Durarara!!, Vol. 1 (novel) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Ryohgo Narita
Tags: Fiction, Science-Fiction
it was split by a sudden, sharp shock.
Every shred of his senses went black.
{Um, Setton. I wanted to check something with you.}
[Sure thing.]
[What is it? Something you don’t want others to see?]
{Is it just me, or is Kanra a little… corny?}
[I’d say more than just a little.]
{You said it, not me (lol). But he was the one who invited me to this chat room, so… }
[Same with me. He does get carried away, but that’s part of his charm.]
{Plus, he seems to know many things we don’t.}
[I don’t know how much of it is true, though. Oh, but I can say one thing.]
[About that Black Rider who prowls around the town.]
[You’re probably better off not getting involved.]
[Well, g’night.]
—SETTON HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
{Huh?}
{Whoa, Setton left. Well, good night.}
{Whatever.}
—TAROU TANAKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
The headless rider quietly picked up the helmet and stuck it atop its dark neck. A faint shadow bled out of the collar of the suit, then melded into the bottom of the helmet, fusing it together.
Eventually, as though nothing had ever happened, the headless rider turned and silently strode toward the van.
Back at the entrance to the parking garage, having completed its business, the headless rider silently left the scene. Several men were lying in the street, but there was no sign that anyone else had passed by. If they had, they’d pretended not to see.
The pitch-black motorcycle waiting in the shadows sprang to life, welcoming its master home. The engine, which had worked soundlessly as it rode the streets, now roared without a key in the ignition.
The headless rider stroked the tank of the engine, like petting a beloved steed. The engine purred and hushed, satisfied, and the rider swung into the seat.
And the black mass, without so much as a headlight, carried its headless master away.
Beneath a starless sky.
Soundlessly melting into the darkness…
Chapter 2: Headless Rider, Objective
Center gate, Tobu Tojo Line, Ikebukuro Station, Toshima Ward, Tokyo
“I want to go home,” the boy mumbled.
The statement was far too simple to encapsulate the myriad conflicting emotions he felt, but there was no other way to express his overall sentiment that directly.
Stretching out before his eyes were people. People, people, people. And more people. Basically people. His vision was overflowing with people as far as he could see. It was just past six in the evening, the time when many people started commuting home from work and school. It wasn’t quite at peak levels yet, but the crowds were easily dense enough to be considered swarms.
He was so overwhelmed by the presence of people crammed into that vast underground space that the boy momentarily lost sight of his purpose for being there.
A salaryman bumped him with a shoulder. He started to apologize on instinct, but the man was gone, barely even conscious of what had happened. The boy bowed his head and mumbled an apology to no one and made his way over to one of the pillars a distance away from the gate.
The boy, Mikado Ryuugamine, felt a curious fluttering deep in his gut and decided that it came from anxiety. Despite his imposing name, there was weak-willed worry plain as day on his face.
It was his first-ever trip to Ikebukuro on the invitation of an old friend. To be more precise, it was his first trip to Tokyo at all—not just Ikebukuro—in his sixteen years of life.
He’d never been outside of the town where he grew up, and he’d stayed home for his class field trips in both elementary and middle school. He knew it was no way to go through life—and then he got accepted at a private high school in the Toshima Ward of Tokyo. It was a brand-new school built just a few years ago and was only a bit above
Every shred of his senses went black.
—SETTON HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
—TAROU TANAKA HAS LEFT THE CHAT—
The headless rider quietly picked up the helmet and stuck it atop its dark neck. A faint shadow bled out of the collar of the suit, then melded into the bottom of the helmet, fusing it together.
Eventually, as though nothing had ever happened, the headless rider turned and silently strode toward the van.
Back at the entrance to the parking garage, having completed its business, the headless rider silently left the scene. Several men were lying in the street, but there was no sign that anyone else had passed by. If they had, they’d pretended not to see.
The pitch-black motorcycle waiting in the shadows sprang to life, welcoming its master home. The engine, which had worked soundlessly as it rode the streets, now roared without a key in the ignition.
The headless rider stroked the tank of the engine, like petting a beloved steed. The engine purred and hushed, satisfied, and the rider swung into the seat.
And the black mass, without so much as a headlight, carried its headless master away.
Beneath a starless sky.
Soundlessly melting into the darkness…
Chapter 2: Headless Rider, Objective
Center gate, Tobu Tojo Line, Ikebukuro Station, Toshima Ward, Tokyo
“I want to go home,” the boy mumbled.
The statement was far too simple to encapsulate the myriad conflicting emotions he felt, but there was no other way to express his overall sentiment that directly.
Stretching out before his eyes were people. People, people, people. And more people. Basically people. His vision was overflowing with people as far as he could see. It was just past six in the evening, the time when many people started commuting home from work and school. It wasn’t quite at peak levels yet, but the crowds were easily dense enough to be considered swarms.
He was so overwhelmed by the presence of people crammed into that vast underground space that the boy momentarily lost sight of his purpose for being there.
A salaryman bumped him with a shoulder. He started to apologize on instinct, but the man was gone, barely even conscious of what had happened. The boy bowed his head and mumbled an apology to no one and made his way over to one of the pillars a distance away from the gate.
The boy, Mikado Ryuugamine, felt a curious fluttering deep in his gut and decided that it came from anxiety. Despite his imposing name, there was weak-willed worry plain as day on his face.
It was his first-ever trip to Ikebukuro on the invitation of an old friend. To be more precise, it was his first trip to Tokyo at all—not just Ikebukuro—in his sixteen years of life.
He’d never been outside of the town where he grew up, and he’d stayed home for his class field trips in both elementary and middle school. He knew it was no way to go through life—and then he got accepted at a private high school in the Toshima Ward of Tokyo. It was a brand-new school built just a few years ago and was only a bit above
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