An extremely fearful Seiji had spent half a day working in the gaming hall.
It was possible the bar had been an actual underground casino instead of a fake, just-for-fun place, because men who looked a whole lot like genuine gangsters kept showing up. The sight had made Seiji shudder; he’d claimed his stomach was acting up, dashed for the bathroom, then made his escape by going out the window and shimmying down a drainpipe.
Suspecting they’d cut off a finger or two as punishment if they caught him, he’d spent a couple of weeks shaking in his apartment. But in the end, that tough-looking upperclassman had withdrawn from school so abruptly, he’d practically vanished.
Rumor had it that he’d surfaced—or failed to surface—in Tokyo Bay…
I’m pretty sure the guy managing the bar was Mr. Goshima… Hang on, though, his name’s different.
The name tag on the man’s chest said Kenji Godou.
Wait. Is he using an assumed name? That idea made Seiji break out in a cold sweat.
But no, he probably just had the wrong guy.
In the first place, he’d only retained a faint memory of the manager because they’d had the same first name. What’s more, there was no way an agreeable young guy with such a breezy smile would have been hired as a manager at an underground casino.
“Sorry, but I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I don’t recognize you, and I’ve never even set foot in a casino bar.”
“Oh, y-yeah, absolutely.” Seiji was trying to cover for himself with a dry laugh when…he saw it.
His eyes…
The man had the same eyes as the manager Seiji remembered. His lips were parted slightly, revealing white teeth; he definitely looked as if he was smiling. However, his eyes were freezing cold.
They were silently threatening him: Don’t say stuff nobody needs to hear. Those were the eyes of a villain who was used to forcing the weak to surrender as easily as if he were crushing ants.
Don’t tell me he really is…
Seiji swallowed hard. The pressure of the man’s gaze was unbearable, and Seiji was fighting the impulse to flee into the bathroom, when someone else spoke up.
“Oh, I remember now.”
It was the man in the motorcycle jacket sitting across from Ishizuka, the one whose name badge said Atsushi Kaganuma. He’d been a yonaki-ishi, and his swarthy skin and muscular frame made him look dangerous in a different way from Godou. He seemed like the type who’d spend his nights mugging middle-aged men downtown for kicks.
“Jack in Ikebukuro. That’s the place that had an embezzlement stink three years back. Their manager and a student part-timer teamed up and bailed with the casino’s take. I’m pretty sure the manager’s name was Go—”
An explosive clatter made the air tremble.
Godou had bolted to his feet, kicking his chair over. In sharp contrast to his previous “pleasant young man” demeanor, he fixed Seiji and Kaganuma with a bitterly cold glare. Then he stalked out of the car.
The remaining passengers just looked at one another in silence.
Understandably, the tranquil mood of a moment ago was gone without a trace. The atmosphere had cooled to subzero temperatures.
Kaganuma ducked his head and said, “Ooh, scary.” The way he was smirking seemed completely out of place; there was no telling what he’d found funny. “Yo, underdog. Listen up.”
Hm. Apparently, Seiji was being paged.
…Though if he responded to that, he’d feel like he’d lost as a human being.
“Um, what?”
“You’d better watch yourself. Worst-case scenario, that wolf in sheep’s clothing is gonna make you disappear.”
“…Huh?”
No, no way, that couldn’t possibly…
“Rumor has it the syndicate’s still looking for that bastard. If he’s using an alias, he’s living on the run. You could tip them off, so it would be easier for him to just get rid of you—although the same goes for me,” he boasted. Then he grinned as though he’d told a good one-liner. “Besides, somebody’s already died because of that dude, ages back. The idiot college kid who helped him embezzle the money. In the end, the guy bailed on the kid without giving him his cut, and the syndicate nabbed him. I can’t remember if they found him floating in Tokyo Bay or if he’s still down there.”
“Y-you can’t mean…” Seiji felt goose bumps prickle up all over his back. The idiot college kid… Does he mean that tough-looking upperclassman?
He thought, It couldn’t be, but in his heart, he was already sure.
At the time, Seiji hadn’t understood why his upperclassman had hauled him over to the bar. But if he’d been planning to drag him into their embezzlement scheme—probably as a fall guy—it made perfect sense.
When he’d bailed on his first day, then, he’d narrowly escaped with his life. In the worst-case scenario, he could have been feeding the fish at the bottom of the bay with that upperclassman right now: a pair of extremely unlikely BF-literally-Fs.
“The aburabouzu is one of the ‘seven mysteries’ handed down at Kongourin Temple.” Shiroshi leaned in close, speaking in a whisper. “Every morning, part of the monks’ training was to take a pot filled with oil to the temple’s main building. One young monk fell prey to temptation and sold the oil to a merchant from town. He planned to use the money to disport himself, but before he could even leave the temple, he was overcome by a sudden illness and died.”
Hm. So both then and now, crime didn’t pay.
“It’s said that ever since, a black shadow sometimes appears at the temple’s main gate. Those who listen carefully can hear it say, ‘I’ll give back the oil, I’ll give back the oil, it was such a little thing, such a small thing.’”
“…That’s a pretty dismal story.”
He’d certainly gotten what he deserved. However, even if he’d wanted the money to go play around, if he kept on regretting his mistake even after divine punishment had struck him down, it was hard not to feel sorry for him.
That said, Godou’s feelings on the matter didn’t seem quite so admirable.
“In other words, Godou’s sin was embezzling?” asked Seiji.
“Yes, as the yokai aburabouzu takes the form of a young monk who stole valuable oil, I believe it indicates the crime of absconding with the underground casino’s earnings.”
And if he’d ended up on this train with them while still hiding from his pursuers…
“Um… I’ll go check on him,” Seiji said, getting up.
He hastily made for the lounge car, but Godou wasn’t there. Had he already gone back to his compartment? According to the map, he was in Room 201.
Me checking on him probably won’t do much good, but…
Even so, he felt like he had to do something. This guy had genuine yakuza ties. As someone who’d come very close to having all his organs sold off at bargain prices to cover a thirty-million-yen debt, Seiji was very conscious of how terrifying that could be.
If Godou was planning to do something to him—or, worst-case scenario, to all the passengers—to keep them from talking, Seiji had to stop him, no matter what it took.
For that reason, he wanted to at least get an idea of how the guy was doing, but…
The door’s closed, huh? Yeah, I guess it would be.
If he couldn’t peek into Room 201, he had no way to check on Godou.
Just to see, he crept up to the door and put one eye to the peephole. All he could tell was that the room lights were on.
“…I guess that’s not gonna work.”
He was about to slink away with his tail between his legs like a dejected dog, when—
“Huh?”
He stopped in his tracks. The downy hairs on the back of his neck prickled up. A moment later, he realized why.
…A scream?
He’d heard a voice—or thought he had. It had been more of a noise, really. As if someone had yelled on the other side of the door, and that yell had morphed into a series of unintelligible sounds.
Don’t tell me… An ugly premonition reared its head. The words death rattle surfaced in his mind. He hastily tried to erase them, but then…
“What the—?!”
…something seeped out through the hairline crack below the door, soaking into the corridor’s carpet.
It was a clear, colorless liquid…it looked like water. It bled out from the room, slowly expanding across the floor, and finally stopped. A few seconds later, Seiji recollected himself with a gasp.
“Mr. Godou! What’s wrong?!”