Mephisto asked wryly, “Why rush to your death? What in this world is so important that it is worth risking your life? It is said that in the history of mankind, a mere four hundred and thirty-seven years could be described as peaceful and relatively free of warfare. We do love to fight and kill. Izayoi-kun, if a terrible thing were summoned this night from the depths of the earth, casting the world into fear and despair, would not the human heart find that a more appropriate place?”
Kyoya didn’t answer. He hobbled over to the dressing screens and changed into his street clothes. They’d been washed and sterilized while he was being operated on. Asura was leaning against the wardrobe.
“Probably,” he said as he dressed. “But I’m not going to call off the game because of rain until I actually see it falling. I’ve met all kinds since coming to this city. They’re not all bad. Besides, once I start a job, I finish it. No mulligans, no do-overs.”
“For the good of the world, eh? The anachronistic hero in the flesh.”
“Sorry, but nothing that highfalutin.” He glanced at the girl’s face, on the verge of tears. “Wait here, okay? And no funny business this time.”
The look on her face betrayed her hurt. He knew she’d been planning on accompanying him. The destruction of the world was imminent. The only champion left in the fight was critically wounded. He’d woken from a dead sleep only minutes before.
For her father’s sake, for the sake of the planet, she wanted to be there at the scene of the final battle. She opened her mouth but couldn’t say the words. She’d hated him the first time they met, but since then he’d fought the denizens of the Demon World by himself and suffered grievous injuries to save her—that alone engendered in her inexpressible feelings of gratefulness.
Therefore, she would go. As the daughter of the “holy man” in charge of the World Federation, she bore a powerful sense of responsibility more to the fate of the world than to her own father, while possessed of a courage bestowed by her thoughts of him. With these two firmly in hand, she was determined to proceed to the Armageddon in Kyoya’s place.
Kyoya read those intentions and put his foot down firmly. “I’m going. Where’s this secret passageway?”
“And if I chose not to tell you?”
“You won’t enjoy the consequences.”
“And that would be what, precisely?”
“This.”
Kyoya swept his right foot at Mephisto’s legs with a swift, slashing kick. Except it was Kyoya’s eyes that bugged out. Without appearing to budge an inch, Mephisto dodged the attack—or rather, leaned just a hair’s breadth away from the arc traced by his foot.
No matter how powerful the blow, no matter how close it came, a missed kick was no better than a child’s. In the martial arts, properly anticipating an opponent’s skill and range and shifting just out of range was a critical skill. For even the best, it was measured in inches. Mephisto had honed it down to tenths of an inch. Though the wound in his side dampened Kyoya’s reflexes, not even Jubei Yagyu could have evaded that kick.
Kyoya felt a cold trickle of fear down his back. He shifted to a left foot forward stance. He purged the emotion from his face.
“That’s enough,” said Mephisto, his countenance all the more passive. “If you wish to go that badly, then go. There is no cure for foolishness. Leaving the operating room, there will be an elevator in front of you. Take it to the ground level. Goodbye.”
“Hey.”
“Ah, yes. You’re still waking up from the anesthetic. I thought things might turn in this direction, so while your wounds were being treated, the route was implanted in your memories. Concentrate.”
Kyoya dubiously turned his thoughts inward, on the secret way into the Shinjuku station. By then, enough of the drugs had cleared his system that the path rose effortlessly to his mind’s eye.
“I got it,” Kyoya said, with an alacrity that must have taken a little wind out of Mephisto’s sails. He nodded and grabbed Asura. Heading for the door, he said over his shoulder, “Oh, yeah. Two favors to ask. As you seem to be in a helping mood, I’d appreciate you keeping an eye on the girl until three o’clock. If I return before then, fine. If not, make sure she gets back to civilization. Although there’s no saying what will become of this city then. One more thing, that mask you gave me when we first met—would you have a spare? That fat lady and her henchmen will probably still be out for blood.”
“You’re just flying out of here, making demands as you go? You are a presumptuous lad,” Mephisto said with a thin smile. “I shall take the girl under my wing. As for the fat lady, we have come to an agreement.”
“An agreement?” Kyoya said, raising his brows. “Like how? Word is, that bunch has a lot of clout. Anybody who knows her—no, don’t tell me—the two of you are an item?”
“Please.” For the first time Mephisto plainly frowned. “I happened to be in the square when her associates exposed the young lady. After disposing of the so-called fencing master android and bringing you here, I dropped in at their headquarters and retrieved the girl.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Sayaka said with a constrained expression. “He burst in and said that I was a friend of his. And all those bad guys turned a shade paler.”
Kyoya shook his head disbelievingly. “Mephistopheles was definitely one of the bad guys. You wouldn’t be the real thing, perhaps?”
Mephisto said with a blank expression, “In any case, they have promised to leave you alone. That should serve your purposes, no?”
“I suppose. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“He’s a doctor,” Sayaka interjected. “The reception room upstairs is filled with the sick and the wounded. Every day, this man and his robot assistants work late into the night treating people.”
“Huh,” said Kyoya, admiration mixed with lingering doubts. “You’re really a doctor?”
“I do resemble one. However, I only take the general public as patients. The ruffians are free to kill each other at a whim, but when others get involved in their squabbles, the pitiful results cannot be ignored.”
“Huh,” Kyoya said again. “A humble do-gooder, if you do say so yourself.”
“You are one to cut to the chase.”
“I suppose. It puts my mind at ease. Well, I’m off.”
Kyoya grinned at them. Sayaka, to be sure, but even Mephisto was starting to grow on him. The way he’d easily dodged that kick of his had earned him a lot of points. The way he’d anticipated Kyoya’s next move and implanted the memory of the train station. For either reason or both, Kyoya felt toward him something approaching friendship.
“Kyoya-san.”
Sayaka called out to him in a tearful voice. She still wanted to go with him. For some reason, this was the one fight he’d have to face alone. Their eyes met for a moment. The moment passed. Kyoya turned and without a backwards glance headed through the door.
The door closed behind him. The black-clad young man and the beautiful young woman stood there gazing at the cold steel door. One as impassive as ever. The other containing a thousand emotions in her heart. From then to the end of time.
“The president’s pulse is slowing.” The doctor stared intently at the display of the medical control panel. “His blood pressure is declining rapidly.”
The pensive faces of the Federation High Council and the doctors assembled in the observation room turned as one to the largest of the monitors that showed a full 360 view of the president’s hospital room.
As the president lay on the bed, a look of pain clearly colored his features. His already pale skin now looked almost transparent, which only served to accentuate the “liveliness” of the loathsome handprint on his neck.
“Look.” One of the council members pointed to a close-up of the president’s neck on another monitor. He said in a terrified whisper, “The handprint is moving.”
Ripples ran across the surface of the black stain as three of the fingers reached further around the president’s neck.
“What will the Master do?”
All eyes focused on the white-haired man sitting on the floor in the middle of the hospital room. Since the attack, Master Rai hadn’t left the president’s side, spending the days in fasting and prayer, sitting in the lotus position, hands folded across his abdomen, eyes closed. His countenance betrayed no haggardness or anguish or fretfulness, though it had grown paler.
“Is the president all right?” the vice-president asked.