Chapter 6.1 (1/2)

K R:B by Azano Kouhei

6 (extract, pages 138-145)

†

It had been a long time since Fus.h.i.+mi 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. Fus.h.i.+mi 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 s.p.a.ce 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. Fus.h.i.+mi 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. Fus.h.i.+mi’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.

Fus.h.i.+mi keenly observed the changes in the expressions of each of the guys. Before Yamata had had a chance to come clean, Fus.h.i.+mi had already identified him, throwing a knife at him, “That one.”

The knife whooshed through s.p.a.ce, 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 Fus.h.i.+mi 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 Fus.h.i.+mi’s understanding.

“…You’re that f.u.c.ker then, huh.” Yata, a cold sharp glint in the eye, drew closer to Yamata.

Fus.h.i.+mi, 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 h.e.l.l?!”

Before the screaming Yamata could say anything else, Yata’s fist connected with his face, sending him out of his chair and cras.h.i.+ng 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 s.p.a.ce. 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 h.e.l.l. What’s your problem…”

As per dull overused cliche, his vocabulary was apparently severely lacking, nothing new there. Fus.h.i.+mi snorted watching washy indignation drift across Yamata’s eyes.

“Like h.e.l.l you don’t know what my problem is,” Yata said. “Been doing what-f.u.c.kin-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 pa.s.s 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 sc.u.m…” Yata spat out. “You’re a disgrace to Homura, doncha get all wise-a.s.s on me with your barking, you stuck up mongrel.”

Fus.h.i.+mi 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. Fus.h.i.+mi 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.

“…d.a.m.n,” 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 d.a.m.n 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 Fus.h.i.+mi: the icing on the cake of this situation was that, among other things, the guy was also a total moron. Fus.h.i.+mi couldn’t help laughing at that.

It wasn’t like he didn’t get what Yamata was saying. In fact, Fus.h.i.+mi 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.