XCEL

A bar was the last place Dentaku Bango expected to find himself on a weekday evening. Weekday drinking was for alcoholics and overworked employees—sometimes both—bored to tears with their run-of-the-mill job, shoving their faces and wills to live against the corporate grindstone. The only thing waiting for them beyond the empty bliss of the bottle was an empty bed.

Statistics immediately came to mind. 67 percent of the country’s population drank to some degree, with 2.5 million or so suffering from some degree of alcoholism. When he grew older, was he going to be yet another to add to that number? No. That would be an irrational conclusion, he chided himself. Well, at least not yet. He had never drunk in his life, and he didn’t intend to start now.

When it wasn’t the burnout that compelled the peoples’ drinking habit, Dentaku knew life had other ways of making one’s day a misery. In other words, his preconception of most bars’ clientele were the exact kinds of people he didn’t plan on associating with—especially the ones whose voices rang the loudest in these kinds of spaces, the ones with just enough brain cells to bash together like the cavemen did their favourite rocks. He found the whole idea extremely sad, and pitied the millions for which he knew that was undoubtedly the case.

That said, why was he here?

Whenever he found himself distracted, irritated, or just in another of his moods, Dentaku often went on walks. It was always the same. He’d put down his pen on whatever problem he was working on, slide on some comfortable shoes and his favourite coat before heading out. It’s not like there was anyone at home to hear him leave, anyway.

Over time, it had become second nature. He found the routine comforting. When he was in one of these moods, Dentaku never went anywhere in particular. He just walked until his legs grew weary, staring down unblinking at the cracks in the pavement with his hands in his pockets, with just enough peripheral awareness to avoid colliding headfirst with every pedestrian or streetlamp in his way. If you’d had asked Dentaku how he got here tonight, try as he might, he’d likely have no answer to give. These walks gave him the rare chance to turn his mind off, absorbing himself in the repetitive steps and turns as he traced his familiar route around the blissfully familiar set of streets.

He’d read somewhere that alcohol was a way to take the edge off of traumatic events. Given the last couple of days, he most definitely qualified. What he had seen that day, it wouldn’t leave him alone. That information must’ve percolated into his mind from the day he’d read it, seeping into the crevices and subliminally influenced the direction his feet chose to take him on today’s walk.

There was only one problem: Dentaku wasn’t yet old enough to drink.

That was why he sat holding a glass of orange juice in the one place that orange juice was never drunk. The woman behind the counter must’ve been able to read his mind, the way she raised no problems to the clearly non-adult entering into this adult’s zone—not that Dentaku was the type to act his age. He was already taller than most the other clients and, whilst he still had that youthful look to his face, his grey eyes spoke of a world that had long since forgotten its childhood innocence. They were eyes that had seen too much, eyes that needed a rest.

“Um. Excuse me, sir?”

A woman’s voice knocked Dentaku’s gaze back into focus. The boy blinked. His glass of orange juice, he now noticed, was empty. His fingers had been drumming absentmindedly on the polished bar top as though writing his dissertation in morse code. Free from his mental stupor, the light jazz tinkling through the speakers and the hum of a few private conversations faded in. It wasn’t prime happy hour yet. Dentaku was suddenly glad that he now had something to listen to besides his own thoughts.

“Can I get you another drink?” asked the waitress, pointing at his glass.

Dentaku ran his tongue along his teeth. The sharp tang of the concentrate nearly made him gag.

“Oh, um,” he began, not wanting to keep her waiting. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”

“Is everything alright?” A slight creak, and the woman lent on the counter.

“Yeah, I—”

It was only now Dentaku remembered to look at her, actually look at her. The woman was young with fair hair in curls down to her shoulders (dyed, obviously. That kind of colour just wasn’t natural, save for if you were foreign). Her head was tilted a little to one side in concern. He wished she weren’t.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Are you sure?” She pursed her lips. “How about some water, then?”

Her insistence made the back of his neck bristle a little. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, thank you, just—”

“Don’t mind him,” a new voice came from his right, so low it was almost a growl. “Just a case of the nerves. Isn’t that right, Dentaku?”

The odour of a freshly smoked cigarette reached the boy not half a second later, the sickly sweet smell that hung around unsavoury characters. The voice made Dentaku freeze, not that he’d ever heard it before. He didn’t dare move, as a gloved hand patted him on the shoulder. The man sat down on the stool next door.

“He’ll have the usual whisky; one for me too, sweetheart.”

The girl nodded, disappearing off down the other end after she was hollered at by one of the other patrons.

“Sorry, but I—” Dentaku began, but the words caught in his throat when he felt the end of something hard and cold poking into his knee.

“Play along,” the man’s tone dropped even lower, something Dentaku thought was impossible. He enunciated every word as though he were about to spell it out letter-by-letter. “You’d be a sorry fool to make a scene.”

Dentaku swallowed, then nodded. Not daring to turn his head, he cast the man a side-glance. Tall and clad in a high-breasted trench coat, the hat he’d now placed on the counter wasn’t nearly enough to cover the silver hair that fell halfway down his back. In the soft lights that hung from metal rafters over the bar, it seemed to shimmer slightly with every subtle movement of his head. He too faced forward, but Dentaku was certain the man was looking at him. He could feel his stare. The eyepatch covering the man’s right eye made it difficult to be sure.

Whoever this man was, he knew Dentaku’s name. The question remained: was he brave enough to ask how?

“Your drinks, gentlemen.”

It was the barmaid again, back now with two large shot glasses. Light danced in the surface of the liquid amber as she set one before each of them.

Dentaku now regretted not explicitly telling the waitress he was underage. He hadn’t seen the need to, what with the clear sign of the youth sitting at the bar and ordering something distinctly non-alcoholic. Perhaps if she had known, she’d have been able to help him somehow. He locked eyes with her and was about to say something, before the gun barrel pointed at his knee persuaded him not to.

From the bottle she carried, Dentaku made out “single malt”. Single-malt whisky contained 40 percent alcohol by volume, Dentaku knew. How he knew this? Don’t ask. It’d vary a little per brand, but he wasn’t concerned about absolutes right now. The average single shot glass held a volume of 60 millilitres. The liquid in his came right to the top, forming a dome over the vessel that captured every dancing drop of light from overhead on its surface. That meant his glass contained 24 or so millilitres of alcohol. Dentaku was a mathematician, not a toxicologist; however, even he knew he likely shouldn’t be drinking this.

“Tough day deserves a reward,” said the silver-haired man, raising his glass. If the increased pressure in the soft of his knee was any indicator, Dentaku had the notion he was expected to do the same. Dentaku clutched at his glass as if he might to drop it, but couldn’t bring himself to raise it.

The waitress wafted back over to clear away his previous glass.

“You two seem like good friends.”

Her judgement couldn’t have been worse, thought Dentaku. Then again, she was paid for her time, not her observation.

“New intern at the office,” Hideyori said to her, patting Dentaku on the back.

Her face lit up in understanding.

“Stressful time, then? I’ll leave you two be. Enjoy your drinks.”

As she wandered off again, Dentaku’s glass in hand, Hideyori then caught sight of the residue.

“Orange juice? At this time of night?” He shook his head. “You’re practically starving yourself, kid. If you’re going to come to a place like this,” he raised a toast, “you can afford to treat yourself to some of the good stuff.”

As awkward as he felt, Dentaku followed suit. If the situation was as he thought, he’d rather keep both knees intact. One glass met another with a clink, and both men drank. Dentaku sipped at the whisky. It burned his tongue and all the way down the back of his throat, nearly making him splutter. The other man drained the glass in a fluid motion and set it back down.

“See what I mean? Good, isn’t it?” He seemed to be enjoying their one-sided conversation for all it was worth.

Dentaku wondered whether this was something he did for fun.

“What do you want with me?” He asked. He looked straight ahead, as though to look away was tantamount to signing his own death warrant.

“Not even going to ask for my name?”

“What would it matter.”

This wasn’t a question. Dentaku hoped he wouldn’t answer.

“Usually,” the man continued, “when a guy sits by himself at a bar, he’s waiting to meet someone.” He cast a sweeping glance around the bar. “Seems your date failed to show.” His shark-like grin widened. “Must’ve gotten caught up in something.” He put on a face of mock pity.

“Don’t worry; happens to the best of us. Thought I’d come keep you company.”

“Please answer my question,” Dentaku said.

30,000 pounds; the number flashed through his mind. It took him until the muscles in his jaw started to ache before he could remember the relevance of it. 30,000 pounds. That was the amount of compressive force human teeth could withstand before shattering. Without context, this was just a number. With the way his teeth were clenched, however, Dentaku feared he might put that number to the test. Bringing a hand up to massage a pressure point under his right ear, he closed his eyes. Perhaps when he opened them, this man would’ve gone.

“Surprised I know who you are?”

The man clearly had no intention of leaving.

“Not really.”

“All smarts, aren’t you? The public’s eye has been on Senketsu since yesterday.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

A pause.

“What’s it to you?”

“Matter of curiosity.”

Dentaku didn’t respond, choosing to fill the silence with another sip from his whisky. He regretted it instantly. The second had been just as vile as the first.

The man’s tone then became about ten degrees colder.

“I bet you’re wondering what happened to your pal Harigane.”

Dentaku’s grip on his glass tightened. Instead of playing dumb, as he knew he should, the following slipped his tongue before he’d had a chance to catch it.

“He’s not my friend.”

“Is that right? You two have got quite the history, I hear.”

“You did your research.”

“Hardly. Those championships had enough spectators on television the two of you are practically household names.”

“I’ll ask you. What do you want with me?”

The man grinned.

“Harigane’s found himself out of his depth, gotten himself and that girl involved in some trouble.”

That idiot, thought Dentaku. He knew there was something else to that knife. Those monsters, Harigane’s strange powers. Was that knife the detail that bound everything together?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid. You’ve wanted a chance to get square with him for a long time, haven’t you?” He leaned in slightly.

Dentaku didn’t respond.

“If so, I’ve got an opportunity for you.”

This evidently struck a chord.

“Opportunity?”

The man handed over a business card. One side read "Hideyori Hakana, Executive Operations Manager". Dentaku flipped the card over.

“JPRO?” He repeated, and his brow furrowed. He’d heard that name before, but where?

Hideyori nodded. “You saw it firsthand, didn’t you?”

That wasn’t a question. This man called Hideyori knew he had.

Slowly, Dentaku nodded.

“There are powers at play here that only few can understand,” Hideyori continued. “In the wrong hands, it could spell the end of the world as we know it.” Hideyori delivered the line as casually as though he were reading the paper, examining the back of one gloved hand.

“Powers?”

“What would you say if I told you that there existed a flow of energy derived from consciousness itself?”

An energy from consciousness? Dentaku thought. The idea was completely irrational. Yet, he couldn’t ignore what he’d seen with his own two eyes.

“I’d say you were crazy.”

“Would you believe me?”

From what he’d seen? He’d gladly grasp at any straw that offered any kind of explanation. Again, the boy nodded.

Hideyori laughed.

“I like your style. Not many would, but then again, it’s not as though they possess the potential to understand. Perhaps that’s what sets you apart.”

“Potential?”

“You’ve been scouted, kid.”

“What for?”

Only now, was Dentaku able to summon the courage to face this Hideyori person directly. Hideyori paused and chewed at his lip a little, measuring out his words.

“An organisation that can help you make good use of your particular aptitude.”

Hideyori turned towards him as well, and parted his thick bangs. Dentaku nearly spilled his whisky. A third eye had opened on the man’s forehead, and was staring Dentaku down like a predator would before it pounced.

“That’s—”

Pleased with the look of recognition, Hideyori let his hair cover the horrifying detail once more.

“The body, the mind and the soul,” he said. “All three exist, but are distinct.”

“They aren’t connected?”

“The first two are. The latter two? Not so much. People can exist without the soul, as the soul isn’t tethered to the mind the same way the mind is to the body. That lack of synchronicity is what leads to delusion, cognitive dissonance, and idle thought.”

Dentaku supposed that made sense. If you took the mind to mean the brain, a person couldn’t live without it, or indeed the rest of their body. But then again, could a person without a soul really be considered to be living? Only then did he ask himself why he was even considering this to begin with. At what point did he stoop to considering these kinds of irrational concepts?

Then again, no amount of rationality could truly satisfy his curiosity.

Despite the blaring warnings that told him not to, Dentaku decided to indulge this dangerous part of himself.

“What happens if all three are in sync?”

Hideyori’s grin only widened.

“Then, you can wield a power most can only dream of. A specialty; we call it: a way of interacting with the world, unique to you.”

“Using this… energy? Sounds like you’re referring to a psychic of some kind.”

“Took the words out of my mouth, kid. We call it ‘excelling’.”

Only now was he starting to rue the Dentaku Bango of yesterday, the one that would dismiss psychics as nothing but conmen. One was now sitting right next to him, and he would’ve been none the wiser.

“And you’re saying that I’ve got… potential?”

“The fact you’ve come to terms what I’ve said speaks volumes,” the likely psychic then said.

In the time Dentaku hadn’t been looking, Hideyori had ordered himself another whisky. This, he then sipped from like one might a teacup. Dentaku still hadn’t finished his first.

Something wasn’t stacking up.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asked. “You’ve explained yourself, so far as that explanation goes, but I still don’t see what’s in it for you.”

“You do what’s asked of you when we ask it; that’ll be enough, I’m sure. Employment is a give and take, after all.”

The vagueness of his answer didn’t exactly put him at ease.

“You mentioned Harigane earlier. The way he destroyed those things, back during the attack. Did he also…”

“Excel?” Hideyori nodded. “Harigane has now ascended to a state that no-one has managed to achieve for thousands of years. His power, his mind; if you still thought you could still keep up, forget it.” He waved a hand dismissively.

Dentaku felt his skin prickle.

“I would’ve thought you’d have jumped at the chance to one-up your greatest rival,” Hideyori continued. “I’m offering you power beyond anything anyone’s capable of achieving. With your mind? The sky’s the limit.”

“But why me?”

“My employers have shown a great deal of interest in you. I thought it best to dig around and appeal to your personal interests first.

Hideyori sighed and turned away, as though he planned to leave.

“But, I might be wrong,” he said, draining the rest of his second whisky. “Say the word, and I’ll leave you be. I haven’t got this kind of time to waste with hopeless cases, anyway.” He checked his watch. “It’s just such a shame. I suppose Harigane will forever remain out of your—”

Dentaku gripped Hideyori’s elbow before he’d even finished speaking. He looked the man dead in the eye.

“I never said no.”

Hideyori grinned. “Seems I didn’t underestimate you after all.”

Dentaku felt the pressure against his knee lift, as Hideyori tucked something back into his coat. In its place, he retrieved something else.

“Hold your hand out.”

Dentaku did as he was told. In his palm, Hideyori placed a beautiful glass orb. It had a comforting weight to it, and the boy couldn’t help but play with it in his fingers, gazing into its shifting, milky depths. Squinting, he could've sworn he saw some kind of building hidden in the fog.

“What is this?”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Who—”

“I’ll leave them the pleasure of introduction,” he grinned again.

A few seconds passed before Dentaku’s gaze snapped back into focus. “This is still too good. What are the chances that you offer me this power that just so happens to tie directly into a paradigm-shifting event, likely supernatural, that I’ve just witnessed.” He kept his voice at a near whisper, so as to respect the man’s original request. Why he was still doing that, he didn’t know. At this point, a bullet to the knee might be all it took to wake up from this surreal nightmare. He hadn’t forgotten about the gun.

Hideyori raised an eyebrow. He seemed more engaged than offended.

“This all seems like a well-kept secret,” Dentaku continued, unsure what idiotic pit of guts he’d been pulling these lines out of. He’d already started. There was no point in getting cold feet now. “You’ve just gone and told it all to someone who you have no idea won’t go to the police, or to the media, and expose you and your company for being a cover for a cult of dangerous psychics.”

“You really think anyone would believe you?” Hideyori didn’t take his eye off the boy.

No response.

“That’s what I thought. Who are you going to tell, kid? You’d be wasting your breath. I like the way you think, though. That’s why I’m here. But, you’re right,” he sighed. “It is too good. If you had just accepted it there and then, that’d be the end of that. I have no use for the naïve.” He flashed a smile so sharp Dentaku had the sudden urge to duck lest his head be taken off. “There is something I want from you. Rest assured, it’s in our mutual best interests. Then again, if you’re not certain, the door’s always there.”

He pointed towards the glass door that led back onto the street. The world outside was a lot darker now than when Dentaku had arrived. It looked inaccessible now, as though it were somewhere he was no longer supposed to be, nor could ever return to.

“Life’s all about seizing the opportunity,” Hideyori continued. “You’ve got to do what’s best in the moment. Right?”

Dentaku nodded.

“So, what’s it going to be?”

Before anyone else in the bar could hear their answer, the two disappeared. For a moment, the orb hung there in the air, floating as though waiting for its cue. Then, it seemed to swallow itself up into a neat little void, leaving two empty chairs, three empty glasses, and a tab at a bar in Chiba—three whiskies and a glass of orange juice—that would never get paid.