Chapter 11

CHAPTER 3 A The Destroyer There is a demon in Ikebukuro. This is a story that anyone living long enough in Ikebukuro will hear. And those who visit the busy shopping area around the station every day will know it is not simply rumor. Guardrails torn off by force. Light poles yanked out of the ground. Street signs broken in half. Vending machines warped and shattered. If you have seen any of these disquieting signs of violence, then you have almost certainly seen the work of one specific human being. Shizuo Heiwajima. He is a man distinguished by his everyday wear of a bartender’s outfit, flashy bleached blond hair, and sunglasses. He makes a living by collecting debts from people who owe money to various hookup sites, prostitution schemes, and hostess clubs, and he can be seen in Ikebukuro’s active commercial areas around Sunshine and Sixtieth Floor Street on a daily basis. That description alone makes him sound like a man who merely has a rough-and-tumble job, but he truly is undoubtedly worthy of the title of the “strongest man in Ikebukuro,” as childish as that appellation may sound. To attempt to catalogue every legend told about Shizuo Heiwajima would be a never-ending fool’s errand. The man who swings vending machines one-handed. The man who rips loose guardrails one-handed. The man who cuts cars in two with street signs. The man who got run over by a dump truck and stood up perfectly fine. The man who lifted a refrigerator as a little boy. The man who keeps a tiger as a pet. The man who loves vanilla milkshakes. The man who has a Russian assassin for an apprentice. The man who can only be stabbed a millimeter deep. The man who repels bullets with his flesh. The man who loves fruit jelly desserts with ice cream. The man who destroyed an entire building by himself. The man who wiped out a motorcycle gang by swinging a light pole. The man who bends metal pipes out of shape when they hit him. The man who can only be pierced with a ballpoint pen made by Nebula. The man who kicks cars like soccer balls. The man who crushes coal into diamonds with the palm of his hand. The man who loves flan. The man who is the brother of star actor Yuuhei Hanejima. The man who can chuck someone over a high-rise building. The man who loves pancakes topped with syrup. The man who loves sweets, basically. It was impossible to know which of these rumors were true and which were made up, but everyone who was familiar with Shizuo would believe they could be true. One theory said the abrupt end to the serial slashings that momentarily plunged Ikebukuro into a paralyzing terror was because the slasher tried to mess with Shizuo Heiwajima and got absolutely pulverized for it. Floating around on the Internet was footage of him throwing vending machines and swinging around light poles. But most people who watched those videos merely thought, That’s some well-done, sneaky editing. It was true that he was the brother of the famous actor Yuuhei Hanejima; because of that, perhaps it was easier for skeptics to assume that any unbelievable videos were fakes cooked up by the TV network. However, there was one legend in particular that arose in conversation again and again, especially in recent days. The man who is friends with the Headless Rider. This was not a rumor that was simply attempting to tie one urban legend to another without foundation. Shizuo Heiwajima had been seen several times accompanying the Headless Rider. The connection between these two legends was akin to a famous soccer player and baseball player hanging out in public and having a great time. Those who were familiar with both legends would find this sight shocking and sear it into their brains. And now that the Headless Rider is gone—the other living legend of Ikebukuro is about to reach a major turning point. A parlor in Ikebukuro—evening Inside a department store in Ikebukuro, there was an establishment called a “fruit parlor,” a kind of café serving fruit-based dishes. Most of the customers inside were women, but there were some male visitors who appeared to be on their way home from work. Two, in particular, did not look like typical office workers. A man in a bartender’s getup was eating an extravagantly assembled parfait with pieces of mango carved to look like roses, while another man with dreadlocks was eating a panini sandwich garnished with seasonal vegetables. “So you wanna get a license?” asked Tom Tanaka, the man with the dreads, pausing in the middle of his sandwich. Shizuo Heiwajima, the man in the bartender uniform, explained, “Yeah. You’ve got a bunch of licenses, right? What are they again?” “Uh, let’s see… I’ve got my real estate license, for one. Then there’s the kanji and English qualifications, although those are both just second rank. Plus, there’s a surveyor’s license, bookkeeping license, a third-rank secretarial aptitude certificate…” Tom continued listing off qualifications he possessed, as Shizuo listened with great reverence. “Wow…that’s incredible.” They had recently finished their work quota for the day. The sun had already set. Normally at this hour, they’d report in at their work and go home, but Shizuo said he wanted to talk about something, so they decided to get a bite to eat and hash it out. “Basically, I was thinking that if I had a bunch of qualifications, I wouldn’t have to worry about putting food on the table… If I weren’t working this job, I’d probably have even more by now,” Tom said. “Are there any licenses you think I could get pretty easily?” asked Shizuo. He had never talked about this before, so Tom was taken aback. “What’s up with you? Are you switching jobs or something?” “Er, no, I’m happy with the job. I’m not thinking of a different line of work…but I dunno. I feel like I want something that makes me feel more confident about myself…” “…” Shizuo Heiwajima possessed brute strength and toughness that surpassed the boundaries of humanity. As his work superior, Tom knew that as well as anyone. But he did not say, As long as you have that monster strength, you’ll be fine. He knew that Shizuo did not actually desire his incredibly violent power. “Well, look. I know the company we work for isn’t exactly on the up-and-up. So it’s always possible that it might go up in smoke one day,” Tom said. “So…there are lots of qualifications out there, but quite a few of them require a number of years or a job in that field. Hang on a sec.” He took out his smartphone and started looking up stuff online. “There are lots out there if you just want civilian qualifications. Jewelry coordinator, nature guide… Oooh, you can be certified as a world heritage site expert?” “I don’t know much about world heritage sites…” “Well, normally you’d know what you want to do before you start trying to earn qualifications. So is there anything you want to do with your life outside this job?” Tom asked directly. Shizuo thought it over. “If I knew that for sure, I’d be able to narrow it down. The thing is, I just can’t tell what it is I want to do with my future.” “Forget about now, then. What did you want to do as a kid?” “Huh?” “It’s important to get back to your roots with this sort of thing. You must’ve had a dream or two when you were a little boy,” Tom said. Shizuo thought hard again. Dreams. My dreams. Hey, yeah, there was something. After another several moments, Shizuo recalled what it was he’d written in his elementary school graduation essay. “Yeah…that’s right. That’s it.” “You remember something?” Shizuo nodded, reminiscing on his past, and said, “Yeah. I think I wanted to be a detective.” “…Uh-huh.” A detective. It was hard to tell if Shizuo would be good at this job or not, Tom decided. In having this dream from when he was in elementary school, he would certainly have been in admiration of the detectives from movies and comic books, not real-life private investigators who mostly looked for evidence of marriage infidelity. But even fictional detectives came in a few varieties. There were the cerebral types, who used rigorous logic based on available clues to uncover the true killer. The combative types, who traipsed around various crime scenes for evidence and occasionally had to fight off attackers. And some characters like Sherlock Holmes had elements of both. It was hard to narrow down the concept of a detective to a single, concise image. Honestly, a fighting detective like the kind you saw in movies might be the perfect occupation for Shizuo, but this was sadly not the world of cinema. Tom had a hard time envisioning Shizuo performing tedious gumshoe work and searching for missing pets. But if he had a cerebral partner, then you might have something interesting… Cerebral, huh? Tom thought of every person he knew who might be considered smart and thoughtful. One of them was a certain information broker, but he banished that thought from his mind as soon as it appeared. Nope…anyone but him. I can’t possibly see Shizuo and him working together as a team. They’re not the kind of odd couple from the movies who bicker and get the job done. They’re the kind that try to kill each other when they’re in the same room… Plus, he’s not in town anymore. Meanwhile, Shizuo came to a conclusion of his own. “Okay…I think I get it, Tom. The reason that I’ve been able to stick to this job for so long is because, I think, it kind of fits with the concept of a detective that I wanted to be as a kid.” “Huh?” Tom thought back on the job duties Shizuo had been performing here: finding people who had vanished without paying their debts or who, in some cases, turned and attacked the collectors tasked with tracking them down. In fact, their job had just been a long string of these incidents. Tom smirked and shook his head. “I don’t think I like being reminded of how violent our job is…” Ikebukuro West Gate Park—thirty minutes later On the way back to the office to report on the day’s activities, Tom said, “I’m surprised you brought that topic up.” Shizuo seemed more serious than usual. “It’s like…I’ve been thinking that I really need to change myself…” “Oh yeah?” “Today was the Raira entrance ceremony, it seemed like. I saw the new students showing up there, their eyes sparkling with new possibilities.” “Now that you mention it, I saw a lot more uniforms today,” Tom noted. He glanced around the park. Of course, there were hardly any uniforms to be seen at this hour, but there were plenty of young people all the same. There was a healthy variety, from normal-looking youth to surly punks, but the gangsters dressed in matching colors that had been so frequent in recent years were all but gone. Shizuo observed the changing nature of the city and said wistfully, “Ever since that fleabrain got lost, it feels like this place has finally chilled out. It’s been like this for over a year, so I’m feeling like I should finally get my act together…” “That’s a good point. Although those twins are still as wild as ever.” “Yeah, but they don’t cause trouble in the same way,” said Shizuo, right as one of the two girls appeared. “Oh, speak of the devil. Wonder if the other one’s still at Rakuei Gym?” Tom muttered, recognizing Kururi Orihara—but something was strange about her. There was a group of unsavory-looking young men in her presence. It looked less like a pickup attempt than a very forceful quest to lure her somewhere else. “Hang on. I thought idiots like that were lying low these days,” Tom grumbled. But his partner was already walking over. “Ah, hey, Shizuo…” “No, see, we’re not saying you have to make out with all of us or anything.” “We just wanna celebrate our buddy for getting outta jail. And every party needs at least one pretty girl, you know?” “You’re exactly his type, from what I understand,” claimed the hoodlums surrounding Kururi. She exhaled and, in a quiet but firm voice, said, “…No…” [I decline.] “Nah, it doesn’t work like that. You don’t get to back out.” “Listen, how would you rather this play out? We can drag you kicking and screaming into our car, or you can come along and enjoy yourself! I think you know which would be better, right?” Behind them was a man leaning against a stone pillar with his back turned toward them. That was probably their “friend” who had just gotten out of prison. But it was a different man who entered the scene and said, “Hey, knock it off.” “Uhhh? Who the hell are you? A bartender?” The ruffians immediately turned sour looks on the man in the recognizable outfit who had just appeared. “I know this girl. Would you mind not dragging her off?” Their best attempt at intimidating stares was easily ignored. Irritated, the young men took more direct—and shortsighted—action. “Pretending to be a hero ain’t in fashion anymore, idiot,” one of them said, and dumped the contents of his plastic bottle over the man in the bartender suit. That action alone made it clear to everyone around that these young men were not local residents. Any proper Ikebukuro citizen would know exactly what kind of fire they were playing with. Orange juice poured out of the mouth of the bottle and splattered across the hair and clothes of the man trying to defuse the situation. Kururi quietly backed away. The man with the dreads who was watching from a distance scowled, then put his hands together in a prayer for the young men. Without realizing the mistake they had made, one of the thugs turned back to their newly freed buddy and said, “Mr. Horada! Mr. Horada! It’s cool if we execute this guy, right?” The man he called Horada slowly got to his feet and murmured, “Well, well, you guys got no patience, huh? Look, I don’t wanna get tossed right back into the joint. Go soft on him. Just break his arms and legs, but not bad enough that he di…” Only then did Horada actually turn his face to see the man they were talking about. All time froze for him. “…………” “Uh…Mr. Horada?” He was standing there, pale as a sheet, his mouth flapping silently. But no sooner had they called out his name than the man in the bartender’s outfit grabbed one of the punks by his face.