Chapter 65

“Well, he might act all happy-go-lucky and clueless, but he’s a natural at his job. And if I may speak freely, Superintendent, I really don’t think you have a chance at catching him.” Hitsuma stared blankly at Tadashima, then gave him a forced smile. “Oh?” he said. “You seem to be quite a fan of his, Inspector.” Tadashima’s spine shivered as Hitsuma clapped his hands to attract the attention of the nearby investigators. “All right, everyone, I want us to establish a perimeter at a 25-kilometer radius around the area before we let the fugitive get away from us. The escapee’s name is Rentaro Satomi; average size, average build. He’s a student and former Promoter at a civilian security agency. I’ll get photos out to everyone. Repeat: Rentaro Satomi, fugitive at large.” He clapped one more time, signaling them to start their work. The investigators, presumably his own underlings, sprang into action and dispersed. Tadashima dolefully stared at Hitsuma’s back. “So, Superintendent, what are you gonna do next?” he asked. “Rentaro Satomi doesn’t have that much of a social life. It’ll be pretty easy to figure out who he’ll try to contact first. In fact, I know the person myself, so I’ll handle that on a personal basis. Don’t worry, Inspector. I have a feeling you’ll be proven wrong. We’re going to solve this case by the end of the night.” 12 A heavy silence flooded the Tendo Civil Security Agency, the sole tenant on the third floor of the Happy Building. Kisara Tendo, in her usual black school uniform, sat at her wide ebony desk without saying a word. The clock ticking away the seconds sounded abnormally hollow to her ears. In her mind, she pictured the second hand beating against a fully inflated balloon, ready to burst at any minute. Instinctively, it felt like once the hand inevitably popped the balloon, it would all be over for her. It hadn’t been long since someone claiming to be an IISO agent appeared at her door, taking the reluctant Enju and all but dragging her out of the office. He said Rentaro had voluntarily surrendered his civsec license to the Seitenshi, which officially made Enju IISO property. That was just too ridiculous to be true. Kisara had a front-row seat to Rentaro’s behavior around Enju, and if anything, she thought he was a little too attached to her. Even if they knew they were doomed to be pulled apart, there’s no way he’d so readily toss out his civsec license like that. Something else must have happened at the palace. But another voice in her mind wondered about that. “Please don’t come back. I don’t want to see your face again. That’s all there is to it.” Why did he have to be so curt with her? Kisara still couldn’t figure that out, but if that was the moment when Rentaro changed his whole outlook on life, then maybe he really would abandon hope for Enju and obediently hand over the license. She felt her heart throb. It made her sick to her stomach. Enju was gone, Tina was gone, and Rentaro was gone. Why bother running this firm, then…? Just then, her cell phone rang. She used the third movement of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 3 as her ringtone. Reluctantly, she picked it up. “Kisara, it’s me; you gotta help me.” “Satomi?” She jumped out of her seat. Looking at the screen, she saw the call came from a public phone. “Wait, what…what happened to you?!” She could hear the hesitancy in his voice from the other side of the call. “—I don’t have time to explain. Things have changed. I need you to help me.” “Things have changed? What…?” “Listen. First floor café lounge, Magata Plaza Hotel, eight thirty. Can you do that? I’ll tell you everything there.” Kisara glanced at the wall clock. That was only half an hour from now. Rentaro grunted. She could hear police sirens faintly over the connection. “’Kay, see you there, Kisara.” “Whoa, wait a—” The sound of him hanging up seemed to linger in the air for a few seconds. She had no idea what she just experienced. Rentaro couldn’t have been released, on bail or otherwise. His custody period was extended because the prosecutor convinced the court that he might try tampering with evidence. That he contacted her from the outside meant he was out on his own initiative. Kisara couldn’t think of too many legal ways he could’ve done that. “Oh, no…” “Sorry, but I can’t let you go anywhere.” Turning around at the unexpected voice, Kisara was shocked to find a handsome, bespectacled man leaning against the wall by the entrance. “Mr. Hitsuma! Why are you here?” “That was a call from Satomi, wasn’t it?” “N-no.” The harried denial made Hitsuma mournfully shake his head. “I don’t know if you heard yet, but he flipped over the transport vehicle he was in and escaped with a girl we believe is his accomplice.” “His accomplice? …Who?” “I don’t know. We’re investigating.” Hitsuma spread his arms as he approached Kisara, the smell of his pomade flying into her nostrils. “Ms. Tendo,” he said, “as someone in the business of Gastrea extermination, I’m sure you know how important the initial hours of the investigation are in solving a crime. Unfortunately, he’s already gone past a certain point. If you know where he is, would you mind telling me? I still have authority over this, so I can be gentle with him.” “But you…” Hitsuma’s arms were extending out, attempting to embrace her shaking body. Kisara took a step back and pushed Hitsuma’s chest away. He looked at her quizzically, like a hurt puppy. “Do you like him?” “No…I don’t. He’s an idiot, he’s useless as an employee, he’s chronically poor, he treats Miori like she’s some kind of goddess, he pays zero attention to me, he never calls unless I call him first…” Kisara ran out of things to say. She turned away from Hitsuma, head hung low, then felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If he was innocent and wanted to earn justice for himself, he could’ve proved his innocence in a court of law. He might be innocent, for all I know. Maybe it was a false arrest. Maybe the police messed up the investigation. “But even if they did, I can’t really approve of him crashing a police vehicle and sending three innocent men to the hospital. Ms. Tendo, if you really want what’s best for Satomi right now, you know what you should do, right? Tokyo Area’s not that big of a place. He can’t run from us forever. Sooner or later, we’ll find him. But you’re the only one who can keep him from adding any more charges to his record.” “Please don’t come back. I don’t want to see your face again. That’s all there is to it.” Kisara shook her head from shoulder to shoulder. “I just don’t know. I don’t know what Satomi’s thinking, I don’t… I don’t know anything. I did before, but now, I just don’t.” Before she knew it, Kisara felt a hand raising her chin, dragging her face toward Hitsuma’s friendly grin. “Well, you can just leave the rest to me. I promise I won’t treat him badly. Where is he?” Kisara hesitated. Hitsuma decided to keep pushing. “You don’t want to see it all end with an officer shooting him down, do you?” “N-no,” a startled Kisara said. “Okay. So you know what you should do, right, Ms. Tendo? Just think about what’s the best thing you can do for Satomi right now. Take your time.” After excusing himself from the Tendo Civil Security Agency office, Hitsuma went down the stairs and stood in front of the building. The blissfully unconcerned face from before was a thing of the past. He was close to losing his temper, ready to kick the first thing that came into sight—an empty can, a small dog, anything. Hitsuma took out his cell phone and tapped a number in his call history. He didn’t have to wait long. “Hey, how’s the reception on the bug you put in Kisara Tendo’s cell phone?” “Loud and clear. But I’m sure Rentaro Satomi’s moved on from his previous call location. She promised she’d meet him at the café on the first floor of the Magata Plaza Hotel. We’ll have some people there.” “Pfft.” “Something wrong, sir?” “Kisara Tendo… She didn’t disclose anything to me.” “Are you doubting our technology, sir?” The man on the other end of the line didn’t understand what he meant. “Whether she cooperated with you or not, we’ve got all the intel we need—” “—No. Not that. I was testing her. I wanted to see whether she’d testify against Rentaro Satomi or not. But she kept mum. Right up to the end.” “It’s nothing that’s compromising our mission, sir.” “No…it’s not.” Hitsuma shook his head, trying to put his mind back on track. “Do we know where the memory card is yet? What about Hotaru Kouro’s whereabouts?” “Nothing on either front yet.” “This is getting messier than I thought it’d be.” He had a mountain of issues to deal with. The only way to deal with them was to tackle them head-on, one by one. Let’s start with Rentaro Satomi. “I’ll tell the police about this later. We got thirty minutes.” “What are the higher-ups telling you?” “Feh. My father told me that Lady Seitenshi ordered him not to be killed. Maybe the rumors about her having some kind of special feelings for the guy were true after all.” “Well, that sure makes me jealous. What are you planning to do, then? I’m assuming you don’t want him unhurt.” Hitsuma snickered to himself. “Don’t be stupid, Nest. We have no idea how much Suibara told him. I don’t care anymore. Rub him out. We’re using Dark Stalker for this job.” 13 The Magata Plaza Hotel was even more gaudy and ostentatious than what he was picturing. The lounge café, an open-air setup underneath the lobby’s vaulted ceiling, was separated from the rest of the world by a series of connected glass pieces, all in assorted geometric shapes. A combination of recessed lights and a chandelier filled the space with warm orange light, the atmosphere tied together with the calm melodies of classical music. A waiter made his way between the tables, each covered with a prim white tablecloth. Occasionally one would see men in expensive-looking business attire or pastel-colored Oxford shirts, entertaining their lady friends with impassioned discussions about what the Varanium industry would be like in ten years or whatnot. Although it was theoretically open to the public, the café’s customers all seemed to be overnight guests. Perhaps this was a bad time after all, Rentaro thought, as he began to regret the uncharacteristic location he selected. The sight of a nervous-looking young man in a dirt-stained school uniform fidgeting by himself at one of these tables was bound to stand out a fair bit. His mind was a frazzled mess, and not merely because of the cups of coffee he drank just to give his hands something to do. Looking at the clock on the wall, there were less than ten minutes until the appointed hour. He doubted the police could have targeted this hotel before the end of the evening, but looking back, opting for such a public place was hasty thinking on his part. Rentaro was isolated, helpless. The police could figure out where someone like that would attempt to spend the night. He could rough it outdoors for a night or two, but sooner or later, he’d want a roof over his head again. Once he did, the first place they’d scope out would be hotels like these. When the time hit twenty-five minutes after eight, Rentaro decided to ditch the café. He was too worried that something might’ve happened to Kisara. “Are you eating alone?” Rentaro’s face darted up at the voice. A smiling young man was peering down at him. He was about the same size as Rentaro and couldn’t have been much older. The navy-blue stand-up collar on his uniform looked familiar to him. It was from Nukagari High School in District 9, not far from where he lived. The smile seemed friendly enough. For someone like Rentaro, whose facial setup made it seem like he was faking every smile no matter how hard he tried, the warmth behind this one almost made him envious. The mystery kid shook a deck of cards in front of his face. “Care for some blackjack, maybe?” “Uh, no, I…” Before Rentaro could piece together a coherent response, the boy sat down across from him and dealt him two cards from the deck, turning one of them faceup—the king of clubs. Well, Rentaro thought, guess I missed my timing. Better just play a game with him, then shoo him away. He very reluctantly turned the other card. It was an ace of diamonds—and since an ace counts as eleven as long as the total doesn’t exceed twenty-one, this meant his total was twenty-one, a natural blackjack. The boy’s own cards totaled sixteen, so Rentaro won with absolutely no effort on his part. The boy grinned and opened his palms wide. “Congratulations!” he said. “You’re just like what the rumors say, Rentaro Satomi. Guess you really do have the luck of the heavens on your side, huh?” Rentaro’s shoulders twitched. “Why do you know my name?” The boy put the used cards into a separate pile and began setting up a second game. “If you’re looking for Kisara Tendo, she’s not coming,” he said indifferently. Rentaro instinctively began to lift himself from his seat. “And you are…?” The boy ignored the question, eyes on the game as he pointed at the deck—his signal for another hand. This irked Rentaro, but he still sat back down, figuring he wasn’t going to start swinging at him here in public. Picking up the corners of his facedown cards, he saw he had an eighteen—nothing worth taking a further risk on. Then his opponent revealed his cards. Another eighteen. A push. The boy placed his elbows on the table and crossed his arms together, fixing his gaze on Rentaro. “We went through all the trouble of taking care of Suibara and the Public Security guys and pinning the blame on you, but you’re just so stubborn, aren’t you? You keep running on us, so our entire blueprint’s about to fall apart. That’s pretty grave news for us. We’ve already decided on our script—Suibara tried to blackmail you, you killed him out of desperation. It’s a little too late for rewrites.” “So are you—?” “—The New World Creation Project. Nice to meet some of the old alumni. I was built to surpass you.” It was like someone hit the side of his head with a hammer. “That’s crazy…” If Rentaro was pursuing a case that already cost the lives of Suibara and a Public Security officer, he was prepared to deal with not just the police, but other, more nefarious organizations. He didn’t know who was involved with it—he had only a hazy idea of its structure, really—but he was convinced it was far more dangerous than anything the police could do to him. What he wasn’t expecting was for this assassin group to track him down less than two hours after his escape. He would’ve laughed it off at the time, but here it was, all laid out in front of him. The sight of this perfectly composed kid sharing a table with him was an utter shock. He fell silent for a moment. The boy picked up the slack. “My code name is Dark Stalker, but my real one is Yuga Mitsugi. You can call me whichever one you like more. Glad to get to know you. I’ve been assigned to your execution.” “That’s bullshit! The New World Creation Project never got off the ground!” “So what does that make me, then?” Yuga said, the spite becoming clear in his voice. “Some kind of ghost? Satomi, we need you as a sacrifice. Tina Sprout’s going to be executed. Kisara Tendo’s going to be trained to destroy the Tendo family. Enju Aihara’s actually got her next Promoter assigned to her already. He’s a bad seed. A buddy killer. Worse than you’d ever imagine. And once you’re found guilty, the whole picture’s complete.” So everything from the very start… “I’ve been told to ask you this, so I will,” Yuga blithely continued as Rentaro gritted his teeth in anger. “Where is the memory card Suibara gave you?” Rentaro stopped himself from asking What’s that? just in time. He had no memory of Suibara giving him anything like that. But his instincts told him that if his foes had the wrong idea, he needed to find a way to exploit it. “If I give it to you, what’ll you do?” “That’ll be your best way to assure this meeting ends as amicably as possible. It’ll give you the right to shut up and get back in your cage. You’ll get to keep your life.” “That’s a load of crap, and you know it.” Yuga laughed derisively at his conversation partner. “So that’s the end of negotiations?” “We never started negotiating in the first place.” “Well, I suppose that means I’ll have to kill you and strip it from you instead. Which is really stupid of you, you know that? I gave you a chance at survival and everything.” Invisible sparks flew between them. They could have exploded at any time. Rentaro quelled his emotions and analyzed his enemy’s war power. Yuga, calmly seated in front of him, was average in size and height. His physique wasn’t much different from his own. His capabilities, though, were a complete unknown. If he was really part of the enhanced-soldier project, at least part of him had to be cybernetic. If Sumire was correct, in fact, these were the guys who killed Kenji Houbara and Saya Takamura—the New Humanity Creation Project specimens who were completed ahead of Rentaro. People with real experience in the Gastrea War. Losing this battle would mean New Humanity would be forced to completely submit to New World. For the sake of the dead, at least, he couldn’t afford to lose. He made a tight fist beneath the table. “Well, should we get started? Where did you—?” Seizing the first move, he swung his leg and kicked the table upward. The guests around them nervously shouted. Yuga’s surprised expression was soon masked by the table’s circular shape as it knocked itself over. Standing up, Rentaro planted his left foot on the ground, lowered his hips, and kicked the middle of the table with his right leg. From Yuga’s perspective, not only did the table block his field of vision—the obstacle was advancing upon him. There was no way he could dodge it. —That conviction was why the sight of Yuga easily leaping high over the table and advancing upon his vision was something Rentaro failed to instantly react to. Realizing he was about to unleash a flying kick, Rentaro promptly wrapped the tablecloth on the floor around his toes and kicked it up, sending it flying. The white cloth billowed in the air, catching Yuga’s body. The moment he used every bit of his agility to crouch down, Yuga’s kick scraped just past his ear. Rentaro had only a moment to shake the sweat off before he adjusted his stance toward the cloth-covered, mummylike Yuga. Tendo Martial Arts Second Style, Number 16— “How about…this!” —Inzen Kokutenfu. The roundhouse kick, delivered with all his might, slapped home against the side of the struggling Yuga’s head. He was sent into the air, crashing into an adjacent table. Plates of dinner meals flipped into the air, and the shrill sound of shattering porcelain rang through the lounge. The guests’ shouts were escalating into a panic. He felt he had something good going. But, in the next moment, it was Rentaro yelping in surprise. Yuga wasn’t down. He had carved a pair of large gouges in the carpet as the kick drew him back, but he wasn’t knocked down—he had blocked it. No forward vision at all, and he blocked it. Unless he was tapping directly into Rentaro’s mind, that shouldn’t have been possible. His adversary finally tore the tablecloth off his body. The moment Rentaro saw his face beneath, his eyes opened wide enough to nearly tear his eyelids off. A pair of geometric shapes were laid over his irises, both rapidly spinning. “That…that’s crazy…” Both his eyes are cybernetic? That’s like saying he’s— “Oof. Guess you noticed, huh? Didn’t I tell you I was built to surpass you?” Yuga, the very picture of calm composure, pointed a finger at his right eye. “This is the 21-Form Enhanced, an improved version of the 21-Form Varanium Artificial Eye. Compared to what you got, all of this model’s specs received major upgrades.” “The 21-Form Enhanced…?” Who did that? The 21-Form Varanium Artificial Eye, developed by Sumire, was just one reason why she was hailed as one of the Four Sages. Your typical member of the scientific community, as he understood it, wouldn’t be able to decipher even its basic workings. As he stood there in a state of near-total desperation, he heard someone say, “Um, excuse me, sir…” from behind Yuga’s back. He was a muscular hotel employee clad in a black suit, clearly a bouncer or something of the sort, and now he was placing a hand on Yuga’s shoulder in a belated attempt to restore order. “I can’t have you brawling in here, guys; you’re interfering with other—” With a sharp blam, the man spouted a fountain of blood as he arced through the air, flipped over and unconscious the moment he hit the floor. The backward punch Yuga unleashed without even turning around smashed cleanly against his chin. “Aaaaaaaaaahhhh!” There was a series of ear-piercing screams as the hotel guests, their panic unleashed by the sheer bizarreness of the situation, began to swarm toward the revolving door at the hotel’s entrance like an avalanche. Amid the echoing screams and shouts, only Rentaro and Yuga remained quiet, a distance away from each other as opponent sized up opponent. Yuga reached down to his waist and took something out. It was no coincidence, perhaps, that it was almost exactly where Rentaro liked to keep his gun. In Yuga’s hand now was a Browning automatic revolver, high-powered. Yuga raised it up, cocked it, and pointed the barrel forward, his squinting eyes focused on his prey. Rentaro could feel the murderous rage already. The shrill drone of the alarm drifted away as his mind immersed itself in the situation. He swallowed hard, his heart beating like a drum. Ignoring for the moment the question of why he even had cybernetic eyes, Rentaro decided to consider his position. His own artificial eye was built for gunners’ work—to help him predict the path of a bullet, from the barrel to the target. But if his foe had the same capability, how effective would that remain? There were fewer than ten meters between them, but to him, it may as well have been a yawning chasm. Quietly, Rentaro closed his eyes. Don’t get scared. Along with his keen, natural eye, his artificial one began its high-speed calculations. He could feel a burning pain behind his eyelid as it began to heat up. As Rentaro’s vision began to go into a bizarre sort of slow motion with the overclocking of his eye, Yuga’s finger tapped against the trigger and slowly began to squeeze. For a single-action weapon, it had a uniquely long and sticky stroke, a trademark of high-powered revolvers. With his focus turned up to maximum, Rentaro could even hear the trigger spring creak as it was being compressed. Soon, the bar attached to the trigger did its work on the sear, the hammer swinging its way forward, the firing pin inside the breechblock striking the bottom of the cartridge. Then, with an explosive flash, the bullet spiraled its way out of the barrel with 339 foot-pounds of muzzle energy, plowing its way straight toward him. Rentaro calculated his escape route and started moving. The sight of hotel bystanders screaming and crawling out the hotel door in a panic was quickly noticed by Inspector Tadashima, whose crew of officers was secretly staking out the building from the outside. “Superintendent!” Hitsuma, accepting the radio call from his director’s van, replied an “All right” and nodded to the man beside him. “Inspector, the commissioner just gave the order to deploy a Special Assault Team.” “An SAT?! Do we really need to go that far?” Hitsuma brought in a blue-uniformed special-forces captain. They saluted each other. “Captain, I need you to bring your guys in. Take the fugitive dead or alive; just get the situation under control ASAP.” “B-but, Superintendent Hitsuma, Lady Seitenshi said to not hurt the fugitive as much as possible…” “I think we’ve got some wires crossed, Captain. I want you to shoot the fugitive down. You have my backup on that.” Just then, a single gunshot rumbled its way across the hotel, as Rentaro Satomi and an unknown teenage boy began to wage battle in the middle of the lounge. “What in the…?” Tadashima groaned. The battle proceeded in bizarre fashion. The mystery kid would fire off a succession of shots, and Rentaro would step to the side or back to dodge them all. Not only that, but whenever there was an opening, he’d edge that much closer to his opponent. By the fifth shot, he was at point-blank range, the point where fists would decide the path of the fight. Rentaro unleashed three punches from his arms. All of them would have ended the match right there, if they landed in the right place. The kid deflected them, retaliating with a high kick of his own. Rentaro bent his chin back to dodge it as he unleashed a horizontal chop designed to smash against his opponent’s throat. It was a dizzying array of attacks, dodges, and further counters, like an elaborate martial-arts demonstration. The number of strikes offered by each fighter in the space of a single second made any side observer’s head swim. They appeared to be looking at each other, but in a way, they were both looking somewhere much farther off. When he realized they were simultaneously dodging attacks while piecing together a strategy for their next ten strikes, Tadashima’s entire body shuddered. This wasn’t the sort of battle any human being could tag into. What in the hell is going on? Tadashima slipped a hand inside of his suit and tightened his grip on the revolver in his holster. He was going in after the first SAT assault. Not that Tadashima could have known, but there was no way a battle whose participants could conduct the entire thought process—observation, comprehension, action—behind each move in a hundredth of a second could ever be stopped by a team of regular people, whose comparatively paltry muscle-reflex time never had a chance of reaching below 0.20 seconds.