Durarara!!, Vol. 6

by Ryohgo Narita

  Neither the direction of the sidewalk nor into the street.

  The building next to them had no entrance door to a store or office, merely a vending machine resting against its wall. So Shizuo chose to escape in the one direction that was not covered by his would-be abductors.

  Up.

  The moment he started moving in the direction of the vending machine, several of the other men assumed he would pick it up.

  But rather than reaching out for the machine, Shizuo jumped.

  The strength in his legs was enough to effortlessly kick a motorcycle down the street.

  So when applied to a simple jump, his legs were easily strong enough to propel him straight on top of the machine, where he could grab onto the sill of a second-story window.

  As the men stared in awe, he lifted himself up by only the strength of his arms until he stood on the sill. They figured he would just break the window to get inside, but instead, he jumped again, this time onto the metal fittings keeping the adjacent building’s sign attached—and up, and up, and up—just as fast as he had been running before.

  “Y-you’re not gettin’ away!”

  One of the men regained his wits, at least. But by the time he shouted, Shizuo had already disappeared over the roof of the building.

  There is an athletic skill known as parkour.

  It is described as a “skill” because it exists somewhere between the categories of sport, art, and method of movement.

  It is the ability to run through any setting, urban or natural, with total grace, freedom, and efficiency.

  That’s all it boils down to, but it’s not just running on dirt or asphalt. Masters of parkour identify a course taking them over various obstacles and utilize it to move smoothly and continuously to their destination.

  If there’s a gap in the roof, jump over it. If there’s a wall, climb over it. If there’s a handrail, run on top of it and use the added height to run to higher ground.

  Sometimes practitioners travel along walls, sometimes they leap over fences, sometimes they jump back and forth off alternating walls until they eventually reach the top.

  They might as well be considered modern-day ninjas, and they go by the French term traceurs. Out of this movement came the development of “freerunning,” which adds the expressive elements of acrobatic tricks and flourishes to parkour that are unnecessary to reach the goal.

  As movies and games exhibit these skills to a wider audience, familiarity with these activities has grown around the world.

  But there was no such information stored in Shizuo Heiwajima’s brain.

  And yet he was successfully racing through the town of Ikebukuro with absolute freedom.

  His movements were not the practiced, disciplined art of the traceurs and freerunners.

  Even for simple feats such as jumping down from heights, a fall of just a few extra feet can cause certain injury for anyone not practiced at it.

  But Shizuo did have a bit of experience with this.

  There was a young man named Izaya Orihara who often found himself at odds with Shizuo.

  He had practiced this art of parkour while in his teenage years and made use of it to escape Shizuo’s brute strength when necessary. As Shizuo followed after him, he learned a little something about pursuing as well, until he reached the point where he could actually catch and knock out Izaya.

  He recalled those memories of over half a dozen years earlier as he converted his pursuit skills into escape skills, tearing through the concrete jungle.

  He leaped from building to building, plunging over gaps to land a dozen feet lower without an instant of hesitation. The distinction between jumping and falling might as well not have existed.

  He wasn’t completely absorbing the impacts to his legs. But whether he wanted it to or not, Shizuo Heiwajima’s body simply withstood what would normally be withering pain, if not broken bones.

  run leap over spin

  jump stomp cling slide

  grab clamber up crawl spill

  And run. Run. Run to and away.

  All these movements contained none of the efficiency of parkour or the acrobatic artistry of freerunning. That made sense, as Shizuo had never trained in those areas. But he was able to make use of his body’s inhuman strength to succeed at the end result: racing through the city.

  An ordinary strongman cannot match the achievements of the thoroughly trained. The fact that Shizuo could was a testament to the extraordinary physical strength he had.

  So with his abnormal strength and absurd explosive power, the man known as Ikebukuro’s Strongest chose not to utilize those talents upon the Awakusu-kai but instead fled without resisting.

  Building, 3F, somewhere in Tokyo

  Shizuo Heiwajima had fled.

  Shiki silently pondered this report for a while.

  The old women were nearly done with their cleaning, removing all traces of the struggle from the room. It was as if three men had not actually died there at all.

  Shiki’s subordinate couldn’t take the silence any longer and noted, “That Shizuo Heiwajima must be no big deal if he just turns tail and runs like that.”

  The next moment, the back of Shiki’s fist pounded into the bridge of his nose.

  “Glurk!”

  “How stupid are you? You hear about a man racing up the side of a building with only the strength in his arms, and your first thought is, ‘No big deal’? If it’s that easy, why don’t I just dangle you out the window over there and see how you handle it?”

  “S-sorry, sir! I—I just meant that even a monster like him will run away. He’s not going to be stupid enough to make an enemy out of us.”

  Shiki thought this over. Eventually, he muttered mostly to himself, “Why would someone with that attitude kill our guys?”

  “Well…,” his subordinate mumbled.

  Shiki ignored him. “He didn’t mess with the safe. And he should be strong enough to pry open one of those things or just plain carry it off if he wants to.”

  Then, he asked the simplest and most important question of all.

  “…Was it really Shizuo who did this?”

  “Blond guy with sunglasses and a bartender’s vest? Who else would it be?”

  “Yeah, based on the report, I’m not doubting that he was here. What I mean is…”

  Shiki paused and stared around the room again.

  If it was really Shizuo Heiwajima who killed them, he wouldn’t have left a witness. I suppose he could have done it to make it clear that it was him, but why would he need to do something like that?

  “At any rate, we’ve got to bring him in. If Akabayashi or Aozaki gets involved, it will only complicate matters,” he barked to his men.

  Just then, another man raced in through the door. “I’ve got something you need to hear, Mr. Shiki!”

  “What is it?”

  “I…I just got a report from the guys out looking for Mikiya’s daughter… Our scout on Sixtieth Floor Street says he saw Miss Akane yesterday.”

  That was the name of the daughter of Mikiya Awakusu, Shiki’s boss—and the granddaughter of Dougen Awakusu, the company president.

  They’d had the entire operation searching for her after she ran away from home, but with a newer, fresher emergency on his hands, Shiki realized that he’d completely forgotten about her for a brief moment.

  “It was Kazamoto’s team on the search for Miss Akane. Why are you reporting to me?”

  The fact that this man had raced here to tell him meant that the report pertained to him somehow. Shiki waited for the younger man’s explanation, feeling a nasty sense of foreboding coming over him.

  His premonition was immediately proven correct.

  “W-well, yesterday…a girl resembling the young miss was seen…running somewhere with Shizuo Heiwajima…”

  Train platform, somewhere in Tokyo

  In the midst of the Golden Week holiday, the platform was crowded with traveling families, students in plainclothes,
and office workers pressed into service during the vacation, making the scene even more chaotic and cramped than usual.

  Amid the bustle, a young man leaned against a post at the corner of the platform, not moving even when the train came in.

  Fleeing here and there isn’t your style, Shizu.

  Izaya Orihara smirked, staring at the screen of his phone.

  Does that mean you’ve chilled out a bit?

  If you strike back against them, it leaves no room for excuses, after all.

  I’m guessing that right about now…some of the sharper members of the Awakusu-kai are doubting that you were responsible for this.

  I suppose that means you’ve grown somewhat as a person.

  But in your case, that’s more of a regression.

  He pressed a button on the phone, envisioned his greatest rival running around in a panic, and smiled again.

  Happily, gleefully, maliciously.

  What meaning is there in a monster growing as a person? You have no future doing anything but using your own strength. If you didn’t want to be suspected, maybe you should’ve beaten that witness to death, he thought to himself, a contradiction in terms.

  The information agent typed away at his phone, continuing his deals. When a particular piece of intel caught his eye, he smirked, the smile more malicious than before.

  Well, I guess it’s about time.

  Until just thirty minutes ago, he’d been hiding out at one of his little lairs near the station. When he got the message that the Dollars were under attack, he slipped out of the darkness and entered the light of day.

  But not to throw himself into the fray. Certainly not.

  This platform would put him on a train moving away from Ikebukuro.

  Yes, I prefer being outside of this web.

  His mouth twisted cruelly. He hit SEND on a piece of information.

  The next train came to a stop at the station.

  The young man put away his cell phone and casually slid through the crowd into the train.

  Time to buzz my noisy little wings from just out of reach.

  Roof, building near abandoned factory, Tokyo

  “Hey, Vorona. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a hunter, waiting for your prey to move,” the large man said.

  Vorona did not move her head except to speak. “Affirmative, negative, answer cannot be determined. I have lack of experience hunting animals. But hunting humans is what we are doing this exact moment. They cannot be compared.”

  “I see. I don’t get it, but…I get it.” The large man, Slon, nodded and put the binoculars to his eyes.

  Through the lens he saw the rear of an abandoned factory. A being in a pitch-black riding suit and full helmet was there, sneaking a peek through one of the windows of the factory building.

  It seemed to be preoccupied with the local hoodlums gathered inside, but as long as the Black Rider did not move, neither would Vorona and Slon.

  In fact, nearly an hour had passed since the young men had walked into the factory. As they waited for any kind of movement, Slon began to wonder once again about things that had nothing to do with their situation.

  “Speaking of hunting, I was wondering one thing…,” he asked, completely serious. Vorona did not even glance in his direction. “People have used poisoned arrows for hunting for ages, right? Or blow darts or whatever. They put the poison on first before they shoot it. Is that really safe? If they eat an animal that has the poison running through its veins, won’t the hunter get sick? I’m just so curious. The question is eating through my brain as if it were that very poison. I think I may worry myself to death.”

  His partner, without moving or exhibiting any emotion of any kind, listed off the answers to his questions like an electronic dictionary, but she still sounded a bit odd.

  “Many poisons are used for hunting; many pass through vessels to affect nerves, brain. Animals thus die or are left incapacitated. How sad. Humans intake through the mouth. Pass through saliva, stomach, duodenum, breaks down poison. Rendered harmless. Happily ever after. I have knowledge from experience. Grandmother’s folk wisdom.”

  “I see! The human stomach truly is a wonder. But of course—if the poison you use to hunt ends up killing you, what would be the point? Oh…speaking of which, what would happen if a venomous snake bit its own tail?”

  “Contains antibody to its own venom. Many venomous snakes have no problem. However, not all are affirmative. Concerning very venomous snakes, antibodies lose to toxins. There is only death. How sad.”

  “I see!”

  This conversation continued for several minutes, during which Vorona maintained sharp observation of the perfectly still Black Rider, while Slon scanned the surroundings tirelessly, even as he asked question after stupid question.

  Was the rider just going to wait there until all the hoodlums left the factory building? Just as Vorona wondered if that would be the case, the figure budged.

  “?”

  She wondered what had happened and then realized that the Black Rider’s phone had just received a message.

  On top of that, the ringtone had alerted the people inside, causing the rider to fluster wildly, visible even to Vorona and Sloan from their considerable distance.

  “…For a monster, its actions are very human. Incomprehendable.”

  “The word you’re looking for is incomprehensible. Anyway, something’s strange. Look at the entrance,” Slon pointed out.

  She saw that a new group of a dozen or so men was gathering at the front of the factory. Once again, they were young ruffians, but something was wrong.

  They held metal pipes and wooden swords, and unlike the youngsters who had entered the factory earlier, they were dressed in matching laborer uniforms.

  Those must be the special uniforms that certain Japanese delinquent gangs wear, Vorona decided, right as the youths charged into the factory.

  A few of them circled around toward the rear in an attempt to prevent the boys inside from escaping out the back.

  “What do we do?”

  “Observation necessary. Either way, the Black Rider will act. We shall not estrange our sight from that moment. It is crucial.”

  They did not break their positions.

  The assault of this new group of delinquents was clearly outside of their range of expectations—yet they did not panic in the slightest.

  A fight between groups of Japanese teenagers had nothing to do with their world.

  Their utter, rational calmness spoke to that.

  At this point, at least.

  A few minutes earlier, near Kawagoe Highway, luxury apartment

  “Wow, it really cleared out around here.”

  Shinra Kishitani’s apartment had been very lively until that morning.

  It was a noisy night between the patient and the unexpected guests, but that was over.

  And now Shinra was the only person present.

  Celty had not returned from her job yet, Tom had left for work, Shizuo had gone to crush Izaya, and Anri and the little girl were out in Ikebukuro now.

  “They’re all so lively, rushing out before noon. Kids these days and their lack of fear over UV rays!”

  The young man was the very picture of the indoor type—he even wore his white doctor’s coat around the house at his own leisure. He busied himself with hanging up the patients’ blankets and other domestic tasks as he waited for his partner to return home.

  Just then, the doorbell rang.

  “Ooh, is that Shizuo? Or perhaps Izaya with every bone in his body broken?” Shinra hummed to himself as he walked to the door.

  Outside, he found a number of menacing-looking men.

  Shinra looked at the central figure without much alarm and asked, “Mr. Shiki, what brings you here?”

  “I’ve got a question to ask you,” Shiki replied and promptly stepped through the doorway and past Shinra into the apartment without another word.

  “Um, hang on, excuse me!”
/>   But Shiki did not listen. He surveyed the interior from the center of the living room, then walked over to the kitchen.

  “Looks like you’ve had company,” he noted, looking at the collection of used cups on the counter above the sink. He then picked up what was sitting next to them—the impossible sight of a steel cup crumpled into a ball.

  Chagrined but somewhat suspicious, Shinra explained, “Well, that explains itself, right? Shizuo was here. All I did was tell a little joke, and he just crushed that cup in his hand… I tell you, I feared for my life.”

  “…”

  Shiki thought over his words for a bit.

  The number of places that Shizuo Heiwajima might visit was naturally limited, given how he tended to inspire fear in the people around him. They’d sent people to Shizuo’s apartment building directly, of course, but Shiki decided that in order to gain information on the man, it would be best to drop by the home of his old acquaintance Shinra.

  He hadn’t expected to actually find signs of Shizuo here. The only reason he had pushed his way into the apartment so brusquely was the sight of the ugly twist in a metal handrail on the staircase, as though a monster had taken a bite out of it.

  That was an artifact of Shizuo’s rage as he left to beat Izaya Orihara to a pulp—but one didn’t need to know that particular detail to recognize that it was clearly Shizuo’s doing.

  Could Akane Awakusu be in this apartment as well? Shiki briefly clung to that hope as he searched the place, but he couldn’t sense any human presence aside from theirs.

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Shiki? Do you have another patient for me? I’m wiped out from treating Shizuo and others all night, so if it requires surgery, I would suggest a more skillful doctor right now.”

  Shinra’s tone of voice suggested that he had no idea Shizuo was on the run. So Shiki chose to ask quietly but firmly, “Shizuo…was here, then?”

  “Yes. What’s the matter? Did he go and wreck up one of the businesses on your turf?”

  “You might say that. However, the victim claims they were doing nothing wrong when it happened, so I came to talk with you and see if I can learn whether he is truly responsible or not. That’s why I’m searching for him.”