Durarara!!, Vol. 5

by Ryohgo Narita

  She’d just seen Celty riding off after the truck. Why was she standing here?

  Celty shrugged and typed up a new message: “Well…it seemed like…I was going to get shot… So I put up a really thick shadow shield to block it, and it pushed me all the way back here. Or…blasted me, I guess… Yeah…that was kinda close…I guess. Shooter could have been…pulverized.”

  Celty’s insertion of all those ellipses was probably a sign that she was still trying to process what happened.

  Right behind her was the bike, and in Celty’s hands was a horribly distorted hunk of metal. That had to be what was left of the bullet.

  “I was going to chase after them, but they clearly don’t mind firing guns in a residential area. If we get them too worked up, who knows what’ll happen to the people around here…”

  “Guns…? You mean…”

  “Why were they after you, Anri?”

  “Actually…I have no idea,” she mumbled, looking troubled. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

  Celty pounded her own chest reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You should stay at our apartment tonight. The security’s good there.”

  “B-but…” Anri hesitated. Celty waved her hand back and forth in front of the space where her face should have been.

  “Don’t hold back now. You’ve stayed there before! It’s already too big as it is—and we can think of a plan to deal with them!” Celty said, and Anri had no reason to refuse anymore.

  “Th-thank…you…,” she mumbled, accepting the headless woman’s offer.

  Celty, meanwhile, raised a hand to her own shoulder in consternation and typed, “By the way, do you have a mask or helmet or anything?”

  “Huh?”

  “I accidentally left my helmet out in the road…and when I went back to get it, a dump truck had squashed it flat where it lay… I’ll have to go back home to get my spare,” she explained desperately.

  Anri thought it over. “Um…can you do what you did for me before and just make black helmets out of your shadow…?”

  Silence fell between the two momentarily.

  After ten seconds, Celty turned away shyly, forming a rounded shadow helmet, and held out her PDA.

  “Right, I forgot…”

  Thus, the first day of Golden Week came to a close.

  Each and every being involved bore their own abnormalities, without realizing the troubles that others had fallen into.

  The night passed, giving way to the morning.

  The sunlight was exactly the same as on any ordinary day…

  And the sun gazed down upon the disaster unfolding in Ikebukuro.

  May 4, morning, Mikado’s apartment

  Didn’t get much sleep after all…

  He slumped into the desk chair in front of his computer, covering his exhausted face in his hands.

  After hearing about the Dollars’ rampage in Saitama in the chat last night, Mikado had gone on a furious fact-finding hunt.

  It wasn’t his duty, and no one else forced him to do it—but he couldn’t escape the feeling that he just had to do this.

  As one of their founders, Mikado felt as though the Dollars were like a part of his own body.

  They weren’t necessary for him to live. But just like cell phones and the Internet, once you made it a part of your ordinary life, it was very hard to cut loose. Such was the importance of the Dollars to Mikado.

  On top of that, the Dollars were not booming in number the way they once did, but it felt like the group was still growing. Even Mikado did not have an idea of their precise number at this point.

  And because of that, he was always fearful of the gang going out of control. He had even shut down the Dollars’ home page for a time.

  When the circle of friends had just started the page, they created a joke rule that “all new members of the Dollars must confess the worst thing they’ve ever done” and then set up a registration page on the site.

  That page no longer existed for two reasons.

  One, the comment field to publicly confess those deeds wound up being used as a kind of chat forum and, at its worst state, contained links to pirated downloads and cracks for computer games found through other forums. It stopped following its intended function.

  Two, the “confession of evil deeds,” which was created as a joke, steadily turned into something that was very much not a laughing matter.

  At first, the entries were all about stealing snacks or drawing eyebrows on dogs, but the content slowly escalated until words like shoplifting and assault started showing up.

  Then, people started looking down on others for the tepid nature of their confessions, trying to play up their bad side by bragging about their exploits. By the time they were writing things like “I shoplifted for the first time ever so that I could join the Dollars,” Mikado decided to shut it down.

  The Dollars were created to be fun. They weren’t meant to destroy the world, or lower the level of morality in society, or play at being outlaws.

  So if this rampage could be stopped, he had to do it.

  He had no idea if that was possible or not, but he would be shirking his duty as one of the founders if he didn’t at least try to find out.

  At least, that was what he thought.

  Until he got a call from Izaya Orihara several hours ago.

  “Hello, Ryuugamine speaking.”

  “…Nice to talk to you again, Ryuugamine. Or should I call you TarouTanaka?”

  “We haven’t talked on the phone in forever, Kanra.”

  “I just checked the backlog of the chat room. I’ve heard a bit about this Saitama incident… Sounds like there’s some real odd business going on with the Dollars.”

  “…Yes, I was just looking into that myself.”

  “How much did you figure out?”

  “I’m pretty sure that it’s new members of the Dollars doing this independently from the rest of us.”

  “Yes, I figured as much. So what’s your plan?”

  “Well, I want to stop them, but…”

  “Why?”

  “Uh…”

  “Was there ever a rule in the Dollars that you can’t go into another prefecture to start a fight? What reason is there to go reining them in now?”

  “But…”

  “Or did that brouhaha with the Yellow Scarves make you wise up with the whole ‘playing street gangs’ thing? I’ve heard that it caused a terrible rift between you and a close friend.”

  “That’s not true. Masaomi’s still my friend.”

  “Let’s hope he feels the same way.”

  “…Why are you stirring things up like this?”

  “Oh, trust me, I’m just jealous of my alma mater juniors, thriving in the throes of their youth. I didn’t have friends like that, you see. I only had one pervert that kept sticking around and one hateful, violent cretin.”

  “…”

  “Anyway, back on topic.”

  “Yes?”

  “Whether you like it or not, the Dollars you created already have real form and power. There are going to be people who want to pull down others in order to sell the reputation of the gang…and thus raise their own reputation as well. It’s inevitable.”

  “…I understand that.”

  “It’s fine. The Dollars’ lateral connections are very weak, so even if the people from Saitama look for revenge against the ones who attacked them, all you have to do is stay quiet and let it blow over. Isn’t that how the Dollars work? You save the people you care about and sit back and be lazy toward those you don’t like. You have freedom. You’re free to do what you want.”

  “…You called me just to say that?”

  “Er, no, no. That’s not it. But the Saitama thing reminded me. You guys got attacked by those motorcycle gangs last month, right?”

  “Um, yeah. We made it through all right, thanks to Celty and Kadota…”

  “One of those gangs at the time was the one the Dollars just attacked in Saitama.”

/>   “Uh…”

  “Their leader has a terrible weakness for women… And he’s the kind of guy who will resort to violence in a snap. He kicks people down onto the ground, then jumps feetfirst onto their faces.”

  “Wow, he sounds dangerous…”

  “Very. So I wouldn’t go walking around at night with girls, understand? Like your friend Anri—I’d be very careful with her.”

  “…Sonohara has nothing to do with any of this.”

  “Does she? What if someone finds out that you’re a member of the Dollars and that there’s a girl you have feelings for…? There’s no guarantee that this hypothetical person is the sort that wouldn’t bring innocent people into this. They’re here for revenge, remember?”

  “…”

  “Besides, you’ve used the Dollars plenty of times already. Remember the squabble with Yagiri Pharmaceuticals? Do you really think you have the right to say, ‘Don’t do bad stuff,’ now?”

  “…What should I do, then?”

  “How about you think for yourself, rather than asking others for the answer?”

  “What I think is that I want to do something. It’s what I’ve been telling you all along.”

  “Ha-ha-ha. So I can’t coax you that easily. At any rate, if you don’t want Anri to be involved, and you yourself don’t want to get dragged in, then you should forget about the Dollars. Push them from your mind. If only until the heat dies down, you know?”

  “But…”

  “Let’s say that you really do want to stop the Dollars from beefing with other groups… Or you want to stop the Dollars from just randomly attacking other people… Even if you could achieve such a thing, it wouldn’t be the Dollars anymore. If your singular will could control the actions of the entire group, it would be something else entirely…but you don’t need me to tell you that, do you?”

  “No, I understand that.”

  “I happen to think that the Dollars fall under a much broader definition than just a color-based street gang. Maybe they’re not a country or a culture…but there are people with many different ways of thinking within the group. Some are good, some are bad. But you don’t know what people outside of the group will think of you. Will they see the good Dollars or the bad Dollars? That’s not a choice you get to make.”

  “…”

  “Sorry, I’ve been doing all the talking, haven’t I? Am I annoying you?”

  “Er, no. Um…thanks. For everything.”

  “…”

  “…Is something wrong?”

  “Mikado.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you a bit excited?”

  “…Pardon?”

  “Oh, I was just trying to imagine what sort of face you’re making into the phone right now.”

  “What kind of nonsense are you talking about?”

  “Well, this is that ‘extraordinary’ you love so much, isn’t it?”

  “That doesn’t mean I’ll like anything, as long as it’s not ordinary.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure…”

  “When you temporarily closed the Dollars’ site, you claimed it was because the registration page was being trolled and the confession of evil deeds was escalating out of control… I can buy the former, but I’m not so sure about the latter. Was it because you found them to be in poor taste?”

  “Well, obviously.”

  “If you really thought that way, you wouldn’t try to maintain the Dollars at all. You’d try to erase them and pretend they never existed. Or you’d just quietly slip away and be a normal person again. All you have to do to leave is ignore the e-mails. There’s no punishment.”

  “I’m one of the founders… I can’t be that irresponsible about it.”

  “Yes, you can. Nobody in the Dollars expects you to take responsibility. And if you still insist on doing so, that would mean you’re extremely conscientious… But you’re not actually that kind of person, are you?”

  “What is this all about?”

  “You know what? Never mind. You’d rather not know what other people think of you, would you?”

  “You can’t just bring it up and then drop it halfway… Tell me. I’m not going to obsess over it.”

  “You won’t? Well, this is only my personal conjecture, so don’t take it personally if I’m wrong. It’s just an info broker joking around.”

  “Got it.”

  “…It’s not the Dollars going out of control that you’re afraid of, is it?”

  “Uh…”

  “Aren’t you just afraid that they’re going to change and leave you behind?”

  “That’s not true!”

  “…”

  “Ah…”

  “You were very quick to deny that. You should be careful about hasty denial; it only increases suspicion. Or maybe you already recognize that about yourself?”

  “…”

  “You’re not a big fighter, and you’re not some trashy punk. I bet you’ve never smoked or drank in your life, and you’re disgusted at people who brag about committing theft. You’re a normal, productive citizen. That’s a very honorable thing, but I bet you felt bored with that honor and created and maintained the Dollars as a response to it. An escape from your ordinary life. Wasn’t that your dream?”

  “…”

  “See, I’m worried about you.”

  “Wha…?”

  “What did I tell you before? In order to enjoy your everyday life, it has to always be evolving. And it’s not the kind of thing you can bottle up, then just keep inside yourself.”

  “Kanra… Mr. Orihara…”

  “Just Izaya is fine. Kida calls me Izaya, too. You shouldn’t forget that even outside the Dollars, you have many people on your side. Not just Anri and Kida…but me, too, if you ever need the help. So you shouldn’t worry yourself sick over what’s happening now, all on your own. That’s all I wanted to tell you.”

  “Um…Izaya.”

  “What?”

  “Thank…thank you.”

  “I haven’t done anything to deserve your thanks.”

  “You never know. I might be manipulating you into doing some plot of my own… Just kidding.”

  Mikado remembered the conversation and smiled wryly to himself.

  I always thought Izaya was a mysterious, fishy weirdo who was always up to something.

  But it turns out—he’s just a nice guy.

  It was that easy for Izaya’s words to cheer Mikado up. If he hadn’t been so agitated about what was happening with the Dollars, he might have remembered what his best friend said on the day he first came to Ikebukuro.

  “Don’t ever mess with Izaya Orihara.”

  In a way, it was a crucially important warning. But that did not register in Mikado’s brain today.

  Because Mikado still did not know the full breadth of what Izaya did to Masaomi.

  After that, the boy focused again on devising a plan. Except…

  “…I can’t come up with anything…”

  He really was grateful for what Izaya said at the end, but he couldn’t deny that he’d also suffered a bit of a shock from their conversation.

  He had no idea what he really wanted.

  Do I…actually want to stop the Dollars from going out of control?

  He didn’t actually know who had done what in Saitama yet. But it was undeniable that some kind of violence had happened there under the Dollars’ banner.

  But I definitely don’t feel excited about this, he told himself. Yet deep down, he wasn’t sure that was true.

  Yes, he wished to escape his ordinary situation more than anyone when he started the Dollars. That was essentially still true today.

  Despite the fact that he met the greatest possible example of the extraordinary—Celty Sturluson—Mikado could sense that something was smoldering deep within him.

  …I’m a coward. Just like Izaya says… I’ve never had a real fistfight with anyone, and I’ve never been beaten by a group of
people.

  It was presumptuous of him in the extreme to assume that he could control the entirety of the Dollars.

  That feeling of uncertainty bloomed within him, and time passed without any change. Now there was sunlight shining bright through the window, and the hands on the clock said that it was nearly nine o’clock.

  “…I don’t have any time left for sleep.”

  He was supposed to meet with Anri and Aoba at eleven. There wasn’t much he needed to do in preparation, but if he started snoozing now, he’d probably sleep right through their meeting.

  Fortunately, he’d napped yesterday evening after getting home from school. He was just pulling a nutrient drink from the refrigerator, assuming that he’d be able to manage, when—

  The doorbell rang.

  “?”

  Who could that be?

  Probably just a newspaper subscription salesman. They’d come by several times before, and Mikado always made up an excuse through the door to send them away. They typically left without another word, probably assuming that the run-down apartment didn’t house people with much extra cash to spare anyway.

  But that didn’t mean he didn’t have money. In fact, Mikado raised all of his living funds aside from school tuition on his own. When his parents were against him moving to Tokyo, he convinced them by claiming he would work to pay for everything aside from tuition. Even then, his parents still sent him a bit of spending money here and there—but he gratefully deposited it into savings.

  While his work was technically part-time, the variety of Net-based businesses that he worked with required a lot of time and trouble in total, so it was a significant drain on his schedule. Being able to pull that off and support himself while keeping up with his schoolwork was actually quite a feat, but Mikado didn’t consider himself particularly special. It was just what he needed to do on a regular basis.

  He accepted the doorbell as another part of his ordinary circumstances and opened the door without thinking.

  The bright morning world burned his late-night eyes, stinging the backs of his sockets. Mikado lifted a hand to shade his face from the sun as he looked out the door.