Durarara!!, Vol. 3 (Novel)

by Ryohgo Narita

  They’re as happy as if it was them pulling through, not me.

  “Make it Raira General Hospital.”

  I guess I was the only one mistrusting the other two.

  “There’s a girl waiting for me there. Please.”

  He was barely able to keep his thoughts and words aligned anymore, but he could hear Kadota mutter exasperatedly, “Sheesh. I toldja not to run, but I didn’t mean it that seriously. Gotta know when to balance it out, man.” His tone was gruff, but there was respect for Masaomi in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Raira Hospital soon,” Kadota said firmly, the last sound Masaomi heard before he lost consciousness.

  Outside the abandoned factory

  Horada loaded into an older car with his posse, slammed the door, and jammed on the pedal. The tires squealed a bit, but within a few seconds, the passenger vehicle was racing along.

  “Ah! Wait, Horada, I don’t see Higa!”

  “Screw him!”

  Horada peeled the car out, not caring that his companion had been left behind in the factory. He could see the abandoned building shrinking in the rearview mirror. But when a black motorcycle emerged from the grounds, the car erupted into panic.

  “Oh sh-sh-shit! The B-Black Rider’s comin’ after us!”

  “Just shut up!” Horada screeched, slamming the gas pedal as deep as it would go. “Go, dammit… Go, go, go! What the fuck is happening?!”

  “What are we gonna do, Horada?!”

  “Just run for it! The cops ain’t comin’ yet! As long as we get away until things cool down, and Izumii gets out of juvie, we can still turn things around!”

  The factory’s street was an empty straight shot, and luckily for them, there were no oncoming vehicles. That meant they could use the space to speed up and put distance between them and the Black Rider.

  “Ah! H-Horada, up front!” cried the man in the passenger seat.

  “What?!” He looked forward.

  A familiar man was standing ahead, leaning against a road sign and glaring at them.

  “It’s him! The bartender outfit… Shizuo! Shizuo Heiwajima!”

  “What?! He’s still alive?!”

  Shizuo was not dead.

  When that fact sank into Horada’s consciousness, he felt not relief that he was not a murderer after all—but the instantaneous and absolute fear that loomed directly ahead.

  And he had no gun now. Even if he had it, there was little belief within him that he could win.

  “Huh? Wait, why’s there a signpost there?” the man in the passenger seat wondered.

  At that very moment, just ahead and on the side of the road, Shizuo lifted up the signpost that he had actually been holding all along.

  “Huh?” all the riders in the car said in perfect harmony. Shizuo recognized the man inside the car with the bandages on his head. A vein bulged on his face, and a violent grin appeared on his lips.

  The next instant, they were greeted by the sight of a street sign being swung horizontally toward them like a baseball bat.

  An indescribable shattering sound echoed through the lonely residential street.

  “Ugwooaaaahh?!”

  Everyone in the car screamed and shrank back, but they didn’t suffer anything more than the impact against the car and the sprinkling of broken glass on top of their heads.

  ?!

  Horada looked up, unsure what had just happened. All he saw was the rest of the road stretching ahead of them, the same as a second earlier.

  Where’s Shiz…huh?!

  They looked for the rearview mirror to catch sight of him, and it was only then that they realized what had happened to the car.

  The surprisingly fresh breeze. The absence of the rearview mirror.

  These things made perfect sense now. After all, the roof of the car was entirely gone.

  There were just a few scraps of the window frames left and the bottom half of all the glass windows.

  Now that they were riding in the world’s ugliest convertible, all the boys realized that their heads could easily have flown off in the impact—and they quaked in delayed terror.

  They had made an enemy of Shizuo Heiwajima.

  And this past, a past that Horada had initiated just one day earlier…

  …was not going to let them escape.

  “Not…so…faaaaast!” came a roar from far behind them.

  A violent impact shook the chassis of the car at the same time the group heard the bellow.

  The nature of the impact from behind was actually quite simple. Between the driver and passenger seats, a NO TRESPASSING signpost stuck into the floor of the car.

  From that point on, their memories became temporarily fuzzy.

  The next thing he knew, Horada was racing through waves of cars at blinding speed, screaming all the while.

  “Aaaaaaaaahhh! Aaaaaa— Aa— Aaaa— Aah! Aaaaahh!”

  The freshly converted convertible raced forward and onward on the busy street, ignoring the blaring horns around it.

  Wh-what? When did I get here?!

  Horada regained his wits but wasn’t able to process the situation yet. He weaved through the cars ahead of him, ignored the lights, and did everything he could to race from the fear he felt sneaking up on him from behind.

  How long had they been fleeing?

  Suddenly, Horada heard the sound of an engine. Not a car engine, but the particular sound that came with the two-wheeled kind of vehicle.

  “Hyaaaaaaaa!”

  His head filled with a vision of the Black Rider, Horada turned the car straight in the direction of the motorcycle engine sound, hoping to crush the smaller vehicle in his panic.

  But Horada was missing one detail.

  The sound of the Black Rider’s bike was different from normal motorcycles.

  And the motorcycle that Horada’s car was bearing down on at high speed was a very particular one.

  Far behind them, Celty shivered and put her hands together to say a short prayer for Horada’s car. She silently rode away from the major street to ensure she didn’t get caught up in what was about to happen.

  One had to feel sorry for Horada’s group. They made the mistake of picking a fight with the police chopper.

  “Trying to run a traffic cop off the road before he can even issue a warning? You’ve got guts.”

  “Eh, wheh?”

  The police motorcycle deftly avoided the hideous convertible’s ramming attempt. The officer’s eyes flashed beneath his helmet as he seized the chance to get something personal off his chest.

  “Don’t fuck with traffic cops, you little brats.”

  That was when Horada’s group experienced the greatest terror of the day.

  Ultimately, their panicked rampage ended with arrests, for the charge of hit-and-run against a traffic sign.

  The young men claimed that their car was sliced open by the sign, but the police determined that was just confusion after the collision speaking. When the original location of the signpost was examined, it didn’t match the expected status of a car collision at all, but they certainly weren’t going to accept that the damage was caused by a single human’s bare hands.

  Perhaps the police thought of Shizuo Heiwajima when they heard the story. But given that they found a lengthy record on Horada and the others, they ultimately deemed it was not worth arresting Shizuo.

  In any case, Horada and his gang wound up behind bars for some time—while the Yellow Scarves dramatically shrank back after that day. A temporary peace settled over Ikebukuro.

  The only thing that troubled the police was that the gun Horada was suspected of using never showed up.

  Late that night, Fujimidai Hill, Shinjuku Central Park

  Tucked away in Central Park was a little pavilion gazebo with a hexagonal roof, surrounded by trees. The clock was approaching midnight.

  Many of the windows in the high-rise buildings surrounding the park were still lit, which threw off the sense of the hour.
>
  It was under this setting that two figures silently met atop the little hill, in the midst of an urban forest.

  The smaller shadow handed over a tightly tied knapsack. The other figure nimbly undid the knot and checked the contents, smiling.

  “Yep, this is it. You’ve delivered the goods safe and sound. Now I can finally get that reward from the Awakusu-kai,” Izaya said, holding up the gun that had been in Horada’s possession earlier.

  “Thanks… I wasn’t able to retrieve…the bullets, though…”

  “Oh, that’s all right. As long as we’ve got the rifling in the barrel, there’s no harm done if the police find the bullets. I appreciate your hard work, Higa. It was very quickly done.”

  “Sure…”

  The young man who should have been with Horada bowed his head reverently to Izaya. It was completely unlike his normal demeanor around Horada—this respect wasn’t derived solely from fear.

  “I would have been fine with passing on Horada’s info so that the Awakusu-kai could handle the whole affair…but I figured if he used the gun to kill Shizu, hey—two birds with one stone.”

  “Right. That’s why you told Horada where Shizuo was through me.”

  “Indeed. It’s really a shame; if he’d hit him in the head or heart, it might have actually worked.”

  Oddly, in the next moment, Higa spun around on his heel and spoke to the air in the opposite direction of Izaya.

  “Yes, it seems that is the case…Mom…,” he said toward the shadow of a pillar and made another bow of deep reverence. Izaya’s eardrums caught the hesitant voice of a teenage girl.

  “Um, thank you… You can go home and live normally from now on…”

  It was not a voice one was supposed to hear in a park at midnight. Higa quickly left the scene, and a girl took his place. Like her voice, her appearance did not fit the situation. Perhaps she would have looked more appropriate during the day—but her outfit was far too proper for a girl meeting a man in the park well after dark.

  “Um, are you…Izaya…Orihara?” the bespectacled girl asked hesitantly.

  Izaya smiled delightedly. “Yes, Anri Sonohara…or should I call you Saika? No…you’re not being possessed, so Anri will do fine for you. By the way, do you recall when we met before this?”

  They seemed like people who had no connection, but they’d actually had contact several times in the past. When she was being bullied by the usual group soon after starting school, he had been with Mikado when they barged in to drive the bullies off. Of course, Shizuo had appeared moments later, so there was no chance for a proper introduction at the time.

  “So you were Izaya… Thank you for your help that day.”

  She bowed daintily and composed a serious face before continuing, “Well…it brings me no pleasure to do this, but…”

  As she spoke, a silver blade grew from her palm. A katana appeared before Izaya’s eyes, the movement as smooth and quick as any iaido master drawing his blade.

  “I need…to cut you down.”

  Every day the same repetition. The same incessant curses from Saika, the same dream, accepted without emotion or excitement. Through her encounters with Mikado, Masaomi, and Celty, it might have appeared that she’d escaped her seemingly normal abnormality.

  But while she wished for something different, she did not wish for Mikado and Masaomi to be miserable. This was something she had to do in order to get the daily life she wanted and secure peaceful lives for Mikado and Masaomi.

  And he was the very puppet master who manipulated those around him to cause chaos—first, Saika’s children, and this time, the Dollars and Yellow Scarves. Now Anri held her sword out and faced him head-on, ready to control that puppet master for herself.

  “Why…why did you do this? To Kida…and Ryuugamine.”

  “Hmm? But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even push them on the back. I just showed them a guidepost. But if you need a reason for even that simple act…”

  Anri’s question was a very reasonable one. But Izaya’s response was as flippant as if he was describing what he had for lunch that day.

  “It’s because I love people.”

  “…?”

  Anri didn’t understand what he meant by that. Izaya spread his hands with delight.

  “Yes, I just love people. Their altruism and malevolence equally. The only exception is Shizuo Heiwajima—I hate him. Perhaps I just wanted to see the different sides of humanity. So here’s your question: Was that answer true…or false?” he teased. Anri’s eyes narrowed.

  “I will know…once I take you over…”

  It was the kind of growl that would normally be unthinkable from Anri. She leaped sharply at Izaya. From her step to her swing, the motion was pure and precise. It was as smooth as an iaido draw without a sheath and ought to have thrown off Izaya’s sense of distance.

  But in anticipation of this, Izaya had leaped backward in a way that nearly looked cowardly, from the center of the hexagonal gazebo to the grassy hill.

  “They say a certain school of iai is focused less on speed than throwing off the target’s sense of distance… I guess it was true,” Izaya remarked with admiration. When Anri took her neutral stance again, he challenged her with, “So how about you? If you really want a tranquil, peaceful life, you should use that katana to slash everyone you know. Once you’re the queen, you’ll get what you want.”

  “That…that is not true! I…I cannot love anyone else…but even I know that is wrong.”

  “How about Mikado and Masaomi, then? They’ve both expressed their affection for you, but you haven’t given either a serious answer. Can you really say that your attitude toward them is correct?”

  “…”

  As Anri held her silence, Izaya taunted, “What a pleasant kind of self-satisfaction. You assume that you can’t love anyone else, and you’re using that as a reason to be satisfied with where you are now. Saika loves people for you? That’s ridiculous. How exactly do you intend to prove that sword’s curse is the same as human love?”

  “Please…shut up…”

  She was already leaping forward before the words had finished leaving her mouth. The swipe was even fiercer and closer than the one before, but Izaya swung back and blocked it with a knife he’d produced from his pocket.

  Meanwhile, he swung around to Anri’s rear, situating himself in her blind spot. Anri anticipated this and whipped the sword back around her…but Izaya was not attacking. He took more distance this time.

  “Listen, I wish you wouldn’t assume I’m a pushover. There’s a reason I can hold my own against Shizu all the time. Plus…you shouldn’t have given this to me.”

  Smirking, Izaya pulled out the pistol Higa had given him minutes ago and pointed it at her. But Anri was not affected. Obviously she had anticipated this and made sure the bullets were removed from the gun first.

  But Izaya, smiling with the confidence of one who knew what she was doing all along, held up a plastic bag with his free hand.

  “…!”

  Inside the clear baggie were a number of objects that looked like bullets.

  “So…was it possible for me…to reload this gun while we just had this conversation?” he mocked. But Anri was keeping herself calm, putting all of her focus into anticipating her enemy’s next move. Even if he had loaded the gun, if she gave herself over to Saika’s memory and experience, she might survive anyway.

  Of course, Anri herself would be exposed to the fear of death—but she just shut her vision into the picture frame, bottling up her fear and suppressing it.

  However, upon seeing her calm gaze and steady stance, Izaya quietly said, “Just to be clear, I won’t actually be shooting at you.”

  “…?”

  “I choose Higa instead.”

  “…!”

  “Or perhaps that couple walking over there would do better.”

  Those words drew Anri’s heart into the world of the picture frame.

  Izaya’s eyes were fo
cused not on Anri, but behind her—the direction Higa had descended the hill. She didn’t know how far away the people he mentioned were. She couldn’t hear their footsteps. How far away could Izaya kill people with that gun?

  Neither Anri nor Saika had any knowledge of how guns worked.

  “I mean, you can’t love other people, so causing pain to the innocent shouldn’t really hurt you that much…right?” he said bluntly, as Anri froze in place. “Just to be clear, I knew that Higa was a victim of the slasher. He picked a fight with Shizuo and said he got cut as he was fleeing, broken and beaten. So why do you think he was the one I ordered to retrieve the gun?”

  His next words: “Because of you. I wanted to talk to you…so I could declare war in person.”

  He was not talking to Anri, but the blade in her hands.

  “You see, I also have a deep, deep love for humanity,” he repeated, grinning. “I won’t let a stupid sword take people away.”

  An appropriate way to declare war against Saika.

  “Because people…belong to me,” he added at the end with a smirk. Everything that was meant to be intimidating earlier now sounded like a joke.

  “Oh, but you seem to have taken a liking to Shizu. I don’t want him, so he’s yours. I’m praying that you dice him into tiny pieces as soon as possible. Good luck… And so long.”

  And with a cool smile, Izaya turned his back on Anri as if nothing had happened between them. When Anri turned around, Higa was nowhere in sight—instead, there were couples and other people wandering about the park here and there.

  Given the gloom and distance, no one seemed to have noticed Anri and Izaya’s sparring, but that could easily have changed.

  Even if Higa wasn’t actually there, would Izaya have turned the gun on innocent people? Anri was certain that he was a completely different type of person from anyone she’d met before.

  She slowly returned Saika’s blade to her body. Maybe even Saika herself had recognized something eerie and off in Izaya. As evidence of that, the usually instantaneous cursed voices stayed completely silent until Izaya was out of sight.

  As though for the first time, Saika had found a human being she despised.