What was going on?
The blond young man looked baffled as he watched the black cat respond to Roland with tiny, kittenish mews, even as Roland held it by the scruff.
Back in school, he had gone out with his friends to beat up stray cats. Given these animals' temperaments, once they had been frightened, they should have been wary of anyone who came along afterward. Yet this black cat, which he had just attacked, started acting affectionate as if nothing had happened after bumping into that guy.
Was there something strange about this guy? The blond turned sideways and studied Roland, who held the black cat with a somewhat bewildered expression. His clothes were spotless, stylish, and still quite new. He was neatly groomed from head to toe, with an air somewhere between coldness and aloofness.
The most striking thing about him was probably his long fingernails. They had to be three centimeters long. How long had it been since this guy trimmed them? His hands were so clean, too.
At a glance, he was clearly the sort who had landed a job at a company in some towering office building, with a bright future ahead of him-nothing like someone who kept getting fired, like the blond.
Tch. The blond clicked his tongue under his breath, and a thought naturally rose in his mind.
-Let's shake this guy down for some cash.
Already notorious, the blond was well practiced at this sort of thing.
He took two cans of beer from his bag and walked toward Roland.
"Hey, you okay? That cat didn't hurt you when it bumped into you, did it?"
Roland glanced at the beer cans scattered around the young man and the wet streak of spilled beer by the wall, piecing together most of what had happened. He slowly crouched, set the black cat on the ground, gently stroked it, and patted its tail to urge it to leave.
He had no such effect on other animals, but for some reason, cats had been taking a liking to Roland lately. No matter how vicious a cat was, it would obediently roll over and expose its belly in front of him, letting him pick it up and pet it however he pleased.
In the end, Roland had never managed to work out why. He could only put it down to a possible influence from Killer Queen's cat ears.
So he had no intention of talking to the blond young man. After watching the cat leave, looking back every few steps, he stood, adjusted his grip on the bag in his hand, and headed deeper into the alley.
The blond felt no embarrassment at having his attempt at conversation rebuffed. He shifted sideways to block Roland's path, held an unopened can of beer out to him, and spoke in a sickeningly slick tone.
"Hey, didn't you hear me, buddy? Whatever, fate brought us together. Drinking all alone out here is boring as hell. Come have a drink. You're not going to snub me over something this small, are you?"
Roland frowned and pushed his hand aside through the edge of his clothing, avoiding any contact with the blond's skin.
"No thanks. I already have plans tonight."
The blond was about to lash out at the rejection, but his eyes suddenly shifted, and he stepped aside of his own accord.
Seeing that the man had enough sense to get out of the way, Roland had no intention of inviting trouble. He ignored him and continued along the streetlights. Then, just as Roland passed the blond young man-
The blond suddenly lunged, grabbing at the paper bag Roland had kept tucked at his side, greed gleaming in his eyes.
"Taking something home all secretive this late at night? Must be something good, huh? That won't do, buddy!"
The blond's fingers clamped tightly around the kraft paper bag like a crow gripping its prey. The bag was fairly tough and would be difficult to snatch away, so his aim from the start was to tear it apart.
"Rrrip..."
Something tightly wrapped in foam fell from the paper bag onto the ground. It was a display case made of hard plastic. Squinting in the streetlight, the blond saw the thing inside in its entirety.
-It was a pair of delicate, pale severed hands, utterly devoid of life.
"Aaaah-!"
Against the pitch-black night and the dim glow of the streetlight, the sight of a pair of severed hands was far too shocking. The blond instinctively stepped back and fell onto his backside in a panic, then looked up at Roland, who stood frozen in place.
Even now, there was no expression on his face. Only his eyes had grown darker, like ancient ice that would never thaw.
Roland casually tossed away the torn kraft paper bag and looked at the cowering blond, his voice cold.
"Didn't I already tell you? I have plans tonight."
Then, without paying the blond any more attention, he walked toward where the severed hands had fallen. Seeing that Roland had no intention of killing him to silence him, the blond's pounding heart eased a little.
Once he calmed down, the blond instinctively glanced at the severed hands again. Freed from the influence of the atmosphere, he quickly noticed something was wrong.
The cross sections of those severed hands were far too clean, the same pale color as the rest of them. Like... models.
After spotting that inconsistency, he quickly found the crucial clue, as though trying to make up for his earlier humiliating display.
A shop's name was engraved in inconspicuous lettering in the corner of the case. The severed hands were merely a particularly detailed pair of hand models.
Bastard! I actually got fooled by this crap!
Fueled by alcohol, the blond wanted to do the same thing he had done to the cat. He crawled a few steps, reaching for a can of beer to throw at the hand models lying on the ground.
Roland turned back and watched the blond's movements without reacting. The instant the blond touched the beer, a silent thunderbolt struck him.
"Aaaah! My hand..."
The blond let out a howl countless times more agonized than before, clutching the hand that had suddenly burst apart at the wrist. As he watched the blood stream out, terror filled his heart.
Meanwhile, Roland leisurely opened the case and pressed the severed hands gently against his face, rubbing them softly over his skin. Only then did the blond notice that the hand models looked very much like Roland's own hands. They must have been custom-made using his hands as the model.
But by now, the blond had no time to worry about any of that.
"Go get someone! Hurry, get someone! It hurts! It hurts!"
As the blond's howls grew more intense, Roland unhurriedly tucked the pair of hand models into the inner lining of his coat and slowly walked toward him. Then he kicked the blond, who was trying to crawl out of the alley, back inside.
"Do you know something? These custom hand models cost sixty thousand yen. I spent every last bit of the extra bonus the manager went out of his way to give me, along with my previous wages, to buy them. I could easily obtain far more wealth, yet I still live my life one step at a time. What do you think that says about me?"
"I don't know! Hurry, help-"
Before the blond could finish, Roland kicked away the face he had brought toward him.
"It says I'm content with what I have, that I live honestly, that I'm upright, truthful, and trustworthy. I, Roland, just want to live a quiet life. So tell me-"
Roland's voice rose louder and louder. As though even speaking had failed to vent his anger, he stamped on the blond's ruined wrist and ground his shoe into it several times.
"-Why should I have to put up with a filthy, lowlife bastard like you?"