Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 5 - Chapter 1.1

Interlude 1 

Classic jazz was playing softly in the background. 

This windowless basement pub had a mellow atmosphere to it. The dingy pale-orange lighting illuminated the empty bottles lined up against the wall. The antique counter and stools had aged to a dark caramel brown, and the wood grain had developed a nice texture. 

Amid the pleasant music was an ice-filled glass garnished with white alyssum flowers. The ice inside faintly hit the glass, creating a pleasant clink. A man named Sakunosuke Oda used to sit in that seat. The drink on the counter was the same brand of liquor he used to always order as well. But there was no hand to throw back that drink anymore, nor even a single soul in that seat. 

The glass and the flowers sat together in solitude before the empty seat. Dazai gazed at it out of the corner of his eye as he picked up his drink. He was in his usual spot—the seat next to Odasaku’s—and he was talking to the empty space next to him as if Odasaku were still there. 

“What’ll we toast to today?” 

“You’re not gonna wait for Ango to get here?” 

Dazai could practically hear his friend’s voice. 

“…” 

He slowly raised his glass among the silence, thinking back to a conversation from a time long gone. It was a few years ago. Sitting in the same seat in the same pub, Dazai had flashed a grin at Odasaku. 

“I know what we could talk about.” 

“I heard something interesting the other day,” said Dazai under the pale lighting. His expression was hidden beneath the bandages wrapped around one side of his face, perhaps from getting injured in a fight or from trying out a new method of suicide. 

“Ever heard of apple suicide?” he asked. 

“…Apple suicide?” 

Odasaku shot him a quizzical look. They were mindlessly chatting about nothing like they always did at their usual bar. Dazai quietly nodded. 

“Yep. Apple suicide.” 

“Oh…” 

Odasaku seemed to have thought of something. He then lowered his gaze and took a sip of his amber-colored beverage. “Like Cinderella, huh?” 

Clink. 

The ice refreshingly hit the glass. 

“Cinderella…” 

Surprised, Dazai repeated the name. 

“Hmm…,” he muttered in a troubled manner as he tapped his middle finger on his forehead. 

“Not even I could’ve predicted you’d say that. I seriously never get tired of talking to you, Odasaku,” Dazai said gleefully as he looked up at the ceiling. Odasaku, on the other hand, had no idea what was so amusing to him, and that seemed to make Dazai even more amused. Dazai turned to Odasaku smiling radiantly. 

“Allow me to explain.” He leaned in to get a closer look at Odasaku. “Snow White is the one who ate the poison apple, and it wasn’t to commit suicide.” 

“Oh. My mistake.” 

Odasaku apologized. Dazai’s jocular mood didn’t bother him in the least. However… 

“Hmm? Hold on…” Dazai placed a thumb on his chin and suddenly got lost in thought. Curious, Odasaku looked over at him, when… 

“…Maybe Snow White did kill herself,” Dazai murmured softly. “Maybe she took a bite of the poisoned apple knowing it was poisoned.” 

“Why would she do that?” 

Odasaku stared at his friend, unsure of what he meant. 

“Despair,” Dazai replied with a facetious grin. “She had lost all hope when her own mother gave her that poisoned apple— No…” 

He paused, then idly gazed up at the ceiling as if he was giving this more than a passing thought. In a crystal-clear voice, he then said, “Perhaps it was a more nebulous form of despair. Perhaps she had lost all hope in the world itself…” 

It was an alarming sight—Dazai sounded like he was in a trance. It was as if he was ignoring all this world had to offer while in pursuit of something else. 

“…” 

Odasaku silently stared at his friend, who longed for something beyond his reach. Then, Dazai briefly chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be something?” he said. Still laughing, he continued, “I met an interesting skill user recently.” 

He slowly lowered his gaze, and his lips curled in amusement. Perhaps he was thinking about this person or their skill. His lips distorted into a crooked smile. 

“He can make people commit apple suicide,” said Dazai. There was something peculiar about his smirk. “Maybe it’ll start catching on in Yokohama one day.” 

“Suicide, you mean?” asked Odasaku, still staring at his friend. 

“Yep.” Dazai nodded before turning to Odasaku. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” 

When Odasaku finally saw the smile on Dazai’s face, it reminded him of a young, innocent child. He continued to stare, trying to scrutinize what Dazai really meant, but he would never know, no matter how long he looked. After all, Dazai was a master at keeping his true intent hidden. That’s why Odasaku simply shook his head, gave up, and took another sip of his drink before simply offering a thought of his own instead. 

“You’re an interesting guy. Your mind never stops working.” 

But Dazai’s reply surprised him. 

“I’m not as interesting as you, Odasaku.” Dazai smirked. 

Odasaku was inwardly puzzled by those words. He had never found himself to be an interesting man, which was why he had no idea what Dazai meant, so he decided to ignore it, convincing himself that Dazai was simply joking. He was always kidding around, after all. He was no longer in a trance like earlier, and he wasn’t acting odd anymore, either. So Odasaku looked over at the bar’s doorway and casually mentioned that “Ango sure is late today,” just like he always did. 

That used to be routine, but it was now all in the past—never to return. 

“…Ango isn’t coming,” Dazai replied to Odasaku’s casual remark from years ago. So many things had changed since then. Odasaku was no longer by his side, and Ango didn’t come to this pub anymore. Dazai now sat at the counter alone. He was waiting for no one. He simply gazed at the amber liquid in his glass. The ice clinked in the liquor glass garnished with white alyssum flowers as if Odasaku had replied. Dazai then quietly whispered, “You were right, Odasaku,” and he picked up his glass. 

“It’s certainly wonderful to be on the side that saves others.” 

Next to the glass was a white-and-red pill. “…If you plan on living, that is,” he added. 

Dazai then reached for the pill with his bandaged hand, neatly picked it up, and slowly brought it to his lips—just like Snow White and the sweet, poisoned apple. The venomous-red-and-pure-white pill disappeared inside his mouth. Dazai reluctantly stood up from his chair. 

“See you around, Odasaku.” 

After bidding his farewell, he pulled something out of his overcoat pocket and placed it on the counter. And just like that, he retired from the bar without looking back. His footsteps mingled with the classic jazz playing in the background until they could be heard no more. All that remained on the counter before his seat was his glass… 

…and a red apple skewered with a knife. 

The forbidden fruit’s sweet scent of death filled the room. 

Outside, the night breeze brushed against Dazai’s bare skin. The bell rang as the door slowly closed. He passed by the pub’s sign. The streetlight flickered, and the asphalt was cold. Dazai set foot in a less-tidy world. 

“Dazai,” a monotone voice called out to him from behind. It was a young man wearing glasses and an academic-looking suit. 

Ango Sakaguchi—a man who used to work and drink side by side with Dazai and Odasaku as an informant for the Port Mafia. He’d turned out to be a double agent who had been working for the Special Division for Unusual Powers the entire time. 

“Oh, Ango. I didn’t know you were here,” claimed Dazai without even looking back. “Did you stop by for a drink?” 

Dazai didn’t even seem surprised by the appearance of an old friend. His smile was calm and unaffected. Ango, on the other hand, wore a stiff expression as he replied: 

“No, I’m here on business.” 

“Business?” 

“This.” 

Immediately, over a dozen Special Forces soldiers in black wordlessly appeared and aimed their silenced submachine guns right at Dazai’s chest. This wasn’t a bluff, though. The safeties were off. Their fingers were resting on the triggers, ready to fire if Dazai tried anything funny. 

“You’re the one who brought Tatsuhiko Shibusawa to Yokohama, aren’t you?” Ango asked in a stern voice. 

“…” 

Dazai reacted to the accusation by slowly turning to face Ango and fix him with an icy glare. He was extremely calm despite having nowhere to run—it was almost unnatural. He regarded Ango like one would look at rubbish. Nevertheless, Ango nervously asked, “Do you plan to start a mass suicide of skill users here in Yokohama?” 

What Ango didn’t realize, though, was that there was a shadow slowly approaching him from behind. The Special Division agents didn’t notice either as they surrounded Dazai. Dazai’s lips twisted into a smirk as if this were all merely child’s play to him. 

The next moment, Dazai seemed like a completely different person. 

“Did you really think you could catch me?” he asked. 

“…!” 

A chill shot down Ango’s spine from an absolute terror that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was malice presented by a beautiful face. It was the feeling that there was a monster nearby. It was the depths of darkness and an overbearing, intimidating air. Ango felt as if he saw a glimpse of something that shouldn’t exist in this world. The cold-blooded smirk was like nothing he had ever seen. He didn’t know this Dazai. He seemed far too cruel. But by the time Ango realized this, it was already too late. 

An ominous white fog had slowly crept up behind Ango.