AN: Morricone's L'Arena is a very beautiful piece of music…

7. The Indifferent Tutelage of Nabeshin

It was cold, dark and damp. She was beginning to regret having forfeited the flashlight. She was alone, afraid and hungry. She had already gnawed through – and eaten – the rope that had bound her hands and feet, but it had proved tough and indigestible.

Slowly, agonizingly, her fingernail dug again into the hard-packed dirt of the shaft wall. Why she did it, she couldn't say. No one would ever see. She couldn't even see herself. Still, next to the six vertical marks already scraped into the wall, she added a seventh. She could feel them with her hand; the record of her captivity.

Geez, she thought, and sighed. I've already been this whole for seven whole minutes. Is Excel…really gonna die down here?

This wasn't how epic revenge quests ended. There was a way out, certainly – but damned if she could find it. What had seemed like too-elaborate a death trap had turned out to be deadly simple. She had checked her pockets, but Key had found and taken the remote: the 6050 was out of reach, and Shioji's tracking device was imbedded in it, not her; he wouldn't find her. Again she heard Key's voice: There is no escape.

Now if only some helpful citizen would roll a television over the mouth of the pit, my vengeful ghost could continue the mission…

But that was about as likely as Lord Ilpalazzo himself letting down a rope.

She curled up on her side, hugging her knees. As time passed, the stagnant pool of groundwater underneath her received first one, then two, then a steady trickle of tears.


"Once upon a time, in F City…"

Lord Ilpalazzo was speaking. Although Excel would have been quick to insist that she hung on his every word, and it would in fact have been difficult to find a more attentive listener, the way in which she appreciated his words – Once! China! – made it difficult to understand his overall meaning. Also, she was distracted; she had rarely been so close to Lord Ilpalazzo's person. He drove the car, she was the passenger; from time to time their knees almost brushed against each other.

If she didn't pay attention, though, she knew she'd never know where they were going, or why. But what did China have to do with anything?

"…some believe around six months ago…"

It was a hot summer's day. The concrete walls of F City's huge apartment buildings sizzled, and Ilpalazzo drove with the window down. For this 'mixing with the ignorant masses' occasion, he had adopted a conservative black wig and business suit, although his trademark glasses (not to mention his undisguisably aristocratic features) gave him away. Excel was dizzy with privilege. Surely this was a mission of the utmost importance!—And Ilpalazzo had selected her, not Hatchan, for participation! What was next; a promotion? Dare she even hope – a kind word? With her hands pressed in her lap, she fixed her widest, dewiest eyes on Ilpalazzo. She would have expressed her joy aloud; except that he had pointed out, before they left, the car's ejector seat.

"…Nabeshin, International man of mystery, was purchasing energy drinks and a candy bar in a convenience store not far from here," Ilpalazzo went on, oblivious to (or at least ignoring) her adoring gaze. "The total for the purchase came to some two hundred yen. Now Nabeshin – in a practically unfathomable display of generosity – expressed his intention to pay in full, by check. The clerk then informed that it was the policy of the store – not to accept personal checks.

"Now was it the intention of the clerk to arouse Nabeshin's ire? Or did he simply – fail to appreciate Nabeshin's generosity in offering to pay at all? The motives of the clerk remain unknown. What is known – are the consequences."

Ilpalazzo paused to honk at an old lady sitting in front of them at the green light, and Excel took the opportunity to nod ecstatically. As they began to drive again, Ilpalazzo continued: "Nabeshin demanded of the insolent clerk that he summon his superior. The manager at first attempted to console Nabeshin – only to find that Nabeshin was – inconsolable."

He smiled darkly, and stopped to nudge his glasses further up his nose. Excel nodded again; although she was secretly filled with terror, as the point of the story escaped her.

"So began the massacre of all six employees in the store, at the fists of Nabeshin. And so began the legend – of Nabeshin's Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique."

"Whoa!" Excel saluted. "Lord Ilpalazzo! Please explain, for the benefit of Excel's poor wandering mind, the Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique!"

Ilpalazzo smiled again. "It's rather simple, I'm told. He strikes you with his fingertips at five specific places on your body, then – lets you walk away. However, you will take no more than five steps before your heart simply, well, explodes in your chest. As you may imagine, Agent Excel, it is by far the most lethal fighting technique known to man, and yet no one other than Nabeshin has ever claimed to master it."

"Sir! If Excel may venture a humble guess, this incredible and highly unlikely-sounding technique would be an invaluable addition to ACROSS's fighting power, if only an agent of ACROSS were able to learn its secret!—Lord Ilpalazzo, wouldn't it be funny if we were on our way, this very instant, to find this Nabeshin so that—?"

Ilpalazzo stopped in front of a grim-looking apartment tower, like any other in F City, and parked the car.

"Your powers of erudition are unusual today, Agent Excel."

"Lord Ilpalazzo! Those are the kindest words your Excel has ever heard!"

"We are currently parked in front of Nabeshin's residence. I recently found—" he removed a newspaper clipping from his breast pocket—"this item in our decadent, corporate-controlled – but nonetheless generally reliable – daily newspaper."

Excel squinted.

Invincible Martial Arts Master Nabeshin seeks enthusiastic, dedicated and sturdy disciple for enlightenment, etc. Brains not required! Apply at…

Scratching her head, Excel said hesitantly: "Forgive me, Lord Ilpalazzo – but isn't a sturdy an odd choice of words? And – 'brains not required?'"

"In other words," said Ilpalazzo, smiling yet again, "this assignment seems ideally suited for you, Agent Excel."

"Excel's defense mechanisms choose to interpret that as a compliment!"

"Indeed. Now locate this Nabeshin without delay!—Oh, and be sure to take this slip of paper along. I suspect that otherwise you may forget the apartment number, and spend the rest of your days wandering around inside Hiroi Towers."

She laughed uneasily. "Lord Ilpalazzo sure knows his Excel backwards and forwards! Ha, ha."

"Delay no longer. Even as we speak, this opportunity may be slipping through our fingers."

Standing on the curb, looking through the rolled-down window of the rental car, Excel said timidly: "When will I see you again?"

He gestured vaguely.

"Oh…okay." She snapped to attention, and saluted. "Then Excel will do her best to carry out the mission! Never fear, Lord Ilpalazzo, for your loyal Excel—"

Ilpalazzo looked up at her. Somehow, from his grandly expressive glance, she understood clearly: Look, whatever! Just don't come back for a few days. God forbid I should actually get something done in your absence.

The automatic window hissed back up. The car pulled away, and Excel was left alone, in the huge empty sweep between two apartment towers.


This looks like Apartment 233-F…

Stuffing the clipping into her pocket, she knocked. There was no immediate answer. She thought she heard a television buzzing. She knocked again more forcefully, and, clearing her throat, said: "Excuse me?—Mister Nabeshin?"

"Eh?" came a loud, almost drunken groan from the other side of the door. "Who wants what with Nabeshin? And keep in mind I'm only answering 'cause you sound like a girl. And maybe a cute one at that."

"Umm…" Excel scratched her chin. This was not behavior she had expected from a learned practitioner of the martial arts. "Uh, Nabeshin-sensei? This young girl has come all the way from – well, just across town, I guess – in answer your request for a student." She bowed, in case he was looking through the peephole.

"Request—? Oh, damn! Forgot all about that thing!"

The door opened on a somewhat scrawny man, on the younger side of middle age. Wearing a white tank top and boxer shorts with a pattern of baseballs, stubble on his chin and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, he was a less than imposing sight. What most drew Excel's eyes, though, was his afro. It was majestic, almost redeeming the rest of his appearance.

"N-Nabeshin-sensei?"

He grinned. "The one and only. What can I do for ya, gorgeous?"

She bowed again. Surely, she thought, the fact that he cared so little for appearance was the surest sign of his power and wisdom.

"Anyhoo," he said, scratching his afro, "you want some training, huh? Well to tell ya the truth, I didn't really expect anyone. Fact is, I never really had a proper disciple. Never one to disappoint the ladies, though! Maybe we can work something out."

"Excel hungrily awaits even the smallest crumb of wisdom from the Master's table!"

He chuckled. "You sure got a funny way of talkin', Miss! Anyway, come on in!"

In the two-room apartment, loose clothes obscured almost every surface, and the smell of male sweat was strong. Five cigarettes smoldered in an ashtray. "S'cuse me, Ma'am," he muttered, rubbing his belly. "Haven't tidied up in awhile. Not since…" Suddenly, his eyes became tight with pain, and Excel followed his glance to a framed photograph on the windowsill. "Since Kumi left.—Well, make yourself at home."

As Nabeshin made a half-hearted effort to gather the scattered socks and undershirts, Excel wandered over to glance at the photograph. It was a busty, healthy-looking girl, smiling, holding a bowl of soup on a tray. She decided the Master probably wouldn't appreciate any questions on the subject.

Turning her head, she noticed Nabeshin emptying the ashtray into an overflowing trashcan.

"Master!" She grabbed his arm. "You can't soil your hands with such menial tasks! Please allow Excel to care of it!"

Nabeshin watched, impressed, as Excel carefully scraped the ashtray clean, and set it back on the table. He made no move to stop her as she went on to fold his clothes, bravely ignoring the smell; swept Pocky crumbs from between the couch cushions; watered a sickly-looking bonsai tree; even straightened the lampshade.

"Man, who knew?" he drawled to himself, as she swept on her hands and knees underneath the rug. "Havin' a disciple rocks!"


On the second day of her apprenticeship to Great Master Nabeshin, growing suspicious that all he ever did was sit around, smoke and watch soap operas, Excel gently requested some display of his incredible fighting prowess. Thoughtlessly, he stacked ten of his cheap dishes into a perfect tower. He took a deep breath, wound back his hand, and chopped – and the dishes fell away in two perfectly-divided halves, as if cut by a laser.

Excel gaped. "Merciful God!"

"Yeah," Nabeshin said, blowing on his hand, "it looks cool. But I tell ya, Miss; the third time you do a jumping side kick out of a helicopter, hitting the paratrooper who's got a hold on your sweetheart, well – it doesn't even feel like you're doing it anymore."


On the fourth day, elbow-deep in a sinkful of dirty dishes, Excel composed a letter in her head:

My dearest Lord Ilpalazzo,

Your Excel is doing her best to carry out the mission according to your instructions! Currently, I am training hard under the tutelage of Master Nabeshin. According to the Master, the proper training for an initiate of my level involves washing dishes (which Excel is currently undertaking), carrying garbage, watering plants, vacuuming, buying groceries, moving furniture…well, at least Excel certainly can't fault the Master's training regime for being repetitive. The Master seems like a good-hearted person, although his manners are sometimes crude, and should require little reeducation when ACROSS completes its conquest of the city. However, I regret to report that I have made no progress in my main objective of discovering the secret of Master's Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique! However, gaining the his trust and affection seems the best way to proceed.

But seriously, what's up with him and this Kumi-Kumi girl? He's a butt-kickin' martial-arts guy; if he'd just shave a little better, I bet he could get a new girl by tomorrow! Who knew Masters worried about dumb things like some chesty country girl they used to date?

Well, anyway, your Excel misses you, and it goes without saying the only thing sustaining me during these long, cold F City nights is the thought that, by our separation, Excel is fulfilling your wishes; but I long for the day when I will see your face again, Lord Ilpalazzo!

Yours always,

Excel Excel


At night, Nabeshin unrolled two futons on the living-room floor. In spite of his comments on they day they met, there turned out to be nothing lecherous in his character. They slept peacefully, side-by-side, although Excel was sometimes kept awake by thoughts of her distant Lord – and, while she lay awake, she sometimes heard Nabeshin muttering KumiKumi in his sleep.

Finally, during the fifth night of her apprenticeship, Excel rolled on her side and whispered: "Master?—You still awake?"

"Yep," he whispered back; then, realizing there was no need for whispering, said quietly: "Somethin' on your mind, Grasshopper?"

"I dunno…" Excel looked up at the ceiling. The city lights bled through the curtains, combining in lazy abstract patterns. "I'm not really used to this."

Nabeshin smirked. "Sharin' your sleeping arrangements with a strange man?"

"No…It's just…"

"Take your time." Nabeshin lit a cigarette, and the point glowed in the dark room. It was difficult to make out his face around it.

"I guess I haven't really talked to anyone in a long time. It's so weird, not living with Hatchan or – seeing him in the morning."

"This 'Lord Ilpalazzo' your were talkin' about?"

Her eyes lit up as bright as the point of his cigarette. "Oh, yeah! Lord Ilpalazzo! Oo-o-oh, Excel's heart beats a triple speed! But…"

Nabeshin sat up, cradling his knees. "Yeah?"

"But…I guess it's just, I never imagined I could live without Lord Ilpalazzo. But now I haven't seen him in five whole days. And – I kind of feel alright." She clenched her hands. "Master! No, Excel can't live without lord Ilpalazzo! But – it just seems like I've tried and tried, and no matter what I do, he never praises me…never even notices me. And that didn't bother me, until…"

"Huh." Nabeshin blew smoke at the wall, seeming to think hard. "This Ilpalazzo guy. He's pretty handsome?"

"Lord Ilpalazzo puts American movie stars to shame!"

"And you say you love him?"

"I…"

"Well, do you or don't you, Grasshopper?"

Excel was quiet a long time.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"I guess that's it." She looked at him suddenly. "Master, how about you? What's it with you and that Kumi-Kumi?—Love can't be that important, can it? Surely not as important as conquest? Educating the masses? Making the world a better place?"

"Well." Nabeshin took another drag. "Let me tell you somethin'. What you say might be true. I'm not necessarily denyin' that." He took the cigarette from his lips, and shook it thoughtfully. "I'm not necessarily denyin' the world might be a better place without love. Cause see, here's how it is. To you, Kumi-Kumi might not seem like much. She was just a simple mountain girl. Made a hell of a bowl of soup, but…there's other girls could do that just as well. Anyway, she left me with a note on the table, little sad face on the note. Smelled like her perfume." He paused. "You ever hear that story about me and the Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique?"

Excel tensed. Briefly, the thought of her mission swept all introspection from her mind; she listened intently.

"It's a load of crap," said Nabeshin, bluntly. "I only did four hits on the guy, to put the scare on 'im. And I only did that cause I was in a bad mood, cause that was the day Kumi left me."

"Master…"

"What I mean to say is, what's it matter if you can kill a guy by pokin' him five times with your fingertips? What's it matter if you don't have the one thing that matters to you most in the whole world?" Snuffing his cigarette, he lay back down. "Don't mind me. I don't know about love one way or the other. All I know is, I'd trade being able to chop a couple of plates in half for a bowl of Kumi's soup, any day of the week."

A second later, as Excel pondered what he had said, he seemed to remember how the conversation had reached that subject.

"Anyway," he said suddenly. "This Ilpalazzo guy. What's the matter, then, you're startin' to wonder if it's really worth it?"

Silently, terrified, Excel nodded.

"I say, why the hell not?Doesn't matter if it's a human heart or a really heavy rock. If you wanna move it, go ahead and move it! A young girl like you's not half-done fighting. When you make up your mind to do a thing, no matter how foolish and ill-conceived, the important thing is to go through with it, pig-headedly, at any cost!

"Thus endeth the lesson for today, Grasshopper." He yawned. "'Night."

Excel blinked at the ceiling. A moment later, when she called softly: "Master?"—there was no answer, expect for a ripping snore.


Now, nearly five later later, Excel remembered the words by heart.

She ran her hand over the seven marks she had scratched into the wall. She bit her tongue. Slowly, grateful she had always kept her nails short, she began to scratch deeper. Past the hard, dried wall of the pit, the soil was wet and loose. She plunged her fingers in until they disappeared. Then, not even daring to hope, she placed her other hand further up the wall and began to scratch again. Soon she had two firm hand-holds. Digging her feet in, she began to climb.

Okay, Nabeshin. Here I come.

Almost immediately, the dirt gave way and she crashed painfully on her back. She didn't even pause to curse, but climbed back to her feet, and tried again.

This time, she made it to nearly three times her height before she slipped and fell. Her efforts had eroded the wall, making it more difficult than ever to climb. She sank back down. The foul, wet smell of the pit seemed to mock her.

A young girl like you's not half-done fighting.

But Master…!

Doesn't matter if it's a human heart or a really heavy rock. If you wanna move it, go ahead and move it!

Then, closing her eyes, she saw Ilpalazzo's face. He was smiling. Glad that she was finally out of the way.

Growling deep in her throat, she jumped to her feet, plunged her hands wrist-deep in the wall, and began to climb at twice her previous speed. Even as she felt the soil collapsing she kept reaching higher, straining her arms, kicking at the avalanche forming underneath her. Soon she couldn't afford to fall; she would have died. She slipped, but only grew angrier and climbed four feet for every one she fell; and finally, after what seemed like hours of breathless scrambling, the outline of the trapdoor shone within reach of her fingertips.

Her stomach collapsed. She had no way of prying it open.

Bracing her feet on the unstable dirt, though, for the briefest moment, she pulled her hands free of the wall and threw her weight upwards. The door burst open and fresh air flooded down. Her desperate fingers clutched on the edge of the pit, and for a moment held her entire weight; then she brought herself up, gasping, by degrees, until she lay stretched out on the tile floor of the throne room.

She lay there a long time, fighting for air, clutching her trembling fingers together.

I'm alive, she thought, mutely wondering. I'm alive, I'm alive.


"Man," groaned Iwata, scratching underneath his waiter's apron, "what're high-paid city employees like us doing out here, literally in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night? That's what I'd like to know."

He and Sumiyoshi stood behind the counter of the small all-night diner, otherwise empty. It had once catered to a large crowd of truckers and other cross-country travelers, but now its only customers were those few who, for whatever rare business, made the trip across the wasteland formerly called F City. It stood near the edge of that wasteland, within sight of its crippled skyline.

Sumiyoshi looked up from cleaning the bacon fryer. It aint that complicated, he said. We're working undercover, deep in ACROSS territory, to perform reconnaissance for Kabapu's planned counterinvasion, which should begin any day now. Weren't you listenin' during the briefing?

Iwata looked quizzically at the ceiling. "I dunno. I just suddenly felt like prompting you to explain why we were here – almost as if for someone else's benefit. Kinda weird, man, huh?"

Agreed, said Sumiyoshi, and returned to his work.

It was nearly midnight. There had been no customers in hours, and Iwata thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw the girl. She appeared at the edge of the parking lot, like a wild dog – and at first he assumed she was – walking unsteadily, huge clouds of dust trailing out behind her. Iwata blinked.

"Hey, Sumiyoshi."

Yeah?

He pointed. "Am I going crazy, or—"

The girl reached the door and pushed inside. An overpowering, fetid smell accompanied her, and Iwata clenched his nose. Her jeans were streaked with dirt, and what looked like a nice leather jacket had been ruined. Still, she approached the counter and seated herself demurely. Iwata stared. The girl coughed, then smiled brightly at him, as if nothing were out of order.

"May I have a glass of water please ?" she said.


Scratching his head, and sitting his favorite easy chair, Watanabe read the note for the seventh time.

Dear Mister Watanabe,

(even after four years of marriage, she had trouble letting go of certain formalities)

Please excuse my irresponsible behavior. However, something very important has come up which I have to take care of right away. I'm afraid it's a secret! J I really am very sorry for having to leave on such abrupt notice. I know that you worry about me. But there is nothing to worry about, and please tell E.E. that Mommy is fine and will return very soon. Please don't be angry with me, and remember to wash the dishes, and don't let E.E. stay up too late, and I really will take care of myself.

Respectfully,

Your Miss Ayasugi

P.S. Remember, E.E. is only allowed to have one cookie a day! We don't compromise, even if she sulks.

As much as he told himself that he respected Miss Ayasugi's independence, his first reaction was a spasm of horror. It was dangerous for Miss Ayasugi to go out shopping for vegetables, let alone – go off to wherever she was going off to! Not to mention that sometimes she seemed unaware of her own less-than-robust health. Still, he had no choice but to trust her judgment.

It had something to do with that phone call she had received last night, he knew. She had been upset, and hadn't told him why.

After reading the letter several more times, concentrating on its little endearments and on her insistences that she would back soon, his wild dread began to relax. Miss Ayasugi would never be involved in anything stupidly dangerous. Besides, the car was still outside, so she could only travel so far.

After all, he told himself, it wasn't as if she would rent a car and drive north for miles into the scorching desert, which was like poison to her constitution, the fierce wind whipping her hair around her bloodless face, on a mission of desperate revenge against the man who had executed one of her oldest and dearest friend, now, was it? Ha, ha!

Setting the last of his doubts to rest with this amusingly improbable scenario, Watanabe reclined his chair. She might be back within a few hours.


Hyatt's preview: "Hello, loyal viewers! It seems Excel-sempai is feeling a bit exhausted at the moment from her ordeals, so the director has asked Hyatt to fill in by reading this 'preview.' Unfortunately, Hyatt has never read a preview before, so please bear with me! It would appear that our next episode, 'Regret,' will contain many elements sure to be pleasing to viewers such as yourselves! I'm not quite sure what elements those might be, but I believe our director. Perhaps he means the fact that I will be appearing in this story for the first time since Chapter One, although Hyatt is far too modest to suggest such a thing herself. Please tune in next week, and we hope you enjoy Death Rides a Bicycle!"