Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 2 - Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV 

People’s feelings reflect the weather, but the weather doesn’t reciprocate. The bright, warm sun shone down on Yokohama that day as I walked through the city with a frown. I was sure I looked even grumpier than usual, since I was carrying stuff in both hands. I wasn’t actually in a bad mood, though. It was merely a problem of balance because my hands were full with bags of toys and sweets. You’d need a little training to carry these with a smile. 

They were for the kids. I’d picked up some presents for them, since I was sure they were getting sick of the refugee life. In fact, they were probably bored to tears hiding in the safe house Dazai prepared for them, so I was a little worried this wouldn’t be enough of a bribe to bring smiles to their faces. After all, what’s enough for adults is never enough for kids. 

A young man riding a bicycle passed by while whistling. Young children ran ahead of their mother in pursuit of some great quarry that only they could see. I couldn’t help but feel as though the war between two crime syndicates was taking place on the opposite side of the world. 

I thought about Mimic while I walked. I thought about the lonely soldiers who lived to die. Gide said he’d make me understand. Those words were a curse to drag me into battle. But at the same time, they were the heartfelt screams of a young child. The only ones who could understand him were his men or his enemy—and it looked as if he wanted me to become the latter. 

I didn’t know whether killing each other was the right thing. At this rate, the war was going to continue until either the Mafia or Mimic was destroyed. Was there no way to end this peacefully somehow? Was there no way I could both understand them and still draw my modest boundary lines? 

I also had to think about the kids. I planned on quitting the Mafia once they became independent enough to live on their own without my help. I didn’t know when that would be, but I knew it would come one day. The kids would grow into adults. Some might work at an office, some might become engineers, and others might even become professional baseball players. The oldest apparently dreamed of being in the Mafia like me, which was headache inducing, but, well, I figured I’d be able to talk him out of it. Once that all happened, I could finally toss my gun aside, sit at a desk somewhere I could see the ocean, and start writing my novel. 

When I arrived in front of the building, I paused for a moment. The place Dazai found for the kids to stay in was an import license office affiliated with the Mafia. It was a two-story blue building by the ocean that had been baptized with rust from top to bottom by the sea breeze. To the side of the building was a spacious shared parking lot occupied by a moss-colored bus with nothing better to do. 

From what I was told, Dazai rented out the entire building, so the employees there had been sent to a completely different office. He always went to extremes, but this measure was also proof that Dazai believed there was a high chance of the kids being targeted. With my hands full, I headed up the stairs while going over in my mind the list of who’d get which toy. After walking down the hallway, I opened the door to the meeting room the kids were supposedly using. 

Nobody was inside. The desk had been overturned, there were holes in the wall, and the floor was scuffed, apparently from having something heavy dragged across it. The scattered crayons on the floor were crushed under large footprints. I heard a heavy thud as something hit the floor, then realized I had dropped the bags I was carrying. I began to run almost unconsciously. Rushing out of the meeting room, I descended the staircase in practically a single leap. 

Once I got out of the building, I saw the undersized moss-colored bus in the parking lot starting to drive off. 

As I looked at the rear window, I saw someone’s hand reach out through the slightly opened curtains. The small hand banged against the glass. I could also see a person’s face in the back seat; it was a young boy whose eyes were swollen from being punched. 

The moment the boy saw me, his eyes flew open. It was the oldest kid whose dream was to join the Mafia one day. Noticing my gaze, he hurriedly pulled the curtains wide-open. Behind him were the other kids—he’d opened the curtains to show them to me. 

The next moment, a Mimic soldier on the bus grabbed him by the shoulder and viciously threw him backward. The curtains were then yanked shut, and the boy disappeared behind them. 

I desperately sprinted after the bus so hard that my knees were almost hitting my chin. The driver apparently noticed and sped up. I rushed out toward the street, placed a hand on the guardrail, then leaped over it to run parallel with the bus. The vehicle gradually drove faster. I reflexively reached under my coat, but I’d left my guns behind that day. What kind of Mafia member leaves his guns behind? 

The light at the intersection was about to turn red, but the bus swerved left, barely even slowing down as the surrounding cars honked their horns. I watched where the bus was headed—there was a huge curve that went under the bridge and connected to the highway. I would have no chance of catching up with the bus if it made it that far. I had to end this before then. I dashed up the nearby staircase to the pedestrian overpass in three jumps, then sprinted to the middle before leaping to the nearby traffic overpass. 

The overpass was protected with wire netting, which I grabbed onto with one hand to catch myself from falling. Then I climbed up the netting and stood on top of the overpass. Next, I rushed down the concrete until I approached an area that intersected with the road below. At that very moment, the bus began to pass below my feet. 

I waited until the time was just right to jump. My coat billowed with air and rustled in the wind. I landed on the roof of a red minivan that was driving in front of the bus, throwing out my hand and one knee to blunt the fall. I heard someone inside the minivan scream. 

When I turned around, I saw the bus and a Mimic soldier in gray behind the wheel. He fastened his gaze on me with bloodshot eyes. There were at least two enemies on that bus. They were military, and almost certainly armed. I, on the other hand, had no backup or weapon to defend myself with. But I would be able to handle things as long as I got just one look at the enemy. The bus itself sped up, closing in on the minivan. It looked as if the bus driver wanted to hit me along with the car. In this kind of situation, I’d normally want to cower and run the other way—that is, if I hadn’t seen the kid’s swollen face moments prior. 

After a brief yet silent apology, I violently kicked the minivan’s side-view mirror with my heel. The metal snapped as the mirror lazily fell, only to dangle by the vehicle’s side. Right as I reached out and tore it off, the bus rammed the red minivan. I desperately latched on as the car drastically swerved to the side, and then I threw the side-view mirror in my hand directly at the Mimic soldier driving the bus. The oversize red-painted mirror shattered the front window and smashed straight into the driver’s face before he could draw his gun. Immediately, he slammed on the brakes as he began to lose consciousness. Like an intoxicated rhinoceros, the bus swerved back and forth before eventually coming to a stop. Meanwhile, the minivan I was standing on also came to a halt as if it had drawn its last breath. I jumped off the roof. 

When I faced the bus, I got a terrible feeling, as if someone had just put my heart in a vise. Alarm bells relentlessly pounded in my head. My vision flashed red and white. Before I’d even realized it, I was already sprinting. 

—“I will make you understand me.” 

The driver was holding some kind of signal transmitter. I already knew what that meant. My body, however, hadn’t caught up yet. A single moment that felt like an eternity passed by. The Mimic soldier pressed the switch on the transmitter. 

And just like that, the bus instantly exploded. 

My body was blasted back by a wall of air. I lost consciousness as I flew through the sky, but my back crashed into a nearby car, jolting me awake. I looked at the bus. Pillars of fire rose out of each window as it flew in the air almost as high as the eye could see. After briefly spinning through the air, it quickly fell onto the side of the road. 

A moment went by before shards of glass rained from above. I tried to rush over. I tried to sprint to the bus even if it would only get me there a second faster. But in reality, all I did was fall face-first and writhe pathetically on the hard asphalt. The bus went up in flames. It lay on its side, bent in the middle. I tasted blood in the back of my throat. There was a deafening ringing in my ears, and I could barely hear a thing. 

—“Like, he treats us all like kids, but we’re all adults here, ya know?” 

My throat hurt. I couldn’t breathe. I could hear someone’s screams from afar. I realized—because my throat was in so much pain—that the one screaming was me. 

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” 

A small sightseeing ship floated in the Yokohama Bay. Gentle waves glittered in the rays of sun from a crystal-clear sky. The ship quietly drifted through the waters as it bathed in the reflected glare. 

Only a few people were on board the vessel. In the center stood a young man with scholarly features and round glasses—Ango Sakaguchi, an agent with the Special Division for Unusual Powers. A man was sitting to his right. 

“Ango, it’s been a while. Thanks for inviting me. How have things been since returning to your real job?” 

A man with slicked-back black hair and a white coat—the Port Mafia boss, Ougai Mori—spoke to Ango in a friendly manner. 

“……” Without saying a word, Ango simply lowered his gaze nervously. 

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t pick on my youngster here, Mafia leader.” 

Sitting on Ango’s other side was a tall, middle-aged man with white hair who towered over the rest of the people on the boat. He was Chief Taneda, the commander in chief of the Home Affairs Ministry’s Special Division for Unusual Powers. 

Behind the Mafia boss and the Division chief respectively were men in black suits standing guard and the Special Forces in black. However, not a single soul was armed. 

His expression strained with tension, Ango said, “Thank you for coming today. Once again, this is an unofficial meeting. All audio and visual recordings or physical intervention by anyone other than those present will be treated as acts of treachery, and the meeting will be immediately terminated.” 

Ango glanced at the bay as he spoke. Men from each organization secretly, or perhaps openly, waited on land off in the distance. In the unlikely case that one party decided to betray and kill the other during the meeting, the injured party’s subordinates on the coast would immediately annihilate the enemy. This meeting was created on a state of delicate balance with each party holding a knife to the other’s throat. 

“My little Elise has been nagging me to buy her ice cream on the way home. Do you know of any good places, Chief Taneda?” 

“Ha-ha-ha. Well, isn’t that sweet.” Chief Taneda laughed while cooling himself off with the fan in his hand. “Maybe I should pick something up for the bureaucrats waiting for my report back at the Home Affairs Ministry, too. They’d love to have your head, I’ll tell ya.” 

Two Mafia subordinates waiting behind their boss started to shake with rage. However, the boss simply smirked with an air of indifference. 

“Feigning concern for the higher-ups at the Home Affairs Ministry to boost your reputation? Government officials always seem to have something to worry about, don’t they, Chief Taneda?” 

“Oh, it’s a trifling concern when compared with someone who has to hide in the sewers in fear of getting squashed by the government.” 

The two men spoke and looked as if they were playing shogi under the eaves of a house together. But the designated mediator, Ango, who was standing in the middle, couldn’t stop himself from breaking into a cold sweat. If the two men before him seriously went at it, then Yokohama would become a city of corpses before three days had passed. 

“Now, let’s talk business,” said Ango. Even the Division’s elite needed to exercise utmost caution when interrupting these two. “Mr. Taneda of the Special Division for Unusual Powers has two requests for Mr. Ougai of the Port Mafia. First, you are to neither concern yourself with nor inflict harm on me, Ango. Next, you are to wipe out the European crime syndicate, Mimic, that illegally entered Japan. Do you accept?” 

“I have no problems with the first condition. Personally, I’m actually extremely grateful to you, Ango. You’re talented, and you supported me a great deal with my work, regardless of the fact that it was part of your job as an undercover agent. Additionally, thanks to your mediation, I was able to have this meeting with the Special Division for Unusual Powers. I almost want to embrace you and send you a bouquet of flowers.” 

“Then—” 

“However, I cannot make a definite promise in regard to your second request. Mimic is a horrifying group, after all. We’re still under a lot of pressure thanks to them. If I could, I’d rather just run away crying. It’s that bad.” 

Ougai looked at Taneda with an indiscernible smile. A piercing flash of light illuminated the depths of Taneda’s eyes. He closed them before giving Ango a signal with his gaze. 

“Next, the Port Mafia requests that the Special Division for Unusual Powers—” 

Chief Taneda let out a short, deep sigh. Then he pulled a black envelope out of his suit. 

Meaningless images swirled in my head. I was standing in a white, barren hotel room. Next, I was standing in the planted forest in front of the art museum again. After that, I was on the restaurant’s second floor. 

—“Sakunosuke Oda, a peculiar mafioso who believes killing is never the answer.” 

I was in the waste-ridden back alley, then the quiet bar in the middle of the night; then I was riding the elevator at the Mafia headquarters. After that, I was sitting in the seat by the window at the café on a rainy day. 

—“Writing novels is writing people.” 

—“You’re perfectly qualified.” 

I wondered if that man with the mustache was serious about what he said. Or was he just trying to make me feel better? Did I really deserve to write about people? Even if what he’d said had been true, it was all in the past. I no longer had that right. 

At the site of the explosion, I somehow managed to stagger to my feet and check inside the bus. I shouldn’t have; it would’ve been easy to simply imagine what it was like inside. After that, I decided to leave the scene before it drew too much attention. I went over to the restaurant. 

—“They’re an army.” 

—“These men don’t know how to live outside of a battlefield. They’re known as grau geists—men with no master.” 

The lights were out; it was quiet. 

When I went inside, I found the owner, Pops, dead. 

He was lying behind the counter on a pot and the shelf for cooking utensils. He’d been shot in the chest three times, and his eyes were still open. His hand was still gripping the curry ladle. He must’ve tried to grab on to whatever was nearby on the spur of the moment. I wondered how he’d planned on fighting against armed Mimic soldiers with only a ladle. Just what you would expect from the owner of a Mafia-affiliated restaurant. 

Only when I gently closed Pops’s eyelids did he actually look dead. I could feel my soul being tightly squeezed out of my body. It was the sound the spirit makes when it is irreversibly disfigured. 

A military knife was stuck in the counter, and underneath it was a map. After pulling out the knife, I looked at the map. It contained a drawing of some mountainous terrain not too far away. There was a red X on some old private property in the mountains with the words Ghost Graveyard scribbled next to it. 

I was sure it was a message from Mimic—from Gide. I folded the map and tucked it away in my pocket. Then I headed up to the second floor and went into the hidden room that Pops had ready for me. An array of weapons for emergency use were stashed away in there. 

I took off my clothes and put on a light bulletproof vest. Next, I slipped on a shirt, then slid my arms through the shoulder holster and buttoned it in the back. 

I checked both pistols. Once I’d finished looking them over, I wiped off the dust from one gun, oiled it, and assembled everything. I made sure the sight wasn’t off. Then I took out the bullet and pulled the trigger, checking how it felt. After that, I loaded the magazine before inserting it back into the gun. I pulled the slide, sending the first bullet to the chamber. When that was done, I checked the other gun the same way before sticking them in the holsters on each side of my body. 

Every precise movement I made was like a prayer. As I got myself ready, my mind separated from my body, and I wandered in my thoughts: who I used to be, what I’d sought, who I’d talked to, what I’d felt, how I’d wanted to live. All I knew in that moment was that everything I sought in the past was already gone—thrown away like a crumpled-up piece of paper. 

I wrapped my wrists in bands packed with spare magazines. Then I slid my arms through the sleeves of the Kevlar-woven coat, into which I stuffed grenades and as many spare magazines as I could. I hesitated but decided to not bring any bandages or painkillers along. I wouldn’t need them. 

Instead, I found a box of cigarettes from when I’d quit years ago. I headed to the adjacent room with the cigarettes and a match. It was the room the kids used to live in—the same place where we’d roughhoused together just a few days ago. It had hardly changed: the bed railing colored in with crayon, the filthy floor, the stained wallpaper. The only difference was the five shadows that should’ve been there, too. 

“Good night, Kousuke,” I said as I lit a cigarette. That was the name of the oldest boy. “Good night, Katsumi. Good night, Yuu. Good night, Shinji. Good night, Sakura.” 

I watched as a trail of pale smoke quietly rose from the tip. 

“Sleep well. I’ll avenge you.” 

Holding the cigarette between my fingers, I gazed into the smoke until the cigarette burned out and the smoke disappeared. 

I began to walk. 

“Odasaku!” 

I was stopped by a familiar voice the moment I left the restaurant. 

“Dazai? What’s wrong?” 

“Odasaku, I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. Doing that isn’t going to—” 

“Isn’t going to bring the kids back?” I asked. 

Lost for words, Dazai fell silent. Then he said, “Judging by the scale of past skirmishes, I have a good idea of how many Mimic soldiers are left. There’s a little over twenty of them, and they’re resting up for battle as we speak. They’ve most likely set up base in the western mountain district. I’m gonna go look into it, and—” 

“I already know where they are. They left me an invitation.” 

I handed Dazai the map with the inscription Ghost Graveyard that I’d found earlier. He furrowed his brows when he looked at it. 

“They’re gathering their troops all in one spot. I’m not sure the Mafia can defeat them even if we mobilize all our men.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” 

“Odasaku, listen. The boss had a secret meeting a few hours ago. He met with the Special Division for Unusual Powers, and Ango was the mediator. The meeting was so secret that I couldn’t get any more information, but there’s still something fishy going on with this Mimic stuff. I can feel it. So until we know what that is—” 

“‘Something’?” I looked at Dazai. “There isn’t anything, Dazai. It’s all over. Everything. Whatever else happens now is meaningless—just like what I’m about to do. Am I wrong?” 

“Odasaku…,” Dazai said softly. “Forgive me for the absurd wording, but—don’t go. Find something to rely on. Expect good things to happen from here on out. There’s gotta be something… Hey, Odasaku, do you know why I joined the Mafia?” 

I stared at him. We had known each other for a long time, but he’d never even attempted to talk about that. 

“I joined the Mafia because of an expectation I had. I thought if I was close to death and violence—close to people giving in to their urges and desires, then I would be able to see the inner nature of humankind up close. I thought if I did that…” Dazai paused before continuing, “…I would be able to find something—a reason to live.” 

I looked at him; he looked back at me. 

“I wanted to be a novelist,” I said. “I thought I wouldn’t deserve such a life if I killed someone during a mission. That’s why I never killed anyone. But that’s all in the past. There’s only one thing I want now.” 

“Odasaku!” 

I began to walk away. Dazai yelled out, but I didn’t turn around. 

Heading west, I started my journey. 

Just like always, everyone walked in whatever direction they pleased. They all had somewhere to go, someone to meet, a home to return to. That was the world we lived in. That was the world I wanted to write about in my novel. That was the world the kids were supposed to belong to, where they’d each walk the streets however they pleased. 

—“They all found peace. Nobody can take that away from them.” 

I recalled what Ango said that day long, long ago. Were the kids somewhere peaceful? Or had they become ghosts to wander the world of the living? 

Just like Gide…and me. 

As I was walking, I bumped into a small young man coming from the opposite direction. 

“Whoa!” 

Nothing happened to me, but the young man lost balance and fell on his rear. Everything he’d been carrying scattered across the ground. 

“What d’you think you’re doing?! Watch where you’re going! With eyes that high up, you oughta be real good at that! Ugh… All the detective equipment the boss gave me…” 

I helped the young man pick up his scattered belongings: recording paper, a pen, a camera, and a bag for storing forensic evidence. Maybe he was a forensic technician on a murder case. 

“You a cop?” I asked for no particular reason. 

“Me?” He squinted his already narrow eyes in utter disgust. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with a bunch of incompetents! You don’t know who I am? Soon I’ll be a household name throughout all of Japan, so don’t you forget! I am the world’s greatest detective, Ranpo Edo—” 

“Sorry about that,” I cut him off midsentence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry.” 

“Hey! You’d be a real fool to throw away your chance to talk to this amazing detective! In fact, you won’t be able to resist once you see my skills in action! Allow me to show you so I can rid you of any doubts. Hmm, let’s see… The reason you’re in a hurry is…” 

The cheerful, haughty young man cackled, then stared at me. 

“You…” 

His eyes suddenly narrowed, and the air around him instantly chilled. The depths of his almond eyes harbored an inhuman glow. 

“You…” Unlike just a moment ago, the young man spoke in a whisper. “I’m telling you this for your own good. You must not go to your destination. Reconsider.” 

“Why?” 

“Because if you go…………you’re gonna die.” 

I lit another cigarette, then turned my back to him. Heading west, I marched on once more. As I walked away, I responded to the young man behind me: 

“I know.” 

After heading down the forest road flourishing with oak trees, I saw a Western-style building. The first things that caught my eyes were the violet slate roof and the semicircle pediment with its religious motif. Basking in the evening sun, it idly stood out against the forest. 

At the end of the narrow gravel path stood two Mimic soldiers with submachine guns. They must’ve been the guards. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

I casually struck up conversation as I strode toward them. The soldiers, taken by surprise, pointed their guns at me, but I’d already drawn my pistols from the holsters under my arms. 

I fired two shots at once, one to the left and one to the right. The bullets buried themselves in their heads before shattering through the opposite side of their skulls. Their blood and brain matter splashed against the trees behind them, and they perished without really even knowing what happened. Their bodies hit the ground with a wet thud that echoed through the forest almost simultaneously. After putting away my pistols, I continued to walk without even looking at the bodies. 

As I followed the pathway, I headed to the building’s front door. I looked up at the attic space on the third floor near the rooftop on the other side of the lighting window. There was a sentry on watch holding a sniper rifle. Since I’d avoided his range of sight as I approached, he had no idea there was an intruder right below him. 

I snapped my fingers to get his attention. When he followed the sound and noticed me, his eyes opened wide in astonishment. I put a bullet in his head before he could even get a hand on his rifle, and the sniper fell backward and crashed to the floor below with a bang. The soldiers inside had surely noticed that something was wrong now. I headed toward the porch, walking at my normal pace, then stopped to take out a cigarette and lit it. The murky smoke filled my lungs. 

I stared at my hands—the hands that had just killed three people. They were my hands in every respect, no different from the hands that had avoided killing all those years. My fingers harbored no lust for blood. Neither did the trigger, nor the bullets. The urge to kill dwelled deep within the reaches of my mind. 

Soon a ruckus began to break out inside the building—sounds of yelling, running, and magazines being loaded. I slid to the side of the French front door and leaned against the wall next to the stone pillar. With my back against the hard stone wall, I reached out to my side and knocked on the door. Immediately, there was a rumble as if the ground had cracked open, and countless bullets shattered the door, turning it into nothing more than sawdust in the wind. 

I looked out of the corner of my eye with both pistols at the ready. Five seconds. Ten seconds. After twelve seconds went by and the soldiers tried to reload their guns, I pulled the pin out of a grenade and threw it into the building. As the explosion blew out the interior, I spit the cigarette out of my mouth. Then, holding out my two pistols, I rushed inside. 

Bullets soared through the smoke. I pitched myself forward onto the floor, firing twice. The flash from the guns lit the room up in white. After rolling forward, I shifted to the side and leaped toward the corner of the room while firing two more shots. Bits of plaster, spurts of blood, and smoke were illuminated by the gunfire. As submachine gun bullets hit the ground below me, I ran alongside the wall knowing where they would land. Numerous empty shells hit the floor, playing the music of war. Before long, I pulled my guns together and fired twice at the enemies in the room’s center. Then there was silence. 

All the soldiers that were in my way when I broke in had been taken care of. I surveyed the room. The entrance hall to the Western-style building, having been blown apart by gunfire, was now an atrium. The stained glass near the ceiling dimly tinted the dust and gunpowder smoke inside. Six Mimic soldiers lay dead underneath. 

According to what Dazai had said, there were still quite a few enemies left. The bloodbath still had a ways to go. 

I began to hear the footsteps of soldiers at the opposite end of the carpeted stairs. My skill allowed me to see only up to five seconds into the future; that wasn’t enough time to figure out what kinds of traps and battle formations the enemy had set up ahead of me. 

After reloading my guns, I slowly walked up the staircase. At the top was a long, narrow connecting corridor. If the enemy closed in from the other side, I could take cover while putting up a barrage. I saw soldiers at the end of the corridor, and they immediately drew their guns. I decided to charge the enemy instead. 

I rushed down the corridor; it was so narrow that I had almost no space to dodge. There were four enemies charging at me while firing submachine guns, the most optimal weapon at this distance. I bent forward and sprinted toward the Mimic soldier in the very front, then fired my pistol. His forehead took the bullet, bending him backward. Next, I swiftly rushed into the pocket and used the soldier’s corpse as a shield while firing two more shots. A bullet fatally pierced the second soldier’s throat. His fingers spasmed, causing him to shoot a line of bullets into the ceiling. 

I kicked the corpse’s sternum, sending it flying into the soldier directly behind him. While the third soldier tried to push the body away, I slipped to his side and struck him in the chin with my palm, then put a bullet through the top of his skull. Crimson liquid splattered against the wall. While the last soldier fired a submachine gun, I jumped to the side and dodged. Then I kicked off the wall once more to evade the line of fire horizontally pursuing me. Just as my leap took me right above the enemy, I unloaded the rest of my clip. I landed at the end of the connecting corridor. Only a brief moment had passed since the first shot. After another second had gone by, I heard the soldier collapse to the ground in the background. I only used the sound to confirm his death before once again continuing on ahead. 

At the end of the connecting corridor was a spacious lounge facing the courtyard. It had a large fireplace with medieval-style decor, a red velvet armchair, and a war flag encased in a golden picture frame. 

This mansion used to be the residence of foreign aristocrats. When I researched the place beforehand, I learned that the owner of this vast estate returned to his homeland after his assets had been confiscated with the spread of the war. Ever since then, the mansion’s ownership remained up in the air as it patiently waited for an occupant who was never to return. 

I stopped. I knew there was a remote directional mine up ahead, and if I went any farther, I’d get caught in the blast. My only option was to shoot through the wall to destroy it. I aimed my gun. The moment I did so, I realized my failure—there was another directional mine right behind me as well. Whoever was watching this place from afar must’ve decided that they’d blow up the mine behind me the moment I noticed the one to my front. 

My skill allowed me to see the future, but when things happened because I’d changed my course of action, I only started seeing the future from the moment I made the change. Therefore, if there was a trap that would be triggered one second after I aimed my gun at the mine ahead, then I would only be able to see that future one second before it was triggered. This was one of those cases. 

I lunged forward, and immediately the high-performance explosive behind me detonated. Shrapnel and the expanding fireball tore through my coat. When the blast slammed me against the floor, I immediately covered my head and stayed low. In a flash, the directional mine ahead blasted down the door, and the impact battered my body. It was a surprise attack that used my skill against me, coupled with a pincer attack from directional mines on both sides. This enemy knew the ins and outs of my “precognition,” both the capabilities and weaknesses alike. 

I had a vision. 

Soldiers came in droves, rappelling through the large windows lined up on my left side. However, I was still crawling on the ground, in no position to fight back. 

I had only around four seconds before they’d arrive. It was sink or swim. I took my chances and fought to pick up my pistols. I felt a dull pain in my right side; one of the pellets from the explosion had buried itself in my flesh near my hip bone, which wasn’t protected by my bulletproof vest. Blood stained my shirt. I saw ropes dangle from outside the window, followed by descending soldiers’ shoes. I picked up my guns with a groan. Each window was smashed through as eight soldiers came swinging into the building. 

There was no time to take cover. As the glass shattered in the air, I felt as if I could see the sparkle of each fragment. First, I shot one bullet out of each gun, piercing the first two soldiers in the throat and head, respectively. Thereupon, the other soldiers landed inside. My coat fluttered in the air as I flipped over and lowered my posture before shooting two more bullets, finishing off the two closest soldiers. The remaining enemies aimed their guns at me. The fragments of glass finally hit the ground, creating countless bouncing gems of light. 

Then the gunfight commenced—a shoot-out close enough to hold a boxing match. Gunfire filled the room, and my surroundings flashed bright white. Granular apostles of death soared through the sparkling world. I could see it. Leaning forward almost perpendicular to the ground, I avoided the close-range gunfire. Then I crossed my arms and fired two shots. I bent backward until my chest was facing the ceiling and shot two shots at the enemies on both sides. An impact to the chest sent me flying backward. A bullet hit my bulletproof vest, knocking the wind out of me as if I’d been hit with a cannonball. 

My bullets missed one of the soldiers. I caught my fall by placing a hand on the glass-covered floor. Then I swiftly swept the enemy’s legs as he tried to fire his submachine gun. Despite being midfall, the soldier reached out and grabbed my coat collar. He was planning on dragging me down to the ground with him. 

This one moved nothing like the other soldiers. When I caught a glimpse of the badge on the lapel of his military fatigues, I realized he was most likely Mimic’s deputy commander—Gide’s right-hand man and chief of staff. 

I tried to aim the pistol in my left hand at his throat, but he quickly knocked it away with the tip of his submachine gun. We tangled, then rolled on the ground. I threw my left palm at his chin in an attempt to give him a concussion, but he evaded, then immediately grabbed my sleeve and twisted it behind my back, apparently going for a joint lock. My shoulder made a dull sound. If he kept that up, I was sure my shoulder would be irreversibly damaged. 

However, it’s a bad idea to attempt close combat against someone with the ability to see the future. I’d wanted him to do this from the start. Grabbing my pistol with my free hand, I bent forward and unloaded the clip into the floor. The empty shells bounced off the ground with noises like small bells. The deputy commander’s grip weakened, and he collapsed to the ground, a slug now buried in his throat. One of the bullets I’d just shot into the floor had ricocheted and pierced his neck. Gritting my teeth from the excruciating pain in my chest, I checked over my bulletproof vest. I’d been hit in the torso three times, each shot stopped by the Kevlar. After removing the vest, I tossed it to the ground. I’d most likely fractured a rib. 

“Guh…” 

I turned around to find the deputy commander still conscious, but the wound was fatal. It’d be about another ten minutes before he died. 

“Want me to finish you off?” I asked while aiming my pistol at his head. 

“……Yes…please…,” he replied in a feeble voice. His throat must’ve been full of blood. 

“Any last words?” 

“Thank you…for fighting me…” 

The deputy commander closed his eyes. The gunshot wound must’ve hurt, and yet, he was faintly smiling. 

“The commandant is up ahead… Please save him, too……from this hell…” 

I pulled the trigger. His skull burst, spewing blood and brain matter onto the floor. The deputy commander briefly twitched before going limp. I stood up and reloaded my guns. Then I began to walk. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Dazai strode confidently through the Mafia’s high-rise headquarters downtown at a quick clip, his heels practically scraping off the carpet underfoot. He got on the glass-paneled elevator alone, pressed the button to the top floor, then closed his eyes. When the elevator reached his destination, he opened his eyes again. His gaze was focused on only one thing—the office at the very end of the hallway. 

Dazai drew in his chin and began to walk. The large-built men in black suits guarding the door silently blocked Dazai’s path. Both were carrying automatic rifles. 

“Move,” Dazai ordered without even looking at the men’s faces. The colossal guards, twice Dazai’s size, froze. Then they took a big step back, seemingly intimidated. Without even waiting for the guards to react, Dazai opened the door to the office and barged in as if he owned the place. He then walked over to the large desk in the middle of the room and stopped in front of it. Seated before the desk was the Port Mafia’s boss, Ougai Mori. 

“Well, well, Dazai. It’s not often you come here yourself. Allow me to bring you some tea. I received some extremely expensive leaves from northern Europe. Pouring this tea on top of a steamed bun makes an exquisite—” 

“Boss.” Dazai cut him off. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?” 

Ougai didn’t answer his question, though. He just grinned mildly while staring at Dazai. Only after a few moments went by did he reply. 

“Of course, Dazai. It’s urgent, yes?” 

“It is.” 

“Very well. Whatever it is you wish to do, you have my approval.” Ougai gave a confident smirk. “I trust whatever plan the genius Dazai has. You have always contributed greatly to my and the Port Mafia’s endeavors. I expect you will do the same today as well.” 

Taken by surprise, Dazai fell silent. Even he felt as if he were walking on fine blades whenever he talked with Ougai. If he made just one little mistake, he could fall off the path. After pondering to himself for a moment, Dazai said, “I need permission to form a small team of executive-level skill users to attack Mimic headquarters and rescue Odasaku.” 

“Fantastic.” Ougai nodded. “At times, revealing your true intentions first can become the greatest tool of negotiation. Very well. You have my permission. However, I would like to know why.” 

Dazai stared back at the boss without breaking eye contact for even a moment. Ougai’s narrowed eyes harbored a tinge of cleverness, as if they could see into his heart. It was the same kind of light that was once in Dazai’s eyes when he looked upon his enemies or allies. 

“Odasaku is currently scouting the enemy headquarters alone,” Dazai said, keeping his emotions in check. “I sent an emergency response team of Mafia members to the area, but it isn’t nearly enough. At this rate, we are going to lose a valuable skill user.” 

“But he’s our lowest-ranking member.” Ougai curiously tilted his head. “Of course, he’s a dear ally of ours, but is he worth sending executive-level men to the front line to save?” 

“Yes,” Dazai confidently declared. “Of course he is.” 

Ougai fell silent. He looked at Dazai, who looked straight back at him. It was an eloquent silence. The two men understood the other’s state of mind and how they would counter. 

“…Dazai.” It was Ougai who put an end to the wordless debate. “Let me ask you this. I understand your plan, but in all likelihood, Oda doesn’t want help. What do you think about that?” 

Dazai tried to answer, but he could not find the words to say. Ougai pulled an envelope out of the file cabinet on his office desk, then stared at it while he spoke. “Dazai, do you know what it means to be the boss? It means you are simultaneously at the top of the organization and still a slave to it as a whole. No matter what the cost, you have to get yourself dirty to keep the Port Mafia going. In order to deplete the enemy, maximize your allies’ worth, and keep the organization alive and thriving, you must also willingly perform any logically conceivable atrocity. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

He placed the envelope on the desk. It was large and made of high-quality black paper with small gold inlays in the corners. Whatever was inside appeared to be extremely thin. Dazai’s eyes were inadvertently locked on the envelope. Suddenly, he caught his breath. 

“This envelope—” 

Something began to thrash and flicker in the back of Dazai’s mind. It gradually turned into physical shaking, causing his head to go numb. 

“I see.” Dazai managed to squeeze out just those two words, his face deathly pale. “So that’s what this is.” 

Then he turned on his heel and put his back to Ougai. 

“If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Where are you going?” Ougai asked. 

“To Odasaku.” 

Without turning back, Dazai walked all the way to the door to the hallway. But as he reached for the decorated handle, he heard several noises coming from behind—something that sounded like metal parts locking together. Dazai’s hand suddenly froze. Then, realizing his failure, he closed his eyes. With a soft sigh, he turned around to find four armed Mafia grunts who had noiselessly appeared from the adjoining room. They aimed their guns at Dazai, but he wasn’t surprised. He simply surveyed the room before fixing his gaze on Ougai, who hadn’t budged from his spot mere moments ago. He was still smiling at Dazai. 

Just past the door ahead of the battlefield was a vast, high-ceilinged ballroom capable of fitting a hundred couples performing baroque dance. A decayed chandelier hung askew from the three-story-high ceiling. Both sides of the ballroom were dressed in crimson curtains with gold embroideries, which were ripped and coming undone at the seams, creating a gloomy atmosphere that seemed to resent the prosperity of times past. At the front and end of the hall stood two oak doors each. When I walked to the center of the room, I heard a voice coming from behind. 

“Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed…” 

I immediately drew my pistols and turned around while pointing them in the direction of the voice. He stood before me—the handsome ghost with silver hair and clothes. Pointing my guns at him, I finished his sentence. 

“…But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” 

The ghost squinted, then smiled. 

“John 12:24. You’re surprisingly well-read, Sakunosuke.” 

Gide stood alone before the oak doors. There were no traps. His men were gone. He didn’t even draw his gun. 

The sight of my pistol was aimed directly between his eyes. If I even squeezed the trigger a little, the bullet would shoot right at my target—right in the forehead of that faintly smiling man. 

“Thank you for your hard work,” he said. 

I pulled the trigger, but Gide moved his head to the side, avoiding the bullet. 

“I am sorry for what I did to the children.” His expression didn’t change as he began to approach me. “However, it appears it was worth it.” 

The muzzle of my gun followed Gide’s every step as he walked alongside the wall. I shot once more at his head. My skill told me he was going to swerve right, so I purposely fired slightly farther to that side. However, Gide swerved to the left instead. 

“Your eyes are the same as mine.” He continued to walk noiselessly, a slight grin spreading across his face. “Those are the eyes of a man who has strayed from the path of life just like my men and I.” 

Gide still didn’t reach for his gun. He didn’t even seem worried that I was shooting at him. A chill ran down my spine. 

“Welcome to our world, Sakunosuke.” 

Then, with no warning at all, he drew his guns and aimed them at me. I couldn’t react to the sudden movement, but not because I was surprised. It was because I felt as though he wouldn’t hit me even if he shot. With our guns pointing at each other, we stood in silence. The muzzles of our guns stared the other down. 

“You sure talk a lot.” 

“Then the talking shall end here.” 

I had a vision. 

Five seconds from then, Gide shot one bullet at my forehead and one at my heart. Which way should I swerve? 

To the side? …No, if I did that, then he would adjust his aim to the side. 

Down? …No, the outcome still wouldn’t change. 

I had three seconds left. 

That was when I noticed something. 

—Oh. Now it makes sense. 

One more second. 

Rapidly firing both pistols, I charged forward at my opponent. 

And just like that, all hell broke loose. 

Gunfire illuminated the area between us. As we rushed toward each other, we continued to fire. A few bullets grazed my earlobe and shredded the hem of my coat. Using the back of my hands, I pushed his guns to the side. Gide then brought his arms back to the middle as if he were forming a circle. The grau geist spit fire toward my chest. We were so close that I could grab his nose. When he shot his guns from each side of my face in a parallel fashion, there was no way for me to dodge both bullets at once. 

I made a split-second decision to turn my face to the left, avoiding the bullet on the right while using my pistol grip to block the other. A bolt of lightning shot down my arm through my palm, knocking the gun in my left hand away. On the other side of the gun, I saw Gide’s lips tightly curl upward. He had two guns while I now had only one. I was clearly at a disadvantage. 

—Depending on where my remaining gun’s aiming, that is. 

The gun in my right hand—the pistol I was still holding—was already pointed right at him. I pulled the trigger. Gide desperately tried to move out of the way, but we were too close. The bullet hit his left arm, spewing fresh blood behind him. 

“Gah…!” 

The gunshot caused him to slowly drop the pistol in that hand. Kicking off the ground, he leaped backward. 

“How does it feel being unable to predict the future?” I asked while aiming the gun in my right hand. 

“It is hard to believe that something so pleasant exists in this world,” Gide responded. 

Regardless of the future seen and the action taken based on said future, the opponent would overwrite it and adjust their reaction. There was only one simple, yet extreme way to solve this problem—just don’t rely on your skill. 

With only one pistol each, Gide and I faced off. Showing his teeth in a wide half-moon smile, he laughed. The expression on my face was probably no different. 

Dazai calmly stared at the guns pointed in his direction. 

“You still haven’t had any tea, Dazai,” Ougai said. “Come—have a seat.” 

Dazai didn’t even budge. A guard in a black suit slipped to his side, then pointed the automatic rifle’s muzzle right at his head. 

“Odasaku’s waiting for me.” 

“Sit.” 

Dazai glanced at the muzzle and returned to the middle of the room. Then he stood before Ougai and quietly stated, “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wondered who was orchestrating the conflict between the Mafia, Mimic, and the Special Forces. But I arrived at a conclusion the moment I realized Ango was from the Special Division for Unusual Powers: They’re the ones behind this. In the government’s eyes, the Mafia and Mimic are just two bothersome crime syndicates. Having these two groups take each other out would be the perfect scenario for the Division, which is why they orchestrated it all. But I was wrong.” 

Dazai briefly paused, then looked at Ougai. 

“The one who painted this picture was you. You wanted to use the threat that the Mimic posed to help during your negotiations with the Division. Then you used Ango as a pawn for that scheme.” Dazai halfway closed his eyes. “Boss, the reason you sent Ango to infiltrate Mimic wasn’t to get information on Mimic. You knew Ango was from the Division from the very beginning. Am I right?” 

Ougai neither confirmed nor denied the statement. “Oh?” he simply said in admiration. 

“Various nuances of the truth change when you think about it that way. Ango would give inside information on Mimic to the Mafia while also conveying information to the Special Division for Unusual Powers. Mimic is a group of ghosts in search of a battlefield. There is no way to negotiate or compromise with them. They pose far more danger than the Mafia, and if something isn’t done, then they’ll clash with government agencies before long. That’s what the Division thought, at least. So they came up with a plan to get Mimic to attack the Port Mafia. Ango was used to leak intel to Mimic and manipulate the situation. If Mimic took the bait, then the Mafia would have no choice but to fight back. The Division believed that and gave Ango the mission…just like you wanted.” 

“You give me far too much credit.” Ougai smirked. “The government agencies are like wolves before sheep compared with the Mafia. They cannot be manipulated that easily.” 

“That’s why you went through the trouble of creating such an elaborate scheme. That’s how much value that envelope has.” Dazai pointed at the high-end black envelope in Ougai’s hand. “You’re right. The Division is like a wolf before sheep. No matter how much power the Port Mafia has, it lives in fear of angering the Division and getting snuffed out. That’s why you offered to destroy Mimic in return for that document.” 

Ougai’s smile deepened. Dazai approached him, then pulled a certificate out of the black envelope. It was elegantly written with the government’s seal stamped on it. 

“This certification permits activities as a skill-user organization—a Skilled Business Permit.” 

Gunpowder exploded and shells flew to the ground as the deafening roars of artillery fire filled the expansive hall. Gide’s gun was pointed right at me, so I knocked it away with my elbow. A bullet soared right by my face, brushing against my ear. I swung my arm in the air and aimed my pistol at Gide’s forehead. He swung his arm up from below, grabbing my elbow. Then he jerked my arm to the side, causing me to shoot and shatter the chandelier. Elbow and wrist against wrist and muzzle—we knocked the other’s gun slightly out of line, making each other barely miss with our shots. Bullets flew past our ears and chins. Countless gunfire created a wall of light between us as we stood close enough for hand-to-hand combat. 

We pulled the triggers on our guns simultaneously only to find nothing was firing. Both of us were out of ammo. With our right arms still locked in place, we began reloading our guns. An empty magazine hit the floor. While Gide grabbed another magazine at his waist, I slid one of mine out from my wristband. He began to slide his backup magazine into the gun, but I knocked his right arm to stop him. Then I threw a left hook with a magazine still in my hand. The metal tore his skin, creating a red line across his cheek. Despite being knocked off-balance, Gide finished reloading his gun. I slid behind with my back pressed up against him, then threw an elbow while preventing him from firing. He dropped to his knees to evade. By the time I completed the elbow strike, I had already reloaded my gun. We aimed our weapons at each other at the same time, grabbing the other’s right wrist with our left hands. The two of us froze in this strange position. My muzzle was before his eyes and his before mine. I was holding his gun with my left hand, but Gide was holding mine with his left hand as well: a muzzle in my left eye and a tenacious gray gaze in my right. 

“Sakunosuke… You are incredible. Why did it take you so long to appear before me?” 

“Sorry about that. I’ll make sure to give you all the time you need today.” 

If I tried to break my wrist free from his grip, he would use that opening to shoot. But the same went for him. An odd balance of power kept us calm, allowing us to converse. 

“Why did you stop killing, Sakunosuke?” 

“Why do you search for a battlefield, Gide?” 

I suddenly heard footsteps. It was the sound of many people running our way. 

“Your men?” 

“Your colleagues?” 

The footsteps were coming from both sides of the ballroom. It sounded to be around ten people. If those were Mimic soldiers, I wasn’t gonna be able to take Gide and them on at the same time. I’d have to end Gide the moment they came bursting in, then dispose of them. The footsteps gradually got closer until the oak doors were kicked wide-open. That moment, I broke free from Gide’s grip. A gunshot echoed by my ears as gunpowder burned hair on my cheek. However, the bullet didn’t hit me. Gide evaded my bullet with the same movement. 

Our arms locked like hooks. Thanks to my skill, I already knew who was coming. At the door ahead were armed Mafia members, while Mimic soldiers were at the back door. They stormed into the room at almost the same time. As Gide and I bent at the elbows while locking arms, I shot the Mimic soldiers behind him. Pelted with bullets, they flew back. I was sure the Mafia men behind me were being shot in the same manner. I knew what Gide was thinking. He wanted to take out the intruders before anything else, as did I. He grabbed my lapel and pulled me, but I returned the favor. While we used each other as a fulcrum, I faced my enemies once more. I shot. Another Mimic soldier was knocked backward. 

This was a ballroom. We stood in the center while empty shells hit the ground like surrounding applause. Using each other as a point of support, we continued to shoot our enemies. Leaning against each other’s backs, we shot them. Our clothes fluttered in the air as we spun, swapping positions. Using the other’s shoulder to rest our weapons, we shot more of them. Fresh blood from the soldiers painted the walls. Our shoulders intersected as we spun, shooting each other’s allies. 

The flames from the gunpowder and empty shells glittered around us. Both Gide and I approached our limits as blood gushed from our gunshot wounds. My face turned pale and my vision blurry. Only my focus was sharp. We danced together around the edge of death—a place not of this world. My skill automatically showed me the future, carving Gide’s next words into the back of my mind. 

“What do you think, Sakunosuke?” 

“About what?” I replied before he even asked. 

But in reality, I didn’t say a word because Gide heard my answer in a vision and replied before I could even get a word out. 

“This is the world I searched for… I lived for this moment.” 

We didn’t actually speak because our skills were predicting what the other would say, and we would think how we would reply. The moment we came up with an answer, the other would foresee it in a vision and then come up with his own reply. 

“What are you after?” 

“Why did you quit killing?” 

It was a brief moment of eternity—a short passage of time that hardly existed. Our visions and reality meshed, creating a world that transcended our world, making it impossible to know how much was real and how much was our skill. It was a world only we could exist in. It was a world we could find only through killing each other. 

“I wanted to be a novelist. Someone once told me I should.” 

“A novelist…” Gide smiled inside our still world. “I’m sure you could have done it.” 

“Yeah.” Maybe there existed a world where that was possible. “This man I talked to gave me a novel. It was the last volume to a series I’d been looking everywhere for. Before I read it, he warned me that it was terrible.” 

“How was it?” 

“It was…” 

“Boss, you started putting this scheme into motion years ago to get that license,” Dazai continued, standing in front of the boss’s desk. “I’m guessing this plan first took shape two years back when Ango went to Europe for business. You did some searching and found that Mimic would be the most promising enemy for your plan, so you had Ango contact them. I was wondering how Mimic escaped Europe and sneaked into Japan so easily, but the answer was rather simple. The Port Mafia helped them illegally enter the country. To send the Special Division for Unusual Powers into a panic and make them get off their butts, you purposely invited the enemy organization to Yokohama.” 

“Dazai.” Ougai, who had been listening in silence, cut Dazai off for the first time. “What remarkable inference. There is nothing that needs correcting. I have just one thing I’d like to ask: What’s wrong with that?” 

“……” 

“I told you—I am always thinking about the organization as a whole. Just like you see here, I received a Skilled Business Permit, so the government has more or less given us approval to conduct our illegal activities. And right now, Sakunosuke Oda is risking his life to eliminate a troublesome, violent group. It’s a win-win situation. So why are you so angry?” 

Dazai didn’t say a word. That was just about the first time he’d ever been unable to articulate his feelings. 

“I…” 

—“There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.” 

—“Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream.” 

“I just…” His voice came out strained. “I just don’t get it. You were the one who tipped Mimic off about the orphans’ safe house. No one else could’ve found out about the location I chose. You killed those kids to get Odasaku to fight Mimic’s leader because he is the only one who can defeat him.” 

“My answer is the same, Dazai. I will do anything for the benefit of the organization. Besides, we are the Port Mafia. We have always brought darkness, violence, and cruelty to this city. Why is that a problem now?” 

Dazai knew. He knew Ougai’s calculations, his mentality, and the rationale behind the plan. That was just the kind of organization the Port Mafia was. Logically speaking, Ougai was right, and Dazai was wrong. 

“But…” 

He turned on his heel, then began walking toward the door. Immediately, Ougai’s guards pointed their guns at him. 

“You cannot go, Dazai,” Ougai called out to stop him. “Stay. Or do you have a logical reason for going to him?” 

“There are two things I want to say, Boss.” Dazai turned around and glared at Ougai. “First—you’re not going to shoot me, and you’re not going to have your men shoot me, either.” 

“Why is that? Because you wish to be shot?” 

“No. Because it wouldn’t benefit you in any way.” 

Ougai grinned. “True. However, you wouldn’t gain anything by disobeying me and going to him, either. Am I wrong?” 

“That’s the second thing I wanted to say, Boss. There’s nothing in it for me. There’s only one reason why I’m going. Because he is my friend. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

The guards placed their fingers on the triggers. However, Dazai paid them no mind and simply strolled to the door as if he were going for a walk. The guards looked to Ougai as they waited for orders. Without saying a word, Ougai crossed his arms while he gazed at Dazai’s back with a faint smile. Then Dazai opened the door and walked down the hall until he could be seen no more. 

“The last volume was amazing,” I said. 

I’d never read a book that drew me in so much. Every word touched my heart, and I saw myself in every character. The man who gave me that book said it was awful, but I felt the complete opposite. I read it in one sitting practically without eating anything all day. The moment I finished the book, I opened it up again to read once more. 

It felt as if every cell in my brain was reborn after reading that book. Once I’d finished it, the world I’d known before completely changed. Before that, all I had was killing. I would kill people for the mission—rob them of their lives. That book opened my eyes like the sun at dawn. That last volume had only one flaw. There were a few pages near the end that were torn out, so I never knew how one of the key scenes unfolded. It was a scene where one of the characters, an assassin, explained why he gave up killing. 

There wasn’t enough information on the following pages to guess why he did, and not knowing caused me so much anguish. Not only was that scene an important turning point in the story, but it was also crucial to understanding the assassin. The book was nowhere to be found new or used anymore, so I couldn’t confirm that missing part. That man with the mustache never showed up again, so I couldn’t ask him, either. 

After worrying about it for so long, I came to one conclusion. 

—“Then you write what happens next.” 

I decided to write it myself. I would become a novelist and write a story about why the man stopped killing. But to become a novelist, I needed to sincerely know what it meant to live. 

So I stopped killing. There was one line in that last volume right before where the pages had been torn out. It was something the protagonist said to the assassin. 

“People live to save themselves. It’s something they realize right before they die.” 

I continued to think about what that meant after I vowed never to kill again. There probably wasn’t any deep meaning to it. It was more than likely just a line to connect information with more information. But whenever I read that line, I thought back to the older man who had so mysteriously given me that book. Even now. 

Did he know I worked as an assassin? Had he approached me to get me to stop? Was the reason he gave me the last volume, tore out those pages, and told me to write what happens next because he wanted to tell me to save myself? That was what I believed with almost no doubt in my mind. 

He had told me his name the first time we met. I had forgotten it for so long, but it was only just recently that I remembered. 

His name was Souseki Natsume. 

The same name as the name of the author on the cover of that novel. 

“I was a hero,” Gide said. 

Gide was in a war. He fought for his country and for justice. He fought for his friends who joined him by his side. During a past war that stretched the globe, he had made countless victories and saved countless allies. 

Gide was a hero. 

He was a soldier who protected his country, fought for its inhabitants, and believed that his destiny was to die for them. During a certain battle, Gide led a mere forty men into battle and conquered a stronghold of six hundred people. He defeated every single one of them and captured the stronghold. 

However, that was a scheme thought up by his own allied base. When the country was already finishing up a peace treaty, Gide was used by military staff executive officers in an immoral ploy to crush one of the enemy’s key locations and rob them of their transport network. 

Since peace had already been declared, Gide’s actions were deemed a war crime, and allied soldiers were sent to kill him for his betrayal. To ensure their survival, Gide and his forty men had no choice but to plunder the enemies’ equipment, become the enemy themselves, and break through his former allies’ siege. 

Numerous soldiers came to kill the traitor. Gide and his men took the enemies’ pistols known as grau geists, donned the enemies’ military uniforms, and fought to the death against their fellow countrymen. 

They mimicked the enemy soldiers and became the ghosts of the deceased. Gide and his men killed their pursuers to survive, but they didn’t have anywhere to live. They were criminals of war, dead men, a military with no master. From there, they wandered the lands. They took on dirty work as illegal mercenaries. These former heroes were no more. Their lives, which they were supposed to lay down to protect their country, were used for no one. They just dulled their senses, dirtied their hands, and lost their reputation. Several men in the group even killed themselves. Gide didn’t stop them; he lacked the words to do so. 

But there were also those who didn’t die. They were soldiers at heart, and they believed killing themselves would strip them of that right. They fought, suffered wounds, and lost their friends, but they still got back up. It was proof that they were once soldiers, that their blood still drove them to be such militants. They searched for a battlefield—a place to prove they were soldiers—a place that would help them remember who they were even if it meant dying. They became ghosts who wandered the battlefield. Their homeland and pride forever lost, they became spirits of the wasteland in search of an enemy. 

Time was still extending endlessly. We continued to foresee and respond to what the other was going to say. Not even a second had gone by in the real world, where I’d just killed the Mimic soldiers while Gide killed the Mafia soldiers. In this world, I got ready to point my gun at Gide, who was surely going to do the same. 

“The final moment is near,” Gide said in that world of eternity. 

“Tell me one thing, Gide,” I said back. “Did you never want to go after something else? Couldn’t you have changed how you lived your life somewhere down the line? Something different from searching for a battlefield or a place to die…” 

“Change the way I live? There is no way I could have done that.” Gide smiled. A glimmer of sorrow flickered within his eyes. “I promised my allies that I would die as a soldier. Nothing else was possible.” 

We pointed our guns at each other. However, in the world of eternity, we quietly faced each other and talked like friends. Gide looked at me. I could see the sincerity in his gaze. 

“But…perhaps I could have changed my life at some point. Maybe if I had tried to change earlier in life, then perhaps I could have become something else…just like you stopped killing others. If I had the strength you had, then maybe one day I, too, could have…” 

There were only two people in that massive hall still alive. Our muzzles each pointed at the other’s heart. Gide wasn’t wearing bulletproof clothing, and I’d taken mine off moments prior during battle. A shot to the chest would be fatal. The triggers had already been pulled. The bullets began to slide out of the barrels. 

However, we just smiled, facing our partners as if we’d come to know everything about each other, like old friends after a long chat. 

—“They’ve observed that when multiple skills interact, on rare occasions they’ll careen off into a completely unexpected direction.” 

So this world was a skill singularity. 

“I have one regret,” I said. “I never got to say good-bye to my friend. He was always there for me as ‘just a friend.’ He was bored of this world and always waited for death to come for him.” 

“That man was in search of a place to die just like me?” 

“No, not exactly,” I answered. “I thought you were similar to Dazai at first, rushing into battle and wishing for death without even considering the value of your own life. But he’s different. He’s sharp-witted with a mind like a steel trap. And he’s just a child—a sobbing child abandoned in the darkness of a world far emptier than the one we’re seeing.” 

He was too smart for his own good. That was why he was always alone. The reason why Ango and I were able to be by his side was that we understood the solitude that surrounded him, and we never stepped inside it no matter how close we stood. 

But in that moment, I kind of regretted not stepping in and invading that solitude. 

The bullets left our guns’ barrels and slid toward our chests. 

“A magnificent shot until the very end.” Gide smiled. “I’m going to go see my men. Say hello to the kids.” 

The bullets reached our chests. 

The singularity vanished. 

The bullets penetrated the skin, cut through our clothes, and exited out our backs. At the very same time, in the very same fashion, we both fell backward. 

Just then, I heard footsteps. 

“Odasaku!” 

Dazai rushed into the building and over to the ballroom, passing the myriad of corpses through the corridors along the way. When he burst through the oak doors, he saw his friend lying on the ground. 

“Odasaku!” 

“Dazai…” 

Dazai rushed over to Odasaku, then checked his wounds. The bullet had pierced Odasaku’s chest, and a vast pool of blood had collected on the floor. It was clear that the wound was fatal. 

“You’re such an idiot, Odasaku. The biggest idiot I know.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to die.” 

“I know.” 

Odasaku smirked with that particular satisfaction of accomplishing something worth the cost. 

“Dazai… There’s something I want to say.” 

“Don’t. Stop. We might still be able to save you. No, we will save you. So don’t say such—” 

“Listen.” Odasaku wrapped his blood-soaked hand around Dazai’s. “You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be able to find a reason to live…” 

“Yeah, I said that. I did. But what difference does that—?” 

“You won’t find it,” Odasaku said in almost a whisper. Dazai stared at him. 

“You should know that. Whether you’re on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity.” 

—“Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream.” 

That was when Dazai first realized: Sakunosuke Oda understood him much more than he’d ever imagined—right up to his very heart, almost to the center of his mind. Dazai didn’t realize until then that someone had known him so well. 

For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted from the bottom of his heart to know something. He asked the man before him: 

“Odasaku… What should I do?” 

“Be on the side that saves people,” Odasaku replied. “If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but…saving others is something just a bit more wonderful.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I know. I know better than anyone else.” 

Dazai gazed into Odasaku’s eyes and saw a glow of conviction. 

It was clear that those words were supported by some sort of strong basis. Whether it was past experience or someone’s advice—Odasaku was trying to show Dazai the path he himself had once tried to walk. Dazai knew that. 

That was why he could bring himself to believe it. 

“…Okay. I will.” 

“‘People live to save themselves. It’s something they realize right before they die,’ huh…? He was…right…” The color in Odasaku’s face gradually disappeared until he was almost completely pale. He smiled. “I could really go for some of that curry…” 

With trembling fingers, Odasaku reached for the cigarettes in his pocket before sluggishly placing one in his mouth. By the time he pulled out a match, his fingers were too weak to hold it anymore. Dazai took the match and lit the cigarette for him. Then Odasaku closed his eyes, smoking the cigarette as he smiled, filled to the brim with satisfaction. 

The cigarette fell to the ground. 

Dropping onto his knees by Odasaku’s side, Dazai looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes. His tightly shut lips faintly trembled. The smoke from the cigarette rose straight up to the top. 

Nobody said a word.