Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 7 - Chapter 2

Phase.02

“Welcome to the Port Mafia, Chuuya Nakahara.” Mori was seated at his desk on the top floor of the Mafia headquarters.

They were in a dim, spacious room. The tinted windows blocked the outside from view. This was the Mafia leader’s office, one of the hardest, most difficult places in all Yokohama to break into. Wearing an amused smirk, Chuuya stood facing Mori in the center.

“What an honor to be invited. Heh.”

Chuuya’s arms were bound with leather straps while a massive chain used for towing boats was wrapped around his legs. His ankles were tied with construction-grade steel wire, which attached to metal fittings on the floor; his fists were tightly chained, as if to prevent him from ever opening his hands again.

Numerous red cubes surrounded his torso as well. It was a subspace skill that kept him from escaping.

The skill belonged to the guard standing next to him. But even with Chuuya restrained, the guard was still nervous. He was focusing every fiber of his being so that he’d be able to promptly act if Chuuya showed any signs of resistance. The man was an exceptional skill user, even within the Mafia, but he nonetheless looked uneasy.

“I heard you put on quite a show yesterday,” Mori said with a smile. “Apparently, you fought an entire group of my men single-handedly with the greatest of ease. Now I see why you’re the leader of the Sheep.”

“Too bad we got interrupted halfway, though. Ruined everything,” Chuuya replied with a smug look on his face. “Anyway, that’s also why you called me here, right? About that black explosion—the black flames of Arahabaki.”

The door suddenly opened.

“Scuse me. Coming in… Oh?”

It was Dazai.

“Perfect,” said Mori. “I was waiting for you.”

“Ah! You’re that li’l twig from yesterday!” Chuuya practically leaped into the air. “You goddamn punk!”

“Oh wow. You seem to be doing well. I, on the other hand, got injured pretty badly, as you can see. Where does all that energy of yours come from anyway? Are you having a growth spurt? Or is that what’s happened to all the nutrients that were meant to make you smarter and taller?”

Dazai’s head was wrapped in bandages; his right arm was in a cast. All injuries he sustained fighting Chuuya and getting caught in the ensuing explosion.

“Leave my height outta this, damn it!”

“Fine… I suppose it’s pretty tasteless to criticize others’ shortcomings, after all. I promise I’ll never do it again, pip-squeak.”

“Why you…!”

“That’s enough.” Mori clapped his hands. “You two really hit it off for just having met a day ago. At any rate…yes, Chuuya, I would like to ask you about the explosion yesterday. Randou, could you leave the room for a moment?”

The skill-user guard with long, wavy black hair and unhealthy-looking bags under his eyes frowned. “I…cannot recommend that, boss. This boy is dangerous…”

“It’s fine. Dazai can nullify his skill if it comes to it. I already have other measures in place just to be on the safe side. More importantly, Randou, you look colder and paler than usual. Are you all right?”

Randou was violently shivering. “I am embarrassed to admit it…but I feel like I’m about to freeze to death…”

“You’re cold?” Chuuya cocked an eyebrow and glanced over at Randou. “Wearing that? In this weather?”

Randou’s entire outfit was sturdily insulated from his felt trench coat to his thick scarf. He also had on rabbit fur earmuffs and tall synthetic leather boots made for the cold. And this was only what could be seen; lining his clothes were dozens of heat packs. But even then, he shivered as if he were smack in the middle of the arctic circle.

“I dressed lightly for the occasion so as not to offend the boss, but…brrr…it’s so cold…”

“Randou’s medical exam showed no signs of physical or mental illness,” Mori explained. “He simply hates the cold.”

“Brrr… I want to work somewhere warm… Boss, are there any Port Mafia branches near a volcano…?”

“Afraid not.”

“Mn… I’ll be taking my leave, as you wish…”

Randou released his skill, causing the many cubes of subspace restraining Chuuya to disintegrate. He then staggered drearily out the door, the other three watching him leave.

“Believe it or not, he’s a Port Mafia sub-executive and an exceptional skill user,” Mori hastily remarked.

“Nobody asked ya to make excuses for him…,” Chuuya muttered.

“Mori, do you think you can speed things up and cut to the chase?” Dazai asked, rolling his eyes.

“Ah yes…” Mori scratched his cheek with his fountain pen. “Of course…,” he said vacantly. He looked up at the ceiling, then over to Dazai, then to Chuuya, and then at his palm. After a few moments, he continued:

“Chuuya, how would you feel about working for us?”

There was a loud roar as jagged fissures shot through the floor around Chuuya.

“…Excuse me?” came what sounded like a voice straight out of the depths of hell.

It was Chuuya’s voice. The reinforced, bulletproof flooring shattered, pieces of it scattering about the room. And yet, neither Mori nor Dazai batted an eye. They remained expressionless.

“You made me come all the way over here just to listen to you talk outta your ass?” Chuuya growled.

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised by your reaction.” Mori watched Chuuya as if he were reading unfavorable results from a medical exam. “But from what I can see, we are essentially after the same thing. Perhaps you might consider what we can offer each other before giving an answer?”

“Ha-ha. Hilarious. I had no idea the Mafia’s new boss enjoyed wastin’ people’s time like this.” Chuuya sneered, baring his teeth in the process. He looked like an animal ready to tear Mori to shreds. “You want me to join the Mafia? Don’t tell me you forgot what your organization did to this city.”

“You’re referring to our previous boss’s atrocities, yes? I, too, am pained by what he did,” Mori replied. It was difficult to read his expression.

His predecessor’s bloody tyranny had plunged Yokohama into violence and terror, and the tragedies that occurred under that man’s reign were still fresh in everyone’s minds.

One day, a young redheaded boy was killed simply because he’d scribbled on the boss’s car. Another day, the residents of an entire housing complex died when their water tank was poisoned on the off chance that a rival organization’s executive was hiding there. And on yet another day, the previous boss issued a citywide notice that anyone who spoke ill of the Port Mafia would be put to death and anyone who reported such talk would be rewarded. The entire city spent the next several years engaged in a witch hunt with everyone suspicious of one another. Yokohama became a city of traitors; over a thousand people were executed, many of whom were apparently known at the time to be innocent.

Opposing the Port Mafia meant death. Disagreeing meant death.

The merciless tyrant of the night and his army of death—that was what people called the Port Mafia.

“But the man is dead. I cared for him when he was sick and on his deathbed,” said Mori. “If there is such a rumor that this tyrant has come back to life, wouldn’t you want to know if it’s true, to help you sleep at night?”

Chuuya fixed Mori with a piercing glare for a few moments before responding:

“That still doesn’t give you a good reason to push me around, Doc. There’s plenty of nasty rumors about you going around as well. Like how your predecessor didn’t die of illness, but you actually killed him…which you obviously did. Nobody with half a brain would ever believe the old leader spent his final moments making his personal physician the next Mafia boss. If I’m wrong, then prove it. Prove right now that you don’t have an insatiable lust for power—that you’re not just somebody who wants to become the next grim reaper. You can’t, right?”

Mori’s assassination of the previous boss was top secret even within his own organization. Only Dazai knew the truth.

“You’re right. I can’t prove it,” Mori said with a shrug. “Because…”

Dazai looked at Mori and instantly noticed a change in his expression. He immediately opened his mouth to tell Mori to stop, but before he could, Mori finished his sentence:

“Because I did kill my predecessor.”

The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. Chuuya was speechless for the first time since he’d been there.

“I slit the great leader’s throat with a scalpel and made it look like he died from illness. What about it?”

Mori’s voice was completely calm. Neither his posture nor his expression had hardly changed, but he somehow seemed like a different person. Even Chuuya, who had never lost a fight in his life, was taken aback. There was no warmth in Mori’s eyes. His mere presence was as cold as ice. The man on the other side of the desk was a demon who devoured other demons—a grim reaper who slaughtered his own kind—evil incarnate. The stench of countless deaths seeped from his pores.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Chuuya’s voice was stiff. “He’s just a timid doctor, they said… You make that old man you killed look like an unruly kid.”

“I appreciate the compliment.” Mori smiled gently, as if he were talking to one of his patients. “Chuuya, forget what I said about you working for me. I’d like to ask that you work with us. The rumors we’ve heard about the prior leader’s resurrection and this Arahabaki you’re after are clearly connected. I believe simply sharing what we learn could benefit us both. Don’t you agree?”

“…And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll kill you,” Mori replied as if it was as trivial as putting a sugar cube in his coffee. “However, that would require tremendous effort and resources. That’s why we’ll simply kill all your friends—all your Sheep—instead. How does that sound?”

Chuuya’s restraints flew off his arms and legs, embedding themselves in the walls and ceiling. His skill alone didn’t remove the chains but his brute physical strength as well.

“You’re dead!” he screamed.

Chuuya leaped forward, closing the distance between him and Mori in the blink of an eye as he threw a punch…but his fist stopped right before his opponent’s smirking face. Mori was holding a black communicator.

“Hey…Chuuya! Help! You’re there, right?”

A boy’s voice could be heard coming from the earpiece.

“The Port Mafia’s got us surrounded! C’mon, hurry…! Do something—anything—just like you always do!”

Mori suddenly pressed a button and switched the device off. Chuuya’s clenched fist was trembling.

“It was extremely simple, to tell the truth. They may be armed, but they lack finesse.” Mori shrugged. “The Sheep… An organization laying claim to Yokohama’s prime territory, hell-bent on retaliation… But aside from you, they’re just a bunch of kids with guns. A peculiar group, indeed.”

Chuuya’s fist trembled even more, but he kept it in place, showing no sign of moving. He didn’t have a choice, after all.

“As a leader myself, I know exactly how you feel, Chuuya. Who knew that the mighty armed force known as the Sheep was merely an all-powerful king and the hangers-on who can do nothing except rely on him for their survival? It appears you need all the management advice you can get, which means I have far more to offer than you do.”

“…You bastard,” Chuuya muttered through clenched teeth.

“What’s with the fist? Getting in some exercise?”

Mori calmly prodded Chuuya’s raised fist. The tension remained for the next few moments until Chuuya slowly lowered it.

“Well, there you have it, Dazai,” Mori said, smirking. “Chuuya is the most violently powerful person in this room. But in the Mafia, violence and brute force are merely a couple of tools at our disposal. Our true strength lies in controlling rational action by any means necessary. In this case, the disadvantage of opposing me outweighs the advantage. Just some food for thought.”

“I guess I see what you mean, but what are you lecturing me for?”

“Good question.”

Mori wore an ambiguous smirk as he stared at Dazai. Chuuya listened to their conversation with the look of a hungry beast. But he still didn’t make a move.

“‘A disadvantage that outweighs the advantage,’ huh?” he growled, glaring at Mori. “We can trade info…if it benefits me. But you two have to go first. I’ll decide what to do after that.”

“Very well,” Mori replied with a smile. “First, our objective: We’re investigating a rumor that my predecessor has come back to life. Dazai learned of three eyewitness accounts over these past two weeks, each claiming the boss was in Suribachi. His fourth appearance was when he blew you two away with those black flames. It feels somehow connected. Do you know anything about that?”

Chuuya met Mori’s gaze with a piercing stare for several moments before simply replying:

“The dead don’t come back to life.”

“I agree. That would put doctors out of business otherwise. However…the evidence seems to tell a different story. Take a look at this.”

Mori unlocked his desk drawer and took out a video player about the size of his palm. He placed it on his desk and turned it on, and the device instantly started playing a bird’s-eye view of a room lined floor to ceiling with stacks of thick wads of cash.

“This is surveillance footage from the Port Mafia’s vault, where we store half our hidden assets. It’s the most difficult room in our headquarters to break into, aside from this office,” Mori explained. “Watch what happens.”

Mori pointed to the screen. A shadowy figure was slowly weaving between stacks of bills. The moment Dazai recognized who it was, he gasped.

“That’s impossible…”

The shadowy figure looked up at the surveillance camera.

Floating in midair was an elderly man in tattered black clothes, eyes aflame: the merciless tyrant of the night. The old man—the late leader of the Port Mafia—looked up at the camera as if he knew exactly how Dazai and the others were watching, then announced:

“I have risen.”

His deep voice crackled bizarrely. It felt as if the room got colder, even though the sound was only coming from the device.

“I have risen from the raging flames of hell. Do you know why, Doctor?”

The previous leader’s body was faintly flickering on the screen, not giving a clear image of him. The outline of his body wavered like a shimmering heat.

“It is anger—fury born from resentment. Wrath is what it devours. It summoned me back from the pits of hell to have me create even more wrath. The black flames—the powerful divine beast Arahabaki is the very embodiment of rage itself. I will fulfill its wishes and have my revenge as I sow even more anger. Tremble in your bed as you try to sleep, and regret ever killing me.”

Massive flames gushed out of his body, instantly igniting the stacks of bills and melting the finish off the walls. Then the screen suddenly went black. The footage stopped there. Several moments passed before anyone could manage to utter a single word.

“This is all the footage we have of him,” Mori explained as he turned off the device. “The only ones who know it exists are the head of security, one executive, and myself. I have a very strict gag order in place. But even that might not be enough. There’s no guarantee that the former leader isn’t going to repeat the same performance elsewhere.”

Dazai stared at Mori with a stiff expression. “What are you going to do if he gives an encore somewhere else?”

“I have a good idea of what would happen. In this footage, he made it clear that his death was not by illness but by assassination. If any of his supporters were to find out, a third of our organization would turn on me. Win or lose, the Mafia would be done for.”

Dazai stared at the black screen in silence, seemingly deep in thought.

“Chuuya, I hear you asked Dazai about Arahabaki the first time you two met. What is Arahabaki?” Mori asked.

Chuuya glanced at him but didn’t say a word.

“I did a little research myself,” Mori went on. “Legend has it that Arahabaki was a servant deity, the god of habaki—leggings made from plant fiber. A god ancient enough to predate Japanese mythology, which is why its exact origins remain unclear. Apparently, nobody even knows how its name was originally written. As such, there are numerous variations of Arahabaki according to local legends across the country.”

“Do you seriously believe in gods?” mocked Chuuya.

“No. I believe only what I have seen for myself…which is why I cannot deny that the man in the footage looked exactly like the previous boss. You saw so for yourself.” Mori shook his head. “It’s no coincidence that you’re looking into Arahabaki. My guess is you heard the same rumors we did and decided to find out the truth. Am I wrong?”

Chuuya quickly darted his eyes around the room in hesitation before finally saying, “Who knows what’s true? We get a lot of drifters. There’s no way to pin down where the rumor started. But anyway…do you know where Suribachi came from?”

“The city?” Mori raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected question. “It was built within a crater formed from a massive explosion toward the end of the conflict. The cause of the explosion remains unknown—”

“It was Arahabaki, supposedly.”

Chuuya grimaced.

“Lots of Sheep are into gossip, see… Rumor has it that eight years ago a captured foreign soldier was tortured at a secret military base near the Settlement. The torturer accidentally killed him, but the dead soldier’s rage and hatred summoned Arahabaki along with the black flames. Incidentally, they say in order to summon Arahabaki from hell you gotta kill a ton of people and collect their souls, then die consumed by anger. That’s the only way.” He went on. “Regardless, the resurrected soldier killed the torturer he despised. More specifically, he blew up the entire military facility along with all its soldiers. And that explosion created—”

“Suribachi,” Mori cut in. “I see.”

“Yeah. But Arahabaki’s power is too great to be contained in one person, so the soldier eventually lost his mind and turned into an uncontrollable monster. They say flames consumed his body along with the ground under him till there was nothing left.”

“Hmm. The return of an angry god… What do you think, Dazai?”

“About what?” Dazai shrugged. “It’s impossible. Grudges beyond the grave? Souls? Yeah, right. Someone’s just making stuff up for a cheap thrill.”

Mori’s expression turned serious as if he was deep in thought. “Nonetheless…,” he said, “my predecessor did kill a lot of people, and he did die filled with anger. That much adds up. Furthermore, he clearly mentioned Arahabaki by name in the footage. No ordinary person would have been able to sneak past the vault’s top security.”

“Then the answer is simple,” said Dazai. “It’s a skill. Someone with a skill we don’t know about made that footage. All they had to do after that was take advantage of the rumors about Arahabaki and make it seem like the old boss came back to life.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? To make people believe you assassinated your predecessor…and to destroy the Mafia.”

“Sigh…” Mori shook his head, an exhausted look on his face. “‘Death returns upon the murderer,’ as they say. Dazai, this is an order: Find who’s behind all this before they do the same thing they did in the video in front of my predecessor’s supporters. Got it?”

“I guess I can help. After all, they’d end up torturing me to death for being your accomplice if they ever found out,” Dazai replied, sounding slightly miffed. “We don’t have much time, though. I hope you’re sure about sending me alone.”

“I’m not.” Mori smirked. “Chuuya here is going to help you.”

““What?!”” the two boys shouted in unison.

“The hell is wrong with you?! You lookin’ to die?! I oughta—”

“No, no, no! Anyone but him! I’d—”

“—kick your ass, you—”

“—do so much better on my own.”

“—piece of shit!”

“Stop shouting over each other,” Mori interrupted. He eyed them both. “Chuuya, I trust that you understand you are in no position to refuse.”

“Oh, come on, Mori, that’s—”

“Don’t get cocky, ya damn octopus!”

“—downright dirty!”

“Screw you!”

“Yes, yes.” Mori simply smiled and refused to engage as they yelled back and forth. “I have several reasons for pairing you up. First, someone outside of the Mafia will have an easier time investigating these rumors given how dangerous they are to the organization. In addition, I need someone to keep an eye on Chuuya so he doesn’t betray us. That’s where your nullification skill comes in, Dazai. And the last, most important reason is…”

Dazai and Chuuya leaned forward, wondering what it might be. However, Mori spent the next few seconds letting the words sit on his tongue before grinning and saying:

“…a secret.”

“The hell?!”

“Simply consider it a grown man’s intuition.” Mori’s lips curled into a mysterious smirk. “Get along, you two. That’s an order. If I hear you’re neglecting your duties because you can’t make nice… Well, no need for me to explain, yes?”

Mori slowly smiled at the pair once more. An invisible chill swept through the room.

“So? Do you understand?”

Silence.

“Do you understand?”

““…Yes,”” the two teenagers answered miserably.

“Good. Then go. I’m expecting great things from you two.”

Mori watched quietly as Dazai and Chuuya shoved each other back and forth on the way out. The door eventually closed, leaving Mori alone in his office. A silence like the ocean after a storm settled over the room. His eyes still on the door, Mori muttered to himself:

“‘Only a diamond can polish a diamond…’”

He reminisced fondly.

“That saying you taught Fukuzawa and me that day is about to be put to the test, Professor Natsume.”

A pale blue sky hung over Yokohama that day. It was perfect—almost anyone would want to take in a deep breath just looking up at it. But some felt differently. The sky was too clear. When the flames of destruction scorched this land, that same sky would be drenched in black smoke. And that black smoke would start to rise at any moment.

Dazai and Chuuya had very reluctantly started this investigation together. Their goal: find the spark that would create the black smoke and extinguish it. They didn’t have much time left.

The pair headed down an alley on that quiet, sunny day. They were scowling, not talking to each other, making sure to stay a good fifteen feet apart. Dazai was in the front, Chuuya was behind him. Surely, no one would think they were traveling together with this much distance between them.

“…Hey,” Chuuya muttered softly.

Dazai didn’t reply. He didn’t even turn around.

“…Hey, I’m talkin’ to you,” Chuuya repeated. “Tell me where we’re going.”

“Gosh, the weather is really nice today. In fact, it’s so nice, I think I can hear a little fairy talking to me.”

“Aw, piss off. You know it’s me.”

Dazai looked back. “Oh, how long have you been there? Do you think you could leave me alone? I’m kind of busy breathing right now.”

“I’m about to rip that head right off your body, mummy boy,” Chuuya growled. “Anyway, forget it. Just tell me where we’re going.”

“Fine, you win. But would you mind keeping your distance? I don’t want anyone to think I know you.”

“Don’t worry. I feel the same way.”

“Hee-hee. Look at us getting along so well. That’s what makes me love you!”

“The hell?! Quit that! You’re making me sick!”

“…Yeah, I felt pretty sick myself after I said that,” Dazai grumbled remorsefully. Without looking back at Chuuya, he continued, “What was your question again? Oh, right. You wanted to know where we’re headed. We’re going to investigate. I thought we should start asking people who saw the explosion up close about what they witnessed.”

“You wanna interview people? Ugh… I thought we were gonna kick some ass, make the enemy spill their guts.”

“Well, you were wrong.” Dazai shot Chuuya a look of disgust.

“What are we even investigating the explosion for?” Chuuya demanded. “Why not focus on eyewitness accounts of the old boss?”

Dazai stared at him for a few moments before replying, “Because we aren’t tracking rumors about the old boss. We’re tracking rumors about Arahabaki itself. If the resurrection was a fake created by some sort of skill, then that means a skill user is pretending to be Arahabaki. No matter how perfectly they’re pulling off the act, they can’t just stop eating, breathing, going about their usual life. That’s what we’re after.”

Chuuya frowned. “But…my guys in the Sheep already looked into rumors surrounding Arahabaki. Like, a ton.”

Dazai grinned. “Just because they love gossip doesn’t mean they’ve gotten to talk to everyone.”

He faced ahead once more, kept on walking, and continued, “A week ago, there was an explosion just like the one we experienced. Same place in Suribachi, too. It took me a while to realize since nobody mentioned seeing the previous boss there, but that explosion was likely caused by the same thing we’re investigating. We’re going to talk to a survivor of that explosion.”

“‘A survivor’? You mean there were casualties?”

“Yeah. A whole group of Mafia members, and only the skill user survived. You’ve already met him once. His house is right over there. He should be expecting us—”

The moment Dazai pointed down the alleyway, an earthshaking roar erupted from that same direction.

“Ah?!”

Startled, Chuuya promptly looked at where the noise had come from.

“Oh, great…” Dazai was clearly annoyed. “That was an explosion we just heard.”

The blast occurred at a nearby mansion. Black smoke rose from the building, and the sound of gunfire could be faintly heard as well.

“The hell? Didn’t you just say we were gonna go meet some survivor over there?”

“It looks like the enemy might have beaten us to the punch.”

“Seriously? That’s definitely not good. Oh, man.”

Dazai looked at Chuuya, who was positively brimming with excitement, contrary to Dazai’s expectations.

“Guess that means we’ve gotta forget about that boring interview you wanted and go kick some ass instead, eh?” said Chuuya.

“…What?”

“All right! Time for a beatdown! C’mon!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Chuuya dashed off like the wind. Dazai simply watched blankly.

“…What a child…”

Over half the ivied European-style mansion had been destroyed. The right half was a very well-kept, old-fashioned manor while the left half was a mountain of black rubble. Embers sizzled in the debris as ashy smoke rose into the sky.

The mansion was in a man-made forest separate from the residential section of town, so there didn’t appear to be any injured people or onlookers.

There were, however, seven or eight armed men facing the building with their pistols drawn. Gunshots echoed every moment or two.

“Looks like it’s already started,” Dazai observed from within the forest’s shrubbery. “The explosion sure did a lot of damage. If only I’d been in the middle of that, I would’ve had a quick and painless death…”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll beat ya to a pulp as many times as you want later, so focus on the mission right now, okay?”

Chuuya shot Dazai a reproachful gaze, then looked back to the mansion. “The place is under attack by an armed militia. They’ve got eight outside, but who knows how many inside.”

The instant Chuuya finished his sentence, one of the building’s gypsum-plaster walls on the second floor exploded and an armed man came flying out. It seemed as if someone had ejected him from the building.

“Oh… Yep. A few guns aren’t gonna help them against Randou’s powers,” Dazai said at length.

“Randou?”

“He’s a skill user with the Mafia. We were supposed to meet today. Remember the guy in winter clothes who restrained you in the boss’s office? That’s him.”

“Oh, that guy.” Chuuya frowned. “Wanna go save him?”

“Well, we first need to find out who this armed group is working for and the scale of their operations…”

All of a sudden, Dazai and Chuuya heard someone behind them raise a gun.

“I could tell you that,” came a man’s voice—a gentle voice, like the kiss of death. “Hands in the air and turn around.”

Dazai and Chuuya exchanged brief glances before raising their hands and turning to face the man. He was wearing a charcoal-gray military uniform. A burly figure, like a massive tree that had come to life, he had his pistol aimed at Dazai.

“Hmph. Just a couple of kids,” the man barked in surprise. “I thought the Mafia called for backup. Are they that short-staffed? Or is this Randou guy just not very popular?”

“W-w-w-we’re so sorry! We’re just…some kids who live in the neighborhood!” Dazai’s voice was trembling with fear. “We were delivering something to Randou’s house, but when we got here—”

“Hey, Gramps,” Chuuya shouted with glee, cutting off Dazai midsentence. “Let’s save each other some time. First, you shoot me, then I’ll knock you all the way into the next town over. I’ll kick the rest of your buddies’ asses, too, while I’m at it. And then, bam, we’re done. What do you say?”

“What?” The man aimed his pistol at Chuuya next.

“…Ugh.” Dazai stopped trembling, buried his face in his hands, and shook his head. “I had the guy completely fooled. We could have gotten some information out of him…”

“What’s the matter? Ya don’t shoot kids?”

Chuuya walked over until he was close enough to grab the man’s gun, then looked up into the muzzle. “You oughta know not to judge a book by its cover if ya wanna survive in this world. You work for the GSS, right?”

The man grimaced. The GSS—the Gelhart Security Service—was an illegal organization at war with the Port Mafia. Formerly a respectable foreign-funded private security firm, they became a full-fledged illegal organization after their government subsidies got cut off. Now they were not only a security service but an engineer of danger as well. In the simplest of terms, they were pirates. They destroyed the ships of those who didn’t hire them and stole the cargo on board. And yet, the GSS’s security clients never had their ships attacked. This organization was both the problem and the solution, and their notoriety garnered more than enough publicity for them to win over customers.

Their side business led them to attack and steal from the Port Mafia a few times, which was why relations between the two groups were so hostile. And since the GSS’s drill instructor was an actual soldier, their members were all highly trained fighters, which proved very problematic for the Mafia.

“Hurry up and shoot me,” Chuuya taunted while placing the muzzle against his head. The man tightened his finger around the trigger, but he couldn’t pull it. His gun started sinking.

“What the…? My gun’s…getting really heavy…!”

“Don’t tell me you’re worn out already. You’re a man, right? It’s not that heavy.”

Chuuya then gently touched the gun. That alone made the lightweight pistol feel like a lump of iron weighing down the man’s hand. After that, Chuuya gave the weapon another gentle prod, which suddenly launched it into the man’s torso. The pistol buried itself inside the man’s bulletproof vest with the weight and power of a cannonball. His sternum cracked upon impact, and he let out an agonized scream, then stepped back and grabbed his chest. His pistol dropped to the ground with a faint clink—it had returned to its normal weight without Chuuya’s touch.

“A kid who can manipulate gravity… Don’t tell me you’re the Sheep’s Chuuya Nakahara?” the man moaned as he clutched at his chest. “So the rumors were true! You really did become the Mafia’s dog!” he shouted in rage as he raised his fist. He threw a reverse punch, twisting his hip to land the close-hitting blow.

“…Tsk.”

But before the military-grade punch could reach Chuuya, a black whirlwind slammed into the man’s chin. It was Chuuya’s hammer-like right heel; he’d jumped into the air and landed a lightning-fast roundhouse kick.

“I didn’t join the Mafia, damn it. Got that?”

The man lay flat on his back, unconscious from a concussion. It would be a while before he’d be waking up again.

“Impressive.” There was hollow applause. “What speed. You threw a roundhouse kick after he threw a straight punch, and you were able to hit him first.”

Chuuya was capable of manipulating the gravity of not only things he touched but his own body as well. He could decrease the force of gravity on his body to make himself lighter, thus speeding up his attacks only to normalize gravity the instant before his strike landed. The result: a kick with the swiftness of a feather and the weight of an iron ball.

“And all you did was watch like a little wimp, mummy boy.”

“Unlike a certain schoolboy who likes to show off how tough he is, I was gathering information on the enemy from his communicator.”

Dazai had the gunman’s communication device pressed against his ear. He must have taken it out of his pocket.

“Apparently, the rest of his crew are heading this way after they heard the guy scream when you hit him.”

Around a dozen armed men appeared the moment Dazai finished his sentence. They slowly surrounded the two boys with their rifles aimed and ready to fire.

“Hey, bandages. I’ll kick their asses, so play me some background music. Somethin’ hard rock.”

“Did you hit your head as a child?” Dazai shot Chuuya a steely glare.

“Captain’s down! Our opponent is the gravity manipulator! Open fire!”

The men began firing all at once. Chuuya kicked off the ground practically at hyper speed. The battle had begun…if a one-sided beatdown counted as a battle, that is.

The enemies’ bullets were ineffective as Chuuya kicked one after another to the ground. The 7.92 mm bullets hit Chuuya, but they didn’t pierce his body. They simply bounced off him like wood chips, for the force of their gravity was immediately neutralized upon impact.

Chuuya kept low to the ground as he dashed forward like a wild animal, not allowing the bullets to slow him down. He charged into one of the armed men, who flew into the air as if he’d been caught up in an explosion. Chuuya landed on his opponent’s torso, then leaped in the opposite direction to throw a vertical ax kick on another nearby foe’s rifle, bending it in half. After reducing his weight to almost nothing, Chuuya kicked off the rifle and leaped back into the air. As he soared high into the sky, a bullet hit his shoulder, but Chuuya sent the bullet back the way it came, piercing through the enemy’s shoulder before burrowing itself into the ground. Sometimes, he was like a tornado; at others, he was like a comet crashing to Earth. Nobody could move quickly enough to follow him with their eyes, much less their rifle.

“Haaa-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Chuuya cackled in midair. His overwhelming speed and reflexes dominated his opponents. Even Dazai had forgotten to breathe as he watched the storm that was Chuuya decimate the battlefield.

It wasn’t long until there was just one enemy left. He was bleeding from the shoulder and glaring at Chuuya, who approached with bloodshot eyes. The man had already used his spare magazines and pulling the trigger only made light clicking noises in vain.

“It’s over,” said Chuuya. “Tell me why you guys attacked.”

He slowly walked through the woods, taking his time to saunter toward his foe like a king.

“What do you know about Arahabaki? Why’d you go after one of the Mafia’s sub-executives?”

“Damn it…! I won’t let…a little brat like you…!”

The last enemy tossed his rifle aside and took out his backup pistol at his waist.

“Don’t.” Chuuya didn’t bat an eye. “Put the gun away. You can’t even hit me with an injury like that. You’re playin’ with your life.”

“Die…!”

The gun went off. Chuuya went to deflect the bullet by manipulating its gravity…but he couldn’t. He didn’t need to. The man’s injuries caused him to miss, and the bullet simply passed by Chuuya’s head, hitting the large tree behind him before bouncing off the hard bark. The hollow-point bullet, which left the barrel moving hundreds of miles per hour, still maintained a decent amount of speed, even after ricocheting off the tree. The now-flattened projectile began spinning out of control. It headed straight back to the man who’d fired it before piercing his neck.

“Kah…!”

Unable to even scream in astonishment, the man collapsed to the ground. A gush of blood followed shortly afterward. It was an unfortunate accident but nothing unusual on a battlefield. After watching the entire event play out, Chuuya knitted his brow and lightly clicked his tongue.

“Tsk. You shoulda listened.” He turned around and began walking away. “That’s the last of ’em. Let’s go.”

Dazai didn’t say a word. He stumbled over to the collapsed man and crouched right next to his head. “You’re one unlucky guy. Does it hurt?”

Dazai’s expression was calm, but there was a faint twinkle deep within his eyes. The kind of twinkle a boy who wants to grow up to be a firefighter gets in his eyes when he sees his hero in the flesh.

“…Guh…”

“The bullet pierced your neck. It’s too late to save you now with a wound like that. But it’s still going to take around five minutes for you to die. You shouldn’t have used your gun.” Dazai shook his head. “Those five minutes are going to be pure hell. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. What do you want to do? Do you want me to end your suffering with this gun?”

The man groaned painfully. He was trying to say something, but he couldn’t get the words out.

“I’m doing work for the Mafia. That means I’m your enemy. But you’re showing me something extremely valuable—your death—so I want to pay you back. Now, if you want me to kill you, you should ask while you can still talk.”

The man’s eyes shimmered with despair. “…Me… Shoot…me…”

“All right.”

Dazai stood up and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the man’s head, rendering him just another inanimate object.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

Dazai fired once more. And again. He repeatedly shot the body until it started bouncing up and down.

“Ha-ha-ha. What a luxury. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“Quit that, you idiot.”

Chuuya grabbed the gun and stopped him. Dazai, clearly bewildered, looked at the gun, then at the body below him, and then at Chuuya.

“He’s already dead,” said Chuuya. “Quit shooting his corpse.”

Dazai was puzzled. His expression was bizarrely childlike—fit for a boy his age, yet unlike any he had shown before. His lips suddenly curled into a gloomy smile.

“You’re right. When you’re right, you’re right. That’s the most normal reaction to have.”

He then tossed the pistol to the ground like a piece of trash before walking away, as if he’d grown bored with both the corpse and Chuuya. His expression was back to how it normally was: lifeless and utterly disinterested.

“Ha-ha. ‘Normal.’ Ha-ha-ha.”

Dazai’s hollow laughter filled the cluster of trees, vanishing into thin air.

“Brrr… So cold. The draft makes it three times colder… I wish I could turn into a cicada nymph and live the rest of my years underground, where there’s no wind…”

The sub-executive Randou was shivering on the mansion’s second floor. The interior was in ruins. The explosion had caused parts of the wall to peel off, and the ceiling lights had collapsed into pieces. Various decorations had fallen from the shelves and shattered across the floor, which was now a vibrant sea of blue plates, moss-green books, and orange paintings. To make matters worse, the decorations mingled with the enemies’ corpses, and their red blood somehow tied it all together like an abstract work of art.

“Rough day, huh, Randou? Here, I got you some wood for the fireplace.”

“Mn… Thank you, Dazai. I’m so glad this mansion has a fireplace. I would have probably jumped into the fire to warm myself up otherwise.”

Randou, wrapped in a blanket, took the scrap of wood Dazai handed him and tossed it into the fireplace. The flames powerfully roared like an incinerator.

“Yo, bandages, where’d you find that wood?”

“It was one of the building’s studs,” Dazai answered nonchalantly.

He and Chuuya were talking to Randou in what was left of the living room. Randou, a relatively senior Mafia member, had been working there since the prior boss was in power, but he didn’t get promoted to a sub-executive until Mori took over. He was treated rather poorly during the prior boss’s reign, so it seemed clear that he was either pro-Mori or at the very least supported the current system.

“I have a good idea why you were attacked, Randou,” Dazai said as he picked a random book up off the floor and threw it into the fireplace. “It was to get people talking—spread more rumors. If a Mori supporter like you died in the explosion, people would start taking the previous boss’s rage even more seriously. I checked the GSS captain’s vehicle on our way here and actually found instructions for how to stage a black explosion.”

“A ‘black explosion’…?” Randou asked, shivering.

“I don’t really get how it works myself. We’ll need a specialist to look into it later for us. But the GSS men were apparently going to use the chemicals in sodium lamps to create a flame reaction that makes fire look black,” Dazai explained while looking at the manual he’d found. “Regardless, it was a really cheap attempt. Not only did they fail to kill you, the entire group got annihilated.”

“Lemme get this straight.” Chuuya leaned to his right and placed a hand on his hip. “These GSS guys tried attacking this man here, pretending to be Arahabaki in order to get the Mafia to turn on itself, but failed?”

“That’s it.”

“Then the GSS leader is behind all this?”

“It’s highly possible.”

“Mn… Brrr… The current leader of the GSS is a cold, calculating skill user… They say he also has close ties to the Guild, a top secret North American organization… It’s safe to assume getting rid of him would be no easy task,” Randou said before adding, “Dazai, some more fuel for the fireplace, please…”

“Here you go.” Dazai handed him an expensive-looking painting. “We don’t need to dispose of him, though. Our mission is to prove that the previous boss hasn’t actually been resurrected…which is why I have some questions for you.”

“Brrr… Go ahead. I couldn’t possibly refuse someone with a Silver Oracle. And regardless, I wouldn’t be where I am today without Mori’s help. I owe him everything.”

“Glad to have you on board. Now do you think you could tell me what you know about Arahabaki? I want to know in detail what you saw in Suribachi. It’s our only lead to finding out who’s behind all this.”

“Oh yes… I remember it vividly.” Randou tucked his chin under the blanket, then said softly, “I could never forget that day.”

“Randou?”

Dazai looked at him, for Randou’s hands were trembling, and he could immediately tell it wasn’t from the cold.

“I survived…but all my men…were reduced to ash in the fire—in those black flames. Dazai, your strategy is sound. You only want to expose the conspiracy, not kill the person behind it… That’s exactly what you must do. Because that truly was the work of a god. It doesn’t matter how many people get together to fight it. It cannot be defeated.”

Randou’s frigid eyes burned with undeniable fear. No one, let alone Dazai, had ever seen him this frightened before. Randou was an impressive figure; seeing hundreds of corpses in a battle didn’t make him so much as flinch.

“Tell me everything you know, Randou,” Dazai said with a gentle smile. “This is getting interesting.”

Randou cleared his throat, looked gloomily back and forth at the two boys, and told his story.

It happened almost right in the center of Suribachi.

We Port Mafia were fighting the Sheep gang. The Mafia engaged them in hostilities that day; the Sheep had destroyed a passenger aircraft with our men on it two days earlier because a week prior we’d attacked one of their warehouses since the month before they’d—ahem… At any rate, nobody remembers how it all started, but that was the gist of things. Real life isn’t like a film noir; there is almost no clear distinction between the cause and effect of good and evil. But surely that goes without saying.

Brrr… So cold. Sorry, but could you do something about that draft? There should be enough rubble to cover the crack. Yes, right there. That should do. Thank you.

At any rate, we were on our way to battle when we got caught in a black explosion. What happened to my mansion today is a mere trifle compared to what I saw. All the great men on my team were killed. I only managed to survive thanks to the subspace I created with my skill.

No words can describe the state of things that day. At the very least, it wasn’t something of this world. The black flames, the boiling earth—the houses instantly melted, the air burned, and the telephone poles turned into ash before even hitting the ground.

Simply put, it was hell itself. The carnage was like something out of an ancient scroll painting of the underworld.

And there it was, in the middle of it all.

At the center of the blast wasn’t the previous boss. It didn’t bear the slightest resemblance; it wasn’t even human.

A beast.

It was a pitch-black beast.

A quadrupedal beast made of flames: Its fur, its thick tail, and even its eyes were like the flames of purgatory. Its size and silhouette resembled a human crawling on all fours. But that was where the human similarities ended. More than anything, its very existence felt different. I suppose it seemed as if all disasters and genocides in history had been condensed into a physical form. Or maybe it was as if the energy that created the universe itself—the galaxies, the stars, this planet—had materialized into a single entity.

What I can say for sure, though, is that it bore neither malice nor anger. It had no emotions. It simply existed. I searched for a way to explain the phenomenon logically. I thought it could have been an enemy skill. But looking back, no single individual could have produced that much heat with a skill. And yet, there is no other explanation for what happened. There were no skill users nearby; I couldn’t find a thing. More precisely, there was literally nothing.

Everything in sight was shimmering in the intense heat. I couldn’t even tell what color the sky was. It was as if someone had dumped water all over a watercolor painting. The entire world had turned into a specter. I strangely remember that only the sea in the distance retained its calm, steely surface.

The beast had annihilated everything but the ocean. Then it looked my way. It felt as if my organs were filled with melted lead.

And at the next moment, something unbelievable happened. The subspace created by my skill…started to crack.

No gun or sword—no storm, ray of light, or acoustic pressure—nothing has ever been able to damage alter-planar space. It’s like how the protagonist in the novel in my right hand could never defeat the antagonist in the novel in my left hand; they’re from different dimensions.

And yet, that beast did the impossible. It defied the laws of physics…which made me wonder: “Is this a god or a demon?”

I immediately created more subspace, but that brief moment was more than enough time for the beast to hit me with something I couldn’t even see: a torrent of power—primitive energy before it transformed into something specific such as heat, light, or lightning. Perhaps the black flames are merely the aftermath of this primitive energy, like the rising smoke following an explosion. That was what hit me. It was beyond anything any skill user could ever do.

By the time I created the subspace, I’d already been sent flying. If I were even a second late, every cell in my body would have been destroyed. My body would have vanished from this world without a trace. It was probably sheer luck I got blasted back instead of trying to fight the beast.

One of the last things I remember before I lost consciousness was the beast’s roar. Its voice was utterly devoid of any emotion or purpose. It terrified me.

But that wasn’t its intention—it wasn’t trying to threaten me. That was simply how it was. I immediately understood: By merely existing, it was going to cause destruction like never seen before. That was far more frightening than any war.

I flew through the air before skidding across the ground. I have no recollection of what happened after that. I was extremely fortunate to have been rescued and live to tell the tale, for if that beast had even a slight desire to kill me, I would’ve died instantly.

If someone told me that was a god, I would believe them.

Floods harbor no malice. Volcanoes harbor no malice. Neither do typhoons, thunderstorms, nor tsunamis. Yet, every one of these things kills scores of people in the blink of an eye. That beast was no different. In this country, they call such existences kami—“gods.” And what else could you call that?

Randou fell silent, and neither Dazai nor Chuuya could utter a single word.

“I apologize… I understand that you two want to prove the previous boss wasn’t resurrected by Arahabaki but by an enemy skill user. But if you tell Mori what I just told you…he would probably believe the god Arahabaki exists. I daresay it would make your investigation all for naught.”

“No, it’s fine. That was all extremely interesting.” Dazai smirked. “I figured this whole thing out thanks to you.”

“What do you mean?” Chuuya asked. He looked at Dazai, who twirled around theatrically and grinned.

“I mean I figured out who the real criminal was as well as the trick behind the act. Mystery solved.”