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V1 Chapter 3.2

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Translator: Mira

Editor: Weasalopes

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Tilarna had been referring to the substance known as “fairy dust.”

The dead Filipino had been an abuser of fairy dust, she explained.

Fairy dust was a strange narcotic drug that was made from Semanian fairies. Its effects varied greatly based on the specific methods used to create it, but most variants induced intense feelings of ecstasy and caused vivid hallucinations. Some of its other possible effects included numbing of pain, short-term mental hyperactivity, and development of inhuman athletic ability and reflexes.

Living up to its classification as a narcotic, fairy dust was highly addictive.

Just a few uses wouldn’t cause much damage, but once one became addicted, they would begin to experience severe withdrawal symptoms. Among these symptoms were headaches, nausea, paranoia, and mental derangement. These effects were all fairly typical for drugs of the sort, but the most prominent symptom was an extreme lack of control over one’s body. There must have been signs of this in the Filipino’s behavior, but Matoba had failed to catch them.

According to Tilarna, in order for a human to be possessed so potently that they exhibit monstrous strength, they must be severely weakened. Therefore, the Filipino’s control over his body must have been drastically reduced through his abuse of fairy dust.

It was an interesting theory, but the knowledge itself wouldn’t help them directly.

Fairy dust was a fairly common substance that could be found almost anywhere. They would have to interrogate the other Filipino to figure out where they got that particular fairy.

Matoba returned to headquarters. He began a harsh interrogation of the Filipino with the “5-0” t-shirt.

As soon as Matoba threatened to use force, the man spoke.

He claimed that they had stolen the fairy from the car of a Colombian gang.

“…Therefore, we need to force answers out of those Colombian gangster men, is that correct?” Tilarna asked, sitting in the passenger seat of the Cooper S. 

This time, she had unattached her sheath before climbing in and shut the door without hesitation.

“Well, I guess you could put it that way.”

“Where are those gangsters?”

“We’re going to go find them right now.”

Tilarna had followed after him without permission, climbed into his car without permission, and was now asking him questions without permission, as if this was all part of her routine now. Thinking himself generous for taking the time to answer, Matoba accelerated forward.

“Nyuu…”

The Semanian made that strange noise again.

Though she tried her best to keep a calm expression, her body language indicated that she was anything but calm. Her back was glued to the seat as she stared directly ahead, gripping her sword tightly with both hands.

Matoba had the same thought when they drove from the Coast Guard Base to headquarters, but—

(I wonder if she’s bad with cars…)

Horse-like animals existed in the Semani world, and horse-drawn carriages existed as well, but what speed could they realistically travel at? Probably nowhere near 80 kilometers per hour, possibly not even 50. Maybe they traveled at around 20 to 30 kilometers per hour, and she had just never experienced the incredible speed of Earth’s vehicles.

“I see,” Matoba muttered to himself, shifting the lever into fifth gear.

He stepped on the gas pedal. The supercharger roared as the car accelerated even further. They swerved left and right as they shifted lanes, speeding past the cars and trucks that ran ahead. The sound of screeching brakes and blaring horns rang out from all around them. Outside the window, traffic lights and road signs flew past at incredible speeds as the scene blurred into a chaotic swirl.

“Ah…!”

Tilarna’s white fingertips turned even whiter as her grip on the sword tightened. Matoba glanced over at her.

“I’m in a hurry. If you’re too scared, just let me know,” he said cooly.

“Sc-, scared? Don’t say such stupid things. Go as fast as you— Eek! …As you want,” Tilarna said, flinching as she watched a truck nearly graze their side mirror.

“As you wish… Oh yeah, some music would be perfect right about now.”

Matoba turned on the car radio. An 80’s hard rock song blared from the speakers, filling the car with its heavy beat and violent melody. Though Matoba had been feeling down for the past few days, he felt himself returning back to normal. It was a good feeling.

Tilarna clutched her hands over her ears.

“What is this horrible sound!?” She screamed.

“It’s Rock!”

“What!?”

“The driving force of the Dorini! Come on, it’s exciting, isn’t it?” Matoba yelled back, smacking the steering wheel to the beat of the drums.

It was around three o’clock in the afternoon when they passed through New Guinness Street onto Madeira street.

They headed into the Western region of San Teresa, an area known as the “Seven Miles.” The area was seven miles long from top to bottom, and it was under charge of the seventh branch of the STPD. Countless gang organizations resided in the area, throwing it into turmoil as they fought for power.

In other words, it wasn’t a very tourist-friendly part of town.

Matoba parked in front of the club that was their destination. He peered at Tilarna’s deathly pale face.

“Really stands out, huh.”

“What does?” Tilarna asked, with dark circles under her eyes.

“You do. How should I put it… You aren’t white, you’re super white. What did you do to get your skin this white? Are there some sort of magic hot springs in your hometown?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been like this since the day I was born.”

“Even your clothes are white. You look otherworldly.”

“I prefer the term ‘beautiful.’ And I’m more bothered by the filthiness of the clothes you wear.”

Tilarna’s tunic and coat complemented her look perfectly. Compared to the city’s Semanian immigrants, who wore bizarre-looking clothes with distinct geometric patterns or outfits that made them resemble 70s funk artists, her clothes weren’t too out of the ordinary.

However, she still stood out.

Her beautiful face, her youth, her clothes, everything about her stood out. If he took her with him, he would end up attracting an unnecessary amount of attention.

“Wait over here… But even if I tell you that, you aren’t gonna listen to me, aren’t you.”

“Of course I won’t.”

Matoba sighed.

“Then do as you please. But whatever you do, don’t even think of coming close to me. I don’t want anyone to think that I know you.”

“Same here. Don’t talk to me.”

“Hmph.”

Matoba climbed out of the car and walked toward the club. Tilarna silently followed after him, keeping her distance.

The sun was still in the sky, and the neon signs lining the storefront were no longer lit up. Alongside a large sign depicting a woman’s legs hung the name of the club, the “Lady Chapel.” A “CLOSED” sign hung on the knob of the glass door. As Matoba walked into the store, he could hear Tilarna muttering the word “Queneesba” behind him. In Farbarnian, that meant “how vulgar” or something like that.

As they stepped into the dimly lit club, they were confronted by a black man in a suit. He was large bodied, and must have weighed at least 120 kilograms. He was the club’s bouncer.

“We open at 19 o’clock. Come back later—” he started, pausing when he saw Matoba’s annoyed face. “Oh, excuse me, Samurai Officer.”

“Kenny, is O’Neil in there?”

“Yeah. He’s talking on the phone over there… And who’s this bitch?” Kenny asked, glancing at Tilarna and knitting his eyebrows suspiciously.

“Ignore her.”

“Isn’t she an alien? I don’t like them at all.”

“Then I’ll leave that up to you. Meanwhile, I’m gonna pass.”

Matoba walked past Kenny. Tilarna tried to follow after him, but Kenny blocked her way.

“Stop right there, little girl.”

“What?”

“Mr. Matoba is fine, but I’m not letting you in. Go wait outside.”

This is going to be interesting, Matoba thought.

What would that girl do when faced by an intimidating man over three times her size? Though Matoba hadn’t put her in this situation on purpose, it would be perfect if she could just get scared and hurry away. Then, he could tell her “there are tons of scary men like that in this city. You should stay back at headquarters, where it’s safe.” He would finally be freed from having to babysit.

Tilarna stood upright, staring straight up at Kenny’s face.

“Did you not hear me, little girl? Now hurry up and turn around—”

Tilarna pivoted her body. A blinding silver light flashed from her sheath as she spun around in a complete circle. Her blade sent a sharp wind through the air. Clink, a small metallic sound rang out as her thin blade was slid back into its sheath.

“……”

Kenny stood frozen with shock. His tie had been cut off, right below the knot. The severed tie fluttered down to the ground.

“Turn around, you say?”

“…Feel free to pass, miss.”

“Good.”

Tilarna walked past Kenny as if nothing had happened. The bouncer wore an expression of clear dismay. “God fucking damn it, that was a 150 dollar tie,” he grumbled.

“Did you expect me to get scared and ask you for help?” Tilarna asked, staring at Matoba’s face. Her eyes were filled not with satisfaction, but with indignation, as if she had been looked down on.

“No… Well, yeah, I guess.”

He had not expected things to go this way.

Though he knew that she was proficient in the art of the sword, he did not expect her to fight back so confidently against a huge muscular man like Kenny. He realized that he shouldn’t be fooled by her young appearance.

“I am an apprentice knight of the Mirvor. Don’t treat me like I’m just a normal child.”

“So you’re aware that you look and act like a child.”

“I… I’m just a late bloomer! Don’t say such disrespectful things!”

“Hmm.”

Disappointed that his little scheme had failed, Matoba headed toward the back of the club. He needed to talk to the club’s owner, a man named O’Neil.

As they weaved through the flipped-over tables and chairs, they saw a black man sitting in a booth near the back of the room. It was O’Neil. He wore a collared clerical robe. His head was bald like a monk, and he wore a pair of round sunglasses. On the table in front of him lay a laptop computer and a stack of 1,000 dollar bills. He was talking to someone on his cell phone.

“…Hmm, that’s it! That will make for some excellent business! Don’t you agree? Those fifty 50-inch LCD monitors that we got from those sinful youngins must be a gift from God. Almost like we’re on the summit of mount Etna—”

Noticing Matoba’s presence, the bald robed man lowered his voice. He was probably in the middle of a negotiation over stolen goods, as usual.

“—No. Oh, those fifty monitors that I was talking about were just an analogy. I don’t have anything like that… Ah, no, that’s not it… I’ll explain that to you later. Business is full of metaphors, and it’s just another form of religious expression… No, I appreciate your understanding. No, my customers have just arrived. God bless you, and goodbye!”

Abruptly ending the call, the man looked up at Matoba as if nothing had happened.

“Ay, man! Sorry for the holdup, detective Matoba! Are you feeling the wonderful power of God today? And that beautiful girl right there must be a Semanian… Welcome, welcome to our place of service! Would you like any drinks?”

“Hey, O’Neil. Seems like things are going well, huh.”

The man, Bis O’Neil, calmly put away his phone and straightened his posture as he sat on the sofa. He claimed to be a pastor, but he was frequently involved in all sorts of shady business on the side. However, he was very knowledgeable about what went on in the underground world of crime, so Matoba often used him as a valuable source of information.

“Things are going well? Don’t say such foolish things!” 

O’Neil brought his hands to his chest and gazed up at the ceiling. 

“Detective Matoba, do you never read the news? This city of San Teresa is plagued with horrible unemployment, financial instability and crime. Standing in the middle of this city, seeing the daily struggles of the people around you, are your words not disrespectful to the great God above that works endlessly to solve his people’s struggles?”

“Are they? From the way you talked on that phone call, it seemed that things were going well. Something about fifty 50-inch monitors, if I recall correctly?”

“You must have been hearing things. After all, you’re too young to fully understand the words of God.”

“Would you like to talk to the seventh branch’s anti-theft department instead?” Matoba asked, slamming his hands on the table and glaring into O’Neil’s sunglasses.

“Hmph!” O’Neil nodded, knitting his eyebrows and muttering something under his breath. “If I can be of any help to you, let me know. If you have any sins you must confess to me, feel free to do so. I shall bless you with my enlightening words.”

“O’Neil, I—” Matoba started, glowering at him. “I absolutely hate these annoying formalities, and how you have to drag them into every single conversation we have. You may be obsessed with all of this religious stuff, but, quite frankly, I don’t give a shit about any of it.”

“That is incredibly disappointing. Oh, I hate those who promote violence, and it is very worrying to hear these words from a man tasked with keeping San Teresa safe! It is regrettable beyond words.”

“Shut up,” Matoba snapped, cutting him off. “I’m looking for a certain group of Colombian men. They ride in a Mitsubishi Pajero, probably a recent model. They’re involved in all sorts of shady business near the ‘gate.’ A few days ago, they brought a fairy from the other side. I’m asking if you know anything about it,” he said, weaving together the various details that he got out of his interrogation of the Filipino.

“Ho?”

“If you tell me what you know, that god of yours will bless you with wonderful business. If you don’t tell me, you will be beckoned by a certain goddess that holds a sword in one hand and a scale in the other. Her name is ‘the court.’ She’ll be asking you about those 50 wonderful monitors that you were talking about earlier. You follow me?”

“You’re a simple one, detective Matoba. If you keep it up with that attitude, your heart will fall into the hands of Satan!”

“I’m a Tendai buddhist. I don’t know of this ‘Satan’ that you speak of.”

“I have heard that Buddhists are gentle… Gentle enough to be driven out of their own land by heretics, at the very least.”

“I’m not. So do you know or do you not know? Give me a clear answer.”

O’Neil took a deep breath.

“Well, I can’t say that I don’t know.”

“Ho”

“The Colombians that come and go in this ‘place of worship’ are very ethical and hardworking, though. Some of them constantly travel back and forth to the Semani world. However, among those people…” 

“You know them, don’t you.”

“Well, the answer would be yes. However, they’re violent. I’d like you to make me a promise. If they found out that I told you their names, they would take this sacred place, this wonderful place filled with the power of God, and tear it apart. Yes, if that happened, I wouldn’t be able to do business for an entire month.”

“If you don’t hurry up, I’ll stop you from doing business for the rest of your life. You want me to destroy this place?”

“I knew that you would say such a thing, brother!” O’Neil exclaimed, picking up a white napkin off of the table and waving it before his face.

“That was almost like a Dirione,” Tilarna said, sitting in the passenger seat of the running car.

Having collected some vague information from pastor O’Neil, they had left the club.

“Dirione?”

The word sounded vaguely familiar, but Matoba couldn’t recall where he had heard it.

“I’m talking about your conversation with that ‘priest.’ It means ‘skit’ in your language, if I recall correctly. That’s it. It reminded me of an unpopular Dirione that I once saw.”

“Was it interesting?”

“No, it was very boring.”

“Is that so?” Matoba replied absent-mindedly, turning the steering wheel to drive into the intersection. It was well past five o’clock, and dusk had fallen over the dreary-looking city.

“O’Neil is a special one. I talk to all sorts of strange people for information, but… He’s a really weird one.
“He is?”

“Let’s keep this between the two of us. O’Neil is a criminal all right, but even then, he hates serious crimes like drug trafficking or murder. He holds all sorts of really suspicious ‘seminars’ and ‘fundraisers,’ and trades some shady goods of questionable legitimacy, but still, he can be trusted, to a certain extent. Well, it’s hard to really hate him.”

“He looked like nothing but a filthy thief to me,” Tilarna said coldly.

“Well, you aren’t wrong.”

“Then why are you trusting a man like that?”

“Because I need to.”

The Semanian knight raised her voice.

“Keh Imatooba. I will begrudgingly accept your annoying and disrespectful attitude. However, though I am familiar with the English saying that goes ‘do as the Romans do,’ when it comes to this, I simply cannot understand. Aren’t you bolice supposed to be working in the name of justice? I had heard that they are, unlike the military, tasked with protecting the safety of the public and punishing those who commit evil acts. Hearing that such brave warriors existed among the Dorini, I had high hopes for you. But now, all of that…”

Tilarna took a gulp of air.

“Cooperating with a thief? And conveniently ignoring their crimes because of it? I cannot believe it. Do you bolice not have any sense of pride?”

“……”

It wasn’t something that he could just dismiss by laughing and saying “you’re so naive.” Her voice was too serious.

Tilarna was right. He was neglecting his own duty as a police officer.

“It’s complicated,” Matoba managed to say. “Protecting the public and punishing evil, huh. There must have been a simpler time where that approach would’ve worked. Now, though… Well, it’s very complicated.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No one does.”

The car ran on.

As they sped through the intersection, Matoba gently lifted his foot off of the clutch pedal. For a man who stomped down on the accelerator just to scare his passenger earlier that day, it was a very kind gesture.

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