Read Online Maohden Vol. 1 by Hideyuki Kikuchi - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hideyuki Kikuchi
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sweaty brow, he tasted a bit of the good old piss and vinegar that got him up in the morning. A faraway look came to his eyes.
“Returning here after fifteen years—the kid of six or seven Onizuka spoke of—I see—you aren’t Setsura Aki. You’re Gento Roran.”
The young man didn’t answer. That was the answer.
Sasaki felt the tension oozing out of his body. Not only his muscles, but his soul was growing numb. This was not the time or place to care about the reasons.
“Hey,” Sasaki said, making a show of backing down for the time being. “This tough guy business is all part of the act, okay?”
He understood this wasn’t going to end well. He’d begun to grasp what kind of a person he was dealing with. Which was to say that the dark depths of some people were well beyond human comprehension, except that Gento Roran had no intention of helping him out.
He was the hoi polloi, the insects crushed beneath the feet of the overlords.
In that case, better to kill than be killed. Though he lived outside Shinjuku, Sasaki traveled regularly to Demon City to gather material. While associating with people who breathed in its vapors on a daily basis, their moral and ethical outlook had seeped into his own consciousness in ways he wasn’t fully aware of.
“All I want is material for my articles. This feud between you and Setsura Aki is totally not my concern. I’m a neutral observer. I don’t know what you’ve been doing or where you’ve been doing it for the last fifteen years, but I certainly wouldn’t begrudge sharing what I know. Of course, in return, I would expect a helping hand in padding out my portfolio a bit.”
Gento Roran didn’t answer, only quietly looked back at Sasaki. Sasaki’s face reflected in his eyes. Only the reflection. No sense of will or emotion shone in those eyes. The light in his eyes was more that of a camera lens.
“Or then again, maybe not.”
Sasaki scratched his head with his left hand. His right dropped to his side. His left hand quickly moved to the horizontal. A loud bang! shook the air.
Gento’s eyes moved slightly, a natural response. Sasaki’s right hand moved too. The hem of his jacket kicked up. He was holding a Military & Police revolver. The 2.5 inch barrel was perfect for making a quick draw.
Raising the gun to a 45 degree angle, Sasaki felt a sense of calm well up in his chest. “You talk big, Gento Roran,” he called out.
His finger resting on the trigger, a moment’s intention away from firing, he aimed at the point between his collarbones. Double-action revolvers had a tendency to pull low. At this distance, if Gento stood up, he’d hit him in the stomach. Even hitting him in the heart or lungs wouldn’t necessarily kill him on the spot, to say nothing of a shot that only grazed the ribs.
In order to momentarily distract an opponent in a high-risk situation, he had a small flash bang concealed in the left cuff of his trousers. It’d done its job this time too.
“Like I said, I don’t have any desire to shoot you. I’m merely a reporter in search of a story. Give me an interview and everything ends nicely. I haven’t met this Setsura Aki chap either. So, what do you say? Deal?”
This blend of coercion and conciliation was something Sasaki could rightly take pride in.
Gento didn’t answer. His frame shook. Sasaki tightened his grip, then relaxed. Gento was only shrugging his shoulders. He was a handsome enough man that everything he did had a kind of panache to it.
“What did you want to ask me about?”
Imparting additional weight to this discovery of his, Sasaki paused to take two dramatic breaths, then said, “The true nature of this city.”
He was answered only by silence.
“What about it?” he pressed, a touch of irritation in his voice.
Gento said, hardly more than a whisper, “I should be on my way. There is much more I have to learn before I can answer your question. For now, we should say our goodbyes and leave it at
“Returning here after fifteen years—the kid of six or seven Onizuka spoke of—I see—you aren’t Setsura Aki. You’re Gento Roran.”
The young man didn’t answer. That was the answer.
Sasaki felt the tension oozing out of his body. Not only his muscles, but his soul was growing numb. This was not the time or place to care about the reasons.
“Hey,” Sasaki said, making a show of backing down for the time being. “This tough guy business is all part of the act, okay?”
He understood this wasn’t going to end well. He’d begun to grasp what kind of a person he was dealing with. Which was to say that the dark depths of some people were well beyond human comprehension, except that Gento Roran had no intention of helping him out.
He was the hoi polloi, the insects crushed beneath the feet of the overlords.
In that case, better to kill than be killed. Though he lived outside Shinjuku, Sasaki traveled regularly to Demon City to gather material. While associating with people who breathed in its vapors on a daily basis, their moral and ethical outlook had seeped into his own consciousness in ways he wasn’t fully aware of.
“All I want is material for my articles. This feud between you and Setsura Aki is totally not my concern. I’m a neutral observer. I don’t know what you’ve been doing or where you’ve been doing it for the last fifteen years, but I certainly wouldn’t begrudge sharing what I know. Of course, in return, I would expect a helping hand in padding out my portfolio a bit.”
Gento Roran didn’t answer, only quietly looked back at Sasaki. Sasaki’s face reflected in his eyes. Only the reflection. No sense of will or emotion shone in those eyes. The light in his eyes was more that of a camera lens.
“Or then again, maybe not.”
Sasaki scratched his head with his left hand. His right dropped to his side. His left hand quickly moved to the horizontal. A loud bang! shook the air.
Gento’s eyes moved slightly, a natural response. Sasaki’s right hand moved too. The hem of his jacket kicked up. He was holding a Military & Police revolver. The 2.5 inch barrel was perfect for making a quick draw.
Raising the gun to a 45 degree angle, Sasaki felt a sense of calm well up in his chest. “You talk big, Gento Roran,” he called out.
His finger resting on the trigger, a moment’s intention away from firing, he aimed at the point between his collarbones. Double-action revolvers had a tendency to pull low. At this distance, if Gento stood up, he’d hit him in the stomach. Even hitting him in the heart or lungs wouldn’t necessarily kill him on the spot, to say nothing of a shot that only grazed the ribs.
In order to momentarily distract an opponent in a high-risk situation, he had a small flash bang concealed in the left cuff of his trousers. It’d done its job this time too.
“Like I said, I don’t have any desire to shoot you. I’m merely a reporter in search of a story. Give me an interview and everything ends nicely. I haven’t met this Setsura Aki chap either. So, what do you say? Deal?”
This blend of coercion and conciliation was something Sasaki could rightly take pride in.
Gento didn’t answer. His frame shook. Sasaki tightened his grip, then relaxed. Gento was only shrugging his shoulders. He was a handsome enough man that everything he did had a kind of panache to it.
“What did you want to ask me about?”
Imparting additional weight to this discovery of his, Sasaki paused to take two dramatic breaths, then said, “The true nature of this city.”
He was answered only by silence.
“What about it?” he pressed, a touch of irritation in his voice.
Gento said, hardly more than a whisper, “I should be on my way. There is much more I have to learn before I can answer your question. For now, we should say our goodbyes and leave it at
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