BLACK LAGOON: Rock's Choice - The Spider's Web of Roanapur
Okajima Rokurou had a future. A salaryman's future—steady, predictable, safe. Then Asahi Heavy Industries handed him a classified disk and a one-way ticket to Southeast Asia, and his superiors made one thing perfectly clear: *"You never existed. Not from the start."*
Erased. No passport. No family registry. No name.
He wakes in a warehouse in Roanapur—a sun-scorched city of cutthroats and contraband that appears on no map, where the only law is the balance of power between Hotel Moscow, the Tr
BLACK LAGOON: Rock's Choice - The Spider's Web of Roanapur - In the erased city, the first offer
A low thud echoed in the distance—a heavy sound that reverberated deep in the gut. It took a moment to realize it was a gunshot.
The smell of rust and salt stung his nose. A hard floor pressed against his back. The ceiling was exposed steel framing, and a single dim bulb swayed gently overhead.
Okajima Rokurou couldn't immediately tell where he was.
He sat up. His head throbbed. His white dress shirt was soaked through with sweat and grime, his black necktie still wrapped around his throat. His short black hair, usually neatly parted, was a mess, bangs plastered to his forehead.
(Where... am I?)
His calm, deep brown eyes slowly scanned the dark room. Metal shelves, wooden crates, tools. The smell of oil. It seemed to be some kind of warehouse or maintenance bay. Morning light filtered through a window, illuminating the dusty air in pale white.
That's right. Yesterday, I—
The moment he tried to remember, something surged up from the pit of his stomach. Not nausea. Something else entirely—an emotion he couldn't name.
Asahi Heavy Industries' classified disk. The business trip to Southeast Asia. And the attack by those couriers.
The company had abandoned him.
No—worse than that. The words his superior had spoken over the phone still echoed in the back of his mind.
*"You never existed. Not from the start."*
Never existed.
At twenty-five years old, Okajima Rokurou had been erased from this world.
"You're awake."
A low voice came from the first floor.
"...Huh?"
He looked toward the voice. From beneath the iron staircase, a large shadow was slowly ascending.
The man wore goggle-style sunglasses. A shaved head, a thick muscular chest. Even through the black tank top, it was obvious how thick his arms and neck were. He had to be nearly a hundred and ninety centimeters tall. Just his approach made the air feel heavier.
"This is Roanapur. I'm Dutch. I run Lagoon Company."
The man who called himself Dutch tossed a tin can he'd been holding at Rock's feet. It clattered and rolled. A silver can with no label.
"Breakfast. Eat."
"...Um, I don't really understand what's going on."
His voice was hoarse. His throat was dry. Even so, he had to ask.
"What are you going to do with me? If it's ransom, it's probably pointless. Like I said earlier, the company—"
"I know."
Dutch said it flatly.
"Your company cut you loose. Same with your family. You don't exist anymore. Passport, family registry, credit cards—all of it, gone."
Rock was speechless.
"This here's a city that's not on any map. Roanapur. No police. No law. What you've got is the balance between four powers, and money and muscle. Good intentions? They'll just get you killed."
Dutch leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. His expression behind the goggle sunglasses was unreadable.
"Asahi Heavy Industries, Hotel Moscow, the Zhang group of the Triad. And then small-timers like us—couriers and whatever else. This city runs on the standoff between those four."
"No police... does a place like that really exist?"
"It exists. That's why you're here."
Rock picked up the can. It was cold. He didn't know what was inside, but he was hungry. He pulled the tab. Beans. The taste was bland. But it was edible.
"A courier's job is moving goods, people, and information around this city. No license, no qualifications needed. All you need is a track record and connections. They say if you last three years, you're a pro. Most die before that, though."
"Die..."
"The mortality rate's high. But the pay's not bad. Even a small outfit like ours moves thirty thousand dollars a month. Ten times the city's average monthly income."
Rock chewed his beans and turned Dutch's words over in his mind.
(Thirty thousand a month. In yen, that's over three million...)
Back when he was a salaryman, his take-home had been about two hundred fifty thousand yen. Even with bonuses, his annual income barely reached five million. And here, that was one month's earnings.
Of course, maybe that was cheap for the price of a life.
"What's your name?"
"Okajima Rokurou."
"Okajima. Too long. From today, you're Rock."
"...Rock?"
"I like it. Good name, right?"
The corner of Dutch's mouth seemed to twitch into a slight smile.
"So why are you telling me all this?"
"I'm putting you to work for the company. We're short-handed. You're convenient."
"I, uh, I can't shoot a gun. I've never even been in a fight."
"I know. I looked into your whole background. Asahi Heavy Industries, Materials Division, Southeast Asia Section. You've got language skills and you're good with numbers. You can do desk work better than anyone here."
"Desk work..."
"You mocking me?"
"No, that's not what I meant—"
"Listen, Rock. To survive in this city, you need brains as much as firepower. Your head's probably useful. We don't have anyone like that."
Rock was silent for a while.
(Survive in this city...)
The words pressed heavily on his chest.
"...Do I have a choice?"
"Sure you do. You're free to walk out of here and wander the streets. But you'll have to find your own way out of Roanapur. Without a passport or money."
Rock gave a small laugh.
"That's not a choice at all."
"It is. Which way it goes is up to you."
Dutch turned his back and headed down the stairs.
"Come down to the first floor. I'll teach you the work."
And that was all he left behind.
Rock shoveled down the rest of the beans and slowly stood up.
The first floor was a combined vehicle bay and office.
Inside the high-ceilinged warehouse sat a single black armored van. Tools and parts lined the walls, crammed into every space. In one corner, a steel desk. A stack of documents and an old radio. A large map was pinned to the wall.
"This is where we work. Second floor's living space. Antenna on the roof. Remember it."
Dutch pulled a thick ledger from the desk drawer.
"Start with this. A year's worth of transaction records."
Rock took the ledger and flipped through it. Handwritten numbers filled every page. Job details, dates, amounts, expenses. It was nominally a ledger, but it was sloppy.
"...These expense calculations don't add up. Here, and here. Also, the dates on this transaction are out of order."
"Where?"
"Here. A March payment's mixed into the February column. And this number—the digits are off by one place. I think it's thirty thousand, not three thousand."
Dutch peered at the ledger for a while, then slowly raised his head.
"...You're fast at bookkeeping."
"Force of habit from my salaryman days. Number errors jump out at me."
"You'll do."
Dutch nodded, satisfied.
Over the next few hours, Rock learned the ins and outs of Lagoon Company's work from Dutch.
Organizing the warehouse. How to use the radio. How to read a client.
"Don't trust clients. Especially first-timers. Even if they say they'll pay upfront, assume half of it's a lie. Every job has a front and a back. A courier's job isn't moving cargo. It's staying alive while you move it."
"Staying alive... that means a gun, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. So I'll teach you how to shoot."
Dutch pulled a handgun from the wall locker. A black, heavy-looking thing.
"I'm not telling you to become a shooter. But you need to know what to do when someone shoots at you. And you need to know the weight of a gun, how it feels in your hand."
Dutch held it out.
Rock stared at the gun and didn't move.
"...No."
"What?"
"I won't carry a gun."
Rock's voice was clearer than he'd expected.
"...Huh. Let's hear your reason."
"I can't explain it well. But if I pick up a gun, I'll probably stop being me. That much I know, somehow."
Dutch stared at Rock's face for a while. The eyes behind the goggle sunglasses were, as always, invisible.
"I see. Then that's fine. Forcing it on you would just get you killed."
Dutch put the gun back in the locker.
"Your job is to use your head. Me, Levy, and Benny handle the guns."
"Levy? Benny?"
"My crew. They're out right now, but you'll meet them soon enough."
Dutch returned to the desk and switched on the radio. Static hissed through the room.
"Keep the radio on at all times. Most job requests come through here, or in person. Phones... well, we have one, but assume it's tapped."
"Tapped... that's ominous."
"In this city, that's normal."
Rock sat in front of the radio and picked up the earphones. The operation was the same as any ordinary radio. Tuning the frequency, adjusting the volume. He checked each function one by one, committing them to memory.
(This is a battlefield.)
Even while doing desk work, the thought struck Rock anew.
On the desk lay the company notebook he'd been using until yesterday. A black leather notebook with the Asahi Heavy Industries logo. Opening it, he found business trip schedules and meeting notes written in meticulous handwriting.
*"July 15 — Bangkok business trip — classified disk transport"*
The words felt like something from a distant past.
When in reality, it had only been a few days ago.
"Rock."
"Yes."
"What about your family?"
The sudden question made Rock's hands stop.
"...Nothing. Or rather, there's nothing I can do. The company erased me. To my family, I'm probably dead in some accident or other."
"Does that make you sad?"
"...I don't know."
Rock answered honestly.
"My father and brother were bureaucrats. There was no place for me at home. My mother just watched my father's moods. Whatever happened to me, those people probably wouldn't feel a thing. ...That's the kind of family it was."
"I see."
Dutch didn't ask anything more.
Rock closed the notebook and set it in the corner of the desk.
(I can't go back.)
The fact wasn't so much sad as it was simply heavy.
By evening, Dutch brought over two beers.
"That's it for today. Drink up."
"Th-thank you."
The two of them leaned back against the wall and cracked open the cans. The hiss echoed through the quiet warehouse.
The beer was warm. But the bitterness going down his throat felt strangely good.
"What do you think's the first thing to learn in this city?"
"...How to pay for things, maybe?"
"Ha, that's important too. The answer is: protect your own life. Nobody'll protect you. Nobody'll save you. If you die, nobody'll cry. That's Roanapur."
"Harsh."
"There's no such thing as a kind city anywhere. This one's just more honest about it."
Dutch tilted his can. A gulp sounded in his throat.
"So, what do you think of this city's air?"
"...It smells like fish. Raw."
"Yep. Salt and iron, sweat, and rotting fish. Plus a hint of gunpowder mixed in. Might make your food taste bad till you get used to it."
"Will I get used to it?"
"You will. Humans can live anywhere. If they want to."
Rock looked out the window.
He could see the cobblestone alleys of the old quarter. Tin-roofed buildings crowded together, power lines covering the sky. People walked the dim streets with quick steps. Everyone had sharp eyes. Some were laughing, but behind those smiles, they seemed to be hiding something.
(This is where I'll live.)
That's what he thought.
He had no choice but to think it.
Just then, the radio suddenly burst into violent static.
"Hotel Moscow calling. Lagoon Company, respond."
A woman's voice. Low, calm, but somehow cold.
Dutch moved to the radio.
"Lagoon Company here. This is Dutch."
"Dutch. Long time. You sound well."
"Balalaika. Still got that voice that makes my ears hurt."
"Oh, how rude. Today it's business."
"Let's hear it."
"You have a young Japanese man there, don't you? Rock, was it?"
Dutch's movements stopped for just a moment.
"...What about it?"
"I have a job for him. I'd like to meet and discuss it directly. Can you have him come to Hotel Moscow tomorrow?"
"We're couriers. Depending on the job, we decide whether to take it."
"Of course. But this is a job only he can do. The pay is generous. A hundred times the city's average monthly income. Half upfront."
Rock caught his b
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