Durarara!!, Vol. 3 (Novel) (17 page)

“I…I only want to track down the slasher. If the Dollars really are unrelated, I think it would be perfect just to talk it out.”

“And is that the opinion of the Scarves as a whole?”

“…” Masaomi looked away from the pointed question.

“If it’s like the old days, and you’ve got a tight grip on all of your people, then I can help you. But they changed while you stepped away from the Yellow Scarves. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Kadota said forcefully, brooking no argument.

Masaomi listened with eyes shut tight and head down. He squeezed the words out of himself into groans. It was not the usual Masaomi with his self-absorbed, shallow gibberish, but a sympathetic, lonely boy pressured and at the end of his wits.

“I…I still think of them, of the Yellow Scarves, as my friends. But…it’s true that I don’t really want…to go back there permanently.”

“I can imagine,” Kadota said easily, draining the last of his tea. With the air in the room settled down a bit, he asked Masaomi, “You don’t know what you should be doing, do you? You’ve found a different way of life. You don’t know if anything you say will really reach them…and that’s a big concern to you, isn’t it?”

“…”

“Let’s just assume there really is a squabble with the Dollars. What does that even have to do with you? You left because you hated the idea of gang warfare…”

“I ran away,” Masaomi said, cutting himself down to size before Kadota could reach his point. But his eyes were slowly regaining the light, and the pathos that had racked him moments ago was easing.

“But this time…it’s not just my fellow Yellow Scarves.”

“Huh?”

“A good friend of mine from school was attacked by the slasher—someone who has nothing to do with the Yellow Scarves or the past. I can’t get over that…so I’m only using the Yellow Scarves name as an excuse to solve a personal problem,” Masaomi said, his voice full of strong will and intent, as Kadota listened. “Still, I want to know who the slasher is. That’s all this comes down to.”

“That’s all?”

“…Yes.”

“Then I’ll say no more on that. What I will say again, however…is that you won’t find the slasher in the Dollars,” Kadota repeated, another tiny sigh escaping his lips.

“I don’t—no—
we
don’t agree with that.”

“What?”

“Last night, we witnessed something beyond belief.”

Masaomi began to tell a story.

A story of the grotesque, otherworldly event he saw in the rain the night before.

And the undeniable truth that the “intruder” riding behind that creature carried a katana, and dozens of the Yellow Scarves witnessed the whole thing…

“…I see.”

Kadota held his cup, a look of troubled understanding on his face. When he realized the cup was empty, he grimaced and put it back down.

“I’m aware of the rumors that the Black Rider’s participated in some Dollars meetups. The other Yellow Scarves know about it, too…”

“And the fact that she helped the girl with the katana get away means that the slasher and the Black Rider must be working with the Dollars, you’re claiming?” Kadota said, sussing out Masaomi’s point.

The other boy nodded gravely. “And a guy with us named Horada got attacked by the rider yesterday…”

“Horada? Horada…”

“?”

Masaomi was confused by the way Kadota repeated the name, but he was quickly distracted by the whispering of Yumasaki and Karisawa, who had been silent for the last several minutes.

“Hey, Yumacchi. Did you notice something strange about that story?”

“What’s that?”

“The Black Rider finished off the slasher, remember?”

“Well, it was mostly Shizuo. Plus Togusa running him over with the van.”

They were speaking quietly enough to avoid being overheard on the street, but not inside while seated directly next to other people.

“What was that?”

“Huh? Uh…well, um, just…how to explain?” Yumasaki stammered.

Kadota sighed and took it upon himself to do just that. “Are you aware that the slasher seems to be more than one person?”

“Well, there were fifty incidents that happened in a single night. So, yeah, that seems clear.”

Kadota seemed hesitant to say what was on his mind, but he quickly gave up. “Well…now that you’ve seen something beyond belief, you’ll be able to believe it.”

“What do you mean?”

“There won’t be any more slashings.” Kadota tapped the rim of his empty cup with a finger. When he spoke, it was slow, in rhythm with the beat. “From what I heard on the grapevine, the slasher chose to pick a fight with—of all people—that monster Shizuo Heiwajima… Do I need to explain what happened next?”

Shizuo Heiwajima.

The instant Masaomi heard the name, something crawled from his back over his face.

Masaomi knew him well—he was a human bomb, someone people called the fighting puppet of Ikebukuro.

The slasher’s mob versus one human being.

It was an unthinkable matchup, but there was only a single person who could grant it immediate credibility, and that was Shizuo.

“No…but… Who did it, then?” Masaomi asked in disbelief.

Kadota shook his head as he scratched it. “Well…whatever. If you just want to know about the slasher, then there’s no use hiding what I know. As for the rest…ask the person who knows the boss. I’ll leave the decision up to the two of them.”

“Uhm,” Masaomi mumbled, surprised that Kadota had broken so easily.

But at the same time, Kadota’s eyes narrowed, and he delivered a warning. “However, if that goes awry and you have to declare the Dollars your enemy—”

“If we do, then what?”

“I’ll be ready for that fight.”

The supposedly calmed air between them prickled once again.

“…”

“Is that all you have to say? You’re prepared for that outcome, too, aren’t you? When you fly the flag of vengeance, it becomes more than just the usual hell-raising kids your age like to get into. You know that, don’t you?”

“I—”

Once again, a sound stopped them at the height of the tension in the room.

Thunk.

With a pleasing sound, something embedded itself into the wall next to the table.

The group recognized that something had passed between them and turned their heads slowly toward it, anticipating what they would find.

What they saw sticking out of the wooden wall was a combination of silver and black.

“Gonna scare the other customers… Take that talk outside,” said the Russian behind the counter in his brusque Japanese, working the sushi in front of him without looking at them.

One of his sashimi knives was missing from its customary spot. It was now stuck into the wall between the four.

“All ready. One Kremlin roll, two, three, four, just for you, boss,” came Simon’s cheery voice, breaking right through the chilly atmosphere in the room. “You hungry because you fight. Eat sushi, get full, full of dreams. Human stomach is dream factory. So you stop fighting, yes?”

The waiter neatly carried over four dishes of the rolls they’d ordered, balancing the plates in both hands.

“Uh…yeah. Thanks, Simon.”

“I didn’t realize kitchen knives could sink so deeply into walls.”

“Doesn’t this count as attempted murder?”

“Th-thank you for this food.”

The combination of the chef’s menace and Simon’s easygoing charm having drained the tension out of the group, the four silently ate their sushi. The food was adeptly made and quite delicious, but with the desire to finish their food and get down to business lodged in their brains, they weren’t able to fully appreciate it.

“So long, Kida. Don’t get any half-cocked ideas.”

Kadota’s group paid their tab and left the restaurant. Yumasaki and Karisawa launched back into their usual chatter, as though they’d completely forgotten everything discussed inside.

As his old acquaintances drifted away into the distance, Masaomi sat alone in the little tatami enclosure, holding his head in his hands.

“I’ll be damned…”

Someone who had made contact with the boss of the Dollars. Someone whom Kadota had declined to name. But Masaomi recognized the number that Kadota left with him.

“So…I’ve finally come back to
him
.”

He sat in silence for long moments, lost in the past. Masaomi was a statue. Minutes passed by.

“Ne rasstraivaysya.” (Cheer up, man.)

The voice came from over his shoulder. Masaomi looked over to see Simon with a fresh plate in his hands. It bore a few pieces of sushi that were clearly a rank above what they’d ordered earlier.

“Huh?”

Before Masaomi could ask what this was about, the cranky chef from behind the counter answered it for him.

“Gloomy faces drive business away. So eat up and leave with a smile on your face.”

“Oh…thank you,” Masaomi said, inclining his head. When the chef didn’t respond, Simon butted in with a cheery grin.

“You no fight. You already happy. Happy enough. So don’t steal
happy of others. You share, everyone happy. I just learn saying: ‘White goose is loud, becomes round.’ What this mean, anyway? Why goose? You are goose, Kida?”

“…It’s ‘What goes around comes around,’” muttered the chef. Simon looked quizzical, not understanding the difference.

Masaomi popped the freshly served sushi into his mouth as he listened. It tasted like tuna collar dipped in soy sauce. When he bit into it, the fat practically melted on his tongue, mixing with the salty soy sauce in perfect harmony.

He was so surprised by the taste, which was beyond what he normally paid for, that Masaomi couldn’t help but murmur, “Wow, this is good.”

He thanked them for the food and was about to pay, but the chef told him, “They already paid for your share.” He’d gotten a free meal.

Masaomi realized that despite his hostile attitude, everyone around him had noticed his obvious misery and had tried to cheer him up in their own ways. He couldn’t help but snort.

Guess I’m still just a kid after all…

With his mind now made up, Masaomi left Russia Sushi, spurring his naive self onward toward fulfilling his purpose.

Outside of Tokyu Hands

By the early afternoon, the rain had eased up just slightly, but the wind was blowing the droplets under their umbrellas.

“Horada… Horada…”

Kadota continued mulling over the name they’d heard earlier, as the group made its way toward the Ikebukuro location of the Animate chain store.

“What’sat, Kadota? New kind of curse or something?”

“It sounds like a spell if you put a rhythm to it, like ‘Ho-radaho-rada.’ A spell of binding? For a summoning maybe.”

“Shut up and stop confusing me,” Kadota grumbled at the two muttering behind him. “Horada,” he repeated.

“So what’s up, Dotachin? You’ve been mulling this over for a while.”

“Remember how he said that the Black Rider took down a Yellow Scarf named Horada?” Kadota said, looking pensive. He revealed what was on his mind, trying to answer his own question. “It’s nothing serious, just… That’s an uncommon name. Maybe the kanji characters are different…but something about this is bugging me.”

“And what is that?”

“Well…I used to know a guy by that name.”

Kadota decided that letting his mind run in circles would be a waste of time, so he changed the topic. “Was that chef hard-core or what? One step in the wrong direction and someone would be a goner.”

“Sorry, I actually thought it was pretty cool.”

“Me, too. I can just imagine the scene: The hero of the cooking manga claims that he shouldn’t use a knife as a weapon, while the sushi chef busts out his combat sambo.”

“Ugh, you people and your inability to distinguish fantasy from reality!” Kadota groaned as he facepalmed and shook his head, more exasperated than angry.

Karisawa argued back, her eyes sparkling. “But you know, Dotachin, that chef’s actually quite a character. He was a hand-to-hand instructor in the Russian military, so I hear. And he also fought off some mafia types who came over from America.”

“There you go with your imagination again… Then again, putting the chef aside, Simon’s definitely got some serious strength and reflexes.”

“Oh, you bet. He can even stop Shizuo and Izaya from fighting. You think maybe he was the captain of some crazy mercenary band or something?! In order to avoid the notice of the state-sponsored assassins after his head, he takes on the role of a simple sushi chef!”

“Why would he start a restaurant called Russia Sushi if he wanted to avoid attention?” Kadota quipped. “But…I don’t mind, because the sushi’s good. I don’t care about their past.”

He watched a gang of yellow youths cross their path, then turned his head up to the sky and its endless rain.

The Sunshine building provided its own light to the sky around it, but there was still no sign that the rain would stop.

“In the end, the only one who can’t escape the past…is he himself.”