A cruel smile of victory rose to Jubei’s lips as he thrust forward with inhuman speed. And met only thin air. Kyoya had vanished. A blue slash of lightning ran across the flash of steel, followed by the crunch of breaking bone,
The crowds gasped. The expected victory slipped from his grasp. Jubei Yagyu slumped to his knees holding his right shoulder. Instead of being speared through and through, Kyoya rose up from the ground.
As soon as he’d sensed the straight-ahead thrust, Kyoya spread his legs wide and tumbled forward, slamming his left heel against Jubei’s right shoulder. Realizing that his sword was useless to him—and in the few tenths of a second after realizing that Jubei was going for a thrusting move—he’d released an explosion of Shorin Kenpo footwork.
Had Jubei slashed horizontally or vertically with his sword, Kyoya would have parted neatly in two, vertically or horizontally.
The android Jubei had been imbued with the personality and martial skills of the real Jubei. Except that nothing in Jubei’s life or the android programming suggested that in the moment of extremis, an opponent might use his feet instead of a sword.
Chen Yuanbin, the Ming Dynasty founder of kenpo, traveled to Japan during Jubei’s lifetime, so he should have at least witnessed such a move. However, this may have been the first time Jubei—or his avatar—faced an opponent with the skills necessary to deliver such a kick in a downwards trajectory.
The difference between the person unfamiliar with kenpo and the person who was—even while coughing up blood—was the difference between victory and defeat.
Yes! The underdog by an upset!
In any other similar situation, Kyoya might have served up a dose of nen and knocked him flat on his back, or sprang back and waited for his opponent to come at him again. But the sense of urgency interrupted in that moment. Diverting his attention to Sayaka’s predicament, Kyoya left Jubei there and started off at a run.
He felt a shock in his flank and grunted, a feral cry. Damn! he cursed in his heart. The fiery sensation shot through his torso. On his knees, with the arm attached to the broken collarbone, Jubei had buried the tip of the long sword into Kyoya’s side.
Take away the electronic guts, and the body of an impersonation android was formed from a combination of polymer bones and mechanical muscles whose strength could be altered based on the context. Turning into the person it was emulating and playing the part was not something the metal and plastic of a run-of-the-mill android could pull off.
In other words, change the context, and an impersonation android could be easily broken in an accident, turning it into so much scrap. That was why a simple kick, no nen involved, broke its so-called bones.
Kyoya hadn’t imagined that, heavily damaged, and with the arm attached to the broken bone, it could deliver such a blow. The real Jubei might well have been such a fighter.
“Son of a bitch!”
Jubei’s one electronic eye focused on him, Kyoya squatted on the sidewalk, hand pressed against his side to staunch the flowing blood. The android calmly raised the blood-stained sword.
The scene in front of him grew dark. The ferocity of the thrust had robbed him of the willpower even to summon the reserves of his psychic energy. I ain’t dead yet. Throw in the towel now and I’ll never look her in the face again. That was the foremost thought on his mind.
The android Jubei advanced on the unconscious, unmoving teenager—the wooden sword tightly grasped in his right hand—with steady steps, the killer instinct spilling out of his being.
“Unbelievable.” A quiet statement filled with surprise. “Wounded that badly, losing blood, and yet still breathing. I understand what a trained and disciplined body can do, but this is a spiritual strength way beyond the normal.”
“Is he conscious?” somebody else asked in a concerned voice.
“We have treated him the best we can. He should awaken soon. Though he still needs a good two weeks of bed rest.”
“Yes.”
The sterilizing lights dimmed. The two gazed down at the operating table. The operating room was stocked with the latest medical equipment and automated surgical tools, the kind found in the best hospitals in Tokyo. Not as grand as the Sorcerer’s, but in the same neighborhood.
Transparent scanner hoods covered the operating table, linked to medical computers, recording the patient’s vital signs. The operation had just ended.
“Hmm,” said the first speaker.
“What?”
“The anesthetic is wearing off. Look at the spike in brain waves and metabolic activity. I am most impressed. This is some sort of superman. He should be waking up any second. Three—two—one—”
Kyoya opened his eyes, and focused on the faces peering down at him. “Sayaka-san, are you all right? What in the world—”
Sayaka resisted the impulse to cling tightly to him and looked at the tall man behind her. “He came to your rescue. And those gangsters took me to their headquarters and were about to start torturing me when he charged in and drove them off like some sort of magician.”
“As I promised, we meet again.” A slight smile came to the white face framed in black.
“Doctor Mephisto? What are you doing in a place like this?”
The impression made in the Musashi Miyamoto bar in Waseda was not that deep, and the anesthetic was still wearing off, and he hadn’t completely digested what Sayaka was saying—so he jumped to the conclusion that he was the one who’d snatched Sayaka. He sat up in a fury. The scanner hoods retracted automatically.
“Don’t try to get up!” Sayaka said, grabbing him. “You misunderstand. This man saved me. And treated your wounds as well.”
The anger faded from Kyoya’s features. His mind returned to a rational state. “After I got stabbed by that Jubei Yagyu android, this quack—no, sorry, scratch that—you patched me up? This your hospital? I suppose you’re a real doctor or something?” His thoughts springing back to life, he added, “Yeah, and what happened to Jubei Yagyu?”
“He has been disposed of,” Mephisto softly answered. “This is my home. That is all you need to know about me. Can you move?”
“Ah—” Kyoya also sensed that Sayaka was stifling a growing sense of impatience and unease. “So what happened? Wait a second, did the deadline pass while I was unconscious?”
“No.” Sayaka shook her head emphatically. “Not yet. But it’s now midnight of the thirteenth!”
Her voice was strained and her eyes brimmed with tears. Still half asleep, Kyoya shrugged his shoulders and said, “Huh?” Then his eyes opened wide. “Say what! We entered the DMZ on the tenth, spent a night and left a day later. Today should be the eleventh. What, did you think you had a whole day to kick back at the hospital?”
“In any case, it is the thirteenth, and the clock runs out today,” Mephisto said severely. “The young lady has explained everything to me. Upon leaving the DMZ, you should have counted the days more precisely. Because of the Devil Quake, time takes on a different flow there, moving faster than normal. What you experienced as one day there took two here.”
“You don’t say,” said Kyoya. “When I looked at my watch I thought something was out of sync. Interesting. Sort of like Urashima Taro meets Rip Van Winkle. Huh.”
And then the magnitude of what had happened sunk in. A worried expression came to his face and he jumped off the operating table. “Ow!” Kyoya bent over, holding his side.
Sayaka lent him her shoulder. “You can’t move around like that. With a wound like that, it’s amazing you’re still alive!”
“Don’t worry about me. I only need to hold up for three hours more. Hey, Paleface, your surgical skills good for three hours?”
“Where do you plan on going?”
“She told you, didn’t she? Wherever those guys are hiding out.”
“Your wounds have been sutured, but the blood loss was considerable. I doubt you would get a dozen yards before collapsing. Besides, they surely know the deadline is tonight and would be anticipating your arrival. You would be walking to your own death.”
Kyoya clapped his hands. “Good point. We were looking for somebody in the know. Would you happen to know how to sneak into Shinjuku station without attracting a lot of attention?”
“I would.”
He answered so readily that Kyoya almost thought he was joking. “Where? Tell me,” he demanded.