Ningen Series Volume 1 Prologue

“Frankly, what puzzles me,” said Pettis, “is your att.i.tude towards the whole business. Now, I only study fiction; only ghost stories that never happened. Yet in a way I believe in ghosts. But you’re an authority on attested happenings - things that we’re forced to call fact unless we can refute ’em. Yet you don’t believe a word of what you’ve made the most important thing in your life. It’s as though Bradshaw wrote a treatise to prove that steam-locomotion was impossible, or the editor of Encyclopedia Britannica inserted a preface saying that there wasn’t a reliable article in the whole edition.”

“Well, and why not?” said Grimaud, with that quick gruff bark of his wherein he hardly seemed to open his mouth. “You see the moral, don’t you?”

“‘Much study hath made him mad,’ perhaps?” suggested Burnaby.

—The Three Coffins by John d.i.c.kson Carr

Chapter Zero: Sous.h.i.+ki Zerozaki

“When a person dies… I believe it is inevitable that something ‘bad’ be at play, and that an existence akin to ‘evil’ be involved.”

There were only two people inside the train car. However, that was not a particularly unusual situation, but rather the typical state of the countryside train on a weekday afternoon. Of course, if one were to instead claim that it was more unusual to find two people in the same car at that hour, that would be a slight exaggeration.

One half of the pair was a young boy wearing a school uniform. His hair was bleached to a lighter color, and his ears, wrists, and fingers were adorned in gaudy silver accessories that, at the very least, the boy in question—and likely only the boy in question—must have thought looked stylish.

The other was a man almost too tall to look j.a.panese. However, his lean figure was not one that gave the impression of a large man; rather, coupled together with his unusually long arms and legs, his silhouette looked reminiscent of a wireframe model that might adorn a middle school art cla.s.sroom. His almost too ordinary, run-of-the-mill style of dress—a suit, a necktie, slicked back hair and silver-rimmed gla.s.ses—looked shockingly unflattering on him.

In the otherwise empty train car, the boy and the wireframe man were exchanging words without making any particular effort to keep their voices down—or more accurately, it looked as though the wireframe man was the one doing all the talking, while considerable irritation could be found in the boy’s expression. In contrast, the wireframe man appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

“For example, a.s.sume we have a psycho killer. Being the psycho killer that he is, he kills people in accordance to his raison d'être. Naturally, all the people he kills will die. It goes without saying that the psycho killer is the ‘evil’ in this situation; after all, if it weren’t for him, none of those people would have died. Next, let’s say he falls into the hands of the authorities, and after an investigation and a trial, he is sentenced to death. Of course, it was the actions of the killer himself that were ‘bad.’ However, what if it he were executed under a false charge? If the psycho killer hadn’t actually killed anyone at all—he was simply a psycho killer, and hadn’t actually killed anyone—yet he was still given the death sentence, then what? I suppose the justice system would be the ‘evil’ there, or perhaps the investigator and the judge and were ‘bad’ at their jobs, mm. Then, let’s say that investigator, somewhere completely unrelated to the aforementioned scenario, is crushed by a comet falling from the sky and dies. There’s no room for doubt there—that investigator had ‘bad’ luck.”

“Uh huh… Gotcha.”

The boy gave an indifferent response, as if to ask what the point of that speech was. He seemed rather put out, but apparently lacking the courage to snub a man who looked almost twice his own height, he halfheartedly held up his side of the conversation. Seemingly unbothered by the boy’s reaction, the wireframe man continued.

“Do you understand what I’m trying to say? In other words, ‘human death,’ through and through, when you get to the core of it, is a concept intrinsically linked to ‘evil,’ and there isn’t even a single centimeter of room for things like good will or conscience to come into play. In a story where people die, not one character who isn’t an evil scoundrel will make an appearance, and that’s the way it should be. Saints who preach of justice and do-gooders who preach of morality, as well as those something-or-others that solve mysteries—none of them are qualified to have their names listed in the cast of characters, and I’m sure they themselves wouldn’t wish to be listed there either. That’s how it is. To express love or emotion or truth through a person’s death is impossible. All there is when a person dies is ‘evil.'”

“Only ‘evil’?”

“Only ‘evil.’ Nothing else.”

“…But y’know, Pops…” Evidently having a thing or two to say about that unquestionably extreme logic, the boy spoke up with what sounded like every bit of courage he could muster and tried presenting the wireframe man with a counterargument. “…Aren’t there times when a person would ‘rather be dead’? Aren’t there situations where ‘death is a mercy,’ or basically, someone is ‘better off dead’?”

“I’m not quite old enough to be called ‘Pops’ yet,” said the wireframe man with a wry smile. “To respond to your reb.u.t.tal, a situation where someone is ‘better off dead’ is already ‘bad’ in and of itself. Haha, I’m sure that to someone of your age, this must sound like little more than simple wordplay. I understand how you feel, truly I do. However, I don’t make a habit of playing with words, and while I’m far from an old man, I have lived quite a bit longer than you have, so I believe I’m in a position to give you this lecture. So… hmm, what did you say your name was?”

“Uh, it’s… Jion Tsuge.”[1]

“Aha!” Upon hearing the boy timidly offer his name, the wireframe man clapped his hands together. “Jion, is it? What a good name. A name shared with the founder of the Nen-ryu fighting style, in fact. I can get a sense for what kind of person your father is. Truly splendid.”

“Uh huh…”

Paying no heed to the look on the boy’s face that clearly said, “Who the h.e.l.l is that, never heard of ‘im,” the wireframe man addressed the boy with, “Jion-kun,” and turned to face him.

“Listen here. This world is filled to the brim with ‘evil,’ with beings that could be described as ‘evil.’ Life is much like spending your days trapped in a room with landmines buried left and right. Holing up in a room with death at every turn—that’s what life is. Even without doing anything in particular, people will run into something ‘bad’ at about the same probability as getting stopped at a traffic light. In that case, there’s no reason to go out of your way to become that ‘evil’ yourself and thus double your chances of meeting with death—wouldn’t you agree? I doubt I even need to ask this, but Jion-kun, you don’t want to die, do you?”

“Well, no—”

“Of course not. Suicidal thoughts are among the worst, most despicable ideas a living person can have. It’s an act that doesn’t even amount to an escape, after all. Alright. In that case, Jion-kun.” There, the wireframe man changed his tone as he spoke to boy. “Playing hooky is truly a ‘bad’ thing to do. You can still make it before the end of the day, so you had best switch trains at the next station and get yourself to school.”

“…”

After witnessing the boy skipping school to go have fun somewhere, the wireframe man was trying to persuade him to rethink his actions—was a rundown of the situation, it seemed. Summarized like that, it sounds like a horribly ordinary snapshot of everyday life, but the route the wireframe man had taken to get to that conclusion was incredibly unusual. Not many people would bring death into a discussion about something as trivial as school attendance.

It seemed the boy had gone straight past irritation, right beyond exasperation, and finally lost it, as he let slip a burst of laughter.

“Geez, Pops. You are really frickin’ weird, you know that?”

“I told you, I’m not old enough to be called ‘Pops.’ In fact, I have a little brother just about your age.”

“Oh yeah? Then should I be calling you ‘Bro’ or something?”

“Mm… Oh, no, that wouldn’t be particularly wise.” Here, the wireframe man suddenly fumbled with his words. “That is, if you want to live—mm, yes, if you want to live life as a human. In that sense, I can’t say it’s a good idea to go around wearing those jangling rings and bracelets and earrings. It makes it too easy to tell you apart from other people.”

“Why? It’s just fas.h.i.+on.”

“You wouldn’t be asking that question if you’d read Turgenev​, and if you were a fan of Koji Uno’s works, I’m sure you’d have given the idea of ‘normalcy’ some thought before.” The wireframe man evidently possessed a more roundabout personality than one would expect from looking at him, as he began his response to the boy’s question with a seemingly unrelated digression. “I’m sure at your age—around high school, when you’ve finally begun to get a glimpse of the world—you have quite a few ideas about your future. Most likely, this is what you’re subconsciously thinking: ‘Even after I grow up and get a job, I never want to wear a suit and necktie.'”

“No, I…”

It was difficult for the boy to agree with that statement with the wireframe man, dressed in a suit and necktie, sitting right in front of him, but his expression eloquently conveyed affirmation. Seeing that, the wireframe man grinned.

“Oh, no, I don’t mind at all; you don’t have to concern yourself with my feelings. Kids today—or rather, kids of every era always want to become athletes or musicians. They hate wearing suits and neckties; after all, it’s ‘ordinary,’ something you can see all around you. It’s especially prominent in kids around your age, but people tend to feel something akin to fear at the idea of being ‘ordinary.’ They feel an instinctual dread of ‘being the same as everyone else.’ They hate conformity, conventionality. It’s not that they want to feel superior to others; if it means being the same as someone else, being indistinguishable from someone else, they’d rather come out on bottom. At any rate, they’re afraid of being average, of being ‘ordinary.’ …However, I can’t understand that feeling at all. ‘Ordinary’ is the most wonderful thing one could be.”

“…Whaat? An ordinary life would be boring as h.e.l.l.”

“Is a dead end, death end, and breath end life what you want, then? Jion-kun, being ‘ordinary’ amounts to ‘not causing trouble for others.’ Those who aren’t normal, whether that be in a positive or a negative way, will always end up hurting other people. As a result, they hurt themselves as well. It’s a continuing cycle of harm. One that repeats itself endlessly. One that continues as long as they’re alive, until the moment they die. And so, to be ‘ordinary’—to be ‘normal’—is truly fortunate. Both for the person himself, and for those around him. Of course, what the person himself wants is his own business, but surely it’s better for those around him to be fortunate, yes? And when the people around you are better off, you’re better off, too. It’s what we call the synergistic effect of happiness. Take this for example, Jion-kun: do you have anyone you respect from the bottom of your heart?”

“Someone I respect from the bottom of my heart…?”

“A remarkable figure you would consider a G.o.d. The world has a rather long history, so surely there must be at least one, yes?”

“I dunno about ‘respect’ or whatever… But I like Jim Morrison, I guess.”

“Hmm?” It appeared the wireframe man didn’t recognize the name, as he tilted his head to the side in question, but he regrouped quickly enough with, “Well, that works.” Evidently, he lacked the sense of curiosity to seek new knowledge. “I’ve never heard of that person in my life, but if you say you like him, I’m sure that, whether it be penning a literary cla.s.sic or performing an orchestral masterpiece, he made some remarkable achievement. That isn’t ‘ordinary.'”

“Right.”

“But—and you might not like that I’m saying ‘but’ here, but if you were to ask whether that made him fortunate, the answer would be no. If you were to ask whether those around him were fortunate, the answer would be no. I have no idea who this Jim Mori-san is, but I can a.s.sert, loud and clear, that the answer is ‘no.’ Listen here, Jion-kun. The majority of phenomena born of ‘abnormality’ are ones that leave a negative impact. Perhaps it might look like an enviable life from someone else’s point of view, but being envied doesn’t bring anyone good fortune. Honor and prestige, social standing and wealth—no one needs any of those things to be happy. This is the most important part, so I want you to listen carefully, but ‘happiness,’ in the end, is all about getting along with the people around you. That’s the fate of us mammals.”

“I don’t really get it,” the boy replied with a frown. “So basically, talent doesn’t really help when it comes to getting along with people?”

“It only hurts, in fact.” Who knew what basis he had for saying it, but the wireframe man stated his opinion with unwavering confidence. “Perhaps it would be a different story if you were aiming to become a revolutionary, but if you want to live life as a human, it’s best to hide your dispositions. That’s precisely why I choose to clothe myself in the ubiquitous fas.h.i.+on of a suit, necktie, dress shoes, and slicked back hair. Even I desire my fair share of happiness, you see.”

“Huh…?”

Ignoring the look in the boy’s eyes that clearly asked, “So you’re not even a salaryman and you’re still dressed like that?”, the wireframe man suddenly murmured, “Goodness,” accompanied by a sigh.

“…But there are some idiots in the world who just can’t comprehend that… My little brother is one of them, for example. Hear me out, will you? My foolish little brother, you see, not only lets his hair grow out wildly, but he even dyes it… Oh, no, if he were just bleaching it the same way you do, I could understand it. But don’t you think dyeing it is a bit much? And it’s not just that. He has all manner of piercings in his ears… And he doesn’t wear earrings like you do. Who knows what goes through his head, and I don’t particularly want to know either, but he hangs cell phone straps and the like from his ears. What on earth is the point of that? And the real clincher is his tattoo. A tattoo! It’s not even one on his arm or his back; it’s a huge one right across his face. There are limits to the amount of idiocy I can abide by. I’d like to sit him down one day and ask him why he thinks so little of the body his parents gave him. What’s truly dumbfounding is that the boy himself goes around like that thinking he looks cool. If the little brat weren’t family, I’d give him a good walloping.”

The boy refrained from pointing out that the man was enough of a weirdo to give that little brother a run for his money, and that it sure sounded like an issue that ran in the family, instead giving an unenthusiastic response of, “Uh huh… I see.” He seemed genuinely uninterested.

“…So I take it your family doesn’t get along all that well, Pops?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. The greatest hate springs from the greatest love, you see. That was just my own special way of gus.h.i.+ng about a loved one. Honestly, whether you searched the entirety of j.a.pan or even the entirety of the globe, you’d be hard-pressed to find a family as close as mine. They’re a family I can truly be proud of.”

As he said that, the wireframe man smiled with what did indeed look like genuine pride. He seemed to hold his own family in high esteem, but considering what the man himself was like and how he’d described his little brother, it was easy enough to guess what the rest of the family was like, and the boy wore a conflicted look on his face as he imagined it. Misinterpreting the reason for that expression, the wireframe man lifted his chin with a, “Hm?”

“What is it? Do you have issues with your family, Jion-kun? That isn’t good. Family has to get along with one another. That’s what it’s all about, after all.”

“It’s not like that, exactly… They’re just a pain in the a.s.s. Dad, Mom, my brother, my sister, they’re all really dull people.”

“Hmm.”

It appeared he was fairly interested in the boy’s family circ.u.mstances as, for once, the wireframe man gave nothing but a nod in response.

“I mean, what I call ‘dull,’ maybe you’d call ‘normal’ or ‘ordinary’ or ‘fortunate’… but I just can’t see things that way.”

“That’s fine; brood to your heart’s content. Angst is a privilege of our teenage years. But speaking as someone who outgrew that angst many a year ago… a family made up of those stuck at a dead end is a whole different kind of problem. For instance, Jion-kun, you wouldn’t want to become the newest member of a household where everyone is a homicidal maniac, would you?”

“Well, no…”

“That’s perfectly natural, and that’s the right answer. You mustn’t forget that. If you don’t want to die, you must never stray from the word ‘natural,’ or from the phrase ‘run-of-the-mill.’ Much like ‘evil,’ reasons to die are scattered like landmines all throughout the world. All people die eventually, but there’s no reason to rush to your death. People should live for as long as they’re able. No matter what destiny they shoulder, no matter what sins they have committed, those who are alive are those who ought to live… and all the more if they have a goal they’re out to accomplish. Heheh, to tell you the truth, I myself am currently in the midst of searching for my runaway brother.”

“Your brother… The same one you mentioned earlier?”

“Yes. He’s always had a heart full of wanderl.u.s.t… and this instance has been a rather extreme example of that. Apparently he was headed for western j.a.pan, but that’s the only clue I have to go on. I haven’t the slightest bit of information to tell me whether he’s gone to Nagasaki to eat castella cake, whether he’s traveled to Okayama to eat kibi dango, whether he’s flown to Okinawa to eat chinsuko, or perhaps whether he’s staying in Kyoto eating Yatsuhas.h.i.+.”[2]

“Okay, I get that your brother has a real sweet tooth… but that means you’re never gonna find ‘im. Shouldn’t you leave something like that to the police or a detective agency? An amateur’s never gonna get anywhere no matter what he tries.”

“An amateur, hm?” the wireframe man murmured with a smile. “Sadly, I have to find him before the police do, and there’s a good reason why I can’t ask a detective for help. He’s a problematic nuisance of a brother, you see.”

“Huh? The h.e.l.l does that mean? What, is your brother a psycho killer or something? Not to piggyback off the conversation we were having earlier.”

“Oh, no. He’s nothing as impressive as a psycho killer,” spoke the wireframe man, returning the boy’s quip with a quip of his own. “In fact, it would be rude to psycho killers to put them in the same category. He needs to study under me for a little bit longer before he’s worthy of that t.i.tle. And that’s precisely why I need to find him. It would be terrible if he were to go out into the world so inexperienced and get himself into trouble. The world and summertime are both br.i.m.m.i.n.g with danger, after all.”

“I’d never guess it from looking at you, but you sure are pa.s.sionate about your little brother.”

“That ‘I’d never guess it’ bit was uncalled for. It’s only natural to care for one’s family. Mm, right, I might as well try asking since I already have you here. Have you seen a boy with dyed hair, a tattoo on his face, and cell phone straps hanging from his ears?”

“No… If I met a guy like that, I don’t think I’d ever forget it…”

“He’s about 150 centimeters tall and has a rather cute face. Of course, he puts it utterly to waste with that tattoo of his. He usually wears his hair tied back with the sides cropped. Oh, that’s right, he might be wearing sungla.s.ses as well. Ah yes, and apparently he thinks this is fas.h.i.+onable, too, but he keeps knives hidden all over his body.”

“Mmmm… Actually, I’m starting to hope I never run into this dude… …Hm? Wait, you said you didn’t have any clues, but if you’re asking me this, does that mean you’re antic.i.p.ating that he’s in the area?”

“Oh dear, you have all the sharp wit of a storybook detective. Unfortunately, you’re also about as far off the mark as a storybook detective. It’s nothing like that, not at all. I wasn’t lying when I said I had absolutely no information. But if you can accept something a bit more insubstantial, I can tell where my family is by intuition.”

“Intuition…”

“Yes, intuition. It’s like a collective unconscious, or, well, more like the pack instincts in wolves, I suppose. When it comes to those sorts of bonds, my family has no equal. Thanks to that, I can make a prediction more or less along the lines of ‘hmm, maybe he’s somewhere around here.’ I told you before, didn’t I? They’re a family I can truly be proud of. Well, I suppose the line between pride and shame is more than just paper thin; they’re similar enough to be two sides of the same coin. If I may prattle on for a bit longer, to begin with, my family is—”

Just as the wireframe man seemed ready to start another bragging session about his family, the train’s speakers rang out with an announcement that the next stop was approaching. Hearing that, the wireframe man broke off mid-sentence and stopped what he was saying with a, “Well then.”

“Get off this train at the next station, wait for another train on the opposite side of the platform, and get yourself to school. You have more than enough time to make it to your afternoon cla.s.ses. I’m sure you’ll have to endure a bit of a lecture from your teachers, but you can just let that roll off your back. It’s not as though they’re putting their hearts into those lectures themselves, so there’s no reason to give them the time of day.”

“…Fine. I’ll go already, sheesh. You’re such a pain in the a.s.s.”

With a dejected air, the boy stood up from his seat and took his school bag down from the luggage rack. Perhaps he thought that going to school would be preferable to having the wireframe man continue to hang around him for the rest of the day. Observing the boy’s actions, the wireframe man nodded with satisfaction.

“Good. Now that’s what I hope to see from someone who bears the name Jion. Heheheh, names truly are valuable. To tell you the truth, I consider ‘names and natures do often agree’ to be one of the golden rules of the world.”

“Uh huh…”

“Heheh, heheheh. Good, what a relief. It would seem that you ‘pa.s.s.'”

“Huh?”

At the wireframe man’s pleased remark, the boy knit his brows in confusion. In response, the wireframe man waved his hands in an exaggerated gesture, as if to gloss things over.

“Oh, no, I was just talking to myself. Well then, be wary of the world.”

As he spoke, the wireframe man motioned towards the door of the train car. Almost as if he had calculated the timing, the gradually decelerating train finally came to a complete stop and the doors swung open. The boy bobbed his head with a quick, “See ya,” and stepped down onto the platform of the station, but as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, he muttered, “By the way,” and looked over his shoulder at the wireframe man.

“I still haven’t heard your name.”

“I’m Sous.h.i.+ki Zerozaki.”

He introduced himself with the utmost nonchalance, and in the next moment, the train doors snapped shut. And with that, the interaction between the normal, unexceptional, dull boy, Jion Tsuge, and the abnormal, exceptional dead end of a wireframe man, Sous.h.i.+ki Zerozaki, had drawn to a close.

✦   ✦

Sous.h.i.+ki Zerozaki’s suit was custom-made; on the inside of the jacket, there was a pocket modeled after a holster, and that was where he kept his favorite “murder weapon” hidden. That “weapon” of his was crafted in the shape of a pair of scissors, but one look was enough to tell you that it was not your typical stationery.

To put it more accurately, and moreover, to put it more clearly, it was a blade with a handle shaped like conveniently sized half-moons, consisting of two double-edged j.a.panese-style knives made of welded steel and iron, fastened together with a screw that allowed them to be opened and closed—or so might be the best description. The blade attached to the handle for the thumb was a bit smaller than the blade attached to the handle for the remaining fingers. Its exterior was unmistakably that of a pair of scissors, and “a pair of scissors” was the only proper way to describe it, but it was impossible to imagine that it was created to be anything more than a weapon for killing people, almost like a pair of monster scissors that could very well be wielded by the Teke Teke from Ghost Stories.[3] When the blacksmith forged the anomalous blade (he made it for fun, apparently), the only name he bestowed upon it was a model number, so Sous.h.i.+ki called the weapon “Mind Render”—and alternately, “Suicidal Thoughts”[4]—a name which had come to be used as a synonym for Sous.h.i.+ki Zerozaki himself. That spoke to just how much Sous.h.i.+ki loved that eccentric weapon of his; however, it didn’t mean that he would show it off to anyone without good reason. It was easy to get the wrong idea, but as an exceedingly self-effacing man, it was in Sous.h.i.+ki Zerozaki’s nature to dislike standing out and instead show deference to others. He had even vowed never to perform his specialty, the Cossack Dance, only making an exception for the times he was in a particularly delighted mood. Considering the length of his legs, it was likely a sight to behold.

However, the moment after Jion Tsuge stepped off the train—in one very casual movement, Sous.h.i.+ki produced the blade Mind Render from the inside of his suit. With a sharp, metallic sound, he opened the scissors once, then closed them again.

“Why, h.e.l.lo. I must apologize—it seems I kept you waiting.”

He didn’t s.h.i.+ft his gaze, but Sous.h.i.+ki’s words were directed towards a man who had just moved in from the neighboring train car. Just like Sous.h.i.+ki, the man was dressed in the terribly typical fas.h.i.+on of a suit and necktie—but the object he gripped with both hands was anything but typical. He held a heavy caliber handgun at the ready, pointing it straight at Sous.h.i.+ki.

The man was nearly expressionless, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking from those dead eyes—but Sous.h.i.+ki seemed utterly uninterested in that from the outset, only quirking his lips in a wry smile.

“Hey now. We’re both professional players, aren’t we? Do put away that boorish intimidation tactic. Haven’t you ever heard of the term ‘a waste of time’?”

“…You’re a member of the Zerozaki Family, aren’t you?”

While doing as he was instructed and putting the gun away, the man asked Sous.h.i.+ki that question. Given the way he said it, it sounded less like an actual question and more like he was confirming something he already knew. Sous.h.i.+ki, who hadn’t shown the slightest bit of shock at the handgun, reacted to that remark with almost exaggerated surprise and looked over at the man for the first time.

The man standing there was a complete stranger, one he had never met in his life.

That’s strange, thought Sous.h.i.+ki.

To avoid targeting someone because he was a member of the Zerozaki Family was perfectly common, but to target someone because he was a member of the Zerozaki Family was absolutely unthinkable. Logic had nothing to do with it; that was just what the name “Zerozaki” meant. It was so self-evident to Sous.h.i.+ki that no explanation or exposition was necessary.

However.

If there was an exception to the rule…

In that case.

“Heheh. Believe it or not, I’m something of an odd duck, even among the Zerozaki. A pacifist, you could call me. I’m a white dove of a man who loves peace and justice above all else.”

Sous.h.i.+ki Zerozaki got up from his seat, very leisurely standing himself upright. Thanks in great part to the length of his arms and legs, he gave the impression not so much of a white dove than of a giant praying mantis. He placed his fingers on the larger half of the handle and, with a whir, spun the giant scissors around in circles. The ridiculousness of the weapon cut the effectiveness of the threat in half, but nonetheless, the man took a defensive stance and drew back a step.

“So if you’re willing to retreat now, I’ll just forget about all this. You never met me, and I never met you. You never found me, and I was never found by you. …Most importantly of all, you won’t be killed by me, and I won’t kill you. If you take your own life into consideration, I think there’s plenty of room for negotiations, don’t you?”

“…”

Without a word, the man reached into the inner pocket opposite of the one where he had stowed his gun, this time pulling out a knife. In one hand he held a knife with a convex edge, and in the other, he held a large, thin blade of a rather old make. It looked like you could easily crush a person’s skull just by gently swinging it down. The weapon was far too unwieldy to possess any of the characteristic beauty of a blade, but of course, the man had no need for that. With no questions asked and with every fiber of his being, the man was oozing hostility. From the looks of things, Sous.h.i.+ki’s words had backfired completely. With an exasperated sigh, Sous.h.i.+ki stopped the rotation of his scissors.

“I hardly have time for this when my brother is right nearby… Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it.”

Sous.h.i.+ki Zerozaki thrust the two blade edges of Mind Render before the man, striking a pose as the smile left his face.

“…Well then, let us begin the Zerozaki.”

(Jion Tsuge—Pa.s.sed)
(Chapter Zero—The End)

————————————————————–

[1] The kanji characters in Jion’s given name mean “mercy” and “blessing.” Jion is also the name of the monk who founded the Nen-ryu school of martial arts in 1368.

[2] Each sweet mentioned here is the specialty product of the region it’s paired with.

[3] The Teke Teke is a j.a.panese urban legend about a ghost (usually female) with no lower half that drags itself along using its arms. It appears in the j.a.panese film series Ghost Stories (not the anime with infamous dub, sadly, though they are based on the same book series), albeit with an appearance very different from how it’s typically described in urban legends. The movie Teke Teke is an orangutan-looking monster that carries around a scythe and skull on its back.

[4] The weapon’s name in kanji literally means “Suicidal Thoughts,” but it’s p.r.o.nounced as the English t.i.tle “Mind Render.” (Nisio really likes furigana readings that have nothing to do with the kanji they’re attached to, so get used to this happening.)