“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.
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“They’re Dollars now.”
✦ ✦ ✦
Outside of Russia Sushi
✦ ✦ ✦
“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.”
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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.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The rooftop of a mixed-use building
✦ ✦ ✦
“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.
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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.