The Supporting Character Supports, and… (2/2)

Happy 2015! With luck this will be the year I finish this, so here’s the latter half of this chapter!

That same moment

Dolce

And what exactly was the state of the bar?

In a word? A mess.

Tables were strewn about, and several chairs were already in pieces.    

“Guests…p…please, just listen to me…”

Struggling to keep smiling, the owner of the store continued.

“I’ve always believed, that one day, all people would be able to understand each other.”

Saying these words visibly exhausted the owner, whose voice was already so weak as to be barely men.

Least of all the three figures – two male, one female – currently leaping about his shop.

“It’s true, tomorrow, the sun might not come up. But when it does, then we’ll still have to deal with everything that happened today!”

But even as he spoke, no one even turned a head towards his direction.

Even so, the owner continued speaking.

Speaking, it seemed, less to convince anyone and more to merely keep himself sane…

—

I hear you, mister, I really do.

 As Christopher silently replied to the owner, Sickle’s foot came drilling down at him.

At the same time, one of Graham’s wrenches came spinning down.

 But even if you want me to quit, I don’t think these guys are ready to put a stop on the brakes yet.

 Even as he rolled away to avoid these attacks, Christopher continued silently thinking.

 ……

“Hey, Sickle – how’s this? I apologize, and you stop attacking me, alright?”

Standing up, he quickly offered these words. But at the same moment, Sickle began leaping around, as if torn between attacking Graham or Christopher.

“Shut up and just nicely stay still, so I can hit you!”

Body swinging around in a beautiful arc, Sickle’s answer made Christopher sigh.

At the same time, however, there was a smile on his face.

Huh..actually, can’t think why I agreed with the owner then.

After all, I’m still having fun.

Yeah…fighting like this, knowing you might be dead any second…it’s pretty great.

Is this what’s it’s like to be in front of hell? Because if it is…then I guess this is how I can really touch death.

To let me, if just for a moment, feel like I’m just another natural being.

Ha…isn’t that something? Under normal circumstances, it’s completely unnatural to kill without eating.

Best comparison would probably be a bunch of monkeys, fighting to see who’ll be leader.

As he dodged his comrade’s kick, Christopher simultaneously tried to gain an edge over Graham.

With every blow, Graham’s wrench sang out notes charged with murderous intent.

Every time the wrench arched over his head, a jolt went through Christopher, the memories of a year past suddenly flooding back.

Though he had started the fight then, he had been easily defeated by the red-haired man.

Every move, every blow of his opponent had been well beyond normal.

That’s right…that guy truly was an abnormal existence.

At the same time, he also remembered something else.

Afterwards,  some thug whose name he didn’t even remember had stuck a knife in his back and almost killed him –

Christopher remembered, at that moment, saying something.

“I don’t want to die.”

Although he had tried desperately to forget this memory, in reality, it had been indelibly etched into his mind.

And as this memory resurfaced – Christopher was struck by a startling self-revelation.

—

As he dodged the impossibly fast arch of the wrench, Christopher found himself thinking –

If he had his usual gun-knife with him, then he would have easily been able to still the wrench-wielding man in front of him.

Forever.

However, he felt no desire to do so.

Even if he did have his gun – would he have been able to so simply put a bullet in this opponent’s brain, heart, or stomach?

Jumping back to avoid Sickle’s kick, Christopher answered his own question.

No, I wouldn’t.

As the significance of this answer sank in, Christopher felt no small amount of surprise.

Ah, so that really is the case.

Obviously, fighting was great –

Even though it’s a change in myself…it’s still irritating.

After all, it was only when you were close to death that you really felt alive.

It seems like – I really –

Like a child who used to thoughtlessly trample ants one day suddenly feeling an odd but inexplicable aversion to doing so – that was the type of the change that had occurred in him.

 

I…I really can’t kill them anymore.

As a professional killer, he had killed dozens, even hundreds of people.

And in the moment this ironic truth hit him –

Christopher smiled.

Continuing to dodge the deadly silver tool in front of him, Christopher grinned – a wide, cheerful grin, full of impossibly sharp teeth.

This is still fun, isn’t it?

The situation had become decidedly more disastrous for him: now that Christopher was unable to kill people, he was the only one at risk of death here. Still, even that couldn’t make a dent in his giddy mood.

After all, this is still fun, too!

“Ah, ha….”

Unable to control himself, he laughed.

“Ah – ha ha ha!”

And as he continued swinging his wrench forward, Graham began laughing as well.

He, too, seemed to be feeling similarly giddy.

“…what’s so funny?”

Only Sickle remained unmoved, her glare shifting between the two men in front of her. No doubt she was wondering what kind of joke these two were pulling, laughing in the middle of a fight.

Whatever her thoughts, for the first time in minutes, all three of them stood still –

And as they did, a sudden flood of lukewarm liquid poured over them.

—

“?”

Uncertain of what had just had happened, all three began immediately wiping their faces dry.

As they did, they suddenly understand – or rather, were forced to understand – what this liquid was.

From its sharp smell, it was undoubtedly alcohol.

Very strong alcohol, too, from the strength of its taste.

Whirling around, the three of them searched for the source of this sudden flood –

Only to pause at a small figure, looking abnormally calm in boyish clothing.

“Ricardo – what’re you doing?”

At Christopher’s words, Ricardo softly spoke to the fighters.

“I hope you’ve cooled down now, otherwise I may have to light a match and set you all on fire.”

“W-wait a moment now!”

Almost a scream, the boss’s words broke across the tense silence of the store.

A small figure in a suit, Ricardo held a bucket, its wood sodden with alcohol. Next to it, lay several bottles of the store’s strongest liquor – tequila.

But even so…

Gazing at the empty bottles, a thought came to Christopher.

Tequila was strong, sure, but its alcohol concentration was at best 50% –  nowhere near the 70% necessary to start a fire.

Did Ricardo know this? After all, he had only gained the knowledge of the right conditions for lighting alcohol after many years of experience. Ricardo’s knowledge of it, on the other hand, probably only came from seeing street performers drinking vodka and breathing fire.

Under very special circumstances, liquor with less than 70% alcohol could catch fire – but in this situation, it would be hard to know if a spark would even catch.

But if it was as Ricardo said, and the alcohol’s fumes did cool their minds and limbs down – at the same time, when it was inhaled or drunk, it burned the lining of the throat and nose. So in the end, didn’t these two actions cancel out?

At the time that Christopher was idly musing over these thoughts, Graham seemed to be silently pondering the same thing.

How well did he understand the process of setting alcohol ablaze? It was possible, after all, that Graham hadn’t even given a thought as to whether or not Ricardo was bluffing, but had also reached the conclusion that, “fighting is pretty fun.”

For a moment, Christopher tried to imagine his opponent’s thoughts. Despite their brief interaction, he felt he already had a pretty good grasp on how Graham’s mind worked.

With Sickle also paused in dignified contemplation, the store was momentarily plunged into silence –

A silence that was abruptly broken by a voice, coming from behind the counter.

“P-please! I beg of you – no more fighting!”

Placing one hand on the alcohol-stained table, the owner lifted his aging body up and, bowing his head to the guests, began his plea.

“Maybe you’ve some grudge against each other! Maybe you got along once! Maybe there are events so complicated, I couldn’t understand them, even if I tried! But – but! Can you please, just please, leave it behind? I might not be a part of feud, but this is my shop! And today – today was supposed to be the thirtieth anniversary of its opening! Even though it hasn’t made much money, my wife and I still worked hard to get it where it is today! I know all of this has no connection to you, but please…today is…I won’t even charge for your food, just stop brawling with each other! At least…at least just eat a little, so that my wife and I can feel we’ve accomplished something! That’s truly, all I want! So, so, I beg you to please stop fighting! I beg of you! I…I beg of you…”

Even as the owner seemed quickly on the verge of tears, his sorrowful tone only gave his words more impact.

Hearing the phrases, “thirtieth anniversary” and “my wife and I,” even those who had not fought, like Sham and the Poet, felt an indescribable sense of guilt.

Gazing at the owner, who was still desperately repeating, “I beg you all! I beg you all!” Christopher turned to Ricardo. With a puzzled expression, he tilted his head and asked:

“Ah – hey Ricardo?”

“What is it?”

“Right then – was I sort of acting like a villain?”

“From your face to your actions – completely. Although, I guess I also wasted his alcohol.”

Saying this, Ricardo looked uncharacteristically embarrassed.

On the other side, Shaft and his alarmed party were slowly creeping towards a stock-still Graham.

“Hey – Boss Graham? This time, you really screwed it. If you wanna fight, you can at least do it outside – can’t you at least think of that?”

“…”

“When it all started, you were the first one to throw a wrench, weren’t you, Graham? And if you’d hit the girl in the green dress, it wouldn’t have been a matter – but going for Master Ricardo’s bodyguard? Always going for that wrench when things happen – at least try to control yourself when you do it, got it?”

Hearing Shaft’s words gradually return to his normal tone, Graham replied, oversize wrench tapping against his shoulder:

“How touching…yes…let us speak on such a touching subject!”

“What?

“…just then, the owner never once told us to simply ‘get out.’ But why? Was it because he was afraid of us? If that were the case, he could have simply just called the police…but he didn’t. All he did was stand in front of us, a group of horrifically terrifying combatants, and simply ask, ‘please let us serve you!’ Even despite what we had done, he continued to treat us as guests! Now that – wouldn’t you call that a truly touching story?”

“Um, in that case, should you really be the one saying this?”

Even in the face of Sham’s justified criticism, Graham did not quiver.

“Oh, certainly! I have no qualifications to say these words! Who, after all, is most moved by destruction? Me! Did this shop and I have anything against each other? Certainly not! And yet I’ve destroyed its chairs, its walls, and even the day of its anniversary! If I were to search for the essence of self-loathing, how would I find it? That’s right – by looking in a mirror! Oh, how can I ever, ever absolve my crimes…”

Unsure of how long Graham would continue in this vein, Sickle turned to the owner, her expression composed.

“My apologies, sir. I accept full responsibility for all the damages. Whatever you want me to do to atone for it, I will.”

Following this, she walked to the Poet’s side. In a low voice, so that only he could hear, she confessed:

“I truly do regret not controlling myself just then. I think it was because of that that my master refused to teach me the full art of capoeira…”

Seeing that Sickle was clearly angry with herself, the Poet said nothing. No matter how many various arguments he could bring up, she would only continue to suffer silently.

For this reason, he now held his tongue.

He might ramble meaninglessly to create his facade of insanity, but in situations like this one now, the Poet had enough sense to stay silent.

—

Seeing the three former enemies now calm again, the owner seemed somewhat revitalized.

“I…thank you all very much! Ah…yes, your food is already in the oven!”

His words, however, were merely more fuel on the fire of their guilt. Having expected angry shouts of “get out!,” the gathered throng now fell into an awkward silence.

“…ah, very well.”

Seated by the bar, Ricardo was the one whose quiet voice broke through the silence.

Gazing at Christopher and Graham for several moments, the girl dressed as a boy sighed, then addressed them.

“I didn’t get to ask a moment ago, Chris…but why were you two fighting?”

A simple question, but only all the more important for that –

“Uh.” “Um.”

In response to this question, the two seemed to draw a blank.

Although it was odd to call their recent battle a “fight,” reflecting on it, neither of the two really had any reason to try to kill the other.

“You both worked under the same roof, didn’t you? What reason did you have to go at each other like that?

“Ah, yeah, that’s right.”

“…then why? You know, this complete lack of self-awareness really is incredible.”

The two desperately racked their brains, trying to recall why they had originally taken opposite sides –

“…right!”

At the same moment, both slapped their knees.

“Because this guy here – he said he was going to protect the bomber kid with the scars!”

Hearing Graham’s answer, Christopher thrust his chest out, straightening to his full height in retort.

“Yeah, and I was! First of all, I was fighting to avenge myself! And also, I hear this guy’s going around, breaking the bones of people I consider my family and friends, like Sickle, so of course I had to pay him back!”

“‘…and also…?'”

Hearing these words, which seemed almost tacked onto as an afterthought, the veins stood on Sickle’s face.

“You thought my vengeance was something you could carry out…”

Seemingly oblivious to Sickle’s angry tone, Christopher turned around, scratching his head.

“Um – but thinking about it, I guess we didn’t really have any reason to fight right here, and ruin the shop while we were at it. That…um…yeah, I’m kind of rethinking that.”

“Even if you rethink it now, how does that undo any of the damage here?”

Hearing Ricardo’s icy words, Christopher awkwardly turned his face away.

Unfortunately, right on the other side was Sickle, forcing Christopher to dizzyingly pirouette back and forth between the two.

Just as he was turning back and forth, like some comic figure caught in a vortex –

“They” seized the opportunity to rush into the store.

—

“Graham!”

Out of nowhere, the group of youths rushed in, breaking the awkward tension –

“Ah…huh?”

“Uh…what?”

Seeing the crowd, Graham and Christopher once again simultaneously exclaimed their surprise.

“Jacuzzi? Why are you here?”

“A-ah! Oh, Graham, you’re okay…that’s so great…”

Hearing Graham’s voice, Jacuzzi sighed – and then suddenly stopped short.

Standing in the center of store, was a man who seemed to be a vampire.

Those red eyes, that sharp mouth of teeth – Jacuzzi vividly remembered them all.

Like their leader, the other youths who had entered the store after Jacuzzi stood equally stunned.

Seeing the newcomer trembling as they stared at him, Christopher all but affirmed their fears in his next words:

“Oh hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? So long, actually, that I don’t even remember what you’re called anymore…”

With a guileless, wide smile full of sharp teeth, Christopher uttered without malice a phrase full of harsh memories:

“You were at Mist Wall, with that kid called Tim, right?”

---

And, dreaming –

[Blow it up.]

Someone’s speaking.

Speaking right into my ears.

[Blow it up.]

Again – they said it again.

I know that – you don’t need to tell me what I already know.

I want to blow it up – I want to blow it all up. This whole, horrible world – I want to blow all of it up  completely.

[No, that’s not it, is it?]

Huh?

[You don’t want to blow it all up. You can’t, because you weren’t born to do that.]

What’re they saying?

[When it comes to explosives, it’s only in the bright moment of explosion that the world can realize its own existence. This moment of realization may be a human one, but even if men did not exist, neither would gunpowder. Thus, it is the explosive that obeys the man. If it had been dolphins who had created gunpowder, then it would be attuned to their needs, to carry their goals. However, dolphins do not know what to do with gunpowder. You are the same.]

…I don’t understand.

[No, you should be able to understand it. Physically, you might be only around twelve, but when it comes to your ability to read and understand language, you’re quite older. Or, to phrase it differently, you can understand what I just said, you just can’t accept it. That’s all.]

…if I were older, would I be able to accept them?

[It’s quite difficult to define who an adult is, but they, at the least, would be pondering whether or not to accept this.]

Who would know how to understand that!

[Well, it is uncertain whether someone like you can accept this conclusion. After all, you aren’t human – just an artificial being, created by me.  Ah, well – since it seems like we’ve gotten to another question of “what is a human,” I suppose we’ll leave it until we next meet. If you survive until then, at least.]

As if I would want to. What kind of a joke are you pulling?

I still don’t know what you’re saying, but I do know one thing.

Right now, I know you’re laughing at me.

Everything you’ve been saying, it’s been an insult.

Ah –  that’s right. That voice…yes, it is it.

I’ve heard it somewhere, I know…yes, that’s right! I can’t see his face, but it’s him –  

Huey! Huey Laforet…!

A scream – but as  it faded,  the voice seemed  to have disappeared.

…

Oh, it seems like I was just dreaming.

Right, dreaming. That bastard Huey…he wasn’t really saying all that.

 It was Rhythm…their researchers were the ones who said that.

However, the person I was speaking to certainly sounded like Huey. That’s right…I’m certain of it.

……

……

Ugh, how awful.

I’m almost afraid to open my eyes.

After all, when I do, it’ll still be the same irritating world I see.

What should I do?

…that’s right, a group of weird people wanted to take away Sham and me so we blew them up only we were there too, and then there was another group of people who tried to stop us, soooo….. boom boom boom boom BOOM!…ah ha,  hahahahaha, it’s just too hard to remember, to think –

What should I do? What should I do?

In the end, is blowing things up all I can do?

So everything – just blow it all  blow it all all up!

But if that’s so…then it’d probably be best if I just blew myself up.

After all, if that happens, won’t everything disappear?

…but at least…

At least before that happens, let me save Frank…or at least me blow that bastard Huey and that glasses freak into tiny, tiny pieces…

…back to the question now.

Right now, what should I do?

---

The Abandoned Factory

Hearting thumping, Rail opened his eyes to a scene that was both oddly  familiar yet strange.

In the past, when he’d first gone with Frank, they would frequently duck from the rain in such abandoned buildings.

But even in those days, living day by living – even then, they hadn’t been able to escape Huey’s grasp.

No matter where they hid, Sham and Hilton would mysteriously always manage to find them and pass on their instructions.

Slowly recalling the details of those days, Rail tried to assess his current situation.

From the looks of it, the police hadn’t gotten him.

But neither was it a hospital, so he couldn’t have collapsed there, either.

It was a place, instead, that was entirely differently.

Where was it? As he turned around, trying to assess his situation a little –

“Oh! You’re awake!”

A decidedly female voice spoke next to him.

Turning towards it, Rail saw a blonde girl in a red dress peering at him.

“Are you alright?”

Taking out a towel, she began gently wiping his face. Rail had hardly had time to ponder who she was when he saw the others, groups of youths clustered in threes and twos behind her.

“Huh, it’s true – he really is awake.”

“‘S he okay?”

“Your scars sure are big – your whole body like that?”

“Hey, ya can’t ask someone who just hit their head that!”

“Your head – it doesn’t hurt, does it?” “Hyaha – hyaha?”

…who were these people?

As the sudden crowd of people milled around him, Rail’s view of the area was suddenly blocked. He felt a start of anger in his anger – or perhaps, just unease.

Whether they were concerned inquiries or sarcastic remarks, what they were saying was mere noise to Rail.

It doesn’t matter what’s going on…

Already set on blowing the place up, Rail reached into his pocket – and froze as he found nothing there.

–?

The bombs were gone!

Egg-shaped and extremely dangerous, these weapons were Rail’s first line of self-defense and, as of now, the fiery tools of his self-destruction –

And now not one was there.

He quickly glanced at the pouch he normally wore around his waist, only to find it, too, gone.

“….ah…”

Mouth open in shock, Rail felt a sweat break out over his skin.

His bombs had been stolen.

They’d been right by his side – had one of these hooligans taken them? No…at this point, that wasn’t even a pertinent question.

Rail understood the situation clearly.

With neither fight nor flight available, gone, too, was suicide.

The only weapon he had had to destroy the world – with his bombs gone, Rail felt his heart begin to race again as he gazed at the faces around him.

Surrounding him was a group of young adults, many of whom were probably still teenagers. There were more men than women in it, but Rail still couldn’t place what type of group it was, exactly. If he was insistent on placing them, then he would say they were probably a group of juvenile delinquents.

That, however, was not the air given off by the girl in red dress, who had so gently taken care of Rail earlier – a girl who, gazing at him, now spoke.

“Are you alright? Don’t be scared – we just called a doctor over, and he said you’re okay. Just a couple of small bruises and burns – a little rest and they’ll be better, so don’t worry!”

Hearing her words, which seemed even more childish than her youthful appearance, Rail found himself at a loss as to how to answer.

He didn’t know who these people were. They didn’t seem like the black-clothed figures who had taken Sham away…no, it’d probably be more accurate to conclude that they weren’t the white-coated figures he’d met yesterday. If they had been, Rail was almost certain he’d have been tied to a bed by now.

“Miss, you…who are you all?”

With difficult, he managed to ask these words.

“I’m Miria! Feel free to ask me anything – don’t worry, we’re all friends here, after all!”

Although her smile was completely free of guile, it only made Rail more anxious. After all, that horrendous female scientist had had the same smile, completely untainted by guilt.

“..wh-what happened to me? Why…why am I…and in this place…?”

Trying to remember, Rail found himself uncertain exactly had happened before he lost consciousness. He remembered facing the men in black with Sham, almost scared to hysteria, and then blowing something up –

However, it was not any of the crowding figures who ultimately answered his question, but rather a silhouetted figure suddenly appearing among them.

“Because your bomb exploded. For several reasons, we couldn’t bring you to the police, so we had no choice but to bring you here.”

Speaking these polite words was a woman wearing an eye patch, her body covered with scars.

Although different from Rail’s neat suture scars, her body was still covered with innumerable jagged marks. Coupled with the scars  near her eye patch, it was quite a startling effect.

Is she like me?

But the moment after this thought occurred to him, it instantly went out of his mind.

Because in her right hand, the woman was holding his bag of bombs.

                “…! Give it back!”

Panicked, Rail stood up – only for intense pain to rocket through him, forcing him to his knees.

“Hey, don’t do that – you can barely move!”

As the girl called Miria rushed to hold him up, Rail ignored her, only focusing on the scarred woman as he repeated his words.

“Please, I’m begging you…give it back.”

“…I’m very sorry for having taken your bag without asking you, but you know, it did seem odd to me, leaving these with an unconscious child.”

“You know these are dangerous explosives, right…”

She knows.

I have to get of her…

Rail’s mind was made. Perhaps sensing the animosity towards her, Nice sighed, shaking her head as she calmed replied.

“If you’ll just answer one of my questions, I’ll return these to you. Where do you get these bombs?”

“…?”

What is she saying? Do they – do they want bombs, too?

Would these people even know how to properly use them? Although…even if they did want these bombs, they could hardly buy them anywhere.

Even realizing this, Rail’s reply still came reluctantly.

“…I originally bought them from a filmmaker in Hollywood, but the other modifications are mine.”

Although it had been Huey who had taught him how to build bombs, the hatred Rail felt at his name made it impossible to mention this detail.

Oddly enough, the atmosphere of the place suddenly changed at Rail’s words –

“Huh, it was it.” “Hey, whaddya talkin’ about?” “Shouldn’t the person talkin’ be Nice here?” “Not really.” “Hyaha.” “Hey, wait, think about this: that place that got blown up, does this mean we’re kind of responsible for it?” “No – it’s the people who made the gunpowder in the first place.” “Or the people who wanted to sell it in Hollywood in the first place!” “Shut up – or do you wanna be responsible for this?” “If we keeping on goin’ like this, wouldn’t it be Jacuzzi, who wanted to buy the stuff in the first place?” “No, the person who wanted to buy the gunpowder was Nice.” “Well, that’s for sure.” “So no one’s really at fault.” “In the end, it was just an accident.” “Right, a terrible, terrible accident.” “Hyaha.”

As the debate finished, one of the teenagers cleared his throat and turned to Rail.

“Right, so if that’s how things are – no one’s responsible! Great, huh?”

“…wh-what do you mean?”

“Ah, well – you’re the reason for that explosion yesterday, right? And then the one that nearly got Jacuzzi…but we decided! You ain’t to blame for any of this…”

“…what are you even talking about?”

The boy’s words had completely lost Rail.

Reminded of talks with Christopher or the Poet, Rail couldn’t help but blurt these blunt words out.

However, it was Miria, not the boy, who finally answered.

“Ah – well, I don’t get it much either, but it looks like someone’s forgiven you! I don’t know who it is, but they’re probably someone you’d like, right?”

“……”

This explanation was equally difficult to understand.

No matter how you looked at it, it was even stranger than a church forgiving a confessed murderer.

What kind of people were these guys?

But despite these thoughts, Miria’s words nonetheless reminded Rail of someone.

Christopher...

If anyone fit Miria’s description, then it would be Christopher who, after Rail had bombed someplace, would have simply greeted him with a cheerful smile. However, since Chris wore the same smile while killing people, it was hard to tell with him.

“What..what are you going to do with me?”

All murderous intent subdued, Rail’s shoulders slumped as he quietly asked this question.

Looking at the situation closely – bombs taken, and with only his physical strength to defend against this group of enemies – there was no way he could win.

Right now, the best course was to learn about his enemies, and then later try to take back his bombs.

Just as this plan formed in Rail’s mind, the woman holding them tossed the bag of bombs towards him…

“Wha –?”

As Rail frantically caught the bag full of bombs, the one-eyed woman smiled as she spoke.

“Well, since you already answered the question, I guess I have to give these back.”

Seeing her playful smile, Rail frantically opened his bag, only to find that all his bombs were there, lying over his clothes. If any were gone, they were probably the ones he had used earlier.

“……”

However, the sight of his weapons intact only made Rail feel odder, hand stopping as he pawed through the bag. It would have been so easy to destroy all of them, after all…

Had they tinkered with these bombs, then?

With no way to trust the intentions of these people, he would have to use these bombs carefully, then.

Thinking about this, Rail swallowed. Suddenly, his chest and back hurt terribly – a pain caused, most likely, by the earlier explosion he’d caused.

“…you do  know that these are bombs, right?”

“I do! And wonderfully made ones, too.”

…wonderfully made?

Despite the oddness of this answer, Rail continued his questions.

“And you think it’s a good idea to let a child take them?”

Having recovered a little, Rail’s words were now tinged with irony.

However, this sarcasm seemed not to affect Nice, who continued in the same tone as before –

“Ah, well, definitely not – but it’s not like I really have room to talk.”

“?”

Seeing Rail tilt his head in confusion, the one-eyed woman quietly explained.

As she answered, she seemed to be almost dreamily remembering something.

When she spoke, her words were outwardly barely significant –

But inside Rail’s heart, they felt like a force dragging him back from self-imposed exile.

“After all, when I was your age…I blew up quite a few lakes and buildings, too.”

---

[Dolce]

“What is going on? Why are there even more strange people here?”

Wiping the liquor off her face with a handkerchief, Sickle glanced at the new arrivals.

Other than the tattooed boy, these group of unruly youths also included Mexican members, oddly-dressed Asian members, and various other seemingly unrelated persons. Right now, were engaged in noisy conversation.

Originally, Sickle had thought the tattooed youth was their leader – but given how quickly he had started crying and his general air of timidity, she decided to suspend that judgment.

Even more jarringly, these people seemed to not only know the blue-suited man, but had apparently also brushed shoulders with Christopher before.

But from the terrified expression on the tattooed youth’s face, this interaction seems to hardly have been a pleasant one.

“Chris, do you know these people?”

Hearing Sickle’s question, a strange smile came onto the red-eyed man’s face.

“Ah – well, not really, they were more Tim’s friends – no, or was it more like part of Huey’s experiments?”

“…then why would they be so frightened at seeing you?”

“Well, last time we met, Adele and me nearly killed them.”

“…I understand now.”

Letting out a sigh, Sickle cracked her neck, then turned to Graham.

“Well, what is it? Do we want to continue this fight?”

Hands still twirling his wrench, Graham considered this question for a moment before calmly answering.

“Of course I want to fight. But since it’s this shop’s thirtieth anniversary, how about we leave it for now?”

“That works with me, but I want to know one thing about your employers first. Those people in white lab coats – where are they?”

Having recovered her calm, Sickle now straightforwardly asked this question.

Graham, however, seemed bewildered at her words –

“People in white lab coats?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“?”

Seeing Graham’s uncomprehending expression, the veins in Sickle’s face seemed to rise once again. Noting this, Shaft quickly ran over to Graham to offer him help –

“Hey! She’s talking about that day, about those people who started firing like mad near the Russo house!”

“Ah ha! So you’re talking about them! …uh hey, so who were they anyways?”

“According to the head of the Russo family, they do health check-ups and other reports for Master Placido Russo…but since the family’s been scattered, there’s no way to know for sure.”

Although these words were spoken to Graham, they were more intended for Sickle’s benefit. Sensing his intentions, Sickle seemed to finally believe that Graham and his companions knew nothing about the matter.

Graham considered the puzzle of the men in white coats for a while, but it wasn’t long before he seemed to give up. Smacking his wrench in his hand, he turned with a smile to Sickle.

“Also –  as long as your names are still on the Wanted List, we’ve still got business with you.”

As Graham gleefully grinned at the idea of further fighting, the tension in the shop momentarily rose – only for a quiet yet commanding voice to quickly calm the atmosphere.

“Concerning that list…”

As Graham and the others turned towards the voice, they saw that Ricardo had at some point already returned to Christopher’s side.

And although the two had never interacted much, Ricardo was still the grandchild of Graham’s employer.

Seeing that Graham seemed ready to listen, Ricardo quietly continued.

“Since we haven’t been able to contact Grandfather, I would think that list is no longer valid.”

“……”

“And since no one knows where Placido and the rest are…well, I think Grandfather is probably already dead.”

Words said in a crisp voice –

Hearing Ricardo talking so matter-of-factly about the potential death of a relative, everyone else felt inexpressibly awkward.

“…hey, Shaft…”

“What is it?”

“Right now, in this situation, what exactly would be the best thing to say?”

“Nothing, of cou –”

Despite Sham’s correct advice, Graham had already continued.

“A sorrowful story? A happy story? Or a happy yet sorrowful story of a gentle first love? Ah, my sweet sister once told me, ‘you, you might as well have been rescued from a riverbank!’ And to that, I asked, ‘so does mean I can marry you, sis?’ – but oh! All my sister did was take my father’s wrench, and slam it down on me! In the same moment as the sparks flew off the steel, they flew in my heart – just as I immediately realized that I had been rejected. Less than a moment, that was how long it took for these feelings to occur! But deciding that we must have really been related, I was content to give up on her. However, if such a feeling can be so easily given up, can it hardly be called love!?”

“Ugh, how weird…”

Pressing his palm against his face, Shaft sighed loudly.

“Anyways, it’s better if you don’t fight now – the police have enough work for them as it is!”

“The police…ah, of course…now would be a proper time to tell the time of that encounter I had with the police…”

“What kind of person are you? You’re even more talkative than usual – what, did the wine go to your brain, or something? Boss Graham? Hey, your entire face is red, Graham! Boss Graham?”

—

“As it is, searching for my family’s organization would help us get some data, at least … continuing to fight here would bring us no benefit, only trouble.”

Completely ignoring Shaft and Graham’s conversation, Ricardo continued speaking.

“Well, I’d feel great if I got to fight with that guy again!”

“Chris, I wasn’t considering you.”

“W-what? Ricardo, we’re friends, and to not even consider me…wait, does that mean that you already think of the two of us as one?”

Completely ignoring Christopher’s jest, Ricardo calmly turned to Sickle and the others.

“I’m not entirely certain, but it seems as though we’ve been swept into a troublesome tide of events. If they continue like this, we will surely all end up destroyed. As a result, we ought to exchange our reports here.”

“…agreed. Even forgetting the man in blue, I still need to ask Chris about the status of Rail and the others.”

Reining in her murderous intent, Sickle nodded in agreement.

Next to her, the Poet’s expression suddenly turned solemn. But Sickle, thinking that he was pondering what piece of ridiculousness to say next, only paid him no mind as she turned back to the conversation.

—

On the other side, the now calmed gang of youths crowded around Graham –

“Ah…um, Graham, wh-what exactly were you guys talking about…”

“Ah ha, Jacuzzi…huh, well, I’ve sobered up…ah! Right, of course – sorry for ignoring you right then. To ask why you would come here – what a crime! I must think of the words to make up for it!”

Oh, this is going to take a while.

Just as Jacuzzi had readied himself to hear Graham’s long and rambling speech –

Graham only continued spinning his wrench, neck turning as he followed it.

As his eyes stopped on the store owner, Graham turned to Jacuzzi and said, in a dignified voice:

 “Ah…before that, can I ask you for something, Jacuzzi?”

“Huh?”

Mood seeming unnaturally low, Graham’s face were covered by his hair as he spoke, only his words showing his regret –

“Um, well…could you guys help me fix this place up?”

—

Completely forgotten in the noisiness of the youths, the Poet stood quietly thinking to himself.

So it seems the number of eccentrics has increased again…

To think that that tattooed boy has been searching for Graham for so long …this meeting must have been no accident, then.

No matter how fierce the fighting was, could all these people have really gathered this quickly in the same place?               

It seems odd…

We still don’t have information on Huey’s experiments, and yet…it seems, at least for now, that situation has calmed. 

Why is this?

It feels as though someone is behind a curtain, manipulating the events in their favor…but why I do feel this?

This unnaturalness…it feels like…like the work of Sham or Hilton.

Arriving at this conclusion, the Poet tranquilly shook his head.

…then are we Alice, falling into someone else’s hands?

In that case…just who would be the White Rabbit?

Gazing around the suddenly crowded shop, the Poet whispered, nearly inaudibly –

“Just who is being betrayed here?”

Interlude Four