Kill the criminal— —“Then let us realize an ideal world…” —“Not by the hand of a god but by our own imperfect bloodstained hands.” It can’t be. I glance at the blue cloth I swiped from Dazai’s pocket. Have I seen something like this recently? —“I heard they never found the Azure King’s body, either.” —“What if he faked his death to escape and is now in hiding somewhere?” We know who the Azure King was. He used to be a high-ranking government official. However, changing one’s face or background isn’t impossible with the help of a specialist. Even fooling the military police’s forensics unit and faking one’s death isn’t entirely unfathomable. Could it be that…? —“We looked into his past but found nothing. It’s completely blank.” Then could Dazai be…? “Are you— Are you the Azure King? Was this grand scheme of yours all just to get back at the detective agency?” “Shoot me.” He grins mirthfully from ear to ear. There’s tranquility in his smile. “You win, Kunikida. Shoot me. You must have received orders to, yes? This is how it should be, and you have every right to.” “What do you mean I have ‘every right’?!” “I wouldn’t mind being shot by you.” No. This isn’t what I want. I want to hear the truth. I want Dazai to tell me the truth. —“However, if you sense any signs of wickedness in his heart…” No. I must find the truth. —“Shoot him.” “I wouldn’t mind being shot by you”? I see. It all makes sense now. “Understood.” I lift the pistol, aligning the sight just between his eyebrows. Tucking my arms in, I close one eye while carefully aiming. There is no way to miss from this distance. “I’m going to shoot, Dazai. I’m really going to do it, so if you’re going to panic, you better start now.” His peaceful smile never once wavers. “Shoot me,” he says. There is no longer any hesitation in his words. I bend my index finger around the trigger, and a bullet spits out of the muzzle. The bullet tears through the air until it hits him right between the eyes. Dazai’s head flies back, causing his spine to arch backward. Knocked off his feet, he flies into the air and then— —he hits the ground. I lower my pistol. White gunpowder faintly drifts from the muzzle. “……” Perfect accuracy: The bullet hit him right in the middle of his skull. There was no way I’d miss this close. After putting the safety back on, I check the pistol to make sure there won’t be any misfires before returning the weapon to my pocket. I crush the fountain pen–shaped detonator in my hand, bending and twisting it until it can no longer function. I have to think about my next move. I begin to walk back to the parked car. After taking a few steps, my cell phone starts to ring. I seem to be out of the wireless jammer’s range now. Expressionless, I look down at the screen. It’s the detective agency. “Yes?” It’s Dr. Yosano. “Kunikida? Listen, we just got another threat from that obnoxious Azure Apostle guy! I’m sending it to you right now, so get a move on!” “But I’m—” The call ends, and I get a notification telling me I’ve received an e-mail. I open my in-box to display the following message: Dear Sir, I am contacting you to discuss a third request. Passenger airline flight JA815S is currently midflight. I have taken the liberty of sending an interference signal to the aircraft’s engine and yoke that will disable their functions. I would like for you to remove the device from the aircraft and save the passengers. Thank you for your understanding. Yours sincerely, The Azure Apostle “An airplane…?” Another threat? Now? Preventing an aircraft attack presents a far greater challenge than a kidnapping or bomb. Trying to hop on a high-speed airplane midflight to remove some device is beyond the realm of possibility. I would need a military fighter aircraft to even consider it. No, I still wouldn’t be able to get in if the passenger plane had some sort of system to prevent intrusion. While shutting down the engine and control wheel would indeed cut the plane’s power, it would still be able to glide for a short while. But even then, without the power to steer, there would be nothing preventing the plane from suddenly dropping before its inevitable crash. Without control, it would be difficult to land in a relatively safe location such as the ocean, and if the plane hits the ground, then everyone on the plane will die, barring a miracle more awesome than the creation of the universe itself. There’s only one way to end this seemingly inescapable disaster. I glance at Dazai. He’s lying on his back with his eyes closed. Then I slowly approach him. “How long do you plan on playing dead? Get up. We’ve got work to do.” I kick his body. “Hmm? Aw, c’mon, just a few more minutes.” Dazai pouts. “Something happen?” “Yeah, we got another e-mail from the real enemy threatening a plane crash, so if you’re not the person behind this, get up and help.” “I knew you would use that to shoot me, Kunikida.” Dazai grins, still on his back. “Same as ever, I see. You are free to scheme all you want, but don’t involve me in your ridiculous skits.” I take the pistol I shot earlier and toss it at Dazai. He catches it, and almost instantly, it transforms back into a piece of notebook paper in his hands. “But how did you know? I received a pistol just like it from the director. What made you so sure I wouldn’t shoot you with that one?” “Because I trust you, of course. Someone as cautious as you wouldn’t threaten a person with a real gun out of the blue like that.” “Hearing you say the word trust really tarnishes the word.” The pistol I shot Dazai with was one I created out of a sheet of paper using The Matchless Poet. Since the bullets were also created using my skill, they were nullified and vaporized by Dazai’s own skill on contact. “When did you first realize it?” “When you told me to shoot you.” Dazai would never say, “I wouldn’t mind being shot by you.” One thing I learned while working with him is that nine times out of ten, he’s messing with someone when he says hackneyed phrases like that. Under normal circumstances, he would have said, “Now I can finally die,” while dancing and jumping for joy. “Oh, and one more thing. This pen of yours—this isn’t a detonator. It’s a covert listening device, isn’t it?” “Quite so.” I haven’t been working as a detective all this time just for show. I can tell whether something’s a detonator. That little charade of his was to get me to block the bug. He predicted I would bring a jammer and use it. “When were the fountain pens swapped?” “You know when we were by the fishing-gear shop? Well, someone switched the pens on me when I was pushing through the crowd. Ugh. That really was my favorite pen, y’know. They’ll be sorry when I make them reimburse me. It was really hard to write with, though.” “So that must have been when they put that azure banner in your pocket, too.” The enemy was planning on framing Dazai as the mastermind behind this string of events, but we were one step ahead of them. “But I know you. You wouldn’t let the enemy just brush by you when you knew they were coming, right?” “Of course not. In fact, I’d been playing the villain for a good while just for this moment. I waited for the moment they bugged me to place a GPS tracker on them. They were fools to believe they could ever outwit me.” Dazai knew what the enemy was trying to do and still went along with their scheme. A criminal like the Azure Apostle always needs others to do their dirty work. The kidnappings, the bomb—every criminal act was outsourced, every event carefully planned to avoid suspicion. So why not outsource the role of “Azure Apostle” to someone else as well? And Dazai figured it out. “It first hit me when the victims were gassed at the abandoned hospital because I never touched the electric lock on that cage, and yet, gas started to spray out from who knows where. Which means the enemy was watching us and controlling the poison-gas device remotely to make it look like I did it. I thought, ‘Why would they do that?’ That’s when I started to feel something was up, and it wasn’t long before I figured out what they were trying to do.” The enemy’s objective was to frame someone, and who better than a newcomer with an unknown past? Dazai, however, didn’t take any steps to prevent that from happening, either. “This villain we’re up against never reveals themselves. We have no evidence to identify them, and they’ve thoroughly made sure they can’t be traced. Even so, this person still has to come in contact with the outside world from time to time, and that’s when they make their puppets. The only people lucky enough to meet the Azure Apostle, albeit briefly, are the perpetrators like the cabdriver and bomber: the ones who actually carry out the crimes. So my only chance of coming into contact with this guy was becoming a criminal myself, and if you hadn’t realized that, I would’ve been locked away in the criminal’s place.” That’s why Dazai continued to pretend he didn’t know he was being set up until he could destroy the listening device in a natural way. From the point of view of our eavesdropping enemy, the bug no longer functioning is not a problem. They probably believe that everything is going according to plan. A brief taste of freedom from the enemy’s watch—Dazai didn’t tell me what was really going on and continued to play the villain just to create this moment for us. I am once against struck with admiration. The man is incredible. Our enemy has the wits and resources to manipulate a seasoned bomber. Simply being able to realize they’re setting you up is an amazing feat itself. Dazai, however, worked their scheme into his own like a hook to drag out our foe. “I bet the guy who planted the bug on me is laughing themselves silly right about now. They probably think their little plan worked and that I was killed by one of my own. This would also be the perfect moment for the enemy to make their next move.” I nod. It was probably no coincidence that the enemy waited for this moment to threaten us with the airplane. After listening to our conversation, they probably don’t even doubt that Dazai was executed, and their assumption was almost a reality. They were waiting for Dazai to go down before sending in the third threat. “This would’ve been the worst possible timing for the detective agency to get the threat. It’s impossible to get inside a moving plane to remove that device. Plus, only moments ago, Kunikida killed me, the supposed author of said threats. The case would be sunk, and it’d be curtains for the agency.” He’s right. If the scenario played out as the enemy had written it, then that is exactly what would have happened. —And if it had been anyone other than Dazai, it probably would have worked. “There is only one way we can do this… Follow the tracking device you placed on the enemy to their hideout and put an end to this ourselves!” “Let’s show this ‘Azure Apostle’ fellow who they’re dealing with.” Dazai gets to his feet. Leaving the bug and jammer in the abandoned storehouse, we get in the car and start our search. Dazai turns on his handheld transmitter, displaying the location of the tracking device. It’s relatively close by in the mountains, and it’s not moving. I’ll have to ask the detective agency to gather information on the area. If this is where the enemy’s hideout is, then I cannot deny the possibility of there being some sort of defense facility. However, before that happens, the agency gets in touch with me and says they were contacted by someone on the plane. Apparently, somebody happened to find a video communication device while checking the passengers’ belongings. The agency transfers the video call to my cell phone; I can see the cabin of the plane. “I… I’m, um, one of the people on the airplane. Mommy w-wasn’t feeling well…so I’m talking f-for her. The p-plane is falling…s-so fast… Everybody’s c-crying and screaming…” “Damn it!” Speaking into the camera is a little girl no more than ten years old. Tears stream down her face as the aircraft rocks back and forth. “The pilot t-told us to s-stay in our seats, b-but…but nobody’s listening, and there are s-some people fighting…” “I’m speaking to you from on the ground. Can you hear me? I know it’s hard, but I need you to tell me what’s going on in the plane right now.” “It’s f-falling. They s-said the engine stopped moving…and th-the steering wheel d-doesn’t work anymore, either.” Although clearly terrified, it seems the little girl understands what’s going on. She desperately tries to describe the situation as best she can. “Can you hear me? Are we…gonna d-die? E-everyone says we’re gonna die… I’m scared… Mommy’s not moving…or a-answering me. P-please, please help us…” “Hello, little one. Can you hear me?” Dazai takes over the call. “We here are airplane experts. There’s nothing to worry about anymore. We’re going to fix the plane. What’s your name, little miss?” “Ch-Chiyo…” “Chiyo, everything’s going to be okay. Got any snacks with you?” “Mommy gave me this piece of candy…” “Candy, huh? I love candy, too. It’s so sweet, and it really helps you relax, doesn’t it?” “Dazai—” “I’ve got this… Chiyo, first, I want you to really take your time enjoying that piece of candy. After that, I’m going to need you to take that device you’re talking into and bring it to the captain’s room. Do you know where the captain’s room is?” Chiyo nods, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Don’t worry. There’s nobody screaming in there, and I bet your mommy will be feeling better in no time.” “B-but I… I can’t go alone. I can’t leave Mommy behind…” “Your mommy’s gonna be just fine. The pilot will make things all better. So I’m going to need you to take that device to their room and give it to them, okay?” The little girl stares at the floor for a few moments, then takes the candy out of her pocket and stands, albeit trembling. From there, she starts walking toward the cockpit. My hand tightens around the steering wheel. “This is the captain of flight 815S. We are currently experiencing engine failure and are unable to make contact with any control towers, so we’ve had to resort to internal navigation. Who am I speaking to?” The captain takes the call. He appears to be an experienced pilot a little over forty years old. Facing the communicator, I reply, “We’re with the Armed Detective Agency. The military’s deployment forces won’t make it in time, so we will be handling the situation. I need you to be specific about what’s happening to the airplane.” “The Armed Detective Agency? …You mean those detectives who let those missing people get killed? Just great. Just in case something happens to us—” “Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re the only ones who understand what’s going on here. It would take several hours before the military could grasp the situation and orchestrate a rescue mission.” “We don’t have ‘several hours’! Nearly every electronic device on this plane has quit working, so we can’t increase or decrease speed, let alone roll. If my calculations are correct, we have only an hour before we crash!” “Listen to me. The airplane was purposefully sabotaged. Are there any strange devices on board? Or was anything destroyed?” “…My copilot discovered a large iron box in the freight room. We found out that it was connected to some wires, but the iron box itself was welded to the aircraft. We wouldn’t be able to move or destroy it with what we have available.” I see. The device must be interfering with the aircraft system. The enemy must have sneaked into a hangar where the aircraft was being stored, then welded a device that would temporarily paralyze the plane’s control system. After takeoff, they must have remotely activated the device to prevent the aircraft from staying airborne. I remember reading something similar to this for work once. The now-defunct National Defense Force had been developing equipment capable of crippling aircraft functions. Eventually, however, they learned that you would first have to carry the device onto the aircraft, so they abandoned the project. In spite of that, it bears a lot of similarities to this case. If the same type of device has been brought into this aircraft, then signals being sent from the ground are controlling interference. In short, cutting off the control unit’s signal on the ground could very likely restore control on the aircraft. “Captain, we are going to remove the source of the problem. I need you to be prepared to regulate the airplane’s altitude when I give you the signal.” “Roger that. Just know that I won’t be able to gain altitude if we get too close to the ground. I need you to hurry. We have four hundred and ten passengers on board, and according to my calculations, we have only an hour before we crash around Yokohama’s designated tax haven.” Only an hour. There most likely wouldn’t be any survivors, regardless of how the plane crashes. To make matters worse, if it crashes in a densely populated industrial area such as the designated tax haven, then the damage it would bring would be devastating. Alamta’s bomb would have been nothing compared with the disaster this would cause. There’s no time. I step on the accelerator. Following the tracker device, we race through the mountains of Yokohama. There’s not a house in sight, and the rough bushlands cast shadows onto the car. “Looks like this is it.” I stop the vehicle. Built into the mountain face is a black iron door. It leads to an air-raid shelter built during the war for the now-defunct National Defense Force. Never used, the crumbling military base has succumbed to the unforgiving flow of time. I see now—shooting off a cannon inside wouldn’t even catch anyone’s attention, much less bring the device here. That’s when out of nowhere, the sound of gunfire assaults our ears from both sides. The company car shrieks as bullets rain down on it. “We’re under attack! Get out of the car!” I slam on the gas and quickly accelerate before jumping out and escaping into the thickets. “I guess this means we’re at the right place…!” The armed enemies are shooting at us with rifles from the lee of some slanted rocks. There are three…no, four of them. “What do we do, Kunikida?!” Dazai shouts out while hiding in the shadow of a slope. “They’re only trying to buy time! I’ll provide backup! Just get inside that building!” Bullets fly over my head as I yell. I glance over at our attackers. All they’re doing is firing at random and taking cover. Their guns are good quality, but they are not as experienced as the Port Mafia gangsters. “The Matchless Poet: Flash Grenade!” I’ve been using far too many pages out of my notebook lately! I catapult the flash grenade, and the enemies recoil from the noisy explosion over their heads. “Now’s your chance! Go!” I urge Dazai while firing my weapon. He springs into action. Dazai separates from Kunikida and races through the decaying air-raid shelter. The tracker device’s signal is coming from the maintenance depot on the other side. After climbing out of the pit, he passes through the marshaling yard before immediately dashing to the two-story maintenance depot’s galvanized iron outer walls. The abandoned maintenance depot has a hangar for storing cars and aircrafts on the first floor, with an operations room looking down at the hangar on the second floor. Dazai dashes up the staircase and rushes inside the operations room. “It’s here, huh?” While the floors are discolored and worn with rust at every turn, the door’s hinges appear to be new, implying someone has been frequently visiting this timeworn room. A near-empty liquor bottle rests on the table by a faintly smoking cigarette. The flashing light on the large communicator attached to the wall blinks, indicating it’s still working. Dazai is approaching the communicator when a shadow falls over him—a large foreign man now stands at his back. The muscle-bound, tanned individual with a tattoo of a camellia on his arm looks at Dazai in silence. Old scars run down his bald head and over his dark-green eyes. “What are you doing here?” the giant barks. “What am I doing here? …Isn’t it obvious?! I came to warn you!” Dazai swiftly turns around and shouts. “The Armed Detective Agency found our hideout! We’ve gotta get outta here, or we’re all done for! Where’s the boss? Come on—we don’t have much time! They’re gonna come breaking through the entrance any minute now!” He urgently rattles on without even taking a moment to breathe. “I don’t know you.” “Well, of course you don’t. I work undercover for the boss. You know how secretive the guy is. Now hurry! Go get ’im!” A hint of bewilderment flashes across the man’s face. “Okay.” He turns his back to Dazai to leave the operations room. Crack. The large man sluggishly falls to the ground. A large bump is forming on his head. Grinning, Dazai stands behind him with the bottle of liquor cracked in half in hand. “The boss is a real secretive fellow. Not that I’ve ever met the guy, but it’s just a hunch.” Having no more use for the bottle, Dazai tosses it to the floor before facing the communicator once more. “All that’s left is to send a stop signal with this.” I start to follow Dazai after neutralizing the enemy. In stark contrast with the shoot-out by the entrance, a dead silence hangs over the building’s interior. Fresh footprints and tire tracks litter the ground, making it rather apparent this is their hideout. But I have no way of finding Dazai now. Plus, he has the transmitter’s tracking device. However, as I walk past the galvanized iron outer walls of a maintenance depot, I suddenly hear the sound of glass shattering coming from inside. —Is Dazai fighting with the enemy? Pressing my back against the wall, I get into stance with my pistol. I plunge through the entrance with the muzzle aimed inside, searching for the enemy. It appears the first floor was used for storing armored cars and aircrafts, but now it is nothing more than a vacant lot of exposed earth. I guess that leaves an office and the operations room for the second floor. If the communicator is anywhere, it would be on the second floor. At that moment, I get a terrible feeling that something is wrong. A chill shoots down my spine, and it feels as if swarms of insects are crawling under my skin. Unable to endure it, I fall to my knees. That’s when I notice some sort of patterns drawn into the ground: circles and lines along with various diagrams and letters. The illegible letters seem to be ancient symbols. It resembles a magic circle for rituals using a grimoire, but…my spine has been tingling with chills ever since I stepped on it. Which means— I roll up my sleeve, an unbearable itching pain overtaking my arm. The number “39” surfaces on my skin. I check my entire body. Arms, chest, ankles: nine brands, resembling tattoos, cover me. I know for a fact these weren’t there a few seconds ago. “Gimme … Gimme your number.” I instinctively point my pistol in the direction of the fragile voice, where I find a boy—rather, a short young man—staggering in my direction. I aim my gun at him. “Stop right there! We’re with the Armed Detective—” Before I can finish my sentence, I take an invisible blow from the side, which knocks me to the floor. I am slammed into the ground only to bounce back up and collide with the galvanized iron wall hard enough to warp it. My head is spinning, my vision swirling. I have no sense of balance after all that spinning from the hit. I have to fight back. I’m somehow able to pick up my pistol lying on the ground by my side, but immediately, my arm is struck by another invisible blow that knocks it into the air and bends me backward. My bones creak as the pistol soars through the air. “A feisty one, ain’tcha? How excellent. You must have a wonderful number.” The skinny young man picks up the pistol and curiously peeks into the muzzle. Obviously he’s a skill user, and one with a battle-oriented ability, at that. They appear to be some kind of long-range attacks. I look at the marking on my skin: the number “32.” Impossible— “I’m impressed you found the place. That’s the Armed Detective Agency for ya. That’s the amazing Armed Detective Agency for ya.” The slender man points my gun in my direction, then empties the magazine until not a single bullet remains and the firing pin takes to the sky. The bullets pierce the ground before me. “C’mon—I wouldn’t shoot ya. It’s a very important number, after all. I couldn’t shoot ya.” A morbid smile runs across the slim figure’s lips as he walks toward me. “Every time you take damage, that number gets smaller. It even gets smaller as time passes. And when it reaches zero—” “You… You’re the skill user who killed the taxi driver and Alamta?” “Heh-heh… Ha-ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, of course a detective would ask that. Ha-ha-ha!” I fix my eyes on the young blond man dressed in a threadbare hooded jacket. Judging by appearance alone, he doesn’t seem to have an aptitude for fighting. However, there is one thing I am sure of. —This skill user is the enemy’s boss. Dazai operates the communicator. “Yeesh, how old is this thing?! So if this is the frequency and this is the direction—” A shadow moves behind him. “It’s no use! I can’t input the final command— Hang on, do I need the control key to change the settings?!” Colossal fists rain down from behind, smashing into Dazai’s temple and spinning him across the floor like a rag doll. There’s a dull thud when he collides with the desk. “…That hurt, y’know.” Dazai stands, and his lips curl upward—a fierce grin—as fresh blood drips down his cheek. The massive man slowly and emotionlessly approaches Dazai. On each hand are hammer-like steel knuckles. The man raises his arm in the air and swings once more, but Dazai kicks off the desk and dodges. In just one punch, the steel fist smashes the wooden desk into splinters. “That’s quite an arm you’ve got there! You really oughta consider working in freight delivery!” Dazai slides across the floor to create some distance before facing the behemoth. “Well, this is just no good. I’m quite weak, you see. A big guy like yourself would snap me right in two… But I promised Chiyo I would save her.” “I won’t let you use…the communicator.” The man blocks the path to the device. “Really? Guess I’ll just give up and run away, then.” Dazai swiftly turns around and bolts for the door. “Get back here!” As the giant man chases after him, Dazai races through the wooden door and closes it on his way out. Once the enemy reaches out to open the door, Dazai drop-kicks it from the other side, hitting his opponent in the process. Hampered by the door and unable to support the weight of Dazai’s jump, the man is sent flying back. Fragments from the wooden door scatter as he rolls on the ground. “Striiike!” Upon landing, Dazai approaches the giant to follow up with another hit. The enemy swiftly goes for a sweep, seemingly unfazed by the kick, but Dazai leaps back as if he saw it coming. “You’re really tough! You know that?” The man uses his back muscles to kick up off the ground, then throws a hook. Dazai manages to bob and weave out of the way, but part of his clothing catches on the steel knuckles just enough to pull him off-balance. “Ack—” A fist starts to bury into Dazai’s stomach. He instantly jumps back to soften the blow, but the man’s massive arm follows through until Dazai’s body is thrown back by a punch strong enough to destroy a table. Doubled over, he soars straight into the wall on the other side of the room. Blood and spittle drip from his mouth. The enemy raises his stout arm into the air and swings it like a club. Dazai rolls to his side to evade, but the man follows up with a backhand, knocking the detective’s head so hard that his neck almost snaps as he is driven into the ground. Trembling, he staggers to his feet. “Strong and fast, eh? …What, were you raised by gorillas or something?” While he may be joking, the sense of crisis in Dazai’s eyes tells a different story: —I can’t beat this guy. Dazai glances out the window at the storage room below, where he finds Kunikida fighting against a skill user. Facing the young man, I charge. Now that I’ve lost my pistol, close-quarters combat is my only chance to subdue him. The skill user steps backward, but I pursue and reach out to grab his arm. Most of the martial arts I know involves using the opponent’s momentum against them, which is why I have to grab them first if they refuse to engage. I drag his arm to pull him off-balance before moving out of the way. Then I step in to grab him, but that’s when I see him raise his arm into the air, and I come to a sudden stop. —Here comes another shock wave! Rolling to the side, I evade the ray coming from his arm. I dodge his attack, and yet, I don’t. The wave knocks me back, and every bone in my body lets out a crack. My brain shakes, unable to keep up with the sudden acceleration of my body, and I start blacking out. I know I dodged his attack, so why—? “Here’s the thing about my attacks… You can’t dodge them. I’m not hitting you with a shock wave. I’m able to accelerate those marked with the ‘number’ in any direction I want. Any direction I want. Any direction. Which is why—” “Gwah?!” My spine creaks. Following the swing of his arm, I am slammed into the ground. It feels as if gravity has suddenly been increased a hundredfold. “Oh look, a fly!” He lifts his arm into the air only to swing it down once more, crashing me into the floor like a flyswatter. He repeatedly slams me on the ground. It feels like being hit by a train over and over again. My bones crack; my skin tears. The numbers on my body have already decreased to “21.” “That number is how much time you have left to live! Once it reaches zero, you writhe in pain until you’re dead! Nobody can escape their fate! Nobody! Nobody! Nobody! Nobody!” The acceleration stops, but I’m unable to even lift a finger. It’s as if every muscle in my body is torn. A warm liquid creeps into every breath. “Give up yet, Detective?” The young man casually approaches me as I remain lying on the ground, unable to move. It hurts to breathe. Every joint in my body is screaming in pain. “I shoulda killed you all one by one like this from the start. I didn’t need to go through the trouble of framing the mysterious newcomer to bring down the detective agency from the inside. Besides, that strategy failed anyway.” The young man stands next to me and casually kicks me in the head. I see stars, but I can’t do anything about it. “But it’s always good to be optimistic. I’ll kill you, kill you, and after that, I’ll kill your friend upstairs—kill him, too. After that, the plane’s gonna crash, and the detective agency’s rep will be ruined, and that’ll make my work in Yokohama a little easier. It’ll make it a little easier, right?” “Your work…?” “I’m sick and tired of shuffling goods in secret while living in fear of private organizations of skill users like yours. I’m gonna live in a world where I can buy all the organs I need and sell all the weapons I want. I’ll make a killing.” Organs…and weapons. This is the organ-trafficking syndicate! If the Port Mafia are the sellers, then that would make these guys the buyers. They’re an underground criminal organization and general trading company in the black market for illegal goods such as organs and weapons. They have countless smugglers under their banner and ties with criminal organizations domestically and internationally. “I learned from the Azure King incident that the Armed Detective Agency isn’t to be taken lightly. We’re big on discretion. We crush our enemies before they’re a threat. That’s the basics of the basics of business.” The numbers on my body are now at “11.” I guess whatever happened to the taxi driver and Alamta is going to happen to me if these reach “00.” “…You seem to be making good money selling weapons to foreign merchants.” “There’s so much to like about this city: the Port Mafia, the conflict in the foreign communities, the lawless areas of Yokohama, and the fights just waiting to escalate. I love this place.” He’s right. The fighting in this city will never disappear. An arms dealer such as him must feel like a ship’s captain arriving at a new frontier. They buy organs or foolhardy thugs to sell to foreign syndicates, while bringing smuggled military weapons and seasoned mercenaries into the country to make a profit. And just like that, a new death trade is carried in from abroad to a world where the law and morals are meaningless. However… “I…cannot allow you to sell any more weapons. Even the smallest street fight could end with serious injuries or death if a dagger or firearm was brought into the equation. That’s why—” “Whoa, there. What d’you think you’re doing?” The enemy raises his arm, sending my body straight up. As the air is expelled from my lungs, the notebook I was hiding in my breast pocket slips out. Shit! “You thought you could buy some time talking so you could write in your notebook, huh? But that’s not happening. That is not happening. I know what your skill is. Anyway, I’ll be taking this.” He holds the notebook in the air and shakes it at me. My skill has two disadvantages: One is the fact that it takes time to write something in my notebook and rip out the page. The other…is the fact that I cannot use my skill at all if my notebook has been stolen. Just like that, my skill has been completely neutralized. I still have my wire gun from the last fight tucked in my belt behind me, but it doesn’t have enough power to kill, let alone seriously wound someone. Nevertheless, I cannot give up. That’s the one thing I can’t do. Not because I have to save the lives of the victims on the plane or because it’s my job as a detective at the Armed Detective Agency, but because I’ve decided that’s what needs to be done. An agonizing pain shoots down my body, but I ignore it and get to my feet. “Wow… Your eyes still got a little life in ’em, huh? Guess that means you want seconds!” I take another hit from behind that spins me around and rams me into the ground. “Gah…!” I cough up blood. My vision blurs. I don’t even know what kind of position my body is in anymore. “And now for the grand finale. Here, I have a key. What key, you ask? The release key for the communicator. You won’t be able to save the people on that airplane without this… You want it? You want it, don’cha?” He pulls a thin key out of his pocket. It’s a small and fragile key with a dull yellow tint. I gaze at it. “Want it? Here ya go.” He bends the key until it audibly snaps in half. “What—?” “Ah-ha-ha-ha… Ha-ha-ha-ha! All hope is lost! Now nothing can prevent the plane from crashing! It’s over! It’s over, it’s over, it’s over! Ah-ha-ha-ha!” The young man scornfully laughs—the wicked laugh of a man watching the world burn. “Now, let’s put an end to this. I’m gonna kill you. I’ll kill you, and we will scream our victory from the mountaintops!” He raises his hand. The number on me is now displaying “04.” I instinctively look up at the operations room on the second floor where I see Dazai. Dazai, bloodied and beaten… Kunikida is outside the window, riddled with wounds. Dazai takes another blow to the face so powerful it shatters the window on impact. Fragments of glass scatter into the air. Dazai looks at Kunikida, and their eyes meet. They yell. “KUNIKIDA!” “DAZAI!”
Chapter 11
32 min read