Saki?
At the exact moment that Anri was calling Mikado, Saki had tried to call Masaomi. While he wondered what this could possibly mean, his friend said, “I would have liked to call Sonohara here so I could show her what I’m about to show you, but…I just think it would be too dangerous.”
“What is it that you’re gonna show me? I’ll happily check it out if it’s a dirty mag,” Masaomi joked with a shrug. But that was not Mikado’s answer.
“A meeting of the Dollars.”
Outside of Tokyu Hands
“Hey, you got a moment?”
Chikage turned to face Aoba, his face red from the blood streaming down it from his skull.
“As far as I can tell, you seem to be the leader of these guys.”
At his feet were about a half dozen Blue Squares, victims of his fighting prowess.
“Don’t you find all those looky-loos out there kinda strange?”
“…”
Aoba returned his question with silence.
He had noticed it, too, by the time he arrived outside of Tokyu Hands. The pedestrians around them were acting strangely. And unlike what his friend said over the phone, it did not look like “fans excited about a secret pop idol concert.”
But they weren’t interfering with his business, so he largely ignored them—except that now the brawl had broken out, they weren’t running or making noise or recording videos with their phones at all. That part was eerie.
Aoba was curious about the mob that was literally “merely observing,” but in all honesty, the eeriness of that was far outshone by Rokujou’s abnormal strength.
“What are we gonna do, Aoba?” asked one of his friends in a blue cap. “This guy’s crazy!”
“We’ll call for Yoshikiri from the van,” Aoba replied. “Oh, and wake Houjou up, too.”
Chikage looked lonely. “What, are you just gonna ignore my question?”
“I’m sorry. You’re so tough—I’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”
“Actually, I’m goin’ easy on you kids. After all, I don’t wanna accidentally beat Mikado Ryuugamine to death.”
There was no way for Aoba to tell whether he was bluffing or not about going easy on them. All he knew for certain was that the man before him had instantly incapacitated five of his followers.
“…I’ll admit it. I didn’t realize what we were up against with a Saitama gang.”
Chikage, for his part, greeted the gang leader’s words with a shrug.
“Look, I’m not hoping to keep up this fight forever, y’know. If you could pay me back the money for the bikes you burned up as an apology, I’d appreciate it. And as far as the number of my guys you beat up, we can ante up the guys I’ve just beaten and call it even.”
“I get the feeling that you’ve already gotten us back twice over for what we did.”
“You took out ten of mine. So I’m only halfway there, but out of respect for Kadota…”
Chikage paused. He had heard a sound that any motorcycle gang member would recognize. It was the sound of engines revving, exhaust, and the obnoxious clamor of the musical horns that had long been outlawed.
Chikage didn’t make that kind of racket when he rode, because one of his girlfriends said she hated loud noises—but there were plenty of rival gangs who had a very strict code when it came to motorcycle noise: Bright makes right. They did everything they could to be obnoxious.
That sounds like…Gozumezu Guns from Nerima, maybe? No…I can hear the guys from Poliseum as well.
The sounds being played by the approaching horns were familiar to Chikage, who had to wonder what this was about. Would there really be a gang ride at this exact moment?
Chikage was an optimist at heart, but he wasn’t naive. This was not just a coincidence. Alarms were going off in his head.
But before he could do anything about it, they reached his view.
A number of bikes that even from a distance obviously belonged to a gang rounded onto Sixtieth Floor Street. Once he could make out some of their faces, Chikage was aghast.
“Wait a minute, it really is Gozumezu Guns and Poliseum together.”
“Not quite, Mr. Rokujou.”
The clamor of the motorcycles was loud enough that Aoba could barely hear any of what Chikage said, but he understood the gist of it. Amid the noise, he murmured, “They’re not together until after this.”
And then, just to prove him correct, more and more bikes, dozens of them, and even some cars and vans, came into formation along the road. It was clear at a glance that this was more than merely one or two gangs.
“Plus, they’re not motorcycle gangs anymore.”
His face twisted in a dark smirk, Aoba spoke words that no ear could hear.
“They’re Dollars now.”
Outside of Russia Sushi
“What’s this? What’s happening?”
The roar of the motorcycles was enough to draw Nasujima’s attention at last.
The Blue Squares he’d infected with Saika hadn’t said anything about this. Either they hadn’t been informed, or something major had happened out of the blue.
It wasn’t only the biker gangs. Some street-thug types were prowling over on foot as well, and some of them were among the Saika-possessed, but the rest of them were clearly taking part in whatever this was reluctantly, as though they’d been invited by their friends or forced to attend by senior members.
The one thing they all shared in common was that they were the kind of people who would threaten others for money any day of the week.
“Yeah, whatever. The common rabble are easy to deal with,” Nasujima said to himself with a leer, conveniently describing his own army of Saika-possessed as well.
“Either way, they’ll all be my pawns in the end.”
Tokyo
“Got it. Keep an eye on it from a distance.”
Akabayashi was in the process of traveling when he got a report over the phone from the motorcycle gang Jan-Jaka-Jan, who were working directly for him.
“Now, you said you saw thirteen gangs and that was only what you could confirm? This isn’t some big regional alliance thing; cut us some slack, people.”
After hearing more from the other end of the call, he narrowed his eyes and ordered, “Don’t you get involved in the festivities. Keep your distance from the red-eyed folks. No point in having a zombie hunter turned into a zombie.”
With that warning, he ended the call. Akabayashi sighed heavily, the smile gone from his face.
“You’re getting a little too rambunctious, young Ryuugamine.”
The rooftop of a mixed-use building
“Hey…what is all that?”
Masaomi peered over the edge of the roof to ascertain what all the motorcycle roaring was about in the streets below. As usual, the expressway blocked the view of the main street, but based on the sound, it was clear that whatever was happening, it was abnormal.
“Shit…can’t see. Damn, how many bikers they got down there? Sheesh…”
Over his shoulder, Mikado clarified, “It’s not just bikers.”
“…Mikado?”
“There are others from Chiba and Saitama. I guess you’d call them street thugs?”
It was a simple enough statement, but there was a whiff of disdain in Mikado’s voice, along with no small measure of hatred.
“So…you brought them here?” Masaomi asked, turning around to face his friend. “How did you…? No, forget that—this is crazy! I mean, Mikado…you hate those kinds of people, and that’s why…”
“That’s why I went around with Aoba’s group eliminating them, yes. But in fact, I personally could barely do any of it,” Mikado said with a self-deprecating snort. “I was keeping busy with kicking them out of the Dollars…but then I realized that doing that wasn’t enough.”
“…You realized?” Masaomi repeated.
Mikado continued, “Well, I was researching them.”
“?”
“It�
��s very strange. They’ll beat people up, almost for fun, but the moment you bring up information about their family, they freak out. But if you ‘request’ the cooperation of their leaders, the rest will happily go along with it as a group activity. In other words…they’ll fight and commit violence just to go along with the group.”
“Uh, dude…what are you talking about?”
Masaomi couldn’t understand what Mikado meant by all this. Or to be truthful, he half expected it, but he didn’t want to admit it might be true.
Essentially, Mikado had obtained the sensitive secrets of people that he hated and had manipulated them into coming here. He didn’t need to do it for all of them, just one, and the rest would willingly come along for the spectacle. That was all the reason they needed to commit violence.
There were two things Masaomi didn’t want to accept about this.
One was that he didn’t want to think Mikado would do such a devious thing.
The other was that he didn’t have a reason to do it.
“This is crazy… Even if every last member of Toramaru was here, there’s no reason to gather such a huge group…”
“Oh, you’ve got it wrong. Rokujou and Toramaru have nothing to do with this. I feel a bit bad that he’s gotten wrapped up in it, but technically, I am the one calling the shots for the Blue Squares, so…”
“What are you talking about, Mikado?!”
He wasn’t acting right. Masaomi felt that he had to hit him, if that was what it took to make him see sense. He stared at his friend—and then noticed something.
An object clutched in Mikado’s dangling right hand.
The pistol Mikado got from Ran Izumii was already in his hand. His finger wasn’t on the trigger yet. It was pointed at the ground.
He didn’t have it raised with both hands, so there was only so much an amateur like Mikado could do with it in this situation. But if he felt like it, he could shoot it at any moment.
And because he was an amateur, there was no telling where it might go.
“Mikado…?”
Masaomi immediately recognized that it was a gun.
And instantly, he knew that Mikado was not the type of person who would bring out a realistic model gun to use as a bluff. Even now, in his broken state, that was an unchanging part of Mikado’s nature.
Given the many facets of the situation, Masaomi’s guess that the gun was real quickly evolved into certainty.
“Where…did you get that…?”
“Oh, you know.”
But Masaomi didn’t turn his back to his friend. His righteous indignation was outweighing his fear of the gun for now.
“Mikado, what are you trying to do? Setting up this ridiculous gathering, carrying that thing around… What is your plan for the Dollars?!”
“…”
“I feel pathetic! I thought I was your friend, and now I can’t even figure out what is going through your head…” Masaomi despaired, venting anger at himself.
Mikado just shook his head. “It’s all right; it’s not your fault. I planted the seeds for all this myself.” He smiled sadly, still holding the gun. “And if I can’t restart it, then it’s better for the Dollars not to exist at all.”
“Huh…?”
At last, he spoke aloud the answer that he had reached for himself.
“As of today, the Dollars will be no more.”
Shortly before Masaomi and Mikado faced off, there was a post on the largest message board within the Dollars’ online community.
It was a single line.
Just one very simple sentence.
A lone individual post that barely anyone would even notice.
Probably mistyped, or some lame bit of trolling, trying to get attention.
Nobody even responded to the message, and any who saw it forgot it just as quickly.
But this message, in fact, was announcing the future of the Dollars’ entire organization.
“The Dollars will disappear.”
That lone sentence, posted by an unknown individual, was quickly swept along by the vast, ceaseless flood of activity on the board, lost in the depths of a sea of information.
Symbolizing the fate of the Dollars group itself.
Sunshine building—rooftop
Upon the stage of Ikebukuro, many players with varying desires began to dance.
Driven by desire, hatred, obligation, honor, fear, and other such forces, they made their way into the open, wriggling and butting up against one another.
There was one impartial observer of the chaos unfolding.
To be more precise, there was one impartial head that observed the city below it.
A severed head, with a beautiful face and hair, being held by a body astride a headless horse.
Celty Sturluson.
With her head recovered now, she sent her shadow streaming far and wide, silently observing the city she presided over. The shadow blanketed the sky itself, covering the entirety of the city of Ikebukuro.
There was no visible emotion on her severed head, but its eyes were open, and it moved and reacted in a way that suggested it was part of one organism with the body that held it under its arm.
It was impossible to guess as to what she was thinking, and there were no humans present who might attempt to do such a thing. The only being that understood her thoughts was the headless horse, which Celty had called Shooter before she got her head back. It brayed to the sky.
QRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
It sounded like a scream, like a roar, like the sound of the wind blowing past, all at once. The sound vibrated the vast expanse of shadow, extending far across the sky of Ikebukuro.
Celty did not react in any way to the horse’s call. She simply observed the city below.
And more specifically, the clearly visible figures of Mikado and Masaomi.
Kawagoe Highway
“Whew, I think I should be safe at this distance…but on the other hand, what’s up with all the motorcycle gangs? Is someone having a retirement ride?”
Karisawa had escaped the area where all the red-eyed people were and, following the instructions in Yumasaki’s text message, was now heading for Shinra’s apartment.
“At least I was able to give Miss Kujiragi the message. Now I just have to get in touch with Mikarun. Did we ever trade numbers…?”
She was looking through her phone book for Mikado’s information as she walked, when a car passing by her in the street suddenly sidled over and stopped right next to her.
“Huh?” She looked over and saw a very familiar van. “Ahhh!”
She raced over toward it. When she saw the face in the window, there were already tears in her eyes. “Dotachin! You’re all right!”
But then…
“Oh no! We weren’t in time! We’re too late!”
“Huh?”
Yumasaki opened the back door and jumped out, and as soon as he saw Karisawa’s eyes, he promptly pinned her arms behind her back.
“What?! Yumacchi! What?! What are you doing?!”
“Calm yourself down, Karisawa! We’ll give you an exorcism now! Take it away, Shakugan no Anri!”
“Huh?! What the—?! Why is Anri here?!”
“I-I’m sorry, Karisawa…! I’m going to scrape your fingertip a little bit!” Anri got out of the vehicle next, her katana in her hand.
“Wh-what?! Wait—what’s going on?!”
“Listen to me, Karisawa,” said Yumasaki. “You might not realize it, but you’ve been infected by a blade-shaped alien parasite, and now you’re its earthling puppet body!”
“What are you talking about?!” she snapped, baffled, but he held on hard.
“Don’t even try to talk your way out of this! Those red eyes of yours are all the evidence we need to identify the problem!”
That was when Karisawa finally remembered: In order to fool the slashers, she’d popped in those red contact lenses.
“Huh?! Ohhh! No, no, no! It’s not what you think
!”
A few minutes later, Karisawa slumped exhaustedly in the back seat of the van. It was only when Anri, sword in hand, saw her and realized that her red eyes were not those of a Saika-possessed that she was fully out of trouble.
“Good grief. Totally ruined my emotional reunion with Dotachin.”
“Sorry about that, Karisawa,” Kadota said from the front passenger seat.
She waved him off. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m over it. Besides, Azusa’s the one who should be clinging to you in tears, not me. Let that be the foreshadowing for your eventual marriage to her.”
The brief confusion had actually jolted her out of her funk and back into her usual state. She breathed deep, in and out, and looked around the van again.
“So I’m kind of in the dark here. What’s with the festivities?”
Not only were the people in the van different from the usual lineup, there were more than could safely fit inside. Because traffic was barely moving, Yumasaki trotted alongside the car and kept tabs on the surrounding environs.
There was a distant roar of what sounded like an endless gang of bikers somewhere up ahead, and every now and then, a few more of them wove through the lanes past Togusa’s van.
“Where do we even begin…?” Kadota wondered. Before he could launch into an explanation, new information came in over the car radio.
“As for today’s forecast, we’ve got… Excuse me, folks, there’s been a breaking news bulletin just now.”
The DJ’s voice was followed by the sound of a piece of paper being flipped over. If they were postponing the usual weather forecast, it had to be pretty urgent news indeed. Everyone in the van listened intently, all their faces serious.
The contents of the report were far more serious than they could have imagined.
The rooftop of a mixed-use building
Durarara!!, Vol. 13 Page 12
