Chapter 5

3 As you can see, a forest of mushrooms has sprung up in the Iron Desert, just ten kilometers from the west border. Acts of mushroom terrorism have been reported in Gifu, Tagakushi, and most recently, Gunma, since the start of June. Imihama authorities suspect that the crimes were committed by a single individual and have requested that Gunma share any information they have regarding the terrorist. However, Gunma Prefecture had already announced that the terrorist, one Bisco Akaboshi, had been killed at the southern border just a few days ago, and questions are being raised over whether this false information was released intentionally, and if so, who is to blame…? In the dark room, the television cast a flickering pale glow onto the skin of the woman in the hospital bed. She was beauty and power combined, her long, elegant limbs still gently bulging with refined muscle, like a panther. Her face had begun to grow weary, but even so, a spine-tingling look of determination flared in her eyes. However, her beauty was marred by the Rust that covered half her body, sticking to her skin like burned rice. From her left thigh, it crawled up her torso, over her chest and up, gently coiling around her neck and casting a cruel rust-colored shadow over her perfect features. From one look at her face, it was clear the disease was in its final stages. Her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked and turned away from the television, disconnecting her IV. She rose out of her bed and stood up straight, letting her long black hair fall about her waist. Her bare footsteps echoed around the room as she walked over to a quarterstaff leaning against the wall and took it in her hands. It was a plain iron staff, little more than a hexagonal rod of metal, almost as tall as the woman herself and weighing over five kilograms. It was not a woman’s weapon. But she swung it with incredible agility, slicing through the air with enough force to send the curtains flying. The very room began to creak and groan, though the staff had not so much as grazed it. Then she took a deep breath and swung again, and again. Ripping through the air, her hair scattered, as if in a furious dance, as the whole building quaked in fear, until she gave one final thrust, stopping barely two centimeters short of the TV monitor. An emergency bulletin had appeared on the news. The reporter hurried out her words as images of the streets of Imihama infested with mushrooms flashed up on the screen, interspersed with blurry footage of the redheaded perpetrator as he fled across the rooftops. “The Mushroom Keepers,” the woman said to herself, utterly unperturbed. “The scourge of the land. You’re just in time. Your plague hasn’t taken me yet. I can still fight…!” Her deep voice oozed with uncontrollable rage. Popular opinion held that mushrooms were the source of the Rust, and so eradicating them along with the Mushroom Keepers who helped spread them was the primary mission of more or less every armed organization these days. And this woman, Pawoo Nekoyanagi, was the captain of one such organization, known as the Imihama Vigilante Corps. “Pawoo! You turned out all the lights again!” As Milo entered the room, the iron rod tore through the air once more, stopping millimeters from his nose. The force of the swing ruffled his sky-blue hair. While Milo stood there, frozen in terror, Pawoo dropped her staff and brought her face up close to his. “You’re late, Milo.” Then a sly smile appeared on her lips, and she placed her arms around him, pulling him tightly to her chest. “Wait… Pawoo… Can’t…breathe…” “Did some harlot string you along again? That’s why I told you to wear a hood this time.” “No, that’s not it,” said Milo, somehow managing to free his head from her grip and casting a reproachful look. “I saw a child with a scorpion fly sting, so you know… But then a Mushroom Keeper showed up—on Karakusa Street! It was amazing! There was suddenly this huge mushroom, and…” “You shouldn’t make your patient worry, Milo,” she said, pulling him closer midsentence, before laughing sweetly as if her prior maturity was an act and adding, “Not to mention your big sister.” Pawoo Nekoyanagi, leader and strongest fighter of the Imihama Vigilante Corps, and her younger brother, Milo, the medical prodigy of the Panda Clinic. People said they were two pearls who had fallen down to Imihama from Heaven. When placed alongside each other, one could see the familial resemblance, but the two siblings had very different airs. The elder sister held the wrath of a demon, the younger brother the kindness of an angel, as though God had assigned each of them the opposite sex. Milo felt his sister was acting differently today, and there was a strange pain in the pit of his stomach. So he allowed himself to be cradled by her, feeling her strong yet gentle arms around him. Occasionally, the soft touch of her skin was replaced with harsh, chafing metal that made Milo’s heart ache. Suddenly, an alarm sounded from the pocket of the uniform hanging on the wall, and a voice could be heard shouting over background noise. “In pursuit of criminal fleeing eastbound toward the bureau area. Section two, squads three through eight, be on your guard. Repeat…” Pawoo dropped her brother, marching over to the wall and snatching up her equipment. “It’s the Man-Eating Redcap. We’ve got him.” “Pawoo!” Her outfit consisted of a full-body leather suit that covered her neck, a shawl made of ceramic fiber, with her Vigilante Corps uniform draped over the top. It was armor that would shrug off any stray blades or bullets without much difficulty. To top it all off, she wore a pair of steel greaves and swept her long hair back to equip a large visor-like skullcap that protected her forehead. In moments, she was Pawoo the warrior woman, pride of the Imihama Vigilantes. “Pawoo, don’t! You have to rest!” Milo pleaded, clinging to her. “The Rust is nearing your heart! What could be more important than your life?!” “Yours, Milo. Lock the doors. Even if the Governor himself drops by, you’re to stay inside. Understood?” “You have to stay inside, Pawoo! It’s too dangerous!” Pawoo’s eyes widened for a second. Milo was never one to lose his temper or raise his voice to her, yet now he stood with fire in his eyes, blocking her escape. “You always put your life on the line for me, without stopping to think how that makes me feel! Well, not this time! You’re going back to bed! I’ll talk to the Vigilante Corps!” “…You’re not going to let me go? No matter what I say? No matter what happens?” “When have you ever listened to what I’ve said, Pawoo? It’s my turn to be the stubborn one!” “…I see. Thank you, Milo…” Milo froze as Pawoo reached out and gently caressed his face. She looked at him with love and sadness in her eyes, and then… Wham! She delivered a quick, sharp blow to the back of his neck, and Milo’s body crumpled. Catching him in her arms, she laid him on the bed. Who’s going to protect you after I’m gone? Who will keep you safe from the Rust, from violence, from evil? “I can’t die yet, Milo. I will fight with my last breath to stop this world sinking its fangs into you.” For a while, she sat there, stroking the beautiful face of her sleeping brother, before the communicator in her pocket rang once more. Without even listening to it, Pawoo stood up and bolted out of the clinic and into the streets, her uniform billowing behind her. “What kind of sister uses martial arts on her own brother?!” It wasn’t long before Milo regained consciousness. As he looked upon the clinic’s open door, he gave a despondent sigh. …No, today I’ve got to…! Milo ran into the medicine room and locked it twice, before fishing around in his coat pocket. He took out several mushroom fragments, taken while everyone else was distracted by the terrorist on the streets. As he arranged the multicolored specimens on his desk, his eyes gleamed. “I’ve never seen any of these species before! One of these must be the one…!” Milo placed a well-worn leather bag on the table and undid its intricate lock. Inside was a crude-looking machine with three thick cylinders and a mess of wires. Milo turned on the heat and added the mushroom fragments along with some solution to the cylinders. Then, with trembling fingers, he began to stir. Just as Kurokawa had alluded, the government offered a medicine that could stave off the Rust. However, it was expensive and needed to be taken regularly. It wasn’t the sort of thing any old town doctor like Milo could normally afford. But Milo was a special case. He was working to reverse-engineer the medicine—an act of the highest treason, not to mention next to impossible without an incredibly advanced knowledge of pharmaceuticals. Only Milo, the genius doctor of the Panda Clinic, could hope to unravel its secrets. He had tried every kind of ingredient imaginable in his efforts to save the life of his beloved sister. And he was convinced now that the secret lay in these mushrooms. The scourge of the land and source of the Rust, according to the common man. “…Okay. Here we go. How about this…?” Within the tube bubbled a viscous green fluid. Milo poured some onto the back of his hand and gave it a sniff, nodding happily. Phew. Let’s let some air in. It was a hot and humid July evening. Wiping some sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, Milo got up and turned to the window. …It’s open…? Wind blew through the already open window, caressing his sky-blue hair and shaking the curtains. A pale shaft of light illuminated the floorboards. Milo suddenly started to feel apprehensive and silently cast a glance over his shoulder. “……” Suddenly, he froze, overwhelmed by an incomprehensible fear. …There’s someone there…! Two emerald lights stared back at him from the shadows in curious bloodlust, like a predator eyeing its next meal. Milo was unable to move at all or even look away. “…” … “…Clamshell mushrooms are no good in medicine. It’s better to eat them.” “…Ah…!” “Can you make medicine?” said the voice as its bearer strode out of the shadows and into the evening light. A gust from the window fluttered his scarlet hair, and Milo found himself still unable to move a muscle. The man was like a wild beast. “Well?” “…Huh? What?” “This here’s a lurkershroom. It’s the strongest mushroom I have. Can you make something out of it?” The redheaded man produced a purple mushroom and shoved it at Milo. “You must be a great doctor. Out of the three people I threatened, all three recommended I come here.” “…I—I can’t!” Milo protested. “Making unauthorized medicines is against the law!” “But you were just doing it, weren’t you?” the man replied. “Ah, um…!” “Sorry, but I don’t have time for this. Next time you talk back, I’m gonna kill you.” The man’s rough voice was tinged with bitterness. It was enough to make Milo quake in his boots… Then he suddenly smelled something else, coming from the man’s back. “That smells like a Salmo corrosive round… Did you get shot by an Escargot Plane? That’s bad; you can’t just bandage that up…!” “What…?” “You need more than medicine to deal with that!” Milo cried. His fear quickly crumbled as his doctor side took over. “If the bullet’s not removed, the corrosion won’t stop. Medicine alone won’t be enough. You need to let me operate at once!” “Didn’t I say I’d kill you if you talked back to me again?” “Then kill me. But if he doesn’t get treatment, that elderly gentleman will die!” The redheaded man seemed taken aback by Milo’s sudden fervor. He certainly couldn’t have been expecting that, even in the unlit room, Milo could tell that the man’s companion was old; and just from the smell of the gunpowder, he even knew what kind of bullet he had been shot with. He thought for a second, stroking his chin, before replying. “Okay. Understood. But make the medicine first. How long does it take?” “It depends, but usually at least twenty minutes,” said Milo, sitting down at his desk. “They’ll be here in ten,” said the red-haired man as he headed to the window and cast a furtive glance outside. “…I tried to create a diversion near the tower, but they’re strangely organized. I thought these guys were vigilantes.” Suddenly, a bullet pierced the window and embedded itself in the door. The red-haired man ran back to the old man, picked him up, and dived behind Milo’s desk, just before a storm of bullets tore through the wall. Milo began to shout, but the red-haired man placed his finger to his lips, and Milo suddenly clasped his own mouth shut and nodded frantically. Apparently seeing some humor in this, the red-haired man gave a tough-looking grin, and the glint of his dazzling canines was burned forever into Milo’s mind. “Bisco Akaboshi! You are wanted on twenty-six counts of mushroom terrorism! We’ve been ordered to kill you if you resist, so why don’t you come on out with your hands up?” A voice sounded over a megaphone, to which Bisco yelled back, “You idiots, I got a hostage here! Be careful!” He gave Milo a wink, before continuing. “You fire one more shot, and this panda-lookin’ asshole is gonna get his throat ripped out!” Even if it was a bluff, Milo felt a chill run down his spine. Two seconds, three. As there was still no reply, Bisco sidled to the window and took a peek outside. As he did, another hail of lead shot out the window entirely and filled the medicine room with holes. Milo let out a scream as Bisco grabbed him along with the old man and kicked down the locked door, diving into the waiting room beyond. “Those bastards didn’t even hesitate. Woulda thought a doctor like you would have more friends.” “I… I can’t believe it…,” said the dejected Milo as he cradled the mixing machine in his arms. Even now, he refused to part with it. “They’ll be startin’ their raid soon,” said Bisco. “Sorry, but I’m gonna have to blow up your clinic.” “Okay… Wait, what?! Wh-wh-what did you say…?” “Hold on to the old man for me.” Bisco dropped the unconscious old man toward Milo as he sat slumped on the floor. As Milo fumbled to catch him, Bisco drew his bow and nocked a rust-colored arrow. He fired a shot into the room they just left, followed by a second, and a third, into every corner of the clinic. Where he shot, there soon began to grow bunches of little red things, breaking through the walls, ceiling, and supports. “Okay. Time to get outta here.” “Wait!” said Milo. “I have a wheelchair; we can get this gentleman into it, and…” “Too late. It’s starting.” “What is…?” “Chaaarge!” The door suddenly flew off its hinges, and a group of masked men with heavy weaponry surged into the room. As Milo looked on in shock, Bisco grabbed him and dived through a nearby window. Then, not a moment later, there was an enormous rumble from inside. A great big red mushroom extended through the roof and up into the sky, blasting the building to pieces. As its cap unfurled, it rained down debris on the ground below. The bunny-faced men were swept up by the force of the swelling mushroom and tossed into the air, screaming. “A… A mushroom…!” Milo watched the scene before his eyes, enraptured, as Bisco carried him across the rooftops. Out of nowhere, there was now a bright-red mushroom towering over the city, still reaching up and up toward the sky. In this city, where the citizens cowered from the wind behind huge walls, never before had he seen something so brimming with life and vigor. It’s beautiful, Milo thought, struck with wonder, before he noticed the nameplate that read PANDA CLINIC gently spiraling as it fell back down to earth and was lost in the rubble. Then his face grew stiff. “Ah… AAAAGHHH!” “What is it? Keep it down back there.” “My… My cliniiic!” “Yeah?” “It’s gone!” “I mean, I did tell you earlier,” said Bisco, not showing an ounce of guilt. Milo kicked and squirmed under his arm, and he stopped and set him down on the rooftop. “Sorry, but I didn’t have a choice. If I hadn’ta done that, they’d have killed the both of us.” Milo couldn’t even respond to Bisco’s brazen remark and continued to throw a tantrum, when Bisco suddenly dropped down flat to the rooftop as a helicopter searchlight narrowly passed by where the two were standing. “Stay still,” he said, and Milo nodded in fear, very quickly shutting up. Without standing, Bisco took several arrows in his mouth and, aiming to the east, launched them one by one over to a far corner of the city. The arrows drew a large arc through the air before embedding themselves in a tall building and exploding with a Gaboom! Gaboom! into large red mushrooms. Then he watched as the helicopters swarming the sky spotted the decoy and drifted off into the distance. “That won’t fool them for long. Let’s move,” said Bisco, grabbing Milo and the old man and dropping down to the streets below. Then he lifted up a manhole cover and dropped Milo in before following, the old man under his arm. “That was close,” muttered Bisco as a storm of footsteps echoed over the manhole cover above. “This sucks. Looks like they’ve sent some kind of elite force…” There was a sort of musty stench about the sewer, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Bisco expected, and there were several fluorescent lights on the walls for him to find his way. The doctor had been pretty quiet for a while now, and so Bisco quickly descended the ladder to see how he was doing. … A few paces away from him, he stopped and squinted. Milo’s cloak and lab coat were spread out on the floor, and the old man lay undressed atop them. At his side, with knitted brows, Milo was examining his body and taking his pulse. His demeanor was a far cry from the scared little boy who was cowering in Bisco’s arms not a moment ago. “How is he?” “Six shots… Two of these should have been enough to kill him,” said Milo in an agitated tone, unable to turn away from the man. “Who is he? His pulse and breathing are all normal…!” “So he’ll live?” “That depends on this,” he said, removing a vial from the mixing machine he had been guarding so diligently and holding it up to the light. It was now filled with a strange purple liquid. “I’ll have to operate to remove the bullets and corrosion. Afterward…I’ll inject him with this, and then it’s all up to him.” Bisco listened to Milo speak, then gave a satisfied nod and stood up. Milo jumped up after him. “W-wait! Where are you going?” “We can’t stay here long; they’ll find us. I’m gonna go lead ’em around for a while. I leave the old man in your hands.” “No, don’t!” Milo yelled. Bisco stopped and turned around. Even he was surprised by the force behind the gentle-looking boy’s voice. Milo scrutinized his face and neck before reaching his slender arms underneath Bisco’s cloak. “Hey, hey, hey! Hands to yourself, asshole!” “You’re not going anywhere with these wounds! Are you planning to die out there?! Sit down, right now! I’ll take care of you.” “I’m not the one who needs taking care of, genius! Look after the old man— Hey, get your hands off me!” “Yes, you are! Look at all this blood! I can’t possibly leave you like this!” Then there was the briefest of struggles, at the conclusion of which Milo was left gasping for breath, glaring into Bisco’s eyes with all the determination he could muster. “Then at least let me stitch up your face! There’s blood getting into your eyes! You’ll never survive out there like that!” Bisco faltered, unable to respond to Milo’s insistence. The doctor sat him down, took a medical kit from his pocket, and examined Bisco’s face once more. While Bisco himself seemed unperturbed, his face was covered in cuts and scratches, and blood dripped down from a gash on his forehead and into his left eye. Milo wielded his scalpel and cut into the scabs, drawing out the blood, before sewing shut the large wound on Bisco’s brow. He applied some ointment, but when he tried to bandage him up, Bisco resisted so hard, like an unruly dog at the vet, that Milo gave up. Still, satisfied with his level of treatment, Milo wiped his sweat and smiled. “There! All done!” “…” “…Erm, sorry, did it hurt?” “What’s your name?” Bisco asked. “Oh, Nekoyanagi. Milo Nekoyanagi,” he replied. “Milo. Well, erm…” Bisco stared into the round blue eyes that looked back at him curiously, searching for the right words, before… “Thanks.” After managing to spit out that single word, he quickly got to his feet and placed a foot on the ladder leading out. “Wait!” “What is it now?!” “I don’t know the patient’s name…,” said Milo, apparently having completely forgotten the threat of the boy standing before him. “Or yours, for that matter…” “The guy about to croak is Jabi, and I’m…” “…” “Bisco. Bisco Akaboshi.” From the top of the ladder, Bisco looked back at Milo one last time. Their eyes locked, emerald and sapphire each mysteriously drawn to the other. Eventually, Bisco turned away and, lifting up the manhole cover, disappeared into the night. “…Bisco Akaboshi…” The boy’s name danced on Milo’s lips as Bisco’s crimson storm blew across the land. For a while, Milo simply gazed at the light’s reflection on the surface of the water, before snapping back to his senses and rushing over to Jabi’s side.