Chapter 78: Cry for the Moon – Part 4

Silver Samurai.

His real name: Harada Kenichirou.

Head of a Japanese yakuza syndicate, a top-class enforcer, and the most dangerous “samurai” in all of Japan.

On top of that, he’s a human mutated by the X-Gene—in other words, a mutant.

Mutants are a race born with special abilities…

And the special ability that Silver Samurai possesses—

A truck sped along the elevated highway in Madripoor.

On top of its cargo bed, Silver Samurai held his sword high in an overhead stance.

The blade glowed red, accompanied by a sharp, bursting sound.

The silver armor scraped and groaned.

In the next instant, Silver Samurai leapt down from the truck bed and brought his sword crashing toward the Winter Soldier on his motorcycle.

“—!”

Winter Soldier sprang from his bike just in time, landing on the roof of an escort vehicle.

The motorcycle split in two with no resistance at all, as if a spoon had been plunged into jelly.

That was Silver Samurai’s ability.

He could infuse objects with a special energy.

A blade charged with that energy formed a tachyon field, slicing through absolutely anything.

Every strike was unblockable.

That was the source of his strength.

But—

Silver Samurai landed on the road.

The distance between them widened.

…What?

His figure shrank into the distance—

And in the next moment, Silver Samurai appeared behind the Winter Soldier.

…What the hell?

For a second, I couldn’t figure out what was happening.

Then it clicked—the teleport ring.

One of the pieces of equipment he carried.

It had its limitations, but it let him instantly travel to virtually any location.

In other words, a samurai with some of the deadliest close-combat skills in the world could ignore distance entirely and strike without warning.

A logical—and downright unfair—combat style.

“Haaah!”

Silver Samurai swung his sword.

The horizontal slash was met by Winter Soldier’s cybernetic arm.

But the moment the glowing red blade—wreathed in its tachyon field—made contact—

“—!?”

Winter Soldier twisted his arm, deflecting the strike instead.

The forced evasion left a single slash across the arm.

It wasn’t shallow.

Silver Samurai spoke.

“Good call.”

“……”

Sparks scattered.

Fragments of vibranium fell away.

Winter Soldier’s expression tightened in pain.

With his superhuman reflexes and judgment, he’d realized the tachyon-charged blade couldn’t be blocked.

He immediately abandoned the idea of meeting it head-on and deflected it instead.

Both had impeccable instincts in close quarters.

…If I jumped in, I’d only get in the way.

Neither I nor Silver Samurai were used to team fights.

Best to leave this to him.

Which meant what I needed to do—

A sharp explosion echoed ahead.

…It came from behind Power Broker’s vehicle.

The elevated highway had been severed, crumbling into rubble.

They must have planted explosives at the supporting pillars.

Several meters of road dropped away.

Chunks of shattered concrete rained down onto the lower levels of Lowtown.

…At this rate, we’d lose contact with our VIP.

Which was probably the enemy’s plan.

I used the neural controller in my mask to summon my bike.

The unmanned heavy motorcycle roared toward me and began matching speed with the truck.

I leapt from the truck’s side.

The body swayed hard, but I kicked off the road and forced my balance back.

Switching off the autopilot, I slammed the red button in the switchbox.

Special gas flooded into the engine—

The detonation gave an explosive boost of power.

The iron beast hit top speed instantly, charging toward the broken section of road.

I aimed the front wheel at a rise in the rubble.

At just under 400 kilometers per hour, I launched off the debris and soared into the air.

Naturally, this bike couldn’t fly.

No wings, no zero-gravity device.

Just a headlong leap followed by a drop.

But the momentum was enough.

I cleared the gap and landed on the other side.

The suspension warped with a loud crack.

Sparks scattered as I skidded along the road.

A curve loomed ahead.

At this speed, I’d fly right off.

I dragged my foot along the ground to brake without toppling over.

I leaned my body and the bike as far as they would go—my shoulder scraped the road.

The shoulder armor was adamantium.

No damage from the contact—only the concrete surface was shaved away.

The bike skidded sharply, changing direction.

I slammed into the guardrail, bending it.

Forcing the bike upright, I completed the turn.

Glancing back… the escort vehicle had stopped dead.

The fight between Silver Samurai and Winter Soldier still hadn’t reached a conclusion.

…No point worrying about it.

I gunned the bike forward, aiming to rejoin the main convoy—

When a vehicle shot in from the merging lane.

A heavy-looking but slightly dated motorcycle—looked like a Harley.

This elevated highway was currently under Power Broker’s control.

The entrances were blocked by his private troops.

Effectively a closed zone.

Which meant this was definitely an enemy.

No—just looking at him was enough to know.

A man on the bike.

A navy-blue costume too dark to just be called blue.

Red and white stripes.

A shield on his back, painted in the pattern of the American flag.

Captain America.

He hadn’t noticed me yet.

And in a fight, getting the first move was everything.

I twisted the throttle and opened the weapon compartment on the bike’s side.

I’d already used the submachine gun earlier.

All that was left… was the shotgun.

I smashed the locking bolt and pulled the shotgun free.

Right hand on the handlebar.

Left hand gripping the shotgun.

I aim at Captain America, riding ahead of me.

Captain turns his gaze toward me almost immediately.

…How did he notice?

Too sharp to be called mere instinct.

His hand reaches for the shield on his back—

And I fire.

The shotgun blasts, sending a cloud of small metal pellets hurtling toward him.

Instead of trying to raise the shield in time, he twists his body, drops his bike low, and—while keeping the shield strapped to his back—deflects the shot with it.

Rather than blocking the pellets, it’s more like he deliberately met the attack with the shield.

Incredible reflexes.

“ Tch… ”

Clicking my tongue in annoyance, I hook my finger through the trigger guard.

Keeping the palm off the grip, I snap the shotgun upward.

Pivoting around the hooked finger, the weapon spins.

The motion works the lever back and forth, ejecting the spent shell and chambering a new round.

A lever-action shotgun can be reloaded one-handed—exactly why I told Tinkerer to mount it on my bike.

For a moving vehicle, both the rapid fire of a submachine gun and the spread of a shotgun have their uses.

But while I reload, Captain has already taken the shield into his hand.

I raise the shotgun again—

He throws the shield.

Not at me… but at a streetlight illuminating Madripoor’s dark road.

The post bends and starts falling slowly in front of me.

A fallen streetlight isn’t enough to stop my heavy bike…

…but it will create an opening.

An opening that could let him escape—or counterattack.

I hit the switchbox again—sudden acceleration.

Twisting the handlebars hard, I lean the bike over.

It skids sideways, sliding under the falling streetlight.

Behind me, a fluorescent tube bursts with a sharp crack.

Slamming a hand to the ground, I force the bike upright again.

Throttle wide open—closing the distance I’d lost.

My machine is far faster than his.

In seconds, I’m alongside him.

Only three meters apart.

Too far for hand-to-hand.

His shield—knocked away by the streetlight—spins somewhere behind us.

Too far for him to grab in time.

I aim the shotgun at his torso.

Take careful aim—

Captain raises his arm toward the air.

…What is he—?

The shield, still spinning through the air, suddenly curves toward him.

It snaps into his grasp, locking onto his arm.

…That defies physics.

Some kind of S.H.I.E.L.D. high-tech, no doubt.

Last time, he didn’t have that.

Just like me, he’s upgraded his gear.

The surprise costs me a moment.

The shield is back on his arm.

But that’s no reason not to shoot.

I lower the barrel slightly.

Against his shield, buckshot won’t land a killing blow.

The smarter target is his bike.

I pull the trigger.

Another blast roars out.

In an instant, Captain spins the shield off his arm and sends it skimming along the road like a rolling tire.

It keeps pace with his bike for a heartbeat—

—and blocks my shot.

The pellets strike harmlessly into vibranium.

The shield bounces off the ground, arcs up, and—again impossibly—returns to his arm.

…No idea how that works.

I take my finger off the trigger, starting to reload—

—but Captain’s bike surges toward me.

He’s going for close combat.

Fine.

I close the distance too, keeping the reload going.

Pulling my foot from the step, I lash out with a kick.

My foot collides with his shield.

Both are made of vibranium.

Ignoring its shock-absorbing qualities, I drive the strike through with raw force.

My ride is a custom-built monster from Tinkerer.

His Harley is an off-the-shelf civilian model.

The difference is massive.

My bike doesn’t budge—

—but his wavers.

“Kh…”

Captain lets out a grunt.

I can’t help but smirk.

I’ll knock this vehicle over right here and now.

I drew my leg back to deliver another kick.

But at that moment, the Captain leapt from his bike.

“—What!?”

He sprang toward me, clamping my side under his arm.

Unable to fully kill his momentum, I was wrenched off the bike and hurled toward the ground.

Instinctively, I kicked the Captain away, but at several hundred kilometers per hour, I was still falling.

…Focus.

I timed it so that the moment any part of my body touched the ground, it would be one of the sections covered with vibranium plating.

Rolling with the landing, I split the shock into multiple impacts, letting the vibranium absorb it bit by bit.

Finally, I slammed an arm into the ground and bounced back up.

…Good. Not a scratch.

But Tinkerer’s bike… smashed through the guardrail and plummeted down into Lower Rowtown.

…Ah.

A moment later, I heard the explosion below.

…I’m afraid to look.

If I tell him I wrecked it, Tinkerer will probably be crushed.

Not that I care—it was organization property, not mine.

The real problem is that I’m now cut off from the escort convoy up ahead.

I shift my focus.

Scanning the area… the Captain was sliding across the ground on his vibranium shield.

He was unharmed too.

The lead vehicle—Power Broker’s car—had left us behind.

Behind us, the road had collapsed, cutting off anyone else from reaching this point.

In other words, no reinforcements are coming.

It’s just the two of us now—a straight one-on-one.

I steady my breathing.

The Captain stood and faced me.

“…I wanted to meet you.”

That’s what he said to me.

…I gave a derisive snort.

“Hmph. Can’t say I remember signing up to be some crowd-pleasing idol.”

“Yeah, that’s true… you’re not an idol… not ‘special,’ either.”

I drew a knife from my thigh and gripped it in reverse.

“Then you’re going to be killed by an ordinary person.”

“I don’t plan to be killed. I’m not here to insult you. It’s just… you’re not special. You’re just—”

I took a step forward.

He still hadn’t raised his shield.

“—a normal girl, aren’t you?”

I lunged and swung the knife down.

His hand caught my wrist, stopping the blade cold.

“A normal woman? Me?”

Normal?

As if.

He doesn’t know a damn thing about me.

That I’m a superhuman thanks to knock-off super-soldier serum.

That I’m a murderer with countless kills.

That I’m someone who’s lived a past life, stuck with a half-and-half identity that’s neither wholly male nor female.

That I’m scum who’s just gone along with doing one atrocity after another, living by compromise.

He knows nothing.

Nothing at all.

Under my mask, I glared straight into the Captain’s eyes.

“Yeah. You’re a normal girl… just eaten away by misfortune… forced to become what you are—a normal girl.”

…I don’t know how much he actually knows.

But both the Captain… and Falcon, for that matter, seemed to think they knew me.

No—they only think they do.

“I don’t remember ever playing the tragic heroine.”

I twisted the knife arm and slammed my other arm into him.

…The hit should have landed.

“Tch—”

But even so, the Captain didn’t so much as flinch.

It hadn’t been a telling blow.

I backed up a step, wary of a counterattack.

…But it never came.

My suspicion grew.

“…Why aren’t you attacking?”

Even when I kicked at him, he only deflected—it was never followed by a counter.

Even when I left a blatant opening, he never struck.

…From the very beginning, when he threw his shield—he’d aimed not at me, but at a streetlight.

And beyond that… he’s never once made a move that was meant to actually hurt me.

“You’re someone who should be protected. I have no intention of hurting you.”

“…Are you mocking me?”

Is he looking down on me because of the difference in our abilities?

…No, that’s not it.

He’s a man of honor. Someone like him wouldn’t think that way.

Then why?

Why is he standing in front of me without even intending to attack?

“It’s not that. I just… want to help you.”

A shock ran through my head like I’d been struck with a hammer.

He hadn’t actually hit me—just the words themselves hit that hard.

“…Help me?”

Help… who?

…Me?

Without thinking, the corner of my mouth curled upward.

“…Heh. Are you serious?”

The laugh slipped out on its own.

The Captain’s expression turned to one of surprise—only making it seem even more ridiculous to me.

“That kind of talk… you should’ve tried that more than ten years ago. Too late… far too late.”

After all the corpses I’ve left behind, do I get to just turn away and walk free? Is that something anyone could allow?

The answer is no.

I slammed the knife down again.

It rang off his shield with a sharp clang.

“That’s not true… you—”

“No. You don’t understand anything… I’m no longer the ‘person who should be protected’ you think I am.”

I don’t expect to be saved anymore.

Back then… yes, back when I was still in the training facility… there were times I wished someone would save me.

But in the end… no one ever came.

I waited, and waited, and waited, and waited…

The neighbor who had been taken there with me couldn’t endure the brutal training. His mind broke.

And the organization was not so kind as to keep ‘dead weight’ around.

They turned him into a punching bag—a meat sack for assassination practice.

Who killed him?

Who was it that beat him to death while he couldn’t even defend himself?

Me.

I knew full well that betraying the organization’s expectations meant death.

So without hesitation, I told myself it couldn’t be helped… and killed him.

“The me now—”

…No, I’ve been like this from the very beginning.

I’m not strong enough to stand against a great evil.

I’m not resolved enough to take a life without feeling anything.

But I’m not kind enough to truly care about others, either.

I can’t be a hero.

I can’t even be a full-fledged villain.

I’m not a man.

I’m not a woman.

The name Michelle Jane isn’t even my real one.

I can’t become anything at all.

And so—

There’s only one set of words that can point to the me standing here now.

“…Just a murderer. Redcap.”

---

The knife closes in, just inches from my face.
I step back and deflect it with my shield.

Maybe because she’s realized I won’t strike back, her attacks have only grown more relentless—fearless, unrestrained, driving straight at me.

…But I have no regrets.

I didn’t come here to fight her.

Still, there was one thing I noticed.

Her gear isn’t the same as last time.
She’s outfitted herself with equipment that’s clearly higher grade.

And yet—

It’s obvious—

She’s weaker than before.

There’s no real force behind her swings.
Even when I deliberately leave an opening at a vital spot, she doesn’t take it.

She avoids my face, targeting only my arms, torso, and legs.

She probably isn’t even aware of it herself.

Is it guilt… or the last shred of goodness still left in her?

I can’t say for sure.

But since the last time we met… something in her heart must have changed.

Blocking her strikes, I call out to her.

"We’re ready to give you protection! The choice is yours now!"

"You think I could believe that kind of nonsense…!?"

Her elbow drives into my stomach.
…A dull pain shoots through me.

Feels like she’s done some internal damage.

"Please… trust me!"

"…Even if you mean it! I still don’t know what the others would think…!"

I grab the flat of her knife.
The blade cuts into my palm, and blood seeps out.

"I’ve fought against S.H.I.E.L.D. before! I’ve killed more of your comrades than I can count on both hands! There must be people who want me dead!"

A roundhouse kick comes at me.
I block with the shield and twist her knife arm.

Then, I wrench it from her grasp.
The blade is slick with my blood.

"I’ll make them understand!"

"Don’t underestimate human grudges, Captain! Not everyone is as noble as you!"

She rushes at me barehanded.
I toss the knife aside and ready myself.

She plants her foot hard and swings her leg upward.

…Not from below—she’s going high!
I raise the shield overhead, catching her heel drop.

"No matter what happens, I will protect you! So—"

"You think you’re some prince on a white horse? Get real…!"

Her strikes grow heavier.

"Maybe… it’s easier for you to just stand still where you are! Maybe for you… but—"

"Still running your mouth…!"

I swat her leg aside with the shield, widening the gap between us.

"You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you? You think you’ve sinned, that you have no right to be happy. That’s what you believe."

"…Shut up."

Red Cap trembles but doesn’t close in.

"So you put yourself in harm’s way, use the danger as a shield for your heart. As an outlet for your guilt."

"I didn’t come here for a lecture!"

"You need to hear it… so listen!"

She clicks her tongue, stomping down on the grip of a shotgun lying at her feet.
The recoil flips it up into her hands.

"You trying to call me a coward…?"

"No. Choosing the easy road… that’s normal. You’re just a normal person—someone who deserves protection."

"…I’ll shut that mouth of yours for good."

She levels the shotgun at me.
I don’t raise my shield.

I don’t want to show her any intent to fight.

"But that easy road… isn’t always the right one for you. That’s why I want you to choose. Choose the path where you face your sins—"

The trigger is pulled.

Smoke drifts from the barrel.

The blast rang out—

And then came the sound of concrete shattering.

But it hadn’t hit me.
The shot had struck at my feet.

I glanced down at the cracked concrete.

“…What? Why did I miss?”

Even she seemed unsure.
Maybe, without realizing it… she simply couldn’t bring herself to kill someone who wasn’t resisting.

…Or maybe that’s just my wishful thinking.

I take a step forward.
She tenses.

I speak gently, trying to put her at ease.

“…I want you to come with me.”

I reach out my hand.
She stares at it for a moment… then steps back.

“I can’t… I can’t betray the organization…!”

“It’s fine. Even from pursuers, we can—”

“No!”

Her voice, filtered through the mechanical modulator, still carried emotion.
Conflict… anguish… and resignation.
She was trembling.

Her hand pressed against her chest as she forced the words out.

“There’s a bomb in my—”

Her voice tightened—

“That’s far enough.”

Immediately after, someone dropped down from above, sword in hand.

“—!?”

Startled, I deflected the blade with my shield.
The sword was glowing with an orange light.

A skull mask, a shield marked with a T, a white hood… I knew this figure.

“Taskmaster!”

“Correct, Steve Rogers.”

Once again, sword and shield clashed, and the impact sent us both reeling.

---

"Any further words, and you'll be putting your position in jeopardy."

Right in front of me was Taskmaster’s back.

"T–Task… Master…?"

This was bad.
How much had he heard?
What I’d just said wasn’t something I could talk my way out of.

I’d let it slip in the heat of the moment, thrown off by the Captain’s words.
Cautiously, I lifted my gaze toward Taskmaster.

"Call me Instructor."

"…Instructor, how much did you hear—"

"No idea."

The reply cut my words clean in half.

"Just… stop thoughtlessly belittling yourself. There’s no need to cross risks you don’t have to."

He pointed with a finger over my shoulder—at the motorcycle he must’ve arrived on.

"I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything. Make up for your mistake with your own actions… and go on ahead."

"…Thanks. I owe you."

I turned my back to the Captain and started running.

"Wait! You—"

"Your opponent is me."

The Captain tried to come after me, but Taskmaster shoved him aside.

"Tch! Get out of my way!"

"That’s not going to happen."

If it was Taskmaster, he wouldn’t lose one-sidedly.

I straddled the bike he’d come on and sped off.
Behind me, the sounds of their fight rang out.

I heard someone calling my name—
but it was quickly swallowed by the rush of wind.

And then—

I heard the sound of something cutting through the air above me.

…Falcon.

He ignored me completely, accelerating straight ahead.
He must be heading for the Power Broker.

…The bike I was riding wasn’t the Tinkerer’s custom one from earlier.
Its speed was far inferior.

I nearly clicked my tongue, but instead urged it on, desperate to rejoin the main force.

…The Captain’s earlier words wouldn’t leave my head.

If I said “help me,” would he?
Would a hero protect me?

…No, better not to think about it.
A life with nothing to fear is just a dream, an illusion.
It will never fall into my hands.

Would the bluebird of happiness ever come to the hands that have carved up guts with a knife?
Of course not.

What fills my chest is only resignation.

The Captain… huh.
He can’t save me.
And I don’t even want to be saved.

That’s why this is over.
It’s over.

And yet, for some reason—

A faint part of me still wished for happiness.
To be surrounded by friends, to joke about silly things, to go out together, to fall in love.
That’s not something I should be able to have.
It’s not something I should be allowed to have.

Michelle Jane can live happily only because no one knows who I really am.
It’s nothing more than a midday dream standing atop thin ice.

Surely, Gwen, Harry, Ned… even Peter—
if they knew what kind of person I was, they’d be disappointed.
They’d hate me.

They’d demand to know why I lied.

…My breathing turned uneven.

No.
I don’t want to be hated.

…If Peter were to curse me out… I’m sure I’d never recover.

I could die, that would be fine.
Even never seeing him again would be fine.

But I can’t stand the thought of him hating me.

That’s why I can’t move.
I can’t decide.

This half-hearted happiness has become shackles that bind me.

This is fine.
I can stay like this forever.
Do nothing.

I just want to drift through life.

Trying to shake off the haze clouding my head,
I twisted the throttle hard.