Demon City Shinjuku: The Complete Edition (23 page)

Had Jubei slashed horizontally or vertically with his sword, Kyoya would have parted neatly in two, vertically or horizontally.

The android Jubei had been imbued with the personality and martial skills of the real Jubei. Except that nothing in Jubei's life or the android programming suggested that in the moment of extremis, an opponent might use his feet instead of a sword.

Chen Yuanbin, the Ming Dynasty founder of kenpo, traveled to Japan during Jubei's lifetime, so he should have at least witnessed such a move. However, this may have been the first time Jubei—or his avatar—faced an opponent with the skills necessary to deliver such a kick in a downwards trajectory.

The difference between the person unfamiliar with kenpo and the person who was—even while coughing up blood—was the difference between victory and defeat.

Yes! The underdog by an upset!

In any other similar situation, Kyoya might have served up a dose of
nen
and knocked him flat on his back, or sprang back and waited for his opponent to come at him again. But the sense of urgency interrupted in that moment. Diverting his attention to Sayaka's predicament, Kyoya left Jubei there and started off at a run.

He felt a shock in his flank and grunted, a feral cry.
Damn!
he cursed in his heart. The fiery sensation shot through his torso. On his knees, with the arm attached to the broken collarbone, Jubei had buried the tip of the long sword into Kyoya's side.

Take away the electronic guts, and the body of an impersonation android was formed from a combination of polymer bones and mechanical muscles whose strength could be altered based on the context. Turning into the person it was emulating and playing the part was not something the metal and plastic of a run-of-the-mill android could pull off.

In other words, change the context, and an impersonation android could be easily broken in an accident, turning it into so much scrap. That was why a simple kick, no
nen
involved, broke its so-called bones.

Kyoya hadn't imagined that, heavily damaged, and with the arm attached to the broken bone, it could deliver such a blow. The real Jubei might well have been such a fighter.

“
Son of a bitch!
”

Jubei's one electronic eye focused on him, Kyoya squatted on the sidewalk, hand pressed against his side to staunch the flowing blood. The android calmly raised the blood-stained sword.

The scene in front of him grew dark. The ferocity of the thrust had robbed him of the willpower even to summon the reserves of his psychic energy.
I ain't dead yet. Throw in the towel now and I'll never look her in the face again
. That was the foremost thought on his mind.

The android Jubei advanced on the unconscious, unmoving teenager—the wooden sword tightly grasped in his right hand—with steady steps, the killer instinct spilling out of his being.

“Unbelievable.” A quiet statement filled with surprise. “Wounded that badly, losing blood, and yet still breathing. I understand what a trained and disciplined body can do, but this is a spiritual strength way beyond the normal.”

“Is he conscious?” somebody else asked in a concerned voice.

“We have treated him the best we can. He should awaken soon. Though he still needs a good two weeks of bed rest.”

“Yes.”

The sterilizing lights dimmed. The two gazed down at the operating table. The operating room was stocked with the latest medical equipment and automated surgical tools, the kind found in the best hospitals in Tokyo. Not as grand as the Sorcerer's, but in the same neighborhood.

Transparent scanner hoods covered the operating table, linked to medical computers, recording the patient's vital signs. The operation had just ended.

“Hmm,” said the first speaker.

“What?”

“The anesthetic is wearing off. Look at the spike in brain waves and metabolic activity. I am most impressed. This is some sort of superman. He should be waking up any second. Three—two—one—”

Kyoya opened his eyes, and focused on the faces peering down at him. “Sayaka-san, are you all right? What in the world—”

Sayaka resisted the impulse to cling tightly to him and looked at the tall man behind her. “He came to your rescue. And those gangsters took me to their headquarters and were about to start torturing me when he charged in and drove them off like some sort of magician.”

“As I promised, we meet again.” A slight smile came to the white face framed in black.

“Doctor Mephisto? What are you doing in a place like this?”

The impression made in the Musashi Miyamoto bar in Waseda was not that deep, and the anesthetic was still wearing off, and he hadn't completely digested what Sayaka was saying—so he jumped to the conclusion that he was the one who'd snatched Sayaka. He sat up in a fury. The scanner hoods retracted automatically.

“Don't try to get up!” Sayaka said, grabbing him. “You misunderstand. This man saved me. And treated your wounds as well.”

The anger faded from Kyoya's features. His mind returned to a rational state. “After I got stabbed by that Jubei Yagyu android, this quack—no, sorry, scratch that—you patched me up? This your hospital? I suppose you're a real doctor or something?” His thoughts springing back to life, he added, “Yeah, and what happened to Jubei Yagyu?”

“He has been disposed of,” Mephisto softly answered. “This is my home. That is all you need to know about me. Can you move?”

“Ah—” Kyoya also sensed that Sayaka was stifling a growing sense of impatience and unease. “So what happened? Wait a second, did the deadline pass while I was unconscious?”

“No.” Sayaka shook her head emphatically. “Not yet. But it's now midnight of the thirteenth!”

Her voice was strained and her eyes brimmed with tears. Still half asleep, Kyoya shrugged his shoulders and said, “Huh?” Then his eyes opened wide. “Say what! We entered the DMZ on the tenth, spent a night and left a day later. Today should be the eleventh. What, did you think you had a whole day to kick back at the hospital?”

“In any case, it is the thirteenth, and the clock runs out today,” Mephisto said severely. “The young lady has explained everything to me. Upon leaving the DMZ, you should have counted the days more precisely. Because of the Devil Quake, time takes on a different flow there, moving faster than normal. What you experienced as one day there took two here.”

“You don't say,” said Kyoya. “When I looked at my watch I thought something was out of sync. Interesting. Sort of like Urashima Taro meets Rip Van Winkle. Huh.”

And then the magnitude of what had happened sunk in. A worried expression came to his face and he jumped off the operating table. “Ow!” Kyoya bent over, holding his side.

Sayaka lent him her shoulder. “You can't move around like that. With a wound like that, it's amazing you're still alive!”

“Don't worry about me. I only need to hold up for three hours more. Hey, Paleface, your surgical skills good for three hours?”

“Where do you plan on going?”

“She told you, didn't she? Wherever those guys are hiding out.”

“Your wounds have been sutured, but the blood loss was considerable. I doubt you would get a dozen yards before collapsing. Besides, they surely know the deadline is tonight and would be anticipating your arrival. You would be walking to your own death.”

Kyoya clapped his hands. “Good point. We were looking for somebody in the know. Would you happen to know how to sneak into Shinjuku station without attracting a lot of attention?”

“I would.”

He answered so readily that Kyoya almost thought he was joking. “Where? Tell me,” he demanded.

Mephisto asked wryly, “Why rush to your death? What in this world is so important that it is worth risking your life? It is said that in the history of mankind, a mere four hundred and thirty-seven years could be described as peaceful and relatively free of warfare. We do love to fight and kill. Izayoi-kun, if a terrible thing were summoned this night from the depths of the earth, casting the world into fear and despair, would not the human heart find that a more appropriate place?”

Kyoya didn't answer. He hobbled over to the dressing screens and changed into his street clothes. They'd been washed and sterilized while he was being operated on. Asura was leaning against the wardrobe.

“Probably,” he said as he dressed. “But I'm not going to call off the game because of rain until I actually see it falling. I've met all kinds since coming to this city. They're not all bad. Besides, once I start a job, I finish it. No mulligans, no do-overs.”

“For the good of the world, eh? The anachronistic hero in the flesh.”

“Sorry, but nothing that highfalutin.” He glanced at the girl's face, on the verge of tears. “Wait here, okay? And no funny business this time.”

The look on her face betrayed her hurt. He knew she'd been planning on accompanying him. The destruction of the world was imminent. The only champion left in the fight was critically wounded. He'd woken from a dead sleep only minutes before.

For her father's sake, for the sake of the planet, she wanted to be there at the scene of the final battle. She opened her mouth but couldn't say the words. She'd hated him the first time they met, but since then he'd fought the denizens of the Demon World by himself and suffered grievous injuries to save her—that alone engendered in her inexpressible feelings of gratefulness.

Therefore, she would go. As the daughter of the “holy man” in charge of the World Federation, she bore a powerful sense of responsibility more to the fate of the world than to her own father, while possessed of a courage bestowed by her thoughts of him. With these two firmly in hand, she was determined to proceed to the Armageddon in Kyoya's place.

Kyoya read those intentions and put his foot down firmly. “I'm going. Where's this secret passageway?”

“And if I chose not to tell you?”

“You won't enjoy the consequences.”

“And that would be what, precisely?”

“This.”

Kyoya swept his right foot at Mephisto's legs with a swift, slashing kick. Except it was Kyoya's eyes that bugged out. Without appearing to budge an inch, Mephisto dodged the attack—or rather, leaned just a hair's breadth away from the arc traced by his foot.

No matter how powerful the blow, no matter how close it came, a missed kick was no better than a child's. In the martial arts, properly anticipating an opponent's skill and range and shifting just out of range was a critical skill. For even the best, it was measured in inches. Mephisto had honed it down to tenths of an inch. Though the wound in his side dampened Kyoya's reflexes, not even Jubei Yagyu could have evaded that kick.

Kyoya felt a cold trickle of fear down his back. He shifted to a left foot forward stance. He purged the emotion from his face.

“That's enough,” said Mephisto, his countenance all the more passive. “If you wish to go that badly, then go. There is no cure for foolishness. Leaving the operating room, there will be an elevator in front of you. Take it to the ground level. Goodbye.”

“Hey.”

“Ah, yes. You're still waking up from the anesthetic. I thought things might turn in this direction, so while your wounds were being treated, the route was implanted in your memories. Concentrate.”

Kyoya dubiously turned his thoughts inward, on the secret way into the Shinjuku station. By then, enough of the drugs had cleared his system that the path rose effortlessly to his mind's eye.

“I got it,” Kyoya said, with an alacrity that must have taken a little wind out of Mephisto's sails. He nodded and grabbed Asura. Heading for the door, he said over his shoulder, “Oh, yeah. Two favors to ask. As you seem to be in a helping mood, I'd appreciate you keeping an eye on the girl until three o'clock. If I return before then, fine. If not, make sure she gets back to civilization. Although there's no saying what will become of this city then. One more thing, that mask you gave me when we first met—would you have a spare? That fat lady and her henchmen will probably still be out for blood.”

“You're just flying out of here, making demands as you go? You are a presumptuous lad,” Mephisto said with a thin smile. “I shall take the girl under my wing. As for the fat lady, we have come to an agreement.”

“An agreement?” Kyoya said, raising his brows. “Like how? Word is, that bunch has a lot of clout. Anybody who knows her—no, don't tell me—the two of you are an item?”

“Please.” For the first time Mephisto plainly frowned. “I happened to be in the square when her associates exposed the young lady. After disposing of the so-called fencing master android and bringing you here, I dropped in at their headquarters and retrieved the girl.”

“He's telling the truth,” Sayaka said with a constrained expression. “He burst in and said that I was a friend of his. And all those bad guys turned a shade paler.”

Kyoya shook his head disbelievingly. “Mephistopheles was definitely one of the bad guys. You wouldn't be the real thing, perhaps?”

Mephisto said with a blank expression, “In any case, they have promised to leave you alone. That should serve your purposes, no?”

“I suppose. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“He's a doctor,” Sayaka interjected. “The reception room upstairs is filled with the sick and the wounded. Every day, this man and his robot assistants work late into the night treating people.”

“Huh,” said Kyoya, admiration mixed with lingering doubts. “You're really a doctor?”

“I do resemble one. However, I only take the general public as patients. The ruffians are free to kill each other at a whim, but when others get involved in their squabbles, the pitiful results cannot be ignored.”

“Huh,” Kyoya said again. “A humble do-gooder, if you do say so yourself.”