Chapter Four: The Swordsman · Dissonance · Rain in Time

A dozen minutes later, Gongsun Ce, left alone, sighed and murmured, “If anyone is the embodiment of willful recklessness, it’s her…” Caldwell had taken Qin Qianbai away, Shiyu Jun had gone off to the school with the forms, and Gongsun Ce, dawdling and reluctant to leave, had not set out simply because he dreaded his assigned task. In his opinion, he had drawn the most difficult lot—a task that was in a different league from the girls’ “buy suitable costumes!” or Shiyu Jun’s “submit the application materials to the school!”

His task was named: “Find the fifth member of the Cyber Ghost Music Club.”

“I—I remember! I just recalled it! Gongsun Ce, you know a lot of people, so I’ll leave this to you! Before tonight, even if you have to threaten someone with your powers, you must drag someone in!”

To issue such a tyrannical order to a friend! Did she think everyone would indulge her like Shiyu Jun? Not a chance!

Truthfully, he very much wanted to refuse like that.

Shiyu Jun apparently truly disliked the club’s name. Although Gongsun Ce found it rather cool, since his friend—who had just saved his life days ago—was so adamant, it was only right to discuss it further before making a decision.

—But the young lady had written “Good luck” on the board she raised overhead.
—Even with no expression, it was clear she was interested this time.

There was nothing to be done.

After pressing his palms together in a silent apology to the wryly smiling Shiyu Jun, the gray-haired youth accepted the daunting task without further protest. The result: now, with the other three gone, he remained seated, headache throbbing, pondering whom he could possibly recruit for the club.

Hello, fellow student, are you interested in joining the Cyber Ghost Music Club?—If only it were that easy, simply asking around the university. But in practice, even “recruit someone” was a formidable challenge.

Gongsun Ce considered himself a friendly, approachable youth, but the other three members of the club—at least in others’ eyes—were probably not nearly as welcoming. Miss Qin, who had once slammed someone into a wall; Shiyu Jun, who’d made troublemakers weep and beg for mercy; Caldwell, rumored to have once set fire to her high school. Who would willingly join a club with these people?

Even for the sake of one’s own reputation, it was wise to keep one’s distance. After all, those who constantly appeared with troublemakers would inevitably be colored by association. Why else would he have such a strange reputation, even being called “the Demon”? Clearly, this was the negative influence of his friends!

“Maybe I should just ask Big Brother.”

He turned the idea over and over, but found no suitable peers. Halfheartedly toying with the notion of recruiting an information broker as a nominal member, he let his gaze wander between the TV, the register, and the entrance, marking time in the real world.

The busiest period had passed and the fast-food restaurant was half as crowded as before. He could now easily count the number of customers coming in. It was then that a new arrival caught his attention.

The gray-haired youth narrowed his eyes.

The newcomer was a tall, slender man with long hair, the locks at his temples falling to his collarbone, and a wooden hairpin slanting through the hair at the back of his head. He wore a long blue robe trimmed with red, trousers, and cloth shoes—looking for all the world like a swordsman from some folk legend.

This outfit was already quite out of place in the modern world, but what drew the eye even more were the items he carried.

He had two blades.

One, a long sword strapped to his back; the other, a short sword at his waist.

Was he an actor from a theater troupe, or an enthusiast deliberately dressed this way? That would be most people’s first thought. If they merely passed each other on the street, Gongsun Ce would have thought the same, for he sensed no danger, no sign of supernatural ability, nor even a hint of hostility from the man.

Yet Gongsun Ce still frowned.

For the man was coming directly toward him, nodded a greeting, and, upon reaching his table, asked, “Is this seat taken?”

“The person just left. Please, have a seat.”

The swordsman slid in sideways, ensuring his long blade did not catch on the back of the chair.

The esper tried to deduce his intent. He didn’t look student-aged, so likely wasn’t an esper. Unless he had some special means of concealment, he was almost certainly a practitioner of “Unorthodox Arts.”

Or perhaps, like a certain young lady’s family, simply a martial artist.

With insufficient information for further speculation, he waited for the man to state his purpose.

The man said, “Fight me.”

“…What?”

The youth gave a startled exclamation.

Those blunt words yanked Gongsun Ce from the bustle of daily life straight into the realm of the extraordinary. Grinding his teeth, he cursed his luck. “Challenging someone to a duel without even giving your name—that’s rather rude.”

The swordsman glanced at the students lining up at the counter, a faintly amused smile tugging at his lips.

“One should state one’s name before a duel. You haven’t answered my invitation.”

For a moment, the esper was at a loss.

This man, brazenly issuing a challenge in public, did not seem an official enforcer, yet if he were some hostile vagabond, his calm words belied such intent. What was this man after?

He chose his words carefully. “I don’t want to fight you.”

At last, he saw some other emotion flicker across the man’s face.

The swordsman closed his eyes, apparently troubled. After a moment, he said, “I can pay you—a lot.”

“No, thank you. I’m not in financial trouble.”

“Hmm…” The man tapped his brow with a finger. “I could do something for you, as long as it’s not too much.”

As if to reinforce his point, he declared earnestly, “I’m very capable.”

For once, Gongsun Ce was at a loss for words—a rare state for one so quick-tongued.

The reason was simple: this man’s words were so far outside his expectations. He’d thought he’d be dealing with another schemer, or someone shrouded in mystery; instead, the man spoke like a child.

Gongsun Ce was used to handling situations with lies, but felt oddly reluctant to deceive someone like this—he couldn’t be sure the man wouldn’t take even an obvious lie at face value.

Bring me the Dawn Knight’s deerstalker and I’ll fight you. Fetch me the Great Northcoat and I’ll fight you. If he said such things, the man might well stroll off to the Morton Kingdom or search out that middle-aged painter—and whether or not he returned with the item, trouble would surely find Gongsun Ce in the end.

So he decided to respond as simply and directly as possible: “Sir, thank you for your offer, but I don’t wish to fight. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

The swordsman turned his head in distress. “What would it take for you to fight me?”

The gray-haired youth answered honestly.

“You could try provoking me—curse at me, or take a swing at me with your blade. I promise to fight you with one hundred percent anger.”

“That would be too rude,” the swordsman sighed regretfully. “If you ever want to fight, come find me. We will have our bout.”

He paused, then asked, “Is the food here any good?”

“If you don’t mind greasy fare, it’s decent and not too expensive. I personally recommend the signature chicken sandwich combo and the fried chicken. The new Bio-Kangaroo Burger isn’t worth trying—someone threw up after eating it the other day.”

“Thank you. See you next time.”

With that, the swordsman went to queue for food.

Gongsun Ce left the fast-food restaurant, looked up at the thickening clouds, glanced down at the concrete, and sincerely exclaimed, “What a character!”

The man had spoken as if convinced they would meet again.

Next time, he’d have to ask Big Brother, and if that failed, Shiyu Jun… and if all else failed, Yan Qi…

He shook his head, put the strange encounter out of his mind, and returned to pondering the club’s affairs.

·

The swordsman ordered a Bio-Kangaroo Burger combo and a durian-purple rice milk tea ice cream.

The girl at the counter politely cautioned him that neither item was to most people’s taste.

He was delighted to try them. In a new city, one should eat food found nowhere else, see sights unseen elsewhere, and challenge opponents not found in other places—that was the joy of life.

He took a pair of plastic gloves, then finished the Skydome City’s bio-combo.

There was no taste of dragon’s blood in the patty; it tasted more like synthetic food than true bio-meat. It had a strange flavor, he thought, but the patty was pleasantly chewy—not good, not bad.

The ice cream smelled unpleasant but tasted quite sweet; he found the cone itself delicious.

He ate half, then rose and left with his ice cream.

He chose a random direction and strolled down the commercial street, passing a clothing store along the way.

The window display featured new arrivals and discounted seasonal items. Occasionally, passersby paused, but none approached closely; instead, they pointed from a distance.

He stopped, waiting for about ten seconds. When the light changed, the street filled with people—middle-aged men in business attire, elderly folk with canes, young people laughing and running.

Without exception, everyone avoided the area in front of the shop window. From above, it would have looked strikingly odd—a semicircular gap about a meter and a half in radius, centered on the store window, where no one passed. Even hurried students made a detour when passing.

“Hmm.”

The swordsman began to walk, following the edge of the semicircle, neither too close nor too far, exactly one and a half meters from the window’s center.

He paced back and forth twice until the shop door opened and the proprietress greeted him with a smile: “Hello sir, do you need any help?”

The swordsman posed a strange question.

“Am I walking in a straight line?”

The shop owner was a bit flustered. “Yes… I saw you walking right against the window, almost pressing up to the glass.”

He nodded. “That’s what I thought. Have you noticed anything strange? Odd winds, weird smells, strange sounds?”

“…No.”

Everything was normal—except, perhaps, for this double-bladed, long-robed, ice-cream-eating customer.

But she couldn’t very well tell him, “I think you’re the strange one.”

“Thank you.” He glanced inside. “Do you sell wristbands?”

He bought a pair of blue wristbands.

A little weight on the wrists changed the feeling of swinging a blade—he found it more useful than any martial focus.

He decided he needed to take measures to resolve the discordant feeling he’d sensed earlier. Wind and scent could be sampled while walking, but unique sounds were another matter.

The swordsman decided to search for a music store.

He was unfamiliar with this city but had plenty of time. He could simply wander until he found what he sought.

He wasn’t worried about coming up empty-handed—he had his wooden hairpin. As long as he carried it, he always found things of interest.

So the swordsman turned a corner and wandered at random. After ten minutes, he stopped at an intersection.

Across the street stood a blue-haired woman in hunter’s garb. When the light turned green, the huntress crossed against the flow and came to stand before him.

The swordsman asked, “Who are you?”

A lock of her hair turned black, then shifted back in a blink.

He realized, “Impressive. Very convenient.”

Shiyu Ling tapped the short arrow at her waist. “Was it you who saved me, Nightwalker?”

Nightwalker smiled.

“The other Shiyu is very concerned about you. He asked me to speak with the Ritual Hall, to ask them not to kill you.”