The dead feel no emotion My name is Adam Frankenstein. I am a piece of equipment owned by Europole—and a computer who can sing and dance. Really. I could show you, even. It was a fine-weather day. The sunlight pierced the vast blue sky and drenched the earth below. Visible light reflected off the windows of the buildings along the street, making them sparkle like jewelry display cases. The rays of light were arranged in an inorganic, systematic manner as if they’d been programmed that way. Only a computer such as I could fully appreciate its beauty. I was walking down the street with a paper bag held to my chest. Inside were chocolates, hard candies, and colorful gummy bears. Everything here was purchased as rations for my partner, Chuuya, who I was on my way to meet. Humans need sugar to function just like how I need to be recharged. More importantly, ingesting sugar increases feelings of happiness. I am an extremely exceptional investigator. Showing concern for my partner’s degree of happiness is proof of that. I am far more extraordinary than any human. I watched the local people come and go with great interest as I headed toward my destination. When I passed a food stall on the street en route, I had an amazing idea. If the human brain needs an efficient method to acquire sugar—namely, glucose—then Chuuya could simply ingest granulated sugar directly from his mouth. That would be far more efficient. Therefore, I purchased a bag of sugar at the food stall. I happened to witness another customer nearby purchasing something I had no knowledge of at all. “What is this?” I asked the shop owner. “You being serious? It’s gum.” My education module was fully equipped with information that pertained to my investigation, but I still lacked knowledge on things outside my area of expertise. So I decided to purchase said product in order to learn of its properties. While I was walking down the stone pavement, I passed through a residential neighborhood of Western-style brick houses. There was a refreshing breeze. My regeneration tank had already restored my skin layer’s functions after the fire damage from yesterday. I had replaced my damaged parts with my spares as well. In other words, I was no different from a brand-new computer, and I felt great. I would probably have started humming if I were a human. I tossed a piece of gum into my mouth and immediately felt my experience gauge increase exponentially. It was wonderful. An unfamiliar flavor. After chewing the gum for a few more seconds, I swallowed it. I took another piece. There were eight tabular pieces of gum left neatly lined up in the package. I was quickly going to run out of it at this rate. The small quantity of gum per package was this product’s drawback. I swallowed my second piece, and when I reached for my third, I arrived at my destination. I opened the door to the building and said in a loud voice: “Greetings!” It was a church. There were over a hundred attendants seated among the aisles. They were wearing black clothing and had their heads down in silence. Children in the choir wearing red robes were singing in sonorous but gentle voices as they mourned the dead. The wavelengths produced by their singing voices resonated as they bounced off the high ceiling. Perhaps that was why the inside of the church appeared to not be of this world but somewhere in between the heavens and earth. In the center of this vast, somber church were five coffins. They were unadorned yet very high quality; each coffin was draped with a black cloth. Next to the coffins were a few sobbing family members of the departed, also dressed in black with their heads hanging low. I looked around until I found Chuuya sitting on a bench with several other people. I approached him. “I have come to get you, Chuuya,” I announced loudly so he could hear me over the choir. “Keep it down, damn it. This is a funeral,” Chuuya quietly replied without taking his eyes off the coffins. “I know,” I said after thinking about it for a few moments. Then I continued. “I have new information on Verlaine.” “Save it for later,” he spat, still facing forward. His expression was stiff, and the skin on his forehead and eyebrows was squeezing together. I’m familiar with humans’ emotional reactions. This was the expression of someone who was stressed. Appropriate measures needed to be taken. “Would you like some chocolate?” “I said save it for later, damn it!” The floor trembled when Chuuya shouted. A few mourners looked this way. Chuuya was silently glaring at me. After closely reflecting on this order, I replied, “Very well, sir. How many minutes later is ‘later,’ if I may ask?” Chuuya took in a deep breath as if he was about to shout again but almost immediately stopped himself. Then, keeping his voice down, he answered: “This is exactly why I didn’t wanna work with you. Don’t you get it? This is a funeral. My friends’ funeral. It took the mortician eight whole hours to clean up their bodies and make ’em presentable,” he told me. “And it’s my fault. That’s why I have to see them off. They’d never forgive me otherwise.” It was an irrational statement. “There is no need to worry, Chuuya,” I replied. “Humans cannot bear grudges once their biological functions cease. This is without exception.” “Excuse me?!” Chuuya stood up and grabbed my collar, which created a stir among those around us. “That’s enough, Chuuya,” the man sitting next to him suddenly chided. He was a tall, lanky individual with slicked-back black hair. His legs were gently crossed. He appeared to be in his thirties and was wearing the most expensive clothing out of anyone in the church. “The detective is correct. The dead feel no emotion. Funerals, revenge—all these things are for the living,” added the man, not turning to face us. His voice was quiet yet overpowering like a ruler. “Go, Chuuya. Act now before any more people die. You said you had information on Verlaine, right?” The last sentence was directed at me. “Yes, I have information concerning Verlaine’s hideout. It could possibly help us uncover his next objective. However, I cannot do anything further without Chuuya’s cooperation, so I must ask again how long I should wait. Would you say around five more minutes?” Chuuya looked up at me and grimaced. “Not even that long. Right, Chuuya?” the man next to him gently suggested. “…Yeah.” Chuuya grabbed my arm. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” he instructed, then got up and started leaving. I followed my orders. Chuuya strode briskly through an alleyway, and I followed, matching his pace. After a ten-minute walk from the church, Chuuya turned around. “Let’s get one thing straight, tin man. I don’t like you. I’m fine with lettin’ you tag along ’cause you’ve got a lot of useful functions, but in return, you’re gonna need to follow my every command. You need to prioritize my orders even over the ones you get from your detective headquarters or whatever it’s called. Otherwise I’m not goin’ with you.” “You’re asking me to override the current authority to command?” “Yep.” I considered the situation logically. The highest in command was the investigation team, followed by Dr. Wollstonecraft. If I made Chuuya the highest in command and overwrote the investigation team’s current position, that could possibly cancel out the purpose of my existence, which was to prioritize the mission. But if I didn’t follow Chuuya’s orders, then I would not be able to continue said mission. The situation was highly contradictory. It was as if someone in charge said, “I order you not to follow my orders.” The average AI would cease to function due to the infinite loop of resources necessary to compute the contradiction. I, on the other hand, am the latest model of AI. The doctor predicted something like this might happen and integrated a subroutine within me to help me solve contradicting orders. The solution was extremely simple: Follow your heart. “Order acknowledged. I will now override the line of command protocol.” After getting down on one knee, I respectfully bowed my head. “I have reset the line of command with Master Chuuya at the highest ranking. Your wish is my command.” He looked at me, flabbergasted. “You sure?” he asked. “I am. I determined that you would never order me to do anything unwise.” His eyes opened wide for a few moments before he placed a hand over his face and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Haaah… Am I being tested by a damn machine? ’Cause that’s what it sounds like. And ‘Master’? Seriously?” “I am programmed to call the highest in command Master by default.” “You can’t change it?” “I can, but doing so would remove you from highest in command. Is that okay?” “What? No. Of course not.” Master Chuuya grimaced. “Ah, whatever. We’re wastin’ our time. Just tell me what you learned. You have info on Verlaine, right?” “Yes. Allow me to explain. But before that, would you like a piece of gum?” I stood up and took out the gum from earlier. I decided that a light meal could relieve some of his stress before my long explanation. Master Chuuya looked at the gum, then at me, then at the gum once more. “No,” he eventually replied with a bewildered gaze. That was unfortunate. “Very well.” After unwrapping the gum, I tossed it into my mouth, chewed it a few times, and swallowed. Gulp. Delicious. He stared at me as if he found the sight peculiar. “Now, allow me to explain,” I began. “I will start from the beginning. Verlaine is an assassin, so he wouldn’t have gone on a killing spree at the airport to force his way into this country. That would make it harder for him to move around freely once he was inside. He likely used a fake passport and a disguise just like any other criminal. Verlaine, however, is a lone wolf; he does not work with anyone. He doesn’t have anyone he trusts who could have made him a passport or provided some way for him to enter the country. In other words, he needed to pay a smuggler to sneak him in. So far, so good?” I consumed another piece of gum. “Ew,” Master Chuuya groaned weakly. Perhaps he had a stomachache? “However, the number of smugglers he could have used this time is extremely small. Because for the most part, criminals—the brains of operations—are usually cowards who value horizontal relationships with their peers. In other words, most smugglers here either work under the protection of the Port Mafia or, at the very least, have some sort of mutually beneficial connection with them.” “Yeah, you’ve got a point. I guess that means Verlaine couldn’t use anyone who might betray him and rat him out to the Mafia,” agreed Master Chuuya. “You sure understand a lot about what goes on around here.” “Well, machines do make far better investigators than humans,” I replied after swallowing another piece of gum. “Then I compared the Japanese police force’s list of smugglers with the list of smugglers who work under the Port Mafia and cross-checked until I found several people who were not in the Mafia’s database.” “The Mafia’s and police’s lists? How’d ya get your hands on those?” “I hacked into their databases,” I replied. I could even hack into a moving car’s GPS if I wanted. Browsing a database was easier than breathing to me. I had never breathed before, so I was only guessing, though. “There were four possible smugglers. I went down the list and started investigating them this morning until I found the one who snuck Verlaine into the country.” “Ha-ha. Looks like you’re good at more than just pool. What a relief.” Master Chuuya raised his eyebrows. “So? What’d you do? Hang him upside down and strangle the information out of him?” “No, I do not possess such functions. Hurting the smuggler would only draw Verlaine’s attention.” I shook my head. “Instead, I used the smuggler’s pay statements to uncover what exactly Verlaine ordered from him. I imagine you must know that these sorts of smugglers usually deliver supplies as well,” I explained while finishing off the second to last piece of gum. “These criminals provide hideouts, cars, guns, and even underground doctors for a price. Verlaine paid this particular individual for three separate items.” “Like a hideout?” “Unfortunately not.” I shook my head again. “But I found a clue during my investigation. First, this.” I showed Master Chuuya a photograph of a tree branch around the same thickness and length of a human wrist. “What is it?” “A white birch branch. Whenever Verlaine assassinates someone, he leaves a cross carved from a locally grown white birch. That is his calling card; there have been no exceptions so far. He asked the smuggler to find him four white birch branches. And…” I took out another photo. “…I found one of them at the pool hall.” A roughly made hand-carved cross was lying on the floor. The cross was among strewn fragments of the wooden floor, making it difficult to distinguish, but it was clearly a different type of wood. Master Chuuya furrowed his brow. “And there’s three more to come, huh?” “Yes. There is a high chance he has three more targets.” “I’m going to kill every human who matters to you.” Those were Verlaine’s words. I didn’t know how he selected the people who he believed meant something to Master Chuuya. Perhaps a Mafia insider helped him out. Nevertheless, Verlaine still had three more people he planned to kill in this country. “But this is also a good opportunity for us,” I assured Master Chuuya. “Verlaine is an elusive individual with an unparalleled competitive edge in battle. There is no way to defeat him by attacking head-on. However, he follows a ritualistic system with his assassinations. He will appear before his next target without fail. Therefore, we should be able to set up a trap for him as long as we know who that next target is.” “Good point,” agreed Master Chuuya. “So got any idea who it is?” “It is still too early to tell.” I took out one more photograph. “There are two more things Verlaine asked the smuggler to get him. Have a look at these.” The photograph showed an admission pass for an automobile assembly plant and a slightly outdated blue clamshell phone. “These most likely have something to do with his next assassination,” I said. “However, this is where I need your help. Verlaine is going after someone you are close with. Do you have any idea who that could be?” Master Chuuya quietly glared at the photo without answering my question. It was as if someone dear to him was carved into it. “A factory, eh?” he spat. “Tsk. I know who his next target is.” He angrily crushed the photograph in his hand, then began to stride off. “Let’s go.” “Where to?” He ignored my question, instead swiping the last piece of gum out of my hand and tossing it into his mouth. As he walked away, he inflated the gum and created a balloon-like bubble. I couldn’t possibly describe the surprise I felt at that moment. That was how you were supposed to eat it?! A young man was in a factory—an automobile assembly plant. It had high ceilings, and the scent of machine oil filled the air. The sounds of welding machines and sparks could be heard in the background, but the factory was so large that it was difficult to discern where exactly the sounds were coming from. Newly welded metal parts flowed down the conveyor belt. The young man riveted those parts, wiped off the machine oil with a rag, then used a metal tool to file off any leftover burrs. That was his job. In ten or so seconds, another freshly welded part, no different from the last, would come down the conveyor belt. The young man would then rivet, wipe, and remove its burrs. Then another part would come his way. Rivet, wipe, file. Rivet, wipe, file. Rivet, wipe, file. Rivet, wipe, file. He would do that as many times as it took until he eventually thought, I’ve had enough of this. After finishing the next metal part, he was going to quit and go home. He had that same thought every single time he worked until the bell eventually rang, letting all the workers know that their shift was going to end in five minutes. Only during those five minutes did the young man feel somewhat human. His mind was empty. He simply put every fiber of his being into using his hands. Once work was over for the day: “Hey, we’re gonna grab something to eat. Wanna come?” His senior coworkers invited him out for dinner, but he made up some excuse and took his leave. He then got changed without making eye contact with anyone before departing the factory. I wanna get out of here as fast as I can. I don’t belong in a place like this. But things didn’t go so smoothly that day. He was stopped before he could even leave the premises. The young man considered ignoring the person who called out to him, but he knew who it was, so he froze in place. “Hey, boss,” the young man said. “Did you need something?” “Hate to ask you this, kid, but could you come with me?” It was the plant director, a bespectacled man with a shock of white hair. A big shot in the company, he rarely spoke to such a low-level worker like this young man, who had only seen the director’s face in the pictures plastered on the factory’s walls. “Oh, uh, I was actually just on my way home,” the young man bluntly replied. “Don’t be like that. Come on, you have a visitor. Now follow me.” The director grabbed the young man’s hand. He was about to break free when he realized the director’s hand was trembling. His face was pale and bloodless, and he was obsessively checking his watch. The director was clearly afraid of something. The young man had no choice but to follow him. The director eventually took him to the reception room—the only place in the entire factory that had been spiffed up. The smell of coffee wafted through the oak door with its metal fittings. They must have poured a cup for the guest. The young man had absolutely no idea who it could be. A visitor, for him? He no longer had any friends who would reach out to him like this. Just about a year ago, he had a large group of friends who’d come check up on him, but nobody visited him anymore. Nobody. So who could this be? After the director knocked on the door and let himself in, the young man soon followed. Sitting inside was the last person he ever expected to see. “…Chuuya.” There were two people in the reception room. One was a tall European man, most likely a detective based on how he was dressed. The other person was Chuuya Nakahara, an old friend. Chuuya stared blankly at the young man, then stood up. “Shirase,” he said, his tone stern and deep. “Long time no see.” The young man called Shirase grabbed a nearby vase and wasted no time in throwing it at Chuuya. It was not the outcome I was expecting. I thought their reunion would be so emotional that they would embrace with joy. That was what happened in most of the films I watched to learn about human culture. And yet this “Shirase” individual threw a flower vase at Master Chuuya. I tried to catch it, but I didn’t make it in time. The vase hit Master Chuuya right in the face and shattered into many pieces. The way the fragments scattered compared to the speed with which the vase had been thrown was staggering. I quickly realized that Master Chuuya had used his skill to manipulate its gravity, causing the vase to shatter into countless pieces the moment it touched him. It probably didn’t cause him much pain, if any. Unfortunately, there were thriving flowers in the vase. In other words, there was water in the vase as well. Water dripped from Master Chuuya’s soaked head. “Shirase? The hell?” he said evenly without even a hint of shock. “That water was ice-cold.” “Real convenient memory you got there, Chuuya,” Shirase replied, sneering. “Did you already forget what you did to me—what you did to the Sheep? It’s barely even been a year.” Master Chuuya’s quiet gaze did not stray from Shirase. He didn’t say a thing, nor did Shirase as he kept his murderous glare locked on Master Chuuya. The plant director had shrieked before running off the moment the vase broke. I had no idea what this silence was about, but we weren’t going to be able to follow through with the mission at this rate. Perhaps it was my duty to lead the conversation. “So… Shirase, good sir. It’s nice to meet you. Lovely weather we are having today, yes?” I heard that you should talk about the weather first when meeting someone new. “There is actually something important we have come to discuss with you. Something extremely important. Please have a seat so we can talk.” “I’ve got nothing to talk about with you guys,” Shirase said as he began walking out the door. “Shirase, wait. Where d’you think you’re going?” “I finished work, and I’m goin’ home!” I stood up and went after him before he could get away, but Master Chuuya did not move a muscle. He simply remained standing in place. He didn’t even blink. I wondered what was wrong. Come to think of it, his reaction to the vase was odd as well. He should have easily been able to dodge something like that, yet he did not. Very curious. I was not programmed to have any troublesome features such as emotions, but I was installed with a decision-making module that mimicked emotion so as not to stand out when investigating and interacting with humans. (I always had the feeling that I would perform even better without it, though.) Therefore, I could replicate emotions such as surprise or excitement. I could also analyze others’ emotions. Nonetheless, I failed to comprehend why Master Chuuya did not move when Shirase left the room. “Let’s go after him,” I inevitably suggested. “Is everything all right, Master Chuuya?” He was still dripping water, but for some reason, his lips were curled into a smile. “Sigh. I figured this would happen, and yet…” We followed Shirase down the corridor as he left. “Shirase, good sir. Please wait. We need your help.” “Gee, sounds rough. Not my problem, though. You could offer me all the money in the world, and I still wouldn’t help Chuuya.” Shirase’s pace did not slow down. “But helping us would be the rational thing to do.” “Who the hell are you anyway? You really know how to piss someone off, huh? Do you even know what Chuuya did to us?” Shirase turned around and shot me a threatening glare, but his gaze meant nothing to me, since I cannot feel threatened. I could, however, comprehend the emotion he felt based on his facial expression: hatred. “He destroyed our group one year ago. He had the Port Mafia attack us, and we ended up losing our home. Then we were scattered all over the country to keep us from regrouping ever again. All of us but Chuuya, that is. And y’know what he did then? The bastard joined the Port Mafia! He sold us out! We took him in when he had nowhere to go, and this is how he repays us!” I cross-referenced Shirase’s story with the logs in my database, but they did not match. The facts told a different story. He needed to be corrected, but Master Chuuya did not say a word. He seemed to have no interest in discussing the matter. “And this is where I got sent to. Me—and no one else. I had to stay in Yokohama, where they force me to work and watch my every move. You know what this is, Chuuya?” Shirase held out his arm and showed his wristwatch. “Beats me,” Master Chuuya replied. “That is a luxury watch from Switzerland,” I said upon referencing my knowledge database. “Yep. It’s the only luxury item I still have, too. I was able to buy stuff like this every month when I was in the Sheep, but now? I dunno when exactly, but I’m gonna have to sell this thing someday. Anyone could do the kind of menial work I’m doing, which is why the pay’s such dirt. I’m not gonna be able to raise enough capital to rebuild the organization like this.” “Rebuild the organization?” Master Chuuya’s expression changed. “Uh-huh. You really think I’m gonna keep working at this shithole for the rest of my life? I’m slowly buying weapons and getting things ready. I’ll be able to do it. I’m gonna bring back the Sheep and become an even better king than you ever were!” Master Chuuya frowned slightly. “In your dreams.” “What’d you just say?!” “Come, now. Let’s all calm down.” I had no choice but to speak up, since we still had not even discussed why we came here. Humans tend to engage in petty arguments even when they should clearly be prioritizing something else. “Shirase, sir, there seems to be a misunderstanding. According to my memory database, Master Chuuya—” “Stop. Don’t say another word.” Master Chuuya suddenly grabbed me and stopped me. “Listen, Shirase. There’s only one thing you need to know: You’re gonna die if something isn’t done. Today or maybe even tomorrow.” “What?” Shirase gaped. “There’s a hit man after you—a monster named Verlaine. I’m gonna kill him, and you’re gonna help me do that.” “What? Why would a hit man be…?” Shirase looked utterly confused; he seemed to have no idea what was going on. “Why me?” “’Cause he thinks I’ll have no reason to stay in the Mafia once you’re dead.” “The hell? Why would he think that?” “Don’t ask me to explain a crazy man’s logic.” Master Chuuya sounded like he was trying to avoid a debate. “Anyway, he’s strong. Even if the entire Mafia went against him, they’d basically get wiped out. That’s why I’m going to set up a trap to kill him. I’m gonna sneak up from behind and take him out when he comes for you. It doesn’t matter how powerful his skill is if I catch him off guard and get a clean shot…kinda like what you did to me a year ago when you stabbed me in the back.” Master Chuuya’s gaze sharpened, and then his eyes narrowed with a different emotion. However, my emotion mimicry module was unable to determine what this really was. “Wait, wait, wait. Lemme get this straight,” an irritated Shirase stammered as he waved his hands. “There’s a hit man named Verlaine, and you guys can’t beat him, so you’re gonna use me as bait to lure him out. Basically, you’re asking me to wait in the middle of this trap and not run away, despite knowing he’s coming to kill me. Did I get you right?” Master Chuuya frowned without saying a word. It appeared that it was my duty to answer the question for him. “Yes, that is exactly what you need to do.” “Then hell no! I’m not doing that! What kind of idiot would willingly be murder bait?!” “Yeah, I figured you’d say that. But ya don’t have a choice,” Master Chuuya replied sharply. “What?” “You’re bait, but so what? We don’t need you. There’s two others he’s gonna go after as well, so we could just use them instead. Only difference is, if you don’t cooperate with us, you’re gonna die. That’s why you don’t have a choice, Shirase. You do this, or you’re dead!” shouted Master Chuuya as if to shut down Shirase’s rejection. They glared at each other without another word. Perhaps they were searching for something on the other’s face. It was Shirase who eventually ended the silence. “Fine. Whatever,” he griped before turning his back to us and walking away. “Still playing king, I see. Good ol’ Chuuya.” We kept walking until we eventually arrived at the factory car park. Numerous vehicles were parked, loyally awaiting their master’s return. (And unlike humans, vehicles do not neglect their mission. It was a very soothing sight.) Shirase strolled over to a motorcycle parked in the center of the lot. Perhaps it was what he used to commute to work. He grabbed a helmet out of the basket and turned to us. “You win. I’ll do as you say, so take me to where we’re gonna lay that trap. I’ll follow you on my bike.” The moment I smiled with relief, I also felt something strike the side of my cranial parts. Shirase had hit me with his helmet, and the impact caused a momentary loss of vision. He then threw the helmet at Master Chuuya, but Master Chuuya caught it right as it was about to hit his face. Shirase used this brief moment to start his motorcycle’s engine. “Ha-ha-ha! Like hell I’d help a traitor!” Shirase cackled as he suddenly accelerated away. “Ouch.” I ran my self-diagnosis procedure. Impact to the head. No internal damage. No signal delay. I was simply surprised, it seemed. Master Chuuya held the helmet with both hands and stared ahead in annoyance. “Tch… Does he honestly think he can get away?” After a deep sigh, he tossed the helmet to the ground. He then leaped into the air and manipulated gravity, landing atop a nearby parked car. “Ya better keep up, tin man. ’Cause I’m not gonna slow down for you.” I immediately began running, for I was not going to allow myself to be left behind. Master Chuuya’s movement was closer to sliding than it was to running. He reduced the downward push of gravity while creating gravity to propel himself forward like a Frisbee. Each step sent him flying down another block, effortlessly passing the moving vehicles. I engaged the elastic actuators in my knees and leaped after him. Once I left the factory’s premises and landed on a sign, I leaped even higher, this time straight over the pedestrians’ heads. In the meantime, I attempted to ping Shirase’s motorcycle and probe its location. However, I did not get a signal. I hacked into the traffic control system as well, but no vehicle matched his motorcycle’s description. It appeared Shirase’s bike was not connected to any outside system or network. In other words, a cheap, unsophisticated model. This worked against us because I wouldn’t be able to control it remotely like I did with Verlaine’s car. Our only option was to catch up with Shirase and physically stop his motorcycle. I opted for a relatively aggressive, albeit bothersome, method. As I kept running, I accessed a traffic enforcement camera via a tool I had installed in advance that overrode the access authorization. Now my field of vision displayed an overlay of every car in the area, and I proceeded to quickly analyze the data available only to traffic police and search for Shirase’s vehicle until I found it. It was two blocks west and one block north of my location. The motorcycle was racing north toward the residential district. Shirase was obviously breaking the speed limit, so the system had already flagged his vehicle, hence why I was able to locate it so easily. “Master Chuuya! He’s northwest of here!” I shouted while leaping over a moving truck to get across the street. Master Chuuya and I jumped over the hordes of vehicles and headed west as nearby pedestrians looked up at us in astonishment. I connected to a traffic camera and saw Shirase’s motorcycle speed through a red light and into the residential district. How reckless. But lucky for him—and unlucky for us—he had entered a narrow road with no traffic cameras. I would no longer be able to track him via camera footage. Master Chuuya and I trampled over hedges, leaped across rooftops, and jumped over utility poles in pursuit of Shirase. Bits of shattered asphalt flew in my wake when I increased my speed. Both Master Chuuya and I were traveling must faster than the motorcycle by now. This country lacked any pedestrian speed limit—a negligent move on the part of human policy makers. I would never have made such an oversight. If I were a policy maker, there would be laws to catch out-of-control androids. “I can hear his bike. I’m goin’ on ahead!” Master Chuuya removed all the gravity pulling his body down and began to float. He then kicked off the side of a building and disappeared into the city. I hurried to catch up. He may be able to manipulate gravity, but my legs are far longer than his. He couldn’t possibly outrun me. We arrived in a residential area with narrow streets. According to my calculations, I would be able to catch up with the motorcycle within twenty-seven seconds. If Master Chuuya took the front, and I took the rear, then Shirase would have no choice but to give up. Things were going perfectly. It wasn’t until later when I remembered what the doctor told me: “It will come the moment you think things are going well. The beast known as failure is always drawn to the stench of success, where it finds and devours its unfortunate prey.” It turned out exactly as she described. When I caught up with Master Chuuya and turned the corner, I heard him shout. “Tin man, stay back! Hide!” But it was already too late. By the time I rounded the corner, I saw what was taking place. I had predicted this might happen. There were a few signs: Shirase’s history; his mission to rebuild the Sheep; how the plant director seemed oddly nervous when he brought Shirase to the reception room; and how quickly the director fled said room. Shirase was standing in the middle of the intersection. He was completely surrounded…by police vehicles. “Buichirou Shirase! You’re under arrest for unlawful possession of weapons!” A stocky officer was pressing Shirase’s head onto the hood of one car. “Let go of me, damn it! I’m gonna be the next king!” He was struggling, but according to my calculations, he would need thirty-nine others to successfully escape arrest. “I know you’re out there, Chuuya! One of your lackeys is in trouble,” came a hoarse voice. The speaker was strangely calm considering the situation. “Come on out and save him.” The man who called out to Master Chuuya emerged from a police car. An unassuming detective who appeared to be in his forties, he wore leather shoes that had lost their shine along with a long dark-green coat that looked like it was part of his body due to being worn for so many years. He seemed light, and his hair was fluffy like wool as it framed his affable smile. “I’m not his lackey! I’m the king!” Shirase was still struggling to break free. “Yeah, yeah. That’s enough now, sire. Nobody cares enough about small fries like you, so you’ve got nothing to worry about,” the detective teased while patting Shirase on the head. Master Chuuya clicked his tongue. “So you were using Shirase as bait the entire time, huh?” he said, making himself visible to the police. “Hey, how’ve you been, Chuuya? You eating well these days?” The detective in the dark-green coat opened his arms wide as if he were meeting an old friend, but I sensed that they were not friends. “You’re not gonna grow big and tall if you don’t eat right, so you better get to it. Oh, and don’t forget to stay in school. You need to think about your future and start saving. No staying out late at night, either. You hear me? Granted, you should have a little fun while you’re still young, though. Oh, and one more thing.” The detective smiled before smacking Shirase. “You need to pick better friends.” “Mr. Chuuya Nakahara, I would like you to come with us to the station. You’re suspected of conspiring with Mr. Shirase,” stated a young officer who approached Master Chuuya from the side. His expression was stiff with the cold calculation of a machine. Of course, he was still nowhere near the real thing, though. “Now I get it. This arrest wasn’t just a coincidence, was it?” Master Chuuya glared sharply at the officer. “So that factory director was one of yours, huh? And you were monitoring Shirase to get to me.” “Heh. Because, unlike you, this Shirase kid’s nice to old folks like me,” the detective replied as he gave Shirase another light smack. “I mean, he basically handed us evidence of his illegal firearm collection on a silver platter.” “Bullshit! My plan was perfect! There’s no way you got anything on me…unless…! Chuuya, did you betray me again, you rat?!” The detective cast a sidelong glance at Shirase, who was whining and struggling. The detective then shrugged. “See what I mean? I said to choose your friends wisely, didn’t I?” Master Chuuya sighed. “Detective, I get that he’s guilty and all, but d’you think you could wait another day before you arrest him? We’ve run into a little trouble back at the organization, and I need to protect him today,” he said with a scowl. The detective listened with a puzzled expression, but he soon cracked a faint smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll protect him,” he replied. He took out his handcuffs and dangled them next to his head. “He’ll be safe in the cell we’ve got for him. You’re free to tag along if you’re worried, though.” When the detective signaled with his chin, the other officers forced Shirase into a police car. There was nothing we could do—that was what Master Chuuya’s expression was telling me. “Damn it…,” he groaned between clenched teeth. “What does it feel like to be a machine?” I still remember the doctor’s words clearly. I could not answer her question that day because being a machine means I have no way to express what it feels like. Machines are extremely level, with no way to be misconstrued, which was why I answered as such. I then asked: “Doctor, how does it feel to be human?” The doctor crossed her arms and said nothing. She smiled defeatedly. What feelings come with being human? The significance of that question was essentially at the root of this entire incident. Verlaine claimed he was not human, and to him, that was something important enough to flip the world on its head. Being human or not, in his eyes, must have been such a significant and fateful issue that the answer would dictate who he was now and forevermore. It is so very peculiar. Is being human truly that important? While pondering that to myself, I addressed my master. “Master Chuuya.” “…” “Master Chuuya.” “…What?” “It is your turn. We’re playing the Name Strange Human Traits game.” “…” He did not respond. “Then allow me to go first.” I tapped the table a few times. “Hmm… Humans are strange because they become embarrassed when their bodies make sounds other than their own voices: burps, farts, et cetera. It is truly bizarre. Anyway, your turn.” I tapped the table twice for Master Chuuya, and he looked at me. “Haaaah…” He sighed. A strange way to respond. “‘Haaaah’? I see. Thank you for your input. I suppose it is my turn again. When the average woman mentions how cute another woman is, in most cases, the woman in question is not cute. Their reasoning for doing this is unknown. When they talk about other women who are actually cute, they say, ‘She’s a piece of work.’” Tap, tap. “Your turn again, Master Chuuya.” “Ughhh…” He let out a lethargic groan. “Fascinating. Thank you for your reply. Now for my turn: Men always lift the toilet seat when using the restroom. It is a mysterious protocol. Women, however, do not do this. Furthermore, why do men remain standing? Sitting down is far more convenient and prevents any messes. Specifically, uri—” “Shut up! You’re disgusting!” Master Chuuya shouted. I curiously tilted my head. “‘Disgusting’? I thoroughly cleaned myself ninety-two minutes ago.” “That’s not what I meant…” He scratched his head. “Argh! Just get me outta here already, damn it!” We were in the city police’s interrogation room. The moss green walls were stained with cigarette smoke and dust. The screws in each of our chairs’ legs were loose, which caused them to rattle and wobble with even the slightest movement. The desk was covered in scratches, the imprint of someone’s fist, and light water damage most likely from a suspect’s tears. After voluntarily accompanying the police to the station, Master Chuuya and I were brought to this room and told to wait. While we could escape, leaving without filing the proper paperwork would lead to more trouble later. Therefore, it was perhaps in our best interest to wait for the Port Mafia’s lawyer to arrive. Additionally, being detained as an investigator turned out to be an extremely valuable and exhilarating experience for me. I was glad I hid my true identity. Thank goodness for our investigation policies. “I prohibit you from ever asking me to play that game again. Got it?” “Is that an order?” “You bet your ass it is.” There was nothing I could do about it, since he used his authoritative powers. “Very well. I will never play Name Strange Human Traits with you again.” Master Chuuya looked exhausted as he stared at me. “I’ve never seen ya so disappointed.” There were no mirrors in the room, so I could not check how I looked. “Sigh… Whatever. Just tell me this: You think the lawyer can get Shirase released?” “While possible, it will take a while,” was my honest reply. “I hacked into the database, but Shirase’s home has already been searched. They found and confiscated twenty firearms with the serial numbers filed off. Even the best of lawyers will need a fair amount of time to get him released. Furthermore, Shirase already has a criminal record from when he was in the Sheep. It’s going to be a difficult process, especially since Shirase is not the man the city police are after. They want you. Therefore, I’m sure they plan on using the full forty-eight hours to detain Shirase before sending him to the prosecutor.” “We don’t have forty-eight hours.” Master Chuuya clenched his fist. “Verlaine could be coming here right now to kill him while we wait.” He was exactly right. In order to defeat Verlaine, we needed to place Shirase in the middle of our trap as bait. In other words, we needed to ambush Verlaine, a master at ambushing his victims. However, this plan had several prerequisites. We needed time to prepare a place to trap Verlaine, and we also needed Shirase, the bait. “Wait. Couldn’t your boss or whatever pull some strings and get him out of here?” Master Chuuya leaned forward. “The police here are basically your colleagues in a way, yeah? I mean, your country’s investigation HQ could make some calls and get him released, right?” “That would save us a lot of time, but…” I shook my head. “It’s not possible. Our treaty prevented that from being an option.” “What treaty is that?” I explained the situation. Europole was originally an international law enforcement agency established from a peace treaty at the end of the war with the goal of eliminating international criminals who operated in secret across national borders. However, after the agency became caught up in a postwar multinational power struggle, several restrictions were put in place. Among those restrictions, the rights and sovereignty of the agency’s European member states must never be undermined. Since former enemy nations had worked together to establish Europole, the agency had to be very careful not to infringe upon other nations’ rights except when absolutely necessary. In this specific case, our mission was to arrest Verlaine, a former French intelligence operative who knew many of France’s most confidential state secrets. One mistake in how we handled him could develop into an international scandal. It was also possible that the agent who ended up arresting him might sell the information they learned during their investigation to another country. At the very least, that was France’s greatest concern, hence why they were hesitant to dispatch a foreign agent. Europole, meanwhile, was adamant about neutralizing a calamity like Verlaine who was murdering important figures around the world at random. Great Britain was especially disgraced when he assassinated several knights during a coronation ceremony. There was no turning back. That was why the agency decided to compromise by sending me alone on this mission. After all, I would be able to keep all confidential information to myself, and I would never take any nation’s side for personal gain because that was how I was programmed. Furthermore, whatever information I did learn would be encrypted and stored so it could not be used by other nations. When Piano Man asked me how I could assure him I was not going to inform European authorities of any Mafia secrets, I replied that I couldn’t tell anyone even if I wanted to. This was why. “Interesting.” Master Chuuya nodded and crossed his arms. “So you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about my secrets or the Mafia’s, no matter what you see or hear, huh?” “Precisely. European authorities cannot influence the Japanese police force either for the very same reason. Legally speaking, I am not investigating anything in Japan. If any other nation’s government agency was to find out about this investigation—about Verlaine, the king of assassins—then they might try to use that information as a bargaining tool with France. After all, Verlaine was almost definitely involved in covert military operations during the war, which would violate strict international wartime laws.” “And that’s why the police here aren’t gonna help ya, huh?” grumbled Master Chuuya before sighing. “Great. My only ally is a reliable yet worn-out piece of machinery. Eh, I guess it’s better for the Mafia that Yokohama isn’t swarming with European investigators.” “We also believe that cooperating with a group not trusted by authorities to be a good compromise as well.” I smiled. “The biggest problem at hand is Verlaine’s trap. However, I heard the Port Mafia has the perfect skill user who could help us. Is this true?” Master Chuuya’s expression instantly changed. He scowled as if he had just swallowed an insect. “Yeah, it’s true.” His voice rang of bitterness. It sounded as if he would have rather died than admit it. “But I can’t get in touch with him. Whatever. Hope he’s dead in a ditch somewhere.” “I see.” I, however, believed that we would be in trouble if we lost an ideal player for the mission. “Can you trust this individual?” “Trust him? No way,” Master Chuuya spat. “He’s a real piece of shit. Got a twisted personality to go with it, too. He’s the kind of guy who’d try to sell water to someone who was drowning. What makes him even scarier, though, is that he’d actually pull it off. He’s sharp in a bad kind of way. But we won’t be able to beat Verlaine without him.” “How can you be so sure about that?” “Because he was the one who helped me defeat Verlaine’s old partner, Rimbaud. He—Dazai—is the only reason I survived,” Master Chuuya admitted before clenching his fist. “Damn it, Dazai. Why’d you have to disappear at a time like this?” It was a dumping ground—a place long forgotten by all. Beneath the stormy sky lay haphazard piles of shipping containers, one on top of the other like dead bodies. Toxic substances illegally dumped in the area seeped into the open soil. Even field mice knew to stay away. Not located on any map, this was the loneliest place in Yokohama. And near its center lived Dazai. Dazai didn’t live in a house, though. He lived inside one of the thrown-away shipping containers originally used for exporting cars to foreign countries. Inside the large container was a refrigerator, an exhaust fan, a desk and chair, a bed, and a small, naked light bulb. Those who knew Dazai didn’t dare come near his home—not even his Port Mafia subordinates—and not because of how eerie the area was. Rather, nobody knew how Dazai would react when someone invaded his private space. Perhaps he would tear off their limbs and kill them, or perhaps he would welcome them with open arms and a cup of tea. Nobody could understand how Dazai worked. The black wraith of the Port Mafia: That was what people called him. One year had gone by since he joined the Mafia. He was now in charge of the boss’s personal covert ops unit and was producing staggering results. They had already eliminated numerous organizations and opened new distribution channels. The speed of his achievements was extraordinary, even when compared to past Mafia executives. Even the achievements of Piano Man—the Flags’ founder—were child’s play compared to what Dazai had done. And yet no one trusted him. Because the darkness lurking within his eyes was deeper than the ink black nights that hung over the dumping ground he inhabited. The longer he worked for the Mafia, the darker and more unfathomable he became. Nobody knew exactly why, either. Nevertheless, Dazai continued to slaughter his enemies and serve the Port Mafia in order to force himself into an even darker place. His achievements were outstanding. But there was one person who did not take delight in his glory: Dazai himself. Dazai was alone, seated in a chair in his container, quietly staring into the darkness. His phone on the nearby table suddenly began ringing. It was Chuuya, but Dazai didn’t answer his call. He didn’t even look in the phone’s direction. He simply sat in silence, interlacing his fingers and gazing into the darkness and the door beyond it. His eyes were exceedingly still; his black pupils were absorbing all sound and light. Nothing could escape his gaze—not even his own emotions. The phone eventually acquiesced and stopped ringing. A deep silence once again reigned over the room—much deeper and heavier than before the phone had begun ringing. All of a sudden, Dazai’s eyes faintly moved as he gazed into the abyss. The metal door slowly started to open until the outline of a man emerged from the dim light. “Charming place you have here, Dazai,” came a lighthearted voice. “What frightens you so much that you choose to live in such a dreary place? Real estate tax?” Dazai’s expression didn’t change as he replied coarsely, emotionlessly: “It’s you I’m frightened of, Verlaine.” The shadowy figure entered the container: a tall man wearing a black hat and a suit the color of the midnight sea. Judging from his playful gaze, he appeared to be enjoying what he saw. Paul Verlaine—the king of assassins. “You’re lying,” Verlaine said as he approached. “You fear nothing. I can tell by the look in your eyes. You hardly felt a thing when I tried to kill you just two days ago.” “I guess you could say I have a slightly unconventional approach to my own death.” Only the corners of Dazai’s eyes faintly lifted into a smile, but his dark pupils remained utterly still. “I’d be out of a job if everyone was like you.” Verlaine shrugged. His leather shoes lightly tapped against the floor as he walked to the desk and grabbed the documents lying on top of it. “So these are the Port Mafia’s internal files, yes?” It was a stack of a few dozen sheets of paper. Selling them to another organization would undoubtedly net a person enough money to fool around and live comfortably for three lifetimes. That was just how valuable these secret documents were. Verlaine shook the stack of papers by the side of his head. “Two days ago, you told me you would give me these files, which is why I didn’t kill you. I need them for my work, after all. But why’d you do it? What do you want in return? And I don’t want to hear any jokes like, ‘Please don’t kill me.’” “The reason is simple,” Dazai answered with a faint smirk. Then, in a deep voice—in a nightmarish growl, he added: “I want to see the Port Mafia burn.” Verlaine suddenly straightened his face. He then looked at Dazai as one would if they had just realized someone had been there the entire time. “Didn’t the Port Mafia take you in and care for you?” Verlaine carefully asked after a few moments went by. “They did.” “Then why do you want to see it burn?” Dazai surely heard his question, yet he did not reply. His eyes wandered in silence as if he were searching for some far-off place until his lips eventually curled into a smile—a grievous smirk that would make anyone shriek at the sight of it. “I’m bored of it already.” Verlaine’s eyes narrowed. He stared intently at Dazai, seemingly in search of his true intentions. Dazai glanced back at him, perhaps amused by this, then he muttered as if he was talking to himself, “I couldn’t find anything in the end.” “Is that so?” Verlaine closed his eyes. “Well, I understand where you’re coming from. You went on a journey with the expectation that you might find something to change you, but all you found was a kingdom of garbage and despair. I’ve been through something similar. Simply breathing, eating, and relieving yourself isn’t living. That’s why we make the journey.” Verlaine picked up a silver coin off the ground. There was nothing special about it. You could find another like it just about anywhere. “I appreciate your help, Dazai.” He then flicked the coin with his fingers. There was a deafening roar as the coin flew right by Dazai’s face before shooting through the wall behind him. The air wavered, and a thunderous boom rang out when the coin shattered other metallic materials outside, flying in a straight line until it eventually disappeared into the horizon to the west. All that remained was the rising steam left from the melted metal and the vain echoes of freshly torn metal. “As someone who shares your despair, allow me to give you the honor of being the last one killed.” Verlaine smiled, still in the same position he’d been in when he flicked the coin. Dazai didn’t move. He didn’t even blink, even though the coin had just shot right by his head like a bullet. “I can’t wait,” he replied with a soul-shattering smirk. Verlaine turned his back to Dazai, then started heading for the door. But the moment he placed a hand on the knob, Dazai asked, “Where do you plan on going now?” Verlaine turned around, smiling like a magician at the end of a magic trick, and replied: “To the police station, of course.”
Chapter 106
47 min read