K R:B by Azano Kouhei
6 (extract, pages 138-145)
†
It had been a long time since Fushimi felt such unadulterated elation.
The sole of Yata’s shoe, engulfed in flames, kicked the door to the joint open. Along with the loudly resounding bang, the two of them charged inside without a moment’s hesitation. Fushimi grasped the inner layout of the joint in an instant. Behind him, Yata followed in perfect synch.
The joint was a small, cheap bar with an all-girl staff, located in a 2 storey multiuse building. The considerable space it occupied was the only thing of note. As the two of them burst in, women with flashy makeup screamed, while gaudily dressed men jumped to their feet all at once. Fushimi threw a knife at one of them. It pierced into the guy’s shoulder, causing him to emit a shrilly howl much like a dog.
Two other men promptly got ready to launch a counterattack. Fushimi’s next 2 knives were sent in their direction. Not bothering to confirm if the knives had hit their marks or not, in one smooth stride, Yata appeared next to one remaining guy. Just as the guy paled, Yata dealt him an excellent uppercut.
All in all, gaining total control of the bar didn’t take even 5 seconds. What dull small fry.
“Which one of you is Yamata?” Yata roared.
Fushimi keenly observed the changes in the expressions of each of the guys. Before Yamata had had a chance to come clean, Fushimi had already identified him, throwing a knife at him, “That one.”
The knife whooshed through space, grazing the man’s cheek on its way before lodging with a characteristic clack in the wall behind him. Eyes wide, Yamata stiffened and froze.
He had long brown hair, divided at the side, and the mode of dress he chose to clad his lanky body in was b-boy fashion style. On his arms there were tattoos, apparently for show, thick gold rings on his fingers, and a golden chain necklace on his neck. The sight almost made Fushimi burst out laughing. So that was the type of guy that Yamata was. How Suou could let a guy like that join the team was beyond Fushimi’s understanding.
“…You’re that fucker then, huh.” Yata, a cold sharp glint in the eye, drew closer to Yamata.
Fushimi, still chuckling, didn’t forget to glare coldly from behind Yata at the other guys, playing with one of his knives so that they could see. By guarding his partner’s back and simultaneously intimidating the enemy into not trying anything funny, he ensured that his partner now had the freedom of movement. Not that there was anyone among these wimps who would be gutsy enough to try anything to begin with.
“—Yatagarasu,” Yamata groaned out Yata Misaki’s nickname as the vanguard of Homura. He was pale and trembling bodily as he sputtered out, “Wh-Wh-What’s your problem?! What the hell?!”
Before the screaming Yamata could say anything else, Yata’s fist connected with his face, sending him out of his chair and crashing into the wall. The chair fell with a thud as Yamata slid down the wall to the floor in an unsightly heap.
The atmosphere in the bar went completely chilled as if an iceberg drifted through its space. How pathetic for a place called Homura’s hangout spot, even as a joke.
Yata looked down on Yamata arrogantly.
Yamata, unable to meet his eyes, grumbled, “…I can’t believe this…” he wheezed out. “No, seriously, I just don’t get it. …What the hell. What’s your problem…”
As per dull overused cliche, his vocabulary was apparently severely lacking, nothing new there. Fushimi snorted watching washy indignation drift across Yamata’s eyes.
“Like hell you don’t know what my problem is,” Yata said. “Been doing what-fuckin-ever you please, no? No?!”
“So what if I have?!” Yamata shrieked, flipping out when he really had no right to. “What’s wrong with doing what I want?! I did pass the Red King’s installation, y'know? I earned this power for risking my life. Of course I’ll put it to use! What’s with doing what I please?! And what right do the likes of you have to judge m—”
Yata didn’t let him finish, kicking him in the chin with a tip of his shoe.
“You scum…” Yata spat out. “You’re a disgrace to Homura, doncha get all wise-ass on me with your barking, you stuck up mongrel.”
Fushimi let out a whistle at that.
“Stop with the mocking,” Yata threw the irritated remark over his shoulder at him.
All the present in the bar grew a shade paler. The sight was satisfying. Fushimi actually was having heaps of fun.
“You dared deceive the Red King… even not knowing your place has to have limits. That, I’ll never forgive…” Yata was staring down at Yamata with murderous eyes.
“…Damn,” Yamata whimpered. Still sprawled on the floor, he gritted his teeth, cursing. “It’s the chance I risked my life for. What’s wrong with making the best of it? What’s wrong with doing what I want to do? It’s not like you people give a damn about us either way… Having fun by yourselves. In which case, what’s your problem with us having our own fun and doing what we want? If you get ignored, ignore them back, that’s how the world works, no…?!” Yamata cried out to no one in particular.
And there, it dawned on Fushimi: the icing on the cake of this situation was that, among other things, the guy was also a total moron. Fushimi couldn’t help laughing at that.
It wasn’t like he didn’t get what Yamata was saying. In fact, Fushimi wasn’t going to deny the truth of his words. One was free to suit oneself as long as they were doing something they could, to the extent they could. That went without saying, and no one had the right to judge them.
In Yamata’s case, however, there was a catch: he didn’t think of anyone except for himself. And that was his undoing.
Doing what one liked, as long as they could, to the extend they could. It was like that for everyone. Yata did what he pleased, and even Fushimi himself wasn’t an exception, doing what he wanted. The question, however, was, whether or not one had enough strength to insist on having one’s own way. If the answer was negative, then would one choose to ignore the fact and become defiant? Or would they give in and compromise at some point? The world worked in such a way that knowing these boundaries was essential. But this guy didn’t know them. When things didn’t go his way, he was able to only flail his arms, stomp his feet and find faults with everybody else.
A common brat was what he was.
“…Huh? What the hell are you talking about, you asswipe? I ain’t asking about your reasons or excuses…!” Yata was finally on the verge of losing it, popping a vein as he glared at Yamata. Flames started dancing around his clasped fist, probably without him realizing.
Well then, Fushimi narrowed his eyes. The blood rushed to Yata’s head real good this time, and it was no joke how furious he was at the moment. With him like that, it would be difficult to catch the timing to stop him… oh well, if Fushimi failed to stop him in time, come what may, he supposed. There were things that just couldn’t be helped, after all.
If he was honest, Fushimi didn’t share any of Yata’s anger. Homura was full of holes and stupidity anyway, and Fushimi had been accumulating - for quite a long time, too - quite a bit of resentment even towards Yata, who kept exalting Homura as something sacred.
Though, he had to admit, seeing his partner enraged wasn’t a bad thing. Like this, Yata swung his fists of his own will, not trying to hide or fake his desires. And that was the right thing to do, in Fushimi’s book.
Fushimi verified the situation in the bar once again. It had been a while since he was in such a good mood. If Yata really wanted to do it, he was prepared to stick with him till the end.
But…
“Yata. Fushimi. That would be enough,” a calm and clear sounding voice came from the door Yata smashed in earlier, making both Yata and Fushimi turn sharply to the source of voice, only to be met with an unusually strict gaze from the voice’s owner.
“Totsuka-san…!” Yata groaned.
Totsuka, smiling wistfully, slowly crossed into the bar. Surveying the situation inside, he said, “…I’m relieved. Looks like I’ve made it more or less in time, after all. I’m aware of what’s going on. And I understand your feelings, believe me, Yata, but I’m asking you to stop here. —Yamata, I expect the same of you, as well.”
Just like that, in a moment, he took the situation under control, the effect of his presence and capabilities leaving nothing to be desired. Fushimi gave a small displeased tongue click. It looked like this was as far as the party he was enjoying was allowed to go.
Totsuka gave all the present another once-over before asking, “How many of you are affiliated with Homura? I ask those of you who are, to follow me. I’m not going to do anything violent to you, so don’t be afraid. I just want to talk to you. For both our sakes.”
His voice was quiet, yet the compelling force it held was such that it penetrated into the hearts of those listening to his words.
To Fushimi, that capacity for accepting others and the ability to lead them was something he could never hope to copy. And that, he readily acknowledged and took off his hat to Totsuka. He was forced to recognize, if not without some envy, that that, too, was a form of “strength”. And that was where the true value of Homura’s third-in-command, usually so silly and careless, lay.
Before Fushimi knew it, Yata turned meek as a lamb, with his head hung in shame, and the majority of the people in the bar were following Totsuka’s orders. Totsuka sent a quick glance Fushimi’s way. For a moment, Fushimi felt rebellious feelings surge inside him, but his common sense kicked in just as fast, and he simply shrugged his shoulders.
The party was over. And Yata probably was satisfied enough now, too. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted, Fushimi supposed. It wasn’t a missed opportunity, in any case. What was left now was to dispassionately deal with whatever boring shit needed to be dealt with in the aftermath…
Except…
Fushimi’s prediction was not meant to be, as he found out as soon as he had the thought.
“Freeze! This is Scepter 4!”
The ones to burst into the bar at that moment were troops in the all too familiar blue uniform. Totsuka looked at them over his shoulder with displeasure written all over his features, and Yata turned red in the face, glaring at the newcomers.
“Huuh?! Butt the fuck out!” Yata’s angry bellow resonated throughout the bar.
As it did, Yamata, not wasting the opportune moment, jumped to his feet and rushed deeper into the joint. And it dawned on Fushimi: the bar must have a backdoor, and the bastard was planning to use it to make his getaway.
“Yata, Fushimi! Sorry, but I’ll leave dealing with this to you two!” were Totsuka’s parting words as he ran to chase Yamata.
Well, whatever. Fushimi had already lost all interest in Yamata anyway. If he had to choose, Scepter 4 seemed more interesting to confront.
Yata, taking Totsuka’s request to heart, was burning again as he charged the Scepter 4 members. The Scepter 4 rookies, still raw and inexperienced, met the enemy with tense faces.
Well, what do you know. It looked like he still could have plenty of fun with this.
Smirking with joy, Fushimi took his position as Yata’s support.
K R:B by Azano Kouhei
6 (extract, pages 138-145)
†
It had been a long time since Fushimi felt such unadulterated elation.
The sole of Yata’s shoe, engulfed in flames, kicked the door to the joint open. Along with the loudly resounding bang, the two of them charged inside without a moment’s hesitation. Fushimi grasped the inner layout of the joint in an instant. Behind him, Yata followed in perfect synch.
The joint was a small, cheap bar with an all-girl staff, located in a 2 storey multiuse building. The considerable space it occupied was the only thing of note. As the two of them burst in, women with flashy makeup screamed, while gaudily dressed men jumped to their feet all at once. Fushimi threw a knife at one of them. It pierced into the guy’s shoulder, causing him to emit a shrilly howl much like a dog.
Two other men promptly got ready to launch a counterattack. Fushimi’s next 2 knives were sent in their direction. Not bothering to confirm if the knives had hit their marks or not, in one smooth stride, Yata appeared next to one remaining guy. Just as the guy paled, Yata dealt him an excellent uppercut.
All in all, gaining total control of the bar didn’t take even 5 seconds. What dull small fry.
“Which one of you is Yamata?” Yata roared.
Fushimi keenly observed the changes in the expressions of each of the guys. Before Yamata had had a chance to come clean, Fushimi had already identified him, throwing a knife at him, “That one.”
The knife whooshed through space, grazing the man’s cheek on its way before lodging with a characteristic clack in the wall behind him. Eyes wide, Yamata stiffened and froze.
He had long brown hair, divided at the side, and the mode of dress he chose to clad his lanky body in was b-boy fashion style. On his arms there were tattoos, apparently for show, thick gold rings on his fingers, and a golden chain necklace on his neck. The sight almost made Fushimi burst out laughing. So that was the type of guy that Yamata was. How Suou could let a guy like that join the team was beyond Fushimi’s understanding.
“…You’re that fucker then, huh.” Yata, a cold sharp glint in the eye, drew closer to Yamata.
Fushimi, still chuckling, didn’t forget to glare coldly from behind Yata at the other guys, playing with one of his knives so that they could see. By guarding his partner’s back and simultaneously intimidating the enemy into not trying anything funny, he ensured that his partner now had the freedom of movement. Not that there was anyone among these wimps who would be gutsy enough to try anything to begin with.
“—Yatagarasu,” Yamata groaned out Yata Misaki’s nickname as the vanguard of Homura. He was pale and trembling bodily as he sputtered out, “Wh-Wh-What’s your problem?! What the hell?!”
Before the screaming Yamata could say anything else, Yata’s fist connected with his face, sending him out of his chair and crashing into the wall. The chair fell with a thud as Yamata slid down the wall to the floor in an unsightly heap.
The atmosphere in the bar went completely chilled as if an iceberg drifted through its space. How pathetic for a place called Homura’s hangout spot, even as a joke.
Yata looked down on Yamata arrogantly.
Yamata, unable to meet his eyes, grumbled, “…I can’t believe this…” he wheezed out. “No, seriously, I just don’t get it. …What the hell. What’s your problem…”
As per dull overused cliche, his vocabulary was apparently severely lacking, nothing new there. Fushimi snorted watching washy indignation drift across Yamata’s eyes.
“Like hell you don’t know what my problem is,” Yata said. “Been doing what-fuckin-ever you please, no? No?!”
“So what if I have?!” Yamata shrieked, flipping out when he really had no right to. “What’s wrong with doing what I want?! I did pass the Red King’s installation, y'know? I earned this power for risking my life. Of course I’ll put it to use! What’s with doing what I please?! And what right do the likes of you have to judge m—”
Yata didn’t let him finish, kicking him in the chin with a tip of his shoe.
“You scum…” Yata spat out. “You’re a disgrace to Homura, doncha get all wise-ass on me with your barking, you stuck up mongrel.”
Fushimi let out a whistle at that.
“Stop with the mocking,” Yata threw the irritated remark over his shoulder at him.
All the present in the bar grew a shade paler. The sight was satisfying. Fushimi actually was having heaps of fun.
“You dared deceive the Red King… even not knowing your place has to have limits. That, I’ll never forgive…” Yata was staring down at Yamata with murderous eyes.
“…Damn,” Yamata whimpered. Still sprawled on the floor, he gritted his teeth, cursing. “It’s the chance I risked my life for. What’s wrong with making the best of it? What’s wrong with doing what I want to do? It’s not like you people give a damn about us either way… Having fun by yourselves. In which case, what’s your problem with us having our own fun and doing what we want? If you get ignored, ignore them back, that’s how the world works, no…?!” Yamata cried out to no one in particular.
And there, it dawned on Fushimi: the icing on the cake of this situation was that, among other things, the guy was also a total moron. Fushimi couldn’t help laughing at that.
It wasn’t like he didn’t get what Yamata was saying. In fact, Fushimi wasn’t going to deny the truth of his words. One was free to suit oneself as long as they were doing something they could, to the extent they could. That went without saying, and no one had the right to judge them.
In Yamata’s case, however, there was a catch: he didn’t think of anyone except for himself. And that was his undoing.
Doing what one liked, as long as they could, to the extend they could. It was like that for everyone. Yata did what he pleased, and even Fushimi himself wasn’t an exception, doing what he wanted. The question, however, was, whether or not one had enough strength to insist on having one’s own way. If the answer was negative, then would one choose to ignore the fact and become defiant? Or would they give in and compromise at some point? The world worked in such a way that knowing these boundaries was essential. But this guy didn’t know them. When things didn’t go his way, he was able to only flail his arms, stomp his feet and find faults with everybody else.
A common brat was what he was.
“…Huh? What the hell are you talking about, you asswipe? I ain’t asking about your reasons or excuses…!” Yata was finally on the verge of losing it, popping a vein as he glared at Yamata. Flames started dancing around his clasped fist, probably without him realizing.
Well then, Fushimi narrowed his eyes. The blood rushed to Yata’s head real good this time, and it was no joke how furious he was at the moment. With him like that, it would be difficult to catch the timing to stop him… oh well, if Fushimi failed to stop him in time, come what may, he supposed. There were things that just couldn’t be helped, after all.
If he was honest, Fushimi didn’t share any of Yata’s anger. Homura was full of holes and stupidity anyway, and Fushimi had been accumulating - for quite a long time, too - quite a bit of resentment even towards Yata, who kept exalting Homura as something sacred.
Though, he had to admit, seeing his partner enraged wasn’t a bad thing. Like this, Yata swung his fists of his own will, not trying to hide or fake his desires. And that was the right thing to do, in Fushimi’s book.
Fushimi verified the situation in the bar once again. It had been a while since he was in such a good mood. If Yata really wanted to do it, he was prepared to stick with him till the end.
But…
“Yata. Fushimi. That would be enough,” a calm and clear sounding voice came from the door Yata smashed in earlier, making both Yata and Fushimi turn sharply to the source of voice, only to be met with an unusually strict gaze from the voice’s owner.
“Totsuka-san…!” Yata groaned.
Totsuka, smiling wistfully, slowly crossed into the bar. Surveying the situation inside, he said, “…I’m relieved. Looks like I’ve made it more or less in time, after all. I’m aware of what’s going on. And I understand your feelings, believe me, Yata, but I’m asking you to stop here. —Yamata, I expect the same of you, as well.”
Just like that, in a moment, he took the situation under control, the effect of his presence and capabilities leaving nothing to be desired. Fushimi gave a small displeased tongue click. It looked like this was as far as the party he was enjoying was allowed to go.
Totsuka gave all the present another once-over before asking, “How many of you are affiliated with Homura? I ask those of you who are, to follow me. I’m not going to do anything violent to you, so don’t be afraid. I just want to talk to you. For both our sakes.”
His voice was quiet, yet the compelling force it held was such that it penetrated into the hearts of those listening to his words.
To Fushimi, that capacity for accepting others and the ability to lead them was something he could never hope to copy. And that, he readily acknowledged and took off his hat to Totsuka. He was forced to recognize, if not without some envy, that that, too, was a form of “strength”. And that was where the true value of Homura’s third-in-command, usually so silly and careless, lay.
Before Fushimi knew it, Yata turned meek as a lamb, with his head hung in shame, and the majority of the people in the bar were following Totsuka’s orders. Totsuka sent a quick glance Fushimi’s way. For a moment, Fushimi felt rebellious feelings surge inside him, but his common sense kicked in just as fast, and he simply shrugged his shoulders.
The party was over. And Yata probably was satisfied enough now, too. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted, Fushimi supposed. It wasn’t a missed opportunity, in any case. What was left now was to dispassionately deal with whatever boring shit needed to be dealt with in the aftermath…
Except…
Fushimi’s prediction was not meant to be, as he found out as soon as he had the thought.
“Freeze! This is Scepter 4!”
The ones to burst into the bar at that moment were troops in the all too familiar blue uniform. Totsuka looked at them over his shoulder with displeasure written all over his features, and Yata turned red in the face, glaring at the newcomers.
“Huuh?! Butt the fuck out!” Yata’s angry bellow resonated throughout the bar.
As it did, Yamata, not wasting the opportune moment, jumped to his feet and rushed deeper into the joint. And it dawned on Fushimi: the bar must have a backdoor, and the bastard was planning to use it to make his getaway.
“Yata, Fushimi! Sorry, but I’ll leave dealing with this to you two!” were Totsuka’s parting words as he ran to chase Yamata.
Well, whatever. Fushimi had already lost all interest in Yamata anyway. If he had to choose, Scepter 4 seemed more interesting to confront.
Yata, taking Totsuka’s request to heart, was burning again as he charged the Scepter 4 members. The Scepter 4 rookies, still raw and inexperienced, met the enemy with tense faces.
Well, what do you know. It looked like he still could have plenty of fun with this.
Smirking with joy, Fushimi took his position as Yata’s support.
