7/S.VS.S-3
(15.08)
Having finished the long story about the past, Slugger quietly swore; the tale turned out pretty stupid.
A room with abandoned hints at a relocation. Sitting in Arika's apartment among cardboard boxes crammed full of stuff, Kirisu Yaichiro finished talking about his youth in a relatively normal tone.
"So you were acquaintances."
"Only as kids. Then we haven't seen each other at all. Always the way with childhood friends, right?"
"I suppose. But man, try imagining this story in high school. The reporters would've gone wild."
Two geniuses of the same epoch. "Genius" is merely an estimate by fans, a convenient praise.
But there are monsters that are practically sincerely acknowledged by millions. They're especially apparent in the world of sports. After all, the records are broken in a strictly defined game. "Senses", "flashy moves" and other metaphysical estimates are all empty words. Only outstanding records are a true measure; mathematics doesn’t accept a subjective onlooker and enslaves them.
From this viewpoint, Kirisu and Iguruma Kazumi were players crowned with the name "genius" without any pretense.
Those two are friends that have been rivals since childhood. Their story is so natural that for us simple people it's not merely an educational fable but something deeper, reaching for your very soul.
"So I never told anyone. Nobody needs some old tale. Take you - if I tried digging in your past you'd tell me to buzz off."
"Hmm… Well, yeah, come to think about it. But something's wrong. Usually this stuff comes up right away. What about records in the Junior League? Didn't the old team get advertised? Like a special article on you. Or some old interview."
"Yeah. Back during that… my prime everyone bragged that they play with me.
"Aah… Honestly bowed before the clearly unreachable and had the blackest of feelings towards a genius that's just beyond their limits?.. Probably the standard reaction."
Even this was a way of inconveniencing Kirisu… My imagination paints a lot of pictures, but it's better not to think of the solitude Iguruma Kazumi had to feel at the top. And Kirisu didn't tell me this for that reason.
"But "get hit and die" is… like playing Russian roulette with every pitch! Six years in a row. No slacking. That’s one scary fairytale."
Iguruma Kazumi. Even for a pure relief pitcher zero returns is a godly gift. Apparently he went to the mound somewhere around the seventh inning, so now it's clear why Koalagaoka hadn't given the opponent a single point in the second half while Iguruma was around. Back then I thought they were awesome, too, but to get no returns instead of just not losing… If he'd come out straight away it'd be a perfect win.
Career, appearance, biography - everything unknown. However, the maniac serial killer is simply called 'Sinker'.
Of course. There's no name more fitting for Iguruma Kazumi.
"But during his third year of high school he damaged his elbow and left. Overworked it?"
"Who knows… Anyway, his pitching style didn't look ahead. Despite anyone's effort, the trauma could be traced clearly. We trained alone, after all. The trainer instructs to get an effect, but first and foremost he teaches you how to last the longest. However, Iguruma didn't like trainers. He said that this slow learning should be left to those who have a reserve. That he didn't need it."
This was probably the unconscious rebellion of one born socially weak. A life without being sure about tomorrow. Nothing to lose - and that's why he was heading towards destruction with such zeal. The baseball of Iguruma Kazumi, who didn't need teachers, was dangerous to himself.
And in the end
His right hand lost to everything.
"So he's taking his revenge through the A syndrome… by becoming possessed? I'm 99% sure, but how do we confirm it?"
"Confirm? Are you for re… oh, right, that was during the day. Whatever, forget it."
"What?"
Kirisu waves his hand as though swatting at a mosquito.
Hmm… I don't want to think about that, but did I personally meet the maniac? What if - and only if - I keep stumbling into various psychos all the time? Scary.
"Whatever, I'll find it in the notebook. Hey, Kirisu. What do you want to do about Sinker? It's clear that a possessed can't be cured. So you want to catch him and drag him to the police station or just to make him into an urban legend?"
"Nah. If the police catch him, let them. He's messing my entire SVS up, but he's gone on such a spree that the police should go all out now. I don't care what happens to a freak that keeps destroying all the pitchers for mindless fun."
"Uh huh. Well, as a connoisseur of unique events, I think that's for the best. But I don't think he's killing 'just for fun'."
"You should. That he dies if he gets hit is only in his own head. But you can't force your rules on the batter."
"Well, yeah, but is 'if I die when I get hit, then you die when you don't hit' a logical reason to kill batters? Sinker's actions mostly lack thought, but there is something like a creed. To capture the goal; to take nothing but the life. The wallets are there, and he doesn't play around with corpses, right? So Sinker has some goal besides the killing. Perhaps revenge or a longing, or maybe a strong attachment, I don't know, but still."
By Mato-san's decree I don't make contact with A syndrome carriers if I don’t have a reason. They're in ruins, but there's a reason they fell apart. They have some root, a reason to do things their exact way.
"Revenge or an attachment, you say…"
Kirisu frowned, apparently finding an echo of something he knew himself in my words. I understood that he hadn't said everything yet.
"Listen. I don't really want to say it…" - or get involved at all, perhaps. - "But maybe you can at least give him a friendly warning?"
"No. I already said, there's nothing connecting us."
'Then why the hell did you drag me into it?' - I want to retort, but don't. Kirisu's trying to stop Sinker but doesn't want to meet him in person. Because when they meet, a duel will most likely start.
"You aren't connected, and you won't fight him. Oh, yeah, you can't be a batter at all, right?"
"Uh huh. I left baseball and don't have a death wish, thank you. And anyway, a human can't hit that ball."
"Right. So that's the main issue."
A lethal game where the loser dies.
Sinker's demonic ball is undoubtedly real, so there's no reason to put yourself in harm's way… No. Kirisu is afraid to death that it won't be duel at all.
If he doesn't hit, he won't save. Should he find a countermeasure, the game will end in a death anyway.
A cruel rule. This game is unfair to Kirisu from the start.
"All right, whether we take part in Sinker's games is another matter. Just an example: if you are the batter, what will you do?"
"Nothing, that's what… I won't manage against a second-degree sinker… Well, logically, any screwball in the strike zone can be caught. But a swing is a world in a second. See the screwball's type, make the correction, and if there's a trajectory change after the throw you can't react already."
He says scary things with a pretty calm face.
That's why other batters said about Kirisu Yaichiro that it's just not fair.
The important thing is that the ball enters the strike zone - the zone where the swing can be - and this guy will accurately hit any screw ball. Extraordinary static eye measurement and reaction speed, explosive force of white muscle tissues and pinpoint concentration go into technique… The type of the screw ball is clear, but Kirisu Yaichiro has never felt a normal batter's heavy realization that the bat won't hit the ball.
If you can determine the screwball's type, the ball gets returned just as imagined. This is the normal thinking of this genius slugger.
"If it changes a second time, this isn't baseball any more. You can track the first change, but the second… you won't react. The second change is when I already gauged the type and trajectory. Screw balls changing when I already reacted don't fit the previous batting response."
"Got it. So you either have to hit the second change or not come out at all. But Sinker's balls really turn at an angle, you know? Even if they only turned once, you still can't follow them, right?"
"Not if you see the pitcher for the first time… Dude. How many times do you think I played with Iguruma? Against him - let him do right turns or whatever - the odds are even. I'll be able to adjust my return after the first pitch."
That so… Not just baseball, but any sport sharpens your intuition in a battle.
The pitcher and batter are edge cases of that; without synchronization the batter will neither return the pitch nor even hit the ball. The pitcher and batter are the most synchronized pair. And these two have done it thousands of times since their childhood competitions.
Kirisu knows Sinker's every habit.
Even though Sinker's possession leaves him well beyond the limits of many batters, to Kirisu Yaichiro he's the easiest opponent in the world.
Conclusion: the problem lies with the second dimension. That's also the reason why Kirisu Yaichiro apparently left baseball.
"We seem to have come to an unpleasant topic. It's like parallel lines, what the hell."
I give up and rise from my box.
An outsider shouldn't be asking why he left.
A guy who has never known failure broke his bat without any outside influence. Like a bird in the sky throwing away its unique wings. I can't understand this bitterness, and it's sinful to try and learn it.
However, yeah.
"But you helped Sekura Yumiya. Why?"
I must ask as a buddy.
"Work. I took the money and hid him. That's my job right now."
"I see. Heh, you got smarter over the year and a half. You memorize things so well!"
Though the bit about living as an adult got stuck in his mind. Noticing the irony, Kirisu clicked his tongue in annoyance and stood up.
"Enough about this. Forget about SVS, okay? Just leave Sinker to the police."
'Well, bye!' - said his back, and Kirisu went on straight to the next room. There he dropped onto the only bed.
"Eh?.."
What, wasn't he getting fed up and leaving?
"Well, you see, the karaoke where I used to sleep is now swamped with cops, so I have nowhere to live. You have your family home, so lend me this apartment, okay?"
Freeloader. Not waiting for my reply, he went straight to dream land.
"Well, I don't mind… Why are you so fat."
Hmm. Apparently that he dropped everything due to a mental trauma was just me overthinking things.
(sink)
Right hand hurts. Yesterday at night the seventh player was mercilessly finished off.
◇
It was cold. As though in a snowstorm, it shook under the summer sun.
Awakening is always the same. Goosebumps as thick as arrows and the rasping throat tear sleep away.
Upon awakening it barely resembles a human. The reasoning, the consciousness themselves are frozen. It shambles along the dirty construction site, shaking like a ghost, pours water from the sink on the washing platform on its head and is finally itself again.
The dirty mirror reflects a hooded killer maniac.
It feels is face and counts the downed targets.
The first was something like a warm-up. Killed to test own abilities.
The second was on the list. Low priority but since he was right there the sequence could be rearranged. Is this summer especially cold? After the execution it seemed to become much colder.
The third wasn't essential. Just played around too much. Wasted too much blood, strained the elbow. It stayed broken the entire day after the match.
The fourth was found as was becoming a habit and quickly removed. To return home at least a day earlier, he destroyed him while playing around. But why did he do that - he sometimes mysteriously forgot.
There was a fifth,
a sixth - suddenly the various noises were gone. The elbow was taking a while to heal. When it hurt before, it was only after matches. Now each pitch hurts, the old wound opens. Not a problem. It broke, but for now it stayed in line and served. Yes. For now it stayed in line.
The seventh. Noticed that it was over when saw splattering brains. The important match over, counted the balls - four left - and finally remembered that day.
"Ah… Aah…"
Deeply inhaled, exhaled.
What's the deal with this summer? So little oxygen it was impossible to breathe. Skin-wracking cold. The city is silent, as though dead, on the tea table was a long-haired doll with a noose on its neck, one of those that call the rain if you hang them on the window.
Shakes head, holding back nausea. A cold summer, fine. For it summer has been cold for a long time. Hard to breathe, fine too. Summer is just once a year. If it wasn't that hot, where's the charm?
But the silence is unbearable. It liked noise. Senseless bustling, cacophony. Most of all it loved the furious roar of the tribunes: the waves swept over its entire body.
Now nothing could be heard. When the match begins it gets colder. And more painful. But strangely, with each match the outside world's sounds faded more and more.
"Aah…"
Everything only brings suffering, can't remember what all this is for. Right arm twitched, the wrath made it move. When the first one was found, the skull seemed like a crematorium, filled with rage. It was easy to surrender to bone-melting heat. The former hot-headedness came back. But it's not even fun to pitch any more. The ears hear nothing. 'Where's that merciless summer when I wanted to close those eyes?' - the figure in the mirror extends an arm and mocks.
Because it's nowhere.
Maybe there never was one!
"Ah…"
There are no fun memories. They disappeared beforehand. Only base-hurt. The only reward was pain. Having stubbornly endured it for six years, - he - is standing here today.
With this conclusion the consciousness awakened at last.
The cold froze the mind. Yeah, yeah, nothing is fun. Only matches are. It's only fun on the job, the lips under the hood twitch. But - what about the fifth? Was it fun?
The fifth…
The fifth was an unpredictable opponent. Didn't intend to force a match on him. That batter knew nothing after all. But he was bored, and the batter he met was a superb opponent. He sincerely didn't want to fight the guy. But in the end he had to kill. Now his baseball, even unwilling, became such that if he started a game, he had to kill in the end.
"Ri… ght… Faster… Ne… xt…"
…Something's broken, destroyed. Both mentally and physically.
But he doesn't know what's destroyed.
Why? Because his sanity returns only during fights. And even then this cold summer has him at the point of freezing.
The maniac - Sinker - reaches towards a silver cellphone. A glowing dot picks the eighth victim. The GPS built-in only for the game's aces shows the place.
■
(16.08)
According to the report, the maniac's victims numbered seven.
The investigation HQ had isolated Sekura Yumiya as the suspect, but the other day the sixth and seventh victims received lethal injuries, and the investigation's vector became a wide sector.
Assistant inspector Touma Mato became head of the investigation HQ, and the decision was made to consider the case an A-syndrome related incident.
The police haven’t yet determined the identity of the maniac serial killer Sinker, but with the creation of an investigation HQ it was just a matter of time. The police will certainly learn about Iguruma Kazumi.
To be precise - a day later the identity is determined, a day more to prepare the raid. Finally, another day for the devilishly relentless and rapid development of the capture scenario.
Though with quite a bit of subjectivity, the operation was entrusted to Touma Mato, and the success three days later became another fact in her string of victories.
■
"And then it came to me. Only the fourth wasn't an official batter in SVS! It was a reverence. That's really suspicious. So I looked into it and found a pretty solid link. Honestly, it's just wrong when everything fits so well."
Under the shining rays of the sun a detailed report is being given by Tsuranui Mihaya.
"Uh, Arika, I should've said 'revelation' instead of 'reverence', right?.."
Perhaps not wanting to traumatize the blissful girl, Karyou Kaie lowered his voice to a whisper.
"If we correct her every time, sun will set, so don't fall for it. With this one it's smoothly or not at all."
As for me, due to the sofa's occupation I’d taken out the pipe chair and, sitting down near the bedhead, was listening to Tsuranui's message.
"The fourth was called Shinohara, by the way. He was a member of 'Koala's' baseball club in high school. So, I found out that more than half of the other victims are also 'Koalas'. You could say that all SVS members have baseball experience, but aren't there a few too many of you, dear koalas?"
"True. And anyway, the fact the current baseball ace, Sekura, signed up for SVS, is suspicious in itself. If Koya and others found out, they'd forbid entering to all second years."
"That's right! They say that it's just small fry this year, but even the club captain gambling is nonsense. So I talked to former 'Koalas'… They say Sekura-kun doesn't care for baseball any more. Only fools play for real, you can take it easy during the summer, and so on. Ha-ha-ha… Did that prodigal son croak from the curse or what?"
"The heavens punished him enough, leave him alone, please. Again, in Sekura Yumiya's case they were joking. Without a facade like that he wouldn't last."
"Oh? Why do you know such things, sempai?"
"Because he became possessed. If he didn't care about baseball he wouldn't be backed into a corner enough to warp his arm."
Most likely, Sekura Yumiya's spirit was loyal to baseball. His potential just couldn't reach the ideal.
After all, the previous ace, Komagiri, came after the strike-outer 'Doctor K' Iguruma. The weight of expectations on all sides isn't an easy or medium one. A talent forged by Junior and Senior is just another ordinary man before an unimaginable genius. Sekura Yumiya ran from it all and hid his head in SVS.
The world of high school baseball, like other sports, was rather harsh. Every player in the team trained as much as or more than you. Effort applied, talents available and other natural things are also in your opponent's grasp. As a result thousands of people in clubs compete in one prefecture, lose and drop out.
Among them only those who put talent, effort and luck together - the chosen ones - win. Sekura Yumiya believed he was one of those. But he cleverly realized this was self-delusion, and diligently searched for an escape route.
He won't win in the world of high school baseball. Won't be crowned as an ace. If so - where could be in the epicenter, as before?
"Pfft. So the prodigal son Sekura couldn't win in high school baseball and went on to SVS?"
"What, isn't that how it goes? He is a prodigal son, no? He had a lot of money, why would he get seriously involved with the betting?"
"Aah."
Money already tired him long ago. The thing that made Sekura most happy was others' envy.
"Uuu… I want to understand him even less… Maybe he is cursed after all? For example, going bald…"
"You're pretty strict to Sekura-kun, Tsuranui. Is it related to most victims being Koalagaoka players?"
"It is. Hmm, can I say something unpleasant?"
She hesitated, picking words. Probably to suit Kaie.
"Please. I'm used to it, don't worry. You're so kind, Mihaya-san."
And Kaie, quiet as a thieving cat a gallant as a princess, smiled at her.
Tsuranui, not used to praise, blushed and froze.
"Th-thank you so much!.. A-a-au, that'snononotwhatiwantedtosay, s-s-sempai, Karyou-san is so great! Oh no, that shine! He's too bright for me! No, so good, I'm melting!"
Oh you, remnant of a pagan world.
"Wait, if Karyou's visage makes one melt, does that make him a saint?.. Well, whatever, go on, Tsuranui."
"Oh! A-ah yes, hold on. Karyou-san, it's not nice to muddle the waters like that!.. Keep in mind, it's not for sure, but… Last year there was a case of aggression in Koalagaoka's baseball club. The school hushed it up, apparently, but something like a lynching happened in the club room, and the captain Iguruma Kazumi was held responsible. He was expelled.
"Remember how Iguruma Kazumi left the mound at last year's qualifications finals? It happened then."
"I heard he broke his elbow. Held responsible, you say? Sounds as though he was doing the lynching."
"Wh, whoa, sempai, your look is scary! Uuu, that's why I didn't want to say it, but now… Uh, yeah, it's as you said. They say that Iguruma-san was the one lynched by the second and third years in the club headed by Sekura Yumiya. They said he wasn't fit for the baseball club, piled up on him, and the elbow was like… But the school judged Iguruma-san to be the instigator… or not, but some time later, Iguruma-san came to Sekura Yumiya's class during a lesson and tried attacking him, but the teacher held him back… And - presented as leaving of his own accord…"
Tsuranui's story was incomplete in places. She glossed over some events I and Kaie wouldn't like hearing about.
"That's the story… What do you think, sempai?"
"Nothing to think about. Tsuranui, just give me the report."
"Huh?! N-no-oooo, sempai, n-no ha-ands!"
The girl defends the papers' virginity from me, I confiscate them.
"Ah, I want to look too. Arika, get over here."
The demon, sensing a kitten's smell, reaches out.
I sit down on the bed and leaf through the materials.
Mmm, what cute, round letters with a refined touch.
◇
The collective aggression towards Iguruma Kazumi presumably occurred the day before last year's qualifications.
The materials weren't formally acceptable, and since the incident is presumed not to have happened, only so many small details could be found.
It's stated that Iguruma Kazumi damaged the elbow and fingers on his right arm.
The reason for punishment was personal feelings.
That Iguruma Kazumi played baseball alone.
That he didn't rely on the team at all.
And… This reason is considered the one that delayed their actions the most… that Iguruma Kazumi's family was unhappy. To an onlooker their standard of living seemed glaringly low, his clothes and own mother - dirty, which served as a reason.
In fact, Iguruma's family situation was strained. His education bills were waived as a promising baseball player, but his well-being still was far below an average high schooler’s.
Besides, his mother didn't have a permanent workplace, gathering empty cans and bottles day after day, delivering them for recycling and thus earning a bit.
Her activity area in that sphere was very wide. Center station, up to two or even three city blocks away was where she kept walking, gathering trash, otherwise she didn't get enough money. She wore her feet down, gathering cans with splashing liquid, stomping on them, gathering them into bags, bringing them to collection points. A job available to anyone, but hard and painful. She did only that, receiving one or two paper notes a day.
…Iguruma Kazumi's mother silently kept at the job that may look like gathering trash from the side.
Married and divorced young, she didn't have an education, her looks reflected her hardships, and her essence wasn't that good either. She couldn't find a job even if she wanted to, and for her such labor was hard but necessary.
However, others didn't bother looking into the story.
Neighbors and students probably thought the look of her gathering cans and bottles funny. A second year in high school, in baseball club, the second ace right after Iguruma Kazumi - how did he take an upperclassman with such a mother standing above him?
'He's a beggar, so why is he here with me?'
Being a second year in high school - only this year and the next one left in school - Sekura Yumiya was still a kid at heart. Those don't feel pity towards weaker ones. They turn to violence not due to petty jealousy, but to correct unsightliness and bring justice, so they couldn't endure an upperclassman below themselves being an ace.
Pedigree, talent, school's support. Sekura Yumiya had it all, and Iguruma Kazumi to him was just something that 'could be removed at will'.
Thus - the day before regional qualification finals. Iguruma Kazumi suffers the aggression of eight club mates, from every year, and retires from the tournament with a trauma. Sekura Yumiya gets his coveted ace's throne a whole year earlier… This wish resulted in them being destroyed at the match, but there's no need to say whether that made Iguruma feel better.
Four months after the incident was hushed up by the school personnel, during December chills, Iguruma Kazumi burst into the instigator, Sekura Yumiya's, class, but the attempt was stopped by teachers who felt something was wrong, and the tragedy was barely avoided. Iguruma was strictly reprimanded. The teachers didn't enough value in a failed pitcher to justify him, and he 'was expelled of own accord'.
Nobody's seen him since then. There were rumors that he was seen among homeless people near the road, but no one said anything for sure.
◇
The report was easy to follow.
Rumors of those years told by alumni. Irresponsibility of the school personnel, the December aggression towards Iguruma Kazumi. This alone is enough to imagine what happened.
If there's an unclear and unnatural moment, it'd be the void between August and December… Why did he wait for four months - the materials in the report don't even give a clue.
"I see. So Sinker kills those people who lynched Iguruma-san…"
The names of Sinker's victims match those of people who were in the baseball club then.
Including Sekura Yumiya, who's detained by the police, two are left. So, Gondou-kun, the fifth, who had no relation to Koalagaoka, just was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This forces the question whether that was mindless bloodshed. Can one who was oppressed by people feel goodwill towards another? Turns out, Iguruma Kazumi doesn't really care whether he's up against those who destroyed his life or just random people.
"Hey, Tsuranui. Does Kirisu know this?"
"I think so. He was the one who told me where Iguruma-san lived, after all."
"Tch," - I clicked my tongue.
So that's why he's been circling around. He knew second-hand both who Sinker was and what his motives were. He dragged me into SVS so that I'd beat Sinker. Kirisu knows what Iguruma Kazumi is capable of. Apparently he thinks Ishizue Arika can sink him! Thanks so much for the trust… well, it is a bit flattering, but we have an unforeseen complication.
Yes. The maniac isn't Iguruma Kazumi, he turned into the possessed, Sinker.
The ball sent by Sinker amazed Kirisu who was watching a camera's recording. A demonic ball that turns twice. 'Even I, having seen a lot, can't do anything about that', - he calmly assessed.
"And now you wash your hands?.. This is what happens when that moron uses his brain for a change."
"Good job!" - I return the report to Tsuranui.
I was busy with a different matter and asked her to investigate Iguruma, and the girl exceeded my wildest expectations.
"Thanks, well done. Sorry you had to waste the whole day doing nothing."
"I-it's fi-ine, just say thanks! Because I'm… a reliable woman."
Tsuranui grinned and bent her waist like a secretary in a movie. It suits her somewhat, but sadly, she lacks glasses and chest size.
"You see, Arika? That man is a bit unlike a possessed."
Kaie, glancing through the report over my shoulder, said his strange piece.
"Why? His broken elbow fixed itself, right? Two-stage sinker, right? One hundred fifty km/h screwball, right? A complete monster, no?"
"It's not that. Not the nature of the transformation but the reason. The starting point. His motives are too obvious, and the important thing - he's not weak enough to become possessed. After all, he came for revenge even before breaking."
"Hmm…"
True, that's not right.
Most reasons for possession are fear of an 'undefined enemy'. Pressure from the side you can't perceive. Some general impressions you acknowledge you can't deal with.
A human whose soul was broken by such a thing and who's mulling over the idea of changing the situation in his head births the state called possession.
But that's not Iguruma Kazumi. Kirisu's words confirm it - he's not that easy to break. Even accounting for the shock from the elbow breaking, he may have failed, but he tried avenging himself on Sekura Yumiya. This guy's psyche is solid. His head is not made so that everything crashes due to breaking an elbow.
"Well, yes. It's probably strange to think of revenge as the stimulus. Either he kills because a challenge was made or he challenges in order to kill. If it's revenge then it's the second, but then there's no reason to play. Just drop the pretense and murder them all. There must be a reason we wouldn't even think about… See, Arika? While that reason is there, he won't stop."
Kaie means that even after clearing the revenge list, Iguruma Kazumi will keep pitching the ball.
But why?
It's all too clear. If not revenge then passion. The possessed called Sinker has a reason far more important than revenge on those who took baseball from him, and that's why he stubbornly keeps pitching.
"Probably not because he likes it. To Iguruma Kazumi baseball hasn't brought happiness for a long time now."
He said: 'Please, return it no matter what'. And confessed: 'It used to be fun, though I don't remember already'.
So there's one reason left. Iguruma Kazumi is still stuck in that red park. Playing baseball alone, he waits for the one he has to fight until someone loses.
"Kazumi-san's waiting for Kirisu-san," - Tsuranui softly whispers without showing restraint. In such moments the birds in her head sing in unison. - "This overgrown moron. Why doesn't he go return it already."
Sadly, Tsuranui is right as always.
As a pitcher, he wants to fight the prefecture's best slugger. If that's Sinker's motive, then the nightly death matches won't end, and, as usual with such matters, three days later an arrest and the hell called Mato-san await him.
"What?.. Arika, are you on the possessed, Iguruma Kazumi's, side?"
The demon on the bed smiles strangely.
"Ha-ha. Honestly, this story pisses me off. I don't really care whether he lives or dies."
I'm not joking or lying. There's no room for sympathy.
A creature that kills not for self-preservation, but for the mental reason 'must kill to live', doesn't deserve an ounce of pity.
If not for certain reasons, I'd even leave Iguruma out of the diary and forget him altogether, but…
"That's great. By the way, Arika. You realize that your job's not over yet?"
Yes-yes, that's the reason.
The goal is reflected in the notebook. How did I agree, I don't know, but it's obvious that nothing is over, and over the next three days I have to do everything in my power.
Well, I want the money too, and no one will kill me if I don't succeed. I'm considering doing everything in my power rather sloooooowly, though…
"What's bugging me, Tsuranui, is this. Why are you here?"
Tsuranui and Kaie exchanged puzzled glances.
"Well, sempai. I was heading over to give you the report, and then I see you, going to your job. And well, I gave in to temptation and it so happened I kind of tailed you."
The fresh-made stalker clearly thinks I'll fall for this. Should I take her to the police…
"Mhm. You said nothing, and I thought she came with you, like Kirisu-san. And Mihaya-san isn't recoiling from me. Aah, and here I was thinking you told her already…"
'You didn't, huh??' - my employer asks with his eyes.
Well, if Kaie's okay with it, I am too. Tsuranui was thinking too hard about my superior, and they'd meet anyway sooner or later. I should be happy that such turbulent times are starting, really.
"So? What do you think?"
"Mmm. On one hand, I'm relieved that it's a man, but on the other, if you really think about it, it's not quite like some strange feeling is not forming… You can't tell right away, but this guy's a bit creepy, boss?"
Just how hare-brained are you, hey?
■
"Go earn it," - Kaie said with a smile and made me leave the underground.
He gave me the left arm: "Arika likes to get in trouble! So take this just in case". With mixed feelings, after considering what's ahead of me I decided to borrow it. I do have to go investigate, and if word spreads that a one-handed guy is snooping around, I'm done for. This time Mato-san will definitely execute her coveted plan of executing me by placement in a punching bag, so I'll want to lay low.
Tsuranui, not having had enough, followed me; but before the Shikura station I shook her off and took a municipal bus.
The end point is near the industrial district, Nozu. This is a place that, even in Shikura, stands out like an island on the mainland that only locals approach.
Nozu consists of an industrial zone stretching three kilometers wide and sleeping quarters - the workers' living area; nothing to attract outsiders.
The sleeping quarters house a market for food and domestic needs, and few families shop anywhere else. The same goes for us living outside Nozu, and not being workers, we have nothing to do with it. It's like a separate town within Shikura. There's an open communal establishment consisting of three thousand apartments in which eight thousand people live as though not in this world; well, in a material sense they're in it all right. You can get to it by bus in half an hour, like me, and recently a subway station 'Nozu Industrial District' has opened. This zone is called an island on the mainland because it doesn't even have a way station.
My personal opinion is that rather than 'an island on the mainland' the term 'fortress on the hill' would be more appropriate. After all, the Nozu industrial zone is on an elevation, the surroundings can be seen well, and it somewhat resembles a warship thrown onto the ground and left to rust.
I ride the empty bus like a baron and leave at the 'West Industrial Zone' stop.
Instantly the merciless summer sunlight envelops me.
"Ugh. Oh, ohh, braaains," - I wailed mindlessly.
A heat of over thirty degrees knocks any desire to do things out of you.
The road is unhurried and steady. Or not, being sloped upwards. Along the roadside are the communal establishment's buildings resembling giant dominoes. The sky is high and blue, and trees planted to erode mental hygiene are united in already digging into the city blocks.
At first glance it looks like a curious resort town. But a normal observer will soon notice the lack of people, the light aftertaste of horror-esque ruin, and as a dessert, sometimes local gossips give you curious and suspicious looks, as though standing guard over the intruder from their windows.
"Yeah, this is the stuff that goes into urban legends… Here's the house where a patrolman was lynched… oh, nice, there's a gossip there too."
According to the local map installed near the road, this western entrance - in terms of mountain paths - is about the second stage of the ascent.
The patrolman lynching case is a sort of urban legend that happened in July. Residents of a neighboring block complained to the patrolman on duty that 'there were weird people in that building', and the officer charged in there with a newbie's vigor and a battle cry. He went on to disappear and be found a week later, thrown into a trash box like garbage, by a garbage truck driver. The police began an investigation with their honor at stake, but there were no solid leads. There was no trouble connected to the residents, so the case came to a dead end.
This building is オ-13. Either the map's old or something else, but there are not more than a dozen buildings under the オ category… Our auspicious house was given a fittingly lucky number, but that's fine, easy to remember.
"Fine. I'm not wandering the district."
Luckily, my business lies not in the living quarters but in the neighboring factory. I wanted to see that park Kirisu and co. had such tender feelings towards, but after looking at the map I gave up.
I walk down the three-lane road. No passenger cars in sight, just large trucks passing by once every ten minutes. Watching them out of the corner of my eye, I leave the alien world of Nozu's illusory multi-story buildings for the land of normal people.
If you leave the hillside and go into the city, you'll find a perfectly healthy industrial belt. When you lift your eyes to the sky, Nozu would seem like a proper city if not for those high-rise buildings.
I begin what I came here for, - a search for objects.
Closed factories, territories easy to get into, buildings under construction… be great to find a shop… well, I'm looking around. My preliminary analysis suggested four places that fit the bill. While inspecting them all I also paid a visit to Iguruma Kazumi's house.
Iguruma Kazumi's house is in Nozu's suburbs.
Near the canal dug as a waste water reservoir there was a lone one-story apartment house in all the glory of the twenties.
"Excuse meee, is anyone hooome?"
I open the sliding door with no doorbell… well, there's nothing to ring with. At once a woman's voice replied, not from the house, but the garden:
"Oh, guests? Young ones are a rare sight indeed!"
The lively, cheerful voice confuses me.
"Hello. I would like to talk to you about Iguruma Kazumi-kun."
"Oh. Well, let's… Oh, you have a bat? You play baseball too, young man?"
She readily starts talking.
Looks like walking around with a holstered bat was a good idea. The potentially uncomfortable questions didn't come up, and my prepared lines were surprisingly unnecessary.
Anyway, after nearly two hours of talking the events of the four-month void cleared up. Putting the facts down in my notebook, I said goodbye and left.
"Still so early, huh," - I checked the clock on my golden phone and became dejected.
An hour before sunset. Personally, I wanted the sun to set right this instant.
■
With the sun down, the temperature dropped four degrees to thirty. Life became much easier. Besides, I’ve cheerfully forgotten all the bad things and am going to search for the object in a good mood. When I finally found the right site it was past 10 PM.
As usual, I take a walk back. Combining saving pocket change and light training. The human body is valuable, if I don't develop my one-handed carcass right, it'll pretend to be air in the critical moment, and then it's over.
Back from Nozu, along untrodden paths.
Unfamiliar views of the city float by; but even here young baseball payers can be seen. About twenty, raising a busy but amusing noise. Correctly fencing the empty road with poles, so as not to bother the neighbors, they cheerfully and tensely organize betting matches. Hard to tell whether they're decent guys or shady ones.
"Well… that's the point of the game, though."
My sentimentality is inappropriate, but I have to confess, I even grinned.
To those concerned this is entertainment good for wasting time, but to onlookers it's just a laughable farce. And now - the man who had always wanted to be a member is only connected to it as a farce.
The graduates go all out, as though drunk on summer's last days, and the guy who created the whole thing turns away so as not to see it.
The past of two genius sportsmen.
Kirisu Yaichiro threw his away, and Iguruma Kazumi's was taken by those around him. Though differently, their summer ended, finita, curtains.
The one who threw it away left the scene entirely, the one who lost it became a phantom that now kills batters on the streets.
"Nothing changed, huh."
And if during the summer two years ago Kirisu played against Iguruma Kazumi… no, if he at least didn't abandon baseball, it wouldn't have come to this.
I can't blame him. Because we're not that flexible. You can't put back what was broken, can't find a new passion: too sickening.
Besides it's almost impossible to believe, accept that the thing you loved so much can be replaced so easily.
"Ah yes… You can't find a replacement. Only find something similar. But that's fine! No point breaking your back finding something exactly the same."
The man who was called a genius, by completely throwing away his love for baseball, protects it with the same gesture. He scrupulously kept the irreplaceably irrecoverable as properly irrecoverable.
He doesn't want to grasp the lost in tears, thus lowering its value. If he kept holding on, then both baseball and he, led by its spirit back in the day, would devalue. Thus - decisively, saying 'yeah, it happens like that', he turned away. With the regretless phrase he salutes the shine he lost.
"Iguruma is the opposite. Of course they never hit it off."
This moment overlapped due to some mistake.
Sportsmen who don't value victory above all.
A genius batter who said: 'It's enough for baseball to be fun'.
That was why everyone decided he didn't have enough talent to be a professional. Kirisu swings his bat not for himself but for baseball. This sincerity must have looked like suffering to those without it.
Tearing my gaze away from the entrancing game, I walk again.
There are no trains along the way to Shikura. Not a road parallel to the highway, to grant some safety at night, either.
I was walking on the four-lane state road, and before me rose a crossing going up and down.
Being on foot, I naturally go down, by the bridge support.
Under the crossing it's gloomy and empty. Just a single long road under the bridge. Over my head engines and wheels echoed, but down here was lonely, like a different world.
An elongated, empty car parking.
Bluish light and a narrow but straight, easy to see stretch of asphalt.
And then an echo of an electric bell's scream.
My left hand is pierced by a sharp pain.
Taking out the golden phone, I look ahead of me.
Exactly eighteen meters ahead, under a streetlight is the figure of a monster in a hoodie. I jerk the phone open and take the call.
"This you, batter?"
A rasping voice sounds through the speaker.
Puzzled at my own relaxation, I noted that this was how opponents were picked.
"Sinker…"
I stop and put the case down.
Emitting clouds of steam, an unknown hooded youth appeared before the ninth.
◆
This was how Ishizue Arika was caught by the hooded killer.
Inhuman breathing can be heard from the golden cellphone.
Summer is a time of horrors. Not quite a ghost under a sakura tree near the gate, but a phantom under the bluish light - is standing so that it's nearly falling, measuring me with concentrated eyes. His look is past the line where pity begins.
"So… will you bat?"
A voice close to white noise.
A near-death plea spiced with a terminal stage of hatred.
The 'merciless maniac' who killed eight sportsmen already is not like I pictured him at all.
This is Sinker?
Limbs shaking from the cold.
I should probably be afraid.
His eyes are watching me pathetically.
Back in the day batters felt like his targets and wanted to run.
Now it's painfully inverted. He's not the one begged for mercy but the one wanting help. With a voice of not a conqueror, but a hospital patient the killer Sinker repeats:
"Please… You are a batter, right?.."
'Fight me'.
Like a drug addict, looping, needing nothing else.
A momentous flash - if I run full speed now, I can get away, - but two seconds later - nah. Sinker's right hand, covered by a long sleeve, has been holding the ball for a while now.
…Don't be fooled by this voice crying from the heat. He can't be pitied. Phantoms have been dragging people to hell while pleading for help since ancient times. This is just an undead looking for its kin. No running. If you see a ghost, fight back, there's no other way.
I grip the bat. How's my left arm doing? No need to check. The black prosthesis has been burning up since Sinker appeared.
"Damn… What a great coincidence."
In the end, I didn't learn everything about how Iguruma Kazumi came to be this way, and wasn't quite willing to fight, if not for the prosthetic. Now my blood is unexpectedly boiling. The black arm is giving Ishizue Arika courage. Uh huh, you want killing - you'll have it. How does this left arm activate anyway?..
"Or maybe it's a pretty crappy one."
Taking the bat into both hands, I raise it straight up with a wide gesture.
I move it back over my shoulder, relaxing the shoulder belt.
My body's ready. The psyche's trembling a bit, but how else do you play to the death?
"Fine, killing it is. Let's do it, possessed."
I respond to the phantom's white noise with a beautiful gesture.
Sinker curved the mouth under the hood into a smile, closed the phone and raised his left arm - the sleeve flapped like a wing.
No starting signals.
A very rough but smooth pitching swing.
A side shoot ball threatening to dig into my ribcage. A spinning ball impossible for an average sportsman at one hundred and thirty kilometers per hour.
…I hear a brisk sound. The ball I returned goes nowhere near what I thought. Catching on the bat, it didn't fall onto the game territory but went off the road and disappeared under the crossing. A foul ball, it's called. A strike until two strikes, and then not counted as an incomplete hit.
"Wh…what?"
The pitcher's face eighteen meters away clearly twisted in amazement.
The first serve ended in a draw with some losses. The score is one strike. My bad, of course. I was a bit too slow getting myself into the proper condition. This is not the square, just asphalt. With a better positioning of my back foot I can match the speed to the ball.
With the same astonished look the killer maniac pitches another ball. Another shoot ball. And again compassion timidly visits me. Same pitch twice in a row… How senseless. What, were his previous opponents so bad they were cool with not hitting such relaxed throws?
The bat rings weakly.
A foul ball, a bit easier to see this time, bounces off onto the asphalt.
"For crying out loud. Stop patronizing me, or I'll send the next right into your face."
The score is two strikes. But I already have the timing down. If he does a shoot ball again, the game's over.
"What are you surprised at? Don't you know there were two geniuses on Shikura's hill?.. Well, all the talk about me was for naught. Until that meddling Kirisu showed up, the genius Shikura batter's title was mine, you know?"
I spun the bat and relaxed my shoulders.
Demanding a third throw from the pitcher stunned by the ball being touched twice.
"Hey, pitcher. If you don't throw next for real, you'll die, right?"
"H… Hhh!.."
Light returns to Sinker's eyes.
The third ball was a slider, not in the strike zone. I let it by, naturally. The fourth. Feinted a shoot ball into the outer angle and sent it into the inner one. Coursing along the edge of the strike zone. A foul ball, can't be helped. Fifth. Foul, too. Sixth was tense, but foul. Seventh, foul as well.
"Tch…"
So the overconfident one was me. I'm starting to notice - with Sinker's every pitch his speed and spin quality rise. This is not the only pressure. An unnatural cold makes me forget the summer heat. The piercing glare contains hatred concentrated on killing the target. Nausea… Like a cloud of locusts, splashes of a disgusting feeling.
The score is two strikes, two balls.
It's already the seventh pitch.
My forehead is sweating. The opponent is raising gears, my nerves heat up as well.
Batting is working together with the pitcher. Concentrating on their smallest movement, with each one's start you do your own.
Batting is not fighting the pitcher. It's adjusting to him. Being one with his thoughts, breath, movements. After that you put the bat and the ball together. Unavoidably. Now Ishizue Arika grasped the thrower's state as his own, and…
"A… ha, ha!.. Good, you're finally awake!.. You're good if you try!.."
…felt the killing intent of Sinker, who the excitement woke up.
The images matched.
The weakened state is no more.
Alive eyes. An overbearing pose. On his lips - the smile of a winner who destroyed many a batter.
Karyou Kaie asked why Sinker grabbed baseball so hard. It's clear. To him pitching is like breathing. Like how he would die if he didn't breathe, to this killer baseball was nothing other than an indispensable symbol of life.
An A syndrome carrier's perverted obsession. This demon is the incarnation of the deep delusion that he can't simply live. This is not what Sekura Yumiya had, it's true possession.
"Oh, by the way…"
I speak calmly on purpose, but now I, too, am going down the same road his other victims did.
There's no steam coming out from under the hood. Does his mind return as the match heats up?.. The maniac standing some distance before me is no longer a pitcher Ishizue Arika can cross swords with.
It's true. I still can hit the ball with my bat. I think I'll predict the next ball, but not the one after that. Of course, this is assuming he sticks to his usual screwballs.
The legendary double sinker. I won't even have time to react to a demonic ball with two degrees of spin.
"Uh huh… So that's why I was thinking you were familiar, you're Ishizue-sempai!"
The killer that didn't even know who he was playing with finally realized.
"Do we know each other?.."
I don't have the energy to spare on banter, but the reaction was automatic.
"Huh? What's with you? Even I remember you, though it was a while ago… Aah, yeah, I got it. You did say… Damn, that's nasty. You must have had a hard time, too."
Sinker angrily spits. Apparently he can't bear looking at my handicap.
"But see how you became in the end? Then it was unthinkable, but now… I'm happy for you, Ishizue-sempai. Shikura's treasure wasn't a fake. Yeah, if both your hands were alive, we'd end it on the second ball. You won't explain or justify yourself?"
True. If both my hands were a before, I wouldn't lag behind the ball.
But even if I said that, nothing would change.
"Be that way. Oh well, you better prepare yourself for the next throw, yeah?.. Nice look! I'm already uncomfortable, sempai. You're my sempai in all senses and an example to follow, after all, and I might've admired you if it was different… But honestly, it'd look unlike respect and like something weird."
He grabs the eighth ball.
…Blood is dripping from his right arm.
Either he got hurt, or the wound was there from the beginning and just opened up. Anyway, Sinker's arm, as though protesting against the rough handling, is making a crackling sound.
"But that's it. Your efforts are over… Honestly, it's good that you participated, sempai. There was anyone for a long time… My head is just spinning and cloudy. But, before something happens to me, I wanted to seriously fight a batter like you."
The killer maniac gets ready to pitch.
Two seconds later the premonition of fail is dampened by the feeling radiating out of my left arm.
My feeling of danger is lost already.
The fear is erased by the prosthesis.
I'm calm.
Because even before his face, before the death penalty that is his throw…
"Really?.. You want to fight a different guy, Iguruma Kazumi."
…I coldly threw out a striking phrase.
The movement stops. The killing intent that was like an arrow stops.
Of course. Iguruma Kazumi can't ignore my half-question. Several seconds of silence. Sinker opened his mouth, then shook his head - 'no', letting go of his regrets for the past. 'No way'. As though persuading himself - 'the other one's no more'.
"That so. Well, yeah, yeah. True. Those who would run from a duel so hard they'd abandon baseball shouldn't be mentioned. That's right, Sinker. He's long done for."
"Not done for…"
The killing intent rekindles itself like a fire.
This is not that dirty rage. It's wrath born from the sight of those you believe in being derided, righteous wrath living in the demonic ball master's right hand.
"He's still the best batter."
And don't I know it?
Whether he's in the mood or not - a hero lives within him regardless. Maybe he's rusty, but one swing - and the noble gold of his armor will shine again. This is the one you, and me too, adore so much we don't even envy him, a genius player.
"That's Slugger…" - the killer maniac said bluntly.
The pitcher is still waiting for the batter.
Denying that he's a traitor and believing in him.
How laughable. I'm going to die laughing even before the pitch. I lost control because of this left hand. I knew it from the start, after all. It's not I that has to return his ball.
"Sorry to distract you, Sinker. But since we're already talking, here's another question. What will you do when everything's over? Keep this up?"
If this goes on, he'll kill all the batters during the summer. If he kills everyone who took Iguruma Kazumi's baseball away, then what? Will he continue playing his baseball as naturally as breathing?
Didn't he think about that?.. Sinker lowers his gaze to the bloody ball in his hand.
"No. I. I, when I finish, will return home… Yes. Mom's there alone. I have to go back and calm her at last. For that… I'll shut them all up and return to baseball."
"Iguruma…"
Words I shouldn't have heard.
This is not my role. This possession must be stopped by a different person. Realizing this, I seriously thought about my job as an exorcist for the first time.
"Return to baseball - so this, now, isn't it?"
"How is this baseball? I'll go back to the mound. For this I'll kill everyone who knows. Shut up those who broke my elbow, who knows I can't manage. Those who realize I'm possessed will all be killed by me."
A crappy creed.
Well yeah, those who have attacked Iguruma Kazumi know he can't be a pitcher anymore. What'll they think, seeing him back?.. Weird. It's impossible to manage with such an elbow. There must be an unfair trick. Either doping or something else. A growth and a new life as a pitcher received from the A syndrome.
Thus - kill. Not as revenge, but to keep playing baseball behind the curtains, he'll kill everyone who knows he couldn't be healed. And this…
"Those who know the truth… and you, who knows I'm Iguruma Kazumi… the same as they."
The demonic ball master raises the bloody eighth ball.
The form is a low throw.
The launched ball showed there was nothing else to talk about and, exploding the air, disappeared from the batter's sight.
Balls don't turn twice.
A spinning screwball changes trajectory while falling. No matter the brilliant hand, no matter the force of the throw, a ball can't fly straight. It always falls. While doing that it can turn left, right, go lower - that's what a screwball is.
It'll go right after turning left?
Will it go up after falling?
That doesn't happen. A low throw gives such a spin that the arc of the arm swinging down there gives a ball upwards momentum, then makes it turn into a given direction when falling. Initially the ball rises not because of spin but because of the arm's swing.
But the ball turned out to be a surprise.
It completely disappeared from my sight. It went away from my left shoulder and further left, spreading bloody flowers, turned right, and at the moment of entering the strike zone swerved right up, aiming at the batter's jaw.
An instant lasting half a second.
Not swinging the bat, barely jerking my head away, I save my life.
So that's how it is… The burning smell in my nose and what happened right in front of it stunned and enlightened me.
"I think you know, but that was intentional, sempai. I respect you and just missed on purpose. Now it's two strikes, three balls. What will we do, Ishizue-sempai? The score's full, there's no going on!"
We'll do what we will.
I got a rough grasp of how his screwball worked.
'So that's it, how cunning!' - praising and berating myself at once, I can't think of a counter.
And anyway, 99% aren't returned by this duel's conditions. You can close your eyes, swing the bat blindly, and if the ball accidentally turns out to be where the bat was… that's on a miracle's level. Who knows about A syndrome carriers, but a normal man can't beat that.
"The last one. You don't hit it - you die, yeah?"
Sinker grabs the ninth ball.
It's pretty much over. If I run at Sinker I won't make it, if I run away I'll get it into the back of my head.
"Hhh!.."
Apparently the hot poison stopped coming out of my left hand, because the world's jerking around and disappearing out of the fear of death. I have no sense of danger, but I do have terror. Under the conditions of an unavoidable death Ishizue Arika finally regains the normal human fear.
The regret is a little late.
Uh huh, I'm reproaching myself, ended up attaching myself to trouble, while Sinker's right hand is bringing the ball to his chest. He begins the setup motion, the movement that starts the throw.
And in this moment, a second away from death…
"Heeey, replacement, replaaaaacement! Gloomy Boy is replaced by Burning Hand of Success, the batter Hinomori Shusei. A round of applause!"
…proudly, like a wall, a man in a black cape appeared. Protecting me, frozen before the figure in a black cloak with a scythe, uh, ball. Flapping his cape as though spreading his wings. A pathetic, but dear to my heart, scene of a hero's arrival.
"You…"
"Yo, boy. This is called a pinch hitter, right?"
Half turning his face towards me, Hinomori Shusei grins slowly. The demonic ball master is watching the sudden obstacle with muzzy eyes.
…Well, it doesn't matter. Reasons are reasons, but doing anything would be a balk, dear Sinker.
✠
"Yo, bro, wanna play? Let's go, big guy here'll play with you! You won't be bored at all. Definitely better than bullying decent, healthy folks from good families, so relax, smile and die!"
The man wearing reflective sunglasses and a cape.
He, earlier introducing himself to Ishizue Arika as Hinomori Shusei, speaks to the killer maniac in a friendly manner.
In his hand is a stick-like bundle. Thinner and longer than a bat. Looks like a long training sword wrapped in a cloth. Apparently he considers it a bat. He pushed Ishizue Arika out into reserve.
"Hey, what are you…"
"It's fine, fine. Arika-sensei, just go hug your shaking knees in a corner somewhere. Oh, and if you don't mind, cheer for me some, I'd be glad… The audience's support excites me strangely. Uh huh, that's nice, it's like, when you're vain and want to shout 'I'm tired of your silence', what kind of fan is that, I might as well go complete puzzles at home when I'm bored. It's better to waste time in a fun way, like, yeah, when you're pressed and you're intoxicated by the battle and the abyss so close to you, say!"
Hinomori Shusei cut the air with a horizontal swing of his long sword. Ishizue Arika went round-eyed, his pupils becoming tiny dots, and retired… Maybe due to the sight of the scary blade, or maybe not wanting to hear this rambling any longer.
"Pinch hitter… do you even know what that is?"
"Of course. You're the rumored maniac killer, right?.. Well. Don't look entirely like one, but half of me just can't pass by, so… I'll steal a little spotlight from the hero. I'm not saving you, so don't feel indebted. If you reeeally want to, think of this as thanks for the junk food."
The long hair and the cape flutter; Hinomori Shusei stands up - sword held with both hands - against Sinker as a batter.
"I don't know what you're planning, but…" - Sinker moved his gaze from Ishizue Arika to the newly arrived monster, took a step backwards. - "Since you challenged me, you're my prey now."
The killer maniac's eyes are wrathful.
Sinker is irritated that his winning pitch that would've decided the match was interrupted and by this man's callous nonchalance. To him this game is a serious battle to the death. Of course someone laughing and spoiling everything dampens the mood, but what angers him the most is still the man's attitude.
The man is wordlessly saying: this might be a death match, but it's still baseball. There's no need to take children's games seriously.
"Three balls… Well, if you're lucky, you'll live. Black cape."
The demonic ball master's killing glare fixed itself on the silently grinning Hinomori Shusei.
A showdown between a killer maniac in a hoodie and a caped monster.
An eerie, deadly atmosphere not fitting the summer night - no, not having the right to exist in a peaceful city.
The noise of passing cars comes from the crossing above, but there's a feeling of a distance far greater than it actually is. Aside from the road, before a vending machine, Ishizue Arika is watching the events unfold, and something's scratching at his soul.
"Wow. Nice, there's a 100 yen machine."
Drinking canned coffee.
However - despite his confident expectations, Hinomori Shusei raised neither a hand nor a foot towards Sinker.
First ball, second ball, both went past him. Acquiring two strikes in as many minutes, he himself made a puzzled - can't hit that - frown.
"What, newbie, only good at running your mouth?" - Sinker mocks. - "At least wave your hand, or it's all a waste."
The caped man, on the other hand, is not tense at all. Although he took up the batter's spot, he didn't move his improvised bat… No, he didn't even feel the need to do so.
"Well, damn. I thought, standing in the square would be really cool…"
He yawns… A screwball at a hundred and forty kilometers per hour. In the situation of an impending strike-out and parting with life he was very bored.
"Hmm. It's a bit dark, hard to see. Honestly, there's no drive this way. Listen, buddy. As a possessed to a possessed - let's up the speed?"
The black cape flutters.
What is that? Hinomori Shusei crouched a bit and jumped high.
"Pfhah?!"
Ishizue Arika's canned coffee sprays.
The height is a full six meters. A somersault deserving a 10-10-10-10 by the judges, too perfect - the man made a ballistic curve high up in the sky.
"Good, good. Now we need a powerful spotlight, right!"
The black cape disappears.
Ishizue Arika, looking from down on the road doesn't see what happens next. Only his imagination is hinting that something's going on.
Brakes scream in protest. The driver must've been scared: at a speed of about seventy a nonhuman suddenly appears in the headlights. Did he have time to hit the handbrake? After the screeching echo the noise went on, like a joke.
…The crossing above us turned to hell.
One after another - secondary collisions. The bridge caught fire. Constant screaming of brakes. Metal grinding and howling. People shouting. A chaotic orchestra. And the reason of the disaster shows up again.
"Not a bad improvisation, huh? All right, go up, young man. It's at least a little more fun there, let's play."
The man smiles, framed by the fire.
Over twenty severe injuries, miraculously no deaths - this is what was written in the materials on the billiard collision on Shikura highway case, which will be considered an accident until he appears again.
His name is Hinomori Shusei.
Two years ago he was being hunted with a large-scale raid over the entire south border of S prefecture, a confirmed culprit of an especially brutal killing spree. Having escaped en route to the Origa clinic and disappearing since then, the possessed called Vampire in rumors.
What did Sinker see in this man standing against a background of fire?
Like a macaque, he climbed the streetlight and jumped to the road. He couldn't do it in one leap like Hinomori Shusei, but he still showed physical ability pretty astounding for a human.
Having climbed to the scene, Sinker took a stand against the possessed framed by fire with a will to kill and an even bigger hostility.
"So that's how you came, boy. As a reward, stay on your side. I'm fine with mine."
In a few minutes the crossing became hell on Earth, but the smashed cars were burning on the left side of the road while the right was unchanged. A car passed on it, admiring the burning debris in the mirror.
…The black cape stood in the middle of this right side. Among not flying bullets, but hunks of metal approaching at seventy kilometers per hour, he was smiling, holding the long sword at ready.
"Hey, young baseballer, this is the last ball. I'm dodging somehow here, so pitch it into the strike zone. Don't worry, it's just a ball game after all. The viewers must have a show, or they'll be mad!"
Hinomori Shusei is not in his right mind.
But Iguruma Kazumi has long burned out his common sense as well.
"A ball game, you say…"
Can't win. Can't beat this man, the possessed right arm screams. No winning means the outcome is clear. If I pitch, he'll return. If he returns, I'll die. As soon as the third ball is in the air, his life is over. But Sinker won't stop. He won't rest easy until he destroys this man deriding baseball with his 'ball game' with this very game.
"Haa!.."
Suppressing the agony of his tendons, he swings his right hand.
The speed and trajectory are lightning-fast.
A demonic ball impossible to hit for a human dances in a zigzag over the road, heading for the target.
The target is not the body but the strike zone.
The maniac killer Sinker is one who crushes batters' hubris. Begin with a strike-out, otherwise the batter's life can't be taken. Even if he's taken by the premonition it'll be returned, this rule's set in stone… And as a result:
"Whoop… nnhaah?!"
Hinomori Shusei simply and elegantly missed Sinker's demonic ball. The swing was terrifying and empty. An unmistakable miss. Elegant and meaningless, this could be displayed as art.
Thus the duel ended, and Sinker's gripping the punishing ball with no hesitation. The target is the back of Black Cape's head. The demonic ball that takes the life of a target that got struck out. Too bad, black-cape-man. If Ishizue Arika was near, he'd probably be shouting 'Wow, you lameass!' at Hinomori Shusei with all his might.
"Oh wow… Huh, yeah, try hitting that. Turns out it's not just some two-stage spinning ball. It changes not only direction, but speed too! I see, I see, so you can control it that way too, huh…"
He has no desire to listen to Hinomori Shusei's excuses. Sinker, as though lining up with a passing car, releases a demonic ball to the side of his target.
"Oh?"
The demonic ball passed Hinomori Shusei, disappeared in the darkness and then, sparking, flew into the defenseless target.
Everything as usual, trajectory's right, not a centimeter's error - an attack crushing the head's back. But…
"Nope, not gonna work."
As with the previous strike out, Hinomori Shusei simply dodged the demonic ball coming out of the dead zone.
"Uh huh. Hard to return, but dodging can be managed."
The caped figure leaves the batter's posture.
Taking the long sword in one hand, it brings a finger of the freed left to its mouth. A long tongue reaches out towards it from the gap between inhumanly jagged teeth.
"Good, good, you won, young man."
The black cape flutters.
Relaxing the hand with the long sword, the vampire finally shed his lively mask…
"But you see… The luck to survive isn't related to that."
…and smiled cruelly, like a wolf playing with its prey.
The black cape flutters in the wind.
The first step is casual.
For some reason Sinker didn't even see it as the beginning of a pounce upon the prey.
"Kh!.."
He'll be swallowed whole. This intuitive conclusion makes Sinker grab the first ball. He kicks the ground at full speed and jumps back. Taking the ball from his parka with his left hand, he passes it to the right, quickly contracting and wounding up at the same time. Grinning with his uneven teeth, Vampire is assaulted by the sure-kill demonic ball as he takes the step.
Worthy of admiration.
Jumping back and ending up on a crashed car's roof, he instantly turns his body sideways on one foot. Looking from above, his side pitch resembles a beautiful perfect circle drawn with a compass. Even after releasing a ball at a hundred and thirty kilometers per hour, he didn't stop turning.
Three revolutions in just two seconds, like a spinning top. With mechanical precision he lets loose no less than three demonic balls. With delays of half a second they went for the target.
From the target's point of view - from the left, right, and near-precisely above. The balls meant to catch Black Cape turned at a right angle after a second's delay, each to its own direction, and went for the target at incredible angles.
Instantly closing three sides off, invisible sniper shots. In the gap between these unavoidable strikes Vampire roared with laughter.
If Sinker's trademark attack is a refinement of human technique, Vampire is on the level of a natural disaster.
Surrounded on three sides, Black Cape went for Sinker. At a speed that only lets a blur be seen, spinning and dancing, turning into a walking tornado, leaving holes in the asphalt. If Sinker's a spinning machine for shooting demonic projectiles, this man is a mad spinning top. With ballet-like movements he avoids the speeding bullets.
How could this be?.. This weren't random dodges. At the moment of the demonic ball's turn the trajectory was spotted and avoided with minimal effort, resulting in this outcome.
Sinker pitches three balls. Each turns twice, resulting in a diffused, non-fixed impression of six attacks in all. The black cape dances madly, avoiding the effortlessly.
None hit. Sinker is taken with, rather than rage that his demonic balls are powerless, a chilling fear. Not right… Something is wrong with this man's speed. Quantifiable criteria like 'faster than', 'slower than', 'cooler than', and ‘sharper than' can't measure his speed. It's crystal clear that his speed is on a different level from us. Even if the ball has higher velocity, it's pointless. It won't succeed even if it goes faster still. This is something wrong for a living creature. 'While this is unclear, this enemy is unbeatable, not possible to run from!' - his whole body screams…
"Ah…"
An overwhelming stench of death. Urged on by terror that this'll come in a second and take his head off in one swing, Sinker remembered something very similar by association.
In fact it's just a stupid story, but the black cloud approaching him was indistinguishable from a firework spinning on the ground.
"And what!.."
Shaking his delusions off, he throws the fourth ball.
The distance between them is already less than four meters. With a pitching movement that took less than a second, not having the chance to spin properly, he can't expect much speed or control.
"…what of iiit!.."
He pitches a normal fast ball. Aimed straight at the face, it was avoided. However, this ball has a property available only to Sinker. The true essence of the two-stage sinker: a spotted demon forcing the ball to turn at a right angle will crush the target's head for sure this time!..
"Come on, do you think I didn't see it?"
And Vampire easily saw through the trick.
Like a hellish bird, Black Cape flies up. He lands on the hood, holding the scary sword in his left hand at waist level, and the returning, sparking demonic ball clearly coming from a dead zone, flies by due to a small movement of the neck.
"Ah… Ah…"
"But you're pretty smart, young man… Setting your sticky blood on fire in a blink, using it as a jet. Behind, again as ordered, the screwball changes direction and speed. Your growth, youth, isn't some measly elbow. The blood that burns with sparks is Sinker's true ability… Not bad. Turns out there's another madcap besides me who burns this stuff as fuel."
No friendliness. Despite the words' content, Vampire's voice is very cold.
Sinker can't move. The sword in the black cape's hand. No, not a sword, a spear. The scary weapon strongly gripped in the hand is nearly lunging at him now. The fear created by the threat of being pierced by a large-caliber missile makes both legs and head stop working.
"Don't be surprised, my good man. All the magic is gone after you see such a trick once. Even that guy down there noticed!.. Aah… But yes, this is only yours, unique. Can't reproduce that unless you're a godlike pitcher to begin with. Given a baseball's size, two turns are the limit, I suppose? If you do any more, it'll just burn down! But it's inefficient as hell. If you strain yourself like that, you won't last a week, no?.. Oh well. Whether you take care of yourself or not, you'll meet your ■■■■■ here anyway."
The vampire's face comes closer.
It's nearly touching, so as to sink teeth into the neck.
"Ah…"
'I don't want to die. Save me.'
Sinker's eyes shriek with fear.
This is nothing surprising. They're standing face to face. Under the reflective surface of the sunglasses he saw Vampire's eyes.
Eyes with no pupils. Like a demon of mad wrath. Eyes of ice that squeezes the life out of everything that sees them.
"Ah…"
Vampire's left hand rises forward.
The long weapon bites into Sinker's neck.
The thoughts disappearing before the face of death come to a useless conclusion. What a twisted plot. This man's weapon is no sword, no spear. It's the ancient way of eradicating vampires - a huge aspen stake…
✠
The color of flame painting over the night sky promises trouble.
For nearly four minutes I've been watching the unfolding tragedy from down near the coffee machine. However, everything was happening six meters above me, and I could only hear the rich sounds of the catastrophe, but now the carnage has burned out.
I hear a siren far away. If I stay here, I'll be detained for suspicious behavior, and my romance with Mato-san might finally trip a fag of a tender talk in the bullpen. Getting ready to leave, I lower the coffee can into the trashcan, when…
"Huuuh, too bad, too bad. 'Real' ones shouldn't be exchanging pokes, kicks and sparks like that… Oh, you're still here, young man? Your drive to see the show to its end is very gratifying."
A rambling Black Cape jumped down from the crossing.
The wooden sword in his hand… or even a metal pipe… or even something like a metal pipe with a pointy end… anyway, he wraps it in a cloth again and cracks his shoulders. His movements carry the 'work's done, can have fun now' vibe.
"Hmm?.. C'mon, run along, or I'll eat you! Oh, and if they bother you, don't sell me out, yeah? Else you're going to lose time on stuff, be late getting home. If you have to, I recommend praising me. But yeah, as a human it's advisable to be home by one twenty!"
"Sorry, but I won't tell on you even if you ask me to. So how's it gone, did you hit?"
"Believe in me, it was a worthy strike-out."
Black Cape laughs for no reason. A sure sign.
"I don't get it… You caused that up there and got struck out?"
"Well, uh, it's a show, right? There's still a death match in the end, yes? So I had to gracefully lose to the master in the first half. You gotta agree, throwing flowers at the end is the least an adult can do."
The man curves his lips again. This time his smile is accompanied by real thoughts, harmonizing with his intimidating appearance, cruel, worrying.
"Flowers at the end, so Sinker is… you know?.."
'Dead?' - I couldn’t get out.
The accident's fire overhead, left arm is hurting more than when I played with Sinker, the siren is already close. All these various components moved my consciousness away from common sense, but I hesitated to say the word of no return.
"Nah, not dead. There's no need. When he was pressed, he had the desire to run written all over his face, so I let him. It's called luring them in? Ah, tch, the other way around. Uh, catch-and-release? Not right either…"
And what is that? Wrecked everything and then just wounded the guy and let him go?..
"Hey, hey, don't make this face, young man. I tell you, let him run. This one is already out. He wants to destroy himself, so let him. Again, he only looks alive, but his body's right half has died already."
Right half of body is already dead. A nuance not related to his arm, one that was there already… Sinker's ruin was clearly not only mental.
"That so… And how long does he have, what do you think?"
"How long? Go higher, young man! Even if he's nearly dead, do you think I wouldn't notice if there was still life in him?"
He laughs joyfully. The man in the black cape laid a friendly hand on my shoulder and bent his mouth in a light smile.
"Listen. That possessed has self-destructed already. There's no life in him. He's long dead. He's like a mechanism that still has fuel and doesn't want to stop. It's sad, but when his fire burns out he'll end up in the trash heap."
He lowers his arm. Hinomori Shusei leaves with light steps.
"Wait. Can I ask another question? Were you just passing by?"
"Mmm? Are you kidding, it never happens that conveniently. I was looking for someone in Shikura too. And I came here because I felt the atmosphere of a fight, thought - oh, fun! - and intruded."
"Uh huh… A fight's atmosphere - isn't that the most convenient answer, Hinomori-san?"
I mean, come on, we aren't in a comic or something.
"Uh huh. I get you. Yeah, I get your reaction. Although I love heroics, this moment is suspicious. But you know, there are people who really feel it, there's no running from that. Anyway, so much trouble, but at least that time it's half hit, half miss."
'Oh well'. - Black Cape says and this time leaves.
Sirens finally flooded the air, police cars were surrounding the site of the crash one after another.
"Oh. Right, I wanted to ask too."
Hinomori Shusei stops without turning.
The man who can kill me instantly despite standing over five meters away with his back to me asked…
"Say, where did you get that prosthetic? I saw a leg, but an arm is a first!"
…in an indifferent voice that couldn't be ignored.
■
After parting with the totally not strict guy Hinomori Shusei.
Around the crash site now swarming with gapers everything settled down, and the police didn't even start asking for witnesses, letting me return safely.
By the way, I silently ignored the last question. To be honest, Hinomori Shusei saved me, and I'd like to answer him for decency's sake, whether I feel grateful or not, but there's just no answer.
I came to my room in the charitable multi-story building where Kirisu was watching TV with an owner's face.
There was nothing about the car crash just an hour ago. S prefecture's local TV must be staffed by slackers, or maybe the highway was closed off… Probably the latter.
'There were no corpses, young man. I can sleep soundly. Huh? The problem's not with lives? Repairs? Compensations? Dumbass, nowadays the only people without car insurance are those without a driver's license, doc Arika. Relax, the cameras recorded everything, so everyone will be paid. They'll probably ask for new cars too!'
That's what Hinomori-san said. The police are probably already puzzling over the suspicious man in the footage.
"Oh, you're back. You're late, weren't you going to be back by seven?"
"I had stuff to look into, been everywhere. Oh, and Sinker attacked on the way home, so…"
There was no special reaction.
I pass in front of Kirisu and into the bathroom. Wash my face with warm water, get the sweat off. The nerves must have calmed down - the left hand's feedback is very weak. I'm tired of wearing the prosthesis for half a day straight, so I take it off.
Back into the room, where Kirisu's going through the channels boredly.
"You know, I was attacked by Sinker."
"You said it twice… Buzz off, I told you this doesn't concern me."
Deflecting the topic. A predictable reaction. I'm not too happy trying to get him down to the ground. Just doing my duty as informant.
"Yeah, sure. It really doesn't. He'll die on his own, after all. And the police created an investigation HQ, he'll be in jail in a couple of days."
Tomorrow might be a bit too early, but we're talking about Mato-san, to her a self-destructing possessed is of utmost importance. Feels like the right time frame.
"Whoa… Hold on, what do you mean he'll die on his own?"
He took the bait.
"Well, yeah. He's just falling apart. A severe stage of A syndrome… a possessed that can't be cured and just lives like a vegetable - lots of cases like that. The growths are truly a way of granting wishes, but they're too much of a load for normal tissues at the same time. If one uses them too often not 'to survive', their insides rot off leading to death… And Sinker was a bit too hasty in his maniacal activities."
It was a person every two days, after all. If he used that right hand on everyone, then, like Hinomori-san said…
"Well from my viewpoint it isn't so much somatic as psychotic. Many A syndrome patients have mental disorders… The possessed mostly begin mental, but there are those who first manifest the growth and then become mentally ill. Sinker is one of those. A regression to childhood, partial memory loss. Simply put, a memory disorder not apparent even to the victim themselves."
Before the game's start Sinker didn't even know who was before him. No, in that state he probably didn't know who he himself was.
He started the match, grabbed a ball, pitched a few, and only then manifested 'Iguruma Kazumi's' consciousness. The question is how many balls were necessary to awaken it. The young man who apparently used to get his mind right at the game's start reached a state where one or two balls are 'not enough'. It's the end. Like an addict, even after the match… after the batter's death according to the rules, not getting satisfaction, remains a phantom killer who's lost himself, an empty shell.
"Obviously, after that it's over. Iguruma Kazumi becomes a serial killer maniac, true to the nickname, and keeps killing until he is beaten and dies."
He is a real killer, though. A crime for any reason, with any reservation is still a crime. Sinker probably doesn't even care whether the killer in him is true or temporary. Which was he in the end?.. This conclusion can't help him or his victims, just us onlookers.
Still no reaction. Kirisu's clearly dead set.
"Fine, be that way. I won't rub salt in your wound any more. But say, Kirisu. I hear you'll do anything for money?"
'I suppose', - a careless reply follows.
It's good that he doesn't mind.
"Then I need a little thing prepared, what do you say?"
Kirisu's Kirisu, I'm me. Can't nose in others' affairs all the time. I have to work to live my own life.
"Whaaat?.. What-what, three meters in diameter?.."
The strange commission makes Kirisu cringe.
"Will you do it? If yes, just bring it here. I'll pay upon delivery, of course."
◆
So.
My role in this case is over.
The demonic ball master, Sinker. A genius batter who abandoned baseball for no reason. The old promise is unfulfilled - they didn't meet. An event chain that can't be Ishizue Arika's story.
Lowering the curtains is the role of West Block team's ace.
A third person standing around can only irresponsibly inflame the players, jerk around and watch the historical battle.
It's obvious that decisiveness and outcome are the participants' business. However you support the sportsman, in the end you're behind the mosquito net; such is our life.