Deep Night (1)

The media had taken the freshly unearthed scandal and run it through the grinder, spitting it out seasoned to every taste.

A sudden romance rumor.

And because the person at the center of it was Ayase Karin — Japan's top hunter and a celebrity recognized worldwide — the fallout was enormous.

The scandal had begun with an interview right after the A-rank gate at Haneda Airport was cleared.

An A-rank gate cleared in nine hours and thirty-eight minutes.

A record that would rank among the very best not just in Japan's history, but in the history of hunters worldwide.

Naturally, every media outlet swarmed to hear her story — what had happened inside, how she'd managed such a historic time. Countless eyes converged on Ayase Karin alone.

Even though she'd just cleared the gate, she handled the interview with the same bright, unfailing energy as always.

No fumbled words, no cracks in her expression — not a single hair out of place. She was the textbook specimen of a consummate professional celebrity.

And with that, the interview wrapped up in triumphant success.

The problem was what came after.

A few reporters quietly tailed Ayase on her way out, hoping to scoop something more interesting first, keeping their cameras rolling as they followed her.

They managed to catch the small murmur she let slip to herself.

The ripple spread outward in ever-widening circles until it came crashing down as a full-blown tidal wave. Rumors, after all, have a way of growing flesh as they inflate. That one offhand remark — I wish he'd been by my side — had, before anyone noticed, turned into this:

Fiancé, childhood friend — the rumor metastasized into relationships that didn't even exist. Because she so rarely had any contact with men in the first place, public interest only burned hotter.

Ordinarily, a celebrity's romance scandal leaks traces from every corner before it's ever officially announced. This time, however, there was nothing at all. Even raking through every past interview, article, and social media post turned up no whiff of a man.

Only the question, swelling larger by the hour, churned through the public's mind.

Staring at the name Yamamoto plastered across the internet, I let out a breath of relief.

"Good thing my identity as Yamamoto didn't get exposed."

Using a fake identity had been the right call. If that name had read Lee Tae-hyun instead of Yamamoto, things would not have ended quietly.

"That woman really needs to watch her mouth…."

Not that I didn't know she hadn't spread it on purpose. As long as my face and real name stayed hidden, my activities going forward wouldn't suffer. Even if someone dug through Ayase's entire past, they'd find nothing tying her to me — there was no chance Yamamoto would ever surface as a candidate.

Time to put this out of my mind and focus on my own business.

The gate ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had cost me some time, but what I needed to do in Japan hadn't changed.

Find the illegal elixirs.

And for that, I first needed to set foot in the underworld.

It's a slightly awkward way to put it, but even the world of hunters has its day and its night. Just as shadow inevitably trails light, the hunters' ranks are bound to breed their share of rotten ones — and the businesses and societies those rotters build among themselves are what people call the underworld. Naturally, they don't take just anyone, so slipping in requires going through a few steps.

"Here it is."

Shinjuku, Kabukicho. Even within Tokyo, Japan's capital, this district was the pinnacle of glitz — nighttime glitz, granted.

Blinding neon and made-up men and women packed the streets shoulder to shoulder. It was a scene tailor-made for the word "pleasure quarter."

I strode straight through it, left it behind, and turned into a relatively secluded back alley.

There it was — the bar Jinseong had told me about. The sign looked shabby at a glance, and the door even had a "Closed" sign hanging on it.

"How thoughtful. Really."

I kicked the door open.

"Serve your customer."

The interior matched the exterior — a bar that looked like it had shut down long ago.

"What the hell?!"

A far cry from the figure that came out to greet me.

"Can't you read? It says closed."

The man's bulk was swollen to grotesque proportions with something that could have been muscle or fat, and his body — no canvas was meant to hold that much — was plastered in tattoos.

"You see a customer standing here, don't you? If I came to drink, you crawl out of your bed to serve me."

"You crazy bastard…."

"Rotting in a dump like this is how you got so bloated. Move it."

The man's face twisted, and he shoved himself up from his seat. Guys like him really are fun to watch — give them the tiniest poke and they react with glorious intensity.

Swhick!

I could see mana gathering in his fist. So he was an awakened one too.

Then.

No need to hold back.

"Die!"

His right fist was a hair's breadth from smashing into my face when my kick struck first, square into his bloated gut.

"Kuhak!"

The huge body flew backward and slammed into the wall.

"Kuh… huk… th-this strength…."

Either he'd finally grasped the situation or he simply knew better now — the aggression drained from his eyes.

"Are you… a hunter?"

"Would anyone but a hunter come to this place?"

"…!"

The moment he understood I was a legitimate "customer," the thuggish act vanished entirely.

"F-forgive my rudeness. I didn't realize who you were."

Hot-heads whose hands move before their tempers are always perfectly predictable bullies — strong against the weak, weak against the strong. Unless you establish dominance with force, they won't listen to a damn word.

"Pardon me, but… who referred you, may I ask?"

"And why would I tell you that?"

"I'm sorry! But it's the rules — I have no choice."

I pulled a business card from my coat.

"I am 'Bat.'"

What kind of name is that, you might ask — but that was genuinely what the card read.

Here, a business card apparently served as a kind of invitation. Without one, they say, you can't get in at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all.

The hulk took the card, examined it, and handed it back.

"Card confirmed. I'll escort you to your room."

"Good."

Following his lead, I passed through the back of the bar building.

"Simply choose your 'mask' in this room."

Inside, the walls were hung with countless animal-shaped masks.

All of them items.

A simple enchantment that obfuscates recognition of the wearer's face. I suppose in a place like this, no one walks around with their face bared.

"Hm."

I picked a wolf mask at random and put it on.

In an instant, my vision flipped.

Whumm!

One moment I'd been standing in a shabby back room — the next, I was at the center of a vast hall that evoked a grand masquerade ballroom.

"This place…."

"Ah, a new guest has arrived."

A man in a butler's uniform and a turtle mask greeted me with impeccable courtesy.

"An honor to meet you, honored wolf-masked guest. I am a guide here at 'Deep Night.'"

They even had guides? This place was more organized than I'd expected.

"Your first time in an establishment like this, I take it?"

"It is."

"Then an explanation is in order."

The guide straightened and began at once.

"Deep Night is a space of society for persons of distinction. Here you may experience things you could never find outside."

"Such as?"

"That depends entirely on what you seek."

He listed them off one by one.

"Monster auctions. A black market dealing in items judged for immediate destruction. An awakened colosseum… everything one could only dream of meeting beyond these walls. That is why it is Deep Night."

The guide radiated a mystique that was frankly unnecessary.

"Do you sell elixirs here too?"

"Elixirs? At the black market…"

"No, not those."

I kept my tone casual.

"The thing that's trendy these days."

"…Ahh. You mean the 'Moon Fragment.'"

Since when did an illegal elixir get its own catchy name?

"Yeah. That."

"But that, I understand, can be obtained outside as well."

"Everything out there flows from here in the first place."

I shrugged as if I knew everything already.

"And I came looking at something above that."

"Above, you say?"

"The manufacturing method for the Moon Fragment."

"…Hoo."

The guide let the sound trail off meaningfully.

"A guest with grand ambitions. Well — dreaming is free."

Then he added:

"If that is your goal, you would do best to meet the master of Deep Night. Every Moon Fragment in this place passes through his hands."

"That's exactly what I came for."

"One word of caution, however — it will not be easy. The Master does not involve himself in this place lightly."

"Is that so."

"Not unless a matter lies beyond what we can manage on our own. That said, in most cases nothing has ever strayed beyond our ability to manage it."

A "problem" beyond their management level, hmm. Now that's interesting.

"Now then — this way, please. Welcome to the night of Japan."

Swoosh!

The guide's figure blurred and scattered like mist.

The instant he vanished, the hall that had been silent moments ago bloomed with people. Masked figures filled the space, drinks in hand, conversation flowing easy and bright.

One look told me this was, indeed, a place for socializing — the kind of talk, no doubt, that could never survive daylight.

Can't confirm any faces thanks to the masks, but.

Every last one of them looked like someone who'd clawed their way to the top of their own territory.

There are things you can know without seeing a face. Posture, bearing, the timbre of a voice, the way a body moves. Even the smallest details offer a window into the life a person has lived. That's also why acting is so difficult and so profound — to portray a character, you can't just recite lines and hit your blocking. The character's decades of living have to dissolve into your own body. That sliver of difference is what separates great acting from the rest.

Why am I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠telling myself all this now?

Because from this moment on, I was going to be acting.

I'd never once done theater in my life. I had no idea how to immerse myself in a role, how to summon emotions I didn't feel.

But that's fine.

The character I was about to inhabit didn't need any of that.

Thud!

As I stood there quietly, someone shouldered into me — a man in a bear mask.

"Agh, damn it… the hell?"

"……"

"Hey. You gonna apologize or what?"

The man leaned in close, oozing menace.

"You were standing there like a braindead statue, and you bumped into me."

He walks into me first, then pulls that attitude. Odds were excellent he was a garbage human being outside these walls too.

Oh, he definitely is.

I decided to believe it.

"Scared stiff? This place really has gone downhill — the water's far too shallow these days."

He slapped the top of my head, tap tap, each blow carrying a little more force — enough that, without resistance, my head would have jerked with every hit.

"Hey. Apologize."

"What's the matter? So scared you can't open your mouth?"

"……"

"Honestly, the bastards who hand out cards to trash like this ought to be dragged out and beaten half to death."

I glanced around casually.

"There he goes again, roughing up the newcomers."

"He should learn to rein it in…."

Another way to read a person: their words and their reputation.

"I'll let it slide this once, retard."

The bear mask gave my head one final, forceful slap and turned to leave.

Watching his back as he sauntered off with a snicker —

"Hey."

I said.

…No. My character said.

"…Hey?"

"Yeah. Hey."

"Hah… you out of your mind…."

The man rolled up his sleeves and closed the distance.

"You got a death wish?"

"No, I've got something to say."

"Something to say? Why — coming to apologize, are you?"

"Yep. Coming to apologize."

At the word apologize, the man smirked.

"You're hilarious."

"I really should apologize, though."

And with impeccable form, I raised my fist.

Crack!

Straight into his nose.

"AAAAAAGH!"

"That's the bone gone, I'd bet. Sorry about that, hey."

"Y-you…!"

The bear mask swung his arm for a counterattack. I caught it and hit him again.

"AAAARGH! ARGH!"

His face contorted grotesquely as he howled.

"Too loud."

I drove a fist into his jaw and put him out cold.

"Uuuuhhhh…."

"Finally, some quiet."

I let the limp, boneless bear mask sprawl onto the floor.

The hall erupted in an instant.

"What are you looking at? Enjoying the show?"

The character I was playing was me.

The me of my trash days — the punk who'd have nothing left to lose.

"Anyone else want to end up like this bastard?!"

The rarest breed of lunatic — the kind who charges in without even glancing back.

In all my life, I had never once seen this kind of shithead go ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on a rampage without management stepping in.