Durarara!!, Vol. 1 (novel) (4 page)

The true shock was that it had been hit by a car yet was standing without any sign of harm whatsoever—but there was not enough conscious wit left in the thug’s mind to dedicate to this fact.

As it had before, the black mist began to seep out of the shadow’s back, taking shape as that gigantic scythe.

His shock shifting once again into fear, the thug began to let out a scream of terror and desperation. At the very moment his throat let the first bit of breath through, it was split by a sudden, sharp shock.

Every shred of his senses went black.

The headless rider quietly picked up the helmet and stuck it atop its dark neck. A faint shadow bled out of the collar of the suit, then melded into the bottom of the helmet, fusing it together.

Eventually, as though nothing had ever happened, the headless rider turned and silently strode toward the van.

Back at the entrance to the parking garage, having completed its business, the headless rider silently left the scene. Several men were lying in the street, but there was no sign that anyone else had passed by. If they had, they’d pretended not to see.

The pitch-black motorcycle waiting in the shadows sprang to life, welcoming its master home. The engine, which had worked soundlessly as it rode the streets, now roared without a key in the ignition.

The headless rider stroked the tank of the engine, like petting a beloved steed. The engine purred and hushed, satisfied, and the rider swung into the seat.

And the black mass, without so much as a headlight, carried its headless master away.

Beneath a starless sky.

Soundlessly melting into the darkness…

Center gate, Tobu Tojo Line, Ikebukuro Station, Toshima Ward, Tokyo

“I want to go home,” the boy mumbled.

The statement was far too simple to encapsulate the myriad conflicting emotions he felt, but there was no other way to express his overall sentiment that directly.

Stretching out before his eyes were people. People, people, people. And more people. Basically people. His vision was overflowing with people as far as he could see. It was just past six in the evening, the time when many people started commuting home from work and school. It wasn’t quite at peak levels yet, but the crowds were easily dense enough to be considered swarms.

He was so overwhelmed by the presence of people crammed into that vast underground space that the boy momentarily lost sight of his purpose for being there.

A salaryman bumped him with a shoulder. He started to apologize on instinct, but the man was gone, barely even conscious of what had happened. The boy bowed his head and mumbled an apology to no one and made his way over to one of the pillars a distance away from the gate.

The boy, Mikado Ryuugamine, felt a curious fluttering deep in his gut and decided that it came from anxiety. Despite his imposing name, there was weak-willed worry plain as day on his face.

It was his first-ever trip to Ikebukuro on the invitation of an old friend. To be more precise, it was his first trip to Tokyo at all—not just Ikebukuro—in his sixteen years of life.

He’d never been outside of the town where he grew up, and he’d stayed home for his class field trips in both elementary and middle school. He knew it was no way to go through life—and then he got accepted at a private high school in the Toshima Ward of Tokyo. It was a brand-new school built just a few years ago and was only a bit above average in school rankings, but it boasted one of the nicest campuses in the city. He had the option of going to school locally, of course, but it was his dream to live in the big city and an invitation from a childhood friend who moved away years ago that convinced him to make the leap.

This friend might have transferred away during elementary school, but Mikado had the Internet already at that age, and they chatted online nearly every day once in middle school. They hadn’t seen each other in person during that time, but they weren’t distant in any real sense.

Mikado’s parents weren’t used to the Internet, and the invitation of someone their son hadn’t seen since elementary school was not a satisfactory reason to send him off to Tokyo. They didn’t mention this, but they probably would have preferred to send him to a cheaper local public school. They argued, but Mikado convinced them by saying he’d raise his living funds outside of tuition by working jobs, and at last he was allowed to start a new chapter of his life in a new place.

“I think I’ve made a terrible mistake…”

He was feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of people that would never bother to acknowledge his existence. He knew this was an illusion he himself was creating, but it was hard not to wonder if he would ever get used to this sensation.

After about the fifth sigh, he heard a familiar voice.

“Yo, Mikado!”

“?!”

He glanced up with a start to see a young man with his hair dyed brown. There was still a youthful softness to his face, which clashed somewhat with his hair and pierced ears.

Mikado was afraid he’d already been singled out for a shakedown or
some kind of scam, then belatedly realized the person had called him by name. He glanced closer at the stranger and began to recognize the features of an old friend.

“Wait, um…Kida?”

“You have to ask? Okay, multiple choice: three answers. Am I, one, Masaomi Kida, two, Masaomi Kida, or, three, Masaomi Kida?”

For the first time since reaching Ikebukuro, Mikado smiled.

“Wow, Kida! Is that really you?”

“Thanks, just ignore the joke I spent three years crafting… Anyway, good to see you, man!”

“We were talking in chat just yesterday. Sorry, you look so different, I couldn’t be sure it was you. I wasn’t expecting your hair to be dyed! Also, that joke sucks.”

Though they talked nearly every day online, there was no way for him to know how his friend’s face had changed over the years. His voice was lower now, so it was little wonder he failed to recognize it at first.

Masaomi Kida smiled shyly and objected, “Well, it’s been four years. And it’s not that I’ve changed too much; you haven’t changed
enough
. You look exactly the same as you did in elementary school…and don’t slam my jokes.” He smacked the top of Mikado’s considerably more-youthful head a few times.

“Ack, knock it off. As if you’ve ever been shy about telling bad jokes in chat…”

Mikado swatted away his hand but wasn’t really upset. First in school and later in the chat room, Masaomi had always been the one pulling Mikado along, and Mikado had never had a problem with that arrangement.

With their greeting out of the way, Masaomi started off through the crowd.

“Shall we take this outside, then? Go west, young man! Psych—we’re heading for the Seibu exit, not the west exit. The trickster guide strikes again.”

“Oh, I see. So what’s the difference between the west exit and the Seibu exit?”

“…That joke fell flat.”

Just from his short stroll with Masaomi, Mikado’s fear of the crowd was already easing. Simply walking with another person who knew
the town, an old familiar friend, made the sights of the big city vastly different in Mikado’s eyes.

“See, outside of Ikebukuro Station, the Tobu (East Tokyo) Department Store is at the west exit, and the Seibu (West Tokyo) Department Store is at the east exit… Ugh, is there anything sadder than having to explain a failed joke? What does that make me?”

“Probably an idiot.”

“…You’ve got a really sharp tongue, man,” Masaomi grunted, grimacing as though he’d just chewed on a caterpillar. He sighed in resignation and muttered, “Whatever. Out of respect for myself, I will overlook that one. So, anything you wanna see in particular?”

“Well, like I mentioned in chat, I’d like to see Sunshine…”

“Right now? I mean…I’m fine with that, but you’ll have a better time with a girlfriend.”

Sunshine 60 was famous for once being the tallest building in Japan. Even after that record was broken by Tokyo City Hall and Landmark Tower, it was a bustling leisure destination, packed with students and families on the weekends thanks to its aquarium and the Namja Town amusement park.

He knew it was a lame answer, but Mikado couldn’t think of any other place to go. Well, there was one place, something he recognized from a famous television show.

“Hey, what about Ikebukuro West Gate Park…?”

“Oh, I watched that show, too. Got the novels, the manga, everything.”

“I’m not talking about the show, I mean the actual West Gate Park.”

Masaomi looked stunned for a moment, then laughed in understanding.

“Oh, just call it Nishiguchi Koen in Japanese like normal.”

“Huh? But…I thought all the Ikebukuroites called it by the English name.”

“What’s an Ikebukuroite? So what’s up, you wanna go there?” Masaomi asked, stopping in his tracks. Mikado shook his head.

“N-no, let’s not! It’s almost nighttime! The color gangs will kill us!”

“Easy, buddy, don’t act like it’s some life-and-death matter. It’s only six o’clock, for crying out loud! I see you’re still a total coward.”

Masaomi smiled exasperatedly and escorted Mikado through the
crowd. It wasn’t as dense here as it was outside of the ticket barrier, but it was still difficult for Mikado to maneuver without hitting anyone.

“There aren’t as many color gangs anymore. There used to be a lot more of them you’d see around last year, but there was a big war with Saitama, and a few dozen of ’em got locked up. After that, anytime you got a few people wearing the same color together, the cops would rush ’em real quick. Plus, even at night, there’s nothing crazy going on until at least after all the office workers and salarymen head home. The only exception is the big groups, like the
bosozoku
motorcycle gangs. Sometimes you see articles or news pieces on how they got into a big battle with the cops. Not here, but over in Kabukicho.”

“
Bosozoku
!”

“But they’re not gonna be hanging around the station at this hour is what I’m saying.”

Mikado heaved a sigh of relief. “So is Ikebukuro safe these days?”

“I really only know half of what goes on, so this is partly guesswork. There are lots of color gangs and bikers around still, and there’s plenty of dangerous stuff aside from them. Plus, even when it comes to ordinary people, there are some you can
never mess with
. Then again, you’re not the type to go mad dogging people and picking fights. Just watch out for the pimps and shady businessmen and stay away from the thugs and
bosozoku
, and you’ll be fine.”

“I see.”

Mikado couldn’t help but wonder about the people “you can never mess with,” but he didn’t question Masaomi any further.

They headed down a narrower tunnel and onto the escalator leading up to the surface. Mikado glanced around and noticed enormous posters covering the entire wall. They featured various things—jewelers, upcoming movies, even a manga-style illustration of a girl.

When they reached the top of the escalator and exited onto the street, the air was still packed tight with people, and only the backdrop had changed.

Amid the unchanging sea of humanity, people in Windbreakers handed out tissue packets with business advertisements on the outside. Some handed them only to women, while others were less discriminate in their targets. Some of those who distributed only to men
were very clearly singling out those worthy of their benefaction—Mikado was solidly ignored.

The crowds themselves were made up of a variety of people, from salarymen to the young and underemployed, teenage girls, even foreigners. But the crowd was not perfectly mixed; each type seemed to cluster with others of its ilk, forming distinct territories. Occasionally a person from one territory would venture forth and call out to a person of a different type. Even these sights were pushed along in the sheer wave of moving humanity.

This was a familiar phenomenon to Masaomi, but everything about it was exciting and new to Mikado. There had never been a sea of humanity like this back home, even at the largest shopping mall. He was witnessing a world he’d only ever seen on the Internet or in comic books.

When he related this to Masaomi, his friend laughed and said, “Next time I should take you to Shinjuku or Shibuya. Harajuku would be pretty good, too, if you want a real culture shock. There’s also Akiba…but if you just want to see crowds, how about we hit up a racing track?”

“I’ll pass,” Mikado said politely. They’d exited onto one of the main roads. Cars raced busily down the multilane street, and there was a much larger road blocking the sky above them.

“That up there is the Metropolitan Expressway. Oh yeah, and the street we just took here is called Sixtieth Floor Street. There’s also a Sunshine Street, but be careful not to get confused, because the Cinema Sunshine is actually on Sixtieth Floor Street. Dang, I should have shown you around that area since we just passed it.”

“It’s okay, we can do that another time,” Mikado said. He was so distracted by the incredible crowds that he was failing to take in the sights of the city. At this rate, he’d never be able to get to Sunshine on his own from the station.

While they waited for the light to change, Masaomi looked back at the way they’d come and muttered, “I didn’t see Simon or Shizuo today. I bet Yumasaki and Karisawa are at the arcade, though.”

“Who?” Mikado asked automatically, though he knew Masaomi was just talking to himself.

“Uhh, Yumasaki and Karisawa are just people I know. Simon and Shizuo are two of those guys I was telling you about earlier—the ones you don’t mess with. But as long as you lead a normal life, you don’t
need to speak to Shizuo Heiwajima, and if you see him, your best bet is to run away.”