not a color-based gang. We’re not here because we
wanted to be like the Dollars or Yellow Scarves, are we?”
“Yeah, if anything, it’s mostly coincidence that brings us together.”
“We’re here because we share certain interests. We ought to be able to provide helpful
information to one another. We’re like a fraternal society with the same goals… Like
a… ah yes, almost like a guild, you could say.”
“Sounds like you’ve been playing too many MMOs.” Togusa laughed, but Yumasaki’s
eyes blazed as he shot to his feet.
“Yes! Agreed! A guild! It’s perfect! It has just the right level of fantasy to it! A guild! The
guild of guilds! The rhythm just makes your heart sing!”
“Calm down, Yumasaki,” Togusa snapped, but his companion’s enthusiasm could not
be dashed.
“But we should at least give ourselves a name, like the Assassins Guild or the Thieves
Guild! Hey, we could take it from the name of the sorcerer’s guild from my online role-
playing chat room and call it Shadows of the Emperor! Or maybe Queens of
Nightmares! Or the Giantess Who Strides Across the Sky!”
Shinra laughed. “Well, we can figure that out later. But I think Celty should be our guild
leader. Since like us, she doesn’t have any real power but does have the ability to get
people to hear her out.”
“Huh?!” she typed, thrusting the message at Shinra while making a shocked gesture.
“Hang on! I don’t get where you’re going with this! Why me?!”
“Well, Celty, you’re involved in a bunch of different incidents already, so it just seems
like it’d be easier to have all the information gather around you.”
“B-but… I get the feeling that’s just going to bring down more and more trouble… ,” she
protested.
From his seated position on the wheelchair, Shinra bowed his head. “Please, Celty. I’ll
take responsibility for the outcome.”
“W-wow, well, if you’re asking that seriously… But what will the other people say?” she
asked, checking around the room. No one seemed to be protesting. Namie had no
interest in the fraternal society at all and was staring at her brother’s face.
“Look, if you don’t like it, you can just quit. It’s only a tentative plan. I’ll help as much
as I can. Please, Celty.”
“…All right. I guess I’m in, everybody.”
Yumasaki was the first to applaud, and after that, Shingen, Emilia, Mika, and Seiji
joined in.
“Geez, you’re making me self-conscious…”
Celty felt like she’d been nominated to be class representative, a very unfamiliar
feeling. On the inside, her body blushed.
It was the birth of a tiny organization that was not at all organized.
And a few days later, this organization would have an effect on the power balance
between the gangs of Ikebukuro—but no one here could have imagined it yet.
Even Shinra, the very person who had proposed the group, was in no way prepared
for the way it changed the situation.
Chat room
Mai: I don’t like being lonely.
Mai: Get fun.
Sharo: Heya.
Sharo: Dang, I showed up right after Kuru-Mai left.

Sharo: Well, that sucks.
Sharo has left the chat.
Kuru: Oh my, finally someone else shows up, and it is in the little while we were gone.
Kuru: Why must Sharo be so impatient, one wonders? Ladies do not like an impatient
gentleman.
Mai: Good evening.
Mai: It’s too bad.
100% Pure Water: Good evening.
Kuru: Oh my, welcome. We were just so terribly lonely that the pangs of body and
heart were reaching a peak.
Kuru: It would not have been long before Mai and I were left with no option but to
caress each other’s mental scars. Thankfully, you have saved us from that.
100% Pure Water: Eww, geez, Kuru!
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Hey, Kururi and Mairu.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Do you mind?
<Private Mode> Kuru: Oh my, is this something that cannot be discussed in public?
<Private Mode> Mai: You’re fine with this?
<Private Mode> Mai: What is it?
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Actually, it’s not that important, really.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: But maybe it’s better if you don’t wander around
Ikebukuro for a while.
<Private Mode> Kuru: Well, we can’t simply take a warning like that at face value, I’m
afraid.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Oh, you’re right. Fine, I’ll be frank.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Lots of things are kind of messy right now.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: And your brother might be involved in all of it.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: It’s possible that, because of that connection,
some people might try to mess with you.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: And since I’m involved, too, I’d hate for that to
happen.
<Private Mode> Kuru: So you’re saying that you are in on this villainy.
<Private Mode> Mai: I’m scared~
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Um, yeah, I’m in on it. I’m in on multiple different
levels.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: I won’t deny it.
<Private Mode> Kuru: I feel certain that you truly hated our foolish brother…
<Private Mode> Kuru: Wouldn’t the easiest plan be for you to take us hostage?
<Private Mode> Mai: Whatcha gonna do?
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: No, I think of you as my friends.

<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Er, sorry, that’s not accurate.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: I guess, to me, you’re more like
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: The kind of friends I don’t want to see hurt by
this.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Having said that, now you’re going to launch
yourselves in, aren’t you?
<Private Mode> Kuru: But of course. If anything, your warning has piqued our
interest.
<Private Mode> Kuru: In fact, you’ve backfired so spectacularly that I wonder… did
you say that on purpose?
<Private Mode> Mai: It sounds fun.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Good question.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: I’m still uncertain.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Should I drag you into this dangerous game or
not?
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: To be totally honest, I like you.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: I want to keep you safe, if possible.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: But there’s a part of me that wants to get you
involved because I like you.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: If I’m going to flame out, I want to take you down
with me.
<Private Mode> Kuru: Why, it sounds like you’re trying to drag us into a group
suicide.
<Private Mode> Mai: It’s scary.

<Private Mode> Kuru: You seem very similar to our dear brother, but where you
differ, the difference is vast.
<Private Mode> Kuru: Our brother would not bother to come and report these things
to us.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Is that so? Well, for one thing, I hate being
associated with him at all.
<Private Mode> Kuru: Pardon me.
<Private Mode> Kuru: But I’ll admit, I have felt something was strange the last few
days…
<Private Mode> Kuru: You were the one behind it?
<Private Mode> Kuru: Are you the one who ran over Mr. Kadota of the Dollars…?
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know who
did that?
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: I’m on the dangerous side so deep that it’s
almost meaningless to deny it.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: So my point is, I don’t know if I’ll see you after
summer vacation.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Since this is a good opportunity, I wanted to tell
you.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: I had a lot of fun getting to meet you, Kururi and
Mairu.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: But the fun I’m really looking for is somewhere
else.
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: Once I’ve gotten everything I can out of that, if
you’ll still be my friend…
<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water:… Well… I’d like that.

<Private Mode> 100% Pure Water: So long.
100% Pure Water: Whoops, I just remembered something I need to do.
100% Pure Water: Gotta go!
<Private Mode> Kuru: Good grief. Is he naive and innocent or irrevocably deviant?
How can one tell?
<Private Mode> Mai: Dunno.
Kuru: Let us meet again, whether in real life or on this side.
Mai: Seeya.
100% Pure Water has left the chat.
.
The next morning—Raira General Hospital, Ikebukuro
When the sun rose again after a day of many events, there was one difference in
Ikebukuro.
As Anri reached the hospital where Kadota might be waking up soon, she ran across a
young man who had come to pay a visit, all the way from Saitama.
“So do you know where Kadota’s hospital room is?”
It was a man named Chikage Rokujou, speaking just outside the door to the surgical
ward. Both his tone of voice and his general appearance suggested “light and breezy,”
but in fact, he was the commander of a large motorcycle gang in Saitama named
Toramaru.
In a similarly breezy tone, Erika Karisawa replied, “Sorry, Rocchi. They’re only letting
family see him at the moment. One of those ‘no visitors’ things, I guess. Anyway, it
doesn’t sound like his life is in any danger, but he’s not waking up yet.”
“Oh, gotcha. Well, dang, this backfired. If he was awake, I figured I’d get him all pumped
up by showing off how hot my girlfriend is,” he said, shaking his head sadly. Behind
him, a number of young women reacted in a variety of ways. He was practically a
walking harem, and he spoke to anyone on first meeting as though they were already
on comfortable terms.
“Hey, y’know, it’s pretty friendly of you to call me Rocchi at our first meeting. Wanna
exchange numbers so we can text?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
None of the gaggle of women raised any complaint about Chikage hitting on this
unfamiliar woman; they seemed to be used to it. But their eyes were full of the intent
to gang up on him as soon as they left this place, since they didn’t want to raise a fuss
in a hospital.
Standing behind Karisawa, Anri Sonohara wasn’t sure if she should join the
conversation or not. She didn’t know this man very well, but she understood that he’d
seen her swinging Saika. On the other hand, all she knew about Chikage was that he
was the person who stopped her sword fight with that mysterious woman, and if he
was a friend of Kadota’s, then he probably couldn’t be a bad person.
“Erika Karisawa, huh? That’s a cool, cute name,” Chikage said. Then he favored Anri
with a nice smile; he clearly recognized her. “And, uh, may I ask your name, too?”
“Huh?! Umm, it’s… Anri Sonohara…”
“Anri Sonohara! Nice! That sounds like a celebrity’s name.”
“Huh? Umm…”
She wasn’t entirely certain how she should act around this young man, who was just
so casual about everything. Fortunately, Karisawa stepped in to help her out.
“No, no, you can’t go after her. She’s in the midst of a competition from her very close
and precious suitors already.”
“Oh, really? And I’m not allowed to throw my hat into the ring?” Chikage mourned. The
girls behind him laughed, but their eyes went even colder. Anri could only imagine the
fate that awaited him as soon as they left the hospital grounds—but if he acted like
this all the time and they still hung around, it had to be a sign that they had a special
bond of trust with Chikage Rokujou.
A part of Anri almost felt jealous of that relationship—but that was the kind of
weakness that Saika could exploit.
And in fact, right after seeing Chikage and the girls with him, new words began
sneaking through Saika’s endless internal “words of love,” directly to Anri:
—You’re jealous, aren’t you?

—Which do you want to be, Anri?
—Do you want to be the boy?
—Or one of those girls?
—Do you want Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida to wait upon you?
—Or do you prefer to serve one of them?
—Do you want to be dependent?
—Or depended upon?
—Do you want to bind someone to you?
—Or be bound yourself?
Saika’s toying, manipulative messages punctured the usual wave of praises for
humanity. Anri tried to push that voice into the picture frame within her mind, but it
wasn’t quite working. And she had a feeling she knew why.
Saika was already in the process of being on this side of the frame. It all started after
the incident involving Shizuo Heiwajima and Haruna Niekawa resolved, and one
particular sentence had struck a chord within her.
I cannot love you, but I do not hate you.
Maybe it was just my imagination, she had thought.
But at this point, it was less that she hoped it was her imagination and more that she
was fine with it as long as it wasn’t her imagination.
Since then, there were times that Anri felt like Saika was speaking to her directly.
Saika’s parasitic presence filled her mind with words of love for all other people. But
Anri never found that to be all that troubling or agonizing. In a sense, Anri even felt a
kind of respect for Saika, who was at least capable of strongly loving someone else.
But now that relationship was evolving.
She knew the reason why. It wasn’t something she wanted to face, but she was certain
she knew.
Saika hadn’t changed. It was her.
Up to that point, she’d been unable to feel love and stayed hidden inside her own
shell—until she began to accept other people into her side of the picture frame.
It was a major change.
Mika Harima was a good friend, but to Anri, she was a symbol of longing and
aspiration, so rather than being a person on this side of the frame, she was more like
the central figure of the painting itself. Occasionally, she did come back through that
frame, but Mikado and Masaomi had been on this side almost since the very start.
Perhaps another big event was seeing how Celty—a dullahan, not a human being—
had found such a strong partnership with the human Shinra Kishitani. She didn’t think
much of it at the time, but the steady accumulation of so much normalcy had slowly
but surely brought about change in her as a person.
Now Saika was neither some foreign object, nor a host that she was reliant upon, but
something she could commune with, something like a companion—whether anything
you could call “love” existed there or not.
—Go on. Use me.
—Swing me.
—I will love anyone and everyone!
—I will love! In your stead!
—All you need to do is hold me!
—Which of them do you really love?

—Is it Mikado, the calm and gentle boy who will tend to your wounds?
—Or will you boldly attempt the adulterous Masaomi and go down in flames?
—If you let me love him, Masaomi’s body will be forever yours, even if he is promised to
another.
Anri considered these booming, echoing sentiments from Saika to be no one’s

business but her own. She would not let the blade harm Mikado Ryuugamine or
Masaomi Kida.
But Saika reacted to that thought:
—Well, well… You’re stronger now, aren’t you?
—Now you’re actually answering my voice. It has been so very long.
“…!” Anri tensed up.
—Don’t get so defensive. Why don’t we talk for a bit?
—Remember what I said? I cannot love you, but I do not hate you.
All the while, the words of love echoed in the background like musical accompaniment.
But the voice Anri was hearing was crystal clear, and it functioned just like any
conversation.
—In the past, I once told you…
—That as long as you hold me, I can only ever love those you want to cut.
—So why do you think that I was able to love the man named Egor?
Because…
—It’s not because you fell in love with him at first sight.
—I fell in love with his strength at first sight. Not as badly as Shizuo Heiwajima, though.
—You understand, don’t you? At the start, we each rejected the other…
—But now we are growing slowly closer, aren’t we?
That… might be true, but…
—I’ve become just a little bit you, and you’re just a little bit me.
No.
—That’s all this is.
No. I am… me.
—You don’t have to reject it. I’m not trying to take you over.
—I’m just suggesting that we understood each other.
—I think your mother and I reached quite a good understanding, if not a mutual love.
Please… stop.
—It’s how your mother was able to use me better.
—She could do a number of things that you cannot.
—Want me to tell you? Do you want to know how she felt when she…
Stop!
“What’s up? You look bad. Oh, sorry, did I frighten you?”
The sound of Chikage’s voice brought Anri back to her senses with a start. The words
of love continued to echo as they always did, but she couldn’t hear the words directed
toward her anymore.
Anri looked around in a daze for a few seconds, then bowed to Chikage. “I’m… sorry. I
just feel a little bit dizzy…”
“Hey, you okay? Good thing this is a hospital—maybe you should ask for a checkup?
Dizziness doesn’t seem like much, but it can often be a sign of more serious illness.
Forget about me; cute girls like you need to live nice, long lives, until you’re adorable
old grandmas.”
Something in Chikage’s lackadaisical tone struck a chord in Anri.
Oh. He’s just like Kida.
Masaomi’s face flitted through her head, followed by memories of when the three of
them had been together with Mikado.
They were fun times. Not dreams, not fantasies, but times that Anri had truly held
within her grasp. Irreplaceable times that accepted who she was.
A part of her was gripped with a vague fear that they might never return.
But Anri did not sit back and cower beneath that fear. She had come here to meet
Karisawa for the purpose of erasing this worry. And then she met this strange man…
He knows that I have a katana… so why is he treating me so normally?
His entrance had caused her to delay her original purpose for coming. If he knew
Kadota, then perhaps he might know what was happening around the city.
But her hopes were dashed right away.
“So anyway, I got no idea what’s happening with this one,” Chikage said to Karisawa,
his voice gentle and soothing. “They caught the guy who ran over Kadota, right?”
For a moment, Karisawa’s smile wilted but only enough to make it a bit sadder, not to
eliminate it entirely. “Nope. I assume the cops are working on it, though,” she admitted.
“Huh…? So it was a hit-and-run?”
“Oh, you didn’t know that already. Yeah, a hit-and-run. No idea who did it, though.”
Rokujou fell silent for a while.
“Got it,” he said. “Then I’ll leave for today. I’d appreciate a message once he wakes up,
though.”
“You’re going back to Saitama?”
“Nah, me and the honeys are going to Namco Namja Town today. And once I’ve seen
them off back home, I plan to wander the night streets…”
The girls behind him started beating on him, and Chikage practically ran out of the
scene. With a brief good-bye, he left the hospital grounds. Anri felt a strange disquiet
as she watched him go.
I could have sworn…
That in the moment when Chikage Rokujou learned from Karisawa that it was a hit-
and-run—she felt the briefest bit of a dark emotion exposed in his psyche.
Outside the hospital
“You looked a little scary back there for just a moment, Rocchi,” said one of Rokujou’s
entourage, Non, after they left the hospital.
“Hmm? Oh, sorry about that. Did I frighten you?”
“I wouldn’t be here now if you scared me, Rocchi.”
“Oh… oh, right. Thanks.”
Something about Chikage’s manner suggested that his mind wasn’t entirely present.
The girls glanced at one another and exhaled through wry smiles.
“You’re thinking of something violent, aren’t you?”
“What’s up, Rocchi? You gonna get revenge for your friend?”
“Of course, he’s gonna stick his head in there. God, that purehearted side of him is so
embarrassing, isn’t it? Not that I mind.”
The girls didn’t bother to hold back in their assessments. Chikage readjusted his hat
to hide his embarrassment and said, “Look, I won’t deny it. I owe that guy a lot, and I
haven’t paid up yet. But don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure none of it comes back on
you girls.”
“We’re going to worry unless we know you’re safe, Rocchi. What if you get hurt really
bad, like recently?”
“If I do, will you peel my apples and feed them to me again?” he asked blithely. Then
he went silent and mentally continued his earlier thought.
If I’m gonna get our revenge on Ikebukuro while I’m still leader… I at least gotta pay
back my debt to Kadota first. It’s just the right thing to do.
He was so absorbed in this thought as he walked that it took him a little while to realize
there was a strange man approaching them.
The man glanced at Chikage and his entourage for a split second, then passed by them
with a thin-lipped smile—and disappeared into the hospital grounds.
The man gave off an unsettling aura, but that was the extent of Chikage’s reaction as
he continued on his way.
Who was that guy? Isn’t he hot, wearing all black in the summer?
Within the hospital
For a while after that, Anri and Karisawa kept talking about Chikage Rokujou, until
Karisawa remembered something in a flash.
“Oh, what did you want to talk to me about? What did you mean, you want me to know
everything about you?”
Anri looked away awkwardly. “Oh… right. Um, I’m not sure how to explain this…”
“Look, I have a general idea. It’s about that katana, right?” Karisawa said, getting right
to the point.
“Um… y-yes! That’s right…”
“Is that something you can talk about here?”
Anri glanced around her. Everyone in the vicinity was a visitor for one hospital patient
or another. It wasn’t crowded, but it was far from empty, too.
She gave it a little bit of thought, then decided, I can’t drag her away from this place.
Karisawa had a very specific reason for being here: to let Yumasaki and her other
friends know the moment that Kadota awoke at last.
“…Yes, we can talk about it here. And if anyone accidentally overhears us… well, I don’t
think they would believe it anyway,” Anri said with a self-deprecating smile.
She sucked in a breath, willing herself the strength to push forward—
“Ooh, do you mind if I listen in, too?”
—when a very lackadaisical voice appeared from beside where they stood.
“?!”
Anri spun toward the voice—and felt a tremor run through her entire body.
This was not the spasm of delight from Saika that she felt when Shizuo Heiwajima was
present. It was a shiver of fear from Anri herself.
“Whoa, it’s been forever. What’s up? You here to visit Dotachin in the hospi— Hmm,
yeah, I guess not, huh?” quipped Karisawa, whose reaction was casual and friendly,
not at all like Anri’s stunned disbelief.
“By the way, are you familiar with Anri already, Iza-Iza?”
Thirty minutes earlier
“Ms. Kujiragi never did show up last night.” Izaya Orihara chuckled as he lounged on
the house’s sofa.
He must’ve been bruised all over his body, but nothing in his demeanor suggested any
pain whatsoever. He continued monologuing to himself for the benefit of all present.
“Either she’s more cautious than I thought, or something tipped her off to impending
danger. Maybe she was supposed to get periodic messages from Slon. Or maybe all the
houses on this street are under her Saika’s control, and she’s had tabs on us the entire
time.”
“Wouldn’t it be dangerous to stay here, then?” Mikage asked.
Izaya never let the smile leave his face. “Considering Saika’s power, you’re in danger
no matter where you are. I will say that when one of the Yodogiris stabbed me while I
was on vacation up north in Tohoku, that took me by surprise.”
“When I saw it on the news, I wasn’t sure how to react.”
“I was curious what you’d all think, too. I wish I could’ve had a good long chance to
observe it. When I called who I thought was my closest friend to break the news, he
said, ‘Oh,’ and hung up on me.”
“Can you… even call that a friend…?” wondered Mikage. It occurred to Izaya that she
was still very much ordinary and in possession of a commonsense outlook on life.
“Well, in a way, I consider myself lucky to have been stabbed. It brought me back to my
roots in many aspects, and I did get to meet Mamiya again.”
“Who’s Mamiya?”
From the corner of the room, Kine answered, “That young lady with the rather gloomy
demeanor.”
“Yes! Well done, Mr. Kine! You remembered. She’s Manami Mamiya.”
“Oh, right, that girl who was staring daggers at you. What did you do to her?” asked
Mikage suspiciously, but Izaya shrugged the question off.
“I didn’t do anything. I just lied and asked if she wanted to commit suicide together,
then slipped her a drink with sleeping pills to knock her out.”
“…”
Her stare grew colder and colder, to which Izaya just laughed and waved his hand.
“Oh, come on, Mikage. I didn’t do the kind of things you’re thinking of. But as the girls
were falling asleep, they did claim they’d kill me. One of the two of them saw my name
on the news and visited my hospital within the span of a single day to come kill me…
Don’t you think that’s lovely?”
“I wish she’d seen it through.”
“How cruel.”
“Don’t worry, I’d avenge you,” said Mikage, two clauses that were at odds with each
other.
Izaya was going to tease her more, but Kine, who was looking at his watch, said, “Nine
o’clock.”
“Oh? So it is. What is that supposed to mean?”

“The time the hospital opens. Go and take a visit,” he ordered.
“…Wait, are you talking to me?” Izaya asked. “Goodness, I know I got a little bruised,
but the hospital would be a dramatic choice of action.”
“You hit the back of your head. That kind of damage shows up later. Go and get checked
out,” said Kine, as he stared at nothing.
Izaya sighed and answered, “I told you, I’m fine. You’re such a worrywart, Mr. Kine…”
“Go and get checked.”
“I told you, I’m fine. I don’t even feel nauseous.”
Kine lifted his cold eyes up to fix on Izaya. He repeated himself.
“Get checked by a doctor.”
“…All right, I’ll do it. I feel like you’re going to kill me if I keep refusing,” Izaya said with
a smirk, standing up to face the outside. “I suppose I could pay a visit to Dotachin while
I’m there.”
Mikage parted the blinds with her fingers and watched Izaya as he left the house.
Someone from Dragon Zombie was going to drive him close to the hospital, but any
more protection than that was going to cause unwanted attention.
She sighed, removed her fingers, and asked the other man, “Kine, right? I dunno much
about you. How’d you end up working with Izaya, huh?”
“Etiquette.”
“Huh?”
“When interacting with your elders who are still unfamiliar to you, utilize polite
etiquette. Once you’re closer, then you can find out if it’s okay for you to speak to them
as an equal,” Kine instructed.
Mikage looked away and scratched her ear guiltily. “Wow, you talk like my old man…
uh, sir.”
“President Sharaku is strict on such things, isn’t he?”
“…You know about my old man?”
“My old partner learned something about fighting with a quarterstaff at your family’s
gym.”
Something about that particular keyword gave Mikage pause, and a moment later, she
asked, “Are you talking about… Mr. Akabayashi?”
“Yeah. Haven’t seen him in a while, though.”
“So… are you saying you came from that line of work…?”
“I got outta the business a while back. Now I’m a private eye. But it’s really more of an
odd-jobs business most of the time,” Kine said, only relaying the minimum of
necessary information. But after another pause, he did say, “I keep my work pretty cut-
and-dried, but I will say this. A young lady like you with a future ahead of you would
do best not getting involved with kids like Izaya.”
“Oh, I know. Believe me, I do,” Mikage said, cracking her neck and reflecting on the
past. “I ended up quitting school because of him. Not that I regret it.”
“Actually, I heard about that one from Akabayashi.”
“…”
“You ought to be careful. The Awakusu-kai have their eye on him. That’s fine—the
problem is when they decide to reach out. Akabayashi probably wouldn’t bother with
you. He’d focus on Izaya,” Kine said, totally still, doling out basic truths like a stereo
speaker. “But Aozaki would come for the throat of anyone, women and children
included. Even an old associate like me. And Shiki and Kazamoto are probably
somewhere in between.”
He paused for breath. “My point is, when the Awakusu-kai decides it’s time to act, Izaya
is done for, no matter how he struggles. So my advice is just don’t leave your tail
exposed in a way that makes them want to grab it.”
Then he looked right at Mikage and said flatly, “Are you going to stick with him
anyway?”
She briefly considered that he might actually be concerned for her sake and produced
an expression of considerable conflict.
“Look, I know he’s not up to any good,” she said with the faintest smirk, plopping into
a nearby chair, “but the thing about Izaya is, he’s fair to everyone. He’ll march right
into your business and toss around good things and bad things in equal measure. He
doesn’t care if you like him or hate him. In that sense, I think that makes him more
likable than the folks who are only obsessed with keeping up appearances.”
“…I see,” was all Kine said. He didn’t ask anything else.
But Mikage thought back on the past, her face a mask, and muttered, “I agree it’s better
not to get involved with him, though. Like in my case, Izaya’s a kind of poison. Once
you’ve got him in your veins, you just go kind of crazy… In my case, that poison saved
me. But plenty of folks fall into ruin. I think of him as an extreme form of medicine.”
“Because such things, depending on how you use them, can save you or kill you,” Kine
agreed. But he chose not to inquire further about her past. “Just keep in mind, he ain’t
some bottle of pills without a mind of its own.”
“The problem is, at the end of the day, he’s as damn human a person as you’ll ever
find.”
Raira General Hospital
“What’s the matter, Anri? You’re looking rather frightening.”
“Why… what are you doing here…?” Anri asked, her breathing heavy. Izaya Orihara
shrugged.
“Is it that surprising to you that I would pay a hospital visit to Dotachin?”
Karisawa answered in Anri’s stead. “Surprising isn’t the word I’d use for it, Iza-Iza.”
She had noticed the change in Anri’s demeanor after Izaya showed up and pushed
herself into the space between them. “It’d make much more sense if you came here to
tell Dotachin a bunch of nonsense to get him worked up, or if you were involved in the
hit-and-run and you were just coming to monitor how it was turning out,” she said.
Although she was smiling, her eyes were slightly narrower than usual, as if she indeed
believed those possibilities were valid.
“Oh, please. I don’t have a car, and I have no reason to hit Dotachin. But I do sell
information, as it happens. I’ll contact you if I find out anything about who did it.
Normally, I’d charge fifty thousand yen, but I can give you the acquaintance discount.
Only forty.”
“You’ll take that forty thousand and donate it all to Dotachin’s hospital bill, I presume?”
“Oh, please. Don’t you know that the number four means ‘death’? Not an auspicious
number to spend on a hospital patient, is it?”
As they jousted, not at all clear how much was a joke and how much was serious, Anri
went through a furious routine of self-questioning.
Izaya Orihara.
Why is he here?
Did he come for me?
To visit Kadota? No, he wouldn’t.
He’s not that kind of person.
Is he involved? With what? How much?
Instantaneous questions floated into her head, and they all coalesced into one idea.
Mikado Ryuugamine.
Masaomi Kida.
Or put another way, the Dollars and the Yellow Scarves.

Two groups acting in inexplicable ways, and the two boys who seemed involved with
them.
“Did you… do something?”
“Hmm? What do you mean by ‘something’?”
“Did you do something… to Ryuugamine and Kida…?”
A rare note of genuine anger in her voice caused Karisawa to turn toward her. “Anri?”
There was just a bit of surprise in her expression.
Anri Sonohara was glaring at Izaya Orihara, her eyes wide with open menace—and
tinted with a faint reddish light.
The light was faint enough that even a fluorescent would drown it out easily, but for
that one moment, Anri’s eyes were most certainly glowing red.
But even then, this phenomenon only registered with Karisawa as a “bit of surprise.”
For his part, Izaya wasn’t startled in the least. He chuckled and answered, “Your
suspicions are correct. They’re not misplaced. If I were in your position, I would be
skeptical of Izaya Orihara, too. Although I wouldn’t be shining those inhuman eyes at
people that way.”
“A-answer my question please!”
Was the cold sweat that ran down her cheek out of fear of Izaya or panic at the idea
that she might not be able to control her own power?
Even she was shocked. Anri never considered that meeting Izaya again might bring
such a churn of fierce emotion to her breast.
The moment that she had first met Izaya was also the time she had first met Mikado.
It was the day she was saved when ganged up on by a trio of girls. (Technically, she
had seen Mikado at the entrance test for the school, but that particular day was the
first time they had actually talked.)
She’d felt something strange about Izaya since then. Even in that first meeting, she
could tell that he was not like ordinary people. Then again, after the impact of Shizuo
Heiwajima’s entrance, that initial impression had been all but forgotten.
Once after that, Anri had met Izaya in Shinjuku at night with the intent to slash him.
But she did not succeed. In fact, he actually declared war on her that night.
“People belong to me. I won’t let a stupid sword take them away.”
And after that missive, he had left her behind and vanished into the night.
She did not think that their next meeting after that one would come in this fashion. If
anything, she had hoped never to see him again.
But Anri was not so foolish or naive as to think that his appearance here was a simple
coincidence.
Although, in the sense that he had come to a hospital at all, it really was a coincidence.
But Izaya could turn a coincidence into a matter of fate.
“Very well. I will answer your question. Yes, you’re right to be skeptical of me, but your
timing is poor. I haven’t been directly messing with Ryuugamine or Kida lately.”
“…I can’t simply take your word for that.”
“It’s true. And I can tell you why.”
Without realizing it, Anri’s brows knitted.
She was ten feet from Izaya.
If she produced her katana from within, she could reach him in a single leap.
But she wasn’t interested in cutting Izaya and taking him over right now. Too much
time had passed since that night in Shinjuku.
It was only half a year, but to a girl at a turbulent period in her life, it was plenty enough
time for her emotions to settle.
She hadn’t forgiven him, and she wasn’t letting down her guard. But in order to cut
him, she’d need another push, another reason driving her to do it.
If only she had the power to see through lies, she wished. But Anri could not read the
minds of others. The only means she had was to control them with Saika and force
them to speak their thoughts aloud.
And Saika was quiet now. Either she was figuring out how to treat Izaya Orihara, the
man who challenged her to a war, or she was still full of hatred and disgust at him.
“Please explain why,” Anri said, quietly controlling her breathing.
Izaya shrugged again but grinned like a little boy. “Because that part’s supposed to
come after this.”
“…Huh?” she said, blinking. In the moment, she didn’t understand what he meant by
that. The words made sense, but what reason would he have to tell a joke about that
in this situation?
Karisawa, however, had known Izaya a little bit longer than her. “Ugh,” she groaned.
“What a bastard.”
The man dressed all in black cackled at the different reactions. “Oh yes, it’s true. Your
suspicions are correct. Interesting things are happening with both Mikado
Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida at the moment. If I had to use an analogy… it’s like
they’re crossing a tightrope between two cliffs. Can you imagine that? Two friends,
crossing on a rope, between two cliffs.”
Anri lost her focus in organizing how she should be feeling about this and allowed
herself to be distractedly swept along by Izaya’s strange analogy.
“Do you have the image in your head? Here’s the next step. There’s another rope
connecting each of their necks. If one of them slips, he pulls the other down with him.
If the other one manages to cling to the rope, it just means all the weight is hanging
from his neck. Rather hair-raising, don’t you think?”
“…”
Anri couldn’t say a thing. She imagined the vision that Izaya was painting, and the
symbolism of it matched up perfectly with the anxiety she’d felt about Mikado for the
past few months.
“Let’s continue this exercise. The people around them are reacting in myriad ways.
There’s a guy trying to charge money to watch, some kids who are jumping around on
the rope too for fun, some Goody Two-shoes dragging rescue mats around at the
bottom of the cliff, even some folks just having a nice fistfight independent of the
tightrope altogether.”
Izaya leaned against the wall of the hospital corridor, speaking just quietly enough to
avoid the attention of the hospital employees. “And I’m watching this unfold and
thinking to myself.”
After that whole descriptive detour, he finally brought Anri to the answer. “Mikado
Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida are engaging in this meaningless rope crossing. So I
wonder, How will they react if I light both ends of the rope on fire?”
“…?!”
Instantly, Anri felt as though something were clutching her heart. Her chest squeezed
hard, like it was trying to force as much blood as possible to her brain.
Despite not moving an inch, her breath was racing as she asked, voice trembling,
“Why… why would you do such a thing?”
His answer was very simple and the sort of thing that anyone who knew Izaya Orihara
would consider to be totally true to his character: “I just want to see it. I want to know
what they’ll do in that situation.”
This time, she really did tense up. The same chill she’d felt on that night in Shinjuku
raced up her spine.
“If they safely get off that rope, it just means the same old situation will continue. Yes,
everything will wrap up nice and neat, but to me, that means we’re losing sight of their
true human nature. I do love boys and girls living peaceful, safe lives, of course… but I
want to see what might happen with Ryuugamine and Kida because of who they are.”
“I don’t understand. What… what meaning could there be…? What purpose are you
fulfilling by…?”
Anri’s mind was full not of anger or despair but of pure confusion. She couldn’t
understand Izaya. She was simply unable to fathom his logic of doing something
because he “wanted to see it happen.”
It was like a serial killer saying, “I killed because the sky is blue.” Anri Sonohara could
not adjust the signal of her logical antenna to pick up the channel that Izaya operated
on. Perhaps their wavelengths were farther apart than different channels. Maybe they
were more like analog signal versus digital or even television and radio.
“What meaning? Well, let’s see: curiosity, inquisitiveness, pleasure. You can call me
whatever you want, but whenever I’m asked that question, I always say these things.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I said this before.”
Then, with an invincible smile, Izaya revealed the pure, honest truth of his heart.
“It’s because I love people.”
“…”
In the absence of any response from Anri, he continued, proud and clear.
“I love people. I’m in love with humanity.”
With a smile of all-encompassing benevolence directed to empty space, he murmured,

“When people all over the world do things, no matter how foolish those around them
believe them to be, no matter how hideous and detestable, I will accept and cherish
them all. With one specific exception.”
It was a monologue for the benefit of the world at large.
“So why wouldn’t I believe it’s okay to do anything to the people of the world?”
“The result is that I can love everyone equally—even the girl who so hated me that she
sought me out to kill me in revenge.”
At that moment—Tokyo
At first glance, she was like any other girl you’d see walking around the shopping
district. But the dark shadows lurking in her eyes created tension in the air around
her and sent signals to keep your distance.
Her name was Manami Mamiya.
While her given name meant “sea of love,” the only thing that filled the seas within her
mind was hatred—for Izaya Orihara.
The man who had lied to her and completely dismissed everything she was.
It had the effect of preventing her suicide, so she could’ve chosen to be grateful to
him—but nothing in her mind had moved forward an inch from the moment that she
made the decision to kill herself.
Instead of moving forward, her life had taken a sideways turn down a detour of hatred
for Izaya Orihara. She didn’t even remember why she wanted to die in the first place.
Whatever that reason was, it didn’t matter to her anymore.
Not only did he trick her, he also mocked her for choosing the route of death. He tore
apart her everything.
Until that moment, her hatred had not been pointed at any target. She didn’t even care
enough to hate herself or hate the world.
But in the karaoke room that day, the moment she had heard what the man who had
given her the sleeping pills said, a surge of hatred burst forth that had never existed
in her before.
“It’s love. I don’t feel any love in your deaths. And that’s wrong. You must love death. You
don’t have enough respect for nothingness. And I’m not going to die with you after a
sorry answer like that.”
Those words, the last thing she’d heard before she blacked out, had been etched deep
into Manami’s soul. She remembered staring back at him and swearing that she would
kill him.
His words and hers repeated themselves in her mind, over and over, until the hatred
she felt came to define her very reason for living.
Perhaps this was how, when she saw the news on TV that Izaya Orihara had been
stabbed, she’d been able to exhibit such an unbelievable proactivity. In a single day,
she had identified the hospital where he had been staying, bought a knife at a home
goods center and hid it in her bag, then took a ride on the Shinkansen train.
But her blade did not succeed at tearing into Izaya’s heart. Instead, Manami found
herself pinned down—not that it did anything to dull her furious, endless hatred of
the man she meant to kill.
And there, he suggested to her:
“Do you have a job right now? Do you feel like maybe helping out with my work? It’s
getting harder to keep on top of all the little details with just Namie. And I’d imagine it’ll
give you many more opportunities to kill me, don’t you think?”
Manami recalled his words and the smug smile he wore and clenched her jaw.
What had he been hoping she would do? Nod and say yes? Scream at him and struggle,
trying to stab him with her knife? Or would he have been satisfied at last if she’d
laughed and slit her own throat to finally commit suicide?
Manami silently agreed with all those choices and repudiated Izaya.
Izaya Orihara would have been equally happy with any of those actions or anything
else.
He loved humanity.
He loved the action and thought humanity brought together, regardless of the end
result.
Malice and benevolence, stupidity and sagacity, all in equal measures.

It took just a few days for Manami to understand this. It made her nauseous.
Loving everything equally is no different from loving nothing at all. Love is a selfish thing.
It is merely a tool that widens the divide between one and all the rest.
That was an extreme opinion in its own right, but it was how she felt.
As far as reasons for killing another person went, having one’s opinions negated was
a very rash and shallow one. But for a woman who gave up on her life for reasons she
didn’t even remember, this was perhaps just a natural way of seeing things.
She worked as Izaya Orihara’s pawn, her contempt made clear at every turn. The
whole time, her every thought was on how to inflict the most pain on him.
That was what brought her to this place, at this moment. To a cheaply built apartment
fairly close to Ikebukuro. The door opened, revealing a girl.
“Oh. Manami, right? What brings you here?”
It was a young woman with long, flowing black hair—Haruna Niekawa. She was
smiling, albeit with a note of discord.
“To play a prank on Izaya,” Manami stated flatly.
She already knew about Saika. As a matter of fact, she’d seen the people Haruna had
sliced and now controlled. But there wasn’t a sliver of fear in Manami’s eyes as she
looked at the woman capable of such things. It was rare that she felt anything anymore,
aside from malicious hatred toward Izaya Orihara.
“Sounds like you’ve got it tough. What exactly were you thinking of?” Haruna asked,
chuckling.
“I came here to steal something very precious to Izaya. That’s all,” the other girl offered.
Haruna’s eyes narrowed just a bit. “And… how serious are you about this? Because
today is my turn to guard the luggage.”
“It’s easy. Just say that I tricked you and said that Izaya told me to come and get it.
That’s all,” Manami said.
Haruna’s mouth hung open for a moment, then twisted. “Ha-ha… And what am I
supposed to get out of doing that?”
It was a very reasonable question, and again Manami showed no hesitation in

answering, “If you don’t have to guard it, that just gives you that much more time,
doesn’t it?”
“…”
“Time you might spend searching for someone, perhaps?”
In fact, it was an ideal transaction for Haruna. Aside from when she used Saika for
Izaya’s sake, nearly all of Haruna’s time was spent guarding the “luggage.”
Almost as though it would be a bad thing if she had free rein.
“Fine. I’ll let you fool me.”
“Good… Thank you, Haruna,” replied Manami, flat faced. Haruna said no more and
leaned against the side wall of the hallway.
Naturally, such an excuse would hold no water at all in a normal social structure. She’d
be asked, “Why didn’t you call Izaya directly to get confirmation?”
But such common sense did not apply to the group Izaya collected. All Haruna had to
say was, “I trusted the woman Izaya brought into the group,” and that was that.
Perhaps Izaya had actually inducted Manami into the group with the anticipation of
actions such as this.
In any case, Haruna decided that she would allow Manami to go about her business
and pretend she knew nothing about it.
Several minutes later, after she had seen Manami off with the “luggage,” Haruna made
plans of her own to leave.
Haruna followed Izaya’s orders out of her desire to see the man she loved: Takashi
Nasujima. He had once been her teacher and so much more than that.
She needed to reach him, to tell him about her love.

Takashi…
She remembered just how broad his back was and thought about how badly she
wanted to thrust the blade that was the symbol of her love into it. Into his muscular
neck; his curved collarbone; his shining eyes; his fingers, slender for a man’s.
She wanted to run her blade through them all, over and over, telling him of her love
through Saika. And when that dear man’s eyes were red, too, she would give him a
blade, and he could carve Haruna’s body in return.
They would pour their love into each other through the blade of Saika.
It might look like a horrifying battle to the death to any observer, but to Haruna, it
looked like a kind of love that no other human being could hope to experience.
Her whole body throbbed with the excitement of her imagination, and she headed to
the bathroom to wash her face with cold water.
No. Not yet. You must leave the pleasure for the very end.
As she left the house, her refreshed face wore a diseased smile.
Free again, for the first time in ages, to do what she wanted to do.
To sift through the bustle of the city for the one she was dying to see again.
Raira General Hospital
Meanwhile, the owner of the original Saika, facing off against Izaya, still couldn’t move
a muscle.
He just… isn’t normal. I need to cut him, right away! Or else Ryuugamine—! And Kida—
! her mind screamed. But she couldn’t take the first step to act on this.
She was afraid.

She was afraid of Izaya’s confidence, in the way he smiled at this distance, even though
he knew what she was capable of doing to him. As though he knew he had some trick
that would keep her at bay, like that time he pulled out a gun.
At the same time, a question appeared in her mind: Should I really cut him?
Saika’s control was not absolute. Like Haruna Niekawa, some could overpower Saika’s
words of love and refuse their status as her “children.”
It sounded nice if you said they “returned to being human” or “overcame the
supernatural control,” but the problem was that it was possible for them to use Saika’s
power to their own ends.
Saika’s desire to love people was a pure one. But what if that power of love was added
to a human with their own personal desires? And what if a human being like Izaya
Orihara happened to gain that kind of power?
The more she thought about it, the more Anri realized she couldn’t just whip out that
sword. And she never realized that she was already caught in Izaya’s trap.
“You okay, Anri?” asked Karisawa with concern. She must have noticed the sweat on
Anri’s cheeks.
Karisawa didn’t say anything to Izaya. She wasn’t sure if she should intervene in what
seemed like an issue between him and Anri.
“…”
Out of nerves, Anri couldn’t reply to Karisawa, either.
So Izaya sighed and said casually, “Do you think I’m insane?”
“…Yes,” she was able to respond. Anri wasn’t able to discern sanity from madness in
other people’s minds, but her instinct told her to say yes.
Izaya smirked, his eyes slightly downcast, then glanced back up at Anri with a note of
mockery. “You know, I could ask the Black Rider this, too. What is it about you
monsters—what right do you have to determine that a human being like me is
insane?”
“…”
“You don’t still think you’re human, do you?”
“…!”
That took Anri by surprise.
“Besides, do you even have the right to criticize me? It all started with your katana.
Saika, right? The cause of it all was Haruna Niekawa, so it would be wrong to blame
you entirely for it. And yet, you should’ve been able to avoid all this chaos.”
Huh? I should have… How?
This should’ve been her place to righteously accuse Izaya Orihara. Why was he the one
criticizing her? She was so confused that all she could do was flail about as his words
pierced her heart.
“You put distance between yourself and Mikado Ryuugamine and distance between
yourself and Masaomi Kida. Didn’t you? You chose to stay back and wait. You had
people around you who gave you affection. And you were so pleased with that, you
chose to do nothing. You could have made more of a move.”
“No, I…”
She stopped short. She couldn’t truthfully deny what he was saying.
Was he actually right about that? He’d pointed out something she had never considered,
and now uncertainty clouded her mind.
Once Izaya detected that the anger in her eyes was wavering, he continued, “To be
quite frank, you should have used Saika to cut Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida.
Then you would have been able to make them admit everything they were feeling.”
“No… that’s not right! That would be wrong!” she shouted before she could stop
herself.
An outpatient down the hallway looked in their direction for a moment, then glanced
away again, perhaps assuming Izaya and Anri were just having a romantic quarrel.
Whether Izaya was aware of the public perception of them or not, he certainly played
into the image by speaking to her as though calming an angry girlfriend. “Yes, that
might be the wrong thing to do in humanistic terms. It might not be something a
human being could even do, period.”
“Then—”
“But you’re not human, are you?”
“…!”
He stated it again. Anri could feel her lips and her throat trembling.
When she faced off against him in Shinjuku, he’d said the phrase stupid sword, which
she’d taken to mean Saika, the being residing within her. But now she was certain she
understood.
He was pointing at Anri Sonohara herself and stating that she was not human.
Anri knew that she was not an ordinary human being. It was why she had been so
drawn to Celty, who was alien in many ways and yet lived proudly. It was why she
made the decision to be positive about her own life.
So why did his words pierce so deeply into her heart?
“You’re not like Haruna Niekawa. You didn’t have Saika forced into you and overcome
it to win back control. You gave up on being human and wished to become one with
Saika.”
Anri understood the hurt in fairly short order. It was because there was clear hatred
and mockery in Izaya’s words.
“The reason I’m irritated is because you gave up on being human, and now that you’re
a monster, you pretend to have troubles just like a human being does.”
He was smiling, just like he had been this whole time. But from Anri’s perspective,
there was clear and obvious malice in his words designed to corner her.
“In that tightrope analogy from earlier, you would be an audience member watching
safely from your luxury box. You’re the person who’s safe and sound and turning to
the other people, saying, ‘Look, that’s dangerous. Isn’t someone going to help them?’
And if they fall, you’re the one who’s going to act like the biggest victim of them all.”
“No… I’m… not… ,” she protested, but it was more for herself than anyone else.
“There’s no villain in this situation. Ryuugamine and Kida both made their own
decisions and stepped out onto that rope, knowing it would be dangerous. No one is
the aggressor, but you’re going to run around screaming that you’re the victim. Even
though you had plenty of opportunities to save them.”
“No! I…”
“Are you going to claim you can save them both? You’re going to arrogantly use your
monster powers to benevolently save the lowly humans? Well, I don’t know about
Kida, but I bet Mikado would love that. He might shoot straight past affection and into
worship of you.”
He struck down each and every protest she might have lodged before she could say
them, boxing her in, allowing no mental escape.
Then came the finisher.
“Let me tell you something, Anri Sonohara. It’s true that, like you’re fearing, Mikado
Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida are facing real peril. The situation is much more
dangerous than the tightrope act you were imagining.”
“Huh…?”
“And I’m going to make it worse. But you can’t do anything about it. Hey, who knows,
maybe you weren’t actually planning to do anything.”
“That’s not…”
She shook her head. The red light was already gone from her eyes. Instead, they were
moist with tears as she tried to squeeze in a word edgewise.
But as always, Izaya was ahead of her. It was like he was casting a spell designed to
capture inhuman beings like her behind a magical barrier.
“Yes, it is true. Because while I was going on and on about that tightrope analogy, you
never once broke in and shouted, ‘Is Mikado really doing something that dangerous?’
You didn’t, did you?”
“…!”
“A normal person, before talking about whether I’m insane or rational, would be more
concerned about that, wouldn’t they? That’s just common sense. But before you gave
a thought to your friend’s safety, you were preoccupied with your own concerns.
You’re such a—”
Pwakk.
Izaya was cut off by a sound like a dry, weak gunshot. Everyone else in the hospital
within visual range was looking their way, wondering what had happened.
Being right next to the sound, Anri and Izaya were the first to recognize it.
Karisawa had pulled out a large sales flyer from a fan-run event for selling doujinshi,
folded it into an origami popper, then snapped it loudly with her fingers. Before the
nurses noticed, she then returned the flyer to her bag and grinned.
“Izaya,” she said. Not Iza-Iza.
“…What is it, Karisawa?” he asked quietly.
“If you make my sweet, young friend cry, I’m going to solder your eyelids shut.”
She gave him a pure, unfiltered smile. In fact, this made it clear that her statement was
not a mere threat; it was the truth.
Izaya took a moment to reflect on this, then smirked as he so often did and said, “You
know, it’s that human part of you that I love so much, Karisawa. I respect you, even
when you’re sticking up for monsters.”
“You do? Thanks. But I’m not going to let you off.”
“Fine, fine. I could go on, but I’ll let your threat stand and back off. After all, I ought to
go and check in at the reception desk for the brain surgery unit.”
“Yeah, you ought to get yourself checked out. What if your entire brain just looks like
a wily fox’s face?” Karisawa jibed.
He shrugged. “Anyway, if I learn anything about who hit Dotachin, I’ll get in touch. If
he wakes up, I’d appreciate if you told him that Izaya actually swung by to pay him a
visit.”
Karisawa watched Izaya go in silence. Once he had disappeared around the side of the
hallway, she realized that something was gripping the hem of her clothing. She turned
around and saw Anri, her head down, hands trembling.
“Karisawa… I… I…”
She wasn’t on the verge of tears. She seemed more in a state of shock than anything.
Karisawa put her arms around the stammering girl and hugged her tight.
“Ah…”
It was a warm and enveloping embrace, not an inappropriate act by any means.
“It’s all right. Don’t you worry about it,” Karisawa said, allowing Anri to sink her face
into her collarbone.
Anri moaned, “But—but I… I’m actually…”
“That’s just Izaya’s MO. It’s like leading a witness. He said a bunch of things that were
meant to mislead you and confuse you, that’s all. If it seemed like he was speaking the
truth and making sense, that was just an illusion. He’s like a thief who breaks into your
house and then lectures you on how sloppy your defenses are.”
“But, Karisawa… I… I really was going to slash him just now…”
“It’s fine, you’re all right. You can tell me all about it later,” Karisawa said kindly, patting
Anri on the back. “I may not know all the details, but I can forgive you for everything
right now. Even if you’re some vengeful god of the ancient past, and you destroyed the
earth once before, I still forgive you.”
It didn’t sound like your typical message of encouragement, but Anri couldn’t help but
be heartened by it.
“…”
She couldn’t even find words of appreciation, however. All she felt was the painful
realization of her own mental weakness.
And fright at what she was.
When Izaya vanished around the corner, Saika’s voice had begun to speak up again—
and it even turned its “blade of love” on Karisawa, who’d been treating her so gently.
She was holding Saika at bay now, but if she ended up slicing Karisawa, if she gave in
to Saika’s desires—the very thought of it filled her with terror.
“You’re a monster,” he had said, standing in judgment of her. Those words stabbed her
heart now.
Not just that—all the things he had said to her were true.
Karisawa said they weren’t worth bothering over, but the fact that Anri couldn’t come
up with a rebuttal meant they must be true. In her confused state, she was close to
believing all of it.
If it hadn’t been for Karisawa’s statement of forgiveness, who knows what might’ve
happened to her. Anri felt nothing but gratitude to the other woman—and
unfathomable loathing for herself.
But realizing that even after all this, she couldn’t take the option of discarding Saika,
the truth sank in that she really was no longer human.
The reason she thought and said that she was fine with being a parasite was nothing
more than an excuse to avoid examining herself and what she really was.
“Are you all right, Celty?”
Despite the crowded state of Shinra’s apartment, they were alone again in the
bedroom, now that Shinra had moved back to his bed.
Celty, now the de facto leader of a strange information-sharing organization, had spent
half a day, practically an all-nighter, combining and sorting everyone’s stories and
collecting information from the Internet to support them.
That was hard enough, but she also had to spend valuable energy calming Namie and
Mika down enough to keep them from destroying each other.
They were fairly well-behaved when Seiji was around, but as soon as he left the
room—to use the bathroom, say—they would immediately engage in hostilities.
It was an odd sight, two women hurling needles and trowels at each other as the
people around them attempted to get it under control. Ultimately, the only thing that
worked was Seiji’s return, at which point they behaved as though nothing had ever
happened.
The worst of all was when Seiji had asked to use the shower. Because both Namie and
Mika casually attempted to sneak into the shower with him, that led to another
massive conflict.
As they watched the drama from a distance, Togusa leaned over to Yumasaki. “You
know… I figured you were the type of guy who would yell, ‘Blow up to smithereens,
normies,’ in this situation, but you’re taking it pretty well.”
Yumasaki’s head inclined at a curious angle. “What? Why would I care? I mean… they’re
both three-dimensional.”
“…Oh. Gotcha,” Togusa said, giving him up for lost.
The whole while, Celty just did her best to be the sole peacekeeper of the room.
Eventually, morning arrived.
The clock hands indicated it was close to noon now, but the others were all asleep in
another room, and the raucous noise from yesterday was no more. Yumasaki was
watching some kind of summer vacation anime special that was airing in the morning,
but the sound of it was as soothing as lapping waves compared to the ruckus that
Namie and Mika had produced.
Satisfied that all was calm at last, Celty slumped lifelessly next to Shinra.
“I’m just so tired… There’s no other way to describe it.”
“I’m sorry I saddled you with such a huge role.”
“It’s all right. It’s the first time in a while I felt I was doing something worthwhile. The
only problem is, I need to cut down on my courier jobs until things chill out a bit…”
“That’s true. I’ll let Mr. Shiki know about that.”
The mention of Shiki’s name caused Celty to recall something. She typed, “Speaking of
which, the Awakusu-kai are chasing Jinnai Yodogiri, too, right?”
“Yeah, but I believe they already cleared it up… Maybe they’ve got some information
to use. But if you’re going to ask them, you’d better be careful about it. You never want
to stir up more trouble.”
“…Good point. This isn’t just our problem anymore. I’d be involving everyone in this
apartment.”
Shinra read her sentence and smiled. “You’re so kindhearted, Celty. You’re much more
considerate than a normal human being.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” She shrugged, lying on her side.
“Celty, I’m not flattering you,” Shinra said. “The part of you that’s trying to be more
human is kinder than any human. It’s why I’m worried. With how you overestimate
humanity, I’m afraid that when you see true wickedness, you’ll be so disillusioned with
us that you turn into some vengeful demon out to destroy the world.”
But then his worried expression turned into a forceful smile, and lying on his side as
well, he said, “Don’t worry, Celty! If you wanted to destroy all humanity, I would turn
traitor on my species and assist you! I would be happy to die in your arms as the last
remaining human being.”
“That is a very, very convenient fantasy you have. But at any rate, your fears are
unfounded,” Celty typed, stretching luxuriously. “I’ve been dealing with the Awakusu-
kai and Izaya all this time. How would I despair of humanity at this point? If you’re
talking about some kind of mass slaughter or footage from some far-off war, that’s going
to affect a lot more people than just me…”
“…Well, I was looking more for a moving reaction to my sentiments, rather than a
pragmatic response, to be honest…”
“So you were using me and hoping to get an emotional reaction out of it?”
Oddly enough, the words on her screen even looked exasperated somehow. Shinra
glanced away from them and whistled nonchalantly.
“You’re not some little kid!” Celty gave Shinra’s cheek a flick with her finger. “Anyway, I
guess I’ll be playing along with your little scheme.”
“Celty…”
“But if I’m going to play along, I want you to get better soon.”
“Why, Celty, I feel as though I’m walking on clouds! My body is bursting with the feeling
of pure joy… ow! Aah!” he shrieked, his bones screeching with pain after he attempted
to do a little bedridden dance.
“Hey! Don’t push it!”
“Oooh, oww… I’m sorry, Celty. But thank you,” he said, lying down flat again as his pain
eased. “I’m sure a bunch of different stuff is going to happen starting today… What
were you planning to tackle first?”
“I think I should start with Kasane Kujiragi.”
“Yeah… you’re probably right.”

“First things first. Either she or Seitarou Yagiri has to pay for hurting you…”
As she lay next to Shinra, Celty thought about her distant foe.
Kasane Kujiragi.
A woman who plays at human trafficking using the name of a dead man, Jinnai Yodogiri.
And because most of her products are things like me and Saika, the law is less likely to
get involved.
Based on the information we’ve got, though, I can’t imagine what kind of person she is.
It’s like she’s some evil spirit who lives in a much deeper darkness than we do.
No doubt she’s hiding from the sun right now, plotting her next wicked move.
Ikebukuro—cosplay shop
At the very moment that Celty was thinking, Kasane Kujiragi was indeed staying out
of the sun.
But the fluorescent lights were bright enough on their own.
“I’ll take this and this.”
She had brought a very well-made cat-ear headband to the lady at the register. The fur
and texture were just like a cat’s, so realistic that if she put it on, the ears looked ready
to wiggle.
Because she looked just like a company president’s personal secretary, complete with
stony expression and bespectacled good looks, the employee at the register had to
wonder if she was actually going to wear it. But the worker was a professional, too,
and so did not show a bit of this as she smiled at Kujiragi.
“Thank you, ma’am. Is this a present for someone?”

“No, it’s for me,” Kujiragi said, all business.
In fact, the way she walked around the cosplay shop with her back straight was the
personification of the term businesswoman, to the extent that the other customers
wondered if she was already in cosplay.
With the cat ears stashed in a bag under her arm, she strode crisply through
Ikebukuro’s streets. None of the muscles that formed her facial expression moved,
aside from a slight narrowing around the eyes due to the sunlight. She simply walked,
in a mechanically steady rhythm, through the crowds on the street.
Her cell phone ringer went off. It was not a custom ringtone or song, just the default
setting. When she pressed the button to accept it, Seitarou Yagiri’s voice came through
the speaker.
“It’s me. How goes the progress? I can’t connect to Yodogiri’s phone. Do you suppose
something happened?”
“Mr. Yodogiri was in a car accident last night. He is listed as in the hospital now,” she
said flatly.
The elderly men were nothing more than body doubles to take the place of the real
Jinnai Yodogiri, who was long dead. Aside from the body double playing the part of the
talent agency president, they didn’t have anything proving their identities, so the man
would have been admitted as an unidentified patient.
As far as the Yodogiri playing the company president (who actually possessed the
“Jinnai Yodogiri” identity) went, it would likely cause a stir if a man who had gone
missing showed up as the victim of an accident, but at this point in time, it meant
nothing to Kujiragi.
“What?! What happens to the job I hired him to do, then?!”
“I have taken it over. Our company will make use of all personnel to ensure that the
work is carried out.”
“Oh. Th-that’s good, then. You never know if Nebula might interfere, like yesterday. Be
careful out there.”
“I understand, Mr. Yagiri,” she said, as professional as she had been over the entire call,
and abruptly hung up.
Celty Sturluson’s head and body and Saika.
Jinnai Yodogiri’s final job was to provide all these to Seitarou Yagiri.
Normally, she could’ve simply tossed this piece of work to the wayside, but she wanted
a clean cut of all her ties to Jinnai Yodogiri, and so she decided she would see this
mission through to its end.
For another reason, she considered that she could use this opportunity to turn the
attention of her enemy, the Awakusu-kai, toward another enemy, Izaya Orihara.
Once this was over, and the hostility from the Awakusu-kai had dissipated, what would
she do next? It was this question Kujiragi considered as she walked.
She’d been controlling an empty human being named Jinnai Yodogiri all this time and
modeling his life. But she wasn’t some perfect machine. She didn’t do all this without
any doubts in her mind at anytime.
She just didn’t know any other way to live.
Despite the job being on the seedy underside of society, she didn’t have enough of a
reason to seek freedom at the cost of the secure life she was leading now. Plus, her
Jinnai Yodogiri system was as solid as bedrock, and she had resigned herself to
spending the rest of her life as a machine projecting Jinnai Yodogiri onto the world.
But then something had happened, and the world she’d resigned herself to living in
suddenly crumbled all at once.
It was Ruri Hijiribe. The moment arrived when her own niece came into her possession
as a “product.”
Upon reflection now, even Kujiragi had her suspicions about whether or not she had
any personal emotion in the idea of bringing Ruri into this side of the world. In fact,
when she had learned that a woman with the same blood as her was living happily
and chasing her dreams, Kasane did feel a slight bit of jealousy—if not murderous,
hateful rage.
As evidence of that, even after seeing the girl turned into a “product” and plunged into
misfortune, Kasane did not feel any lightening of her mood. Neither did she have any
reason to rescue Ruri Hijiribe from her plight while the Jinnai Yodogiri activities
continued, and so she figured the situation would continue.
But when the elderly body double and her clients banded together to murder Ruri
Hijiribe’s father, that took her by surprise. And she never would have dreamed that
Ruri would turn into the masked killer Hollywood in search of revenge for her father’s
death.
Yet when the girl who’d been working as a movie effects artist donned her own special
makeup on a quest for vengeance, the only thing Kasane Kujiragi felt was a faint whiff
of longing.
Despite all the pitfalls, all the personal misfortune, she still clung to that idea of a
dream. There was nothing that Kasane ever fixated on that way. Even her position
pulling the strings behind Jinnai Yodogiri wasn’t something she got because she
wanted it.
As the shell of Jinnai Yodogiri began to break around her, she started to see her own
dream through the cracks.
The woman who seemed so much like an unfeeling automaton did indeed have her
own dreams. The dream of finding her own dream, in fact—like the punch line of some
poetic fairy tale.
So she carried out her daily life, possessed with this recursive idea of dreaming to find
a dream. Until half a day ago, when that life was shattered to pieces.
By the introduction of Izaya Orihara, a clearly hostile enemy.
The first thought she had about Izaya, who acknowledged her as his foe, was boundless
gratitude.
Now the light of the morning sun that burned her skin and eyes was different
somehow. Her flesh was prickling, as though ready to burn, but it no longer pained her
at all.
At last, she had time to relax and think about what she ought to do. When she finished
Seitarou Yagiri’s job and received her payment, perhaps she would travel somewhere.
Another good option would be to finish things once and for all with Shinichi
Tsukumoya, the pest who’d been interfering with her work for around ten years now.
However, to fulfill Seitarou’s job, she needed to obtain the dullahan’s head and body.
At worst, she could branch the Saika she owned now and hand that over instead.
Shizuo Heiwajima was held at bay by her direct “child” within the police force, but
once this was all settled, he could be set free. After all, if guided properly, he might be
a very good trump card for her against Izaya.
But based on the fact there’d been no contact from Slon, it seemed fair to guess that
the plan to kidnap Izaya had failed. He was still on the loose somewhere.
With that in mind, Kujiragi thought it over and headed to a nearby park, where she
picked out a tree at random to lean against. Then she pulled out an Ikebukuro tourism
magazine and began to very seriously pore over the information provided about local
spots.
She flipped through the magazine quickly, apparently having decided that Izaya’s
freedom was no reason to limit her own. She folded the corners of the pages for a cafe
that allowed customers to interact with a bunch of cats, and the butler cafe
Swallowtail, re-examining the contents.
She indulged in two visions at this time.
One was herself, wearing the cat-ear headband she’d just bought, rolling around with
a bunch of actual cats.
The other was herself, being called “Mistress” by a variety of smooth and capable
butlers.
In those visions, she was completely stone-faced. And likewise, her own expression
was just as steely as she imagined these scenes.
Should she play with the cats or head to the butler cafe and hope that someone had
dropped their reservation so she could get inside?
Clearly, the choice was a difficult one. She stayed in the corner of the park, exuding her
weird vibe and ensuring no one wanted to get any closer.
As her archenemy waffled between the choice of cats and butlers, Celty recalled
something else she’d been worried about and rose to a sitting position next to Shinra.
“What is it, Celty?”
“I just realized that I forgot something… There was so much that happened yesterday, it
must’ve slipped my mind. But I need to tell you.”
And then she told him what she knew about the situation between Mikado and
Masaomi: that the Dollars and Yellow Scarves were set up to clash in a different way
than before. That both Mikado and Masaomi were aware of each other’s presence.
But both of them had their own ideas in mind and believed that crushing the other
group was an unavoidable part of that. To make matters more complicated, Mikado
had received a request to find Haruna Niekawa, and Akabayashi of the Awakusu-kai
had added a warning of his own.
That warning from the Awakusu-kai was the worst part of all.
Akabayashi was the most easygoing of the principal Awakusu-kai officers—even

approachable, in a way. But that did not mean he was a “good person.” He was a yakuza
for a reason.
Celty’s biggest concern was what would happen if members of the Dollars started
dealing drugs behind Mikado’s back. Given Akabayashi’s known loathing of drugs, and
how he viewed such dealing in his turf, the results were as apparent as daylight.
“Honestly, as long as the Dollars and Yellow Scarves aren’t involved, I think they should
find a nice riverbank in the sunset and beat each other up… but it doesn’t seem like all
the other factors would allow for that to happen. Especially not Mikado.”
“You mean Aoba Kuronuma…? I guess I really should’ve slit his neck when I had the
chance.”
“No jokes about violence, thanks,” Celty typed, framing it as a joke on purpose, because
she knew he was half-serious.
Neither of them had any idea how to resolve that situation peacefully. Was Mikado
correct, and did both the Dollars and Yellow Scarves need to be utterly destroyed so
that their relationship could be rebuilt from scratch?
But that can’t be it. That’s not the right way.
Celty then wondered why she felt it was wrong. Perhaps the answer, if she found it,
might lead to inspiration for a different solution.
But the answer she got created not an alternative but fresh headaches.
“Anri.”
“Huh?”
“What Mikado’s trying to do… to destroy everything and start over, doesn’t include Anri.
That’s what’s wrong. I don’t think it’s the right way,” she told Shinra, her fingers slowly,
hesitantly typing her thoughts. “I know just how worried she is about Mikado and Kida.
So the idea that they’d totally ignore her feelings and destroy all the strings that bind the
two boys together is just not…”
She stopped there to show Shinra. She could have typed more but felt bad about
criticizing Mikado… but eventually she gave in and did so anyway.
“It’s just too selfish of him.”
Shinra looked up and smiled at her.
“You’re so kind, Celty,” he mumbled, staring at her neck with affection. “I love that
about you.”
It was a serious statement, not like the ones he usually made as a means of saying hello.
“Wwhhaaar id thifallufhasufig”
She meant to type “What is this all of a sudden?” but something in his tone caused her
fingers to tremble and slip.
“…Uh, sorry, I appreciate that… but I can’t help but be a little self-conscious when you
say that with so many people here, if not in the room with us…”
If she had the same body structure as a human being, her skin would be flushed all
over. If she had a head and a face, she might’ve turned away with pink cheeks.
“Now I won’t be able to sleep, dummy. Hang on… I’m going to see if Anri’s in the usual
chat room. She seems to find it easier to talk there than through texting. I’ll go check up
on her through the guise of small chat.”
Having forced the topic of conversation back to more practical matters, Celty felt calm
enough now to admit, “I’m uncertain, too. Mikado asked me to keep this all secret from
Anri… but I don’t know if it’s right to keep her out of the loop on everything.”
“Yeah… that’s a tough one. I’m not sure if it’s right to tell her or not, either. I’m sure
Izaya would do it without a moment’s hesitation. And in the way designed to cause the
most anxiety, too,” Shinra muttered, completely unaware that Izaya had been fanning
Anri’s smoldering unease just moments before.
The idea made Celty oddly uneasy, too. She opened up the laptop nearby and deftly
typed into the PDA with her other hand.
“Good point. Anri’s a tough girl, but she’s also very hard on herself… If we’re going to
bring her into the fold, we need to do it gingerly.”
It was a sentiment that anyone familiar with Anri’s present state of mind would find
tragically hollow.
Cosplay shop, Ikebukuro—at that moment
“I’m very sorry, that product is sold out for the day…”
“Oh, I see… Thank you for your help,” said Anri to the employee as she left the shop.
It had been a few hours since she’d interacted with Izaya, and only now was she
regaining her composure. The thought of what would’ve happened if Karisawa hadn’t
been there gave her the shivers. If it had just been her alone with Izaya, something
awful would’ve happened to her by now.
Karisawa had listened to all the things bubbling up from fear and anxiety within Anri,
and accepted it all. Anri found it strange that the other girl could be so kind and
understanding and had asked her why.
The other girl had smiled gently and brushed her forehead against Anri’s.
“Grown women take the side of the cute. When you get to be my age, even cool things
count as cute. It doesn’t matter if you’re human or not. It’s whether you laugh at the
same things and cry at the same things.
“You’re a cute girl with a good smile, Anri, and you’re so sad about this business between
you and your friends that you’re about to cry. So you’re fine, kid. I’ll still accept you for
who you are, even if nobody else does.
“All this stuff about whether you’re human or not? Dotachin and Togupyon don’t care,
either. And I bet Yumacchi would be even happier, actually. Listen, even I’m happy about
that. Mikado and Kida will be fine with it. I bet they know how kind you are way, way,
way better than we do.”
Despite being trapped in her own concern for Kadota’s condition, Karisawa spent a
full hour on the couch in the hospital hallway talking her through her problems. Relief
flooded Anri, as much as, if not more so than, when she spoke with Celty.
There was someone out there who knew her well and still accepted her. That was all
it took for a great weight to be lifted off her mind.
“As far as Mikapuu goes, I’m going to get to a spot where I can use my phone, and I’ll
connect to the Dollars’ board to look for info. So in return, can I ask you to run an errand
for me?”
Karisawa went ahead and asked Anri for a favor, perhaps thinking that a bit of fresh
air would help improve her mood.
“I bet that when Dotachin opens his eyes, it’d really cheer him up if all the girls were
wearing cat ears.”
She had then handed Anri cash and a note with directions to the cosplay shop, where
she was meant to buy some cat-ear headbands.
But the headbands were sold out. Since she said “for the day,” they must’ve just stocked
up that morning. She considered looking at other stores, but Anri didn’t know
anything about cosplay shops or where she should go, so she ended up simply
wandering around the area.
It seemed like there were many businesses around here involving manga and anime,
Anri thought, as she stared at the signs on her way.
Shiver.
A sudden gust of chill wind shot up her back.
Huh? What’s this… feeling? Is someone watching me?
The phrase to feel someone’s gaze was a very, very old one, but this was the first time
that Anri had ever felt the sensation of knowing that someone was watching her.
Then again, it may have been more accurate to say that it was Saika that noticed it, not
Anri. The voices of the swords in her mind abruptly began to stir, racing all throughout
Anri’s being in what was either joyful welcome or absolute rejection.
Something’s there.
Someone’s there.
Someone with a connection to her, or possibly Saika, was watching her from very close
by, the sensation told her.
Don’t look.
Don’t turn around, she had told herself.
Every cell in her body was screaming in warning, but Anri made her mistake.
She turned toward the gaze.

And then, when she saw the shadow approaching directly toward her, Anri thought, Is
this really coincidence?
Or are she and I, and perhaps Mikado and Masaomi, all just trapped in the vortex of
one giant event?
The eerie spiraling feeling left it very hard to chalk this up to happenstance alone.
Meanwhile, Haruna Niekawa, whose appearance alone had put this thought into Anri’s
head, came to a stop a short distance away from Anri, a sick smile on her beautiful
face, silky black hair swaying in the breeze.
On a sidewalk in the busy city, two girls stood in place as pedestrians streamed around
them.
Anri couldn’t find any words to say. Haruna Niekawa quietly smiled and said in a
voluptuous voice, “It’s been a while, Sonohara.”
It was the most Anri could do to say, “Miss… Niekawa.”
And so Haruna, one of Saika’s children, approached Anri empty-handed and whispered
into her ear, “Will you come with me to that park over there?”
“Huh…?”
“I don’t mind starting right here… but I’m guessing you wouldn’t want so many people
to see, would you?”
Anri instantly understood what it was that Niekawa wanted to start.
Because despite the pleasant tones of her voice, it clearly contained a competitive
streak against Anri—and a boundless desire to kill.
Chat room
Kuru: At any rate, do you suppose this could be a step toward a world-changing
revolution? The denizens of the cyber-seas seem to largely take it as a simple prank,
but I can tell. This is not a prank. I’m certain it is the real thing.
Kuru: Many different pieces of footage have purported to be evidence of supernatural

phenomena, but I believe the reason they seem so suspect is that all of them were only
captured by a single camera!
Mai: That’s right.
Kuru: If you had a second camera, capturing the same moment from a completely
different angle, showing the moment that a ghost or monster appeared, it would be so
much more significant. In the same way that a single person’s eyewitness testimony
can be written off as a trick of the eyes, any single-camera footage can be dismissed as
edited!
Kuru: Which makes this particular case so valuable!
Kuru: They don’t show it directly on TV, and the corporate and news-owned websites
place a mosaic over it—but on video and image sites and social media networks like
Twittia, many different people are uploading their own videos and pictures!
Kuru: At this point, I believe we might as well say that it is all true!
Kuru: On this very day, “something” has appeared in Ikebukuro at last!
Mai: I’m scared.
Kuru: There is nothing to be afraid of. Together, we can stand up to any danger. And
as long as we die together, I will be fulfilled, Mai.
Mai: I’m so happy.

Mai: Kiss.
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched.
Setton: Hello.
Setton: It’s been a while.
Setton: It looks like Saika… isn’t here.
Setton: I guess I should just send a text.
Kuru: Well, well, if it isn’t one of our forebears and guides into the great chat room,
Setton. It is an honor to meet you once again.
Setton: You seem as excitable as ever.
Mai: Hello.
Setton: So, um, what happened?
Setton: Maybe I should scroll back through the log.
Kuru: Oh my. You must not be aware yet, Setton. Although the rumors only began to
spread about the Internet in the last thirty minutes, so I suppose you cannot be blamed
for not hearing… In fact, the ability of the news to disseminate this far in just thirty
minutes speaks to the incredible power of Twittia, I suppose.
Mai: It’s scary.
Kuru: But at any rate, I would recommend turning on the news as a quicker means
than scrolling through the backlog or Twittia.
Setton: The news?
Kuru: Yes, the noon news program should be starting soon. I expect that Daioh TV will
have a special segment on it…
Setton: Well, I still don’t know what you’re talking about…
Setton: But I suppose I’ll check it out.
Celty was curious about what the girls were raving about in the chat room, so she took
her laptop out to the living room where the TV was.
The other people had finished their sleep and begun to gather. Yumasaki had finished
watching his summer vacation anime special and was channel surfing. When he
noticed that Celty had come into the room, he smiled and asked, “You’re up now, Celty?
Or have you been awake the whole time?”
“Yeah, I couldn’t get to sleep. Do you mind if I change the channel?”
“Um, how can I mind it? It’s your TV! Please feel free.”
“Thanks.”
She took the remote and changed the channel. Up to this point, things were still within
the range of peacefulness. Although she was worried about Namie, as long as Seiji was
paying attention, she wouldn’t try anything reckless.
So Celty turned the TV to the Daioh News channel without much trepidation.
However, the news she was about to witness immediately dragged her, and all the
ordinary citizens of the city, into the realm of the surreal.
“I’m here outside the Ikebukuro Station east gate, at the scene of the incident.”
The image on the TV was of the familiar entrance to Ikebukuro Station. Only there
were vinyl sheets put up over a portion of it, inserting a note of foreboding.
What’s this? Was there an attacker?
Given the times, Celty began to fear that someone she knew had been hurt.
Instantly, she learned that her fear was unfounded. On her laptop, which she’d set
down on the table, Kuru had pasted a link. It was directed at an image board of some
kind.
She clicked on the link right as the newscaster began speaking, and she noticed the
chyron on the TV screen.
“It was right here in this crowded rotary, as though designed to affect the largest
number of people possible, that around eleven o’clock this morning, someone threw
a woman’s head into the crowd.”
Huh?
The chyron on the screen read: Madness in broad daylight! Woman’s head at Ikebukuro
Station.
Whuh? She gawped and slowly lowered her gaze to the screen of the laptop. An image
burned itself into the part of Celty’s shadow that governed her sense of sight and, from
there, into her mind itself.
In the image, which appeared to have been taken by an ordinary phone camera, a
woman’s severed head sat atop the asphalt.
Everyone in the room looked at one girl.
Mika Harima.
The severed head looked terrifyingly similar to her own face.
Celty was the only one who didn’t turn and look.
She understood the instant she saw the image.
It was a picture of her own head.

Her face, the object she’d been on that long, long quest to recover, was now being
shown to the entire world through the Internet.
She crumpled, toppled to the floor—and fell unconscious, deaf to the voices of everyone
present.
Ikebukuro—karaoke room
While the entire nation, not just Ikebukuro, was roiling in reaction to the freakish
news, Hiroto Shijima sat in his chair, sweating profusely.
He had a headband pulling his hair back and dark sunglasses to hide his eyes, in an
apparent attempt at disguise. And he was in a very precarious position at the moment.
Until just recently, he’d been a member of a group that sold illegal drugs. In fact, you
might even say he was the one running it. But in the midst of a squabble with another
organization called Amphisbaena, Izaya Orihara had plunged him into the very pits of
hell.
Now he was both making contact with the Dollars as Orihara’s cat’s-paw and secretly
working on orders from Jinnai Yodogiri. If they found out that he was a spy sent by
Izaya, the Dollars would probably dispose of him. If Izaya found out he was a spy for
Yodogiri, he would definitely dispose of him.
So should he be honest and tell Izaya Orihara that Yodogiri made contact? Or should
he tell the Dollars that he was an Orihara spy?
No matter how much he examined the two sides, Shijima was totally unable to
determine which one represented the safer choice to him. In the end, he was unable
to betray either side, thus tightening the noose ever closer around his neck.
If I’m going to hell, I might as well take them all with me, Shijima concluded.
He’d continue being a double agent for as long as he could, find as many vulnerable
secrets from each camp as he could, and let them all loose just before he crashed and
burned at last.
It was a reckless gamble, and the chance that he survived it was extremely small. But
the pressure on Shijima was such that he didn’t have much of a choice but to roll that
die anyway.
If he went to the police and spilled all the beans, he’d wind up in prison, but at least
he might survive. Prison, however, meant losing all the fame he’d built up and might
as well represent death to the name of Hiroto Shijima. And ever since the start, he’d
never entertained the option that he might be the only one who died.
Now he was sitting in this chair, sweating away.
No one was in the room with Hiroto now. The only sound was the menu screen music
of the karaoke machine.
The reason for his disguise was that he was soon to meet an agent of Yodogiri’s. They
made contact on a regular basis, but phones left a trail, so they met in person at
karaoke places like this one.
They each entered and left at separate times. Shijima would borrow the room under
the offered alias, and the Yodogiri-side contact would pay for it. That would make it
harder to trace them, but Hiroto knew from personal experience that it wasn’t wise to
underestimate the strength of Izaya Orihara’s information network.
He didn’t even know how many pawns Izaya had working for him. There was always
the possibility that the employee working for the karaoke place was Izaya’s henchman.
Hence the disguise, which he put on every time he went out into the city.
About thirty minutes later, Shijima’s eyes bulged when he saw the man who entered
the room.
He had pulled a heavy beanie low on his head, despite it being summer, and he wore a
mask over his mouth. He wore sunglasses, too, but his look was so obviously dodgy
that it seemed more likely to attract attention than divert it.
Even then, as soon as the man came inside, he spat something out of his mouth.
Shijima saw that it was gauze and dentures for a disguise as the man peeled off his
fake whiskers.
“Pardon me. Seems like I was late,” the man said, sitting down in a position where he
couldn’t be seen from the door. “I’m Mr. Yodogiri’s agent. You must be Hiroto Shijima.”
“Th-that’s right.”
“I’m sorry. That must have startled you,” said the man with a pleasant smile.
Shijima timidly asked, “Um… I know why I need to wear a disguise, but I’m not sure
why you needed…”
“Oh, excuse me. I’m not currently able to walk around in the daylight with my face fully
exposed. I owe some money, and I’m being very careful not to get caught by that
horrifying debt collector dressed like a bartender. Doing errands for Mr. Yodogiri like
this is my collateral, in a sense.”
Shijima figured his counterpart would cut a more intimidating figure, but this fellow
was quite ordinary. The disguise was startling, but his reason for it made sense. As
someone who got around in Ikebukuro, Shijima understood the danger that Shizuo
Heiwajima represented on an instinctual level.
“But the rumor says that the debt collector got arrested.”
“Yeah. Rumor. I don’t believe rumors, and even if I did, maybe they already let him out
today… Sorry. I’m kind of cowardly by nature.”
The man used the remote to order a drink, then put the mask back on without another
word. Soon the employee arrived with his order, and once the coast was clear again,
he took off the mask and put it on the table.
Bemused by all this, Shijima asked, “But… aren’t you ruining the whole idea by
showing your face to me? I mean, the beanie and sunglasses don’t do that much if I can
basically see your whole face.”
“Ha-ha, it’s cool. I trust you.”
What is he talking about? wondered Shijima, who was not buying the man’s pleasant
attitude.
The man noticed the look on his face and laughed. “Oh, sorry. I guess it does sound
very fishy when someone you just met seconds earlier says he trusts you. But if there’s
one thing I want you to know… it’s that I am not your enemy. Even if Jinnai Yodogiri
is.”
“…? What do you mean by that?”
“I’m going to be frank with you. Jinnai Yodogiri was in a car accident last night.”
“?!”
The news caught Shijima like a sucker punch. The flow of his emotions came to a
standstill.
The man took advantage of that to say, “According to his secretary, Kujiragi, he won’t
be on his feet for another six months. He’s an old man, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if
he never recovers.”
“Th-then…”
“Now, hang on. You can’t just assume you’re free. Kujiragi’s got her eyes peeled, and as
her errand boy, I’ve got information on you. Either way, you’re Izaya Orihara’s errand
boy, aren’t you? I know about him. You’ve made a very nasty enemy. My sympathies.”
“…”
This unwelcome bit of news took Shijima down to the dumps, even as the man
maintained his friendly demeanor.
“Hey, hear me out. It’s not like I swore allegiance to Jinnai Yodogiri or anything.
Although I will admit that his secretary, Kujiragi? Yeah, she’s a damn fine woman.
Wouldn’t mind takin’ it to her one of these days. But that can come later… Anyway,
here’s my point. Why don’t you and I work together and make a killing?”
“Huh…?”
“I’m saying, let’s make off with a nice little chunk of Jinnai Yodogiri’s wealth.”
What the…? Is this guy really old Yodogiri’s errand runner?
No, watch out. He might be trying to play me—to see if I’ll betray them. I shouldn’t agree
to anything he says unless I know that Yodogiri was really in an accident.
It was all too sudden. This only made Shijima’s suspicions stronger.
“But I guess it would be more like one of his trade routes, rather than his actual estate.”
“…Um, that sounds kinda dangerous.”
“Ha-ha, the one in danger now is Yodogiri. Right? He really screwed up, letting this
happen at a time when the Awakusu-kai are after him. In fact… the rumor says that
the guy who ran over him is one of Izaya Orihara’s henchmen.”
“…?!”
The sudden revelation threw Shijima for a loop.
Damn! How much of his info do I take at face value? I don’t think I can trust a single thing
this guy says.
Shijima decided that his best course of action with the other man, who seemed a
decade older than him, was to keep his silence. But the man just nodded to himself, as
though he could see right through Shijima, his eyes narrowing behind the sunglasses.
“Oh, I get it. You can’t trust me, can you? Makes sense—you’re hanging off a cliff. Of
course you’re wary. You can’t take my word without anything in return.”
“Well, sure,” Shijima mumbled.
“Kyouhei Kadota.”
“?”
“Do you know the name Kyouhei Kadota? Big guy in the Dollars.”
“I heard that he got run over a few days ago…”
When he was looking into the Dollars earlier, Shijima studied up on Kadota, who
naturally showed up as one of the more prominent members. But the first he had
heard of the accident was last night, when he’d met Mikado Ryuugamine for the first
time and learned about it as part of the current rundown of the Dollars’ situation.
“A bunch of different people are going crazy searching for that driver. I wouldn’t be
surprised if the guy gets lynched.”
“Yeah… I suppose that makes sense. But why did you bring him up now?” Shijima
asked, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s eyes.
But the dark tint of the shades, combined with the overall gloominess of the room, hid
his facial details.
The man glanced at the door to make sure it was firmly shut, then spoke at barely
more than a whisper.
“What if I told you I know who did it?”
Silence.
Until he could process what the man said and attempt to judge it for himself.
“…Hang on. You… know who did it?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” said the man. Shijima considered this.
I see. So is he going to let me have the glory for finding the culprit? But where’s the proof
that whoever he identifies is actually the one who did it? What if he’s just trying to use
me to screw over someone else?
“…Now that’s hard to believe. It’s not just the cops looking for him. Even with all the
people in the Dollars working the case, they can’t find the driver. How would you know
who it is? Do you have evidence?”
He might be able to hear out the man about the evidence and use that as a hint to
discover the perpetrator independently. But what the man cited was far more
convincing than he imagined.
“Sure, I’ve got evidence. Here.”
The man pulled out his phone and brought up a photo on the screen. It depicted a
young man lying on the street, clearly taken just after a traffic accident.
“Is that…?”
Something about the picture immediately struck Shijima as being wrong. The car
lights shining on the victim of the accident… were clearly coming from the direction
the photo was taken. Inside the car.
Shijima felt a fresh rush of freezing sweat trickle down his spine. In a very blithe and
welcoming way, he’d just been shown something exceedingly dangerous.
Yes, the man seemed pleasant enough, but now he could identify something leering
and persistent about that smile. The next moment, Shijima’s fears were proven correct.
“I took that photo from the passenger seat.”
“…”
Shijima couldn’t move his mouth.
Not just his mouth; his fingers and legs were frozen with fear, too.
He’d just assumed that the other man was a simple errand boy for Yodogiri. When he
took the mask off his face, he just didn’t look important compared to Izaya Orihara or
Yodogiri. He seemed exactly like the kind of guy who had enough good looks to land a
woman who would give him money to gamble on pachinko, go into debt, and wind up
sealing his own doom.
Which made the admission of such dangerous information land with that much more
terror.
You gotta be kidding. This boring, nice-looking guy, who seems so unassuming…?
The man continued, dragging Shijima and his trembling shoulders farther down into
the swamp.
“That’s right. I did that. I told the driver, ‘Run him over.’”
“…Uh… but…”
“And the driver just ran him over. So the driver’s your culprit. And I watched it from
two feet away. What greater evidence could you need? Sadly, I have no intention of
going to the witness stand, so if you want to sell this information, you’ll have to go to
the thugs in the Dollars rather than the police.”
Shijima still couldn’t come up with a word to interject. The man continued by tapping
his finger on the table.
“Do you think I’d be charged with a crime in this case? Well, I guess they could make a
case for instigating murder, that’s definitely a crime. But they can’t prove I said to run
him over, and even if I did, can’t I just claim that I was sleep-talking? Or what would
happen if I tried to claim that I meant, ‘Let’s run him over to the pub for a drink’? I
guess we’ll never know unless it goes to trial.”
Yodogiri’s errand boy smiled happily and swirled his drink. But Shijima couldn’t even
move the hands he kept on his knees, much less take a sip of his own beverage. All he
could do was ask, “Why are you telling me this…?”
“I want you to trust me. I’ve got dirt on you, see, so now you have dirt on me, too. We’re
fifty-fifty. Don’t you think that makes us much closer and more relatable to each other
than Yodogiri or Izaya, who have the scoop on you without any give-and-take?”
He couldn’t reply on the spot.
Who is he? Who in the world is this guy? I’ve never seen him before. He doesn’t look like
he’s got anything to do with yakuza. At best, he looks like an employee from a third-rate
host club.
The man just seemed so insignificant compared to big players like Izaya and Yodogiri.
If Shijima was going to team up with anyone, this man would clearly be the easiest to
betray and cut loose.
If they stole Yodogiri’s fortune, and then he cut this guy out of the picture, could he
actually have the chance to live for himself again? The temptation was strong but not
enough to force Shijima’s hand. Instead, he stalled.
“So… why Kadota? Was it on Yodogiri’s orders?”
“Nah… I don’t have anything against him, and I didn’t get any direct orders from Old
Man Yodogiri or anything. It just means someone was gonna be really happy with
Kadota out of the picture. But if you want to know on whose request I did it, we need
to build up a bit more trust first.”
The man took an ice cube from his drink into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue
as he spoke. “The primary reason is that I wanted to learn if my new pawn was
disciplined enough to act on my orders.”
“Pawn?”
“Er, sorry. Just talking to myself. So what’s the deal? Are you in or not?”
Shijima thought in silence. Only when he was certain did he summon his courage to
ask, “May I have… a more detailed explanation?”
He couldn’t really sink any lower than he already was. Izaya and Yodogiri knew about
his weakness, but he was the only one who had this man’s sensitive information. As
long as he could cover his own ass, he might be able to use this as blackmail
information for a good long time.
The other guy must really be a lightweight if he was offering a deal that promised so
much for so little. If it were Izaya Orihara, any offer that seemed too good to be true
would certainly have strings attached. But since this man was after nothing more than
money, that seemed much less likely here.
With his mind made up, Shijima reached out and clasped the other man’s hand.
“Fantastic. You’ve made a wise decision, Hiroto Shijima.”
“…Speaking of which, I haven’t heard your name yet.”
“Oh, pardon me. My name is——”
Thirty minutes later, after an explanation of their activities and some sharing of
information, they parted ways.
Both men sensed that it would be dangerous for them to linger for too long. And
Shijima did not seem to put his full trust in the man, either, though the man knew it.
He watched Shijima leave the room first—and he sat back and smiled to himself.
“The idiot. That information wasn’t dirt on me in any way, shape, or form.”
The man perilously close to disaster did nothing else inside the karaoke room except
smile to himself ceaselessly.
“I mean, Kadota saw both me and the driver, clear as day!”
Tokyo—ruined building
“…Huh?”
Inside the ruined building that Mikado Ryuugamine, Aoba Kuronuma, and the
members of the Blue Squares were using as a temporary hideout, a news headline
popped out to Mikado as he was scrolling through social media on his phone.
“This can’t be… Celty’s head, can it…?”
The story about a severed head being tossed into a crowd of pedestrians completely
knocked Mikado out of his rhythm. Upon hearing the salacious details, the other Blue
Squares around him turned their attention to the TV they’d brought into the building.
“Harima?!” Mikado shouted, still scrolling through the Internet for news. They turned
back to him again. He had spoken that name on reflex because the uploaded image he
saw of the severed head was identical to that of a girl who went to his high school.
But he promptly arrived at a different possibility. In fact, he determined that this one
was much more probable.
Upon a closer examination of the image, which seemed to have been taken by a hi-def
phone camera, Mikado realized that the head was just too pristine. It looked as if it
were alive. None of it was smeared with blood, even around the cut.
“…Isn’t that Miss Harima…?” mumbled Aoba Kuronuma in awe as he examined the
picture on a separate computer monitor.
But Mikado just shook his head. “No. I’m pretty sure… that’s Celty.”
“Huh?”
“Harima got plastic surgery. To make her look more like Celty’s head… Er, sorry, it’s a
long story. I’ll sum it up for you later.”
Then Mikado went searching for information online that might confirm his
hypothesis.
—I saw the head, too. It must be fake. It didn’t even seem dead.
—The person who took the video uploaded the pics, and they said it was actually alive.
—Not on a normal video site?
—If you put up video of a dead body, they’re just gonna ban your entire account,
obviously.
—Look at 1:34 on the video. Did you see the eyelids twitch?
—OMG, they do!
—How did you even notice that?
—So is it fake, then?
—What if it was actually alive, though?
—Think it’s the Headless Rider’s head?
—Could be.
Mikado focused not on any threads of people debating who did it or what kind of drugs
they were on, but on the reactions of the people who had seen it in person.
Then he decided to download the video for himself. Of the initial links he saw for it, he
avoided two for containing viruses and succeeded getting the file on the third.
He let the video play without further delay—and noted that the eyelids indeed seemed
to twitch for a brief moment. You heard a lot about rigor mortis; did the eyelids of a
dead body also flutter as they hardened? He was curious but decided that there was a
much more reliable method to get to the bottom of this than searching for scientific
facts.
“…”
Mikado used his phone to call an acquaintance’s number. After a few seconds of
ringtone, it switched to an answering machine message.
“Hello, this is Mika. If you’re calling because you’re worried about me, thanks! The
head on the news isn’t mine, so rest assured I can hear your message after the beep!”
It seemed to have been just recently recorded, to Mikado’s relief. That, in turn,
solidified the answer in his mind.
The head of Celty Sturluson—his savior and the dullahan whom he admired and
wished he could be like—had been revealed to the world at large in this moment, in
this way.
It was the instant that common sense and the world of the grotesque crossed paths.
But… Mikado was a bit taken aback.
Not out of curiosity as to why the head was thrown into the middle of the public—but
about a change in his own mind after he understood what had happened.
Huh?
Is this… all it is?
I’ve been waiting for this day for what seems like forever… but I don’t feel any excitement.
He’d had such an obsession with the extraordinary, such a desire to witness the
moment that the accepted order of the world was completely overwritten, that he
couldn’t help but doubt himself when he felt such shockingly little interest in the event
when it arrived.
What is it? Am I feeling the lonely feeling you get when that obscure manga or musician
you like suddenly gets famous?
No, I don’t think that’s it…

Mikado’s mind worked away as he gazed at the computer screen, his expression
steadily clouding over.
…Maybe I’ve just… gotten too used to Celty. Maybe I’m not capable of thinking of her as
extraordinary or abnormal anymore.
Then he remembered what Izaya Orihara told him on the night of the first Dollars’
meeting in real life.
“In three days, the abnormal will simply become normal to you,” Izaya had said to him
as he left that gathering behind.
While Mikado was getting the feeling that Izaya might have been right about this, he
also took the opportunity to re-examine himself. Could it be that what he was seeking
was actually just ordinary life?
Did he want to take the excitement of that first night the Dollars came together, the
thrill of first meeting Celty, and simply stop time right there? After the abnormal
became his new, static normal, he never accepted the possibility of further evolution
from there. It was why he was here with the Blue Squares now.
The recognition of this led Mikado toward the stairs to the roof of the abandoned
building. He told Aoba and his friends, “I want to think about things for a bit. Can you
let me be alone in peace?” and headed up the stairs with his phone in hand.
As he went, Aoba gave him the most absolutely delighted smile imaginable.
Mikado reached the roof and gazed up into the sky, breathing deeply. The sun was still
high in the sky, shining softly through the gauzy clouds.
He looked at the Sunshine 60 building in the distance and let himself indulge in a
private moment before he lifted the phone to open its contact list and click on a
particular name there.
It was a number he’d tried a few times recently and mysteriously failed to reach every
time. He was worried that he wouldn’t get through today, either, but he felt motivated
by a belief that at least trying would be better than doing nothing and a hunch that the
extraordinary nature of the situation would actually get him through this one time.
“…”
Mikado sucked in a deep breath and pressed the call button on the contact.
He steeled himself for the task ahead, imagining what might happen as a result of this.
Ikebukuro—Bikkuri Guard
Ooh, another police vehicle. I wonder if something’s happened.
Izaya felt his heart leap as he witnessed each passing police car and crime lab van.
He was on a street underneath the train bridge on the south side of Ikebukuro Station
that was colloquially known as Bikkuri Guard. After his hospital visit, he had been
strolling this direction, hoping to get an idea of what was happening in the city.
A few members of Dragon Zombie were following a short distance away, but far
enough that if a hostile group attacked him with intent to do serious harm, he wouldn’t
stand a chance. But Izaya beamed happily, soaking in the thrill of danger.
The MRI and CAT scans showed some damage to his skin but no internal bleeding or
other effects to his brain. But his good mood had nothing to do with the clean bill of
health.
Nothing wrong with my brain, huh? I guess that means that my personality isn’t anyone
or anything else’s fault but simply a product of my own self.
Izaya considered the conversation he had before the exam, when he talked to Anri
Sonohara about the inhuman. What would have happened if Karisawa hadn’t stepped
in to mend the situation? Would Anri have cut him with her sword? Or would she have
broken down first?
He had faced down an alien being eating away at a human soul, and if anything, Izaya
found the experience to be utterly delightful. But it was not Anri’s inhumanity that
excited him—it was Karisawa’s assertion that this creature was her friend.
Ah yes. Karisawa and Yumasaki are so very entertaining. It’s people like them who make
the world such a delightful place. He chuckled to himself. What would happen if the
majority of people on earth accepted the inhuman like they do? If such beings were able
to interact and dwell in the open, would I be able to observe them the same way that I
do humans?
He had to admit that he felt disgust at those like Anri Sonohara who decided to
abandon their humanity. But aside from her head, he felt almost nothing at all about
Celty Sturluson. Izaya’s interest was reserved for all of humanity and what awaited
after death.
If death was simply an empty void, that would be the saddest thing he could imagine.
It would mean he could no longer hope to observe humanity. But if he could be a spirit
of some kind, even if permanently prevented from ever interacting directly with the
mortal realm, it would be like heaven to Izaya. That represented the best possible
outcome.
But Celty Sturluson had presented Izaya with a totally new set of values.
Spirits or no, Izaya didn’t believe in heaven or hell at all. He didn’t accept any
consolidated “new world” that continued after the mortal one. They were just fictions
reflecting the finer differences in cultures.
Until a dullahan, a being straight from legend, appeared in Ikebukuro. If she was
indeed an inhuman being, and exactly what the folklore stories said, then couldn’t
there be a heaven, or a hell, or perhaps the Valhalla of Scandinavian myth and its
eternal battleground?
Izaya didn’t desire to go to heaven. He knew that if he were bound for either
destination, it was probably going to be hell.
What he wanted to know was what the humans did in this continuation of the world,
in their spiritual or soul form. When people committed suicide hoping for permanent
oblivion, how would their souls react when told, “Sorry, nothingness was just a myth,
your consciousness will suffer for all eternity”?
When people assumed that killing one or a thousand people carried the same sinful
weight and were executed for their role in mass killings, how would they react if told,
“Sorry, they’re not the same thing”?
And on the other hand, what would you get from those who died terrified of leaving
their families behind—“Congratulations, now you can watch over them from here”?
How long would they actually observe their families? A year? Two? Ten? Forever? Or
would the knowledge that they could do it for eternity actually bore them after mere
hours?
The afterlife was an unknown quantity for everyone. What would the people plunged
into that world of the unknown think? What actions would they take?
He imagined the possibilities, indulging in his own private bliss, like an innocent child
swept up in the world of his dreams.
Meanwhile, the part of Izaya not daydreaming wondered what the police were up to
and took out his phone to check the news on the Internet. The sudden buzzing of an
incoming call brought him entirely back to reality.
The screen displayed: Ryuugamine, Mikado.
He clutched the phone for several seconds, thinking hard.
Mikado. I haven’t heard from him in a while. I wonder what’s been happening.
Left unsaid was the fact that he had been intentionally ignoring any of Mikado’s
attempts to get in touch.
Why this exact moment? Is something going on?
Izaya had just left the hospital and wasn’t aware of the news about Ikebukuro. After
several rings, he finally pressed the call button.
“Hello. It’s been a while since I heard from you, Mikado.”
“Oh, um… yes, it’s been a good while, Mr. Orihara.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t answer the phone for a bit. I’ve been very busy with work.”
“No, I’m sorry for bothering you. I know you’re busy…”
With the formalities out of the way, Izaya got right down to business.
“So what is it? Got a problem?”
“Sorry. Actually, I wanted to ask you something…”
Abandoned building
“And what’s that? I might be able to answer it for free, but if it impinges on my business,
I’ll have to charge you,” said the voice over the phone, which was just the same as any
other time they’d talked. Mikado took a deep breath.
Are you aware of the news about the head? That was the first question, no matter what.
But Mikado kept the words trapped in his throat.
After a long pause, he instead asked the question he’d been wondering about since
last night. “Mr. Orihara… are you familiar with a person in the Awakusu-kai named
Akabayashi?”
“Yes, I am,” he replied instantly. His voice was cheerful, like always. The fact that a
teenager was namedropping yakuza lieutenants had no effect on him.
“…Well, this might be a very strange thing to ask, so I apologize in advance if it upsets
you.”
“What is it?”
“Was it… you who told him about me?”
And rather than the few seconds of silence that Mikado anticipated after the question,
Izaya answered without missing a beat.
“You’re half-right, half-wrong, I’d say.”
“Huh…?”
Izaya had to stifle a chuckle at the confusion in the voice on the other end of the call.
“Remember what I told you before? Out of respect for you, I wouldn’t sell the
information that you are the founder of the Dollars. It’s just that there are exceptions.”
“Exceptions…?”
Izaya considerately explained, “One is outside of my business. For example, if I felt like
telling a personal friend that you were the founder of the Dollars for their own benefit,
rather than as a business transaction, I would do it. That would be an instance that I
thought was in your benefit, too.”
This was partly the truth and partly a lie. When he told Masaomi Kida about the
identity of the Dollars’ boss, it was indeed outside of business. But he never
considered it to be for the sake of Masaomi or Mikado. It was entirely to suit his own
ends.
Outside of that, it wasn’t Izaya who had leaked Mikado’s information to the thug
named Horada but Namie. So for the most part, Izaya was telling the truth.
“The second example—and this would be in the case of Mr. Akabayashi—is if the other
side already suspected that you were the founder of the Dollars and hired me to collect
intelligence that would prove it. I can choose not to tell the truth, but if I simply lied, I
would be negating the entire point of my personal business.”
This, too, contained a bit of untruth.
He hadn’t told Akabayashi pure, unvarnished fact. Instead, he said something like, “I
never imagined that a student at my old school would be the boss of the Dollars.” He
had lied to Akabayashi’s face as part of his business—albeit with the understanding
that Akabayashi was smart enough to see through that lie.
But Izaya wasn’t lying about this now for self-preservation. He was setting fire to the
rope Mikado Ryuugamine was crossing.
“Do you understand? The moment he came to me, Mr. Akabayashi already had an idea
that you were the leader of the Dollars.”
“…”
The only sound through the phone speaker was breathing. Izaya continued.
“In other words, consider that your secret is not actually a secret at all on this side of
society. And not just this side. In time, the rumors will hit the public, and by the start
of second semester, you might get a tap on the shoulder and turn around to hear a
classmate asking you, ‘Is it true you’re the boss of the Dollars?’ as if he can’t really
believe it himself.”
“…Yes, I can see how that might happen.”
“So now I have a question for you. Why are you still over there? Just abandon your
position and play the part of an ordinary student. I’ve been hearing stories about how
you’re teaming up with an underclassman at school and doing all kinds of menacing
things.”
Through the speaker he picked up the sound of Mikado chuckling.
“Ha-ha… You really are incredible at this. So you’ve heard about that, too…”
“Let me be up-front and reveal that I know Shizu isn’t a member of the Dollars
anymore, and Dotachin’s been in an accident. I can anticipate that you are aware of
these things, too. So why are you still there? You know what sort of danger you’re in.”
“…And now the yakuza are aware of me, too.”
“Exactly. This is your last chance. If you hand over the Dollars to someone else and go
back to being an ordinary student, the Awakusu-kai aren’t going to have any reason to
mess with you. Your name will soon be forgotten,” Izaya said, knowing full well this
was never an option.
As he expected, Mikado was silent and did not offer any words of agreement. Then the
information dealer put the screws to him with a false argument.
“What’s wrong? Didn’t you want the extraordinary in your life? With what’s happening
to you now, wouldn’t an ordinary and boring life actually be more extraordinary at this
point?”
“…I believe you were the one who said that in order to taste the abnormal… I either had
to accept it or continue evolving.”
“Yes, I did say that. But you don’t have to take my word at face value. You’re the one
who makes that choice.”
“I know. Which is why I can be up-front about this. Even if you weren’t pulling any strings
behind the scenes… I’m pretty sure that I would’ve ended up in this position.”
At long last, it was Izaya’s turn to fall silent.
But it was not shock at learning his actions were already known. It was a silence of
deep-seated, trembling fascination and delight.
“My goodness. You make it sound as though I’ve been sneaking around behind your
back,” Izaya said hopefully.
Without betraying any anger or disappointment, Mikado said, “But of course you would
be up to something, Kanra. You were the one who told Masaomi about my secret first,
too, weren’t you?”
“What if I said you were right about that? Would you scorn me? Would you hate me?”
“…The way you said that tells me it was you.”
Izaya fell silent, a tacit admission. He got a better grip on his phone, making sure he
could clearly hear what Mikado would say next. The statement came imminently.
“Thank you.”
It seemed to come out of nowhere. But Mikado’s voice was completely level, not
sarcastic or ironic in the least. “If that hadn’t happened, I think I would’ve just kept my
secret… from Masaomi and from Sonohara, too. I mean, I know that every human being
has a lifelong secret or two… but I’m just a teenager. I’m not strong enough to keep going
with my secret identity hidden in my back pocket, like the protagonist of some comic
book.”
“…”
“I would’ve been buffeted by the waves of the Dollars and buried it all in the midst of my
ordinary life. All the while feeling guilty about hiding it from the people I really care
about.”
“And you don’t feel guilty about what you’re doing now?” Izaya asked, suppressing the
surge of excitement running through him. “You’re beefing with the Yellow Scarves…
and I don’t suppose I need to sell you the details of who leads them, do I?”
Mikado wasn’t shaken by this at all. If anything, his response was almost cheeky. “My
guilt is for creating the Dollars, period. That’s why I want to drag the Yellow Scarves and
every other bothersome thing involving me into the Dollars so I can reset everything. In
video game terms, I guess you’d call it a New Game Plus.”
“Putting things into video game terms? You sound just like one of the kids these days.”
“I am one of the kids these days.” Mikado laughed, his self-mockery apparent through
the phone. “I want to take the Dollars back to their original state… Back to the night of
our first gathering. To do that, I need to destroy everything clinging to the edges of the
group. That’s all I want to do. And that includes the war with the Yellow Scarves.”
“You don’t think that the way you’re trying to take over the Dollars for yourself makes
you one of those very clingers?” Izaya teased.
Mikado laughed it off. “Oh, please. This isn’t like you.”
“You think so?”
“I mean, I’ve always been a clinger. It’s why I’m destroying all of it, including myself. Once
everything is back to normal and the Dollars are returned to their original state, I want
to start something new. Maybe it would be interesting to properly include Sonohara and
Masaomi in the Dollars.”
“…”
Yes! Fascinating! He’s the best!
Mikado Ryuugamine, I must confess I’m a bit surprised and in awe of you.
You’re the greatest kind of clown I’ve ever seen. You are humanity itself! I always had a
hunch, and it turned out to be bang on!
“Nice! That’s right, you’re human. If anyone is human, it’s you, Mikado Ryuugamine.”
“Huh?”
Izaya was so moved that he didn’t realize he’d spoken that part aloud. “You’re selfish,
but you think of others, you commit crimes as a means of penance, you withdraw into
your shell in order to change the world. You inhabit so many contradictions, and yet
not everything falls under that particular logic—which is what makes you so human,
in my opinion. I happen to think that one of humanity’s defining traits is the
willingness to switch things up—to step into the crosswalk with your right foot first
every single day, then start with your left today, for no particular reason.”
“I don’t know what it is that you see in me, but I’m obviously not human in some
archetypal sense. I’m just indecisive, that’s all.”
“Oh, I wasn’t paying you a compliment. You’re indecisive, and yet your ability to act is
unparalleled. You act slowly and smoothly but in unpredictable ways. Just like a
pinwheel firework, spinning very slowly.”
“You’re suggesting I’m destined to explode and die at the end,” Mikado noted darkly.
Izaya stifled a chuckle. “That’s not my call to make. You do understand that I’m only
assisting you kids in your struggle to move onward, right? It’s up to you to decide
which direction you take that. And while we’re on the topic, Mr. Akabayashi being the
one to come from the Awakusu-kai side is a huge opportunity for you. He’s not the
kind of person who keeps threatening those who walk away from their side of society.
You understand what I mean by that?”
“…You’re saying that if I turn back, it has to be now?”
“Yeah. As your senior in life, I’m undecided at the moment. I’ve got connections to him
and the Awakusu-kai, as you know. I could get shot and killed at any moment. I don’t
know whether I should take your hand and show you how to navigate the depths of
this treacherous sea, or push you back up to the safety of the beach and the sunlight.”
“Mr. Akabayashi said the same thing to me. But where I want to be is neither of those
places, I think.”
“Oh?”
“In your analogy, I guess I want to be right at the breaking point of the waves at the
shore. I feel like whether ordinary student or Dollars, if I choose just one, I’ll be destined
to get bored with it. I’m not looking for life-risking thrills and chills. But I’m also not
enamored with boring peace. That’s what the last six months have taught me.”
The boy’s true wishes came through the phone, his voice clearly painted in complex
and tangled emotions. The fact that there was still a note of uncertainty present spoke
to just how truthful he was being about himself.
“In the end, I just want to keep seeing things that are different from where I am now. So
if I could just sit in a boat, right at the breaker, spinning and rocking with the waves… I
guess…”
Izaya did his best to suppress his emotion, eyes sparkling like he was about to open
the mail-order box he’d been waiting for. “So this is what you’re saying,” he teased.
“You always want to be the guy gawking just at the barest margin of safety in all those
videos capturing shocking events. You want to be the arsonist and the firefighter. You
want to be the scientist who creates the giant monster, then the one to call the
superhero for help. You want to cause trouble and get the credit for stopping it. You
want to hog all the misery and joy, right from a front-row seat. Like you’re some kind
of God.”
Mikado’s response to this mockery was quite simple. “I would think that’s the devil, not
God.” But he didn’t deny any of it. “It occurs to me—that would be you, Izaya.”
“Is it a coincidence that you just called me Izaya instead of Mr. Orihara? Or by design?”
“Is it that important? I called you Mr. Orihara earlier because it had been a while and I
felt some distance, but it’s a bit of a mouthful.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you out,” Izaya said. “It’s just that because my hobby is
observation, I’m very sensitive to minor changes. I must say, though, I’m relieved. You
haven’t changed at all.”
“Huh?”
“To be honest, I was worried. I thought you might’ve changed since the last time we
spoke. But no, nothing about you has changed since that very first meeting. I mean,
independent of personal growth. You’re moving forward while retaining who you are.”
Despite the fact that he’d just mentioned how it was human nature to switch things
up out of nowhere, Izaya was now complimenting Mikado for his nature never
changing. But it didn’t seem to fully register with the younger boy, whose voice was
uncertain, hesitant.
“Do you… think so?”
“Yes. What you’re doing now is so extreme that you’ve been worried about yourself,
haven’t you? Worried that you might be going crazy somehow.”
“…”
Izaya took his silence as agreement and sang his praises. “Right now, the people
around you are probably thinking things like, He went crazy, and He’s acting weird, and
Someone’s fooling him. Particularly the people who know you well, like Anri Sonohara,
Masaomi Kida, Dotach… er, Kyouhei Kadota, and Celty Sturluson.”
“…! I was trying to hide it from them… but I guess… I’ve been worrying folks like Celty.”
“Yes, I believe you have. She’s not human, but she’s got a strong image of humanity
that she models herself after, based on TV shows and books and the like. In a sense,
that’s what makes her seem so human for being so inhuman. I guess she can’t help but
think that you’re running wild at the moment. Because from a normal person’s
perspective, you seem to be going totally out of control.”
Izaya followed his preamble with a more forceful answer.
“However, you don’t need to worry about this, because I can guarantee that you,
Mikado Ryuugamine, have not changed a bit from the moment you formed the Dollars!
If you’ve gone mad, then it happened right at the time you formed your group, not
now! When you got all those people together and declared war on a huge corporation
with a single text message, that was when you were insane.”
“…”
“And yet, you persisted in treading your ordinary daily life, with that air of madness
inside of you. I’m quite jealous. I wasn’t able to do that when I was in high school,”
Izaya said wistfully.
Mikado reacted to his mentor’s plaudit with a soft snort. “And… what do you intend to
do with the Dollars, Izaya?” he asked.
“What do you mean, what will I do?”
“I’d like to think I know a bit about you. Even this very conversation has told me
something. You’re not just sitting back and quietly watching this unfold. Also, since this
started up, I’ve been doing some research into the past.”
The past.
It was a word Mikado said with great meaning. But he otherwise did not change his
tone of voice and didn’t beat around the bush in revealing what he knew about then
and now.
“You’re trying to do to us what you did to the Yellow Scarves two years ago, aren’t
you?”
Silence reigned.
A train passed over the bridge above, and Izaya said nothing until the roar had passed.
Mikado heard the noise through the phone speaker and waited patiently.
After ten seconds of a very noisy silence, Izaya smiled. His eyes sparkled with surprise
and delight. “With the distance you put between yourself and Kida, I didn’t think you’d
figure that out. Who did you hear that from, Tsukumoya?”
“No… I searched out people who were low on the Yellow Scarves totem pole back then
and lead normal lives now. I only got bits and pieces, but when put together from twenty
different people’s stories, I finally started to see the big picture.”
“Do you despise me?”
“If anyone would, it’d be Masaomi, wouldn’t you think? Oh, but… if Masaomi’s big injury
back in March had anything to do with you, then I suppose I should despise you… I
wonder what the answer is. I guess I’ll consider that again once things are back to
normal between me and him,” Mikado reflected, detached.
“I see,” Izaya replied. “We’ll put that off until later, then. Honestly, I was going to stay
quiet about the whole thing, but at this point it doesn’t seem like there’s any reason to
hide it.”
He leaned against the wall of the tunnel, free hand in his pocket, looking up at the
ceiling.
“It’s true, I intend to mess with you two. But I’m not deciding if I’ll be your ally or your
enemy. Frankly, I think that remaining an observer is the fairest choice and will allow
me to observe people in their most natural state, but that might be difficult at this
point. You and Kida can’t solve your issue anymore just between you and the people
you have doing your dirty work. The fact that Mr. Akabayashi’s involved should make
that clear, right?”
Still, he didn’t bring up the issue of Kasane Kujiragi. He could have gone ahead and
revealed that Hiroto Shijima was his own cat’s-paw but decided against doing that. He
knew that actions he took while elated often had a way of coming back around to bite
him.
But usually that happened because he couldn’t help himself and did it anyway.
Mikado took Izaya’s statement with a grain of salt. “If possible… I’d appreciate having
you on my side. As one of the people who knows what the Dollars were on that first
meeting…”
“Well, that’s tricky. Even I can’t tell what I’ll be doing up ahead. Ultimately, what I want
to see is other people, not myself. My biggest pleasure in life is observing what others
do when placed in unpredictable circumstances. So yes, I will start all the fires and put
them all out to that end.”
“…It wasn’t you who arranged the stunt with the head, was… Aaah!!” Mikado yelped.
Izaya’s eyes narrowed in curiosity at the sudden shift in his voice.
“Oh! That’s right!” Mikado continued. “That’s what I wanted to call you about!”
“?”
“Were you aware of today’s news, Izaya?!”
“No, I just got done with something. I haven’t checked the news recently. Did something
happen?” Izaya asked, sensing something abnormal in the tone of Mikado’s voice.
“You’d be better off just turning on the TV for the news, rather than hearing it from me!
You could even check the news on your phone! In fact, I was calling because I wanted to
ask if you had anything to do with it… but based on your reaction, I’m guessing you
didn’t,” Mikado said, clearly agitated. Then he claimed he would call back and hung up.
Izaya recalled the police cars he’d seen passing by and decided to just check it out on
his phone. In all honestly, he’d have preferred to bask in the splendidness of humanity,
out of respect for young Mikado Ryuugamine, but he felt a note of unease in his chest
and pulled out a separate smartphone so that he could launch his own special news-
aggregating app.
Maybe Shizu broke out of the holding cell. Man, it would be awesome if they would just
shoot him down…
He gazed at the screen of the smartphone, holding to that faint hope—and when the
headline “Woman’s Head in Crowded Ikebukuro” appeared, his mind froze.
It was less than a second, but if Shizuo Heiwajima just so happened to be throwing a
vending machine at him in that moment, he would have perished without any means
to avoid it.
Once the momentary shock—powerful enough to expose him to fatal threat—had

passed, Izaya scanned the details of the article, then launched another online app.
A quick check of the obscure, underground image site brought him what he was
looking for very quickly. The instant he saw the face that was identical to Mika
Harima’s, Izaya understood.
It was not Mika Harima’s head. It was the head of Celty Sturluson, which was supposed
to be in his possession.
The culprit was likely Manami Mamiya.
And her motive was simple: provocation.
It was for that reason, that extremely personal and petty reason, that she threw the
entire city into a panic and totally destroyed a portion of Izaya’s plans.
And Izaya’s reaction to losing one of the best aces up his sleeve was overwhelming joy.
“I see… So that’s how you want this!”
He had accepted Manami Mamiya into his team as an irregular element that would
interfere with him. His goal was not something experimentally productive like forcing
his operation to tighten up by including an enemy among the ranks. No, it was for the
most Izaya of reasons: a desire to observe what a girl who lived on nothing but hatred
for him might do.
Naturally, he was under the assumption that she would do something.
She’d report their activities to the police, or try to kill him in his sleep, or dump poison
into the water tank of the building, knowing full well it would harm other members
and innocent residents.
He maintained a minimum of caution, of course, since getting himself killed wasn’t the
idea—but what she ultimately did far surpassed his expectations. He anticipated that
she would steal the head, but his guess was that she would either give it back to Celty,
take it to Nebula, or offer it to Kasane Kujiragi.
I never expected she’d get the entire world involved in it.
It was as though, by shining the spotlight of the public’s attention on the head, she was
exposing everyone and everything in this secret state of affairs—Dollars, Jinnai
Yodogiri, Awakusu-kai, Izaya, even the dullahan and Saika—to the world at large.
“…Ha-ha!”
He could no longer hold back his laughter.
Gales of it burst forth, echoing off the walls of the tunnel, laughter that threatened to
bowl over the entire world.
When a new train passed over, the clatter and roar of it harmonized with the laughter
in ugly ways, chilling both any pedestrians in the area and even the Dragon Zombie
members who waited a short distance away.
This is what makes humanity so wonderful!
I admit it, Manami Mamiya—I’m taken aback by your actions. In fact, you might even
say I’ve been put on a major mental defensive. And I couldn’t be happier!
But this isn’t the end, is it?
He considered the current affairs anew, a sign of utmost respect for the girl who’d
placed him in great danger.
I guess this means I should start moving in earnest, then. Shizu’s stuck with the police
thanks to that thing with Earthworm, so I can move around in safety. And thankfully,
Kasane Kujiragi’s Saika children will extend his time in captivity.
You know… that meeting with Anri Sonohara this morning seemed portentous. After
talking with Mikado, I feel like today is marked by fate. In order to turn coincidence into
inevitability, I suppose I should work on Kida later tonight, perhaps.
Malevolent plans swirled in his heart, blissful smile on his lips.
Now, in the moment, when his plans were in danger of being destroyed, he felt the
pure opportunity of human observation, a hope that no one else would ever bother to
believe in.
Parking garage, Tokyo
It was one of Tokyo’s uncountable unmanned standing garages, not very far from
Ikebukuro. This had once been a hangout for the Blue Squares, but after the past
squabble, the Yellow Scarves had used Izaya Orihara’s information to root it out and
take over the territory.
When the Blue Squares broke up, and after Masaomi left the gang, some local teens
occasionally loitered around the area—but now the folks in yellow were back in full
force.
Not that they ever bothered the cars that used the garage. They didn’t even sit out in
the open where people would take notice. They knew that if any of the usual people
complained, the police would come down on them at once. Apparently the cops
regularly patrolled the area back in the days of the Blue Squares.
Masaomi Kida made use of that information, using the garage less as a base of
operations than a clandestine hideout. Even after he left, the practices he had put in
place had been followed, so it was extremely rare that an officer ever came around
anymore.
On the roof of the garage, Masaomi was holding a meeting with the other Yellow
Scarves.
“Okay, so we’ve got to watch out for this huge guy with the sleepy eyes. If the rumors
are accurate, he’s probably a guy from Kushinada High called Houjou.”
The plan to lure out and strike the Blue Squares yesterday had worked up to a point.
But when the large youth got out of the van, the entire skirmish ended in a draw and
mutual retreat.
“So… I guess they’re serious about this,” said Kouji Yatabe, one of the senior members.
Masaomi nodded gravely. “Same goes for me. I was dead serious about fighting them
off. If it weren’t for the Blue Squares, he and I could’ve had a good fistfight and gotten
this all over with already.”
“How many times have you said that, Shogun?”
“Yeah, you can’t keep playing the old hits.” His friends chuckled, annoyed. Masaomi
laughed, too.
“I’ll say it as many times as I want. Thanks for sticking around through my personal
battle, guys.”
“This is so dorky.”
“Ahh, bittersweet youth!” they joked to hide their embarrassment.
Masaomi prepared himself to get serious again so they could discuss their next
actions—but he sensed a silhouette moving out of the corner of his eye and glanced
that way.
A young man dressed in casual attire emerged from the elevator. Probably just an
ordinary person getting his car, Masaomi mused and turned back to his friends.
But then he realized that something struck him as wrong, and he glanced back.
He understood what it was.
The man wasn’t heading for any of the cars parked on the roof. He was walking straight
for their group.
“Hey,” Masaomi said, and his friends turned to look.
They got to their feet, sending dangerous warning glances. There were only five or so
of them, but this was one man. If he was with the Blue Squares, they could handle him.
Most importantly, their shogun, Masaomi Kida, was here. This wasn’t like when they
had sparred with Houjou yesterday.
They stared the man down, putting their full trust in Masaomi’s presence. But for his
part, Masaomi was feeling a light layer of sweat break out.
He knew the man approaching them.
You’ve gotta be kidding me. What’s he doing here…?
At first, he didn’t recognize the man. After all, the previous time they met had been
under drastically different circumstances.
When he’d been secretly listening to Mikado Ryuugamine talk to this man on the street,
his face had been covered by many bandages. It was only the sight of his distinctive
hat that gave him away.
“Chikage… Rokujou… ,” he muttered.
The other members turned toward him. “Huh? You know this guy, Shogun?”
“I don’t know him… I’ve never talked to him. But that’s the head of a motorcycle gang
from Saitama called Toramaru.”
“Saitama?” they repeated, befuddled.
All the while, Chikage Rokujou continued forward, until he was close enough to have
a dialogue with.
He stopped there and raised a hand to them. “Yo. You guys are Yellow Scarves, right?”
he said breezily.
Yatabe and the others shared an uneasy look, but Masaomi stepped forward. “That’s
right… I don’t see your girls with you this time, Chikage Rokujou.”
Chikage looked surprised. He gave the smaller boy an appraising glance. “Yeah. Sounds
like something gnarly was happening right outside the train station. I sent them back
home. But, um… more importantly, sorry, kid. Have we met somewhere before?”
“No. This is our first time talking. But you’re pretty famous, you know that?”
Chikage considered the words, then smirked. “Ah, I see. This is just a hunch, but I’m
betting you must be the boss of the Yellow Scarves, huh?”
“Technically, yes. Once divorced.” Masaomi snorted.
Rokujou readjusted his hat and said, “Well, I don’t think I need to introduce myself,
then, but I’ll do it anyway. I’m Chikage Rokujou. I run a little gang called Toramaru over
in the Kawagoe area.”
“Masaomi Kida.”
Chikage cracked his neck and gave Masaomi another once-over. “Hmm. I was imagining
more of a burly bandit type. You’re smaller than I expected.”
“If anything, I bet the rest of society would be more surprised to learn that you lead a
street gang.”
“You think so? Well… it’s true that I kind of stick out against the rest of my boys.”
“So what brings you here today?” Masaomi asked, neither sucking up to nor looking
down on his visitor, merely cautious.
“Oh, right, right. My business.” Chikage chuckled. He answered the question with
another question. “You guys are at war with another group called the Dollars, right?”
“…Yes, that’s true.”
“Well, I’ve got a complex situation with them. Lots of favors owed back and forth,” the
young man said, always breezy and friendly. “So I know this is sudden, but I was
hoping you could choose for me.”
“…Choose what?”
“Whether you want your gang taken over or destroyed entirely.”
Ikebukuro Park
Anri followed Haruna Niekawa to a park located next to Sunshine Street.

Despite it being midday during summer vacation, it was only sparsely populated. The
familiar blue vinyl tarps were visible in the back of the park, but there were no
homeless around at the moment, just a few people taking a break from their nearby
offices and several students enjoying their vacation. Nobody was even sitting at the
stone benches in front of the fountain. Upon close inspection, hardly anyone was
actually off their feet.
The only person she could see doing so was an office lady perusing a magazine on a
bench under a tree, farther away from the fountain.
“…Shall we sit here?” Haruna asked and lowered herself onto a stone bench at the
fountain. Anri was cautious, unsure if she should take a seat with some distance
between them.
“Oh, don’t be so timid,” the other girl said, smiling softly despite the overt hostility.
“Given the power of your Saika, it doesn’t matter how far apart we sit, does it?”
Anri found the offer creepy but sat down next to her anyway. Right before them was a
beautiful water fountain, the liquid cascading down stone steps, but Anri was not in
any state to relax and enjoy it.
“Umm… Miss Niekawa…” She was still the first to speak, bobbing her head and
avoiding looking at the other girl. “I saw on the Dollars’ website… that your father is
looking for you…”
“My dad is? Oh, I see. It’s been awhile since I left home.”
“I think it would be best if you went back to him,” Anri suggested.
“No,” Haruna replied flatly. “I’m grateful to him for raising me, but I don’t revere him
as a person. It’s more important to me that I look for Takashi than help my dad feel
better.”
Takashi.
Anri recalled the teacher: Takashi Nasujima. He worked at Raira Academy, then
disappeared after the street slasher incident. Rumors said that he was kidnapped by
some fellows he owed money—but Anri’s memory of him was completely isolated
from the rumors and his image as a teacher.
He had singled her out right at the start of school and would do her favors so that he
could then take advantage of her in various harassing and inappropriate ways. He had
also had a relationship with Haruna Niekawa, and it was at her fanatical, besotted
hand that he’d been slashed.
Anri had no interest in him. In fact, despite her lack of negative feelings toward others
in general, she had a rare distaste for him personally.
But no matter what he was like, Haruna was madly in love with him. In fact, she started
the slashing incident and tried to kill Anri, just so she could monopolize his affections.
For his part, Nasujima was terrified of Haruna.
Anri recalled the events of half a year ago and hesitantly asked, “Are you… going to do
all that again?”
“‘Again’? You mean my love for Takashi? What a strange thing to say, Sonohara.” Haruna
slowly panned over to look at her, still smiling. “Love might begin at one point, but it
does not resume. If love ever ends, even temporarily, then it was never love to begin
with.”
She then put a finger to her cheek in contemplation and continued, “But I’m not selfish
enough to claim that a married couple who divorces and gets back together ‘wasn’t
actually in love.’ That wasn’t love coming to an end. They just changed the way they
love each other.”
“O… kay…”
“Being together forever is love. Putting distance between you is also love. Even hating
is love. There are countless ways to love, and all of them are valid. That’s what I’ve
come to believe. And it’s because you stabbed me, and I’ve grown more deeply
intertwined with Saika.”
Words of gratitude. Yet, Anri could keenly sense that none of the hatred and hostility
in the other girl had dimmed. She stayed on guard, prepared to launch Saika from
anywhere in her body in case a blade came hurtling toward her.
The idea filled her with self-loathing: She was ready to utilize Saika without a second
thought.
No ordinary person would simply play along with Niekawa’s invitation. Izaya’s words
earlier today had jammed themselves deep into her heart. She had completely accepted
that she was not human.
…I thought I gave up already.
After leaving the hospital, she tried to call Mikado many times and only reached his
voice mail. She didn’t have any better luck getting in touch with Celty.
Izaya had warned her that her friends might be in trouble, and yet here she was, calmly
spending time with Haruna Niekawa. She really wasn’t human, she told herself. And
despite her self-loathing, she never even considered letting go of Saika, the root of her
contradiction.
“So… did you come here to kill me?” she asked.
A woman sat on a bench in the shade of a tree, reading a magazine.
Kasane Kujiragi could sense the presence of other Saikas in the park aside from her
own.
Two of them.
Based on the auras, she suspected that one of them was a Saika she branched off
twenty years ago, and the other had been an offshoot of that one.
She had assumed at first that they’d tamed Saika’s voices enough to sense her
presence here and were coming to her for some reason—but when she glanced over
at them, she saw that they were sitting on a distant bench instead, having a
conversation. They didn’t seem to sense her.
Anri Sonohara.
Kasane knew that much. The sight of the girl with the glasses gave her pause.
Apparently, it was a simple coincidence that brought them to this park with her.
So what now?
A magazine full of information and mother-and-daughter Saikas.

Which would be easier, defeating them both and presenting them to Seitarou Yagiri or
handing over her own Saika (or a newly branched one)? The latter would be far easier.
So Kujiragi turned the pages of her magazine, pretending not to notice anything.
…Except for the occasional cries of stray cats, which prompted her to glance around
dispassionately.
“Did you come here to kill me?” Anri asked.
Haruna never lost her smile as she answered, “Yes, I did… or I wish I did. But no. I
forgive you.”
“…?”
“The old me would never have forgiven you—or any woman that Takashi loved. But
after you controlled me, I matured a little. So as the older, more worldly woman, I can
make a special exception for you.”
Anri wasn’t sure what to make of this. There shouldn’t have been any question of
forgiveness—Anri had never done anything to Haruna—but even setting that aside,
there was something wrong with what she was saying.
For one thing, none of the hostility emanating toward Anri had abated in the least. It
made no sense that she was talking about forgiving, when the fires in her eyes
suggested murder.
It wasn’t even a matter of holding back anger. She didn’t look like she was doing her
best to stifle hatred. She was simply smiling.
Unsure of how to process all this, Anri waited for her to continue.
“I still hate you. Enough to torture you to death if I had the chance. You stole Takashi’s
heart from me and left. And you had the gall to reject him. I swore… what you did was
unforgivable…”
She glanced away, seemingly out of shame. “But then I was exposed to Saika’s voice…
the real voice you’ve been hearing all this time, and you conquered me…”
“Uh-huh…”
“I’m all screwed up now. I just wanted to slice Takashi, have him slice me, and mix us
together in one sticky mess. I wanted us to be one in our endless love… but your mind
defiled my body first. It ran rampant over me. But then I remembered: No matter how
dirty I might be, no matter how much Takashi despises me, my love for him will never
change. I can even turn my hatred for you into love.”
“? ??”
Umm… what exactly is she saying?
Anri wasn’t following. The more she talked, the more the confusion mounted.
It would’ve been easier if she’d just decided that it was pointless trying to understand
someone with a few screws loose, but Anri considered Haruna Niekawa to be firmly
within the range of “normal human beings.” In fact, she even respected her for her
proactivity when it came to romance.
But respect and understanding were completely distinct concepts, so ultimately Anri
was at a loss for how to respond to any of this.
“I overcame the power of your Saika all on my own, Anri Sonohara. But I only
overpowered it. I might be maintaining my human self by a thread, but your Saika is
still within me. It should have been separate from my Saika, but they’ve begun mixing
within me.”
“Th-they have?”
Anri was the host of Saika, but she had never been sliced and turned into a “child.” It
was possible to imprint one’s will and orders on any child of Saika’s blade edge, but
the child’s thoughts did not get back to her unless by the child’s own mouth.
“Why are you acting like this is someone else’s problem? I want you to take
responsibility. And then I can take responsibility for being stabbed by you.”
“…Huh?”
“I’m saying, let’s work together.”
Anri was not expecting this suggestion at all. She still had no idea how to process any
of this.
“Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida,” Haruna continued. “You’re interested in

both of them, but you’re not cheating on one with the other.”
“…!”
The mention of her friends’ names brought a flash of color to Anri’s eyes. Not
figuratively—literally. Her eyes flashed red.
“Don’t… don’t you dare mess with them!” she snapped.
Haruna chuckled mockingly. “Oh, I’m not going to do anything. Because the people
important to you are also important to me.”
“What… do you mean by that?”
“I’m not like the people who got cut when Saika ran berserk. You cut me of your own
conscious will, with the intent of controlling me.” Haruna leaned over, drawing her
shoulder close to Anri’s, close enough to breathe on her, hot and trickling against the
back of her neck, the voice almost sensual next to her ear. “Did you think… that it was
only Saika’s voice that came flooding into me?”
“?!”
“I didn’t realize it at first, either. Not until I could overpower Saika’s voice. But… once
I was able to regain control, I noticed that there was another emotion inside of me. For
Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida. Two boys I’ve barely even met, much less
talked to.”
“No!” Anri turned to face Haruna directly at last.
The other girl’s face, nearly close enough for their noses to touch, was brimming with
madness, but curiously, this imbued her with a kind of beauty. “It’s a good thing you
felt hesitation about it. And it’s a very good thing your feelings for either of them
hadn’t reached the level of love. There is no definition of love, but at the very least, I
was relieved that your emotion was a far cry from what I felt for Takashi. If you had
feelings for them that were the same as my love for Takashi, I might have had to split
my body into three parts.”
“My… feelings?”
“Yes. It might not have been love or romance, but I could tell that you cared about
them. Now those emotions have permeated me, along with Saika’s power. All I want is
for you to take responsibility for doing that.”
Haruna took Anri’s hand and ran her fingers over the back of it. In her own way, she
seemed to be testing Anri, using whatever methods came to her.
“I was forced to peer into your heart, you see. While it may have been inevitable, my
attempt to kill you was the start of all of it, so I will take a step back from there.”
“But… how do you want me to do that?”
“What have I been saying this whole time? I’m a part of you now, and you’re a part of
me.”
“!”
Something in those words brought back Saika’s voice to Anri’s mind.
“I’ve become just a little bit you, and you’re just a little bit me.”
Had she and Haruna Niekawa become connected at some point in their hearts, the way
she and Saika had? As a test, she thought about Nasujima, but no affection of any kind
surfaced.
Secretly relieved about that, she said, “I don’t think that’s true…”
“Regardless of what you think, that’s just how important human emotions are to me.
So while I really, really loathe you, I’m willing to classify that as self-loathing instead.”
Haruna squeezed Anri’s hand, and pressed her forehead with her own. It was the act
of two close friends, but that hatred never disappeared from the act.
“So I want your help in making my love for Takashi bloom.”

“Ohhh… Wait, what?!” Anri yelped.
“And in exchange, I’ll help you with your own romance,” Haruna continued, watching
Anri’s expression for any changes as she trod further and further into the other girl’s
heart. “How much do you know about what’s happening with Ryuugamine right now?”
“…!”
That question was a terrible blow to Anri’s mind, coming so soon after Izaya’s
unsettling metaphor earlier in the day.
“Do you… know something about that?”
“Why, yes, of course. When you work running errands for Izaya, you hear those two
names so often it gets obnoxious.”
“For Izaya Orihara?!”
“Ooh, I felt the anger there. Did something happen between you and him? And yet you
were still polite enough to refer to him by his full name. I guess that does seem like
you. Oh… I guess I’ve just been calling you Anri this whole time. Is that all right, just
calling you by your first name? I mean, we’re friends already.”
It was a brazen thing to drop the term friends when she wasn’t even bothering to hide
the murder in her voice. “If we get closer than we are now, I might even come up with
a nickname for you. Oh, and you can call me Haruna, too. I know you’re younger than
I am, but since we’re such good friends…”
“Haruna, please just tell me about Ryuugamine! What is Izaya Orihara going to do to
him?! What’s he going to do to Ryuugamine and Kida?!” Anri demanded. It was telling
of her personality that despite her panic, she immediately followed the other girl’s
suggestion about her name.
Haruna’s eyes crinkled with delight at the mention of her name, but this did nothing
to her malice. “How should I know what that sadist plans to do? It’s bound to be
whatever the other person wants least at the moment he does it. And if you want to
know what those boys are doing… it’s probably better to use Saika’s power and hear
it from them yourself, rather than asking me.”
“But…”
“I still have plenty of children from Saika around the city. Some clever control of them
should help you find who you’re looking for very quickly.”
“…”
Despite the concrete suggestion, Anri was unable to reply. It wasn’t that she’d never
considered the idea. But even she couldn’t tell anymore if her hesitation was because
she didn’t want to use Saika’s powers, or if she just didn’t want to intrude on the
problem between Mikado and Masaomi.
This was why Haruna’s incredible ability to act and think positively made her so
envious.
Haruna watched the other girl hang her head and said, “You know… you’ve changed a
bit.”
“Huh…?”
“When you cut me, you said, ‘Saika gets lonely, so please love her back. It hurts to hear
you talk about suppressing her or using her.’ And yet, I’ve just been talking about
overpowering and using Saika, and you haven’t called me out for it… In fact, it’s just
like you’ve been trying to hold back Saika.”
“…!”
She was right.
Anri always told herself that she was a parasite. That depending on Saika, depending
on the rest of the world, was just how she survived and made her way through life.
But since the slasher incident, she’d had more and more interaction with Mikado,
Masaomi, Celty, Shinra, even Aoba, and all of this had effected a clear change in her
surroundings.
The influence of that created instability in her heart. Anri was aware of the change,
but she had gone out of her way not to acknowledge it, afraid that the moment she did
so, she would lose everything that made her who she was.
“…Hmm. You seem serious. That’s ironic. The moment I suggest that we should leech
off each other, now you’re the one who’s trying to control and use Saika. Maybe I
rubbed off on you…? No, that’s not true. Even as friends, that would never happen.”
It was strange that Haruna was harping on the word friends so often, but Anri was in
such an extreme mental state she didn’t notice.
Haruna sighed and continued, “Well… how about this? How about I take your Saika for
you?”
“M… my Saika?” Anri replied. For an instant, she wondered if that was even possible,
then shut the idea completely out of her mind.
At the current moment, the only way she could help the boys was to use Saika,
regardless of how she felt about that. And if the conversation with Izaya had taught
her anything, it was that this was not the moment for her to lessen her options for
action.
And a more fundamental question would be why she should ever hand over her
original Saika to the woman who willfully engaged in a campaign of indiscriminate
violence.
“…I don’t think I will.” Anri squeezed her fist, eyes gleaming.
“You won’t? I thought it was a good offer,” Haruna replied, playing the part of an
innocent schoolgirl. She smoothly got to her feet, took a few steps toward the fountain,
then turned back around.
Anri’s level of caution instantly shot up to maximum.
“!”
Haruna was merely smiling with her eyes closed—but suddenly there was a large
knife in her hands.
“At the very least, I’m sure I could use it better than you can now,” she said, still smiling,
eyes wide open. “Thank you for turning me down. Now I have a reason to fight you.”
Her eyes were bloodred and shining. She brandished her blade at Anri without a
second thought.
“Even between friends, you sometimes have a fight to the death… It just happens!”
Seconds earlier
“…Meow,” Kujiragi murmured, her expression blank.
Her eyes were focused on a cat that had wandered up to her bench. Now others were
poking their heads out of the nearby bushes in interest.
“…Meow. Meow-meow.”
Not only was she doing it without expression, she wasn’t even mimicking the
wheedling tones of an actual cat, just saying the word meow in a deadpan monotone.
It was like one of those computer-generated voices programmed to read your e-mail
out loud.
No one aside from her could possibly know what was going through her mind as she
did this, but it did suggest that she viewed cats with some fondness. She began rifling
through her pockets for some kind of food to offer them.
She didn’t find anything and eventually realized that it probably wasn’t good to give
food to stray cats anyway, so she gave up. But the one especially friendly kitten came
forward anyway and rubbed its side against her ankles.
“Mrow?” The kitten pressed its tiny pad against her heel.
She crouched down and held out her hand to the cat, nearly at ground level.
If you want to pet a cat, slowly approach under its chin…
Just when she was about to make contact…
A sharp metallic clash rang through the park.
The cats, who had sharper hearing than humans and even dogs, flinched and turned
to the source of the noise, then scattered into the bushes like a nest of baby spiders.
“…”
Kasane was left with her hand in the air and nothing to pet. She turned her head to
observe, her expression unchanging.
And there she saw the owner of the original Saika, stopping one of two knives with a
blade growing from her palm, while the other knife was pressed to her throat.
“That’s checkmate, Sonohara.”
“…”
“Consider the fact that I’m not stabbing a hole in your throat to be evidence that my
offer wasn’t a lie.”
Haruna grinned devilishly, her eyes burning red. The bloodshot color was deeper than
the usual “children”—perhaps an effect of being slashed by the original Saika twice—
and it was focused around her pupils. In the light of day, it was almost impossible to
distinguish from Anri’s original red eyes.
“You’re so nice. If you’d just attacked me without any warning at the start, it never
would have reached this point,” Haruna continued.
“…I might have a reason to cut you but not to kill you.”
“Don’t glare at me that way.” Haruna chuckled. Like before, she tapped her forehead
against Anri’s. “Why, it doesn’t even sound like you’re bluffing. As if you would kill me,
even if you had a reason.”
“…!”
Anri felt her entire body tense. What had she been thinking that caused her to say
what she did?
I don’t have a reason to kill you.
It was the sort of thing that a hit man or a trained killer bent on revenge would say to
someone who wasn’t their ultimate target in an action-thriller movie.
If she did have a reason to kill, would she have actually done it? Would she have swung
at the other girl’s throat from a distance with her Saika and cut it open? Would she
have impaled her through the heart?
“You don’t still think you’re human, do you?” Izaya’s words repeated in her mind,
stabbing at her heart once more.
Was he right? Was she no longer human? She couldn’t be certain.
A true nonhuman like Celty would probably hear out Haruna’s quip and boldly state,
“You’re just playing with words.” Masaomi would joke something like, “Sure, I’ve got a
reason to kill. How about my parents being murdered?”
But Anri Sonohara only wanted an answer that came from within herself.
Am I… am I really mixing… with Saika…?
If Saika’s words were true, was this a phenomenon she ought to accept? She couldn’t
even answer that question. She had nothing but confusion.
Even sharper than the blade Haruna had pressed to her throat were the girl’s words,
which tore at Anri’s heartstrings without any resistance—but it helped that Izaya had
already scoured the places that were cut, to make it all the easier.
“…What’s wrong? It’s like the old you who cut me was an entirely different person,”
Haruna said, realizing what was wrong at last. Her anticipatory smile vanished. “So
what now? Will you beg for your life? Or will you briefly withdraw your blade and emit
it from a different place to pierce my chest? Shall we have a contest to see which of us
can slice the other faster?”
“I… I wish you would stop this.”
“What? Wait, are you actually going to beg?”
“No… I’m just not sure… what I should actually do now…”
Despite having a blade at her throat with utmost malice, Anri showed no sign of actual
fear. But she wasn’t exactly implacable, either. From her side of the picture frame to
the other, she asked weakly, “Do you… think I’m human? Or… do you think I’m a
monster…?”
Haruna’s brows knitted. “You’re not human or monster. You’re a parasite… That’s what
you said to me ages ago.”
“Oh… You’re right. I did say that. I’m sorry… ,” Anri said, with a forlorn smile. Then she
closed her eyes and withdrew the sword back into her body. “That’s right… In any case,
I’m not human.”
“…?”
Haruna seemed to find Anri withdrawing all her defenses eerie and didn’t press her
advantage.
“Then I choose to latch myself onto you, Haruna the human.”
“Oh? What’s with the change of heart? The way you’re acting so nice and obedient all
of a sudden is frightening me.”
“I think that I’m not capable of processing things the way that a normal human would
anymore. I can’t even tell if what I want to do is actually going to help Ryuugamine or
Kida.”
So in that case, would it actually work out better if she just followed all of Haruna’s
suggestions? Would Haruna even be misled by Saika’s words?
That’s wrong, Anri thought. If I let her call all the shots, things will go very bad, fast. The
street-slashing incident will come back but all over the city, in a much more vicious way.
“Please… just tell me one thing.”
It was a decision made by the logical mind of no one else but Anri Sonohara, but after
being consecutively shaken by Saika, Izaya, and Haruna over the course of a single day,
it was nearly impossible for her to trust her own judgment.
“Would you be able to save Ryuugamine and Kida…?”
“…”
Haruna didn’t expect that question. She fell silent.
In fact, she found Anri’s sudden hesitation and timidity to be creepy. Wouldn’t it be
better just to kill her and take Saika away? Or was this some kind of tactic?
She pulled her second knife away from Anri’s neck and pointed it at her face instead,
hoping to find out Anri’s intentions. The tip stuck in her cheek, nearly ready to slice—
“The cats are running away.”
A third party’s voice entered the scene.
Apparently, it had been directed at Anri, whose mental grip was getting tenuous.
Somehow, there was a woman standing right next to them. She glanced at Haruna,
then at Anri, and said, “It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a mother and child in a battle to
the death, but you’re really just being a bother. Could you please do that somewhere
else?”
The new woman was unafraid to scold the two Saikas. While she and Anri were both
quiet and wore glasses, the resemblance stopped there. She looked plain at first
glance, but on closer examination, her skin was so smooth it was practically clear,
perfect as porcelain.
The one black glove on just her right hand was a bit eccentric, but aside from that, she
looked like some pretty secretary enjoying a lunch break on her workday.
“…Who are you?” Haruna glared, suspicious of the sudden interloper. “Can’t you tell
we’re in the middle of something important?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she thrust the knife that was not pointed at Anri’s face
toward the new woman—not as a threat but an actual attack.
Anri held her breath, and then she realized what it was that struck her about the
woman’s words.
Mother and child.
Why had she used that description to refer to two girls wearing school uniforms?
She came to the answer at the same moment that a dull metallic impact rang throughout
the park.
“…Huh?”
It was Haruna Niekawa who gaped. The look on her face was much like the time that
Anri first showed her the full form of Saika. She glanced back and forth from the
woman to the thing.
“What… is that…? Who are you…?”
Something like metal fingernails had promptly jutted from the fingers of the woman’s
left hand, catching Haruna’s knife blade. While it was not at all like a katana, each and
every one of her nails was its own sharp little edge.
With her eyes blazing red, the woman answered, “Forgive my late introduction. I am
Kasane Kujiragi. This is an original Saika blade.”
““!””
Both Anri and Haruna reacted to the woman’s simple revelation with shock.
Saika. She had definitely said it.
Before Anri could ask a follow-up question, Haruna leaped into action.
With her one knife still tangled with the woman’s nails, she used the other to swing at
the target’s neck—but it was forced to a stop partway.
A silver wirelike cord shot from Kujiragi’s ankle and locked up Haruna’s body.
“Rrgh… aaah…!” She winced, gritting her teeth against the pain of the silver rope
digging into her skin, but never stopped trying to swing her arm.
“I have no problem with resisting your mother. There are many reasons one might do
so: rebellious phases, becoming independent. But I draw the line when it comes to
open physical hostility,” Kujiragi said with clinical dispassion and grabbed part of the
silver rope with her gloved hand.
Then she deftly wriggled the tip of the rope and caused it to press a switch hidden on
her arm.
“~~~~!”
Haruna let out a silent shriek, her body jolting. After a few seconds of convulsing,
Kujiragi instantly undid the rope, retracting it into her body. Her finger blades were
gone, too. All that was left was Kujiragi, standing normally, and Haruna falling to her
knees.
As a helpless bystander, Anri could only demand, “Wh-what did you do to Haruna?!”
“Merely an electric current through my glove. It is not a fatal flow, but I did run it
through her entire body, so she won’t be able to control her muscles for a little while.”
“Aaa… au…”
Haruna writhed on the ground, just barely clinging to consciousness. She looked up at
Kujiragi with eyes full of hatred and suspicion.
“Haruna, are you all right?!”
Anri crouched down and tried to lift Haruna’s body, but it was still trembling and
twitching, and the process was too difficult.
“You should just let her lie there. She will recover soon.”
Anri looked up at the woman named Kujiragi again.
Who is she?
Why does she have Saika?
One of the “children” I don’t know…?
No. That can’t be right.
A normal “child” can’t do what she just did.
Is she… a magician?
…It can’t be.
Thoughts came and went in a wave.
Anri swallowed hard and tried to catch one of the countless questions swirling around
in her mind to ask the woman. The best she could come up with was, “Um… why didn’t
that electricity paralyze you, too?”
With no affect whatsoever, the woman said, “Oh, it did. My right arm and left leg are
temporarily immobilized, but it is not a problem.”
But her right arm and left ankle, the places where she was connected to the silver rope,
did not actually seem to be trembling.
There was clearly something wrong with this woman. She was not an ordinary human.
That much was apparent.
“When you say Saika… what do you mean? Saika is inside me. Plus… what you just did
didn’t look like Saika to me…”
Fingernail blades and steel ropes—it just didn’t seem to add up to Saika when the
woman said that name.
But instead of answering Anri’s question, the woman said, “On the other hand, you
don’t seem to be making full use of Saika at all.”
“Huh…?”
Kujiragi glanced down at her feet, where Haruna was still moaning. “Before I stepped
in, you could have produced two Saikas and easily overcome this woman, it seemed to
me.”
“Two… Saikas?”
“…Don’t tell me that you think Saika can only take the form of a single katana,” Kujiragi
exclaimed without emotion. It put Anri in mind of something Saika said to her at the
hospital this morning.
“It’s how your mother was able to use me better. She could do a number of things that
you cannot.”
She had forced Saika’s voice down to where it didn’t bother her, but now she was
curious about this.
Something I can’t do? Use two Saikas…? Dual wield…?

Were her nails and that rope… a different form of Saika?
But Saika is inside me… How does she have that?
She also noticed something else that bothered her: Just as had happened when she
encountered Izaya, Saika’s endless chanting of love had vanished from her mind.
As if afraid of this Kujiragi woman or disgusted.
Kujiragi.
Who… is she?
And what was that about cats?
The more she thought, the more questions she had to answer, filling her head and
dragging her deeper into confusion.
After watching Anri for a while, Kujiragi opened her mouth and said, “It was coincidence
that I was in this park. I did not follow you here.”
“?”
“But I’m uncertain now. Perhaps meeting you so soon after gaining my own freedom
is an act of fate,” Kujiragi said, unaware that it was the same cat-ear headband that had
brought both of them to the same area. “And since you do not know how to utilize
Saika, I have a question for you…”
She paused there to recollect her thoughts and finally asked Anri, “Do you have any
interest in giving your Saika to me?”
Again, Anri was left nonplussed.
She wanted Saika. The request sounded just like Haruna’s a moment ago.
But this woman already had her own Saika. Anri had only seen it in her nails and rope,
but the truth started to dawn on her as confusion faded.
There isn’t just one Saika.

Based on the remarkable nature of a cursed sword with a will of its own, Anri had
always assumed that the “original” Saika she held was a one-of-a-kind thing.
But it might have been a mistake to apply her own common sense to something like a
cursed sword in the first place. On the other hand, if her opponent’s weapon had been
in the form of a katana, she might not have believed that was Saika at all.
It was the property that surpassed the laws of physics, the fact that she saw the
fingernail blades appearing directly from the woman’s body that had convinced her it
was Saika.
The problem was, this understanding broke the logic of the woman’s last statement.
“Why would you want it…? You already have your Saika, Miss Kujiragi.”
“Yes. I already have my own Saika.”
The next instant, a long blade grew from her left hand, until it fit in her palm in the
form of a katana. It shone for an instant, then vanished back into her body.
There was no longer any room for doubt. Anri asked, “Then why…?”
“My home vehicle and my products are different things.”
“Products?” Anri repeated. Her eyes widened, but on the inside, this didn’t surprise
her that much. The truth was, she already knew. Saika was an item that had ended up
at her parents’ antiques shop as a product.
“Is Saika even something that can be bought and sold among different people?” she
had to ask.
Kujiragi nodded. “That was my business.”
“?”
The past form of the statement confused Anri.
Kujiragi realized what she’d done and looked away for a moment. “Pardon me. I’m
trying to decide if I should continue that business at all. But the last product for which
I am under contract is Saika.”
“?!”
Saika, a product to be sold. So somebody actually… wants this thing?
“At worst, I will deliver my own Saika as a product, so I am not forced to buy or take
your Saika from you, but…”
The blithe way she mentioned taking it away was alarming. Kujiragi looked into Anri’s
eyes and continued, “Based on my observation, you do not control Saika the way I do,
but you also haven’t been controlled by it, like past owners. Coexistence is a very rare
case, but if you do not need that Saika, I am willing to buy it from you.”
At last, Haruna began to rise unsteadily. She glared at Kujiragi with pure hatred, her
smile completely gone. “What kind… of nonsense are you talking…?”
“Are you all right? I wouldn’t force yourself to get up just yet.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking that way… for an assailant… But whatever. More
importantly, if anyone gets Anri’s Saika, it’ll be me. Who do you even think you are?
You just show up in the middle of our conversation, then say you want Saika. You little
cat burglar.”
“Cat burglar…” Kujiragi seemed to think this over and, without changing expression,
said, “I like that.”
“You like what?”
Haruna was suspicious of her, and Anri was paralyzed with uncertainty.
The grown woman thought for a bit, came to her own conclusion, and told the girls,
“Well, let’s see… In order to make this a proper business deal, there are many things I
will have to explain in detail. On the other hand, stealing it creates quite a hassle for
me, so I want to avoid that option.”
Then she reached down to pick up the magazine she’d dropped in the earlier bout with
Haruna and flipped through its pages. “I’d like to tell you about Saika at a nearby cafe.
Do you think I could borrow some more of your time?”
Anri and Haruna looked at each other. Based on what had already happened, they
expected the scene to head into a sword fight, resolution or no, but this suggestion had
thrown them for a loop.
In contrast, Kujiragi never broke her expression or made one in the first place.
“Even setting business aside… Don’t you want to know more about Saika?”
At that point, there was no way Anri could reject the offer.
Tokyo—parking garage
“Did I hear that wrong? Did you just ask if I preferred getting taken over or crushed?”
Masaomi Kida asked.
Chikage Rokujou answered, “Yeah, I did.”
A sudden surge of tension and hostility charged through the five or so Yellow Scarves
present.
Chikage recognized that the situation had changed between them but detected that
their leader still wanted to hear him out, so he shrugged and said, “Hang on. Masaomi
Kida, right? Listen, I understand I’m being unreasonable, too. When a guy walks up
and says to choose between getting destroyed and getting taken over, the obvious
conclusion is that he’s picking a fight with you.”
“…Is there any other conclusion I’m supposed to draw from this?”
“Hey, it could be a friendly buyout, right? What do they call that in stocks? A… white
something?”
“You mean a white knight?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Chikage nodded. “I’ll just be straight up with you: Wanna work for me?
That’s the deal.”
“Well, that patronizing offer certainly fits the suspicion that you’re picking a fight.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m not a white knight. I came here to pick a fight,” he announced,
hiding nothing.
Anger flooded the faces of the Yellow Scarves. They sensed they were being mocked.
“Hey, ease up, guys,” Chikage responded. “You know Kadota, by the way? From the
Dollars.”
“…Well, yeah.”
The mention of Kadota’s name turned Masaomi’s anger into bewilderment. He had
seen Mikado and Chikage talking, but he didn’t see the fight between Kadota and
Chikage or how it ended.
So they fought one-on-one, I guess? Whatever happened with that…?
He didn’t need to ask, because Chikage promptly said, “See, Kadota really whooped my
ass. I said I’d withdraw from Ikebukuro for now, and that settled the matter. But now
I hear he’s been in an accident. So I got curious and decided to do some research of my
own.”
Strictly speaking, he had seen the news about a dead body at the train station, sent the
girls back home just to be safe, then found himself with lots of extra time to wander
the town.
“I got in touch with a recent friend from around here, and whaddaya know? Turns out
the Yellow Scarves and Dollars are in the midst of high tensions.”
He leaned against a nearby light pole and adopted a very annoyed expression. “You
guys got a bad rep. From what I hear, you had the run of the area before we showed
up. Hittin’ people up for money, making everyone miserable.”
He was probably talking about the period up to half a year ago, when Horada’s group
had been calling the shots.
“I heard that Kadota and his folks knocked you out then. So I was wondering if you ran
over him outta revenge. I asked around and learned about this place.”
“It’s not what you think!” one of the members protested. “It wasn’t Shogun’s fault
things were bad back then!”
“Stop it,” Masaomi commanded. Then he said quietly, “So you’re gonna destroy us,
because we look suspicious? Why would you stick up for Kadota like that?”
“Hey, I didn’t say for sure I was gonna destroy you. That’s why I keep throwing out the
option of working for me, too. Besides, I’m not doing this out of loyalty to the guy or
anything. But I do owe those folks for saving my girl Non. I figured I’d help them search
for the ones who did it.”
Then Chikage sighed, and the lackadaisical lilt to his expression vanished. “And now
it’s gotten me wrapped up in a buncha nonsense, too.”
“?”
“You know about this faction within the Dollars that’s carrying out an internal purge
or whatever?”
“…!”
Mikado.
Masaomi didn’t even need to ask. He was talking about the boy who was the very
reason Masaomi was here. Mikado Ryuugamine was the one standing atop the faction
Chikage was describing.
“From what I hear, they’re exactly like a group of folks back in the spring who kicked
my boys’ asses and lit their bikes on fire. All the details match.”
A chill ran down Masaomi’s back.
He was acting as leader of the Yellow Scarves and preparing for the possibility of war
with Mikado, and possibly the Dollars, as a means of stopping his friend.
But now the possibility of a separate group displaying antagonism toward Mikado
made him indescribably worried. This man and Toramaru were on a different level
from the kind of thugs who might swear vengeance after a group purge or stragglers
like Horada’s circle.
Masaomi hid that unease beneath his exterior and said, “I see. And you want to use the
Yellow Scarves to light a fire under those people.”
“I’m glad you’re so quick on the uptake,” Chikage said, followed by something that
gouged at Masaomi’s heart even further. “The part where it gets complicated is they’re
apparently leftovers from some gang called the Blue Squares, but from what I hear,
most of the holdovers from the Blue Squares went to the Yellow Scarves. And the
Yellow Scarves apparently destroyed the Blue Squares back in the day… The twists and
turns just keep coming.”
“…”
It was all true. Masaomi had no response.
He hadn’t even been able to tell that a number of old Blue Squares had infiltrated his
gang, yet he had to accept that complication and forge on as the leader of the group.
But Chikage had no idea about any of that. He stared up at the sky and continued, “I
just don’t get all the complicated details. I wanted to make things simple.”
“?”
“This is a place where I should be making things right with the entire Toramaru team,
but I’m just here by myself now. I haven’t told the boys a thing, and I don’t intend to
until I’ve caught these guys by the tail. Do you know what this means?”
The question had been posed. Masaomi had a general idea of what he meant, but he
chose to wait rather than answer.
Chikage didn’t seem to expect one, either. After a few seconds, he continued, “It means
this. If you decide to gang up on me now and beat the shit outta me, you won’t be
advertising your hostility to Toramaru as a group.”
In a sense, this action was practically suicide.
Given that he came to pick a fight with them, the only possibility that he might walk
away unscathed was if he impressed upon his opponents the retribution they might
face from the fearsome Toramaru gang. And Chikage had just abandoned that weapon.
On the other hand, Masaomi and his friends were neither scummy nor stupid enough
to decide to kick the crap out of him.
Even before the matter of if he deserved it or not, none of them was going to take his
statements at face value. If he was lying, then the moment they attacked him, he could
use that as a pretext to bring his entire organization here for “justified payback,” and
strike back.
But from what I saw when he was talking to Mikado, he doesn’t seem like the sort to pull
bullshit like that, Masaomi suspected.
“Look, this is just one of those things,” Chikage continued. “I wish I could act like some
cool manga character and say, ‘Hey, let’s be like brothers.’ But honestly, I’m not reckless
enough to do that with some guys I don’t really know that well. So I figured, since you
guys have a bad reputation already, I could try to force you to hear me out.”
And as for things that Masaomi didn’t know about the other man, Toramaru had
actually started with Chikage beating up a motorcycle gang member who tried to mess
with his girlfriend. As a matter of fact, he had double-digit girlfriends, so between all
the girls, family members, and friends who might get into trouble and need help, he
was constantly destroying small-time gangs of ruffians in his vicinity.
Finally, for the dirt-simple reason of “If I’m going to let them go afterward, why don’t
I just keep them all in check?” he formed the gang called Toramaru.
And because he cared for the people he associated with, he attracted not just street
punks who followed the might makes right of hierarchy but others drawn to his
charismatic personality.
So for Chikage’s part, he was considering simply absorbing the Yellow Scarves in the
way he understood best. It was just that, without the justification of getting revenge
for a girlfriend, he had only his own selfish reasons to motivate him and thus felt a bit
apologetic about it.
“The thing is, I’m planning to use you guys for my own ends, but I have no intention of
helping you out in return. So if I came to you and said, ‘Let’s be blood brothers,’ I could
never face my honeys again for as long as I live. Can we just make this a simple fight
and get on with it?”
“…Then what are we supposed to get out of this?”
“Oh, there’s something in it for you,” Chikage said, flashing them a confident smile. “If
I lose, I’ll be your muscle.”
“…Pardon?”
“I’ll be your shock trooper, helping you out with the fight against this weird group
within the Dollars. I mean, win or lose, I’m gonna be fighting the Dollars in the end,
alongside you Yellow Scarves.”
The officers of the group reacted to Chikage’s plan by sharing a look. Masaomi’s face
pulled into a tired, annoyed grin. “Um… are you stupid, man?”
“I get that question a lot.”
“Why would we fight, then? Why don’t you just help us out?”
“I would’ve considered that if you had a better reputation,” he admitted and started
doing squats to loosen up his knees.
“Oh, man, this guy’s rarin’ to fight.”
“Listen, if none of you want to get hurt, that’s fine. Just give me whatever info you have
on the Dollars. Then I’ll just go over there myself.”
“Sounds perfect. So you’re going to annihilate them for us and let us keep our hands
clean?” Masaomi quipped, looking up at the sky with a grin. Then he turned back to
the other boys behind him. “Sorry, guys. Don’t get involved with this.”
“Uh… Shogun, what’s up?” wondered his friends. Masaomi faced Chikage again.
Man… How did it come to this anyway?
Well, I guess it’s my fault, he thought, reflecting on his past.
As he rolled and loosened his neck, Masaomi made his offer to Chikage. “I’ll take you
up on that fight. And no, we’re not gonna do five or six against one.”
“Sh-Shogun!” one of his friends exclaimed.
“You don’t have a problem with that, do you? I’d appreciate it—fewer people injured
to worry about.” He took a step closer to Chikage.
“…Ha! I like you. You don’t look that serious, but you’re actually pretty old-school,
huh?”
“Look who’s talking,” Masaomi shot back.
Chikage winced and rearranged his hat. “See, maybe relying on the rumor around
town ain’t the way to go, after all. I think I do like you. Want me to help you for free?”
“No. I’m gonna win and force you to be our muscle.” Masaomi steadied his breathing.
“I don’t want you going overboard and wiping them all out, either. Once you’re our
muscle, you’ll have to listen to what I tell you and obey.”
For being ready for an imminent fight, Masaomi’s face betrayed no worry or panic. He
was as calm as if having a nice little chat as he stared into the face he was about to
smash.
Then he swore under his breath, “If only you’d knocked out Mikado back then…”
Back then being the moment that Mikado declared he was the leader of the Dollars. If
Chikage had just settled his score with Mikado then, it might never have come to this.
Just one simple punch. If this man had taken Mikado at his word, things wouldn’t have
gotten so screwed up. The three of them with Anri could have been friends again,
laughing together like old times.
No. Stop thinking about that.
He let his hatred from watching that entire scene start to finish dissipate into thin air.
Chikage had done nothing wrong then. If anyone was worthy of blame, it was himself
for not reaching out to Mikado when he was crumbling.
“Huh? You say something?”
“No. Just misplaced anger.”
“What?” Chikage wondered, his brow darkening.
“I’ll tell you the whole story once we’ve settled all this,” Masaomi said blithely.
“Okay. Guess I better make sure not to break your jaw, so you can still talk after this.”
“And I’ll guarantee that I don’t rupture your eardrums.”
They laughed at their little joke. Then, as Masaomi approached, Chikage lifted his foot
to close the gap—and his opponent leaped into motion.
“!”
Caught in the midst of his action, Chikage had to reorient himself from movement to
defense. Directly in front of him, Masaomi leaped again, pushing himself to the side.
His foot landed on, then pushed off a parked car bumper and into the air.
“Ooh…”
Chikage marveled at his feline, predatorial movement. In the span of less than a
second, while he was caught between the options of defending and evading, the toe of
Masaomi’s shoe slammed into Chikage’s face.
Got him!
It was a solid hit. Masaomi hadn’t expected it to work so smoothly, but catching him
off-balance with that surprise charge had paid off.
He was certain of victory. It was almost too easy.
Snag.
And then a hand grabbed his ankle where it still hung in the air.
Huh?
No sooner did the surprise run through his mind than he realized it was the reeling
Chikage who had grabbed him. And despite the slight dent in the bridge of his nose,
Chikage’s mouth was twisted into a smile.
That didn’t knock him out…
He felt a tug on his captured ankle and a terrifying chill that ran through his entire
being.
The next moment, Masaomi’s body swung forcefully toward a pillar, to the sound of
the Yellow Scarves’ exclamations.
But before he hit the surface, Masaomi recovered his balance and “landed” on the side
of the pillar. Then he turned his body ninety degrees so it wasn’t parallel with the floor
anymore and hit the ground.
“Man, if that wasn’t enough to knock you out, how tough are… Whoa!”
In the process of raising his head, he had to dart to the side—because the soles of both
of Chikage’s feet were rushing toward him.
Masaomi instantly slid away, and Chikage’s feet passed through the space where he’d
just been, smashing into the pillar. It shook with the impact, knocking dust loose from
the light overhead.
“Holy crap, man. I’d have died if I took that.” Masaomi yelped, even as he rushed back
toward Chikage.
He launched a high kick at his opponent’s temple as the older man spun, but Chikage
just barely dodged it, swinging a fist in return—only to take a second reverse kick,
with full rotation, right into his solar plexus.
“Hrgh…”
Chikage’s grunt told Masaomi he had gained the advantage for sure this time—but a
grunt was all he got. His opponent continued to attack, his fist bearing down on
Masaomi’s back.
But Masaomi reacted quickly, launching another kick as a counter to the other guy’s
punch.
There was a loud smack—and the Yellow Scarves who had been watching the scene
dumbfounded finally caught up to what was happening.
The heads of the Yellow Scarves and Toramaru had only initiated the opening stage of
a devastating fight.
Raira General Hospital—interior café

“…And that is the reason that you and I have the same Saika. Do you have any questions?”
It was a sight that would give vastly different impressions to those who understood
the context and those who didn’t.
An intellectual-looking woman was giving two high school students a lecture, using a
tablet PC. If one didn’t know better, it would look like she was trying to sign them up
for some kind of insurance.
But with full context, it was not only eerie but downright ghastly.
After all, this was two different women with full Saikas infused into them, and a child
Saika transferred through a cut, who later broke free and regained control—all sitting
at the same table.
“No… I’m fine. I get the gist of it.”
“…”
Despite her consternation, Anri accepted the explanation of “branching” and the
revelation that Kujiragi’s employer had once sold the very Saika that was inside of Anri
now. Haruna said nothing, wearing her murderous smile the whole time. Her wrath
was fixated on both Anri and Kujiragi now.
The fact that Haruna might erupt into violence at any time kept Anri’s nerves taut, but
Kujiragi went ahead and gave them her speech on Saika, her tone all business.
Kujiragi did not touch upon the identity of Jinnai Yodogiri at all. She only gave them
information about Saika and her own business handling it. It wasn’t that she felt any
need to hide this; she simply judged there was no need to point it out.
“Branching, huh…?” Haruna muttered, wearing that sick smile of hers. “If you can do
that, could you give one to me, too?” she asked Kujiragi.
“Based on previous transactions, a single Saika would command 6.25 million yen. And
because of the nature of the product, I will only sell it to trusted customers.” It was the
line that Jinnai Yodogiri had taught her to say whenever she had to explain these
things.
Haruna couldn’t tell if 6.25 million yen was expensive or cheap.
For a supernatural sword outside of the bounds of all common knowledge about the
world, it seemed so pedestrian as to be nearly free, but the hurdle to becoming a
“trusted customer” was probably exorbitantly high.
In any case, it wasn’t the kind of money any teenage girl could command. But if money
was all it took, Haruna could just use her Saika to cut some rich person and get them
to pay for it.
“At present, a client who meets those two conditions desires to have Saika. I wish to
avoid branching, because as more and more Saikas spread throughout the world, their
price as a product goes down.”
With that out of the way, Kujiragi asked, “Anri Sonohara, I wish to confer with you
again. Are you certain you’re not willing to part with your item?”
“…Is that even possible? Can you… take Saika out of my body…?”
“If you want to let go of it… if you really want to be rid of it, you could just throw it
away somewhere. But if you do give it to me, I am prepared to offer you some amount
of money as part of the deal. Please consider the offer.”
She made it sound so easy. Anri had to think.
Give up Saika.
She’d never considered the idea. Could she even live without Saika at this point?
Kujiragi’s offer filled her with anxiety and uncertainty.
Then Haruna stepped in. “If you’re going to sell it to this woman, give it to me. I could
find a better use for it. And I’ll also cut Ryuugamine and Kida with it and make them
fall in love with you.”
“Stop that!” Anri pleaded, not a shout but forceful all the same. “I still think it’s just…
wrong to use Saika that way.”
“Oh? How is it wrong?”
“Once you’ve cut a person with Saika… they’re not the same as before. Once Saika’s
power has made them a slave, they’re not the person you like anymore, they’re
something else… in my opinion.”
“So it’s a difference of values,” Haruna said, neither agreeing or disagreeing. Then she
turned her darkening, murderous smile to Kujiragi. “And what’s your opinion, Miss
Kujiragi?”
Kujiragi sipped her cooling coffee and spoke honestly. “It’s case by case. Saika’s control
allows for the user to manipulate the subject. For example… if you cut someone and
made them do something, then never activated that control again, that victim would
most likely live out the entire rest of their life without ever realizing that Saika’s curse
was within them. It might be an extreme step to label such a person as someone else
entirely.”
“But—” Anri protested.
Kujiragi cut her off with an explanation that was much more fluid than the previous.
“If you want something to happen, consider that using Saika’s power is one available
method. The same way that men and women utilize looks, finances, intelligence, and
courage in matters of romance. You ought to view Saika as one of your valuable assets.”
“My… assets?”
“If you think it’s unfair to use something others don’t have, that would mean that
anyone who has used considerable good looks, smarts, or winning personality as a
means to capture the affection of another is also cheating. I think you should view
Saika’s power in that light. It may be trite to say, but it is up to the wielder of a power
to decide how they should use it,” Kujiragi finished, her affect completely flat the whole
time.
Anri considered this for a time, then shook her head. “But… I still think… Saika’s power
is not the same as a human one. It’s not the kind of thing you can achieve by working
for it…”
“Because it’s not a human power, it shouldn’t be used for love?”
“…Someone recently told me that I wasn’t human. And I’ve been uncertain since then.
Maybe I’m really not human anymore. And if so, maybe I don’t have the right to fall in
love like a normal person and enjoy normal happiness… ,” Anri murmured ruefully.
She knew the Headless Rider, who was very much not human and yet loved a human
man. But she also knew that Celty, while inhuman, had the most human heart she’d
ever seen. By comparison, Anri looked human, but her heart only got further and
further from the mark. This was the rationale behind her statement.
“Does that also apply to me?” Kujiragi asked, without emotion.
“Huh…? Oh!” Anri gasped.
As she’d just explained, Kujiragi owned a Saika, and everything Anri said about herself
could be construed as referring to her, too.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that… ,” she stammered, bowing.
Kujiragi’s eyes briefly dipped toward the floor. “Miss Sonohara, even if you are not
human, as you claim, the simple act of giving up Saika would make your body human
again. I’m not certain what standard you are using to judge a ‘proper’ human heart,
but at the very least, Saika would no longer complicate your thoughts.”
“I—I see.”
Anri felt very awkward. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.
Huh? That’s strange…
This whole time, I thought she never showed any emotion…
Yes, her face hadn’t changed in the least.
But something deeper than the surface—in her glances, actions, breathing—gave Anri
just the slightest hint of some mental shifting.
For a moment, Anri wondered if it was anger at being treated like a monster—but
while it was indistinct, it struck her as something more like sadness.
“You can go back to being human just by giving up Saika. But…”
At that moment, time stopped for Anri and Haruna.
An abnormal aura was exuding from the woman sitting across the table from them.
“You cannot give up your flesh and blood.”
“…!” “?!”
The two girls froze, trying to ascertain the source of the feeling.
There was no change in any of the other people in the room.
Why was it just them?
The reason became imminently clear.
The words of Saika’s curse had stopped inside of them—and then the rustling began.
Haruna’s roiling curses, as the child, were nowhere near as intense as Anri’s. But even
still, she trembled at how the quiet curse began to wail in disgust.
What is this…?
Anri’s inner voice was dozens of times more intense than Haruna’s. It made her a bit
dizzy.
Not only did Saika’s curse spill into her eyes and turn them a vivid red, it even began
to add a pinkish film to her vision. Against that filter of red light, the woman across
from her appeared as a black shadow—from which she could see countless tiny black
wings extending and writhing.
“…Could you see anything?” Kujiragi asked, and the palpitations of Saika that had
racked the girls vanished entirely.
Their vision, the room, and Kujiragi across from them were all completely normal, as
though nothing had just happened.
Anri and Haruna each glanced toward the other, just far enough to notice the sweat
dripping from their faces.
Kujiragi ignored their reaction and continued, “Are you saying that, regardless of Saika,
someone born as not exactly human does not have even the right to live like a human,
to love like a human, to enjoy life like a human? Is that your point?”
“What… what are you…?” Anri gulped.
The answer was, as usual, emotionless. “I cannot answer that question, biologically
speaking. But from a social standpoint, I can give you a very precise response.”
“…?”
“I’m what is commonly known as a villain.”
It was so abrupt, so simple, so forceful.
An objective answer, delivered with no guilt or mocking delight, just fact.
“Human or monster, if my past actions were ever revealed to the world in full detail, a
good eighty percent of Japan would find me to be a sinner deserving of judgment.”
“…Where did you get that number?” Haruna snarked, but Kujiragi gave her a serious
answer.
“From intuition based on experience. But whether it is a hundred percent or ten does
not matter to me. I’ve broken a number of laws, and if it is proven and I am arrested, I
will break out of captivity. If that does not define me as a villain, this country would
have long ago become either a lawless land or the Garden of Eden.”
“Break out…?”
“Even without Saika, I have enough innate strength that I could reliably escape on my
own. I will not tell you more concrete details than that, but suffice it to say that I am
that sort of person,” Kujiragi said, as dispassionately as though reading a form letter
aloud. “One day, my life will likely come to a miserable and hideous end at the hands
of some entity proclaiming itself an arbiter of justice, or a person seeking vengeance
for my past deeds. I deserve to be harmed, defiled, and tortured with my pleas
unheard. I am prepared to suffer this, but I do my utmost to delay that eventual day as
long as I can and, ignoring the feelings of any of my victims, to enjoy the present.”
With her black coffee half-gone, Kujiragi added milk and sugar. She stirred it with her
teaspoon, the lukewarm liquid not dissolving the grains of sugar entirely. All the while,
she kept her eyes directly on Anri.
“Miss Sonohara, you might not be an arbiter of justice, but at the very least, you have
a sense of kindness toward others. That makes you different from me. You ought to be
in the sunlight at all times, not staying here and speaking with villains like me. As for
Miss Niekawa, I suppose it would depend on the outcome of the love you speak of,”
she murmured, completing the report of her observations.
Stunned, Anri tried to protest. “I… I’m not that special. I can’t live on my own… so I
have no choice but to leech off others and Saika… I’m just a parasite. If I seem like I’m
considerate of others… it’s only because I’m ultimately concerned about myself and
how I might be affected.”
“That is fine. The majority of humanity is a parasite that feeds off something else. And
if someone is allowing you to live off them for a long period of time, it likely means
that they are receiving something from you in return,” Kujiragi said, which was
certainly one way to respond to a girl resignedly calling herself a parasite. “That is no
longer parasitism. It is symbiosis. There is no need for you to feel guilty about this.”
They were kind words meant to make Anri feel better, but she said them in the
monotone of someone reading another person’s words out of a book.
“No matter how pure Saika’s love for humanity is, it is still a sword that corrupts the
world of man. That is a fact, and I do not intend to deny it.”
“…”
“In the same way, by your ethical standards, I would undoubtedly fall under the
category of evil.”
Anri wondered what she was trying to say.
The answer: “Gentle souls like yours are not meant to possess Saika. In conclusion, I
feel that it would be in the best interest of both sides for you to transfer the sword to
me.”
“!”
“There are two ways to handle Saika in a form other than a katana. Either control it
entirely, like me, and use it as a slave, or do the opposite and open your entirety to
Saika. In the former case, you can reshape the blade into any shape, but Saika will no
longer tell you how to fight. In the latter case, you can transform, but your fighting
style will be entirely determined by Saika.”
It seemed as though she might continue at greater and greater length explaining the
finer details of Saika. Instead, she gazed at Anri and described the girl’s inner nature
as she saw it.
“You are not capable of either, I suspect. You are kind. And because you are kind, you
hold Saika in, so as not to hurt others. Meanwhile, you are also kind to Saika. So you
cannot master it completely and use it as a slave. You are indeed traveling the path of
symbiosis.”
“…”
“Ultimately, this will put you in a corner. You will have all this power and continually
sacrifice yourself not to use it.”
She closed her mouth for just a moment, giving Anri a piercing gaze.
“Saints like you are not meant to have Saika.”
Anri clenched her fists, preparing to say something in return.
But Haruna suddenly chuckled.
“…Haruna?”
The other girl smiled with great delight. “She’s stupid, isn’t she, Sonohara?”
“Huh?”
Haruna favored Anri and Kujiragi with a nasty, sticky smile.
“You’re going to be killed by someone out for revenge? If that’s any moment, don’t you
think it would be now?”
“…”
Kujiragi was silent. She understood what Haruna meant.
Anri did not, however, and was going to ask—when the other girl went on.
“Miss Kujiragi… don’t you know that the Saika you sold is the reason that Anri’s parents
are dead?”
For a brief moment, Anri felt that her personal sense of time had stopped.
Then, after several seconds, she detected that her knees had begun trembling.
But that did not matter to her now.
She was under a vast shock and incapable of processing such phenomena further.
One of the people responsible for her parents’ death was right before her.
If Kujiragi had never unleashed Saika upon the world, she might be leading a very
different life right now.
But that was not what shocked her. It was that, until Haruna pointed it out, the issue
of her parents had never even occurred to her.
Were they nothing but a relic of the past in her mind by now?
And in the process of trying to reclaim and reshape her stunned psyche, Anri came to
a conclusion. But the past that it caused her to remember made her eyes brim with
even greater sadness.
“No…”
“Huh?”
“You’re wrong, Haruna. I think… it’s thanks to Saika that I’m here right now.”
“…What… are you saying?” Haruna asked, smiling and perplexed.
“If there had been no Saika… my father would have killed me.”
She had dredged up her awful memories of what happened five years ago.
The sensation of her own father strangling her, as fresh as if it happened yesterday. If
her mother hadn’t cut off his head with Saika…
She shook her head to dispel the horrid recollection and said to Kujiragi, “I’m sorry…
I still can’t let Saika go yet.”
“…I see.”
“I still… haven’t made it up to Saika in any way… So I can’t just run away from it all on
my own,” Anri said, piecing together the strength of her will as she spoke. In some way,
putting the idea into words was helping her reach this determination.
“Plus… I have a promise to fulfill, to tell some people I care for very much about Saika.
So until then, I want to remain who I was last year.”
Kujiragi took this in impassively, staring into Anri’s face, then exhaled. “Very well.
Please contact me if you change your mind.”
Then she took a blank business card and a pen from her shirt pocket, wrote down a
phone number, and gave it to Anri.
“What, you’re not going to give me your card?”
“I have no reason to do business with you at the moment, Miss Niekawa,” she declared.
Haruna cackled to herself, getting to her feet. “I might not be able to do business with
you, but I can rob you. Wouldn’t it be fun if I ripped that Saika you’ve got right out of
you?”
“Do you wish to be electrocuted again?”
“If you think that’s going to work on me twice, you’re much less capable than you
seem.”
An ugly, sludgy haze hung in the air between Haruna and Kujiragi. Since Kujiragi never
showed any emotion of any kind, that meant it was entirely coming from Haruna.
“P-please stop this, Haruna… ,” Anri protested, but the other girl’s eyes were already
filling with blood.
People at other tables noticed something was happening and started glancing over at
the trio. Neither Haruna nor Kujiragi paid them any mind.
Kujiragi finished her coffee and quietly set the cup down.
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
Without changing her expression, the aura around her started getting darker, denser.
And then—
“Oh, there she is. Anri! Anri! Big, big news!”
A voice tore through the cafe and the unfolding scene within.
“Karisawa?”
“Hey, I saw your message. Sold out, huh? Too bad.”
Before she came here, Anri had texted Karisawa to tell her the cat-ear headbands were
sold out and that she would be meeting with some people here for a bit before she
returned to the others.
“So these are your friends, huh? Wait. Huh? I thought you said it was sold out?”
She was reaching for the bag from the cosplay store. Since the furry cat-themed
paraphernalia was slightly visible through the familiar bag, Karisawa assumed it was
Anri’s and reached for it.
Another hand shot in and stopped her. “I’m sorry. That belongs to me.”
“Huh? Oh! I’m so sorry!” Karisawa said, blushing. But when she saw Kujiragi’s face, she
exclaimed, “Wow! You’re so beautiful! Er, sorry to shout. Do you mind if I ask… do you
cosplay?”
Karisawa had a way with asking extremely forward questions to complete strangers.
Surely, when she saw the pretty woman with flawless skin in possession of a cat-ear
headband, she must have assumed Kujiragi was a kindred spirit.
“…Cosplay? I am interested, but I have no experience,” Kujiragi admitted. With the way
she never showed any emotion, it came off as a polite but firm rejection, but the only
words Karisawa registered were I am interested.
“If you’re interested, why don’t you join our club? We’d be happy to welcome any
friends of Anri’s!”
“No, I…”
“We’ve got about 270 highly customizable costumes, and we can size them for you,
too! We can get you everything from miko priestesses to slutty fallen angel maids!”
With no one around to put the brakes on her, Karisawa’s excited pitch went on and on.
“Oooh! And she looks like she could do a mean cosplay, too! Geez, Anri, you should
have introduced me to these cuties earlier! I could totally see you in a themed trio with
them!”
She was agitated enough that if Yumasaki were there, he’d say, “Karisawa, if they’re
normies, you’re going to make them give poor Anri the most exasperated reaction!”
The other customers around them figured it was just a conversation about manga or
something, put the incident with the original trio out of their minds, and returned to
their food and chat.
Haruna had been taken aback by the sudden entrance at first, then turned back to the
table, ready to ignore the rest of it and attack Kujiragi. But…
“Do you have Gothic Lolita outfits, too?”
“Of course! We can get you over a dozen adult Goth outfits to try on!”
“And idol costumes?”
“I’ve got a number of handmade pieces based on Ruri Hijiribe outfits!” Karisawa
reassured her, with a hearty thumbs-up.
“…Here is my contact information. Please tell me the number for your club. I will contact
you within the next few days.”
Like she did with Anri, Kujiragi jotted down her number on a blank business card.
““What?!””
Both Anri and Haruna were shocked by this. They stared at her, wide-eyed. But as
usual, Kujiragi had no expression, making it impossible to detect what she was up to.
The only giveaway was that Anri’s faint detection of her mental state, when she’d
gotten a whiff of sadness earlier, was now indicating what might have been a tinge of
delight.
Haruna just stared at the exchange, dumbfounded, and sighed at the end.
“…I’ve lost interest. I’m going home. Maybe something’s finally changed by now.” Then
she grabbed Anri’s phone and pulled out her own, and with a device in each hand, she
performed a few operations. “There. Now we have each other as a contact. I’ll get in
touch tomorrow, and we can meet up again.”
She never let go of her murderous hatred of Anri, but she was smiling as she left.
As though there was nothing in her future but bright, bright hope.
“Umm… So was that girl just, like, not interested in anime at all? I guess it was mean
of me to invite her, too… I’m sorry if she acts weird around you after this, Anri,” said
Karisawa sadly, much more under control now that she’d exchanged information with
Kujiragi and the group was smaller.
“Oh, uhm, actually… thank you. You saved me.”
“?”
This threw Karisawa for a loop, who wasn’t expecting to be thanked. Then Anri asked,
“Um, what brought you here…?”
“Oh, right! I got so excited I completely forgot!” the other girl exclaimed, her face
breaking into a huge smile. Perhaps her earlier moment of excitement had been
buoyed by whatever had her in a good mood already.
“Listen, listen. Dotachin’s awake again, and they say we can see him in person tomorrow!”
Tokyo—parking garage
A bit earlier in time, when it still wasn’t clear if Kadota would regain consciousness,
Masaomi and Chikage were fighting on the roof of the parking garage.
Based on the present arrangement, it would seem that Masaomi had the advantage.
He had landed several clean hits and continually avoided Chikage’s attacks by razor-
thin margins.
But their expressions told a story just the opposite.
Despite blasting his opponent with many devastating blows, Masaomi didn’t seem to
be doing any lasting damage. And each time the man’s strikes rushed past his head,
Masaomi felt like his very life was being whittled away.
Holy crap. I’m not hurting him at all, and I feel like even a scratch from him is going to
make me woozy.
Masaomi wasn’t blessed with stature. He wasn’t born tall, and he didn’t have a
muscular frame.
But he’d been used to scrapping since he was a kid, throwing knees and elbows in
unpredictable ways on the road to beating opponents who were much larger than he
was.
None of the Yellow Scarves could beat him in a fight, and outside of complete freaks of
nature like Shizuo Heiwajima, he was definitely one of the tougher guys around.
But Chikage Rokujou was so strong that it almost made Masaomi wonder if he was in
the same category as Shizuo. There were multiple points in the fight where he felt a
chill run down his back.
Still, as long as his fellow Yellow Scarves stood around cheering for him, he couldn’t
let himself falter now.
I guess blows won’t do the trick.

Masaomi gathered his breathing and calmly switched tactics.
After just barely dodging one of his opponent’s attacks, he chose to swing around
behind him rather than strike back. Since he moved into the blind spot of the attack,
it would’ve looked to Chikage like Masaomi had simply vanished.
“Wha—?… Oofh!”
He launched himself onto the back of his opponent, working his arms around the
man’s neck.
It was a standing sleeper choke hold. Masaomi leaned backward, trying to force his
taller foe into submission. He dug his arm deeper under the chin, hanging onto
Chikage’s back with sublime balance.
The Yellow Scarves were certain he’d just won. The more you struggled in that
position, the worse it got. A professional fighter might know the trick to escape it, but
an amateur brawler would be at a loss. They knew how Masaomi’s original sleeper
hold worked and the effect it had.
However, Chikage Rokujou withstanding four punches from Shizuo Heiwajima was
not a fluke. When he realized that he was soon going to lose consciousness, he did
something that no ordinary human being would ever do.
With his neck in a choke hold, Chikage ran up the bumper of a parked car and onto its
roof, then leaped for the fence surrounding the structure.
Huh?
Masaomi’s mind briefly went blank, and then he remembered that including the roof
the garage had three levels.
They were going to fall from the roof of a three-story building.
Every cell in his body screamed out, and Masaomi instantly let go of the man’s neck.
Right before he was about to pass over the fence, he grabbed the light pole fixed there.
For his part, Chikage simply fell straight downward without further acrobatics.
“Crazy asshole!” Masaomi screamed, clinging to the pole.

It was high enough to be fatal. He felt a cold sweat break out at first—and several
seconds later, another one but for a different reason.
Chikage fell directly onto his back. And after a few coughs, he simply got to his feet, as
simple as that.
“Hey, if you’re gonna grab me, don’t chicken out and jump off, yeah?”
Chikage laughed up at him from the ground. Yet another trickle of sweat ran down
Masaomi’s back.
Well, damn. We haven’t even fought with the Blue Squares yet. Why am I throwing down
with the ultimate secret boss first?
Masaomi climbed up the pole so that he could swing back over the fence. But the
moment he reached the top of it, he met an abnormal sight.
His vantage point up high made the scene below quite easy to follow. And yet upon
first glance, it made no sense to him. It was as though crossing the fence had warped
him to a completely new location.
He should’ve been able to dispel the sight as an absurd hallucination as soon as he saw
the other Yellow Scarves—but the problem was that they, too, were looking in that
direction…
Toward the ramp leading down to the second floor of the garage…
Where a gang of a few dozen figures stood, clearly not affiliated with the Scarves.
Standing at the head of the rabble of thugs and mobsters was a man who cackled up
at him. He held a hammer of hardened rubber in one hand, and his face featured a very
visible burn scar.
At first, Masaomi didn’t know who he was or the rest of the group trailing behind him.
It could’ve been reinforcements from Toramaru, but that was hard to imagine, given
Chikage’s personality.
It could have been the Dollars, too, but he didn’t see any of the youth who looked like
Blue Squares. If anything, these were more like the street thugs who were getting
purged from the Dollars.
The burned man spoke up. “Heh-hya… I guess it’s true that idiots and smoke like to
gather in high places, huh?”
Brrh.
The instant he heard that voice, the hair all over Masaomi’s body rippled.
He recognized it.
Before his brain could even recall the name, the other cells of his body surged with
anger, terror, hostility, and anxiety.
“Hang on! I’m gonna climb back up now! Wait for me!”
Chikage was down on the ground. He didn’t realize what was happening on the roof.
But Masaomi didn’t hear him.
Then the burned man spoke again.
“Here’s your question! When I broke Saki Mikajima’s leg… who was the pussy who
abandoned her and ran away?! Kee-hee-hya-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
And something in Masaomi burst.
The fear, anxiety, and regret in him all transformed into rage that surged up and out of
his throat in the form of a name.
“Izumiiiiiii!”
Fury controlled all of Masaomi’s being. He leaped down from the fence and began
charging toward the group of dozens without a second thought.
As though willing all the strength of his legs that he hadn’t used on that fateful night
into this very moment instead.
Such was his possessed manner that the ruffians of the group subconsciously leaned
away from him.
Ran Izumii leered through his sunglasses and lifted his hand with the hammer in it.
And then…
After this day, a subset of residents of the city found themselves rolling down a hill
toward chaos, unable to know where they were headed.
An incident that began with stare downs between the Dollars and Yellow Scarves, that
should have ended in mutual confusion between teenagers, suddenly cast the profiles
of a completely different group against its shadow. Thanks to Izaya Orihara’s little
spark, they were all exposed to the darkness.
That wasn’t all.
As though whipped up by some unsettling wind through the city, others aside from
Izaya cast their own sparks into the fray, steadily increasing the power of the open
flames.
But the biggest spark of all, which Izaya had tucked away and Kujiragi had nearly
extinguished altogether, still smoldered to itself, lighting nothing around it.
Practically waiting for someone to pour the gas over it.
Holding cells, police station—night
Shizuo Heiwajima lay on the floor of the cell, still dressed in his bartender outfit.
He’d been held at the Ikebukuro Police Station next to the train station many times as
a student, but the interior before him now was completely different from back then.
Apparently, this wasn’t the Ikebukuro Police Station he’d met in his errant youth but a
different branch nearby. Shizuo didn’t particularly care which station he was in,
however.
He just needed to stay calm and maintain his composure until they let him out. So he
decided he should just sleep the whole time, in order to avoid seeing or hearing
anything that might set him off.
“Hey, I’ve seen you before, man! You’re the guy who was swingin’ the electric pole
around, yeah?”
“…”
But there was a man in the adjacent cell. A thuggish fellow who’d been put in there not
long ago.
“Hey, you know what? I bet you could totally break these bars, huh?!”
“…Got the wrong guy,” Shizuo claimed, trying to keep the man off his back.
“Don’t lie! I’d never forget a blond guy in a bartender’s vest!”
Shizuo was still wearing the work outfit he’d had on when they’d arrested him. Only
the bow tie was confiscated, because anything with a string or cord might be used to
commit suicide. The rest was still there.
“But actually, now that I think about it, today’s not a good day for it. Media’s goin’
freakin’ crazy outside this station right now.”
“Did something happen?”
“You bet. They found a woman’s head outside of the train station or something. They’re
saying the rest of the body’s being brought here from the Ikebukuro headquarters.”
Shizuo grimaced at this grisly news. But something stuck out to him.
“…? What are they doing with the body? Whether they do an autopsy or not, doesn’t
that get handled at the hospital?”
“That’s why the media’s all here. There’s a whole lot of strange stuff going on with this
one. Like, when it originally got announced, it was ‘the head of what seems to be a
dead woman.’ But by the evening, they were calling it ‘what seems like a woman’s
head.’ Don’t that seem weird to you? The pictures people put online make it super-
obvious that it’s a head.”
“Pictures of a body? Those people have no class,” Shizuo murmured, furrowing his
brow. But he decided not to think too deeply into it.
He knew that if he thought about it, his rage would only intensify. Instead, he steadied
his breathing and stared at the ceiling.
The man in the other cell kept babbling. “Of course, some reporter asked them about
that. All they said was, ‘I can’t answer that question right now,’ so the press started
getting the inkling that something was wrong here. Then some weird anonymous
information leaked online from the Raira University Medical Hospital that did the legal
autopsy.”
“Weird information?”
“The head is alive, they said.”
“…”
He couldn’t laugh it off as a stupid story or even get irritated.
A living head.
And Shizuo knew what might fit that description.
“Online, people are sayin’ it might be the Headless Rider’s head. From what I hear,
they’re keeping it in this station right now. Wonder if they’re having a meeting about
it. ‘Can we even declare a criminal case if the head’s still living?’ or something.”
“I see…” Shizuo considered this for a moment, then asked, “So are you under the control
of that monster sword, too? Or is this something else?”
“…What do you mean? You’re not makin’ sense.” The man chuckled.
Shizuo’s temple visibly twitched. “Don’t play dumb with me. You really think I’m stupid
enough not to think somethin’s up when a guy with all the info wanders into the clink
and starts blabbing every last detail to me, knowing who I am? Do you?”
He got to his feet and took a step toward the man. There were steel bars between them,
of course, but they might as well have been twigs to Shizuo.
Well aware of that fact, the man held up his hands and pleaded—his eyes eerily
bloodshot.
“Sorry, sorry. My bad. You’re right. Mother told me to come here.”
“…So assuming you’re not trying to piss me off, why would you tell me this story about
the head?”
“You’re smarter than I thought, so you probably know already, huh? You know what
that head really is.”
“…”
The man didn’t wait for Shizuo to answer. “Celty Sturluson. The head that’s got the
whole city buzzing today is a part of your friend that she’s been looking for, for years
and years.”
“…Okay. And?”
“It’s simple. This is a deal. Next time they take you away for questioning, you just have
to rage a little. Sure, it’ll add a few charges to your sheet, but as long as you don’t hurt
anybody, you might just get parole or even put on bail. While that’s happening, I’ll
sneak out with the head.”
“…I don’t see the point. Are you guys on Celty’s side? Or are you just trying to use her?”
Shizuo demanded, his voice quiet but pregnant with the peril of imminent explosion.
“Neither, actually… But I bet we agree with this Celty person about not wanting the
head to be turned into a public spectacle. Anyway, if you get good and rough, they’ll
probably lock you up for that instead, and we can make sure the charges of beating a
woman go away. It looks better for you that they questioned you for something you
didn’t do, and then you snapped on them, rather than coming out with a proper record
of having crushed a woman’s hand, right?”
“Why can’t you just use those hypnosis powers or whatever they are to steal the head?
Should be easy.”
“…Mother doesn’t want us to create too many new children. Plus, if there isn’t at least
a good distraction that would explain how the head got stolen, it’ll only look more
suspicious.”
Shizuo considered this suggestion. Normally, he would have already snapped by now,
but he was just barely succeeding at keeping his cool by envisioning his brother’s face
and Celty’s helmet.
But there was no guarantee that this man would keep his word. And before Shizuo
could come to a decision about what to do, his train of thought was derailed by an
officer showing up.
Based on the way the man in the other cell immediately clammed up, he could guess
that this officer wasn’t under the demon sword’s control.
“Shizuo Heiwajima? You’re being released.”
“What?!” screamed the man in the other cell.
“Shut it, you!”
“Oh, er…”
The other man began to sweat, clearly in a panic. He returned to the corner of the cell,
muttering under his breath, “What does this mean…? Did Izaya Orihara do something
to…?”
Izaya Orihara.
Shizuo had made it safely through questioning while resisting the urge to explode. The
instant he heard that name was the biggest test of his self-control all day.
One hour later—Tokyo
“What the hell’s going on…?”

Shizuo left the back door of the police station, his outgoing procedures finished.
Apparently, the victimized girl claimed that she was “mistaken” and that it wasn’t
Shizuo. Assault wasn’t a crime that required a complaint from a victim to prosecute,
so just retracting the claim didn’t make his charges disappear, but since the victim said
he didn’t do it, and there was no clear evidence that Shizuo had ever used violence
against the woman, they dropped the charges and released him.
Under normal circumstances, Shizuo would be unable to contain his fury, but right
now he was simply happy that he’d protected his brother’s reputation.
But… Celty’s head, huh? Is that fleabrain up to something again? In any case, I’d better
report back to the boss…
He pulled out the cigarettes they’d given back to him. As he walked, he glanced around
for a good spot to smoke.
Some kind of police van passed him, heading down the road in a quieter direction.
Shizuo watched it go as he checked his lighter for remaining oil. He hit the striker of
the Zippo.
It produced a spark.
And a roaring explosion went off, right next to the police vehicle.
“?!”
Shizuo’s eyes bulged. The van that had just passed him rolled onto its side in the street,
and a motorcycle raced up toward it.
When an officer opened the rear door of the van, the motorcyclist knocked him out
with practiced ease, then stole a large box case right from the back of the vehicle.
Then the figure hopped back on the bike and took off in Shizuo’s direction. When the
rider saw him, the bike came to an exaggerated, panicked stop, then went into a U-
turn.
A full helmet and a clearly feminine figure. But unlike Celty, this rider wore a white-
based suit that looked familiar to him.
“Hey, is that… Vorona?”
Vorona.
As soon as he said the name of his new coworker, the rider blasted the acceleration—
as though trying to drown out the sound of his voice.
This, of course, was all the confirmation Shizuo needed. The rider turned down a side
street and vanished into the night within moments.
He wasn’t sure what that was all about, but he was sure of one thing—the box she’d
just stolen from the police vehicle contained the head in question.
He didn’t know why Vorona would be stealing something like that, but the incident
succeeded in finally flipping a switch in Shizuo that had been off this whole time.
Considering the situation, he arrived at one other certainty.
“Izaya… Is that you?”
After what the man under the sword’s control muttered earlier, and other circumstances
leading up to this, he had enough of a reason to suspect, even if it was largely a hunch.
“You’re up to some bullshit again. Aren’t you, Izaya…?
“And you’ve got Kasuka… and Celty… and even my new coworker involved…?”
Anger.
Anyone looking at Shizuo at this moment might have hallucinated that the very air
around him was warping.
Sheer rage powerful enough to control the air around him was being compressed
within his being. Shizuo clenched his fists. He even held his voice inside.
All his anger concentrated in those fists, so that he could use them to smash the source
of all the irritation he’d been feeling for days.
Anyone who knew Shizuo well would arrive at the same thought upon witnessing him
now.
Whether it was Izaya or someone else pulling the strings behind this—the source of
evil would undoubtedly be obliterated off the face of the earth.
And so, with the greatest rage he’d ever felt compressed within his being, the beast
quietly ventured forth into Ikebukuro.
The fires across the city formed a chain.
All connected, as though arranged ahead of time; all violent at once.
Like a bundle of firecrackers bursting together.
Tokyo—night
“Haruna!”
She was just leaving to get some dinner from the convenience store and turned around
at the sound of her name. A very familiar face awaited her.
“…Oh, Dad. You seem well.”
“You know that’s not what I want to hear… What have you been doing all this time?!”
“I’m surprised you knew where to find me. Or was it a coincidence?” asked the
runaway daughter, without a trace of shame or hostility.
Her father, Shuuji Niekawa, sighed. “The Dollars. They had an eyewitness report that
you were at the Raira Hospital cafe. And they followed you the whole way after that.
So I’ve been staking out this apartment the entire time since.”
“Oh, I didn’t know I had a stalker. If you’re relying on a street gang like the Dollars,
you’ve really fallen a long way, Dad.”
“Don’t be frivolous! Do you have any idea how worried I was when I heard that you’d
joined the Dollars…?”
For the moment, he was showing more relief than anger—and Haruna just sighed and
turned her eyes Saika red.
“…Be quiet, Dad.”

It was a statement of power, infused with Saika’s curse.
Shuuji had been pierced by her blade before. He was already Saika’s puppet.
Without a second thought, Haruna used her own father as her child—Saika’s grandchild.
By her measuring stick, anyone outside of Nasujima, even her own family, might as
well have been a stranger.
“Ah yeah, I get it.” Shuuji nodded, his eyes red, too.
In the past, when Saika’s will took control, he had spoken more effeminately, but now
that he was taking orders from Haruna’s will, he was more like a pure automaton
puppet.
A smile plastered itself on Haruna’s face. She felt not the slightest bit of guilt about
controlling her father. “The Dollars’ information network is impressive. I wonder if I
could use that to find Takashi. Anyway, you can go home for today.”
“…”
Her father said nothing. So she chatted to him all on her own. “Oh, that reminds me,
Dad. I made my very first friend ever today! Her name is Anri! I’ll introduce her to you
sometime. Maybe when it’s not so busy.”
And then, her quota of family time fulfilled, she walked right past her stock-still father
toward the store…
Until something pricked the back of her neck.
“Huh…?”
She felt more surprise than pain and craned her neck to the side.
There was her father, eyes still bloodshot—holding a syringe.
“D… ad…?”
A million questions burst into her head, then vanished into darkness.
“Well done. I mean it, very nice work.”
A man emerged from the shadows, clapping his hands. He wore a beanie and sunglasses,
a combination that screamed “disguise.”
As he peeled off his fake beard, he rolled the unconscious Haruna over. When she was
facing upward, he gave her “sleeping” face a very close inspection.
“Oh! Your daughter’s still very pretty, as long as her mouth is shut.”
“…”
Shuuji did not answer the man. He appeared to be in a daze, not entirely present.
The man ignored him and focused on his daughter, gloating over the comatose young
woman.
“When two of Saika’s children cut each other’s children—in other words, the
grandchildren of the original—control doesn’t pass based on level of strength, or
seniority, or dumb luck. Whoever does it latest overwrites the control, that’s all. You
didn’t know that, did you? You probably thought you were the only one who ever
overcame the original Saika and became an independent child,” he mocked, trying to
lift her skirt with his shoe. “But what happens if a child slashes another child? I haven’t
tested that out yet.”
He tried a number of times without success and eventually withdrew his foot out of
boredom, pressing it lightly against Haruna’s stomach instead.
“If I could use you however I wanted with Saika… Well, you don’t have to worry. I’ve
got plenty of love for you, Haruna,” the man gloated with a disgusting leer. He took off
his hat and sunglasses.
“Oh yes. I will love you… I will love your body,” he murmured, licking his lips.
Shuuji Niekawa could do nothing as the man beside him fantasized about defiling his
daughter. The curse of Saika filled his brain, and he had no functional thinking power.
All he could do was stand there.
Haruna’s onetime homeroom teacher, Takashi Nasujima, plotted and cackled over her
body.
And all her father could do was stand there.
At that moment—Ikebukuro
When Anri finally headed home, she was still feeling depressed.
A number of pathways had been indicated to her over the course of the day.
In a way, they were each potential futures being displayed for her through the picture
frame. She just didn’t have the bravery to choose which picture to paint.
I’m the same.
Nothing about me has changed since before I met Ryuugamine and Kida… and even
Mika.
It was this mood of self-loathing that consumed her when she reached her apartment.
Then she saw a feminine figure leaning against her door.
Who is that…? Is it… Niekawa?
She tensed up until she approached close enough to clearly make out the figure—at
which point she realized it was a girl she’d never seen before.
“Hello. It’s nice to meet you for the first time. Right?”
Her smile was gentle but strong at the core, the exact opposite of how Anri felt at the
moment. She gave Anri a piercing look, then held out her hand for a shake, and
introduced herself in a firm voice.
“I’m Saki Mikajima. Hi!”
In the darkness, a voice called for her.
It was strongly familiar, but for some reason, she couldn’t place who it belonged to.
She was drawn forward, walking through the dark, until she sensed something hitting
her chest.
“…am Celty.”
When she realized the thing, which was smaller than a soccer ball, was what had called
her name, Celty remembered that the voice of the head in her hands was none other
than her own.
Then the head that was supposed to belong to her repeated what it had been
muttering, louder and clearer this time.
“I am Celty.”
No, no, no, no, no! Wait! I mean, yes, it’s true, but hang on a second!
“…ty! Celtyyy!”
She burst up with a start, stammering to herself, and found that she was in her usual
bedroom, right next to Shinra in his wheelchair, who was looking at her with great
concern.
“Are you all right? You were really moaning to yourself.”
Celty hurriedly cast her vision around the area and snatched up the PDA resting next
to her bed.
“Th-the head! What happened to my head?!”
“Don’t worry. The police report was a little fishy. The rumors on the Net are saying that
the head might’ve been a fake. The rumors that me and Yumasaki started, I mean.”
“…Oh. But we’ve got to do something! If that gets cremated, I’ll… I’ll…!”
“Calm down. I’ll do something about that head.”
Shinra leaned over in his chair and held her until she finally felt herself calming down.
“…Thank you. I’m better now. Sorry for getting out of hand like that.”
“I’m glad. If anything, it was Seiji who was even more worked up. He said he was going
to charge the police station, so I knocked him out with a tranquilizer for the night…
Then Namie got mad at me for giving Seiji a tranquilizer. So I had to knock her out, too.
Compared to them, Mika was very relaxed. And when Namie lost her cool, Dad ran off
somewhere,” he explained, as if it was all some funny story.
Just then, the doorbell rang over by the entrance.
“Hmm, I wonder who that is. Did Dad come back?”
Several moments later, the sliding door of the bedroom opened, and Emilia popped
her head inside.
“Shinra, a glasses girl child has arrived for judgment of a visit?”
“Glasses? Oh, would that be Anri? Please send her in.”
“Anri… I wonder if we should tell her about Mikado,” Celty showed Shinra on her PDA,
but she figured there wouldn’t be time for that sort of conversation. Then the door to
the bedroom slid open again, and a woman wearing glasses entered.
“…Umm…? I’m sorry, you are?”
Huh? Who’s this?
Neither Shinra nor Celty could hide their surprise. The woman walked up to Shinra
and took his hand without expression, staring into his face.
As he waited, baffled, she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Kasane Kujiragi.”
But a second before they could decipher the meaning of that name, Kujiragi drew
closer to Shinra’s face and whispered, “I have an interest in you.”
Instantly, without batting an eye, the woman placed her lips over Shinra’s—and extended
steel nails from her fingers, sinking them into his shoulder.
For a brief moment, everything in the room, time included, seemed to freeze solid.
When blood seeped from Shinra’s shoulder and his eyes began turning bloodshot like
Saika’s, it was not Celty’s consciousness that abandoned her this time but her sense of
reason.
Then chaotic shadows ravaged the room.
It tumbled.
And tumbled.
After this day, a subset of residents of the city found themselves plunging into chaos,
without knowing where they were headed.
There was no one mastermind behind it, no one single cause—just different people
tangling up one another’s feet, falling and falling…
Into the deep darkness that existed on the underside of the city, where those like the
Awakusu-kai lived and breathed.
Inside the sack that was the city, both wide and cramped at once, the rodents struggled
and struggled.
Would they fight back like cornered rats? Or simply drown in the sack?
Nobody could guess at this point in time.
Only one thing was certain.
As long as they continued to plunge within the city of Ikebukuro, they would ultimately
be headed to the same place, the deepest place of all.
As such, fate worked its ways as they fell.
Without a hint at even the nature of its eventual product, whether rope leading up to
safety or shackles dragging to the bottom of the earth…
The city offered a glimpse into its impenetrable darkness, to saints and villains alike.
There was no way to tell if hope awaited at the bottom of that obsidian dark.
And yet, without stopping a single one of them, the city swallowed all within itself—
and began to tumble.
Well, Durarara!! has passed the ten-volume mark and reached number eleven safely.
You might find a few scattered references throughout this book that will make you
grin if you’ve read Volumes 4–5 of my Vamp! series of novels… (Blatant cross-
marketing.)
I pushed the story forward quite a bit in the latter half of this book and ended it with
a number of lit fuses all over the place. I’m expecting that the next book will start with
a number of consecutive explosions, so please whittle away the time as you wait,
imagining that you’re just staring at those fuses…
So, as I had announced before, I was planning to cap the story in a way at Volume 12…
but considering what it would take to wrap up some of the stories of the Awakusu-kai
characters who didn’t appear in this book at all, I’m currently stuck between extending
it to a thirteenth volume or making the next one very, very long. I’m still not sure what
my final decision will be at this point, but I’m hoping to deliver the news through the
usual marketing avenues.
My hope is that once I’m done with this story movement, I’ll move it to a fresh series
set a year or two later, focusing more on new characters, Aoba and Kuru-Mai and the
adults.
Now, if I were to rebrand the title like Mr. Kamachi’s A Certain Magical Index: New
Testament, I could go with… New Durarara!! Or… True Durarara!! Or… Durararara!!
Or… Durarara!!! New World Arc, or… Durarara!! Turbo Edition, or… Durarara: Sunshine
City at Dawn, or… Durarara: The Gunman of Ikebukuro, or… Durarara Ultimate Battle,
Darkness Demon Izaya vs. Ultra-Mecha Shizuo… The possibilities are just beginning!
And now they have ended.
But whatever form it takes, I think that this story set in Ikebukuro will continue for
some time longer. I hope you look forward to more!
And now some announcements.

Just as I was praying that there would be more things I could tell you about Durarara!!,
they have arrived. First of all, the Durarara!! Blu-ray box set comes out on the twenty-
third of this month!
In addition to all twenty-six episodes of the series, you’ll get the Dengeki Bunko Akifuyu
no Jin de Durarara Lovers in Nakano special event footage. Not only does it include
three original audio drama CDs, you get the deluxe box art drawn by Suzuhito Yasuda
himself, so if you’re interested in that or the Durarara Rapping!! character song
collection CD that comes out on the same day, I highly recommend looking into buying
them!
As for items that are available already for purchase, there’s the new edition of the PSP
game called Durarara!! 3way Standoff—Alley—, which you can check out with its own
original opening theme by the band ROOKiEZ is PUNK’D!
On top of that, Ms. Satorigi’s manga adaptation is heading into the Saika arc with a
volume out already! I’m betting that the combination of the manga format and her
fantastic artwork and arrangement will make this even more enjoyable than the
original novel!
And now, though it pains me to advertise for a different company than the one printing
this book for me…
I have been given the opportunity to write a novel for Tite Kubo’s manga series Bleach,
which is running in Shueisha’s Weekly Shonen Jump magazine. If all goes to plan, it
should be hitting stores within a month or two of the book you hold in your hands!
When I saw my name in the pages of Shonen Jump (even if just for publicity purposes),
which I’ve been reading since I was a boy, I got unstoppable chills of joy.
I’m turning that excitement into energy, trying to synergize both fan bases so that
readers of Durarara!! might find an interest in Bleach, and vice versa. I’m doing my
best to make everyone happy, so I hope you will check that out!
I’ve also had more chances to do work in various other fields and places this year, such
as participating in the Red Dragon role-playing-game fiction series from Seikaisha, and
there are others that have yet to be announced coming up.
Of course, the reason I’ve had all of these opportunities at all is because of the Dengeki
Bunko series of Baccano! and Durarara!!, and the incredible bedrock of support that
you readers give me. I will continue to give my all to the series that got me here, to
ensure that your support doesn’t go to waste!
I give a hard time by being so late with submissions. To all the folks at ASCII Media
Works.
illustrators.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, who took time out of his busy schedule with Yozakura Quartet
and his video game character designs to provide his wonderful illustrations and even
some live streams of the process.
March 2012—Ryohgo Narita

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RYOHGO NARITA

DURARARA!! Vol.12
Yen On
New York, NY 10104
yenpress.tumblr.com

The Yen On name and logo are trademarks of Yen Press, LLC 5s69wer.
the publisher.

9780316474382 (v. 12 : pbk.)
Adventure.
Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
Interlude
Chapter Seven: At Daggers Drawn
Chapter Eight: It Takes a Thief to Catch a Thief
Chapter Nine: No Love Lost
Intermediate Chapter: Proud, Doomed Resistance
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
An excerpt from Shinichi Tsukumoya’s closed blog
Let me tell you about Mikado Ryuugamine.
And also about the Headless Rider.
I don’t know what it is you seek to know, visitor to this website.
After all, there’s been a lot going on lately around the Dollars. Too much, in fact.
As a member of the group, I’ve done as much information collecting around the
periphery as I can.
And what did I find?
A variety of incidents and people intertwined in a complex and tangled game of cat’s
cradle.
And to continue that metaphor, there are two fingers in particular that are especially
tangled up.
Mikado Ryuugamine and the Headless Rider.
Plus, Izaya Orihara and Kasane Kujiragi seem to enjoy tampering with these strings
maliciously, so who’s to say whether the tangles can be unwound at all?
There are a number of other fingers, to continue this metaphor. Allow me to list off the
big ones.
There’s Celty Sturluson, as I’ve already mentioned. She’s involved in the highest
number of incidents, to be sure, but she’s also the central figure of many.
That’s right: Her severed dullahan’s head has finally taken center stage in public. In
the way she wanted least.
The police quickly seized the severed head that had been left on the Ikebukuro
sidewalk in broad daylight. The head itself wasn’t shown on the news, but it had been
exposed all the same.
Celty already had her hands full with her own affairs, but the things around her just
wouldn’t leave her alone, either:
• The hit-and-run on Kyouhei Kadota, Dollars officer
• The team-up of Mikado Ryuugamine and Aoba Kuronuma, using the Blue Squares
within the Dollars to lead a battle against the Yellow Scarves
• The contact between Mikado and Akabayashi, a lieutenant of the Awakusu-kai
• The issue with Haruna Niekawa, wielder of Saika and member of the Dollars
• The attention of Seitarou Yagiri, the president of Yagiri Pharmaceuticals
All these incidents and issues heavily involve the Headless Rider, whether by intention
or coincidence.
She does have a few allies, however. In fact, they simply gather at her residence, so it’s
kind of unclear whether they’re honest allies or something else. Mika Harima, Seiji
Yagiri, Walker Yumasaki, Saburo Togusa, Egor the suspicious Russian, and his client
Shingen Kishitani… I’m not sure whether his wife, Emilia, should be counted, but lastly,
there’s also Namie Yagiri, who made her way in—and she is certainly not a friend. So
the Headless Rider has got trouble within and trouble without.
Where is the future taking her, do you suppose?
But the one whose future is even more uncertain is Mikado Ryuugamine.
The founder of our Dollars, the one calling the shots for the Blue Squares—and a mere
high school student.
That’s right. I’m willing to state that on the record here. Mikado Ryuugamine is a “mere
high school student.”
He is not an inhuman creature like Celty, and he doesn’t have Shizuo Heiwajima’s
strength or Anri Sonohara’s cursed weapon.
He’s just a plain old human, pure and simple.
But that’s the kind of person—perhaps because he is that kind of person—who is now
in just as much trouble as Celty, if not even more, because of the following:
• The hit-and-run on Kyouhei Kadota, Dollars officer
• Aoba Kuronuma and his gang, who are trying to use Kadota and the Dollars
• Izaya Orihara and Kasane Kujiragi, and the young man named Hiroto Shijima, who
joined the Dollars while having connections to both Izaya and Kujiragi
• Threats from Akabayashi of the Awakusu-kai
• Shuuji Niekawa’s request to search for his daughter, Haruna Niekawa
• Mikado’s turf war with the Yellow Scarves
…There are more that could be listed, but these are the chief concerns.
Yes, I know what you want to say. It looks almost the same as Celty’s list, doesn’t it?
But it’s not. Their implications are entirely different.
Celty Sturluson was merely dragged into all this business, even the part about her own
head. Some of that is thanks to her quasi-legal job as a courier, so one might call it
expectable, but the way she’s been manipulated into all of it is beyond that kind of
simple karma.
Meanwhile, for Mikado Ryuugamine, the majority of these issues are seeds he himself
sowed. He could have refused to deal with the Haruna Niekawa and Shijima issues. He
could have murmured passive affirmations and tossed them out afterward.
But Mikado Ryuugamine did not.

He was trying to burn everything down to reset the Dollars, while doing his best to
save every single good person who clung to the group.
Good person. Yes, “good person.” At least, going by his own standards.
Some of you might wonder why I don’t alert him, since I know everything going on
behind the scenes.
Yeah, I could. Perhaps I would have given warnings to the “Tarou Tanaka” of a year ago,
the guy who was addicted to the Internet to the point that he believed in its power.
Watch out for Shijima; stay away from Haruna Niekawa—and so on.
But such warnings are pointless to the current Mikado.
He no longer trusts anything online. Not the Dollars, not Anri Sonohara, not Masaomi
Kida.
But of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t even believe in himself—the focal point of all
those connections.
And that’s why he’s trying to burn it all down. To crush it all to dust and cast it aside.
He’s trying to erase everything that he’s built up to this point. Including Mikado
Ryuugamine himself.
There’s only one thing he believes in: the past.
The illusion he witnessed when the Dollars first met and all networks seemed to
sparkle and shine to him.
That memory has been positively adjusted in his mind. Perhaps it now represents the
peak of Mikado Ryuugamine’s life to him and acts as the genesis for everything.
Unbelievable. Rather than choosing the bonds of family with his parents, or memories
of his best friends, he’s decided to make the focal point of his entire life the event in
which a group of strangers met in person for the first time.
It’s laughable but not funny.
At the very least, I don’t have the right to laugh at it.

In this case, I can focus only on being an observer. As you probably know, having found
my blog, I learn things a bit quicker than others do, and I have knowledge of various
topics.
But I do not know the future.
I like people, if not as much as Izaya Orihara does.
And unlike him, I also like those who aren’t human.
Which is why I observe.
I’ll be honest with you: I can manipulate things by releasing information in the right
ways. However, I cannot tell exactly what the end results will be.
So helping someone might also mean hurting someone else. It might mean that
something will happen that will change Ikebukuro forever.
You get it, right?
You know that we stand atop a thin layer of ice held in place only by a fragile balance.
And so do Celty Sturluson and Mikado Ryuugamine and many other people involved
with them.
The strings in their game are tied not around their fingers, but around their necks.
And the game of cat’s cradle will come to an end soon enough.
Shizuo Heiwajima.
He has already grasped the string.
When he yanks on that string, will everyone it is connected to come out unscathed?
It’s not a question of who will laugh and who will cry. It’s a question of whether anyone
will be able to do things like that at the end of this.
Such is the current situation.
It’s all a logjam. It’s checkmate.
I’m not going to say, “This is getting interesting now.” I’m not Izaya Orihara.
It would be more accurate to say, “This is getting troublesome.”
I mean, my town is getting turned into one big slow-moving accident. But only a
limited selection of people can actually see it happening.
There are the “light of day” folks, the ones hard at work in business or school, shopping
at the department stores of Parco, Seibu, and Tobu.
There are the “dark of night” folks, getting up to no good in the back alleys, parking
garages of clubs, and seedy apartment rooms.
But the strings of this disaster are tangled around those who belong to neither group.
Let’s say that Ikebukuro is a map. The folks I’m talking about are not on the front side
or the underside of the map, but lodged deep inside the paper fibers in the middle.
I’m not telling you to be careful. I’m telling you to be ready.
Because if that map rips from the inside, it will cause great damage to both sides of
the parchment.
But what shape do you suppose it is that this game of cat’s cradle has produced?
It is irregular, complex, and in the end, interconnected.
I’m not going to sit here and tell you, “It is the shape of Ikebukuro itself.” But I do think
it’s clear that this is the shape of something that makes up this city.
Will the strings burn away, will Shizuo Heiwajima pull off the fingers—er, heads—of
those in the middle, or will someone come along and neatly undo all the knots?
All I can do is watch.
But watch I will.
When this “mere high school student” paints himself into a corner, I will see who is
dragged into it, how he falls, and where.
I suspect that the story of Mikado Ryuugamine, mere high school student, is coming
to an end soon.
But do you know what?
An ordinary student, not even a bully or a thug, calling the shots of a street gang and
getting the strings of fate tangled around yakuza and headless motorcycle riders alike?
It sounds just like some urban legend to me.

She was a type of fairy found from Scotland to Ireland, commonly known as a dullahan:
a being that visited the homes of those close to death to inform them of their
The dullahan carried its own severed head under its arm, rode in a two-wheeled
basinful of blood. Thus the dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a herald of ill
but Celty had no way of knowing whether this was true.
When someone back in her homeland stole her head, she lost her memories of what
she was. It was that search for the faint trail of her head that had brought her here to
Ikebukuro.
still lost.
Celty knew who had stolen her head.
She knew who was preventing her from finding it.
But ultimately, she didn’t know where it was.
she could happily live the way she was now.
She was a headless woman who let her actions speak for her missing face and held
this strong, secret desire within her heart.
Yes, she was a dullahan.
She could not become a human, and a human could not become a dullahan.
But still, she did her best to understand what it meant to be human.
She learned about humanity through a variety of things and took great pains to live as
a human being did.
A rare and powerful sense of reason built her persona, and despite the lack of a head
or legal identity, she gained an almost perfectly human mind and lived as an individual
within the city of Ikebukuro in Japan.
Which was why nobody could predict what exactly would happen to a dullahan that
had lost not only its memories, but also its sense of reason, whether out of anger,
sadness, shock, or pain.
Celty Sturluson’s mental state was quite similar to that moment when the circuit
breaker trips and the home suddenly goes dark and quiet.
An enemy calling herself Kasane Kujiragi suddenly appeared in their home and locked
lips with Shinra Kishitani, the owner of the apartment. At this point, she still had a
basic human level of reason remaining.
It was so sudden that it did take some time for her to fully process what had just
happened—so that when she finally understood, the next situation was already
occurring.
Unnatural blades, extending from Kujiragi’s fingers like nails.
Celty instantly recalled when she had seen such a phenomenon before.
Saika!
A cursed blade that controlled those it sliced and that implanted “children” within
their minds.
Anri Sonohara was supposed to be in possession of Saika, so how did this woman have
it now? Or was this some other, different cursed blade?
These questions and more floated through her mind as the steel sank into Shinra’s
shoulder.
It felt like time stood still.
Already, Celty was unable to recognize or process the surroundings around them.
“…”
…Huh?
What? What am I seeing?
A dream? Some kind of joke?
Shinra is here. Who is this woman?
A kiss? With Shinra? Why?
What is this? Saika’s owner? Cheating? No.
Thief. Must hurry. Kiss? Katana?
Oh no. I’ve seen this. Saika. Transform.
Shinra. Controlled. Oh no. He must be fine.
I trust. So what? Shinra. Don’t.
Wait. Shinra. Shinra is. Shinra must. No!
Shinra. Shinra. It can’t be.
I hate this. Shinra. Please wait.
Shinra. Shinra. Shinra, Shinra.
Why is Shinra I have with Shinra and Shinra but who would do
No. No, no, no. But I love Shinra
Shinra no Shinra mistake won’t believe it Shinra wait Shinra can’t be won’t let it don’t
StopthatrightatoncetakethatbladeoutofShinraletgoofhimwhywon’tmybodymoveShinra
ShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinrarunawayrunawayrunawayrunawayrunawayru
nawaymoveCeltymovemovemovemovemoveohnoohnoohnoohnoohnoohpleaseohplease
ohpleaseShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShin
raShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShinraShin
raShinraShinraohplease ShinraIShinraloveShinraShinraandShinrayetShinraIShinralov
eShinraShinraandShinrayetShinraIShinracan’tShinramoveShinraShinraShinra———
The emotions that her confusion dredged up only made the confusion worse.
She was struck by two simultaneous levels of shock—an unfamiliar woman kissing
Celty’s lover, followed by his being pierced by that woman’s blades.
It was the biggest shock she’d felt since losing her head, and it ate away at her rational
mind, loosening her grip on reality.
Then she was hit by a third shock:
Before she had time to react, Celty witnessed Shinra’s eyes instantly turn red with
blood.
When Saika stabs you, your eyes turn red.
Subjugation. The fate of Saika’s child.
This fact, sinking into her mind, caused something within Celty to burst.
Emotion: a storm of conflicting feelings surging into her panicked brain, suddenly
bulging to their maximum possible size.
Celty’s instincts began emergency measures to prevent the worst-case scenario: total
breakdown.
To save her memory and self-image from the muddy churn of her emotions, she cut
rationality loose from her body.
The circuit breaker within her tripped without a sound.
And then…
“Wh-whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?!”
It was Togusa who first spoke up in response to the woman’s sudden aggressive
behavior. He was in the adjacent room, but because he was next to the sliding door, he
could see right away what was happening there.
He rushed to pull Kujiragi off Shinra but came to a stop just as suddenly.
“Wha…?”
He had seen shadows erupting into the space before him.
“…”
Kujiragi witnessed the phenomenon as well.
There was no longer the shape of a woman in the space where Celty had been
standing. It was just a writhing, expanding mass of shadow, brimming with pressure.
One might actually be forgiven for imagining a gusher of oil right in the middle of the
room.
But the black shadow, somewhere between a gas and a liquid, expanded explosively
throughout the apartment and set upon Kujiragi.
“As I expected,” the woman muttered to herself as the black mist descended upon her
with clear and present hostility. She lifted the listless, red-eyed Shinra over her
shoulder and leaped backward with an agility that was simply inhuman.
Kujiragi landed next to Togusa and twisted around. After she had leaped away again,
the black mass’s jaws closed upon the spot where she’d just been. Jaws was the only
word to describe them.
They weren’t like those of any living creature on the planet, but they did have
countless black fangs within them, and they bit with such incredible force that they
seemed to sink into the very atmosphere itself. The sight was forceful enough to
plunge any who saw it into a state of terror.
Neither Togusa, who along with Kujiragi was the first to witness it, nor those who
heard the uproar and came to see what was happening moments later could actually
understand what it was they were seeing.
That there was a black shadow with its own physical form should have been enough
for them to identify Celty Sturluson, but in the moment, that answer was absent from
their minds.
Because in the case of this black mass, there was not a bit of the rationality and
intelligence they associated with Celty’s typical shadowy manipulations.
Kujiragi raced forward, reaching out, not sparing a backward glance. The next
moment, an extremely slender blade like a piece of wire extended from her finger and,
with the tensile strength of a whip, lashed in a circle pattern at the glass door to the
veranda.
There was the momentary sound of metal scraping, and then a perfect circle fell out
from the center of the glass door, just big enough for a person to get through the hole.
Without losing any speed, Kujiragi passed through it still carrying Shinra, leaped to
the railing of the veranda, and then promptly took flight.
The next moment, everyone left behind in the apartment learned that the giant
shadow jaws that had appeared in the bedroom were only a small part of the whole.
A number of other sets of jaws appeared from the room, spinning and churning
around the apartment at breathtaking speed. When they identified Kujiragi leaping
from the veranda and Shinra slung over her shoulder, they all turned in that direction,
then withdrew back to the bedroom.
“Wh-what was that all about…?” Togusa murmured. He tried to peek into the room.
The door of the bedroom—and the entire wall it was set within—erupted, and an
enormous mass of shadow leaped out.
“Guwoah—?!”
Togusa didn’t get enveloped in the destruction, but the shadow did push him out of
the way. The thing then broke down the glass door to the veranda, chasing after
Kujiragi, who had leaped off the building with superhuman leg strength.
Shards of glass glittered in the air, surrounding a mass of shadow that had turned into
jaws the size of an elephant.
The jaws blended into the darkness of night and made to devour Kujiragi whole, along
with Shinra, too. But just an instant before they could, Kujiragi’s body somehow
accelerated in midair.
The wire-width Saika extending from her hand tangled with the metal fence on the
roof of the building across the street, and she used it like a winch to pull herself faster
across the way.
The shadow missed its prey. But rather than falling down to the street below, the
pursuit maintained its intensity. Ten shadow tentacles extended from the main body
and lashed out at Kujiragi with the force of crossbow bolts. But the woman did not so
much as grimace.
Instead, she landed on the rooftop and withdrew the wire-form Saika into her palm.
The part of the fence Kujiragi had tangled it around sliced open and fell to the ground,
a dry clatter against the night sky.
As if on cue, Kujiragi held out her right hand toward the shadow tentacles chasing her.
It could only be the right hand, because Shinra was still slung over her left shoulder.
Five blades appeared from her fingertips again, forming a large vortex in the direction
of the black limbs. A whirlwind of five narrow blades.
No ordinary blade would be capable of blocking this strange shadow with physical
properties. But Saika was no ordinary blade. This accursed weapon could probably
slice through the human soul itself, if you believed in such things. And in fact, it
excelled at damaging the mind, which was very close to the soul, so that it could
infiltrate it.
A physics-transcending shine of silver met a physics-transcending shadow of solid

matter.
After a hideous sound of intense friction, the whirlwind of blades cut through all the
attacking tentacles, turning them back to mist.
But the body of the shadow did not give up. Even as it fell, it created new shadow
feelers that grasped for Kujiragi. She swung back against all of them, racing across the
rooftop with superhuman speed.
“Owww… What was that about?”
The shattered glass was sprayed about the veranda, allowing the muggy air of the
summer night into the apartment.
Togusa got to his feet, rubbing his lower back. What was that black thing just now?
Ordinarily, the sight of a writhing black thing in this apartment would lead everyone
to the same answer. In this place, in this entire neighborhood, only one person could
make use of a 3-D moving shadow.
But Togusa’s brain was unable to make the connection at the moment. What he had
just seen had held no trace of human form.
The sight of the shadow mass taking a form that wasn’t that of a human or of any living
creature had caused Togusa to think some kind of unknown monster had suddenly
appeared in the room with them.
He felt not a single trace of the emotion and personality he’d always associated with
that moving shadow.
“Hey, Yumasaki, what the hell just…?”
“Ohhh… Ohhhhhhh…”
Togusa turned to look at Yumasaki, who was gazing out the window and moaning
queerly.
“What’s up, Yumasaki? Did you hit your head?” he asked.
Just then, Yumasaki raised his arms high and shouted in jubilation, “My time… my era
has arrived at laaaast!”
“What the hell do you mean?!”

“A mysterious babe wearing glasses… strange wires coming from her hand… cutting a
circle in the glass… A heroine who leaps through the sky, fighting the aliens dyed black!
It’s all perfect! She was a bit older than I imagined, but at last, it’s the arrival of the 2-
D heroine who will open a new door in my life!”
Yumasaki was so wrapped up in his own world that it was hard to tell whether he was
even aware of Togusa. He continued shouting up to the open sky. “I must cause my
own power to awaken soon! I bet kissing my little sister will cause that woman to be
2-D again, even if she’s temporarily in a 3-D form right now!”
“Okay, forget this guy.” Once Yumasaki got this way, Togusa knew there was no way to
hold a conversation with him. It would be difficult to pull him back to reality without
Kadota, but at least Yumasaki didn’t have the synergistic effect of Karisawa’s presence.
“Dammit, and I gotta go visit Kadota first thing in the morning tomorrow.”
Yumasaki’s typical mood was possible only because Karisawa had just texted him the
news that Kadota was awake again. Even he wouldn’t let himself get this carried away
without the relief of such good news. Or at least, that was what Togusa wanted to
believe.
Once his mind had calmed down, Togusa realized that the thing that had flowed out of
the room had probably been Celty’s shadow, and he hesitantly peered into the
bedroom.
“Um, hey, Celty, was that your…?” he started to say, then stopped.
The room was devoid of life. The only notable thing within it was the helmet Celty
always wore, resting on the ground.
“…Hey, what does this mean?”
“Celty just left,” answered Mika Harima, who was looking outside through the shattered
glass doorframe.
“What? But what does that mean?”
“That black thing that just burst out of the apartment… That was Celty.”
“…”
Togusa fell silent. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have imagined this. He just didn’t want to
actually consider it.
The Headless Rider whom Togusa knew, contrary to her fearsome appearance, was
just as smart and reasonable as Kadota, tops among people he knew.
But there hadn’t been anything resembling the Headless Rider he knew in that dark
monstrosity just now, and there was no glimmer of reason or wisdom in the wake of
its destruction.
“Oh my, this is the after of exactly what event being revealed?”
This absurd attempt at the Japanese language was accompanied by Emilia’s face
around the corner. At this point, the massive shadow was no longer visible outside the
window.
Togusa gazed out of the broken glass door and muttered the first thing that came to
mind.
“…Well, the guy who actually owns this place is gone now, so how are we supposed to
explain this if the cops show up?”
In the dark of night, the shadow monster that was Celty Sturluson continued its chase
of Kujiragi.
The woman leaped and bounded from rooftop to rooftop like she was going to cross a
thousand leagues in the span of a night. Before the mass of shadow could fall, it
extended tendrils of shadow that gripped buildings like some monstrous slime mold
to keep itself aloft—yet the way it pursued Kujiragi was closer to a carnivorous beast
on the hunt.
There was no end to the shadow tentacles. But those whiplike blades sliced through
everything in their way.
Normally, if Celty had witnessed the bold act of warping Saika into other forms than a
pure katana, she would have been alarmed, yet she would have watched carefully and
calmly to formulate a proper response.
But in this state, she did not have that calm. She did not have any sense of reason
whatsoever.
In fact, it was unclear whether the shadow monstrosity should even be referred to as
“Celty Sturluson.”
There wasn’t a hint of Celty’s consciousness in its actions, just an automated hunting
system that pursued the fleeing Kujiragi.
Were the swarms of tendrils attempting to skewer Kujiragi’s body, or were they trying
to grab Shinra off her shoulder?
Kujiragi could not tell you the answer as she fled.
The shadow could not tell you the answer as it chased her.
Because the mass of shadow had eliminated the very sense of reason that would seek
that answer in the first place.
“Nope, can’t tell where they went.”
Togusa and the others had stepped gingerly onto the veranda, avoiding the broken
glass, but nowhere among the nearby buildings could they see the mysterious woman
who’d abducted Shinra, or the freakish, monstrous form of Celty.
In the daytime would be one thing, but against the backdrop of night, it would be
nearly impossible to see Celty in the sky.
“That chick with the glasses did that all in what, like, thirty seconds after entering the
place? The hell is goin’ on, man… ,” muttered Togusa, who was probably the most
rational individual present.
And yet, thinking over what he had just seen, he came up with an answer to his own
question that wasn’t all that rational.
“Was it just me, or did that chick kinda look like Ruri?” He shook his head, dispelling
the thought. “Nah… can’t be.”
As a matter of fact, Ruri Hijiribe and Kasane Kujiragi were niece and aunt, so he was
actually entirely correct in his observation, but Togusa had no idea of that. He
banished the thought and glanced over the railing of the balcony. “But what should we
do about…?”
He didn’t finish that sentence. It was interrupted by a braying that did not seem like
anything from this world, coming from the bottom of the apartment building. It hit
with the crackle and boom of a thunderbolt, echoing eerily throughout the night of the
city.
Then, from the entrance to the basement parking garage, burst a shadowy black
thing—not as big as what Togusa had seen moments earlier, but still significantly
bigger than a human being. It reared up high among the streetlights. Togusa frowned
and wondered, “Is that… a horse?”
It appeared to be a black creature with four distinctively long, narrow legs, but
something about it still seemed to be weird and alien.
“Oh…”
A shiver ran down Togusa’s back when he recognized that the source of his concern
was the lack of a head on the creature. But by that point, the headless horse was
already going down the alley, leaving behind only the echo of its rumbling cry into the
night.
“What the hell is even happening, man…?”
He had thought he was used to Celty and the abnormality she represented. While he
hadn’t been as quick to embrace her as Yumasaki had been—and he was the one still
jabbering on nearby—Togusa felt that he himself had accepted Celty and the fact that
she was not human, but someone with whom you could have a relationship.
But the mass of shadow he had just witnessed made him realize that his take on the
situation was naive.
“What the hell’s even going on with the world…?” he wondered now. If it was at all
something grandiose, it didn’t feel like it to him.
Instead, his understanding of the world, as it appeared through his eyes, was being
fundamentally overturned.
Rooftop, parking garage, Tokyo
Several hours earlier, there was another person who, like Celty, had exploded with a
potent cocktail of mixed emotions: the leader of the Yellow Scarves gang, Masaomi
Kida.
A young man on edge, people liked to say.
It wasn’t complimentary, but there was no other description that better captured what
Masaomi was at this moment.
Just seconds before this, he had thrown himself into a tremendous fight.
You might say that Masaomi had cast his very life into challenging Chikage Rokujou,
the leader of a motorcycle gang from Saitama—Chikage had superhuman toughness
and strength, just not on the level of Shizuo Heiwajima. At the very least, Masaomi
entered the fight with that expectation.
But in all accuracy, he did not cast his entire life into it, if you were to define that as
fighting with the expectation of going up to and past the threshold of death. In fact,
Masaomi was not thinking about dying in his fight against Chikage Rokujou.
Chikage’s ferocious attacks.
The mad way that he leaped off the building, holding on to Masaomi.
On several occasions, Masaomi expected that death would result from these things.
Yet, there was still a gap between what he experienced and the sense of impending
death.
In large part, this was because he did not sense any murderous intent from Chikage
Rokujou in their combat—but Masaomi was not able to perform this kind of subtle
analysis in the moment.
No less than a minute before, Masaomi had seen Chikage Rokujou fall from the rooftop
and be perfectly fine. Masaomi turned back to the roof so that he could regain control
of the situation—and he witnessed another group of several dozen approaching who
were very much not the Yellow Scarves.
And standing at the head of the group: a man with burn scars, holding a hard rubber
hammer.
“Heh-hya… I guess it’s true that idiots and smoke like to gather in high places, huh?”
Before his brain could process that voice, his very cells reacted.
The first memory that popped into his head was past terror.
Death.
This was the sense of certain impending doom.
If he went toward this man, he would be killed. His life would be erased. After he’d
undergone suffering at the very limit of what he could fathom—if not even beyond it.
The memory of the first time he’d felt the powerful stench of death and fallen to his
knees.
The moment he had abandoned the one person he must never abandon.
“Here’s your question! When I broke Saki Mikajima’s leg… who was the pussy who
abandoned her and ran away?! Kee-hee-hya-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
And with those hideous, vexing words, Masaomi’s entire world was shut in darkness.
Unlike with Celty, this was not a case of an emotional circuit breaker tripping.
In fact, it was almost the exact opposite of the change that would happen to her a few
hours later.
When all of his emotions exploded, they switched on all the power lines that had been
down inside Masaomi Kida.
Because he was human.
Because he could not get rid of his emotions.
Because he was dragging his past behind him.
His fear and anxiety all converted into rage, and he screamed the name of his opponent.
“Izumiiiiiiii!”
He launched forward.
This time, he was truly putting his life on the line.
In that moment, the real determination to fight with his very life welled up from deep
within. And at the same moment, it birthed another kind of determination.
When one offers up one’s life, it is often life that is sought in return.
The sheer force of the powerful emotions raging within brought about a kind of
secondary, imitation determination. He was prepared to kill the interloper, if need be.
The difference in numbers was stark, and if anyone was going to end up dead here,
Masaomi was by far the most likely.
But still he ran.
Not like a man with tunnel vision.

He saw the obvious suffering ahead of him and chose to throw all his rising emotions
into overcoming it.
Masaomi was not a very tall man. He was used to fighting, and he had a pretty decent
physical build, but he didn’t cut the sort of figure that struck fear into others with a
glance.
But he did cast off a demonic fury that was unlike your typical teenager, and it caused
the thugs around him to subconsciously shy away a bit.
In their midst, the very source of Masaomi’s nightmares, Ran Izumii, smirked at his
foe through sunglasses and raised his hammer.
“…You mean Mr. Izumii, yeah?”
And just like that, he swung it down at Masaomi’s head.
Masaomi avoided the swing by a hair’s width, putting him right inside his opponent’s
defenses.
“………”
There was nothing to say.
As if to make the point that nothing could be worth saying to this man, no words of
hatred even being worth the effort, Masaomi put all the strength and emotion he could
summon, all the regrets about his own weakness, and every other thing that had built
up inside him into a clenched fist.
He twisted his body, putting rotation into the greatest possible blow he could muster,
and then tensed and paused for an instant.
Just the slightest, briefest moment.
It was enough time for Izumii to recognize Masaomi’s stance and the distance between
them and hastily attempt to evade. But rolling his upper half backward did not create
enough room to avoid impact.
Masaomi’s fist hurtled with maximum speed and weight at Izumii’s unprotected face.
The next moment, the sound of violent impact echoed off the walls of the parking
garage.
In the past
Ran Izumii was once the head of the Blue Squares, but he was not the kind of person
you would consider a mighty brawler.
For one thing, he got the position only because it was left to him by his little brother,
Aoba Kuronuma. So in the sense that he was never meant to earn that leadership
position, it was true—because he didn’t build that throne for himself.
However, it was under Izumii’s lead that the Blue Squares actually expanded their
power. So it was more accurate to describe him as a true scumbag.
He relied on numbers in battle, and out of an inferiority complex to his popular and
charismatic brother, he tended to try to keep people under control with fear instead.
He would focus on annihilating enemy gangs, keeping them under his thumb with
violence, and using his followers as the limbs that did his bidding. Kadota criticized
him for his methods on many an occasion, but Izumii never intended to take that into
account.
He knew that if he stopped growing the Blue Squares his brother had built and he
allowed it to be comfortable in its own skin, it was bound to implode instead. And once
that happened, he would be the first one its members turned against.
So he committed himself to atrocity: He wielded violence like a cudgel. He indulged in

all his desires. He painted the back alleys of Ikebukuro in sticky, ugly fear, grinding the
city rough and raw.
Because as soon as he stopped, that fear would crush him in return.
On the other hand, Ran Izumii was not some victim whose life had been sent off the
rails by his brother’s actions. While he was unable to stop the relentless march of his
gang, it was also by his own desire that he traced this path.
If he were really some sympathetic victim, he would have handed the gang over to
someone else, retired from the position, and left the ugly, bloodstained back alleys
behind.
In fact, if he had left it in the hands of Kadota, for example, the team might have come
together well. A guy like him had the potential and the character to lead. He might
even have altered the fundamental nature of the gang.
But Izumii refused to do that.
The power and money and influence he gained were all his, and the thought of giving
them up to another person was unfathomable. Izumii was steering them down the
path of madness because he wanted to do it.
In other words, he was a real scumbag.
But there were dangerous storm clouds around his path.
There was a street gang, supposedly set up by middle school kids, that wore yellow
bandannas. This group, the Yellow Scarves, was somehow holding its own against the
Blue Squares’ overwhelming advantage in numbers.
This inexplicable situation did not stop Izumii. When their relentless guerrilla assaults
were proving to be impossible to overcome with his power of numbers, he began to
get impatient—until a certain man made unexpected contact with him and gave
Izumii some information.
That the leader of the Yellow Scarves was Masaomi Kida.
And that he had a girlfriend by the name of Saki Mikajima.
And how they could get her alone.
Izumii didn’t trust him, but he was willing to take any help he could get and accepted
the man’s offer. They succeeded in kidnapping the girl, and all they needed to do after
that was use her to lure Masaomi Kida to a place where they could crush him.
But as a result, Izumii lost his status, his power, and even the tiny bit of freedom he
possessed. All he gained was the facial-burn scar from Yumasaki’s Molotov cocktail.
Izumii benefited from not having a significant prior arrest record, but he was still
sentenced for his assault, and he spent time in juvenile detention.
While he served his sentence, he coincidentally learned about the trickery involved in
the warfare between the Blue Squares and Yellow Scarves. That he had been placed
on his throne by his brother and manipulated in the palm of a man named Izaya
Orihara, who wanted to throw a wrench into the gang war.
At last, Izumii understood just how powerless he really was.
If he was the type of person to learn humility, his story would likely have taken a
different route at this point.
But he was not.
He was not meant to inspire others with leadership, but he was indeed a bona fide
scumbag.
Not for a single second did the emptiness consume him. Rather than reflect on his
failings or look ahead to his future, he simply doubled down on the simmering,
obsessive hatred within him.
He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.
So Izumii punched the wall of the facility’s gym. He kicked it, screamed, and even head-
butted the hard surface. It was identified as self-harming behavior, and he was placed
in a solitary cell.
But he wasn’t trying to hurt himself at all—Izumii just wanted to destroy something,
anything, that was within reach.
Since he wasn’t Shizuo Heiwajima, he did not destroy the prison wall, of course. His
limbs did not break and heal again with superhuman speed, like Shizuo’s.
Instead, Izumii became a quiet, model inmate from that point on. He kept the fury and
hatred he felt for the world suppressed deep down, so that they seeped into each and
every cell of his being.
Izumii didn’t engage in any special training. There was no human drama that changed
his outlook on life, and he did not gain any superhuman powers. He just quietly served
out his sentence.
But there was a slight change in him.
That is, if you can call erasing something that was once within him a “change.”
All he did was extend the one remarkable characteristic he possessed.
Toward the act of destruction, he no longer felt any hesitation at all.
In other words, he no longer had any kind of braking mechanism to prevent him from
engaging in destruction.
He didn’t care about destroying his own body.
He didn’t think about the risk of going back to prison.
He didn’t consider the danger that someone might lose their life.
Ran Izumii simply dedicated himself to destroying.
Not in spontaneous bursts of anger, as Shizuo Heiwajima did—but with the full variety
of all kinds of hatred that he harbored within himself.
He could swing that hammer of destruction at anyone and anything.
That’s all he did.

Present day, parking garage
Time passed, and at last, Ran Izumii and Masaomi Kida came face-to-face in violent
conflict.
Red blood dripped to the ground between the two, accompanied by the sound of bone
cracking. Izumii and Masaomi paused in the moment of connection between fist and
head.
This frozen moment made one thing clear.
It was that Masaomi had thrown a straight right powerful enough to damage the bones
of the neck—and that Izumii’s body did not fly off its feet from the impact.
“…”
It was Masaomi who winced from the pain.
His fist did indeed make contact with Izumii’s head. But it was not direct to the face;
rather, it was above the forehead, near his crown. Izumii had been bending backward,
seemingly to avoid the punch, but now his torso was leaning forward.
The bending wasn’t to avoid the punch; it was so that he could head-butt Masaomi’s
fist. Izumii had swung his upper half around like a spring, striking Masaomi’s punch
with the top of his head.
It broke Masaomi’s fist and sent blood dripping from his lacerated flesh. Even the
injuries to his fingers looked worse than simple fractures or dislocations.
Paralysis instantly turned to heat, and heat instantly turned to pain, which shot
through his spine, amplifying into agony.
But while Masaomi winced at the pain, the strength did not leave his eyes and mouth.
Izumii leered at him, earning a fierce glare in response, and asked in a rasping voice,
“Did you think… I would be a pushover?”
Masaomi didn’t answer. He pulled his fist away and leaped off the ground, intending
to drive his knee directly into Izumii’s downturned face.
But this move was already anticipated. The hammer came flying in from a blind angle
and struck the cap of Masaomi’s knee.
“…!”
The hammer blow broke the patella, and Masaomi’s kick hit nothing but air.
He tried to land on his feet, but the pain in his knee caused him to topple over. As
Masaomi lay on the ground, Izumii leered over him.
“Did you think that because I have all these thugs following me, I was the kind of wuss
who needed them to do all my dirty work?”
He promptly kicked Masaomi to punctuate his sentiment. The boy, prone on the
ground, turned on his side and crossed his arms to absorb the blow.
But Izumii’s kick was too strong. He could hear his arm bones cracking, and more
blood flew from his crushed fist.
If he’d turned the other way to show his back, it might have caused less damage. But
Masaomi’s emotions were at such a high that he refused to do so—and for two
different reasons.
One, because he sensed that taking his eyes off the man for any reason would be
extremely perilous; and two, because he felt that he could never show his back to this
man again in his life.
“Izumii… ,” Masaomi groaned, leveling an extraordinary amount of loathing through

his eyes. The man just laughed it off.
“Did you think I was no better than Horada at this, Masaomi Kidaaa?”
“…”
“Did you think that acting like the tragic hero and letting the adrenaline take over was
gonna do the trick to get you over the hump? Nah, the tragic part is that you earned
all of this yourself! Hya-ha-ha-ha!”
“Shut up… ,” Masaomi grunted, getting to his feet despite the pain in his knee—if he
even felt it at all.
Izumii threw his hands wide and shouted, “And now, your question!”
The other thugs around him began to stir on that cue. The circle surrounding him
broke, but only to bring a new fact to light.
“If you don’t let me kill you right here and now, what’s going to happen to your beloved
little shitheads, hmm?”
Masaomi was looking at his fellow Yellow Scarves, who had been on the rooftop all
along. Now each one of them was subdued by at least two of Izumii’s goons and unable
to do anything.
“You bastard!” he swore, eyes filling with even more hatred and rage.
But like Izumii was hoping, Masaomi did stand down at this point. One of his followers
called out in a tremulous voice, “Sh-Shogun! Forget about us! Just get outta here!”
Izumii turned slowly to face the one who’d spoken up. “Ooh, very cool. So you’re a
tragic hero, too, huh?” He tossed his hammer back and forth from hand to hand,
strolling casually toward the captured boy. “Let me guess… You think you’re safe from
bein’ killed over some stupid fight between kids?”
“Knock it off!” Masaomi shouted, trying to bolt forward, but his leg gave way, and he
fell to his knees again.
“It’s because it’s a stupid fight between kids that you’re gonna die just like that.
Moron.” Izumii gleefully clenched the hammer in his right hand and lifted his arm up
high.
“Stop it, Izumii!” the Yellow Scarves leader yelled, part rage and part plea. “If you’re
gonna kill anyone, kill me! They’re not part of this!”
Izumii paused and turned back. “Not part of this? They’re wearing your yellow
bandannas, and you wanna claim they have nothing to do with you? Is that right?” He
chuckled and traced his burn scar with a finger. “Well, the answer to the quiz I just
gave you was ‘They’re gonna die either way’! Hya-ha-ha-ha! Why would I ever let any
of the Yellow Scarves get off easy?!”
“Because… they don’t have anything to do with me and you!”
The fact that there were hostages was like cold water poured over Masaomi’s boiling
emotions, allowing rationale to make its way into his head.
Now that they were having an actual dialogue, Izumii rolled his neck, popping the
vertebrae, and let the corners of his mouth curl upward in delight.
“Yeah. You’re right, huh? I personally don’t got nothin’ to do with these small-time
Yellow Scarves, I suppose. And the score I got to settle with you ain’t nothin’ to talk
about compared with guys like Kadota and Yumasaki.”
“In that case—!”
“But the thing is… I’m in the Dollars, see? And once I come across our rival group, I got
an obligation to destroy ’em…”
Dollars.
The mention of the word was even icier water over Masaomi’s mind. Unease and fear
grew within him to balance out his raging fury.
Izumii spun the hammer between his fingers. “If I don’t, then I got to answer to our
boss, Ryuugamine, don’t I?”
The word boss was delivered with mockery that lacked even a shred of respect.
And yet, the mention of the name threw a number of reflexive emotional switches
inside Masaomi.
“What… did you… just say?” he demanded, getting unsteadily to his feet. But while his
voice was thick with anger, there was also a note of pleading, of hoping that he had
somehow heard something wrong.
Izumii grinned sadistically, perhaps picking up on this, and rapped the end of the
hammer against his own shoulder. “Mikado Ryuugamine, our leader. What’s it to ya?”
“He’s not—!”
“What about him?”
“…!” The right answer didn’t immediately pop into Masaomi’s head.
Izumii cackled. “What’s wrong? What’re you so scared of? You knew this already,
didn’t cha? It’s why you came back to play the big boy and lead the Yellow Scarves
again, yeah? So you could pick this fight?” He cracked his neck again and spat. “With
us Dollars?”
“You’re… Dollars?”
“Yeah, what’s your problem? Thanks to Kadota and y’all, my gang broke up,
remember? So here I am, rising up the ranks from the bottom, like a dedicated worker
should. I think I deserve props for that,” Izumii mocked.
But it was no joke to Masaomi. Was the cold sweat running down his cheeks from the
pain in his hand and knee, or was it more of a mental thing?
“What are you going to do… to Mikado?”
“Do? Dunno. I never met the guy in person. But from what I hear, I don’t even need to
do nothin’ to him. He’s hauled off and gone crazy on his own.”
“Oh, screw you… What would you know about him—?”
“What would I know? I don’t know shit, dumb-ass!”
Izumii’s kick caught Masaomi on the shoulder. He lost his balance and fell over. Izumii
stomped on him and continued, “Now, your question! If you know everything about
your buddy, then surely you can tell me why Mr. Ryuugamine has lost his mind! And
whose fault is it that your friends over there are going to get destroyed, and whose
fault is it that your precious girlfriend’s legs got broken…?”
He paused, smirking gleefully. When Masaomi only glared back without a word, he
raised his hammer again.
“The answer is… obviously, every last bit of it is your fault, moron!”
And he swung it downward, no hesitation, toward Masaomi and his gritted teeth.
But…
“That’s enough of that.”
…a hand grabbed Izumii’s wrist just below where he held the hammer.
“…Wha…?” He glared through his shades at this interruption.
It was a man, standing right behind him.
“Hang on… Aren’t you the guy who was fightin’ with this kid just now?”
“Well, seems you’re already caught up on the situation.”
The men around Chikage Rokujou buzzed and murmured. He had stridden through
their circle so boldly, they initially assumed that he was just another member of the
group.
“Don’t step in and steal my opponent,” Rokujou stated.
Izumii scowled and asked, “Didn’t you just fall off the edge over there?” jutting his chin
toward the side of the rooftop.
“Yeah, I did,” he admitted.
“So why didn’t you just die?”
Izumii sent a signal to the rest of his thugs with a glance. A number of them grinned
and laid hands on Rokujou’s shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing, bud…?
Ngwah?!”
“Sorry. I’m not into guys just touching me out of nowhere,” said Rokujou. He had struck
the face of one of the punks behind him with a backhand, giving him a bloody nose.
“You son of a…”
A different thug tried to hit him, but Rokujou grabbed him by the face first. He had the
guy firmly around the head, thumb pressed right over his eyelid. When the thug
realized that the fate of his eyeball depended on the whim of his opponent, he tensed,
unable to strike back.
“All right, fellas, nobody’s gonna move now, okay? Not unless you wanna see your
buddy’s eyeball explode.” Rokujou maintained his grip on the guy’s face but let go of
Izumii’s arm and leaned back against a nearby pillar.
“…Are you insane?” said Izumii.
Rokujou gave him a breezy glance.
“A lot saner than you, I bet.”
“…”
All of this brought Masaomi back to reality. The series of cold showers he’d just taken
snapped his mind to attention and helped him realize he’d just been saved by the guy
he was fighting not long ago—and made him remember just where he was.
But all of it was too late.
Then again, with this many opponents, would it have even mattered whether he’d
been thinking straight? At the very least, he might have been able to run away. But in
that case, what would have happened to his companions?
They were screwed from the moment the other group showed up.
Masaomi actually felt a painful sense of regret that his own lack of caution had gotten
Rokujou involved in something unnecessary—a remarkable bit of empathy for the
man he’d practically been trying to kill minutes before.
It’s just not going to work out. Not against this many… Not unless I was Shizuo Heiwajima.
Why was he so weak?
Was this just going to be a repeat of the past?
But Masaomi tried to stand, weathering these self-doubts and more. He wasn’t going
to be satisfied until he at least punched this guy’s lights out. Hatred for Izumii bristled
through Masaomi, and the emotion erased the pain of his wounds.
But before he could stand, Rokujou interjected.
“Listen, are you folks all right in the head? I realize I was just fighting with this guy
minutes ago, but you do know that if you kill him, the security cameras are gonna get
y’all arrested, right?”
“What? You… You don’t think that’s gonna frighten us, do ya?” Izumii drawled, his
shoulders shaking with laughter. “You think we’re stupid enough not to cut off the
power to the cameras? In the time it’ll take a technician to come out and check on it,
it ain’t no thing to pulverize the whole lotta you.”
It seemed like mere mockery, but Masaomi and the Yellow Scarves could sense that
when he said “pulverize,” Izumii wasn’t just talking about beating them up. He was not
making a threat or playing a mind game, but stating a fact.
“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Rokujou said. “Myself aside, that guy on the floor over
there and the ones you’ve caught here are gonna die.”
“And so will you,” Izumii growled.
Rokujou ignored him and sighed. “Oh, bother. Sometimes you get stand-up guys like
Kadota, and sometimes you get real trash like you folks. I swear, I just can’t figure out
this Dollars group.”
“…Did you say Kadota?”
“You know him? He’s several levels above you in character. But you probably already
know that, right?”
“…”
The smile vanished from Izumii’s face. His teeth ground audibly. Then he looked at the
man whose face Rokujou was still holding, and he said, “You can take his eye.”
“I-Izumii?!” the thug shrieked, but Izumii wasn’t listening anymore.
“But you’re going to die here for it.”

“So I get to take one eye, and it costs me my life? What kind of rip-off are you running
here?” Rokujou wondered with a wry shrug.
“If you get ripped off, it’s because you were stupid,” Izumi muttered simply. He raised
his hand and started giving an order to the hoodlums around him. “Forget it. Turn this
guy to dust—”
He did not finish his sentence.
Rokujou released the man he was grabbing—and ducked around the back side of the
pillar.
“Hey, c’mon, you don’t think you can get away from… ,” Izumii started to say, but then
he noticed the bit of red sticking out from behind the pillar.
The moment Rokujou started doing whatever it was he was doing behind the pillar, a
number of the thugs who could see it from that angle started to look panicked.
“Stop him!” he yelled, but it was too late.
Rokujou pressed the object that was attached to the other side of the pillar: an
emergency fire alarm.
The alarm began blaring and rattling. People walking around on the street near the
parking garage stopped and stared.
Even the office workers from adjacent buildings still at their jobs peered out to see
what the matter was. All of a sudden, the completely ordinary parking garage that
melted into the background was now a focal point of the city.
“You’ve gotta be an idiot to destroy only the cameras,” Rokujou muttered, though his
words were drowned out by the alarm and never reached his opponent’s ears.
But Izumii could tell he was being insulted, and his eyes flashed with fury as they
focused on Rokujou. “You… You’re mocking me, aren’t you…?”
He looked so furious that he might have launched himself at once, but he held back,
sensing that the destruction he hoped to wreak could no longer be achieved. Instead,
he gritted his teeth and sent a hand signal to his followers.
But a number of the thugs had already fled the garage due to the fire alarm, and in the
confusion, the Yellow Scarves held captive had the opportunity to gain their freedom.
They rushed over to Masaomi at once and began pulling him away from Izumii.
“You… little… fuckers…”
Knowing Izumii’s personality, this was exactly the moment he would chase down
Masaomi to deliver a decisive blow—but for some reason, he was just standing there,
sweating profusely, his face twitching.
It was the sound of the alarm, dredging up the trauma of his immolation at Yumasaki’s
hands.
“C’mon, Izumii, let’s go! The cops are gonna show up!” one of his companions yelled
into his ear.
“Tsk… Lucky bastard.” Spitting the words out, he shoved down the unsettling fear in
his heart and headed to the exit with his team.
He did turn back one last time to look at Rokujou with loathing and say, “I’m gonna
remember you…”
But when he actually faced that direction, two shadows crossed his vision.
They were the soles of Rokujou’s shoes.
Both his right foot and his left lined up for a beauty of a dropkick.
Before Izumii could register what was happening, they struck him square in the
chest—and he rocketed and tumbled backward a good thirty feet, his sternum
cracking under the sheer force of the blow.
A number of the hoodlums lifted up the unconscious Izumii.
“At least kill him, dammit!”
About ten of the feistier thugs turned to Rokujou, holding metal pipes and knives and
such.
“Listen… I’d love to spend time with you, but I’m not waitin’ for the police.” Rokujou
turned on his heel and rushed over to the Yellow Scarves who were dragging Masaomi
away. “You guys should clear out, too. Don’t get caught, okay?”
“Huh? H-hey, wait… ,” they murmured, but Rokujou just grabbed Masaomi and lifted
him up.
“…Ah?” Masaomi was conscious enough to be taken by surprise, even through the
incredible pain.
“Easier to get away if I’m the one carrying you than those guys, eh? We can continue
our fight some other time.”
Thanks to the alarm making it harder to hear, the other Yellow Scarves couldn’t tell
what was going on, and they tried to stop Rokujou from rushing away with Masaomi
over his shoulder.
“Wh-what are you saying…? Ah! Hey!”
Rokujou ignored them and, using a car parked next to the fence around the rooftop as
a stepping stone, leaped right over the wall.
“Hey, that can’t be—! Are you serious—? What the hell?!” the boys shouted all at once,
to the sound of Masaomi’s yelp.
But Rokujou just jumped right off the edge without a second’s hesitation.
“Whoaaaaaa?!”
It was so sudden, so startling, that Masaomi actually forgot his pain for a moment.
The impact was far softer than he’d expected, and he realized that some of the energy
of their fall was being directed sideways. Through bouncing, blurry vision, he could
see a streetlight swaying.
Apparently, Rokujou had used the streetlight as a landing pad. And in the next moment,
there was a dull thwump, and Masaomi felt their momentum changing directions
again.
“…Huh?”
First he confirmed that he was still alive, and then the agony of his fist and knee
injuries flooded back. He looked around, trying to withstand the pain, and saw that
the scenery around him was moving. Then his body landed on a rough, woven surface.
“Yeow…”
“Sorry about that. Just stay down for a bit. If the cops find us, they’ll put a stop to it all.”
He recognized that his body was resting on the top of a covered truck. Overhead, the
thugs were staring dumbfoundedly down at them from the roof level of the parking
garage. Some of them were even beating on the chain-link fence in frustration. Given
that none of the faces he could see belonged to the Yellow Scarves, Masaomi surmised
that they must have run off as soon as they saw he was safely on the ground.
Masaomi looked at the sky, praying that they got away without trouble, and said, “Am…
Am I alive?”
“Better thank me. If the cops or Dollars catch you, you’re not gettin’ away on that leg,”
Rokujou said with a grin. The scenery sped by behind him as the truck picked up
velocity.
Masaomi glanced back at the garage vanishing into the distance and asked:
“So what happens now?”
Several hours later, parking garage
“Buncha kids gettin’ up to no good again,” muttered one of the police officers patrolling
the roof of the parking garage. They’d come here because an incident had happened
earlier in the day.
The entire area was on heightened alert, due to an attack on a police vehicle about an
hour ago. There hadn’t been any trouble at this structure recently, but there was a
report about a fire alarm going off, and many young ruffians were witnessed around
it. The power line to the security cameras had also been cut.
Given the timing of the other incident, the orders went out to strengthen local patrols
to check out the garage, even if it was unlikely that the events were connected.
“You know about the period when the street gangs used to use this place as a hideout,
Mr. Kuzuhara?” asked a younger officer.
Ginichirou Kuzuhara, a man entering middle age, sighed and said, “I do. You’re new on
this beat, so you don’t know, but they used to fight all the time at this garage. It stopped
cold about two years back… but ever since that incident with the street slasher, there’s
just been a bad vibe around.”
“Doesn’t help when you’ve got that freaky Headless Rider putting on a public
performance,” said the younger cop. He hadn’t seen the rider much, and he seemed to
think it was just some kind of outlaw biker who liked to do circus tricks.
Ginichirou, however, had been around for years, and he remembered when the
Headless Rider had first come to this city. He scowled and said, “Mmm… well, listen.
There’s stuff in this world that doesn’t make logical sense. If that rider were a simple
street performer, Kinnosuke would have had ’em lassoed up long ago.” The name he’d
dropped was that of his own blood relation, a traffic officer who rode a motorcycle of
his own.
The rookie laughed. “Oh, geez, are you trying to tell me the Headless Rider really is
some kind of monster? It’s just a magic trick. Sleight of hand.”
“…Turning your motorcycle into a horse?”
“Yeah. Don’t you keep up with magicians, Mr. Kuzuhara? Over in America, they can
make huge things disappear, like the Statue of Liberty and high-rise buildings and
stuff! Even in Japan, we’ve got guys who can make frogs appear in their empty hands!”
“…Uh-huh.” Ginichirou looked at his partner with something akin to pity. “Well, I guess
that’s better than getting all freaked out about it…”
“What was that, sir?”

“Just watch yourself for scams, kid.”
“Oh, geez, Mr. Kuzuhara, you’re the one who’s convinced of occult answers for
everything!” returned his partner at a chatter.
The full tour of the structure turned up nothing out of order. They finished examining
the camera vandalization and, finding no reason to stick around, headed quickly for
the next spot on their patrol.
But then an odd sound from the northwest caught their attention.
“…What was that?”
The younger officer returned to the roof level to look in the direction of the sound.
What he witnessed there was quite eerie.
Heading from rooftop to rooftop, and sometimes lodging itself into the sides of
buildings, was a figure carrying something large, swinging and leaping about like an
American comic book hero with a spider motif.
Chasing after this figure was a black cloud—or a thing in cloud form.
It was hard to tell against the night sky, but something black was there, absorbing all
the light that hit it.
Occasionally, some black feelers would extend from the thing, and the figure would
use some narrow silver object to swipe and cut at them to keep them away. The
strange sound they heard was revealed to be the sound of the silver and black objects
making contact.
Sometimes the black shadow would stop sending its tendrils forward, instead forming
huge fangs that bit and lunged at the human figure. But the figure would leap with
speed and agility to evade attack. It reminded the young officer of an action game he
had played on his last day off.
“…Huh? No, wait, wait, wait.”
He came to his senses, pressed himself harder against the fence, and stared. But by
that point, the shapes were gone, having passed behind buildings between him and
them.
“What’s up? What was that sound?” said Ginichirou, walking up from behind.
The young officer rubbed his eyes near the bridge of his nose and said, as much to
himself as to his partner, “It was… a street magician.”
“A street magician…? You need a break. You’re obsessed.”
“No, I am not possessed! Don’t try to scare me, sir!”
“…?”
Ginichirou was becoming concerned for the rookie’s mental health, but in the
meantime, the actual source of the sound, the chase between Kasane Kujiragi and the
black mass, continued.
“…It’s time,” Kujiragi muttered and made a sharp change of direction with Shinra over
her shoulder. For just a moment as she leaped between buildings, she looked
backward and drew a number of pen-like objects from her waist.
She gathered up the cylindrical objects and nimbly hurled them at the mass of shadow.
It continued rushing for her, completely ignoring the projectiles. But Kujiragi looked
forward again and resumed her jumping.
The next moment, the special pen-shaped flashbangs burst all at once, dazzling a small
part of Ikebukuro briefly amid the darkness of night.
For a moment—just a moment—the flash caused the shadow creature to falter.
An ordinary human being would have been blinded and immobilized, but Celty did
not have eyes to begin with, and her sense of vision recovered from flashes of light
much faster—although this was only for her rational, humanoid form, not whatever
she had become now.
But for that one brief moment, there was the possibility that she had lost her sight.
Celty knew this because Kujiragi then vanished from the rooftop, and her mass of
shadow lost sense of where to go next for several seconds.
But seconds were merely seconds. It launched back into motion, perhaps sensing the
alien power of Saika’s body, and hurtled itself toward the gap between two particular
buildings.
There, it found Kujiragi, who had deftly descended the wall of the building. She was in
an alley down below, far from the shopping district, and there were no people around.
But with its special type of vision, the shadow mass saw Kujiragi lowering Shinra from
her shoulder to the arms of someone else.
There was a car parked on the street at the entrance to the alley, and next to it, a human
being who was helping Kujiragi load Shinra into it.
The instant it saw this, the shadow creature stopped again.
Kujiragi rushed farther down the alley. The car began to drive, pulling away in the
other direction.
Until this point, there had been only one target. But now there were two going opposite
ways.
One was the woman named Kujiragi, who’d hurt and stolen the shadow’s beloved.
The other was that beloved, Shinra Kishitani—now captive to Saika’s curse.
Hatred or love?
It was a simple set of options.
As a monster of sheer instinct and no reason, Celty finally displayed hesitation.
But it was not the return of sanity. If that were true, she would have decided, “First
thing is to confirm that Shinra is safe, and then I can hunt down the woman.”
No, in this situation, that emotional circuit breaker was still tripped. She was virtually
unconscious of anything she was doing.
Yet, thirst does not require conscious will to desire water.
A moth does not require conscious will to fly toward the fire.
Whatever existed in the boundary between instinct and reason for her was being
tested in this moment.
And then Celty, in her inhuman, freakish form, made her choice.
The shadowy mass plunged and writhed toward the vehicle carrying Shinra. Whether
this was merely a coin flip or a conscious decision that she would have made every
single time, it was impossible to know.
But Kujiragi decided that it was the latter. She watched the creature go, narrowing her
eyes slightly, and muttered, “So even in this situation, you choose something else…
over destruction and hatred.”
She recalled a past crime she had committed: upon Ruri Hijiribe, the girl who shared
her blood but was treated like a human, and who had nearly gained human happiness
because of it.
Kujiragi recalled what she had done to her, and the flow of emotions that had
transpired. “I’m afraid I must admit,” she said, a tiny flash of danger crossing her
lifeless robotic features, “that I was jealous of you.”
Then ten finger blades, five from each hand, extended over the alley like steel wires.
They bit into the walls of buildings on either side, bouncing off and stretching farther.
The swarm of Saikas writhed like living creatures into abstract patterns.
The Saikas stretched and crossed like fine netting, blocking the path of Celty’s
monstrous form. But she charged straight ahead, seemingly unconcerned—until solid
shadow and Saika’s blades smashed together, sending sparks and shadow alike about
the area.
The two inhuman things ground and scraped against each other. While the alley was
desolately empty, the sound was tremendous, and those who happened to be close
enough to hear it assumed it was probably the death cry of a bird or something—such
was the ability of this particular sound to set the human mind on edge.
Monstrous Celty attempted to force her way through the net of metal, but only because
she was singularly direct in her pursuit of the car with Shinra inside.
Narrowing the shadow to pass through the smaller spaces, attacking Kujiragi directly,
or simply pulling back and making her way around her—all of these were simple
ideas, the kind a monkey or a dog would quickly attempt. Something even the smallest
amount of rational thinking would produce, and yet she did not.
She was so absent of any critical thought at the moment that her only action was to
pursue one person: Shinra Kishitani, the man who had given her a place in the human
world.
The vehicle rushed away from Kujiragi. On the floor beneath the back seat was a man
dressed in pajamas that resembled a lab coat.
His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his vision was woozy. Shinra Kishitani was a
pitiable victim, a “child” implanted with the curse of Saika’s love.
Through Saika, Kujiragi had ordered him to stay put and behave for a while. Knowing
that she needed to abduct him, she probably figured that if he put up a fight, it would
cause trouble.
So as ordered, Shinra did not struggle at all throughout his captivity and was still
under her control, awaiting further orders.
And yet—when the rattling, scraping bird death cry from the distant alley reached the
car, his lips curved into a tiny smile. With bloodshot eyes and a smile on his face, he
murmured to himself:
“Ha-ha… a fool… hardy… charge… indeed…”

Driver’s seat
Only one person heard Shinra mutter.
It was the person who’d been hired to take him from Kujiragi and drive him to a specified
location.
“…”
She considered the potential meaning of his words, but Vorona, the mercenary behind
the wheel, decided he was simply delirious from fever, and she did not spend any more
time thinking about it.
What am I being forced to ferry right now?
She was currently working for Kujiragi, who had been Jinnai Yodogiri’s secretary. It
wasn’t clear why Kujiragi, rather than Yodogiri, had come to hire Vorona, but the jobs
themselves were taking her into more dangerous territory than Yodogiri’s had.
One was stealing a silver case from a police vehicle—an act of war against the national
power of Japan. The second was kidnapping someone and running from a monster.
She had a decent idea of what the group of shadows trying to rush after her vehicle
from the alley actually was. If Slon were present, he would warn her that it was
dangerous to make an enemy of monsters. But her partner was no longer here to apply
the brakes.
His eyes looked very bloodshot to me. Was he infected by some kind of virus, perhaps?
she wondered briefly, alarmed, but given that her client had carried the man over her
shoulder, Vorona banished the possibility from her mind.
If Slon were here, he might say something like “Wait, I’m suspicious. What if the client
already took a vaccine for it? Now I can’t sleep at night.”
But there was no one with Vorona now.

No one at her side.
It filled Vorona with an odd feeling of loneliness. She had done a number of jobs by
herself already. But because they’d been so cut-and-dried, she hadn’t had time to view
them as particularly solitary.
But the reason she was feeling especially lonely now was the thought of another
person who ought to be with her. A person who was not Slon.
The first temporary job she’d taken in Japan to make ends meet was at a debt-
collection business. It was the kind of place that operated just on the dark side of the
gray zone, but that didn’t matter to Vorona, who was used to utterly criminal work.
And what she found there was an interpersonal relationship different from what she
had with Slon.
Shizuo Heiwajima was a man she had once tried to kill, a man she had failed to destroy,
and a man who had obliterated Vorona’s own value system.
As she had spent time with their boss, Tom, as well as the other people at the company,
Vorona had come to form a strong connection to a world she had never known
before—a world she’d been introduced to for the very first time through Shizuo.
Vorona had never loved a human being before. She probably didn’t even love herself.
She knew of love only as a piece of discrete knowledge. She couldn’t decide whether
the thing called love was something her life needed or not.
Beyond understanding the concept, she had never actually experienced the emotion
of love.
That was no different now. But there was something she had learned in place of love.
The sufficiency and satisfaction of living itself, or in other words, peace.
Until this point, any day in which nothing wild happened was a day she might as well
not have lived at all. She wanted to offer up her life as a prize, to wager it against the
existence of the mighty. That moment of destroying a powerful opponent was the
moment she felt she was truly living.
But the thirst, the drive that caused her heart and mind to creak, was completely gone.
She did not feel it, and in fact, she hadn’t even noticed it was gone until she was
reunited with Slon, whom she’d thought dead, and he pronounced that she had grown
“tepid.”
That wasn’t the biggest shock, however. It was that despite denying it at that time,
deep in her heart, she realized she had thought, That might not be so bad, actually.
Vorona had tried to cut off that thought at the root, but Izaya Orihara sneaked past her
mental defenses and poured poison into her mind.
The poison slowly but surely spread, eating away at her and replaying memory after
memory of humiliation. When this coincided with Shizuo’s arrest, she began to regain
her old self bit by bit, and now she was doing jobs for Kujiragi.
When she attacked the police vehicle, she might not have killed the person driving it,
but she certainly did enough to regain that sense of elation in pursuing only strength.
And then something happened right after that to completely dash her high.
“Hey, is that… Vorona?”
Shizuo Heiwajima just so happened to be there. When he recognized her, Vorona felt
that all time in the world had briefly frozen.
She didn’t know why she’d felt that way. But she remembered that she’d experienced
a sudden flood of despair, fear, and unease.
She’d said nothing to Shizuo, trying to stifle that feeling, and left the scene without a
word.
There was nothing else she could do.
And in the time from then to now, through a sensation of unfathomable loss, she finally
understood what her own emotions were.
Like Slon had said, she’d been affected by this country, colored by it. She’d spent a very
different kind of time with Shizuo Heiwajima, the man she’d sworn to destroy. And in
a period of peace and safety, without risking her life, she found a different kind of
happiness from the kind she received when attempting to kill the mighty.
It makes sense to me. I’m afraid. Afraid of losing what I have now.
But as she performed Kujiragi’s jobs, she realized that risking her life to fight powerful
foes and putting herself in danger gave her a particular kind of joy of its own.
By reconfirming what she knew about herself, Vorona came to a certain opinion: She
did not have the right to live in a peaceful country like this, surrounded by the bliss
and warmth it offered her.
I think… maybe the period when I was working with Father might have been the best
time of my life.
She was flooded with alternating hatred and nostalgia when she thought about her
father, an officer in an arms-trading company.
She couldn’t just toss everything out. She couldn’t make it that simple.
What about her was actually strong?
Did she really have the right to fight against powerful opponents at all?
At this late stage, Vorona began to question her own self. But there was no stopping
her present course.
Now that Shizuo Heiwajima knew what she was, the peaceful life she might have
enjoyed was gone forever.
Meanwhile, Vorona, too, could hear the eerie creaking of collisions between inhuman
creatures. In the rearview mirror, she could see a writhing shadow in the street, but it
was lost in the night as she pulled away from it.
Once around the corner, where she could no longer see the shadow, Vorona thought
to herself, Are monsters now prowling the streets regularly? What is becoming of the
world? I bet President Lingerin would enjoy this situation, however.
It seemed as though the city was plunging into chaos, but something about it was
familiar, nostalgic. It reminded her of the past.
But even she knew that this was just her own mind trying to escape its present
problem.
And she noted, with some loneliness, that there was no Shizuo Heiwajima in those old
memories of hers.
Shizuo Heiwajima was irritated.
“Hey, yo! Old man, I know you! You that Shizuo Heiwajima? The real deal?”
“That bartender look sticks out. You think that looks good on you, huh? You pullin’ that
off?”
It was a much less crowded area, a good distance away from the main shopping
district. Shizuo was out of police custody now and surrounded by a group of young
men who were not the brightest of the bunch.
“You’re famous, yeah? I bet you make bank, bro! You could give us some allowance, I
bet.”
“Why don’t you say somethin’, old man?!”
There were three accosting him at the moment, but including the ones grinning at him
from a distance, the total size of the group was closer to ten.
He didn’t recognize any of them from around town. Given that they were all on bikes,
they could even be middle school students. Most likely they were using the summer
vacation time to come out and visit from a distant neighboring city, like Saitama.
“…Get lost,” he muttered, clicking his tongue with ever greater irritation.
This isn’t it. Neither that fleabrain nor the red-eyed guys would send punks like this after
me.
His irritation was not at this lazy attempt to intimidate him, but at the fact that it
wasn’t what he’d expected to see.
It wasn’t clear why Vorona would be doing this. But he could assume she was tangled
up in something involving either a pawn of the detestable Izaya Orihara or someone
related to that cursed sword.
Even if Vorona’s actions were totally unrelated, now that he was out of jail, he could
expect that at least one of the two sides would try to mess with him. He was trying to
make bait out of himself, hoping to get a glimpse at how the enemy would react.
But the first group to bite were these small-time jokers. He wanted to brush them off,
figuring that causing a scene in these circumstances would only prove to be a pain in
the ass.
“Get lost? What? What do you mean, ‘Get lost’? We’re a product of bad education
standards, so you gotta teach us!”
“You’re the toughest guy in Ikebukuro, right, mister?”
But it seemed as though these street punks thought that the stories about Shizuo
Heiwajima were more tall tale than truth, and they were simply having fun with
whatever guy they found who fit the part.
“Hang on, old-timer—are you actually scared? You’re lookin’ pretty pale!” They took
the fact that he wasn’t attacking them as a sign that he was actually intimidated, and
they stuck their faces even closer to taunt him and push him around.
If any locals who were familiar with Shizuo were present, this would be about the time
they started banding together to perform a life-saving rescue mission. Everyone knew
that Shizuo was the type of person who replied to a mean look with a statement like
“Did you know you can kill a man with a glance? So starin’ a guy down like that means
you know your imminent death is a possible outcome, yeah?” before he proceeded to
the destruction phase.
Some people said he had mellowed out a bit and was often seen escorting a foreign
woman around, but everyone in the neighborhood knew full well that Shizuo’s nature
was not the kind of thing that changed overnight.
Surprisingly, however, his patience held up. Under normal circumstances, they would
already be airborne at this point.
The cops might still be keepin’ an eye on me. If I beat the crap outta these kids and get
caught, what was the point of it all?
Thanks to the streak of patience he’d been on since last night, the length of fuse
between the spark and the explosive at this moment was very, very long by Shizuo’s
usual standard.
The only problem was that given the possibility that Izaya Orihara was behind all of
this, the volume of explosives was very, very great, indeed.
Shizuo was going to simply drive off the delinquents, but they kept inching toward the
breaking point, closer and closer to the actual explosives rather than the end of the
fuse.
“Why do you wear a bartender vest anyway? Huh?” one of the boys asked and lightly
kicked at his outfit.
There was a sound like something cracking, but none of the boys seemed to notice.
The next moment, one of the boys gathered up his boldness and shouted, “Why don’t
you say something, you silent bastaaaaaaaaa… aaa… a… a… a………” However, his
words trailed off as he flew into the sky.
Shizuo had grabbed the spokes of his bike and hurled the entire thing, rider and all,
directly upward.
“…Huh?”
“Uh…”
It appeared to the other youths around Shizuo that their friend had simply vanished.
Meanwhile, the ones who were watching from a distance craned their necks back to
follow the action—their companion and his bicycle, tossed to a height of about five
stories in the air by the man in the bartender clothes.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” the boy wailed. Momentum carried him away from his
bike, and he flailed his limbs as he fell. But right before he would have hit the ground,
Shizuo caught the boy’s body with an outstretched arm. “Gblurf!”
The catch absorbed some of the shock, but it wasn’t enough to prevent significant
damage to the young man, who gurgled like a drunk passed out on the sidewalk while
passersby stepped on him. His bicycle crashed to the ground nearby, its frame warping
in several places.
“…So? What was that?” Shizuo asked the young toughs, a blue vein bulging on his
forehead.
Perhaps the only thing that held Shizuo back from a total eruption was the
youthfulness of the ruffians’ appearance. But one wrong word at this point, and even
a little grade-schooler with his backpack would lose his life.
The young men’s instincts told them as much, and they backed away with pale faces.
“Wh-whoa, we’re sorry, okay…?”
“O-oh my God, dude, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry, sir, sorry! We’re just stupid kids!”
“For-forgive… hyaaa. Don’t kill meeee!” they shrieked and scattered to the wind.
The boy Shizuo tossed into the air wobbled away, leaving his bicycle behind.
“Hey, your bike… ,” Shizuo called after him, but the boy froze in place briefly before
running off and screaming, “You can have it! Just let me goooo!”
Within moments, all of them were gone. In the aftermath, Shizuo closed his eyes and
tried some deep breathing. Close to a minute later, when the veins on his forehead had
subsided, he glanced at the mangled bicycle and sighed.
“I can ‘have it’…? What the hell would I do with a busted-up bike?”
In the end, Shizuo wandered around the alley with the bike over his shoulder. He
couldn’t just leave it in the middle of the road, and since he was someone who found
abandoned bicycles irritating, his better conscience refused to allow him to leave it on
the side.
He walked along, hoping to ditch it at a bike rack somewhere, but as he was far from
the business area, such things were not in quick range. Eventually, he started weighing
more extreme options, such as crumpling it into a ball and turning it into junk, when
an odd noise became audible somewhere behind him.
“KRRRRRrrrrrrrrr……”
The “voice,” which sounded like a blend of an engine revving and a horse whinnying,
was familiar to Shizuo.
“…Celty?” he wondered, turning around.
Standing before him was a black horse. But there was something about this horse that
was atypical, to say the least.
The curve of its long neck simply stopped without a skull on top, and the plane where
it was cut was shrouded in dark shadow.
It was a headless horse.
“Huh? Ohhh…”
Where an ordinary person would run and scream, Shizuo showed no fear. If anything,
he was searching for the right thing to say to the headless horse. “So, um, what’s up?
You’re what I’m thinking of, yeah? Celty’s motorcycle… kinda…”
At that, the Coiste Bodhar—nicknamed Shooter—swished its tail happily.
“What happened to Celty?” Shizuo asked with suspicion. Shooter hung its head for a
moment, then arched its back and lifted its front legs.
“…You want me to get on?” Shooter swished its tail again. But after a moment, Shizuo
replied, “I never rode a horse before.”
Shooter froze. In just moments, shadow wreathed its entire length as it rebuilt its body
into a more compact form.
Now it was not a horse standing before Shizuo but an all-black motorcycle, the familiar
form of the vehicle that Celty typically rode around. Shooter gave him a cocky rev of
the engine, but—
“…Sorry, I don’t have a motorcycle license, either.”
Shooter’s engine went dead, and a cold breeze blew between the two. The creature
returned to horse form, dejected enough to make Shizuo imagine it was hanging its
head. But then it noticed the bicycle Shizuo cradled under his arm, and it leaned closer.
“Hmm? Oh, this? I got this from some stupid kids a moment ago…”
Suddenly, shadow tendrils stretched out from Shooter’s body to grab and cling to the
broken bicycle frame.
“Ohhh?” Shizuo let go of the bike, and Shooter pulled it closer to itself, integrating the
structure into its shadow in a strikingly predatory fashion. Suddenly, the creature’s
body shrank, transforming into a shape even smaller and slimmer than the
motorcycle.
It was a bit blockier than your average bicycle, but it seemed perfectly rideable to
Shizuo.
“Whoa… That’s pretty impressive, man,” he said.
Shooter happily chimed the bicycle bell. Then the all-black device rolled over on its
own and leaned against Shizuo. He glanced at it and grinned.
“Yeah, this should work. Third time’s the charm.”

* * *
Shizuo straddled Shooter and grabbed the handlebars—and with impossible

acceleration for a bicycle, the mount bolted forward.
“This is just like a motorcycle or something,” muttered Shizuo, who didn’t need to turn
the handlebars, as Shooter was turning on its own, so he held them only to keep his
body propped up straight.
It could turn without losing any speed whatsoever, so if not for Shizuo’s remarkable
physical capabilities, he would have been thrown off already. Naturally, he couldn’t
understand Shooter’s vocal messages. But through the fierce vibration of the mount,
he could sense its panic, and given the circumstances, this led him to one conclusion.
“…So something happened to Celty?”
The bicycle’s bell rang once, a convenient affirmative signal. Shizuo narrowed his eyes,
feeling the summer night breeze, and squeezed the handlebars harder.
“All right. Let’s hurry,” he said.
Something’s wrong. It’s not just coincidental timing. Not when everything’s piling up like
this. I bet you’re in on this, too, huh?
He could sense the shadow of his archnemesis lurking behind everything that was
happening around him.
Apartment building, Ikebukuro, at that moment
Izaya Orihara was in as good a mood as he ever had been.
“What’s up with the frolicking?” said Mikage Sharaku.
He turned to her, beaming. “Is that what it looks like to you? Even now, I consider
myself to be staying very calm.”
“Calm, huh?”
Izaya had been trotting around rhythmically and humming, occasionally using shogi
and chess pieces to start odd little territorial games. Most recently, he’d used his tarot
deck to build a house of cards. After an hour-plus of this behavior, Mikage was
thoroughly sick of him.
“You’re like a child on the day before a field trip. It irritates me.”
“What? You’re not going to say it puts a parental smile on your face?”
“If you’re supposed to be a guy who inspires smiles, then every other person on the
planet might as well be Charlie Chaplin,” she shot back lazily. It merely earned her a
shrug from Izaya.
“My goodness,” he said, “if normal people are on the level of Chaplin, then what would
that make the man himself? Is there a term for someone who is even more lovable
than the great king of cinematic comedy?”
Mikage clicked her tongue in irritation. From the corner of the room, Kine said, “When
you tease other people for a slip of the tongue, that’s when you’re in a frolicking mood.”
“Oh, please, Mr. Kine. If you’re going to criticize me for that, it makes it that much more
difficult for me to tease others in the future.”
“You know that’s not true… ,” Mikage grumbled and observed him in a fresh light.
It was clear that his mood was more elated than usual all day. Because Kasane Kujiragi
never showed up in her hideout, they withdrew and returned to an apartment Izaya
was renting. Slon, whom they suspected of being under Kujiragi’s control, was still
trussed up and locked in the same room as Adabashi.
But that alone did not seem to be enough material to inspire this level of frolicking. So
Mikage thought she’d throw out some facts, just to see if she could hit on the real
reason.
“Fewer people in here than there used to be.”
Only Mikage, Izaya, Kine, and a few members of Dragon Zombie were present. That
was indeed a significant drop in attendance from the original size of the group a few
days ago.
Manami Mamiya had stolen Celty’s head, tossed it out into public view, and vanished.
Haruna Niekawa, who was supposed to be guarding it, had not returned to base.
Slon was tied up.
Ran Izumii had suffered some kind of injury during the day and claimed he needed to
recover for a while.
It was one thing to lose some members, but the lack of Haruna Niekawa’s Saika power
at their disposal was a big loss. And the brainwashing they’d done on the woman
named Earthworm to make her accuse Shizuo Heiwajima of assault had worn off, and
so she had retracted her claim.
Beyond all of that, the loss of Saika and its ability to multiply their power infinitely had
to be a bad situation for Izaya—yet after receiving the news from Mikage and Kine, he
remained in a good mood.
“What about this is so much fun for you?” Mikage asked. She was just going to ignore
him, but he finally wore her down enough that she had to ask.
“What’s so fun? Well, there are several answers… but the biggest thing is that I’m just
delighted that a person I know very well vastly exceeded what I expected of them!”
“?”
“I told you about Mikado Ryuugamine, right? The boss of the Dollars.”
“…Oh yeah. That name pops up a lot.”
He was clearly a favorite subject of observation for Izaya, because whenever he talked
about the other boy, Izaya was generally in a good mood.
“You said that everyone aside from you just sees him as a normal high school kid,”
Mikage said, trying to get past this to the next topic, but Izaya was obviously going to
bite.
“Yes, but he only looks like a normal boy. In fact, he turned out to be far more dangerous
than I expected. Since I figured that out, I’ve been thinking about how to bring that
danger to the surface, but it turned out to be a total waste of time!”
“A waste of time?”
“Yes, exactly! Because I didn’t need to do anything to make Mikado break down in a
fashion far more fascinating than anything I could have imagined! Doesn’t that just
make you want to giggle and frolic? Doesn’t it?”
Mikage’s brow furrowed. His answer was more nauseating than anything she needed
to hear right now.
“…You know, I’m not really sure how to say this, but… I feel like it would kind of be
improving the world as a whole if I just killed you right now.”
“Oh, I won’t argue with you there. The thing is, I love people, but I don’t love the world
and the society we people live in. So I’m not really in favor of dying for the sake of the
world, see,” he said, without a trace of irony.
Kine pushed the conversation with a prompt: “So what is it you intend to do with this
teenage boy?”
“Do? That’s a cruel thing to say, Mr. Kine. It’s like you’re insinuating that I’m going to
ruin his life somehow.”
“…”
Kine merely stared at Izaya with ice in his gaze.
“…Fine, fine. I will give you a serious answer. I’m going… to let Mikado do as he will.
For the first time, I think I’m going to make for a proper observer.”
“Observer?”
“Yes. My intent was to just stir up some trouble around the neighborhood,” Izaya
admitted, utterly without shame, “starting with little stuff between delinquents, then
turf warfare between street gangs. Then I was going to get the yakuza and police
involved… to find out how far I needed to push things to cause an undeniable reaction
in the head.”
“The creepy severed head?”
“Yes. It wasn’t all completely baseless, as a matter of fact. But I don’t suppose you’d
have any interest in connections between Norse mythology and Celtic fairies, or the
evidence of such, would you?”
Mikage stared up at the ceiling for a bit, then back down at Izaya. “What’s… Celtic?”
“Exactly. That’s the best you can do, so thank you for proving my point. It would be a
waste of time.”
“You want me to kill you?”
“Not particularly. Do you find it enjoyable to ask questions with really obvious
answers?” Izaya mocked, ignoring the homicidal look on Mikage’s face. He continued,
“So if it’s not an issue of scale, what exactly would cause the head to react? A battle to
the death, with life and pride on the line? The souls of martyrs perishing in a holy war?
Fighting against something nonhuman? Perhaps it could be something as innocent as
babies fighting over a pacifier that sets her off.”
He picked up a chess piece, turning it over in his fingers. “I considered all this
infighting in the Dollars and friction with the Yellow Scarves to be part of that
experiment. I tried giving anxious young men a life without security or peace of mind
and threw all sorts of things into the pot: squabbles and hatreds of every stripe,
warfare that transcends pure hatred, and everything in between. A real mystery stew.”
He stopped twirling the chess piece over his digits and palm and suddenly threw it at
the precariously balanced house of tarot cards.
“But Mikado Ryuugamine, just another one of those pieces, far eclipsed my imagination
of what he could be.”
The tower of paper instantly collapsed, scattering its cards all over the table.
“He’s not physically strong. Compared with other boys his age, he’s as frail as paper.”
Izaya scooped up one of the cards that made up the tower with one hand, then tossed
the little chess piece into the air with the other.
“The thing is—”

The next moment, the card he still held made a quick yet light snapping sound above
the table.
“—he’s kind of scary right now.”
When the chess piece landed on the table again, it was split in two. Izaya waved and
flapped the flimsy card in his hand.
At last, Kine spoke up again. “Do not destroy things without good reason.”
“Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
“…Treat your pieces with respect,” Kine said, his words heavy.
Izaya grimaced. “Oh, geez. I care quite a lot about both you and Mikage, I’ll have you
know.”
“You are the kind of man who destroys everything without hesitation, even things you
care about. Including that Ryuugamine boy.”
“No, he’s not my chess piece anymore. If anything, I’m more likely to be his, and I don’t
think I’d mind. He’s so dangerous right now, I can’t keep myself from laughing at the
sight of him. And the Dollars organization is the powder magazine for Ikebukuro
itself.”
“Gee, I wonder whose fault that is,” Mikage jeered.
Izaya spread his hands and shook his head. “It’s no one’s fault. A confluence of factors
combined and produced that result.”
“…So you’re saying there’s no puppet master pulling strings?” Mikage asked.
“Yes, that’s right,” Izaya reiterated. “No one’s at fault. If I had to list a cause, I’d say a
number of people around him turned out to be bad for him. Including himself.”
This was Izaya’s honest opinion. You might say the thing that broke Mikado
Ryuugamine was his own twisted love for “the Dollars of the past,” and therefore that
everyone in his vicinity was responsible for causing this.
Masaomi Kida, who was afraid to be an open, honest friend to him.

Anri Sonohara, who tried to remain a third party.
Shizuo Heiwajima, who haplessly gave a naive boy a fascination with raw power.
The Headless Rider, who made the boundary between reality and fantasy too vague.
Aoba Kuronuma, who approached the Dollars leader to use and manipulate him.
Chikage Rokujou, who did not inflict punishment on him for creating the Dollars and
thus robbed him of the chance to atone.
And Izaya Orihara, who gave him that little push on the back at the start.
Each one on their own might not have made Mikado fall to the level of sin. But the
accumulation of all that weight ate away at him and pushed him down to his current
depth.
Izaya considered, reflected on, and sympathized with Mikado’s plight—and smiled
with unbridled glee.
“But I can forgive him. I will forgive everything! They say God’s love is boundless, but
so is human love! No matter who else refuses to forgive Mikado for what he’s done, I
still will! I forgive every other person as well! They made me the audience of such a
fun stage show, it’s the least I can do in return!”
The way he was carrying on by himself creeped Mikage out. She sighed heavily. “Uh,
all I was doing was sarcastically pointing out that you’re the puppet master.”
“Oh. You’re not very good at sarcasm, Mikage.”
“Yeah, I’m better at pounding a man’s face in,” she growled, starting to get up.
“Whoa, stop, stop.” Izaya held out a hand to stay her. “There are some other folks you
can use that aggression on for better purposes.”
“Other folks?”
“The way we originally planned. I think it’s time to kick out the nonhuman folks. This
whole show is meant to make Mikado the star. It’s a human drama, and the nonhumans
shouldn’t be messing with it.”
“Does that include Haruna?”
“Oh, no. She’s human. She’s an incredible human, in fact; she beat the curse of the
blade,” Izaya declared. Mikage and Kine noticed that although his smile remained,
Izaya’s eyes were no longer full of mirth.
“Anri Sonohara, Kasane Kujiragi, and the Headless Rider will all need to stay quiet for
a bit.”
He picked up the Star, Moon, and Death cards from the table and tossed them into an
ashtray that was merely a piece of interior decor and contained no butts at all.
“The problem is Shizu, I suppose. I know Mimizu withdrew her charges… but I just
can’t buy that he was released because he managed to get through police questioning
without losing his mind.”
Lastly, Izaya removed the Strength card and used a lighter from his pocket to set it on
fire.
“You know how Shizu is. He’s probably coming to destroy me now, and he’ll destroy
anything he needs to along the way. Including the entire stage I’ve set up just for
Mikado.”
Kine and Mikage knew the man he called “Shizu” quite well. Very few people who’d
been living here for years were unaware of him.
The game of tag that had been Shizuo Heiwajima’s and Izaya Orihara’s attempts to kill
each other had been one of the defining features of Ikebukuro for the past seven years.
But Kine and Mikage also knew that it was not a game of tag like a murder competition.
It was an actual, honest competition to kill each other, and the fact that neither had
died yet was something of a miracle already.
“It’s one thing to do it to me. But to destroy the state this city is in… to commit heresy
against humanity, I just cannot accept it.”
He dropped the burning Strength card into the ashtray, and it promptly lit the other
cards. Izaya beamed with delight at the vision. “Ah yes, I think it’s time I finally take
this seriously.”
The next moment, the smile completely vanished from Izaya Orihara’s face. The look
in his eyes was enough to freeze with terror the hearts of any who witnessed it.
“It’s time to make Shizuo Heiwajima go away for good.”

Chat room
NamieYagiri has entered the chat.
NamieYagiri: Mikado Ryuugamine, are you watching this?
NamieYagiri: If you are, log in and join the room.
NamieYagiri: If you don’t, I will reveal your personal information here.
NamieYagiri: I’m very irritated right now, and not in the mood to wait.
NamieYagiri: Just get in the damn chat.
Kuru: Well, well, Namie. Whatever brings you to a place like this? It is not supposed
to be accessible without an electronic invitation. Did you hear about it from our foolish
brother, perhaps?
Mai: I’m scared.

NamieYagiri: It’s you. Bring me Ryuugamine.
Kuru: Please don’t ask the impossible of us. Also, why do you interact with us so
brusquely? If you are choosing to chat with your real name, would it not be more
entertaining to type in your own manner of speaking? And is it really in your typical
style to release real names here? Your own is one matter, but another person’s identity
is sacred.
Mai: It’s bad manners.
NamieYagiri: Shut up.
NamieYagiri: My brother and I were given sedatives, and I’m very angry. And all of
this is the fault of Mikado Ryuugamine.
NamieYagiri: I don’t need any more nonsense right now.
NamieYagiri: If Izaya’s watching this, you come, too.
NamieYagiri: This situation is doing Seiji no favors.
NamieYagiri: I’m going to put a finish to it all. So show yourselves.
Mai: You’re scary.
Mai: Help.
Kuru: Why, it seems as though you are under considerable pressure at the moment.
NamieYagiri: Whatever. I’m going to leave this open on the screen for now.
NamieYagiri: So come right away.
NamieYagiri: Before something crazy happens to Ikebukuro.
NamieYagiri: This isn’t time to be playing games with the Dollars, you little brat.
Mai: I’m scared.
.
.
.
Anri’s apartment, night
“Um… would you like something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine,” said the girl who called herself Saki Mikajima. She favored Anri Sonohara
with a soft smile. “Listen, you don’t need to go out of your way to make me comfortable.”
Even for a single resident, Anri’s apartment was fairly cramped. She was a teenage girl
living on her own, but because of the circumstances of the man who’d arranged the
place for her, no one gave her any trouble about it.
She almost never had visitors, nor did she ever create noise that rose to the level of a
disturbance, so Anri led a quiet life, slipping under the attention of her neighbors. If
anything, it was more concerning that a girl of her age barely had any friends over and
hardly ever left for social outings, but nobody was interested enough to be concerned.
The only visitors her age who came over were Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida,
back when they actually hung out with her, and Haruna Niekawa, when she came to
attack her. Now that Mika Harima spent all her time with Seiji Yagiri, Anri had no visits
from any girls her own age.
Anri herself began to assume that her entire school life was going to pass without any
such guests—until today, when a girl in her age range showed up.
The night was late, not the time a friend ordinarily stopped by for a visit. And in fact,
the girl at the door was not a friend. She wasn’t even an acquaintance; Anri had never
seen her before.
She thought it was a mistake, until the other girl addressed her by name and said she
had “something important to discuss about Masaomi Kida.”
Anri didn’t sense the kind of hostility she felt from Haruna Niekawa, so she let the girl
come inside without reservation.
“Well, um… you mentioned something about Kida…”
Anri and Saki faced each other across a table. While Anri was a bit nervous, Saki looked
completely at ease with being in the home of someone she had never met before this
moment. An odd silence passed between the pair, so full of contrasts as they were.
“Well, I suppose I should introduce myself again. I’m Saki Mikajima. Thank you for
trusting me enough to let me in on no notice like this.”
“Oh, I’m… Anri Sonohara,” she said, hastily bowing back in response to Saki’s incline
of the head.
“I know we’ve never met before, but we were actually in quite close physical proximity
for a time.”
“Huh?”
“Up until last year, I was staying at Raira General Hospital. You were there for a few
days, too, after you got attacked by the street slasher, they said. Is that correct?”
“Oh… ,” Anri murmured, taken aback. But she couldn’t recall having spotted this girl
in, say, the hospital lobby. “Ummm, if I’ve forgotten you, I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, no. We never talked in the hospital or anything like that. I just mean we were
located in the same building. But it’s true that I did know who you were. I just
happened to learn that you were staying there at the same time—that’s all.”
“?”
“The thing about Kida is, he’s always talking about either Mikado or you. He’s shown
me lots of pictures with you and him.”
“…!”
So clearly, she was someone with a personal connection to Masaomi. That should have
been obvious, given that she said she wanted to talk about him, but after the run-in
with the two Saika wielders during the day, Anri couldn’t take anything at face value.
“Um… what exactly is your connection with Kida?” she asked.
Saki considered for a moment. “How should I explain this? We were pretending to go
out as far back as middle school… but recently, we became a couple for real, I suppose.”
“A couple… meaning, you’re, um… romantically involved?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Oh,” Anri said.
It was a rather silly conversation, in a way. Because they both had personalities that
were a bit off-kilter, a conversation that might normally charge the air with a prickly
electricity was producing nothing more than a clammy fog.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Saki noted.
“Kida’s always hitting on girls, so I just assumed he had many girlfriends… ,” Anri
replied, “…but this is the first time I’ve actually seen one.”
Saki appeared to be taken aback by this at first, but she soon chuckled. “Oh my
goodness… I was so sure things were going to get very chilly in here…”
Anri turned her head in curiosity, uncertain of what she meant by this. “Why did you
think that?”
“I don’t know—why did I think that? Am I weird?”
“N-no! I didn’t mean to imply that… If anyone here is weird, it’s probably me…”
One after the other, their comments seemed to catch the other off guard, like the teeth
of gears out of alignment. Trying to correct that, Saki said, “Actually, can I ask you
something, too?”
“Y-yes. What is it…?” Anri asked timidly. Saki went right after her.
“What exactly is your connection with Kida?”

“Huh?”
Anri hadn’t been expecting that question. Knowing the kind of typical human
relationships that exist, an ordinary girl would be able to anticipate this kind of
question being asked. But Anri was so far removed from “typical human relationships”
that it never even occurred to her why Saki might be visiting her apartment.
“Oh, um. Well, I’m…” At last she picked up on what Saki was asking her, and she grew
even more flustered. “Oh, n-no. Kida’s just a friend…”
“Really? ‘Just’ a friend?” Saki asked, prying gently.
Anri met the look in the eyes of the smiling girl and had to turn away. Though gentle,
Saki’s eyes were piercing, as though they were staring right through the painting
frame that separated her from the outer world and directly into her mind.
“Maybe calling him… just a friend… isn’t quite right… But nothing with Kida is like…”
She still couldn’t give her a straight answer. There was some measure of guilt there, of
course, but more importantly, she didn’t know whether it was right to tell the girl
identifying herself as Masaomi’s girlfriend that he had consistently asked Anri out.
“He and Ryuugamine hang out with me and help me when I’m in trouble… and…”
Even she wasn’t sure how to define their relationship. Various words popped into her
mind (acquaintance, schoolmate, good friend), but none of them seemed like the
natural fit.
As she waffled, Saki leaned over until her face was close, and she said, “I’ve heard
about Mikado Ryuugamine, too. He said the three of you hung out a lot. He said
Ryuugamine couldn’t take his eyes off you, either. He was always talking about how
incredibly cute you are and how incredibly big your boobs are.”
“P-please don’t tease me,” Anri said, turning away and holding her arms over her chest
to evade Saki’s outstretched hands.
“Ha-ha-ha, sorry, sorry. I’m half joking. But it’s true that you’re very pretty. I think I’m
more jealous of you for that than anything to do with Masaomi,” Saki said, but her
smile was the same as it had been the entire time, and it was hard to tell how much
she was joking about, exactly.
Her deceptive, obscuring smile never wavering, Saki asked, “Then what do you think
about Ryuugamine?”
“…!”
“Is he the same as Masaomi… just a friend?” she asked innocently but with an odd kind
of pressure behind it.
“Well…”
“I know we just met, so this might come off as incredibly rude, but… do you mind if I
ask it anyway?”
“Um, go ahead,” Anri assented.
Saki’s smile grew just a bit thinner as she asked, “Sonohara… are you in love with
anyone?”
“…”
“Ummm… Have you ever been in love?”
It was a fastball hurled square at the center of Anri’s being; she held her breath with
the shock of it. Saki bowed to her.
“…I’m sorry—I know it’s an unpleasant question to receive. But… I really wanted to
ask it.”
Saki’s expression was totally neutral now, and at last Anri understood. The question
wasn’t meant to be nasty and needling—it was simply a question that meant quite a
lot to the other girl.
It seemed that giving her a vague and noncommittal reply would be rude, so Anri gave
herself some time to formulate a proper answer.
It was the same thing she’d said to Haruna Niekawa half a year ago, when the girl came
to kill her.
“I… don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”
“I don’t know how to love people… or what I should do to love people… I think I… I’m
not capable of loving another person,” Anri said, giving a rather incisive description of
her own nature without including any information about Saika.
Saki didn’t visually react much to that and sat listening.
“…”
“So I can’t really respond to the feelings of others in kind… and I feel like I probably
don’t have the right to feel love or passion for anyone else. I just live off others and get
various things from them—that’s all.”
Anri had lived her life by placing a frame between herself and the rest of the world, so
that all the horrible and sad and painful things that had happened to her and
continued to happen were no more a part of her than the subject of a painting. The
price she paid for this was that she lived off the emotions, the happiness and delight,
of the people in the painting, as if they were characters in a story she was reading.
By seeing Mikado and Masaomi having a good time, she felt fulfilled. The painting
frame was just the most efficient coping mechanism she could devise to deal with the
abuse her father had put her through.
Which is why I don’t have the right to love others.
Anri even lived out the concept of love through Saika, so perhaps that was how she
saw herself in the reflective glass of the painting frame. It was almost as if she was
trying to convince herself that was the case.
Saki said, “Doesn’t that feel lonely?”
Anri shook her head and put on a sad smile. “It’s true that I don’t interact with people
much. I’ve been called a parasite by a classmate, and I agree with that. But it’s the life
I chose for myself, so I don’t regret any of it.”
That’s a lie.
Anri was keenly aware that she had lied not just to Saki but to herself.
The conversation with Izaya during the day should have made it clear to her: She
claimed she chose to live as a parasite, but it was only a means to avoid examining the
dirty parts of herself.
She felt sick with self-loathing, even if it wasn’t quite as bad as when she had spoken
with Kujiragi and Niekawa.
“So… I don’t think loneliness really factors into it at all,” she explained, forcing herself
to put on a satisfied smile.
“Are you happy?” Saki asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t even think I know what… happiness means to me. I just want to
live quietly and not have to fight anyone…”
“Hmm…” Saki rested her arms on the table and stared directly into Anri’s eyes. “You
just want to live quietly and spend time with Ryuugamine and Masaomi?”
“Well…”
“You don’t feel like a relationship based on dependence is lacking at all?”
“No… because even when I think hard about it, I just don’t seem to understand what
it means to be in love with someone,” Anri continued simply. Then she hastened to
add, “Oh, but… it’s not like the only thing I do is leech off them—!”
Anri might view the rest of the world from a removed perspective, through her special
frame, but Masaomi and Mikado were the rare people who actually reached out to her
through that frame.
Like Mika Harima, who was the object of her admiration inside the painting, they had
a powerful effect on her that was unrelated to feelings of love or friendship.
There were also Celty Sturluson, Erika Karisawa, Haruna Niekawa, and Kasane
Kujiragi—figures who’d left their mark on her in various ways—and if anything, it was
the arrival of these people that was shifting the foundations of Anri’s heart.
Saki waited for the answer that Anri struggled to come up with to describe the two
young men who had been the catalyst for all these encounters, and at last she said,
without much confidence, “Um… Kida’s not my lover…”
“He’s not your lover?” Saki asked, tilting her head.
“And he’s not just my friend…”
“Not just your friend?” Saki repeated, inclining her head in the opposite direction, like
an insect that wasn’t sure which direction to take.
“I think he’s my savior.”
“Savior?”
“Yes… Kida and Mikado are like saviors to me. They’ve given me so many things. But I
haven’t been able to repay it yet in any way…” Anri’s eyes turned downcast and gloomy.
Saki stared at her for a few moments, then said, “You’re… a good person.”
“Huh?” Anri gaped. Saki gave her another smile. But unlike the one from earlier, this
smile was more human.
“Well, that was… anticlimactic.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
“Oh! No, no, you don’t have to apologize,” Saki urged, waving her hand to let Anri know
she wasn’t being criticized. Then she sighed with relief and said, “You know… I’m glad.
If you had said something like ‘I’m in love with two boys at the same time and don’t
know what to do,’ I think I would’ve set fire to this apartment.”
She cackled to herself, despite the horrific threat in her statement. It sounded as if she
was joking, but Anri couldn’t help but feel that it might actually have come to pass if
she’d given the other girl the wrong answer. It was that hard to get a glimpse past the
surface of Saki’s expressions.
Anri silently waited, gauging her conversation partner, so Saki continued gently, “To
tell you the truth, I was actually coming here to declare war on you.”
“Declare… what?”
“If you said you were in love with Masaomi, I think it would’ve turned into a cat fight,
as they call it. I was just wondering what I would say in that situation. Should I lean
into the stereotype and yell, ‘Get your hands off my man, you hussy’?”
It was odd to hear Saki say “cat fight,” given how peaceful her tone of voice was now.
She continued, “I guess I should be happy it didn’t turn out that way, though. But I can’t
let my guard down, because there’s no guarantee you won’t fall in love with Masaomi
in the future.”
Saki nodded at the wisdom of her own words, but Anri couldn’t tell whether this bit
of theatricality was honest or an act. For some reason, though, despite having never
met the girl before a few minutes ago, Anri felt those words resounding within her.
“…I don’t think that will happen. As I said before, I don’t really know what it means to
fall in love with…”
“Do you think I know it any better?”
“Huh…?”
“I’d bet it’s a minority of people who actually understand that kind of thing in a
rational sense. Because love and romance and all of that aren’t rational. You don’t have
to know how it works—you just realize one day that you’re in love. It’s mysterious,”
Saki said leisurely, stirring up Anri’s feelings.
“…But… I don’t have the right to fall in…”
“Yes you do,” Saki said, cutting off Anri before she could finish that dour thought. “You
said you consider yourself a parasite, and maybe you’re right about that… but even a
parasite has the right to love someone.”
“But…”
Anri hadn’t considered, after she’d labeled herself a parasite, that she would be told it
was okay for her to love another person anyway. She was unable to decipher what Saki
was after, and Anri’s eyes darted back and forth as she mumbled to herself.
But Saki was gentle with her. “I was a doll.”
“A doll…?”
“Yes. Do you know… who Izaya Orihara is?”

“…!”
Why would his name come up now? What did this girl have to do with Izaya Orihara?
Saki pushed past Anri’s shock and laughed. “Looks to me like you do, then. Did he do
something horrible to you?”
“Well, um… kind of…”
“I see… That really sucks,” Saki said sympathetically. Then she switched gears to talk
about her own experience. “See, I was kind of like his doll. He told me I should fall in
love with Masaomi Kida, so I did.”
“…? I’m sorry—what do you mean?” It was such a bizarre, counterintuitive thing to say
that it just bounced right off Anri.
But there was one thing she understood: The “shape of love” as she knew it was
nothing more than the things Saika whispered to her.
The girl across from her, however, was speaking of love in a different sense than Saika’s
love or the love depicted in romance novels and movies—this, Anri could tell.
“Masaomi would be angry about this, but I don’t even care if he hits me. I want to tell
you about him. It’s just… Do you want to hear? About the old Masaomi.”
Anri froze. She wasn’t expecting to be asked permission like this.
Masaomi Kida’s past. Like Saika, it was one of the secrets they’d kept hidden from one
another. She and Mikado Ryuugamine had made a promise that they would wait until
all three of them were together again before they revealed their secrets.
So it was probably something she shouldn’t listen to now. And she didn’t like the idea
of hearing about someone’s carefully hidden past from a different person.
“What do you think? The thing I want to talk about might have something to do with
Ryuugamine. That’s why I thought I ought to tell you… but I’ll let you decide if you
want to hear it or not… Yeah. So let me know.”
“I…”
I don’t need to hear it. I trust him, Anri was going to say, but she stopped.
The tiniest note of doubt had crept into her heart.
I trust Kida?
Do I really?
Or… do I just want to look away from the truth?
Keep the promise.
Avoid his sensitive past.
Trust in Masaomi Kida and leave his past to him.
It would be a noble thing to do.
But at the same time, Anri wondered, Am I really that noble of a person?
She’d chosen life as a parasite, relying on others for everything. She had just stated as
much minutes ago. She was also aware that this was nothing more than an excuse to
avoid examining her own base shallowness.
But no matter her reasoning, it was a fact that she had chosen this life for herself.
It was how she had withstood Haruna Niekawa’s assault and stifled Saika’s attempt at
a rampage.
Anri wasn’t conscious of any sense of pride or beliefs, but she did know she was not
going to regret her decision.
And it was this person whom the feelings down in her deepest core asked, Why do I
try to play the saint only in these situations? Am I really trying to pass myself off as
human, at this late hour? A girl who doesn’t know love but tries to use the love of others
for her own purposes…
Anri tried to drown out that voice, to silence it.

I live by being dependent on others. I have to be careful not to draw the ire of those I
choose to leech from. I have to be careful to stay on Ryuugamine’s and Kida’s good sides,
she told herself, but the doubts continued to rise up from the depths.
That’s a lie, too. I just said it myself.
“It’s not like the only thing I do is leech off them.
“They’re my saviors.”
“You okay?” Saki asked with concern. Anri hadn’t said anything for over ten seconds.
“Y-yes… I just need… time to think,” she replied and returned to her inner dialogue.
Suddenly, she recalled words someone had said to her earlier that day.
“You put distance between yourself and Mikado Ryuugamine and distance between
yourself and Masaomi Kida. Didn’t you?”
Izaya Orihara’s words echoed inside her brain.
“You chose to stay back and wait. You had people around you who gave you affection.
And you were so pleased with that, you chose to do nothing. You could have made more
of a move.”
Afterward, Karisawa told her that it was nonsense and she didn’t need to pay attention
to him. But the words were etched deep inside her now.
She wasn’t able to discount what Izaya had said out of hand. She recognized where she
stood.
Am I going to choose to wait again here? When that Kujiragi person told me to let go of
Saika, what did I tell her?
“Plus… I have a promise to fulfill, to tell some people I care for very much about Saika.
So until then, I want to remain who I was last year.”
That was what I told her.

Just because she herself didn’t want to change, did that mean it was the right decision
to avoid looking at how Masaomi had changed, and how Mikado was changing at this
very moment in time? It was a question she couldn’t answer.
For one thing, she had Saika residing inside her—a fact that she had not revealed to
Saki. She couldn’t say for sure whether it was right for her to be involved with the two
boys because of this.
When she told the Kujiragi woman, “Maybe I’m not really human anymore. And if so,
maybe I don’t have the right to fall in love like a normal person and enjoy normal
happiness,” she had seemed to want to disagree with Anri.
That’s right. She’s… not human. I’m sure she’s much further away from human than me.
But I bet she’s tried to fall in love.
Like Celty.
Like Saika.
Anri had no idea that just hours ago, Celty had passionately told Shinra that nobody
was more worried about Mikado than Anri. But then again, neither was she aware of
the irony that Celty was now in the form of a shadow monstrosity battling against
Kujiragi and her Saika.
Lastly, she thought of what Karisawa had said to her: “I may not know all the details,
but I can forgive you for everything right now. Even if you’re some vengeful god of the
ancient past, and you destroyed the earth once before, I still forgive you.”
She’d embraced Anri, knowing that the girl was not human. Recalling the feeling of
human warmth from that moment, Anri muttered, so quietly that Saki couldn’t hear
her, “…I’m such a coward.”
Even in the end, I relied on someone else for the final push.
After a little self-deprecating chuckle, Anri straightened out her face and said, “Please
tell me about Masaomi.”
“You’re sure?” Saki asked. Anri nodded firmly.

“I made a promise that the time for revealing secrets would only be when all three of
us are together,” she said, looking into Saki’s eyes, “but I don’t want to use that promise
as an excuse to run away anymore.”
It might have seemed like a minor thing, but for Anri this was a huge decision. The
world she viewed as the other side of her painting frame was now threatening to jump
in, to come to her side.
“But that’s not a good reason to break a promise, either… ,” she said, looking down
briefly and giving Saki a sad little smile. “So if he’s angry with you, he can scold me,
too.”
Saki met this declaration with silence. After a few moments, she smiled back and said
happily, “You really are nice.” Then, with a bit more frustration, she continued,
“Masaomi might have told lots of girls that he liked them… but I bet he was serious
when it came to you.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, nothing. Well, um… where do I start?”
So Saki began to speak.
She told of the past, of things Masaomi had never said to Anri and Mikado.
Of his leaner, meaner junior high days as the leader of the Yellow Scarves—and of the
mistake Masaomi and Saki had made together.
Abandoned factory, Tokyo
While Saki Mikajima told Anri Sonohara a story, there was another person speaking
about Masaomi’s past.
That would be Masaomi Kida himself.

“…All right. I think I get the picture.”
There was only one listener.
It was the man who, together with Masaomi, had engaged in an escape sequence
worthy of an action movie: Chikage Rokujou.
They were inside the abandoned factory that had previously been the hangout spot
for the Yellow Scarves. More recently, it had been used by the Blue Squares affiliated
with the Dollars, but after the recent attack by the Toramaru motorcycle gang from
Saitama, hardly anyone bothered to visit.
While this conversation began, there was a bandage wrapped around Masaomi’s
clenched hand, and a cast around his entire left leg.
After they’d fled the parking garage, the truck they’d landed on had taken them in the
direction of Saitama for a while, until it stopped at a red light that was quiet enough
for them to get off unnoticed.
The driver was among the uninitiated, and the truck simply drove off without incident.
As it went, Chikage gave it a wave with a little mutter of thanks, then took off his hat
and bowed.
They caught a taxi that passed by later and rushed to a nearby orthopedic clinic.
Fortunately, Masaomi’s broken knee wasn’t separated that badly, so they gave him a
conservative treatment that required no surgery or hospital stay.
But it did mean his leg had to be fixed in place, which necessitated the use of a crutch.
His broken right hand was also stabilized with tape and bandages.
He didn’t want any trouble with the police, so Masaomi told the doctor that it was the
result of beating up a postbox because he was in such a bad mood.
The doctor gave him a look of sheer annoyance, then shook his head and said, “I hear
about that a lot, actually. There’s some famous young man in Ikebukuro who wears a
bartending vest… and now there are folks looking up to him and trying to copy what
he does. When I see injuries like this, it’s often a result of that copycat behavior.”
The middle-aged doctor smirked and passed the time by chatting as he carried out the
tests and treatment. After Chikage and Masaomi paid their bills, they hailed another
taxi and took it back to Ikebukuro.
And here they were now.
Once Masaomi had called to confirm that the other Yellow Scarves had safely escaped
that parking garage, he felt relief at last. Chikage observed his reaction and said,
“Explain to me what’s going on. We can call it even after that.” Masaomi was hesitant
but gave in eventually and detailed his embarrassing past and the present situation
facing him and his friend.
When it was all done, Chikage asked Masaomi to confirm that his understanding was
correct. “You’re sayin’ the start of all this was with a gang you built back when you
were just in middle school?”
“…Yeah, I guess that’s accurate,” Masaomi replied, biting his lip as he considered the
past that had brought him here.
“And this whole hubbub going on now involves a lot of moving parts, but it’s no big
deal? Because it all comes down to the fact that your old buddy snapped for some
reason, and you’re tryin’ to slap some sense into him.”
“Huh? I dunno… You might be abridging a bit too much of it…”
While Masaomi was trying to show the older man the modicum of respect that the
situation deserved, especially with the dramatic rescue, the fact remained that they’d
been fighting not that long ago.
“So that wussy-lookin’ kid turns out to be the boss of the Dollars, eh? It’s a crazy world,
man,” Chikage said, patting the pensive Masaomi on the shoulder. “And the Blue
Squares are a problem keeping you from stopping your friend. So you needed to get
your gang back together to take them down first.”
“…Yeah, I suppose so,” Masaomi admitted, avoiding Chikage’s gaze.
“Okay, I see. I see, I seeee… ,” the man muttered to himself.

But then he suddenly grinned.
“You dumb-ass!” He gave Masaomi a sharp head-butt.
“Wha—?!”
Masaomi faltered, holding his forehead. He was seeing stars. It was only thanks to the
crutch that he stayed upright, and he glared back at Chikage through unfocused eyes.
“Wh-what the hell was that for?!”
“Shut up! From the sound of it, this is all your fault for sitting around on your ass! And
now I’m suffering on account of it, too… I don’t deserve this kind of crap!”
“Wait—the only reason you’re involved is because you stuck your own head in here!”
Chikage crossed his arms and thought for a few seconds. He nodded decisively. “Yeah,
now that I think about it, that’s true! Sorry about that one! My bad!”
“Were you trying to get one over on me with sheer momentum…?” Masaomi glared,
rubbing his forehead.
“Listen,” Chikage said, “you know you bear some fault for hitting that Horada guy, or
whatever his name is, and then ghosting without another word, right? And now what?
You vanished without a trace, and now you show up and say, ‘I’m gonna make him stop
by beating him up, if necessary’? Sounds to me like you’re the one who could use a
beating! How can you run out on a guy and then come back and act like his best
friend?”
“You think I don’t know all that?! Besides, if you had just gone after Mikado back
when… ,” Masaomi started to say. “No… never mind. It’s not your fault.”
It wouldn’t be fair for him to bring up the moment when Mikado had declared himself
the leader of the Dollars—just petty. But Chikage picked up the thread he had started
and continued with it.
“Yeah, if I had just accepted that he was the boss of the Dollars and kicked his ass, it
might not have come to this. But I don’t regret the choice I made.”
“…”
“And I’m not softening on that part. If I had a time machine and went back to that
moment, I’d still do the same thing. I don’t know about now, but when I saw him then,
he wasn’t cut out to be the head of the Dollars. When the fight’s already been settled,
and you pretend the enemy leader is some guy you know isn’t up to the task just so
you can hold someone responsible, that’s no more than blowing off steam. It ain’t my
style. Especially not in front of the honeys,” Chikage declared, cracking his neck. “If I’m
responsible for anything, then put it all on my shoulders. Just understand that the
head-butt I gave you was because I was irritated at what you did. You don’t use friends
that way.”
“…I know it’s not right to get the Yellow Scarves involved in this. I’m not making
excuses.”
“That’s not what I mean… Man, you seriously don’t get it?” Chikage griped, clicking his
tongue. “The friend you’re using is that Mikado kid, your old buddy.”
“…Mikado? Me?”
“Am I wrong?” Chikage asked. “Aren’t you just thinking that if you save your buddy
from trouble, it’ll make up for the sin you once committed of abandoning your
girlfriend?”
“I’m…”
“And that way, you can start over with your pal without feeling guilty. You don’t think
there’s any element of that going on?”
“Stop it! You asked for an explanation, and I gave you one. What would you know about
me?!”
“‘What would you know about me’?”
It was as stock a phrase as they come, and Masaomi felt a clammy, lukewarm guilt
rising within him. For one thing, it wasn’t something you said to the guy who saved
your life, and Chikage’s assessment was partially correct anyway. It was because he
was right that Masaomi wanted to push him away, to avoid facing the truth.
“What would I know…? Good question. Well, we’ve gotta figure out what’s to be done
next. So let’s start by thinking about that.”
“Huh?”
“Now, you asked me what I would know about you… and that’s only what you told me
now and the fact that you’re pretty good in a fight…”
“Um… look… I wasn’t asking for a literal answer to that question… ,” Masaomi hedged,
feeling even more guilty now that Chikage was taking his weak attempt at deflection
seriously.
But Chikage looked him straight in the face. “Now, this is the really important part. Do
you want someone to understand you?”
“Huh?”
“It’s a crucial question. It’s really hard for a person to really understand another
person. I’ve got a dozen or more girlfriends, and I could never say truthfully that I
totally understand any of them. Non’s pretty sharp, and she’ll call me out on lots of my
shit, but doesn’t it frighten you to have somebody know everything about you, down
to the deepest level?”
Masaomi felt like the conversation was drifting away from the point, but he decided
to go along with it for now.
“…I’m not really good at topics like this… I thought I understood Mikado, one of my
oldest friends, and it turned out I didn’t know him at all…”
He could recall how, when Izaya Orihara talked about the “founder of the Dollars,” he’d
been unable to take the information at face value. And once Masaomi had beaten up
Horada and kicked all the Blue Squares out of the Yellow Scarves, he had chosen to put
distance between himself and Mikado.
Part of it was just confusion. But he was also afraid.
Afraid that Mikado Ryuugamine and Anri Sonohara would find out about his past.
Afraid that their own secrets might also be revealed.
For learning them would mean being tied closer and deeper than before. And he didn’t
feel he had the right to be open with Mikado and Anri, to smile and laugh with them.
So fearing that outcome, he’d taken Saki and vanished. He’d joined hands with the girl
who’d wanted to know him better even after he’d betrayed her, so that he could escape
the hands of his friends. He’d run away.
“I really just want… to go back to when we didn’t know anything about one another,
and we could just laugh and chat like normal teenagers. I want to tease Mikado and
Anri and not think about anything past that.”
“You know that phrases like normal teenagers aren’t what actual teenagers use, right?
That’s for when you’re older and you’re lecturing the kids.”
“…Don’t tease me.”
“I can’t help it. From what you’ve said, you’re just like this Mikado guy. What a pair of
pals! Huh… yeah, I guess that’s why you’re old friends. No wonder you’re alike.”
Chikage rested his elbows on an empty barrel and smirked.
Masaomi’s brow furrowed. “Just like him…? Me and Mikado?”
“Aren’t you? You and this Ryuugamine guy aren’t special. You just hate being weak.”
“Huh?”
“Damn, you really think yourself in circles, don’t you? Puberty!” Chikage exclaimed. He
was so bored with it all that he started checking the messages on his phone. “You’re
not special at all. When a little brother can’t win in a fight against the bigger one, he
gets desperate. So how do you get tougher than your big bro? Do you train yourself?
Get smarter? Make more money to show him up? Some of them even go to extreme
lengths and try to take him out in his sleep.”
He beamed at Masaomi. “Whatever it is you guys are all worried about, it’s no more
important than that. Mikado Ryuugamine thinks that because he’s weak, everything’s
gone to shit. You think that because you’re weak and couldn’t save your girlfriend,
everything’s still shit now.”
“…”
“And both you and Mikado wanna do something about this weakness of yours.”
“I don’t… ,” Masaomi tried to say, but Chikage cut him off.

“If you don’t have a problem being weak, then you can just leave Mikado to fend for
himself.”
“That’s not the…”
“Not the same thing? So you think you can stop this Mikado guy, with being as weak
as you are? And this guy you have that little respect for, you consider your very best
friend?”
“…You sure like to talk, huh?” Masaomi said. It was merely a ruse to avoid answering
the question, and it made Chikage grin.
“One of my honeys is a real hard-ass, and she loves debating me—it’s real sweet… I
guess I’d say there are a whole bunch of different mes out there, for talking to each
one of my honeys. If I told you I got a nursery school license just so I could have
something to talk about with one of my girls, would you believe me?”
“…And I thought I was a pickup artist. Buddy, you’re the real deal.”
“I’m not as clever at talkin’ as my honeys, so I might not be sayin’ this right… but it
seems to me like you two did things the opposite. Mikado Ryuugamine chose to deny
his own weakness by trying to erase everything and start over. You chose to deny your
own weakness by trying to create a stronger self. That’s all this comes down to.”
“…”
Masaomi had no answer. He knew that if he looked for the right words for a rebuttal,
they would exist. But at this moment, he couldn’t find them—because he understood,
to a painful extent, how it was his own weakness that had caused this situation.
Chikage decided to break the silence by changing his tone. “Hey, whatever. Let’s just
break it down into even simpler terms.”
“I didn’t think I could get it much simpler than this.”
“Really? You guys are making it too complicated. Let kids be kids, and just have it out
exactly the way you want it. The whole reason you couldn’t just talk it over with
Mikado is because you were afraid of screwing it up and wasted your time sulking
about it.”
“I… ,” Masaomi started, then hesitated.
“Make it simple,” Chikage urged. “Do you want to meet up and talk with him or not?
Yes or no?”
Masaomi thought he had chosen this location as a hideout on sheer unconscious

instinct. But he couldn’t deny that a part of him deep down had hoped Mikado might
actually be here.
On the other hand, he still had hesitation and anxiety. If he did meet up with Mikado,
would he actually be able to stop his friend? The incident with Izumii that evening was
the source of that concern.
He had lost control of his emotions and been swept up in them, to the detriment of all
else. How was he supposed to manage Mikado, then?
Now this man was telling him to follow those emotions, to do what they told him to
do. Masaomi didn’t know whether he was right or not. But he took a deep breath,
willing himself to step forward and put it out there.
“…Of course the answer is yes! Whether I punch him or he punches me, nothing
happens without meeting him first.”
The latter half was just an attempt to motivate himself.
Oh, dammit. I put myself on the back foot again. It’s my worst habit.
He smacked his forehead with his bandaged fist. The painkillers were still working,
but the sensation from his broken fingers still rippled all the way through his body.
His features sharpened, as though awakened by the pain, and his head bobbed firmly.
“Yeah, that’s right. I already made up my mind. Whether it’s my fault to begin with or
not, no matter if Mikado cries or tries to avoid me, I’m going to save him from this
situation on my own.”
“Well, well. You sound a lot more selfish about it than before.”
“That’s right. It’s all a selfish move on my part. And if he wants to kick my ass, he’s free
to do it all he likes afterward.”
“…Ha! I like that look on your face. You’re back to lookin’ how you did when you agreed
to fight me one-on-one,” Chikage said, grinning. He smacked the top of the metal barrel
with his palm. “Then that settles it! Let’s go!”
“Huh? Go… where?” Masaomi suddenly had a very bad premonition. His smile froze
and twitched.
Chikage gave him a very satisfied smile back. “To see this Ryuugamine guy.”
“…What?”
It was all so simple, so straightforward, that Masaomi felt slightly dizzy. But Chikage
seemed to be serious about it. He banged on the lid of the metal barrel with both hands
in rhythm now. “Call him up and ask him where he’s at. I’ll even throw in the cab
money.”
What is he talking about?
Chikage’s suggestion was so freewheeling that Masaomi’s brain was having trouble
rationalizing it. It took all his willpower to stay sane, keep his breathing steady, and
say, “Um, he’s not going to pick up a call from me…”
“Then give me his number. He should pick up if it’s from a phone he doesn’t recognize.”
“Well, I’ve already changed my number since the old days… and that’s not the issue
anyway…”
“Yes, it is. You try everything you can think of, right?”
Masaomi had just told Chikage all about his heavy, sordid past, but the man was giving
lackadaisical suggestions as if it was all fun and games to him. And for some reason,
Masaomi felt that blitheness to be overwhelming.
“I’ll take care of those Blue Squares kids,” Chikage continued, “and you take the
opportunity to go past them right to Ryuugamine.”
“No… wait. This is crazy! Even you can’t handle them all on your own…”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I just said I’ll take care of them. I’m not stupid enough to try
fighting all of them on my own,” claimed the man who actually had destroyed a gang
in Saitama single-handedly, making this a bit of unnecessary humility. “Also, I’m only
helping you get face-to-face with Ryuugamine. Whatever happens after that is up to
you,” he said bracingly. “If you let someone else solve all your problems for you, is that
gonna make you or this Mikado guy feel good about it?”
“…”
“Let’s just try what we can, yeah? Our fight kinda got called off in a draw, so let’s set
that bet aside for now. I’ll help you out from an equal standing.”
This helped Masaomi remember what they’d agreed upon before they fought that
evening. Chikage had suggested a bet: “If I win, the Yellow Scarves have to work for me.
But if I lose, I’ll be your muscle.”
“Equal standing…? Meaning that you’re just gonna do whatever you feel like?”
“Whatever the hell I feel like.”
“…”
“Don’t give me that look. It’ll be fine!” Chikage jibed. Masaomi very nearly gave in to
the sheer momentum of his cajoling but managed to hold firm.
“Either way, it’s still crazy!” he argued. “If you’re going to deal with the Blue Squares,
you need to stop and plan out a whole…”
“…And you think I have that kind of time?”
“Huh?”
“Ryuugamine might think he’s weak… but the Dollars aren’t the same way,” Chikage
warned. He was deadly serious now, all charming breeziness gone. “I run a fairly big
group in Saitama, so I know how things go… and to continue that earlier analogy about
brothers fighting, there’s one situation you have to watch out for.”
The leader of the Toramaru motorcycle gang tapped the top of the barrel with a finger.
“Even with kid brothers fighting, you don’t want to attract too much attention, or the
big, scary adults will get involved. And these ones aren’t trying to break up the fight.
They’re the ones that say, ‘If you help out Uncle for a bit, Uncle will make sure your big
brother gets beat up.’”
“…”
“There was something about those guys you were squabbling with at the parking
garage… I just got the stink of those ‘scary adults’ from them… ,” Chikage said vaguely.
He then sighed with resignation and decided to speak directly.
Masaomi knew what Chikage was trying to say, and it was the last thing he wanted to
hear.
“To be honest, if the yakuza get involved, even my hands are tied in how much I can
help ya.”
Ruined building, second floor, Tokyo
Mikado Ryuugamine wondered where and how he’d gone wrong.
He could understand that he was heading toward the wrong result.
But no matter how often he thought about it, he couldn’t understand what he’d done
wrong.
Creating the Dollars as a joke with his friends, attempting to maintain his creation,
using the Dollars’ force for his own personal reasons—these things might be possible
factors in the current state of affairs, but Mikado did not consider them to be mistakes.
But it’s definitely not someone else’s fault. If anyone is responsible, it’s entirely me.
Because I’m weak, Mikado thought, gazing dully at the ceiling.
He was in an abandoned building in an area not that close to downtown. Among other
things, there had been a shoot-out here in the past, so the residents wisely chose to
keep their distance from the place.
It was now the hangout spot for a faction within the Dollars—Mikado and Aoba’s Blue
Squares—but they used it only as a temporary home so that they could abandon it in
the face of a raid of any kind.
Mikado sat on a pile of construction materials inside the building, leaning back against
the wall and letting his eyes wander upward.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Ryuugamine? You seem to be spacing out,” said Aoba
Kuronuma, who had just climbed the stairs.
Mikado sat up straight, taking his time so as not to give any hint of the anxiety he’d
just been indulging, and lied, “Oh, I was just wondering about Celty’s head.”
He felt guilty about using Celty as a tool to hide his own weaknesses but continued on
the train of thought anyway. “Why would her head just show up now, all of a sudden?
It didn’t seem like Izaya had any clue about it, either.”
Mikado didn’t know that Izaya had been in possession of the head. But he didn’t know
that someone had snatched it from Izaya’s clutches and tossed it onto the sidewalk,
either, so Mikado’s assessment was actually correct on one level.
Because Celty had helped save him before, he wanted to help her retrieve her head.
But even the organizational strength of the Dollars wasn’t enough to get back
something the police department had seized. It would be nearly impossible without
having help from within the force.
At the same time, he had to wonder, “Does Celty still want her head back?”
She acted as if she was fine without it for now, but after the actual head had shown up
in the center of public attention, had Celty’s thoughts changed at all?
The question was one Mikado muttered to himself, but Aoba answered it anyway.
“Yeah, I wonder. Celty definitely enjoys the life she has now. Maybe she feels conflicted
about the head being found. She should get all her memories back with the head, right?
Maybe she’ll need to leave Ikebukuro after she remembers everything.”
After he had revealed that he knew Celty, Aoba had heard a few stories of the past from
Mikado, so he was able to offer some educated guesses of his own. “Do you feel lonely?
Does it hurt to lose that urban legend you love so much, the one who was the cause
for the very first meeting of the Dollars?”
“Hmm… My personal relationship with Celty has nothing to do with that anymore, so
the thought of her going away really, really hurts. But if that was her own choice, then
I don’t have the right to stop her,” Mikado explained.
But then he thought, I wonder what the equivalent of Celty’s head would be for me. I feel
like I’ve thought about this several times before…
Anri’s and Masaomi’s faces floated into his head—two people he could see right away
if he made up his mind to do it.
But his own smile, when he stood next to the two of them, would no longer return.
There was no way he could face them anymore. It had all come about because of his
own weakness.
If curiosity killed the cat, then the Dollars, born of curiosity, had killed the ordinary
life he should have led.
Almost there.
I’m almost to having everything perfect. Then Sonohara and Masaomi and I can be—
He cut himself off there.
It was only going to make his decision harder.
Mikado was staring into nothingness with no expression on his face again, so Aoba
asked, “What are we going to do now?”
“First, we’ll see how the Yellow Scarves act. Masaomi likes a good ambush. We ought
to tread carefully.”
“I see. Yes, his methods do remind me of someone else,” Aoba said, his eyes wavering
as he thought of Izaya Orihara.
Mikado turned to Aoba, looking serious. “Oh, right, there was one thing I was
wondering…”
“What is it?”
Mikado looked into his eyes with concern. “Don’t you guys have summer-vacation
homework you should be doing?”
“…”
“I mean, if you’re done with it already, that’s fine, but I’d hate for you to run out of time
to finish it up on account of me.”
It was a comically out-of-place thing to say to a delinquent in a run-down, empty

building. Aoba’s eyes bulged briefly—but then he smiled, quite happily. “It’s all right. I
finished it the very first day.”
From Aoba’s perspective, Mikado looked like an exceedingly mundane high school
student. In secret, he raved about the terror Mikado could inspire, however. Even in
this situation, he continued to be a mundane young man.
When the man named Akabayashi showed up, he had been terrified. He had quaked
in fear of a yakuza lieutenant, like any normal person would. Now he worried about
his associate’s school status.
He was a serious student who looked out for others. Not as an act or a persona, but
because that’s what he was: a normal human being. And that was the scariest thing
about Mikado, according to Aoba.
He lived with over half of his being in a world that no ordinary person would ever
come into contact with, and he happily, utterly accepted it as a part of normal life.
Originally, Aoba was just going to use him, but given Mikado’s unique quality of having
a normal, helpful side that made him frightening, Aoba began to wonder whether
perhaps he could witness the sights he was hoping to see, standing shoulder to
shoulder with his new associate.
Aoba, feeling equal parts anticipation and fear, wanted to see where this senior
classmate of his was going to wind up. And that meant he had to make sure that no
trouble got in their way.
What is Izaya Orihara plotting? Maybe he’s thinking that given Mikado’s current state,
he doesn’t need to mess with him anymore… but he’s exactly the kind of sleazeball who
thinks he’s being an impartial observer yet can’t actually sit back and observe at all.
It was a remarkably accurate assessment of Izaya, perhaps because Aoba shared some
of those qualities. The man could not be overlooked, no matter the circumstances.
When the time came, he could leak information about Izaya to that Awakusu-kai fellow
named Akabayashi and set up a confrontation between them and him.
Mikado watched the subtle changes in expression on Aoba’s face and wondered, “Are
you sure you’re all right? If you haven’t finished your homework, I can help you.”
“Huh? Oh, no, I swear, it’s all done.”
It really would have been an ordinary conversation between teenagers if it hadn’t been
for the dilapidated setting.
Then one of Aoba’s friends ruined the mood by shouting up the stairs. “Hey, Aoba! Mr.
Mikado! C’mere…”
“?”
“What’s the matter?”
Aoba and Mikado looked over that way and saw one of the Blue Squares rushing up
the steps, worry etched into his face. “There’s someone bad down there…”
“Who?” Mikado asked, but the Blue Square clamped his mouth shut and gave Aoba a
meaningful look. Aoba’s brow furrowed, but he sent a visual signal to answer.
“…Um, it’s… a guy named Izumii…”
The back of Aoba’s neck tightened.
Big Bro…! He actually came here?!
“…How many with him?”
“Uh, actually, I only see the one guy for the moment…”
He’s alone? It wasn’t Aoba’s brother’s usual style to do it this way. But more important
than that at this point was how he was going to explain Izumii to Mikado.
Aoba was just starting to get his mind working when Mikado turned to him, nonplussed.
“Izumii… You mean Ran Izumii?”
“Huh?”
“That’s your brother, right?”

“…!”
Aoba was mildly shocked. “Did I… tell you about him?”
“Look, I have my own information network, you know,” Mikado said, giving him a
mischievous grin. “Is that a surprise?”
This reminded Aoba of something he had once said to Mikado.
“To be brief, it’s because you are the founder of the Dollars. Is that a surprise? We have
our own information network, you know.”
He had said it when he first gave away his true nature, as a kind of threat to let Mikado
realize how much he and his friends knew. And whether intentional or coincidental,
Mikado had just returned the statement without any malice whatsoever.
Aoba’s spine shivered. But it wasn’t fear; it was fierce joy, welling up inside of him,
moving him to tremble.
“…Oh, geez. How much do you know, then?”
“You were the former Blue Squares boss, right? You had a big fight with the Yellow
Scarves, caused the girl Masaomi loved to get hurt really bad, and got arrested, right?”
“…”
“I heard you got thrown in juvenile detention or some kind of boarding school,
maybe… but you were already out when you approached me, huh?”
Aoba was doing his best to keep the rising excitement from showing on his face. He
even managed to affect a resigned sigh. “Well… if you know that much, there’s no
reason to explain any of it. If I’m being honest, my brother is crazy, and you’re better
off not coming into contact with him. We can go out there and head him off, but I’d
recommend we change our hideout location.”
“No, I’ll see him.”
“Huh?”
Mikado headed for the stairs, a thin smile on his lips. “He might be worried for your
sake. I should probably go and explain to him what I’m doing.”
“Oh? You Mikado Ryuugamine?”
When they descended to the first floor, they found a man in sunglasses surrounded by
the Blue Squares, his attitude as belligerent as ever.
“Bro…”
“Yo, Aoba. I came to see ya, just like I promised, right?” he said. He had a striking burn
scar across his face that drew the eye, and his very presence seemed to cast a violent
menace over the surrounding area.
He was honestly the exact kind of person Mikado was least equipped to deal with, but
unlike with Akabayashi the other day, he wasn’t so afraid that he felt his life was in
danger.
Part of it was probably because he knew this was Aoba’s brother. Another factor that
lessened the fear was that Izumii was clearly in less than stellar condition at the
moment. Bandages were tied all over his upper half, with a light summer jacket tossed
over them.
“…Um, you look like you’re hurt. Are you all right?”
“Wha—? Oh. This? Sorry. Just fell down some stairs, no biggie,” Izumii said, leering.
Mikado bowed his head politely.
“Please take care of yourself. Anyway, I’m Mikado Ryuugamine.”
“Ahhh. You’re no taller than Aoba, and you’re the head of the Dollars, huh? Well, I’ll be
damned. That’s a lotta work, yeah?” he snarked, but Mikado didn’t appear to be
particularly upset by this. If anything, he even seemed a little bit intimidated by the
menacing display across from him.
“Oh, er… Actually, the Dollars don’t have a formal leader… so I’m leading the Blue
Squares instead.”
“Ha! The Blue Squares! So that would make you the third-generation leader, after Aoba
and me. No, wait, fourth—forgot about Horada’s dumb ass,” Izumii chuckled. The
sunglasses hid the finer emotional signals around his eyes.
What is he doing here anyway? Aoba wondered. He claimed to be here alone, but it was
very possible that he had a large group of his friends lurking nearby. If it came to
danger, he had to make sure that at least Mikado escaped safely.
Aoba and his companions were on edge, but Izumii just laughed once more and said,
unexpectedly, “Listen… I think it’s fate that we met like this. Can we talk together,
alone?”
The Blue Squares bristled at this abrupt suggestion. Some man with unknown motives
wanted to speak alone with Mikado? Aoba stepped in to intercept them. “Hey, Bro, you
can’t just come in here and mess around like this.”
“Don’t freak out. I’ll have plenty of time to kill with you later. All right?”
“That’s not the issue, and you know it.” The chill between the two brothers thickened.
Mikado clapped Aoba on the shoulder, shaking his head. “It’s all right. I’ll talk with
him.”
“You will?”
“Mr. Izumii, we don’t have any private rooms here, so if you don’t mind, we can go
upstairs instead.”
“Fine with me,” Izumii said with a smirk. Aoba glared at him and turned to Mikado.
The Izumii before he got arrested was one thing, but there was a different air about
him now, one that was much more dangerous. Letting Mikado be alone with this man
was too much of a risk.
“You shouldn’t do this, Mr. Mikado,” he warned. “You don’t know what this jerk will
do…”
“It’s not a good thing to say that about your own brother,” Mikado lectured him, as
though this were a totally ordinary situation.
Izumii laughed. “That’s right, Aoba. Don’t show off in front of your friends. Come and
sidle up to me—‘Big Bro, Big Bro’—like you always do.”
Aoba ignored this mockery, intent on continuing his argument with Mikado—but the
other boy smiled and cut him off.
“It’s all right. I’m just going to have a chat with a former member of the group I’m
leading. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”
“But…”
“His Dollars membership is one thing… but I am technically the head of the Blue
Squares, even if it’s just for show. I ought to treat him with respect for paving the way.”
“…”
Over Aoba’s shoulder, Izumii slowly clapped his hands. “Very nice. Seems like Mikado’s
the one who understands proper courtesy. Isn’t that right, Aoba?”
The needling tone in his voice irked Aoba, but he kept his gaze focused on Mikado. The
other boy wasn’t being completely careless around Izumii. If anything, he seemed just
a little bit frightened. But given that he had announced they were going to talk alone,
he wasn’t going to hear any argument to the contrary.
Aoba glared at his brother one last time and reluctantly backed down. “All right, sir…
But if anything happens, we’re going up there.”
“I didn’t actually think you’d go along with this,” Izumii said when they had reached
the top of the steps. “Why aren’t you more cautious? You don’t look like a fighter to me.
Didja think that because I’m injured, you can actually take me?”
Mikado snorted self-deprecatingly. “Oh, hardly. I can’t fight at all. Even if both of your
arms were broken, I bet I still couldn’t beat you.”
“…”
“But I don’t think you would make it out unscathed, either,” Mikado threatened
without missing a beat. “The Blue Squares are all very good at fighting.”
“So you think you’re a tough guy, getting other people to do the fighting for you?”
“Oh, no. I’m very weak. Strength in numbers is my only defense,” he said, his expression
gloomy.
“You said me being Dollars ‘is one thing’ earlier. What’s my status among the Dollars,
then?”
Mikado turned his head to look at Izumii with seriousness written across his features.
“I’m sorry to say that I don’t want you among the Dollars. I’m getting help from Aoba
and his friends specifically to kick people like you out of the gang.”
“…”
It was such a bold and frank answer that it caught Izumii off guard. But the next
moment, his sticky smile reappeared. “You got guts, man. What, you think I’m just a
joke?”
“No, I don’t. Just the opposite.”
“What…?” Izumii grunted.
Mikado continued, “I’m… afraid of people like you. I would never treat you like a joke.
I’m much too scared. But since I can’t deal with you in other ways… I just want you out
of the Dollars. If you had a lion in your house, and the weapons to drive it off… I don’t
think you’d find many people who would act like that lion is no big deal.”
“…”
Izumii’s expression went blank. This was not the kind of answer he’d been expecting.
After a few moments, he burst into laughter. “Ha-ha-ha-ha! Hya-ha-ha! Are you crazy,
kid?! What kind of an idiot says somethin’ like that?!”
He clapped his hands as he laughed. There was a note of madness somewhere deep in
his voice, which set Mikado on edge. After he was finished, Izumii spotted the folding
table that Aoba and his friends liked to hang around, and he sat in a matching folding
chair near it.
“Okay, I see. So you’re totally different from Masaomi Kida. What a little pampered
Goody Two-shoes. You’re funny, man. Way more interesting than Aoba, that’s for sure.”
Mikado’s face twitched when he heard the name Masaomi. Clearly he felt something
at that moment, but he did not speak it aloud. So Izumii put his elbows on the table,
smiled wickedly, and got to the point.
“Mikado Ryuugamine. You said you can only rely on strength in numbers?”
“…Yes,” Mikado admitted apologetically. Izumii gave him his fiercest smile yet.
“You ever think about relying on something else?”
Ten minutes later
“…It’s been a while. Are they still talking?” Aoba wondered, looking to the stairs with
concern. He’d had his friends on the lookout, just in case Izumii knocked Mikado out
and escaped from the second floor.
Whatever it was they were discussing, it wasn’t likely to be your typical teatime chat.
He waited, tense, until a figure appeared on the stairs. Izumii descended first, with
Mikado watching him go from behind. Relieved that Mikado was fine, Aoba walked
over to the stairs.
“Sorry about the trouble. That was fun,” Izumii said over his shoulder to Mikado. Aoba
was mildly surprised to see that he was in even better spirits than before.
“No, please, the pleasure was all mine. Thank you,” said Mikado, bowing his head.
Izumii gave him a little wave and headed to the exit without another word.
What’s this? I’ve never seen my brother act this way, Aoba thought. The moment they
passed each other, Izumii put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Mikado Ryuugamine. Fascinating kid. I like him,” he whispered.
“…What did you talk about?” Aoba demanded, squinting.
Izumii ignored the question. The corners of his mouth curled upward. “The thing is,
Aoba, he’s too much for you to control.”
“…And you’re telling me you’re up for the job?” Aoba shot back, quietly enough that
Mikado wouldn’t hear.
“Nah. If you can’t do it, there’s no way I can handle him.” Izumii shook his head and
whispered, “Every task’s got the right tool for the job.”
It was an uncharacteristically artistic turn of phrase for him.
Aoba watched his brother walk out the door, then turned back to Mikado.
He looked just the same as ever, with no sign of trouble. So Izumii hadn’t done any
harm to him.
But if anything, that was eerier to Aoba, and an ugly disquiet took form in his chest.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to let Mikado meet his older brother. A nasty mix of
chills and frustration came over him, even more unpleasant than when he had faced
Izaya Orihara.
But even then, Aoba was unable to chase down his own brother to demand answers.
On the street, several minutes later
Once he had walked out of sight of the abandoned building, a black luxury vehicle
drove past Izumii, then slowly came to a stop. The back door opened without a word,
and Izumii got inside sans comment.
“Call for you.”
A large man in a suit sitting in the back seat offered Izumii a cell phone. He took it and
held it to his ear, waiting until the speaker emitted a deep, heavy voice that seemed to
overpower anyone who heard it.
“It’s me,” the voice said.

“A pleasure to speak with you, sir,” said Izumii, quite uncharacteristically. His face was
devoid of expression.
The man on the other end of the call—Aozaki from the Awakusu-kai—didn’t bother
with any formalities. “Was there any movement?”
“I got a message from Izaya Orihara. He plans to finish things with Shizuo Heiwajima.”
“I thought he was a bit smarter than that. On the other hand, I’m worried that I can’t get
in touch with Slon. He might be aware of what you’re doing and be putting on a bluff.
Give him a typical answer, then try to verify independently.”
“What shall we do if he’s really trying to kill off Shizuo?”
“If the scumbag wants to die, let him commit suicide. Orihara might be our pawn in
name, but we also owe Heiwajima for what happened with the little mistress. We
maintain face by not getting involved,” instructed Aozaki, a simple judgment cast upon
the life and death of others. Then he got to the business of the day. “What was the kid
like?”
“Just a shrimpy little squirt. Not that tall. Looks like the kind of wishy-washy guy who
plucks the petals off flowers. ‘She loves me; she loves me not… ’”
“I don’t care what he looks like. Kids these days don’t always match up between the
outside and the inside,” Aozaki growled, his voice powerful through the tiny speaker.
“Can you keep the reins on him?”
“I’ll be honest: I feel like it’s too much for me.”
“I didn’t expect to hear an answer like that from you,” replied Aozaki with surprise.
Izumii grinned. “Yes, but I do like him. If he turned out to be a really snotty brat with
too much spunk, I woulda crushed him and taken over the Dollars myself.”
“That’s my decision to make. Don’t pull any stunts on my watch. Although I’ll admit, that
was close to my idea anyway… I’ve got to say, though, it surprises me to hear that you’re
capable of liking anyone,” Aozaki mocked, only to continue, “Did you give him our
present?”
“Yes, I did.”
Aozaki’s voice rumbled as he threatened, “You better not have dropped our name.”
“Even I’m not stupid enough to reveal the organization’s name when I’m handing over
something like that.”
“If the cops haul that Ryuugamine kid in for anything, you and me are total strangers.
Carve that into your backbone, and then maybe I won’t have to snap it myself,” Aozaki
warned. It was a roundabout way of saying that if he mentioned anything about the
Awakusu-kai to the police, he was a dead man. Although maybe it wasn’t that much of
a euphemism to begin with.
“…I understand,” said Izumii.
“Good. Now, that thing came from a suspicious source. You’re sure the kid took it
anyway?” Aozaki asked.
For the first time since he got into the car, a clear, notable expression crossed Izumii’s
face. His mouth twisted with glee, but his tone of voice remained deferential. “He just
took it, without fear or delight.”
“…And he didn’t think it was just a toy?”
“No, no! The kid knew what it was, and he even bowed and said ‘thank you’ for it. He
actually started some water-cooler chat right after that, like nothing had just happened!”
“…I think I can see why a wrecking ball like you would take a shine to him,” Aozaki
acknowledged. When he spoke again, something in his heavy voice conjured the image
of a wicked smile. “Especially if he’s that busted while putting on a normal face.”
After a few more minutes of conversation, Aozaki hung up, and Izumii handed the
phone back to the man in the suit.
The man said, “You really learned how to speak. Normally, you act like a crazy son of a
bitch, but around Mr. Aozaki, you’re as cuddly as a pet cat.”
It was quite a jab from the yakuza, who appeared to be a junior member of the group,
but Izumii barely batted an eye.
“…Look, I know how to pay respects to the truly powerful. You gotta look up to the
mighty, no matter what form it takes.”
“Ha! You’re gonna pass yourself off as that kinda guy now? You, the guy who abducts
girls, gets all his cronies together, and takes cheap shots at people?”
“If that’s what wins, then that equals strength.”
“But you lost. Some jackass outta nowhere cracked your sternum today, didn’t he?”
One of Izumii’s followers must have let it slip about the fight earlier in the evening. He
said flatly, “I’ll crush that bastard someday, sir. He’s like Kadota. I can sense the same
smell coming off him.”
The young mobster barked with laughter. “I noticed you’re taking a pretty polite tone
with me, too. So you think I’m a pretty tough guy as well?” He smiled gleefully.
The tips of Izumii’s mouth curled. “Of course.” The sight of the smile caused the yakuza
to tense just a bit. “Violence isn’t the only strength Mr. Aozaki has. It’s the
organizational strength of the Awakusu-kai, the financial strength, the influence he
wields. And you’re part of that strength, too.”
“…”
“And like Mr. Aozaki, you’re an individual part of the Awakusu-kai.” As Izumii’s dry
smile grew more wicked, the other man’s disappeared entirely.
“What… did you just… call me…?”
“Am I wrong? Or are you saying you’re not just another pair of hands working for him?”
If the man gave a careless answer and it got back to Aozaki, he would be in big trouble.
Normally in this situation, a young yakuza would crush the bridge of Izumii’s nose to
make it clear where they stood, but he couldn’t do that now.
If he gave the wrong answer and created the impression that he wasn’t a part of
Aozaki’s strength, this Izumii man would try to crush him without hesitation, said the
sensation running through the man’s spine.
After several seconds, Izumii stopped waiting for the man to answer his question. He
stared forward into nothingness and spoke in a bit of a monologue.
“…To be fair, outside of Mr. Aozaki, there’s only two or three guys I respect for their
strength. Traugott the MMA champion, that bartender punk, and although he’s
softened over the years…”
Izumii trailed off. He chose not to speak aloud the name of the final man.
He knew that if he said it, Aozaki and his underling were sure to be angry.
Pedestrian bridge
After Izumii’s car drove away, the road far from the glamour of the shopping center at
night was left with only muggy air and silence.
A silence that was broken by a man’s soft voice.
“…Hello? There’s been some movement.”
Standing on a sturdy pedestrian bridge over the road was a man dressed in a fancy
black suit, like a nightclub host, speaking into a phone.
“It was a vehicle Mr. Aozaki uses. Izumii just walked right into it.”
The person on the other end of the call spoke for a while. When the first man spoke
again, he identified his conversation partner by name.
“Right… it’s just as you anticipated, Mr. Akabayashi.”
Inside a taxi, Tokyo
“Got it, got it. You can leave all of that up to me, then. You boys, ah, you can stay there
and keep an eye on Ryuugamine and his friends.”
In the back seat of a taxi, an Awakusu lieutenant with tinted glasses and a facial scar,
Akabayashi, was giving orders to a motorcycle gang he oversaw by the name of Jan-
Jaka-Jan. He ended the call and chuckled to himself.
Good grief, Aozaki. I didn’t think this was the time for infighting.
But it makes me wonder what he brought and what answer Ryuugamine gave him.
And that makes the question, how do we react…?
At that point, the taxi driver called out, “Sir, is your eye all right?”
“Hmm?”
Only when it was pointed out did Akabayashi realize that he had removed his
sunglasses and was pressing on his right eye. And only then was he consciously aware
of the strange feeling around his eye: not quite itchiness, not quite pain. He’d been
rubbing away at it without realizing what he was doing.
“Ah yes. Just a little tired, that’s all.”
“I know what you mean. My eyes have never been the same since I started getting old.”
“Well, ya can’t beat Father Time. I’m jealous of those young folks who can stay up all
night playin’ on their computers and video games,” Akabayashi said. He focused his
attention on the sensation in his right eye.
It almost felt as if there were a tiny whisper coming from the old scar.
I’ll be damned… Feels the same as during that whole street-slashing thing six months
back.
There had been a string of street attacks, which the media called “Night of the Ripper,”
around Ikebukuro, and he had felt a similar itch during that whole thing.
…Wonder if that sword is raising hell somewhere, he thought, referring to the cursed
blade that had slashed his eye. The thought worried him. Maybe this situation’s a lot
worse than I realized.
He grimaced just a bit and got to thinking about what he should do next.
But he was unaware.
That whether from resonance between Saikas or just sheer coincidence, only a few
hundred yards from his taxi, Kujiragi’s Saika had transformed into an enormous net
that clashed with a new, monstrous form of Celty.
And that Anri Sonohara’s Saika, too, was undergoing a small change of its own.
And that at this moment, all around Ikebukuro, a great number of “grandchildren” of
Saika were being born at once.
Anri’s apartment
“…”
“What’s the matter?” Saki asked, alarmed that Anri had abruptly frozen while they
were talking.
“Oh… no, I’m fine. I just felt a little chill…”
“Are you sick?”
“No, it’s nothing. I’m fine, I think.”
“Okay. I bet you were shivering with excitement, then,” Saki teased gently.
Anri smiled back at her. But there was an odd uneasiness lurking behind it. She’d
frozen because she’d heard an unpleasant noise in her ears, like the cursed voices of
Saika going into a feedback loop.
It must have resonated with another Saika. She remembered feeling a similarly
upsetting sensation when she’d caught the blow from Haruna Niekawa’s Saika.
I’ve never felt the presence of other Saikas so strongly…
It was an omen that hadn’t been there yesterday. There had been a change in Saika
recently, but it had been very slow and gradual. If she was suddenly much more
sensitive to the presence of another Saika, it might stem from the way she made
contact with the other Saika from the Kujiragi woman during the day.
But even assuming that was true, Anri did not know why she would feel the presence
so strongly now. It filled her with worry.
Did something happen to Kujiragi or Miss Niekawa…?
But she couldn’t talk to Saki about all of that, so Anri was left with no one to speak to,
just an uncomfortable knowledge that burdened her. But at least she could come up
with a reassuring solution that would surely make things better.
I can go and ask Celty about this later.
She did not know, of course, that Celty’s fate was currently intertwined with that very
Saika’s.
Abandoned factory
“By the way, you mentioned an Anri a few times earlier. Would that be Anri Sonohara?”
asked Chikage while Masaomi was checking on the safety of the Yellow Scarves from
the old factory.
“…Huh? You know Anri?”
Masaomi was surprised because he had mentioned a “friend named Anri” in his
explanations but never actually said her last name.
Chikage continued in more detail. “Cute girl with glasses?”
“Yeah.”
“Tits out to here?”
“Yes! Exactly! How do you know her?!” Masaomi demanded. The mound gestures
Chikage was making in front of his chest convinced him that it was absolutely the same
Anri Sonohara he knew.
“She does kendo or iaido or some discipline like that, right?”
“…? That’s the first I’ve ever heard of it.” But as Masaomi said it, he recalled the glimpse
he’d once caught of Anri holding a katana. And he knew it was most likely connected
to the secret she kept from him.
“But, uh… anyway, aside from that, how do you know her?” he asked.
“Oh, I ran into her earlier today. She was with, um, what’s her name, Eri. At the hospital.”
“Eri?”
The name wasn’t ringing a bell for Masaomi. At first he wondered whether this was
some classmate of Anri’s, until Chikage said her full name:
“Huh? Aren’t you friends with Kadota, though? You should know a girl with black hair
named Erika Karisawa, right?”
“Karisawa?! How do you know her, too?!”
“Look, a lot of stuff happened. So… that nice honor student–lookin’ girl, eh? Damn, I’m
jealous you get to be friends with a fine girl like her. My honeys are pretty hot, too,
though. You jealous of me?” Chikage boasted briefly, but he let it drop a moment later
and sobered up again. “So you aren’t going to talk with Anri before you go meet
Ryuugamine?”
“Well… ,” Masaomi murmured, “I… I think it’s better if Anri doesn’t know anything.
Then, after Mikado and I have settled up, we can go see her together with smiles on
our faces.”
“If she doesn’t know anything, huh…?” Chikage repeated, shrugging. He smirked at
Masaomi. “You probably shouldn’t take girls for granted like that.”
“Huh?”
“Women are a lot stronger and smarter than us guys. Try as hard as you might to hide
your cheating—they’ll always see through you. It’s why I don’t bother to hide it in the
first place.”
“Wow, you’re a real scumbag.”
Masaomi stared at Chikage, wondering how such a man could attract so many
romantic partners. Chikage ignored his gaze and continued, “Look, you’re free to keep
Anri out of the loop if you want. Just be careful.”
“Girls these days are quite capable of inserting themselves back into the loop.”
Abandoned building
Mikado had his laptop open, sifting through various online message boards and social
media sites, organizing his sources of information.
“What did you talk about with my brother?” Aoba asked.
“Oh, all kinds of stuff,” he replied. “He asked me to look after you.”
“No way, that can’t be right. My brother would never be concerned about me…”
“I’m jealous. I’m an only child, you know. Must be nice to have brothers.”
“Don’t say that. I’d be better off without him.”
Smiling, Mikado scolded the younger boy. “Shouldn’t say that about your own brother.”
“…Don’t try to brush me off. I know him. I know he didn’t just come here to trade
pleasantries with you.”
“You’re right. It was a very important conversation, so I’ll let you in on it. Hang on
while I finish checking the boards here…”
He turned back to his screen and picked up the pace of his browsing. It should have
wrapped up before too long—but in the midst of it, Mikado realized something was
wrong.
“Huh…? Wh… What the…?”
He clicked on a bookmark, and a confused, suspicious look crossed his face as soon as
the screen loaded.
“…What is it, Mr. Mikado?”
“What… is this…?”
It was rare for Aoba to see Mikado’s face so baldly darkened like this. He looked over
Mikado’s shoulder at the screen.
What he saw there was a familiar chat room, filled with instances of Mikado’s real
name.
Chat room
NamieYagiri: There you are, Mikado Ryuugamine.
TarouTanaka: My name is Tanaka. I think you have the wrong person.
TarouTanaka: What is the meaning of this?
NamieYagiri: Shut the hell up.
Kuru: The act is pointless, TarouTanaka. This person already knows everything,
through Kanra’s help.
Mai: It’s over.
NamieYagiri: I don’t care. Use the Dollars or whoever else you have to. Just find
Kasane Kujiragi and Shinra Kishitani. Seitarou Yagiri is the one behind all of this, so
use the Dollars to crush him, like you did to me. The Awakusu-kai, Headless Rider,
Shizuo Heiwajima, and that idiot Izaya—they’re all connected to you.
Kuru: It brings me no joy to say this, but I believe this chat room is finished.
Mai: So sad.
Mai: So lonely.
TarouTanaka: I don’t understand what you mean. Who is Kujiragi? What are you
after?
NamieYagiri: You’re the one who’s after something. What do you think you’re doing?
NamieYagiri: Why don’t you look around yourself?
NamieYagiri: I just want to bring an end to what’s going on. So help me.
NamieYagiri: You have no idea about anything, and yet you’re connected to everything.
NamieYagiri: Wake the hell up. You’re the key.
NamieYagiri: The quickest way to end all of this is for you to understand it all.
TarouTanaka: Please stop this.
Kuru: My goodness, I’m thinking it really might be best not to interject. Perhaps this
is what 100% Pure was speaking of.
Mai: I hope Aoba’s okay.
TarouTanaka: Why are you bringing up Aoba?
NamieYagiri: 100% Pure is Aoba Kuronuma.
NamieYagiri: Shall I list the real names of everyone else?
TarouTanaka: Stop this! What are you trying to do?!
NamieYagiri: I’m just playing every card in my hand.
NamieYagiri: Where is that headless monster?
NamieYagiri: Same question about your girlfriend, Anri Sonohara.
NamieYagiri: You know that she’s a monster, too.
NamieYagiri: You must have seen her with a katana at some point.
NamieYagiri: Want me to tell you what she did during that incident with the street
slasher?
Kuru: This is quite a lot of personal information being shared. It feels like we’re
getting a recital from the problem-customer ledger at a particularly rowdy game
arcade. But I don’t have a problem with that.
Mai: Scary.
TarouTanaka: Please knock it off.
TarouTanaka: Don’t ruin this place.
NamieYagiri: It’s been broken for ages. Admit it.
NamieYagiri: And you broke it.
NamieYagiri: The same way you broke my research team.
TarouTanaka: Stop it.
NamieYagiri: Don’t run away.
Kuru: But of course he did.
Mai: It’s scary.
Kuru: I hate to say this, but… your ramblings are incoherent, Miss Namie. You are the
archetypal “person who really shouldn’t have a blog on the Internet.” I never would
have expected you were the type. The relationship between online and real life is such
a mysterious thing.
NamieYagiri: Shut up.
NamieYagiri: Don’t run away, Mikado Ryuugamine.
NamieYagiri: You once told me…
NamieYagiri: It’s because it’s reality that we can seek a happy ending.
NamieYagiri: You told me that hypocritical nonsense, and you ruined my life.
NamieYagiri: Don’t forget that.
NamieYagiri: And don’t you dare say you’re not looking for a happy ending anymore.
NamieYagiri: At least take responsibility for your past words.
NamieYagiri: Are you listening?
NamieYagiri: I’m going to continue flaming this place until you show up.
NamieYagiri: Just so you know.
Kuru:… Well, this is a very troublesome visitor we have.
Mai: Trouble, trouble.
.
“In an update to the years-long court case between the politician Takeru Otonobe and
several major publishers and newspaper companies, a press conference was held today
in which lawyers for both sides unveiled an official settlement. The case had been noted
for…”
On the TV, the newscaster read from his script like always. Otherwise, Shinra’s
apartment was a bit draftier than before, owing to the broken glass on the balcony.
The group had picked up the pieces of glass, so over half the physical evidence of
destruction was now gone.
Togusa sat on the couch, watching the news, feeling the lukewarm breeze of the summer
night on his skin.
The police did not show up. They didn’t seem to be aware of the disturbance at the top
of the building. But Togusa wasn’t in the mood to relax, so he kept his phone open in
one hand as he checked the reports on the TV news broadcasts.
Normally, it would be faster to check on the computer, but now that neither Celty nor
Shinra were home, he didn’t think it was right to use it without their permission. Yet,
when Namie Yagiri woke up and learned the situation, she opened Celty’s laptop at
once and began typing away.
He was going to ask her what she thought she was doing, but the ferocity in Namie’s
manner intimidated him, so he decided to search for information from the living room
instead.
“…to which Otonobe said, ‘The life that I and my family lost will never return, but at least
we can now look forward.’ Next in the news…”
“No reports about monsters rampaging in town… ,” Togusa muttered, feeling relieved.
“This is a special report. We are receiving word that a police vehicle has been attacked
on a street in West Ikebukuro, Toshima Ward, Tokyo.”
Togusa’s hand froze in the process of hitting buttons on his cell phone. “Whaaa…?”
Did Celty attack a police car in her monstrous form? Fright zipped through Togusa at
first, but it turned out that the attack had been with an explosive of some kind. The
police on board were unharmed, but a piece of evidence they’d been carrying had been
stolen.
From browsing news sites on the phone, he could see that something had stirred the
people of Ikebukuro a while ago. It was probably from people located near the police-
vehicle attack who had uploaded the details en masse. Now the people who had just
found out on the news were joining the conversation, producing a large volume of
chaotic commentary.
What stuck out amid the noise was someone’s guess: “Was it the head from earlier
that got stolen?” Then came a few posts from people alleging to be witnesses, and
within the span of a few minutes, it had turned into a full-on uproar with tinges of the
occult: a mysterious head that seemed to be alive, stolen by a mystery attacker.
Because there had already been people wondering whether it was the Headless
Rider’s head, some of them began to suspect that the rider had come back to retrieve
its own head.
“…What the hell is going on here?”
At some point, Yumasaki had sneaked up behind Togusa. He clenched a fist and
jabbered, “Ikebukuro’s finally about to become the ‘demon-world city of Ikebukuro’
instead! The seven days of fate are nigh! I just need to download a demon-summoning
program onto my phone or game console, and then the exhilarating survival game will
begin…! Gotta make it to the end!”
Togusa assumed this was all related to some anime or manga again. He left Yumasaki
to his excitement and looked to Seiji Yagiri and Mika out on the veranda. They were
still watching the city outside of the building, and the image without context would
look like two lovers gazing out at the skyline.
Namie mostly kept her eyes on the laptop screen, but every now and then she glanced
over her shoulder at the two figures on the balcony with distaste. When she looked at
Mika, her eyes clouded with hatred. And when she looked at Seiji, they drowned in
love.
The way her expression changed so rapidly and completely convinced Togusa that he
was much better off not getting involved with Namie.
For her part, Emilia stayed calm and smiled reassuringly, but that only made Togusa
worry that she was actually completely oblivious to what was going on.
Egor the Russian, who had seemed to be the most competent person there, left to go
searching for Shingen Kishitani, he said.
“Does this mean the most rational person here is… me?” The two owners of the
apartment were gone, so this was definitely unfamiliar territory for him. Togusa
sighed. “You gotta be kidding me…”
Well, at least it sounds like Kadota’s opened his eyes again. All we gotta do is smash
whoever ran him over. So… where do we start, and how far do we drag him behind the
van?
Even Togusa’s thoughts were far from healthy. Just then, his phone automatically
switched to the screen for an incoming call. The name listed was a familiar one.
Togusa hit the answer button and heard the raucous voice before he could even get
the phone up to his ear.
“Hello?! Togucchan?! It’s me! It’s me!”
Just as the screen had threatened, it was Karisawa trying to rupture his eardrums. But
something seemed strange about her. When she had called earlier, she had screamed
out of joy that Kadota had woken up, but this time she was more panicked than
anything.
“Whoa, what happened?! Calm down!”
“Dotachin… It’s Dotachin…”
“…What about Kadota?!” he demanded, worry creeping into his voice. Had his condition
suddenly worsened again?
“…Whassup?” asked Yumasaki, who had stopped his creepy dance in the corner of the
room and was approaching Togusa now, concerned.
“I just got a call from Dotachin’s father,” Karisawa said. She paused, and then her voice
grew even louder through the phone speaker. “He said Dotachin left a letter and
vanished from the hospital… even though they said he couldn’t walk!
“What should we do?! I’m sure Dotachin went to get even with the guy who ran him
over!”
Ikebukuro
Somewhat earlier in the day…
Black and white flashes and blurs contrasted wildly from street to street.
Above them, golden hair rose and shone, bright against the dark of night.
A bicycle colored a perfect black seemed to absorb all light that hit it, and riding atop
it was a man wearing a bartender’s vest—Shizuo Heiwajima.
He clung to Shooter the shadow bicycle with sheer arm strength alone, withstanding
a bucking, rodeo-like series of jolts and abnormal positions. The vehicle was in bicycle
form for the first time ever, and it didn’t seem to be getting the hang of the idea; it
hurtled along in a violent and awkward manner.
But at this point, they were working in perfect harmony, as if one single creature. With
each ferocious push of the pedals, Shizuo caused black shadow to spill from Shooter’s
gears, filling in the fine cracks and holes in the road to keep them moving smoothly.
Shooter raced through the night city, turning left and right, and occasionally even
grabbing the sides of buildings with its shadow to run along their surface.
After about ten minutes of riding, Shizuo heard an odd sound like metal scraping.
“…Huh?”
Shooter’s shadow rustled more fiercely than usual when the sound happened.
“What’s that sound?”
He wanted to keep pushing onward, but the sight of something troublesome in the
street ahead caused Shizuo to stop pushing the pedals. “Hang on. Come to a stop.”
Once he could tell that Shooter was slowing down, Shizuo looked to the other end of
the street again. There was a roadwork sign ahead, and there were cones at the
entrance to a narrow alley. Standing before them was a group of men in work uniforms.
But there was something wrong with them.
They weren’t getting to work at all. They were just standing at the entrance of the
work zone.
“That seems weird.”
The metal scraping sound was definitely coming from down that side street. Yet, there
didn’t seem to be any construction work happening.
Shizuo reacted to the abnormal scene by tapping Shooter’s handlebars with a finger.
“Let’s just go around the back way.”
Shooter rang its bell in a rhythmic whinny and took off through the darkness.
They made their way around the other side of the district, appearing only to the
untrained eye to leave the work zone behind. But at every other road that led into the
same area, they saw the same signs and groups of stationary workers.
It was a district of office buildings, and after work hours, the people completely
cleared out. He saw a few luxury cars along the curb that looked out of place, but since
nobody was inside, he let his attention move past them.
“…You want to go on ahead, yeah? If so, ring the bell once for me,” Shizuo said when
they were within sight of the street. Shooter’s bell rang a single time; Shizuo inhaled
and exhaled briefly and rolled his head to crack his neck.
“Guess that’s that, then. We gotta climb the side of a building,” he announced, a
preposterous solution—if not for the fact that Shizuo on his own could probably climb
the side of one of these structures. And so could Shooter, who was able to ride along
the wall to an extent now. Even without his actual owner and rider, Celty, the vehicle
could probably manage to get up, with a little help.
Shizuo began glancing around the buildings in the vicinity, looking for one that was
unlikely to attract attention. Just then, one of the men in the work outfits noticed
Shizuo. A moment later, all of them were looking straight at him.
“Oh, shit.”
Shizuo considered going somewhere else to avoid scrutiny, but he came to a stop when
he saw the workers’ eyes.
At first he thought it was the effect of the warning lights next to the roadwork sign, but
even the parts lit by the nearby streetlights were obviously abnormal.
The whites of every last worker’s eyes were red.
Shizuo had seen those eyes many times: in the park on the evening known as the Night
of the Ripper, and just a few hours ago, inside the police station where he was briefly
held.
“Okay… I get it. So these guys did something to Celty,” he said, putting it together. A few
seconds later, he told the horse, “Too bad. Celty’s my good friend.”
Deep down in his voice, there was a core of rage, hot like liquid magma. Shooter shrank
away from it—and so did the road workers who were approaching now.
“C’mon… Don’t hold back… Let’s blast straight through ’em!” Shizuo put his weight
into the pedals of the bicycle, then thrust with his feet as if he were trying to kick the
very earth with the bicycle.
Shooter channeled Shizuo’s anger, letting all that energy course into the ground.
Instantly, like a fighter jet being catapulted off the deck of an aircraft carrier, Shizuo
and Shooter shot forward toward the little alley.
They did not turn back to see the poor men under Saika’s control floating through the
air unconscious like so many sheets of paper.
Back alley
In the center of a street complex sealed off at all ends, there was a tiny intersection
among a series of buildings, where a number of alleys overlapped. There was no traffic
light; one of the alleys was barely wide enough for a motorcycle to ride down. The
other road had space for a small car to fit, but it was off-limits to cars in the first place.
It was the kind of route that only those who knew the area well would take, on foot or
on bicycle.
It was a quiet place to begin with, sparsely visited, and a number of the buildings
nearby were currently under construction or renovation. One of them had a
construction crane attached.
All of this was why Kujiragi chose this place for her hunting ground.
And thanks to those she had controlled with Saika, she was able to close off the entire
area along the bigger roads under the guise of “construction.” If the police noticed the
abnormality and investigated, the ruse would be up very easily, but thanks to her Saika
within the police force, she was able to get it officially acknowledged as a night
roadwork site.
That meant the intersection here in this block was out of direct view from the
surrounding areas, a little space entirely segregated from the rest of the city around
it.
But of course, all you had to do was look into the sky over the intersection to believe
you were in some alternate dimension isolated from the rest of the world entirely. It
was certainly the case for Seitarou Yagiri, who stood in the alley and gazed upward.
“My goodness…”
There was ample, varied emotion in his voice, and he could offer no further comment.
Instead, he turned to Kujiragi, cold sweat shining on his cheeks.
“Just to be clear, this is the Headless Rider… the dullahan’s body?”
“That is correct. The shadow has gone berserk without a rational mind governing it,
but when it calms down, it should return to a fleshy body just like a human’s again.”
“I see… This is quite a change,” Seitarou said, looking upward again.
Normally, dark night sky would be visible between the buildings. But at the moment,
there was an eerie, totally black cloud that seemed to be stretched between the
structures. It was almost as if a black aircraft of some kind had crashed and gotten
stuck between them.
Saika, in silver wire form, was tangled around the black shadow in endless ribbons,
the tiny metal ropes creaking and screeching eerily as they ground against the
shadowy thing.
“So you have total control over Saika, eh? And you can just… let it go from your body
like that?”
“My control will work for a while, even after it has detached from my hand. But if I go
too far away, it will likely revert to its katana form.”
“And I’m supposed to just pick that thing up and take it home?”
“If you have the means to contain the body once it has been freed from its current
constraints, be my guest,” Kujiragi said flatly. It wasn’t sarcasm, just a statement of fact.
Seitarou held up a flashlight without a word. He saw spears of shadow occasionally

escaping through the wire mesh and scrabbling at the sides of the buildings. He
winced and said, “I’ll pass. The kick that Shingen’s goon gave me still aches.”
“A wise choice,” Kujiragi replied before turning to the subject of her plans. “A courier
is bringing the head this way now.”
“Oh?”
“I believe that if the head is returned to the captive body, it will regain its rational mind.
If I then use Saika to again sever the head and body, it should be possible to take the
body.”
“…And will the body actually sit still if that happens?” Seitarou wondered skeptically.
“To a dullahan, the head is its memory storage,” Kujiragi explained. “When the
memories of the past return, it should automatically revert to its original personality.”
“And in that case, what will happen to its memories in Ikebukuro, as the Headless
Rider?”
“I do not know that. There is little precedent for this.”
Seitarou found it odd that she said there was little precedent, rather than none at all,
but he decided it was better not to inquire further. “I see… Well, if the memories are
erased, it will make the process of training and brainwashing simpler,” he said without
emotion.
Kujiragi’s eyes traveled downward. “If her memories were to vanish, that would make
me happier,” she mumbled, to Seitarou’s surprise.
“Why do you feel that way, too? Because if she escapes from my watch, you will not
have to worry about her vengeance?” he asked, as if it was pointless to worry about.
But Kujiragi just said, honestly and without expression, “Because it suits me better to
have a romantic rival’s memory wiped.”
“???”
This was very curious to Seitarou, but he didn’t have the chance to ask about it, because—
“Mr. P-President!”
—an employee he’d left behind along the alleyway rushed up, out of breath.
The men he’d brought with him here today were old companions who were aware of
the shady side of the business—people from before Yagiri Pharmaceuticals got bought
out by Nebula.
In other words, they were stout fellows who knew what they could handle. And yet,
the look on this man’s face was practically of sheer terror.
“What is it? Is the head here?” Seitarou asked. It didn’t seem likely that he would be
this afraid of a severed head, and he couldn’t imagine that Kujiragi’s hired courier
would be stupid enough to just walk around holding the head in the open.
So he tried to calm the employee down, assuming it was something else—but even
this wasn’t enough to stop the man from trembling in terror.
“There’s some weird guy, Mr. President… He just started rushing down the road at us,
and…!”
It was then that Seitarou, his employee, and Kujiragi all heard the whinny.
A whinny that was strangely cute. Almost like a bicycle bell.
“Lrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr……”
“Is that…?”
The Coiste Bodhar? Did it follow its owner?
Kujiragi immediately looked upward. The massive black shadow was still writhing up
there, but the movement was noticeably duller, less crazed.
Is it regaining its reason? she worried, but there was no other sign of change yet.
“…”
She couldn’t risk any trouble, though. The Coiste Bodhar, like the head, was one of the
major aspects that made the dullahan what it was. It didn’t seem capable of doing
anything on its own, but she had to be cautious.
Should she return a part of the wire-form Saika to her palm? She considered it for less
than a second before putting a stop to the idea—one of Seitarou’s men, holding a stun
rod, shot around the corner of the alley ahead and slammed into the side of a building.
He lost consciousness and slid to the ground.
“Huh…?” Seitarou gaped, too stunned to react more capably than that.
“Eeeep! I-it’s coming!” one of his men screamed and took off running past Seitarou
and Kujiragi.
“Hey! Wait! What’s coming?!” Seitarou demanded, but the man kept going down the
other side of the alley and vanished around the corner. “Worthless buffoon,” he swore
and turned to examine his fallen employee, a cold sweat now running down his back.
What in the world was it around the corner that had shot him like a human
cannonball? Despite the huge, freakish thing hanging just above them now, it was the
unknown intruder that filled Seitarou with boundless fear.
And in the next moment, it came into view:
A man in a bartending outfit riding a bicycle, slowly turning down the alley.
“…Guh?” He gawked.
So much for a company president being able to maintain his own dignity. He simply
couldn’t put two and two together. “Hey, Kujiragi… what is that?”
Kujiragi didn’t miss a beat or bat an eye. “Which are you referring to? The bicycle? Or
the man seated upon it?”
“Both, obviously!”
“…The bicycle is, I suspect, the Coiste Bodhar. The rider is Shizuo Heiwajima.”
“?”
Seitarou was confused. An individual’s name wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. So
Kujiragi elaborated as succinctly as she possibly could.
“He is the human being with the least human attributes, as far as I am aware.”
Shizuo squinted ahead, slowly pedaling on Shooter. He could see a middle-aged man
holding a flashlight and a woman with glasses who resembled a secretary.
“…Hey. Are you people with those clowns who tried to attack me?” Shizuo demanded,
temples slightly pulsing. Then Shooter moved of its own accord, pulling back into a
little wheelie. “Whoa, whoa, what’s up…?”
And then Shizuo saw it.
The huge black something trussed up between the buildings over the narrow little
alley intersection. It was hard to tell, but it was definitely darker than the night sky
and the urban illumination reflecting off the ground, like a black hole swallowing all
light.
He couldn’t tell what was going on at first, but when he saw the occasional spear of
shadow emerging from the mass, Shizuo recognized a similarity to something he was
quite familiar with.
“Is that… Celty?” he muttered. Shooter rang the bell once in affirmation. “Hey…! Celty!
Can you hear me?!” he called out, with no response.
Shizuo clenched his teeth and turned to the middle-aged man. “What the hell did you
do to her?”
He got off Shooter and put his hands on the walls of the narrow alleyway, blocking the
other man’s path. The man took a step back, properly intimidated.
However, the secretary-like woman stepped forward and replied, “I will answer that.”
“…What?”
“Yes, what is above our heads now is what you once called Celty Sturluson. But at this
moment, it is nothing but a monster without reason and rationale.”
“…”
The woman spoke in an utterly matter-of-fact way, despite the feral-tiger menace that
Shizuo posed. She was neither helpful nor malicious but simply stated the facts
mechanically.
“What are you people after?”
“She… Pardon me, what used to be ‘she,’ is now nothing more than a product for a
transaction,” the woman revealed, to her companion’s shock.
“Um, Kujiragi—?”
“There is no point in hiding the facts,” the woman named Kujiragi stated crisply before
turning back to Shizuo. “She is not a human, nor a pet, nor an endangered animal. She
is just a freak. I am engaging in the business of hunting her and selling her to a wealthy
buyer—that is all. You have no good reason to interfere.”
Scrunch.
Something crumbled. The sound came from the vicinity of Shizuo’s right hand, which
rested against the building wall.
In fact, his fist was about half-buried in the concrete surface. He had simply grasped it
with the power of his fingers, like squeezing through wet tofu.
“…”
The middle-aged man froze, but Kujiragi did not react in any way. He seemed to find
her lack of reaction reassuring, as he said, “She’s right. We’re not engaging in some
wicked crime. It’s just business. It doesn’t violate any law. After all, there’s no legal
recognition of monsters, is there? All I want to do is pay money for something that
should not exist in the first place. I would appreciate if you stayed out of this.”
Shizuo clenched his teeth and sucked in a deep breath.
“…I see your argument. You seem to have your reasons,” he said, surprisingly calm by
his standards. He looked at them and then up at Celty. “I don’t complain when the
motorcycle cops chase Celty around. She bears fault for what she does. It all makes
sense. And maybe you folks have a reason that makes as much sense as the cops riding
those bikes.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“But—” Shizuo took a step forward. That was all it took to immediately compress the
atmosphere into something more oppressive. “—I don’t give a shit about what the law
says. Celty’s a very good friend of mine.”
The middle-aged man felt as though a lion that had been sitting calmly inside a small
cage with him had suddenly stood up. Anger even infused Shizuo’s breathing. He
walked slowly forward as he talked.
“And now you’re going… to treat her like a thing… to sell her off…” He leaped forward
into a run with all the velocity of a cannonball. “And you expect me… to stand there
and watch?!”
Rubber smoked on the surface of the asphalt where it had been rubbed off the soles
of his shoes. The businessman was helpless in the face of this superhuman advance.
He couldn’t move fast enough to avoid Shizuo’s oncoming arm, which was more like
some heavy industrial machine arm than mere bear or tiger fangs as it closed in on his
throat.
But when he was just inches away, the distance between the two men suddenly grew.
“Gblerk!”
Kujiragi grabbed the man’s collar and hurled him violently backward. He flew about
ten yards and landed flat on his back. In other words, she had thrown a full-grown
man, one-handed, at a speed faster than Shizuo was charging. While she wasn’t as
powerful as Shizuo, it was still baffling strength for a thin woman like her.
“K-Kujiragi, why did you…?” The man gurgled, feeling as if a roller coaster had just
deposited him onto the ground.
Without turning back to look, Kujiragi told the man, “Please keep your distance.”
Her attention returned to the obstacle before her: Shizuo Heiwajima.
The moment she faced him, the Saika binding the shadow cloud overhead began to
rustle. The wire-form blade screeched exuberantly, scraping against its own length.
“…I did not want to draw your presence here.”
To Saika, Shizuo Heiwajima was just another target of her affections, but an extremely
desirable one. The various “children” of Haruna Niekawa’s Saika had been terrified of
Shizuo ever since the Night of the Ripper—but Anri’s and Kujiragi’s Saikas considered
him to be a very special human.
Wary of her precision control over Saika going awry, Kujiragi had tried to use a “child”
within the police department to hold Shizuo off, but it seemed as though there had
been trouble with Izaya Orihara that had caused that to go awry.
“What? Whaddaya mean?” Shizuo demanded, frowning.
Kujiragi stood in his path, her face flat. “I am only speaking to myself.” She gave a little
wave of her head and stared Shizuo right in the eyes. “You said that Celty is your
friend.”
“Yeah, so what?”
“Can you still call Celty Sturluson a friend in that state?”
Is Celty a friend or not?
With that simple question, Kujiragi raised her eyes to the sky. Shizuo followed her gaze
to glance at the wriggling thing up there—indeed, it wasn’t a human or any other
existing animal.
It created endless little spears of shadow through openings in the wires, ceaselessly
scrabbling against the walls of the nearby buildings. It was a pure monster, one that
exuded no higher intelligence beyond instinct.
That was Celty now.
But Shizuo wasted no time in saying, “Of course I can. What’s the problem?”
He gave her a look like Why would you even ask that question?
Kujiragi’s eyes widened just the tiniest bit. She asked, “How can you say that a monster
that has abandoned its intelligence and human form is a friend?”
“Is this really the situation for a question like that?” he shot back. It was hard to tell
whether Kujiragi really meant him harm, and he found he was rapidly losing a target
for his anger. “Listen, all this stuff about monsters? I’ve been called that and worse
since I was a kid. I’ve snapped and lost sight of everything around me and given Celty
headaches on more than one or two occasions.”
He squeezed the wall he was holding as he thought about his past experiences. The
concrete crumbled through his fingers into mere dust. “But even then, she would hear
me out afterward. She didn’t write me off.”
He looked up and repeated, “She would hear me out.”
His eyes left Kujiragi to find an emergency stairwell on a building just ahead. It was
fixed to the outside of the second floor, the kind that had a ladder that could be
lowered to the ground in case of emergency. “So now it’s my turn to hear her out.”
Shizuo headed past Kujiragi toward the emergency stairs. He didn’t know what was
going on with Celty now, but he might as well start by breaking those wires holding
her in place.
Suddenly, Kujiragi’s hand was around his wrist.
“Hey, stop it. I’m not one to hit a…”
He stopped partway when it occurred to him. The slender woman was holding him
back with a strength that was unthinkable given her size.
And yet, he couldn’t see her expression from here.
“…I feel… jealous.”
Shizuo detected the tiniest bit of emotion in her voice, something that had not existed
before this point.
“Of you… and of Celty Sturluson.”
It might have been jealousy, as she said, but it sounded more like mourning.
“I never had anyone to hear me out.”
While her strength defied her appearance, it was far from Shizuo’s. He could brush her
off if he wanted, but Shizuo wasn’t sure whether he should.
Then he heard Shooter’s bell ringing over his shoulder. As if it were trying to rush him
along.
“Oh… sorry, I’ll go help Celty now,” he said briefly, realizing that Celty should be his
priority at the moment, and tried to work himself free. “Look, I don’t care about your
problems… but if you want, I can listen to ’em later.”
He put his other hand on her shoulder to pry her grip off.
“Requesting cease of activity,” said a familiar voice behind his back.
Shizuo stopped yet again and turned around slowly.
It was indeed a familiar woman standing there. She was holding up a gun with a
silencer as if out of some movie, in the kind of pose that those movie stars assumed.
She wasn’t like Horada, who had once shot him. This was the stance of a professional.
Shizuo sighed and said, “Vorona…”
The woman whose name he called felt her mouth dry, and she glared at him.
“I desire for you to be pacified, with absence of resistance… Sir Shizuo.”

Alleyway
Neither Seitarou nor Kujiragi knew that Shizuo and his new steed, Shooter, were not
the only ones who had broken through the blockade around the alleyway.
When Seitarou’s employee ran down the other end of the path, he noticed that the
men in roadwork outfits under Saika’s control were no longer there. But he wasn’t
going to be bothered with a detail like that. He needed to get away and call for help as
soon as possible.
As he ran, he took out his phone so that he could get in touch with the others in
Seitarou’s stable—until a jolt hit his jaw like an electric current, and he blacked out.
As she dragged the man into a trash-collection area in the alleyway, Mikage Sharaku
thought, Not only was he no sweat, he didn’t even notice I was there. What an amateur.
And those slaves of Saika were no big deal, either.
There were a number of men in work uniforms there, just as unconscious as Seitarou’s
henchman. They’d all taken fierce blows to the jaw or temple, and they wouldn’t
recover for quite some time.
I was hoping I’d come across someone with at least a little backbone.
She thought of the people at Rakuei Gym, the business her family owned. Even beyond
the circle of her own relatives, the tougher members of the dojo were not easy to
conquer, even for Mikage. There was one young man, named Kisa, who was attracting
attention for the speed at which he picked up techniques.
I haven’t sparred with that big lug yet, though…
He was a promising newcomer who boasted the greatest height in the dojo, but she
just wasn’t that interested.
It’s more fun to fight against the guys who really wanna kill you, Mikage reflected. She
sighed and tossed Seitarou’s follower into the trash.
“I gotta say,” she murmured, looking up at the crane hanging over the construction
site, “he really does love his heights…”
Construction site, upper area
Perched on the edge of the building frame, next to the construction crane, was Izaya
Orihara.
The beams were still exposed at this unfinished stage. Around the platform was a
heavy vinyl curtain meant to keep the work tools, materials, and people from falling
off the side. Izaya stood where there was no scaffolding or vinyl for protection,
surveying the area below.
One good gust of wind could have pushed him off the edge, but Izaya happily stood as
far out as he could go to watch the proceedings below.
“I guess this was the right building. That’s a good sign.”
Even a building under construction would, of course, have security guards. But said
guards were currently unconscious.
A few of the Dragon Zombie motorcycle gang’s members stood behind Izaya, but Kine
was not one of them. He had said “being an accessory to murder isn’t my job” and left
earlier.
“That sounds just like Mr. Kine. He pretends that his old self never existed,” Izaya
muttered, watching the area at the foot of the building. “It’s like they’re setting it all
up for me. All the annoying monsters gathered up in one place.”
It would be perfect if Anri Sonohara were there, too… but I suppose that would be too
much to ask.
When he’d gotten word of the abnormal roadwork going on, he’d had the Dragon
Zombies check it out and learned that the workers were likely under Saika’s control.
Assuming that something was going on, he took those followers of his and sent them
into a building under construction. The results he got back were greater than he had
ever imagined.
That enormous black mass stuck between the buildings had to be Celty. He didn’t
know what had happened, but it seemed clear that it was the work of Kasane Kujiragi,
who was down on the ground below. The president of Yagiri Pharmaceuticals
appeared as well, giving him an idea as to the connections at play.
If Yagiri Pharmaceuticals takes control of the Headless Rider’s body, that removes one
element of uncertainty. Then I just have to figure out how to eliminate Kasane Kujiragi.
For the last few minutes, he’d been calculating his plans to this end—until the sight of
the man who showed up after Seitarou completely obliterated those thoughts.
Shizuo Heiwajima.
His absolute archrival, the man he’d just sworn to eliminate for good. Why was he
here? Izaya could only wonder at the sequence of events that had brought him there,
but such questions were ultimately useless.
Izaya Orihara thanked humanity, rather than God. Through whatever means, fate had
brought Shizuo Heiwajima there at this moment.
But Izaya’s pure joy that welled up in his breast at the incredible coincidence turned
into irritation and hatred upon recognizing Shizuo.
He considered, once again, that he and Shizuo Heiwajima were never meant to mix.
Just the knowledge that he was living somewhere in the world was enough to spoil the
innocent joy within Izaya.
Why did he hate that man so much?
Perhaps this question came to him out of a premonition that it would likely be the last
time he ever needed to ask it.
What a funny thing. I think that no matter how we met, I would always have wanted to
kill Shizuo Heiwajima.
He had once been told—he forgot by whom—that his hatred of Shizuo might have
stemmed from some kind of complex. Did he despise Shizuo because he felt the other
man had something he lacked?
That was probably part of it. But that was only one reason, and he knew it wasn’t
enough to explain the entire magnificent structure of his hatred.
A variety of reasons came to mind. He had dozens—perhaps even hundreds—all of

which were true, but none of which felt like more than just a small part of the puzzle.
In the end, there was really just one reason that he hated Shizuo. It was likely
something he shared with the other man. And the fact that they had even this one thing
in common made him sick to his stomach.
The reason was simple.
He just really pisses me off.
All of it, the grudge and the hatred, began with that very first impression.
And so Izaya had to accept that he really could kill a person for a reason that simple.
He let his eyes close, then opened them slowly.
It was the same little smile Izaya always wore.
With his everyday expression on again, he thanked coincidence for bringing him to
this moment and looked to the foot of the building once more.
Shizuo and Kujiragi were grabbing each other, and someone had a gun trained on them
both.
I guess that must be Vorona.
With the creaking of monstrous Celty and the wires around her as background
material, an enraptured Izaya murmured, “Ahhh… this is a very good position…”
“If they just separate a bit more… I might not have to use the crane…”
Alleyway
They had no idea they were being watched from above.
And if Shizuo looked up, his attention would be drawn to Celty anyway.
Not that he had the wherewithal to look upward at the moment.
“What are you holding there, Vorona…? That’s not a toy, is it?” Shizuo asked her.
“This is not a demonstration,” she said. “I am sincerely holding this firearm.”
She was wearing a very eye-catching riding suit. A large messenger bag was on the
ground a short distance behind her. It hadn’t been there before, so she must have
brought it with her.
“What are you doing here?”
“I am in the midst of a different manner of commerce than the duties I perform with
you. It is impossible to shut my eyes to violence against my client.”
“Listen, we don’t have a rule against doing side jobs, but at least be smart about what
you pick, yeah?” Shizuo drawled.
“…Your reason for being composed is indecipherable. Do you have some matter with
which to question me?” she lobbed back.
Shizuo considered what to do. In the corner of his vision, he could see Shooter’s
shadow wavering with seeming indecision.
Recognizing the situation, Kujiragi let go carefully, so as not to agitate Shizuo. Her face
was as emotionless as before. He still wasn’t quite able to decipher exactly what kind
of expression she’d been making earlier—but now wasn’t the time for that.
Shizuo lowered his hands and said, “Question you? Well, I dunno if she’s your client or
what, but you’re pointing the gun to protect this chick, right? I let go, so you can put
that away now.”
“…”
Vorona looked as if she was going to lower the gun but was undecided about
something. “There is a matter of which I must apprise you, Sir Shizuo.”
“What is it?”
“Within the first fortnight of May, inside a schooling facility of Toshima Ward, you
should have experienced being stabbed with a Spetsnaz knife by a woman wearing a
helmet.”
“Oh yeah. That happened.” He sighed deeply. “That was you, right?”
“…”
“Look, I’m not an idiot. It was obvious from the riding suit,” he said, which was
perfectly true. But he seemed to feel bad about saying it. “Plus, even beyond that… I
just kinda had a suspicion about it…”
“I cannot consent to the answer that you were cognizant. It is a house built on sand. If
you testify that you are aware of all of creation, then why did you not shatter my
vertebrae with your strength?!”
Even in these moments of psychological vulnerability, Vorona’s verbiage was nearly

baffling. The more serious she felt about something, the more extreme her use of the
Japanese language became. It seemed she felt that the more overwrought and obscure
the choice of words, the more polite it was. But to everyone else, it just made her
harder to understand.
“…I’m used to the way you talk by now,” Shizuo remarked. “And I’m not gonna do
anything to someone I worked with long enough to get used to.”
“It differs from your personality. It is indecipherable,” Vorona protested, lowering her
gun just a bit.
“Look… what makes me snap is when things ain’t right,” he said, eyeing the gun. “If
you’ve got a proper reason for shooting me that’s fair, then shoot me or stab me or
what have you; I won’t get mad. The only exception is if some guy I’ve never seen
before shoots me. Whether he’s got a good reason or not, that’ll piss me off.”
In fact, Shizuo did have a wide range of fury. When Seiji Yagiri stabbed him with a pen
and gave a preposterous answer as to why, he had thrown the young man quite hard.
But once he understood that those actions were done out of honest love, he let him off
with a restrained head-butt. When Chikage Rokujou challenged him to a direct fight,
the emotion he used as fuel was something other than anger.
The downside of this was that when faced with something unfair or dishonest, he
would flip out over even the smallest of slights; it was his biggest flaw.
“…”
Vorona silently looked on.
“C’mon, Vorona. What is it you actually want to do? Just tell me that first,” he said, an
honest question addressed to the first junior work associate he’d ever known. “I’m
your senior, so the least you can do is look to me for help, yeah?”
What…?
Her heart began to waver at this question. Or perhaps it had already been unsteady,
and this was just the first time she actually noticed it.
What am I… doing? I want to destroy Sir Shizuo. To understand and confirm the strength
of humanity.
It was a desire she’d always held about those who were considered powerful, going
back to her days in Russia. It was one of Vorona’s purest desires, as twisted as it was.
But now that she had experienced ordinary life here with Shizuo and Tom, there was
another emotion budding within her, beyond the simple urge for destruction.
No… I am… not allowed to have an ordinary life. Why did I choose to betray Father and
President Lingerin…?
She shook off her moment of weakness and tried to view Shizuo as an enemy again.
But even then, she couldn’t keep her heart steady.
No, not like this. Sir Shizuo and I must crush each other with everything on the line… or
all of this is meaningless… It cannot happen in this way, as a kind of afterthought…
Vorona was shocked to realize her mind was finding excuse after excuse not to shoot
Shizuo at this moment. Now there was no way she could argue against Slon’s
assessment that she had grown tepid and soft.
What…?
What do I want to do?
Flying by the seat of his pants, Seitarou suddenly yelled at Vorona, “H-hey! What are
you doing? Shoot him dead right now!”
“…Hey, old man.” Shizuo’s voice caused all the air around them to freeze. “That don’t
sound like it’s exactly right, now does it…?”
There was a clear note of irritation in his statement. He turned around slowly and met
Seitarou’s gaze. The look caused the other man to tremble. It froze Seitarou in place,
causing the muscles in his hips and back to dislocate slightly, paralyzing him with pain.
“…!”
“When you kill a person… you gotta be prepared for them to kill you first… So if you’re
gonna order Vorona to kill me, that means you’re tellin’ her to accept dyin’ in
retaliation, right? So you’re sayin’…you want my precious coworker to perform a job
that you know might kill her…? Is that it?”
“W-wait! I… I’m…!”
Seitarou tried to scrabble backward, hands and feet flailing, like an insect. The man
who had barely batted an eye at the various freakish things he’d seen today now felt
his heart leaping into his throat with terror at the slowly approaching man in the
bartender’s vest.
The distance between them closed without mercy before Seitarou could so much as
regret his decision.
“…”
Vorona hadn’t recovered from her confusion in any way. She tried to point the gun at
Shizuo as he closed in on Seitarou. But Kujiragi placed a hand over her arm and
motioned her to lower the weapon.
“You were not hired personally by President Yagiri. You do not have an obligation to
obey his orders.”
“…”
“Both you and I are being misled by personal feelings. My rule from experience is that
bringing personal sentiments into work will lead to bad results. It should be reflected
upon and learned from.”
In Kujiragi’s head was the image of Ruri Hijiribe, whom she had once treated as a
transactional product.
If only she hadn’t let personal sentiment move her. Or perhaps if she had let it motivate
her to save the girl, it might have resulted in a different outcome. She shook her head—
it was pointless to wonder now.
“Let us pull back now, to sever this vicious cycle.”
“Wh-what?! Kujiragi! What are you doing?! You have to save me!”
Seitarou couldn’t hear the women’s voices, but he could tell from their actions that
something bad was happening.
Kujiragi then cruelly informed him in a businesslike manner, “My duties for the day do
not include your personal protection, President Yagiri.”
“Wha…?”
She held out her palm to indicate the large bag Vorona had brought, and she gave him
a deep, formal bow. “As we agreed, I have brought you one of the products. I shall
deliver to you the dullahan body and Saika at a later date.”
“W-wait! Isn’t that the dullahan’s body? That thing atop the buildings?! What are you
thinking?”
“That it will be difficult to recover it at this moment.”
If they used the contents of Vorona’s bag, it should be possible to get it from its current
state back to the original humanoid form. But she wasn’t anywhere near confident that
she could keep a newly cognizant dullahan trapped with Saika and deal with Shizuo
Heiwajima. And with the way the cursed sword was aflutter at Shizuo’s presence, she
wasn’t sure it would even be successful at keeping the dullahan trapped for long.
So she concluded, with that robotic flatness of affect, a most human of rationales.
“I do value my life, after all.”
As she listened to Kujiragi speak and Seitarou wail, Vorona lowered her gun.
I can’t. No matter what I do in this situation, I cannot fulfill my desire. To destroy Sir
Shizuo will require… more resolution than I am able to summon at this moment.
This side job was, in fact, intended to give her that resolution, but she wasn’t prepared
to run across Shizuo right in the middle of it like this. Like Kujiragi had said, it was
probably best to withdraw now.
Vorona steadied her breathing, trying to control herself, and looked up at the night
sky. She saw the shadow mass again and squinted.
But at the same time, she noticed something wrong. It was something she noticed only
because her past work history had required her to be very observant of details.
Do they engage in construction at such a late hour in Japan?
The black creature was tangled up in wires just about in the center of the space
between buildings.
But above it, near the top of the building currently under construction, there were
bright lights shining. Not the red warning lights for the benefit of airplanes, but
something brighter, like halogen lamps.
If this was true, then the workers up there could easily witness what was going on
below. Curious, she moved a few steps to get a better view of the top of the building.
The results were still suspicious. She could see a forklift perched right near the edge
of the structure. It had to be very close to the edge indeed if she could see it from the
street. She squinted, finding that rather dangerous, and noticed something else.
The payload end of the forklift was actually extending over the edge—and it was
loaded up with building materials of some kind.
Right next to it, there was a small human figure…
…!
And then Vorona realized what it was the person on the roof was about to do.
“Sir Shizuo!”
She was running before she knew it—right for Shizuo, who was still approaching
Seitarou Yagiri with laser focus.
Just scant seconds later, she slammed hard into Shizuo’s back.
“?!”
He lost his balance and stumbled several steps forward. “Hey, what the hell was that
for, Vor—?” he shouted, turning back to protest.
And he witnessed a cavalcade of steel beams and rebar crashing down onto the spot
where he’d stood just seconds before.
“Wh… Wh-wha…?”
Seitarou was now well and truly stunned at what was happening around him. He
couldn’t be blamed for his abject terror, given that he, too, had just been in that spot
moments before. If he hadn’t been backing away, he would be dead right now.
One of the bars bounced and landed right next to him, but Seitarou was unable to
budge even the tiniest bit.
Kujiragi’s eyes were bulging; she had no idea what had just happened. Apparently, this
was not part of her plans.
But at this point, Seitarou didn’t care anymore; he just cursed fate and prayed that the
employee of his who ran away would come back with reinforcements to save him—
the employee who, unbeknownst to him, was currently unconscious in a trash-pickup
area.
Shizuo was just as immobile as the rest of them.
He was so unable to process what had just happened that he even forgot to breathe.
All he could see was an endless pile of steel beams sprayed around a tiny, cramped
alley.
And before him, trapped under one of the beams—Vorona.
“…Vorona!”
He snapped out of it, racing to her side and hauling the beam off her with one hand.
Her body was still visibly intact, so it hadn’t been a direct hit straight off the drop. But
the metal materials had clearly struck her on the bounce, as her suit was ripped in
several places, the skin beneath bloodied here and there.
“Hey, are you all right? Vorona! Hey!”
“…Sir… Shizuo.”
“Oh, good! You’re alive! You’ll be okay!”
“Worry is… unnecessary. I had an evasive calculation, but I was unable to avoid the
jumping building materials.”
Her speech was much more understandable than usual, which was probably a good
sign. It was hard to tell whether the force of the steel beams was affected by the bounce
off the pavement or whether it was just thanks to her excellent physical fitness, but
she didn’t seem to be in mortal danger.
“You idiot… Don’t risk your life for my sake…”

Indeed, Shizuo might have taken the hit directly and lived. But in the moment, Vorona
had feared for his life and pushed him out of the path of the debris. Now Shizuo was
full of regret and shame that she had been injured in his place.
He wanted to say something to her—but the situation would not allow him to.
“Sir Shizuo!”
Vorona, lying flat on her back, gaped at what she witnessed. Shizuo put two and two
together and looked upward.
What he saw was quite abnormal, indeed.
Falling from the roof of the office building under construction was the entire forklift.
First it tilted like a seesaw, until the entire body began to flip over—and it fell right
toward them, like a scene in a movie.
Time flowed very slowly for Shizuo as it happened before his eyes.
Just before the forklift fell.
Standing to its side.
Looking down at them.
A man, his face unclear.
Just for an instant—even the color of his clothes was warped by the halogen lights.
But with a foreboding that was close to certainty, Shizuo spoke the name that came to
his mind.
“…Izaya?”
And then the forklift was plummeting toward Shizuo and Vorona.
Seitarou wailed, and Shizuo secretly hoped it would simply flatten him. It never even
occurred to Shizuo that any of the debris might strike and kill him in the process.
But no one could believe what happened next.
Shizuo leaped to his feet and rushed at the falling forklift to give it an extremely simple
and powerful shoulder tackle.
In sumo terms, this would be known as a buchikamashi, a violent shoulder strike.
Shizuo, of course, had no experience in actual combat disciplines. He was just

following an instinct that told him to give the falling object a body blow. But the impact
of such a blow at zero range would be devastating.
The vending machines Shizuo typically threw weighed around six hundred pounds.
Depending on the contents, they might get up over a thousand.
But the forklift falling down on them easily cleared a ton. And it was falling from the
top of the building—even if it wasn’t the final height of the finished project.
It was a weight that spelled certain death—but Shizuo literally knocked it away. The
moment he made contact, the forklift’s trajectory changed dramatically, accompanied
by a tremendous crash as the vehicle bounced off at an angle and slammed into the
partially built structure, breaking through the concrete wall and tumbling inside it.
Following the racket of the wall’s destruction, silence reigned over the alley. No one
was in any position to speak.
Unavoidable death for any other human being had been no match for the pure physical
strength and hardy body of Shizuo Heiwajima.
Even Vorona, whose life had just been saved by this, was unable to believe what had
just transpired.
She’d seen Shizuo kick cars like soccer balls. She knew that knives couldn’t stab
through his skin.
But she had never been cognizant that he was allowed to be this ridiculous. Would
bullets even pass through his body? She was in the presence of a superhero out of an
American comic book. Vorona’s definition of human was crumbling before her eyes.
“…You okay?” Shizuo asked, breaking the silence he had created. He smiled with relief
when he saw that Vorona wasn’t freshly injured. “Yeah, you seem okay to me.”
Then he tilted his neck to crack it and turned his back to her, rotating his left shoulder.
“Sorry… Vorona.”
“…?”
“I’m about to do somethin’ that ain’t right. I can’t complain if you shoot or stab me for
this one.” Then he turned toward Shooter, which was farther down the alley, and
bowed. “And you… You looked to me for help outta this situation… I’m sorry. When
Celty’s back to normal, you can kick me all you want.”
If you judged him on words alone, he might seem even calmer than usual.
But everyone in his physical presence could tell—even Seitarou, who didn’t know
Shizuo at all—that something else was behind his words.
Anger.
Pure, simple, endless emotion.
Shizuo was a fiery mentality compressed to its most potent state, walking in human
form.
The words he’d just emitted to Vorona and Shooter were probably the last impurities
of other emotions before he burned them all away.
Vorona, Seitarou, and even Kujiragi could all imagine what would happen once he had
finished expelling everything that held him back—and they felt an itch from deep in
their bowels that urged them to run.
When Shizuo had seen Vorona outside the police station, he’d felt the greatest rage
he’d ever felt well up inside him. But within hours of that, he’d been acting normally.
After that, he’d tossed a teen into the air and had a talk with Shooter, which even
Shizuo had thought was a sign that his anger had fully subsided.
But he’d been wrong.
He’d thought that pushing his emotions underneath the surface meant his anger had
calmed. But all it meant was that the actual thing lurking at the pit of his emotional
center had not allowed that anger to be expressed.
He instinctually knew that this tremendous rage, fiery enough to evaporate boiling
magma, could be reserved for only one man.
And there he was.
Having just maliciously injured Shizuo’s coworker Vorona.
Shizuo strode forward, directly into the construction site, through the hole the forklift
had blasted in the building’s wall.
As he did so, Vorona noticed that Shizuo’s right arm was dangling limp from the
shoulder and seemingly immobile.
“…Sir Shizuo.”
But she couldn’t stop him.
It felt as if stopping him now would be akin to defiling something sacred. Perhaps it
was some cheap illusive form of religion in her heart, born of her admiration for
human strength.
In any case, there was no one present who could stop Shizuo now.
Shizuo entered the building and began to slowly climb the stairs.
His phone received an incoming call signal. Without taking his eyes off the stairs
ahead, Shizuo accepted the call and put the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Shizu.”
It was the voice of the man who had just tried to kill him—and Vorona.
“So that didn’t kill you, huh? You really are quite a spectacular monster. But the concept
of you protecting a human being is nothing short of farcical.”
“…”
“Maybe I brought this up before. Do you think saving people is going to make them like
you? Oh, but maybe you feel something special for that Vorona girl, perhaps? I had you
pegged for the pedo type, the way you were looking at the Awakusu-kai mistress. But I
guess a literal monster being a figurative monster is just a bridge too far, eh?”
“…”
“By the way, are you sure you ought to be abandoning Celty? Do I need to point out what
an absolutely evil person that Kujiragi woman you let escape is?” he mocked, both insult
and warning in one, as he so often did.
Shizuo said nothing. He just kept climbing the stairs. Only when he was about halfway
up the building did he finally speak.
“Izaya.” His voice was calm, betraying not a shred of anger.
“…What is it?” Izaya replied.
Shizuo’s voice was still calm.
“…So long.”
It was the last remaining shred of Shizuo’s sense of reason.
“…”
Once Izaya had confirmed that there would be no follow-up, he gave his own parting
words before hanging up.
“Yeah, good-bye.”
His voice, too, was calmer than it had ever been before.
One wouldn’t suspect that they were about to engage in a brutal fight to the death.
A bit later, Vorona and Kujiragi ventured into the building.
“Do you really intend to follow him?”
“…I deliberated the necessity to see it through. Stopping me is meaningless.”
“You might suffer directly.”
“Your assistance is not required,” said Vorona, who wobbled toward the stairs despite
the wounds all over her body.
Kujiragi, who was unharmed, just shook her head. “I suspect that attack was the work
of Izaya Orihara. He is the savior who gave me my freedom but is also a clear and
dangerous enemy. I will need to ascertain the outcome.”
“…” Vorona continued in silence.
Kujiragi followed behind her. Inside this building, she could still maintain her link to
Saika. If Izaya and Shizuo were to take each other out, she could then collect the
dullahan’s body and safely perform the final transaction.
But while this calculation was for the benefit of her business, the truth was that she
also wanted to see the conclusion of Shizuo and Izaya’s clash.
Surprised that she had this looky-loo sentiment within herself, Kujiragi walked
steadily behind Vorona. But right when they were about to reach the stairs, a voice
stopped them.
“All right, ladies, that’s far enough.”
They turned back to see a young woman. She looked like a fighter of some kind, based
on the toughness and litheness of her physique.
“Sorry. But Izaya told me not to let anyone else inside,” she said with a shrug.
“When we announce a refusal, what is the state of the outcome?” Verona asked.
“…You must be Slon’s partner, huh?”
“!”
Vorona’s eyes widened at the mention of her partner’s name.
“And you must know about Slon, too,” the woman said to Kujiragi, but she gave no
reaction, either affirmative or negative.
Mikage Sharaku twisted and waved her body left and right.
“It’s no fun fighting against someone injured… but if you really insist, I can play with
you for a while,” she said, sounding bored about it. She glanced at the ceiling. “What’s
happening up there is probably the world’s stupidest and most meaningless fight to
the death.”
She shook out her limbs and put on a rare smile.
“But for whatever reason, I just don’t feel like letting anyone interrupt it.”
Alleyway
“Th-the head… Must at least recover the head,” Seitarou muttered to himself, writhing
along the ground like an insect. He made his way through the mess of steel beams and
rebar, fighting against the pain in his back.
But just when he was one pace away from reaching the bag Vorona had left on the
ground in the alley, a pale shadow swooped in out of nowhere and snatched it up.
“!”
When Seitarou looked up, he was aghast.
Standing there in a white gas mask was the Nebula scientist Shingen Kishitani.
“Shingen…!”
“Fwa-ha-ha-ha, look at you now, Seitarou. It reminds me of when you would beg me
on hands and knees as students.”
“Shut your lying mouth! I never begged you for anything! Why are you here?!”
“Hmph. I thought it would be a good opportunity to falsify some old tales of school,
but it seems to have failed right out of the gate,” Shingen said, his shoulders drooping
theatrically. He took a few steps away from Seitarou and made a show of opening the
bag. “I’ve been watching this all from the shadows. I have to say, that Shizuo really is
something. I nearly unleashed my bladder when he struck that forklift. Did your
drawers stay as dry as mine, I wonder?”
“Answer my question!”
“I heard that Miss Kasane had kidnapped my son. I figured that following you would
lead me to the right place, and sure enough…”
“Your son…? What do you mean?” wondered Seitarou, who knew nothing about
Shinra’s abduction. When Shingen pulled the head out of the bag, Seitarou’s voice went
ragged. “Oh! Ohhh… what a sight for sore eyes… Such beauty! That belongs to me! Give
it here!”
“But of course. I am a gentleman. When I find something that belongs to someone else,
I turn it in to the police… or to the owner directly.”
Owner. The choice of words caused the breath to catch in Seitarou’s throat.
“You… You don’t mean…”
“Well, how fortunate that the owner happens to be so close by! A sure sign of my own
good virtue!” Shingen exclaimed. He looked up—at where the cloud of shadow was
still held prisoner by Saika’s wire cage.
“W-wait, Shingen! Your son is the one I’m thinking of, right? He’s in love with the
dullahan’s body, yes?!”
“I will not deny it. Oh, my son and his troublesome interests. How can he consort with
a woman who won’t even call me Papa or Father?” Shingen joked.
“Wait!” Seitarou shouted. “Don’t give her back the head! According to Kujiragi, it might
completely erase all of her memory of life in Ikebukuro!”
He wasn’t worried for Shinra’s sake, of course. It was just more likely that if the
dullahan was restored to normal, Shingen would snatch away everything he’d been
working toward—and his warning was an attempt to prevent that.
Shingen just laughed and shrugged. “I suppose that is quite possible. As a researcher
for Nebula, if I were on the clock, my first priority would have to be bringing back the
head… but while on vacation, I cannot help but want to run an experiment to see if
putting the head back on the body will really erase its memories or not!”
“You would ruin your own son’s life?!”
“Oh, he’ll be fine. Shinra’s a tough kid. If Celty loses all her memories, he’ll just start
the whole twenty years over again!”
“You… You knave!” Seitarou roared.
Shingen ignored him and grandiosely announced, “Life is an endless process of trial
and error! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! And away we go!”
With that, he hurled the head straight upward.
It went only a few dozen feet and bounced harmlessly off the wall of the second floor.
“…”
“…”
The beautiful woman’s head hit the ground and rolled.
In the embarrassing silence that followed, Shingen crossed his arms and proudly
declared, “It is said that the human head weighs between six and eighteen pounds.
Celty’s head was on the lighter side; I’d wager closer to nine. Can you hurl a nine-
pound dumbbell up to the top of a building? I certainly cannot!”
Seitarou stared at him, aghast, but Shingen merely hid behind his white gas mask and
excuses. “What did I just tell you? Life is a process of trial and error.”
And then a man appeared from behind Shingen and scooped up the head. “Are you
certain you’re using that phrase correctly?”
Shingen glanced at him and pointed forcefully to the sky. “Aha! The experiment resumes!
Your turn now, Egor!”
Egor smirked uncomfortably at the obnoxiousness of Shingen’s command but

proceeded to take off his jacket to use it as a sort of primitive sling into which he placed
the head. The next moment, he rotated rapidly and hurled the head high into the air.
“Nooooooo! That belongs to meeeeee!” Seitarou cried, the sound echoing off the walls
of the alley like a movie effect.
The head shot upward like a cannonball until it reached the shadow cloud trapped
inside the wires.
And Shooter, which had been watching this unfold in bicycle form, instantly transformed
into a horse.
Building under construction, first floor
“…”
The women inside the building faced off in silent tension, until Kujiragi suddenly
looked up into the corner—in the direction of her wire-form Saika.
“What’s up?” wondered Mikage, without losing any of her battle preparedness. Kujiragi
did not answer immediately.
Eventually, she sighed without adjusting her features and said, “I suppose it’s true…
Shizuo really is the wild card.”
“?” “?”
Mikage and Vorona merely glanced at her, punctuation marks over their heads. She
elaborated sadly, “The final transaction was a failure.
“With Saika distracted, I was unable to keep her under control.”
Building under construction, top floor
Izaya Orihara sat on the lip of the building, watching the scene unfolding below as he
waited for the arrival of his archenemy.
He’d already evacuated the Dragon Zombies from the rooftop. He knew that the
average motorcycle-gang member would do little more than briefly delay Shizuo
Heiwajima. He might pass them on the way up and beat them to a pulp, but that wasn’t
Izaya’s concern.
There was one odd thing happening under his duly watchful eye. Saika’s wires
snapped and broke, falling down to the center of the alley intersection below.
Then the huge mass of shadow contracted all at once and took the form of a human
figure. The figure cast out little shadow tendrils like a spiderweb to stand upon,
making it look as if it was floating in place.
But that part was not particularly surprising to Izaya.
At first, he believed that Celty had regained her intelligence—but something was
wrong.
The figure that emerged from this transformation was not in a motorcycle riding suit,
but in heavy, medieval armor. It wasn’t reflecting the light, so it had to be made of that
same shadow material.
And this time, most uncharacteristic of all, Celty carried a human woman’s head under
her arm.
He recognized the head, of course.
The shadow-born thing looked smoothly all around and detected Izaya’s presence. It
then created a set of shadow stairs, still cradling the head, and began to walk toward
Izaya.
Once it was within earshot, Izaya called out, “Hi there, Celty. How does it feel to have
your head back?”
But there was no response.
After a short pause, the head under the figure’s arm slowly opened its mouth. The
voice that emerged spoke to him in an eerie tenor that seemed to register in his
eardrums and his mind at the same time.
“[Who are you?]”

It was a statement that would cause certain people to despair upon hearing it.
“Oh, I see. So you’re not the Celty I know any longer.”
Izaya smiled thinly to himself. But he did not ask the questions about the human soul
and the afterlife that he’d been so eager to learn. Instead, he pushed her away.
“But the thing is, I don’t have time to mess with the likes of you right now anyway.”
“[…]”
“If you don’t know who I am, get lost.”
The head was silent for a time, until it spoke again in the same manner.
“[Forget that you saw me, human.]”
He watched the dullahan descend toward the foot of the building and exhaled a deep
breath. Then Izaya looked up to the sky and chuckled to himself, “Oh, it’s just so
laughable. There has to be a limit to stupidity.”
There was no one around to ask the meaning of this statement, just the expansive
darkness of night.
However, at that moment, he was aware that the shining stars that had been overhead
just moments ago had vanished. The sky was entirely black, without even the
reflection of the neon lights of Tokyo. As if a giant lid had just been placed over the sky.
But even that, in this moment, meant nothing to him.
Izaya Orihara waited and waited.
For this moment when he would close the book on the grudge that had been abandoned
for long years.
Grudge? That gives him too much credit. Does one call the instinct to smash a hateful
cockroach a grudge?
He considered his “grudge” with Shizuo Heiwajima beneath the starless sky.
Shizuo would be coming to kill him very soon. He had attempted that any number of
times before, of course, but this time was clearly different. What he had heard from
Shizuo’s voice over the phone had not been annoyance or irritated anger, but pure,
undiluted murder.
Sure, Izaya might have dropped a little forklift off a building, but he hadn’t been trying
to kill Shizuo. He just didn’t mind if the guy died as a result.
And yet, Shizuo was coming to kill him. Perhaps if Vorona hadn’t gotten hurt, Shizuo
wouldn’t feel such bloodlust at the moment, but if that was the case, it seemed
laughable that he was ready to murder for the sake of a human being.
At the same time, Izaya felt annoyed. He couldn’t accept that this preposterous
monster should be able to use his boundless violence to extinguish the fates of human
lives.
There was a parade happening around Mikado Ryuugamine, a procession that drew
many others into its gravity.
Izaya Orihara found himself surprisingly excited about the whole thing, thinking he
might catch a glimpse of a side of human nature he had never seen before.
He loved all of humanity’s actions. He wasn’t going to complain about the outcome of
the festival, no matter what it ended up being. If Mikado had an abrupt change of heart
and made up with Masaomi Kida without any more trouble, Izaya would respect that
conclusion.
Because that would be the life Mikado Ryuugamine chose.
Life.
To live as a human.
That was all Izaya really wanted from others, at the root of it all.
When he made himself a pest, interfering in the way of life that others chose, it was
just because he wanted to see their human reactions. If it resulted in their downfall or
even the end of their lives, well, seeing the end points of their human lives would also
be entertaining to him.
But monsters could overturn the fate of a human being. With their magical powers or
supernatural strength.
And Izaya couldn’t have that.
Humans had to determine the outcome of human lives.
The forces of nature were unavoidable, but it wouldn’t be right if a being with the
strength of a full typhoon were to have a human personality, act like a human, and
manipulate human lives.
Izaya briefly recalled something a friend had said in the past.
“If Shizuo’s a monster, what does that make you? You’ve got differences in strength and
intelligence, but you can hold your own against him, so how do you view yourself? Do
you want to be the hero who defeats the monster? Or do you treat this as a territorial
squabble between monsters, where you’re staking your claim to those humans?”
Izaya wondered why he would have remembered such a quote at this moment, but he
was grinning before he realized what he was doing.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Shinra,” he murmured to no one in the dark. “I never held my
own against him.”
Within his narrowed eyes there was a kind of resolution that hadn’t been there before.
“What I’m about to do now is a good old-fashioned monster hunt,” Izaya said, using
the excuse that he had arrived at after considering dozens. “Maybe if I beat him, I’ll
finally feel like I’m a human being.”
The word grudge also included the insinuation of mudslinging.
Ah yes. I suppose other people might think what I’m saying isn’t entirely fair. At this
point, Izaya realized he was actually feeling rather refreshed. I’m going to erase Shizuo
Heiwajima from the earth over mere dirty accusations and slander.
Was the fact that he felt better knowing this actually just a sign that he was incredibly
human already? If so, he didn’t care.
As long as Shizuo Heiwajima vanished, he would be free of this shackle.
Did Izaya like humans because he was a human being himself? Or did he enjoy
observing their foibles from on high, like some god? Izaya was fine with either case
being the answer, but there was one thing he didn’t like.
Shizuo Heiwajima was a monster who transcended the limits of humanity. By

eliminating Shizuo, Izaya might be able to see himself as a human being. All the
exaggerations he had ever made might become truths.
When Namie or Shinra got snarky with him, he might be able to sincerely reply, “Of
course I love myself. I am a human being, after all.” It felt strange, but he even
considered it worth risking his life for the sake of that one stupid phrase.
He stood there on the silent, empty roof, wearing a vaguely human smile, thinking of
the world that existed beyond his release from this accursed relationship—and came
to a conclusion that would hold true, no matter what that world was.
“Yeah… I love humanity.”
The words melted into the starless black sky, like his last will and testament.
“Man, this ain’t funny, Kadota!”
“Let’s hurry. At this rate, Kadota’s death flag is going to get triggered.”
“I have no idea what that means, but you better not mention the word death again,
dammit!”
Togusa and Yumasaki were rushing to leave the apartment and look for Kadota after
getting the update from Karisawa on the phone. When they were at the entryway, the
intercom buzzer went off.
“Dammit, not now!”
It was probably Shingen Kishitani or Egor. Emilia was still here, so they could open the
door and switch places with the visitor, Togusa decided. He promptly turned the
handle—and in the next moment, opened his eyes wider than they’d ever been in his
life.
Even Yumasaki’s eyes, which were famously tiny, were agape such that the white could
be seen entirely around his irises.
“…Yo,” said the grinning visitor, sweat damp on his face. “I thought I was coming to
Kishitani’s house… What are you guys doing here?”
“Ka… K-K-Ka— Ka…”
Togusa’s blood pressure rose at the suddenness of it all, and he found himself unable
to speak properly. Instead, it was Yumasaki who shouted a greeting to their unannounced
visitor.
“K… Kadota! You’re all right?!”
“…So that’s what happened, huh?” Kadota said, sitting on the sofa, after his full update
from Togusa and Yumasaki. Emilia had examined him and prescribed him a painkiller
cocktail. He had at least changed from his hospital gown to the set of his own clothes
that had been left in his hospital room, but his father hadn’t brought the signature
beanie with them, so he seemed different from usual.
With all of that out of the way, Togusa asked, “But why are you here?”
“…Oh, I just figured I’d be able to get some pretty strong drugs here. My hunch was
dead-on.”
“Stay in the hospital, man! Why did you slip out in the first place?!”
It was a perfectly reasonable question, and Kadota looked guilty answering it. “Well…
I’ll admit, I did the hospital wrong. I’ll go back to apologize properly later.”
“I wasn’t asking for you to show off! I’m saying they weren’t sure if you’d even be able
to walk properly or not!” Togusa pointed out.
Even Yumasaki joined in with a rare rebuke of Kadota. “That’s right! Me and Karisawa
are one thing, but what would Azusa think if she heard that?! I know you’re aware of
how she feels about you! You’ve got a 3-D route open to you, and you’re just going to
break that flag?!”
“…Sorry. I just couldn’t lie in bed any longer.”
“Well, you’re supposed to! You were rushing off to settle things with whoever hit you
and ran, right?! Don’t be crazy! Lean on us once in a while! Just tell me what they look
like, and I’ll tie ’em up in chains and drag ’em behind the van!”
“That’s, uh… concerning. Besides, that’s not the situation now. Where’s Karisawa?”
“She’s out looking for you right now! We’d better call her, or…”
“Tell her to come to this apartment right away. Either that or to go straight home and
stay there. And… could you text the same thing to Azusa, too?” asked Kadota. His dad
had his phone at the moment, so he had no means of contacting them himself.
Yumasaki started to get in touch with Karisawa, driven by the panicked look on
Kadota’s face.
“Damn, man, what’s going on, then?” Togusa muttered.
The look on Kadota’s face grew even darker. “The other reason I came here… is
because there’s something I need to talk to Celty about.”
“The Headless Rider?”
“Yeah… The thing is, I’m pretty sure I know who’s calling the shots for the guys who
ran me over.” Kadota grunted, gripping the bridge of his nose. “I saw a couple of ’em,
just from taking a taxi…”
“…You saw what?” Togusa asked, but Kadota bypassed the question.
“The whole damn neighborhood… is in a real bad state right now.”
Russia Sushi, interior, late night
“Shizuo’s one thing, but Vorona skipping her shift without permission, too? Sure was
a lonely round today,” griped Shizuo and Vorona’s direct superior at work, Tom
Tanaka, as he sipped hot green tea at a marble counter.
The restaurant was about to close, and the only customers left were Tom and a man
with no hair sitting farther down the counter.
“Thanks to that attack, the cop cars are flyin’ left and right down the streets. It’s a
dangerous world out there these days.” He grunted. He didn’t know yet that Shizuo
had already been released from police custody. Normally, Tom would be the second
person he’d contact after his brother, but with the confusion over Vorona, he
apparently hadn’t reached out yet.
So Tom, who still believed Shizuo was in jail, sat all alone at the counter of Russia Sushi,
nursing a late dinner. When Denis, the head chef, learned that Vorona had skipped
work without warning, he bowed to Tom. “Sorry about her. We’ll give her a good
scolding the next time she shows her face in here.”
“No, it’s fine. This is our company’s issue anyway. Plus, I bet Vorona’s shocked about
what happened with Shizuo, too.”
Simon returned from cleaning up the private booths now that the restaurant had
cleared out. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Oh, Shizuo, he good guy. He get
vindication. What means vindication? Same as vacation? Or vegetation? You want
vegetable roll? Today you can pay in Japanese yendication.”
“Wait, are there days you don’t accept yen? And I appreciate the offer, but I can’t spend
any more money…”
“You don’t worry about it! I put it on tab! You need desperate measures in time of
desperation!”
“I swear, you’re a whole lot better at Japanese than you let on…”
At the end of this rather typical chat, Tom paid his bill and got up to leave. When he
opened the door, he looked outside first.
“…Hmm?” He stopped in his tracks.
It wasn’t that anything had crossed his field of view. But when he scanned the scenery
of the city, he received an overwhelming impression of something being off.
Huh? The hell? Something’s… weird.
He slowly examined the area but couldn’t identify the source of the feeling. It seemed
less like the scenery itself, though, and more like the people in it.
Huh? Then he picked up on it. Is it just me, or is it… crowded? Huh? I mean, this place is
closing up for the night, so…
He pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was already after midnight. But there
was an unsettling amount of foot traffic for this hour. Even during summer vacation,
when young adults were sure to be out for the nightlife, why would it be so bustling,
especially when the cops were racing around?
It almost felt like a nine o’clock crowd to Tom. Then he noticed that one distant man
was watching him.
“Hmm?”
He didn’t recognize the man. And yet, there was something about him. It was one man
in a group of men and women standing at the corner of a parking garage behind the
locksmith.
Tom readjusted his glasses and took a few steps for a closer look.
Oh… I know I’ve seen him before. Probably from one of our debt-collection headshots…
But I don’t think he had that hotshot host-club haircut before…
Suddenly, there was a different man within his view. A pedestrian dressed like a
salaryman who had noticed Tom and was approaching with a smile.
“Huh?”
At first he thought the man was heading for the restaurant right behind him, but it was
past last call, and they’d taken down the welcoming curtain over the doorway. And the
salaryman wasn’t looking at the building; he was looking directly at Tom.
What’s up? Is this guy drunk? he wondered, staring closely at the man.
His face was indeed a red color. But it wasn’t actually his skin that was red.
It was the whites of his eyes, bloodshot to an extreme shade of red.
“?!”
Something was wrong. Tom took a step back, wanting to return inside.
But the salaryman began to run now, sprinting at him. He wasn’t carrying anything.
But there was something dangerous and aggressive in his movements—and then his
hand darted out to reveal nails sharpened to sawtooth points, either bitten or clipped
into shape, that hunted for Tom’s soft skin.
“Whoa!!” Tom yelped. But the man’s body stopped short just before the nails would
have made contact.
“…?”
Simon’s large hand had closed around the man’s arm.
“Oh, sir, you no fight here. Eat sushi is better, but we closed now. You come back
tomorrow, have good time. We make market price special just for you,” Simon said. He
let go and pushed the man’s chest.
The salaryman lost his balance and stumbled backward several steps. Then Simon
grabbed Tom’s arm instead and pulled him back into the building.
“Huh? Wait!”
The door closed, and Simon turned the lock.
“…What’s going on?”
The last customer in the place, the man with the shaved head, looked at Shizuo and
Tom curiously.
Simon spoke a few words of Russian to Denis. Rather uncharacteristically, there was
no smile on Simon’s face; Denis scowled, too, when he heard the message, and he
looked through the windows to see what was happening outside.
Then, in his capacity as business manager, Denis warned the bald man and Tom, “Sirs,
you’re better off not going out.”
“What does that mean?” asked the other man. The chef gestured with his eyes to the
window. Tom and the man turned to look.
“…”
“Whoa, what the hell is that?” Tom exclaimed, while the bald man went silent.
The view outside the building was the same as it ever was.
Except for one thing…

Slow-moving crowds of people, all with bloodshot eyes, and all staring right at them.
Automated parking garage, Ikebukuro
“Tch… screwed that one up,” cursed Takashi Nasujima, who made a big show of being
disappointed. “But he definitely reacted like he recognized my face. It was a good thing
I checked before I run across Shizuo Heiwajima. Guess I should keep the disguise on.”
Nasujima put a face mask and sunglasses on to hide his features. “Can’t let it get out
that I’m around town. I’ve got to slip Saika into that guy with the dreadlocks. He might
come in handy as an ace up my sleeve against Shizuo,” he chuckled.
Next to him, Shijima shivered violently. “What the hell is this…? They’re all like them…”
He was thinking of how the members of Amphisbaena had looked when Izaya
Orihara’s subordinate had sliced them up. Earthworm and the rest of them had had
glowing red eyes, as though their bodies had been taken over by aliens, and they’d
followed the orders of the one who had cut them.
“You don’t have to worry about it. I’ve instructed them not to cut you. For now.”
“Er, uh, okay…”
Nasujima didn’t explain anything about Saika to Shijima. Of course, a blanket

reassurance only made him more anxious. Nasujima then put even more pressure on
Shijima by asking, “By the way, have you fully infiltrated the Dollars by now? Did the
plan go well?”
“Huh? Oh… yes. I think.”
“I wasn’t asking you to think.”
“S-sorry, sir!” Shijima said on instinct, eliciting a laugh from Nasujima.
“Look, don’t get so formal with me. For one thing, Saika is extremely inflexible; when
you’re being controlled, the red eyes are obvious and unavoidable. It’s valuable having
people like you, Shijima, who can help us out while in a normal state.”
“O-okay…”
“I honestly didn’t expect to grow so many ‘grandchildren’ at this rate, however. It was
worth doing those experiments to find out that nails and teeth could be treated like
Saika, too. All you really need is a bit of pain and fear. We won’t need to take Kujiragi’s
route—we can even feast on the Awakusu-kai’s turf.”
“Ummm… if you’ve got all this power, why bother with the Awakusu-kai, when you can
just take over the world…?”
Nasujima shook his head from side to side. “No, no, no, Shijima. It’s not good to set
your sights too high. Yes, it would be lovely to control the entire world. But you see,
I’m not looking to be a king. I just want a lot of money that can buy me a lot of comfort,
and the ability to have my way with a well-endowed woman whenever I want. That’s
all.”
Shijima felt a bit gloomy; the absence of the phrase woman I love in that statement felt
like a revelation of Nasujima’s true nature. But it was true that the man had great
power at his command.
If the street slashings started again, they would cause a big commotion, but he never
hesitated. In a place without security cameras, he surrounded his targets with
“grandchildren,” and as soon as they panicked, he had them pierced with Saika
blades—from small knives to claws and teeth, even little safety pins hidden in the
palm. Anything would do.
It was as simple as that.
The reason the last time had become so public was that the targets had been cut so
badly, they’d needed to go to the hospital to recuperate. Nasujima had realized that
and done his best to experiment with methods to quickly but surreptitiously grow
more grandchildren, until he had constructed this simple method.
In this one area, at least, Nasujima lived up to his credentials as a former teacher. He
told the woman who was once his pupil, “I got this power all because of you. I’m
grateful, Haruna.”
He was speaking to Haruna Niekawa, who stood across from Shijima. He had once
been a shining star to Haruna, and until yesterday, she might have passed out with
excitement if she had heard him say those words.
But now she just smiled dully and didn’t even turn to look at Nasujima. “…Right.”
Shijima eyed her out of the corner of his vision and wondered, This chick… used to
work with Izaya Orihara, right? Awww, man, this is all crazy. I don’t even know what’s
goin’ on anymore. He plunged into terrified, ignorant chaos, his face pale and sunken.
Meanwhile, Nasujima’s barely exposed skin was bright and shiny. “It’s gonna happen
tomorrow. No, I guess it’s technically today now… We’re going to settle everything
today, Haruna.”
“…Right.”
“I can’t wait for that all to be done. Then I’ll be able to give you allll the attention again,
Haruna… ,” he said with a leer, licking his lips. His eyes traveled from Niekawa’s face
to her chest, and then lower.
Despite the gaze of pure lust sliding all over her skin, Haruna Niekawa merely stared
into nothingness with bloodshot eyes and spoke in a voice with no affect.
“…Yes, Mother.”
It was the word that proved her free will had been eaten away by Saika.
If it was love that helped spread Saika, then Nasujima was indeed a man overflowing
with it.
His love was very close to Saika’s accursed love, a dedication to satisfying his own
desires. It was a kind of twisted self-love that wasn’t quite narcissism, but you could
certainly call it a type of love.
At this point in time, Nasujima had about 2,300 of Saika’s grandchildren under his
control. There was no ideal, no vision behind this. The only thing they spread through
the town was his own vulgar desire.
Without the restraint Kujiragi had, Nasujima’s rampage showed no signs of slowing
down. It corroded the neighborhood of Ikebukuro in the most twisted possible form.
Ruined building
Something was happening in Ikebukuro.
Mikado felt that premonition so strongly that it might as well have been conviction.
While the Blue Squares were napping in their cars or nearby twenty-four-hour manga
cafes, Mikado remained inside the abandoned building. The ones who stayed up at
night were down on the first floor, but Mikado still wasn’t in the mood to sleep.
There was the evening news story about the abandoned severed head. Then the report
about a police vehicle being attacked in Ikebukuro. Lastly, the recent chat room
incident.
On the backside of these events involving himself and the Dollars, something else was
moving forward in Ikebukuro. And it was undoubtedly something with an occult,
magical bent, like Celty.
Mikado was mildly surprised that he didn’t find himself elated by this situation. His
old middle school self—or even his self at the first Dollars meetup—would have been
thrilled at the idea of a new life just around the corner, and his heart would have been
jumping out of his chest with joy.
So why was now different? If he placed his hand over his heart, he felt no quickening
there, no stirring of the blood. If anything, his current mental state was closer to Who
cares?
He was worried about Celty, his acquaintance. But it was a very commonplace and
commonsense feeling, that mundane concern about someone he knew being a victim.
Mikado was at least a little alarmed and confused about the disappearance of the
version of himself that longed for the abnormal.
It’s so strange. It feels like I’m turning into something other than myself.
On the day of the skirmish between the Dollars and Toramaru, from the very moment
he’d driven that ballpoint pen through Aoba’s hand, he’d felt a kind of light dizziness
at all times. It grew stronger by the day, until at last he was standing before scenery
he’d never seen before.
Normally, he might panic. He might deny what was happening. Insist that this couldn’t
be possible. That he hadn’t meant for it to be this way.
But Mikado Ryuugamine accepted it all.
He might end up killing a person.
He might get killed instead.
He might kill himself.
He accepted even this present situation, so steeped in predictions and premonitions,

as a part of his ordinary daily life.
But I don’t want to die, and I definitely don’t want to be a murderer, he thought, a sign
that even as he accepted the situation, his mind was still functioning properly. But
since I’ve got this now, it would be a waste if I didn’t go ahead and use it.
It was through this imitation of typical everyday thought processes that Mikado found
himself in possession of something that was absolutely abnormal and atypical for
Japan.
Depending on where you lived, it could be a totally ordinary tool. And in fact, the man
named Horada had possessed one when the Yellow Scarves and the Dollars were at
war. But Mikado had just missed the chance to see it in action.
He sighed and gingerly picked up the object, which was wrapped in newspaper.
“I bet… that when you’re not going to fire it, it’s a bad idea to put your finger on the
trigger.”
He was holding a gleaming black automatic pistol.
What Izumii had brought to him as a “present” was none other than a weapon that
was a crime to even possess in Japan.
In a sense, it was small beans at this point. When Horada had shot Shizuo, he certainly
hadn’t killed him. And Celty had defended herself against far more powerful rifle
shots. Even tonight, Shizuo had stared down the barrel of Vorona’s gun.
But these incidents had all happened to Shizuo and Celty. And when the boy named
Mikado Ryuugamine grabbed this gun, it indicated a major shift in the standing of the
Dollars as a whole.
Obviously, with guns being illegal, it was not the sort of thing your average person
could pick up and use. Trying to actually aim with it and hit a moving target? Nearly
impossible.
But that was the sort of thing that could be improved upon, depending on the
circumstances. If you knew how to hold it steady and pull the trigger, you could do the
job even if you were an amateur, given a close enough proximity. At a slight distance,
Horada had succeeded in hitting Shizuo Heiwajima’s side and leg.
If you had a sleeping target, you could kill them for sure. But only if you had the guts
to go through with it.
And if you were going to stand next to someone and shoot them, it wouldn’t be that
different from using a knife. Yet, there was no tool better for threatening than this.
Most likely, Aozaki had chosen to pass the weapon along through Izumii to see what
Mikado Ryuugamine would do with this tool. Even by the Awakusu-kai’s standards,
this was highly unorthodox.
And Mikado, having been given this gun for unorthodox reasons, now gazed upon it
with very orthodox eyes. It was the same way one gazed at a newfangled remote from
when TVs went digital and the number of buttons multiplied. There was no special
excitement or fear in his eyes, just ordinary examination.
“Guns are scary. I can’t stop trembling,” he said, the kind of thing a normal boy might
say. But on the inside, a different feeling was blooming.
What is this? I’m supposed to be afraid of it… but right now, I feel much more afraid of
Mr. Akabayashi from yesterday, he thought, which was rather out of place. Then he
murmured to himself, still very matter-of-fact:
“I better look up the right way to shoot this thing online.”
He didn’t need any guts for that.
He’d gotten all of that out of the way the moment he’d opened the door to the
abnormal on the day of the Dollars’ first meeting.
Mikado Ryuugamine could fire that gun.
But who to point it at? Or what to use it for? That, he was still uncertain of.
Among the options he had for targets of this gun, he could see the vague image of his
own face—but at this stage, Mikado could not choose anyone.
He didn’t even know whether that was a good thing or a sign of his own weakness.
But knowing that having the gun was a form of proud, doomed resistance—Mikado
Ryuugamine decided to make an enemy of his own weakness and everything caught
in its vortex.
And perhaps Ikebukuro itself.
Morning arrived in Tokyo.
But whether the clock hand hit the sixth hour or the seventh, sunlight did not fall upon
the neighborhood of Ikebukuro.
Pure black shadow enveloped the space over the top of the city, a cover that put the
word cloudy to shame.
It was like the night still continued, and the alien, bewildering experience frightened
residents and made major headlines.
Morning never arrived for Ikebukuro on this day.
It was explained for the mass audience as a “natural phenomenon caused by the
effects of a special type of sandstorm” and would eventually be forgotten as another
freak event. But it was, in fact, completely supernatural in nature.
In a town where the sky was covered by a fairy’s shadow, a story of twisted love quietly
came to a close.
I’m sorry—it didn’t end at the twelfth volume…!
So anyway, hello, I’m Ryohgo Narita.
In the previous volume, I wrote about how I wanted to mark the end of a story in
Volume 12, but thanks to a flare-up of my many bad habits, I ended up with too much
content to fit into one book, so I had to split it again.
Volume 13 will be rather thick, and it should complete the story of Mikado, Anri, and
Masaomi for now, so I hope you look forward to it…
Now, let’s talk about this story, content spoilers included.
We ended off with Izaya and Shizuo in quite a state, but if you think about it, it feels
rather potent, as those two might not have faced off directly (in the novels) since the
situation at Izaya’s apartment in Volume 2.
Even I’m not sure who will win or what the outcome will mean in terms of life or death,
so just wait for Volume 13!
Also, I do remember having a crosstalk interview with Kazuma Kamachi of A Certain

Magical Index before and saying something like “What would be the point of giving
Celty her head back and turning this into some wild supernatural occult manga? Ha-
ha-ha-ha-ha!” To Mr. Kamachi and everyone who read that interview, I am so sorry!
We are at the wild supernatural occult stage!
Even I didn’t think Celty would get her head back, but once I realized I was putting
Shingen into the city with freedom of movement, and that of course he would do
something like that, it essentially became inevitable.
As for what will happen to Celty in Volume 13, and whether she’ll lose all her
memories of Shinra, and whether morning will ever come to Ikebukuro—not to
mention all the other squabbles happening outside of Mikado’s vicinity, and how
they’ll wind up, and who will laugh and who will cry at the end—the answers are all
blowing in the wind at this moment.
I will be making my way toward Volume 13, one step at a time, and hoping that at the
very end it is hope that will come blowing back our way.
I hope that you, too, will come back to see the ending of Mikado Ryuugamine’s tale.
The manga adaptation running in the G Fantasy magazine has reached the material
from the third novel now, depicting the story of Masaomi and the Yellow Scarves. Ms.
Satorigi’s Durarara!! makes use of every last ounce of the manga medium’s potential,
and I find it a bracing way to reexperience the story.
Please check out the Yellow Scarves arc, reborn into manga form!
In more personal news, I’ve been through a bunch of events in the last few months,
and with the help of many people, I’m managing to stay upbeat about life.
At the Dai Dengeki Bunko-ten Exhibition, there was a Durarara!! photography area,
and I cannot thank the staffers and the many people who came to visit enough!
As Durarara!! and Baccano! both head toward a climax, I’m in the mood to tackle new
challenges, so I hope you will continue to patronize not just Durarara!!, but the many
projects I, Ryohgo Narita, work on. I will do my best to be worthy of your time.
Now I’m going to shill for one of those “new challenges”…On the twenty-fifth of this
month, assuming I do not meet an unfortunate accident after writing this afterword,
Media Works Bunko should be releasing a new book of mine titled Wednesday and
Laughing Otsuberu.
This story will be linked with the world of Durarara!! but features an ordinary Tokyo
setting where nothing supernatural like Celty or Saika appears. I hope you’ll check it
out.
You might see characters from Durarara!! popping in and out of the background here
and there, and in fact, you might be able to find bits in this very book that link back to
Wednesday and Laughing Otsuberu. Buy them both and enjoy looking for those hints!
I give such a hard time. To all the folks at ASCII Media Works. I know I was a
tremendous drag on the schedule this time around, and I am so sorry!
To my family members, who do so much for me in so many ways, my friends, my fellow

authors, and my illustrators.
To Suzuhito Yasuda, who took time out of his busy schedule with Devil Survivor and
his new Yozakura Quartet anime project to provide his wonderful illustrations for both
this book and the cover of Wednesday and Laughing Otsuberu, even though my
manuscript was very delayed.
May 2013—Ryohgo Narita

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RYOHGO NARITA

DURARARA!! Vol.13
Yen On
150 West 30th Street, 19th Floor
New York, NY 10001
yenpress.tumblr.com
First Yen On Edition: September 2019

the publisher.

9780316474382 (v. 12 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975358198 (v. 13 : pbk.)
Adventure.
ISBNs: 978-1-9753-5819-8 (paperback)

978-1-9753-8469-2 (ebook)
E3-20190816-JV-NF-ORI
Cover
Insert
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 10: A Tiger Dies and Leaves His Skin
Chapter 11: Like a Dragon Given Wings
Chapter 12: Where There’s a Will, There’s a Way
Final Chapter: Greener Pastures Wherever You Go
Epilogue
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
A tale of twisted love comes to a close.
The grotesque creature silently watched the city from above.
It extended paths of shadow and rode through the sky on the back of a horse that was
equally monstrous.
Despite it being the middle of the night, the city below still flickered with thousands
of tiny lights.
The creature surveyed this view, as if the land and the starry sky had switched places,
in total silence.
It wore pitch-black knight’s armor. The head, which rested under the pit of the armor
in the grip of the creature, far from the neck, featured wide-open eyes.
But its mouth stayed shut.
The creature was called as such because despite its features, it was certainly not human.
No human being could be alive with its head separated from its shoulders.
So in that sense, her form was indeed abnormal.
But there was no way to know what lay within her heart.
For whether human or inhuman, the heart has no set form to begin with.
Raijin High School—in the past
“Hey, Orihara. You had quite a fight yesterday,” chirped Shinra Kishitani as he approached
the young man, who was reading a magazine. They’d been friends since middle school,
and currently Izaya Orihara was sitting on the landing of the stairwell that led to the
roof.
For his part, Izaya narrowed his eyes. His lips pulled into a subtle smile, and he offered
with some annoyance, “Fight? Whatever are you talking about? That monstrous
amoeba nearly murdered me—that’s what that was.”
The “fight” Shinra was referring to was a brutal battle to the death, itself practically a
bad joke, that started after he had brought Shizuo Heiwajima and Izaya Orihara together.
“What is up with him?” Izaya complained. “I lured him right into that accident, absolutely
perfectly, but I didn’t expect that he’d take a hit from a truck and just walk away
without a scratch.”
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Shinra pressed. “You said that you loved humanity, so I thought
you might take an interest in him.”
“That’s not a human being. That’s a wild animal or a monster.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Shinra shrugged. “I’m hoping that you two will learn to get along,
though.”
Izaya shot him a venomous look. “Why?”
“Because unless you learn to get along, you and Shizuo have the worst chemistry
imaginable,” Shinra said simply. “Based on what I saw yesterday, someone is going to
die. At the very least, one of the two of you might.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“But if either you or Shizuo calms down a bit, that might be a different story.”
“You were the one who introduced us to each other, Shinra,” snapped Izaya.
“You go to the same school. I just thought it would be easier for you to be friends if I
was in the middle. But if it doesn’t work out, then it’s not meant to be. If you guys try
to kill each other, then I’m only out one or two friends.”
He said it like a joke, but Izaya knew that when Shinra gave off that sad, troubled smile,
it was a sign that he felt serious about something. “Well, look who’s above it all.”
“If one… or both of you die, I’m sure I’ll be sad about it, but I can live with that result.”
“What a swell guy to have as a friend.”
“I can’t help it. Every last human being in the world could die, and as long as my
beloved girlfriend survives, I’ll still be happy,” Shinra said with a distant look in his
eyes. Whatever he was imagining, his mouth curled into a dopey grin.
“Ugh, you’re so creepy. I feel sorry for whatever woman you fall in love with.”
Izaya had a pretty good idea of who his “beloved girlfriend” was, but he chose not to
mention that. Instead, he returned to his magazine.
Unfortunately, that was when Shinra decided to get philosophical. “Ah yes… have you
ever heard the quote, ‘A tiger dies and leaves his skin, but a man dies and leaves his
name’?”
“?”
“Shizuo would be the tiger. If Shizuo dies, the pelt that surrounds him… the stories of
his superhuman power would be passed on and treasured, taking on a life of their own
and becoming urban legends,” Shinra said, as excited as a grade schooler who had
spotted a fascinating insect—while speaking about his friend as if he were a fascinating
insect.
“And he wouldn’t just be a tall tale,” Shinra continued. “He’d be an urban legend that
actually existed! In fact, it might be only after his death that Shizuo Heiwajima is truly
complete—as a being that transcended humanity.”
Izaya felt himself getting irritated.
Him? Living on as an urban legend? A being who transcends humanity?
Nonsense. He’s nothing more than a dumb beast.
Izaya realized that even considering their extravagant fight yesterday, he was
extraordinarily annoyed at Shizuo Heiwajima. “And you’re going to autopsy that
monster and get famous that way?”
“Sure, I’d like to give him an autopsy, out of scholastic curiosity. But I don’t have any
special interest in dissecting men, nor do I wish to become famous for it. And I have
no hobby of dissecting girls, either. Although I will admit that my affection for my
beloved started with dissection,” Shinra said rather ominously.
“…?” Izaya was confused at first but decided that this was just Shinra being Shinra. “So
assuming that tiger will leave his skin, how do you plan to leave your name, as a
person? I’m kind of holding out hope that you’ll go down in history as a horrific serial
killer.”
“As a person…?”
Shinra thought it over. His smile vanished. He looked toward the light coming down
from the roof above.
“I want…”
Ikebukuro, atop a building under construction—present day
Which of them was first to move?
No one witnessed the moment happen.

Perhaps even they themselves were not aware of it.
Neither Shizuo Heiwajima, who had turned into a pure system designed to destroy the
man before him, nor Izaya Orihara, who still retained his rational human mind.
They were atop a building under construction, shortly before dawn.
The battle to the death started without even a provocation to initiate it.
To the two longtime foes, this fight was an undeniable turning point. But for such a
momentous occasion, it certainly started in unmemorable fashion.
Then again, given that their mutual hatred essentially stemmed from the feeling of I
just don’t like the guy, perhaps it was also fitting that it happened unceremoniously.
Their astonishing, overwhelming battles, going back to school days, made you doubt
the accuracy of that old saying “The more you fight, the closer you really are.”
There was no high-minded chivalry in this duel, no respect for the other side whatsoever.
And in the case of this stunning battle in the wee hours of the morning, there was once
again not a shred of respect for the other combatant. Not once did either of them ever
view the other with the positive aspects inherent in the word rival.
So when they met again on the upper portion of the construction site, there was not a
single word of dialogue between them.
The only exchange of words was the phone call that Shizuo Heiwajima received from
Izaya Orihara as he climbed up the stairs of the building.
Less than a minute earlier, when Shizuo slowly opened the door to the top of the
building, where construction was still ongoing, the first thing that stung his nose was
the odor of evaporated gasoline.
Then he realized that it was coming from the liquid flowing along the ground at his
feet.
But Shizuo didn’t show any signs of panic. Even when flames shot up around him the
next moment, he barely blinked.
Not because he’d expected it, nor because he’d instantly thought of some means to
counteract it. It was just that the fury compressed into his body dulled the ordinary
human senses, leaving him incapable of typical reaction.
“…”
Ordinarily, that kind of lapse in focus would be fatal—but Shizuo grabbed the door in
silence, wrenched it off its hinges, and stepped over it.
That was all he did.
But the abnormal physical strength with which he performed the feat flattened the
flames spreading at his feet and caused a gust of air that pushed back the wind
blowing in from outside. The flames practically danced in the resulting eddies of air.
Shizuo used the trampled door as a stepping-stone to leap forward, using the swirling
force of the flames as momentum. Parts of his clothes were singed, but he was able to
get clear before they actually caught fire.
Before the secondary effects of the heat and the lack of oxygen could inflict any damage
on him, however, a steel beam hoisted on the crane swung at him like a pendulum.
The beam was moving with enough force that it would easily go straight through a
typical automobile—but once again, Shizuo barely batted an eye.
His right arm was still dangling at his side, ever since he’d deflected the forklift
minutes earlier, but the anger in him dulled both his pain and his common sense.
He swung his good arm upward, delivering a solid uppercut to the oncoming beam. In
the moment of impact, the steel crumpled, and the floor under construction made an
unpleasant sound around Shizuo’s feet.
But despite being in the midst of the two expressions of force, Shizuo was unhurt.
The deflected beam slid loose of its supporting wires and plummeted back down onto
the construction site.
He glanced toward where it fell, and he caught sight of a man. It was Izaya, who showed
no sign of alarm or reaction of any kind when the giant piece of metal crashed right
next to him.
The two men were united in their lack of surprise at dramatic changes in the situation,
but unlike Shizuo’s, Izaya’s face was fixed into a cruel smile, and he at least displayed
enough intelligence to calculate how to kill another person.
From Izaya’s perspective, however, he wasn’t killing a “person” at all.
This was the beginning of Izaya’s quest to vanquish a monster.
In this case, the monster wasn’t evil, and Izaya wasn’t the hero.
The battle to the death wasn’t undertaken on any basis of good and evil at all. The two
of them were both, in their own way, in a place far from any concept of righteousness
and wickedness.
All the unconscious restraints were gone. All there was to do was face the other.
Nothing until now had risen to the level of a battle to the death. Those were like
introductions.
The two men faced off, glaring each other down—until the urge to kill condensed into
the space between them and exploded outward all at once.
Which of them was first to move?
There was a moment in time containing the answer to that question, one that no one
would ever be able to answer later.
The slaughter began without a clear point of initiation.

Just thick, boiling air seething with heat.
Ikebukuro—Russia Sushi
In the middle of Shizuo and Izaya’s battle to the death, there was activity happening
elsewhere.
It was the time of sleep in the city, when several hours still remained until dawn.
The time that even the twenty-four-hour karaoke booths, the bars that stayed open
until morning, and the seedy girlie clubs saw reduced foot traffic. And yet…
“Well, dammit.”
Tom peered out through the barricade erected behind the window out of tables and
other furniture. He was watching the steady gathering of people outside the building
who sported bloodshot-red eyes.
They weren’t rioting, nor were they zombies in search of a meal.
They just stood out there, facing the restaurant, smiling silently.
But that was even worse than the alternative.
“Am I having a nightmare or what?” Tom lamented, squinting through the glass.
Next to him, a man with a shaved head doing the exact same thing muttered, “Saika
possessed them.”
“Huh? You know something about this… uh, buddy?”
“It’s Kine.”
“…Oh, right. I’m Tanaka. So… you know what that means, Mr. Kine?”
Kine? As in… the former Awakusu-kai Kine?

Tom had cleaned up his tone of voice a bit, sensing that his conversation partner was
a “professional” gentleman. The hairless man, Kine, furrowed his brow and said
calmly, “Well, it’s probably a waste of time trying to convince you to believe me, so I’ll
put it simply and say that it’s kind of like a hypnosis that makes people into slaves.”
“…Hypnosis?” Tom repeated. But based on the view of the outside, it did seem to make
more sense than, say, a zombie invasion. “Well, whatever. If it’s hypnosis, that means
someone did it to them, right?”
“You get right to the point.”
“I can’t do the job I’ve got now unless I can process new information quickly… So you
got any thoughts about who the hypnotist is…?”
“I’ve got a few ideas, but I can’t imagine any of them would want to surround this place,”
Kine replied.
Tom sighed and hissed back at the nearby employees of Russia Sushi, “Hey, what about
you guys? Is there any kind of dangerous bullshit this place is getting sucked into?”
Denis shot Tom a nasty glare and said, “I don’t know. Why don’t you speak for yourself?”
“I don’t think I’ve done nothin’ to get a hypnotist pissed at me… Well, I guess there was
that one person I saw outside. Who was that again…?”
“It doesn’t have to be you specifically. Could be folks who have a problem with Shizuo,”
Denis pointed out.
Tom envisioned the boss of the company he worked for—and then his subordinates,
Shizuo and Vorona.
“…Well… yeah, I guess you have a point there. But why me, then?”
“Probably means you’ve got more personal sway than you realize,” Denis offered as he
continued calmly cleaning up the interior of the restaurant.
“I think you’ve overestimated me,” Tom said with a shrug.
Then Simon returned from the back, smiling. “Hey, we have sleepover here tonight. I
have many fireworks ready, too.”
There was something that looked like a dirty sack in his hands. Apparently, he’d been
digging it up from under the floor of the kitchen.
“Don’t bring all that dirt over into the restaurant,” Denis snapped, but Simon just
grinned and pulled something out of the sack. When Tom saw what it was, his cheeks
twitched, and even Kine’s expression darkened.
It was clear from the look of the object, which resembled a black spray can of hair
mousse with a handle and pin attached to it, that it did not belong in a sushi restaurant
or in any Japanese city to begin with.
Simon gestured with the black tube—a military flash grenade—and spoke in his
typical tone of voice, as if nothing about the scene was any different than usual.
“Edo is famous for fires and fighting. But fighting no fun, makes your face flush.
Replace fires with fireworks, and everyone friends, no fighting.”
Ikebukuro
“Are you all right, Sonohara?”
“…Yes, sorry to worry you.”
“You shouldn’t push yourself if you can’t do it. Want to rest somewhere?” asked Saki
Mikajima, who had noticed that Anri Sonohara was looking pale and uncomfortable.
“I’m fine…”
Anri’s voice was clearly unsteady, but Saki seemed to conclude that she wasn’t going
to get the answer she was looking for and didn’t press the issue any further.
The girls were making their way to a specific destination.
They considered taking a taxi, but since the place was close, they leaned toward
walking the distance instead—and right around the point that they passed by Ikebukuro
Station, Anri suddenly found herself racked with a powerful anxiety.
On the inside, something much more reliable than simple animal intuition was giving
her unmistakable signals: The Saika slumbering within her was stirring.
What… is this…?
Even during the Night of the Ripper, when Haruna Niekawa brought forth a great new
influx of Saikas, she had never felt a stirring of this scale.
Part of that was the fact that she hadn’t fully accepted Saika yet at the time, but she
could tell that the trembling from the cursed blade within her was abnormal beyond
whatever difference that would make.
It felt like the Saikas were resonating. Like she was on the inside of a gigantic bell, and
the roar from the outside was reverberating directly into her body.
This mental resonance blasted Anri’s mind. It made her see spots.
But she couldn’t stop now.
After talking with Saki, Anri decided that whatever trouble was happening at the
moment in Ikebukuro, she ought to involve herself in it.
Izaya Orihara had hinted to her that Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida were in
the path of some terrible oncoming disaster. He was not the kind of man whom she
trusted at all, but there was something in his vague, suggestive words that she found
highly believable.
And both Anri and Saki shared that view.
I wonder if Saika’s surge… has something to do with them…
What if someone aside from her caused Mikado and Masaomi to be made part of
Saika? The thought sent a terrible shiver down Anri’s back.
Fortunately, her fears were unfounded.
But as it happened, Mikado and Masaomi were indeed caught in the midst of a terrible
ordeal.
It just didn’t have anything to do with Saika.
Abandoned factory—late night
“Now, let’s see… Which one of these numbers belongs to Mikado Ryuu-ga-mi-ne…?”
The cheery voice was quite at odds with the oppressive setting of an abandoned factory
in the middle of the night.
“Aha, there it is! Wow, when you see it with the kanji and everything, ‘Mikado
Ryuugamine’ sure looks imposing,” Chikage Rokujou chattered happily as he fiddled
with the cell phone. “Emperor of Dragon Peak—hah!”
The phone’s owner, Masaomi Kida, sighed and said, “I told you, he’s not going to answer
a call from some number he doesn’t recognize. The guy’s really shy and suspicious like
that…”
It wasn’t clear whether Chikage was actually listening to him, because he went ahead
and read the number off Masaomi’s phone, inputting it into his own smartphone. “But
that was the old Mikado Ryuugamine, right?”
“…”
“If the guy’s cracked as much as you say he has, he’ll pick up. Trust me,” said Chikage,
smiling confidently. He pushed the call button on the screen.
But many rings later, there was no indication that the call was going to be answered.
“…”
“…”
“Wanna pretend that conversation never happened?”

“…Sure, sounds good.”
To break the awkward silence between the two, Chikage launched into conversation
again, as if nothing had ever happened.
“Doesn’t he have a social media account somewhere? Like on Mix-E or Twittia?

Something he would definitely look at, rather than ignoring by default.”
“You really are exhausting all your options, huh…?” Masaomi said, abandoning any
pretense of respect for his elder. Then he sighed again and thought it over. “Someplace
he would look… Maybe a Dollars-related web forum…”
“Don’t really want a lot of people seeing this.”
“Hmm… Social media, huh…? But whatever he might potentially be doing, I’m not
linked to him, so… Oh!”
Masaomi snatched the phone out of Chikage’s hand, remembering something out of
the blue. He connected to the Internet in a hurry.
“Maybe he’s still checking that one chat site every day…”
A dozen or so seconds later, when the chat room filled the screen, Masaomi’s eyes
bulged.
TarouTanaka: I don’t understand what you mean. Who is Kujiragi? What are you
after?
NamieYagiri: You’re the one who’s after something. What do you think you’re doing?
NamieYagiri: Why don’t you look around yourself?
NamieYagiri: I just want to bring an end to what’s going on. So help me.
NamieYagiri: You have no idea about anything, and yet you’re connected to everything.
NamieYagiri: Wake the hell up. You’re the key.

“What is this?”
Chikage peered over Masaomi’s shoulder and said, “Whoa, this chat looks pretty gnarly.
What’s up with that?”
“It’s not usually like this…”
On the screen, a woman named NamieYagiri was taking TarouTanaka—the handle

name of Mikado Ryuugamine—to task with blistering force. It was all just on a screen,
of course, but her posting was powerful enough that it practically grabbed the collar
of the reader.
“Yagiri…? Does that person have something to do with Seiji?” Masaomi wondered,
thinking of the boy he’d known from school. Confused, he continued reading.
And after a while, he froze up again.
It wasn’t only Mikado.
There was another familiar name in the chat room.
slasher?
Abandoned factory
“…”
Masaomi was frozen, unable to continue scrolling down, so Chikage picked up the slack.
“Oh, Anri? Yeah, she had a katana.”
“No… wait. Hang on. There’s just too much… I can’t wrap my head around…”
“See? You think you know your friends, but you know them a lot less than you realize,
huh?” Chikage sagely mocked. It was easy for him to say, since none of this had to do
with him. He snatched the phone away and checked the web address, typing it into his
own smartphone.
Then, eyes sparkling like a child who’d thought up a good prank, Chikage began typing
his own text into the chat room.
Tokyo—abandoned building
“Mr. Mikado! Mr. Mikado!”
Despite it being late in the middle of the night, Mikado Ryuugamine showed no signs
of sleep. He heard the sound of his underclassman from school and the very reason
he’d been dragged down into this position—Aoba Kuronuma.
Mikado put the object he was holding into a box and turned to face Aoba, who came
up the stairs a few moments later.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, like it was any old interaction.
Aoba waved his phone and said, “You saw how some weirdo was jacking up the chat
just now, right?”
“Yeah, but that’s not an issue anymore. I’ll have Kanra, the administrator, delete all of
it tomorrow.”
“No, I’m not talking specifically about the troll… I got curious, so I was watching the
chat after that,” Aoba said, showing him the screen of his phone, “and some other
weirdo showed up going on about Masaomi Kida…”
“…”
Mikado’s brow furrowed the tiniest bit. He grabbed his laptop in silence and used it to
connect to the wireless hot spot they were using for Internet. When he logged in to
the chat room, he found a very one-sided message waiting for him there.
Chat room
Rocchi has entered the chat.
Rocchi: Pardon me for interrupting the bloodbath in here.
Rocchi: Uh, can everyone see these posts?
Rocchi: Man, it’s been so long since I was in a chat room. Everyone’s moved on to
social media now, y’know?
NamieYagiri: Who are you?
NamieYagiri: You have nothing to do with this. Butt out.
Rocchi: Based on your name, I’m guessing you’re a woman? It’s a cute name.
Rocchi: It’d be nice to have a proper chat in person sometime, so I’m sorry, but I’m
gonna have to butt in for just a moment. I really am sorry.
Rocchi: For one thing, it’s not exactly true that I have “nothing” to do with this.
Rocchi: Mikado Ryuugamine, right?
Rocchi: You got that call earlier.
Rocchi: You really shouldn’t ignore a call like that.
Rocchi: What, you can’t pick up a call from an unfamiliar number? Well, now we know
each other, right?
Rocchi: Though the truth is, we did meet before this.
Rocchi: Anyway, my point is, you should answer your phone.
Rocchi: Once you see this message, go and dial back the number that called you about
five minutes before this post.
Rocchi: Otherwise, who knows what might happen to your buddy Masaomi Kida, huh?
Rocchi: You don’t want your friend getting hurt any worse, do ya?
NamieYagiri: Shut up, nobody cares about any of this.
NamieYagiri: Save it for later.
NamieYagiri: Ryuugamine, you have a duty to uphold first.
Rocchi: And how’s Seiji doing, Sis?
NamieYagiri: What?
Rocchi: Oh, come now, you don’t want Seiji seeing you rampaging like this, do you?
NamieYagiri: How dare you threatenlkbe kujehbb ubakjbkm
Kuru: Oh my, what a strange turn of events.
Mai: It’s exciting.
Abandoned factory
“Hey, you can’t just go typing whatever the hell you want. On the other hand… what
the hell is happening in this chat room?”
Masaomi hadn’t been in the chat for almost half a year, but it was still an important
place to him. He felt disturbed at the way it seemed to be careening toward collapse.
Before he could say anything else, however, the sound of a ringtone echoed off the
walls of the abandoned factory building. Chikage saw that the number on his screen
was the same one he’d typed in minutes ago, and he grinned.
“Hey, it’s from your pal.”
“…!”
Masaomi couldn’t hide his surprise. That had worked out better than he’d expected.
He reached out for the phone without thinking.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hang on. I’m the one who has to answer it.”
“No, I’m the one who has business with…”
“Once he finds out you’re safe, he’s gonna hang up. I’ll answer.”
Chikage stretched his finger toward the answer button, glanced at Masaomi, and
added, “Oh, and… before I go through with this, sorry.”
“?” Masaomi frowned at that. Chikage put the phone to his ear.
“Yo.”
“…Are you Rocchi, then?”
“Yeah. I’m glad you checked my messages so promptly. The truth is, we’ve met before.”
“…”
“Do you recognize my voice?” Chikage asked. His tone was light, while the voice on the
other side of the phone was flat and unemotional.
“You’re… Chikage Rokujou, aren’t you?”
“Wow, nice one. Round of applause for this guy. Listen, I’m sorry about what happened
back there. I should’ve believed it when you said you were the boss of the Dollars.”
“…”
Sensing that Mikado wasn’t going to give him a response, Chikage continued, “I’ll be
straight with you. Your friends, these… Dollars? Have been messing with us again. And
I’m here to square up that account.”
Masaomi’s mouth fell open, but Chikage held up a hand to silence him. He must’ve
been formulating an idea, so Masaomi chose to stay quiet and listen for now.
But then Chikage closed his hand into a fist and used it to rap against Masaomi’s cast.
“…?! Urgh?! Ah… aaah!”
Waves of pain enveloped his broken bone. Masaomi involuntarily yelped with pain.
Then Chikage pulled the phone back away from Masaomi and snarled quietly into the
phone, “You heard him. If you can’t meet me man-to-man, your friend here’s goin’
somewhere very far away.”
A few minutes later, the phone call over, Chikage cackled and smacked Masaomi’s head.
“There we go. Now we’ve got a destination. You’re my hostage, and I’m gonna hand
you over in public. That seems like a fair compromise to me.”
“…Since when did I become a hostage? Dammit, that really hurt, you know!” Masaomi
protested, but Chikage just shrugged.
“Hey, I did apologize before I did it, didn’t I?”
“You don’t think I could have played along without having to inflict actual pain?”
“Actually, a good spontaneous scream’s a lot harder to pull off than you think.” Chikage
hummed.
Masaomi exhaled and shook his head in disgust. “Fine, fine, whatever. So where are
you handing me over to Mikado?”
“Oh yeah. It’s a place that even I’m familiar with. I remember it well.”
Chikage swung his arms in big circles, like he was warming up for some kind of athletic
performance.
“There’s an all-girls school right nearby.”
Abandoned building
“You’re not going to go there alone, are you?”
Aoba looked over at Mikado, who was staring without emotion at the phone he’d just
finished talking into.
“Huh? I mean… Oh yeah, I guess he didn’t specify any details about the number of people.”
“Rokujou is the name of the guy who we messed with first. You don’t need to go for
yourself. We can go and get Mr. Kida back,” Aoba suggested casually.
Mikado thought it over. “That reminds me, how exactly do you guys see Kida anyway?”
“How…? He’s your friend, right?”
“But he was your enemy and the leader of the Yellow Scarves, wasn’t he?”
“Maybe to my brother, but it wasn’t like we were fighting directly against him,” Aoba
replied, shrugging. “To be honest, I don’t have any hatred for Mr. Kida, but neither do
I have any fondness. If you said that we should go and rescue him, we’d follow your
orders.”
“Okay, that’s good to hear. But Masaomi might not think very highly of you guys. He
might look like a frivolous guy, but he’s always been very serious at his core.”
“…”
As they talked, Aoba sensed a change in Mikado.
Can’t help but notice that the way he refers to him keeps changing, between Masaomi
and Kida…
Maybe it was nothing, but he couldn’t help but feel that it was actually very important.
Perhaps Mikado himself didn’t even realize what he was doing. Maybe he wasn’t fully
conscious of what kind of connection he had to Masaomi Kida personally—or to all
the people he knew, including Anri Sonohara—or what he wanted that connection to
be.
At least, that was how it seemed to Aoba. He watched, silent.
And then, when Mikado wasn’t looking, he let the corners of his mouth tuck into a
sneer.
Yeah, he’s just so fascinating. He’s the best.
Then, watching the back of the broken boy standing before him, Aoba let the smile
vanish and asked, “By the way, why did you designate that particular location?”
The place Mikado mentioned during the phone call for the exchange to go down was
a location Aoba knew well. While it was the middle of the night, it was also a fairly
noticeable locale.
“…”
It was certainly a reasonable question to ask, but Mikado merely went silent. He
pondered it heavily, like a computer asked to do something beyond its processing
capacity, and when he spoke, it was slow and halting, trying to convince himself of the
words as he said them.
“It’s… an important… place.”
“An important place?”
“As I think you know already… it’s the place where it all began, for me and for the
Dollars,” Mikado said, nostalgia and fondness wreathing the name of the gang. He
smiled boyishly. “But Sonohara and Kida weren’t there at the time.”
He wasn’t even talking to Aoba anymore. In fact, it seemed that he was thinking of his
reasoning for that choice after the fact, bit by bit. That was how it seemed to the
younger boy.
But it was true: The place was very special to Mikado Ryuugamine.
It was where the Mikado of now got his start, when the ordinary and extraordinary
completely switched places.
The intersection in front of Tokyu Hands.
It was the start of the major road that passed by the Sunshine building—or, alternately,
the end of it.
It was an answer that came to Mikado naturally. And in his case, inevitably.
He made the decision as the Dollars’ founder and as a member—in order to welcome
Masaomi Kida, who wasn’t there on that day.
If possible, he hoped Anri would be there, too.
But despite his desire, Mikado had to keep his hopes under control, knowing he
couldn’t be that selfish.
That was because he knew that after this, something bloody and ugly was likely to
happen there.
A part of him was aware that Anri’s secret was far more gruesome than a typical youth
rivalry, but he still refused to intentionally get her involved.
Or perhaps it was still a bit of youthful stubbornness that remained within him.
Ikebukuro—apartment bar
“…”
In the meantime, a man in a line of work that was completely removed from youthfulness
looked hard at his screen, just as Mikado had.
“What’s this, then?” grunted Akabayashi, lieutenant of the Awakusu-kai.
The old scar on his right eye was bothering him. He was sitting in a special unlicensed
bar built into a private apartment that had been outfitted for business, collecting
information for his own purposes.
What Akabayashi was examining was not one of the several Dollars-related message
boards or a report message from his errand boys, the gang called Jan-Jaka-Jan. It was
a chat room that he’d been introduced to by a girl he helped take care of.
The chat room was oddly well-connected with what was going on in the city, so
Akabayashi made it a point to pop in at least once a day, both for information and to
check on his patron there, the girl who was like a niece to him.
Something odd was going on in the chat now.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Akabayashi?” asked the middle-aged barkeeper, who must
have noticed his expression.
“Oh, just some trouble with work.”
“Ah, I see.”
The bartender did not ask further. Whether he was aware of what Akabayashi did or
not, he clearly came to the determination that it wasn’t worth asking about.
But Akabayashi gave him a lilting smile and offered freely, “It’s odd. I’d say that we
took a shot from a direction that I wasn’t expecting.”
He looked back at his smartphone. In the chat, a woman named Namie Yagiri was
throwing a tantrum and tearing into Mikado Ryuugamine. That alone would strike
Akabayashi as nothing more than some internal Dollars trouble, but what alarmed
him was when the real name of the girl who invited him to the chat room appeared in
the conversation.
NamieYagiri: Where is that headless monster?
slasher?
Normally, one might take statements like that as the ramblings of a person undergoing
a psychotic break.
But Akabayashi understood them perfectly.
And that was unfortunate, because the words that this Namie woman was saying did
indeed relate directly to Anri Sonohara.
Monster.
Katana.
Street slasher.
The old scar on his right eye itched.
A searing pain assaulted his brain, centered around the scar—as though the prosthetic
embedded into his socket was radiating the heat itself. But Akabayashi just took off
his sunglasses, pressed his eye lightly, and smiled sadly to himself.
Calm down already. You’re not some kid in puberty.
He reflected fondly on his past.

His first love had come late for a man of his type, but it was very hot and painful.
The woman seemed barely human. She pierced both his eye and his heart.
The mysterious blade was contained within her body, and her eyes burned red,
marking her as the slasher.
Akabayashi could clearly remember the first woman he’d ever fallen in love with.
She had been a blade personified and yet died from a blade wound through the stomach.
But Akabayashi knew more than that. Not from seeing it for himself but out of
personal certainty.
She—Sayaka Sonohara—had cut off her husband’s head before running the sword
through her own stomach.
Where had the katana housed in her body gone?
The police said they never found the murder weapon. So even though the wound
looked exactly like a self-inflicted one, they couldn’t rule it a suicide without the
weapon there, too.
Had the police coroner found anything abnormal with her body? If they had, perhaps
they hadn’t announced it to the public because it was too abnormal—but what if the
sword was still intact and well after Sayaka Sonohara’s death and had moved on to
inhabit someone else?
In that case, the most likely host by far would be none other than Anri Sonohara.
The thought had occurred to him a number of times, but he’d always laughed it off as
a nonsensical daydream.
And yet just a few lines of text from this chat room had given him clear evidence.
The katana that pierced his eye had moved on to Sayaka’s daughter, Anri.
Heat bloomed on the right half of his face.

The moment that his conjecture seemed more likely to be truth, he felt his own cold
blood suddenly roar to a boil.
But that was where the surge stopped.
Akabayashi stilled the throbbing in his eye with force and pushed his emotions back
into the memories of the past.
I said, calm down. Anri inherited a memento of her mother. That’s all this is.
If this were back in his more short-tempered days, he might have already been out the
door. This meant that a part of the woman he loved was still alive within her daughter.
But Akabayashi was too mentally mature to hold some kind of twisted romantic
affection for Anri, a girl young enough to be his own daughter.
The one I fell in love with… was a crazy woman named Sayaka Sonohara.
Not that buzzing, annoying sword.
Recalling the flood of obnoxious “words of love” that flooded into him the moment his
eye was slashed, Akabayashi drained the last of his drink and called out, “Hey,
bartender.”
“Yes, sir?” the other man asked.
Akabayashi gave him another lilting smile. “Let’s say you were in love with a woman,
and she didn’t choose you. She ended up marrying another man.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And say her daughter was in some kind of trouble, real bad stuff about to happen. If
you wanted to help the girl get out of it, would that qualify as ‘not being over it’?”
“…”
The bartender thought it over, returned the glass he was polishing to the shelf, and
said, “Whether you can’t get over the girl’s mother or not, you don’t strike me as the
kind of person who would intentionally turn a blind eye to the child of an acquaintance
being in danger, Mr. Akabayashi.”
“Well, you might think too highly of me. You can close me out now,” Akabayashi said,
getting up from his seat and pulling out his wallet. He didn’t really need to ask the man
that question. He just wanted an excuse to go ahead with it.
But it was true gratitude that he felt for the bartender as he took his time leaving the
little room.
He was going to poke his nose into this incident but only in the way that a proper man
on the underside of society would do.
Along Kawagoe Highway
“…This is the apartment building.”
“And is this person really going to be that helpful?” Saki asked, not to cast doubt on
Anri’s offer but just to get some reassurance.
“Yes, she’s a very helpful… person…”
The hesitation around the word person was not simply an unconscious hitch of the
tongue. Anri looked up at the building. It was a place she’d been a number of times. It
was the home of a mutual acquaintance—and savior—of both Anri Sonohara and
Mikado Ryuugamine: Celty Sturluson.
The troubles that surrounded Mikado and Masaomi seemed like too much for Anri
herself to solve. And for one thing, she had no idea where the two of them even were
at this moment.
So she didn’t want to make things worse for anyone, but she also really wanted
someone to speak to. The first person who popped into her head was Celty.
But it was already late into the night. Society did not approve of two young women
walking around on the streets at this hour, but Anri, at least, wasn’t worried about
prowlers or delinquents bothering them. She harbored a weapon inside of her that no
half-hearted attacker could ever overcome.
Just because the girls were able to go around in search of a solution at this hour didn’t
mean that Celty would be available at the drop of a hat, however. Anri felt that a
sudden visit at the door in the middle of the night would be in poor taste, so she had
at least tried calling on the way. But despite multiple attempts, she got no response
from Celty, who was usually very prompt in responding, even in the middle of the
night.
“Maybe she’s asleep already.”
“I suppose so… Oh!” Anri had a sudden epiphany and pulled out her phone again.
“Maybe she’ll be in the chat room.”
“Chat room?”
“Yes… there’s one I use online. I actually interact with her more often there than by
text messages.”
“I see. Then I’ll try contacting Masaomi. He didn’t answer yesterday, but maybe since
it’s a new day, he’ll be in the mood to talk,” Saki suggested, opening her bag so she
could get out her cell phone.
Most likely, Masaomi was avoiding talking to her in order to keep her at a safe distance
from all the trouble, Anri thought, but there was still a greater-than-zero chance that
he might pick up, so she let the other girl go ahead and glanced down at her own
phone.
“Huh…?”
Her expression tightened.
“What’s the matter?” Saki asked. It was clear that something abnormal had happened.
She paused, her thumb hovering over the buttons of her phone.
“Oh no…”
A woman calling herself Namie Yagiri was raging in the chat, throwing around
Mikado’s and Anri’s names. For the moment, Anri’s mind went blank; she was unable
to process what was happening.
Then Saki peered over her arm at the screen and said, “Hang on. Is the chat room you
were talking about… the one that Kanra runs?”
“Huh?” Anri was startled to hear the name of the chat room’s moderator from Saki’s
mouth. “Miss Mikajima, you’re familiar with this chat?!”
“Yeah. I go by the username Saki. And on that topic, Bacura is Masaomi.”
“…!”
It was all so sudden. Anri froze all over.
And though it was without malice of any kind, Saki made it worse by continuing, “Also,
Kanra is Izaya Orihara… Did you know that before you joined?”
“…I…?…?!… Huh?”
Anri’s mouth opened and shut without anything to show for it. She couldn’t process
this.
Not only was she unable to keep up with the string of revelations, the murmuring of
Saika inside her was getting stronger and stronger.
Then, right as the dizziness was getting so bad that she might faint, Anri heard a familiar
voice.
“Anri…?”
It was a voice she’d heard the other day, but at this moment, it felt old and nostalgic
and comforting.
The voice of the girl who had always come to Anri’s aid when the bullies were picking
on her in middle school. The friend who had accepted her on her side of the picture
frame—and acknowledged the metaphor of the frame altogether. The bright and
shining host whom she’d lived off when she thought of herself as a parasite.
Anri looked up, suspecting that she was just hearing things, and stared into a familiar
face.
“Mika… Harima…?”
Normally, she would never expect to see this person at this hour, at this place.
Mika Harima rushed over to her old friend. “What’s the matter? What are you doing
out so late…?” she asked, her voice loud and clear.
Anri stammered, “I… I wanted to talk to Celty about something… But what about
you…?”
Mika Harima had been to this apartment before, too, to teach the group how to cook
sagohachi-style pickled sandfish and other tricky dishes. They’d hunched around a hot
pot together, so Anri knew that Mika was familiar with Celty and Shinra, but it was still
abnormal to run across her in the middle of the night like this.
“Uh… some stuff happened, y’know? In fact, there’s stuff happening right at this
moment, too…”
“?”
Anri gave Mika a quizzical look; it wasn’t a particularly helpful explanation. Just then,
a group of people came into view over Mika’s shoulder.
“What the—? Is that Anri?”
“…Hey, it’s the Sonohara girl…”
“Don’t push it, Kadota!”
It was the van gang but without Karisawa present. That seemed ominous to Anri, but
more worrisome than that was the paleness of Kadota’s face and the obvious pain with
which he was walking.
Behind them, she could also see Seiji Yagiri, his arm over the shoulder of an older
woman. He was unsteady on his feet, too, but unlike Kadota, he didn’t look pale or
weak.
“…Oh, Sonohara. What’s up wi… ung…”
“Seiji! Don’t hurt yourself; the anesthetic hasn’t worn off yet! Forget about that girl
possessed by the cursed blade!”
“Cursed…? What are you talking about, Sister…?”
Huh?
Yet again, Anri found confusion taking over. And to make things worse, the sickly-
looking Kadota did his best to put on a brave face and told her, “You should get out of
the area for a while.”
“Huh?”
“Remember that slasher who attacked you a while back? The one with the bloodshot
eyes…”
“…!”
A nasty chill crawled over Anri’s skin. Not one of Saika’s murmurs but a feeling of fear
from Anri herself.
Was it Haruna Niekawa, or Kasane Kujiragi, or the third party that Kujiragi said she
would “sell” Saika to? Whoever it was, Anri was certain now that another slasher had
appeared under Saika’s influence. She clutched her trembling fists.
And then Kadota added the devastating clincher:
“There’s some people around with their eyes all red like that slasher… but there’s tons
of ’em.”
Ikebukuro—shopping district
“…What is this?”
Erika Karisawa hid in the darkness from the lights of the city, clutching her phone.
She was peering out at a major road from a narrow alley between two large buildings.
And she was looking at a crowd of people.
It wasn’t as many as one would expect in the middle of the day, but it was still far too
many for this hour of the night.
She’d seen this once before: a year and a half ago, when the Dollars held their first
meetup. But the aura surrounding the people occupying the streets was not at all like
that gathering.
They were all just loitering around, not going anywhere, standing still like automatons
waiting for some order to fulfill.
And most alien of all—their eyes were a deep crimson, to the very last man.
Karisawa recalled the same event that Kadota did. The incident with the street slasher,
half a year ago.
It was exactly how the slasher had looked, up until they’d hit him with Togusa’s van. It
hadn’t been the end of it all, given that the Night of the Ripper had happened a few
days later, when dozens of people were attacked at once. But even then, she hadn’t
expected to see a return of that phenomenon out of nowhere.
“If I was gonna get lost in a two-dimensional situation, I’d have preferred a sports
manga over a horror movie,” Karisawa grumbled, in characteristic fashion. The entire
reason that she was here was because she’d gone looking for Kadota after he’d left the
hospital without warning. It was by coincidence that she’d spotted this sight.
The group of red-eyed people approached the occasional ordinary pedestrian who
passed by them and gave their victims a simple, easy scratch, like a zombie. The
pedestrian would spin around at the pain, angry—but within a few seconds, their eyes
would be just as bloodshot, and they would promptly join the group.
Karisawa herself had been watching from a distance, until a number of the red-eyed
gang noticed her and began to approach, forcing her to run and hide where she stood
now.
Yumasaki called her a couple of times while she was hiding, but she declined the calls,
wary that answering the phone might draw attention by the noise and cause her to
lose concentration.
“And a phone going off? That’s such a death omen,” she murmured to herself. That
kind of monologuing sounded confident, but in fact, she was nearly trapped at the
moment.
He did send a text message, however. It said, “Kadota’s fine. He’s saying either come to
the black market doctor’s place or go home and hide.”
It was a relief to learn that Kadota was okay, but that meant the bigger question now
was if she could actually safely escape this alley or not. Careful not to get too
distracted, she typed back, “Kind of stuck right now. If anything happens, you can have
my hard disc and doujinshi, Yumacchi.” Then she went back to watching the crowd for
a chance to escape.
It looks like the people are getting scratched by their nails… I wonder if I’ll be a slasher,
too, if they get me, Karisawa thought, remembering Anri.
The other girl, unlike this mob with their bloodshot eyes, actually glowed from her eye
sockets when she swung her katana around. It seemed certain that there was some
connection between them, though.
Maybe that was why she was being singled out by the slasher. But Karisawa didn’t
mistrust or bear a grudge against Anri. She simply smiled sadly to herself.
Rather than being made one of the zombie horde, I’d rather get sliced clean with Anri’s
katana, so I could be a katana wielder, too. Actually, I’d rather have a giant scythe
instead. Just like Death.
Whether she simply felt no impending danger or was acting blithe to drown out her
fear, Karisawa was still being utterly herself.
“What the…?”
A boy in an area not particularly close to Karisawa’s saw the gathering crowd and took
out his phone. He was a Blue Squares member and was here scouting out the location
of the “transaction” on Aoba’s orders.
“Hey, Aoba, is this a festival night?”

“There’s a whole lotta people out at this hour.”
“Is it Toramaru?”
The boy glanced at the mob again. But none of them seemed to be members of a
motorcycle gang. They were all normal types, like salarymen and young adults going
home from drinking with friends.
“Nah, they’re all ordinary—businessmen, office ladies… a few kids in school uniforms.”
“This late at night? Well, watch for a bit longer, just in case.”
“Got it. I’ll call if I learn anything.”
The boy hung up the phone and approached Sixtieth Floor Street.
Then he noticed something. The density of the crowd seemed to increase as he went
in one direction.
What’s going on?
The people were gathered between the intersection next to Tokyu Hands and the
building with the bowling alley inside. Right around where those Russians ran the
sushi restaurant.
The boy approached, wondering whether there was a hostage situation in there or
something—when he passed by a pedestrian and felt a sharp pain on the back of his
hand.
“Aah…,” he hissed. There was a little cut on the skin of his hand. He must have scratched
it on something when he passed by.
He spun around, wondering whether he should yell at the man.
And then he realized that the scratch was throbbing, pulsing.

…
He stopped. Examined the wound.
……ve.
Just a little scratch. Nothing serious.
l ov e
The bleeding had almost stopped already.
ove lo e love l ve
But the itching didn’t stop. The pulsing was only getting stronger.
I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you Mr. Nasujima I lovelovelove
And then the boy noticed.
I love you I love your flesh your hair your soul blood voice memory future everything
The throbbing wasn’t pain; it was a voice that was echoing throughout his love you love
you love you love you love you love you love you love you love you love love love love love
love love lllllloooooooovvvvvvvvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeeeee……………………
“…Hey, Aoba?”
The boy was back on the phone; this time his eyes were abnormally red with blood
and shining emptily.
“What did you learn?”
“Turns out there was some kind of unannounced idol concert, so it’s just a bunch of
people loitering about after it finished. If anything, it’s good cover for messing around.”
“Okay. Then I’ll tell Mr. Mikado about it.”

When the call was over, the boy looked to the man standing across from him.
“Well done,” the man said. “Very good acting.”
“Thank you… Mother,” the boy replied, then wandered unsteadily away among the
throng.
The man, Takashi Nasujima, watched him go, chuckling, and said to a man and woman
standing at his side, “This is interesting. Mikado Ryuugamine’s actually going to come
right out here into the open. And with a motorcycle-gang leader from Saitama and
Masaomi Kida, to boot.”
“Yes, Mother,” said the woman, Haruna Niekawa, with empty eyes.
But the man next to her, Shijima, was more confused. “What? Mikado Ryuugamine?”
Nasujima ignored his question. He smiled happily with the information he’d just
gained. He’d been giving all the Saikas under his command a constant order—“Bring
me any useful information you learn”—and the boy who’d wandered away had done
the job admirably.
Nasujima, too, had his eye on Mikado Ryuugamine, the founder of the Dollars. He was
considering whether to put him under Saika’s control tonight or threaten him into
behaving, like he had with Shijima. But if the boy was going to come here all on his
own, that was a happy surprise.
And not only that—there was another bird coming home to roost.
“Masaomi Kida. There’s a name I didn’t expect to hear tonight.”
When Nasujima was a teacher, Kida had caught him sexually harassing Anri Sonohara
and used that knowledge to threaten him. He wasn’t a teacher anymore, but at the very
least, he still felt the anger and hatred of being mocked and toyed with by a student.
“Sounds good. I can take him over and make him dance naked. I’ll record it, upload it
to the Net, then undo his mind control and see how he reacts.”
Nasujima chuckled to himself over his trashy idea, then glanced toward Russia Sushi.
“I was thinking of just tearing down the place all at once, but I wouldn’t want to cause
too much trouble and put them on edge.”
So he decided to have the crowd lay low for now. More important was how he was
going to get Shizuo Heiwajima’s supervisor under his control while inside the
restaurant.
Nasujima had a few of his Saika-possessed victims standing outside of Russia Sushi
with one of those old cell phone signal jammers that used to be popular years ago. In
fact, it had been tampered with to augment the effect. If he walked a few yards closer,
his own phone would stop working.
The restaurant’s landline had already been cut, and there were no signs of a broadband
or cable TV wire.
Nasujima had cut off all means of contact with the outside world, putting him at an
overwhelming advantage over whoever was inside of Russia Sushi.
But he wasn’t completely filled with confidence. Shizuo Heiwajima remained a source
of anxiety and a target for his caution.
Not only did he have the trauma of being beaten by Shizuo in the past, but it also
seemed that Saika itself viewed Shizuo as a special human being somehow. Therefore,
he needed control over Shizuo’s boss—his Achilles’ heel—without drawing Shizuo’s
attention. If that monster showed up now, it would all be over.
Nasujima placed a phone call to another number, but it did not get picked up.
“Tsk… damn info dealer. Can’t get him when I actually need him,” Nasujima swore,
conveniently ignoring the fact that he’d stolen money from that same man’s office.
Next, he called the secretary of Jinnai Yodogiri, the man he was planning to betray in
order to take over his business. As far as Nasujima knew, the secretary’s information
network was trustworthy. She might even have knowledge on what Shizuo Heiwajima
was doing right about now.
But she, too, did not pick up the call.
“Shit, doesn’t anybody around here answer their damn phone?” he snapped, ignoring
the fact that he was calling in the dead of night.
But of course, he didn’t know that at this moment, both Izaya Orihara and Yodogiri’s
secretary, Kasane Kujiragi, were in the same building.
Or that, more importantly, Shizuo Heiwajima himself was there with them.
Building under construction—lower levels
Down in the lower levels of the building where Shizuo and Izaya were fighting to the
death, the foundation was very strong and mostly complete. The interiors were
entirely finished in parts.
But given that the only lights were the fluorescents in the hallways, it was still quite a
barren sight and not much better than a cleared-out empty building.
It was in this environment that three young women faced off.
This was not a glamorous scene or a bright and chatty one. Each of the women had
suffered equal physical damage.
“Ha-ha! You two are good,” said Mikage Sharaku, a woman built like a street fighter,
enjoying herself despite the wounds to her cheeks and arms. “I underestimated you. I
shouldn’t have.”
The other two, Vorona and Kasane Kujiragi, gave her expressionless looks.
“In typical times, this phenomenon would cause my entrails to boil, but at present I
deny to do battle with you,” said Vorona.
“I agree with her. I have no reason to fight you.”
It wasn’t a three-sided fight. Vorona and Kujiragi were heading to the top of the
building, and Mikage was trying to interfere with their progress. On the other hand,
Vorona and Kujiragi did not know each other well and were not capable of teaming up
against their foe.
If Slon had been here instead of Kujiragi, Vorona would be three or four times as
deadly, but it wasn’t until moments ago that she even learned Kujiragi was capable of
fighting at all.
All she knew was that the other woman wasn’t weak but in fact had superhuman
athleticism of her own. Mikage sensed as much through their pugilistic exchange. She
gave her a cocky smile.
“I guess it’s true that you can’t judge a person by their looks. I never expected someone
who looks as brainy as you to be a good fighter.”
“You have overestimated me. If I were truly brainy, I would not be in this place at all.
And if I were as powerful as you make me out to be, I would be leading a different life
right now.”
“Look, I’m not talking about some vague crap like your ‘strength as a person.’” Mikage
looked toward the third woman and said, “Vorona, right? I wish I could’ve fought you
at peak condition instead. Though knowing you, I bet you’d just use a gun or
something.”
Vorona glared and pursed her lips. She’d suffered bruises all over her body from the
steel beams dropped off the building’s roof. And in fact, she did have a gun, which had
gotten trapped under the pile of beams.
Still, Vorona knew that even if she were in peak condition, the woman she was fighting
was not one to be trifled with. She could be partially armed and still lose that battle.
As evidence of that, Mikage was currently fighting two capable women—even if

uncoordinated with each other—and had stopped them short.
In between Vorona’s practiced martial arts and combination attacks, Kujiragi would
strike with inhuman reflexes and speed. That was the kind of impromptu combination
work that would take down any novice fighter, even a man with bulging muscles.
But Mikage blocked all of Vorona’s hits with her palms and evaded Kujiragi by just a
hair. And in the moments when the two women switched attacks, she even countered
with kicks of her own.
While Mikage wasn’t getting away scot-free, neither side was able to totally neutralize
the other. The fight was turning into a stalemate.
If Shizuo was some djinni or spirit that transcended humanity, then this woman was
an amalgamation of advanced technology.
Normally, Vorona would be delighted. If she could destroy this woman, who had
pursued the extremes of human strength—or if she herself was utterly destroyed—
then at last she could measure the strength of humanity.
But though she was facing an opponent who might fulfill her long-held wish, Vorona
was not in the mood to celebrate.
Across from her, guarding the way to the stairs, Mikage smirked. “Want me to let you
in on something? Whether you go up there or not, it won’t make a difference,” she said,
grimacing with frustration that she couldn’t be there to see it. “This is a fight beyond
that kind of interference, I bet.”
The building itself seemed to back her up there, as a dull crash from above traveled
downward.
“The combatants up there are a guy whose body quit being human and a guy whose
brain quit being human,” Mikage said.
With absolute certainty, Vorona replied, “There is no inevitability that a fight should
be valid. There is no possibility of victory over Sir Shizuo. It is the direction of my duty
that should stop the beating of his heart.”
“You sure talk some crazy Japanese…,” Mikage said with a grin as she shook out her
hands. “As to your statement, I’ll admit, I didn’t think Izaya stood a chance against that
monster, either… but the truth is, I’ve never actually seen what he can do.”
“?”
“He’ll happily lead a person to their downfall, but he doesn’t use his own violence to
directly destroy a person. I mean, he’s got that whole shtick about loving humanity or
whatever.”
Mikage glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, looking anguished that she couldn’t
actually be up there to see their fight.
“So I think this might actually be the first time he’s ever used all his power and seriously
attempted to kill a human being.”
Building under construction—upper levels
“Ah… What a view.”
Izaya let his eyes travel down from the starless sky overhead.
“I think the view of the night under a sky without stars is the height of beauty. It’s a
crystallization of human industry,” he said entirely to himself, the words melting into
the darkness.
Izaya Orihara was not, in fact, holding any kind of conversation with the man who knelt
at the center of the construction site.
That was Shizuo Heiwajima, grimacing with anguish on the ground.
It was an unthinkable sight: Izaya sat unharmed atop the steel beams of the building
frame, looking down at Shizuo, who bore a number of wounds all over his body.
They’d been inflicted by wire and nail-gun traps that Izaya had set up.
All the traps would be instantly fatal to a normal person, but they were little more than
scratches to Shizuo. They shouldn’t have had the ability to bring a being like Shizuo
Heiwajima to his knees—and yet that was exactly where he was, on the floor of the
building.
“…”
Shizuo said nothing. He merely glared up at Izaya, sitting off to the side, his expression
pained. In fact, he was finding it difficult to even breathe, not that he wanted to say
anything if he could.
It was not pain or blood loss that stole the freedom of his monstrously powerful body.
The first things to assault him were dizziness and fatigue.
There was no way he’d be feeling tired given the situation, but by the time he was
aware of the abnormal feeling in him, it was already too late.
All the strength had left his muscles. He could no longer stand on his own.
It was lack of oxygen.
Just as simple as oxygen deprivation. It seemed unlikely, happening in a construction

site that was little more than vinyl covering over steel building frames, but it was
indeed none other than a trap set by Izaya.
The fire, the crane attack, and all the other traps were nothing more than red herrings
meant to hide the existence of this one.
Specifically, it was the fire-extinguishing system that had already been built into the
building. Izaya tampered with the pipes from the carbon dioxide gas tank meant to
snuff out fires, filling the building with the gas very quickly.
It would not have worked without Izaya’s brilliant calculations, predicting the wind
direction and flow of air and guiding Shizuo to the place where the oxygen concentration
was lowest.
It was thanks to the unprecedented level of murderous intent in Izaya’s mind—a true
aura of lethality shrouding his brain, perhaps—that his concentration hit peak values.
However much gas was being pumped into the area, regardless of it being outside, the
spot where Shizuo was standing had dangerously low levels of oxygen. He inhaled, not
realizing this, and quickly lost full control of his body.
In fact, if the oxygen levels had been any lower, he might have fallen unconscious. And
if the fight had been taking place in an enclosed interior, Shizuo could have died from
lack of oxygen.
But sensing that an “enclosed space” was always temporary given Shizuo’s strength
when in a rage, Izaya chose to employ this strategy instead.
How does one kill a creature to whom guns and blades mean nothing? The answer, to
Izaya, was suffocation.
And as a result, the monster who’d taken a hit from a truck without blinking was now
helpless on his knees.
But there was no joy or arrogance on Izaya’s face.
Shizuo Heiwajima was still alive.
That simple fact meant that he was in the presence of a threat to his very life.
Perhaps if there had been no wind blowing between the buildings or if the night had
been perfectly still, the situation would have been different. In any case, it was
fortunate for him that his strategy was effective enough to stop Shizuo in his tracks in
an outdoor environment at all.
How many minutes would it take before he recovered from the lack of oxygen? How
many seconds?
Izaya couldn’t put on his usual confident grin, because any estimates based on normal
human physiology meant nothing here. Normally he would have been running and
darting about, smiling cockily as he fled, but there were two reasons he wore no such
smile now.
He was full to the brim with loathing for his opponent.
And he knew, on an instinctual level, that one wrong movement would lead to the end
of his life.
I don’t care if I die.
But I don’t want it to be at the expense of this monster surviving.
The monster can’t live among the human beings in a world without me.
Pretending to be human, pinning down humanity with his strength.
Love, hope, malice, plotting, intelligence, technique, experience.
All the things that humanity has built, he ruins.
“…Yeah, that’s right.”

The words spilled right out of his mouth.
But whether they were meant for anyone aside from himself, as his eyes narrowed
with turgid black emotions, no one could say. Not even the man who said them.
“I ought to kill you, whether there’s a good rationale or not.”
Any display of emotion had disappeared from Izaya’s face. He stood atop the steel
beam and took out an object.
It was an old-fashioned box of matches, with the name of some business or other on
it—the same implement he’d used to burn the chess pieces in his apartment a while
ago. He lit a match and dropped the little spark below.
The wind had already blown free the extinguishing gas that was meant to remove the
oxygen that might fuel any flames.
Now there was a different kind of gas surrounding Shizuo.
The flammable gas that had been flowing across the outside area from the moment
that he’d first emerged there.
As he watched the match falling toward him, Shizuo could also sense the odor of the
gas filling the space around him. But no one could say whether he currently had the
brainpower needed to process that information accurately.
All that was certain was he hadn’t recovered from the damage the lack of oxygen had
caused, and he wouldn’t be able to generate the same kind of wind he had earlier when
kicking down the door.
So he couldn’t leap out into the open air. The gas surrounded him on all sides. He was
trapped.
And then the flame of the match reached the layer of gas.
Red light flashed against the starless night sky.

Ikebukuro
Because it was late at night, only a very limited number of people witnessed a part of
the night sky turning red.
But within the confines of a dense metropolis, even a limited number can mean quite
a lot—in this case, several hundred people.
Mysteriously, however, the light vanished nearly as quickly as it appeared. From a

distance, it was as though the roof of a specific building flashed, then returned to
darkness in less than a minute.
But many of those witnesses failed to detect something off about the phenomenon.
The blinking aircraft warning lights atop the building in question had vanished as well.
Only a handful of those witnesses actually noticed what happened.
There were Shingen Kishitani and Egor, looking up at the building under construction
from its base.
And also, watching from the window of a distant building, a man whose eyes were
bloodshot red.
The man’s skin was peeled off here and there, his flesh scraped away, as if he had
wrenched his way free from some kind of physical bondage. He had done a minimal
amount to stop the bleeding, but there was plenty of blood on his clothing.
He watched the distant sight as if he were gazing upon someone beloved, with those
bright red eyes. And he did know what happened.
On the roof of a building about two-thirds of a mile away, a shadow had plunged from
the sky, scooped up a flame that was about to burst throughout the area, and
extinguished it within its darkness.
At a brief glance, it was as if the light had rapidly dwindled. But the man, who had
observed the freakish shadow longer than anyone and knew it better than anyone,
understood immediately how it had extinguished the fire, even from a distance.
It was as though the night sky had a will of its own and had chosen to put out the fire.
And in knowing what it did, the man exulted.
Exactly because he knew what it had done.
Saika’s accursed words of love surged within him.
When Kujiragi possessed him with Saika’s power, she commanded him to stay put and
behave.
But he used his own love to pin down both of these things—and spoke the name of the
one to whom he dedicated his unstoppable love.
Moaning, singing, his own word of love escaping his throat.
“Cel…… ty……”
It was just a name, but to him, it was a word of love.
He hadn’t driven out Saika’s curse, the way that Akabayashi once had, by gouging out
his own wound. Instead, he had repeated Haruna Niekawa’s method, mastering Saika’s
mad song of love from the inside.
He was able to overwhelm Saika much faster than Haruna had—perhaps because
Saika loved “humans,” while what he loved was “inhuman.”
Did he even know what had happened to himself?
The man cut by Saika, Shinra Kishitani, faced the darkened sky with red eyes and
smiled.
Full of love for what seemed to be the dark of the night itself that coated the city.
Raijin High School—in the past
“So if that tiger’s going to leave his skin behind, as a person, how will you leave your
name behind? I’m kind of excited about the thought of you being remembered as a
serial killer.”
“As a person…?”
The smile vanished from Shinra’s lips as he looked up at the light coming down from
the rooftop door. He imagined a great shadow beyond that light, sucking up everything
into its midst.
“I don’t need to leave anything behind.”
“But I thought people died and left their names behind. If you’re not a tiger or a human,
then what do you intend to be?”
“Good question. If I’m not a person or a tiger, then I guess I’m going to be some kind
of weird folklore monster,” Shinra joked—or made what could only be taken as a
joke—smiling worriedly.
“But if I could be with her… then I wouldn’t mind not being human.”
Chat room
Kuru: Well, well. My, my. For claiming that she would flame TarouTanaka until he
showed up, Miss Namie does seem to have given up posting all of a sudden.
Mai: Mysterious.
Mai: Maybe she got hungry.
Kuru: We can only hope the reason is as benign as that.
Kuru: But who do you suppose this “Rocchi” is? This message board is supposed to be
accessible by invitation only, so I would assume that Rocchi must know one of the
members. Or perhaps Masaomi Kida is in fact a member of the chat, and Rocchi
threatened him into giving up the address. Who could this Masaomi Kida be…?
Mai: This is shameless.
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched.
Kuru: Be that as it may, since neither Rocchi nor Namie has left the room, I would
assume they’re still watching?
Mai: Exciting.
Rocchi: Yo, I’m here.
Mai: Yo.
Kuru: Oh my. So you’re still around. Very clever of you to stay quiet and spy on the
chat, pretending that you are away.
NamieYagiri has left the chat.
Kuru: Oh my. Already giving up, Miss Namie? Or did she have some pressing business
to attend to?
Mai: I pressed the trapdoor button.
Rocchi: Sorry about that. I was just planning a party with my friend.
Rocchi: Are you two girls, by the way?
Rocchi: Because I’ve got a bit of time until the party.
Rocchi: Do you mind if I hang out here and chat until then?
Rocchi: Is that okay with you?
Kuru: Oh my. Should you really be talking to ladies in such a forward manner online?
You never know, we might be men pretending to be women.
Mai: Gender undisclosed.
Mai: Mysterious!
Rocchi: Nah, I can tell. You’re not pretending. You’re both girls.
Kuru: That’s a very entertaining guess, but do you have evidence? I believe that you
might be better suited to writing rom-coms than playing detective. The Internet is the
shining darkness of the modern world, where no one can see the other’s face. What
makes you so certain of the fact that I must be a woman, just because my manner of
communication is so blatantly feminine?
Rocchi: A hunch.
Rocchi: I can tell from the writing when someone’s a cute girl.
Mai: You’re scary.
Mai: You’re a philanderer.
Rocchi: Can’t deny that one.
Kuru: What a strange gentleman. Oh, pardon me. I did not take into account the
possibility that you might be a woman.
Rocchi: Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Am I cool for bearing the burden of the
shining darkness of the modern world?
Kuru: Anonymity is a thing of the past, after that previous outburst. Miss Namie has
most crudely revealed the identities of those who inhabit this place. This entire chat
room was predicated upon a delicate balance—made of a group of people who know
each other but do not know each other’s aliases. Now it is ruined and must be reset.
No score, no game, no future.
Mai: That’s sad.
Rocchi: I mean, it sure sounds like you know who everyone is.
Kuru: Yes, we had the pleasure of the superiority of knowledge, knowing all and being
mere observers. Now this valuable place of play will be lost to us. It is a shame, but I
suppose there is little one can do but chalk it up to the work of fate.
Mai: Very sad.
Rocchi: That’s not true, is it?
Rocchi: There are many things you can say when you’re not looking the other person
in the face, but there are also lots of things you can say because you know who you’re
talking to, right?
Kuru: Oh my. Such as what?
Rocchi: A confession of love.
Mai: Incredible.
Rocchi: Of course, you can also do that when neither party knows the other very well
and get into a load of trouble because of it.
Rocchi: I mean, look, I don’t know the first thing about this chat room.
Rocchi: But since I happened to be here for its ending, it would be nice to get to know
you.
Kuru: You really will say whatever you want, won’t you? Who in the world are you?
Mai: Who are you.
Rocchi: Just a passing ne’er-do-well.
Rocchi: And I’m heading to a ne’er-do-well party in Ikebukuro.
Rocchi: I wouldn’t go outside until the night is over, if I were you.
Kuru: Oh my. You speak exactly like a certain someone I know. Just when I was
preparing to head out into the city, to relieve myself of the loneliness of knowing this
special place has been irrevocably broken.
Mai: We’re in sync.
Rocchi: Pardon me.
Rocchi: But in fact, this place isn’t special.
Rocchi: Out there, in here—it’s all the same.
Rocchi: I mean, when you pass people on the street, you both might as well be
anonymous, right?
Rocchi: You never know where an acquaintance might be hiding in plain sight.
Rocchi: And that can break down out of nowhere, just like this message board.
Rocchi: Well, so long.
Rocchi has left the chat.

Hallway, Raijin High School—in the past
“Hey, are you ready to be up and walking around already…? Oh, why do I even ask?”
“…Oh, it’s you, Shinra. Where’s that cockroach? I’m gonna squash him like the bug he
is, until he says he’s going to change schools,” growled Shizuo bitterly as he passed
Shinra in the hallway.
Shinra shrugged and jokingly responded, “You got hit by a truck, and rather than
worrying about your own health, your first priority is hitting others? But I guess
you’ve grown as a person, since you’re not destroying the school campus itself until
Izaya shows up.”
He sighed, then glanced at Shizuo’s hair. “To be honest, I was stunned when I saw you
with blond hair after all that time. I thought you’d finally turned into a bad boy.”
“…Oh, shut up. I didn’t dye it blond because I wanted to.”
“Then why? You can get your way on anything with force alone. Why would you dye it
blond if you didn’t want to?”
“It was an older guy in middle school who told me to do it… But whatever, that doesn’t
matter. What class is that mosquito bastard in?” Shizuo demanded, his temple pulsing.
He was seething with anger despite the fact that he’d just met the guy the day before.
“Are you intending to get kicked out of school? At least control yourself while in the
building.” Shinra cackled.
Shizuo clicked his tongue but did as his schoolmate said, this time turning his anger
upon Shinra himself. “And what the hell were you thinking, introducing me to that
filthy little trash bug?”
“Oh, come on. He’s the only friend I made in middle school, so I wanted to introduce
him to you, the only friend I made in elementary.”
“Let me give you a warning. Choose your friends carefully.”
“Really? You’re going to say that, Shizuo?” Shinra quipped to his old friend with a grin.
“Look, at least take it easy at school. You don’t want to get expelled right at the start of
the school year and cause your family a bunch of grief, do you?”
“…”
The mention of his family made Shizuo’s scowl even deeper. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled.
“I guess I can wait until after school to kill him.”
“Can we at least remove ‘killing him’ from the options? What is it that has you so
furious about him?”
“…I just hate guys like that, who talk around people in circles but don’t actually do
anything on their own.”
“Ah, I see now.”
It was quite a bold statement for Shizuo to make about the personality of someone
he’d barely met, but Shinra didn’t push back on it. He knew that Izaya was exactly the
kind of person Shizuo described.
Instead of arguing, he smiled and said, “But if you’re going to go down that route, I’m
also a person who’s all talk.”
“That’s true. You annoy me all the time, too,” Shizuo said with a mean glare.
Shinra backed away in a hurry. “H-hey, don’t look at me like that. Whoa, whoa—easy,
easy. Let’s be cool.”
Shizuo’s brow stayed furrowed as he stared at his old friend. “The thing is, you might
tell a lot of really stupid-ass jokes, but you don’t just lie for the hell of it. That, at least,
makes you better than that fleabrain.”
“I think you’re confused. I’m not some pure, innocent soul, and I’ll lie if I need to.”
“…You’re dumb enough to talk about wanting to dissect people in broad daylight. Why
would you even need to lie?” Shizuo said, intending it to sound like casual conversation.
Shinra thought that one over.
“Hmm… Good question. I’m in love with a girl.”
“So?”
“If I needed to, I would lie in order to fulfill my love for her. I would be a villain.”
“Okay, fine. Hey, if you wanna be a villain for the sake of the woman you love, knock
yourself out,” Shizuo shot back, annoyed at the sappy romantic talk.
But Shinra waved his hand in denial. “No, it wouldn’t be for her sake exactly. It would
be for my sake.”
“What?”
“If I was going to lie out of malice, it would be to her.”
“What do you mean?” Shizuo’s brow furrowed even deeper. The other students were
steering so clear of him, they wouldn’t even venture into the hallway.
“I mean, I really, really love her. In fact, it’s probably closer to a desire to own her than
to love her. So if she was drifting away from me for some reason… I would do whatever
it takes to keep her at my side, even if it meant being a villain. I might even kill a
person.”
Even Shizuo had to take this admission in silence. Eventually, he said, “Nah… that’s no
good. If you killed someone, she wouldn’t want anything to do with you anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Which is why I’d keep it a secret from her. Or maybe I’d lie and say,
‘It’s your fault I became a murderer!’ and make her feel really guilty about it. Then
maybe she’ll stay with me forever.”
“You’re kind of a piece of shit, huh?” Shizuo let out a huge sigh and looked at Shinra
with pity in his eyes. “I think the reason you don’t have many friends is because you
say whatever’s on your mind like that.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear that from you… but I won’t deny it.”
“What kind of love is it that makes life worse for the other person? If that’s love, it’s a
pretty twisted strain of it.”
“Look, I’m not saying I wouldn’t rather have it a different way, right? I’d prefer to lead
a normal romantic life and be able to say stuff like ‘As long as I can pledge my life to
you, I don’t need anything else!’ That would be best of all,” Shinra said, nodding to
himself, as proper as you please.
Shizuo gave him a disgusted look. “I feel really sorry for whatever woman you fall in
love with. Just don’t be surprised if she stabs you when she finds out what you’re like.”
“I don’t know… She’s really sweet, so maybe at the end of it all, she’ll actually forgive
me.”
“At least you’ve got a field of flowers in that skull of yours…,” Shizuo said, shaking his
head. He was tired of the topic. “But whatever. If it comes to that, I’ll smash you up into
the sky so your woman won’t have to.”
He meant it as a way to tell off Shinra, but the other boy just smiled. Whether he was
serious or joking, Shinra said, “I’d appreciate it if you did. And I’d appreciate it even
more if you do it softly enough that I don’t die.”
“I’m not as tough as you, after all.”
Building under construction—present day
The flame of the match acted as a trigger, sending up a huge amount of heat and light
from the flammable gas filling the area and causing dull sounds of destruction.
Izaya stood atop the beams, but he’d moved to a safer location away from the searing
waves of heat after he dropped the match. But even then, the gusts of wind from the
gas explosion sent jets of raging heat right past him.
He had to hold tight to the steel pillar to protect himself and ensure the gust didn’t
knock him off. That was enough to pull his eyes off Shizuo for the moment.
There was always the possibility that Shizuo could be entirely burned to a crisp,
without oxygen in his lungs, and still come after him. At the very least, Izaya expected,
he wouldn’t be able to escape with his legs paralyzed like that…
But then he noticed something off.
The darkness around them had somehow gotten thicker.
“…?”
This wasn’t typical night darkness. The light of the flames was being sucked up directly
into the sky—such was the abnormal dark around the building.
It was often said that the stars were invisible in the city because of the illumination
around you, but in this case, it was as if the sky had snuffed out all the light on the
surface of the planet.
And not just the light. The wind, heated and fueled by the fire—even the flames
themselves—vanished into the darkness. A shadow reaching down from the sky was
grabbing the fire and devouring it.
Izaya recognized this shadow.
“…”
And realizing that he knew what this mysterious shadow was, he narrowed his eyes
and muttered, “I thought it had no memory… What does that monster think it’s doing?”
For just a moment, he gazed up at the sky. There were no stars above, nothing at all
but unnatural darkness.
But he couldn’t afford to pay much attention to it now. He was in the midst of a battle
for his life.
Out of the suspicion that the shadow might seek to interrupt or interfere with their
battle, Izaya gave it a bare minimum of caution as he searched for Shizuo Heiwajima
below.
The flame had not spread far but was collected into a small area, probably due to the
effect of the shadow. Yet he did not see a human figure amid the fire.
Where is he?
Izaya squinted, looking for the figure of a man charred to a crisp. Then he felt a dull
shaking at his feet and grabbed the steel beam for support.
An earthquake?
It was fierce and yet muffled, like the earth itself was rumbling and rocking.
No, that’s not it.
An ordinary person would chalk it up to a quake. But Izaya knew.
There was no coincidental tremor right at this exact moment. There was one possible
source that was far more likely, given the circumstances.
Izaya gripped the corner of the pillar and gazed into the center of the shrinking,
focusing flames.
And then he saw it. Right in the center of the fire.
There was a large shadow, right around the spot where Shizuo had been kneeling
earlier. But it was not in the form of a human figure consumed by the fire.
It was a massive hole in the floor with cracks spreading away from it like the web of a
spider. A shiver ran down Izaya’s back.
That monster. Did he punch through the floor with his upper-half strength alone?
Moments ago, Shizuo had been paralyzed on the floor due to lack of air. He was able
to move his torso but hadn’t recovered enough oxygen to use his legs to stand.
So he had used whatever muscles he could to inflict enough damage to break through
the floor. Perhaps it had been with his fists or elbows or forehead; Izaya couldn’t tell.
All he knew was that the smashing sound he had heard earlier along with the burst of
heat and light hadn’t been from the explosion but had been the sound of the floor
crumbling with the force of Shizuo’s blow.
Did he fall through a hole to escape?! Or maybe…

There were two possibilities.
One was that he had punched a hole in the floor and escaped the flames by falling
through it.
The other was that, like a grasshopper slamming its legs against the ground for greater
recoil, the sheer force of hitting the floor had buffeted the rest of his body clear out of
the center of the flames.
In either case, there was just one conclusion to be drawn.
Izaya leaned forward atop the steel beam, looking down the length of the pillar
beneath him to its base. And there he saw…
“…”
…the figure of Shizuo Heiwajima—clothes, skin, and hair singed here and there—
grabbing the base of the steel beam with a look of absolute fury.
Uh-oh!
Izaya tried to leap away to safety, but a larger shaking threw off his momentum. The
beams around him bent and twisted as the very foundation of the wall of the building
began to crumble.
Shizuo pried the beam he was holding out of the frame of the building and held it the
way he normally held streetlights and electric poles when he removed them and
swung them around.
As Izaya fell, off-balance, from his previous foothold, he saw the metal beam swinging
straight at him.
“Guh…”
Out of either calculation or pure instinct, Izaya instantly twisted, swinging his shoe
out to catch the beam.
The next moment, the sole of his shoe made contact with metal—and Izaya’s body was
struck toward the starless mound of the sky, a baseball diamond without pitcher or
fielders.
Ikebukuro
“…Kinda weird, huh?”
Chikage was on the way toward their transaction point, with Masaomi walking next to
him.
“Yeah, sure are a lot of people out and about.”
“Exactly… Doesn’t feel like the hours before dawn.”
They were going to get to the trade-off spot ahead of time and scout it out, to see
whether they could learn how many people Mikado intended to bring. Perhaps there
was an emergency staircase at a nearby restaurant or other late-night establishment
that they could use as a vantage point.
But on the way there, the two noticed that something felt off. Not only did Masaomi,
as a resident of Ikebukuro, sense it, but even Chikage, from distant Saitama, could tell
that something was wrong.
“I’m getting a bad feeling about it. This crawling on my back? It’s like when the yakuza
would get involved with my gang.”
“Don’t scare me like that…,” Masaomi said, cheek twitching, but he didn’t seem
particularly afraid. There was one concern on his mind, though: “I just hope that Izumii
asshole doesn’t interfere…”
Chikage had put the hurt on them at the parking garage, but they weren’t the type of
folks who gave up easily.
“Can’t believe they’re bringing in guys like that…”
“Hey, anyone can join the Dollars, right? I heard there are little grade school kids, too.”
“But even still…”
Masaomi thought back to how Izumii and his gang had nearly brought down the
Yellow Scarves from within. It was a galling memory.
“Anyway, better to steer clear of that guy in the shades,” Chikage said cheerily as he
glanced around them. “That’s the kind of guy who’ll hurl Molotov cocktails at anyone
he decides is an enemy, even in the middle of broad daylight.”
They were still keeping their distance from the shopping district and not approaching
the crowds directly. During the day, they might have slipped in among the throng, but
they weren’t careless enough to wander over into an abnormal situation.
“Got any ideas as to what this is about? I mean, I’d believe it if you told me there was
a World Cup match today or somethin’.”
“I dunno… Do they look weird to you, too? It’s like they’re just wandering back and
forth…”
A cold sweat began to trickle down Masaomi’s back. The eeriness of the sight was
starting to surpass curiosity into the realm of horror.
Don’t tell me this has the Dollars’ fingerprints on it, too…
I guess all those people there… could be Dollars, perhaps…
But then again…
Masaomi had heard the legend of the Dollars’ first meetup, but this seemed strange
even for that.
“Fine, fine. Let’s get inside somewhere, just in case,” Chikage suggested and headed for
a nearby door. “As long as we can get onto the roof.”
“We gotta plan it a bit more than that,” Masaomi said, chagrined. He glanced at a
different nearby building. “Let’s go to that one. The rooftop has a good view, and it’s
easy to get up to.”
“You’ve been on the roof there?”

“I was going all over the place back in the days when we fought with the Blue Squares.
My worst adviser, Orihara, seemed to be oddly well-informed about them,” Masaomi
said, his face twisting at the bitter memories of the wars in the old days.
Chikage cackled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, listen to you, juvenile
delinquent. I guess I can turn a blind eye to your past exploits in this case, then.”
“…Like you aren’t about to engage in trespassing yourself.”
Inside a van
Togusa’s van featured an anime decal all across one side of it, thanks to Yumasaki.
Normally, it had the space for four to relax in relative comfort, front seat and back, but
now it had twice that population density.
Togusa was in the driver’s seat, while the injured Kadota sat in the passenger seat.
In the middle row were Namie and Mika, with Seiji seated between them, while the
back seat contained Yumasaki, Anri, and Saki. If Karisawa were along as she usually
was, they’d be over capacity—but she was not in the vehicle.
She’d been out on the streets searching for Kadota when all communication from her
had stopped. The rest of the group decided to head toward the Sunshine area of
Ikebukuro to find her, where things tended to be busiest.
“I think you girls should have stayed behind,” Kadota said to the two girls in the back
seat, conveniently ignoring that he was still injured and had no business being there.
“How about if you lie low for a while? I’ll ask Shinra’s mom if she’ll take you in for a
bit.”
But Anri shook her head. She looked more fervent than usual. “No… I will go, too. I
have to go.”
Kadota saw her eyes through the rearview mirror and sighed. At first, Anri had been
too confused to process the entire situation, but from the moment she learned that
Karisawa was in danger, she insisted on coming along.
“Did something happen with you and Karisawa?” he asked.
“She… she helped me in various ways when I was having trouble,” Anri replied, her
head drooping just a bit, as she recalled all that had happened in the last few days.
If Karisawa hadn’t been there, then Izaya Orihara’s words alone might have succeeded
in destroying Anri’s will. The realization gave her a fresh appreciation for what
Karisawa had done for her.
It was why she had made up her mind—to face all the aches related to herself.
When she looked up again, Kadota wore a pensive expression.
“Huh? What’s up, Kadota…?” Togusa asked as he was reaching to turn on the engine.
He followed Kadota’s lead and looked into the rearview mirror at Anri. “H-hey, kid!
What happened to your eyes?”
The rest of them all turned to look at her. One thing was immediately apparent.
Anri Sonohara’s eyes were glowing red.
The red light shone through the lenses of her glasses, flickering and floating within
the van like will-o’-the-wisps. Kadota and Yumasaki had seen Anri fighting with
glowing red eyes in the park before. But they’d never been able to confront her about
that and hadn’t planned to ask her in the future.
Anri looked at the rest of them with those powerful red eyes and stated, “I think that
the slasher in the neighborhood is related to me.”
She steadied her breathing and suppressed her normal hesitant tone of voice to
produce something far harder and stronger than anything they’d heard from her
before.
“And that’s why… I need to go.”

Commercial building—rooftop
On the spacious roof of a building that contained multiple restaurants and bars within
it, Chikage and Masaomi secretly surveyed the city around them to get a better picture
of what was happening.
For being the middle of the night, there were just too many people around.
And they were especially clustered in the area they were planning to go next—the
block in front of Tokyu Hands. But that spot in particular wasn’t the densest; that
honor seemed to go to the block before that, heading to the bowling alley.
“Can’t see that way around the building… Did something happen around Russia
Sushi’s area?”
“Something’s fishy about what they’re doing. It’s all mechanical or something, like
they’re on a loop… Like a character in the background of a video game level, ya know?”
Chikage suggested. But while he seemed nonchalant, Masaomi was unnerved by the
sight.
“Shit… What’s going on over there…?”
“Are their eyes red, too?”
“Huh?”
“It’s hard to make out from here… In fact, you can’t really make out the sidewalk from
here, because of the highway.”
From their position, the crossing bridge over the Metropolitan Expressway was angled
such that it blocked the intersection where Sixtieth Floor Street met Otowa Street.
“If only this building were as tall as the Amlux or Sunshine buildings, we’d have a real
clear view of it.” Masaomi groaned, tilting his head sideways to look at the Amlux
building across the expressway from Tokyu Hands. But it seemed impossible to sneak
onto the roof there, and even if the Sunshine observation decks were open twenty-
four hours a day, it would take several times as long to get over to that one.
“Still, it’s an improvement having a better look at Sixtieth Floor Street, ya know?” said
Chikage, watching the streets below. But then he spotted something that looked off.
Around the entrance to Tokyu Hands, there was a new group that looked noticeably
different from the generic crowds elsewhere. To a person, they wore blue beanies and
ski masks, creating a vivid distinction from the rest of the nighttime masses.
When he saw the smaller group of blue, Masaomi clenched the roof’s railing.
“There they are… It’s the Blue Squares.”
Outside of Russia Sushi
“…Some new customers?”
Nasujima noticed the van stopping in front of Tokyu Hands to let out a group of boys
wearing eerie shark-pattern ski masks and grinned to himself.
“Don’t mess with them yet. Just control the ones taken over with Saika, got it? I’ll give
the command when it’s time. Don’t want to create an opening that the folks in the sushi
place will use to escape.”
“…Yes, Mother,” said Haruna, her eyes dull. He rubbed her head and smiled.
“Mikado Ryuugamine, huh? All I remember is that his name stuck out and he was
otherwise completely forgettable,” Nasujima said, trying to remember his old student,
but because it had been a different class than his own homeroom and Mikado had
been a boy, he couldn’t recall the face.
“Anyway. So the boss of the Dollars is a guy without any notable features, eh? Kids
these days are crazy.” He chuckled to himself. He looked over the blank-faced Haruna
and the terrified Shijima.
“Education’s not what it used to be, is it?” asked the former teacher. Neither Shijima
nor Haruna said anything about the irony.
The rooftop of a mixed-use building
“So which one’s Mikado Ryuugamine? See, I’d never forget a girl’s face, but…”
Chikage scanned the area. Masaomi focused on one specific point in the crowd.
“Shit… there are a couple of guys with the same build as Mikado wearing ski masks,
so I can’t tell which one might be him…”
Even at a distance, Mikado’s innocent, babyish face would stand out among the Blue
Squares. And Masaomi had eyesight good enough to just barely pick him out at this
range, despite the darkness.
“I see. So they were trying to avoid their leader getting taken out by an ambush right
off the top,” Chikage said. “Or maybe he’s still in the car… but I can’t see it because of
the damn expressway!”
“They used cars a lot, so I doubt they’re walking or on bicycles.”
“Dammit, can’t see. Stupid expressway… Why does it have to cost so much?” Chikage
complained, which was neither here nor there.
But Masaomi had a different concern. “You know, before we came up here… I saw the
big road under the expressway, but it seemed like there were way fewer cars than
usual…”
There was no way to confirm that from this angle. The only thing visible was the
stream of cars whizzing along the raised expressway, unconcerned with the problems
below.
“Lots of people but no cars? Even weirder.”
“Something’s wrong with Ikebukuro today…”
“Well, at least the crowds actin’ weird don’t seem to have nothin’ to do with these guys
in blue,” suggested Chikage, who turned his back toward Masaomi. “Well, it’s almost
time. I’m gonna go down there. You stay here.”
“H-hey, aren’t you gonna need me?”
“You’re the wild card. The main event. I’m gonna tear their masks off, so you watch
from up above and come on down when you see your friend. If he’s not among them,
then I’ll make them tell me where to find him, and I’ll call you with the answer.”
The expressway blocked their view of the group, leaving them without even a solid
head count of enemies. And yet Chikage spoke as though losing wasn’t even a potential
outcome; to him, victory was a given.
Abruptly, Masaomi called out, “Mr. Rokujou!”
“What?”
“Um… thank you.”
“You can thank me later. When you do it at this point in the movies, that’s a sign that
I’m gonna die after this,” Chikage said, waving him off with a bitter smile and heading
down the stairs. “Plus, you don’t know if you’ll want to thank me for the results yet.”
“Huh?” Masaomi frowned.
Chikage shrugged and said, “I might get so carried away that I wallop your buddy along
with the rest of ’em.”
Residential area
Manami Mamiya was an agent of vengeance.
She lived to make life miserable for Izaya Orihara in every way possible, you might say.
Her life should have ended in a real-life suicide meetup. But now, there was an engine
that kept her alive—her hatred for Izaya, who had insulted and dismissed both her
intentions and her despair.
So in a way, you could say that Izaya was the one keeping her alive. Manami knew this
herself but didn’t particularly care about it one way or the other.
If she got the chance to see Izaya die a miserable death, his face twisted with horror
and gloom, it would all have been worth it. And that conclusion allowed her to do many
horrible things without a second thought.
For example, tossing a severed head into the open space in front of Ikebukuro Station
in the middle of the day. This announced the existence of Celty Sturluson’s head to the
world at large and stole one of Izaya’s advantages.
She hadn’t actually calculated how this would hurt Izaya. She just knew he would hate
it, and so she did it.
Now, for the same reasons, she was engaging in a new activity without considering the
finer consequences.
“…So this is the next one,” she muttered coldly to herself as she stared up at a small
building in a residential area of the city.
It was one of the hideouts of Jinnai Yodogiri, a broker and enemy of Izaya Orihara’s—
at least, according to the information recorded on the computer in Izaya’s office. She
had stolen a plethora of information from that computer and copied it to a USB stick
she kept in her pocket.
Now she was traveling to the various hideouts recorded in that list of information,
hoping to hand over Izaya’s data to Yodogiri for free, if she could find him. But though
she’d visited over ten of the addresses so far, none of them showed any sign of being
occupied.
She even sneaked inside a number of them, but she had nothing to show for it. She
knew this was an extremely dangerous thing to do, but she didn’t even care if Yodogiri
spotted her and killed her.
As long as an enemy formidable enough that Izaya would be wary of him ended up
with Izaya’s data—that was all she wanted. It would be unfortunate not to actually see
Izaya suffering for herself, but if she died here, then that was as far as her energy to
live got her, nothing more.
It was a very warped way to rationalize her own actions. And that rationale took her
to the back door of this building, too. Through the clouded glass, she could see the
lights turn on.
“…”
Cautiously, she focused all her senses. She heard the lock open from the inside, and
then a young man’s face emerged from the opening door.
His pajamas were covered in red stains here and there, and he was dragging one foot
in what looked like a cast. Whatever was going on, it was abnormal. He was either the
victim of an attempted murder or perhaps the perpetrator, coated in the blood of his
prey.
And then there were his eyes, clearly bloodshot behind his glasses.
“…It’s the Saika-possessed,” Manami muttered, though not out of fear. If Saika was
controlling him, then he must be one of Haruna Niekawa’s pawns.
Perhaps Izaya had foreseen what she was up to and sent him there to Yodogiri’s
hideout ahead of her. But as soon as the thought occurred to her, she realized it might
not be the case.
She recognized this man.
She’d seen him in a photograph when studying every bit of information about Izaya
Orihara she could find, for revenge.
He was… the unlicensed doctor…
Shinra. That’s right. Shinra Kishitani.
Izaya Orihara had any number of pawns to do his bidding, but she remembered that
the only one he considered a friend was this black market doctor. But what was he
doing here?
“…Why, good evening. Don’t be alarmed. There’s nothing wrong here,” said the
bloodstained man. He smiled at her and approached, dragging his foot. He was holding
a mop that he’d clearly found inside the building as a crutch.
“Shinra… Kishitani.”
“Huh? How do you know my name?” asked the red-eyed Shinra. So he wasn’t
Niekawa’s cat’s-paw.
Izaya Orihara’s friend, Manami considered. Would he suffer if he learned that his friend
died?
She concentrated on the ice pick she kept concealed on her person. Shinra, meanwhile,
had the red eyes that were a dead giveaway of Saika’s possession, but he beckoned to
her just as if he was normal.
“Have I given you a checkup in the past, perhaps? If so, I’ve got one little request,”
Shinra said, approaching her.
Manami wasn’t sure whether she should pull out the ice pick yet and kept her hand on
it. “Mr. Kishitani, do you know Izaya Orihara?”
“Hmm? Well, he is my friend. And?”
“I don’t know much about having friends, you see… What did you think when he got
stabbed a little while back?”
It wasn’t the kind of thing you asked a man in bloodied pajamas. She seemed to be
plenty abnormal herself—but Shinra considered the question seriously.
“Let’s see… I think I figured, He must have earned it.”
“…”
“When he called to tell me about it, I said, ‘Oh, cool,’ and hung up. Was that mean of
me?”
“No. It’s all his fault. I think that’s a perfectly reasonable response,” said Manami. She
exhaled and let go of the ice pick she was keeping concealed.
Everything Shinra said was indeed true, but it was so far from the typical concept of a
“friend” that she saw no value in killing him. Plus, Izaya was the kind of person who
would watch a friend die with a smile on his face.
It was why he filled her with such hatred, Manami knew. She asked the man in front
of her, “Are you hurt badly?”
“Oh, this? I’m all right. Thanks. It hurts a whole lot, but I’ll manage,” Shinra said, not
realizing that the girl whose concern he appreciated was the very person who threw
Celty’s head before the eyes of the world. “Actually, this might be a strange thing to ask,
but… can I borrow your phone?”
“…Pardon me?”
“I need to go somewhere, but I don’t have a phone to arrange a ride… I need to call a
taxi and then either my mother-in-law or my dad… Actually, not my dad,” Shinra
muttered to himself, eyeballs bright red.
Manami thought it over and decided to offer Shinra her shoulder.
“Oh no, it’s fine; I can walk on my own.”
“But it must be painful.”
“You know, a girl shouldn’t be giving suspicious people a shoulder to lean on in the
middle of the night,” the red-eyed man said, which was a strangely specific piece of
advice, but Manami’s expression did not change.
“No, it’s fine. All you have to do is answer something for me.”
“?”
“About Izaya Orihara,” she said, her voice flat and mechanical. “Tell me if you know
anything that he really, really hates to have happen.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to kill him, and I want it to be awful for him,” she admitted freely.
Shinra smiled as he dragged his leg along. “What is that, jealousy? Or one of those
emotions? No, that’s love.”
“You’re wrong,” Manami said flatly, neither angry nor pleased.
“Let’s see… Something he would hate… Ah! Ah!”
Shinra winced occasionally from the pain in his joint as he walked. But otherwise he
maintained a thin smile that, combined with the red eyes, made him look like a creepy
clown.
He decided to go to the main street to catch a taxi, and as they walked together, he
reminisced about the past as a means of answering the girl’s question.
“Let’s see… Izaya is never disappointed or disgusted by people. So anything involving

human relationships or the ugly side of people, like betrayal or death, isn’t going to
bother him.”
“…”
“But actually, I don’t think that’s because he’s mentally strong or anything. Just the
opposite, in fact.”
“?”
Manami gave him a questioning look. He leaned onto her shoulder for support as he
made his way slowly down the street.
“People think of him like some cold-blooded monster, but he’s more human than
anyone I know; he’s so fragile inside. If you pumped him full of love and betrayal and
such, I think he’d fall apart. I think that’s why he decided to love humanity by letting
everything wash over him. Do you see what I’m saying? He accepts everything, but he
doesn’t take it in. He lets it wash over him.”
“Wash over…?”
“Yes. Think of those koinobori poles, with the carp streamers that blow in the wind. At
first glance, they appear to have wide mouths and insides that happily swallow
everything into them… but there’s no bottom to that container. It’s just a hollow tube.
So of course they can accept everything into their mouths; they don’t actually hold it.
Of course he can love everything.”
It was hard to tell exactly what Shinra thought of his friend’s disposition. But the little
smile never left his lips.
“Oh, sorry,” he said to Manami. “You didn’t want to know his nature, just the things that
he hates.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled quietly.

“I think… simple pain, heat, agony… He hates those things.”
Ikebukuro—inside an office building
“Kahk…”
Breath returned to Izaya in the form of a cough.
The air he expelled contained flecks of blood.
His attempt to seize understanding was besieged by ferocious pain.
“…!”
For an instant, he forgot who he was and why he was here.
The awful pain was inseparable from heat in his mind, creating the brief illusion that
his entire body was on fire. Agony tore through his being, preventing him from even
passing out.
I’m still alive.
Izaya was not the type of person to argue about guts and willpower overcoming flesh.
But he didn’t rule it out, either.
He summoned all his mental strength, forcing the pain aside so his brain could work
unimpeded.
What happened? I was atop the beams, and… I fell…
The shock was so strong that even memories ten seconds old felt vague. He reached
back what felt like ten years to arrive at last at an answer.
That’s right. He hit me. The monster used a metal beam like a bat and hit me like a ball.
“…Monster,” he spat.
If his opponent had been a human, Izaya would have praised the strength of the man
who hit him, near-lethal blow or not. But Izaya no longer recognized Shizuo Heiwajima
as human.
All he felt was horrible, detestable pain, his entire body being devoured by seething
agony.
Apparently, he was inside a building. After being struck, there had been a shock
against his back and a sound like glass breaking, as he recalled it.
“…”
He looked around, his back against the ground, and saw a number of office desks. So
he was inside of an office of some kind.
I was lucky.
After Shizuo struck him, he’d flown into the building across the street and crashed
through a window. Perhaps the glass of the window had cushioned him, because aside
from a number of lacerations on his clothes from shards of glass, his arteries were
miraculously intact.
Instead, the blood oozed from a myriad of smaller cuts all over him. Izaya looked to
the broken window.
He couldn’t tell what was happening outside. There was only one thing he could say
for certain.
He’s going to come here to finish the job.
But the death sentence that was the truth also sent Izaya’s heart trembling.
That means it’s not over yet.
And when he’d reached that point, there was a sound of breaking glass up above. It
could mean only one thing.
Shizuo Heiwajima had jumped here from the building across the way.
With legs powerful enough to kick a car like a soccer ball, a narrow alley was an easy
gap to cross in a single leap. But few people, even if they had the same leg strength,
would jump from such a tall building to another, knowing that a fall would be fatal.
If only he’d fallen, Izaya thought briefly, but then he remembered how Shizuo had
kicked aside the forklift that had fallen from that height. No… maybe a fall of that
distance wouldn’t kill him. And why would I hope that he went to his own demise? The
entire point is that I’ve got to purge the monster from existence.
He chided himself for indulging in such a naive thought and smirked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
He clenched his fists, telling himself that at least the nerves there still worked. And
then, withstanding withering pain all over, he got steadily to his feet.
“I’m here to vanquish a monster.”
Perhaps it was his one-sided, selfish love for humanity that brought his willpower
back to him. And yet, not a single “beloved” human face came into his mind’s eye.
Not the parents who raised him.
Not the sisters who looked up to him.
Not the brother-loving woman who made for such a capable, unquestioning secretary.
Not the crazy friend who was the first to see his true nature.
Not the many unfortunate, despairing people he’d sent into ruin.
Not the naive fools who thanked him for sparing them on an idle whim.
Not even the boys on the border between normalcy and ruin.
Not a single face came to mind.
But still, he loved humanity.
Izaya Orihara, possessing a view of humanity that was as blank as the void, got to his
feet.
“It’s not to run away.”
When Shizuo Heiwajima descended the stairs, the door to the office was still open.
“…” He watched carefully, saying nothing. Normally he would be shouting something

like “Where did you go, fleabrain?!” But this situation was anything but normal.
He held everything inside, even his voice, conserving and converting all his energy to
the purpose of eradicating Izaya Orihara from the earth.
Shizuo made his way slowly into the office, until he noticed a bloodstain on the floor
near the center of the room.
Despite all his fury and hatred being turned solely on Izaya, Shizuo was not yet a
raging, berserk animal. That might have been the benefit of all the time he had spent
waiting and perhaps even what he yearned for.
Shizuo had misjudged his jump and crashed through the glass an entire story above
where Izaya had landed, but he did not simply stomp his way through the floor to get
down there.
The lights were out, so he wasn’t worried that some innocent person might get hurt.
But even still, Shizuo’s furious instincts gave him a warning. He’d clashed with Izaya
Orihara so many, many times before that he knew one solid fact.
Unless he watched himself kill the man, Izaya would not be dead.
It didn’t matter if he was buried under rubble. There could be no rest until Shizuo saw
the body. And when you couldn’t see him, that was when you were in Izaya’s danger
zone.
That wasn’t a rational, known fact that he kept in his brain. It was something that
Shizuo had come to understand innately, through years of near-fatal brawling with
Izaya.
There was no point to it unless he finished Izaya off visibly.

He could pack the man in concrete and dump him into the sea—and as long as Izaya
was still alive when he disappeared under the waves, there could be no rest.
And even if he was dead, the unease would still live on in the city. His dead body could
turn up in the rubble of the building, and people would still think, Does that body really
belong to Izaya Orihara?
Among those who knew Izaya Orihara, the unease would live on, like a swelling that
would not subside. And that was why Shizuo Heiwajima was here, to ensure that it did
not happen.
He had to witness the sight of Izaya Orihara being eliminated from the earth.
However much rational sense Shizuo still had now, if he was his normal self, he would
say something like this: I’m not here for the sake of all the people Izaya’s harmed. It’s all
for my own selfish reasons.
On the other hand, if he were the sole target of all of Izaya’s malice, it would not have
come to this situation, either. It was the way the malice was entangling all those
around him, like Vorona, like Akane Awakusu, Shinra, Celty, and Tom, that had Shizuo
so cornered and furious.
In a sense, it was ironic.
If he were the Shizuo from before he fought the crowd of Saikas and began to feel
differently about his own strength…
If he were the Shizuo from before he met Akane Awakusu and learned how to use his
strength to protect…
If he were the Shizuo who’d become trapped by his own violence and chosen to place
himself at a distance from his surroundings…
…then he might not be in this position now.
Or if he was, then maybe he’d be screaming and chasing his opponent around like he
so often did before.
But he did not this time.

Shizuo Heiwajima accepted people, connected to people—and because of that, he was
tormented when they were hurt, and he trapped his unprecedented anger within
himself, so that now it exploded.
It might lead to nothing but tragedy, but there was no stopping him now.
In a sense, it was his connections to others that created the single devastating
weakness of the demon that was Shizuo Heiwajima.
And now Shizuo was falling into his least favorite development.
Izaya Orihara was nowhere to be seen.
He was gone, leaving behind only a bloodstain in the office.
Perhaps he was setting up an ambush. Shizuo stared around, then began lifting up the
office desks one-handed, one after the other. But there was no sign of him hiding
anywhere.
He couldn’t have had time to set up some flaming gas trap, like he did earlier.
“…”
Shizuo headed out of the office and glanced around the building. Aside from the green
emergency exit panel, there was just one illumination glowing.
The elevator light.
He approached without making a sound and confirmed that the light was moving. It
was indicating that the elevator was traveling downward from this floor. Of course, it
was possible that the elevator was just a feint and that Izaya was still hiding on this
floor.
But that, too, was merely another facet of escape.
“It’s not to run away,” Izaya had told himself, and yet mysteriously, he had vanished
from the building.
Shizuo hadn’t heard him say that, but he could sense that the man truly intended to
kill him. He gave not a single thought to what Izaya might actually be plotting and
sneaked back to the office area.
Then he stuck his head through the broken window.
Izaya could pop up behind him and push him through it. He could have gone up a floor
during the elevator distraction and prepared a rope or something to hook around
Shizuo’s throat.
But Izaya knew full well that these things would mean nothing.
So instead, he chose to allow Shizuo to catch sight of him.
The elevator hadn’t been a distraction at all, merely a straightforward means of exiting
the building.
When Shizuo saw Izaya, dressed in his usual black clothing, running down the dimly
lit alley, his expression did not change one iota.
Instead, he placed his foot upon the frame of the broken window, as though this were
a perfectly ordinary thing to do—and stepped out into the open air the way a person
would walk down a staircase.
Alley
“Why, hello there, young Orihara. What has you in such a hurry?”
“…”
Shingen, wearing a gas mask like always, spotted Izaya leaving the building, but Izaya
gave him no more than a glance before scampering away.
“Hrm… Well, how about that, Egor? I’ve just discovered that being totally ignored by a
person younger than myself hurts more than I realized it would.”
“Are you saying you’ve never been ignored before this?”
“Why did you phrase that question as though it seems only natural that I would be
ignored? Not only that, he was one of my son’s few friends, and—whether he did it or
not—he was brought in by the police for stabbing my son years ago! Surely my
presence would earn some kind of reaction…”
Egor ignored Shingen, who then launched into a pointless speech about nothing
important. Instead, Egor focused on the building above them.
“…What?! Egor, are you ignoring me, too?! Don’t forget that not only are you younger
than me, you are also a pawn I hired with money! But do not worry! I am a man of
generous and forgiving spirit! I can be friends with a man I hired with money and be
close enough to send him a holiday card containing a photograph of me and my new
wife being disgustingly sappy togeth— Whoaaa!!”
Egor grabbed him by the collar midsentence and yanked him closer with one hand.
The force of it caused Shingen to smack against the wall next to them.
“Gwah! What was that for?! Was all that bragging about my new wife making you
jealous?!” spluttered Shingen.
“I’m sorry. It was because—,” Egor started to say, but then a human being came
plummeting down on the spot where Shingen had stood seconds ago.
“…?!”
“—you were in danger there.”
The man who descended just feet in front of the shocked Shingen silently glanced
toward where Izaya’s shadow fled the scene.
“…”
And without blinking an eye, he began to race after him. Egor watched him go, then
shrugged.
“…He’s like the Terminator.”
“Yes. And while this is exceedingly awkward for me to admit, I suppose that I owe you
an… apology?”
“No, you don’t. Besides, it’s true that I’m jealous of how hot your wife is,” Egor said
with a dashing smile. Then he eyed the middle-aged man slumped over lifelessly at
the side of the alley. “What should we do with him?”
“Hmm?”
Shingen followed Egor’s head bob and saw Seitarou Yagiri muttering to himself.
“It’s gone… My… head… Dullahan… My… head… head…”
He approached his old friend, who seemed to be in the midst of a dissociative episode,
and waved. But Seitarou gave no reaction. Shingen sighed through the mask.
“So this is what becomes of one whose heart is stolen by that which lives on the flip
side of reality. What a pitiable shame.”
“Yeah, it’s like seeing your own son’s future, right here,” Egor noted archly.
But Shingen just shook his head. “No, Shinra would not break down over a little trifle
like this. If anything, he would say something like ‘Adversity is but a trial on the path
to love’ and become even more hyperactive and tunnel-visioned.”
“That’s not much of an improvement, though. Um… what are you doing?”
Shingen had pulled a felt-tipped pen out of his pocket. “I found this pen by rifling
through my pockets. It seems like a good opportunity to scribble something
mischievous on Seitarou before he comes to his senses. Hmm… is it still valid to draw
the kanji for meat on someone’s forehead, or is that passe now? What do you think,
Egor? Have you got any brilliant avant-garde ideas…?”
Shingen turned and stopped in the middle of his sentence when he saw the look on
Egor’s face. “Ooh,” he murmured with fascination.
Egor’s face looked just the same as it had moments ago. But with one very distinct
difference.
The whites of his eyes were now red and bloodshot as they gazed into the distance.
Shingen reacted to this eerie sight by remarking, “So I suppose you got cut by Saika at
some point. Your possession doesn’t seem too strong, however. I’m guessing it was
Sonohara.”
He nodded, reassuring himself of this supposition, and continued, “So has something
changed with the Saikas?”
“I’ve been noticing for the past few hours… that another mother and her children and
grandchildren are spreading their aura rather thickly.”
Shingen nodded a few more times. Then, resigned, he shook his head.
“…Ah. Well, it certainly can’t get much more troublesome than this.”
Inside the van
“So this is… um, Saika.”
By means of demonstration, Anri allowed the tip of the katana to protrude just a bit
from her palm.
“Ooh, that’s amazing. How does it work?” asked Saki, who was sitting next to her and
staring with interest. Togusa peeked through the rearview mirror at the exhibition,
and his jaw dropped with shock.
“Huh. That’s real strange,” said Seiji, without much apparent interest. True to character,
Namie followed that up with “You don’t need to pay attention to her, Seiji” as she
brushed her fingers through his hair.
But the most dramatic reaction by far belonged to Yumasaki, who first trembled when
he saw the blade emerge from Anri’s hand. Then he began to emit an eerie moaning
sound: “Ooh… ooooooooo…”
Lastly, he grabbed Anri’s wrist, staring at the blade closely. Tears began to drip from
his eyes.
“Um, what…?” she stammered.

“The promised day has arrived at last!” he shouted. “I always knew that I would one
day get the chance to earn supernatural powers of my own! And now… and now! Will
I be able to have a Saika of my own?! If so, then I am not opposed to taking lessons
from an iai dojo every day to prepare for the coming battle against the all-powerful
enemy!”
His excitement flustered Anri. “Um… er… First, when you have the sword, Saika sends
a curse seeping through you, trying to love humanity.”
Yumasaki abruptly came to a standstill. “Humanity? Like… three-dimensional

humanity?”
“Three-dimensional…?” Anri repeated.
Kadota threw her a lifeline. “He’s asking if you mean actual living people, not just
anime characters and whatnot.”
“Um… Saika has never shown an interest in manga or novels… as far as I know…”
Instantly, the boy deflated and let go of Anri’s hand. “Oh… I see… Then I respectfully
decline my suggestion of having a cursed blade.”
“Huh?”
Anri was surprised to learn that he was being serious about “having” a cursed blade
at all and failed to grasp where he was going with this. He looked at her apologetically
and explained, “I would do almost anything to build a bridge to two-dimensional
characters, but I’ve got better things to do with my time than help facilitate three-
dimensional romance.”
Annoyed, Togusa turned to Yumasaki and said, “In that case, why couldn’t you use that
cursed blade to make some hot woman your girlfriend?”
“Huh? Do I stand to benefit in some way by making a three-dimensional girl my

girlfriend?”
“Honestly, I’m kind of amazed at how firm you are on your standards,” Togusa said,
half in admiration.
“But all of that aside! I can’t wait to see Karisawa again so we can share in the joy of
knowing that the cursed blade is the pathway to two dimensions! Let’s go rescue her
as soon as we can! What are we doing, Togusa? Hurry up, hurry up, run, run, run!” He
smacked the window.
“Shuddup!” Togusa bellowed. “Don’t get fingerprints on the window! I’m driving as
fast as I can, but I can’t change a red light!”
While the driver and back seat passenger argued, Kadota glanced over his shoulder
and said to Anri, “Just checking, but… if Karisawa turns out to be under that Saika
thing’s control, can you do something about that?”
“…Yes. If I find the mother of Karisawa or the other people afflicted by Saika in town—
in other words, the source of the possession—and I use my Saika to overwrite their
curse and set them free, then they should return to normal.”
“Okay… well, on the rare chance that it’s actually the case, we’d appreciate your help
with that. I’m sorry about this,” Kadota said, tilting his head forward into a bow from
his awkward position.
Anri quickly waved him off. “Oh no… I was the one who got her involved.”
“What do you mean? You didn’t do anything. I don’t know whose fault this is, but you
shouldn’t trouble yourself over it.”
“But,” she said sadly, lowering her face, “if we can’t find her Saika mother, then I’ll have
to hurt Karisawa a bit…”
She looked forlornly at the blade protruding from her palm. Kadota asked, “Do you,
uh… have to cut ’em to a point where it becomes life-and-death?”
“N-no, just the tip of the finger would work, I think.”
“Then there’s no problem. Karisawa isn’t going to be upset about something like that.”
Kadota chuckled, trying to cheer her up. “I’m telling you it’s fine. You have my
permission. I’ll take responsibility.”
Feeling the warmth of his words, Anri looked at Kadota through the mirror and said,
“Um…”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
“What did I just say? We’re the ones who need to thank you,” Kadota said with a smile.
The image of Karisawa’s face floated into Anri’s mind. It was the same kind of warmth
she felt when Karisawa said, “I can forgive you of everything.” Maybe Kadota and
Karisawa were rubbing off on each other because they spent so much time together.
And then there’s me… I spent all that time with Ryuugamine and Kida, and I couldn’t do
anything… I didn’t try to change myself…
And that was why she had to do something now. It was that resolution that led her to
reveal the situation to everyone here in the van—but their reactions were far from
what she feared might happen.
She imagined that when they learned her secret, they’d treat her like a monster, or
suspect her of being the actual street slasher, or perhaps even subject her to some kind
of medieval witch hunt.
But their reactions were so normal that it actually left her confused and shaken.
“Um, aren’t you… afraid of me?” she said, to her own surprise.
Yumasaki tilted his head, as though he couldn’t fathom why she would ask such a
thing. Namie snorted and said, “I might look down on you for it, but I certainly don’t
have a reason to feel afraid of someone as meaningless as you.”
“You don’t have a reason to look down on her, either, Sister.”
“Oh… I-I’m sorry, Seiji! That was just a saying—it wasn’t what I really feel!” she
stammered when she caught the whiff of criticism in her brother’s stare.
Saki smiled and said, “It was a surprise, but I’m not afraid of you,” as simply as if they
were talking about any ordinary topic.
Anri replied, “But I’m… I’m not human…”
Kadota butted in to say, “Listen, young lady.”
“Y-yes?”
“Would you dare say that around Celty?” he asked in all seriousness.
“…!”
She had no answer.
“She’s far less human than you are, but nobody in this group dislikes her.”
Namie looked displeased with that. “Well, I don’t—”
“Read the room, Sister.”
“…F-fine, Seiji. Don’t worry, your big sis is more than capable of being tactful.”
Kadota ignored their banter and continued addressing Anri: “Whatever it was like the
first time, none of us are afraid of Celty now, because we know her. We know what
she’s been doing, what makes her happy, and what makes her sad. Just maybe not as
well as Shinra does.”
“…”
“When people are afraid of something, it’s because they can’t see the inside of what
that is. Even a walking explosive like Shizuo Heiwajima doesn’t have to be scary to
someone who understands exactly what it is that gets him pissed off,” he continued,
drawing on another example. “So we’re all able to accept you because we know what
kind of a person you are.”
“Uh…”
“Whether you were being sincere or polite, that accumulation of your interactions
with others led to this result. Do you get that? So be confident in who you are,” he said,
keeping his tone light. But even so, the words permeated her heart deep down.
Mika, who had held her silence in the seat ahead of her, suddenly turned around and
bowed. “Anri… I’m sorry!”
“Huh? Huh? H… Harima?”
“The truth is, I knew. I knew you were possessed by that sword…”
“?!”
Anri’s mind went blank at the revelation.
“I don’t want to go into why, because it’s a long story… but in the end, I chose to go
with Seiji over you… I knew that you were struggling with personal problems, but I
never cared about anything but Seiji!”
That explanation didn’t actually explain anything exactly, and the mood in the car
turned to awkward silence.
Namie and Seiji knew about Mika’s situation, but neither of them made much of an
effort to argue for her. In fact, Namie saw it as an opportunity to kick a downed rival.
“Seiji, any woman who would abandon her friends is trash. Especially if she chooses a
moment like this to admit it, hoping that she’ll get an easy chance at forgiveness. You
should break up with her soon.”
“What about you, Sis?”
“I don’t have to worry about that, because I don’t have friends!”
“Well, at least you’re thinking positively.”
As she listened to the others talk, Anri found that she accepted their arguments much
easier than she’d expected.
Anri’s image of Mika Harima was of a person who could do just about anything. If you
took away the stalkerish side of her personality, she really did fit Anri’s mental image
of a perfect human being.
The revelation that she also knew about Saika did not produce a particularly powerful
shock to Anri. Nor was she stunned that Mika knew about Saika and had chosen to put
herself at a distance.
She chose Seiji Yagiri, not Anri Sonohara.
That was an honest statement.

Anri knew that if it came down to it, Mika would prioritize Seiji’s life over her own. So
it wasn’t Anri’s call whether to forgive her or not. That just didn’t matter.
There was only one worry on Anri’s mind.
She looked at Mika, her red eyes flashing, and asked, “Um… are you sure… you’re not
afraid of me?”
Mika beamed at her and said firmly, “Listen, Anri.”
“Yes?”
“The next time you ask me that, I’m going to get angry.”
That was enough for Anri.
This was the girl who’d saved her in the past when she was being bullied. The arrival
of Seiji had made it seem as if that girl had gone for good, but here she was in the van
right now.
The world within the picture frame in Anri’s mind suddenly shook. She realized with
a start that the van was with her, on this side of the frame. Or perhaps it was the size
of the frame itself that had just widened.
“Thank you… Thank you… so much…!” she said to the group of them. Big drops began
to fall from her glowing red eyes.
“Now, now, don’t cry. You’ve got to save those happy tears for Mikado and Kida,” Mika
joked warmly. “If some other car looks at us, they’ll think that Togusa’s band of thugs
have kidnapped a couple of girls.”
“You know, I don’t appreciate that you only think of me as the ringleader in those
situations, rather than Kadota…,” Togusa said.
The rest of the car laughed awkwardly at that. Anri smiled, too, and felt a resolve form
within her.
She would find a way to bring Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida within this ring
of friendly connections she had now.
Maybe neither of the two boys wanted that. Maybe it was only her own selfish desire.
But this time, she was going to be selfish.
And with that honest admission to herself, she retracted the Saika blade into her palm.
But in that moment, she felt as if she heard Saika’s voice again.
“You’re going to discard me? No matter how you struggle, you will never escape from me.
Don’t forget, it’s my role to love people.”
Anri smiled to herself and treated these words, mixed among the sea of love curses, as
nothing more than a misheard statement at the worst.
Someday, I hope to love people with you. Me and you… learning to love in the truest sense.
The curses of love stopped for just an instant, then Saika’s voice resumed.
“I keep telling you. Humanity belongs to me.”
The tone was sulking, but Anri didn’t detect any force behind it.
As usual, Saika’s curses reverberated throughout her mind.
Saika’s intelligent words. Were they just an illusion that Anri’s own mind was creating?
Or were they Saika’s true personality speaking to her? She did not know.
But it was odd that, even before Anri got into the van and admitted her secret to these
people, she had felt the distance between herself and Saika was smaller than before.
It seemed that Saika was happy that more people had accepted the existence of the
cursed blade without having to use those accursed words of love—but again, Anri
would never know whether that was just a trick of her own mind or not.
The hollow sound of hands clapping brought Anri’s consciousness back to the interior
of the van.
Yumasaki had struck his hands together and did a wriggling little dance with his upper
half. He said to her, “At any rate, now this means that Anri has officially become a
member of the guild!”
“…‘Gild’?”
“The Adventurers Guild. That’s the group that Dr. Kishitani put together to solve this
problem!”
“Oh…”
Anri wasn’t very familiar with the English word guild, but she was definitely on board
with solving the problem, so she let it slide in this case.
“The problem is that the founder, Dr. Kishitani himself, was abducted by a mysterious
woman in glasses who produced wires from her hands. Let me tell you, though, those
wires were really cool.”
“Huh?” That sounded to Anri as if it could refer only to one woman. “Do you mean…
Miss Kujiragi?”
Suddenly, the inside of the van stirred, and all the attention gathered on Anri again.
“You know Kasane Kujiragi?” demanded Namie.
Anri nodded. “Yes, I got her business card. It only has her phone number, though…”
“Card?!”
The others murmured even more, but Anri remembered something else about that
meeting and added, “Oh… I’m sorry. The card is still in my schoolbag, so… it’s at home.”
There was no saying whether Kujiragi would answer the phone, but given the
circumstances, that was valuable information.
“What do you think? Should we go get it?” Togusa asked.
“Nah, let’s pick up Karisawa first. It won’t be too late after that,” Kadota suggested.
It was then that Anri remembered another tidbit. “Oh! Karisawa has one, too!”
“Has one what?”
“Karisawa-san got a business card, too, because she was going to join the cosplay club.
Miss Kujiragi, I mean.”
Even Kadota looked shocked by this. His eyebrows rose. Now it was the turn of
everyone else in the van to look bewildered.
“Cosplay… club?”
Near Russia Sushi
“…”
In the chaos of the night district, a red-eyed Karisawa walked slowly onward.
But she hadn’t been sliced by Saika.
No, she was just pretending to be a child of Saika and walking right through the town,
out in the open.
Fifteen minutes ago, feeling that she would soon be caught, Karisawa decided to take
a gamble.
She went into the cosmetics she carried around in her usual backpack for cosplay
purposes, pulled out red contact lenses for cosplaying, and stuck them in her eyes.
They didn’t cover the white of her eyes, so if you paid attention, it would be obvious
right away.
But she cleverly narrowed her eyes to keep them showing only the red irises and
walked nice and slow. Thankfully, the other red-eyed people around only briefly
glanced her way from time to time but otherwise passed without reaction.
Karisawa was very lucky.

The children and grandchildren of Saika could sense the presence of other instances
of Saika, if not as strongly as their parents could. But in the midst of a crowd of Saikas
like this, the haze of all that aura made it much harder to pick out the negative space
of one ordinary human.
A Saika mother—the original one from which the others stemmed—might have finer
control of the senses, but to the grandchildren whom Nasujima and Haruna had
ordered to cut any human entering this area, the ultimate means of detecting Saika
spawn from humans was essentially just the color of the eyes.
And though Karisawa wasn’t aware of it, she was also lucky that the Blue Squares had
shown up and drawn much of the overall group’s attention. She kept walking down
Otowa Street beneath the raised expressway toward the Sunshine area when she
noticed something new.
Whoa, there’s a ton of people right outside Russia Sushi. Are Simon and the boss okay in
there?
Despite her concern, however, she attempted to pass by it—until she spotted a familiar
face and came to a stop.
It was Anri Sonohara’s friend, the one she had met in the hospital cafeteria earlier in
the day. She was crouched down on the street outside of Russia Sushi and seemed to
be acting differently than the other red-eyed people.
I wonder what the matter is. Maybe she’s still in her right mind?
It was hard to tell from this distance, so Karisawa tried her best to approach slowly,
avoiding notice. If the girl wasn’t affected, there might be a way to sneak over and help
her get away, she thought considerately.
As she approached, she noticed a man talking very excitedly next to the girl. On the
other side of him was a boy with normal eyes, looking terrified at the scene around
him. The trio clearly stuck out amid the crowd.
What… is that?
Karisawa approached from their blind spot. About half of the group around was
focused on Russia Sushi, and the other half was looking at the exterior of Tokyu Hands
for some reason. She didn’t have to worry about them spotting her.
Keeping her eyes narrowed, Karisawa got close enough to hear the man speaking. That
was when she heard a name she recognized come out of his mouth.
“So the blue guys are here now… Shijima, which of them is Mikado Ryuugamine?”
Nasujima demanded.
At his side, Shijima glanced through binoculars and reported, “Everyone who had
Mikado Ryuugamine’s build is wearing those masks with the cut-out eyes… So he
might be one of them. Shall we call the Blue Square lookout you took over and have
him figure it out for us?”
“That’s going to be our only option in the end. But they’ll be suspicious if we straight-
out ask for his location. If he hasn’t actually come to this street, that’ll only give him
the chance to scamper away,” Nasujima said carefully. Then he added, “On the other
hand, if we can get the Dollars under control, they’ll be all the muscle we need. Then
I’ll have the Dollars find Jinnai Yodogiri’s location for me. And his secretary, Kasane
Kujiragi, too.”
“Even the secretary?”
“Yeah… she’s the one who made me Saika-possessed to begin with. She’s like old
Yodogiri’s secret backup weapon.”
“You’re right… It was the secretary who first suggested investigating the Dollars,”
Shijima recalled. It reminded him of just what a twisted position he was currently in
and how he’d gotten here. It was depressing.
In fact, it was Yodogiri who had ordered him to infiltrate the Dollars and “make contact
with the Headless Rider,” but Nasujima had added one instruction on top of that.
Now that it was clear that Nasujima’s goal was to take over the Dollars, he realized
exactly how completely up shit creek he was. He had accepted Nasujima’s invitation
thinking that it might be the ticket out of Izaya and Yodogiri’s control, but now he
regretted that choice.
Escape seemed impossible now. The only thing Shijima could tell himself was that he
was wandering around a nightmare and that he should try to drag down as many
others as he could.
“So what are we doing about Yodogiri and Kujiragi?”
“We can overpower them with enough numbers. But it’s not clear whether either
Yodogiri or Kujiragi is capable of being controlled with Saika. So let’s just bury them
somewhere.”
Bury them—i.e., kill them. Shijima felt a chill go down his back.
He had operated a drug-dealing organization and should have been used to cold, hard
talk like this. But that kind of brutality coming from someone with the power to
overrun the shopping area with zombie-like pawns terrified him.
Nasujima snickered to himself, whether aware or not of Shijima’s fear, and said, “But
before you bury that Kujiragi woman, I’d like to have some fun with her.”
Nearby, Karisawa overheard this suggestion and felt both disgust for the man who said
it and a powerful unease.
Mikado Ryuugamine and Kasane Kujiragi. Both distinctive names, the kind that you
would never hear by mistake.
Why is he talking about Mikarun and Miss Kujiragi?
Whatever the reasons, it was clear that this man was attempting to go after them. If he
was the leader of these red-eyed people, then whoever was his target didn’t stand a
chance, unless it was a military battalion or his name was Shizuo Heiwajima.
Karisawa swallowed hard and made to leave the scene, keeping her eyes narrowed.
In the midst of that motion, Haruna Niekawa turned in her direction, and their eyes
met. The other girl’s eyes were red, too, just like the people around them.
Aw, darn. Already infected by the slasher. Oh, well. I’ll come back with Dotachin and the
gang to save you. Hang on until then, Karisawa thought. Niekawa kept staring at her.
Uh-oh… Am I in trouble? Did she spot me?
Karisawa quickly turned away but not before she saw Haruna’s mouth move—and
suddenly a cell phone ringtone cut through the scene before she could say anything.
The man and the boy next to Haruna turned toward the sound. But it wasn’t coming
from Karisawa’s phone. It was coming from the phone in Haruna’s hand.
“What’s up? You hardly ever get any calls. I mean, you didn’t even give your old man
the number,” the man said, mystified. Then he demanded she give it to him.
“…Yes, Mother.”
Karisawa heard this unnatural back-and-forth as she made her way out of the area as
nonchalantly as she could. She needed to tell Kujiragi and Mikado about the danger
encroaching upon them.
But because she did, she failed to learn that the phone call Haruna Niekawa received
was actually from a girl that she knew quite well.
“What does this mean? Why is her contact info saved in your phone?”
The name on the screen was Anri Sonohara, a former pupil he’d tried to assault. But
his shock soon turned to sick glee, and he licked his lips.
“Well, that doesn’t matter. I’ve come up with a good idea.”
Within the van
“She’s not picking up,” Anri announced sadly to the passengers of the van.
She’d called Haruna’s phone, hoping her friend might know something that could help
them, especially since they’d recently traded contact info, but all she got was an
endless ringtone.
“Well, it’s pretty late. Almost morning, in fact. Most people wouldn’t pick up,” Mika
offered.
“And if she were actually the ringleader, she wouldn’t pick up regardless,” Saki suggested.
Anri considered these things and said, “But when I met her yesterday, she didn’t seem
like she was about to do something like—”
Abruptly, the ringing of her call paused, replaced by the sound of wind.
“Hello? Is that you, Niekawa? Um, I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the night…,”
Anri said, thinking she’d gotten through.
Instead, the voice she heard was one she could never have expected.
“It’s been so long, Sonohara.”
“…Huh?”
The man’s voice caused Anri’s body to tense up.
“You’re a very bad girl to be awake at this hour of night. Have you turned to a life of
delinquency? Your teacher is very sad.”
It was an unctuous voice, practically clinging to the skin of her shoulders through the
phone. She hadn’t heard that voice in half a year, but it was very familiar to her.
“M… Mr… Nasujima?”
Mika and Seiji looked up when they heard that name. It belonged to a teacher at Raira
Academy who had been hospitalized in February and then went missing. Why would
Anri be talking to him all of a sudden, when she had been calling Haruna Niekawa’s
phone?
Even Mika, who knew some of the backstory, was surprised by this. She stared at Anri’s
phone in wonder.
“Wh-why would you be picking up…?”
“That doesn’t matter. Ah, it’s really wonderful to be hearing your voice again, Sonohara.”
On the Night of the Ripper, Nasujima had seen her holding a katana, and then he ran,
screaming in fear. It was the last memory she had of him. But now he was gloating
through the phone, as though he were completely in control of her fate.
“Oh, how I wish to see you. Can you make it here now? I can help you with any problems
you’re having.”
“Um, what happened to Haruna?!”
“Oh, Niekawa? She’s sitting right next to me. She keeps calling me ‘Mother, Mother.’ It’s
very sweet, really.”
“…!”
That told Anri quite a lot. Through circumstances she did not yet know, Nasujima had
become a Saika carrier. Whether he had an original or was someone else’s child was
unclear. All she knew was that he had cut Haruna Niekawa and now controlled her.
“Where… are you?”
“Now, now, no rush. You know where Tokyu Hands is? Right outside of the Sunshine
building. We’re just hanging around that area until morning, so if you’ve got some time,
swing by. If I see you, I’ll call out to you.”
“Haruna is safe, I assume?” Anri said, her voice tense. This seemed to catch Nasujima
by surprise.
“Wait, are you worried about her? When did you two make up? I seem to remember you
turning blades on each other because you were fighting over me.”
“Answer the question!”
“Don’t worry—I haven’t messed with her yet. Once tonight’s party is over, we’ll be taking
our time with a very special private lesson.”
“Release Haruna at once… or else…”
She had to fight to ensure that the blade didn’t rip right through her hand and the
phone she held in it.
That wasn’t the way that someone being ruled by another’s curse talked. Like Haruna
once had, Nasujima had somehow overcome Saika’s control. Anri knew that Niekawa
was in great danger. Her mind raced, trying to pin down where they were.
Only half a day ago, Haruna had declared that she would kill Anri in the same breath
that she suggested they be friends. But Anri felt an odd kind of empathy for her.
Perhaps it was because they were both possessed by Saika, or perhaps there was
something about them being girls of the same generation; she didn’t know for sure.
Unlike the people in the van, Haruna was more of an enemy than a friend—but Anri
still felt a terrible shock when she realized that the girl was under Nasujima’s control.
And the shock didn’t end there.
After he’d enjoyed the panic in Anri’s voice for several moments, Nasujima chuckled
slimily and added, “There are two other people you know coming to the party, too.”
“Huh…?”
“Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida. You were close with them, weren’t you?”
“………………”
Her mind froze. She nearly dropped the phone.
At first, she didn’t understand what he was saying to her. But then Nasujima continued,
driving home her despair.
“If you want to tell the cops about this, be my guest. I’ll just play dumb, and Ryuugamine
and Kida will back me up with statements that support my story.”
“No! Wait! What… what have you done to them?!”
“Nothing… yet. I just invited them to the party.”
And with a chuckle, he hung up the phone.
Outside Russia Sushi

“Now, Shijima, I want you to keep an eye on them for a while. I’ll give orders to the
Saika-possessed, too, though.”
“Keep an eye on them?” Shijima asked.
Gleefully, Nasujima explained, “Knowing Sonohara’s personality, she’ll probably rush

to call Ryuugamine about this.”
“So if he’s one of the guys in the ski caps outside of Tokyu Hands, then we’ll know that
whoever answers a phone next is him.”
Inside the van
After Anri hung up, she told the others what the call had been about.
“No way, man…,” marveled Togusa. “Why would he bring up Ryuugamine and Kida out
of the blue?”
With a frown, Kadota offered, “Dunno. But there’s definitely been some bad business
going on in Ikebukuro lately. There’s no telling what might happen.”
“And there’s Karisawa to worry about, too… Let’s rush over to Tokyu Hands! Speaking
of which, what’s up with all the red lights?!”
The trip from Shinra’s apartment to Otowa Street wasn’t that far in terms of distance.
Even during rush hour, this should be about the time they would finish the trip. But
for some reason, the van was barely halfway to its destination.
“No, it’s not reds, it’s just plain old traffic. Shit, why is it like this so late at night?”
Togusa swore. He turned on the car radio to see if he could pick up a traffic report.
Fortunately, it was right at the late-night news, five minutes past the hour.
“…a number of traffic accidents in the Ikebukuro area, causing gridlock all over…”
“Accidents?” Togusa repeated.
“…and there are also multiple sightings of groups of people out on the street committing
acts of violence. Perhaps that’s connected to the accidents themselves…”
And almost as if timed to the radio broadcast, there was the sound of multiple
motorcycle engines roaring behind the van. A few seconds later, there was a clamor of
exhaust and blaring musical horns as several loud and flashy bikes passed them.
“Meetin’ up at this hour? And they’ve still got those obnoxious horns? Didn’t they go
outta fashion? That stuff’s outlawed now,” Togusa grumbled.
But more and more motorcycles blazed past them. A few seconds would pass before
more bikes went by, then another ten or fifteen, trickling bit by bit. All in all, quite a
large number of motorcycles were heading toward Ikebukuro.
“What is this, some biker gang head honcho retiring? There’s so many.”
“They’re not going to turn out to have red eyes, are they?” snapped Namie, who didn’t
care how this question might affect Anri.
But the girl shook her head. “I didn’t feel even the slightest hint of Saika from the
people who just passed us… so I don’t think that’s it.”
“Damn… feels like everything’s working against us,” hissed Togusa in frustration.
It almost seemed as if getting out and running would be faster, but he wouldn’t suggest
that. If he did, Kadota would actually hop out and try to run it with them. Kadota
played it off bravely, but in his present state, he could barely walk. They’d given up on
trying to stop him from going with them to help Karisawa, but Togusa wasn’t going to
allow him to try anything beyond his means.
While the van was stuck in place, the swarm of motorcycles heading toward
Ikebukuro’s city center made Anri worried. She decided to take out her phone.
“I’m… going to call Ryuugamine and Kida now.”
Saki turned to her from the adjacent seat and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t
worry—I’ll call Masaomi for you.”
“Oh… thank you. I appreciate that!”
Anri bowed to the other girl, then brought up Mikado’s contact information and hit
the call button.
But neither of them got an answer to their call, and the mood in the van soon turned
uncomfortable.
Anri prayed that they were just at home sleeping. In the meantime, she made a
resolution to herself: If the two of them had been possessed by Saika due to Takashi
Nasujima, she would have to slice Nasujima herself.
It was ironic that she had once told her teacher that she hated him, and now she was
preparing to attack him with a sword that existed to love others. But Anri’s
determination was quiet and crisp.
She would not hesitate. She was going to slash a man not worth slashing.
Outside Tokyu Hands, Sixtieth Floor Street—at that moment
“So… what now?”
Down on the street, Chikage headed over to the crosswalk so he could check out the
scene across the way.
This was a place where taxis often stopped to wait for riders, but for some reason,
there was not a single one here today—but Chikage, not being very familiar with
Ikebukuro, didn’t pick up on the distinction.
Instead, his attention was drawn by the vehicles stopped at the entrance to Sixtieth
Floor Street. At the spot where the expressway had been previously blocking their
view, there were many more cars than he’d initially imagined. Some of the stopped
cars might have belonged to ordinary drivers, but given the number of youths in blue
beanies and ski masks loitering nearby, it seemed clear that nearly all of them
belonged to the Blue Squares.
“Well, well! For a group started by middle and high schoolers, they got better cars than
Toramaru!”
Chikage had heard that they had a number of legal adults in their gang, too. He waited
at the light for the crossing signal to turn green, feeling excited.
This is nice. They’re ready to rock, even though it’s the middle of the city. The only
problem is…
He was looking forward to the simple pleasure of a good fight with the Blue Squares,
but it was the ordinary citizens wandering around that spooked Chikage.
You’d think that with a bunch of guys repping colors around, they’d be more nervous or
would try to clear out. But they’re just standing, wandering around, doin’ nothing.
He felt an eerie kind of danger from all the people walking around without any
apparent purpose.
Then again, I did tell him I’d handle this.
But when the light turned green, he stepped out into the crosswalk with a grin.
“Yo!”
When he got to the other side, he clapped a hand on the shoulder of the nearest boy
with a blue beanie.
“…Huh? The hell you want?” the boy asked suspiciously.
“If I said I was a friend from Saitama whose motorcycle you guys burned up, would
that ring a bell?” Chikage asked.
The boy’s face paled immediately. He looked over Chikage’s shoulder.
“…? Wait, are you alone?”
“Dude, I got lots of girlfriends. I’m not lonely. Now, you look single to me, but don’t give
up, buddy. You enjoying your youth?”
“…I see,” said the boy with a grin and beads of sweat on his cheeks, ignoring Chikage’s
taunt.
“You know, being single’s not all that bad.”
The next moment, two more thugs approaching behind Chikage swung wooden bats
at his head in succession.
There was a loud, crisp smack, and one of the two bats snapped.
“Ha! But you’re gonna be all alone in your coffin, old man!” the boys laughed.
They all imagined what would happen in the next moment, when their accoster
crumpled to the ground. And yet…
“…See, something’s not right.”
Chikage grinned at them, blood streaming from his head.
“?!”
They flinched and took a step away from him. Chikage motioned with his chin toward
the “normal” people walking around Sixtieth Floor Street. “You gotta be crazy to hit a
guy in the head with a bat in the middle of a crowded place like this… but it doesn’t
make sense, right? Nobody’s watching; nobody’s calling the cops… This ain’t the usual
bit about city folk not carin’ what happens to your neighbor. There aren’t even any
looky-loos whipping their phones out to take video.”
“…”
The boys exchanged a glance. It must have occurred to them, too.
Chikage took a step closer to them, smiling.
“But all that aside…”
“?”
“That kinda hurt, you sons of bitches!”

He swung a majestic hook punch at the boy holding the still-unbroken bat.
“Gbya—?!” the boy shrieked and spun himself sideways. He was about Chikage’s size,
but the difference in strength between them was vast.
On that signal, a number of other youths wearing blue who hadn’t noticed Chikage up
to this point suddenly grasped the situation. On top of that, even more boys emerged
from the vans parked in the street—and some adults, too. And still, the ordinary
people on Sixtieth Floor Street did no more than occasionally glance over and resume
their wandering.
Yeah, something about that is creepy, Chikage thought, a shiver running down his back.
He cracked his neck to warm up and focused on the approaching opponents instead.
Whatever. I can whup all these fools before I worry about them.
“Hang on—do any of you even care what happens to Masaomi Kida?!” he shouted in
the midst of countering a kid who came swinging at him.
Another kid in a ski mask answered, “Yeah, it doesn’t matter what happens to Mr. Kida.”
“Wha…?”
Aoba Kuronuma pulled off his mask, smirking and cackling with glee.
“I already know everything.”
The rooftop of a mixed-use building—a few minutes earlier
“Damn, you really can’t see anything from here…”
Masaomi was still on the roof, watching, as Chikage instructed him to do. His cell
ringtone went off loud and clear from his pocket.
“Whoa!”
He’d been so focused on lying low that the sound made him panic before he realized
that it was probably inaudible from the ground, and he took out his phone with relief.
But at the same time, he got an odd feeling of wrongness.
As if he’d sensed some other sound, not the ringtone, echoing behind him.
“…”
A clammy sweat broke out all over Masaomi’s body. He turned on the spot, slowly.
Slowly, slowly, so slowly…
He didn’t know why he felt this way, but he had a strong premonition that he shouldn’t
turn around. That he might lose something precious to him.
A variety of worries racked Masaomi within the span of just a second or two. He almost
felt as if the moment he spun around, he would witness some horrid, unrecognizable
monster that would twist his head right off his shoulders.
But once he started, he couldn’t stop. He had to turn the whole way.
There ended up not being a monster, so Masaomi’s fears were unfounded.
He was not, however, relieved by what he saw.
Because the other sound he heard was most definitely the ringtone of a cell phone that
didn’t belong to him—and he understood what it was that had caused the anxiety
within him to explode.
He recognized that ringtone.
“…”
At first, he thought that he was completely alone on the rooftop. But eventually he saw,
within the darkness, a little light flash on behind the large external air-conditioning
unit.
“…Who’s there?”
Masaomi’s phone continued to go off. The screen said “Saki Mikajima” on it, but he
didn’t have the frame of mind to even look at it.
Across the roof, the person staring into the little light of the other phone read out the
name of the person listed for that incoming call.
“It’s from Sonohara.”
It was a familiar voice.
But even though he was looking right at his ringing phone, he did not answer it.
“I wonder why she’s calling now. It’s nearly morning.”
It was a voice Masaomi didn’t want to hear out of nowhere like this. He was here
specifically to hear that voice, but this was a sneak attack. It felt as if he were climbing
the stairs to a bungee-jumping platform only to lose his footing and fall all on his own.
The boy stood there, wearing a smile.
A rather troubled smile on his childish features.
It was so typical. The very face that Masaomi remembered when he thought of him.
“Hi, Masaomi.”
“Mikado…?”
“It feels like it’s been forever.”
Now that he was faced by Mikado Ryuugamine wearing that same old smile, Masaomi
found that he couldn’t say anything.
The ringtones of the two phones mingled, turning into one mangled sound, echoing
across the darkened rooftop.
The sky was devoid of even the stars.

Only the writhing shadow above them watched the two.
Silently, secretly.
Enveloping all below it.

Chat room
Kuru: It would seem this place is coming to an end.
Mai: It’s sad.
Kuru: Well, perhaps it is just the changing of the times. Even if this had not happened,
the very concept of the chat room itself might be fated to die out. New tools for
communication evolve out of the online ether by the day, such as Mix-E and Twittia
and Bodybook and FINE. It is only natural that people would trickle from chat rooms
onward to new places.
Kuru: Of course, the truly good things will last beyond the ages. This chat room might
be a closed place, but it was not a place everyone would call home. That is the extent
of it.
Mai: I wonder.
Kuru: But the world changes with the times. Perhaps someday there will be an age
when this chat room is necessary. Whether that will be in three days, or three years,
or only in the moments before our death, when we reflect upon the past. Let us hope
that the program still exists on the server at that point.
Mai: Let it happen.
Kuru: That is not how it works. And if it worked, it wouldn’t actually revert our minds
back to this state.
Kuru: Well, any more of this pontification will only muddy the waters. Rather than
needlessly draw out the ending, perhaps we should simply take our leave.
Mai: You’re showing off.
Mai: Ouch.
Mai: I got pinched.
Kuru: And now, my best to all of you.

Kuru: Despite the ending, it was not displeasing. In fact, I’m even grateful that I was
able to see an entertaining show to round it out. I wish I could have spoken with others
like Kid and Saki more, but I will have to look forward to our next meeting under
different circumstances.
Kuru: One of the best parts of being online is the countless paths one can choose to
form connections.
Mai: You can do that off-line, too.
Kuru: And now everyone, a very good sign-off to you.
Mai: Bye-bye.
Mai: It was fun.
.
Shinra’s apartment—several months earlier
“By the way, Celty, did those three ever make up?”
“Make up? Who are you talking about?”
Celty was watching a comedy show on TV when Shinra brought up this bit of idle chat.
“You know, the ones from Raira.”
“Oh, you mean Mikado and his friends.”
“Well, I only know Anri and Ryuugamine. Was just wondering if anything new had
happened with them.”
“I don’t know… That’s their problem to deal with. It’s not up to us to solve it for them.”
Shinra read the words off her PDA screen and shrugged. “Well, I suppose you’re right
about that.”
“It’s strange for you, of all people, to be worried about others.”
“From all you’ve told me about them, I’ve started to think of my own high school days,”
Shinra remarked wistfully.
Annoyed, she typed out, “Stop that. They’re not as perverted as you.”
“Perverted? What a blunt assessment. It’s not an issue of sexual proclivities but of
human relationships. Since Anri is the girl of the bunch, I guess that she would be in
your position, Celty. With Orihara and Shizuo being Mikado and, uh, Masaomi, is it? If
they were us.”
But Celty wasn’t quite buying his comparison yet.
“Who are you?”
“The Saika possessing Anri, I suppose.”
“Don’t try to stretch your analogy too hard.”
Undaunted by her snark, Shinra happily continued comparing his high school experience
to the current-day teens.
“I think our relationship is exactly the opposite of Mikado and his friends’.”
“The opposite?”
“Yeah. They’ve all got secrets they’re keeping from one another. But they managed to
make that work, and they all wanted to keep things friendly, I think.”
“You could be right about that,” Celty typed, shrugging. It was the closest she could get
to a nodding gesture.
“But in comparison,” Shinra continued, “Orihara and Shizuo never bothered with any
secrets. Well, Orihara actually had plenty of secrets, but he never tried to hide what
kind of a person he was. And the result was a relationship that was the exact opposite
of Mikado and Masaomi’s. And unlike Anri, you were basically an observer, if anything,
at that point, Celty.”
“Well… at the time, I didn’t really want anything to do with humanity.”
“I think that’s fine. But while it might have been fun, when I consider the potential
future we could have had with you making four of us, all getting along, I hope that
Mikado and his friends can figure this out.”
“Are you jealous of them?” Celty teased.
Shinra shook his head. “Not at all. I mean, I’m perfectly happy with you, and I can’t
imagine a life surpassing this so much that I would be ‘jealous’ of it.”
“…You say the most embarrassing things with the straightest face.”
It should have been a dash of cold water on Shinra, but his sappy reflections didn’t
stop there.
“You know, I guess you could say that I’m completely the opposite of Saika, too.”
“How so?”
“If Saika is a girl pining with love for all of humanity, then I’m a man who’s only ever
cared for something that isn’t human… and only one in particular: you.”
Celty’s chest rose and fell as though she were inhaling and exhaling a sigh. Then she
typed, “And that’s all you really wanted to say.”
“Yep. That’s all I wanted to say,” Shinra admitted.
Shadows stretched out from Celty’s body. The solidified darkness became a black
cocoon, enveloping Shinra’s body within its shadow.
“Stop being so embarrassing,” Celty wrote on the PDA, then realized she couldn’t show
it to him this way. Then she noticed that the cocoon was strangely quiet.
…? That’s strange. He’s not carrying on like he normally does.
By way of answering her question, Shinra’s voice came out of the cocoon.
“Lately, I find that the dark makes me feel relaxed.”
“…”
“I think that this shadow is a part of you, Celty. It’s the color that belongs only to you
in the entire world, a black that absorbs all light. As far as I know, at least.”
She could sense him smiling in the darkness.
As a matter of fact, he was. “Maybe the reason that I wasn’t scared of the dark, even as
a child, was because I felt your presence within it. So while I can’t see a thing in here,
there is one thing I can say with pride.
“You are truly beautiful, Celty.”

~~~!
Celty’s limbs and shadow quaked, undoing the cocoon. She promptly used that shadow
to hold down Shinra’s hands and feet.
“I told you! Stop saying things that embarrass me! Geez!”
To hide her embarrassment, she rolled Shinra out into the hallway, then went back to
focusing on her comedy show.
It was a little act of domestic happiness that happened often in Shinra’s apartment.
But it was the accumulation of such trivial scenes that made Shinra Kishitani who he
was.
His daily life, filled with bliss as it was, did indeed create something within Shinra.
And while Celty did not know what this was, it was something that Shinra treasured
and kept safe.
Even if others would laugh at him for it or shun and fear him for being “abnormal.”
Kawagoe Highway, outside Shinra’s apartment—present day
“Ah, what a beautiful sky,” said a man in a white lab coat, staring up at an abnormally
dark sky above his apartment building. “That’s my favorite color.”
Shinra Kishitani.
He was back.
He returned home while Kadota and the others ventured out. His stepmother tried to
stop him, but he barreled over her with a stream of excuses and within minutes was
poking his head into the entrance of his apartment again.
He was wearing his usual white coat now, not the pajamas. He had wrapped bandages
all over his body and was carrying a crutch made out of a mop wrapped in aluminum
foil.
“Hey, you look the part.”
“Oh! You’re still here?” he said to Manami Mamiya, whom he’d met only moments ago.
“I was going to ask you more about Izaya.”
“That’s very dedicated of you.” He chuckled, plopping down the crutch and hobbling
around with it. In fact, it looked exactly like a proper injured person’s movement—
except that both then and now, his eyes were dyed dark red.
“What… are you?”
“I’m merely a doctor.”
“I’ve seen several people Niekawa sliced whose eyes went red like that, but you’re the
first one I’ve seen acting normally afterward.”
It was the kind of question that only someone who’d seen the Saika-possessed would
ask. Shinra thought it over and said, “Ah… yes. I suppose I must have reached the same
side Niekawa did. It’s kind of like hypnosis, except that I forcefully undid the hypnosis
and learned how to use it myself… I guess.”
“You also sound livelier than you did before.”
“I gave myself a painkiller.”
But even Manami, who was not a professional doctor by any means, could tell that
Shinra’s skin tone was not good. He looked as if he ought to be in a hospital bed.
Thinking about hospital beds reminded her of the time she tried and failed to stab
Izaya while he was hospitalized. She chided herself at that bitter memory and tried to
get past the topic by asking, “Where are you going that you’re forcing yourself to move
around like this?”
“That’s a good question. Where should I go?”

“What?” She drew her eyebrows together.
“Celty Sturluson,” Shinra said.
“Huh?”
“That’s the name of the woman I love. I want to go see her, but I’m wondering where I
should go to do that,” he explained, looking up at the sky.
“That’s the name of the Headless Rider, right?” Manami asked.
“She’s a dullahan. I don’t know exactly everything that’s happening… but I have a
feeling that she might have recovered her head.”
“…”
Manami’s dull, cynical eyes darted away. She was the one responsible for taking the
head from where it had been safe.
“She’s probably back home by now, right? Izaya told everyone that the Headless Rider
had the memories of home in her head, and her role, and all that old information.”
“If that’s true, then I’d make preparations right now to leave for Ireland.” Shinra
tottered along, gazing up at the sky, bliss making his features slack. “But Celty is still
in this city. I can tell.”
“How?”
“The sky… it’s the same color as Celty.”
“Huh?”
Manami looked up with him.
There was nothing there.
No starlight.
No moon.
Not even the atmosphere reflecting back the dull glow of the surface lights, that feature
unique to large cities.
Manami was used to that light, so the abnormal darkness of the sky was eerie to her.
Shinra looked up at it with eyes like a boy talking about his dreams for the future. “Just
knowing that Celty’s somewhere up in that sky means that I have no reason to stay
locked up in my house.”
“…”
“I don’t even care if she never comes home. I’ll go to her instead.”
It was the kind of thing that a stalker might say, but Shinra’s red eyes sparkled crisp
and clear as he said it. Manami found herself ever so slightly jealous.
“…I envy you a bit.”
“?”
“I don’t have any forward-looking dreams like that. I only want to torment Izaya
Orihara,” she said, admitting her hesitation for the first time.
But to her surprise, Shinra said, “Really? That sounds like a wonderful dream.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, of all things, ‘tormenting Izaya’ is a huge dream. It’s quite forward-looking. In
fact, making him absolutely regret doing something might be a more difficult dream
than getting elected to the Diet.”
She didn’t know how seriously to take the man’s statement. “Aren’t you normally
supposed to stop someone when they say something like that?” she asked him.
“Did you want the normal answer? For one thing, whatever humanity does to Izaya,
he’s earned every last bit of it. I guess Celty might say something like ‘It’s a waste to
become a murderer for someone like him. Just half kill him instead.’”
Shinra was so smitten, he could inject Celty into his answer to a completely unrelated
question from a stranger. He gazed up at the starless sky like an innocent child.
“My dream is very simple. I want to continue to love the person I love forever. I want
to be with her forever. That’s all. I’d like for my beloved to be happy forever, too, of
course, but that will always be second place for me.”
“…Sounds obsessive, like something a stalker or abuser would say.”
“I agree. But if anything, I’m the recipient of domestic violence in this relationship,”
Shinra said, his cheeks dimpling as he thought back fondly on the times that she’d hit
him. “But what I’m about to do might be far worse than any punching or kicking you
could imagine. Still, I have to do it. Otherwise everything I’ve said to Celty up to this
point will be a lie.”
He looked mournful about this but turned it around into a smile again as he looked up
once more at the sky.
“Even if it means Celty with her memory back is going to kill me.”
Interior of building under construction
Kujiragi kept her distance as Vorona and Mikage Sharaku stared each other down. She
felt an eerie disquiet in her breast.
It wasn’t her own senses. It was something that she felt through the Saika under her
command. But she wasn’t holding it directly at the moment, so the sensation was dull,
indirect.
“…”
In any case, the woman wearing the dogi was not the kind of opponent you wanted to
fight barehanded.
She considered going back to retrieve the Saika she was using to restrain Celty
Sturluson, but if she left Vorona to fend for herself, there was a very real possibility
that she would lose.
And just when she thought about suggesting retreat to Vorona, she felt a subtle vibration
in her suit pocket. Recognizing the rhythm of an incoming call to her cell phone,
Kujiragi took it out and looked at the screen without emotion.
When she saw that it said “Karisawa (Cosplayer ),” she inclined her head in curiosity.
When they’d traded numbers, she hadn’t thought the girl was the kind of person to
insensitively call in the middle of the night, and she couldn’t imagine what kind of
emergency would necessitate it.
“Don’t you want to answer your phone? We can wait, if you want,” said Mikage,
blocking the way to the stairs with a confident smile.
Kujiragi ignored her and put the phone to her ear. “Kujiragi speaking.”
“Oh, Miss Kujiragi?! Thank goodness… You’re all right!”
“?”
Why would she need to be “all right”? Kujiragi wondered.
The voice on the phone continued, “Listen, Miss Kujiragi! I just managed to escape
myself. Stay away from the Ikebukuro Station area! If you can, flee to Saitama or Chiba!”
“…You sound rather flustered. What is it that you escaped from?”
“More street slashers… uh, dozens of people with red eyes! No, hundreds! This guy who
seems like their leader mentioned your name and was talking about burying you and
attacking you and stuff!”
“…”
Kujiragi stayed calm, but this did cause her look to darken.
The Saika-possessed? Me?
Would it be Haruna Niekawa or Anri Sonohara? But she said the leader was a “guy,”
and that didn’t make sense.
“…What would you say this man’s features were?”
“Um… He had a fancy nightclub-host-style haircut, and he was talking to that long-
haired girl—you know, the one with you and Sonohara at the cafeteria in the hospital.
But she was saying weird stuff to the guy, like ‘Yes, Mother,’ and it just didn’t make any
sense…”
“…”
Takashi Nasujima.
Based on that information, that was the most likely identity of the Saika-possessed.
He was a pawn originally created to keep Izaya Orihara’s pawn Haruna Niekawa in
check or bring her over to this side.
But since Izaya had destroyed her “Jinnai Yodogiri” system and there was no longer
any need to watch out for Haruna in particular, she had essentially let him go loose.
I thought I gave him some menial task to keep him occupied and out of trouble, though…
Did he overturn Saika’s curse somehow?
In order to break Saika’s control and use it at will, one needed mental strength that
surpassed the cursed words that poured in through a cut from the blade.
I would not have pegged that Nasujima man to have that kind of mental fortitude…
But Kujiragi underestimated Takashi Nasujima’s powerful self-love. She wasn’t able to
accept that he could overcome Saika’s power on his own. And yet, if Haruna Niekawa
was calling Nasujima “Mother,” then at the very least, he must have “overwritten”
Haruna’s Saika curse at some point.
And beyond that, the talk of a swarm of Saika-possessed in Ikebukuro’s streets was
worrying. If they were going to make a kingdom of Saikas on their own, she was
content to let them do it—except that Karisawa said they were definitely talking about
going after her.
“I’m sorry to have worried you. Thank you. Please get away from there at once, Karisawa.”
“I will. The red-eyed people aren’t surrounding me anymore, so I think I’m all right… Just
be careful. I’ll do whatever I can to help, so call me back if you need anything!”
“…Your concern is appreciated.”

She hung up the call, then considered what her next move should be, given the arrival
of this unexpected enemy. Should she break through here, or at least remain inside the
building long enough to confirm the ending of her primary foe, Izaya Orihara? Or
should she put off ascertaining this fight and rush to eliminate the trouble
surrounding Saika?
After moments of thinking, however, the path forward made itself clear in an unexpected
direction.
“Oh? What are you doing here?”
“?” “?” “!”
Three women turned in the direction of the voice and saw a freakish figure wearing a
gas mask.
“Huh? You’re the guy I see talking with my brother at the gym sometimes.”
“Ah, then you must be Eijirou’s… I mean, Shingen Kishitani Mk. III’s little sister.”
“Mk. III…?” Mikage asked, a question mark floating over her head.
Shingen continued talking to an audience of himself. “The first one is wise! The second
is refined! And the beauteous peony, that walking lily, is Mk. III! A beauty that grows
in the telling, you might say! Fortunately, unlike that dried-up husk of a young man,
this sight is a much more attractive one. They often say that three women gathered
together is a cacophony, but this is looking more like fisticuffs than anything else, no?”
“If you don’t explain why you’re here, I’m going to footsie-cuff your jaw until you drop
like a stone.”
“I would prefer to be kicked in the buttocks instead… But that aside, I was coming here
to speak with Kujiragi. Thanks to you two, I didn’t need to climb all the way up the
building. Thank you for that,” Shingen said, completely oblivious to everything else
going on.
But rather than looking displeased, Kujiragi asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, that wire you used to tie up Celty returned to its katana form and fell to the
ground. I was going to ask if I could have it.”
“You will need to pay an appropriate price for it.”
“I’m glad you brought that up. See, if you agree to overlook my invocation of the
finders-keepers rule, I am willing to neglect reporting you for illegal possession of a
weapon. In fact, I’ll even be willing to ignore the fact that you set that horrid stalker
upon Shinra to injure him,” said Shingen, choosing to give up on avenging his son.
Kujiragi replied, “While that was Jinnai Yodogiri’s suggestion, I will admit I bear some
fault for authorizing it. But I will not be giving up Saika at this moment.”
“Listen, let’s go outside and talk. You were just coming down, weren’t you?” Shingen
said, which struck the three women as odd. They shared a look.
“Your suggestion is unclear. I desire a rendezvous with Sir Shizuo. When the situation
is so close at hand, the reason to descend the building is nonexistent,” said Vorona,
speaking for the group.
Shingen made a grandiose pantomime of looking confused, given that his face was
covered by the mask. He chuckled and said, “Actually… both Shizuo and Izaya jumped
down onto the street and left quite a while ago.”
An unpleasant, clammy breeze blew between the three women.
“…”
“…”
“…Huh?”
Mikage stood at the center of the staircase, arms folded, head tilted to the side. Sweat
trickled down her cheeks.
Shingen shook his head theatrically. “Was that Japanese too difficult for you? Shizuo!
Izaya! Not here! Go back to town. Human, good-bye. Shingen, no tell a lie.”
“Do I need to kick your face in?” Mikage asked, vein twitching on her temple.
Shingen waved his hands and backed away. “Now, now, not so fast. I apologize for joking
around, but I’m telling the truth when I say they’re not here anymore.”
His breath exhaled from the exhaust port of the gas mask.
“Besides, do you think that a true battle to the end between those two could be
contained within a single building?”
Out in the city
The only way to describe the vending machine was “unlucky.”
It just so happened to exist along a street that Izaya ran down and happened to be the
one that Shizuo decided to pick up and throw.
It came crashing and bouncing into the darkened street. Izaya dodged it with inches
to spare, but he wasn’t moving as sharply as he usually did, perhaps because of his
painful fall.
Normally, he might have shaken off Shizuo’s pursuit by now. But while he could still
hop over fences and up electric poles in parkour fashion, he simply wasn’t as fast as
normal. Because he was only barely succeeding at staying away, Shizuo had the
occasional opportunity to strike, and a little part of the city was destroyed each time.
If it continued for long enough, it might be classified as a small-scale natural disaster,

but the police had not yet showed up to curtail their chase. Not because they were
sleeping on the job, however.
Every available officer on the Ikebukuro force was already occupied with a different
matter.
The rooftop of a mixed-use building, Otowa Street

“Mikado… Is that you, Mikado?!”
Of the many emotions in Masaomi’s voice, joy at their reunion was overshadowed by
the confusion of not yet being certain of what was happening.
While Masaomi was dazed with shock, Mikado smiled sadly. “It has to be a question?”
Then something occurred to him. “If I were you, I’d say something like ‘Then who am
I?’”
Masaomi gasped with a start, chuckling. “Multiple-choice question. One, Mikado

Ryuugamine. Two, Mikado Ryuugamine. Three, Mikado Ryuugamine… right?”
He grimaced, thinking back to the day that Mikado came to Ikebukuro.
“And you completely ignored that joke of mine.”
“I still think it was a terrible, embarrassing attempt at humor.”
“What was it again? √3 points?” Masaomi’s grimace gradually turned into a smile.
Tears bloomed in his eyes. “Mikado… It really is you, Mikado…”
“Who else would it be?”
“I dunno… I just can’t believe it. I wouldn’t have expected to see you right behind me,
out of nowhere…!” Masaomi shook his head, finally recognizing the situation, filled
with joy at their reunion. “Oh… that must be it. I guess Rokujou must have cleared it
all up already, huh?!”
That was how Mikado knew to come here. He’d been told this was the place where the
hostage would be handed over, Masaomi guessed.
Except that Mikado immediately proved him wrong.
“I’d guess Rokujou is over by Tokyu Hands right now, fighting with Aoba and his
friends.”
“…Mikado?”
“I did give them bats and stuff, but he’s not going to be that easy to beat, is he?” Mikado
said, with that same familiar smile. Masaomi’s joy immediately flipped over into
concern.
“What… what do you mean?”
Then Masaomi remembered.
He remembered when his old friend here had set fire to the man who’d tried to attack
Anri. He had smiled then, too, right after he’d nearly burned a man alive.
With that same smile now, Mikado said, “Rokujou isn’t the type of person who takes
hostages and demands a deal. I had a hunch that he was playing up the villain role in
the hope that you and I would meet.”
“…”
“With the Dollars’ information network, I found you and Rokujou right away. I had
Aoba’s friend follow you guys. And another person I sent to Tokyu Hands said that
Toramaru didn’t appear to be setting up an ambush around there.”
“Ha-ha… wow, you Dollars really are something else. It’s the middle of the night!”
“It just means that many of the people wandering around the city at night are part of
the group,” Mikado said.
Masaomi couldn’t even take a step closer to him. Normally, if he were meeting an old
friend again, he might have rushed over to share in the joy. Perhaps they’d replay a
scene from some movie about the inspirational struggle of growing up, where he’d
punch his friend and then say, “Hit me back!” Perhaps he’d smack his friend’s
shoulders, happy to see him safe and sound.
But Masaomi couldn’t move.
His experience as the leader of the Yellow Scarves, the senses he’d honed by living
through street battles, caused him to falter and stay away from his friend.
That was Mikado Ryuugamine over there, all right. But something about him was
fundamentally different from the Mikado he knew, causing Masaomi’s joy to steadily
morph into doubt and suspicion.
No, this is wrong. If you run away now, it’ll be exactly the same as before.
He held his ground, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t flee this situation, too.
“Then I guess there was no need for me to have shown up as agreed over the phone,
huh?” Masaomi said with a shrug, trying to keep the conversation going.
Mikado just shook his head. “It seemed like the perfect opportunity.”
“?”
“I wanted to show you something, Kida.”
“Show me…?”
Masaomi thought it odd that Mikado was switching between calling him Masaomi and
Kida, but the content of his words was more pressing right now.
“Well, you didn’t actually see the first meeting of the Dollars, did you?”
“…True. I heard the stories, though. In fact,” Masaomi said self-deprecatingly,

“considering it now, I must have looked like a real clown when I came to all excited,
saying, ‘Hey, Mikado, did you hear about this?’”
“Yeah… Sorry, Kida.”
“?”
“I know it’s a little late to be saying this, but I’m technically the founder of the Dollars.”
“…Wow, that is really late.”
It was something that Masaomi had known for quite a while now, but when he heard
it from Mikado’s lips, the truth took on a heavy mental weight.
“I told myself that I’d only say it when Sonohara was here, too…”
“So why don’t we call Anri up? She called you, didn’t she?” Masaomi asked. He looked
at his own phone. The call he’d gotten was long expired. There was a message on the
screen saying, “Call received: Saki Mikajima.”
Saki?
At the exact moment that Anri was calling Mikado, Saki had tried to call Masaomi.
While he wondered what this could possibly mean, his friend said, “I would have liked
to call Sonohara here so I could show her what I’m about to show you, but… I just think
it would be too dangerous.”
“What is it that you’re gonna show me? I’ll happily check it out if it’s a dirty mag,”
Masaomi joked with a shrug. But that was not Mikado’s answer.
“A meeting of the Dollars.”
“Hey, you got a moment?”
Chikage turned to face Aoba, his face red from the blood streaming down it from his
skull.
“As far as I can tell, you seem to be the leader of these guys.”
At his feet were about a half dozen Blue Squares, victims of his fighting prowess.
“Don’t you find all those looky-loos out there kinda strange?”
“…”
Aoba returned his question with silence.
He had noticed it, too, by the time he arrived outside of Tokyu Hands. The pedestrians
around them were acting strangely. And unlike what his friend said over the phone, it
did not look like “fans excited about a secret pop idol concert.”
But they weren’t interfering with his business, so he largely ignored them—except
that now the brawl had broken out, they weren’t running or making noise or recording
videos with their phones at all. That part was eerie.
Aoba was curious about the mob that was literally “merely observing,” but in all
honesty, the eeriness of that was far outshone by Rokujou’s abnormal strength.
“What are we gonna do, Aoba?” asked one of his friends in a blue cap. “This guy’s crazy!”
“We’ll call for Yoshikiri from the van,” Aoba replied. “Oh, and wake Houjou up, too.”
Chikage looked lonely. “What, are you just gonna ignore my question?”
“I’m sorry. You’re so tough—I’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”
“Actually, I’m goin’ easy on you kids. After all, I don’t wanna accidentally beat Mikado
Ryuugamine to death.”
There was no way for Aoba to tell whether he was bluffing or not about going easy on
them. All he knew for certain was that the man before him had instantly incapacitated
five of his followers.
“…I’ll admit it. I didn’t realize what we were up against with a Saitama gang.”
Chikage, for his part, greeted the gang leader’s words with a shrug.
“Look, I’m not hoping to keep up this fight forever, y’know. If you could pay me back
the money for the bikes you burned up as an apology, I’d appreciate it. And as far as
the number of my guys you beat up, we can ante up the guys I’ve just beaten and call
it even.”
“I get the feeling that you’ve already gotten us back twice over for what we did.”
“You took out ten of mine. So I’m only halfway there, but out of respect for Kadota…”
Chikage paused. He had heard a sound that any motorcycle gang member would
recognize. It was the sound of engines revving, exhaust, and the obnoxious clamor of
the musical horns that had long been outlawed.
Chikage didn’t make that kind of racket when he rode, because one of his girlfriends
said she hated loud noises—but there were plenty of rival gangs who had a very strict
code when it came to motorcycle noise: Bright makes right. They did everything they
could to be obnoxious.
That sounds like… Gozumezu Guns from Nerima, maybe? No… I can hear the guys from
Poliseum as well.
The sounds being played by the approaching horns were familiar to Chikage, who had
to wonder what this was about. Would there really be a gang ride at this exact moment?
Chikage was an optimist at heart, but he wasn’t naive. This was not just a coincidence.
Alarms were going off in his head.
But before he could do anything about it, they reached his view.
A number of bikes that even from a distance obviously belonged to a gang rounded
onto Sixtieth Floor Street. Once he could make out some of their faces, Chikage was
aghast.
“Wait a minute, it really is Gozumezu Guns and Poliseum together.”
“Not quite, Mr. Rokujou.”
The clamor of the motorcycles was loud enough that Aoba could barely hear any of
what Chikage said, but he understood the gist of it. Amid the noise, he murmured,
“They’re not together until after this.”
And then, just to prove him correct, more and more bikes, dozens of them, and even
some cars and vans, came into formation along the road. It was clear at a glance that
this was more than merely one or two gangs.
“Plus, they’re not motorcycle gangs anymore.”
His face twisted in a dark smirk, Aoba spoke words that no ear could hear.
“They’re Dollars now.”

“What’s this? What’s happening?”
The roar of the motorcycles was enough to draw Nasujima’s attention at last.
The Blue Squares he’d infected with Saika hadn’t said anything about this. Either they
hadn’t been informed, or something major had happened out of the blue.
It wasn’t only the biker gangs. Some street-thug types were prowling over on foot as
well, and some of them were among the Saika-possessed, but the rest of them were
clearly taking part in whatever this was reluctantly, as though they’d been invited by
their friends or forced to attend by senior members.
The one thing they all shared in common was that they were the kind of people who
would threaten others for money any day of the week.
“Yeah, whatever. The common rabble are easy to deal with,” Nasujima said to himself
with a leer, conveniently describing his own army of Saika-possessed as well.
“Either way, they’ll all be my pawns in the end.”
Tokyo
“Got it. Keep an eye on it from a distance.”
Akabayashi was in the process of traveling when he got a report over the phone from
the motorcycle gang Jan-Jaka-Jan, who were working directly for him.
“Now, you said you saw thirteen gangs and that was only what you could confirm? This
isn’t some big regional alliance thing; cut us some slack, people.”
After hearing more from the other end of the call, he narrowed his eyes and ordered,
“Don’t you get involved in the festivities. Keep your distance from the red-eyed folks.
No point in having a zombie hunter turned into a zombie.”
With that warning, he ended the call. Akabayashi sighed heavily, the smile gone from
his face.
“You’re getting a little too rambunctious, young Ryuugamine.”
“Hey… what is all that?”
Masaomi peered over the edge of the roof to ascertain what all the motorcycle roaring
was about in the streets below. As usual, the expressway blocked the view of the main
street, but based on the sound, it was clear that whatever was happening, it was
abnormal.
“Shit… can’t see. Damn, how many bikers they got down there? Sheesh…”
Over his shoulder, Mikado clarified, “It’s not just bikers.”
“…Mikado?”
“There are others from Chiba and Saitama. I guess you’d call them street thugs?”
It was a simple enough statement, but there was a whiff of disdain in Mikado’s voice,
along with no small measure of hatred.
“So… you brought them here?” Masaomi asked, turning around to face his friend. “How
did you…? No, forget that—this is crazy! I mean, Mikado… you hate those kinds of
people, and that’s why…”
“That’s why I went around with Aoba’s group eliminating them, yes. But in fact, I
personally could barely do any of it,” Mikado said with a self-deprecating snort. “I was
keeping busy with kicking them out of the Dollars… but then I realized that doing that
wasn’t enough.”
“…You realized?” Masaomi repeated.
Mikado continued, “Well, I was researching them.”
“?”
“It’s very strange. They’ll beat people up, almost for fun, but the moment you bring up
information about their family, they freak out. But if you ‘request’ the cooperation of
their leaders, the rest will happily go along with it as a group activity. In other words…
they’ll fight and commit violence just to go along with the group.”
“Uh, dude… what are you talking about?”
Masaomi couldn’t understand what Mikado meant by all this. Or to be truthful, he half
expected it, but he didn’t want to admit it might be true.
Essentially, Mikado had obtained the sensitive secrets of people that he hated and had
manipulated them into coming here. He didn’t need to do it for all of them, just one,
and the rest would willingly come along for the spectacle. That was all the reason they
needed to commit violence.
There were two things Masaomi didn’t want to accept about this.
One was that he didn’t want to think Mikado would do such a devious thing.
The other was that he didn’t have a reason to do it.
“This is crazy… Even if every last member of Toramaru was here, there’s no reason to
gather such a huge group…”
“Oh, you’ve got it wrong. Rokujou and Toramaru have nothing to do with this. I feel a
bit bad that he’s gotten wrapped up in it, but technically, I am the one calling the shots
for the Blue Squares, so…”
“What are you talking about, Mikado?!”
He wasn’t acting right. Masaomi felt that he had to hit him, if that was what it took to
make him see sense. He stared at his friend—and then noticed something.
An object clutched in Mikado’s dangling right hand.
The pistol Mikado got from Ran Izumii was already in his hand. His finger wasn’t on
the trigger yet. It was pointed at the ground.
He didn’t have it raised with both hands, so there was only so much an amateur like
Mikado could do with it in this situation. But if he felt like it, he could shoot it at any
moment.
And because he was an amateur, there was no telling where it might go.
“Mikado…?”
Masaomi immediately recognized that it was a gun.
And instantly, he knew that Mikado was not the type of person who would bring out a
realistic model gun to use as a bluff. Even now, in his broken state, that was an
unchanging part of Mikado’s nature.
Given the many facets of the situation, Masaomi’s guess that the gun was real quickly
evolved into certainty.
“Where… did you get that…?”
“Oh, you know.”
But Masaomi didn’t turn his back to his friend. His righteous indignation was
outweighing his fear of the gun for now.
“Mikado, what are you trying to do? Setting up this ridiculous gathering, carrying that
thing around… What is your plan for the Dollars?!”
“…”
“I feel pathetic! I thought I was your friend, and now I can’t even figure out what is
going through your head…” Masaomi despaired, venting anger at himself.
Mikado just shook his head. “It’s all right; it’s not your fault. I planted the seeds for all
this myself.” He smiled sadly, still holding the gun. “And if I can’t restart it, then it’s
better for the Dollars not to exist at all.”
“Huh…?”
At last, he spoke aloud the answer that he had reached for himself.
“As of today, the Dollars will be no more.”
Shortly before Masaomi and Mikado faced off, there was a post on the largest message
board within the Dollars’ online community.
It was a single line.
Just one very simple sentence.
A lone individual post that barely anyone would even notice.
Probably mistyped, or some lame bit of trolling, trying to get attention.
Nobody even responded to the message, and any who saw it forgot it just as quickly.
But this message, in fact, was announcing the future of the Dollars’ entire organization.
“The Dollars will disappear.”
That lone sentence, posted by an unknown individual, was quickly swept along by the
vast, ceaseless flood of activity on the board, lost in the depths of a sea of information.
Symbolizing the fate of the Dollars group itself.
Sunshine building—rooftop
Upon the stage of Ikebukuro, many players with varying desires began to dance.
Driven by desire, hatred, obligation, honor, fear, and other such forces, they made their
way into the open, wriggling and butting up against one another.
There was one impartial observer of the chaos unfolding.

To be more precise, there was one impartial head that observed the city below it.
A severed head, with a beautiful face and hair, being held by a body astride a headless
horse.
Celty Sturluson.
With her head recovered now, she sent her shadow streaming far and wide, silently
observing the city she presided over. The shadow blanketed the sky itself, covering the
entirety of the city of Ikebukuro.
There was no visible emotion on her severed head, but its eyes were open, and it
moved and reacted in a way that suggested it was part of one organism with the body
that held it under its arm.
It was impossible to guess as to what she was thinking, and there were no humans
present who might attempt to do such a thing. The only being that understood her
thoughts was the headless horse, which Celty had called Shooter before she got her
head back. It brayed to the sky.
QRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
It sounded like a scream, like a roar, like the sound of the wind blowing past, all at
once. The sound vibrated the vast expanse of shadow, extending far across the sky of
Ikebukuro.
Celty did not react in any way to the horse’s call. She simply observed the city below.
And more specifically, the clearly visible figures of Mikado and Masaomi.
Kawagoe Highway
“Whew, I think I should be safe at this distance… but on the other hand, what’s up with
all the motorcycle gangs? Is someone having a retirement ride?”
Karisawa had escaped the area where all the red-eyed people were and, following the
instructions in Yumasaki’s text message, was now heading for Shinra’s apartment.
“At least I was able to give Miss Kujiragi the message. Now I just have to get in touch
with Mikarun. Did we ever trade numbers…?”
She was looking through her phone book for Mikado’s information as she walked,
when a car passing by her in the street suddenly sidled over and stopped right next to
her.
“Huh?” She looked over and saw a very familiar van. “Ahhh!”
She raced over toward it. When she saw the face in the window, there were already
tears in her eyes. “Dotachin! You’re all right!”
But then…
“Oh no! We weren’t in time! We’re too late!”
“Huh?”
Yumasaki opened the back door and jumped out, and as soon as he saw Karisawa’s
eyes, he promptly pinned her arms behind her back.
“What?! Yumacchi! What?! What are you doing?!”
“Calm yourself down, Karisawa! We’ll give you an exorcism now! Take it away, Shakugan
no Anri!”
“Huh?! What the—?! Why is Anri here?!”
“I-I’m sorry, Karisawa…! I’m going to scrape your fingertip a little bit!” Anri got out of
the vehicle next, her katana in her hand.
“Wh-what?! Wait—what’s going on?!”
“Listen to me, Karisawa,” said Yumasaki. “You might not realize it, but you’ve been
infected by a blade-shaped alien parasite, and now you’re its earthling puppet body!”
“What are you talking about?!” she snapped, baffled, but he held on hard.
“Don’t even try to talk your way out of this! Those red eyes of yours are all the evidence
we need to identify the problem!”
That was when Karisawa finally remembered: In order to fool the slashers, she’d
popped in those red contact lenses.
“Huh?! Ohhh! No, no, no! It’s not what you think!”
A few minutes later, Karisawa slumped exhaustedly in the back seat of the van. It was
only when Anri, sword in hand, saw her and realized that her red eyes were not those
of a Saika-possessed that she was fully out of trouble.
“Good grief. Totally ruined my emotional reunion with Dotachin.”
“Sorry about that, Karisawa,” Kadota said from the front passenger seat.
She waved him off. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m over it. Besides, Azusa’s the one who should be
clinging to you in tears, not me. Let that be the foreshadowing for your eventual
marriage to her.”
The brief confusion had actually jolted her out of her funk and back into her usual
state. She breathed deep, in and out, and looked around the van again.
“So I’m kind of in the dark here. What’s with the festivities?”
Not only were the people in the van different from the usual lineup, there were more
than could safely fit inside. Because traffic was barely moving, Yumasaki trotted
alongside the car and kept tabs on the surrounding environs.
There was a distant roar of what sounded like an endless gang of bikers somewhere
up ahead, and every now and then, a few more of them wove through the lanes past
Togusa’s van.
“Where do we even begin…?” Kadota wondered. Before he could launch into an

explanation, new information came in over the car radio.
“As for today’s forecast, we’ve got… Excuse me, folks, there’s been a breaking news
bulletin just now.”
The DJ’s voice was followed by the sound of a piece of paper being flipped over. If they
were postponing the usual weather forecast, it had to be pretty urgent news indeed.
Everyone in the van listened intently, all their faces serious.
The contents of the report were far more serious than they could have imagined.
“What do you mean… the Dollars will be no more?” Masaomi asked.
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Mikado answered. “As of today, the Dollars will vanish.”
“You mean break up? And this obnoxious biker gathering is just to commemorate the
occasion?”
“Not exactly… but I suppose you might consider it something like that. It’s going to be
the final in-person gathering, basically. It’s just that I want to show you and Sonohara
what happens when people gather under the Dollars’ name… What the Dollars really
are,” Mikado said mournfully, standing in the middle of the rooftop. “So you can see
what I created.”
From the edge of the roof, Masaomi said, “You said you started the Dollars ages ago,
because you were bored… Is this what you wanted?”
“I know… At the start, it was more exciting. I thought I was finally about to get what I
was hoping for,” Mikado said, grinning like a schoolboy. He shook his head. “But now
it’s different. So I thought I should make it a place where I could actually welcome you
and Sonohara. I want to usher you into a Dollars that I feel proud of.”
“That makes sense. So why is it vanishing?”
“After the first meetup, Izaya said something to me.”
“…?!”
Izaya. The mention of that name froze Masaomi solid. He choked on his words, flashing
back to all kinds of memories from the past.
Mikado reminisced about just one, however.
“After the Dollars’ meetup, Izaya said… you want to escape ordinary life, but you’ll get
used to the extraordinary right away.”
“…”
“He also said, if you really want to escape the ordinary, you have to keep evolving. I
thought I understood what he meant at the time, but I don’t think that the lesson really
sank in until it came to this,” Mikado said, smirking at himself. He looked at the gun in
his hand. “The Dollars became very ordinary to me… and I hit a block. Izaya was right.”
“Stop it!” Masaomi shouted. “That’s all his usual bullshit! He’s manipulating you! That
son of a bitch tells you one thing, then goes to someone else and tells them the polar
opposite, just to enjoy seeing what happens!”
“You might be right about that,” Mikado said, not denying Masaomi’s words. “But I
think I would have noticed it even if Izaya hadn’t told me.”
“He made you think that! That’s what he does! Listen, no matter what kind of group
the Dollars are, you’re still you! Did you think that me and Anri would change our
minds and hate you, whether you’re just high school Mikado or the boss of a gang of
stupid thugs?! Don’t insult us like that!”
He made to rush over to his friend. The young man couldn’t be right. Either he was full
of himself, or as had been the case before, he was still under Izaya Orihara’s spell.
Whatever the case, Masaomi knew he had to wake Mikado up.
He would grab his shoulder and shake him, and if that didn’t do the trick, he’d punch
him in the mouth—except that he had to pause when he saw Mikado pointing the
pistol at him.
“…Are you seriously pointing that gun at me?”
The answer was obvious; he didn’t need to ask. But the boy was holding it with one
hand, the weight making its aim uncertain. He also didn’t have his finger over the
trigger, so it was hard to tell what Mikado intended to do.
On the other hand, the fact that Masaomi might not know where the bullet was going
made the situation that much more erratic and dangerous.
Masaomi stopped in his tracks, but he didn’t shy away in fear. Mikado kept the gun
pointed at his old friend and said, “I thought you might come and try to hit me
regardless of the gun… but I guess even you’re afraid of it.”
He wasn’t making fun of Masaomi; he was asking out of honest curiosity.
Masaomi clenched his jaws, stared Mikado straight in the eyes, and said, “Yeah, I’m
afraid of it.”
But there was no fear in his eyes. They began to smolder with quiet anger.
“Obviously I’m going to be scared when I see something like that pop up out of nowhere.”
“Ah… yeah, that makes sense.”
“But.”
“Huh?”
Masaomi finally let all his pent-up anger explode into a howl of indignance.
“What scares me the most is this whole situation that would put the nicest guy I know
in possession of something like that!”
“Masaomi…”
“Screw this! What the hell happened to make a kindhearted guy like you carry a gun?!
It makes no sense! It’s not right! How did it get to this?!” he demanded, clenching his
fists so tight the nails dug into his palms. Then, lowering his tone of voice, he
continued, “Was it… my fault?”
“…”
“Yeah, I guess so… I mean, Rokujou just said as much to me.”
Now it was Masaomi’s turn to smirk self-deprecatingly, if only for a brief moment. He
stared back into Mikado’s eyes.
“If I was putting that much pressure on you, then go ahead. I can’t complain if you
shoot me,” he said.
“You shouldn’t get desperate, Masaomi. I was the one who chose to become this way.
It’s not your fault.”
“Then why are you pointing that at me?” Masaomi asked him, the question of the
moment.
Mikado was at a loss. “I’m… not really sure.”
“…About what?”
“About who I should point this at next.”
For a moment, Masaomi’s face went slack—and when the meaning of this statement
sank in, he shouted, “If that’s the most commitment you can summon, then you don’t
need that damn thing! Go and dump it in a river somewhere before you end up firing
it! Or hell, I’ll go and get rid of it for you! You don’t need to be putting yourself in danger
like this! At worst, as long as you don’t shoot it, you can always say you just ‘found it
somewhere’! You know?”
Without pointing the gun away, Mikado said happily, “That’s the part that will always
make you Masaomi. You’re so much kinder at heart than I am.” He shook his head, still
not moving the gun. “I’ve already fired it.”
“…Huh?”
For an instant, it didn’t make sense to Masaomi. His brows creased.
So Mikado told him the simple truth.
“I already shot it twice. On the way here.”
Inside the van

“We have details about a string of shootings within the city,” said the voice over the
radio player in Togusa’s van. “One shooting happened at the entrance to the Ikebukuro
Police Department and the other at the entryway of the personal home of Chairman
Dougen Awakusu of the Awakusu-kai, an organized crime operation affiliated with the
Medei-gumi Syndicate.”
The newscaster continued, crisply elocuting, detailing the unfolding situation.
“At the scene of the shootings were acts of spray-painted graffiti, put down before the
guns were fired, with the police saying that the words written correspond to the name of
a delinquent group active around the Ikebukuro area, which they are investigating
now…”
“…What does that mean? ‘Delinquent group active around the Ikebukuro area,’” Togusa
wondered. But he already had a very good idea of what it meant.
Kadota spoke that idea out loud for him, his expression grave. “I’m guessing… it must
be referring to the Dollars.”
“So… what’s gonna happen, then?” Karisawa asked from the back. Kadota could only
give her his best guess.
“It means the Dollars just picked a fight… with both the law and the outlaws of this
city.”
Tokyo—office
“…I’ll be damned. He’s cracked even worse than I imagined.” Aozaki, the Awakusu
lieutenant, sighed after he got the report from a subordinate. He got to his feet from
the leather chair and pulled his jacket off the hook.
“Wh-where are you going?” the other man asked.
“To the old man’s place. I’ve got to apologize for what just happened.”
When he heard about shots being fired at Dougen Awakusu’s home and the police
department, the first thing to pop into Aozaki’s mind was the face of Mikado
Ryuugamine. It should have been obvious, since he’d handed over the gun mere hours
before, but even putting aside the matter of the firearm, only Mikado would come to
mind so quickly as a suspect in such a self-destructive act.
Aozaki didn’t expect that after passing him the gun through Izumii, Mikado would
cause an incident before a single night had passed. But he was experienced in the ways
of combat and precarious situations, so this did not faze him.
“The front porch of the boss’s house might as well be the very face of the Awakusu. It
was my action that led to this insult, so I need to be ready to sacrifice a finger or two,”
he said. But part of the threat he represented was that in the same breath, he could
order, “Seize Mikado Ryuugamine and bring him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Personally, I’m not against that kind of wildness… but all that’s out the window if you
go after the head of the organization. He might be a kid, but depending on
circumstances, he could end up sleeping with the fishes.”
With his orders in place, Aozaki headed for the door of the office to make his way to
his boss—until one of his men rushed through said door.
“Hey, what’s all the commotion?” he demanded.
The out-of-breath subordinate delivered his message, and the name he mentioned
caused the otherwise calm Aozaki to furrow his brow.
“Mr. Akabayashi came here alone, says he wants to talk to you…”
“Hey… what are you thinking?! You really are gonna destroy the Dollars… and more
importantly, you’re going to get yourself killed!” Masaomi shouted after hearing
exactly where Mikado had shot the gun. He prayed it was just a bad joke.
But Mikado only agreed with him. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“That’s all you have to say about it?!”
“But it does mean that the Dollars will cease to exist as a real thing.”
“What…?” Masaomi gasped.
Mikado explained, “When word of this gets around, nobody’s going to want to join the
Dollars, and the people who have been part of it will all want to hide their pasts.”
This was true, of course. Nobody would want to be associated with a group considered
an enemy of both the police and the yakuza, especially when there was no actual
benefit to being a member.
The only people you could imagine doing so would be tried-and-true rebels full of
spite and attention-seeking idiots with no ability to foresee consequences, and both
of those groups would earn what was coming to them.
At the very least, the people taking part for entertainment or out of a sense of
obligation and the people who thought the Dollars were just some fun, harmless
college-club type of gathering were going to be the first to distance themselves.
Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, they’d jump into the sea, withdrawing into anonymity
and keeping their heads low for quite a while.
And then, perhaps inappropriately, Mikado said, “The Dollars will become an urban
legend.”
“Urban… legend?”
“Yes. Just a stupid urban legend,” he repeated, eyes sparkling like a child. Masaomi
recalled where he had seen that look before: when Mikado was new to Ikebukuro and
watched the Headless Rider go past. It was a look of awe and horror, buoyed by
overwhelming joy.
“But the thing is, urban legends evolve over time. They turn into rumors and take on
more rumors as they go, spreading throughout the city,” Mikado said, elaborating on
his theory with some of what Izaya told him mixed in. “When the actual body is gone,
only the name stays behind, continuously giving birth to false legends.”
And with full self-assurance and pure delight, Mikado made his declaration.
“That is my ideal for the Dollars, I realized.”
Masaomi felt like the background in the distance was warping, stretching.
“You mean… you shot a gun at a yakuza office and the police station… for that
nonsensical reason?”
“Yup. The Dollars itself is a nonsensical idea. But if they were born from nonsense,
then it makes sense that they’d disappear into nonsense,” Mikado said with resignation.
“Even then, people will use the name for mischief,” Masaomi argued.
“That’s fine. Those people aren’t Dollars anyway. They’re just people using the Dollars’
name. I figure, if anything, they’ll help fuel the urban legend, hopefully,” his friend said,
smiling. Masaomi felt a chill run down his back.
Was this boy across from him really Mikado Ryuugamine?
Gun pointed in Masaomi’s direction, Mikado said casually, “So… what are you going to
do? Stop me?”
“Or are you here… to settle the Blue Squares versus the Yellow Scarves?”
Outside Tokyu Hands
“I’m grateful to you, Mr. Rokujou,” said Aoba, still wearing his ski mask.
The motorcycles were coming to a stop at the start of the street, keeping the sound of
all that engine noise distant, so that it was quiet enough for them to have a conversation.
Chikage Rokujou stood in the middle of a semicircle of motorcycles. The bikers around
him realized very quickly that it was the leader of Toramaru, and they began to buzz
among themselves but didn’t immediately pick a fight or start taunting him. For one
thing, given that they’d all been coerced by force or by dirty tricks into taking part in
the Dollars’ group, none of them could say for sure that Toramaru wasn’t also among
their number.
Chikage glanced at the punks surrounding the end of the street around him and
shrugged. “Well, well, another bunch of nobodies showin’ up. I don’t even see anyone
on the level of Dragon Zombie or Jan-Jaka-Jan.”
“With enough time, we might have gotten them in the group, too.”
“That’s a big play. Who else…? I don’t see Nuimura from Big Dog Stars here. If you had
an idiot like him around, I’d have to start expecting trucks to come roaring through
here,” Chikage said, mentioning names of other notable bikers as he surveyed the
scene.
Then he turned back to Aoba, who seemed to be the one calling the shots for the guys
in the blue caps.
“What does your boss think he’s gonna do with all these people?”
“I don’t think he means to do anything,” Aoba admitted, to Chikage’s confusion.
“Uh… meaning, let the chips fall where they may?”
“Our boss has no ideals. No beliefs. All he’s got is sentimentality and curiosity. And
he’ll do stuff like this based on those things alone. When you factor in luck, this is why
I have such respect for him.”
It was as though he was happy to be a supportive victim of Mikado Ryuugamine’s wild

rampage. Then, like a child excited to show his friend the latest toy, he explained, “You
need guts to have ideals and beliefs and even dreams. But he doesn’t have that. His
group just ballooned up on him, and he got puffed up with some empty ‘conviction’
with nothing behind it. Mr. Mikado had nothing to put his feet against, but he spun and
spun and spun those legs, until he finally reached this point.”
Aoba shrugged, and when Chikage said nothing, he continued, “Maybe that’s something
that you wouldn’t understand, if you’ve always had these things.”
Chikage had been silently listening to this speech. At last, he cracked his neck and said,
“I don’t like it when people try to cover up the truth with some embarrassing poetry
shit like that. Though I do have a girlfriend who likes that stuff, so I’m not gonna say it
doesn’t have its place.”
Rokujou glanced over in the direction of the mixed-use building, then smirked. “I just
heard that Kida wanted to save his friend who went crazy, and so I decided to help him
out on a whim.”
“Oh, come on, that’s a gross oversimplification.” Aoba chuckled, his eyes shining with
mirth. “There are some things only a crazy kid can pull off.”
“Yeah, whether you’ve got some big, fancy reason behind it or not,” Chikage said with
annoyance. But as a matter of fact, he’d heard the general version of events from
Masaomi already.
Even knowing that this was just the result of a kid named Mikado pushing himself into
a corner with no better way out, Chikage said to Aoba, “I’ll tell you one thing.”
“?”
“It doesn’t matter your reason. At the point you rustle up the night like this, the point
you cause hell for other people, there’s no difference. Everyone who does it is scum.
And that includes me. And you guys,” he said, coming clean. “Are you gonna go around
to all the people you’ve fought and the folks whose sleep you disturbed and state your
case for them? ‘Look, these are the tragic reasons we’re doing this!’”
“…”
“Whether you’re mugging people to get cash to blow or mugging them to buy medicine
for your sick parents…”
Behind Chikage, a Blue Square approached, brandishing a bat. But Chikage merely
twisted a few inches and smashed the other guy in the face with a backhand. He looked
over to see the thug crumple to the ground, then sighed and finished his sentence.
“…there’s no difference to the innocent people you’re beatin’ up and robbing. It’s
ridiculous to suggest otherwise.”
He turned on his heel and began to walk, not even bothering to look in Aoba’s
direction. “I’ve lost interest here… If he already knows everything that’s goin’ on, then
I guess Mikado Ryuugamine must have gone to Kida by now.” He headed back for the
mixed-use building he’d come from.
Aoba was not in any particular rush. “Sorry to tell you this after your moving speech,
but we can’t have you going back there.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes, Mr. Mikado and Masaomi Kida are back there. But it’s only the two of them,” Aoba
said with a cocky smile, typing something into his phone. “It’s not for any of the rest
of us to interfere. Including me and you.”
Two large shadows loomed in Chikage’s path. They belonged to Houjou and Yoshikiri,
well-known for being the two biggest and burliest of the Blue Squares’ fighters.
Chikage looked up at them, one a man yawning as he approached, the other a very tall
boy with squinty eyes, and smiled.
“Oh, so you finally brought out someone worth my time. That’s much better.”
But those two were not the only ones in his way. Suddenly the guys sitting on their
bikes began to pull out their phones. While the engine noise largely drowned it out,
Chikage could faintly hear their ringtones going off.
“…Is that a notification of a mass text message?”
“Well sleuthed. I just sent them a very short, simple instruction.”
The bikers got down off their vehicles and turned vicious expressions toward Chikage.
In the face of this malevolent aura, Aoba told Chikage what the rest of the group
already knew.
“Chikage Rokujou is the enemy of the Dollars.”
Outside Russia Sushi
“…Looks like something’s happening. They’re taking out phones… So are we assuming
that one guy in the ski mask is Mikado? Whatever the case, he seems to be the leader,”
Nasujima said to Haruna with a leer. They were watching the scene in front of Tokyu
Hands. “If it turns into a brawl, we’re gonna have our people rush them all.”
“Yes… Mother.”
Inside Russia Sushi
“Is it just me, or are the motorcycles really loud outside?” Tom wondered, his face
gaunt with exhaustion. “Anyway, if we’re desperate enough, I think we can jump from
the roof here to the ramen place next door… but I don’t think it gives us a way out of
this mess—it only traps us in a different place instead.”
“Oh, if pull no good, try push instead. You get discouraged, make hungry,” Simon
advised as he and Denis checked on some kind of equipment.
Tom didn’t ask what it was for, and he was planning to pretend he never saw it, if
necessary. But then Denis said to him, “We were unlucky. If Shizuo were here, he
coulda flattened all those folks outside by himself.”
“You might be right, but I’m also glad that’s not the case.”
“Oh?”
“If you take Mr. Kine’s word, that’s all just some kind of fancy hypnotism, right? It’s
one thing for people to pick a fight with him and earn what’s coming to them, but I
can’t let him go around smashing ordinary folks who can’t control themselves.” Tom
sighed.
Kine broke his silence to say, “Is that all you want in life? You get a guy like that on your
side, you could conquer this city.”
“You’ve got the wrong idea about me. Shizuo’s an underclassman from our middle
school days, and now he’s a coworker,” said Tom, stretching. There was a lonely look
in his eyes. “Shizuo looks so sad when he’s raging the way he does, but I can’t even join
in the carnage with him, much less stop him… It’s not much to be proud of.”
The rooftop of a mixed-used building
“Well, let’s see.”
After Mikado asked him what he was going to do, Masaomi was silent for a while,
clenching his fists.
“I couldn’t do anything for you. And I guess even talking about doing things to help
you is kind of condescending, huh?”
Masaomi took a step closer to the gun. Mikado’s hand twitched. But Masaomi did not
stop his forward progress across the rooftop.
“I might not be that smart. I’m a coward. It’s pathetic to admit it, but the only thing I’m
good at is fighting, to some extent…”
There were two firm acts of determination in Masaomi’s mind.
One was the determination to risk his life, like he did when he stood up to Horada. Not
to throw his life away but to make his friend wake up.
The other was the determination to be his best friend’s enemy—again, in order to
wake him up to the truth.
“So the least I can do is fight you,” Masaomi said with a smile, just like he did as a child.
“If you wanna go crazy, I won’t stop you. But I can choose to go crazy, too.”
“Masaomi…”
“I’m gonna drag you, kicking and screaming, back into the ordinary life you hate so
much.”
There was no hesitation in his eyes anymore.
“I’m gonna punch you, I’m gonna make you cry, and I’m gonna force you to remember.”
Masaomi spoke forcefully, projecting his will, such that even if his friend had truly
become something no longer human, he would deny that and will it out of existence.
“You are not an urban legend like the Headless Rider. You’re just a guy named Mikado
Ryuugamine… a normal, scrawny human being who tries to do right by everybody!”
For a moment, Mikado’s expression vanished from shock. Then tears began to pool in
his eyes.
“You’re so strong, Masaomi.”
“…”
“I was always jealous of that. It’s why I really wanted to beat you,” he said, summoning
up not hatred from the pit of his stomach but envy. “It’s why, no matter what I have to
do, no matter what names people call me…”
With a look of respect for his childhood friend, Mikado put his finger against the
trigger of the gun.
“…I will deny your words with all my strength.”
And a few seconds later, the dry pop of a gunshot expanded into the sky over Ikebukuro.
The sound of a gunshot from above reached the street in front of Tokyu Hands.
“What was that?”
Everyone present looked around for the source of the unfamiliar burst, but no one
found it. The closest were a few bikers, who muttered that they heard it from up above,
subsequently gazing at the expressway, the Amlux building, and the Sunshine building
in turn.
That was when they finally realized that the night sky was colored an abnormally dark
black.
The top of the soaring Sunshine building, in fact, seemed to be shrouded in some kind
of black fog, completely hiding it from view.
“Hey, what’s that…?”
The murmuring among the crowd began to spread, until it all came to an abrupt stop
some fifteen seconds later.
A dark shadow suddenly raced through the group of men.
“?!”
The shadow leaped and bounced off motorcycle and car alike from roof to hood, easily
speeding its way through the densely packed crowd of bikers and thugs.
“Hey!” shouted one of the bikers whose motorcycle had been used as a stepping-stone,
furiously following the shadow with his eyes. “What the hell? Kill that—”
But before he could finish ordering his friends, his voice caught in his throat.
He’d heard the sound of ugly, unpleasant scraping behind him.
It was so abnormal that the bikers spun around, wondering what it was.
And when they saw what the man back there was dragging around, they lost the ability
to speak.
“Hey, did you hear something?” Chikage demanded, shoulders heaving as he breathed,
but no one responded.
He was like a solitary island in the sea of bikers and Blue Squares around him. Even
then, he challenged his foes, not backing down from the fight.
“Hah… Ain’t that a mystery. Up against every last one of you, and I don’t feel scared in
the least.”
“Don’t try to play tough with us, Rokujou! You’re done for!” yelled one of the senior
members of the rival Gozumezu Guns, but Chikage wasn’t bothered by it.
“I’ll be honest,” he taunted. “I felt a lot more presence when I fought this guy who was
as tough as a kaiju, about three months ago…”
But he trailed off. The black shadow was racing toward Chikage, rushing over the
heads of the other men. It was a man dressed in black.
“…Who’s that?” Chikage wondered, appraising the injured man. That man just grinned
at him and surveyed the situation.
“…More people than I expected,” he said. Then he noticed the crowds of red-eyed
people and added, “Half of them possessed by Saika. Whatever. That suits me fine.”
And with that little brag out of the way, he looked toward Otowa Street.
When Aoba saw the man, he clenched his jaws.
“Izaya… Orihara!” the boy snarled.
Just at that moment, an enormous mass leaped over the heads of the stunned bikers
and flew toward Izaya.
When they recognized it as one of the motorcycles parked right in the middle of the
street, even the Saika-possessed were quick to back away.
The vehicle crashed explosively against the street and slid over its surface, bits and
pieces spraying off it. Izaya dodged the projectile by a tiny margin and stood in the
middle of the space that had opened up in the crowd. There he awaited the monster.
Everyone present turned in the direction from which the vehicle flew and instantly
cleared the path.
“Ah!” Chikage gasped.
Walking down the newly created space toward him, exuding dozens of times more
intimidation than the crowd of a hundred-plus bikers, was a man in a bartender’s
outfit.
“It’s you, Heiwajima!”
Then he turned to Aoba with a bitter smirk.
“Wait, is that guy the one you called in to help?”
“No. He’s… not in the Dollars anymore.”
“Wha…?” Chikage drawled.
Under his ski mask, Aoba’s face was devoid of expression.
“In fact, I think him leaving the Dollars was one of the reasons that Mr. Mikado broke
down.”
After Shizuo threw the bike he had been dragging along one-handed, he continued his
steady pace toward Izaya. But the other man did not attempt to leave the scene.
It was almost as though he had been hoping to lure him here from the start.
While Masaomi challenged Mikado, who wanted to be an urban legend, Izaya Orihara
was challenging an established legend in the flesh.
Izaya pulled out his most trusted weapon, a large folding knife, signaling that all the
little tricks were over now.
“Shall we begin?”
Despite being in the same circumstances as Masaomi, Izaya gripped his weapon for
almost the exact opposite purpose.
He wanted to carve into the world the fact that Shizuo, who tried to be human, was
truly a hideous monster.
Inside the van
“Did you hear something earlier?” Anri asked with concern.
In the passenger seat, Kadota replied, “Yeah, it sounded like a gunshot.”
“C’mon, man… Don’t try to scare me like that…,” Togusa griped, his cheek twitching.
Next to him, Anri looked at the sky through the window. Then she noticed it, too:
The sky over Ikebukuro was covered in an abnormal darkness. When she detected the
oppressive darkness surrounding the top of the Sunshine building, she couldn’t help
opening her mouth—to speak the name of the creature she trusted most.
“Is that… Celty?”
In time, they gathered.
In the place where the Dollars began.
To bring the Dollars to their end.
And almost as if retracing the very steps of that first in-person meetup, a woman
cloaked in black shadow began to wriggle and writhe. Unlike at that meetup, however,
she was riding a headless horse rather than a motorcycle.
As well, rather than racing down the side of the Tokyu Hands building, she started
from the roof of the Sunshine building, the tallest in Ikebukuro.
What was once the Headless Rider was now in true, complete dullahan form.
And so she descended into Ikebukuro once again.

She would display to the city the change that had come over her.
Chat room
.
Ikebukuro—in the past
A ship rocked on the waves as it made its long voyage to Japan.
When he wandered into the dark, afraid, the boy encountered “her.”
But his fear eventually turned to trust—and trust into love.
Then he mustered his everything to protect that love and asked a question.
“Hey, Celty, when you find your head, will you be going back home?”
Shinra was only six years old. Celty responded to him by writing on a piece of paper.
“That’s right.”
“I want to go with you.”
“…? That’s nonsense.”
“Then I don’t want you to go,” Shinra whined.
Put off by this, Celty scrawled, “I am not your toy.”
“I know. I don’t care if I never see my toys again.”
“Apologize to the toy makers.”
“I’m sorry,” little Shinra said dutifully, bowing to some unseen, imaginary toy factory.
Celty noted to herself that this must simply be how children acted. She wrote, “Why do
you want to be with me?”
“…Because we’re family,” Shinra said. That made sense to her.
The boy hadn’t had a mother around. Perhaps he felt some kind of motherly nurture
from her presence. But if she was his example of what constituted “motherly,” he was
likely to grow up warped somehow.
“Listen to me, Shinra. I’m not human. I can’t be your family.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” she repeated, then paused her writing.
“I can talk with you like this, Celty. We live in the same place. Or do you think we can’t
be in the same family because you’re not rejistered in the household sertifikit or the
sensus?”
“Those are some very big words, you know.”
Celty thought it over and answered him very carefully.
“I am too different from human beings. If you live with me long enough, you will dislike
me.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“It’s true,” she said, trying to distance herself from him.
Shinra fidgeted. “Then… if I don’t get tired of you, will you promise to stay here?”
“If that’s true, I’ll consider it.”
She wasn’t entirely accustomed to human society yet, but over the last two years, Celty
had learned much from news, television shows, manga, and other channels of
contemporary Japanese culture.
She recalled a news segment where they’d said, “Unlike pairings of childhood friends
in fiction, they rarely go on to a romantic relationship in real life.” She assumed that
Shinra was simply being a child and would grow out of it.
If he sees my face every day, he’ll get tired of me eventually. Or… sees everything but my
face, I suppose.
She added the last part as a self-effacing joke, but as a matter of fact, it was a crucial
piece of information.
He couldn’t see her face, hear her voice, or read her expressions. And perhaps it was
this fact of life that helped Shinra hold tight to his affection for her over all those years,
without growing tired of her.
To Shinra, Celty Sturluson was like a blank canvas. Bit by tiny bit, he learned what
expressions she made and what elicited her happy smile, and he sketched it out onto
that canvas.
After about ten years had passed, Celty had a firm image within Shinra. It was the
result of seeking out her true face, not of pushing his own hopes and ideals onto her.
And perhaps that was why he was still madly in love with her now.
No matter what obstacles might exist between the two of them.
Ikebukuro—alleyway
On a street heading toward Sunshine City from the opposite side as the shopping
district, a man and woman ran into each other.
But it was not by any means a coincidence.
“…I’m surprised. You overcame Saika’s curse in quite a short amount of time,” said
Kujiragi, who looked anything but surprised—and yet there was a faint note of it in
her voice.
Standing across from her was Shinra Kishitani. Right about the time that he had
identified Celty’s location, he spotted a vending machine soaring through the city.
Manami surmised that the vending machine was heading toward where they would
find Izaya and ran after it.
Meanwhile, Shinra passed down streets with signs of destruction here and there on
the way to Sunshine City.
And in the midst of that trip, Kujiragi—also chasing after Shizuo and Izaya—sensed
the presence of his Saika.
“Let’s see, it was… Kasane Kujiragi, right?” Shinra asked apologetically, his eyes
bloodshot.
“…Yes.”
“Do you have time to talk? Or would that just end up with you cutting me and
kidnapping me again?” Shinra wondered.
Kujiragi shook her head. “No, I no longer have any reason to abduct you against your
will,” she said, staring into Shinra’s red eyes. “I judge that any emotion that cannot be
ruled by Saika will not be swayed by simple pain or brainwashing.”
“I’m glad. I was worried you might say something like ‘If I can’t have you, then I’ll kill
you.’”
“No. I am not actually that enamored of you.” Kujiragi walked toward Shinra and
explained, “But… it is true that I have an interest in you. If I had to describe it, I would
surmise that perhaps I am jealous.”
“Jealous…?”
“As a part of my research into Celty Sturluson, I also examined you, her domestic
partner. As a human who was in love with an inhuman creature.”
“No mistake there,” Shinra said bashfully.
“I actually did not believe it at first,” she admitted. “I thought that you were acting out
affection for Celty Sturluson on Shingen Kishitani’s orders, in order to keep her and
the valuable research she might represent close at hand.”
“…”
“But the more I looked into it, the more I became convinced that your feelings were
genuine,” Kujiragi said. She closed her eyes and continued, her voice a monotone: “I,
too, have the blood of the inhuman within me, and I have no memory of ever receiving
true love from another. Even my actual mother, an entirely nonhuman being,
practically abandoned me to survive on my own.”
Despite her admission that she was all but nonhuman herself, Shinra said nothing. He
was, of course, well aware that she was no ordinary human being.
“It was only yesterday that I finally became free from some personal business.”
Kujiragi looked him in the eyes. “After speaking with other Saika owners, I made a
decision. If no one will love me, perhaps I ought to love someone else.”
“And you chose me? Well, I think that’s a much more positive way of thinking than
deciding you don’t need love, but why choose me?”
“For one thing, like I said earlier… I am jealous.”
This made sense to Shinra. She was jealous of Celty, who wasn’t human but was able
to carry on a happy life. So she decided that she would steal a part of that happiness
from Celty.
Kujiragi added, “For another… I sought some kind of return.”
“Return?”
“Perhaps I was hoping that in exchange for loving, I would be loved in return. And
since you are capable of loving a nonhuman… perhaps…”
She included suppositions and speculation in her statements as a sign that even she
didn’t understand how she felt. Still, despite her awkwardness, she was busy putting
her thoughts in order.
“As I researched more about your unique nature, I began to feel a kind of envy. That
you were not like other humans and you might represent a kind of hope for me. When
I saw how you continued your relationship with Celty Sturluson, even after being
injured by Adabashi, I felt—though I bear some responsibility for your injury, I will
admit—a kind of admiration for you.”
Adabashi.
He was Ruri Hijiribe’s stalker, the man who’d injured Shinra terribly. But the mention
of that name did not cause any particular consternation in him.
Kujiragi paused and tilted her head in slight disbelief at what she was going to say. “I
became a fan of yours. Is that an inadequate reason?”
“…”
“So I will broach the topic again. Will you consider accepting my feelings?”
It was a simple confession of love—so very simple.
Silence enveloped the two.
In the distance, motorcycle engines roared, and there were sounds of destruction as
well—but here on this street, it was so quiet that time itself might have stopped.
Then Shinra broke the long silence.
“I believe a normal human being would be angry right about now,” he said, grinning
lopsidedly, his eyes red. “You got me injured, abducted me for your own selfish
reasons, and generally did a lot of awful stuff to me.”
“…”
“But I’m just not mad at you. And that’s only because I have Celty.”
“?”
Kujiragi stared at him quizzically.
Shinra went on, like a rambunctious, innocent child: “Because I have Celty, I don’t need
anything else. It would be a waste of my time to hate other people. So it’s only thanks
to Celty that I can even stand here and have a pleasant conversation with you.”
He looked down, then raised his head again to stare Kujiragi straight in the eyes. “The
only reason the guy you like is here at all is because of Celty.” It felt as if he was saying
that as much to himself as to her. “So… I’m sorry. I cannot return your feelings.”
“…”
Kujiragi closed her eyes for a few moments, then exhaled. “I understand. I am satisfied
just having heard your answer clearly.”
She was as expressionless as ever, but Shinra gave her a serious look as he said, “I
know it’s strange to say this to someone you only just met, but… you seem like a
mysterious person to me. You’re demi-human, and clumsy, and yet oddly
straightforward, and trying to change yourself so that you’re not so otherworldly.”
“I think that while you don’t match up to Celty, you’re plenty attractive yourself. It
might be cruel to say this after I turned you down, but if Celty didn’t exist, I might have
fallen in love with you instead.”
After a pause, Kujiragi said, “Are you consoling me?”
But Shinra shook his head. “I’m not that clever and considerate.” He walked closer to
her. “There’s just one thing that I can do for you.”
“…What is it?”
“I can offer you proof.”
“…?”
She gave him a curious look, so Shinra leaned forward, withstanding the pain of his
many injuries, and said proudly, “I am proof that an utterly ordinary human being and
the world’s most wondrous Headless Rider, the most mismatched couple imaginable,
can still find love together.”
“…”
“So I’m certain that you will find the right person for you. And until then, whether it’s
family, or someone close, or even yourself—take good care of someone,” Shinra said
with a gentle smile.
Kujiragi was silent for quite a while, until at last, she said, “You’re an awful person.”
With the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.
“How could you make me like you more after you rejected me?”
Togusa’s van
“I thought I heard it coming from the building on the left… but if the sound’s bouncing
off the expressway, then there’s no telling where it came from…”
Togusa peered through the windshield up at the buildings looming over them.
The biker gangs were gathered just a few dozen yards ahead and had practically taken
over the road. No cars were moving, of course, so all the drivers, noticing the gathering
ahead, were desperately trying to trickle off onto side streets.
“And you’re saying the guy with the fancy hair was definitely out in front of Russia
Sushi, Karisawa?”
“Yep, no question. He was with Haruna.”
“…”
Anri placed her hands on her thighs, clutching the hem of her clothing.
Mikado Ryuugamine and Masaomi Kida—Izaya Orihara had likened their relationship
to “balancing atop a rope on fire.” With the threat of Nasujima added to the mix, Anri
was fighting a powerful anxiety over a situation whose full scope she could not
ascertain.
“Do you think it would be faster to get out and run?” Seiji wondered.
“Yeah, but… if there really are as many people as there were at the first Dollars
meeting…,” Karisawa replied.
Meanwhile, Togusa noticed a person walking down the center of the road, weaving
between the cars caught in traffic. The figure’s movement was awkward and halting,
as though they were hurt.
What’s that?
Huh? Where have I seen him before…?
As Togusa squinted ahead, the figure suddenly raised a hammer and brought it down
on the van’s front windshield with abnormal force.
“Wha…?!”
It smashed against the glass, sending spiderweb fractures all across the surface and
turning the driver’s vision through it white. There was a second impact, then a third,
and big chunks of the glass fell loose.
“Y-you son of a bitch!” Togusa screamed at the man. He stomped on the gas, making to
run over the attacker.
“Stop, Togusa!” Kadota shouted from the passenger seat, which was just enough to
keep Togusa in his rational mind.
The attacker, meanwhile, leered at them and examined the group in the van.
“Oh-ho… Very nice… Real tasty bunch ya got in here, huh? Hey… what the hell are you
doin’ here, Namie Yagiri?”
“Izumii…,” Namie said with undisguised loathing. A nervous silence ran through the
vehicle.
“Huh? Izumii? Did he change up his look…?” Karisawa wondered.
Kadota grimaced. “Hah… you really slimmed down during your time on the inside.
What happened to that regal pompadour you were so proud of?”
The air around Izumii seemed to chill several degrees. “Kaaadoootaaa,” he hissed with
fury, staring daggers at the young man through his sunglasses. “I heard you got hit by
a car, but you seem just fine to me… So I guess I oughta finish the job, huh?”
Those two statements didn’t add up at all, but Kadota reached for the seat belt to undo
it anyway.
“Whoa, now. Who said you could move?” Izumii pointed the hammer right at him, a
vicious smile smeared across his face. “I’m puttin’ on a car-dismantling show. And
you’ve got the best seat in the house, so don’t get up.”
At that point, about ten more thugs appeared from other vehicles to surround Togusa’s
van. They all carried metal pipes, bats, shovels, and picks—implements that would
indeed be useful in dismantling a vehicle.
“Hey, we’ve got women and children in here. At least let them out.” Kadota glared
without a shred of fear.
Izumii cackled and shook his head. “C’mon, dumb-ass. You know the entire reason you
betrayed me is because I don’t make those kinds of concessions. Right?”
“You son of a bitch…,” Kadota growled, his brow creasing. The other man glanced at
the back seat of the van.
“Okay, Yumasaki, you’re in for it, too… Wait. Yumasaki ain’t here…,” he said curiously.
Then he recognized one of the two girls back there. “Wha…?”
He opened his wide mouth into a malicious cackle. “Ha-ha… ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! You…
you’re Masaomi Kida’s girl, huh? Okay, okay, I see. So Kadota saved your skin, and now
you’ve been palling around with them ever since!”
“…”
Saki maintained her silence, only staring back at Izumii. As a matter of fact, they’d only
just met again yesterday, but admitting so wouldn’t make any difference, so she didn’t
bring it up.
“Hey, what if I tossed a Molotov cocktail into the van, like you folks did to me? Huh?”
Izumii laughed. “I wondered what was up with the summons right after we split apart,
but now it just means I get to see y’all again! I feel fate at work! Gotta thank Mikado
for that!”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…?”
Aside from Mika and Namie, the entire group within the van froze.
“What… did you just say? Thank who?” Kadota grunted.
“Oops. I guess you didn’t know that yet?” Izumii said, shrugging theatrically. The action
caused the sternum that Chikage had injured to creak, and he scowled in pain. But it
lasted only a brief moment and did not dull his enjoyment of the situation.
“I’m not the leader of the Blue Squares anymore,” he said.
“What?”
“…Your buddy Mikado Ryuugamine is the one calling the shots now! Hya-ha-ha-ha-
ha!”
After the gunshot, only the smell of powder was left in the air.
Within its midst, the two figures did not move.
“…”
There was still a faint trail of smoke coming from the muzzle of the pistol in Mikado’s
hand. A little cut on Masaomi’s cheek trickled blood, from either being grazed by the
bullet or just the shock wave of its passage.
The sound of the shot hit him directly in the ear, leaving the reverberation of its roar
rattling around in his head. Mikado felt the same thing, so for the moment, neither of
them could move or speak.
Physically, they were trapped in a stalemate.
“…”
“…”
A moment ago, just before Mikado had fired the gun, Masaomi had bolted off the
ground like a spring-loaded toy, racing for the other boy. He had tossed his crutch aside
and leaped with one foot.
The knee Izumii had shattered screamed under the cast. The pain was dulled by the
anesthetic, but the shock still ran through his spine and smashed into his brain.
But he pushed that unpleasant sensation down into his gut and reached over to grab
Mikado’s wrist. The impact of that move caused him to pull the trigger, firing the gun
just to the side of Masaomi’s cheek.
They froze, locked in position, for almost a full minute.
The success of Masaomi’s insane one-legged jump was half thanks to good luck and
half to something else coming into play. Mikado had given him an opening.
He’d moved his free hand, bringing it closer to add support to his grip on the gun.
Masaomi spotted that chance and took it, rushing in to grab Mikado’s right arm. He
did so gingerly—if he’d done it with all his strength, the arm might as well have
snapped.
Shit… You know you’re not built for fighting like this, you idiot.
Masaomi gnashed his teeth, not from the pain running through his body but with
anger at himself for having driven his friend to these lengths.
Once their hearing had largely recovered, his gun hand still held down, Mikado spoke.
“You startled me. I wasn’t expecting you to come running at me.”
“…What did you do, look up how to shoot a gun online?”
“Huh?”
“Knowing how serious you are, I figured you would use both hands to steady the gun.”
In a sense, it was a bet that he could make, knowing what made Mikado tick so well.
“I see… Wow, you’re really something, Masaomi,” he said with a grin and tried to use
his free left hand to push Masaomi away.
Masaomi smacked his hand away with his own, which was fixed in place with tape and
bandages. Once he had cleared it out of the way, he slammed a head-butt right into
Mikado’s face.
“Hng!”
Mikado stumbled backward, and Masaomi seized the opportunity to knock him over
onto the roof with his foot. He wrenched Mikado’s right wrist, causing him to drop the
gun. Awkwardly, he used his shattered leg to kick the clattering pistol away; it rattled
into the corner of the rooftop area.
The next moment, Masaomi straddled Mikado and promptly punched him in the face.
He used his right fist, with the broken fingers taped up and secured, not caring that it
was already damaged.
The physical agony of it far surpassed his painkillers, and he could feel the sensation
of bone pieces sliding and shifting. But he hit Mikado again, and again, and again.
“You idiot, Mikado! You idiot! You idiot!” Tears bloomed in his eyes, and with his other
hand, he lifted Mikado by the collar. “Create a place for us to come back to? Why would
you go and sabotage your chances of ever coming back, then?!”
“…”
“I know I ran away for a while. But Anri was always still here!” Masaomi shouted. “I
don’t care if you forgot all about me, the guy who left you behind to fend for yourself!
But you shouldn’t be putting Anri through this kind of pain…”
Mikado’s face was bruised and puffy all over from the beating. Blood dripped from his
broken lips—but still he smiled.
“The Dollars… aren’t going to stop now… just because I do.” It was a smile not of joy
but of resignation. “And that’s why the Dollars have to vanish.”
He reached with his free left hand and stuck it into his pocket.
“Hey, what are you—?” Masaomi yelped, thinking it would be a knife or something of
that nature. The instant he looked in that direction, a sharp, heavy shock ran through
his leg—and shortly after, he was hit by a wave of heat and pain unlike anything he’d
felt before.
Aozaki’s office
“What the hell are you thinking, Akabayashi?”
“Something sneaky.” Akabayashi, who was leaning against the wall near the door,
grinned.
Aozaki glared at him as he sat down heavily in one of the chairs in the reception room.
“Sneaky?”
“Yeah. About how I’m gonna carve up the Dollars.”
“…Tsk.” Aozaki clicked his tongue, realizing that the info was already out.
“See, I had my eyes on the Dollars, too. Did you happen to hand anything over to young
Mikado?”
“…I’ll explain things to the boss. I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”
“Don’t be cold, Aozaki. It’s my jurisdiction handling the youngsters like the Dollars,
right? So if I let this nonsense continue, it’s going to reflect poorly on what I do.”
“I never took you for the type to care about that.”
It sounded like low-key banter, but Aozaki’s subordinates in the room with them got a
case of cold sweats from all the aural pressure that exuded from the two men. These
were the Red Ogre and Blue Ogre of Awakusu, the two most ferocious of the group’s
lieutenants. And they were not having a friendly little chat.
“Now, now, Aozaki. I didn’t come here to spar with you,” Akabayashi said with a smirk,
scraping the cane that he used as a weapon along the floor. “Would you mind allowing
me to handle the Dollars?”
“…What is this nonsense?”
“Let me guess what you’re thinking. You want to make Mikado Ryuugamine disappear,
and you’ll sit some other kid with ties to our family in his place. They’re a weird group;
it’s not even clear who calls the shots to begin with. So if you get control of the Blue
Squares, the most powerful faction within the Dollars, we can use them as we like.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Aozaki insisted smoothly.
“Look, I’m not accusing you of meddling in my business,” Akabayashi continued. “My
job is simply to monitor the young folks. It’s not to control them. As long as they don’t
peddle drugs or sell to minors, I’m not going to complain. I’m just askin’ you to let me
handle this—the one time.”
“Is this someone you want to protect?”
“…Now that’s something I don’t need to tell you.”
“…”
Aozaki thought it over, then shook his head. “No. Just with the business in mind, I can
overlook one kid… but this kid tried to shame the boss. And nobody does that without
retaliation. If you wanna beg for that kid’s life, go talk to the old man.”
Akabayashi sighed. If he pled his case to the head of their yakuza group, he might get
Mikado’s life spared. But only if the boss and the other officers hadn’t learned the
name Mikado Ryuugamine.
The kid was too closely tied to Anri. They didn’t seem to be romantically linked yet,
but given that the name Saika was used in the chat room, it meant that Anri Sonohara
could turn out to be a significant force in this situation.
He didn’t want to consider the possibility that Anri might become hostile to the
Awakusu-kai as a consequence of searching for Mikado or trying to help him. But he
said nothing of that here.
“You’re an old-fashioned type, you know that?” he said to Aozaki. “Shiki and Kazamoto
are going to laugh at you.”
“Let them. I’m too set in my ways to live any other life.”
“Same goes for me.”
“Says the fool who’s gone soft. At any rate, the kid shot at the boss’s house. That means…”
At this point, one of Aozaki’s subordinates popped his head into the meeting room and
approached. “May I have a moment, Mr. Aozaki?”
“What is it?”
The man approached and whispered into his ear, looking deadly serious. Aozaki’s
brow furrowed. He thought over what he had just heard, then snorted.
“Looks like the both of us were worried for no reason.”
“?”
“Let’s say that I passed a gun on to the head of the Dollars,” Aozaki said coyly. “But
from what my ‘friend’ within the police says…”
“…the gun that shot up the old man’s house and the police station was a smaller caliber
than the ones I use.”
“Wha…? Gaaaaah!”
At first, Masaomi thought that he’d been stabbed in the thigh with a knife or an awl.
But then he sensed something wrong with his ears and realized the truth.
When the shock ran through his leg, he’d also heard a gunshot that was notably quieter
than the one he’d heard earlier. He looked down and saw a small hole in the thigh of
his pants, which was turning red with blood. Within that hole, heat was spreading and
raging through his thigh with a mind of its own.
“Aagh… hngg…”
The smell of blood—and more powerful, of fresh gunpowder—assaulted Masaomi’s

nostrils. He could feel heavy sweat exuding all over his body as he tried to press down
on the spot that was bleeding. Mikado chose that moment to twist loose, causing
Masaomi to lose his balance and topple sideways.
“Mika… do…,” he groaned, looking up at the standing boy.
Through the haze of smoke, he saw a strange object clutched in Mikado’s right hand.
At first glance, it looked something like brass knuckles.
“A terrorist in America used this once years ago. But… I can’t remember what it was
called…”
A small but eerily shaped device was fit snugly into the palm of Mikado’s hand. In the
sense that it fit within a hand and fired bullets, you could literally classify it as a
handgun.
“It’s called an HFM. A hand… something or other,” Mikado said. His right eye was so
swollen already that he could barely see through it.
“When I said I fired two shots, I was talking about this one,” he continued, smiling. “I
wanted to test it out on the way here.”
And clutching that second gun—something Masaomi could never have predicted—he
smiled down sadly at his friend, speaking as casually as if merely making small talk.
“I mean, there was no advice online for how to aim it.”

Shijima flinched when he heard the distant gunshot.
It was actually much quieter than the one just before it, but Shijima wasn’t able to tell
the difference. He was in too much shock to use his mind that rationally.
That crazy Ryuugamine kid… Is he actually shooting it…?
Nasujima had given him orders to hand Mikado a gun. Technically, a “gun-like” object.
“I borrowed it from Kujiragi’s storage space,” he had said.
“I’m good at ‘borrowing’ things from the office.”
“It’s one of the concealed-type guns that you can fit in your hand. And this one’s an
augmented model of one that an American terrorist once used. You can fire it normally
with both hands, or you can just squeeze it in one and punch the target, which will fire
the bullet.”
It was a firearm out of some spy movie. That alone didn’t exactly shock Shijima, who
knew that there were all kinds of “hidden” guns people had invented—inside of
lemons, cigarette boxes, cell phones, and so on.
But when he delivered it to Mikado and said, “I bought this for self-defense, but I’m
too scared to keep it around, so I want you to hold on to it. Take it as a sign of trust,”
he wasn’t expecting the boy to accept it with a smile.
It was clear from his mannerisms that he wasn’t misunderstanding, thinking it was a
toy. That was the point at which Shijima recognized that Mikado Ryuugamine was a
special kind of person.
Geez, man. If he actually shoots someone, then the Dollars really are in deep shit.
Nasujima said he had a few red-eyes among the police and could have them arrest
someone at random to fan the flames of the Dollars’ reign of terror, but it wasn’t clear
that he really had everything under control.
“Mr. Nasujima, I think Ryuugamine fired the…,” he started to say as he turned in

Nasujima’s direction, but he stopped mid-sentence. Nasujima was trembling, staring
down Sixtieth Floor Street, his face pale.
“…Mr. Nasujima?”
But he ignored Shijima and stuck a thumbnail into his mouth to bite as sweat beaded
on his forehead and cheeks. “N-n-no, no… N-no, th-that c-can’t be… I… I th-thought h-
he was in p-p-pri-pri-prison!” he stammered, the jittering extending even to his lips.
In the direction he was looking was a man with dyed blond hair. When Shijima heard
the crashing earlier and saw the motorcycle skittering along the ground, he first
thought some idiot of a biker had merely flipped his ride.
But now Nasujima understood.
He saw that the Grim Reaper himself had come bearing his downfall.
“Th-there’s no time! Hurry! Break down the door to the sushi shop or the windows!
G-go and take control of the dread-head with glasses right now!” he roared, all his calm
and confidence completely shot.
And so the Saika Army surrounding the restaurant converged on Russia Sushi all at
once.
Intersection near Tokyu Hands
Izaya stood silently in the middle of the intersection after leaving Tokyu Hands, on the
left-side crosswalk, where Sixtieth Floor Street and Russia Sushi’s street met. From
there, Shizuo approached him, step by step.
“S-so that’s Shizuo Heiwajima…”
“Holy crap, he wasn’t an urban legend?”
“Did he just throw that motorcycle…?”

“Look, he’s dragging a vending machine behind him…”
The punks who had been so ready to pound Chikage were now hushed and awed by
the threatening sight that was Shizuo.
“D-do you think that if we beat him, we’ll be known as the toughest guys around?” one
of them suggested. Carried away by enthusiasm, he brandished his metal bat and
rushed at Shizuo.
But when he swung, there was a crumpling sound—and the bat itself broke and
twisted against the side of Shizuo’s skull.
“Ah, ah, aaa, aieeeee!!” the thug screamed. He stared at the bat, which was as mangled
as if it were just a cardboard tube, and pissed himself.
With a rustling of air, the bikers all unconsciously drew themselves back, creating a
path through the mass of humanity. But Shizuo did not pay them a single glance. His
course was set. His feet moved with one purpose.
And now he stood before Izaya Orihara.
Chikage wanted to say something to Shizuo but thought better of it when he saw the
man’s eyes. It was clear that this was not the time to interfere except for the gravest of
reasons.
While all this was happening, Izaya Orihara did not make a single attempt to escape.
He twirled a knife in his fingers and soaked in the brunt of Shizuo’s burning hatred.
It was only a few seconds that the two of them stood facing each other.
But it felt many times longer than that to everyone else present.
Those who knew Shizuo and Izaya and those who didn’t held their breath equally.
The man in the black intended to challenge the monster in the bartender’s uniform.
How would Shizuo Heiwajima’s overwhelming strength be utilized? And what would
happen to the man on the receiving end of it?
In the face of this coming bloodbath, neither the thugs, nor Chikage and the Blue
Squares, nor even Aoba Kuronuma could keep in mind what they were doing before.
They all waited, watching the scene before them unfold.
The pack of the Saika-possessed reacted largely in one of two ways.
The group with Nasujima as its mother was entranced by the appearance of the
mighty Shizuo Heiwajima.
The group with Haruna as its mother quaked in fear of Shizuo, their Saika having been
imprinted with the trauma of what he did on the Night of the Ripper.
So Nasujima, who was terrified of Shizuo, and Haruna, who was not, had Saika children
with the exact opposite reactions—and the previously uniform actions of the Saika-
possessed began to crumble spectacularly.
“…”
“…”
Izaya and Shizuo stood only six feet apart once Shizuo came to a stop.
A single step would put them within striking range.
Their eyes met.
The next moment, Shizuo swung the vending machine he was dragging vertically, like
an iai quick-draw katana technique.
A sound of unfathomable destruction blanketed Ikebukuro.
Togusa’s van
Moments before all this—less than a minute before Shizuo and Izaya’s clash, in fact—
Anri felt her body seize up at the sound of the man laughing in front of the van.
“What… did he… just say?”
Why would the name Mikado Ryuugamine come up in this context?
Was this man working with Nasujima?
Questions swirled within her mind—when a new, sharp sound pierced the broken
windshield, snapping her back to attention.
It’s that sound again! Though it seemed a bit different this time…
This sound, combined with the new presence of Mikado’s name in her mind, made
Anri suddenly feel very unsettled. She pushed it all down and mustered her silent
resolve.
She would control these men with Saika and have them explain as much as possible.
Suddenly, there was a bright flash in her eyes.
“I’ll admit, I don’t know what Ryuugamine’s up to at the moment, but… hmm…?”
A few seconds before the light flashed, Izumii spotted something. A skinny man on the
sidewalk, taking something out of his backpack.
“…Is that… Yumasaki?!” He couldn’t understand why the man wouldn’t be inside of the
van, and he pointed at him for his followers’ benefit. “Hey, go get… Huh?”
Then he noticed that it was a fire extinguisher Yumasaki was pulling out of the
backpack.
Fire extinguisher?
Smoke screen? Put out.
Yumasaki? No.
Fire.
Tiny thoughts, individual flashback images burst through Izumii’s mind, leading him
to one answer.
“Yumasakiii! You son of a bitch…”
Yumasaki pointed the end of the extinguisher toward Togusa’s van.
And then…
“Here we go! It’s my ultimate attack! Innocentius, king of the witch-hunters!”
With that cry, Yumasaki’s fire extinguisher shot a maelstrom of flames from its tip. It
was his own homemade flamethrower using the shell of an extinguisher. The flame lit
everything in a red glow, covering a shocking range from sidewalk to van.
“Aaaaah!!” “Wh-what the—?!”
The thugs with their picks and metal pipes never saw it coming. They fled in panic
from the van’s vicinity. Yumasaki didn’t specifically single any of them out for
immolation, but he did spit fire bit by bit to push them back, clearing the space from
one side of the van.
“Y… Yuma… saki… You bastard!” shrieked Izumii, who suffered from fire-related
trauma. He hid behind a nearby car, still clutching his hammer.
“Now! Hurry! Get out of the van!” urged Yumasaki, and Kadota and the rest all poured
out of the left side of the vehicle. Togusa was the slowest of them, being in the driver’s
seat, but they all managed to get out soon enough.
“You…! Kadota! Don’t you run away from me!” Izumii hissed from behind the other car,
cowering from the spray of Yumasaki’s flamethrower.
The drivers of the other cars nearby all fled from their vehicles when they saw the
flames, which only increased the clamor and chaos of the situation.
Kadota came gingerly to a standing position and said to the others behind him, “Leave
this to us guys. You girls run for safety.”
He, Karisawa, Togusa, and Yumasaki blocked the path of the thugs, creating a lane for
escape.
“B-but…!”
“Just do it and leave this to the adults.” Togusa grinned.
“Aw, man!” Yumasaki cheered. “I always wanted to say that! ‘Go on ahead and leave
this to me!’”
“Ha-ha-ha, that’s a death omen,” Karisawa said with a smile, despite the crowd of
enemies surrounding them.
Anri still wasn’t sure what to do, so Kadota continued, “This is a squabble between
people who haven’t grown up yet and need to get on with it. There’s no reason for you
girls to get infected by this idiocy, too.”
He turned to Seiji, who was standing protectively in front of Mika, and said, “Take your
girlfriend and get out of here. Make sure she stays safe.”
Seiji considered staying here to fight alongside them, but then he glanced over his
shoulder at Mika—and Namie, who was glaring at her.
I’m guessing there’s no point in asking my sister to watch over her for me.
If he just told them to escape on their own, Namie was bound to attack Mika once they
were alone again. Reluctantly, he came to the realization that the best choice for Mika’s
safety was to escape with her.
“…I will. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us. I told you, we’re just a bunch of idiots having a fight on our own.”
Kadota turned and punched one of the oncoming thugs. It was a far more powerful
punch than it had any right to be, coming from a guy who ought to be in a hospital bed.
The other thugs shrank back.
He used that brief interval to yell to Saki, “Kida’s surprisingly weak on the mental
end… so make sure you help soothe him when you see him again.”
“…I will!” Saki replied and squeezed Anri’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“…But…”
Anri was hesitant. If she used Saika’s power, she could easily defeat all these people
and possess them with the blade’s curse. But Kadota saw through what she was
thinking.
“They’re not worth the burden on your conscience.”
“…!”
“Just get going! Do whatever you need to do to protect Mikado!”
“Kadota…”
Anri bit her lip and bowed fiercely. Then she turned and raced for the sidewalk with
Saki.
“Hey! Wait, you bitches!” growled one of the thugs. He made to chase after them but
got in only a step or two before Togusa dropped him with a roundhouse kick.
“Gahk…”
“You asshole, you didn’t think you could mess up my car and get away with it, did
you…?”
That kicked off a majestic round of chaos.
Fights broke out here and there in Ikebukuro.
It was like fireworks going off in a chain reaction.
They burst into motion, burning and flaming, only to go out with a whimper.
All the while unaware that a dark shadow was encroaching upon them.
“Mikado…”
Masaomi writhed on the ground in pain. He looked up at Mikado, who smiled down at
him and said, “It’s all right, Masaomi. If you tie it off and call an ambulance, I think
you’ll pull through.”
Then, while still staring directly at his friend, he began his monologue.
“…Ah yes. I shot him.”
“…?”
“I did it. I was able to shoot… Kida…”
“Mikado…?”
Masaomi kept his eye on Mikado as he fought pain all over his body—and he noticed
that his friend seemed to be trembling.
“I wondered how far I would go in embracing the extraordinary. Even I didn’t know
what the answer would be. How far would I go, what would I have to do, to make
myself stop?”
Mikado walked slowly over to the corner of the rooftop, where he picked up his first
gun.
“But… even after you hit me, I didn’t stop. In fact… I went ahead and shot you.”
The faint smile he often wore was gone now, replaced only by deep sadness.
“If I can shoot you, then I’m sure I could shoot my mom and dad.”
“Uh… Mikado?” Masaomi gasped, crawling along the floor, though it wasn’t clear
whether Mikado was even hearing the words.
He stared off into nothingness and continued, “I’m sure I could shoot Kadota and
Yumasaki and Karisawa, too. And Kishitani, and Izaya, and Shizuo, and Harima, and
Yagiri, and Aoba, and Takiguchi, and Miyoshi, and…!”
As he went down the list of close, familiar names, Mikado’s voice grew more and more
strained. It sounded as though he was blaming himself. But then it abruptly softened.
“Oh yeah. It’s true, Masaomi… I’m certain that in the quest for my own selfish wants…”
He paused for a moment before continuing even slower and more deliberately.
“…I would even shoot Sonohara.”
Through what faint light there was on the rooftop, Masaomi saw that Mikado was
crying.
Then Mikado raised the original gun, the full-sized pistol, to his own temple.
“W-wait, Mikado! What are you doing?!” Masaomi cried with alarm, forgetting even
his own pain. “You gotta be kidding! This is the least funny joke you’ve told all day!”
he screamed.
But Mikado only said, “I think… I shouldn’t be around anymore. I’m only going to
attempt worse things… and make life worse for more people.”
Tears dripped from his eyes as he put on his old smile. “So I think that I should vanish
along with the Dollars.”
The sight of him smiling and crying made Masaomi furious. “Don’t you dare think
about dying to get out of this! Look, if you die, that’s not your own free will! You’re
being manipulated! By that asshole Izaya! I’m gonna get revenge on him! I’ll kill him,
even if it takes all my life!”
“…”
“So… so stop this, Mikado… Don’t waste your life for such a horrible reason…,”
Masaomi pleaded, tearing his lungs out, slamming his bandaged hand against the
ground. The agony was horrible, but he never took his eyes off Mikado.
“…”
“…”
Silence surrounded the two for a moment.
Mikado briefly closed his eyes, then said sadly, his face joyful, “Thank you, Masaomi…
I’m sorry.”
“Mika… do…?”
“Even at a time like this, I have to admit… I’m feeling a bit excited by it all… Wondering
what will happen when I’m dead. Maybe I’ll get to visit a world I’ve never seen before.”
He kept the gun pressed against the side of his head, smiling to put Masaomi at ease.
“Celty exists, the Headless Rider… so maybe there is a world after death. In fact…
maybe I’ll end up being like the Headless Rider after this,” he muttered to himself
before looking at Masaomi again. “And the fact that I’m thinking about this stuff…
makes me crazy.”
“No… stop! Don’t say that! You’re normal! What’s crazy is how we all did this to you!”
Masaomi argued desperately, summoning all the strength he could in an attempt to
stop Mikado.
He felt as if he might be able to get to his feet—but Mikado sensed it, too, and so he
said, “Masaomi… I’m sorry.”
He placed his finger on the trigger and pulled it without hesitation.
The third gunshot of the night went off.
Mikado Ryuugamine’s world was enveloped in total shadow.
Intersection near Tokyu Hands
It was a battle to the death that defied the imagination.
Shizuo Heiwajima and Izaya Orihara.

There was an overwhelming imbalance between their respective physical capabilities.
Izaya had been treated as an equal combatant up to this point largely because he
focused on escape and evasion and attacked Shizuo in the resulting openings.
Sometimes he got Shizuo hit by a truck; sometimes he dropped him into a hole;
sometimes he lured him into the midst of an Awakusu-kai battle. When Izaya used his
knife to attack directly, it was usually as a preemptive measure, a kind of how-do-you-
do to get Shizuo into a furious mood.
That was the only thing it would be good for, because the best he could do was get the
blade about a third of an inch under his skin. Then again, a normal human being would
never even bother to fight Shizuo, much less try to stab him with a knife.
At this time, Izaya had given up on his usual style of fighting.
He had chosen to use his knife as a serious weapon against this monstrous dinosaur
of a man.
When the first vending machine blow came down, Izaya leaped not backward or
sideways but forward. That actually put him inside, closer than the machine’s attack
range. But it meant that he was now close enough for Shizuo’s arms to reach him, and
a single misstep could easily get his neck broken.
Sure enough, when he passed inside of the vending machine’s trajectory, Shizuo’s
other hand reached for him. Izaya dodged it by a hair and swung consecutive knife
attacks.
With each piercing of Shizuo’s body, Izaya felt the physical sensation of trying to stab
the tires of some ultra-heavy-duty construction vehicle. He could puncture the
outermost, weakest layer of skin, but no matter how much force he used, there was
nothing getting past the layer of muscle. In fact, if he stabbed too deep, he might not
be able to pull the blade back out.
Fly like a butterfly; sting like a bee.
It was a nice sentiment to emulate, but in reality, he was neither butterfly nor bee—
more like a gnat trying to challenge a human being. A single good blow would easily
destroy him, but Izaya still fought and fought.
Every single attack Shizuo made was deadly. But Izaya evaded them all by the skin of
his teeth and countered with little nicks and cuts on Shizuo’s body several times for
each punch.
It seemed as though his plan was that even if he got Shizuo to shed only a single drop
of blood each time, Izaya would eventually drain him dry.
Without planning on it, Chikage found himself in the position of observer of this duel.
Upon witnessing Izaya’s reckless-in-the-extreme combat style, he muttered, “Is he…
trying to get killed?”
“If he wins, great. If he loses and dies, he probably also considers that a victory,” Aoba
said.
Chikage looked over his shoulder at the boy, frowning. “What? What do you mean,
dying is winning?”
“Why don’t you beat a man to death in the midst of an enormous crowd? You’ll get
arrested for murder. That’s how Shizuo Heiwajima gets recognized by the world at
large as a true monster. He’s not a violent hero with an abnormal amount of power.
He’ll just be known as a bloodthirsty, unthinking beast,” Aoba said with a sigh. He
gazed at Izaya with mockery and pity.
“Izaya Orihara… That guy in black there hates the very notion that Shizuo Heiwajima
can be treated as human. That’s why he wants to trap him, to lower him to the level of
a monster. So that no matter how much he might want to be human, humanity will
reject him.”
“How do you know that?” asked Chikage, so enraptured by the bizarre duel that he
spoke to his enemy as though having an ordinary chat. Aoba gave Izaya a spiteful look.
“Because there are parts of him that resemble me. So I have a hunch.”
“There you go! You’re almost through!”

Despite his hand-clapping enthusiasm, Nasujima’s face was still pale with fear.
For one thing, Shizuo Heiwajima was raging within visual range. Nasujima was beside
himself with terror at the thought of that power being used on him.
On the other hand, if he was fighting over there, that meant that Nasujima could do
more over here without worrying about attracting attention. So despite his fear, he
chose bold action.
As long as he could gain control over the man inside the sushi place named Tom
Tanaka, he could use him as a hostage and possibly even as a stepping-stone to taking
over Shizuo himself.
The rest was just a battle against time.
But Nasujima was unaware that the door to Russia Sushi that he had his Saika-
possessed tearing down at the moment was something like the entry to Pandora’s box.
After many body blows, the front door to Russia Sushi finally broke.
“Good! Get in there and take control of everyone inside!” he said, a greedy smirk on
his lips, as he approached the doorway himself.
In the next moment, the shine of that smile was completely overshadowed by literal
light from the sushi restaurant’s interior.
A few seconds before that, when the Saika-possessed made to pile through the open
doorway, they heard something spilling onto the floor.
Before anyone could identify them as flashbang stun grenades, they were overwhelmed
by light and sound, momentarily robbing them of vision, hearing, and the ability to
think.
Suddenly, one of the low tables from the private booth areas of the restaurant was
rushing upon them like a giant shield—and pushed the confused dolls clear out of the
building like a bulldozer.
“Gaaaah!! Wh-what was that?! What happened?!” Nasujima yelped in a panic, hands
over his eyes, as a number of canisters hit the ground around him.
He was blinded, his ears full of roaring echoes.
All around him, light and sound assaulted the shadowy portion of Ikebukuro.
There was a flash in the corner of his vision.
And the momentary loss of concentration had tragic consequences for Izaya Orihara.
When he recognized it as the effect of a stun grenade, Izaya’s knowledge and

experience taught him to instinctually be on guard.
The problem was, he was already dealing with something far more dangerous than a
stun grenade and deadlier than potshots from a gun.
It took less than a second to refocus his every nerve on the superhuman creature
before him—but even that was a fatal lapse in concentration.
Shizuo’s next blow, which he should have barely dodged, nicked him on the shoulder.
And though it was just the slightest of glancing blows, it sent a tremendous shock
through Izaya’s body.
“Gah…”
It was what you might feel if an express train passing through the station clipped you
on the shoulder. The astonishing transfer of energy to Izaya’s body sent him spinning.
By the time he had recovered his balance, Shizuo’s fist was careening toward him
again.
“…!”
The timing made it impossible for him to evade it entirely. He crossed his arms to block
the blow and jumped backward in hopes of deadening some of its force.
But this was not the kind of punch that commonsense actions could nullify. You don’t
put your hands up to block an oncoming cannonball or jump backward with the
impact, expecting the result to be any different.
The instant Shizuo’s fist met Izaya’s arms, everyone in the vicinity clearly heard the
sound of those arms breaking.
Shizuo swung through, bringing his fist downward and throwing Izaya against the
ground, which he bounced off several feet in the air, as though he’d been struck by a
car. If it had been an uppercut instead, Izaya might have flown to the height of one of
the surrounding high-rise buildings—or so it seemed to the witnesses, such was the
power of Shizuo’s blow.
Izaya’s resistance was not entirely in vain, however. If he hadn’t given up his arms to
the punch, it might have broken his sternum and obliterated his heart beneath it.
For the cost of his arms, Izaya Orihara stayed alive, leaving him capable of standing
before Shizuo. But to everyone watching, it as if looked only he’d given himself a few
more seconds to live.
I’m still alive.
Izaya’s arms weren’t just broken, they were also dislocated and dangling from his
shoulder joints, but he was conscious.
He stood on the strength of his legs alone, but the shock of being struck against the
ground left him hardly able to breathe.
It was a stronger blow to his system than when he’d been struck by the metal beam
and knocked into the building across the street. Blood spilled from his mouth as he
stared at Shizuo.
His opponent’s body was trickling blood all over as well, and the overall damage
seemed more than trivial. He approached, covered in red stains, step after purposeful
step.
So if I’d just fought him like this from the start… I might have actually had a chance to
win? The irony is rich, Izaya thought woozily as he observed his bloodied opponent.
At this point, the endorphins had kicked in, so that he barely even registered the pain
in his arms and everywhere else.
Despite his frustration, Izaya smiled. He simply smiled.
More important than his own coming death was knowing that by sacrificing his own
life, he would succeed at expelling Shizuo Heiwajima from human society, making him
a monster.
The fact that he could prevent a future in which a monster wearing human skin
strolled around society as if he were one of them was all the victory that Izaya could
hope for.
This was all Izaya thought about as he stood—for standing was the only thing he could
do.
Shizuo picked up the vending machine lying nearby and took another step toward
Izaya.
“…Do it, monster,” Izaya said with the last bit of breath from his lungs.
A shock ran through his body before he could even tell whether Shizuo heard him say
it.
But the impact was not from Shizuo. He was still holding the machine. If anything,
seeing what just happened to Izaya made him stop.
“Huh…?”
Izaya finally realized that something else had happened to his body. Something was
sticking into his side.
At the same moment that he recognized the silver flash of a blade, he saw a shadow
out of the corner of his eye.
There, standing inside the ring of bikers and punks watching the fight, was the figure
of Vorona, holding the handle of a knife without its blade.
With cold eyes, she tossed aside the handle and brought her now free right hand up to
support what she held in her left. When the crowd recognized the gun, they began to
murmur uneasily.
The muzzle was pointed directly at Izaya. The people around her and behind Izaya
screamed and darted to the sides to get out of its path.
“Vorona…?”
When Shizuo slowly turned to look at her, there was a troubled light in his eyes, mixed
in with his battle fury. She glanced at him, then at Izaya, who was now on his knees.
“Sir Shizuo is human,” she said to Shizuo. She did not know what Izaya was thinking,
but through sheer coincidence, she ended up contradicting his opinions. “Necessity to
become a beast is nonexistent.”
Vorona pointed her gun at Izaya.
She was going to shoot him in the head and heart and eliminate him from the world
forever.
When he understood the situation, Shizuo’s eyes calmed, becoming clearer with
reason—and he shouted at his coworker, “Stop, you idiot! Why would you let yourself
be a murderer?!”
She smiled when she heard his voice, but she did not take her eyes off Izaya.
“I request your relief.
“I have always been a beast who loves killing.”
“Hey… isn’t that Shizuo?!”

Tom emerged from the restaurant, making his way through the crowd of Saika-
possessed who were alternately slumped to the ground holding their eyes or just plain
unconscious.
The plan had been to toss stun grenades in the hope of blazing a path to escape the
building, but once they were outside, it was hard to believe what they saw. As they
scanned the area for the direction of least resistance, they noticed an odd clump in the
crowd with a vending machine on the ground between them.
Which meant that the person in the bartender’s vest beside it had to be Shizuo.
“Oh, I see Izaya, too,” said Simon, whose sharp eyes were scanning the intersection.
Then the crowd abruptly scattered left and right. With the sudden increase in
visibility, Simon made out the figure of Vorona pointing a gun at Izaya.
“!”
His next action was lightning fast. Without a word, Simon pulled the pin from the stun
grenade in his other hand. He waited a beat to time it, then hurled it with all the force
he could muster toward the intersection.
“Hey!”
The grenade quickly reached the open square on the fly.
Intersection, Tokyu Hands side
No… the end can’t be this ridiculous.
The sight of Vorona’s gun pointed at him filled Izaya with powerful disappointment.
But he smiled, half-resigned, and gave Vorona a direct look.
Fine, I forgive you. I love humanity.
“…You are human. Just a human like any other.”

Vorona paused, puzzled by what Izaya had said—but unlike when she pointed the gun
at Shizuo, she did not feel any hesitation about pulling the trigger. She was going to
end Izaya before Shizuo could get to her and stop her.
But then something entered her vision that she didn’t expect to see at all.
Before she could recognize it as the kind of stun grenade that her father’s company
dealt with, that she loved using—the object burst in midair barely above the ground,
blinding the vicinity with light.
After Tom and Simon rushed off in the direction of Tokyu Hands, Nasujima was left
behind, his mind a toxic mix of fury, humiliation, and fear of Shizuo, whose approach
he could not sense with his eyes blinded.
“Dammit… cut them! Just go and possess every last one of them, even the bikers! No
more holding back! Possess every last person in this city!”
“Yes, Mother,” replied Haruna, the first to respond. Because of her distance from the
stun grenade, her sight was already recovering.
The crowd of Nasujima’s and Haruna’s Saika-possessed victims, who had previously
been merely watching the events happen, now converged on the Dollars.
Major chaos began to erupt around the area in front of Tokyu Hands.
First, a flash went off in front of the biker gangs watching Shizuo and Izaya’s duel from
a distance; then a group of people with red eyes rushed up on them. The bikers,
plunged into the kind of terror only witnessed in zombie movies, fought back wildly
with metal pipes and whatever else they had on hand.
This quickly went beyond the level of a simple skirmish. It was clearly going to end in
major bloodshed, possibly death.
But then a miracle happened.
Though perhaps it was too visually ominous to be labeled a miracle.
A “shadow” began to descend from the sky like rain, touching and tangling up the
motorcycle gangs and Saika dolls alike and freezing them in place.
Instantly, the entire crowd was nearly under the sway of this black substance—and all
those people heard “her” voice in their ears.
“I understand the situation.”
It was as though the shadow itself was transmitting words, a woman’s voice hitting
the eardrums of the entire crowd at once—and simultaneously reaching directly into
their minds. Few of them had ever heard this eerie voice before.
She continued, “Before I leave this city, I will eliminate all the trouble stemming from
my body.”
It spoke clearly and briefly but with a power that resonated inside the minds of all
who heard it.
“It is what little atonement I can provide for the confusion my body has wrought upon
this place.”
All space that could be perceived was covered in shadow. It had poured down from
the sky above the building, instantly coating Mikado and Masaomi.
This happened at nearly exactly the same moment as the gunshot—so it wasn’t
surprising that Mikado initially thought he was dead.
Ah. There isn’t even any pain…

But it’s so dark.
I wonder… if it’ll always be this dark, forever…
Eventually, after a number of minutes, as his mind settled in, Mikado noticed tears
springing from his eyes again.
Sorry. I’m so sorry, Sonohara, Masaomi…
But no sooner had the thought come to his mind than a strange voice sounded in both
his ears and his mind.
“I understand the situation. Before I leave this city, I will eliminate all the trouble
stemming from my body.”
Then Mikado understood.
He could still feel the sensation of the gun against the palm of his hand.
Am I… still… alive…? he wondered, but without responding to this question, the voice
entered his mind again.
“It is what little atonement I can provide for the confusion my body has wrought upon
this place.”
My… body? Mikado repeated to himself. It was an odd phrase in this case, and it put
the image of someone he knew into his mind. Is that… Celty?
At that moment, the shadow enshrouding him softened, gave way—and the sights and
sounds of Ikebukuro returned to Mikado’s world.
“Mikado…? Mikado! Hey!”
He was looking at Masaomi, who was still in the place he’d left him earlier.
“Masaomi…?” he mumbled.
His friend heaved a deep sigh of relief. “I’m so glad… you’re alive… You’re alive, Mikado!”
“Ah…”
He looked to his right hand and saw the gun there. But the very next moment, a swarm
of tiny shadows pried his fingers apart, wrenching loose both the pistol and the HFM
in his other hand.
Something hard tumbled from the shadow that was right next to Mikado’s head. When
they saw the twisted lump of metal roll onto the ground, both boys instinctually
understood what it was.
The instant he had pulled the trigger, the shadow had slipped between his temple and
the muzzle of the gun, stopping the bullet before it could reach Mikado’s head.
It was a feat no human being could have achieved—which was obvious, given that it
was a shadow that had done it. But Mikado knew who was responsible. And before he
could say that name out loud…
She descended from the sky.
Straddling a headless horse instead of a motorcycle.
Wearing pitch-black armor instead of a riding suit.
And holding a head at her side, under an arm.
QRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
When he saw her descending to the roof down a path made of shadow, her headless
horse whinnying somehow, Masaomi forgot about the pain in his leg and simply stared
in wonder.
“What… is this?” Then he looked at the head she was holding and shouted, “H-hey…
that head! Isn’t that… Mika Harima from your class, Mikado?!”
“No… it’s not, Masaomi. It looks like her, but it’s not her.”
Stunned, Mikado addressed the woman who descended near the edge of the rooftop:
Celty Sturluson.
“Is that you… Celty?”
“…”
The eyes of the head under her arm turned to Mikado. Without emotion, her mouth
opened. The words that emerged, unlike the ones earlier, were not addressed to every
person touched by the tendrils of shadow. They were audible only to the young men
on the rooftop with her.
“Human boy. You are… Mikado Ryuugamine.”
“Huh?”
It was as though she’d never met him before. Mikado was confused.
Celty used her shadow to draw the guns closer to her. Within moments, the shadow
essentially dissolved them.
“I do not know what my body said to you, but my existence is not a reason for you to
desire what comes beyond death.”
The separated weapon parts scattered across the rooftop.
“It would seem that the presence of my body in this city registered the strongest effect
upon you.”
“Effect…?”
“So, human boy, I choose to make a parting statement individually to you,” Celty said,
her shadow writhing around her. “After I recovered my consciousness, I spread my
shadow through the sky over this city so that I could collect information. I could not have
guessed that I’d spent the last twenty years wandering about this distant, foreign land.”
“Celty, what do you mean…?” Mikado asked, baffled.
Just then, the sound of fresh footsteps came from the emergency stairs.
“Ryuugamine… and Kida?!”
“Masaomi!”
Both of the boys turned toward the new voices.
“…Sonohara?!”
“Saki?! Why… why are you here…?”
And they weren’t the only ones. Seiji Yagiri and Mika Harima were coming up behind
them.
The group had been trotting down the sidewalk, as Kadota had instructed, but weren’t
sure where they should be heading. Should they leave Saki and the other noncombatants
somewhere safe, then head to Russia Sushi, where Nasujima was located?
It was at this time that they heard a third gunshot overhead.
“?!”
And after that, the scream of a boy’s familiar voice.
“Mikado!”
At the sound of Masaomi’s voice, they looked up and around—until they spotted the
shadow looking especially thick over one building rooftop. They rushed toward the
building’s exterior emergency stairs, fighting against their own unease.
And when she reached the roof, Anri was finally there. She saw Mikado, the person
she wanted to see most, and felt relief flood through her. In fact, she threatened to
burst into tears.
But the situation she saw there prevented her from having the moving reunion she
wanted.
“Masaomi…?”
He was crawling along the surface of the roof, while behind him stood a headless
horse.
Sitting on the horse was a knight, carrying a head under its arm with the same face as
Mika Harima, who was just behind Anri at the moment.
“Is that… Celty?”
When Shizuo’s vision recovered from the blinding flash, he saw a bizarre new sight
around him:
A crowd of red-eyed people and bikers were tied up, their limbs tangled in black
shadows. For some reason, however, he was unfettered and free. After a brief glance
around, he saw that there was no Izaya Orihara present, just a bloodstain on the
ground.
“…”
That briefly rekindled the rage that Vorona’s interference had stilled, but the thought
of her put her at the forefront of his mind. The place where she’d been standing a
moment ago was now occupied by Tom, Simon, and Denis—caring for an unconscious
Vorona.
“Vorona!” he shouted, rushing to her side, ignoring the blood dripping from all over
his body.
“Shizuo… Hey, man, you all right?!” Tom asked.
Shizuo nodded. “I’m fine. But Vorona…,” he prompted.
Simon and Denis offered their reassurances. “Oh, she only knocked out. When she
wake up, I give her hot cup of tea.”
“She’s hurt here and there, but nothing life-threatening. That stun grenade hit her
when she was already exhausted. Apparently, it was too much for her to handle at
once.”
“Why… why would she do this…?” Shizuo wondered, recalling what she’d been doing
before the grenade went off.
“Well, I only saw a bit of it,” said Denis, “but I’d say she didn’t want you to have a
murder on your conscience.”
“…Oh.”
This put many different thoughts into Shizuo’s head. If he had killed Izaya, perhaps
she would have thought that he had become a murderer to avenge her.
…I’m… still weak…
I’m sorry, Vorona.
Shizuo breathed in deep and exhaled slowly, and this time, he pushed his smoldering
hatred of Izaya deep down into his gut.
But if I happen across him loitering around, I can’t guarantee I won’t kill him out of sheer
momentum, he thought to himself, giving the scene another examination. He found his
eye drawn to one sight in particular.
“…What’s that?”
He was looking not at Izaya—but at an old friend in a white lab coat, walking down
the middle of the street with the aid of a crutch.
“I found her… my beloved.”
“…”
Mika Harima met Seiji Yagiri’s mumbled statement with silence. She glared at the head
under the dark knight’s arm. Masaomi looked at her and back, wincing with both pain
and confusion.
“H-huh…? That is the same face, isn’t it…?”
“Masaomi! Forget that—we’ve got to stop your bleeding!” Saki cried, rushing over to
examine him. The next moment, shadows writhed around Masaomi’s leg, covering up
the bullet wound and stopping the bleeding.
“Aaagh!” he yelped, briefly jumping from the pain, but the next moment, the shadow
wriggled in complex motions, then spat out the little bullet that had been wedged deep
in his leg.
“?!”
“I do not condone that my body should have sparked a conflict that leads to the loss of
life. I cannot erase the memories of those who know me, but I will at least minimize the
victims before I leave,” said the figure, her words simple and economical.
“This isn’t your fault, Celty… It’s all my fault!”
“Human boy. Let me ask you: If you had not met the Headless Rider, would you still be
here in this place, shooting your friend with a gun?”
“…!”
Mikado had no way to refute this. He had set up the Dollars, and when they had come
together for their first in-person meeting, it had materialized the extraordinary sight
of the Headless Rider and brought him into her orbit.
If that hadn’t happened, then Mikado might still just be a normal high schooler right
about now, and he might not have become estranged from Masaomi and Anri.
“By being in this town, my existence caused Yagiri Pharmaceuticals to go astray, Seiji
Yagiri to drown in a meaningless love, and Mika Harima to give up the face she was born
with.”
“Meaningless love…? What does she mean?” Seiji asked. He was gazing at the living
head, his face the very picture of bliss.
Celty did not reply to him. She continued her speech.
“These are only a few examples. Many people here have found their lives manipulated
and twisted out of shape by the illusion of the Headless Rider.”
“Celty…? What are you saying?” Anri wondered, worried.

The dullahan’s head looked at her and said without any discernible emotion, “I will be
direct, girl of the cursed blade. I have no memory of living around you people. I am simply
telling the truth as I have reconstructed it from the information I’ve collected.”
“What…?”
“It is clear that my presence has caused the gears of this city to go out of alignment. That
much should be obvious, just from looking at this day’s chaos alone.”
“No… it’s not! You’re wrong! It’s not your fault, Celty!” Anri shouted. “There are people
whose lives were improved and saved because they met you! People like me…”
“Girl of the cursed blade, salvation is but another kind of misalignment.”
“Huh…?”
“I am nothing but a system. Following a greater will, I exist within a limited area,
warning chosen individuals of their death. There is no need for you humans to know the
meaning behind this, and knowing it would not bring you any understanding.”
She sat astride the horse, imperiously observing the shocked crowd of young people.
“I regret that you have wasted your time being manipulated by a system that was not
meant to exist in this place. It is an outcome that leaves no one happy.”
Then she produced a path into the sky from the shadow at her feet and pulled on
shadow-made reins to point the horse toward it.
“I will return to my homeland and my purpose. By offering my words of parting to

Mikado Ryuugamine, the human whose fate was most disturbed by his proximity to me,
I conclude my duties within this city. Forget about me, human.”
“Hey, wait… wait up!” Seiji called out, stumbling toward her, but the black shadow
tangled around his foot and sent him tumbling to the ground.
“You did not fall in love with me, only an individual part of me. I have no obligation or
desire to return that emotion,” Celty replied robotically, in the very systematic form she
had described.
“I’m not giving up! If you’re going back home, then I’ll go to the other side of the world
for you!” he yelled, still tangled up, a true stalker.
As she watched Mika rush over to him, Anri Sonohara silently issued her own
disagreements.
That’s not true. Celty is lying.
The one who’s had the deepest connection to her…
The one whose life was the most changed by her…
She was just about to speak out loud, to utter the name of the man who would make
Celty pause, when…
“Celty… you’re being a liar today.”
The man spoke for himself, standing behind her.
It was not a powerful voice. If anything, it was gentle.
But it carried across the rooftop, crystal clear—and caused the headless horse to
pause its forward motion.
Celty did not reply to him. She swung the reins.
“…What is it, Shooter? Move.”
It was as though she couldn’t hear his voice.
Instead, the man behind Anri declared, “Let’s see. Did you perhaps mean, ‘Move it,
Shooter. If you stop now, then the point of lying will be lost’? Or am I mistaken about
that?”
“…”
The head under the dark knight’s arm swung around toward him. It caught sight of
Shinra Kishitani dressed in his coat, looking notably clear-eyed and gazing right back
at her.
“Human… Who are you?”
Anri was shocked.
It wasn’t only her. Mikado, who was aware of their relationship, looked as if he couldn’t
believe what he was seeing.
But Shinra himself just smiled gently and said, “All right. That one’s more like ‘Why are
you here? Seeing you only makes the parting more difficult, so I thought that
pretending not to have any memory of you would make you give up! And why are you
talking under the assumption that I haven’t lost my memory anyway?!’”
He was speaking her mental state aloud, imagining her thoughts the way a stalker
might his victim. The head did not show any emotional reaction, however.
“What? What is this human saying?”
“I don’t doubt that you have recovered your memory. But I also trust you that much. I
believe that you still have your memories of this city.”
“What nonsense is this? I have no memory of the last twenty years.”
“Either way, I don’t care. It was just a hope of mine. See, simply talking with you has
cleared it up for me. I knew you were a kind and gentle soul, Celty. You’re too kind, in
fact.”
Shinra was not uninjured. He had dulled the pain, but his condition demanded that he
stay bedridden, just like Kadota. He rapped his crutches together, however, not giving
away any signs of discomfort.
“Ah, let’s see. This one is more like ‘Stop it! I’m not meant to be here! My presence
caused you to be terribly injured, and it completely ruined Mikado’s life!’”
“This is a waste of time. I do not understand what you are saying.”
“‘All I wanted to do was clear up the confusion in the city before I disappeared for
good! I figured that if they found out I was a cold, cruel monster at heart, they would
all want to forget about me! So if I act like I’ve lost my memory of them, they’ll all give
up on me! And you’re the one I want to forget me the most, so why are you ruining this
for me?!’…Is that right?”
“Nonsense.” Celty snorted, head facing in his direction.
But Shinra just smiled at her. “Don’t be like that. Look at me, Celty.”
“…”
The head was already looking at Shinra, though. It was her body that had its back to
him.
“Enough, human. Your ramblings are nonsense.”
“Whoa!”
She extended her shadow to spin around Shinra and tangle him up. With her back still
facing him, she kicked lightly at Shooter’s flank.
“Go.”
Qrrrrrrrrrr, Shooter trilled, stamping his hooves on the spot without stepping
forward. He seemed to be pushing her, urging her, but Celty ignored it.
“Go! Yah! Yah! Move, Shooter!”
But by this point, Mikado and the others understood: Shinra was probably correct.
“Celty…”
“Wait, Celty!”
Anri and Mikado called out to her. Shooter gave another mournful whinny, then began
to walk up the path of shadow stretching into the sky. Celty said nothing more; she
simply rode onward up into the darkened expanse.
As though she wanted to melt into the deep of the night and vanish entirely.
Mikado and the rest, left behind on the rooftop and unable to speak their minds aloud,
felt a terrible sense of powerlessness. But then a new voice joined the scene.
“Hey… was that Celty who just flew off?”
They spun around to the source and found Shizuo there, lacerations bleeding all over
his body.
“Shizuo…?!” they yelped in shock.
Afterward, a single man rose to his feet and greeted him. “Hi there, Shizuo. Good
timing.”
It was Shinra, who had somehow freed himself from the bonds of Celty’s shadow.
“Yeah, well, I saw you going up this building… Then I spotted what looked like Celty
and Shooter on the roof, so I climbed up here… What’s going on?” Shizuo wondered.
Shinra chuckled. “What’s going on? Well, I’m about to become a villain.”
“What?”
“Shizuo, do you remember the promise we made back in high school?”
“…?”
Whatever Shizuo was expecting, it was not a reference to his school days. But behind
his smile, Shinra’s eyes were deadly serious, so Shizuo decided to hear him out.
“…Remind me.”
“That if I became a villain for the sake of the woman I loved… you would smash me to
the other end of the sky for her.”
“…Oh yeah. I remember that.”
“Now’s the time,” Shinra said, staring up at where Celty was vanishing into the dark of
the night. “I’m about to do something terrible to Celty. But she’s so kind and gentle,
I’m sure that she’ll forgive me for it.”
“…”
“So… will you fulfill your side of the agreement and hurl me into the sky?” Shinra
asked. It sounded like a joke, but Shizuo did not laugh it off.
“…Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“If you fall, you’re 100 percent guaranteed to die. At that angle, I won’t be able to catch
your landing. Speaking of which, are you trying to make me a murderer?” he
demanded, thinking of Vorona.
Shinra was quiet for a moment, then said, “Yeah, if it happens… then I’m sorry. But I
trust Celty. You probably don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but I can put it in
these terms: Do you trust me for trusting Celty?”
“…”
Shizuo thought it over, then grinned without a word. He grabbed Shinra’s leg and
hurled him with strength that far surpassed human limits.
“Don’t regret this, you villain!” he bellowed.
And though he was injured all over and not anywhere near his peak condition, it was
the most powerful throw he’d made that night, including his duel with Izaya.
Sky
“…Don’t be so upset, Shooter,” Celty said to her mount now that they were alone in the
air. “This was for the best. Now that all my memories are back, living here among the
humans will only cause them more suffering…”
She climbed farther into the pitch-black sky that her own shadow had fashioned as
she spoke to Shooter.
“Yes, it hurts. It hurts a lot, Shooter. I would rather never deal with human beings again
if it meant not going through this feeling…,” she said mournfully, though her head still
showed not a single hint of emotion on its features. “I just want Shinra to forget about
me… but I don’t want to forget… Shin… ra…?”
She paused there.
In the sky of Ikebukuro, locked in abnormal darkness by a blanket of shadow, a blazing

white light in stark contrast to the background shot right past her side.
And when she realized that it was Shinra, Celty’s mind went blank instead.
“Wha…?”
“Hi.”
“Wh-wha… wh-wh-wha… what are you doing?!”
As Shinra slowly arced and began to fall, Celty couldn’t help but stick her hands out.
Dutifully reading her mind, Shooter charged forward on his shadowy path, racing
faster to catch up to the falling man.
The head spilled out of her grasp, but that wasn’t a problem. Shadow tendrils extended
from the severed head itself, attaching it to the sheer surface of her neck. If it wasn’t
going to fall, she couldn’t lose it.
At this point, the soul of her head and body were completely reattached. Nothing—no
saws or gunpowder—could separate her head now that it was attached by the soul
that was her shadow.
All except for one cursed sword that was said to separate the soul from the body.
“…Celty,” Shinra murmured as he fell.
She lunged, reaching out for him. “Grab on!”
At this point, there was no use keeping up her act. She was in her natural, true element
now.
“Sorry,” Shinra stated.
“What?”
He continued to plummet, with Celty chasing after him.
And then she saw: They were not bloodshot.
Shinra’s eyes were actually glowing with red light, as Anri’s had done.
And a sharp blade extended from the palm of his right hand.
“Oh, n…”
Silver flashed briefly in the night sky.
And Saika quickly, powerfully severed the shadow connecting Celty’s body and head.
More than ten minutes earlier
“Oh, right… Miss Kujiragi.”
“?”
She stopped in the act of leaving and turned back to Shinra.
“If I wanted to rent out your Saika… how much would that cost me?”
Celty writhed and jerked in midair after the separation of her head and neck.
An abnormal volume of shadow spurted forth from the space where each side had
been cut, and it spread through the sky over Ikebukuro with abnormal speed.
Qrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr……………
Her body continued spasming a little bit, but Shooter’s fierce cry brought her back to
her senses.
This was not the time to be asleep. As her thoughts spurred back into motion, the
effects of the mental link being abruptly severed caused memories to flash back
through her mind in rapid succession.
Aaah… Aaaaaaaaahhhh!
I… I… I…!
Countless memories, stretching back over decades and centuries, flooding through
her, filling her mind.
She descended along with Shooter in her confusion—and as she did, flickers of a white
shape began to appear in the rapid shuffle of images.
Despite the chaos, Celty reached out for the pale thing. As if to say that it was the most
precious thing of all to her.
The next moment, her blindly stretching hand caught something.
It was the arm of a man wearing a white coat.
Shin… ra. Shinra…
…Shinra!
Celty’s mind snapped back to consciousness again, and she sent out shadows in all
directions. A cushion of darkness spread out below as they plummeted onto a corner
of one of the Sunshine City buildings.
They bounced off the cushion and back into the air, and Celty still did not let go of
Shinra’s arm. Without Shooter’s guidance, she might never have caught Shinra as he
fell.
It was through a series of miracles that he avoided falling to his death. But Celty was
not in the mind space to appreciate all this in the moment.
Shinra!
“Wake up, Shinra!”
Celty hopped off Shooter, pulled her PDA out of her armor—she’d been hanging on to
it, just in case—and thrust it before Shinra’s dizzy eyes.
“Please! Wake up! Don’t die!” she typed and shook his shoulders.
He opened his eyes slowly. “No, Celty… you shouldn’t shake someone with an injury
like this.”
“…Shinra!” She bopped him on the chest. “You dummy! You big dummy! You’re a big,
dumb dummy!”
“Ouch, ouch… That hurts, Celty.”
“Why? Why would you do something so dangerous?! If something went wrong… you’d be
dead… You would have died, Shinra!”
She thrust out the PDA for him to see, her body trembling.
“I refused to accept your determination,” he said with a smile. “I insulted the dullahan’s
way of life… and the future you chose.”
The doctor traced a finger softly along the nape of Celty’s neck and grinned at her.
“So it doesn’t even out unless I risk my neck, does it?”
Celty typed into her PDA. Words she typed at the most important moments. Words she
was more used to typing than any others.
“You really are an idiot.”

“So… should I assume that the festival is over?” Chikage wondered.
Aoba smirked and replied, “I suppose it might be. Never would have counted on an
ending like that.”
“…By the way, how come I’m not tied up, but you are?”
Chikage had full, free motion, while Aoba, like the rest of his gang and all the other
biker groups, had shadows twirled around his limbs, keeping him bound to the ground.
“Dunno. Never would have counted on finishing up our fight like this.”
In fact, Celty made the decision based on Chikage’s constant proximity to Masaomi,
but Chikage and Aoba didn’t know that, so they just assumed Chikage was lucky, and
Aoba’s gang wasn’t.
“Finishing up, huh…? To be honest, if I’d had to fight those two big guys and all the
other biker gangs, it’d probably be me on the ground right now.” Chikage approached
Aoba and pulled the ski mask off him.
“…!”
Aoba glared up at him, humiliated.
“But I ain’t stupid enough to beat the crap out of some kid in this condition and claim
I won,” Chikage went on. “I’ve seen your face now. I’ll remember it… I think. So the
score between your gang and mine will have to wait until next time to be settled.”
Then he looked around at the red-eyed crowd stuck to the ground and put his hand to
his chin.
“So… what’s up with these folks…? Their eyes are still red…”
Sidewalk
Mikado and Masaomi walked along on the sidewalk down on the ground, Mikado
offering his shoulder to his friend for support.
They were worried about Shinra after he got hurled into the sky after Celty, but they’d
managed to witness him making apparent contact with her. They chose to trust that
she’d help save him and went on ahead to get Masaomi to a hospital.
Shizuo returned to the area around Tokyu Hands, claiming to be worried about his
newer coworker, and Seiji and Mika ran off toward Sunshine City to “check out how
Celty’s doing.”
So Mikado and Saki each offered a shoulder to Masaomi, and they began walking in
the direction of Raira General Hospital.
For quite a long time, Mikado found himself unable to speak. Celty was the very cause
of his slide into the extraordinary and abnormal, but after she told him their paths
crossing was without meaning and that he shouldn’t die on account of her, he was left
with no idea what to do next.
“Hey, Mikado,” said Masaomi.
“…”
Mikado flapped his lips without words.
“How are we going to explain the gunshot wound in my leg?”
“Huh…?”
“Think about it. If they identify it as a gunshot, that gets the police involved. What if
we told them… that one of those bikers over there just happened to have a gun? Then
they won’t know which group it was…,” Masaomi joked, despite the pain that was
surely racking his entire body.
“…”
Mikado looked as if he was ready to cry.

“What’s this?” Masaomi continued. “Tears of joy that you got to see Anri? Better tell
her you love her before I snatch her away.”
“Oh, Masaomi.” Saki snickered and gave him a light head-butt.
Seeing their teasing and the way Anri watched him with concern from a few steps
away, Mikado looked down at the ground and muttered, “Maybe I just wanted
someone to hate me. For someone to call me a villain and force me to stop…”
He felt the tears welling up and forcibly pushed his face into a smile. “It would have
been nice if it were either Sonohara or Kida.”
“C’mon, call me Masaomi… I don’t want us going back to that awkward formal distance
again. Not after everything that’s happened,” Masaomi said, dragging his foot while
Mikado put on that forced, fake smile.
Anri felt relief flood through her at seeing them like this and managed a smile of her
own, complete with tears.
“The three of us… are together again.”
“Well, four,” Saki pointed out with a grin. She closed her eyes. “Go ahead—I’ll be a
statue over here. You three talk among yourselves.”
Anri smiled gratefully and took the lead ahead of the group. “We agreed that when we
came together again, we’d talk about our secrets.”
“…We did.”
“What? You had a promise? Hang on—why am I the odd man out?” Masaomi protested.
Mikado and Anri shared a look and laughed.
“Let’s see… Who should go first?”
“It’s gotta be Mikado, right?” Masaomi joked to hide the crippling pain. “I’d rather save
Anri’s secret for dessert.”
Despite the agony of seeing his friend’s state, Mikado felt the pressure around his mind
steadily easing.
The ticket to the abnormal that he’d gained on the night of the Dollars’ first meeting
had turned into a one-way express pass after he’d stabbed Aoba Kuronuma through
the palm during the Golden Week holidays.
It felt as though the things each of them had lost as the price for their actions were
slowly coming back to their rightful place.
I get it now. Sonohara was right all that time ago.
Maybe a totally typical normal life that lasts forever is what’s really abnormal.
Mikado thought back on the past, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he looked at
her. And then…
He noticed a man approaching her from behind.
“Huh…?”
A man with bloodshot red eyes and a small knife in his hand.
The man sported a fashionable, youthful haircut, but Mikado recognized his face.
Mr. Nasujima…? Why…?
As he watched, confused, Nasujima thrust the knife down toward Anri’s back, a cruel,
sickening smile on his face.
………………………
Unconsciously, Mikado left Masaomi’s side and pushed Anri away.
Before either of them—Masaomi stumbling and Anri jolted to the side—could process
what was happening, Mikado stood tall before Nasujima.
His blade dug into Mikado’s stomach.
“Aah…”
A feeble gasp was all he could manage. Heat and pain shot through him from the spot
where he was stabbed.
“Shit! Got in my way!” Nasujima spat with a click of his tongue and thrust the knife
into Mikado’s side a few more times.
There was a scream.
Was it Masaomi? Or possibly Anri?
He never found the answer.
Mikado Ryuugamine’s world was enveloped in shadow without light.

Chat room
Mai: See you again later.
.
At last, Tokyo greeted the morning.
But whether the hour hand passed six o’clock or seven o’clock, the rays of the morning
sun did not alight upon Ikebukuro.
Pitch-black shadow hung over the city, far darker than any cloud could make it.
It was as if the night continued onward, striking fear and unease into the citizens and
making huge national news.
By noon, however, the shadow was gone, and the rest of society neatly classified it a
“natural phenomenon caused by a special dust storm” so that they could continue on
with their day.
But for those individuals who were most deeply connected to that shadow, it was a
morning of change.
Inside a car
“…”
Through dull wits, Izaya Orihara became aware that his surroundings were shaking.
Apparently, he was sitting in the passenger seat of a car with the seat back tilted down.
He looked over and saw a man with a shaved head driving in silence.
“…Is that… Mr. Kine?”
“You’re lucky I happened to be nearby… if you want to call it luck.”
“…”
“I’d say that with the injuries you’ve got, there’s a fifty-fifty chance you’ll make it if I
rush you to a hospital,” Kine estimated without a hint of emotion. “Frankly, the blunt
impacts all over your body are worse than the knife wound in your gut. I’d guess
you’ve got a couple organs failing right now. Can’t believe you were able to battle with
Shizuo in that state.”
“…”
Izaya glanced down at his side. There was a detachable knife blade stuck in the flesh
there. Only there was shadow stuck in the wound around it, holding his blood loss to
a minimum.
“I wouldn’t pull that out. If you start bleeding, your chances of dying go from fifty-fifty
to ninety-ten.”
“…”
“Before you die, thank the kid behind you. She helped carry you in here while Shizuo
was blinded.”
“…?”
Izaya glanced into the rearview mirror, his face pale, and saw a girl with a cold
expression on her face: Manami Mamiya.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I just wanted to see your end without anyone getting in the
way,” she said, staring back at him through the mirror with open hatred and dismissal.
“If you end up dying, I’ll say, ‘You got killed by a monster. Serves you right.’ But if that
shadow in your wound saves you, I’ll say, ‘Your life got spared by a monster. Serves you
right.’”
“…Ha-ha… Both of those are… horrible.”
“I was talking with Shinra Kishitani earlier. He told me the kinds of things you would
hate.”
“Damn… him…”
He grimaced, exhaled, then gazed out through empty eyes at the black sky visible
through the car window. He was silent for a long while.
“What now?” Kine asked. “I could drop you off at an emergency room nearby. Or would
a black market doctor I have pull with be more convenient for you?”
Despite being on the brink of death, Izaya glared at the shadow covering the sky of
Ikebukuro and said, “First… take me out of this city… as far as you can manage…”
“…”
“If I’m going to die… I don’t want my last moments watched over… by a monster.”
He put on a brave show of smiling, but his face was getting paler by the minute. Kine
said nothing and continued driving, thinking of a route that would slip them past any
checkpoints set up by the police.
Eventually, their car disappeared out of the area.
Izaya vanished from Ikebukuro, taking with him any information on his death or
survival.
The very info dealer who would be in possession of that info was now gone.
In time, the darkness in the sky began to dissipate, and with it, the shadows that tied
down the bikers and the Saika-possessed dispersed.
“…Huh?”
When Shuuji Niekawa became aware of his surroundings again, he was on the ground
in the middle of Ikebukuro.
“What… am I doing here?”
He glanced around and saw many others looking equally befuddled.
“Let’s see… I… I found Haruna… and what happened after that…?” he wondered. Then
his text message alert went off.
It was from his daughter. And it was a very simple message.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m with the one I love right now.”
A very simple, worrisome message.
Somewhere in Tokyo
Hmm…? Where am I…?
When Takashi Nasujima awoke, he was in a dimly lit room.
“…Ah… gaah…!”
He tried to get up, but his body wouldn’t move. Not only that, it was racked with
horrible pain.
What…? What happened…?
Despite the agony that washed over his brain like a wave, he slowly began to remember,
bit by bit, the events that happened before he lost consciousness.
Fortunately for him, hiding in Russia Sushi out of fear of Shizuo meant Nasujima had
escaped the binding shadows that afflicted everyone outside. From there, he
wandered around in search of fresh pawns.
It was at that point that he just so happened to witness Anri Sonohara walking on the
sidewalk. Plus, her attention was on someone else who was injured, so she was
completely vulnerable.
Nasujima licked his lips and approached, excited to get the best pawn imaginable.
That’s right. That’s where that stupid kid got in the way…
He’d stabbed the boy several times in frustration, Anri Sonohara had screamed, and
then she had produced a katana from her body and came slashing at him.
And then… um… I didn’t get cut.
Huh? Why didn’t I get sliced by her?
He felt a deep creaking in his spine and tried to go back deeper into his memories.
The moment that Anri’s Saika bore down on Nasujima, Haruna stepped in between
the two and used the knife in her hand to block the sword.
“…?! Haruna!”
“No… You can’t, Anri… You might be my friend, but you can’t have Takashi,” she said, a
mixture of fury and worship in her voice.
Nasujima felt his skin crawl. “N… Niekawa…? I thought… you were under my control…”
She was silent for a moment before she answered. As her eyes sparkled like those of a
girl in love, she twisted her body around and curved her mouth as far as it would go.
“Well… isn’t that what you wanted?”
Either she was just acting, or she’d allowed him to possess her with Saika on purpose.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t always be who you wanted me to be… but I felt certain that I
was about to lose you to that sneaking little cat burglar…”
In any case, it was exactly the opposite of what Nasujima actually wanted. He uttered
a pathetic sound somewhere between a yelp and a shriek and turned his back on Anri
and Haruna.
“Oh…! Wait, Takashi!”
Shit! Shit! Goddammit! Why?! Why did this have to happen?! I thought I had the power
now! Why is this happening to me?!
Despite Nasujima’s being a teacher by profession, his mental dictionary was somehow
missing the phrase you reap what you sow. He sped along the city streets, trying to put
distance between himself and his pursuer.
He spotted a van driving in his direction and stepped out into the street, waving his
hands. “Hey! Stop! Let me in!”
Whether it was an ordinary civilian or a gang member, he’d stab them and take them
over as soon as they got out of the driver’s seat. All he had to do was stand in the road
to make them stop…
“Hey, someone just jumped into the middle of the street,” Togusa said, peering through
the broken windshield as he drove. After the shadow descended on the city earlier,
Izumii and his thugs wound up on the ground, tied up by the shadow ropes, but for
some reason, Kadota’s group was left untouched, so they decided to drive off and get
away from the scene.
They had made it a reasonable distance away and were about to call Anri when a man
suddenly stood in the road to block their path. From the back seat, Karisawa cried out,
“Oh! It’s him! The boss of the red-eyes! He said he was gonna do some stuff to Mikado!”
“Huh…?” Kadota grumbled. And then, “Hey… that’s the guy who made the slasher run
me over.”
Something inside of Togusa snapped.
“Ah! Hey, wait, Togusa,” Kadota yelled, but it was too late. Togusa jammed his foot on
the gas.
There was a heavy thump—and Takashi Nasujima’s memory of the night stopped there.
“That’s right… I got hit by that car…”
The return of that memory made Nasujima cognizant of another anomaly. His limbs
were tied down to the corners of a bed with leather restraints.
“Wha…? Urgh…!”
The pain was horrendous all over. It must have been from the impact of the car.
“What’s going on…? What is this place?”
From a corner of the room, a voice said, “Oh… you’re awake, Takashi…”
“Huh…?”
“This is one of the little hideouts Izaya Orihara kept for himself. Don’t worry. No one
is coming here, and no one will hear our lovemaking, no matter how loud it gets…”
“Hwa—?!”
He turned his head and saw Haruna gazing at him with a blissful look in her eyes.
“I wanted to slice up the person who ran you over… but I decided to forgive them. After
all, it’s thanks to them that our bonds are about to become so, so much stronger…”
A knife shone in her hand.
“Aaaaah! Aaaaah!” screamed Nasujima, but Haruna just brushed his cheek with her
fingers, taking it as a reaction to the agony of his injuries. Next to the bed, there was a
locker which she opened up.
“Don’t worry, Takashi… I’ll heal you.”
There were multiple shelves in the locker containing a variety of supplies, from
smaller tools such as a scalpel, scissors, and utility knife to larger ones like a saw,
hatchet, and chain saw. The feature they all shared in common was that they were
bladed.
Haruna turned back to Takashi, carrying a bundle of the tools. “I love you, Takashi,”
she said.
“Ah… aaaah…”
“I’ll make you forget all your pain… with the pain of my own love.”
His screams echoed off the walls of the room—but this was only the beginning of a
vivid and memorable period of time shared only by the two of them.
Ikebukuro
“Yes, so the head is in transporting by the recovery team to the airport. It is to be

scheduled for shipping to the headquarters of Chicago as a specimen of a special human
body,” said the voice over the phone in oddly structured Japanese.
Shingen replied to his wife, Emilia, with annoyance. “You called a recovery team? I
don’t understand how you can be so bad at cooking but so good at performing your
job.”
“I cannot be allowing for you to require extra workings, Shingen.”
“Your sentiment is appreciated. Just stop mixing gunpowder into your cooking
experiments.”
Their strange form of flirting continued for a little while longer before Shingen finally
ended the call and spoke to the woman in the room with him.
“You heard that. What now, Namie?”
“…I don’t know what you mean.”
She could have strangled him to death right at that moment, but the Russian man with
the watchful eyes behind her would have prevented any attempt. She’d been trying to
recover the head before Seiji could, until Shingen caught her in the attempt and told
her the spiteful news: “Nebula is in possession of the head now.”
Before her irritation could dissipate, Shingen said shamelessly, “Well, regardless of
what you do, your uncle was shocked into a near-vegetative state, so we drew the
message ‘I love severed heads’ with a heart symbol on his forehead in marker, which
at this point has gone past being humorous into just plain sad. We have little interest
left in punishing you, as it happens.”
“…And?”
“From Nebula’s perspective, in fact, you had a longer and deeper fixation on that head
than anyone. Wouldn’t we want your expertise?”
“What? Is this supposed to be a job offer?”
“Really? With as direct as I am being with you, can’t you be certain that this is a
recruitment pitch? Perhaps I was wrong, and you’re actually far stupider than you—
Gu-gu-gu-gwaaah! Stop… stop pressing your thumb against my Adam’s apple! Don’t
make me— Gu-gu-gu-guah…”
Namie continued to attack and harangue him until Egor finally stepped in to stop
her—and by that time, the black shadow that covered the sky had vanished.
From there, the days trickled past.
Seiji’s apartment—several days later
“Are you sure about this?”
“Of course!”
“You make it sound simple, but it’ll cost lots of money and time.”
“I’ll go anywhere that you’re going, Seiji!”
Seiji and Mika were not talking about where to go on their next date this time. They
were discussing the idea of going to school in America.
First, his sister had said she was going over to the United States; then Mika had told
him the head had apparently been taken to Chicago. Immediately, Seiji began to plan
a way to get there using a study abroad program, and thus Mika had joined in the
preparation as if she were obviously welcome.
“But… why did you tell me the head was in Chicago?”

“Huh?”
“I figure if you kept it a secret from me and went on your own, you’d have a better
chance of destroying the head.”
“Because even then, I’d rather be with you!” she said, giving him an utterly transparent
smile.
He muttered, “The thing is… I still love that head.”
“I know!”
It was a conversation they’d had a million times before, except that in this instance
Seiji added, “But while I don’t think of you as a lover… you are kind of like family to
me.”
Mika did not reply to this. Instead, she hugged him tight around the chest. Seiji didn’t
seem bothered by it, either. Their oddball relationship had them pointed together in
the direction of the head.
Both of them knew they were in parallel with each other.
But they continued onward anyway, enjoying the warmth of their mutual proximity.
Tokyo
When her talent agency manager told her the rumor that a suspect in the case of the
serial killer Hollywood had surfaced, Ruri Hijiribe prepared herself, thinking that the
time had finally come.
She’d done it to avenge her parents, but a crime was a crime. This was the time to
atone for what she’d done, and she was ready for it.
The only regret she had was that she’d let the ringleader, Jinnai Yodogiri, get away—
but she was no longer of a mind to kill him.
She would accept whatever happened. The only thing she wanted to do was make sure
that none of it hurt Yuuhei Hanejima.
But as her manager continued to explain the situation, Ruri was left feeling baffled.
“Apparently, Jinnai Yodogiri and his secretary, Kasane Kujiragi, have been listed as
suspects in the serial killings.”
It wasn’t announced publicly, but the police were looking for them as people of
interest, so since Ruri was a former member of Yodogiri’s agency, they might want to
ask her some questions.
That was all her manager had to say about it, so Ruri headed out to make the trip
home, uncertain of anything anymore.
I should talk to Yuuhei Hanejima, she decided and walked into the night streets around
her apartment. Then she noticed a truck approaching in her direction. She moved to
the side of the road to give it room to pass, but then she detected something wrong
with it.
Despite the narrow width of the road, it did not slow down a bit. If anything, it seemed
to be picking up speed, rushing straight at her.
…!
She was a fraction of a second too late in reacting. For an instant, she fell prey to the
obsessive fixation in the madness of the man driving the vehicle.
But Ruri Hijiribe did not know that the man driving the car was a fanatical stalker of
hers—the son of the man she’d killed to avenge her father: Kisuke Adabashi.
“Ha-ha… ha-haaaa… ha-ha-ha-ha! Hya-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaaa-ha-haaa!”
Adabashi had escaped from Izaya’s hideout, dragging his broken leg behind him, and
through sheer tenacity alone, he’d made his way to Ruri’s location, ambushing her
with a truck he stole.
Ruri had superhuman strength, but when faced out of the blue with the delusion of a
man to whom love and destruction were the same thing, she was a moment too late to
escape his aggression.
Just before her body was at the mercy of the mass and force of sheer violence, the
owner of a strength beyond hers scooped her up, then raced up the front of the
oncoming truck and leaped clear over it to safety.
The next moment, there was a horrendous crash behind them as the truck’s front
twisted and deformed against a light pole. With the sound of the pole creaking and
groaning in the background, Ruri recognized who had picked her up.
“A-are you… Miss Kujiragi…?”
It was Kujiragi, the secretary of that detestable Yodogiri, who had saved her. It was
hard for Ruri to process in the moment; she was utterly taken aback.
“Do you hate me?” asked the woman.
“Wha…?”
“Forgive the suddenness of what I am about to say… I am jealous of you,” Kujiragi

confessed out of nowhere.
Ruri summoned enough presence of mind to ask, “Um… what do you mean?” It was
bafflement and curiosity that rose to the surface before hatred.
Instead of answering her question, however, Kujiragi continued her announcement.

“So I have decided to steal from you. I will steal the opportunity for the serial killer
Hollywood to atone for her crimes.”
“?!”
“This is now my crime and my punishment to you. I will steal all of Hollywood’s sins.
Now you will be unable to atone for what you have done, and you never will know that
peace,” Kujiragi explained. She dragged the unconscious Adabashi out of the truck,
hauled him over her shoulder, and turned away from Ruri. “And now, with that guilt
eternally plaguing your conscience… do have a good life.”
“What… do you mean? Why… why would you do this?”
“You cannot turn yourself in,” Kujiragi continued, her eyes flashing red, ignoring Ruri.
“I have fingers deep within both the police and the media.”
Ruri flinched at the surreal look of her eyes but stood her ground. “No! Wait! What are
you…?”
But without offering a single firm answer to any of Ruri’s questions, Kujiragi leaped
away with superhuman agility—leaving only one self-deprecating comment.
“I am simply an irredeemable villain… motivated by envy.”
Raira General Hospital—several days later
“I’m terribly sorry about all the trouble Mikado’s put you through, Masaomi.”
“But, Miss… Sonohara, was it? I’m very glad you didn’t wind up getting hurt.”
Two adults were speaking to Masaomi and Anri in gentle tones.
“Please, please… I hope you’ll be good to our Mikado.”
“We’re so grateful to you for being his friends.”
After Masaomi and Anri walked the man and woman back to the hospital room, they
made their way slowly toward the entrance of the building.
“Was that your first time meeting Mikado’s parents?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
“They’re almost shockingly normal, right? But they’re nice. When I was a kid, I remember
them getting us watermelon in the summer when I went to hang out.”
The recollection sent Masaomi further into his childhood memories of Mikado’s
parents.
Mikado had said once that his father was the head of personnel at a printing company.
He remembered the man being rather frazzled but essentially good-natured. His
mother looked exactly the way that Anri imagined an “ordinary mother” would look,
and she was kind enough to be concerned about Anri at a time when her own son was
in critical condition.
Everything that happened was explained as an early-morning hiking expedition that

had turned tragic when they’d encountered a biker-gang turf war, in which Mikado
stepped in to protect them when someone turned a knife on the group.
Because the wound in Masaomi’s leg did not have a bullet inside of it and the shadow
had stopped the bleeding entirely, it was treated like a mystery—an injury with no
clearly discernible cause.
And while Mikado Ryuugamine’s life was stable for the moment, he still had not
opened his eyes.
“Knowing what his parents are like, I can’t help but feel like the reason Mikado turned
out this way isn’t because of his home life… but that it was all my fault.”
“No, that’s not…,” Anri said, trying to comfort Masaomi, but she was interrupted by
another boy who passed the two.
“Don’t be so self-absorbed.”
“?”
Masaomi glanced over and got a good look at who had said that.
“You’re exaggerating how much influence you have over Mr. Mikado.”
“Kuronuma…,” Anri mumbled.
Masaomi gasped, recalling where he’d seen the boy before, and glared at him. “Aoba
Kuronuma… What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m not going to start a fight with you in a hospital. Whether you believe me or not,
I’m just here to visit Mr. Mikado. Am I not allowed to do that?”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve…,” Masaomi growled, trying to keep himself from punching
him. “What’s wrong… you haven’t gotten him involved in enough shit already?”
Aoba sighed. “Oh no. And a very scary man already came and menaced me about that.
We’ve largely accomplished what we set out to do, so I have no reason to force Mr.
Mikado to do anything anymore.”
“What you set out to…?”
“As we figured, all the uproar succeeded at getting the Dollars recognized as a
dangerous, malicious group. All the ordinary folks freaked out and stopped associating
with the group, and the co-webmaster named Tsukumoya deleted all the Dollars-
related sites, so at this point, the name simply lives on as its own entity.”
“…And in the meantime, you Blue Squares get to walk free. After all, that was the
Dollars’ work,” Masaomi spat.
Aoba smirked and shook his head. “The truth is, I wanted to swim with Mr. Mikado.
The fish tank got a lot bigger, and the visibility improved with it.”
“Hey…”
“But I don’t know if things are going to work out that well anyway. I’ve certainly
attracted Chikage Rokujou’s attention, for one thing… And from what I hear, Libei Ying,
the boss of Dragon Zombie, is back in Japan. And your least favorite person, Ran
Izumii, is still up to something, so there’s no resting easy for us. Not to mention the
Yellow Scarves.” Aoba shrugged.
Masaomi glared at him and declared, “If you try to drag Mikado into any more shit or
use what he did as leverage to screw him over, I’m going to destroy you guys for good.”
“I’ll be careful.” Aoba sighed. Lastly, he gave Anri and Masaomi one true little smile.
“And just so you don’t get the wrong idea… I really do have great respect for him.”
Once Aoba had moved on to Mikado’s hospital room, Masaomi spat, “Be careful, Anri.
You go to school with him, right?”
“Yes, but… I was mostly surprised that he seemed different from usual…”
She’d heard about the younger boy’s true nature, but actually seeing it in person for
the first time had left Anri a bit shaken.
Masaomi decided to get back to the topic at hand. “Hey… what’ll you say to Mikado
when he wakes up?”
“Well…”
There was no sign of that actually happening yet, but they had faith. They knew he
would regain consciousness. And that was why it would be important for them to
know what to say when he did.
After a bit of thinking, both Masaomi and Anri arrived at the same answer.
When they walked out of the hospital entrance, Saki was waiting.
“Oh, you’re here?”
“Yep. I didn’t want to intrude on the three of you and your private time,” she said with
a gentle smile.
Masaomi rolled his eyes. “Don’t get all weird on me. You’re going to make it hard for
me to introduce him to you once he does wake up.”
Anri listened to Saki and Masaomi talk with a grin on her face but paused when she
realized that someone she recognized was approaching from the front gate of the
hospital. In fact, though she had no idea, it was the same “very scary man” whom Aoba
had just been talking about.
“Yo, Anri.”
“Mr. Akabayashi? Why are you here?”

Masaomi was wary of Akabayashi, perhaps sensing that he was no ordinary civilian—
but after a brief introduction from Anri, he and Saki left, looking rather relieved to be
going. Once they were gone, Akabayashi said, “I just wanted to give my thanks to the
kid who risked his life to save yours. Is he still under?”
“Yes…”
“Ah. That’s too bad,” he said, shrugging. In his head, he replayed the negotiations he’d
had with Aozaki a few nights earlier.
Aozaki didn’t want to give up on his plans for Mikado and the Dollars, so Akabayashi
had made a suggestion:
“I know what kind of business we’re in. I’m not asking for mercy or obligation in lettin’
the kids go.”
In fact, it was less of a suggestion that he had for Aozaki than a simple deal.
“I’ll give you a part of what I’m dealing in now… Nothin’ fancy, merely a chunk. Would
you consider withdrawing from this matter in exchange for that?”
Aozaki glared at him with surprise and suspicion, but once he understood that
Akabayashi was serious, he thought it over and eventually accepted.
“You really have gone soft. A part of me was actually hopin’ we might finally settle this
score, once and for all.”
But Akabayashi snorted and grinned in his self-deprecating way.
“Just the opposite. I ain’t senile enough that I’d put the burden of us killin’ each other on
some kid’s back. It’s a grown-up’s duty to see that a child gets back to safety when he’s
in danger of losing his way, that’s all.”
Then he shrugged and added one last wry sentiment.
“Except I don’t pull him back with me—I just push him to where he ought to be.”
“By the way, I was hopin’ to ask you something again, Anri.”
“What is it?” she replied.
Akabayashi paused a moment. “Do you love this Mikado Ryuugamine kid?”
“…!”
Her eyes went round, but after a moment, she nodded firmly. “I’m not entirely certain
myself… but I think maybe I do.”
“And that’s… your opinion? Not influenced by anything else?”
“Huh…?”
She wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but then she gasped.
Akabayashi knew her mother. Maybe he knew about Saika, too.
But rather than follow up on that suspicion, Anri firmly told him, “Yes, mine… That’s
my feeling.”
“All right, then. I’ve got nothing more to worry about.” Akabayashi said not another
word hinting at the presence of Saika. He rapped his walking stick with a satisfied
smile. “Enjoy your youth while you’ve got it.”
And reflecting on his past, he spoke his own unvarnished truth.
“I never had the chance myself.”
Several weeks later
“Goodness, look how deep into autumn we are,” murmured Karisawa as sunlight
streamed into the van.
“…It’s the middle of goddamn summer,” Kadota snapped, now healed up and out of the
hospital for good.
Karisawa and Yumasaki protested against this. “What do you mean, Dotachin? Hot and
cold weather mean nothing to the indoor types!”
“That’s right! Obviously, the only real indicator of autumn is when that season of
anime begins!”
Togusa was finally in a better mood these days, now that the windshield and everything
else in the van had been repaired. “You guys are indoor types? The ones who hitch
rides in my car to get to Animate all the time?”
“Oh, by the way,” Karisawa said, completely ignoring that comment, “I heard that Ruri
Hijiribe’s stalker finally got arrested.”
“Yep. The bastard’s name is Kisuke Adabashi. I can hardly even believe that he was
trying to run her over with a truck! Apparently, a passing fan dragged him out of the
vehicle, beat the shit out of him, and left him half-dead in front of the station.”
“Left him?”
“I mean, what they did is still assault. No point in getting yourself arrested for it,”
Togusa said. His smooth manner suddenly turned feral as his eyes gleamed with
murder. “But if it was me, I wouldn’t have turned the guy in at all. I’d grind him into
meat.”
Kadota sighed. “And here we are, back to the usual.”
He watched the scenery of the city trickle by through the windshield and found a smile
naturally coming to his lips.
“But I guess I kinda like this vibe.”
Outside of Rakuei Gym
As the van carrying Kadota and his friends passed by the gym, a few girls and one adult
woman popped out of the door.
“You did great today, Akane! You beat a boy two years older than you! It’s the arrival
of a promising future star! There’s a new heroine in the world of wooden-staff
combat!” chattered Mairu Orihara.
“N-no, I just got lucky,” stammered Akane Awakusu, her face flushed.
Kururi softly rubbed the girl’s head. “…Fortune… Momentum…” [Luck is also a part of
skill.]
“Y-you’re embarrassing me,” Akane insisted, shaking her head.
Then the assistant instructor who attended to the three of them approached. “I
wouldn’t say lucky; that was the kid’s fault,” said Mikage Sharaku. “He got lazy against
a female opponent and earned what was coming to him. But… you get passing marks
for taking advantage of the opportunity he presented.”
Then she addressed her newest apprentice directly. “Now, Akane, you’ve joined the
gym at a young age, and you take your practice very seriously… but what is it you
intend to do with this skill?”
“…There’s a man I have to beat…”
“Ooh. A bully in your class, I’m guessing?”
Akane shook her head and said, in a tiny voice, “Sh… Shizuo Heiwajima.”
Mikage’s face went slack for a moment, and then she burst into laughter.
“Ha-ha-ha! That’s perfect! You couldn’t ask for a bigger goal!”
When Akane’s face went even redder and she stared at the ground, Mairu and Kururi
stood up for her.
“Hey, you shouldn’t laugh at her, Mikage!”
“…Awful…” [The poor thing.]
“Oh! Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

The grown woman thought about the man who had challenged that monster single-
handedly and then vanished from the city. She murmured wistfully, “I can make you
stronger. Strong enough to defeat that monster? I don’t know… but I’d sure love to see
that for myself.”
Inside Russia Sushi
“Kchoo!”
A muffled sneeze echoed off the walls of Russia Sushi.
“Oh, Shizuo, you catch cold? That happen when you don’t get nutrition. When eat our
sushi, sick children become healthy children. Fish children are roe; chicken children
are eggs. You eat all the children, feel better!”
“Way to make me lose my appetite,” Tom grumbled to Simon. He turned to Shizuo. “You
all right? It’s about that time of year that everyone gets sick.”
“Oh… I’m sure it’s just someone spreading a rumor about me. You know how that
superstition goes.”
“Ah… Maybe it’s Vorona, telling her dad and his buddies all about your heroic exploits.”
“Don’t tease me about that… I didn’t do anything that anyone would call heroic,” Shizuo
muttered, head downcast.
Just the other day, Vorona had gone with an acquaintance she called Slon back to
Russia. She claimed it was something about facing her father and her past self, but
Shizuo didn’t pry into it at all. When he looked into her eyes, he saw a special kind of
resolve there and knew that it wasn’t his place to intrude upon her struggle.
Still, he did have some parting words.
“I’m not gonna ask for details… but you are an important coworker of mine. I’m your
senior here, so if you ever need help, I’ve got an ear to listen.”
Vorona grinned at that, then admitted, “If the possibility for me to visit this city again is
approved… I will desire a battle upon our reunion.”
Shizuo was a bit nonplussed by the use of the word battle. But she continued, “I wish
to speak with you in direct terms, at risk of my very life… To experience the joy of existing
in this world is my desire.”
Denis sensed the feelings that were running through Shizuo as he recalled that
conversation.
“Don’t worry about her,” he said. “Her old man acts cruel and stubborn, but he’s much
more compassionate than you’d think. Once she finds the right timing, she’ll be back
here to visit.”
Shizuo admitted, as much to himself as to Denis, “The truth is, it’s thanks to her that I
can act like a person at all… And I feel bad that I never got to thank her for that…”
Simon piped up. “Shizuo is genuine human being. We guarantee it. Genuine, sunshine,
coastline, gold mine. We offer all the best fish, no fakes. Moonfish, negitoro, halibut,
mahi-mahi nigiri, conger, sea snake, everything good, make you happy, make you full.”
He was clearly just reading the names of the sushi off the list on the wall, but before
Shizuo or Tom could reply, a peculiar sound reached their ears.
Qrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
It appeared to be coming from the expressway between Russia Sushi and Sunshine
City—an eerie engine sound that resembled a horse’s whinny. Shizuo, Tom, Denis,
Simon, and even the other employees and customers grinned a little.
As if they felt an irreplaceable measure of reliable familiarity in the urban legend, that
absolutely abnormal being, still around and wandering the city in broad daylight.
Tokyo
A motorcycle without a headlight stopped on the side of the road.
“You should be all right after coming this far,” Celty typed into her PDA. Seeing the
message from the back seat of the motorcycle, Shinra gave her a big smile.
“Thanks for the huge help, Celty. My broken leg isn’t fully healed yet, so I wouldn’t have
been able to get away on my own.”
“I can’t begin to imagine what you did to get both the Chinese mafia and the Asuki-gumi
chasing after you,” she typed, exasperated.
Shinra gleefully answered, “The vicissitudes of life are woven of fortune, good or ill.
Sadness and gladness succeed each other. To have the pleasure, you must endure the
pain. There doesn’t need to be an answer to explain days like this.”
“I feel like the only thing you’d ever weave is disaster…”
“Whatever do you mean?! Just going on a drive with you like this is the greatest bliss I
could possibly hope to grab, Celty. And I say that because what I’m grabbing is your
body, eh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-helb-grbl-guh!”
She used her shadow to clamp down on his face and typed out, “Then you’ll need to
suffer to balance things out.”
It was just like always—silly, idle flirting.
When they were done, and Shinra was free of his shadow shackles, he said to her
seriously, “Hey, Celty.”
“What?”
“Tell me the truth. Do you still have the memories of your head now?”
“Why would you ask this?”
Shinra hadn’t touched upon the matter ever since the night in question. Part of that
was because his injuries had festered and his broken bones had come loose again, but
even after he had recovered somewhat, Shinra still hadn’t asked about Celty’s
memories.
He must have decided that this was the right moment and summoned up the
determination to go ahead with it.
“It’s not like when it got severed while you were asleep. If it happened when you were
wide awake, though…”
“That doesn’t actually matter,” she typed out before he had even finished asking the
question. She wasn’t trying to shut him up to hide the truth. She was putting her
honest feelings into each word and relating them directly to him.
“I’ll always be with you.”
“…”
“If you can sense a person’s feelings that accurately, don’t embarrass me by forcing me
to type this out, you jerk.”
“…Celty!”
Out of an abundance of emotion, he clutched her around the midriff from behind. She
hastily sent out shadows to pry him loose.
“Control yourself, you idiot! We’re in public,” she typed, her fingers pausing partway—
she’d spotted a familiar face in the process of looking around.
“Yo.”
It was a traffic officer on a motorcycle, grinning at her.
“Puttin’ on quite a show, huh, monster?”
“Um, this isn’t—”
“I hate to ruin your blissful display… but are you aware that this road, upon which you
are engaging in a public display of affection, does not allow parking?”
The officer, Kuzuhara, was no longer smiling now. More engines roared all around
them, and many more white police motorcycles appeared.
Shinra timidly asked her, “Um… what’s going on here, Celty?”

“Shinra.”
“What?”
“Don’t die.”
Before he could so much as emit a questioning peep, Celty’s shadows were spreading
around them, seeking a rapid escape. Shinra nearly passed out from the phenomenal
roller-coaster Gs he pulled, strapped to her back, as she raced away.
She was a type of fairy commonly known as a dullahan—found from Scotland to

carriage called a Coiste Bodhar that was pulled by a headless horse, and approached
the homes of the soon to die. Anyone foolish enough to open the door was drenched
with a basinful of blood. Thus, the dullahan, like the banshee, made its name as a
herald of ill fortune throughout European folklore.
But that was all in the past.
Now she was a living urban legend and a woman leading a happy life in love with a
man named Shinra Kishitani.
And so wishing and hoping that this happiness would continue indefinitely…
…the living legend spent another day racing through the city.
Another day, another month
How much time had passed?

The boy woke from long dreams of darkness and opened eyes fuzzy with sleep.
The light was blinding, his vision still unclear.
When he craned his neck, he heard a nurse speaking with alarm.
“Mr. Ryuugamine opened his eyes…
“Call the parents at once…”
Then he thought he heard voices calling his name.
“Mikado!” “Mikado!”
A boy and a girl. Familiar, fond voices.
“…A… auh…”
He couldn’t speak words; his tongue felt stiff and clumsy.
Over agonizing moments, he finally gained enough control to make himself understood.
“…Masaomi…? Sono… hara…?”
They were practically grunts—just exhaled air. But the boy and girl understood what
he said, and they squeezed his hands tight.
“Welcome back, Mikado.”
“It’s good to see you again.”
Through vision hazy with blinding light, he sensed their voices—and before he could
even process what this meant, he was aware that tears were running down his face.
They never stopped.
Whether ordinary times or extraordinary, he sensed that behind their words was what
he always wanted.
The boy’s tears kept falling.
A story of twisted love.
With the whinnying of an urban legend,
or with a boy’s tears,
or with a return to normalcy,
or with the disappearance of a mastermind,
or with the premonition of a new story—
this story of twisted love now comes to a close.
For their love is no longer twisted in the least.

Mikado Ryuugamine
Masaomi Kida
Anri Sonohara
Izaya Orihara
Shizuo Heiwajima
Celty Sturluson
Shinra Kishitani
Kyouhei Kadota
Walker Yumasaki
Erika Karisawa
Saburo Togusa
Mika Harima
Seiji Yagiri
Namie Yagiri
Aoba Kuronuma
Chikage Rokujou
Saki Mikajima
Vorona
Mikage Sharaku
Kasane Kujiragi
Durarara!!—The End
©2014 Ryohgo Narita
And that is the end of Durarara!! as the story of the Dollars and Yellow Scarves.
It’s been a very long journey.
My original plan, starting with the fourth volume, was to do a story set two years after
the third volume, without Mikado’s group, and based around a completely different
plot kernel—but instead, it turned out to be a massive thirteen-volume epic centered
around the trio of teenagers.
The story of Mikado Ryuugamine, Masaomi Kida, and Anri Sonohara will reach an end
here, but I hope that you will imagine them on the other side of this story, making new
connections and weaving a new tale.
Incidentally, while I did not touch upon the past of Kine and Mikage Sharaku very
much, I was going to write about that in a book that was scheduled to be published
last year, except that certain publishing conditions did not line up for it to come to
fruition. Please wait for that.
Now, in the process of getting my mind out of Durarara!! mode, I had a meeting with
my editor, discussing whether to move next to Vamp!, or Baccano! 1935, or maybe
5656! Two, or Vamp! or Hariyama-san, or a new series, or Vamp!, or…
This is how that conversation went.
Me: “As for my next plans…”
Editor: “About that. April 2014 is the tenth anniversary of Durarara!!”
Me: “Right.”
Editor: “So let’s do Durarara!! next, as a ten-year memorial project.”
Me: “Right…?… What?! Wait, but I just finished wrapping it up, at least for now… and
it’s Vamp’s tenth anniversary, too…”
Editor: “Well, if this is the end of Part One, we should do another one now for the
anniversary, to let the fans know that Part Two is going to keep the gravy train rolling!”
Me: “I… I see… I didn’t think of it that way…”
So in the coming spring, I’ll be starting up Durarara!! SH, the continuation of the series.
This is the story I initially wanted to write starting in Volume 4, a depiction of the
ordinary life of Ikebukuro two years after the Yellow Scarves incident in Volume 3. I
would love it if you’d follow along with me!
And as for what the SH stands for, I intend to make that clear within the story and my
afterword, so you’ll have to check it out to find the answer.
And in coordination with this, there will be all kinds of things to announce and
promote on the tenth anniversary ahead. I hope that you all enjoy Durarara!! Year!
First of all, there are new Durarara!! comic adaptations coming out in the pages of the
Sylph and Dengeki Maoh magazines!
These will be an adaptation of the PSP game Durarara!! 3way Standoff—Alley— by

Izuko Fujiya and a chibi-style spin-off called Minidura by Yoko Umezu!
There’s also Akiyo Satorigi’s Durarara!! Yellow Scarves Arc, covering the events of the
main story, running in G Fantasy!
Also, for the Blu-ray release of Suzuhito Yasuda’s own Yozakura Quartet series, we
have a special limited-edition bonus: a collaboration manga of Yozakura Quartet and
Durarara!! I love doing collabs like this and can’t wait to see the finished product!
And in even more news, in Sega and Dengeki’s crossover fighting game Dengeki Bunko:
Fighting Climax, Shizuo Heiwajima will be appearing as a playable character, with
Celty as a support character! He’s got some extreme stats as a fighter, so if you have
the chance to play, try him out and rage to your heart’s content!
And from what I hear, there are other tenth-anniversary plans I still don’t even know
about yet. We’ll be saving some of those for the release of Durarara!! SH and some
future Dengeki events, so keep your eyes peeled!
And lastly, I must deliver my acknowledgments.
To my editor, Papio, and everyone at ASCII Media Works and the printers, I am so sorry
for all the trouble I’ve caused throughout the entirety of this first part of the series!
I am full of gratitude to all the readers who have stuck with me for nearly ten years to
read this story about a rather unique take on the district of Ikebukuro in Tokyo.
And I am overflowing with thanks for my illustrator, Suzuhito Yasuda, and all the other
people involved in making the anime, manga, and games, for sharing the world of
Durarara!! with me and helping to expand it further than I could ever do on my own.
In the process of writing about a sprawling cast of characters interacting on the streets
of Ikebukuro, I myself became associated with so many wonderful people in return,
and it is this that is my greatest reward from the series.
I am grateful to my friends, acquaintances, and family, for all their emotional support.
And though I said this already, a true thank-you to all the people who enjoyed and
supported the story of the Dollars, Saika, the Yellow Scarves, and the Headless Rider,
as well as the three high schoolers and the many, many characters surrounding them!
I hope that we will meet again soon.
December 2013—Ryohgo Narita

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Begin Reading

This is a twisted story.

Chat room (weekend, evening)

Location in Bunkyo Ward, Tokyo (weekday, late night)

The thug was truly trapped now.

<The guy riding the black motorcycle—has no head.>

The thug hesitantly approached the headless body…

<He can totally move around without it.>

<Private Mode> {Um, Setton. I wanted to check something with you.}

Chat room (late night)

National Route 254 (Kawagoe Highway)

Raira Academy was a coed private high school in south Ikebukuro.

Somewhere between Ikebukuro and Shinjuku, in a location outside of the

“Are you all right?”

We rewind the clock.

The Yagiri Pharmaceuticals lab

11:00 p.m., the same day, Ikebukuro

At first, the Dollars were nothing more than a silly idea.

Before they parted, Izaya approached Mikado.

Near Kawagoe Highway, top floor of an apartment building, late night

A black shadow raced down National Route 254.

“Hey, it’s the dullahan.”

Her love was so unbearably creaky,

and while so apparently deep in its fixation—

it was in fact ignorant, foolish, and shallow in the extreme.

But you should love me.

Yes, it’s entirely one-sided.

And don’t you dare think about seppuku.

Her love was so unbearably straight,

so smooth and sharp,

reflecting the figures of those she loved within her body

and tearing everything apart.

—SETTON HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

Oh, she ran away.

—KANRA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

Okay, good night.

—TAROU TANAKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

—THE CHAT ROOM IS CURRENTLY EMPTY—

—SAIKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

—On a news program:

“Furthermore, a number of similar incidents happened five years ago, and as

—On a different paranormal-related program:

—Headlines from a weekly magazine:

Night, Ikebukuro, late February

Celty was a courier making her home in Ikebukuro.

The slasher of Ikebukuro.

She was the Headless Rider.

Celty Sturluson was not human.

—THE CHAT ROOM IS CURRENTLY EMPTY—

—SAIKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

—SETTON HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

After school, Raira Academy, Ikebukuro

“What’s up, Sonohara? You haven’t left yet?”

“What’s up, Mr. Nasujima? You harassin’ her or something?”

“Heh-heh-heh. So now I have some of the questions on the final exam. I

“You know…you really should be careful, Anri.”

“Why don’t you say some…”

—SETTON HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

«Then, I suppose we can’t meet up today.»

—THE CHAT ROOM IS CURRENTLY EMPTY—

—SAIKA HAS ENTERED THE CHAT—

—SAIKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—

—THE CHAT ROOM IS CURRENTLY EMPTY—

I just wanted to know.