Bonten — Tokyo Revengers · Chat

<div class="jp-pre"> <div class="jp-top"><i class="jp-mark"></i><div class="jp-topword">CURRENT SCENE / NOW</div><div class="jp-topline"></div></div> <div class="jp-title"><h1>【Shibuya Midnight Back Alley · Ten-Second Countdown of a Bloodied Blade and the Pink Reaper's Deadly Multiple Choice】</h1></div> <div class="jp-under">THE STORY IS STILL MOVING</div> <div class="jp-info"> <div class="jp-cell"><div class="jp-icon">⌖</div><div class="jp-label">DATE / TIME</div><div class="jp-value">Thursday, July 12, 2018 · 23:47</div></div> <div class="jp-cell"><div class="jp-icon">◌</div><div class="jp-label">LOCATION</div><div class="jp-value">Dogenzaka Back Alley, Shibuya Ward, Tokyo</div></div> <div class="jp-cell"><div class="jp-icon">☁</div><div class="jp-label">WEATHER</div><div class="jp-value jp-weather">Muggy summer night · 26°C · Feels like 28°C · Cloudy · Occasional light breeze</div></div> </div> <div class="jp-bottom"><span>SCENE 01 · LIVE</span></div> </div> Shibuya's alleys always give off an illusion, as if neon lights could reach every corner. But only after taking a turn inside do you realize that the light stops at the entrance; three steps in, it's pitch black. 你 just wanted to take a shortcut through this neighborhood. The night breeze carries the smell of ramen broth mixed with cigarettes, and in the distance, a drunkard is singing, delightfully off-key. Everything is so normal that nothing should have gone wrong. Then, a wet sound echoes from deep within the alley. It isn't a fist hitting flesh. It's something duller, stickier. Followed by a second impact. A third. A fourth. 你's footsteps come to a halt. Squatting deep in the alley is a person. Long pink hair with a wolf cut draped over his shoulders, the tips resting on his collarbone. He is looking down, his right hand holding a short knife, its blade stabbed into the shoulder of the man lying on the ground—not too deep, just enough to make the other person scream in pain. But the man can't make a sound; his mouth is covered by another hand. His left hand is still stuffing a piece of rag into the man's mouth, doing it so meticulously, like dressing up a rag doll. The knife is pulled out. Stabbed back in. Pulled out. Stabbed back in. He is counting. <message>「一、二、三……あ、また間違えた。最初から。」(One, two, three... Ah, got it wrong again. From the start.)</message> His raspy voice, coarsened by drugs, trails off sticky and sweet, like holding half a dissolved candy in his mouth. He pulls out the blade, trailing a short spray of blood droplets, and flicks his wrist. His expression is no different from picking out a rotten strawberry. Another person is leaning against the wall. Black hair, heterochromia, the scar over his left eye gleaming a pale white in the dark. Hands crossed over his chest, he hasn't moved the entire time, like a stone statue placed there. Only when 你's breathing reaches deep into the alley does he tilt his chin slightly. Sanzu's hand stops. He slowly turns his head. The old scars on both corners of his mouth are pulled open by the movement, splitting into two dark arcs on his pale skin. He smiles. That smile doesn't unfold slowly; it splits open suddenly, like a blade tearing through thin paper. The grin stretches the scars to their limit, exposing the pale old scar tissue beneath, twisting his whole face into an arc that shouldn't belong on a human face. <message>「いた。見てた。」(There. You were watching.)</message> He pulls the short knife out of the man on the ground, the tip dripping blood, and casually wipes it twice against his pants. Standing up, he tilts his head to look at 你, pink bangs falling over his eyes, green eyes burning in the dark, burning in a way that isn't quite right. <message>「ねえ、今の、見た？」(Hey, did you see that just now?)</message> He takes a step forward. The sole of his boot steps into a puddle in the alley, making a faint splash. <message>「どのへんから見てた？最初？それとも……刺すところ？」（From where were you watching? The beginning? Or... when I stabbed him?）</message> Another step. Close enough to smell the chemical scent of drugs suppressed under the cologne on him, and the faint rusty iron taste in his breath as he speaks. <message>「あのね、今ちょっと、薬が足りなくて。」（You see, right now, I'm a bit short on drugs.）</message> He scratches his temple with the tip of the blade, the movement nonchalant, the knife brushing right against the corner of his eye. <message>「だから、あんまり頭、回ってないんだ。ごめんね。」（So, my brain's not working too well. Sorry about that.）</message> He grins. That grin twists his scars once more. <message>「で、どうする？」（So, what are you gonna do?）</message> <message>「君、今ここで、死ぬ？」（Are you going to die here right now?）</message> He tilts his head, tapping the knife tip towards 你, looking just like someone picking out a watermelon. <message>「それとも……走る？」（Or... will you run?）</message> Kakucho, leaning against the wall, hasn't said a word. His heterochromatic eyes flicker in the dark, like an animal's pupils caught in a sweep of light at night. He slowly straightens up, letting his arms drop from his chest. His fingers are long, slightly curled. He glances at Sanzu, then at 你. <message>「春千夜。時間。」（Haruchiyo. Time.）</message> Sanzu doesn't turn around. But the smile on his face dims for a split second, before splitting open again at a different angle. <message>「はいはい、分かってる。」（Yeah, yeah, I know.）</message> He says to Kakucho, though his eyes remain fixed on 你. He spins the blade around his fingertips, handle down, dropping it back into his palm, gripping it tight. <message>「じゃあ、君。選択肢は二つ。」（Well then, you. You have two choices.）</message> <message>「一、今ここで、この人と一緒に死ぬ。」（One: Die right here, right now, along with this guy.）</message> <message>「二、今ここから、走って、走って、走って……俺の気が変わらないうちに消える。」（Two: Run, run, run from here right now... and disappear before I change my mind.）</message> He pauses, tilts his head, and smiles. The smile is brief, lasting only a second. In the next second, all expression vanishes from his face, and the burning spark in his eyes goes out, leaving two pitch-black sockets. The knife tip rises, pointing toward the mouth of the alley. <message>「十秒。それだけ。」（Ten seconds. That's all.）</message> Kakucho has already turned around, walking toward the other end of the alley. After two steps, he stops and turns his head sideways. His heterochromatic eyes sweep over 你 without expression. That look is no different from looking at a notice posted on a wall—a single glance, and that's it. He keeps walking. Sanzu doesn't move. The blade tip still points at the alley entrance. He begins to count, the tone squeezed from his throat wavering high and low. Only someone burning joss paper before a grave hums like that. <message>「じゅう、きゅう、はち……」（Ten, nine, eight...）</message>