Chapter 15

CHAPTER 4 A The Newcomer Ikebukuro–several years ago “So you want to know about the Headless Rider?” asked the info broker, dressed in a black coat with a fur fringe. He shrugged his shoulders. His client asked how much it would cost. “The price is the same as for any other information. But what I can tell you is more limited than most topics. For one thing, the Headless Rider is one of my sources.” He leaned back into his office chair and stared up at the ceiling. “First of all, I want to make one thing clear. The Headless Rider is literally headless. Not a trick, not a costume. We’re talking about an actual monster. Or spook; or goblin; or phantom, fairy, freak, ghosty, creature, urban legend, cryptid… People are free to use whatever word they want, and I have no interest in debating specific definitions.” Once satisfied that the client wasn’t angry or mocking in the wake of that declaration of the Headless Rider’s inhuman nature, he smirked and continued. “Ah yes, so you’ve seen your share of the rider, then. You can’t see such a creature in person and still think it belongs to this world. I mean, if you saw that silent motorcycle and the shadow that exudes from the rider’s body, you’d have to be quite eccentric to think that was humanly possible. Then again, the pace of human progress is always beyond what you think. Perhaps modern technology can do that now.” Then he diverted the topic slightly. “Human possibilities are truly incredible, don’t you agree? They say that anything mankind can envision will be achieved. When neuroscience and virtual reality develop further, we’ll be unable to tell the difference between dreams and the future anymore. The time lag between ‘now’ and ‘later’ will cease to exist. The moment you dream of flying, a device will capture that thought and send the image of flight directly to your brain, perhaps. Or maybe humanity will fall idle and cease to advance. I accept the future in either case.” He looked down from the ceiling and faced his guest, beaming happily. “I love humanity, you see,” he said, bringing the detoured topic back to the main road. “Or to flip it around, I do not love anything that isn’t humanity. You might even say I hate it. But at least for the moment, I don’t hold any particular loathing or hostility for the Headless Rider.” His mouth curled upward, and his eyes sparkled. “But I say ‘for the moment’ because…if she tried to change human society itself, I’m certain I would hate her for that.” Then he looked away, reflecting on the topic of the Headless Rider. “The Headless Rider learned how to be a person by living among them. She’s a monster that wound up blending into human society for reasons of her own, learning what’s important and what is forbidden. Ironically, because of that, she’s actually got more morals than your average hoodlum. In fact, it’s startling just how rapidly she managed to mimic humans.” He paused there and stared right into his client’s eyes, his mouth twisted in a grimace. “But of course, no human being is going to view the Headless Rider as another human. A vampire is one thing—it might as well be a person with a bad dental history. But she’s missing something that is extremely important for a human being to have: a head.” The client asked what he was trying to say. “What do human beings do when they see something alien?” He stood up from his chair and walked over to a bookshelf full of a variety of titles. “They revere it, they tremble in fear, they view it as an escape from dreary reality. Or they try to use it, or try to kill it, or try to purge it from their sight—or simply run away… What will you do? Not that I’m particularly hung up on the answer.” The info broker traced a spin with his finger and repeated to his client, “I love human beings.” Then he seemed to remember something. “Well, I do happen to know one person, a real eccentric, who said he loved the Headless Rider as a woman. But I can respect even that choice because it’s a choice made by a human.” He pulled out a number of books and began to organize them. “Human beings exhibit a variety of reactions in the face of the alien. Even if it occurs not in a monster but in another human. Mighty warriors are hailed as heroes in wartime, but when peace returns, they are feared as monsters for their extreme strength. It’s only natural that reactions change depending on the individual, the time, and the society.” The info dealer’s shoulders rose, and his voice dripped with irony. “In that sense, when a monster is living in the midst of society, what’s important is not on the human side. It’s on the monster’s side. “Out of all the many, many reactions that humanity gives you, whose hand will you take?” Ikebukuro—present day “A high schooler…who can fight on equal terms with Shizuo Heiwajima?” Aoba’s voice was full of naked skepticism and honest surprise, as if to say it would be incredible if it were true. They were in the busy part of Ikebukuro, and the clock would soon be hitting midnight. While the crowd had died down, the place was still busy, just full of a different clientele, like office workers on their way home from drinking. After Horada left, Aoba and his friends went back into the busy part of the city to hang out. Mairu had sent him a message saying, “We’re looking for a girl named Ai Tatsugami. Ask Kuon for the details!” but Kuon hadn’t shown up for the Blue Squares hangout, so there was nothing to do on that end. I’ll have to ask Mairu or Kururi at school tomorrow, Aoba decided. In the air around him were the buzzing rumors. “I heard Shizuo Heiwajima was in bad shape.” “Yeah, like he almost lost the fight?” It sounded preposterous to Aoba, but he couldn’t help his curiosity, and when they stopped at a nearby corner, he whipped out his smartphone to check. He soon found the information he was looking for, between a number of news sites and social media feeds. “Oh, shit, it’s IkeNew!” There was an article right on the familiar Ikebukuro news site, but Aoba still couldn’t be sure of what he was reading—until he finally saw the video. This…isn’t…special effects. Is Shizuo Heiwajima going easy on him? No, that’s not it. In fact…how is he moving like that…? The boy in the Raira Academy uniform was weaving away from Shizuo’s fists with inhuman footwork and striking back quickly and accurately. Aoba was shocked to learn that there was a student at his school who could move like this, but there was something else in the video that caught his attention. The quality of the video was poor, and it seemed to have been taken from a distance on maximum zoom. He couldn’t make out the face of the combatant fighting Shizuo—but he had a very clear look at a person nearby, who slowly got to his feet. It was another male wearing the Raira uniform. With green hair. “Kotonami…” Caught right in the same frame with the boy who was fighting toe to toe with Shizuo was Aoba’s underclassman and fellow Blue Square. Understanding came to his mind, along with a number of emotions. Aoba grinned. “Who the hell did he find…? What the hell did he find?” Tokyo—abandoned factory “You think Shizuo Heiwajima was, like…sick or something? Maybe he had the flu.” The voice echoed through the unused factory building. This building had previously been used as a secret hideout of sorts by both the Yellow Scarves and Blue Squares over the years. Now that the Yellow Scarves were gone and the Blue Squares had moved elsewhere, a new gang ruled this turf. Dragon Zombie. The motorcycle gang had made their home around Ikebukuro for ages. Before the era of color-repping street gangs arrived, they had been one of the two most feared groups in the city, the other being their rival, Jan-Jaka-Jan. But as the times changed, so did the idea of the youth subculture custom motorcycle gang, the bosozoku. Jan-Jaka-Jan was now an underground group, working as a street-level arm of the Awakusu-kai. And because of the circumstances that took their leader, Libei Ying, away from Ikebukuro, Dragon Zombie had become a gang with name value only and little substance. The remaining members did what they could to keep the group going, taking jobs for an info broker—but when that broker skipped town, it seemed that the writing was on the wall for the gang. However, that just set up a new turning point. Their leader came home. “Shizuo’s such a monster. That’s never changed,” said a man in his early twenties. He had his back to the rest of the group inside the factory, his eyes trained up near the ceiling. That was only natural, because their leader, Libei Ying, was engaged in a very different activity while he spoke to his followers. His hands were nimbly moving back and forth, hurling a multitude of objects into the air for the other hand to catch. He was juggling. Normally, you would assume he was half-joking around while holding that conversation, but not a single person around him was laughing or even smiling. The objects he was juggling were wide-bladed Chinese weapons called liuyedao, or “willow-leaf sabers.” Many people in Japan thought of this weapon as a Blue Dragon Sword, but that was a misconception; that name actually corresponded to a long-handled, bladed spear. In any case, they were vicious-looking weapons. The ceiling light reflected off naked edges as they spun and danced right over Libei’s head. Two young women were sitting on oil drums resting on either side of Libei. They must have trusted his skill implicitly, because they showed no concern over the fact that they could easily be sliced by the flying weapons with one wrong move. They each gave their own commentary. “We happened to be there when they were fighting.” “It was really amazing. He was just like Shizuo.” The juggling man smiled, delighted by what he was hearing. He said to all the cohorts standing behind him, “How curious. I bet this will lead to something fun.” Then he changed up the movement of his hands, and as though wrapping them up in his arms, he caught multiple swords out of the air at once. When he had them all in his control, he spun around and spread his hands in a dramatic fashion. “I’d really like to meet this boy.” Tokyo—back alley “S-some guy was throwing fists with Shizuo like it was nothing?! Are you serious?!” Horada cried, dropping the can of beer and rushing over to the other hoodlums. “You better be! I don’t want to find out you’re bullshittin’ me!” “N-no, I’m serious! I was there when it happened! I couldn’t really see his face ’cause it was far away, but I’m sure the guy was a student at Raira Academy!” Horada clenched a fist without realizing it. “That’s crazy… You know Shizuo—that guy’s a total monster! If there’s a kid on his level out there, we gotta get him in with us… You know it!” “You serious?” “Then I can go back and talk shit to those kids in the Blue Squares. I could even mess with Dragon Zombie! I’ll rule Ikebukuro again!” Had Horada ever ruled Ikebukuro in the first place? His friends tried to think of when that would have been, but nobody wanted to question him out loud. After all, they all agreed that having a powerful pawn at their disposal would dramatically change their status around town. A rooftop in Ikebukuro Once he’d gotten a good dose of the night breeze, Tom admonished his coworker. “Look…you went a bit too far tonight, Shizuo. The kid was knocked out cold, and you went after him for another kick? That’s not you.” Shizuo looked conflicted. “Yeah…I’m sorry. But the thing is, that kid with the green hair… He was mostly unharmed.” “Huh? What do you mean? He wouldn’t be fine if you hit him…” “The moment I hit him, he caught the punch with both hands. And he used that leverage to push himself off my fist.” “…” Tom was well aware that Shizuo was not the kind of person who made weak excuses. And he also noticed that Shizuo was smoldering with a particular anger—something he was holding deep in his gut, away from the surface. “I get the feeling…I mighta been screwed over back there. “That green-haired kid… He’s no different from that fleabrain.” Takadanobaba—Kuon’s apartment “I—I did it just like you said, okay? I started talking about the rumors in the office this morning, right around Shizuo Heiwajima… Honestly, I thought he was gonna kill me. This job wasn’t worth it. You owe me hazard pay or something…” Kuon smirked as the young man on the other end of the phone pleaded. “Now, now, let’s not get greedy. You know I could tell Shizuo the truth, right? That the new guy at work was spreading stories about the Headless Rider to make him mad, all in the hope of scrounging up a little money…” “…N-no…Please! Anything but that! I won’t ask for money again, okay? Okay?!” After their conversation finished, Kuon placed another call to a different person. He walked around his apartment, humming as it connected. He did not appear to be particularly hurt after his encounter earlier. “Hey…sorry about that. The guy I hired started getting greedy with me.” “” “Yeah… This was really startling. I wasn’t expecting it,” Kuon admitted, sitting down on the sofa with his smartphone to his ear. “I was thinking I’d get my ass kicked so bad by Shizuo Heiwajima that he’d go to jail for good this time.” “?.!” “…Nah, the people in town are tired of getting served Shizuo. So you gotta take him off the menu for a while. By the time he gets out of prison, he’s fresh again, see?” It was a strange thing to say. He wore a very odd, unboyish smile full of patronizing smugness. “It’s time for a new star to take the stage. And I wanna make sure there’s plenty of advertising.” “A guy on Shizuo’s level?!” “Then he’s invincible to everyone but Shizuo!” “What middle school was he from?!” “I dunno, actually.” “Is there a higher-res video out there?!” “Is he actually tougher than Shizuo?” “Never heard of him around here.” “An outsider, then?” “Find him.” “Find him.” “Whatever it takes to find him!” In the span of a single night, the story raced all through Ikebukuro. He hadn’t beaten Shizuo Heiwajima. He’d just put up a good fight. But that alone was an abnormal event. There was one man who had fought Shizuo with knives and vehicles. However, it was simply unheard of for someone to hurt Shizuo with their bare hands. Sometimes people talked about Simon from the sushi shop, but he helped bring Shizuo back to reason when he was in a rage and had never actually fought him, so no one knew for certain who’d win. Because nearly everyone reacted to the news the same way, it set off a shock wave through the city—and drew great interest from the public. Shizuo Heiwajima had become a household name among the young people of Ikebukuro. And anyone who was his equal in combat became news by that fact alone. As for Yahiro Mizuchi himself, he was peacefully sleeping, completely unaware of what was happening elsewhere. In the depths of his sleep, he dreamed. He was leading a normal life with many others. In this dream, he enjoyed the world that general society considered to be “ordinary.” This was his hope for the future. He would surely forget what it was about after he woke up, but it was a hope that he would continue to hold in his waking life. He had no idea that he was rapidly becoming a new urban legend. The latest urban legend had no idea he was breathing new life into the city of Ikebukuro. He was fast asleep. Peacefully counting sheep.