The Elderly Couple is in a Desperate Situation, and… (2/2)

In retrospect, I probably should have split the chapter into more even halves – but well, more action for this half, then?

A moment earlier

A Chicago street

 

“It’ll be this way, boss.”

Seeing the old restaurant Shaft pointed towards, Graham happily snapped his fingers. Spinning his wrench, he began to ramble.
“Ah-ha…although this place seems pretty old, the age suits it! It makes it the perfect place to take apart – but wait, what am I saying? Am I really planning to take apart the place I’m eating? Oh, how could this be, that my own destructiveness prevents me from even the joy of a meal! What am I doing? If I could take apart my own life, then would I do that too? Oh, but it makes no sense – why must I deal with it, this persistent need toward self-death? Has there ever been such a hateful thing? And why…why do I feel the need to pour all this, all my self-hate forth?”

“If you hate it so much, then why don’t you just end it?”

“If I could have, then I would have done it long by now…but wait, no, thinking about it, I haven’t tried it, have I? But why could this be?  Ah, such hateful thoughts, they’re making me break out in a sweat! If I forget to change myself, then what consequences could there be…forget? Someone as full of dreams for the future as me is not suited for the past…yes, I’ll end it now! But end what? This hatred in my heart, of course! Oh, what a sad, sad story this is! How long will this battle with myself rage on, and who may finally emerge victorious? And so all I do right now is say my apologies, my apologies, owners of this store, that I said your store would be fun to take apart…”

To most people, just hearing Graham’s words would have been enough to make them run. The group following him, however, had long since grown used to his eccentricities, and now only stood with weary smiles.

“We’re already here, so it’d be great if you could keep it down inside.”

Hearing Shaft sigh as he gave this request, Graham placed his wrench against his lips, breath misting on its metal surface.

Unsure of whether this gesture was endearing or just strange, Shaft sighed again as he opened the door to Dolce.

Save for one man who sat with his hat covering his eyes at the bar, the store was otherwise empty.

“Hi – is it okay if we eat here?”

“Hello, dear guests, and of course! Your presence is always welcome – ah, although since we’ve just opened, you might have to wait a little longer…”

“That’s fine – not a problem for us.”

“Then just please follow me.”

Spirits high, the owner brought Graham and the others to a table near the kitchen.

Graham, who had so far heeded Shaft’s advice and not said a word, now sat down and, after a brief glance at the menu, tersely ordered.

“…barbeque ribs, Kansas style.”

“Oh, well then, I’ll get that as well…is everyone okay with that, too?”

Seeing the others around him nod, Shaft proceeded to order for the rest of the group.

As the owner walked, grinning, back to the kitchen, Graham leaned his wench against a wall as he glanced around the store.

“This place seems more like a restaurant than a bar…”

And then – almost right after he said this, Graham, fidgeting in his seat, heard the beginning of a beautiful speech:

“Such so-called fasting…the stomach keeps its silence, consuming nothing but its own sorrows…”

 

Left alone after Sickle’s departure, the Poet – in order to confront the question of “what shall we do next” – decided to reflect on his own matters.

In his view, with no way to contact Sham or Hilton, it was necessary to first understand himself better before deciding what to do.

It was a thought that, over the past days, he had found himself relentlessly mulling on. Over and over again, the same ideas and the same hopes invaded his mind…

 

At Huey’s research center, Rhythm, the Poet had been given a pair of eyes that could take in light and reflect it at a different wavelength.

When others made eye contact with the Poet, they couldn’t help feeling a sense of unease.

With his eyes, the Poet was able to control the minds of others in a manner similar to hypnosis –  that was the Poet’s ability. In addition, his status as a homunculi meant that he could not grow older, but the Poet hardly thought it worth pondering compared to his other ability.

When he had acquired it, even the Poet himself did not know. By the time he had been old enough to understand, his eyes were already altered, and he had never raised the question with either Huey or Rhythm.

As his eyes emitting flashing streams of blue light, the Poet – by subtly moving his head – could force those meeting his gaze into a hypnotizable state.

Once half-sleep, his opponents were then rendered susceptible to suggestions.

To put it simply – if you took the effect of a swaying crystal or a flickering flame and multiplied it ten times over, then you would have the hypnotic power of the Poet’s eyes.

The Poet himself, however, did not particularly know how it worked, nor did he care to know. Just like an ordinary person, he had no extraordinary urge to learn the technical details of how his vision worked.

But he was not like other people, and he himself knew no way to turn off the power of his eyes.

He could, with some effort, control the flashing of his eyes, but to do so forever would surely impinge on his daily activities. No matter how he pondered it, he couldn’t muster the resolve to do anything permanent about it.  So he only continued the way he always had, living half his life in near-blindness.

The people who met his eyes, after all, were all immediately plunged into a state of extreme susceptibility. If someone loudly screamed, “go die!” then even if they did not immediately take effect, the words would still be firmly etched in their hearts – until one day, for whatever reason, they would be forced to carry them out.

As a result, the Poet had deliberately tried to cultivate an outlandish personality, hoping that it would make others dismiss him as a mere eccentric.

Unlike Christopher’s grandiose example, the Poet kept his outer appearance more ordinary, instead using his odd speech to convey his warning to others:

Don’t make eye contact with me.

That was his simple wish – that other people would just, of their own volition, avoid looking into his eyes.

How strange…if I were to use this power without stop, I could surely live quite easily.

At this conclusion, another thought entered the Poet’s mind.

If this measure cannot be undertaken, is my own cowardice to blame?

Or…could this be since I am not human, I cannot do this?

As members of Lamia, the homunculi were all, after all, artificially-created abnormalities.

All in all, they were not a group of particularly talented individuals, nor individuals with particular physical strengths.

Nonetheless, they were beings that been willed into the world – if not by a god, then by the will of chance itself, which had thus placed them among the society of humans.

Christopher and the rest – all of them were the same.

Of them all, Leeza was the only one who could be said to differ, but her origins were the same as theirs. In Chris’s actions and words, he revealed a pride in feeling that, “I was blessed by heaven.” That Rail, too, would be influenced by this notion of their superiority over ordinary men was odd, as it was based on his limited experience of the world.

What was more, even among their group of homunculi, there were many who were merely “pretending.”

All of them, in fact, had deliberately created a barrier between themselves and the world, perhaps out of the inability to accept one crucial fact: they were not the same as others. Sickle’s odd demeanor, Chi’s clothing…they were just more examples of this barrier. When, in the past, the Twins had told them of a homunculus named Ennis who lived a seemingly normal life, none of them had been able to resist feeling a little jealous.

What odd existences we truly lead…

The Poet’s mind went then to the missing Frank and Rail, and his thoughts changed once again.

They….they are still young.

Like that already insane Christopher, it is clear that they’re difference from me.

Still…I hope that they can find their way onto that road that brings happiness.

If, that is, that road exists.

In the past, he had not been able to find this road, and so here he was today, idling his life away by daily playing a fool.

At the same time, he had also lied to himself in complying with Huey’s instructions.

He had pretended to believe that it was only caution, the safest route they could take.

But to only look at the current situation, what did that truly accomplish…            

Reaching this point, the Poet suddenly felt that so hungry his stomach would soon be groaning. Without even thinking about it, a rambling line dropped from his lips.

“Such so-called fasting…the stomach keeps its silence, consuming nothing but its own sorrows…”

After years of using it, such a style of speech had already become natural to him.

However, since he was able to become serious when he had to, it could still be called a kind of acting. But the Poet’s mind had already accepted such diction as normal, and so his words continued, flowing out in an unceasing stream:

“Swallowing the tears, the lowly sound lingers, questioning instinct and emotion as they exchange whispered words of hunger. If desire is the god driving all human existence, then we can neither rebel against nor doubt such a god, only continuously submit ourselves to defeat. Gurgle – nursemaid! Gurgle, gurgle – nursemaid! Only with the body that encloses our lives can we stiffly raise our inquiries! Compassion, a sighing glance – the buzzing bee falls into the flower, drowning in the nectar inside as he gazes at the ocean beyond the walls. But only after chewing all in my mouth, did I realized this buzzing bee was myself..”

In the time before Sickle and her scorn returned, the Poet – without even trying – had created an entire narrative devoted to this theme of  “fasting,” with even more words emerging as they popped into his mind.

Behind him was a new guest, but either way, there was no one who would listen to him. And even if they did listen, they would only think him strange and try to avoid him. But was that not my goal? That was what the Poet’s heart was constantly thinking –

Suddenly, however, a blue blur appeared at his right side and, pushing several coins on the counter, cried:

“Bartender, a glass of tequila for the artist here!”

“…?”

Furrowing his brow in confusion, the Poet turned his line of sight towards the figure next to him –

The next moment, a cold shudder ran through his body.

“…!”

“Oh, let me tell you a truly touching story…oh, how touching! To think, that in such a corner of the city, I would hear such lovely poetry as I just did! Language? What is language but a kind of beauty? And when clear enough, this language, when we hear it, can make us feel such deep emotions…no doubt about it, emotions! And those words you just spoke! They’ve plummeted me in a moving, swirling vortex of emotion!”

As the man continued proclaiming in this manner, waving his hands up and down as he spoke, a cold sweat silently broke out on the Poet’s back

The tool the blue-suited figure carried.

His golden hair.

The strange hairstyle that covered his eyes.

And that unmatched energy in his words.

At the time, the Poet had only watched from the sidelines, but standing behind everyone else, he had still seen him –

This man in front of him.

This man who had, in a fight against Rail, Sickle, and the rest, singlehandedly brought them to their knees.

…this cannot be good.

Had they already been recognized by their enemy? Although there had been no detailed drawings on any of the wanted posters, the Poet was easily described as “a man who spoke pretentiously.” Had this man, on such a description, already been able to recognize him?

No – he might also already long known they were going to be here. Or perhaps…perhaps this was just a coincidence?

But even if it was a coincidence, the chances were just simply too low.

While it was true that several stores had closed due to the recent disappearances and yesterday’s explosions, there were still thousands of bars and restaurants in Chicago.

That amidst these many stores, they would bump into each other in this one – could such things really happen?

“Ah – what a beautiful day this is! When my friends brought me here, I would have never thought that I would, in a place like this, meet such an artist as yourself! Oh, thank you, day called today, for bringing me here!”

“I don’t quite get what you’re saying, but congratulations anyway!”

“…”

As the smiling bartender brought the tequila over, the Poet decided to find out the true motives of the man next to him.

However, if the Poet wanted to observe his face, his eyes would be immediately visible. As a result, he could only wait, uncertain of anything as time slowly trickled by.

“Oh, you suddenly got quiet.”

“…no.”

“Are you being bashful? If so, then I should be as well…Disturbing the creation of art might be merely rude, but intending to do so is an insult! Oh, how sad – how very, very truly tragic! Just how, how can I ever rid myself of this guilt? But ah, I know – let me buy you another drink, alright?”

“No…it is no annoyance. For if the body can withstand its splashing sparks, then it can endure the fire, heady on the beauty of burning in the blaze within…floating within the glass chalice, the undulating worm dictates the depths of my existence.”

“Yes! I don’t quite understand it, but your spirit is truly admirable. Come, drink up!”

Even if his opponent hadn’t figured out who the Poet was, when Sickle came back, everything would be exposed.

After all, it had only been a few days since her right ankle and upper arm been “dismantled” by the  wrench of this man in a blue work uniform.

Most people, after an injury like that, would have been in too much pain to move. Sickle, however, merely popped her bones back into place, and by sheer willpower bore the pain.

Though such an injury would still hurt, Sickle refused to show any signs of pain, an act of endurance made the Poet deeply admire her.

And if she were to see this man right now, she would surely become angry…

As the Poet continued to emit this nervous air, the man next to him hastily stood up.

“Oh, I’ll leave with time to ponder your art…right now, I will try to impart the feeling you’ve given me to others. This, then, shall be how I oppose my hate! No matter if it’s today, tomorrow, the day after day, or some day in the near or distant future, I will continue to carry this feeling as long as I live! Oh, what a joyous, joyous tale!”

Humming, he half-spun, half-walked to the men’s bathroom.

Which was next to the women’s bathroom.

And the moment the blue-clothed man closed the door on the bathroom, the women’s stall was thrown open, Sickle’s cold countenance emerging from the open doors.

This could be dangerous…

The Poet had hardly thought this, when a few moments later –

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Hey, is that…”

“It can’t be…”

“Is this for real?”

Spotting Sickle, the blue-suited man’s companions suddenly began starting up from their table.

…oh no.

When Sickle and the other man encountered each other, then these men would act just like the Poet, fading to the sides as merely spectators.

Even if he had not recognized the Poet, then it was likely his adversary would remember Sickle’s face.

Putting it that way, was it truly a coincident that they had come to this restaurant?

This thought had crossed his mind earlier, but right now, there was no luxury to continue pondering it.

“Let us leave.”

“….? Go…but where?”

Sickle, too, had noticed the men watching her, and their stares had made her restless again. Watching them out of the corner of her eyes, she frowned in puzzlement.

The Poet, however, had no time to properly explain the situation to her. Taking a few bills from his wallet, he placed them on the counter.

“Manager, we’re sorry, but something came up. Will this be enough money to cover it?”

At this abrupt statement, the manager gawked at the Poet. He didn’t touch the money, however, only shaking his head and saying,

“My dear guests, this simply can’t do…Even if we’ve already started cookin’ your order, I can’t take your money if you won’t stay to eat it.”

“Ah..in that case, please feel free to give our food to the table over there. Tell them it’s a thank-you for buying me drinks.”

“Is…is that really alright?”

“Yes, don’t worry about it.”

The manager seemed to hear the anxiety in the Poet’s voice, and without another word, he went to find the change for the money the Poet had given him.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Sickle’s question was disgruntled, but the Poet just took her hand, silently heading for the restaurant’s exit –

It was then that the Poet was certain he clearly sensed something, the quiet click of puzzle pieces fitting together. (1)

Something about the timing of it all, the way it all overlapped together –

 

“Huh?”

 

That was –

A voice they hadn’t heard for a long, long time.

At the same time, it was also one they couldn’t be more familiar with.

“Well, well, well –  would you look at that? Quite a coincidence, huh?”

Although it was a man’s voice coming from the bar’s open doors, there was also a sense of childishness in it.

Even if the voice was more mature, the tone of the words was very similar to Rail’s.

Underneath his dark hat, the Poet’s eyes widened, and even Sickle stood stunned at this sudden encounter.

Emerging from the sun outside into the dark store, was a man who gave the impression of being a vampire.

Below his red eyes,  the man’s mouth opened wide to show a row of straight, sharp teeth.

Seeing this countenance for the first time, the manager could not stop his face from assuming the same expression as Sickle’s.

However, this eerie-looking man was also –

“Well, how’d this happen?”

Face gleeful and beyond surprised, he opened his arms, and with relentless happiness cried:

“Fantastic! Just fantastic! Well, isn’t this old Poet and Sickle! Aah, Rail’d told me you guys were here, but I would’ve never thought I’d meet you guys in a place like that…what kinda coincidence is that, huh? Is this what they call the ‘ties of family,’ then?”

“Christopher!”

As Sickle and the Poet simultaneously cried this name, the man it referred to broke into a bright grin. Eyes flickering between the two of them, he continued:

“Ah – it’s too great, I really woulda never thought I’d bump into you guys in a place like this! I should starting thanking God, should I? But, no – type of person I am, I guess I oughta be thanking nature for leading him here instead.

“Guur…grrrgle…”

“After all, it was my hungry stomach that led me towards you, so I guess I should be thankful that even though we’re homunculi, nature has given us the ability to go hungry! Ah, that’s right – I once heard someone say that in the country of Japan, has eight million gods, ’cause they think every leaf and stone on the ground has a god of its own. Fantastic, don’tcha think? For a lover of nature like me, it sounds great, but could it really true? For unnatural creations like us – is there a god of homunculi, too? If there are eight million known gods, then it doesn’t really matter who I turn to, does it? In that case, I think I’d like to thank the God of puppets –”

“That’s enough – shut up and calm down a little, wouldn’t you?”

This command was rather ironical, however, as it was now Sickle who impatiently interrupted Christopher’s high-speed words with the question looming in her mind:

“I have so many…truly so many things I want to ask you. But, Christopher…did you, just then, say that it was Rail who had told you this earlier?”

“I did.”

“Where was this? And where is he right now?”

Though Sickle’s tone was sharp, Christopher only shrugged as he told her, “he’s the same as always.” With a listless smile, he continued,

“Ah, not really. Yesterday, he seemed to get into some kind of trouble, and I found him on the street, collapsed. He’s trying to save Frank, so now he’s going around blowing things up.”

“…! What happened? And why didn’t you go with him? Saving Frank – you mean they aren’t together? Do you know where he is, then?”

“Hey now, asking me all these questions at once, how am I supposed to response? Way I see it, you should calm down a little yourself –”

As Christopher tried to placate a furious Sickle –

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flashing silver object.

Years of experience told him, “this thing was dangerous,” and his attention immediately snapped towards it.

For a moment, he mistakenly thought it was one of Leeza’s chakrams – but as it approached, he saw that the silver circle was only an ordinary wrench, albeit spinning at high speed.

At the same time as Christopher’s vision was making these quick judgments, his right hand naturally reached over Sickle’s shoulder.

“!”

Reflexively thinking that Christopher was going to hit her, Sickle automatically bent into a crouch – only to hear a “snap” from nearby.

Automatically, her eyes turned towards the direction of the noise –

To see that Christopher was holding, in one hand, a wrench.

Such a wrench was very familiar to Sickle, and her entire body tensed as she turned towards the direction it had come flying from.

And then –

She saw him.

A man wearing the blue clothes of a workman, taking slow, ghostly footsteps towards them –

Who, reaching his table, reached over for the giant wrench lying there.

 

“How joyous…let me tell you a truly joyous story.”

 

And, lifting the steel bar high, the light gleaming off the metal – this blue-clothed ghost smiled.

A cheerful, crazy smile.

 

“The enemies that vanished earlier have once again appeared in front of me – and not one, but two of them! To chance upon this woman in the green dress again – could it mean that the thread of fate connects us? (2) If so, then should I once again love her? Mister manager, what do you think?”

“W-what?”

Suddenly brought into the conversation, the manager struggled to process the situation in front of him –

Meekly, he gave an answer, but not to the question he had been asked.

“Ah, well…sir, I think that it’s rather dangerous to throw wrenches around.”

“R…really?! How terrible…even if it had nothing to do with my question, the manager’s answer is still a hundred percent accurate…how can that be? And what now? What should I do now? Which idea should ring the right bell? Ah, it truly is strange…strange and sorrowful…but still, life can be so enjoyable, too! And to let me stumble upon such a coincidence as this!”

“S-sir?”

At this tentative word, uttered with a face full of anxiety, the figure in workman’s clothes nodded steadily, trying to reassure the manager –

“It’s alright, Mister manager. Don’t worry.”

The words he said after this, however, could hardly be counted as reassuring.

 

“Before the ribs are done, I’ll put this thing to an end.”

---

The same time

Transcontinental train

Car interior

 

Propelled by steam, the locomotive sped towards Chicago.

And somewhere in the compartments behind it, cargo, first-class, third-class, and all the other compartments that comprised an ordinary train –

An encounter was about to occur.

“La la la ——♪ Lalalala, la, la, la la la lalala ——♪”

Other than a young man cheerfully singing, the third-class compartment was empty.

“Dee-da la da, do-dah ——♪ pa pa la, pa – pa – pa – palalala ——♪ lala lu lu lula lah, ding – dong ——♪ klun da, klun da, klun da…”

Drums, trumpets, and piano – all these instruments came from the mouth of the man inside. Readjusting the cowboy hat on his head, bought with the money left after buying his ticket, he continued his happy song:

“Da la la laah, da la la la laaah, da la da la da la—♪”

Seeing his reflection in the window, he paused in his singing to address his reflection.

“Ah – we can improve this, can’t we?”

As he pondered whether he ought to add some other decoration to his hat, the man realized, suddenly, that another man was standing behind him.

“Who – ah, you must just be a friend of mine, right?”

At this odd question, the figure in the shadows – a young man, dressed well in a suit – shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid not, seeing as this is the first time we’ve spoken in person. Are you Mr. Isaac, by chance?”

“Eh? So then, you’re not a friend…?”

“Not yet, I would say.”

“Ah, right! We might not know each other, but starting from now, I declare us friends!”

And, issuing this bold proclaiming, Isaac Dian offered his right hand to the man in front of him.

Though faintly surprised, the man politely shook Isaac’s hand. Smiling wryly, he commented, “you’re very bold, aren’t you, making friends with people you’ve just met.”

“Oh? Are you saying that’s something bad?”

“No, I wouldn’t say…”

“Fantastic! Because right now, I’m so happy I could be friends – no, family! – with everyone in the whole world!”

Seeing Isaac’s childish glee, the other man smiled faintly, politely pulling away his hand as he took the seat next to him.

“Is it convenient if I sit here?”

“Oh, is it convenient?”

Although Isaac’s reply was once again nonsensical, the suited man did not seem to particularly mind it. Addressing the man in front of him, he slowly said,

“Isaac, you really are the way everyone else says you are – or, I guess I could say, the way I would expect from what I’ve seen of you.”

“Huh? What – you recognize me?”

“Yes, I’ve heard about you from several people already, and I’ve watched you from afar…Simply put, when it comes to you and Miss Miria Harvent…you could say I’m a fan.”

“A fan?”

Expression dumbfounded, Isaac’s gaze traveled over the room several before coming to rest again on the face of the man next to him.

“A fan…of me and Miria?”

“That’s right.”

The man’s words were suspicious at best, but there was no doubt in Isaac’s eyes as he stared at him, eyes bright as those of a child seeing a butterfly for the first time.

“I see now – well, that explains everything! But wait one moment – being a fan of Miria, I can understand, she’s as pretty as any gal on Broadway…but me? Now just what reason would you have to be a fan of me?”

To Isaac’s question, the other man in the car met with an even response.

“Ah, none really…only, many people have told me of your exploits, and I’ve been quite envious.”

“Many people?”

Although he had only just met him, Isaac already seemed to treat the other man as though they had been friends for years.

Staring faintly at Isaac, the suited man paused a moment before making his reply.

“Certainly…for example, the Martillo family…Jacuzzi Splot…or the Russo family…Czeslaw Meyer…Miss Eve Genoard, too…from all of them, I’ve heard tales of you, Isaac Dian.”

As he heard the other man mention one after another of his old friends, Isaac’s mood only intensified. Enthusiasm peaking, he cried:

“Amazing – you know so many people! Then that settles it – if you’re friends with all these people, then you’re friends with me, too! And once she meets you, I’m sure Miria would be happy to be your friend, too!”

“I’m very grateful for that, then.”

As the other gave yet another restrained, ironical smile, Isaac suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to ask an important question. Slapping his knee, he exclaimed:

“That’s right – I still haven’t asked you your name! How can I introduce you to everyone  else if I don’t have your name? Though it doesn’t have to be a name – a nickname would be just as well!”

At Isaac’s rushed question, the other man paused a moment before responding.

Then, giving Isaac another strained smile, he began his extremely belated introduction.

“My goodness, this feels almost like being a spy…”

“A spy? Wow, how incredible!”

Though these words were even more suspicious, Isaac’s eyes continued to shine with childlike joy.

Seeing Isaac’s reaction, the man was even more perplexed than before – then, giving a sigh, he finally stated his name.

“Ah, well, in truth, this name is more of a nickname, though it is my true name as well…”

 

“I hope you can call me…Sham.”

---

The same time

Chicago, outskirts

 

When the automobile industry had been at a peak, factory upon factory had been built in Chicago. As a result, a number of plants were scattered around the city. But when the Great Depression began affecting the world, many of these factories began reaching their end – and as their tales ended, the city became full of abandoned factories.

And just as Graham Specter would use such factories as personal bases, many of the cast-off factories in the city had become bases for gangs and other groups. Others had become the sites of contraband manufacture by the mafia, each using the factories to pursue their own stories.

Though Prohibition had already been appealed and alcohol was now no longer contraband, many people were still involved in illegally manufacturing alcohol, staying with the business out of deluded dreams or despair.

Amidst such a landscape, a gang of young delinquents knew well the meaning of both dreams and despair.

Located next to a row of other factories, the plant they frequent was a difficult one to find. Several years ago, a series of murders nearby had caused the gang to flee the scene, and even after the police had finished conducting their investigation, the group of delinquents had not returned, leaving their factory to be truly abandoned.

After three years, however, the lights in the abandoned factory were once again lit.

But other than rusted piles of scrap metal and the scent of machine oil, nothing in the factory welcomed its former residents back.

 

And now –

Just the same as three years ago, a boy’s cries rent the air within the factory.

“Aaaaaaaaah…oh nooo….w-w-what, what are we going to doooo…”

“Jacuzzi, please, just try to calm down.”

Gently, Nice reached a comforting hand out to Jacuzzi, who sat clutching his head against the wall.

Nice’s gesture, however, only made Jacuzzi sink further into despair.

“This is all…this is all my fault. If-if I didn’t make us come here, you w-wouldn’t be a suspect now, Nice…”

“Jacuzzi, I would have come anyway, alright? Please, Jacuzzi, I’ve already told you, stop blaming yourself. It isn’t your fault…”
“B-but it is! It is my fault! When I told everyone to run…if we’d stayed there and explained everything to the police, e-even if there were misunderstandings, I’m sure they would-would have believed us…”

Seeing that Jacuzzi was in a mood to blame everything on himself, Nice tried switching her tact to reason.

“And then given up this boy to police?”

“Ah…”

Nice pointed the other way, where the topic of their conversation was sleeping in a blanket.

Although the boy – who appeared several years younger than Jacuzzi and his companions – was currently tranquilly sleeping, the scars covering his body made all those who looked at him feel anything but peaceful.

Though he didn’t seem to be any immediate danger, Jacuzzi’s companions had still taken him to a doctor just in case, a back-alley acquaintance unlikely to question their lack of insurance.

When it came to the mysterious boy’s condition, they didn’t hold high hopes. But even if his situation was bad, theirs was equally hopeless.

Initially, they could have just taken the boy to a hospital, immediately calling attention to his presence. But not only would this have failed to clear Nice of suspicion, they would have also felt deeply guilty for sending the boy to the police.

Even so, the young boy had certainly been identified at the explosion. As a result, they couldn’t help but feel guilty either way, much like their leader – but in addition to these problems, the gang had another reason for worry.

Because after they had returned to their base and gotten the boy medical treatment, Nice had shared certain observations:

“When we got a close look at the explosions, I realized something. No, it’s more like I became sure of something I’d already thought…yes, I’m certain of it now.”

“C-certain of what?”

“The explosives this boy used just then…they’re the same ones I stole before.”

“Wha –?”

At Nice’s words, Jacuzzi furiously blinked several times.

But as the meaning of her words dawned on him, his face paled, leaving his tattoo even darker than before.

“You mean…”

“The same as the ones I took from the Flying Pussyfoot and then sold. But if these are just reproductions, then it might not hopeless…”

At Nice’s composed words, Jacuzzi’s mind instantly began wondering what a truly “hopeless” scenario was.

As it stood – by going through them, wasn’t it their fault that these bombs had entered the world?

As the blood drained out of his face, Jacuzzi began to slowly tremble.

Once again, it seemed they had been thrust into the middle of a maelstrom.

As the questions began piling within his head – Who was this child? Why was he using these bombs? Were Graham and his group safe? – Jacuzzi’s sense of unease only heightened.

In addition to all this, the fear that the Russo family would want to avenge themselves for their companions suffused his heart.

As this vortex of  thoughts swirled in his mind, Jacuzzi, his trembling only getting worse, burst into tears.

In his fear, this easily-scared youth did not hear it –

‘It’ being the beginning commotion coming from a restaurant not too far away.

A commotion that, at least until now, had not yet started.

---

Dolce, interior

 

Inside, a scene of chaos was laid out.

No tables or chairs were flying through the air, and it was hardly if the place was in shambles – but compared to the present atmosphere, such a scene would have actually been more comforting. To describe it, the atmosphere was not that before a general fight, but rather that of two gunmen ready to draw their arms.

Within such a steadily tensing atmosphere, however, two men remained unaffected –

The two men who were, in fact, responsible for the current mood to begin with.

“Huh, and I was just wondering who this was from! Turns out it’s Mr. Wrench himself – it’s been, what, thirty-five hours and twenty-four minutes since we last saw each other?”

Christopher said this with a calm expression, casually swinging the wrench in his hand back and forth.

Across from him, Graham gave his own grin as he responded.

“No, that’s not it.. thirty-six hours, fifty-nine minutes, and twenty-three minutes.”

“Is that really?”

“Not really! I was just saying whatever I wanted to!”

“Really? Same here!”

Tossing the wrench into the air, Christopher flashed a wide, sharp grin.

“Anyways, it looks like you’re getting barbeque ribs? Can’t keep anyone waiting, then.”

Without gazing at it, Christopher deftly reached a hand for the wrench as it fell back down.

The wrench, however, slipped through his fingers, falling on the floor with a clang.

“…let’s try that again.”

Without a second thought, Christopher picked up the wrench and, twirling it, continued.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Hey, manager, I want an order of barbeque ribs too, Memphis style.”

“Huh? What – ah, y-yes, right away!”

Still in awe by the power of Christopher’s presence, the elderly manager quickly scurried away to the kitchen.

Watching him go, Christopher once again tossed the wrench into the air.

It was a careless motion, but somehow, the tension in the room only increased at that, all following the path of the wrench as though it were the most important thing in the world –

Until, that is, a third person decided to disregard the atmosphere, breaking the reverie with a question.

“Chris, you’re not going to tell give him my order, then?”

“Ah!”

So calm previously, Christopher started in surprise, and – completely ignoring the eyes on him –  turned his gaze to the front of the store.

Which was the moment he wrench he had earlier tossed chose to fall.

With a clunk, it dropped on Christopher’s head, eliciting a cry of “oh!” from him as, before, his eyes, the now-slowed wrench was caught by Ricardo.

“…Chris, what are you doing?”

“Wow, damn, oww – oh, nothing. Just getting a little exercise before eating.”

Rubbing his head, he his gaze turned to the people inside the store. Christopher seemed more intent on stalling than starting, but as Ricardo returned the wrench to him, he turned back to Graham.

“You’re very skilled.”

“…you’re quite impressive yourself. Oh, but now I don’t know whether to be sorrowful or smile…”

“Hey! The two of you, quit joking around!”

This cry came from Sickle who, despite being caught between the two men, had until now been completely ignored by them.

To avoid being involved, the Poet had already unconsciously moved far away from the three figures, peering over the top of a pillar he had ducked behind.

“Christopher, be clear with me! Are you and this man familiar with each other? Who is that kid behind you? And where are Rail and Frank?”

“Ah – there’s a lot of things I have to explain to you, but I don’t now’s the right time for it.”

At that moment, Christopher’s eyes darted back the man in workman’s clothing. A wrench at least five times the size of Christopher’s was in his hands, unceasingly turning as he fixed a pair of excited, nearly maniacal eyes on Christopher.

Continuing to spin the wrench, the man turned to Christopher and began yet another ramble –

“Oh…and now we come to a truly sad, truly regrettable story.”

“Huh? Oh, sure then, I’m listening. But make it quick, okay?”

“Ah, alright – just then, to reassure the manger, I told him that this would all be finished before the food was ready. So I suppose I’ve made a commitment now, haven’t I? And now that I’ve made it, I certainly can’t make him worry by breaking it. So starting from now – I’ll put every effort into fighting you! For whom? Why, for the manager and my own hungry stomach!”

“You’ve got that right.”

Christopher said this with a sly laugh and Graham, hearing it, suddenly made an odd request.

“Oh, and now that you understand…would you mind moving a little bit to the left? My left, I mean.”

Christopher raised an eyebrow, but nodding an assent, took several steps in that direction.

“Like that?”

“A little more…good, that’s it! That should do it.”

“?”

What were they up to?

From the looks of it, the only ones who knew the answer to this were the two combatants themselves. Everyone else could only hold their breath, clueless, and await the answers to their questions –

Answers that Graham, grinning wildly, straightforwardly supplied.

“That way, Ricardo and the lady in the green won’t be involved.”

 

At the same time –

The giant wrench flew across the room, flung at an almost impossible speed.

Though it had the grace of a flying saucer, its force was more like that of an artillery shell.

These qualities, however, only underlined the destructive power of the silver object – one which was now directly heading for Christopher.

And as it did –

Seeing the object headed for him, the thought flashed through Christopher’s mind –

“Woah, that was even deadlier than one of Leeza’s chakrams!”

At the same time, years of training calmly told him that if the object hit, then its target was sure to be dead.

The total time it took these thoughts to cross his mind was, at most, a second or two.

But to Christopher, such an interval seemed very long, leaving him with more than enough time to think – but when the thought flashed through his head that ‘this could kill him,’ all thought gave over as he reacted by instinct.

Kicking off the ground, Christopher intended to side-sweep the weapon –

But it was already too late for something that easy.

Whirling, the wrench spun past Christopher’s leg, the sense of passing death causing his entire body to stiffen.

What transpired next, however, proved that “falling seven times means rising eight.” (3)

Leaping to one side, Christopher aimed a hard kick at the wrench, hurling spinning disk away from him.

“….ah!”

The kick was one of unbelievable force – upon impact, the wrench stopped spinning and, speed now slowed, began drifting upwards.

Such a move would have knocked anyone off their feet, but by using his arms to swivel like a gymnast on a balance beam, the man responsible for this incredible feat was able to keep his balance.

At the same time, the huge wrench hit the wall with a boom and, now slowed but still spinning, flew towards the ceiling.

In the space of a few seconds, Christopher had already demonstrated prowess far beyond human abilities.

Already planning ahead, Christopher reached up, intending to take Graham’s wrench and use it against its master –

Only to catch, at edge of his vision, a glimpse of a blue figure leaping into the air.

“…!”

Including Christopher, at that moment, all eyes were fixed on the trajectory of the gigantic wrench –

All, that is, except the man who had first thrown it.

Because Graham had already made his next move.

Having earlier thrown the wrench, Graham now leapt into the air to chase after it, using the tables and chairs as stepping-stones as he closed the distance between himself and Christopher.

Logically, he should not have been able to retrieve something he had just thrown –

But as the wrench bounced off of the wall, the man who caught it was not Christopher, who had just kicked it away, but Graham Specter, who had leapt from three tables away to catch it in mid-air.

 

Catching the wrench, Graham kicked off a nearby wall and, changing direction, headed straight for Christopher.

And as he did, his wrench arched through the air –

Not even including Graham’s companions, even Sickle and the Poet expected to next hear the crack of Christopher’s skull breaking.

That was, after all, the only logical result that could come from such an extraordinary series of attacks.

But the sound that was heard next was rather that of metal clanging on metal.

Sparks flew.

Using the smaller wrench he had taken earlier, Christopher now blocked the weapon coming down at him.

“Ha!”

Even as his eyes widened in surprise, Graham’s mouth proclaimed his inner delight.

“Oh, it looks like you caught it…ah, you caught it! Fantastic! You caught it!”

As he gave this praise, however, Graham only bore down with greater strength.

“Thanks, I’m flattered…uh!”

On the other side, Christopher was using his strength to push Graham back.

The forces of the two weapon were practically equal, so much so that it was difficult to tell which was stronger. Watching a confrontation like this was like witnesses a duel between two skilled samurai – only in terms of size, it would have been like matching a jitte against a naginata. (4)

“Let me be honest! I really think you’re incredible! When it comes to people who can block my wrench, you’re only the second one to do it!”

As he shouted these words, Graham’s mind suddenly went to the only other time something like this had happened.

Although he now considered Jacuzzi Splot and his gang as close as brothers, when they had first arrived in New York, Graham had been planning to hand them over to the Russo family for the bounty on their heads.

But through a series of misunderstandings and errors, the person they had ended up taking had been Chane Laforet, and they had been forced to cross swords with her –

Or, to be more accurate, to cross wrenches and daggers.

And at that moment, like some red-headed Zorro, a figure had coolly dropped into their midst.

Then calling himself “Felix Walker,” the man had not only caught the wrench Graham had flung at him, but had actually thrown it back even faster.

In the present circumstances, Graham had no time to dawdle in reminisces, but that could not stop certain images from flashing through his mind. The face of that hateful redhead, Jacuzzi and Nice and the rest of the youths Graham now regarded as brothers…

That’s right, I still don’t know whether Jacuzzi and them are alright…

Completely unaware that they were in fact nearly next to the bar, Graham grinned grimly and set his resolve.

I can’t let myself be defeated here.

“How sorrowful…oh, truly! Let me tell you a truly sorrowful story!”

“Ah ha ha! Go on then!”

As Christopher replied, the two wrenches bounced away from each other –

And, as their wielders took a step back, clashed together once again.

In such a situation, Graham should have had no time to talk, but he continued chattering anyways –

“The last person to avoid my blow was a man with red hair…and now it’s a man with red eyes! How? And what could this mean? Is red just not a lucky color for me? If so, then all the blood that runs through my body must be bad luck for me…ah, but this unlucky body is still strong and alive, isn’t it? And graceful – that too!” (5)

“That line was terrible!”

“Shaft, be quiet!”

Craning his neck over, Graham shouted these words at his distantly ducking critic.           

Such a move should have been a fatal mistake – but at the sound of Shaft’s voice, Christopher also turned his head towards his direction.

“Well, I think it is?”

“Thank you! But that’s not going to stop me from dismantling you!”

Following this declaration, Graham immediately jumped back onto the nearby table.

Even as he flew over his opponent, however, he was doubling back for another attack.

Its force not one bit diminished, Graham’s wrench spun toward Christopher’s spine –

But its target had already moved forward.

As Christopher ducked under the table, a gust of wind rushed over him, and he felt fervently grateful for avoiding Graham’s attack.

At the same time, Christopher kicked a chair toward Graham, intending for it to connect with his leg –

The chair, however, missed its mark.

Hearing the sound of something moving towards him, Graham had already jumped back. Using the incoming chair as a stepping stone, he brought his wrench down on the table in front of him – 

Oh, he was going to pay for that.

This thought idly flitting through his mind, Graham prepared to bring his wrench mercilessly down –

Only to realize, in that instant, that the table was flying towards him.

“!”

Connecting with the table Christopher had tossed forward, Graham was thrown back.

Quickly recovering his balance, Graham looked up in time to see a pair of bright red, red, red eyes coming towards him –

Automatically, Graham brought his wrench in front of his body.

However, such a reaction had been meant to counter the force of his opponent’s wrench. And what Graham’s opponent now struck with was not the object in hands, but rather the same feet that had kicked the table away.

Kicking up from the floor, Christopher used all his deadly momentum to now strike Graham in the side.

“Guh…”

As cold sweat ran down his cheeks and pain made him instinctually want to curl up on himself –  Graham thrust his head forward, hitting Christopher’s face with all his might.

“…..!”

Pulling back from each other, both combatants took a step back, intending to take a breath to adjust to the pain and regroup.

But before a single breath had been taken, both burst out in laughter.

“Ha…”

“Ha ha ha!”

Growing quiet, both parties then took a breath, preparing in the next instant to attack –

Only for both to suddenly lose their balance,  thumping on the ground as pain shot through their feet.

Unsure what had just happened, both Graham and Christopher glanced around –

And saw, appearing in their midst, an elegant woman in a billowing green dress.

With the brisk movement of a pendulum, Sickle stood up.

“I’ve been silently listening to your banter all this time…and I’m starting to lose patience with you two.”

Catching Sickle’s cold expression, the red-eyed man, vigorously shook his head, looking somewhat abashed.

“Hey, you can’t step in, Sickle. This is between me and him –”

“Don’t worry.”

Face expressionless except for the fire in her eyes, Sickle calmly cut off Christopher’s words.

 

“I’m going to take down both of you.”

 

Their long-awaited reunion…where had that gone?       

Seeing his companions caught in a three-sided battle and eyeing each other like mortal enemies, the Poet, from behind a pillar, could not help but sigh bitterly and give vent to his inner musings.

“What we call chaos is but a test the divine sets for our short lives, yet it is also but an illusion…and so the test itself, then, is from genesis naught but an illusion. To overcome scars and thus obtain the soul’s crop…even sprinkling food onto the cloudy pitch of a fish’s tank could not compare to this act of human existence…”

Although he knew he was merely spitting out words without meaning, the Poet continued his clever rambles.

His mouth ceaselessly moving, the Poet prayed that the current shambles could be resolved as soon as possible.

Before the food is ready, something has to be done.

But although the Poet understood this, if it was only himself, there was nothing to be done –

And so, he could only continue fervently praying.

What was more, this chance encounter had left the Poet vacillating between joy and unhappiness.

A lingering doubt – that was all that was needed to leave the Poet terrified.

Although it was a mere hunch, his suspicions were of high importance.

For the blue-suited man and his gang to come here was already something, but for even Christopher to show up…

At this moment, in all of Chicago, for the two of them to “suddenly” encounter each other like this –

It raised a simple but unavoidable question, one that been repeating in the Poet’s head for some time already.

Could this really be by coincidence?

               

He set to musing once again.

After all, there was not much else he could do.

 

Kitchen, interior

 

As this scene played out like something from a martial arts show, inside the kitchen, the owner and his wife were preoccupied with their own headaches.

Compared to the exterior of the store, this kitchen seemed rather too large. Separated by a thin wall, it performed the functions of both office and living room – not the most hygienic arrangement, perhaps, but as long as people didn’t peek inside, they had no need to feel worried. Besides, the kitchen itself was spotlessly clean. In front of the oven sat a large array of barbeque ribs prepared in different styles, the orders of the first guests baking inside.

“…old lady, I shoulda listened to you earlier.”

The store had just been open for seven minutes.

But in those seven minutes, they had already heard the sound of wrenches being thrown and objects being broken.

“E-everything’s already happened jus’ like you said it would, and what ‘m I supposed to do? Listen – you stay here and keep on cooking, and I’ll go out and try to talk to ’em.”

“Old man! What’re you sayin’?”

In such a perplexing situation, for her husband to want them to go on preparing food – the wife could not help the startled stare that came over her face. Seeing his wife’s bewilderment, the manager smiled and, taking a deep breath, tried his best to appease her.

“Don’t worry, everything’ll be alright! You’ve still got a phone here, and if anything seems wrong, you can just call the police. Anyways, it’s not like it’s a robber with a gun here – just two customers tryin’ to start a fight.”

“I hope it only stays that simple…”

Seeing the worn-down look on his wife’s face, the owner gently patted her on the shoulder, calmly reassuring her.

“I was the one who kept on pushin’ for us to open today – I should take responsibility for this. Best if you just stay here, so you don’t get involved.”

Saying this, he left the room.

Although her husband had just said these words, the wife’s feeling of unease continued. Despite what her partner of many years had just told her, she decided to call the police.

Old man, I’m sorry…I just have a very strong feeling about this…

She didn’t know if it was the customers currently brawling or the ones quietly watching from the sidelines – either way, these customers gave her a sense of foreboding. It was not a supernatural skill, but  merely the result of years of experience that had given her a simple sense of intuition –

An intuition, however, that she trusted completely.

This group of customers…suppose there happens to be among them…someone extraordinary…

She did not know if it one of Christopher and his group of homunculi, psychologically-off Graham and his party, or maybe both of them – but heading the feeling of dread they stirred in her, she determinedly picked up the phone.

And as she did –

The sense of foreboding rang in her mind once again.

This time, it was not a sensation based on experience, but truly pure intuition.

For some reason, the phone gave her an uneasy feeling, making her hesitate to even pick it up.

Towards the telephone set itself, the owner’s wife felt this sense of foreboding, similar to the strong sensation she had felt earlier.

In a state of endless confusion, she finally picked up the phone –

And could feel all her premonitions come true.

Even when she picked up the telephone, there was no sound of an operator’s voice – only cold, mute silence.

 

Because –

The line had already been cut.

Interlude Three

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(1) Technically, this translated as “several screens stacking together,

(2) Red string of fate analogy used here, but cut out b/c setting

(3) a Japanese proverb that means that courage is proven by the obstacles set against you. Not sure if this is the exact one Narita’s going for, but it’s the best I can puzzle out at this point

(4) Jitte – a Japanese blade roughly 18 inches in length. The naginata is a pole with a blade mounted on it, so it’s more in the range of 6 ft long

(5) Technically, this could also be translated as “stylish” or “handsome” – so um, make of the fact that Chris agrees with him what you will P: