“How much?” asked a low, hoarse voice.
The proprietor and his wife cast surprised looks at the table opposite Mephisto. Directly beneath the monitor was their other customer. A thin figure wearing a gown that cast off a dull glow, as if made from metal. He got to his feet. He’d arrived a bit before Mephisto and ordered a chow mein soba.
He’d ignored the monitor and slurped down the soba and they’d all but forgotten he was there. But on closer examination, he had about him a grave and refined aura that suffered little in comparison with Mephisto.
The proprietor gathered his wits about him and said, “Um, that’ll be seven hundred yen.”
“I’ll leave it here.”
He lined up the silver coins on the table top with his gnarly fingers and walked to the door.
“Come again.”
By the time his voice and the sound of the door closing died away, it was interrupted by Mephisto’s. “Thank you for the meal.” He tipped back the ramen bowl and silently drank down the remaining broth and got to his feet. “What do I owe you?”
“No, no, no,” said the wife, beaming at him. “Taking money from Doctor Mephisto is bad luck around these parts.”
“But I couldn’t—”
“Oh, such things go without saying, Doctor.”
“Well, then.”
With an unusual alacrity, he withdrew his hands from his black cape and gave them an elegant bow. A well-worn habit.
He ducked through the door with quick steps, paused and looked right and left. He was standing on the corner at the end of a narrow alleyway. There was nobody else in sight. The bright noonday sun lingered lazily on the concrete and asphalt.
A four-way stop on his right. Mephisto set off, the hems of his cape glittering. Turning left at the crossroads, he spotted the gown-wearing man off in the distance. The asphalt of the sidewalk was stripped away, revealing the black earth beneath.
Mephisto calmly started after him. He hadn’t gone more than thirty feet when the naked framework of a ruined building rose up on the left. The gown-wearing man turned left.
Several seconds behind him, Mephisto came to a halt. A large black shadow engulfed him. A strange figure was standing there less than six feet away. Even in this nightmare-ridden Demon City, such a costume was rare—a knight astride a horse.
Not a mech battle suit, but the outward appearance was reminiscent of medieval armor. The face, the limbs—anywhere the air might touch—were encased in dark blue metal that glinted in the sunlight.
The horse sported the same, standing there silently waiting for its master’s command. It could have leapt out of a medieval engraving. Taken together with the modern buildings around them, the neighborhoods of Shinjuku reaching out behind them, they somehow became a strange and austere work of classic art.
Mephisto focused his attention on the knight’s right hand. The steel fingers held a comet trailing a long tail—a ten-foot lance.
The spear tip wasn’t metal, but was also coated with a dark blue that ran down to his hand. If this mounted knight sallied forth, no matter what kind of weapon he was carrying, he wouldn’t have any difficulty skewering his target.
The man in the gown was nowhere to be seen. “An interesting bodyguard you’ve got there,” Mephisto observed in a low voice. His cool glance met the knight’s visor. The eyes beneath were likely electronic. There was no telling what would happen next.
“Well, then,” Mephisto said. “If you would excuse me.”
He turned around. He’d taken five steps when he heard the neigh of the horse. And a hard sound—of hooves striking the ground.
Mephisto walked on in silence. Ten paces. Twenty. Thirty.
The fierce sound of pounding hooves struck against his black cape. The earth shook. The charge was upon him. Mephisto didn’t turn around. He smiled. A smile that said: You dare to threaten me? I am the Demon Physician.
Blackness swallowed up the smile. Mephisto sprang into the air. The knight passed below him. Blue light flashed from his right hand. The round spear tip of the lance plunged through Mephisto’s torso. The knight whipped his arm and flung the black-clad doctor through the sky.
Not checking the results himself, the knight yanked on the reins. The horse reared back, then planted its hooves on the stony ground and skidded to a sudden stop, sparks flying.
When the knight did turn around, a shudder ran through his frame. Mephisto was standing thirty feet in front of him. “That lance didn’t go through me,” he calmly explained. “I went through the lance. Either way, you are an overly violent man. You need treatment.”
The horse and rider didn’t answer, but charged again. The deep blue spear tip sparkled. Air swirled around the shaft. The true nature of the knight and the weapon was on display.
Something slashed through the blue sky. A cloud of dust arose. The horse suddenly stopped. The flurry of small stones bounced off Mephisto’s cape. His gaze fell on a section of the road where a patch of asphalt still remained. A slender object sprouted out of the ground.
A disposable wooden chopstick buried halfway through the lump of blacktop.
Mephisto’s mouth bent into a knowing smile. His eyes turned toward the ruins, as if, in that moment, he had traced back the trajectory of the chopstick. A stone wall next to the building formed a narrow alleyway, leading to a dead end that was hidden from the view of both Mephisto and the knight.
“You certainly took your time,” said Mephisto.
The knight pointed his lance toward the alley. Then retreated as the horse slowly backed away. Something had touched its untamed senses. It ignored the knight’s heels in its sides and kept going backwards.
A fierce shower of light tipped the scales once again—energy burst from the tip of the lance. What form would the destruction take? Fire or ice? A shock wave?
The roadway appeared to suck up the light—no, not the roadway, but a wooden sword that swung outward from the shadows. The person holding it stepped into view. The gold buttons quivered on his black collar.
“Excuse me for barging in like this,” said the young man.
“Ah,” said Doctor Mephisto. “The star performer makes his appearance on the stage. Kyoya Izayoi.”