Chapter 120

He sighed. “Wiser words have never been spoken.” I understood what Dazai was trying to say. However, I also had this vague sense of resignation that if the past was going to chase after me, perhaps I should let it do as it wished. What to call this feeling—guilt or perhaps atonement—I didn’t quite know myself. Nevertheless, I couldn’t simply remain detached and philosophical right now, since this wasn’t just about me anymore. It was probably time to start considering some countermeasures like Dazai had said. “Wait. Dazai, do you have a plan in mind—?” I glanced back, only to find that Dazai wasn’t right behind me. He was far off, crouched against the corridor wall with one hand braced against it for support. “Sorry… Go on ahead without me,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He was pale. His fingers were trembling. When I rushed back to his side and placed a hand under his arm to pull him up, his entire body felt as cold as ice. “What happened?” I asked. “They probably did something to me…after they kidnapped me…when I was unconscious…” All of a sudden, I saw the future—a flash of light, a piercing hiss, and then Dazai’s chest tearing open dramatically, ribs bursting out of his body as a massive flower of blood bloomed from his chest. He died instantly. It was a bullet. I grabbed Dazai by the collar and yanked him forward onto the ground. A bullet raced through the space where he had been just a moment before, striking the wall with a damp thud. Without wasting another second, I dragged him out of the hallway and ducked behind a concrete pillar. I had lived through a handful of moments that I might have called the worst in my life and being shot at in an enclosed space like this was definitely one of them. It didn’t help that I was unarmed and carrying someone too weak to move on his own. “Looks like I underestimated you two.” A familiar voice sounded from the opposite side of the corridor that we had just come through, beyond the forest of pillars. It was the older white-haired ex-cop. His movements carried the firm, deliberate slowness of someone who was used to making others wait. This was strength that all seasoned officers possessed. “We rubbed a bit of poison on your bandaged friend while he was unconscious, so his limbs should be pretty numb for a while. Hell, he probably won’t even be able to lift a hand to scratch his own head.” The older man was holding a double-action revolver, a standard-issue police firearm that held five rounds. “So either put your hands up and get over here or die trying to protect your friend. Makes no difference to me,” he said, playing with his gun without aiming it at anyone in particular. I quickly observed my surroundings. I was in a large storage room, likely once a vast space for keeping water and food supplies in case of evacuation. Now, however, it was empty and barren. Columns too thick for one person to wrap their arms around stood at equal intervals like ancient, inanimate soldiers. There were four entrances, one on each wall, and the hallways beyond were submerged in ominous darkness. Put simply, there were neither useful tools nor safe escape routes. “Are you really that desperate for money?” I asked the man, subtly shifting my position to shield Dazai. “I understand exactly where you’re coming from. Money, money, money. It’s all the craze. But we don’t believe money is worth more than life itself. I mean, that’s how you and your little friend feel, yes? So just tell us where this painting is. There’s no reason for a mere grunt like you to throw your life away for a place you used to work.” Men wielding guns began to appear one after another as if those words were their walkout music. Four, eight, twelve—some in suits, others in security uniforms, some in urban camouflage military attire—their appearances varied, but they all wore the same cold, worn-out expression. While they had automatic pistols, rifles, and shotguns, me and Dazai were unarmed. The odds were stacked too high against us. It didn’t help that Dazai was injured, either. This was most likely why they’d kidnapped him with me. They wanted a hostage. The older man elegantly yet coldly sneered, backed by the overwhelming disparity in power. “I’m sure you’ve already heard, but every one of us used to work in law enforcement. If you ask me, our nation’s police force is exceptional, and yet, we are not always compensated appropriately for all the hard work we do. Our meager salary hardly reflects the dangerous nature of our jobs, and the country pretends not to notice this. But we refuse to be like those pigs who only complain to the media and politicians, never taking things into their own hands. We’ve decided to claim what is rightfully ours. In other words, consider this painting of yours to be a modest token of gratitude to those who maintain national order. You must feel honored, huh?” The former police officer spread his arms as if intoxicated by his own speech—as if he alone were a messenger for the gods on a divine mission. I couldn’t explain why, but his expression and what he was saying made me hate him. I hadn’t had any particular feelings about him up until then, whether he was beating me, kidnapping me, or torturing me, but this was crossing the line. It was unusual for me to dislike someone, but it wasn’t like my preferences had much impact on the world. “Good grief.” I heard an exasperated sigh and turned around to discover that it had come from Dazai. “I can’t listen to this nobody’s long-winded speech anymore. This is torture. I’m ready to go. I’m thirsty.” The older man’s eyes glinted with a dangerous light. “You don’t seem to grasp the situation you’re in.” Every armed man in the room turned the barrels of their guns toward Dazai. “Sakunosuke Oda, you need to surrender if you don’t want that boy to be killed. We are going to have a long talk after this, though.” I glanced at the man, then at Dazai. “You’ll let Dazai go if I surrender?” The man seemed to ponder for a brief moment before eventually nodding. “Of course. The boy has no value to us. That brain and mouth of yours are all we need.” I slowly observed everyone’s expressions, then scratched the back of my ear—a meaningless gesture. “All right, I surrender,” I said, raising my hands. The man’s lips twisted as if he could hardly contain his joy. Another former cop stepped forward and handcuffed me. “Make sure to tie him up real good this time so he doesn’t run away again,” the man told him. I glanced at Dazai. He was staring back at me with a vaguely displeased expression, but he didn’t say anything. “This way, Sakunosuke Oda.” The older man beckoned me. “I’ll prepare the finest booze we’ve got for you. We’re probably gonna be chatting for a while, after all.” He grabbed the chain to my handcuffs and yanked me closer, then shifted his gaze back toward Dazai. “Now put this bandaged kid out of his misery,” he told his subordinate with an air of indifference. “That wasn’t the deal,” I cut in. “The deal?” He raised an eyebrow somewhat cheerfully. “Yes, I broke our promise, but what about you? We are guardians of the law, you know. Are you saying that you’ve never once broken or disobeyed the law?” I reflected on my actions up until now. “Good point,” I admitted. “What are you doing, agreeing with him?” Dazai droned. “I know, Dazai,” I replied. “I’m thirsty, too. Let’s get out of here.” “And how do you plan on doing that?” the man asked. He had a gun to my head. “I find it hard to believe that an unarmed, former low-level grunt is going to be able to do anything up against this many people, especially when we have a hostage.” “Ha-ha-ha. A ‘former low-level grunt’?” Dazai said. His laughter was strangely flat and lacking any real depth. I stared at him. “Is that what you call yourself when you look in the mirror?” he added. Everyone suddenly glared at Dazai, but he simply continued to casually survey his surroundings, unperturbed by their gazes. “You want to know why I collapsed on his stoop? Because I’ve heard the rumors,” he told the older ex-cop. “From petty thieves to drug dealers, nobody dares to go near that house—not even the Mafia. No one stirs up trouble around there. Not even the wind dares to blow there. It’s as if they all fear something…or someone.” “The hell are you rambling—?” “It doesn’t look like they’re going to let us out of here alive, so you take care of it.” Immediately, Dazai leaned backward and landed flat on his back with a spectacular thud like a signboard that had given way, causing everyone to instinctively turn to him in utter shock. He was completely supine—the position least likely to catch a stray bullet. That was the signal. I seized the wrist of the older man gripping my handcuffs and yanked hard, forcing him to lose his balance. Then I leaped into the air. My legs clamped around his neck in a flying scissor choke, but I didn’t stop there. As I flipped upside down, I locked his arm with my grip, dragging him into a free-falling nightmare. The aging ex-cop never stood a chance. His head slammed full force into the hard concrete floor, knocking him unconscious. “What the…?!” The other ex-cops stood frozen, stunned into silence, their minds still scrambling to process what had just unfolded. However, the world has no patience for disbelief. It keeps moving with or without you. Right before hitting the ground, I released my legs from the man’s neck and rolled across the floor, breaking my fall. I then sprang to my feet with a stolen pistol in my hand. “Kill him!” someone shouted. I dashed forward like a wild beast, firing two bullets each at the enemies in the back of the room. The four bullets immediately struck the men’s arms, and the momentum sent them reeling backward. Without even checking to see if they fell, I charged toward the nearest enemy—a man wearing a suit and swinging his gun barrel in my direction. I slid within striking distance, keeping my stance low as I fired my gun straight into his arm, causing him to recoil. His automatic pistol flew into the air. Numbers instantly flashed through my mind. The revolver I was holding had five rounds, and I’d already fired five shots. The automatic pistol, however, had a double-stack magazine with seventeen rounds. I liked that number. I caught the pistol midair with a reverse grip, but I didn’t have time to adjust. Instead, I hooked my pinkie around the trigger and fired two shots. Then I flipped my wrist and fired two more; what followed were screams from the corner of the room and the sound of the bullets making contact. I then rolled to the side, came up on one knee, and steadied myself. With a flick of my wrist, I juggled the reverse-gripped pistol and caught it with a proper grip as I readied my stance. “H-how is he doing this?!” one of the men shrieked in terror. “I thought he was supposed to be some sort of low-level grunt!” A hail of bullets rained down on me. I leaped sideways, then placed my hand on the floor, half rotating to dodge the bullets until I was behind a pillar. Immediately, I sensed someone’s presence and quickly turned my head. From the pillar’s shadow emerged a figure in dark camouflage with short, neatly trimmed hair and muscles that strained against the fabric of his clothes. He charged straight for me, his handgun in front of his chin, his elbows slightly out, securing the handle by pushing with his right hand and pulling with his left—the optimal grip for close-quarters indoor gunfights. I instinctively knew that he was a former Special Forces member—a combat professional. When he shot his pistol at point-blank range, I jerked my head to the side, just barely dodging in time. I then aimed my pistol at him to counter, but he slapped my hand away. Our weapons immediately found each other again—his barrel seeking my head as my deflected pistol returned to face him. Like predators in a deadly struggle, our guns circled mere inches apart, hungry for the kill that would end this lethal dance. From there, it devolved into a savage exchange of gunfire. A bullet grazed past my ear; I knocked away my foe’s gun barrel with my elbow and swung the grip of my gun at his head. It was a blow that would have shattered his skull had it connected properly, but he tilted his head at the last second, then grinned. Nevertheless, he was only able to dodge because that was exactly what I wanted him to do. With my arm fully outstretched, I pulled the trigger, the thunderous report detonating inches from his ear. His bestial scream pierced the air as the ejected casing traced a golden arc right into his eye. Metal met skin and muscle with a sickening sizzle, searing his flesh. I seized the opportunity without hesitation. Bending my long legs, I delivered three consecutive low kicks to his thigh, knee, and the top of his foot. Right as he slipped off-balance, my right hook crashed into his exposed nape like a sledgehammer, causing his neck muscles to audibly pop. Then, after slightly jumping back to create distance, I delivered a full-power front kick to his thick chest, launching him against the pillar. His skull rebounded off concrete, and any signs of consciousness instantly vanished from his eyes, leaving him helpless against what came next. My leg carved through the air like the grim reaper’s scythe as my aerial back roundhouse kick—widely considered the single most devastating kick—connected squarely with the man’s jaw. The Special Forces operative spun violently, crashing headfirst into the floor before falling flat on his back, out cold. Judging by the impact, he was going to be sipping his meals through a straw for at least the next week or so. “Yoshiba…lost…?” “Surround him! Surround him and fire! Kill him!” I had already taken the pistol from the former Special Forces member named Yoshiba. Now there was a mismatched gun in each of my hands. I knew the battle was over. From here on, it was time to dance. Bullets rushed toward me, but I stood up, almost closing my eyes, and began firing both guns. Two shots forward. Two shots with both arms spread horizontally. Two shots with my arms raised behind me like wings. Two shots with my arms crossed in front of my chest. Flashes of light illuminated the room, and shadows divided the world. And finally, I fired two shots forward with both guns aligned. Several golden shell casings clattered to the floor, ringing out like metallic percussion instruments to compose a crisp outro that signaled the end of the battle. I stood still with my guns raised, waiting for enemy’s next move: for someone to shout, raise a weapon, or burst into the room. But no one came. No one got up. No one fought back. I was the only person left standing. Everyone else was on the floor, groaning and writhing in pain from being shot in both arms, or legs, or shoulders. “Unbelievable.” I turned around at the sound of the fed-up voice and noticed that Dazai was walking toward me. “Not a single one of them are dead. I mean, they’re seriously injured from being shot in the arms and legs, but they’re all alive. What kind of sorcery is this?” “I shot them in places that aren’t fatal,” I said in all honesty. “Uh-huh,” he muttered, dropping his shoulders. “But, like…why? Like— You know what, forget it. We can talk about it later. Ugh… There are so many things I need to ask you. Come on, let’s get out of here.” “Dazai,” I called as he began to walk away. “Count to two; then take one step to your left.” Dazai looked back at me, paused for a moment, then swiftly shifted to the left. A bullet raced past where he was just standing. The shot came from below, from a gun wielded by one of the fallen men. It was the ex-officer who’d tortured me earlier. Come to think of it, I hadn’t shot him; I’d only knocked him out when I threw him to the ground. I wanted to counter, but my guns had just run out of ammunition. Before he could fire a second shot, I threw the pistol at my waist. With a sharp flick of my wrist, the weapon spun through the air, flying straight and level, as if pulled by an unseen force, until it hit the gun out of his hand, sending both weapons clattering in opposite directions. “Dammit…!” The older man grunted, clutching his hand. “Just who are you?! What the hell are you…?!” There was no reason for me to answer that question. I didn’t owe anyone here an answer. But after thinking about it for a moment… “There was never a legendary organization of assassins,” I replied. “What?” “You said you couldn’t find anyone other than me who used to work in the organization. Of course you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t an organization that carried out all those jobs you know about.” Bewilderment spread across the man’s face, slowly giving way to a dawning realization, and then shock. “It was just you…?” He went limp, and little by little, fear began to cloud his visage. “The terror—the urban legends surrounding that organization—the legendary group of assassins that even the government feared and wouldn’t touch… Are you saying that was all you? You alone did all that…?” I picked up the submachine gun that had fallen at the back of the room and stepped in front of the man. The Middle Eastern–made weapon, capable of firing ten rounds per second, was less a tool for punching holes than one for brutally carving out flesh. “Any last words?” I asked. When I leveled the muzzle at the man, his expression froze. I understood exactly how he felt. Whenever someone points a gun at you, the entire world vanishes, leaving only that dark, gleaming barrel to consume your entire field of vision. “You picked the wrong man to come after,” I said. “And in this business, you have to pay for your mistakes. Same as all the people you’ve killed.” “W-wait! Don’t shoot!” the man screamed. He wanted to run, but the blow from earlier left his limbs sluggish and unresponsive. “Why should I wait?” “I…! I worked as an honest detective for over twenty years!” His strained voice made it sound like he was struggling to breathe. “But…the income I earned in those two decades wasn’t even half of what I’ve made in just six months as a criminal. Why does it have to be that way? Why doesn’t justice pay? I might be a criminal now, but the real evil lies with the leaders of this country who created a system where even doing what’s right doesn’t pay!” There was sorrow buried in his words—the kind that only someone who truly believed what they were saying could produce—and it resonated with the most profound conviction. But one person was entirely unmoved by that raw emotion. “Ah-ha-ha-ha.” Dazai’s laughter was hollow and monotone. “Unbelievable. You’re remarkably unoriginal, aren’t you? Even your last little speech was so predictable.” Dazai eyed the man with utmost disinterest. He would have shown more curiosity glancing at a pebble on a riverbank. “Predictable bums like you really annoy me. Anyway, can you just shoot this guy already, Oda—? Uh… Now that I think about it, what should I call you?” Dazai asked, staring at me. That was when I realized that he had never once called me by my name until now. “It’s up to you,” I replied. Then I casually fired the submachine gun. The resulting blast thundered like industrial machinery devouring granite, each 9mm harbinger of death erupting from the barrel rushing toward the man. The floor exploded violently, concrete shards scattering in every direction. The man let out a voiceless scream, convulsed two or three times, and then went limp. “Wow, you really aren’t going to kill him,” Dazai said nonchalantly when he saw the man had fainted without a scratch. “You’re a lot more interesting than this guy. But as long as you’re alive, he’s not going to stop coming after you. I think you should kill him.” “Yeah,” I agreed, dropping the gun to the floor and then walking away as if this were nothing out of the ordinary. “Let’s get out of here.” There was a slight pause, but I soon heard Dazai’s footsteps behind me. He was right. I was probably an idiot for doing this—and it wouldn’t be the first time, either. No king’s reign lasts forever. Me and Dazai emerged outside during dusk, when the sun, the pinnacle of this world, was setting and losing its radiance. The sky was stained as though violet paint had been carelessly spilled across a canvas, and its warm amber hues were gradually retreating into the distance. Eager stars adorned the heavens with silver twinkles while a crescent moon suspended itself low in the gathering darkness like a celestial scar. We walked through the city as lukewarm, stale air flowed slowly between the towering buildings. Elegant individuals stole cautious glances back at us. No surprise there, since we were covered in wounds, stained with filth, and to top it all off, we were thoroughly exhausted. It had been a long day, so we had no energy left to concern ourselves with the gazes of passersby. “I’m beat,” I grumbled. “Me too,” replied Dazai. “Where are we going, by the way?” “To the place I said I’d take you.” I took out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. It had been a while since I last smoked, but I’d gone through too much that day not to. However, just as I was about to light up, I suddenly remembered that Dazai was a minor, and that convinced me to put the cigarette back. “Don’t mind me,” Dazai said. “You can smoke.” I paused for a few seconds with the cigarette dangling from my lips, my thoughts wavering just like the cigarette. In the end, I decided to take Dazai up on the offer. I inhaled, then exhaled, the smoke rising from the tip of the cigarette before drifting into the twilight. I turned off the main street and into a narrow alleyway with Dazai right behind me. There, untouched by the setting sun, night had settled in early. A white light sliced through the darkness. It was a shop’s sign. I stopped in front of it and opened the door. “Is this the place?” Dazai asked as I silently urged him to step inside. The establishment was quiet. The narrow, steep staircase descending into the building felt like a secret passage. The first sound I heard was music: a jazz number with a rusted timbre. It was an old tune, full of the sorrow of a family leaving, never to return home. With each step, that melody made it feel as though I were slipping backward through time. Perhaps this place simply lingered in an era a little behind the world above. Maybe because it had just opened for the night, there were no other customers inside. Bathed in dim light, the place looked as if it had sunk to the bottom of the sea, resting on a yellowish-brown seabed. Behind the counter, the bartender polishing glasses acknowledged me, nodding with his eyes alone. “Are you serious? This is the place I needed to go to before I died?” Dazai asked with a disappointed note in his voice. “It’s just an ordinary bar. I mean, sure, it looks nice, but…” “Yep, it’s just an ordinary bar,” I said. “There’s nothing secret or special about the place. I tricked you.” Dazai stood there, his face blank as if his mind had wandered off somewhere else. Quite some time had passed before he uttered another word. “…Huh?” he said vacantly. “Think about it. You seriously believe a nobody like me would know something that even a big name in the Port Mafia didn’t? Besides, you said you were thirsty, right?” I told him. “Hey, I’ll have the usual.” I sat down on one of the barstools while the bartender quietly placed a spirit in front of me. The liquid in the glass shimmered smoothly, reflecting the light, and the ice suddenly clinked as though giving some sort of signal. “Why don’t you sit down?” I suggested, looking at Dazai. He stood there for a beat, visibly disgruntled, but after taking another good look at the seat, the bartender, and me, he slowly sat down. Once settled, Dazai ordered a drink, and a glass was brought to him. For a while after that, no one spoke. “So…let me get this straight,” he began while staring at his glass. “Did you lie…in order to stop me from killing myself?” “No, I’m not that noble.” I took a drink and then placed my glass back down on the counter. “I was just messing with you because you’re young and you were acting like you had it all figured out. Nothing more to it.” The words I spoke felt somehow both true and deceptive. One’s own heart, no less than another’s, was an enigma. For a while, Dazai stared intently at me as if trying to see through the layers of my comment, but he eventually gave up and simply shook his head. “I’m having a hard time believing you, but sure, let’s go with that story for now,” he said. “Don’t get too hung up on it. There are only two absolute truths in this world.” I took out a pack of cards from my inner pocket. “One is that you still haven’t beaten me in poker yet. The other is that the dead forever lose their chance to play poker with the living.” Dazai glared at me for a bit until his cheeks eventually softened into a smile. “I’m about to wipe that smug grin right off your face,” he told me. After that, we clinked our glasses and made small talk while playing poker. We chatted about our current jobs, favorite shops, hobbies, recently published books, the works. Glasses clinked softly, and bodies leaned in close to share secrets. There was never a moment of silence. For example… “By the way, how does someone as incredibly skilled as you end up working a safe and boring job like a deliveryman?” “Because there’s not much else that I can do. I’ve been at this for the past four years. Sure, it’s boring, but most deliverymen tend to quit or die on the job within a month or two, so we’re always short-staffed to the point that I’ll never be able to leave.” “…What?” Dazai’s eyes opened wide. “People ‘die on the job’?” “There was an explosion at the distribution center just last week,” I replied, taking a sip of my drink. “A bomb was mixed with the packages, targeting our company, but I managed to throw it outside just before it went off. Another second and all the packages would’ve been blown to bits along with everyone who worked there, too.” “Wait… What…?” Dazai’s voice was a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. “Do you guys work in a war zone or something?” “In a way, we kind of do. We’re a postal service that specializes in delivering dangerous cargo to Yokohama’s hazard zones: the Yokohama Settlement, pirate-infested waters, special restricted areas around military research facilities. We deliver packages on time to places where regular postal companies won’t go for various reasons. Sometimes, we’re evading industry spies to get newly developed components to our clients; other times, we’re delivering actual guns to kidnapped tycoons. My boss is incredibly skilled, and the two of us can usually deliver almost anything, but it’s dangerous work with little return. I actually haven’t been paid in four months.” “Hold up. Why didn’t you tell me these stories when I was injured in bed and bored out of my mind?” Dazai suddenly looked like a child having a fit. “Sorry,” I told him. “I don’t want apologies! Bartender, gimme another one of these!” He slammed his glass onto the counter. “All right, you’re gonna tell me everything right now. I want to hear about every single thing you’ve delivered for work, and I’m not leaving this place until you do! Let’s start with the story about you delivering a gun to that rich guy who got kidnapped!” “Looks like I don’t have much of a choice.” I finished my drink, wetting my throat before beginning my tale. “It all started when…” That became the signal for the night to begin. The music flowed, time flowed, and the liquid in our glasses flowed down our throats. Our words quietly emerged and then drifted away, going nowhere in particular. “Ha-ha-ha! You found two wealthy tycoons who were kidnapped?! Which one was the real one?” Music had played, and time had gone by. The night deepened as customers appeared and disappeared like whitecaps. “Dazai, is that true? The man fighting the Port Mafia turned into a monster and tried to destroy Yokohama? And he could shoot beams out of his mouth? I can’t tell how much of that is real and how much is just you pulling my leg.” We never ran out of things to talk about. Words slipped smoothly from our mouths as if they had long been stored deep in our throats, patiently waiting for their turn to be spoken. We talked, we listened, we shared. Poker cards were dealt, and several games were played, but neither of us paid much attention to them. I found myself thinking back to the first time I had met Dazai, collapsed in his own blood, lying in front of my house. That was only a few days ago, yet it already felt so far away, as if it belonged to another lifetime altogether. I wondered: If I had closed the door and left him there that morning, what would’ve become of us? “All right, I’ve made up my mind: Odasaku,” Dazai announced, leaning forward after he’d finally arrived at some sort of decision. “A short name like Oda just doesn’t feel right for you, and Sakunosuke Oda is way too long. You’re Odasaku. So from now on, whenever someone asks you your name, that’s what you tell them.” “Odasaku? That’s kind of weird. Makes me sound like a farmer. Do I get a say in this?” “Nope!” “Well, then…,” I began, taking a sip of my drink. “I guess that settles it.” Dazai ordered canned crab. I ordered a gimlet—something I hadn’t had in a long time, but for whatever reason, it suddenly felt right. We continued to share countless stories after that: opening a package marked HANDLE WITH CARE only to find a baby with a rattle inside; risking one’s life in a rock-paper-scissors match with a Middle Eastern tycoon in order to gain access to a jewel-smuggling network; running away from a five-hundred-strong religious militia just to deliver a single pack of milk; meeting a boy who could manipulate gravity… Our words gradually lost any connection they had with one another, scattering into fragments that drifted between us. Just as music notes sometimes had their own individual meaning rather than forming a sequence, our chatter behaved as if the vibrations of our throats carried meaning. If I were to put it poetically, we were turning into musical instruments that produced words. “I haven’t talked this much in forever,” Dazai said at length, clearly exhausted. “I’m glad,” I replied while dealing the cards. We’d played so many games that I had lost count. “But it looks like we stayed a little too long. The bar’s closing soon. You finally get to go home, huh?” Dazai’s injuries were no longer life-threatening and would now heal on their own without further treatment. My role here was done, and so was our relationship. “So when do we get together next?” he casually asked, nodding as he took his share of the cards. I stopped what I was doing and glanced at him. Dazai had to have known that wasn’t a regular question. It sounded more special than any line I had ever heard. The word next was like a magic spell, especially when spoken by a man who wished to die. Dazai, however, waited for my reaction with a carefree, innocent smile. “Good question,” I replied, my gaze wandering as I searched for the right thing to say. “I don’t know. You’re a busy man, after all. But if you really want to meet up again that badly—” “Ha-ha-ha. You’re hilarious. So that’s what you look like when you’re surprised.” Dazai turned his cards faceup. “Four of a kind, all kings. I win!” I compared my hand to Dazai’s, and lo and behold, his was better than mine. “All these games we were playing up until now were so I could figure out your skill,” he revealed with a delighted smirk. “Your skill allows to you read roughly five to six seconds into the future, so if I take seven seconds to reveal my hand after the final bet while simultaneously switching out my cards, you won’t be able to foresee that future.” Dazai held up the king of clubs from his hand. With a light flick of his wrist, he turned his cards over and back again, revealing the eight of hearts. He then flicked his wrist once more, returning the card to the king of clubs. Even up close, I couldn’t tell where that card had come from. “Of course, you were keeping your eyes peeled to make sure that I didn’t cheat, so I had to distract you with a little chitchat,” he told me. “So both the game and the flow of our conversation…were all part of your scheme?” “Heh. Saying something weighty as camouflage to get your desired outcome—that’s negotiation 101.” “Which part was the camouflage and which part was your desired outcome?” I asked while organizing the cards. For a fleeting moment, Dazai’s expression froze as if he’d been caught off guard. But it was only for an instant; he tilted his head and laughed, perhaps to conceal his expression. I almost thought I saw a hint of embarrassment as well, but it could have simply been the bar’s dim lighting. “You told me that I’d be an idiot if I died before coming here once,” he said, still masking his expression. “Sometimes, even I end up being right,” I replied, collecting the cards on the table one by one. The bar was closing, so customers were slowly leaving. It was time for us to go. It was probably deep into the night outside as the world remained still, swallowed in silence. I observed the deck of cards. I was good at poker, but it wasn’t like I never lost. Nothing is guaranteed in this world. You can’t control what happens, no matter how hard you try. The only thing you can do is accept it and attempt to fight back by enjoying yourself a little—perhaps in the corner of a bar, somewhere in the past, or within a whirlpool of uncertainty for what’s to come. “Even if you flip a card a thousand times and always predict the outcome correctly, there’s no guarantee that you’ll get it right the thousand and first time,” I said. “Yeah, I figured that out tonight,” Dazai replied. “You did, huh?” “Is that strange?” He smiled. This smile seemed a bit older and more mature than the one from before. I shook my head. What a day. “Now back to your question,” I said while getting up off my stool. “I’m not sure exactly when we can meet up again, since as you know, you’re a fickle man, and I still have my own issues to sort out.” He nodded. “The ex-cops, right?” “They’re not going to give up. Even if they do, I doubt they’ll be the last to come after me, so I need to operate under the assumption that information on the painting has already been leaked. And as you know, even if you run away to the other side of the world, information will eventually catch up with you.” People in the underworld tended to have connections with one another in some way. I didn’t know through what channels the group known as the Forty-Eight had learned about my past, but they’d probably bought the intel from another criminal organization. And even if they’d obtained it some other way, the Forty-Eight could possibly sell my info to other criminal enterprises. If that happened, I’d have more than just those ex-cops to deal with. A day was going to come when all this would be beyond my capacity. “Oh, come on. You’re still worried about that?” Dazai crossed his arms. “There’s a real easy way you can fix this.” “Really?” “If running to the other side of the world isn’t going to work, then you’re just going to have to go somewhere deeper,” he said lightly with a shrug. “Somewhere so deep that no criminal organization in the world would even dare enter. And this place isn’t that far, either. You can get there from Yokohama.” He grinned. “You’d be an idiot if you didn’t go there at least once before you died.” I pondered for a moment until a certain place came to mind. If I went there, then no criminal organization could lay a hand on me. This was the darkest place in Yokohama—a sanctuary of the night shrouded in a black storm of violence. Its people were bound by ironclad rules. If an outsider attacked a member, they would become a united row of fangs that tore into any enemy. “No one can run away from their past forever.” Dazai smiled. “Unless you go there, at least.” “You’re telling me I should do it?” “Up to you,” he said, still smiling. “But I promise that if you do, you’ll never be haunted by your past again—because it will no longer be able to reach you.” “And what exactly is this place?” Dazai broke into a triumphant grin and spread his arms wide as if in invitation. Then he revealed the name of the place that would greatly change my future and set it in stone. “What’s it called? Well, we like to call the organization…” The Day I Took In Dazai Side A – End