V1 Chapter 4.1
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Translator: Mira
Editor: Weasalopes
They were able to use the information they got from O’Neil to pin down the identity of the Colombian man. He was indeed the man who had carried the fairy into San Teresa.
Surprisingly, O’Neil had extensive records of the license plates of those who entered his club. Matoba had singled out the suspicious-looking numbers and had them examined by an acquaintance that worked in the Seventh Branch. Soon enough, the Colombian’s address was revealed.
His name was Antonio Alvarez, 24 years old. He had a criminal record, and had been arrested twice in the past.
“He lives in the apartment on 5081 Mason Street. Room 603. Understood? You owe me one now, Kei.”
“Thanks for the help, Roy.”
On the other side of the call was a sergeant of the Seventh Branch. He was an old friend of Matoba from their days in the police academy. Though Matoba’s tone was grateful, he did not at all consider himself to be Roy’s debt. He could’ve figured it out just as easily on his own, and his request was nothing but a greeting of sorts, meant to ease the awkward relationship between the officers of the branch and headquarters.
He contacted Roth.
“Did you find anything?”
“Kind of.”
Matoba recited the Colombian’s address to his boss.
“That Colombian named Alvarez was the one who brought the fairy into the city in the first place. The Filipinos just stole it from him. He must have been shocked when he found out that his precious product had been stolen. He must be looking for it right now. Or maybe he’s evacuating the city as we speak. Whichever it is, we’re going to find out soon.”
“Do you need any backup?” Roth asked.
He was asking if he required a SWAT team or something similar.
“No, I’ll be fine. Only worry if you don’t get a call from me in 30 minutes.”
“Understood. What about that Semanian, Exedilika?”
“She’s sitting in the passenger seat. Would you like to talk to her?” Matoba asked, pointing the cell phone toward Tilarna. “Say hello.”
“What?” Tilarna asked skeptically.
“I heard her. Don’t let her get hurt, okay?” Roth said through the phone.
“Well, I’ll try.”
“But don’t head out just yet.”
“Why?”
“I need to inform the Seventh Branch. You wouldn’t want them unknowingly interfering.”
“I already let them know. I talked to Roy.”
“That won’t be enough. There’s a very important Semanian sitting next to you. I’m going to have to consult the branch’s chief about this.”
Damn it, Matoba swore in his head. Why did they have to do this?
“…Understood. But please get it done quickly.”
He parked his car on the side of the road. They were near the residential district of the “Seven Miles.” The streets nearby were lined with countless one-story houses.
“We’re gonna have to wait here,” Matoba said.
As he turned off the engine, Tilarna finally loosened her grip on the sword handle.
“So we’re going to capture that Colombian?”
“Well, yeah. But we’re going to have to wait until boss gives us the thumbs up.”
Sneaking back in his seat, Matoba let out a low-pitched groan.
The sun had already begun to set, and the lights were on in Alvarez’s room. He wanted to have a quick meal before they went in, but it would probably be better to wait until this was all over. Since there were two people in the car, one of them could go buy something from the convenience store while the other keeps watch, but he couldn’t trust Tilarna with anything.
Matoba turned on the radio. A broadcast of the Super Bowl began to play.
The sporting event was not being broadcasted from San Teresa, but from Atlanta. Last year, the AFC had been completely dominated by the Patriots and all of Matoba’s colleagues had complained about how boring the season was, but Matoba had no interest in football. However, he enjoyed watching baseball, especially since there were tons of great players from Japan.
“I don’t get it,” Tilarna muttered as she listened to the broadcast. “What are these voices coming from the raydio talking about?”
“They’re talking about sports. It’s all part of a proxy war held between the Earthlings.”
“…?”
“Your kingdom has sports too, right? Or maybe you watch gladiator-esque fights to the death as entertainment?”
“We do have something like that in our world.”
Surprisingly, Tilarna had recognized the word “gladiator.”
“But our kingdom hasn’t held them for over 200 years now. Nowadays, they’re all fought with wooden swords and performed as entertainment for the royalty.”
“That’s surprising to hear. So you all have at least some regard for human life, huh.”
“Of course we do. We aren’t like you Dorini. We don’t dump poison out of our workshops and murder newborn babies without batting an eye.”
“Pollution and abortion? Those are really complicated issues, you know. Well, let’s not get into any political discussion.”
“It’s not about politics. It’s about basic morals.”
“Whatever you say.”
They waited for around fifteen minutes, absentmindedly listening to the broadcast. They barely spoke to each other.
Staring out the window, Tilarna abruptly broke the silence.
“Farbarnya,” she said.
“?”
“It’s a Farbarnian. A Semanian. He just walked by.”
Matoba saw a black-coated man in the corner of his vision. The man walked across a wide road and disappeared as he turned the corner. Matoba couldn’t see his face.
“I thought there were no Semanians living in this area?”
“There aren’t many, but that doesn’t mean there are none,” Matoba said, staring indifferently.
Tilarna narrowed her eyes, staring intently at the corner that the man had disappeared behind. She fell silent for around 30 seconds.
“I smelled something.”
“You smell something? Well, I guess you aliens all reek of the countryside.”
“You fool, it’s the Rahtena. It’s the same scent that I sensed on the corpse.”
“Mm…”
Sitting up straight, Matoba looked closely at the turn that the man had taken. Though the man was nowhere in sight, he recognized the building that the man had entered. It was the apartment of their Colombian suspect, Alvarez.
Could it be…?
For a moment, he hesitated. His boss still hadn’t given him the thumbs up.
To hell with that!
“Shit.”
Making the split-second decision to pursue the man, Matoba shoved open the door and leapt out of the car. Pulling out the automatic pistol from behind his waist, he sprinted toward Alvarez’s apartment?
“We’re going in?” Tilarna asked, casually following after him.
Coming to a halt, Matoba glared at her.
“No. Stay in the car.”
“I refuse.”
“Stop fucking around! Why the hell do you need to come along? Now shut up and go—”
No. He was running out of time. He couldn’t waste any more of it trying to argue.
“Just do whatever the hell you want, goddammit!”
Clicking his tongue, Matoba ran. He sprinted down the sidewalk, kicked down the apartment gate, running past the mailboxes into the—no, he couldn’t use the elevator, it was already on the sixth floor. He ran toward the back of the building, to the stairs. Alvarez’s room was on the sixth floor. He flew up the stairs, skipping three steps at a time, as fast as a bullet. It was a pace that would be impossible for a little girl to keep up with. But sure enough, he heard Tilarna’s footsteps and breathing right behind him.
No way. She was actually following him.
Despite his astonishment, Matoba did not turn around once as he continued to sprint up the dark staircase. The grimy walls and rusty railings blurred past him as he ran.
Third floor, fourth floor, fifth floor. Finally, he had arrived at the sixth floor.
He began to run out of breath. His stamina had seriously dropped since his time in the self-defense forces, Matoba thought scornfully.
He ran into the hallway of the sixth floor. His target was in room 603.
“Oh my god”
As he had expected, the door of room 603 was left hanging open. It had been forced open from the outside.
He might still have time. Clinging onto this last bit of hope, Matoba completely disregarded every step of the search-and-seizure process that he had learned in his training. He barged straight into the room, trusting nothing but his gut, experience, and instincts.
He passed through the doorway. There was a bedroom on the left, and a bathroom on the right. There was no one in them. Taking a quick glance at their interior, Matoba faced back forward and ran into the living room. Sitting in front of a 30-inch monitor, atop a wine-red sofa, were two men.
“This is the police, don’t move!” Matoba yelled, aiming his 9mm pistol with a steady hand.
The man looked at him. He held a knife in his right hand. His hand moved.
A blinding flash shot out as the knife spun through the air, straight toward Matoba’s head. Barely grazing the skin on his cheek, the knife shot past, piercing the door behind him.
No. To say that it pierced the door would be an understatement. The knife ripped straight through the door panel, burying its blade in the wall on the other side. The hinge was twisted apart from the impact as it detached and fell.
His strength was unbelievable. It was far beyond anything that a normal human was capable of.
Matoba couldn’t afford to feel fear. He immediately pulled the trigger on his pistol, but at that exact same moment, he felt a powerful thud in the side of his body. Tilarna had shoved him to the side. His bullet missed the target. The man staggered back and attempted to flee the room. Chasing after him, Tilarna drew a wide arc through the air with her sword. The blade barely missed the tip of his nose as he leapt backwards.
His agility was inhuman.
He did a backflip through the air. Landing in front of the window, he pulled out a pistol. No, it wasn’t just any regular pistol. It was a machine pistol. An Israeli micro uzi.
He held the fully-automatic gun sideways. The barrel of the gun blazed as he opened fire. The ear-splitting sound of gunfire filled the air as the bullets flew.
Matoba yanked Tilarna to the ground as she tried to swing her sword, ignoring the gunfire. If he had been just a second late, she would have been dead. A storm of 9mm bullets sprayed through the air above their heads as they took cover.
Bullet holes scattered across the wall behind them, tearing apart the postcards that hung on it and pulverizing the vases and lamps that stood nearby.
“Goddammit!” Matoba yelled, firing back.
Torn-up bits of drywall and shards of glass flew onto them. Yelling, Matoba continued to shoot back. Though he couldn’t aim properly amidst the chaos, he had to make an opening. All he had to do was get the man to just flinch once—
But the enemy didn’t flinch at all.
It was almost as if he didn’t care for his own life. He walked back slowly as he continued his machine-like shooting. Matoba couldn’t even stick his head out. For a brief moment, the shooting ceased. The enemy was reloading his gun. It was now or never.
Bolting up to his feet, Matoba opened fire. Three bullets pierced the man’s body.
But he did not fall. He nonchalantly pulled the bolt and aimed the gun at Matoba. Another storm of bullets began to rain out. Shoving down Tilarna as she tried to stand up, Matoba took cover once again.
As soon as he emptied his gun, the man shattered the glass window in the back of the room and leapt out onto the balcony. He was going to escape through the emergency exit.
The moment Matoba and Tilarna stood back up, they screamed at each other.
“Why did you get in my way!?”
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