Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 8 - Chapter 3.7

“What even are skills to begin with?” asked N as he walked us down a path even farther underground. He was taking us to an underground laboratory to tell us what Verlaine did not want us to know.

“To tell the truth, we researchers have almost no idea what skills are, either. It’s kind of embarrassing to admit after setting up such a magnificent research facility like this one.”

We listened to his monologue while descending the stairs. N was in the lead with Master Chuuya slightly behind and Shirase after him. I was in the very back.

“However, there are a few things we do know,” continued N, his tone light. “First, we know that no other organisms aside from humans can possess a skill. You won’t see a plant or a monkey with one, for example. Furthermore, humans can be born with only one type of skill. If the person with the skill dies, their skill disappears as well, for the most part. Also, no skill on its own can raze the entire planet in the blink of an eye. So in other words, there’s an output ceiling to these special abilities.”

“Yeah, even I know that,” Master Chuuya cut in apathetically.

“This is where things get interesting, though,” N said with a mischievous smirk that hid his true intent. “I said there’s an output ceiling, but the military wanted to know if there was any way they could go beyond that limit. And as it turns out, there kind of is. One method relies on skill singularities.”

Oh?

I was impressed he knew what a singularity was, and not simply in theory, either. He was a researcher who worked for the military studying the subject. Only a select few researchers in the UK knew of the phenomenon. It appeared that skill research in this country was far more advanced than previously thought.

“Only a handful of people in the government know about this, but a singularity is when multiple skills interact with each other and develop into an even higher-level skill phenomenon completely different from the original ones,” N went on. “Anyway, the rules for maximum skill output don’t apply to the skill phenomena created by a singularity. Anything can happen. You could call this extraordinary event an error of special abilities—a skill fallacy.”

The stairs came to an end, and we found ourselves at the bottom floor. The only noise that could be heard this deep underground were the sounds of our footsteps.

In front of us stood a door. N took the key he had strapped to his waist and unlocked it.

“So where are we even headed? And where were you going with that drawn-out story, too?” Master Chuuya demanded.

“You’ll find out the answer to both of those questions very soon.” N smiled cheerfully. “This story is about the nature of your existence, so listen carefully, okay?”

He then continued his explanation.

“Now, a singularity is an extreme outlier when it comes to skill phenomena, but there’s nothing extreme about how they occur. The easiest method is to use two contradicting skills against each other. For instance, a skill that can always deceive its opponent versus a skill that always reveals the truth. Or you could have two skill users who both can see the future fight each other. Usually, one skill will beat out the other, but in some rare cases, you get a completely new skill different from the original two. This is what we call a contradictory singularity.”

When I glanced to my side, Shirase was mumbling, “Mmm… ‘Contradictory…’ Mmm…”

“Shirase, I understand that this is a difficult subject, but please try to stay awake while you walk,” I told him.

“Now, Chuuya…”

N was speaking to Master Chuuya by his side. He was clearly pretending like he did not even notice Shirase’s existence.

“I told you that you needed at least two skills to create a singularity, right? But some people out there can create a singularity all by themselves.”

“What?”

“They don’t need another person’s skill. Instead, they can create a point of singularity by colliding their own skill against itself,” N said before he began to twirl his index finger. “The German researcher who first discovered such an ability called it a self-contradicting skill. Hmm… Let me give you a real-life example. Once there was this boy who could amplify the skill of anyone he touched. Super convenient. So what do you think would happen if he used it on himself instead of someone else?”

“I mean, I guess he’d just amplify his own skill, right?”

“Exactly. In other words, he amplified the skill to amplify the other skill, which amplified the skill to amplify skills that amplify skills. This self-referencing continued nonstop as he endlessly amplified his own skill. The resulting infinite loop of energy violated the principles of special abilities and created a singularity. The excess energy was converted into mass, which created a high density warp in space. The boy was sucked into the giant whirlpool of gravity and taken away to the other side, never to return again.”

Interesting. It all made sense now.

“So that was the skill user with the coin from the video earlier, correct?” I asked.

“Exactly. It was a destructive skill, the kind activated just once in a lifetime.”

“…Wait. Don’t tell me that warp in space is—”

Master Chuuya’s voice was stiff, his expression tense.

“Hold on. Let me finish, first,” N said, interrupting him. “A self-contradicting singularity can occur not only in Germany and Japan but all around the world as well. It happens once every few decades. In ancient times, people used to believe these phenomena were the work of God or demonic beasts, but nobody knew exactly what happened as a result. After all, the creator of the singularity would always die along with it.”

While Germany, France, and England were fighting for power on the battlefield, their military researchers were engaging in fierce competition of their own. It would be no surprise if Japan, Germany’s ally, happened to end up with some of Germany’s skill weapon research and technology.

“These skills are dangerous; they not only kill the user, but they suck in every other surrounding individual as well. And they can only be used once, to boot. That’s why you can’t really call a singularity a weapon,” N said with a stern look on his face. “But it’s also true that it provides a near-unlimited supply of energy. How would you be able to extract it as a controllable resource, though? That’s the question that jump-started the entire study. And before long, one country figured out how to actually use it as a weapon. One of the world leaders in skill research: France.”

France. A spy for the French government. The king of assassins.

It finally made sense.

“They turned a singularity into a weapon? But how?” Master Chuuya asked.

“With the heart.”

“What?”

“The heart. The human mind,” N intoned almost as if he were reading a poem. “Normally, you would use some sort of device if you wanted to manipulate a massive energy source, right? But as I mentioned earlier, humans are the only organisms who can use these special abilities. In basic terms, you could say that only the human soul can use the energy of a skill. That’s where a French researcher decided to use a cloned body combined with a persona model to make the skill think it was human and had a soul. Tsk… Even I’m disgusted by the idea. But they were successful—terrifyingly so. And born from their research was the spy and skill user Verlaine: a skill with a personality and the ability to manipulate gravity from a singularity. A few years went by until those of us in Japan got our hands on the French research paper and tried to create a skill singularity using the same method. And that…”

After a heavy sliding door opened, N had Master Chuuya go in first.

“That was Project Arahabaki,” N revealed with a serious expression as the door swiftly closed behind them.

Shirase and I were left standing in front of the door; it took me 0.03 seconds to realize what was going on.

“Master Chuuya!”

I slammed my fist against the door, but the bulletproof and explosion-resistant material was extremely hard. There was no indication that it would give way. N’s voice came out of the intercom next to the door.

“Chuuya and I need to be alone for this,” he stated in a flat, emotionless tone. “Project Arahabaki is a national secret, after all. Plus, I only got permission for one visitor. And besides…”

A moment went by as if he was briefly thinking about what to say next. N then continued:

“Chuuya should probably see this alone. I doubt he’d want anyone else, especially his friends, to witness this.”

All of a sudden, I felt a large object moving on the other side of the door. When I scanned the area, it appeared that the other side was an elevator. Master Chuuya and N were most likely going even deeper underground, which astonished me, since we had already traveled so far down.

I tried hacking into the elevator’s control system, but I couldn’t. Not because of some sort of defense mechanism, but because I couldn’t get any wireless signal.

That was when it hit me. This was what was commonly referred to as an electromagnetic anechoic chamber.

The concept is simple. Lining a room with plates made of conductive metal such as iron will reflect radio waves, creating an isolation chamber that electromagnetic fields cannot penetrate. It is the same principle as putting a cell phone into a microwave and finding that it doesn’t receive any signal.

The estimated safety value of this mission decreased by 7 percent. I was in a state equivalent to the human emotion of anxiety.

What was N after?