Scum of the Brave - Chapter 1

WeTried Translations

Translator: Nemui

Editor: Nemui

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Scum of the Brave

Chapter 1

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Lesson 1: Don't Get Mixed Up in Trouble, Even if It Kills You

Being a Brave is the lowest, scummiest line of work there is.

I should know. I am one.

Stop and think about it. What is a Brave, really? A hired killing professional, paid to take out Dark Lords. The very fact that someone would choose this for a living should make you question their character.

Let me be specific.

Take my colleagues. There's "Musician" Ishino, who records the death rattles of the Dark Lords he kills as a hobby. There's "Salt" Joe, who used to make a living as a yakuza hitman before going legit. The kind of guys who would just be murderers if the Brave label weren't slapped on them.

It's a quiet, ugly truth that most working Braves today are warmed-over criminals out of the underworld.

Strip away the Brave License issued by the Japanese government and what's left is a killer, a trespasser, a piece of trash who makes money by hurting people. Nothing more.

Still. Even if we're the lowest scum on earth, the kind who treat killing as a trade, the moment we lose our last shred of conscience we become something worse. Something below trash.

I don't want to be that.

You finish the jobs you take on. You don't turn down a cry for help from someone weaker than you. You pay back what you borrow. Break those basic codes and you really have crossed the line into something irredeemable.

Looking back, that was the problem. I should've thrown professional ethics straight in the gutter. I came to regret it later.

It was one of those nights when the cold gets into your bones.

I was walking through the back alleys of Shibuya. The kind of narrow gap between cluster buildings where the air goes still and the smell sticks. Not a soul out.

Made sense. Shibuya is carved up by several Dark Lords' territories. Nobody picks a back-alley shortcut at night, no matter how much time it saves.

My destination was further in. A bar called "Goonies," run by an acquaintance of mine, Ed Cyrus. Tucked away in a dead-end of one of these alleys.

I needed the distraction.

Hadn't worked in about two months. Couldn't muster the energy. The weather had been freezing, overcast day after overcast day. Nights like this called for Ed Cyrus's place, drinks with friends, a few rounds of cards. That'd put the spark back. I was sure of it.

I wasn't exactly in high spirits, but for once, not bad. There's a chance I was even humming.

And of all nights, that was when the girl fell out of the sky in front of me.

No scream. She came down, slammed into the ground, cracked the asphalt. Tumbled four or five times. I just stood there until she hit a wall and stopped.

What the hell, I thought.

Was this karma? Or was I just born unlucky? Why land in front of me, of all people? I knew it was misplaced anger, but I felt like complaining anyway. There was no playing this off as something I hadn't seen.

"Hold on, wait a second."

The worst case might still be avoidable. I walked over to the girl on the ground.

"Maybe she's already dead?"

To be honest, dead would be easier. With faint hope I peered down at her face. White school uniform. A face with hard, almost sculptural lines.

High school age, probably, but unsettlingly mature. The cold profile of a statue. Something about her felt familiar. A strange sense of déjà vu.

But the moment I tried to place it, my mood crashed. Her thin eyebrow twitched. Her face was corpse-pale, but her lips moved, gasping for air.

This was bad.

She'd come down hard enough to break asphalt and she was still breathing. No broken arms. No broken legs. Inhuman durability. The kind of toughness only certain people can pull off.

Dark Lords. Or Braves.

Dark Lord meant a stroke of luck. Brave meant disaster.

A dying Dark Lord turns into cash if you finish them off. A dying Brave is a one-way ticket to someone else's mess. A Brave falling out of the sky onto your head probably means a Dark Lord or its followers are chasing them.

So which was she? I scanned the girl with a sinking feeling, and my eyes stopped at her collar.

There was the proof.

Small red marks scattered along her neck. Injection scars. The sign of someone who takes a particular drug on a regular schedule. In our line of work, we call it 《E3》, Ether Effect Enhancer. She was a regular user.

That drug was the whole reason Braves could stand against Dark Lords. It amplifies the Ether perception inside a human body and triggers a temporary superhuman state. Administered through the neck, with a specialized injector.

Right. So that settled it. I sighed, mostly without thinking. No idea what kind of awful chain of events drags a high school girl into this trade, but...

"This kid's a Brave?!"

"That's right."

To my surprise, she answered.

"Bad luck for you. Step away from the kid."

Not the girl. Behind me.

I'm a top-class Brave, of course I'd already noticed someone closing in. The strange timing of her reply just threw me off.

I reached into my coat pocket and turned. A big silhouette walking toward me from deeper in the alley. Times like these, there's a thing I make a point of doing. Seize the initiative. I started talking before he could get the next word out.

"Who are you? Friend of this Brave? Hanging out with a minor at this hour, I'm not impressed."

Talking nonsense bought me a chance to size him up.

Expensive-looking suit. Ugly face. The smile he wore had no class to it. To top it off, a pistol in one hand.

Whatever this guy did for a living, it wasn't honest work. I tagged him on the spot. Scumbag. Not "below-scum," though. He'd at least bothered to walk up instead of shooting me in the back. Worth a single point.

So I tried to be friendly. Negotiate. The trick is the smile.

"Look, neither of us is having a great night. I stumble onto this scene, you get spotted by me. Why don't we both just call it, pretend we saw nothing, and walk away?"

I pointed at the girl on the ground.

"Then you can come back later and shoot her properly."

"Shut up. Listen carefully. I'll say it one more time. Step away from the kid."

He ignored everything I'd said. Worse, he raised the pistol toward me and gave the order with insulting calm. Then a small grin.

"Be a good boy, listen to me, and I'll kill you quick."

"And if I don't?"

"I rough you up first. Which sounds better?"

"Right."

Quietly, I peeled off the label and replaced it. Below-scum.

Looking at the smug grin on Suit Guy's face, the reason he hadn't shot me from behind became obvious. Not a warning. He wanted to watch me squirm.

"See, the thing is, I've got plans with friends tonight, so I'd really rather not get involved."

I started to say it, then stopped.

The girl on the ground had stirred. Her eyes opened. She looked straight up at me. Her lips trembled, twisted, and pushed out a single short word.

"Run."

Apparently I was getting ordered around a lot tonight.

The girl spoke again from deep in her throat, more growl than voice.

"Run. Now. Hurry. He's the one I..."

She might have meant to follow it with something noble, but a coughing fit cut her off. The words stopped coming. The stress of the moment was making my head feel heavy.

Always like this. When somebody this beat up tells me to run, what am I supposed to do?

"I would love to take your advice and run."

I looked down at her.

"Unfortunately I've got personal reasons that don't allow it."

Sure, I'm scum about to solve this with violence. But running now would put me below scum. The girl looked up at me, then made another strange animal sound, like she'd just realized something.

"Wait. Hold on. You..."

"Save your breath."

Suit Guy snorted.

"Either way, His Majesty the Dark Lord's orders are to kill any witnesses. Hey. Which one of you wants to die first?"

"Stop!"

The girl on the ground yelled, sudden. Wringing strength from somewhere, trying to push herself up.

"I'll be your opponent. The fight isn't decided yet!"

What is this kid talking about, I thought. What's the point of bluffing in that condition? So I made a decision. Ignore her completely.

"Yeah. Sure. For starters."

I casually moved my hand to the back of my neck. The injection scars on my own neck. There's a particular drug I keep on me too.

"Quick question first. Whose Dark Lord are you working for?"

"Huh?"

Suit Guy tilted his head, putting on a snarl.

"What did you say? Try that again."

"Don't play dumb. You heard me. Want me to repeat it?"

There's a reason I taunt people like this. To trick them into thinking we're still at the trash-talk stage.

I pressed the tip of a special injector hidden up my sleeve quietly against my neck. Showy as a magician's trick, but it's the basic preparation any freelance Brave takes.

"I asked which Dark Lord you serve. Curious thing. I happen to be on the payroll of the Dark Lord who runs this part of town. You start something here without an arrangement, it's going to be a headache for both of us."

Lie, of course. Just made up. But Suit Guy's expression shifted. The barrel dropped a centimeter, like he was hesitating to fire.

That's all the opening I needed. I drove the contents of the injector into my neck. The injector was a modified jet injector. Compressed-air shot, the kind that delivers everything at once.

The drug was, of course, 《E3》.

The change was immediate.

"Anyway,"

A flicker of vertigo, and I started moving.

"that was a lie."

I'm a kind person, so I let him know.

Suit Guy looked legitimately shocked. Started cursing me out. Stupid move. He should've just lined up a shot. Though even if he had, I would've dodged it.

I'm fast, in this state. I dropped low and stepped, and the bullet skimmed past my head. My awareness accelerated. The bullet flying past, the way Suit Guy's face was twisting up, all of it crystal clear.

Ether Effect Enhancer.

Known on the street as 《E3》. The crude crowd calls it 《Punch-Through》, or just 《Juice》.

The effects are dramatic. Almost instant. The drug seeps through the skin, amplifies the Ether inside the body, supercharges it.

You could swap "Ether" out for the old word "magic," if you want. Some scholars called it life energy.

Without this drug, no Brave could fight a Dark Lord.

A "Dark Lord" is what we call someone who has permanently amplified their internal Ether through repeated drug use or surgical adaptation. The surgery has gotten safer in recent years, and plenty of people are happy to sign up to become Dark Lords.

Especially yakuza and lowlifes. After the defeat in World War II, when the black markets spread, they all rushed to get the surgery. Once the perks of having Ether became common knowledge, the trend just accelerated.

But nothing comes free.

Excessive Ether amplification warps the brain. "Drives them mad," you could say.

The mental effects of internal Ether reinforcement: aggression spikes. The reason that should restrain that aggression weakens. Keep it up long enough and any meaningful respect for the law disappears.

Every single person who has undergone permanent Ether amplification has gone on to commit a crime and earned a Dark Lord designation.

Today, getting permanent Ether amplification surgery is itself classified as a criminal act. Even for us Braves, overdosing on 《E3》 is strictly policed, and the supply we get is rationed.

But you still need 《E3》 to fight a Dark Lord.

When internal Ether is amplified, the body's strength jumps drastically. Reflexes and motor function get supercharged. Fall from a rooftop, walk away. See the bullet leave the gun, dodge it. That kind of thing.

More important than any of that, though, 《E3》 grants the user a special perception. Industry slang calls it 《Ether Perception》.

What kind of perception you get varies wildly from person to person.

For some, Future Sight, vision that lets them see a few seconds into the future. For others, Gravity Touch, a sense of touch that lets them grab and move the gravity working between objects. Old name for it: ESP.

Mine, by comparison, is fairly plain. No special sixth sense. No telescope-grade vision, no dog's nose for smells.

What I got was the ability to do "high-speed perceptual processing." If you have to file it somewhere, this kind of perception goes by 《Speed Read》, or 《Scatter》. I take in information through the five senses and process it dozens of times faster than a normal person, think it through, and make a decision.

This is why I talk so much.

Trial and error settled it for me. This format is optimal. Dialogue-based thought. Talking like there's a third person listening helps me organize what I'm taking in.

It means, for example, that when I see a bullet coming, I can take my time before moving.

Will this trajectory hit me, or won't it? How do I move to dodge? I can weigh a long list of options before I act. That's an enormous advantage.

A fight is won by the one who watches more carefully and thinks more carefully.

That was something my master used to say.

So, after dodging the bullet, I closed on Suit Guy at once.

Faster than he could react, I grabbed the wrist holding the gun and crushed it. Bones gave way under my grip. Standard hand strength for a Brave. Suit Guy reacted exactly the way you'd expect to that kind of pain. His back hunched, and he tried to pull the broken wrist away.

Not happening.

I had the wrist, and a beat after, my knee was coming up under his jaw. That was basically the last "exchange" of the fight.

The rest was just a matter of stomping the head he'd just slammed against the asphalt, hard. Like kicking a soccer ball, all the way through. With 《E3》-enhanced strength behind it, that kills most people.

But here's where you have to be careful.

When the other guy is at a disadvantage, are they going to run, or are they going to swing back? Read it wrong, and you eat something on the follow-up. Not a mistake I want to make.

I had plenty of time to watch.

The man on the asphalt closed his good left hand around something. A knife. I stepped in and watched it come toward me. Don't watch the tip. Watch the man holding it. Where his eyes go. Where he plans to stab.

Stomach.

"Not happening."

With time to spare, I slapped the wrist holding the knife with my open palm.

I added a kick to the back of his knee while I was at it, dropped him on the spot. A long-range thrust against a Brave is never going to land. Up close, knife or pistol, that's the only chance.

This guy clearly hadn't fought much.

"You..."

Down again, Suit Guy started to say something.

I had no obligation to listen. Just swung my leg out and drove the toe of my sneaker into his face. The words cut off. He didn't move after that. Always best to be sure. I stepped in once more.

"Stop right there!"

A sharp, edged voice from behind. The girl on the ground. I paused for just a moment. Wondered if there might be some last kicker on Suit Guy that should make me hesitate.

But she said something that stopped me cold.

"This is over."

"Huh?"

I turned around without meaning to. The girl had pushed her trembling hands against the ground, trying to stand. Couldn't pull it off. She groaned, frustrated.

"This is over. There's no need to keep attacking. The man is no longer combat-capable."

Some kind of Brave we've got here, I thought. High school girl, falls off a building, gets herself nearly killed, then has the warmth in her to spare a few words for the guy who came to finish her. Unreal.

"So please, no more..."

"No more? You mean, while we have the chance, finish him off."

I ignored what she said. Turned right back to Suit Guy and brought my heel down, all my weight, on his face. There was give.

A moment later, the blood started spreading from the back of his head.

"Right. Done."

I nodded to myself, calling a stop. If I didn't draw a clear line, the aggression would build up, and I'd start landing extra hits on a corpse. 《E3》 has that side effect.

You need the high to fight. Indulge it too freely and you've signed up for the addict club.

Senses too sharp. Vertigo coming on.

"Excuse me, but..."

I drew a long breath. The voice was at my feet. The girl who'd fallen out of the sky. Body still didn't seem to be moving. With a frighteningly serious face, she appeared to be glaring at me.

"I am grateful that you saved me. But that man was no longer combat-capable. The fight was completely decided. To kill him..."

"That man,"

In a fairly bad mood now, I decided to lay another offhand lie on this girl too.

"is the one who slaughtered my family. I've lived for revenge. To kill him with my own hands."

"That..."

Her face twisted slightly.

"That's a lie. Surely."

"Yeah. So what if it is? If it were true would it be okay? Or are you going to punish me for it? Go ahead and try, if you can."

I unloaded on her.

Misplaced anger. I felt awful.

"And you. You're young. Get out of the Brave business. You scum. Drop dead."

Braves are scum. Every single one. We make money on murder and violence. If you can get out, get out.

The girl looked stunned, didn't have a response, just narrowed and opened her eyes. Which made me even more irritated. I considered piling on with another lecture, just to ruin her night.

But before I could, I heard footsteps approaching from behind.

"Aki!"

A different girl's voice. I turned. A small girl came running up. White school uniform, same as the one on the ground. Her face was almost too neat, with something inhuman to it. Reminded me of a Japanese doll.

She stopped in her tracks, glaring at me. Her face was full of hostility.

"Who are you?"

The small girl had a knife in her hand. Wet with blood. Don't tell me she was a Brave too. End of the world stuff. She clearly thought I was the enemy. She looked at the suited man fallen on his side, then the girl who hadn't moved, then me, in turn.

"Who are you? One of 《Thorn》's followers?"

"No. That's not it."

The fallen girl spoke up, slightly flustered.

"He's not. He's a Brave. He saved me."

"A Brave?"

A short silence. The small girl looked at me with eyes full of suspicion.

"You?"

"Beats me."

I shook my head. Thanks to the 《E3》, I was running aggressive. One more provocation and I might cross into violence.

"Get her to a hospital. I've got somewhere to be. See you."

"No. Please, wait."

The girl at my feet braced one hand on the ground, tried again, failed again.