Durarara!!, Vol. 4 (novel)

by Ryohgo Narita

“Fuck’s it to ya?!” the leader in ritual garb demanded. The local thug shook his head.

  “You guys are in Toramaru from Saitama, right? C’mon, you know your boss doesn’t like this kinda stuff, right? The guy might be a womanizer, but I’ve heard he’s at least got some honor.”

  “Shuddup! Chief’s got nothin’ to do with this!”

  “We were supposed to catch that Black Rider and get the money, then pass it up the chain so we could go independent!”

  “Come on… You’re gonna get ten million yen for nothing, then give it to the yakuza? Seriously? If I got my hands on that kind of cash, I’d use it for myself. You wouldn’t need to be a biker at all with that kind of money. You want to ride, just get your own tuned-up wheels,” the dreadlocked thug advised, whether he was saying it out of sarcasm or honest helpfulness.

  “What…? You dissin’ us like we’re a buncha penkoro?! Huh?!”

  As outsiders to the city, there was very little concern about fights with the locals following them back home. So without that threat in the back of their minds, frustration had no brakes to keep it from spilling into anger and violence.

  “What’s a penkoro?”

  “Tom, forget about them and let’s go. I’m getting hungry.”

  “Yeah, good point. I just wish the boss would buy us dinner once in a while…”

  The local toughs’ utter indifference to them pushed the bikers over the edge.

  “You bitches… Don’t ignore us!”

  One of them pulled off a metal pipe that was affixed to his bike and swung it with all his might.

  “Whoa, watch out!” said the dreadlocked man, cleanly dodging the blow.

  But just as a metal pipe had ripped through Celty’s cargo bag earlier in the day—it ripped through the other thug’s bartender-style sleeve.

  “Ah!”

  “My clothes…,” the man said quietly.

  The one with dreads was already sprinting away, signing the cross as he prayed for the bikers.

  The next instant: zwip.

  If there were visible sound effects in real life, that’s what would appear over the scene: zwip.

  That was how easily the man picked up the motorcycle, rider and all, with one hand.

  And like tossing a baseball, threw it into the other bikers.

  You see, the outsiders did not realize.

  That in Ikebukuro, there are people one must never pick a fight with.

  People that no one should ever, ever, ever challenge to a fight, no matter if they were a hit man, or a serial killer, or a president, or an alien, or a vampire, or a headless monster.

  Then came the sound of thunder.

  “You ripped the clothes…I got from Kasukaaaa!”

  The man in the bartender getup pulled out a nearby streetlamp and swung it at the bikers like a baseball bat.

  There was the sound of thunder, and both motorcycles and men flew through the air.

  With that customary sight, Ikebukuro’s holiday came to an end.

  Whether the city enjoyed its holiday or not is not for us to know.

  But at the very least…

  The neighborhood of Ikebukuro was at peace again today.

  Epilogue

  Epilogue 1: Secret Conversation

  Chat room

  Izaya Orihara returns to life!

  Izaya Orihara: I want to ask you something about the motorcycle gang incident and what happened with Celty.

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Ah, there you are. Welcome.

  Izaya Orihara: No need for greetings… So what ultimately happened there?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: You weren’t actively involved in that? I’m surprised.

  Izaya Orihara: Come on, don’t tease me. I’ll make this worth your while.

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Ha-ha! We can discuss price later. As a matter of fact, I’m itching to discuss it, too.

  Izaya Orihara: I know the Awakusu-kai were involved somehow. I just don’t know what they’re after.

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Ah yes. They were trying to get rid of someone. So to make it easier, they brought in some bosozoku motorcycle gangs from out of town to raise hell. The person they wanted to erase would cause a big stir if missing, see.

  Izaya Orihara: Who?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Ruri Hijiribe. You’ve heard that name before, haven’t you?

  Izaya Orihara: I have. What kind of joke is this?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Joke? Please. Have you grown so soft that you can’t even tell truthful info from lies? What are you, a rival character who suddenly pales in comparison when a new story arc begins? Should I call you Yamcha Orihara now?

  Izaya Orihara: Who was the client?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Jinnai Yodogiri, the representative director of Yodogiri Shining Corporation.

  Izaya Orihara: And why would he need to kill his best asset?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Dunno. You know I don’t pry into matters like that, don’t you?

  Izaya Orihara: …

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: But Yodogiri made one mistake. Going to the Awakusu-kai was the right idea, but it ended up being seen as betrayal by the Awakusu.

  Izaya Orihara: Ohh…?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: You see, telling them to finish off a target without revealing that the target was Hollywood is akin to sending those men to their deaths. Now President Yodogiri is missing, and his talent agency is in a total state of chaos.

  Jack-o’-Lantern Japan Talent Agency Office, Higashi-Nakano

  Ultimately, Ikebukuro was full of people searching for the Black Rider for several days after that, not just the first chaotic twenty-four hours. On top of that, the appearance of a look-alike “headless knight” only added to the confusion.

  The hassle was worth more than the increased shopping and tourism the event brought with it, so the police eventually succeeded in getting the bounty withdrawn.

  The publicity costs for all the billboards announcing the nullification of the bounty and the subsequent apologies to the public were staggering, but the president of Jack-o’-Lantern Japan was all smiles.

  “Fantastic… Hey! Let’s hear some applause! I am damn fantastic right now, folks! Applause! I can’t hear you! More applause with the cheers and the clapping! It’s a celebration! I am celebrating you right now! To hell with the scandals and whatnot—I celebrate you two!”

  Several days after the incident, amid a barrage of thirty firecrackers courtesy of the agency president, stood an expressionless male star and a gloomy but beautiful female star.

  They had no way of knowing how, but Ruri Hijiribe’s agency president, Yodogiri, had vanished under mysterious circumstances. The agency went into panic mode, and Ruri Hijiribe was the first asset to change hands—to Jack-o’-Lantern Japan.

  There were a number of initial theories about the disappearance, one of which even posited that he was so shocked by the scandal with Yuuhei Hanejima that he wandered into the woods and vanished.

  But because he was not a man with a good reputation to begin with, society quickly accepted the change and began to celebrate Ruri Hijiribe’s new start.

  After President Max Sandshelt happily, liberally complimented himself and his company, he said something about “leaving the rest up to the young lovers” and took the managers away for a meeting.

  Kanemoto, the temporary manager, ended up taking off work from the physical stress of Yuuhei’s scandal coming out on his watch—but that’s a story for another time.

  The two actors were left alone.

  It was silent between them. Their so-called romance had been a sham meant to help them get through a perilous situation. Ruri eventually broke the silence, grinning faintly as she turned to the typically expressionless Yuuhei.

  “Um…there are things…I haven’t told you, aren’t there…?”

  “Like what?”

  “…Like how I discovered my Hollywood power…and why I became a killer…and what…Yodogiri and them…did to me.”

  She was smiling, but her voice q
uavered faintly. No matter what the blood within her said, she was clearly reliving the memories that drove her peaceful life to one of murder.

  Without moving a muscle in his face, Yuuhei said, “If you don’t want to talk about it, you shouldn’t force yourself.”

  “I want you…to hear it.”

  “I refuse,” he said conclusively, a rare thing for him. The serial killer woman flinched. To her surprise, he was as flat and straightforward as ever as he said, “Once you tell me your story, you’re going to kill yourself, aren’t you?”

  “…”

  Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.

  “Listen, Ruri. I’m not the tree that you tell the secret of the king’s ears to.” As usual, it was impossible to tell if he was angrily chiding her or not. “I’m just a human, as you can see… I thought, if I can’t understand others, I should at least make the effort to try…and I’ve been watching ever since.”

  “…”

  “So I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking. As usual, I don’t know what you’re feeling, but I understand your thoughts. I don’t want you to die, Ruri. So don’t tell me anything.”

  “…Maybe you really are a monster,” she said out of admiration, not disgust. “When I was a girl…I wanted to destroy absolutely everything. But…more than that, I was just afraid of losing what was around me. I wasn’t able to be a monster…not to the extent of completely ruining myself. I think that, ultimately, I was most afraid of losing myself.”

  “Losing is scary. I suppose you could say that’s a form of love.”

  If he’d said it with a grin, it would have come across as cocky and cool, but the flat monotone of Yuuhei’s voice actually gave the words a strange impact.

  When silence crept between them again, it was Yuuhei who broke it this time.

  “…There’s one thing I didn’t say.”

  “What is it?”

  “Back in my room, when you knocked me over and sat on top—I’m pretty sure I was panicking.”

  “…Huh?”

  If she had swung her arm down on him, he would have died without making a sound—of that, Ruri was certain. This was a baffling thing to admit. She looked closer.

  Yuuhei stared back into her eyes, and for just an instant, he looked troubled.

  “My pulse got faster, and my chest felt hot.”

  “…”

  “…”

  “Are you…trying to hit on me?”

  “I’m only speaking the truth,” the perfect man said, perplexed.

  Ruri laughed. “You’re just like a child, Yuuhei.”

  And she smiled, not with the shadowy wan smile of earlier, but an innocent, childish grin of her own. The girl who had been a serial killer mumbled, “But…I don’t really mind that.”

  Chat room

  Izaya Orihara: Well, what about the murder-machine, then? Why would that hit man help Celty out?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: …Wow, you really were out of the loop on this one. Has Ikebukuro abandoned you?

  Izaya Orihara: What do you mean?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: I mean…that was all caused by your own sisters, you know that?

  Izaya Orihara: What?

  Sunshine, Sixtieth Floor Street, Ikebukuro

  One evening a few days after the incident, Kururi and Mairu were out on a shopping trip, with Egor tagging along behind them as the pack mule. The bandaged man was carrying a huge number of bags from department stores for the twin girls, wondering, “You have so many clothes already, and now you buy more?”

  “…We’re just…getting started.”

  “No complaining, Egor! We fronted your treatment money, and you just let Celty get away from us!”

  They had picked up a lost bag of money and were using it to curry favors, a truly brazen decision. On the other hand, who knew how the law would treat cash lost by a nonhuman being? Still, they were undeniably guilty of using someone else’s money.

  “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, mistress,” the hit man said smoothly, bowing with a hint of sarcasm, but Mairu didn’t mind. She grinned toothily.

  “Well, whatever! I do forgive you! In a way, those biker gangs were chasing after us! And we can claim that we saved you from it! So thank us! Special thanks! Canadian thanks!” she babbled nonsensically, puffing up her chest with pride. Kururi sighed and thwomped her.

  “Ouch!!”

  “…Don’t be…stuck up.”

  The hit man straightened up and resumed following the sisters.

  In conclusion, Kururi and Mairu’s actions could all be explained as an extension of a simple desire: to see the Black Rider and expose its identity.

  They picked up an envelope belonging to the Black Rider. Based on a certain source of information, they learned that the name Celty on the envelope belonged to a courier who manipulated the Black Rider, and so they put a plan into motion.

  In exchange for the medical funds, they had the staff of Russia Sushi put on a little act for them. The manager hid his face and made contact with Celty, along with the bag containing Egor hidden inside. When they reached either Celty’s base or a resting point, Egor would contact the twins’ phone—according to the plan.

  It didn’t seem right to ask an injured man to do this, but Egor claimed that he was “good at that sort of thing” and took the lead in accepting the job.

  In truth, if they wanted to meet Celty, they could have just asked Simon, and he would arrange a meeting—but Simon himself assumed this was some kind of prank, thus setting up the twins’ grand Celty-capturing plan on a one-way trip to failure.

  In other words, for the simple purpose of meeting someone, they set up a complex, dead-end plan that used up all of the million yen they found.

  Ultimately, all of that money found its way back to Celty’s household.

  “So in the end, the one who caught all those bikers in the tunnel under the train tracks was Egor? Isn’t that crazy? I knew you were something special, so I guess you must be some kind of Russian super-soldier! You should come to my dojo sometime!”

  “…That’s amazing.”

  “No…it was thanks to someone else.”

  This was how Ikebukuro’s greatest troublemakers gained the troubling tool of violence—but they didn’t really think much of it at the time. They stared at each other.

  Two souls in love who spent very different lives in their desire to return to one being.

  “Anyway, let’s buy the ingredients for tonight’s stew and go home! You should eat dinner with us, too, Egor!”

  “…Well, I won’t be in business for a while. If you don’t mind my company…”

  “…Shabu-shabu.”

  Even these girls with their many contradictions were welcomed silently into the city’s embrace.

  As if the city itself desired a fresh new breeze to run within it.

  Chat room

  Izaya Orihara: So in the end…the murder-machine and the serial killer had nothing to do with Celty, and they both helped rescue her…

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: It’s ironic. And the one who first sent them down that path was your good friend Shizuo.

  Izaya Orihara: …

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Don’t sulk at me. Ikebukuro enjoyed its holiday. It’s a good thing you were over in Shinjuku and had nothing to do with it!

  Izaya Orihara: Are you still going on about that nonsense?

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: As usual, you love people, but you won’t acknowledge that neighborhoods have their own character.

  Izaya Orihara: I don’t want to talk about occult nonsense.

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: That’s not how it is. See, a city has numerous memes… Well, in this case, they’re human beings acting as brain cells. They come together, and the reactions of those cells are what creates the mind of the city. Each cell is meaningless on its own. It’s the exchanges that actually give a city its character, so it can enjoy its holiday.

  Izaya Orihara: I understand the logic, but I have no interest in
this. I’m leaving for now.

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: Be careful not to get punched by Shizuo. Or Simon.

  Izaya Orihara: Just remember, one of these days I’m going to find your real address.

  Izaya Orihara confirmed dead!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya: As I’m sure you know, I’m in this chat room twenty-four hours a day.

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  Shinichi Tsukumoya’s turn!

  .

  .

  .

  Epilogue 2: Roundtable Conversation

  Along Kawagoe Highway, Ikebukuro

  “All right, is everyone paying attention? Sagohachi-style means ‘three-five-eight,’ and that refers to the ratio of the pickling ingredients! You create the fermentation base using three parts salt, five parts koji yeast, and eight parts rice! That’s all it takes, but it’s the magic ingredient that will help you make all kinds of food!”

  This excited cooking commentary was coming from a girl with a scar on her neck and a pink apron with “Seiji Love” written on the front—the stalker, Mika Harima.

  Celty couldn’t help but feel slightly wrong as she watched the girl wearing her own face executing a perfect meal.

  Her bounty was gone, and she was taking advantage of her newly returned freedom to take cooking classes. She had reached out to Anri first, but Anri said that she couldn’t cook, either. Next was Karisawa, who was good with her hands, but it was revealed that she had no skill with traditional Japanese cooking.

  Celty’s ultimate goal was to cook sagohachi-style pickled sandfish, so she needed someone who could handle traditional cooking—and of all people, Anri brought her to Mika.

  Naturally, Seiji Yagiri tagged along. When he saw Celty, he asked, “You aren’t searching for your head anymore?” When she nodded to indicate this was the case, he seemed oddly emboldened and said, “Guess I gotta search on my own, then…”