Chapter 8: Hawatari Sawarabi (2)
Brother.
I don’t understand you, Brother.
What on earth are you thinking?
Always—so casually.
Always—just observing.
Always—failing to mention the most essential things.
You’ll never tell me anything, I suppose.
You’ll never talk to me about anything, I suppose.
You snake.
You bully.
You monster.
We’re siblings, you know.
Siblings who share the same blood.
The only three siblings we have in this world.
Will you look out for me?
Do you think dearly of me?
I can’t imagine you do.
I’m always dragging the both of you down.
I only get in the way when we’re together…
So I draw my bow from the distant shadows.
I fire arrows with all my heart.
I find it so irritating.
Irritating that I cannot stand by your side.
Irritating that I cannot be with you.
I cannot help but feel irritated that such moments exist.
I want to be with you always, after all.
But—you don’t seem to mind at all.
You don’t seem to feel any differently whether I’m there or not.
And you don’t say anything.
You don’t talk about anything.
You always silently turn a blind eye.
You don’t care about me, I suppose.
You don’t care about me, I suppose.
But I love that about you.
I adore that about you.
I love your cold eyes.
I love your closed lips.
I love your slender arms.
I love your beautiful body.
Please—Brother.
Glare at me with those eyes.
Touch me with those lips.
Seize me with those arms.
Make love to me with that body.
Brother.
Please—Brother.
I ask that you violate me.
I wish to offer my everything to you.
I know it’s wrong.
But it’s hopeless.
At this point—there’s no hope for it.
There’s nothing I can do about it.
I can’t make do with a substitute.
No matter how alike you are…
No one can be your substitute.
It has to be you, Brother.
There is no replacement for you, Brother.
There is only one you in this whole world.
My one and only Brother in the whole world.
We are one, and one, and one.
Don’t opportunely call us three as one.
Not when you’re unwilling to be with me all the time.
I’ve reached the limit of what I can endure.
I learned something I shouldn’t have.
An agonizing sorrow.
A sadness capable of obliterating the heart.
I learned.
I learned that such things exist in this world.
I learned that the world is composed of such things.
Brother, you are undoubtedly strong.
You are stronger than anyone.
I know that.
I can never stand to challenge you.
And you will never change.
And that’s why—I cannot comprehend you.
Say, Brother.
What are we, really?
What are we, in essence?
Why are we siblings the way that we are?
How did we end up like this?
Say, Brother.
Answer me, Brother.
What does it mean to die?
What does it mean—to kill?
Say, Brother.
Give me an answer, Brother.
If I want to run away—is it okay to run away?
If I want to die—is it okay to die?
I just want to die.
✦ ✦
“…Tch. Looks like killing the practitioner had no effect on the barrier.” Sitting underneath a tree and roughly groping at his own arm, he muttered to himself, verifying the situation detail by detail. “I suppose that spell was composed under an entirely different system. Plus…”
He pulled his right hand away from his left arm, moving on to touch his ribs. After that, he checked his left leg. He rubbed each part of his body several times, and then finally, he heaved a resigned, drawn out sigh.
“Any body parts ruined within the illusion continue to hurt afterwards, it seems. Nothing ever seems to go my way.”
Apparently, once his brain perceived the “pain,” it no longer mattered whether or not anything had befallen the body itself. Come to think of it, people had always accused him of being easily impressionable… “Impressions,” “preconceptions,” “bias,” “hypnosis,” “brainwashing,” or “mind manipulation,” it didn’t matter what name you put to it… Really, what a headache this was.
“Heheheh,” laughed Soushiki Zerozaki.
And then, Soushiki placed a hand against the trunk of the tree and pushed himself to his feet. He sprang up on one foot, and once he was settled, he began to consider his next move.
The situation wasn’t exactly favorable.
How long would it be before the pain wore off?
“Well… There was no damage done to my actual body, so it shouldn’t take too long to recover. Still, there’s no time to relax, no point in stopping here, and I already lost a lot of time dealing with a distraction… Time to move.”
Psychological wounds heal more quickly than physical ones. That was Soushiki Zerozaki’s philosophy. The regeneration of the heart wasn’t such a difficult process. Simply forgetting would do the trick. That was, perhaps, the exact opposite of the commonly accepted belief—but based on his past experiences, it was something of which Soushiki was convinced.
“Well then… Where oh where could Iori-chan be? Look how much I’ve gone through for her. If she doesn’t give me a big bear hug once I’ve found her, it simply won’t be fair.”
He headed deeper and deeper into the woods, walking with a limp. Just as before, he had no established destination. Based on what could only be described as a hunch, he moved forward without a trace of doubt in his step. The scenery never seemed to change no matter which direction he faced—but all the same, he was certain. Without a doubt, Iori had to be somewhere in those woods.
“…It’s all very unscientific.”
Certain, without a doubt?
Just what did he think he was doing in this day and age? While he had called Naguma’s outfit anachronistic, that wasn’t a problem exclusive to the Sawarabi, but one shared by the Zerozaki and the Tokinomiya alongside them—and it went beyond the level of archaism. They were like the inhabitants of a parallel world.
It was absurd.
Certain? In reality, Soushiki had no idea whether or not Iori was still alive, and if she was alive, whether or not she was still in one piece. As things stood, all he could do was hope and pray.
How could he be “certain” about anything?
“…When it comes to lacking humanity, I suppose there really isn’t much difference between a hitman and a psycho killer…”
…And then.
Suddenly, he sensed killer intent from behind.
He attempted to turn around at once, but due to his injured left leg, it didn’t go quite so smoothly. After staggering a bit, Soushiki ended up simply glancing behind him, but the source of the bloodlust failed to take advantage of Soushiki’s unbalanced stance to land an attack, instead waiting patiently for him to turn his head.
“…My oh my.”
The one standing there was Naguma Sawarabi.
Old-fashioned attire and a huge naginata, Japanese-style glasses and long hair. And on his chest—there was a grotesque scar left by a blade.
With a sharp gaze—he glared quietly at Soushiki.
Facing that gaze head-on, Soushiki was a bit taken aback.
This…
This was different.
Compared to their fight on the rooftop the previous evening, he was emitting an entirely new kind of killer intent—no, an entirely different aura overall.
If one was to ask what exactly was different…
“Your ‘resolve’ seems different, Naguma Sawarabi-kun.”
Soushiki, however, refused to let those feelings of unease show in his expression and adamantly swallowed them down, speaking with a glib air that gave no whiff of his injuries.
“So? What brings you here? After you fled so disgracefully just yesterday, don’t tell me you’re already back for a rematch. I was under the impression we’d settled the match quite decisively, so I hope you’re not planning to tell me you weren’t satisfied with that fight, or something equally ridiculous.”
The confidence of a victor.
Right now, that was the only weapon Soushiki had at his disposal.
In all honesty—now that the left half of his body had been paralyzed, if at all possible, he wanted to avoid another fight to the death against Naguma Sawarabi’s naginata. It would be a different story if Iori were there, and fighting was the only way to protect and save her—but there was no reason to push himself in this particular situation. He would be better off stalling for a little more time to recover his stamina.
However.
“…About your sister.”
He disregarded Soushiki’s greeting…
And held his naginata low.
“…Iori-san, was it?”
“…Yes, that’s right.”
“I killed her.”
He said it without batting an eye.
His voice was cold enough to send shivers down the spine.
Soushiki’s expression didn’t change.
It didn’t change, but that was the most he could manage.
He was rendered speechless.
“What… do you mean?” After mustering all his strength, the question came out in a feeble voice. “Wasn’t Iori-chan… necessary for luring me out, an essential… and valuable hostage?”
“That was what Brother had in mind—but I killed at her at my own discretion. I killed her according to my own discretion and bias.” As he spoke, he closed the distance between him and Soushiki bit by bit. “Hah. I should hope a psycho killer wouldn’t have the gall to complain about being killed.”
“…Why?”
Soushiki asked with the voice of a dead man.
“Why… did you kill her?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Terribly cold eyes. Ones that looked free of all worldly ties. Cold eyes ready to present the answer to any and all questions, cold eyes devoid of indecision or distress.
“Because I’m a hitman—and I was made ‘like this,’ of course. …What other reason do I need?”
“…I see.”
Soushiki gave a quiet nod.
He wore a sad, pained expression interlaced with a great deal of what was not anger—but resignation.
“It seems you’ve washed your hands of something… I’m not sure what exactly you’ve washed your hands of, but it’s too bad. Truly a shame. To think you’d ‘passed,’ too… It really is incredibly unfortunate.”
With that, Soushiki held Mind Render at the ready.
“In that case—it’s time for me to do my part as a psycho killer, Naguma Sawarabi-kun.”
“If you must.”
But.
Before he could finish his sentence, Soushiki sprang upon him. Unsteady on his feet and unable to use one of his arms and legs freely, he would be at a disadvantage in a drawn out battle. While there was no comparison to the illusory fight he’d just had with “her,” this too was an all-or-nothing match that had to be settled in one blow. Fortunately enough, the other man appeared plenty “motivated”—plenty “resolved,” so there was no need to worry about him fleeing a second time.
It was a full-blown duel to the death.
Victory and defeat would be decided in an instant.
The deciding factor would be whether or not Soushiki could slip within the naginata’s territory—that single point alone. There was no chance Naguma would resort to a thrust like last time, so his attacks were restricted to slashes. If he couldn’t get within the range of one of those slashes, it was all over, and once he got in, it was all over.
Either way, the end would be imminent.
The plan was to take aim and unleash Mind Render with a spin.
Naguma’s slash was still a good ways off.
Aided by his long legs, he instantaneously moved out of the naginata’s range and within the reach of his giant scissors. Alright, now came the important part. Now he had to land a blow on the neck. At this distance, there was a chance that Naguma would once again make use of the shaft, countering with his bojutsu and jojutsu techniques—but he wouldn’t dodge it. He wouldn’t even try to dodge it. As long Naguma he didn’t attack with the blade, it wouldn’t be a fatal wound, and there were always casualties in a war; he didn’t mind giving up one, two, even three ribs. Let him have the bones of Mind Render as a souvenir for his sister.
“…Ha!”
And then.
A chill ran through his abdomen.
A sensation so cold it sent shivers down the spine.
Mind Render’s blade came to a halt.
“…Huh?”
A blade had penetrated Soushiki’s right flank.
It was the blade of a so-called Japanese sword.
There was no naginata to be seen. Close by, what had looked like one lay abandoned on the ground. The covering that had been used to hide the sharp, cold blade had been discarded like a sheath.
“Got you,” declared Naguma Sawarabi.
No—he wasn’t Naguma Sawarabi.
“A… A swordstick…?”
Soushiki crumpled to the ground.
As he did, he caught sight of the wound on the other man’s chest. And—while it was certainly eye-catching, it was an awfully shallow injury. There was no way—no way that wound had been made by Mind Render.
“Y… You’re…”
“My name is Hawatari Sawarabi.”
In an awfully cold voice—and with an awfully cold gaze.
In a cold and silent motion, the man extracted his sword.
“…I am the brother of the man you know as Naguma. We are what is commonly referred to as ‘identical twins.'”
With that, he shook the blood off his long sword, leapt backwards, and put distance between himself and Soushiki. Soushiki continued to slowly crumple on the spot, crouching down against the tree behind him. With a dumbfounded expression, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening—Soushiki stared at Hawatari.
“That expression of yours—I would have liked to show it to my foolish brother.” Hawatari’s voice, at any rate, was cold. “Since that can’t be done… at the very least, perhaps I should relay your thoughts to him. Mind Render. What, may I ask, are you feeling right now?”
“…”
After declining to respond to Hawatari’s question, eventually, he gave a feeble chuckle.
“The ‘twin swap’ trick… Using that can really tick people off nowadays, Hawatari-kun.”
No wonder his “resolve” had seemed different. He was an entirely different person, so it would be far more questionable if it had seemed the same. As twins, everything from their appearance—naturally—to their voice was completely identical, and they could easily match their outfits and external injuries—but there was no way to make their minute mannerisms and overall aura the same.
“I am well aware of how hackneyed a method it is. But clichés like this work best on your kind.”
“…So that archaic fashion sense was a tool to encourage my ‘impressions’—my ‘preconceptions.’ He wasn’t dressed that way out of personal preference… I see.” More and more blood gushed from the wound. Soushiki set Mind Render aside and forcibly stopped the flow of blood by applying pressure to the injured area. “I assume you generally dress yourself in a completely contrasting style, ‘Big Bro’? While considering it camouflage or what have you.”
“Correct.”
Hawatari answered indifferently. He let his hair down from its ponytail, then gathered that long hair and hid it underneath a skull-marked baseball cap he had taken out from inside his shirt.
“This trick is, so to speak, our ace in the hole and our trump card. I wouldn’t resort to this method if my opponent were anyone other than you.”
“…I suppose old lady Tokinomiya made for good foreshadowing.” Soushiki gave a grim smile. “Two ‘substitutions’ in a row. I didn’t think you would use the same trick twice. Honestly—honestly now, this was a job well done. Well done—is all I can really say about it.”
“…?”
Unsatisfied with how strangely calm Soushiki was for a man bearing a fatal wound, Hawatari scowled in suspicion.
“But still—you’re awfully unconcerned with appearances, Hawatari-kun, or should I say ‘Sawarabi’-san. Using Marionettes, taking hostages, turning to a Cursing Name for help, and at the end of it all, resorting to foul play. Your ancestors must be turning in their graves.”
“If you intend to whine about cowardice or trickery, allow me to argue that you are entirely mistaken. What we are partaking in is a fight to the death. I find it more perplexing that you would bring your own arbitrary rules into it.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I told you, didn’t I? This was a job well done.” Soushiki’s wry smile didn’t falter. “The swordstick scheme was incredible. Hiding a short-range sword inside a mid-range weapon wasn’t a bad idea at all. And most of all, your choice of taunt was perfect—that nonsense about you killing Iori-chan, I mean.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but that part was the truth,” Hawatari replied flatly. “Most likely, my little brother is disposing of her as we speak. I tried to stop him, but he refused to listen. I gather that something happened during his fight with you. Does that ring any bells?”
“Well now… Did I say something wrong, I wonder?” Soushiki fought with his aching body and forced his shoulders into a shrug. “By the way—Hawatari-kun. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“…What? If you mean to beg for your life, don’t waste your time.”
“Don’t be silly. I have cigarettes in my inner pocket; could you get one out and let me have a smoke? I can’t move my left arm, and as you can see, I have to use my right arm to apply pressure to the wound, or else I’ll die of blood loss.”
“…What are you scheming?”
“I’m not scheming anything. I missed my chance to have one earlier, is all… I just want a smoke before I die, as a way of posturing.” Then, as if it had just occurred to him, he added, “Hold it now, spare me the finishing blow. Just look at this injury; you soundly impaled my liver. By all accounts, this is a fatal wound. Just stand there and watch over my last moments, if you would. That’s your right as the victor.”
“…I fail to understand.”
As Hawatari spoke, he sounded increasingly dubious.
“I will ask you once more. What are you scheming? Fatal though it may be, that wound is not enough to kill you instantly. You should still be able to fight. Why do you not pick up those scissors?”
“I don’t kill needlessly,” answered Soushiki.
In a way that sounded somehow drained.
In a way that sounded somehow desolate.
In a way that sounded somehow hesitant.
“You may not believe me, of course… But the truth is, I don’t want to kill anyone. …I’ve had enough of murder.”
“…Those hardly sound like the words of a psycho killer. And not just any psycho killer, but the Zerozaki Family’s ‘Twentieth Hell,’ Mind Render.”
“Good point. I’m considered an eccentric even among the Zerozaki, after all… Right, to answer the question you asked earlier—Hawatari-kun. Right now… I don’t feel too bad.”
“…!”
“Allow me to thank you. I’m grateful to you, Hawatari Sawarabi-kun. Thank you for disregarding the danger it would put you in, and for exhausting every method you had at your disposal…
“Thank you for going through all that to kill me.”
With this—he could finally find peace.
Observing the genuinely relieved expression on Soushiki’s face, Hawatari shot him a displeased glance—as though he were looking at something repulsive. His gaze was no longer something that could be described as frosty or cold; his eyes were filled with a visceral disgust he made no effort to hide.
And in truth—Hawatari likely didn’t understand. He couldn’t begin to surmise the true intent behind those words of Soushiki’s, which made it sound as if he desired his own death. For the sour grapes of a dying loser, it was an awfully involved performance.
“Truly unsightly—truly the worst. I didn’t go through the trouble of a surprise attack so I could watch you die with such a peaceful look on your face.”
“Heheh. What, did you want me to die full of resentment? What a gloomy man. But unfortunately for you—that’s the key difference between the Zerozaki and the Niounomiya.”
Soushiki spoke. His words were mixed with blood. But he paid that no mind—and continued to talk.
“In fact, it’s precisely because you resorted to such methods that I can feel at ‘peace’… There’s no way my family would lose to such a coward.”
“…!”
Soushiki grinned.
“When my ‘enemy’ is a monster like ‘her,’ I can’t allow myself die at any cost—but if it’s just you, it’ll be an easy win for anyone in the Family. Hah—and you claimed that my cute, cute little sister had been scythed down by Nagumkun, didn’t you? Impossible. That was little more than a delusion of grandeur; I’m convinced of that now. My little sister would never be killed by the brother of a coward like you.”
“…Very well. Say as you will.”
With those words, Hawatari sat down cross-legged on the ground. He was about three meters away from Soushiki, outside the range of either of their weapons. Leaving that much space between them, Hawatari Sawarabi faced Soushiki Zerozaki.
“Then I will allow Naguma to have the finishing blow. His grudge against the Zerozaki runs deep—he was extraordinarily attached to Yumiya, after all. If he kills that girl, and then gets to kill you, I’m sure it will be some amount of consolation. …Of course, that’s supposing you’re still alive when he gets here.”
“Supposing I’m still alive… hm?”
“If you make any unnecessary movements, I will kill you on the spot.”
“If possible, I’d prefer you let me go out peacefully… Well, the one to make it here will be Iori-chan, so I suppose it doesn’t matter…”
Soushiki spoke.
Hawatari fell silent.
He couldn’t move his left arm. He couldn’t use his right arm.
He couldn’t move his left leg. But his right leg…
…No, that wouldn’t work, either.
It was clear by now that Hawatari wasn’t the kind of opponent that could be taken down with just one leg. The Sawarabi had thought up all sorts of schemes, but even if they hadn’t, and even if Soushiki were in peak condition, it would have been a tough fight, with Hawatari more than matching him in skill. Even without the geographical advantage and the presence of a hostage, Hawatari was just that capable. That had to be the case, or else schemes or no, he wouldn’t have managed to settle things so quickly and so neatly.
The Sawarabi must have known that themselves.
The reason they devised all those schemes regardless…
That was because the Zerozaki Family was a group.
They had to fight with their backs to the wall.
But the Zerozaki had family who could take up their mantle.
That disparity.
That difference.
Even if Soushiki died—even if he passed on, there were twenty other people who could carry out his dying wish.
So he wasn’t afraid to die.
If he died, he would be succeeded…
And so, it would never be over.
“…Goodness,” mumbled Soushiki, quietly enough that Hawatari couldn’t hear it.
The girl in the knit cap came to mind.
Iori-chan.
I had so many more things I wanted to teach you—but it seems this is the end for me.
You… shouldn’t come here.
Run away.
It’s okay for you to run away.
You might still have somewhere to run.
I’ve come to an impasse.
I’ve hit a dead end.
Since it would seem he’s somewhere close by, you should meet up with my little brother, who I never managed to find in the end—and the two of you should find another path. Hitoshiki would never force you into becoming a Zerozaki, I’m sure. He may be a little brat whose only redeeming feature is a cute face, and it’s his fault you were chased out of your everyday life in the first place, but he’s not a bad guy.
Iori-chan.
You are a possibility.
You are… hope.
Please…
Don’t kill anyone.
“…Heh.”
A smile of uncharacteristic self-derision rose to Soushiki’s face.
“I… really wanted a little sister, though…”
✦ ✦
A certain figure dashed through the woods.
“…Hah, hah, hah…”
Gasping for breath, but with an uncompromising intensity, a certain figure dashed through the woods. With the confident gait of one with a clear destination in mind, someone ran frantically through the dense forest.
“…U-Ugh…”
With a cry, they slipped on the ground, muddied by the humidity, and gracelessly fell over. It was as if the very atmosphere of the forest, sealed off by the Tokinomiya’s barrier, was trying to prevent that figure from reaching their destination.
“…Hehehe.”
Laughing, they rose to their feet.
Was that figure Naguma Sawarabi?
Was it the figure of Naguma Sawarabi, running to his brother’s side, driven by revenge, ready to deal the finishing blow to Soushiki Zerozaki?
No.
It wasn’t.
The figure was wearing a red knit cap.
A sailor uniform stained red with her own blood.
Nothing remained of her right arm from the wrist down. She had used something like an elastic string to seal the wound and stop the flow of blood, but it refused to stop completely, continuing to trickle from the stump.
Her other hand wasn’t unharmed, either; all five fingernails had been torn off. But rather than trembling with pain, that hand firmly, assuredly gripped the handle of a dagger.
It was Iori Mutou.
“…Hehe, hehehe.”
She wiped the mud off her skirt, then broke into a run once more. Indeed, with confidence, as though she had a clear destination.
Her destination…
Of course, it did not lie outside the forest.
She had no reason to go anywhere like that.
“…Hehe, hehe, hehehe.”
She ran.
She ran.
Facing forward.
No backing down, no shrinking away, no losing heart.
Without averting her eyes, without turning away.
Refusing to run from anything.
Dragging her delicate, deteriorating body the whole way.
“Wait for me, Big Bro…”
✦ ✦
And as for Naguma Sawarabi…
Inside the prefab hut, all by himself, all alone, he stood dumbfounded. A huge amount of blood poured ceaselessly from his right shoulder. If it didn’t stop it quickly enough, he could die of blood loss, or at the very least, he was bound to lose consciousness.
But he didn’t move a muscle.
Another person’s hand was laying on the ground nearby.
Iori’s hand.
Iori Mutou’s hand, which Naguma had severed.
“…”
After he cut it off, Iori had let out a scream and begun to thrash underneath Naguma like a madwoman. Seeing as everything from her wrist down was gone, that was a natural response. But Naguma hadn’t been content with that reaction. He wasn’t happy at all. He didn’t feel satisfied at all. On the contrary, he felt like he hadn’t done nearly enough. Resolving to make quick work of her other wrist next, he had risen halfway to his feet…
When a blade came raining down from above.
“…”
To be more specific, it was the dagger that had been wedged in a ceiling beam.
It was the dagger that Naguma had given to Iori, and then knocked towards the ceiling using his naginata.
That dagger, which should have been wedged deep into the ceiling beam—thanks to Iori struggling hard enough to shake the entire hut, using her arms, her legs, and her whole body, and in any case, as violently as she possibly could—had fallen out.
And that blade had pierced Naguma’s shoulder.
He could tell it had cut the muscle.
“What unbelievably… ‘good luck.'”
“Good luck”… Although he called it as much, Naguma knew full well that it wasn’t that at all. “It” was the same as what had allowed him to escape from Mind Render on the roof of that apartment building—something entirely different from luck.
The “qualifications” to survive a dire situation by the skin of your teeth.
The “qualifications” of one who is destined to survive.
Iori had those.
More so than Naguma… Iori had been chosen.
Indeed, she had been chosen.
The girl supposedly had no choices and no say in anything—but perhaps what that truly meant was that she herself had been chosen, and she herself had been selected.
“…And the Zerozaki…”
It had looked like she was just thrashing about due to the pain of her plucked nails and her inability to bear the hopeless situation—but that action, too, had been nothing more than a means to “murder.”
How repulsive.
How repulsive.
How repulsive.
It surpassed even the horror of the Tokinomiya.
It was too late now—she had grown out of control. Almost certainly, she was even more impossible to handle than Mind Render. It wasn’t her nails that had fended off Mind Render underneath that bridge.
It was her existence.
It was her talent.
Truly—it was hopeless.
“After being shown a ‘talent’ like that—after being shown an ‘existence’ like that—it’s easy to see why a guy like me would ‘fail.'”
After murmuring that to himself, Naguma finally began to move.
His right arm wouldn’t move. The whole thing must have been cut, from the muscle to the tendon to the nerve. It was safe to assume he would never be able to use that arm the same way again. But that was fine—after going up against a psycho killer, a Zerozaki, he was fortunate just to have escaped with his life.
He went to pick up the naginata he had dropped.
It was his longtime companion; in a sense, more of a partner than either of his two siblings. He couldn’t bring himself to part with it yet. But still, with his arm as it was now, he had no choice but to give up on the “hitman” business.
He found the thought oddly refreshing.
With this—did he no longer have to kill?
That’s right. He was different from a Zerozaki.
If he wanted to die, he could die.
If he wanted to kill, he could kill…
And if he didn’t want to kill, he didn’t have to kill.
If something was hopeless…
There was no need to do anything about it.
Perhaps nothing had to be done about hopeless things; perhaps they were something that could be left as is. At the very least—they simply were what they were.
The way things were.
All he had to do was accept the way things were.
Holding himself to a different standard was only bound to get him hurt.
He had to accept things the way they were.
And if he did that—he’d have the chance to choose again.
He’d have the chance to learn.
And one day—he would figure out the answer.
That’s all.
That’s all there was to it.
“Say, Yumiysan… Were you the same way?”
Then, just as Naguma Sawarabi let out that fragile whisper.
There came the creak of the door to the hut opening.
Naguma whipped around to see who it was.
Had Iori returned?
Or had Mind Render finally arrived?
There was always the possibility that the two had come together.
Or, no, was it the man who had taken them both down, his brother, Hawatari Sawarabi?
“…Yo.”
…It wasn’t any of those people.
It was a boy with an unusual appearance.
He wasn’t particularly tall. His long, dyed hair was held back in a ponytail, and the ears peeking out from his hair were adorned with cell phone straps and a triad of piercings, among other things. What drew the eye most of all was the marking on his face, slightly obscured by his stylish sunglasses: a sinister tattoo.
“I’m a little lost, so if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me the way—oh, not that I’m asking you to tell me the meaning of life or anything.”
After saying that, the boy laughed, “Kahaha.”
But Naguma didn’t laugh at his joke.
There was no way he could laugh.
His grip on the naginata in his left hand tightened.
This kid. This boy.
This… Zerozaki.
“Truth is, I’m looking for my older brother. Based on what I heard from some witnesses, I think he’s somewhere inside this forest park. But this forest is nuts, like some really convoluted maze, so I’m having a bit of a hard time here. I feel like a memory card in the middle of saving. In other words, I can’t pull myself out of this mess.”
“…!”
“Oh, wait, are you lost, too? Ah-ah-ah. That’s the kinda look you’ve got on your face right now. Hm? Hold on a sec, you’re hurt. Did you fall down or something? That’s a lot of blood. Let me have a look at it; I’m good at stopping bleeding and stuff.”
As he made his carefree commentary, the tattooed boy took a step inside the hut.
The feeling of calm that had enveloped Naguma until just moments ago dispersed like a fog. The urge to kill began to well up inside him. Began to writhe inside him. Began to clamor inside him. Almost as if Naguma had transformed into a Zerozaki himself—he felt a furious, hopeless… urge to kill.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Zerozakiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”
He sprung himself at the boy.
Wielding his naginata with one hand—Naguma rushed towards the boy with the face tattoo. There was a little more than three meters of distance between them. If he could close that gap by just one more meter, the tattooed boy would be within range of Naguma’s naginata.
He’d kill him. He’d kill him.
He’d kill him!
“…Hey, that’s dangerous.”
Despite saying that, the boy with the face tattoo didn’t move.
Or at the very least, he looked like he hadn’t moved.
However—as for Naguma.
After moving about ten centimeters, he came to a stop.
No, to be more precise, he hadn’t stopped.
In accordance with the principle of inertia, his severed head, his severed left arm, his severed right arm, his severed chest, his severed left leg, his severed right leg, the five severed fingers of his right hand, and the five fingers of his left hand that still clutched his naginata didn’t stop.
But his life had come to a stop.
Hopelessly so—it had been stopped.
Before the boy with the face tattoo, with thud after thud after thud, the pieces of Naguma Sawarabi fell to the ground one by one.
“Sorry. Looks like I killed ya, Mr. Fodder Character.”
The boy looked down on the spectacle with complete indifference.
“This thing’s a real riot, isn’t it? This here, you see… it’s called a ‘Tightrope.'” Upon further inspection, the area around the tattooed boy caught the light and glistened, as if something like a superfine thread were strung there. “When I use it, it’s got a range of about three meters. But I’ve heard people who are really good can reach up to ten or twenty meters.”
There, the tattooed boy noticed that there was one extra hand among the fallen parts. After gathering up all three of them, he held on to the one that appeared to belong to a different person, and threw the other two back on the floor.
“Hm…? This is… a girl’s right hand.”
The tattooed boy gazed at the hand with a great deal of interest. Given the serious look on his face, he must have been deep in thought. He appeared to have noticed both that there was not a single fingernail on the hand, and that there were a total of ten fingernails scattered around the floor, presumably left there after they were forcibly removed.
“…Okay, I see what went down here. The naginata guy got the wound on his shoulder in a fight. So, after having her hand cut off, the ‘girl’ still managed to come out victorious… and ran away right before I got here?”
As he tilted his head to the side and muttered to himself, in an artless motion, the tattooed boy shoved the severed hand into one of his vest pockets.
“But why would she make a break for it right after winning? Hmm… No, I guess ‘running away’ isn’t the only possibility. In other words, to that ‘girl,’ this guy here wasn’t the ‘end goal’—and there’s someone out there she still has to beat, or still has to win against? Or maybe—someone she has to protect…?”
The tattooed boy gave a snort.
“Either way, wherever there’s the smell of blood, there’s Bro. I better hurry up; yesterday I killed a number of people… wait, how many was it again? Well, anyway, I killed a bunch of people, so if my luck’s bad, that ‘demon slayer’ might catch up to me real soon. She might’ve already found me, even… so I’d better take off lickety-split.”
Following the trail of evenly spaced blood stains on the floor, which had presumably been left by the owner of the severed hand, the tattooed boy headed for the door. Once he’d taken half a step out of the hut, he turned around as if something had just occurred to him, and glanced over at the dismembered corpse of the naginata user.
“…Come to think of it…”
There, he tilted his head with a puzzled look.
“Judging from the way he yelled my name and rushed at me, this fodder character must have known me from somewhere… but who the hell was that guy?”
(Naguma Sawarabi—Failed)
(Chapter 8—The End)