Durarara!!, Vol. 1 (novel) (6 page)

The idea of a shadow having mass was silly, but the shadow that wrapped Celty’s body was quite light and could be used to perform all kinds of stunts worthy of an action movie. But because the shadow had nearly no weight of its own, Celty’s strength was entirely responsible for the force of the blows. Still, the blade itself was perfectly sharp and tough—as far as Celty could remember, it had never chipped. It was like the sharpness and weight of an indestructible razor blade, with the size of a katana.

The shadow was no use as a bludgeon, but it held incredible force when shaped into a blade. But Celty chose not to cut the thugs with the scythe, knocking them out with a handle jab to the throat instead. Centuries ago, Celty could vaguely remember slicing up people back home who had shrieked about monsters when faced with the dullahan. But that was not an option in modern Japan.

In the past twenty years, Celty had learned Japanese and a kind of self-control to avoid killing foes. The best way to learn would have been an aikido, self-defense, or karate dojo, but none of those in the area would take a pupil who wore a helmet indoors.

As it happened, the scythe was not a convenient tool for a weapon. The menace it held in the hands of the Grim Reaper made it seem deadly, but in reality, swords and spears were much easier to use. But Celty continued to wield the shadow in the form of a giant scythe because, as Shinra put it, “You get your name out better that way.”

Even worse, Celty was gradually growing to like the shape of the weapon. But no amount of visual menace helped when you got run over by a car. The pain had long faded, but the irritation at the carelessness that caused it bubbled and boiled on the inside.

There was no knowing how much damage would actually be fatal. Celty had never tested it and never planned to. With that in mind, the dullahan reported the evening’s events to Shinra.

He merely grinned at the gruesome details of vehicular carnage.

“Well, you’ve earned a break for your good work. Speaking of which, one more thing.”

“Which is?”

“The reason we figured out where our target was being held so quickly was because I asked Orihara.”

Izaya Orihara. He was an information agent based out of Shinjuku, a man who sold various pieces of valuable information for great sums of cash. That apparently was not his main job, and no one knew what he got up to in private.

They’d taken on a number of jobs for him, and many of them left a bad aftertaste. Frankly, Celty did not think it a good idea to be involved with Izaya.

“Why him?”

“Well, we’d just gotten that call, so in exchange for the payment, I asked if he knew anything about the number of the car, and he came back with the location of that parking garage immediately.”

Celty ground nonexistent teeth at that. It was strange that even without a head, the sensation of gritted teeth should still be so vivid. The dullahan was wondering where that feeling was actually coming from when Shinra leaned over and clapped his hands on Celty’s shoulders. He’d walked into the back room during that idle contemplation.

“So, have you made up your mind yet?”

“About what?”

Shinra looked down at the screen to read the text, then smiled painfully.

“You know,” he continued before the next message was even typed into the computer, “you are an elusive and fantastical being, Celty. But at this rate, you may not reach your goal for eons.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’ll make it clear and simple.
Give up.
”

The sound of typing stopped, and the room was enveloped in an eerie silence.

“Forget about looking for your head. Let’s go somewhere together. Anywhere, really. If you want to go back home, I’ll do anything I can to get you there. And I’ll come with you—”

When Shinra stopped talking in fanciful vocabulary terms, it was a sign that he was sincerely engaging in the conversation.

“How many times must I tell you? I have no intention of giving up.”

“Everywhere around the world, there are myths and folktales of the
headless wandering in search of their heads. There must have been more like you in the past. They even made a movie about the story of Sleepy Hollow, which means there must have been someone like you back in the 1800s. Maybe that
was
you, and you’ve simply forgotten your memory of it,” Shinra blabbered on.

Celty patiently typed out a response.

“Why would I want to kidnap a boring schoolteacher?”

“Wow, going straight back to the original novel…”

Celty continued touch-typing with no small amount of irritation, smacking his hand away.

“I don’t dislike you, but living with you like this is enough for now.”

Shinra stared down at the lonely text on the screen and murmured.

“In that case, you could at least stand to be a
bit more feminine
.”

A brief pause. The difference in warmth between them almost seemed to crack the air.

“Enough of this. I’m taking a shower.”

Celty showered alone in the steamy bathroom. Her body was as perfect as any model’s: shapely breasts and tight stomach. But because of that, it only made the lack of a head creepier.

She concentrated on the mirror as her soapy fingers caressed the silky skin. The sight of a naked, headless woman sudsing up was surreal, to say the least, but it did not bother her at all anymore.

Back in Ireland, she had never showered, but after coming to Japan, she steadily became accustomed to the practice. It had nothing to do with her body, and she never had to deal with sweat and grime, but in the sense of removing any buildup of dust, she couldn’t imagine not having regular showers anymore.

Maybe this is proof that I’ve developed the same values as humans.

Celty constantly wondered if her dullahan values were indeed coming to resemble a human being’s. She’d been constantly baffled after her initial arrival to Japan, but now she felt as though the Japanese mind-set had rubbed off on her.

Recently, she was viewing Shinra acutely as a member of the opposite sex more and more often. At first she was confused—but in time,
she recognized that it must be the sensation of love. But Celty was not a girl trapped in the clutches of puberty, and this realization did not affect her daily life.

But she did notice the little things. It made her happy when they were watching TV and Shinra laughed at the same moments she did.

I have the same values as a human being. I have the same heart. And my heart can find common ground with a human’s—I think.

At least, that was what she wanted to believe.

Raira Academy was a coed private high school in south Ikebukuro.

Despite its modest size, the campus maximized the utility of its limited space, and therefore, the students did not see it as particularly cramped. Its proximity to Ikebukuro Station made it increasingly popular with people from the suburbs of Tokyo, who could commute to school while still living at home. The school’s ranking and prestige were on a gentle upward climb, so the timing of Mikado’s arrival was actually quite fortunate.

The elevated location gave the campus an excellent view, but any feeling of superiority instantly evaporated upon the sight of the sixty-floor building looming overhead. On the other side of the school was the expanse of Zoshigaya Cemetery, a lonely place for being in the middle of a giant city.

The entrance ceremony was anticlimactically short, and Mikado and Masaomi split off to their own classes for a brief homeroom session.

“My name is Mikado Ryuugamine. It’s nice to meet you.”

Mikado was worried about being teased about his name, but there was no reaction to his introduction. Apparently the people of his generation were even less interested in others’ names than Mikado expected. Despite this, he listened intently to his classmates’ introductions, eager to learn as much as he could about them.

Some cracked easy jokes as they introduced themselves, and some said their names and sat down immediately. Some were already fast asleep, but most interesting of all to Mikado was a girl named Anri Sonohara. She was small for a high schooler, and her pale, pretty face was framed with glasses, but there was a distant air of foreboding about her—not intimidating to others, but one that suggested she did not usually reach out voluntarily.

“My name is Anri Sonohara.”

Her voice seemed to vanish as soon as it hit the air, but Mikado caught its clear inflection perfectly fine. Anri stood out to Mikado among the class because she seemed to be the most removed from reality. All the other people were just plain high schoolers, without any obvious model students or bad boys.

The only other thing out of place was that one person in Mikado’s class was absent. Her name was Mika Harima, but he soon reasoned away her absence by assuming it was the flu.

However, the instant her absence was announced, Anri Sonohara quickly looked over to the empty seat with concern plain on her face.

After that, homeroom ended uneventfully, and he met up with Masaomi, who was in the class next door.

Masaomi still had his daring earrings in, but he didn’t particularly stick out from the crowd. In fact, Mikado seemed to be more noticeable, perhaps because the school allowed regular clothes. They were both wearing the school blazer as instructed for the ceremony, but otherwise they didn’t even appear to be students at the same school.

“Well, we didn’t get to hang out yesterday because of your moving in and getting Internet access and all. I’ll show you somewhere today if you buy me a meal,” Masaomi offered. Mikado had no reason to refuse. Clubs were forbidden from canvassing for new members until later, so they were able to leave campus without being harassed. The Sunshine 60 building loomed in the corner of their eyes as they headed for the shopping district.

Ikebukuro was a mysterious place to Mikado. Each major street seemed to have its own distinct culture; he felt a bewildering new alienation with each and every block.

“Anyplace you wanna go?”

“Uhm… Where’s a bookstore?” Mikado asked in front of a fast-food place at the entrance to 60-Kai Street. Masaomi thought it over.

“Well, if you want books, our best bet around here is Junkudo… What are you looking for?”

“I guess I’d like some manga to read once I get back home…”

Masaomi started walking in silence.

“There’s a place down that way that sells a ton of manga. Let’s go there.”

He made his way to an intersection with an arcade, then turned right. It had yet another totally different vibe than 60-Kai Street, and Mikado couldn’t help feeling like he’d wandered into a different neighborhood again. At this point, it still took all of Mikado’s concentration to get from his train stop to his apartment, and he felt that one wrong turn down an alleyway was a mistake from which he’d never recover to find his bearings.

“It looks like they sell lots of
doujinshi
here, too.”

Doujinshi.
As a resident of the Net, Mikado was not a total stranger to the fan-made manga zines, but he’d never bought one for himself. He remembered some of the girls from middle school squealing over them, but from what he knew based on the Internet, they were all sexually explicit and age restricted to buyers eighteen or older.

“A-are we even allowed inside? Won’t they yell at us?”

“Huh?” Masaomi shot back, completely bewildered. Suddenly, a voice called out to them.

“Hey, it’s Kida.”

“Long time no see!”

“Aha, Karisawa and Yumasaki! Hi.”

It was a boy and a girl. They both seemed extremely pale for people appearing outside in the middle of the day. The boy was spindly with a sharp gaze and he carried a heavy-looking backpack, but he didn’t seem to be preparing for a camping trip, as far as Mikado could tell.

The girl asked Masaomi, “Who’s this? A friend?”

“Oh, he’s a longtime friend. We just started at the same school.”

“So today was your first day of high school? Congrats.”

Masaomi finally got around to introducing the two.

“The girl here is Karisawa, and the guy is Yumasaki.”

“…Ah…umm…my name’s Mikado Ryuugamine.”

The guy named Yumasaki tilted his head when he heard the name. It was incredibly affected and made him look like a figurine. He ignored the confused Mikado and turned to Karisawa.

“Is that a pen name?”

“Why would a first-year high school student introduce himself with a pen name? Are you talking about the kind you use to submit letters to a radio show or magazine?”

“Um, actually, it’s my real name,” Mikado mumbled.

Their eyes widened.

“No way, it’s real?!”

“That’s awesome! That’s so cool! You’re like the protagonist of a manga or something!” Karisawa and Yumasaki raved.

“Geez… You’re making me feel self-conscious.”

“Why would
you
feel self-conscious, Kida?”

Left out of a conversation entirely about himself, Mikado was at a loss for what to do. Eventually Yumasaki noticed his awkward distance and briefly checked the time on his cell phone.

“Okay, okay, sorry to take up your time. You were heading somewhere, weren’t you?”

“No, we weren’t in any kind of rush,” Mikado responded with a rapid shake of his head, feeling even more self-conscious now.

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay. Sorry for taking up your time, Kida.”

“We’re just off to hit up all the arcades. Are you on a shopping trip?”

“Yes, we’re picking up some manga.”

At this, Yumasaki reached a hand around his back and patted his backpack. “Hey, that’s just what we were doing before this. All the latest Dengeki Bunko titles just came out, so I bought a ton of ’em. About thirty in total, I think.”

He’d heard of the name Dengeki Bunko. That was a publishing label that specialized in light novels and translations of Hollywood movie novelizations. Mikado had even bought some books from Dengeki in middle school, but thirty was clearly overkill.

“Does Dengeki Bunko really put out that many books a month?”

Karisawa cackled and answered, “Don’t be silly! We got two copies of each one for the both of us, plus about ten more to use tonight!”

“
Also,
I picked up
Moezan
, the quiz book of burning-hot math problems. With Jubby Shimamoto’s autograph and everything,” Yumasaki
boasted. Mikado didn’t understand a single word of what he said and looked to Masaomi for clarification.

“…Just ignore him—think of whatever he’s saying as magic spells. These two are the kind of weirdos who assume that everyone else knows what they know,” Masaomi whispered to Mikado. Yumasaki continued prattling on about even more obscure subjects, but Karisawa noticed the effect it was having on the other two and jabbed her partner’s backpack with an elbow.

“Quit bragging to the norms. We’ll just be on our way. Bye!”

Mikado watched the two shuffle off, then wondered under his breath, “Books to…use tonight…?”

He had no idea what they were going to “use” the books for, but they were already leaving and there was no point in calling them back to ask, so Mikado turned and followed Masaomi to the bookstore.

“Wow, that selection was incredible! I was amazed! That Toranoana place had more manga alone than any bookstore back home!”

“Yeah, there are plenty of places in Ikebukuro where you can find tons of manga, like Animate or Comic Plaza. And if you want anything non-manga, Junkudo’s the place to go. It’s a building about nine stories tall, all books.”

They had finished their shopping at the bookstore and were walking down 60-Kai Street toward the Sunshine building.

“I didn’t realize you knew people like them, Kida.”

“You mean Karisawa and Yumasaki? What, are you saying you thought I’d only be friends with people with bleached-blond hair, piercings, and brains addled from huffing paint? Well, as it happens, those two are plenty weird on their own, but they’re nice if you act cool around ’em.”

“I…see.”

Something about that struck Mikado as weird, but he decided to ignore it rather than press for more information.

“Basically, I poke my head into all kinds of places. Bookstores like that, where to find the cheapest vintage clothes, directions to hole-in-the-wall clubs and bars, even street-side accessory shops—I’ve got a handle on all these things.”

“Seems like you know just about everything.”

“If you can speak about any topic, you can tailor the conversation to mack on any type of girl.”

“Such impure motives,” Mikado groaned. Masaomi grinned and nodded confidently.

Today, Mikado was determined to take in as much of the scenery as possible, and he kept his eyes up as he traveled rather than tracing the ground.

Standing out first and foremost along the street were the huge video screens hanging on the Cinema Sunshine building and the many movie posters lining the adjacent walls. They looked like photos, but Mikado was stunned to realize on closer examination that they were all illustrations fashioned to look like realistic photographs.

He swiveled to see what other stores were around, then caught something more arresting than any building.

“Huh?”

It was just one of the many black solicitors that lined this street—but this one was different.

He was at least six feet tall and covered with thick, ropy muscle that made him look like a wrestler. Even more striking was the
itamae
sushi chef outfit he wore to entice customers to his business.

Mikado stared wide-eyed, when suddenly the large man noticed him.

“Nice see you again, bro.”

“!?!?!”

Mikado had no idea how to respond. He’d never seen this man in his life, yet was being greeted in the form of a reunion. Just when he thought his smooth sailing in Tokyo was about to come to a crashing end, Masaomi rescued him.

“Hey, Simon! Long time no see! How’s it hangin’, man?”

The large man’s attention switched from Mikado to his friend.

“Hey, Kida. Eat sushi? Sushi good. I make cheap deal. You like sushi?”

“Not today, Simon, I’m broke. I just started high school, so I can start working a part-time job. How about you give me free sushi now, and I pay you back then?”

“No can do. Then I sleep with fishes on Russian motherland.”

“With fishes? On land?” Masaomi chuckled and left the conversation hanging.

Mikado hurried after him, turning back to Simon to see the large black man waving at them. Bewildered and unaware of how to react, Mikado bowed briefly in apology.

“You know that guy, too?”

“Oh, Simon? He’s an Afro-Russian, and he helps draw customers for a sushi place run by Russians.”

Afro-Russian?

“Sorry, which part of that was the joke?”

“No, I’m serious. His actual name is Semyon, but everyone just calls him the English version of that, Simon. I don’t know the whole story, but apparently his parents emigrated there from America. Some other Russian folks he knew were starting up a sushi restaurant, so he works the street, getting the word out.”

None of it sounded real, but there was only pure sincerity in Masaomi’s eyes. It had to be true. Mikado was still wide-eyed in disbelief, so Masaomi added, “He’s one of those guys you’re not supposed to cross. Once I saw him pick up two guys who were brawling off the ground with one hand each, both of them his size. Word says he broke a telephone pole in half once, too.”

Mikado shivered, envisioning that tanklike build again. After a few more moments of walking, he murmured, “This is amazing.”

“Huh? What is?”

“That you can talk to so many different kinds of people, I mean…”

Mikado meant it as an honest compliment, but Masaomi just laughed it off as a joke. He cackled and yawned, shrugging it away.

“Oh no, you can’t butter me up like that.”

“I’m not.”

In fact, Mikado had tremendous respect for Masaomi. If he’d been alone, he would have dried up and shriveled amid the sea of humanity that was Ikebukuro. The people who lived here were not all like Masaomi. Ever since grade school, he’d had a special charm that drew others to him, and he had the assurance to speak for himself in any situation.

How many times had he been blown away by both the neighborhood and Masaomi in just the few days since arriving? Mikado hoped that one day he could be like his friend.

One of the biggest reasons for Mikado’s exodus to the big city was to escape the familiar sights of his world. This was not a tangible thought
at the forefront of his mind, but deep within his heart, he was constantly searching for a “new self.” Perhaps in this place, he’d find the “extraordinary” that existed in comic books and TV shows and experience it for himself.