Maohden Vol. 2 by Hideyuki Kikuchi

Behind the hair hanging down to his chin, his eyes narrowed to barely more than slits.
    Kuyakusho Street. The camera slowly panned to the left, past a row of restaurants, revealing two men in suits in the adjacent alley. They were looking at the hospital with reptilian eyes. The camera stopped.
    “Them?”
    Mephisto nodded.
    “It will take but a minute. But—”
    “But—?”
    “Kill two cockroaches and there will soon be a thousand more just like them.”
    “I couldn’t care less. The problem is not those two in particular, but your particular skills.”
    “You will have no reason to be dissatisfied with those skills.”
    Hyota left the examination room and returned to the lobby. Outside it was raining. Crushed beneath his feet, the rusty red flowers gasped out puffs of crimson pollen. The rain grew heavier, the spray flying off his body. He practically disappeared, obscured by the mist surrounding him.
    A plastic awning sheltered the alley where the men were waiting. These canopies had been erected by the ward government. Several other pedestrians had taken shelter there as well.
    The two men stood at the entrance to the alley. The slicked-back hair of one was parted over his left temple. The other had his hair parted over the right. Each was holding an umbrella.
    Hyota stopped in front of them. Their eyes flicked downwards in a what the hell expression. Outside Shinjuku, the weirdness of the scene would have been overwhelming. Here it was barely out of the ordinary.
    “Yeah?” said the one with the hair parted on the left.
    Hyota peered up at him. “Come with me,” he said.
    He spoke in subdued tones, his voice rising up like a ghostly miasma. But the men clearly heard him. Mr. Left Part lowered his hips and settled down in a boxing stance. The bulge in his black suit under his left shoulder was clearly that of a gun. But he was the type who preferred to settle disagreements with his bare hands.
    Mr. Right Part stood there, not moving.
    Hyota turned and proceeded toward Kabuki-cho. If these punks had class to match their threads, they would follow him.
    They didn’t.
    Right Part made the first move. Holding the umbrella with a reverse grip, he charged at Hyota, aiming for the back of his neck.
    Hyota scooted forward. The tip of the umbrella slashed through empty air, striking a stone on the sidewalk and cleaving it in two. The tip of the umbrella was made of ballistic-grade synthetic polymer. Considering the force behind it, the man had to be heavily juiced.
    Hyota came to a halt. “So, a swordsman, eh?”
    Right Part raised the umbrella in an en garde stance. Left Part circled around Hyota, blocking any attempt to retreat.
    As the rain pounded down on them, the two men might have already realized the folly of engaging this particular opponent. So low to the ground, their well-honed fighting stances grew stiff and overextended.
    Hyota rose no higher than the man’s waist, forcing him to bend over all the more to get within striking distance. Whether fighting hand-to-hand or with a sword, striking at an opponent lower in height than the outstretched arm diminished the power and speed of a blow.
    With a rebel yell, Right Part charged at him, drawing back the umbrella to the right as he kicked up his left foot. A black mass flashed through the air like a shooting star, all but searing the air.
    Hyota soared skywards. The shooting star flew towards his face. Right Part’s kick had sent his shoe flying. Go high or go low and one was guaranteed to connect. A perfectly timed attack.
    Seeing his shoe strike home, Right Part stabbed the umbrella at Hyota’s midsection, a killing blow.
    The shoe came to a sudden halt right below Hyota’s nose. Hyota grabbed it in his mouth. The umbrella thrust wavered. No resistance met the jab, the tip transmitting only a slight impact.
    Right Part stared harder. Hyota perched on top of the umbrella. Right Part let go of it. Hyota jumped backwards. Startled, Left Part retreated as