Chapter 2

Act 1 Corpse Reviver 1 “Waooon! Hi, everywaon, Iroha Waon here! “Thanks for tuning in again today. Such nice weather we’ve had these last few days, huh? We’re at almost 32 degrees Celsius out here! Man, that’s hot. Remember to stay hydrated! “…But seriously, it’s too hot to be singing and dancing, so today we’re having lunch indoors! I’m gonna try my hand at some Japanese cuisine! “You aren’t going to believe this, but I’m actually really good at cooking! No, no, seriously. I’m not lying! Look, you’ll see. I’ll be making a meat-and-potato dish called nikujaga today!” Between the abandoned buildings on the east bank of the Edo River, there was a shady-looking store of mysterious imported goods. A small figure sat at the back of the shop. It was an old Mexican man wearing gaudy clothing. He puffed on a half-finished cigar as he flipped through the faded pages of a manga, a Japanese comic book magazine. “I’m back, Ed.” Yahiro entered the store and threw a package on the counter before the manager. It was a box made of paulownia wood, thin and as long as he was tall. “You’re alone, Yahiro? What about the bodyguards the client sent with you?” Eduardo Valenzuela kept the manga open as he shot Yahiro an irritated glance. “Bodyguards? Hmph, yeah, like they’d ever look out for me,” he answered frankly. Yahiro produced a couple of silver metal plates from his pocket. Stainless-steel dog tags. He had taken them from the necks of the mercenaries who had escorted him. “Dead, huh?” Ed stated impassively. It was nothing out of the ordinary for people to die after entering the 23 Wards. Even less unexpected in this case, considering the mercenaries weren’t locals. What was shocking was Yahiro’s survival even after years of repeated visits to this danger zone. “A Moujuu attacked us. Huge black dog. It was near the Senju police station.” “I see.” Ed took note of it and posted it on the map on the wall. Reliable intel on Moujuu came at a high price—survival depended on it. This information was much more valuable to Ed than the details of the mercenaries’ deaths. “So what about our target?” “It’s right here. Had a hard time finding it, though—it wasn’t just lying around at a museum or something.” Yahiro pointed at the box. Ed opened the lid without much care and found a sword sling containing a single katana. An uchigatana-koshirae. A relic that truly belonged in a museum. “Kuyo Masakane, one of the National Treasures… Looks like the real thing.” Ed smiled in satisfaction after reading the note on the bottom of the box. The calligraphy brushstrokes on it looked like nothing but hieroglyphs to Yahiro. “How can you even read that? I’m Japanese, and I have no idea what it says.” “How else do you expect me to be in the art business?” “Yeah. Right. The art business.” Yahiro chuckled at Ed’s boasting. Ed’s trade was in getting valuable art pieces from the ruins of Tokyo and selling them off to foreign aesthetes. It was no noble business to be proud of. It was just junk collection, in reality. Looting. “You complaining?” “No, so long as you pay me.” Yahiro shook his head with an awkward smile. Yahiro’s job was to go into the 23 Wards and salvage the art pieces Ed asked for. He was essentially a looting subcontractor. He felt no guilt about selling national artwork to foreigners. The country was done for anyway; trying to keep the treasure there was silly. “Yeah, your compensation. Of course I’ll pay.” Ed got a roll of banknotes from the drawer and tossed it over to Yahiro. The dirty dollar bills were many in number, but the total sum wasn’t much. Barely $10,000. No need to even count them. “Wasn’t this for fifty grand?” “Minus the brokerage fee.” Ed felt no shame as he replied to Yahiro’s protest. “Negotiating with the client. Appraisal of the goods. It all comes at a cost. Intel’s never free.” “Still, why do you get a bigger piece of the pie? You’re just sitting there reading some stupid manga.” “You call this stupid? No, no. Manga sells for a decent price to the right clients. Look, this one’s got the Solomon’s Lore one-shot from before it got serialized.” “I don’t care about that. And first of all, I got that magazine, risking my life in the 23 Wards,” Yahiro said in a low voice. Ed softly exhaled the smoke and grinned. “If you’ve got a problem, then go find your next client elsewhere. Let’s see where you find someone willing to employ a Japanese person.” There came a metallic crunching sound from Yahiro’s hand; his grip had crushed the steel dog tags. He slammed them on the counter. “Yikes.” Ed shrugged with an exaggerated motion. “You want money? How about you ask a triad for a job? The Chiva Cartel’s looking for bodyguards. I’m sure you’d make a killing there.” “Killing is what I don’t wanna do. Unless you’re the target, I guess,” Yahiro grumbled. Ed sighed. “What a bunch of ingrates the Japanese are.” “I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re ripping me off?” Yahiro grabbed the dollar roll in an outrage, then hurled it in his pouch as is. “…The private military companies of the Kanto area are gathering their resources. That’s why the cartel bunch is so on edge. Looks like something big’s gonna happen soon in the 23 Wards,” Ed told him before he could storm out of the shop. Yahiro stopped and turned back. “Something big?” “I don’t know what exactly. But I might tell you if you leave the money here.” “You wish. This has nothing to do with me.” “I sure hope so. Rumor says they’re looking for salvagers going in and out of the 23 Wards. Take care, buddy,” he said indifferently before going back to reading the manga. PMCs looking for salvagers… Ed’s warning was worth keeping in mind. Still, he didn’t want to thank him. Ed had basically discounted the cost of the intel before paying him. Though he guessed he was a relatively decent guy, being willing to work with a Japanese and whatnot. Go to hell, old fart, he thought before leaving the store behind. 2 They say it all started with one meteorite. It was a small rock, barely more than 365 meters in diameter. They called the asteroid Vritra. The astronomers were too optimistic. Vritra, the Demonic Dragon, changed course erratically and entered the atmosphere, broke into a million pieces, and rained down over the Japanese archipelago. The shock of the meteorite’s impact caused an earthquake of magnitude 9.1. A kilometers-long crater formed at the core of the fall, wreaking destruction on the entire nation of Japan. And the tragedy did not end there. The Earth’s crust became unstable due to the impact, triggering several large-scale volcanic eruptions, including Mount Fuji. The pyroclastic flow, rocks, and volcanic ash devastated transportation networks across the country. Afterward, fierce monsters that defied the known laws of biology started appearing left and right. Strange life-forms that looked like creatures from myth and folktales. They were spectral beasts named Moujuu. They attacked people indiscriminately. Devoured them. Demolished the cities. Hunting rifles and shotguns were useless against the Moujuu. The police could do nothing. Even the JSDF was powerless. The Japanese government was already in chaos after the meteorite; they offered no salvation. Half the citizens of Japan died one week after the Moujuu appeared. The international community did not sit idly on their thumbs as tragedy unfolded. Donations and relief supplies were sent from all around the world, and auxiliary troops were to be deployed imminently. The news brought courage to the Japanese people. The nation would recover from this disaster, as they had done so many times in the past. No matter how long it took, this land would know peace once more. Unfounded hope budded within the hearts of the people. It was then that the situation took another turn. Out of the blue, leaders around the world, heads of state as well as religious figures, gave out the same order, as though in conspiracy. “Kill the Japanese people.” “Annihilate them.” So began the Japanese Hunt. The J-nocide. A bloody chain reaction spread the world over. Armies invaded Japan without hesitation. There were many justifications for the J-nocide. The UN stated that these were desperate measures to prevent a pandemic from a virus found on the meteorite. Some nations proclaimed the Japanese were planning large-scale acts of terrorism due to their critical situation. Many religious figures declared Japan a dirty den of spirits—the Whore of Babylon itself, as described in the Book of Revelation. The theory that held the most influence among them stated that the Moujuu were biological weapons developed in secret by the Japanese government. There were people who questioned the statements, but their objections were dismissed. In the end, pandemonium won out, and the world hated, feared, and killed the Japanese. The country of Japan soon collapsed in the furor, and the few Japanese people abroad were also violently, mercilessly exterminated one by one. Once the natural disasters brought about by the meteorite fall began to wane, the J-nocide came to an end. Half a year had gone by since the fall of Vritra. In that short time, more than 126 million people died. And the Japanese went extinct. 3 “Waooon! Hi, everywaon, Iroha Waon here! “Thanks for tuning in today. Now, dear viewers, have you already noticed? I got a new outfit! Just look at this! Woo-wee! “As you might be able to tell, this outfit’s a bit more daring than the last. Geez, I feel practically naked! But hey, this is what summer’s all about! “You see, the last outfit was getting a little tight around the arms; it felt like it’d burst any minute now… N-no, hey! I’m not getting fat! I’m just growing, okay?!” Yahiro crossed the railway bridge of the Joban Line over the Edo River on foot, entering the quarantine zone. His base was in the ruins of the private university near the Kanamachi Station. More than thirty nations had deployed armies to Japan for the J-nocide. Eight of them still remained, ruling over parts of Japan. However, since the conquered Japanese had died out, population density saw a sharp drop. The occupying armies stayed in the main ports and cities. Most of the Japanese archipelago was neglected, without government—turned into a lawless land full of international criminals and terrorists. But there was one place into which none of them dared step foot. The 23 Wards—the metropolitan area of Tokyo. The heart of Japan’s politics and economy. The former capital was quarantined for a simple reason: Many, many more Moujuu appeared there compared to elsewhere. And the beasts became fiercer and more dangerous the closer you got to the center of the city. This was why so many valuable pieces of art and other artifacts remained within the buildings of the city, even four years after the J-nocide. It was the Moujuu’s home, untamed by human hands. Which was why Yahiro spent the nights there. No burglar would approach him so long as he remained within the 23 Wards. What if a Moujuu attacked? Then he would just have to kill it. It wasn’t so easy when the opponent was a fellow human. The country had fallen. There was no one left to punish him for the crime of murder. Still, he felt like he would lose his last anchor as a proud Japanese were he to cross that line. He knew it was mere sentimentality. Complacency. But he felt it wasn’t fair for him, who was unable to die, to take another’s life. So he refused to kill people. He did so as to not forget his Japanese roots—his human roots. “Though I guess if you really get down to it, I shouldn’t be trespassing and thieving, either.” Forgive me for breaking and entering into an abandoned school, okay? It didn’t feel right to be all alone in the big classrooms, so Yahiro mostly used the tiny labs. He threw his stuff on the sofa he used as a bed and grabbed the cans, chocolates, and mineral water he had in stock for dinner. Ed could probably get him some beef, fish, or even freshly baked bread, but he dared not ask him for food. He didn’t even want to imagine how much he would try to get out of him for it. Yahiro had chosen this campus as a home because the solar-power station of the building still worked. It wasn’t on full capacity, since most of the solar panels were destroyed, but it produced more power than he could use by himself. He grabbed the modded smartphone he left charging during the day and sneaked into the army’s network. He hadn’t always been a hacking wizard, but being left all alone in that city, he’d had ample time to learn. He used a specialized tool to get into the network and, through the server of the Canadian Army up in northern Kanto, he connected to a foreign video-streaming site. He soon found the channel he was looking for. A pretty girl wearing a wig with animal ears showed up on his phone’s screen. “Waooon! Hi, everywaon, Iroha Waon here! “Thanks for tuning in today. Sure is chilly at night, huh? And damn, those noisy cicadas! Can you hear me, everyone? Hello?!” Yahiro’s face softened up once he heard her usual cheery greeting. She had silver hair and green eyes. Wore a bizarre outfit like an anime character. Iroha Waon was an amateur internet streamer. Her videos were mostly about trivial conversation, though she sometimes cooked live or sang and danced. Her videos were not particularly interesting. There was nothing of note about her, beside the pretty face. The topics of conversation she chose were nothing controversial, and her cooking was barely average. Her dancing was surprisingly good, but her singing was dreadful. Her view count was nothing to write home about, either. She got to the three digits only on the rare good day. However, her videos were something special, invaluable to Yahiro for one simple reason: They were in Japanese. Iroha Waon was either Japanese herself or with some deep relation to the culture. She kept on speaking the language of a dead nation. Perhaps only to make herself stand out. That was the most probable reason why. Maybe there was no Iroha Waon; it could be someone else maliciously pretending to be Japanese. But Yahiro did not care. Just hearing that nostalgic sound, the mere idea of another Japanese person beside him being alive out there somewhere, gave him hope. “Tonight we’re having a Q&A session. Let’s look at the first comment! From Yahiron in Tokyo! Thank you for writing all the time!” “—!” Yahiro pumped his fist upon hearing her say his name. Yahiron was his handle. She then read his message: “Yahiron, is it true you live in Tokyo? I mean, I do, too! According to the lore, at least. Would be nice to meet you one day, neighbor… Anyway, let’s hear our first question of the nigh—” Yahiro stared intently at the phone, the screen mere inches from his face, but then he could no longer hear her. A gunshot drowned out the sound coming from the speakers. “…What?” Yahiro looked up, dumbfounded, and immediately grabbed his knife and rushed out of the room. Gunshots kept echoing. They were coming from the courtyard. “Why would anybody be here?!” Moujuu didn’t use guns, obviously. Someone was in this school. Yahiro naturally assumed someone had inadvertently stepped into the 23 Wards and was being attacked by a Moujuu. The intruder deserved it for entering the quarantine area; Yahiro had no reason to save them. But he couldn’t have someone dying inside his own base. The smell of their blood would attract more Moujuu. Yahiro kicked the door open—lock was broken—and rushed out to the courtyard. He immediately stood in place, shocked. “Whoa?!” A body came flying in his direction, passed by right before his eyes, and crashed into the wall. It was a big man wearing a bulletproof vest. He broke the glass window in a hundred pieces and rolled on the floor, drenched in blood. “Hey, Yahiro Narusawa!” Someone called his name as he stood there flabbergasted. It was a young Asian woman. A small girl wearing a sleeveless Chinese blouse. She had black hair with orange highlights in an asymmetric haircut. Looked about Yahiro’s age, so around sixteen. She was dressed extremely lightly for someone inside the 23 Wards and had no real weapon in hand. There was no doubt, however, that it was her who had sent the man in the bulletproof vest flying, using a peculiar martial art move similar to aikido. “Dam…mit…!” The man pointed his submachine gun at the girl. The expression on her face remained the same, and, before the man could pull the trigger, gunshots echoed from somewhere else. The man let out a voiceless scream as his right hand was blown off. It was another girl, with the same exact face as the one with orange highlights, who had shot him. She had the wide eyes of a capricious cat. Handsome, otherworldly features. The two of them looked really similar, even for sisters. In fact, their hairstyles—asymmetrical with one side longer than the other—were the same, only the asymmetrical sides were mirrored. The one differing trait was the color of her highlights: blue. The blue-haired girl held a gun in each hand. She shot each of them once, so quickly she could not have possibly had time to properly aim, but the shots were precise. Two men fell to their deaths, bullets right between their eyebrows. “Rosy, I found him! Yahiro Narusawa.” The orange-haired girl waved at her double. Blue-haired “Rosy” put back the guns on the holsters on her thighs and approached them. She showed no enmity toward Yahiro. “Yahiro Narusawa. You’re him, right? Wow, you’re so young… And that look in your eyes aside, you’ve got a pretty cute face. I smell fun.” The orange-haired girl sniffed him. Yahiro kept a hand on his knife, ready to unsheathe at any moment, as he stared back at her in silence. He thought hard. What were they doing there? Why did they know his name? What did they want? Were they on his side or not? “Sorry for the intrusion, Yahiro Narusawa,” said the blue-haired girl. Despite the identical faces, the impression he got from their eyes was quite the opposite. The orange-haired girl looked like a curious cat, while the blue-haired girl seemed entirely emotionless. “Right… Who are these guys?” he asked. “Agents hired by some private military company. They were following us. I suppose they were trying to stop us from getting in contact with you.” “Why would a PMC do that…?” he said with a frown. Ed’s warning came to mind.