Demon City Shinjuku: The Complete Edition

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  Calling out with a voice like a song, Sayaka ran up to them. The mask had attempted to parry Kyoya’s sword with his arm. At the moment of contact, the shock of psychic power burned away the narcotic spell like the morning mist.

  The mask backed away. “That is enough. I shall call a nursing robot. No hard feelings.”

  Kyoya raised his pale face and winked. “I’ll take a rain check, then. Don’t pretend to be out.”

  “Understood.” With a golden glitter he descended the staircase and vanished out of sight.

  “Whoa,” said Kyoya, pitching forward.

  Sayaka came up behind him and kept him from falling over. A sweet scent wafted up. He felt her soft breasts pressed against his back.

  “Hey, that tickles,” he said. He had a hard time making his tongue work.

  “You’re freezing cold!” Sayaka exclaimed. “Like ice. When did you go swimming?”

  Kyoya tried to smile, but his face was bent into a disheveled grimace. He’d bluffed his way out of that mess, though he wasn’t quite sure how. He’d used the last vestiges of his remaining nen against the mask, and hadn’t the time or the reserves to restore himself to any kind of fighting condition.

  Only that he couldn’t bear getting whipped by the guy coming at him. Luckily, what he had in him had proved enough.

  “I dunno,” he muttered in a hoarse voice.

  Sayaka exclaimed, “You don’t even know what you did? Your head—”

  “Oh, button it,” Kyoya groused, he thought, to himself.

  “That’s not nice,” Sayaka answered sullenly. Who clearly had heard.

  Now Kyoya was the one who buttoned it. He really didn’t understand. He indicated with his finger where he wanted to lie down. His head had barely touched the hard stone when he felt it being lifted up and set down on a warm cushion.

  He started a bit, the way men do in such situations. Sayaka looked down at him, having made a pillow of her lap. Kyoya averted his eyes from her searching gaze, determined to play the tough guy.

  Sayaka smiled at his smoldering awkwardness, remembering with a touch of nostalgia the first time. Racing away in a taxi from Shin-Okubo station to escape a fire-wielding monster, she had lent the exhausted young warrior the use of her lap. That was all she could do. And she wanted more than anything to simply sail off to parts unknown like that.

  Reflecting on that rekindled a flame of longing and nostalgia, and Sayaka’s cheeks blushed rose red. Kyoya didn’t notice. He was like that. They were both like that. A sad little smile creased Sayaka’s lips.

  “Heave ho,” Kyoya said several minutes later, waking himself up.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his bluntness born of awkwardness. “How about yourself?” he asked, scratching his head.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know,” echoed the surprised Kyoya, gazing at her pale countenance. He hastily cleared his throat.

  He’s concerned about me, Sayaka beamed.

  As they strolled along, they discussed what had happened up to now. Kyoya mostly kept quiet and listened. When Sayaka had finished talking, he said, “The culprit is probably whatever it was you drank.”

  “Probably.”

  “What happened, what you saw in that dream, could you describe it a bit more?”

  “That’s—um—” She hung her head.

  They began to descend the stairway. “I get the idea he lured you out in order to show you what was in that dream. This business with Semiramis, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the vast midnight landscapes—a tool to heighten your awareness of it all. In that light, I know this sounds kinda gross, but it would seem his objective is you, Sayaka-chan. Damn, a few more details would sure be useful.”

  Kyoya clucked his tongue in frustration.

  They stopped halfway down the stairs. Sayaka wasn’t coming with. She was standing still three steps above him. Kyoya furrowed his brow. Sayaka was shaking. This young woman who had thrown herself alone into the Demon City night in order to save the world, and had boldly accepted an invitation to this strange palace—she was trembling.

  Kyoya ran up to her. “What’s the matter?”

  Sayaka clung to him for support before he finished asking the question, her warm breasts pressing the cool fabric of his damp shirt against his skin.

  “I’m so scared,” she wept.

  “What’s going on?” Kyoya said, the sense of urgency overshadowing his usual nonchalance.

  Sayaka shook her head, sending waves through the cascade of hair around her waist. “I’m remembering. Not everything, but enough. Thousands of people lined up in a wide field and kneeling.”

  Her arms tightened around his waist.

  “After that, a big shadow—I couldn’t make out its form, but I think human—trampling upon those people. If that was all—if that was all—but the person commanding it, the person ordering the deaths of so many people and laughing at the sight, that person—”

  Her words dissolved in a cry. Then she screamed, “—was me!”

  III

  When the invited guests descended from “Babylon” that evening, Kyoya and Sayaka were among them. They listened without emotion to the effusive exclamations of praise and wonder.

  The politicians and businessmen estimated the wealth of the man in the golden mask, and how they could tap into it—

  Having viewed dresses created from a completely different perspective, designers once comfortable with traditional patterns mused about monopolizing a “back to the future” movement featuring ancient fashions—

  Stars presented with dazzling jewelry now considered this mysterious unknown lord of the manor a celebrity of their own station—

  While Kyoya and Sayaka felt only dark clouds closing upon their minds.

  Kyoya couldn’t avoid the fact that his nenpo hadn’t approached that of his enemy. Sayaka couldn’t shed those bad dreams.

  He steamed with anger, wondering what kind of drug the masked man had fed her. Kyoya wanted to search out the golden mask. But considering the funk Sayaka was in, and lingering suspicions that he’d come after her again, he had instead hung out in a corner of the banquet hall and sulked.

  He’d mulled over what the enemy was up to, except that admirers of his fighting style kept interrupting. He couldn’t get a moment to himself. But perhaps because he’d intervened, the enemy’s actions toward Sayaka had been forestalled for the time being.

  Android dancers had recreated ancient entertainment. Magic shows took conjuring to another level, playing freely with light and sound. Strolling in the shade of the trees. Boating in the lake. Passing the time.

  At length, the lord of the manor had rung down the curtain on the festivities.

  At the Japan section of the World Federation Government Information Bureau in Azabu, Yamashina met them in person. After they settled down to talk, Kyoya asked, “How are you doing, Sayaka-chan? Feeling better?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  Despite her bright face and voice, she didn’t look all that okay. The shock must have been considerable and he was loath to make things any worse, so he didn’t delve into details. But Sayaka bucked up and related everything to Section Chief Yamashina, even asking for treatment to help restore her memory. Specialists at the Information Bureau would be making preparations even now.

  “It’d help at times like this to have Mephisto on call,” Kyoya sighed.

  Perhaps from fending off the attack from the golden mask, his nen was taking its own sweet time restoring itself. And even then, he couldn’t be certain that he’d have the right kind of spiritual energy on tap to strike back at the monster.

  More than that—more than anything—were his concerns about Sayaka.

  Sayaka looked at him and asked, “Why Mephisto?”

  “I have to think he’d come up with some sort of a solution, for both me and you.”

  “You think so?”

  “He is a doctor. And he does seem to be ma
de out of different stuff.”

  “That is true.” A small smile at last turned up the corners of her mouth.

  “Yeah, it’s a lot nicer seeing you smile,” said Kyoya, a little verve returning to his voice. “Especially when the person smiling is a babe.”

  “Oh, please,” said Sayaka dismissively, but couldn’t help blushing.

  Kyoya laughed, a bit too loudly. The same free spirit who’d cop a feel and promise the girl a high school experience worth remembering was completely thrown for a loop by this prim and pretty lady.

  “But—” said Sayaka, looking down, her voice dying to a whisper. “Doctor Mephisto isn’t here.”

  “That is true too.”

  “Just Kyoya-san.”

  “Hmm?” What might be called an ominous presentiment raced through his mind. “However—” he said, stroking his chin with great gravity. That was as far as he got. There was no however. Nothing more came to mind.

  Sayaka sat herself down on the sofa next to him. There was only room for one more person. Reach out and she could touch him. The distance of a single strand of her hair.

  “Um—” she said.

  “W-what?” Kyoya burst out. Caught off guard, he stared instead at the ceiling.

  “Nothing,” Sayaka said.

  She didn’t know what came after the “um.” For reasons she couldn’t comprehend, when she really wanted to talk to the one person she wanted to talk to more than anybody else,

  Sayaka was sixteen. A woman’s shadow had begun to touch her comely features, accompanied by that richer, more complex scent. A nature that set her apart from other girls could be ascertained at a glance, along with the instinctual urge to shield her from all the pain and sorrow the world had to offer.

  Just as they all knew at a glance that the only child of the World Federation president had an iron will and was no prisoner to vapid sentimentality.

  Since working at the Philanthropic Hospital in Kawadacho, she’d received five formal proposals—from three of the young hard-working doctors and two of the medical directors—on behalf of their sons, of course.

  She turned them all down, though none of them abandoned the effort, sending endless bouquets her way, with invitations to dinners and concerts. She paid them no mind, though it would be less than true to say she never wavered in her convictions.

  But at such times, she always recalled that face to mind. No matter how far away, he was always in her heart. There had been no promise of him being any closer. Except for now—and he couldn’t be further away.

  The door opened. Section Chief Yamashina and five Information Bureau personnel entered the room. The kind of big, tough men that showed up when the going got tough.

  “Expecting a fight?” Kyoya said coolly.

  The section chief answered with a stern expression of his own. “Based on what you’ve told us, our enemy seems to have Sayaka in his sights.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. How about we skip the obvious?”

  “This time around, for reasons that are unclear, she was allowed to safely return, but there is no guarantee that a kidnapping attempt won’t be made in the future. That’s what these bodyguards are for.”

  “Huh.” Kyoya nodded.

  His sour expression didn’t brighten. He’d figured they were bodyguards from the start. But based on the abilities of the masked man, he doubted a hundred more like them could protect Sayaka. It seemed more a question of whether a thousand ants could stop a tank.

  “The memory restoration procedure is ready to begin. This way, please.”

  “Gotcha.” Kyoya came to his feet.

  He was an outsider, but this was an extreme case, and nobody believed he didn’t belong there. They hadn’t forgotten that this high school student and his sword had saved the world.

  They passed down the bioluminescent-lit hallway to the elevators and descended three floors to a door that said: “Memory Restoration Room. Entrance Prohibited.” After five separate computer ID checks, they were allowed inside. When it came to peering inside somebody’s head and rooting around in the past, any purposes other than medical were strictly forbidden.

  Such facilities existed in the Information Bureau primarily to recover the memories of agents involved in covert intelligence activities or those of enemy spies, though such purposes were denied in public. That Sayaka and Kyoya were so readily admitted was a sign of the respect Yamashina had for Kyoya’s nen.

  Inside the room was another room, stocked with strange-looking equipment, overseen by a man dressed in a white lab coat.

  “Professor Kurosawa of the Medical Affairs Department,” said Yamashina.

  He introduced Kyoya and Sayaka. The old scholar nodded curtly. He had an unkempt air about him. Kyoya didn’t take it in a bad way. It was the kind of welcome he expected from the stubborn mad scientist type.

  “Well then, Chief,” the professor said in a loud voice, like a gorilla thumping his chest and marking his territory.

  “Well, what?”

  “How many laws are we breaking here?”

  “Quite a few.”

  “So it appears.”

  The professor started toward the equipment. He stopped and said over his shoulder, “By the way, Chief, I’ve been meaning to discuss my salary.”

  “You got a raise rather recently.”

  “And it’s already been eaten up by my expenses.”

  “We’ll have to make sure you’re compensated.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  “For your research expenses.”

  “Stingy bastard.”

  He went over to the equipment. Kyoya couldn’t suppress a smile. He was an interesting old buzzard.

  The “equipment” consisted of an egg-shaped pod. “This is the pod,” said the professor. Yeah, and? Kyoya thought. As if reading minds already, the old buzzard launched into a lecture.

  “It is not, however, an ordinary pod. It is filled with a saline solution. And it is not a creation of this department, but contains a compound I synthesized to backtrack through time. The user is immersed in the pod naked, and in a flash returns to the past. It is not a time machine, to be sure, so it cannot take a person thousands of millennia into the past or forward into the future. Only to a past that person has experienced before. Namely, regress them back to the moment of birth, without any significant side effects.”

  “Just a sec,” Kyoya interrupted.

  The professor frowned. He leaned closer to Kyoya and said, “What’s the matter? Don’t want to get naked?”

  “All the same to me. But what exactly are these insignificant side effects?”

  “Nothing made by man is perfect. I’m not a god.”

  “Don’t say it like you’re so proud of it. Anyway, she’s the one going in there.”

  “Don’t get yourself into such a lather. Fact is, it works just as well with a bathing suit.”

  “Quit ducking the question.”

  Yamashina stepped in to end the debate. “Time is of the essence. He is the best in his field, which will become apparent soon enough. Forces are conspiring against Sayaka-san even as we speak. Our first priority is discerning their nature. The sooner the better.”

  “I agree,” said Sayaka.

  Kyoya didn’t voice disapproval and the mad scientist bit his tongue as well.

  “Well, then. Gentlemen, let us move to a separate room and leave the young lady to change here.”

  They started walking toward the indicated door. Halfway there, Kyoya glanced back over his shoulder. The mad scientist was crouched down in front of the equipment, twiddling with the myriad knobs and switches.

  Kyoya grabbed him by the collar of his lab coat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m checking the equipment.”

  “Yeah, right. You’re just randomly pushing buttons. C’mon.”

  At the lockers, getting into her bathing suit, Sayaka giggled.

  The light of dusk filled the large hall. Th
e world beyond the windows was already dark, filled by twinkling stars and the lights of Demon City.

  “Fool.”

  Accompanying the quiet curse, a hand reached out from the golden gown and touched a steel epaulet. A dark blue mass silently flew and landed with a thunderous crash on the floor a dozen feet away.

  “Idiot.”

  The green figure sailed backwards.

  “Dunce.”

  A red streak flashed through the air.

  None of them bounded to his feet. Several hours before, these gladiators had joined the blue knight in a death match with Kyoya Izayoi. None who witnessed it then could have believed their helplessness now, hit so hard they couldn’t get up.

  “Why did I invite such useless gutter trash into my abode? All to look into that girl’s heart and finish off the boy. To fail at one was to fail at both, all due to your blunders. And you let him go, on top of that. What did I reincarnate you for? I should want to kill myself.”

  “However—” A painful moan came from Vian, the red knight on the floor. “That young man—possesses talents and powers—that exceed even ours. We would have once asked him to join our band. In such a light—by force of numbers—as the three knights of Marduk, we cannot.”

  “Quiet!”

  The man in the gown—the masked lord—stomped on the floor. The heavy reverberations raced through the ground, throwing the three six feet into the air and pounding them down onto the floor.

  “Don’t flatter yourselves! That boy, he is truly a frightening man. I had no desire to let him walk out of here, but could not stop him. Enough. You have your orders. He has returned to Demon City. I will send an assassin appropriate to that place after him.”

  “That is—” the red knight groaned.

  The other two remained silent.

  “Or I will employ them. My queen Semiramis, that merciless woman forbade even those brutal barbarians to enter the human world. I will at last set them free.”

  “You cannot.”

  “I cannot?” The mask’s eyes glowed with a cruel light—a light from deep within that set the slits afire—and made these fearsome knights tremble. “Having come this far, I am no longer capable of comprehending such words. Demon City Shinjuku—a death suited to such a name will consecrate its power unto myself. This will be my answer until you have mitigated my anger.”