33 The People of Ikebukuro Are Truly Blessed

The two stepped out of the sushi restaurant. The tall Black man disguised as a chef was still handing out flyers. No matter who passed by, he greeted everyone with the familiarity of an old acquaintance, shouting a cheerful "Long time no see." His antics sent Sakura into a fit of giggles, until she eventually had to clutch her stomach in pain.

"Yo, buddy, care to join a very interesting chat room?"

Just as the two were strolling through the shopping street outside the sushi restaurant to digest their meal, a frivolous-sounding voice came from behind.

Turning around, they saw a black-haired man wearing an out-of-season coat with a furry collar.

"Do we know each other?" Hojo Kyosuke asked with a puzzled frown. Were people in Ikebukuro always this overly familiar?

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Orihara Izaya, and I run an information agency. Anything happening in Shinjuku and Ikebukuro—you can consult me about it."

The man claiming to be an information broker gave a theatrical bow with a hand over his chest, then flirtatiously flicked a business card toward Hojo Kyosuke using two fingers.

Hojo Kyosuke casually took the card, while Sakura leaned her head in to take a look as well.

Three simple lines were printed on the stiff white paper:

"Orihara Izaya, Information Dealer, Phone: 83709287"

"So, what is your business with me?" Hojo Kyosuke asked, toying with the card in his hand.

Strange, unseasonal clothing; an information broker; and that distinct aura radiating from him—frivolous, elusive, much like the scent of black goji berries.

Any single one of these traits would mark him as a troublemaker. With so many elements combined, Hojo Kyosuke just wanted to grab Sakura and walk away.

Although Hojo Kyosuke's tone hadn't changed much, Sakura, who had known him since childhood, could already detect the hostility in his words. The young girl obediently grasped Hojo Kyosuke's hand and hid silently behind his back.

"Well, part of it is expanding my business, and the other part, as I mentioned to you just now, is to recommend a very interesting chat room."

Orihara Izaya slid his right hand into his coat, pulled out another card, and handed it to Hojo Kyosuke.

"Dollars?" That was the word printed on the card, followed by a string of a website URL.

Dollars? Upon seeing the word on the card, Hojo Kyosuke suddenly grew interested. Wasn't this an opportunity to make some money?

"Please don't misunderstand. This isn't about US dollars; it's simply, you know, the borrowing-character culture unique to the people of Japan," Orihara Izaya explained.

"Oh, then I'm not interested." With that, Hojo Kyosuke reached out to return the card.

"Now wait—" Orihara Izaya wanted to say more, but an angry roar cut him off.

"Iza--ya--kun!"

The enraged, syllable-by-syllable shout came from an unknown direction, and arriving right along with the voice was a metal trash can.

Huh? What on earth was a metal trash can doing flying through the air?

Hojo Kyosuke turned his head to look at the massive metal trash can hurtling toward them with a piercing whistle. To be precise, it wasn't aimed at them, but squarely at Orihara Izaya.

Pulling Sakura into his arms, he quickly leaped to the side. Although they weren't the target, Orihara Izaya was standing far too close, and Hojo Kyosuke wanted to make sure Sakura didn't get caught in the crossfire.

Orihara Izaya didn't have reflexes as fast as his, and was struck dead center.

Tsk tsk. Hojo Kyosuke glanced at the trash can. It was solid, seemingly made of steel, and roughly estimated to weigh over thirty kilograms.

Only then did Hojo Kyosuke have the leisure to check out the powerhouse who used a trash can as a weapon.

"Hey hey, Kyosuke, is that a waiter's uniform?"

Sakura also looked curiously at the approaching figure. She wasn't frightened in the least, because she trusted that Hojo Kyosuke would never let her come to harm, just as he had always done throughout all these years.

The muscular man walking toward them was nearly one meter ninety tall, with blond hair, wearing sunglasses even in the dead of night, a white shirt, a black vest, black trousers, and a black bow tie fastened at his collar.

"Ah, probably so. If Black and White people can become sushi masters, it's pretty normal for a waiter to be a bit strong, right?" Hojo Kyosuke looked at the standard waiter attire and found himself unable to argue.

As the two were enthusiastically discussing this, the blond waiter strode over on his long legs and addressed Orihara Izaya:

"Didn't I tell you never to show your face in Ikebukuro again, Iza--ya--kun!" A voice filled with violent rage, accompanied by a ferocious smile.

"Shizuo-chan, aren't you supposed to be working at the West Exit?"

Orihara Izaya had already pushed aside the trash can pinning him down and stood up. Clutching the arm that had taken the direct hit from the trash can, he offered an ugly, strained smile.

Shizuo-chan?

Hearing this adorable nickname, Hojo Kyosuke and Yamauchi Sakura exchanged glances and burst into laughter simultaneously, their hands tightly intertwined.

Hearing the giggling nearby, the muscular man known as Shizuo saw the veins on his forehead bulge. However, rather than picking a fight with Hojo Kyosuke and Sakura, he chose to vent all his fury back onto Orihara Izaya.

"I got fired ages ago! And furthermore, I told you not to call me that! My name is Heiwajima Shizuo!"

"Oh, so it's Heiwajima Shizuo-san," Sakura said, tapping her right fist into her left palm in a gesture of sudden realization, looking hopelessly adorable.

"Still, Kyosuke, this guy looks neither peaceful nor quiet, does he?" Sakura whispered softly into Hojo Kyosuke's ear.

"Well, about that... it probably represents his parents' aspirations. Besides, his family name is Heiwajima because his father has that exact surname."

Hojo Kyosuke gently pushed Sakura's little head away slightly. The warm, humid breath escaping her lips carried the crisp freshness of morning dew, continuously washing over him.

"Hey, I'm saying you two, give me a break already!"

Hearing the pair whispering to each other, the big guy Heiwajima Shizuo felt the veins at the corners of his eyes throb even harder as he turned and roared at Hojo Kyosuke and Sakura.

"Sorry, sorry." Sakura quickly bowed, and Hojo Kyosuke offered an apologetic smile.

"Oh dear, Shizuo-chan, are you still mad about that time I framed you?"

The pain in Orihara Izaya's body seemed to have subsided somewhat, as his face put on that exasperating, frivolous expression once more.

"I'm not mad. I just want to beat the living daylight out of you."

Heiwajima Shizuo emitted a sound that seemed to suppress something explosive, then reached out and grabbed a roadside street sign, pulling it straight out of the ground along with the concrete base with a modest exertion of strength.

"Seriously? Is that something a human being can actually do?"

Seeing this scene, Yamauchi Sakura widened her eyes in disbelief.

Unlike Sakura's shock, Hojo Kyosuke wore a thoughtful expression.

"So, I won't need to carry a wooden sword everywhere I go from now on, right?"

What was a street sign, anyway? It was simply a metal pole topped with a metal sign indicating landmarks and street names. You couldn't exactly say they were everywhere—well, actually, they were literally everywhere.

With Hojo Kyosuke's current strength, even if he couldn't yank it out roots and all along with the concrete block like Heiwajima Shizuo did, he could easily kick it snapping in half right from the middle and use it as a weapon.

"Go to hell!"

With a furious roar, Heiwajima Shizuo hurled the street sign at Orihara Izaya like a javelin.

Unfortunately, having been prepared, Orihara Izaya easily dodged out of the way.

Following that, Heiwajima Shizuo simply hoisted a nearby vending machine and threw it at Orihara Izaya once again.

Tsk, the people of Ikebukuro were truly blessed; every single day was so lively.

"Let's go, Sakura."

Complaining inwardly, Hojo Kyosuke took Yamauchi Sakura's hand and walked away from the battlefield toward where he had parked his motorcycle.