Ice Cream and the Ninja
Roque sprawled across the sofa, fiddling with the remote. The TV was playing a rerun of yesterday's talk show.
A faint beep-beep from beside him made him turn his head. There was Lije, flat on the apartment floor, holding up a handheld game console and mashing away at it. After a bit, her arms must have gotten tired because she flipped over onto her stomach and hammered the buttons even harder. The screen flashed with bursts of light, like something was exploding.
Roque watched her for a moment, then let out a long yawn and leaned his head back against the sofa.
About two weeks had passed since the Tree's Children incident. True to form as a mercenary, Roque was taking it easy after wrapping up the job. The only difference from his usual downtime was the little kid who had wedged herself into his living space.
At first, he'd just left her to her own devices in the apartment living room. He'd stocked the pantry and fridge, so she'd make her own food when hungry and crash on the sofa or bed when tired.
Sometimes he'd wake to find her snuck into his bed, but Roque could tolerate that much. Hidden truths aside, her outward appearance and behavior were pure child. He just had to hold out until Philip tracked down her parents.
The real issue was her habit of hijacking the TV to play whatever songs she wanted to hear. Roque had no clue how she did it without a socket or implants, but using some inexplicable power for that? The biggest problem was that he had to watch the TV too.
After four or five times of his shows cutting to black and blasting music, even Roque—who'd trained decades for his Aura Blade—felt a simmering irritation.
In the end, he'd bought her a game console, the kind kids her age went nuts for. The thing cost a few hundred dollars on its own.
Once Lije got hooked on it, the random TV takeovers stopped, and Roque reclaimed his lazy afternoons. Perfect rest days. Aside from the lighter wallet.
So there he was, half-lidded eyes blinking lazily, while Lije lay belly-down on the floor, beep-beeping away at her game.
Lije suddenly looked up.
"Roque."
"What."
"Lije wants ice cream."
Roque didn't even glance away from the TV.
"Check the fridge."
"Ate it all already."
That meant they had to go buy more—and given Lije's refusal to stay home alone, it meant going together.
Roque snorted.
"Too much hassle."
"...Roque lazy."
"Didn't know? I'm a slacker by nature."
Lije's blank face puffed up ever so slightly. From watching her these past two weeks, that was her usual range. Like part of her facial muscles were paralyzed, or she just didn't know how to show emotions—subtle changes at best.
Then the apartment's video phone rang. Roque sighed deeply, hauled himself up from the sofa. But his expression shifted a bit once he saw who it was.
Philip's face filled the screen.
"Oh, Roque. Doing well?"
"Fine as always, Philip. Calling means you've wrapped up that job I gave you, right?"
At the name Philip, Lije's head snapped up from her sulky game-staring. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Roque.
"Ah, that... "
Philip scratched his neck on-screen.
"That one's gonna take a bit more time."
"You said max two weeks yourself."
"W-well, it's not like I haven't found traces. They're just old leads... Give me a little more time, and I'll nail it. Promise."
Lije's hopeful gaze dimmed as she stared over. She dropped her head back to the game.
"...Then why call? To tell me that?"
Roque's voice dipped slightly, and Philip shook his head fast.
"Got news for you. Word on the street."
"What word?"
"Romanos is looking for you. Wants payback for trashing his club..."
"The polar bear?"
"Romanos is human, not a werebear..."
"He's their boss, so honorary polar bear at least."
Philip looked ambiguous.
"Huh. Sounds about right now that you mention it."
"Anyway. That's it?"
"His crew's in bad shape lately. Heard they pissed off a megacorp, and challengers are crawling out since the club got wrecked—thinking he's weak. Cornered like that, grinding his teeth to catch you... Get what that means?"
Roque's face grew wearier.
"...Plans to sacrifice me for a comeback."
"Possible or not, doubt it's on his mind right now. Sitting tight means getting limbs hacked off by rivals or torn apart by his own men anyway. Aura Master or not, he'll thrash around."
"What a pain."
Philip nodded.
"Anyway, watch your back. Might shake down other middlemen for your ID or address."
"Saying you won't get shaken?"
Philip grinned, flashing his fangs.
"You know me. I don't go down easy."
Roque smirked back.
"That the end of it?"
"Yeah. Oh, if you're free, quick job—"
"Hang up. Call later."
"Wait, just hear me out—"
Roque killed the screen. His round reflection stared back from the black glass.
He turned. Lije was still prone, fiddling with her game, looking a bit downcast. Roque gazed at her crown quietly.
"Want ice cream?"
Her head shot up. Roque wordlessly grabbed his coat, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the door. Lije scrambled up and toddled after him.
The Black Knight's engine growled low. Under the blazing afternoon sun, its black body gleamed.
It was hot. Cool rain just days ago, now shimmering heat waves twisted the air.
Lije peered at Midland blurring past the window, then turned to Roque.
"Convenience store downstairs."
"Got somewhere else while we're out."
"Lije?"
"Nah. Me."
"Go there first?"
Roque turned the wheel smoothly.
"Sunset for that. Ice cream first."
Lije nodded slowly, utterly pleased.
The Black Knight wove through Midland's tangled roads and hills. Megacorp boulevards stretched straight like a grid, but the alleys snaking between snared feet like mazes.
But the Black Knight slipped through seamlessly. After a few corners, it pulled up before a neat ice cream parlor. Lije's eyes sparkled at the sight.
"Roque. How much ice cream there?"
"Don't overdo it unless you want a stomachache. They do takeout packs."
"Lije tummy strong. Fine."
Roque didn't argue.
They got out and entered. Seated, Lije ordered three pints of the top sellers. When they arrived, she shoveled them in with gusto. Roque's eyes widened watching her devour them.
"Moderation. Makes me look like I'm starving you."
"Roque, this killer."
"...Yeah. Eat up."
In the end, Lije polished off the three pints and packed three more of different flavors. Her eyes were a bit glassy—probably sugar overload. Roque chuckled dryly, watching her sluggish steps from behind.
Shaking his head, Roque glanced around. The street bustled: sharp-suited salesmen, punks in plastic skirts or jackets with cow horns and bells, shady types in hoods slinking to alleys despite the heat.
But what caught Roque's eye was a man with a long backpack and dragging a huge suitcase, clutching a note and scanning around with a troubled frown. Sweat poured down his forehead—heat, or the crowds?
The man wiped his brow, felt the gaze, and looked at Roque.
Gray flash in Roque's eyes, blue in the man's.
Somehow, people between them shifted aside naturally, unaware.
The man approached slowly after staring. He set down his case, bowed deeply and politely.
"To meet a fellow traveler of the path here... I am Dana Hiyato."
"Fellow?"
"I forged my heart's blade recently. To one so adept, you're naturally senior."
"...Got it. Straighten up."
"Ah."
Roque sized up the Japanese man. A bit dopey-looking, but pure human like him. He hesitated under the gaze.
"M-may I have your name, senior? If it's uncomfortable..."
"Roque."
Dana brightened, nodding.
"Pleased, Roque senior. I am Dana Hi—"
"What're you doing here?"
Mid-name, he gave an awkward smile at the question.
"Lost trying to find this address..."
Roque snatched the note. Dana's face hardened.
"No... So easily...!"
"Shut it. Three blocks that way."
"Ah, really?"
He beamed at the direction.
"Truly grateful, Roque senior! Landed from the plane and got so lost coming here—your help means everything!"
"Carry a terminal next time. Having no socket in Midland is like being half-blind."
Dana bowed deep again.
"Thank you for the advice, senior. But just a small errand, then back to Japan—no need. Still, truly grateful."
Bowing repeatedly, Dana dragged his case into the crowd and vanished. Roque watched a moment, then returned to the Black Knight.
Slamming the door, he saw Lije slumped in the passenger seat. As he blinked in surprise, she clutched her belly in a dying voice.
"...Lije not as tough as thought."
Roque wryly grinned, turned the key. Digestives first, before the destination.
Lije blinked awake. Something covered her—she looked down: Roque's coat.
"Awake?"
Turning, she saw Roque's hazy outline in the dim car, arm on the window sill.
"...Where?"
"Club."
Across the street, fluorescent lights blinked at the entrance, just as he said.
"Roque need girl?"
Roque turned from the entrance, giving her an incredulous look.
"Gotta relearn how to talk first."
"Roque teach."
"...Later."
He rustled grabbing the coat off her.
"Stay here."
"Why club?"
"Romanos' base. Settle things with him."
Lije tilted her head.
"Kill all?"
"...Talk first."
"Then?"
Roque could only chuckle dryly.
"Yeah. Then. So stay in the car, quiet."
"Look there."
Grabbing coat and keys, Roque turned at her sudden words. Lije pointed at the club entrance.
The door burst open. A bloody thug tumbled out.
"...What the?"
The door guards looked equally baffled, rushing inside. Roque hopped out without hesitation. He wagged a finger at Lije, half-slipping out.
"Inside."
"...Okay."
Roque slammed the door and strode to the club. The first guy wheezed, trailing blood; another hovered cluelessly.
"What happened?"
"Fuck if I know. Ninja popped out of nowhere..."
The guy startled, eyeing Roque. But Roque already glared at the basement door.
"Ninja, huh..."
"Who the hell're you?"
"Know, and it hurts."
Roque headed in. Thumping music mixed with screams, curses, sporadic gunshots.
His steps descended into it.