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To his utter annoyance, they showed up forty minutes late to the deal.
No, make that forty-one minutes.
Kei Matoba glared at the car clock and clicked his tongue in irritation. While he was not particularly punctual himself, he could not believe the nerve of those casually strolling towards him, making him wait this long. The two figures approached slowly from under the street lamp a block away, as if they were merely taking a dog for a walk.
Don't get so worked up, boss.
Rick Fury tried to calm him from the passenger seat.
These are the kind of guys who'd be late to their own parents' funeral. If you get upset every time, you'll wear yourself out.
I know, I know, but still . . .
Kei muttered in a grumpy voice and casually checked his appearance in the sun visor mirror.
His Versace suit shone with a calm luster. His black hair was neatly combed, and his eyebrows were well shaped.
A slight shadow of a beard was visible as he had not been home in two days. Though as a buyer in this rough industry, he looked decent enough, his inherent ruggedness cleverly disguised by luxury.
I've got another commitment after this.
With a lady?
Kei took a few seconds to decide how to respond to Rick's question. Explaining the situation seemed like too much of a hassle, so he just nodded vaguely.
Yeah, something like that.
I'm jealous. I've barely spoken to my wife in a week.
It's not a relationship to be jealous of. The closer we get, the more we end up hurting each other.
Kei grumbled, and Rick quietly chuckled.
You know, that sort of excitement is what makes relationships between men and women nice.
It's not nice at all.
Ah, the troubles of young Kei Matoba. Shall we get going?
Yeah, let's get this over with quickly.
The Filipino dealers were getting close now.
Kei opened the car door and stepped out into the night alley. Rick grabbed the Subway paper bag that he had been carefully resting on his knees and followed him out of the car.
The area was deserted. The light from street lamps reflected off puddles formed by the evening rain. While the main street was bustling with people and shops were still open, here it was deep into the night. The two Filipinos, both dressed in printed T-shirts, stood alone; one carried an outdated boombox, the other a black duffel bag.
Kei and Rick confronted the two Filipino men.
The Filipinos observed them with probing eyes. Kei was tall and broad-shouldered, while Rick was slim and narrow-shouldered. Standing together, they presented a striking contrast.
So, where's the money?
Without preamble, one of the Filipinos, who had "5-0" printed on his T-shirt, questioned them bluntly.
Hmph, you've got some nerve to make us wait an hour for you. Who do you think you are? I was on pins and needles wondering when the cops might show.
Kei responded, hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks.
Mister, do you have the money or not?
Shut up. Did you guys bring the goods? I only agreed to this deal because I heard it was fresh from the source. Show it already, you dimwits.
The face of the other Filipino man, whose T-shirt bore a peace symbol design, darkened at Kei's words.
Did you just call us dimwits? Did you really just say that?
Do I need to say it again? That is why you're a dimwit.
Kei casually met the confrontational gaze of the man he had dubbed "Peace Mark." Just as the two seemed about to trade blows, Rick stepped in.
Hold on a minute. We're all here for business. Let's skip the petty squabbles and get on with it. As you can see, the money's right here.
Fury pulled out a wad of cash from the paper bag he was holding and dangled it in front of him. There were eight bundles, each containing a hundred hundred-dollar bills.
That makes $80,000. No point in blowing the deal over nothing, right?
The men's eyes gleamed with greed. Though they tried to appear calm, their sight was glued to the movement of Rick's outstretched hand, like dogs eyeing beef jerky.
Got it? Now bring out the stuff.
As Kei commanded, the man in the 5-0 T-shirt, whom he had mentally named "Five-O," rummaged through a Boston bag and pulled out a bottle made of reinforced glass. The bottle was about thirty centimeters long with a small compressor attached to the top, which hummed softly. It was a crude device that simply pumped air into the bottle.
The contents of the glass bottle shifted slightly under the dim streetlight—immersed in a translucent liquid filled with countless bubbles was a tiny human silhouette.
It was the shape of a naked woman.
Slender white limbs.
Golden hair swaying gently.
How about that, mister? The real deal, a fairy.
It was clearly not a fake or a doll. She was unmistakably alive.
Tiny hands, no bigger than the tip of a little finger, pressed against the inside of the glass, twitching in the faint light.
She looks weak.
Kei carefully observed the creature inside the glass.
No, no. She's still got plenty of fight, mister. Just tired from the journey. It's only been a week since we caught her.
Indeed, it was rare to come across a fairy in such good condition these days. With the right facilities for processing, one could produce high-purity Fairy Dust, a magical powder that could grant blissful moments, far surpassing cocaine or heroin in effect. On the street, it could fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars and reselling it outside the city could be extremely profitable.
Well, it's quite a product, don't you think, Kei?
Rick voiced his satisfaction.
Yeah, not bad. Made the hour wait worthwhile.
Kei finally relaxed and rearranged his face into something that actually looked like a smile.
Rick laughed, and the two Filipinos also beamed. In the dimly lit alley, the four men smiled contently at each other.
Here, take it. That's the payment.
Rick casually tossed the paper bag stuffed with bills, brightening the men's smiles even further.
Thank you, mister. Thank you.
Glad you're happy. I'm in a good mood too, now that we can finally get to the main event.
Still smiling broadly, Kei pulled out his automatic pistol from the hip holster under his suit and casually aimed it at the Filipinos, while with his left hand he opened his wallet to show his badge and ID.
San Teresa City Police. You're under arrest.
The smiles on the men's faces froze, but Kei and Rick still grinned unabashedly.
The charges are kidnapping and human trafficking. That fairy isn't merchandise. Legally, she's a citizen of the Semanian world. That's a serious crime. Now, place the fairy and the money on the ground, raise your hands, and kneel.
You bastards are cops?
You really are slow. Come on, hurry up and do as you're told. Kneel. You know, on your knees—like you learned on Sesame Street, eh?
With Kei and Rick's guns pointed at them, the two thugs hesitated for a moment. They seemed to consider running away, but then remembered the alley was straight and realized they could not escape gunfire. They looked at each other and finally knelt—cursing was their only resistance.
Sons of bitches, you set us up! Filthy cops!
Well, that's quite uncouth. Rick, why don't you read them their rights?
With his gun still trained on the kneeling Peace Mark, Rick shrugged and walked closer.
I'll leave it to you, Kei.
Maybe I should sing you a little tune. Listen up, you've got the right to remain silent. Any vulgar words you spit, such as 'sons of bitches,' can be held against you in court. You also have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford one . . . well, if you don't have the cash to pay those pesky bugs, the government will flush your taxpayer dollars down the toilet and appoint one for you. How about that? Brings a tear to the eye, doesn't it? Go on, you can cry.
Go to hell, cop!
Oh, how brave.
Kei handcuffed the defiant Five-O, handling him roughly. Rick had already restrained Peace Mark, and was about to pick up the stack of bills and duffel bag that had been placed on the road.
All that was left was to throw these two into the car and head back to headquarters.
That was when the unexpected happened.
There was a strange clinking sound. As Kei turned toward Fury, he saw that Peace Mark, who should have been handcuffed, had his hands free and was grappling with Rick.
How did he get out of the handcuffs?
It became clear immediately. The man's wrists were dangling, covered in blood.
He had forcibly ripped his wrists out of the handcuffs, nonchalantly allowing his bones to shatter and his skin to tear.
Ri—
It happened in an instant, and that was all he could mutter. The man, previously just a thug, silently grabbed Rick Fury by the throat with the same superhuman strength he had used to destroy his own wrists.
A faint scream escaped Rick's throat as his neck twisted in an unnatural direction.
Rick!
Kei aimed his gun at Peace Mark without hesitation and fired. The 9mm bullets struck, causing the man's body to twitch.
Even after taking three hollow-point bullets, the man did not fall. As if nothing had happened—indeed, as if he felt no pain at all—he shoved the limp Rick towards Kei.
Ah!
The force was ferocious, like being hit by a heavy punching bag at high speed. Kei was slammed against the wall behind him, along with his partner's body, knocking the wind out of him and making him dizzy.
The man, exhibiting monstrous strength, grabbed one of the two pieces of luggage on the ground—not the bag of money, but the duffel bag containing the fairy.
Wa . . .
"Wait," he tried to say. The pain was so intense that he could not even speak.
You weak Baderii barbarian.
Glaring at Kei, Peace Mark continued to speak.
Such trickery will not defeat my servant. I will take back the girl. She was destined to be in my hands from the start.
He was speaking in the Farbanian language. Those people from the other side . . . Yes, those damned folks. This Filipino was being manipulated by someone. Kei gritted his teeth and once again aimed his gun at the man.
Don't mess with me, alien. Hands up, on your kn—
The man smirked wickedly.
It was a brutal smile, one that no ordinary thug could possess. It was a fierce, intense gaze that Kei had seen before, long ago, in a war that should have been forgotten.
He knew he was about to be killed.
Just as Kei had that thought, Peace Mark whirled around, let out a faint growl, and ran off. His footsteps splashed through puddles as he disappeared into the darkness of an alleyway beyond the reach of the streetlights.
Kei thought about chasing him. But his body was in too much pain, and he could not even stand properly.
. . .
The other Filipino, Five-O, crouched in a corner of the alley, trembling violently. Kei gasped for air, looking at Rick, who had collapsed on top of him.
Rick . . .
There was no reply.
Rick Fury's cervical spine had been cleanly snapped, and he died with his eyes wide open. The partner Kei had worked with since becoming a detective in this city four years ago had died without leaving any last words.
It was supposed to be a simple sting operation.
Rick had not spoken to his wife in a week. How was he supposed to explain this to her?
Damn it, Rick . . .
Somewhere in the distance, the sirens of a police car wailed.
1
Thirty minutes after the murder of Detective Rick Fury and the theft of the fairy, Peace Mark was found dead beside a large dumpster two kilometers from the scene.
He was already dead, and the fairy was gone.
A patrol car on its routine found the body. The cause of death was multiple gunshot wounds causing severe bleeding and organ damage. The shots were fired by Kei. Usually, one would be clinically dead within three minutes. Running two kilometers with such injuries would of course be deemed impossible by normal standards.
Peace Mark's identity was quickly established. He had moved to San Teresa two years ago and usually worked at a porn shop.
There was nothing remarkable about his real name or profession. The important point was that Peace Mark was manipulated by someone to exhibit superhuman strength, kill Rick, and flee. As far as anyone knew, such capabilities were only possible among the Semanian sorcerer.
Though the man had not acted of his own will, Kei had shot him purely in self-defense. He would not likely be charged with murder.
Even so, this is unprecedented.
Police Commissioner Jack Ross spoke with Kei when he arrived at the scene. He was the chief of the Special Public Morals Brigade to which Kei belonged and his direct superior.
Unprecedented . . . ?
Kei murmured wearily, glancing sideways at Ross.
By then, Rick's body and the other Filipino had already been taken away. Kei was squatting down, leaning against the front grill of a police vehicle, sipping his completely cooled coffee with a grimace.
The forensic team had finished their simple task and were beginning to pack up. In an hour, this alleyway would return to its usual quiet, as if nothing had happened.
What do you mean by unprecedented?
There's no precedent for a victim forcibly removing handcuffs, killing a policeman with their bare hands, and despite sustaining fatal injuries, managing to flee for two kilometers. There are various reports about Semanian magic, but nothing to this extent.
Commissioner Ross's voice was cold and unemotional.
Jack Ross, almost in his fifties, was not particularly tall or muscular, but he somehow gave the impression of being robust. Someone who would not even stagger if shoved by a big man. His pale face never cracked a smile, and his gray eyes carried the air of a weary philosopher, someone who had seen all the vices of human society. It seemed as if he was absorbing the heaviness of the alley's air into his black coat.
It was said that Ross had known Rick Fury for a long time, since their days in the NYPD. Most of the police officers in San Teresa were from all over the US and the world, bringing with them extensive careers in law enforcement.
Commissioner Ross showed no signs of scolding or interrogating Kei.
It's a shame about Fury.
I'm sorry, sir.
It's not your fault.
Really? I can't help blaming myself.
Kei was aware of the Semanian ability to manipulate others. Indeed, he had once experienced it firsthand.
And yet, he had let his guard down.
I should have noticed.
Noticing would have been nearly impossible. A victim who's lost his self-awareness doesn't show noticeable signs beforehand. That Filipino probably did not show any signs either.
Probably.
So I'll say it again—it's not your fault.
But still, I—
That's enough. Let the lawyers handle the rest.
Ross's words were as matter-of-fact as ever, but a slight irritation was evident.
He was right. Lining up self-reproachful words in front of the chief would only tire them both out. Words would not save anyone.
Understood. So, about that fairy supposedly being special . . .
That's what the criminal said, right?
He said in Farbanian that she was supposed to go to him from the start. He also called me a weak barbarian, and used the word "Baderii." I've never heard anyone use that word outside of Farbanian language lectures. It's not something usual immigrants would use.
"Baderii" literally meant "very" or "extremely" but was an archaic and formal expression used in Farbanian. A typical Semanian living in the city would say "Baada" instead.
So he's from the Semanian educated class?
He's a wizard, so he must be educated. I still don't understand why he chose to speak to me.
Maybe there's no rational reason.
Why do you think that?
Because their civilization isn't rational.
Ross was not simply saying they were primitive. Kei knew that much. Semanian civilization was different from theirs. In the Semanian world, scientific thinking was not common, nor were concepts like democracy and human rights. They had zero in their number system and techniques for trigonometry and metal refining, but their underlying philosophy was different. They decided their daily tasks by the phases of the moon, left the choice of their spouses to fortune-tellers, and declared their names loudly on the battlefield.
It was anything but rational.
However, mere centuries ago, such things were commonplace for humans on Earth too. Interacting with Semanians sometimes made one feel that there was something wrong with modern human society, the civilization of the 21st century.
We need to find the sorcerer and the fairy.
Ross looked determined.
I've arranged for the local stations to look out, but I doubt it'll be that simple. We might get faster results by starting with the known fences and smugglers.
Right, I'll start hitting up some contacts myself, right after I press the surviving Filipino who got us the fairy.
Kei got up with a grimace, took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders. His back still ached where he had been smashed against the wall under the weight of Rick.
Let others handle that. You should go home and rest.
You're joking, chief.
Kei snorted in displeasure.
My partner of four years was murdered. Do you think I can sleep if I go home now? Maybe I could catch a rerun of The X-Files, but unfortunately, I hate that show. It feels like a joke to air such a series in this city where alien wizards roam the streets. No thanks, I'd rather not rest.
It's your choice what channel to watch, but I won't allow you back on duty.
Ross's words were firm.
You've been working for thirty hours straight since yesterday evening. Pushing yourself further here won't end well. It's an order. Go home.
But . . .
Submit your report by nine tomorrow morning. After that, gather the investigators for a briefing.
Kei knew better than to talk back any more.
Well, it was going to be a tough case. Another all-nighter would not change much.
Should I tell Amy, or will you?
Remembering Mrs. Fury, now a widow, Kei spoke up.
Right, I'll do i—
Ross cut himself off mid-sentence.
Actually, you go ahead and tell her first. Send someone to pick her up. I'll take care of the rest.
Understood.
Sorry to ask, but please.
No problem.
Kei shrugged then walked to his car.
A 2002 Cooper S, an early model of the new MINI produced by BMW, stood waiting. As he sat down in the driver's seat and turned the key, he noticed something. In the cup holder in front of the shift lever, there was still a paper cup of coffee that Rick Fury had left unfinished.
After hesitating for a moment, Kei threw the coffee and the paper cup out the window.
Not feeling like going straight home, he aimlessly drove his car around.
He cruised down Peninsula Street, close to the scene of the crime, and headed to Methuselah Street. Even though it was past two in the morning, the nightlife district was still bustling. Metselaar Street resembled Kabukicho in Japan, filled with countless bars, strip clubs, and porn shops. The sidewalks teemed with people.
It was a neon-lit night scene common in cities around the world.
Signs in garish colors displayed a plethora of languages—not just English, but Russian, Spanish, French, Korean, Chinese, and many others Kei could not identify. He thought he maybe saw Thai and Vietnamese too. There were also signs in Arabic, but even as a long-term resident, he had no idea what any of them said.
Japanese signs were also common, featuring clumsily copied advertisements and pictures acquired from somewhere. The other languages were probably just as inaccurately represented. It had been amusing to Kei when he first came here from his hometown of Atsugi during wartime, but now it was just another ordinary sight.
What made this city unusual was the presence of Farbanian, a language widely used in the other world.
The most famous Farbanian phrase known to Earthlings was "Leto Semani," which referred to their world, meaning "Land of Humans." It was used similarly to the word "Earth."
But the Semanian world was not referred to as the "Semanian Planet" or anything like that.
Because the Semanian world was not a planet at all.
The kind of universe known to Earthlings did not exist in the Semanian world. It was known that on top of a convex-shaped hemisphere with a diameter of about 38,000 kilometers, there were seas and lands, but beyond that, the region was surrounded by thick thunderclouds, much like the ancient Earthlings had believed Earth to be.
No one knew what lay beyond the clouds. Earth's observation teams had sent unmanned probes beyond the thunderclouds multiple times, but all communication with the probes had been lost.
The sun and moon moved across the sky, but it was unclear whether they were actually celestial bodies or just satellites. Launching observation rockets only resulted in them shattering at around 80 kilometers in altitude. The cause was unknown, but Semanians said that it was only natural as it was an attempt to defy the heavens.
Despite all efforts by Earth's exploration teams, data from the most sophisticated equipment remained inconsistent, and no significant breakthroughs had been achieved.
Numerous hypotheses about Semanian space had been proposed, but none were proven decisive.
The inhabitants of the Semanian world laughed off the Earthlings' efforts to observe, showing little interest in earthly conceptions of the universe.
In the city of San Teresa, there was a large population of Semanian residents.
When the Gate appeared, it brought with it Kariaena Island, originally a peninsula of the Semanian world, which then shifted into the Earth's realm. This city, San Teresa, built upon an ancient city that already existed on the island, was the closest to the Gate—essentially the gateway between worlds.
Even now, as he drove through the streets, there were many Semanian people among the pedestrians crossing back and forth. The term "Semani," much like "Earthlings," was a broad term, but that was what everyone collectively called those from the other side. There were slight skeletal differences, and anthropologists were thrilled to assign them scientific names like "Homo Sematica" to categorise these differences.
But he would let those who enjoy unraveling the mysteries of the world ponder such things. For Sergeant Matoba, the real issue was dealing with the people who moved between worlds, among whom, inevitably, there were criminals.
He passed through the red-light district. There was no time to wander around the city indefinitely.
He had things to attend to now.
After pulling over at the end of Methuselah Street, he took out his cell phone but did not dial. He just stared grimly at the screen.
He was reluctant to make the call.
He could not think of what to say to the widow.
He had been hesitating for maybe three minutes when someone began tapping on the driver's side window. Three young men were peering in at Kei.
They were Semanian.
Kei rolled down the window and looked up at the Semanian youngsters with tired eyes.
Mister, we'll wash your car for you.
One of the Semanians said.
That's all right. I'm good. Move along.
Come on, don't be like that. Look, we'll even throw in a little extra service.
One of them spat on the windshield and began wiping it with a grimy rag. Kei wondered who had taught them this kind of Earth-style contempt.
That'll be 300 dollars. You'll pay, right? I'd hate for something bad to happen to your precious car.
Hey now.
Their ingratiating smiles were gone, replaced by a blatant menace as they started banging on the hood and kicking the tires, doing as they pleased.
Come on, get out of the car, or do you want to get hurt?!
Hurry up, slowpoke Earthling!
It's just 300 bucks!
Kei didn't know whether to reach for his badge inside his jacket, the handgun under his arm, or the shotgun under the seat.
He decided against using any of them. When he was in this mood, physical exercise was the best remedy. He stepped out of the car with a nonchalant gesture, raising his hands.
All right, all right, calm down.
Hurry up.
I'm getting it out now . . . let's see, where was it . . . Ah, here it is.
Since there were a few quarters in his pocket, Kei scattered them carelessly on the ground. For a moment, the youngsters looked back and forth between the coins and him, puzzled.
Pick them up. You're welcome.
The young men's eyes darkened with genuine anger. The closest one muttered some curse words and lunged at Kei.
Here we go, he thought.
He deflected the incoming right arm and slammed the heel of his palm into the assailant's chin. As the man staggered, Kei pulled him closer and delivered a heavy knee to his exposed midriff, eliciting a groan of agony. Leaving the collapsed man where he fell, he faced the next attacker. This one was bigger than Kei. Punches flew—right, left. Kei easily blocked them and landed a sharp low kick. The crisp sound of impact was satisfying, and the man staggered. Kei followed up with a boxer-like one-two punch and finished with an exaggerated roundhouse kick. His coat flared out like a fan as the second man fell spread-eagled to the ground.
He quickly turned to face the last thug, who was about to attack from behind but hesitated.
What's wrong? Come at me.
He beckoned with his hand, and the man fumbled his words, shaking his head.
Giving up?
Y-Yeah . . .
Even we Earthlings have tough guys. Instead of playing thug, you should be in school. You got that?
Y-yes.
It's 'Yes, sir.' Show some respect for your elders.
Yes, sir.
Good, class dismissed. Now scram.
After helping up the one who was completely sprawled out, the young Semanians fled the scene. Kei straightened his disheveled clothes and then sighed deeply.
If those Semanians had been a bit older, things might not have gone so smoothly. They were raised right here in San Teresa. In terms of ability, they were no different from the local thugs. But with the older generations, those around Kei's age, it got more dangerous.
