Hakata Tonkotsu Ramens Volume 5 Chapter 1

Seasonal Opening Ceremony

"There's a clown," the boy said. The boy, his mother, and younger sister had walked to the parking lot together, and just as they got into the car, the boy spotted an oddly dressed man.

Even after the noise and bustle of the festival, his mother was busy attending to his young sister. She was wiping off the crepe remains from around his sister's mouth. She was not paying attention to him.

That was not just for today either. His mother was always preoccupied with his sister. He felt dejected. When he looked out the window in the back seat tiresomely, he saw a red silhouette at the edge of his peripheral vision.

He wore a gaudy outfit with a red hat. His face was painted white, and he had a round nose – unmistakably a clown.

"Mama, there's a clown."

He called out to his mother again.

The man dressed as a clown pa.s.sed by the parking s.p.a.ce and vanished into a narrow alleyway, as though he was sucked in by the darkness.

"A clown?" His mother finally responded to him. However, she was still facing his sister. She was trying to take a picture of her daughter eating the crepe with her Polaroid camera.

"Look, over there," the boy pointed with his right hand outside the window. His left hand held the toffee apple his mom had purchased for him on their way back.

HIs mother glanced outside the window.

"He's not there."

His mother shrugged, "you sure you aren't seeing things?"

Her son was just lying to get her attention; nothing more than a child's nonsense. Her words held those nuances.

"But there was one."

When he raised his voice, irritated, his mother made an annoyed expression.

I'm not lying. I know I saw a clown.

Why won't she believe me? The boy began to feel discontent.

"Perhaps. It is a festival, so maybe there are clowns around."

I believe there was one on the stage, right? His mother replied, disregarding him.

He was getting more annoyed.

Just then, his sister – three years younger than him – started to get cranky. She made the teary expression and said she needed to pee. She seemed like she was a minute away from going, and their mother scowled, "You couldn't tell me sooner?"

"We're going to go to the restroom," their mom got out of the car and instructed him. "Wait here."

She picked up his sister and left him behind.

Left alone in the car, the boy was bored. The figure of the red man came to his mind. Where did that clown from earlier go?

And with pure curiosity, he moved. He picked up the Polaroid camera left in the backseat and got out of the car. The item belonged to his mother, which she used to make an alb.u.m to take pictures of his sister and record her growth. His mother had always told him to never touch it without permission, but that had completely slipped his mind. All he thought about was to take a photo of the clown with this camera. If he took a photo, then his mother would have to believe him. That there was a clown. That he was not lying.

He moved ahead into the direction the red figure had disappeared to. And there, in an unpopulated alleyway, there was a small vacant land at the end. A black car was parked there.

The boy stopped walking.

There he is.

There was the clown. The clown stood in front of the vacant area. He wore red garments with a red hat. He was illuminated by the street lamp, making him look like he was under the spotlight on a stage amidst the darkness.

I need to take a picture.

He held up the camera immediately. He peeked through the lens with one eye. The clown was moving as though dancing in the small and round scope. When he looked closer, he saw the clown was holding something in both hands. They were street performing clubs. The clown was twirling them around skillfully while laughing loudly.

There were three other men in the empty land lot besides the clown. All of them were facing the clown. Were they spectators?

Just as the boy was estimating when to take a shot, the clown suddenly moved. And in the same moment, the men began to shout.

The clown had attacked them.

The clown hit one man consecutively with the blunt weapons he held with a faint smile on his face. Then he turned to the men attempting to escape and threw something that glinted – small knives. They pierced the mens' tendons, and they lost their footing, collapsing onto the thicket. The clown hit the men unable to move and cowering on the ground, smiling all the while.

Even the boy's young mind knew what was happening.

The clown is killing people.

To the boy's eyes, the clown was not a person; it was a foreign existence that was akin to a monster. The boy was petrified in front of the abnormal scene. He could not move. His body was shaking. His trembling unintentionally put pressure into his index finger, pus.h.i.+ng down the trigger and taking a photo. There was a flash, illuminating the area in a bright light.

The clown took notice of him. His unsettling white face quickly turned around and stared at him.

The Polaroid camera spat out the photo the boy just took.

"Hey,"

The boy heard a sudden voice.

The clown's white face was right in front of him.

The boy was started and cringed in fright. The camera clattered to the ground, and with it the sound of it breaking.

"Who are you?"

The clown, splattered with blood on his person, loomed over him, examining him closely. I need to get away. The boy thought and turned on his heel.

A red arm reached out to him from behind.

Top of the First Inning

It was nearing mid-September, and with it the f.u.kuoka region began to turn to a season easier to survive in than the harsh dregs of heat it had underwent. It was clear weather, neither hot or cold in temperature. Above their heads was a fine autumn sky without any clouds in it.

It was an ideal day for gra.s.s-lot baseball.

Today was one of their custom practice days for each week, and the Ramens rented a public sports ground in the city. The first to arrive was the team's mid-fielders, Zenji Banba and Xianming Lin.

"……What the h.e.l.l," Lin looked around the deserted sports ground and said. "No one's here."

"We're the first to arrive."

The two placed their bags down on the benches. After they did some light workouts and practiced pitches, they began playing catch. They were doing so to spend time until the other members arrived.

"They're taking their sweet time. Hope they aren't slacking just because we don't have a game."

"Hey, dontcha say that now. There could be traffic."

After some time, the Tonkotsu Nine began to appear in uniform one after the other. The centerfielder Enokida, the pitcher Saitou, and the first baseman Martinez came together. The two of them carpooled over in Martinez's car.

"Huh?" Enokida asked as he sat down on the bench, "it's just you two? Where is everyone else?"

"Haven't showed up yet."

The other members were the catcher s.h.i.+gematsu, the third baseman Saeki, and the outfielders Yamato and Jiro. And lastly, the coach Genzo.

"That's right," Martinez frowned. "Jiro said he can't come today."

"Ah, work then?"

All the Tonkotsu Nine members aside from Saitou did underground work. They never knew when they would get a sudden job.

"No. Tomorrow is Misaki's cla.s.s observation day. He said she still hasn't finished her essay for cla.s.s."

"An essay?"

"Yeah," Martinez nodded. "She's writing an essay with the topic 'my future dream.'"

My future dream, Misaki Tanaka.

My father's name is Jiro. My father is my dad and my mom. So that's why I call him Jiro-chan. Jiro-chan's job is as an avenger. Avengers carry out vengeance for people. So they punch or kill bad people. Jiro-chan is always trying his best at his job for his clients. He's really cool. I love that Jiro-chan. So I think I want to become an outstanding avenger like Jiro-chan. I want to punch and kill people to heal people's hearts.

"Oh, my dear Misaki, why you……!"

After Misaki finished reading the draft for her a.s.signment she wrote up, Jiro was moved to tears; overcome with emotion and shaking minutely. He then kissed Misaki on the cheek with a huge smooch.

"I'm so moved. Seriously, you're such a nice girl." Jiro placed smooches on both sides of her cheeks before the smile receded from his face. "But this is no good. This is completely out. Rewrite it."

"Ehh." Misaki pouted, sitting at her brand new study table.

"No 'ehh' this. Naturally it won't do. If you submit this to your school teacher, someone from the child consultation center will drop by and they'll take your beloved Jiro-chan to the police."

"I tried my best to write this though."

Misaki was discontent.

"Then what can I write about?"

"That's fair……" Jiro looked around Misaki's room while stroking his beard. Only the bare minimum for furniture was in the room, almost bleak like a business hotel. "How about writing you want to be a florist or a baker?"

"I want to become an avenger."

"You can't say that."

Misaki objected. "I don't really want to become those. Not a florist or a baker."

"You can make a list of lies for your essay."

Misaki muttered a mere exasperated 'hmmm' with an uninterested expression.

"Then how about writing that you want to become the wife of someone you like?"

He tried to suggest, but there was hardly a reaction from her. "Why? That sounds stupid."

"Isn't it fine to be a bit romantic? Misaki-chan, do you have one? A kid you like or someone you're interested in?"

"There's no one," when he made the attempt to bring up an interesting subject, Misaki turned it down.

"The elementary schoolers are all just kids. I have no interest in them."

She was, however, still an elementary schooler and a kid as well.

"Oh I see. You like the older kids."

"If I were to pick a lover," what fell from her lips was the name of a man he did not expect. "I think I'd like someone like Zen-chan. He's nice and cool."

By Zen-chan she meant Zenji Banba. Misaki had been emotionally attached to him since long ago.

"You should give up on men like that."

He answered her seriously.

"Ehh, why?"

"Men like that are the type that will put you through trouble if you date them. Totally."

"Why would you know that?"

"I have an abundance of experiences in life. I wasn't an okama when I was around my twenties for nothing." He had ended up derailing from the main topic. After he cleared his throat, he returned to the topic. " – Say, Misaki. Do you have anything you want to do?"

Misaki was quiet at that. She seemed to be thinking it over.

After a while,

"……I want to play baseball."

she muttered.

"Baseball?"

"I want to join boys baseball."

Misaki's expression was dead serious.

It was true that a boys baseball team would even let girls in.

"Why baseball again?"

There should be plenty of other options than baseball to try out. Like playing the piano or ballet.

"If I can play baseball, I can join the Ramens, right?"

Misaki stated.

"……Future dream, huh." Banba lightly smiled in nostalgia. "I wanted to be a professional baseball player."

"Me too," Martinez piped up while practicing his swings. According to rumor, he apparently belonged to the major league baseball team academy in his home country, the Dominican Republic, back in his twenties.

"Same with me," Saitou added. He also was had a past linked to baseball as a high school player.

At some point, the topic had changed from Misaki's essay to talking about their own childhood dreams.

"Seriously? All of you wanted to be baseball players?"

I guess I never really had a dream, though, Lin thought back to his past. Back then, he was desperate to just survive day to day. If he was pressed to give an answer, then he supposed his sole dream was to become a great hitman to support his family.

"Ah, that's right."

Banba suddenly raised his voice while they were in the middle of chatting on the benches.

"I got a favor to ask you, Saitou-kun."

"What is it?" Satiou looked up at him while he was tying the laces of his spiked shoes.

"Can ya pitch a sinker?"

"A sinker?" Saitou caught the ball Banba threw and checked his grip on it. "Well, I did many times in the past, but I didn't have enough control, so I wasn't allowed."

"I want to hit a sinker. I'd appreciate it if you could give me some practice."

"Then, yes, of course." If he could throw more pitches, it would improve his pitching ability. Saitou gave his ready consent. "I'm going to make some practice pitches, so who could act as catcher?"

"Mar-san, you be catcher," Banba handed him over a catcher's mitt.

"Alright, fine by me."

Martinez, who was designated to fill in for s.h.i.+gematsu as catcher, put on his protective gear. He crouched down behind the home plate, ready for any of Saitou's pitches.

After Saitou made a could of pitches, he then made one with the grip for a sinker. His trajectory and control was still weak, but practice makes perfect. He aimed for the mitt and released the ball earnestly.

Getting an idea of the trajectory, Banba stepped in on the left side of the batter's box. Martinez c.o.c.ked his head seeing that. "……Ah? You're a leftie?"

Banba should have been a right-handed pitcher and batter. Normally he stood in the right side of the batter's box.

"I thought to change sides."

Banba grinned.

Saitou faced the catcher and threw the ball instantly. Martinez safely managed to catch it. He did not seem to be that inferior to s.h.i.+gematsu.

"That reminds me, s.h.i.+gematsu isn't here," Lin said in a near whisper.

"s.h.i.+gematsu-san seems to be busy with an investigation." Enokida answered next to him. "Apparently there have been a few murders."

"……What the h.e.l.l is this?"

s.h.i.+gematu slipped under the yellow tape set up around the area and stepped into the scene of the murders, grimacing at the bizarre scene. In front of him was a telephone pole, and on it a body was hung. And for some reason he was upside down. Both his legs were bound by rope and was suspended upside down by the bolts in the post's scaffolding.

A few meters away on another telephone poll was another body. And past that one was another body. All together, there were three bodies. All of them were hung on the telephone poles in an identical manner.

"s.h.i.+gematsu-san."

One of his juniors that arrived at the scene first approached him when he saw s.h.i.+gematsu. He explained the situation, reading off a handheld notebook. "There are three victims. Two are from the yakuza, the Noma Group, and the other is the yakuza's dealer."

The junior then pointed to the nearby vacant land. There was a vehicle parked there.

"They seemed to have been attacked while they were having their drug dealing at that vacant land. All the drugs were burned."

"Is that so?"

"We can a.s.sume this involved another gang."

There could have been some form of conflict between them and an opposing gang.

"There is that possibility……But we still do not know."

s.h.i.+gematsu gave an indecisive reply. He looked up at the bodies, arms crossed and groaned. There were plenty of people that someone from an underground organization would know to dispose of the bodies. And yet for them to have left the bodies in this state meant there had to be a reason for it.

"……Maybe it was a warning."

Perhaps the bodies were used as a message to address someone.

"What's the cause of death?"

"We don't have anything until an autopsy is performed," the junior provided. "From what he could tell, they suffered from great hemorrhage, but they were also hit in the head. We don't know which wounds proved to be the most fatal."

Two of the men in forensics finished taking photos of the street and took down the bodies. s.h.i.+gematsu looked over the bodies' faces that got laid out on the ground and noticed something. "Their faces are smudged."

When he looked closer, he saw there was something on the victims' faces. It looked like blood, but it did not look like it was from a cut. It was contrived. There were heart and star shaped markings drawn on the side of the bodies' cheeks with blood. They were as though a child had scribbled on their faces.

"……These are some pretty fancy bodies for it to be the yakuza's work."

Bodies hung in reverse and shapes drawn on their faces. s.h.i.+gematsu started to lose the line of reasoning for an organization to be the culprit.

In an attempt to process the situation, s.h.i.+gematsu looked around the scene. There were three victims. They were attacked in the middle of a drug deal. All the products in the car were artlessly burned.

Who would the culprit be? Someone from the underground? Did they have a grudge against these guys? What was their objective? Was it the people or the drugs?

No, it was the people. Their objective was to kill the three men, otherwise they would not have left the men in that state.

So the culprit killed the three men and hung them on telephone poles. And they did it in a ridiculous fas.h.i.+on by not only drawing on their faces but by making them hang upside down as well.

"Why would they do that?"

s.h.i.+gematsu tilted his head in confusion, examining the dead men's faces.

He could not understand the theme (intent) for these bodies no matter how much he thought over it.

Bottom of the First Inning

The clown was always smiling and always crying. He smiled as he stabbed people and cried as he punched them. He told himself that this was his mission. He was merely obsessed to do these acts based off of his disproportionate ideas of justice, not following the final say of what was considered good or evil as depicted by the law.

'The next news.'

When the clown turned on the television, the incident was being reported.

'Three male bodies were discovered on a road in f.u.kuoka City the other night. The victims were members of the Noma Group, so the police are looking into finding out if this was an organization dispute.'

The clown sat on the sofa and thought over what happened the night before. He recalled the sensation of the moment he struck the men's head vividly in his palms.

That made him remember something, and he went to open the trunk to his car. In a large, oblong bag were his street performing clubs and a disposable cell phone. The phone was stolen from the drug dealer he killed yesterday. The clown had looked through the messages on there, but he was unable to find information on other organizations or dealers. It was unfortunate.

However, he he found a certain piece of information instead. This dealer was in connections with an informant in this city.

The announcer on the TV read the next incident. 'A local resident found the body of a young girl thrown away in a garbage dump. The two unemployed parents of the child have been arrested with charges for dumping a body.'

The clown instantly looked up and just as quickly stood up. He grasped the edges of the TV with both hands and gazed deeply into the screen.

'Bruises from physical a.s.sault were found on the body, and the two admitted to the charges. They proclaimed they only planned on disciplining their child, but the girl had stopped moving when she got hit. They panicked and threw her away. It is apparent now that the child has been a victim to abuse on a regular basis-'

Abuse.

The clown felt a scorching heat raise up in his body at the term.

'There is always a link to abuse.'

The different commentators on the program began discussing amongst themselves, imputing their opinions.

'It is said that children who was abused by their parents have a tendency to abuse their children when they become adults.'

"…………A link?"

The clown muttered.

"Link,"

This was it then.

"Abuse, link."

He decided on his next target.

The clown began humming. He turned away from the TV and held a throwing knife -his stock-in-trade – in his right hand. He focused and threw it at the darts board hung on the wall. The knife struck the board dead center skillfully.

The black shape flung from his right hand. It whizzed by and struck the human shaped dummy that was its target. It landed not far from where he had meant to hit it. His aiming he had trouble with had somewhat improved.

Konya City in the northern Kokura ward, Kyushu City. There were numerous bars lined up along this street, which was located next to the monorail Tanga Station. Shunsuke Saruwatari frequented the darts bar at one of the corners there, the Lady Madonna. At first glance it looked like any ordinary bar where young people would hang out at. The owner, however, was a mediator for a.s.sa.s.sination jobs, and the bas.e.m.e.nt was a floor reserved for a.s.sa.s.sins – where regular customers were prohibited.

There was a shooting practice area in one of the corners on the bas.e.m.e.nt floor. There were three human shaped dummies against the wall for anyone to practice their skills in using throwing weapons.

Saruwatari was throwing shuriken at that spot. He had nearly used all fifty ninja weapons his partner had prepared for him: four-sided shuriken, eight-sided shuriken, and kunai. There were countless black objects sticking out of the dummies.

"They look like human cactuses."

A bespectacled man said, glancing at the dummies with shuriken sticking out of them from head to toe. The man was a killer consultant known as Naoya Nitta, as well as Shunsuke Saruwatari's business partner.

"Those poor dummies……" Nitta lamented forcefully while pulling out the shuriken neatly. "They got so much damage……"

"I've got nothing to do, so what else am I supposed to spend my time?"

That was right; Saruwatari was on break. Executives from the largest organizations in Kitakyushu were being arrested quickly due to the police's battle strategy against them, leaving the organizations to crumble. Because of those events happening, there had been a decrease in the amount of jobs coming in recently.

"But look. It's gotten much easier to spend some time outside, and the food for the fall season is great. Maybe no one is in the mood to have someone killed."

There was nothing else for Saruwatari to do other than to throw shuriken. However, he was at the end of his rope doing this to kill time now.

"How about you do something, you d.a.m.n consultant."

"When he leaned back against his chair, Nitta lightly nudged his legs.

"It's bad manners to rest your feet on the table."

"Shut up," Saruwatari muttered, glaring at him. "Whatever is fine. Just get me work."

"And who was the one who said 'I'm not gonna do this boring job!' and gave nothing but complaints whenever I brought him work?"

"h.e.l.l if I know."

Saruwatari made a small sigh. That gla.s.ses punk was annoying.

"……I don't care who. I want to kill someone." For some reason a certain hitman's face came to his mind. "Since I'm off right now, I guess I could go kill that stupid mask guy."

Provoking that man – the hitman wearing the red Niwaka mask – into a fight could possibly disperse some of his boredom.

"I don't think even the Niwaka Samurai has the time to play around with you."

"……" Even though I'm off, he isn't? That p.i.s.ses me off.

"The busy season will come around soon enough, so how about you rest up now? Alright?"

Saruwatari did not reply.

"……Alright, guess I'll have to," Nitta sighed, making a troubled smile. It was the expression he would often make when he shook his head for a sign. "I'll reach out for anything all the way to f.u.kuoka."