How Legends are Made 4

How Legends are Made 4

Yasunori Kaname

I’d gotten what I wanted. Over a month since my backpacking excursion began, I now had a solid grasp of my abilities. I could reinforce myself, heal, create weapons, cripple my enemies, and scout around me. I was no master, but even at my level, hemomancy was a ridiculously versatile ability; pity it looked so damn edgy.

Now, my immediate goal was survival in the biggest of concrete jungles, downtown Tokyo. It was early October. The specific date didn’t matter much, but it was getting colder. Maybe it was the gray facade, but the chill almost felt worse here than in the forest.

I circulated my blood as Joraal taught me, keeping my body at a much higher temperature. As far as the old captain was concerned, this was just another chance to train. If I could keep circulating blood and mana without active concentration, then maybe I could also enhance my body this way.

I didn’t want to go around mugging randos or breaking into stores, so I made do. There were always more acceptable targets, like the Inagawa-kai. The fuckers who broke into Sato-san’s shop–I didn’t even remember their names anymore–had said the Inagawa-kai had been pressing into their territory.

I recognized the name. How could I not? As far as criminals went, the Inagawa were practically royalty. They were one of the largest yakuza organizations in the country, and had been since shortly after the second World War. As historical rulers of Japan’s underworld, they tried to present themselves as “noble yakuzas,” criminals of class, dignity, and nationalist spirit.

To a degree, they succeeded. In 2011, following the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, the Inagawa were among the first to provide humanitarian aid, even beating out the government. This earned them a lot of goodwill, giving the public the sense that, even if they were criminals, they were principled criminals.

But it wasn’t as if they were normally this altruistic. The quake was an exceptional case, and the perfect chance to ingratiate themselves in the minds of the Japanese public while making the government seem incompetent. Maybe a few within the organization thought otherwise, but this was their way of making sure that their regular operations would not receive too much scrutiny.

No, for the most part, the notion of the “noble yakuza” was a fabrication. The inagawa were not preservers of Japanese heritage, inheritors of the samurai spirit, or whatever other tripe. They were scum who engaged in every kind of crime imaginable so long as there was profit to be made.

Which was why I didn’t feel bad about this.

I found the nearest street tough around and shook him down until he spilled. He reported to a “Yamada-san,” which was likely not his boss’ real name. Poor fucker ran around collecting protection money, but didn’t even have ten grand in his wallet.

That led me to a billiards bar, where a stereotypical man in white slacks and leopard print coat tried to have me jumped. It went… predictably.

After putting his men through the pool tables, we came to an agreement: I got to crash at an internet cafe he was responsible for and he didn’t ask any questions. He got to keep his limbs. If anyone came snooping around, I was a friend from out of town.

Given I’d spent over a month murdering evil spirits, intimidating the yakuza equivalent of middle management was child’s play. It had something to do with being bonded to a Darkin, a sense of dread that I inspired, not that normal folk didn’t already find me unnerving. This wasn’t a permanent solution, but it’d do for the moment.

Living situation settled-ish, I slid into a quiet routine. I did some basic maintenance on Sato-san’s bike, punched out a few uppity guests like a fucking hypocrite, and began checking out any areas known for their supernatural sightings. I quickly built a reputation as a paranormal otaku with fists like sledgehammers.

X

Another week passed this way.  I visited an abandoned subway tunnel, a junkyard that processed abandoned cars, and even the stereotype of stereotypes, an abandoned school building.

Each time, I found nothing. No, that wasn’t quite right. I found traces of mana in the air, but no mages or spirits.

‘This too is an answer,’ Joraal rumbled in my mind. ‘Someone is reaching these spirits before you can. Their sensory spells must be exceptional; perhaps they have an augur in their employ.’

‘Or, the news channels aren't reliable sources for detecting magic,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m reacting to information that’s been publicized after the fact.’

‘You believe someone else is controlling the flow of information.’

‘Why not? If magic is a secret, then it stands to reason that someone needs to suppress spirits and sanitize the story before letting the mundane police handle things.’

‘Well-reasoned. What will you do now? You will never find a mage to observe or negotiate with if you merely follow in their footsteps.’

‘I could find an abandoned lot and turn myself into a magical lighthouse.’

‘Will you? You’ve been cautious so far.’

‘You’re right; I won’t do that. That’d just bring them to me in droves. I want to talk to one individually, not after I’ve kicked the hornet’s nest.’

‘Then you must acquire a different source of information.’

‘I suppose so.’

Thus, Joraal's lessons on information gathering began. Spycraft wasn't his focus, but he'd learned plenty over millennia.

It wasn't mine either. Listening in on people made me feel like a voyeur, even if they weren't talking about anything important. The best I could say about his teaching methods was that I appreciated not having to skin rabbits with their own blood.

In any case, collecting intel turned out to be unexpectedly simple. I hadn’t planned it this way, but living in an internet cafe that paid protection money to the local yakuza had its perks. The cafe was a social watering hole where people in all seasons of life crossed paths. It was also a place where many dropped their guard and aired their grievances.

And with them came the rumors and gossip. A salaryman’s boss divorced after a cheating scandal. A student committed suicide following pressure from his bullies. A young girl stopped coming to the cafe to play with her friends because her family owed money and she was flat broke. If I shut up and allowed the conversation to wash over me, the cafe was a wealth of information.

This alone wasn’t enough, of course. This was where the yakuza came in. By talking to the street-level thugs, I learned who owed how much, and more importantly, why. Slowly but surely, we stitched this information together to form an incident map of the neighborhood.

One day, I heard a pair of drunk men talking. They were young, probably only ten years older than me, and were coming from a bar across the street.

“Shit, you drunk, Maeda?” he asked, voice slightly slurred. He braced his friend on one shoulder. “Come on, let’s get a room here for a few hours.”

“I’m not drunk,” the one called Maeda mumbled as he stumbled into his friend. “You’re drunk. Why do we have to drink with Shido, anyway?”

“That’s just how it goes, man. You gotta pay respect to the boss.”

“Fuck that, and fuck Shido, too. He’s barely a manager, Honda.”

“Shit, I agree with you, man. Let’s sober up before we go home.”

They took the private room across from me, but not before ordering two cups of ramen and tea. The door closed, but I could hear their muffled voices with a bit of reinforcement.

Most of it was worthless information, just bitching about this “Shido-san.” Their manager criticized them for taking the full half hour during their lunch breaks. Their company demanded unreasonable deadlines. The director flirted with the female receptionist right in front of the staff.

Then, the topic changed.

“Man, shit’s changed since Tokawa-san died,” Honda said with a depressed sigh. “That’s how you know we work for a black company. Those bastards worked her to death.”

“What the hell happened there?” Maeda asked. He sounded a lot better after a cup of ramen.

“Right, you’re new. Tokawa-san was a senpai who joined two years before me. She had the audacity to get married, even had a kid so started working fewer hours. Those bastard bosses of ours tried to get her to quit, said she wasn’t making the numbers anymore.”

“She’s not here, so I guess she quit.”

“Sure, if by ‘quit,’ you mean ‘Quit life right off the fourteenth floor window.’”

“W-What? She fucking killed herself? Because they were mean to her?” Maeda said incredulously. “I mean sure, they’re assholes, but–”

“Wasn’t the same. Shido started harassing her with deadlines at all hours. Noda, our director? Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but I heard he even told her husband that he’s the real father.”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“They really wanted her out. Well, they won. The marriage fell apart and she decided to smear blood on the company the only way she could think of: by literally smearing the inside of her brainbox on the pavement.”

“Shit… I-Is that why they say we shouldn’t go to that one terrace if we work after hours?”

“Yup, that’s where she jumped. There was an investigation and everything,” Honda said grimly. “Things got better for a little while, but the investigation stopped and Tokawa-san’s death was ruled as a tragedy.”

“Tragedy? That was fucking criminal!”

“And? That’s just how it goes sometimes, Maeda. Us powerless folks? We just gotta grin and swallow whatever the higher-ups feed us, even when we all know it’s bullshit.”

“S-Say, you think that’s why the fourteenth floor is so fucking freezing all the time? I’ve been up there ‘cause there’s that terrace that’s good to work from sometimes, but–”

“Didn’t take you for the superstitious sort.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. Maintenance has been up there looking at the heating units four times already.”

“Alright, maybe… Fuck, I’m no priest. All I know is that when those fuckers stopped ‘investigating’ themselves months ago and found nothing wrong, that place got as cold as the grave. It’s probably just faulty HVAC, but I stopped going there myself. You’re a braver man than me, Maeda.”

“It’s like Tokawa-san died for nothing,” Maeda replied sullenly.

I stopped listening after that. There was a nearby office building, at least fourteen floors, with a terrace, probably one of those coworking spaces or maybe a cafe, the kind employers provided as an amenity in a bid to make overtime seem more palatable.

The floor, presumably inside, not the terrace, was colder than normal. Maintenance had no idea why. It wasn’t much, but it was something to investigate. I felt a bit like one of those paranormal investigators, though I admittedly had a bit more going for me in that regard than the usual joker.

This could all be bogus, of course. These men were drunk and complaining about their work. It was about as time-honored a tradition as Japan had, practically more of a national sport than karate or kendo. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d followed a lead, only to end up with nothing more than a wasted night for my troubles.

Still, it’d be worth it to make sure. If there was the righteous grudge of a young woman attached to that building, then the bogus investigation could possibly bring it out. And since no one died yet, it made sense that the news hadn’t picked up on it. Hopefully, that meant the mages hadn’t, either.

I got up to go check it out. Stopping by the lobby, I eyed the receptionist. “Oi, those two drunk salarymen,” I said, thumbing their door. “Maeda and Honda, right?”

The young man, probably a college kid doing some part-time work, startled like a rabbit. He was older than me by a good few years but I had a head on him. That, and he’d seen me walk in with the yakuza more than once. “Y-Yes? Can I help you, Kaname-san?”

“Nothing big. Look them up for me really quick. They gave you a card, right?”

“I-I can’t tell you where Honda-san liv–”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s not what I want. I just want to know where they work. Which company are they coming from? Even if that wasn’t a company card, a full name should be enough to check things out, right?”

“O-Oh, yes, I can do that.”

I waited a few minutes while he ran the name through Google. 

In my past life, college professors and seniors liked to tell me to go network. “It’s who you know, not what you know,” was a popular bit of wisdom in America. I fucking hated it. I didn’t know how many hours I spent on Linked In, which was basically Facebook for desperate, unemployed people and rich corporate types.

Japan didn’t have that; a “professional multimedia networking platform” never really caught on. Instead, most Japanese people still networked in-person, or simply through Facebook or Twitter. But with a full name and credit card on file, the receptionist was able to give me the name of his company pretty quickly.

I knew the place. I’d walked by it often enough but had never paid it much mind. It was just another giant of concrete and glass, no different than any number of buildings in Tokyo. Thanking him, I headed out to hunt myself a mage.

X

The building was locked so I found an alley and scaled it from the side. Using my blood manipulation to make climbing spikes for myself wasn’t something I’d done before, but it wasn’t any harder than Joraal’s bootcamp. I found the fourteenth floor terrace and hopped in.

I struck gold. It was exactly as Maeda and Honda said, absolutely freezing in a way that the autumn wind couldn’t account for. More tellingly, the ambient mana here was thicker. There definitely was something here.

‘What do you sense?’ Joraal asked, always testing me.

‘It’s not that strong. The hanged bull was stronger, so was the blood fiend,’ I said clinically. A figure rose from the ground in front of me. She looked vaguely like a woman. I stomped her back into the ground, not unlike extinguishing a cigarette butt. ‘See? Weakling.’

‘You won’t kill it?’

‘Nah, I want to use it as bait. If it’s weak, someone weak will be sent to cleanse it, right?’

‘Possible, but if it is too weak, it may not draw attention at all.’

‘We’ll just have to wait.’

And wait we did. I climbed the rest of the building, up to the nineteenth floor. There, I found a vantage point from where I could see the terrace.

I figured that since the investigation and suicide were matters of public record, the mages also knew that a spirit arising from Tokawa-san’s grudge was a possibility. Even if I had to keep watch for a few days, someone was bonus to show up, to check if nothing else.

X

Two days later, I had my answer, in more ways than one. An inky black veil covered the building, cast by a group of men in suits. I hadn’t seen them arrive, though I admittedly hadn’t been paying too much attention. They barely had more mana than civilians so I hadn’t been sure if they were worth looking at.

The veil was interesting. It concentrated the mana, drawing out the spirit from the shadows. I supposed it made things easier, but they needn’t have bothered for this one. Still, I noted the technique. It was something new to learn, something local.

Down below, there were two people who proved I hadn’t been paranoid. Or rather, a young woman about my age and an oversized panda. The girl carried a naginata and kept her dark-green hair in a functional ponytail.

‘Good news, Joraal. I recognize the setting,’ I said wryly.

‘Oh?’

‘Much like how Runeterra was the setting of a game in my old life, this world was the setting of an anime. That’s… a type of storytelling medium.’

‘You recognize the mages below because they were characters in a story,’ he said, connecting the dots.

‘I do. And not mages, they call themselves sorcerers here.’

‘Are you sure? A green-haired weapon user with a bear familiar is unusual, but I have seen many summoners and tamers in my time.’

‘That spotted bear is called a panda. Coincidentally, “Panda” is also his name. He’s a sentient doll and his own, separate entity, not her familiar. Which makes the green-haired girl Maki Zenin. They’re pretty distinctive.’

‘As you say. You seem conflicted. Your emotions are in turmoil.’

‘Yeah, because I like them. But well, knowing where I am validates the caution. I’m not paranoid; there is an organization of sorcerers that watch over the supernatural world.’

‘Will they be our enemies? Those two do not seem very impressive,’ he commented idly as we watched them fight. 

‘They’ve got a lot of potential.’

This was 2017. Maki was not riddled with scars, so she hadn’t butchered her clan. Panda still looked like a panda, so he hadn’t learned to cooperate with his “siblings,” or didn't feel the need to call them out.

Not that they needed anything special to deal with what I now knew was a minor cursed spirit. What was this? Grade two? Three? Whatever it was, it acted completely on instinct. They intentionally turned their backs to lure it out in the most obvious bait ever, but the spirit still bit down.

When the spirit leapt from the floor, Maki whirled and grabbed it by the hair, yanking it out like a fish and holding it aloft while Panda punched it into submission. Simple, clean, and hardly any skill required.

I realized now that the “mana” I sensed was “cursed energy.” The creatures I’d been killing were “cursed spirits.” The techniques were, naturally, “cursed techniques.”

It recontextualized a lot of what I’d seen, and was both a source of relief and concern for me.

On one hand, the Rune of Domination was… Calling it overkill was frankly generous. At his prime, I had no doubt that Joraal would have dominated anyone and everyone save perhaps Gojo and Sukuna.

On the other hand, there was so much goddamn drama. This was a world where old men clung to power out of petty pride. In the name of tradition, they nearly damned all of Japan. Here, the right cursed technique could seal away what should theoretically be infinite.

I hadn’t mastered the World Rune, not even close. They’d probably call me “special grade” off the sheer quantity of “cursed energy” alone, but caution was warranted. 

‘The supernatural world here is integrated into the government. There is an inspector general who heads jujutsu headquarters, appointed by the prime minister of Japan. Jujutsu headquarters assigns missions, passes regulations regarding cursed techniques, and operates the two high schools meant to train sorcerers.’

‘A centralized authority for magic? Yes, that is wise. Shurima had something similar, but many powerful families had their own traditions and secret spells,’ the ancient captain said approvingly.

‘It’s the same here. There are three families called the Big Three. The prime minister chooses the inspector general and the inspector general can choose the principals of each school, but in reality, those three families are the ones who make nominations. They’ve got a lot of power and lean heavily towards conservatism and traditionalism.’

‘That is natural. Those in power resent change, for change can lead to turmoil that may weaken their foundation. Will they be our enemies?’

‘Maybe…?’ I paused. I didn’t like them, but they were, generally speaking, necessary for Japan as a whole. More, a Darkin’s bread and butter was hemomancy. ‘If anything, I’m concerned that the Kamo clan will try to kill me or adopt me.’

‘Oh?’

‘Hemomancy. The Kamo are one of the Big Three and their inherited cursed technique is blood manipulation. Of course, a Darkin’s mastery surpasses theirs in every way, but it looks very similar on the surface.’

‘I am a mediocre hemomancer compared to my peers,’ he rumbled ambivalently. ‘They will seek to preserve their bloodline’s exclusivity, then?’

‘Probably. They’ll probably assume that I’m a Kamo clan bastard.’

‘You do not know your sire’s name. This might be true.’

I laughed sardonically. ‘You’re right. Mom was a prostitute. Dad was… Who knows? Either way, I’m going to have to join jujutsu society properly. I can’t exactly live like a vagabond forever.’

‘True enough. You said this world was presented to you as a story.’

‘Yup. Lots of shit will start happening next year. Or… Christmas…? Fuck, there’s the Night Parade.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Hyakki Yagyo, the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons.’

‘Sounds pretentious. In Shurima, we call things what they are. Even the Sun Disk is just “the Sun Disk.” No other embellishments are needed.’

‘Heh, it does. It’s a part of Japanese folklore, and also what some fuckwit named Geto decided to call his little terrorist attack. He’s a big deal, one of a handful of special grade sorcerers.’

‘Perhaps a mage and a poet, then. He seems interesting enough. WIll you take part in his “Night Parade?”’

‘Probably. He’s supposed to make a formal declaration sometime in… in October… So it either happened already, or will in a week or two.’

‘He announced his attack to his enemies? Is it a trap?’

‘No, he’s true to his word. He’ll release a thousand cursed spirits upon Kyoto and Tokyo because he wants to create a society in which only humans who can sense cursed energy are counted as “human.”’

‘A fool, then. One who announces himself is one who is ruled by his pride. Even had he a dream worth pursuing, he is an unworthy conqueror,’ Joraal scoffed dismissively. ‘You intend to oppose him.’

‘That’s the idea. For now, it means we need to introduce ourselves.’

So saying, I hopped down the five stories. On my way, I flared my cursed energy, just enough to catch Panda’s attention. Maki, she never was good at sensing that sort of thing.

I landed several yards away from them as they readied themselves for a fight. A part of me wanted to oblige them, just to see where I stood compared to the canon cast, but that could wait until I registered at Tokyo High. I looked thuggish enough without trying, anyway. 

I gave them my friendliest smile. “Yo, how’s it going?”

Author’s Notes

“Yamada Taro” is the Japanese equivalent of “John Doe.” While Yamada is a surname, a yakuza using it does make it suspect. 10,000 yen is actually only about $64.

Japan has a problem with “hidden homeless” people. This isn’t exclusive to Japan, but partially because of social stigma and pride, it’s a bit worse there.

People live out of their cars, in capsule hotels, or internet cafes. Yes, you can actually sleep in them. They’ll even provide a futon (more like a gym mat). It’s not comfortable, but if that’s what you’ve got, that’s what you’ve got.

Animal Fact: Nectar alone isn’t a particularly good food source. For starters, it’s mostly water, about sixty to eighty percent. Second, simple sugars alone won’t keep a body going. You need a few more things, like sodium.

This is why butterflies like turtles and other reptiles so much. You can sometimes find butterflies gathered around a reptile’s face. They’re not there to look pretty; they’re there to feed. Those fluttery bastards are there to intentionally irritate their eyes and literally drink their tears.

Oh, and some butterflies drink blood, urine, feces, etc. for similar reasons. Turns out, butterflies are more like Rosine from Berserk than Tinkerbell.