Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 5 - Chapter 2.2

Interlude 2—1 

A bell could be heard in the distance. The pale moon illuminated the mist circulating through the pitch-black night. It was as if a sea of fog had consumed the world with no horizon in sight. The black tower pierced the clouds as it stretched to the moon. Gentle curves and countless sharp spires intertwined around the fortress in the center as if holding it upright. The ornaments on the tower’s facade were exquisitely intricate, to the point of obsession even, and emitted a vaguely ominous aura. To some, they truly looked like human bones. 

A party was about to begin in the sinister tower. 

“Dazai.” 

A voice called out to Dazai from behind as he gazed down at the city from the glass wall on the top floor. The sound of footsteps approached until a man with crimson eyes and white hair appeared. It was Tatsuhiko Shibusawa. 

“Are you not bored of looking at that?” he asked Dazai. 

“…Bored?” repeated Dazai, his expression faded. 

Shibusawa nodded. “I know I certainly am,” he replied. 

There was a skull on display on the table between them for some reason. Brilliant-red apples surrounded it as if to add some life to it. Two of the apples were pierced with knives even though there had been just one knife only seconds ago. 

Shibusawa slowly approached the table and said in almost a whisper, “A sea of ivory and nothingness…a nondescript world full of coarseness.” He turned his gaze toward the table’s surface. “Tonight, all the skills in Yokohama will become mine.” He spoke of his prediction with a dull tone, as if it were fact. “Yet again, it appears no one will be capable of outsmarting me or defying my expectations… How truly boring.” 

“I used to be bored just like you,” answered Dazai while he gazed out the window. 

“How did you overcome it?” 

“It’d be quicker to show you.” 

Dazai finally turned around and faced Shibusawa before approaching the table. He then leisurely took a seat in one of the three chairs. Shibusawa simply watched him without saying a word. 

“See? You don’t even know my true intentions right now,” Dazai calmly claimed. “You don’t know whether I’m helping you or using you.” 

Dazai’s eyes weren’t focused on Shibusawa, and it was impossible to infer from his voice how he really felt. Nevertheless, Shibusawa smirked at the taunts and replied, “You’re the only one who thinks your intentions are unknowable.” 

Dazai slowly lowered his gaze. “I guess you really do need salvation.” 

“And who can save me?” Shibusawa snorted softly. 

“Hmm… Maybe an angel?” Dazai picked up the skull on the table. “Or maybe a demon?” 

There was a diagonal cut across the skull’s cheekbone, and another knife had unnoticeably appeared, piercing a third apple. At the same time, another voice suddenly joined in on their conversation. 

“It’s obvious what both of your true intentions are, if you ask me.” The third man mirthfully cackled and took the skull from Dazai’s hand. “You cannot write a play with such lies. It would shatter the audience’s immersion.” 

He brushed back his warm-looking mantle as his boots clicked against the floor. The earflaps of his ushanka fluttered with each step until he stopped to regard Dazai and Shibusawa with his violet eyes, which were almost hidden under his black hair. 

“Fyodor the Conjurer…,” Shibusawa warmly welcomed the third man. “You shall dance for me as well…as my collaborator.” 

“Him? Help you?” Dazai said with a chuckle. “He’s the one mostly likely to betray you.” 

“I can’t deny that,” Fyodor himself agreed delightfully before comfortably taking a seat. Shibusawa thereupon drew a chair for himself. His expression was calm and brimming with confidence. “No one has ever exceeded my expectations… I anticipate great things from you.” 

Each of their goals and intentions crossed paths, but there was still no way of knowing who would be able to fulfill their objective. In fact, nobody even knew what the three of them were after. 

“Of course,” said Fyodor almost in singsong manner, “it’s this city’s skill users that I feel most sorry for.” His frigid smile was reminiscent of the heart of winter. “Because no matter which one of us three prevails, they will all perish.”