"You think you can come in here and just demand money from us? What do we look like to you, a bunch of pussies?"
Shizuo eyed the kid standing in front of him with an even eye. Hiro Kojima, according to Tom. Hair dyed blue, cocky smirk on his face, gold chains hanging from his neck. A rich boy playing gangster, cut off from the family fortune and unable to cope with the quality of life that came with it. He had seen it countless times; bored, stupid kids wanting some sort of thrill, coming to Ikebukuro to get a taste of some action. They take out loans so they can play out their fantasies, not once considering how they are going to pay them off. Spoiled brats like this guy pissed him off.
They were standing in the hallway of an apartment building, just outside room 316, which apparently served as the "headquarters" of this blue-haired kid's gang. The kid was flanked by four others, who, Shizuo assumed, were members of said gang. One, a rather beefy bald man in a tank tap, brandished his lead pipe threateningly. Another, with dark greasy hair to his shoulders and a general slimy feel about him, was eyeing up Shizuo with a hungry look in his eye. The third was grinning stupidly, apparently pleased with his boss's handling of the situation thus far, and fiddling with the brass knuckles on his right hand. The fourth, a pale skinny kid with his baseball cap on backwards, only seemed to grow whiter with every word that Kojima spouted.
"Look, it's not up to me," Tom said with a sigh, "Not my fault you got debts to pay. Just my job to collect."
"Screw that. You can shove that piece of-"
But the pale, skinny guy grabbed Kojima by the shoulder and said, "Hey man, maybe just-take it easy."
"Seriously? What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Kojima asked, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder. "We ain't gonna take this shit!"
"Dude…don't you know who that is?" the other kid hissed, his eyes darting to Shizuo, "That's Shizuo Heiwajima."
The blue haired kid turned from his friend and threw an appraising look in Shizuo's direction, taking in the out-of-place bartender uniform and blonde hair. From behind his sunglasses, Shizuo rolled his eyes; it was the same thing every time. Now it would go one of two ways. One, kid's eyes would go wide with fear and he would break down. He'd beg for forgiveness and hurry away to get some cash. Or, two…
"Oh really?" the blue haired kid said, a smirk coming across his face, "This is the Shizuo Heiwajima? You sure about that?"
"Pretty sure," Backwards Hat whimpered, slinking back a step.
Kojima laughed. Shizuo gritted his teeth.
"Well, I've got to say, I'm flattered," Kojima said, "The Banker must think something of me if he's are sending Shizuo Heiwajima, huh?"
Tom shrugged and said, "I kind of doubt it; the jobs are given out at random as far as I know."
The blue haired kid frowned. "Was I talking to you? Didn't think so. So just shut up, huh?"
Shizuo's grip tightened around the cigarette he was smoking. Tom eyed Shizuo, giving him a tired, silent plea to not to lose his temper, which only served to fan the flames further.
No. This punk isn't worth it.
The dreadlocked debt collector then turned back to the blue haired kid and said, "Let me tell you this. I've seen too many guys like you make the same mistakes you're making right now. Nobody needs to get hurt. Now, if can just figure this out and-"
"You know," Kojima interrupted, "They say Shizuo Heiwajima can throw cars and shit. That he rips light poles straight outta the ground. That he can survive having cranes dropped on him from twenty stories up. Pretty crazy, huh?"
He smiled and took a step towards Shizuo, looking him right in the eye.
"You know what I think though?"
Shizuo took in a deep breath. Calm…
"Enlighten me," he growled.
"I think that's all a bunch of bullshit," Kojima said, "Rumors you spread on the Internet. I know you used to be part of the Dollars. You probably just built up that persona on their forums and shit. Pretty smart, honestly. With half of Ikebukuro on the Dollar's website, all you had to was have you and some friends create a bunch of different profiles and then spread the word of your "extraordinary powers" and soon everyone and their mother would know about how tough Shizuo Heiwajima was."
"Then people like this loser here," he jabbed a thumb at Backwards Cap, "are too scared shitless to pick a fight with you. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you can handle yourself just fine, enough to pull through a couple scraps to help legitimize yourself. But some of that shit man, that's straight outta a manga, and I ain't dumb enough to fall for it. That's straight up monster shit man, and there ain't no such thing as monsters."
"Kid, you obviously have not been in Ikebukuro long," Shizuo said quietly, "Or else you live with your head shoved up your ass."
"The hell did you just say to me?"
"You heard me."
"Shizuo," Tom said warningly.
"If anyone's gonna have their head up their asses, it's going to be—"
"Hiro, please man," Backwards Hat said, speaking up again, "Let's just pay these guys and—"
"Shut the hell up Takeshi," Kojima interrupted, "We ain't giving these guys shit. In fact, we're going to have a bit of fun with them."
The other three other gangsters all seemed to perk up at this, exchanging manic grins and eyeing up Shizuo.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Kojima, surely you must realize that, even if you were to take us, the Banker would merely send more people after you? We can still settle this peacefully."
"Ha, you think anyone's going to mess with us after we've finished off Shizuo Heiwajima?" Kojima said as three of his cronies started to slowly fan out, "Nah, you've done a good job, and now we're gonna cash in on it!"
Tom sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose, massaging his forehead. "You're really pushing your luck…"
"Say, where's that legendary temper of yours Heiwajima?" Kojima said, ignoring Tom and turning his attention back to Shiuzo. "I would have expected you to be kicking my teeth in by now. Or was that just a lie as well?"
It took an enormous effort not to unleash himself on Kojima, but Shizuo took a deep drag from his cigarette and just stared at him from behind his violet-tinted sunglasses.
"Oh, come on now!" Kojima said. "I want to see the real Shizuo Heiwajima! The uncontrolled rage! The furious, unstoppable force of nature! Prove me wrong! Show me just how wrong I am! Show me the monster!"
Shizuo's fists clenched, fingernails digging deeply into the palms of his hands. His body was electric, angry energy looking for any sort of outlet. Kojima continued to stare him down, a gleeful madness in his eyes. A look that every inch of him ached to wipe off his face. But he held the urge at bay. He wouldn't let his anger consume him.
Kojima laughed. "That's what I thought; you ain't nothing but a fake."
His eyes lit up, his sick grin growing deep. "Or maybe that chick took your balls with her. That blonde bitch realize what you are and leave? Shame, heard she was a fine piece of—"
The blue haired kid crashed through the cheap wooden door of his apartment, Shizuo just barely catching a look of surprise flashing across the kid's expression before his fist connected. Kojima smashed one layer of dry wall. Then two. His body came to an abrupt halt as it embedded an inch into the outer wall.
The one named Takeshi stumbled backwards, eyes bulging and falling over himself. The others, however, had an opposite reaction to what had just happened.
"Get 'em!" the idiot with brass knuckles shouted, charging towards Shizuo, swinging his fist wildly.
Shizuo let the anger burn, let it fuel the power behind his fists. He sidestepped the attack before countering with one of his own. His knuckles lodged beneath the wannabe's chin for a fraction of a second. The kid launched upwards, bursting into the ceiling and then falling back down to the floor with a thud.
Eyeing his fallen comrade for a brief second, the greasy gangster drew a switchblade and charged forward. Shizuo dodged again, but had to quickly duck underneath a swing from the largest gangster. Seeing an opening, the greasy kid slashed again. The blade sliced through flesh, causing a red streak to come across the sleeve of Shizuo's white undershirt. The gangster grinned manically and slashed again, certain that he had wounded his opponent. But Shizuo stepped sideways, feeling no pain from the wound, and grabbed the man's wrist as it flew past. Smiling wildly, Shizuo squeezed. The sound of snapping bones filled the air, soon joined by the greasy kid's screams and the clattering of the knife on hardwood.
Shizuo felt a dull hit to the back of his head. He turned to see a lead pipe glistening with red blood, a shocked look across the face of its owner.
"What the hell…" the gangster said, barely audible over his comrade's continued yells of pain.
The shock didn't hold long though and the gangster's expression hardened. He swung at Shizuo, a strike aimed at his head. An adrenaline-fueled smile still on his face, Shizuo brought his free arm between his face and the incoming pipe. The pipe connected, the disturbing sound of metal crushing bone served as his only indication that his forearm was broken. The greasy kid still firmly in his grip, Shizuo swung the screaming fool into his comrade, letting go as the two bodies collided. The momentum sent both tumbling into the wall at the end of the hall, crumpling in a heap.
"Shit!"
The cry came from the one called Takeshi as he scrambled to his feet, his eyes locked in fear on Shizuo. He started to sprint down the hall, but almost immediately fell on his face, tripping over the outstretched leg of Tom. The gangster groaned as Tom crouched down next to him.
"You want to get that cash now?" Tom asked
Takeshi mumbled an affirmative, slowly turning over and revealing his broken nose, which was bleeding profusely. Tom gestured for the kid to lead on as he stood to his full height. As Takeshi got slowly to his full height, Tom looked to Shizuo, who was breathing heavily, the adrenaline of the moment starting to wear off.
"Didn't have a choice. They weren't going to back off," Tom said, giving his friend a consoling pat on the back as he followed Takeshi into the apartment.
"Yeah, I guess," Shizuo grunted, giving a final look at the three unconscious gangsters in the hall before following Tom.
No further words were exchanged. Takeshi took them into one of the bedrooms where there was a safe. As the kid opened it and handed over what was due, Shizuo wandered out of the room, lost in his thoughts. It was true, he supposed, that they were going to attack regardless. He couldn't have stopped that. But did it always have to be this way? Would his name, his face, always bring about these same conflicts over and over again?
He found that he had wandered into the room where Kojima had landed. The blue haired kid leaned weakly against the wall, his face etched in pain and his hairline and mouth splattered with blood. His eyes wandered shakily over to Shizuo; gone was the cocky ignorance, replaced by all-too-knowing fear.
"Wha—what the hell are you?"
The words hung limply in the air as Shizuo looked at the broken figure before him. Kojima would live, as would the other three; he had yet to fall into his rage so deeply that he could not control his strength.
Shizuo looked at the kid for another moment longer, understanding the fear Kojima felt.
"Guess there are monsters out there, huh kid?"
He lit a cigarette, stared out the window for a second or two, lost in the oranges of the waning sun, before turning heel to help his friend collect what they had come for.