Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 7 - Chapter Ep

Epilogue

Dazai was walking through the Mafia building’s underground passage: a long, dreary, white hall with nothing more than fluorescent lights and the occasional fire extinguisher. Its sole purpose was for evacuating in case of an enemy attack.

He was on crutches because of an injury to his left leg. Walking by his side was Mori, wearing a white laboratory coat, along with a small child holding a doll.

“…Which is why I am giving this to you as your next job,” said Mori.

“Uh-huh… So this kid is a skill user?” Dazai asked. “Hey, kid. Show me your skill,” he demanded.

But the child, who appeared to be around five or six years old, didn’t so much as glance in Dazai’s direction, instead continuing to quietly look ahead, doll in hand.

“I told you already. This child still cannot use the skill at will. That’s why I don’t even know exactly what that skill is,” Mori said as he patted the child’s head. “This little one apparently hurt another child at an associate’s hospital, so I decided to take the tyke under my wing. I hear the kid didn’t even lift a finger, and yet the other child was severely injured. In any case, I want you to figure out what this skill actually does. Shouldn’t be much risk for you, Dazai, since you can always nullify it.”

Dazai got right in the small child’s face and stared.

“Kyuusaku!” the child suddenly shouted cheerfully. “Hee-hee-hee! I’m Kyuusaku! Come on, let’s pway! Let’s pway!”

“Yeah, yeah. When you’re older,” Dazai replied indifferently.

Two sets of footsteps from a pair of shadows echoed down that same hallway.

“…Anyway, that should give you a general idea of what we’re going to discuss at the meeting,” said one of the shadowy figures—a tall woman wearing a kimono with her flaming-scarlet hair tied into a bun. “Any questions, young man?”

“Could you not call me ‘young man’?” the other figure—Chuuya—asked. “Anyway, I actually do have a question, ma’am. Why are you bringing me with you to the meeting?”

“Could you not call me ‘ma’am,’ either, then? I’m not that old yet.” The kimono-clad woman glared at him. “I am bringing you so you can learn. We are meeting with an individual from one of the Mafia’s front organizations. He’s a CEO from a trading company Mori recently acquired. Every cup of tea served, every pause in the conversation sways the outcome of a negotiation. You need to learn that you can no longer solve your problems by smashing someone’s head in.”

“Uh-huh…” Chuuya scratched his head, seemingly unconvinced. “But do you really think having me there is a good idea? What if I do something to piss the guy off?”

“We can deal with that when it happens.” The woman covered her mouth with her sleeve and laughed gracefully. “If something that trivial is enough to ruin things, then you might as well tackle the issue with full force.”

“If you say so…,” Chuuya replied with a troubled expression.

Another voice came down the hallway from the opposite direction.

“Hey, Mori. Is this kid a boy or girl?”

“Now that you mention it, I still haven’t asked… I suppose I can check their files later.”

Another voice came down the hallway from the opposite direction.

“By the way, young man, I don’t remember you having a black hat yesterday. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, this? Well…”

The two young men’s voices crossed paths on that day, at that time, in that hallway. It was nothing out of the ordinary—not an event that would ever go down in history or even be worth remembering.

“…Ah!!”

“Ahhh! You’ve got some nerve bein’ here!”

Their shouting filled the hallway as the two adults watched in utter astonishment.

“Chuuya! Why do you think I had you join the Mafia?!” Dazai yelled furiously as he rounded on Chuuya. “You’re supposed to be my dog! If I say my foot is itchy, you scratch it! If I say I want to eat soba, you go threaten a soba shop owner into coming here! If I say I want to see a play, you get on that stage and you start acting! That’s your job! And what do you do instead? You join Kouyou’s unit and head straight to the top! It’s smooth sailing for you from here, huh?! You’re still young! You should be fighting your way up from the bottom of the heap like the filthy dog you are!”

“Says the weasel pullin’ the strings behind the scenes! I chose to join the Mafia on my own, and I’m never gonna be your lackey, much less your dog! I don’t give a shit what you’re schemin’!” Chuuya snapped back as if not to be outdone. “And ya know what? I did a little investigatin’, and I found out that someone poured their drink on the arcade stick I was usin’ so the buttons would stick! Which means none of that game even counted!”

“Excuse me? Sounds like someone’s a sore loser. Do you have any proof it was me? Or maybe you heard I’ve been passing out weekly ‘Chuuya’s a Sore Loser’ newsletters and simply wanted to help me write a piece for the upcoming issue?”

“I’d rather die than help y— Wait. Hold on. Is that why everyone was smirking at me on my first day?!”

The two teenagers noisily traded barbs while the adults sighed and shook their heads.

“Boss, are you sure it was a good idea to have both of them in the same organization?” the woman in the kimono asked Mori.

“I am, Kouyou.” He smiled. “It only works with both of them here.”

Mori looked at the hat Chuuya was holding: a black porkpie, the gift Mori had given him the day he officially joined the Mafia.

“What’s the hat for?”

A few days earlier, Chuuya was staring at a hat in Mori’s top-floor office at Mafia HQ.

“It signifies your acceptance into the Mafia,” Mori explained with a smile as he stood facing Chuuya. “Whoever recruits a new member into the organization usually looks after them as well. It’s custom to gift the new recruit with something they can wear as a symbol of that bond. I gave Dazai his black overcoat, and I’m giving you this.”

“It’s pretty old, eh?” Chuuya flipped the black hat over and examined it closely. “I don’t hate it, but…Dazai’s coat is brand-new. Why’d I get something from a thrift shop? Budget cuts?”

“That didn’t come from any thrift shop,” Mori replied with a wry smirk. “It belonged to Randou.”

Chuuya stared wide-eyed at the Port Mafia leader. He then held the hat more properly and gave it another look.

“I had most of his belongings burned, but I made sure to examine everything at least once before doing so,” Mori, now seated at his desk, admitted. “It seems he started looking into his last spy mission two months before his death. His memories must have gradually started returning. Furthermore, he kept records of his investigation—the secret facility he snuck into, information on his partner’s whereabouts, and data on the being known as Arahabaki that the military was researching.”

Chuuya stared hard at Mori in an attempt to get a read on him, but Mori’s smirk didn’t fade. It was as if a fog was hiding what lay within the depths of his mind. He continued:

“Randou wasn’t able to get close to the truth, but he did learn a few insights. Apparently, the military facility he infiltrated was researching how to combine skills with living beings. That is, they were researching artificial skills.”

“‘Artificial skills’…for the military?”

“That’s not all. Arahabaki is merely the name witnesses of the explosion gave it eight years ago. Naturally, it had another name at the research facility: Prototype A2-5-8.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened. After observing his reaction for a few moments, Mori opened his desk drawer and took out a manila envelope.

“These are Randou’s records.” Mori held out the envelope to show Chuuya. “There are various other interesting details written in here as well.”

“The truth…is in there…” Chuuya unconsciously reached out for them. “What Arahabaki really is—what I really am…”

But right as his fingers were about to touch the envelope, Mori swiftly pulled it away. Chuuya looked at him with a dubious glare.

“Sorry, but these once belonged to a man who betrayed the organization,” Mori explained with his usual smile. “We would usually burn these under normal circumstances. Therefore, I cannot simply show them to anyone. These documents are for executives’ eyes only.”

Chuuya quietly stared at him, not moving a muscle. Several brief, condensed seconds of silence filled the space between them.

“So I gotta keep producing good results until I’m promoted to an executive, and then you’ll show me them… That’s what you’re sayin’, huh?” said Chuuya. “All precautions to make sure I don’t betray the organization?”

“I’m not worried about that.” Mori had a professorial smile on his face. “There’s something you should be worried about, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Dazai. Both of you are extremely gifted. In my eyes, you’re more or less equally matched. As my direct subordinate and right-hand man, however, Dazai is most likely next in line to become an executive. Which is why I have to wonder: ‘What’s going to happen if he receives access to these documents before you?’ Don’t you think he might memorize the documents and then burn them so that he can force you into doing whatever he wants?”

Chuuya’s face instantly turned pale. He knew he would have to go through hell to get the information out of Dazai if that ever happened.

“Only a diamond can polish a diamond.” Mori smirked with evident satisfaction. “The well-being of this organization depends on your joint effort. I want to prove that we can outdo the previous leader without relying on violence, fear, and murder.”

Chuuya’s feelings at that moment were indescribable.

“I…,” he began, straining his teenage voice. He softly placed a hand on his still aching wound. “I was the leader of the Sheep, but all I did was enable their dependency on me and make things harder for them. I’m not completely against joining the Mafia and taking orders from you, but I need you to tell me this one thing first: What does it mean to be a leader?”

Mori’s smile vanished inside the young man’s serious gaze. Mori closed his eyes, then opened them again. At last, he spoke earnestly, sincerely—a side of him he had never shown anyone.

“A leader is simultaneously at the top of an organization and still a slave to it as a whole,” he answered. “You need to be willing to get your hands dirty to keep the organization afloat and thriving. A leader develops their subordinates and places them wherever they best fit and disposes of them if necessary. I will gladly perform the most heinous acts for the sake of this organization. That’s what it means to be a leader. I do it all for…”

Mori turned his gaze to the collection of buildings and streets out the window.

“I do it all for the organization and the protection of this beloved city.”

Chuuya listened with clear eyes. His expression was pure as a newborn baby.

“And that’s…what I was missing,” he said.

Chuuya faced forward, got on one knee, and lowered his head. Then, in the dignified, sharp voice of a general, he added:

“I dedicate my blood—my everything—to you, boss. I will protect this organization you slave over and work myself to the bone in order to decimate its enemies. Those who oppose the Port Mafia will learn firsthand how ruthless gravity can be.”

Mori watched in silence as the young man bowed to him with utmost deference.

The Mafia boss’s smile was unlike any other that had appeared on his face. It was neither mysterious nor suggestive but an ordinary smile that anyone makes when they’re happy. And then he simply replied:

“I’ll be counting on you.”

This concludes the details of the recruitment of Port Mafia executive Chuuya Nakahara and former Port Mafia executive Osamu Dazai.

The organization flourished under Mori’s new leadership. They established an economic foundation and skillfully formed mutualistic ties with the Japanese government, making it difficult for any judicial branch to lay a finger on them.

Catastrophe struck one year later when war broke out among every illegal organization in Yokohama in what is known as the Dragon’s Head Conflict, the bloodiest incident in the history of the Yokohama underground. Nevertheless, the Port Mafia survived the ordeal with minimal casualties and was therefore able to expand its territory on the whole. The other organizations’ weakened states helped the Mafia to establish the solid framework of its current system of rule.

Furthermore, Chuuya’s tremendous achievements were a great boon to the organization, granting him access to Randou’s old files even before he was officially installed as an executive. Further information regarding Dazai’s and Chuuya’s actions to uncover the conspiracy behind the now-defunct research facility will be included along with Chuuya’s origins in a separate report.

This concludes the report on the Arahabaki Incident.

This document shall be subject to the exclusive jurisdiction of the Home Affairs Ministry Classified Materials Office No. 9. Any external distribution and unauthorized viewing are strictly prohibited.

DOCUMENT NUMBER:

I-41-90-C

PORT MAFIA SKILL-USER REPORT, ARAHABAKI INCIDENT

ANALYST:

ANGO SAKAGUCHI, DEPUTY DIRECTOR TO THE COUNSELOR

HOME AFFAIRS MINISTRY, SPECIAL DIVISION FOR UNUSUAL POWERS

SUPPLEMENTAL DOCUMENT

DOCUMENT NUMBER:

I-41-93-A

ANALYST:

XXXX XXXXXXX

SENSITIVE DOCUMENT DESIGNATION: TOP SECRET

The Port Mafia never sleeps, no matter how deep into the night.

That evening, its headquarters were submerged in darkness at the center of Yokohama’s Demon City. The guards stationed on its top floor were the Mafia’s most exceptional and loyal members, even among the organization’s many capable soldiers. And the leader’s office, also located on the top floor, was its own impregnable fortress. No one could get inside without permission. Not even the faintest light could sneak its way in.

Standing in front of the office were two guards. The leader wasn’t there at the moment, so they were merely protecting an empty room. Nevertheless, they both looked highly alert. No matter where they were or who they were up against, they would carry out their mission without their emotions getting in the way. Only the mentally strong were entrusted with such a task.

Their silent watch saw no conversations—not even a single cough.

That was when one of the guards heard a faint sound: a feeble clink even softer than the buzzing of a fly. It was so faint that one could miss it among the sound of their own breathing. There was no telling where the noise was coming from, but the guard who had been standing in complete silence for hours still picked it up. He strained his ears and kept his gun at the ready.

“What is it?”

“Do you hear that?” he asked his colleague while focusing on his surroundings.

Once again, he heard the sound: a clink followed by papers being flipped through. No way anyone could miss it. The other guard readied his submachine gun.

There was no one on the top floor during those hours aside from the guards. The building was tightly sealed to keep out even the lightest of drafts, meaning the sound they heard couldn’t possibly be from the wind or any other natural source.

Before them was a long hallway; behind them, the leader’s office. The hallway was empty…which meant…

“The office…?”

The guard audibly tensed. Using only his eyes and hands, he signaled his colleague to open the office door. His colleague took out the key chained to his wrist and proceeded to unlock each of the three keyholes one at a time. And then…he threw open the door.

There was a tall silhouette in the room—a young man with long arms and legs, standing with his back to the moonlight. He looked up from the documents in his hand and asked:

“What took you so long?”

“Freeze! Who are you?! How did you get inside?!” the guard shouted, his gun pointed at the intruder.

“‘How’? What a strange question. I just walked through the front door, right past you.”

The guard looked furious. Both he and his colleague had remained fully alert the entire time they were watching the door. Not even an insect could have gotten past them, much less a person.

The young man calmly smirked, his tall figure bathed in the moonlight. He was as graceful as a bow; every one of his movements was somehow magical. His high-quality suit the color of the midnight sea was without a single wrinkle. He looked like a film star or perhaps a fanciful, ancient Nordic god.

“I came to do some reading. This in particular,” the young man revealed while holding up some documents. They were the same files Mori had showed Chuuya that day—the data Randou had gathered on Arahabaki. “It was quite the read, especially this passage the agent added here: ‘Randou’s former partner, the spy Paul Verlaine, perished in battle following his betrayal.’ He really did lose his memories, huh? Because as you can see, I am definitely not dead.”

“Put the documents down. Resist and I’ll shoot,” the guard warned, submachine gun still at the ready.

He then pressed the device hidden in the lining of his clothing to alert the security office of an intruder. Usually, an alarm would immediately sound throughout the entire building and every passage would automatically be closed off. But nothing happened.

“Oh, sorry if I got your hopes up. That isn’t going to work. I had everyone in the security office take the rest of the day off—and I don’t think they’ll be coming back.”

The case to the building’s electronic master key was lying by the young man’s feet. The guard noticed it was stained with blood and immediately realized what had happened:

The other guards were already dead.

“I was genuinely hoping there wouldn’t be any bloodshed,” said the young man. “After all, I didn’t come here to fight. I merely stopped by to pick up my dearest friend’s last records—these files—along with this hat that got left behind in the changing room.”

Before the guard even realized it, the intruder had a black hat atop one hand. It was the hat Mori had given Chuuya.

“This is your final warning. You have five seconds to surrender, or we’ll shoot,” the guard cautioned, although nonetheless prepared for inevitable bloodshed.

Normally, killing an intruder was a last resort. It was better to capture them alive and force them to share what they were doing here and who sent them. That was simply how things worked in the Mafia. But this intruder was different. That much the guard could tell from his many years within the Mafia’s darkness. In fact, the intruder was deeper than darkness itself. He was most likely a skill user, which meant the normal rules of combat didn’t apply to him.

The only predictable skill user was a dead one. That was why the guard warned he would shoot in five seconds. It was Mafia code to open fire without waiting even a second, much less five.

Fire, the guard silently urged his colleague. However, not a single shot followed. He looked curiously over to his side to see his colleague standing stock-still, gun pointed.

He was missing his head.

“Wha—?”

The guard’s jaw dropped. Mental alarm bells ringing, he reflexively pulled his gun’s trigger.

But he couldn’t—his index finger was lying severed on the floor.

His weapon had been severed as well.

Then his severed hands and arms fell to the floor, followed by his torso, his legs, his jaw, nose, and skull. Only his thighs to his feet remained standing in place as if nothing had happened.

There were no screams—just two unnaturally silent deaths.

“Phew. What a relief. It would be tactless to ruin this perfect moonlit night with gunfire.”

The intruder smiled calmly. He placed the stack of papers back on the desk, then walked to the window at the other end of the room. The pale moon was shining through.

“Where are you, Arahabaki—Chuuya Nakahara?” the young man wondered aloud as he gazed out the window. “I owe you for killing my partner—no, my former partner—for me. You’ve apparently grown much stronger. But not to worry. I’ll be with you soon.”

He placed a hand on the window, which was made with reinforced laminated glass to protect the Mafia boss from snipers and anti-tank guns. It was even heat and shock resistant.

“The calamity that breathes—the god with a beating heart—Arahabaki, you are alone. Nobody can ever understand you. You are neither a god nor a human. You will simply struggle amid your fellows before dying with nothing but your own embrace to comfort you… That is, unless you come with me.”

The young man gently twisted his body and thrust out one leg.

In technical terms, it could be described as a kick, but the movement itself was far more elegant; it was as silent as the unfurling of feathery wings. The ball of his foot appeared to draw a line through the air before shattering the window into pieces.

Shards of inch-thick reinforced glass fell to the street below like countless drops of glittering rain.

“It was a long wait, but the time has finally arrived, Chuuya Nakahara.”

The young man’s eyes wavered with the moon’s silvery glow.

“I’m coming to get you, my dear younger brother.”

He donned the black hat and gently leaped out the window. His body was swallowed by the darkness below before eventually disappearing. All that remained was the sound of the gentle evening breeze.

The curtain of night…

The clusters of shadows piled one atop the other…

The innermost depths of Yokohama’s long night were utterly unknowable.

To be continued in Storm Bringer