Chapter 88

Phase.01 This man was troubled. Simply at a loss. He was in the middle of a stare-down with several documents, a cigarette in his mouth. He stood from his chair and stretched, stared at the numbers on the wall, rubbed his brow, then sat back down and groaned like a bull about to draw its last breath. He faced the documents once more only for the meaningless shapes on the pages to vanish. “This is hopeless…” His black hair half-heartedly combed back, the man was dressed in a white lab coat with worn-out sandals and a stethoscope around his neck. Dark bags hung under his eyes. He was clearly a doctor—one in a dingy clinic that was a mess to say the least. Scattered about were stethoscopes, medical records, and bookshelves full of academic texts. On the wall in front of his desk was an X-ray film viewer. Very much the picture of a doctor in a hospital office. And yet, this man wasn’t actually a doctor, and this wasn’t a hospital. In fact, it was the complete opposite. “Our weapons smugglers are two weeks behind schedule. My men are going to be fighting with kitchen knives at this rate. And it doesn’t stop there. We’ve already had three violent incidents this month where the city police had to get involved. I’m losing control of the low-level grunts,” the man complained as he eyed the documents. His name was Ougai Mori, leader of a powerful underground organization known as the Port Mafia. Having acquired the position only a year earlier, he was still relatively new to leadership. “We’re losing contracts for our protection business, conflict with other organizations is escalating, our turf is getting smaller by the day,” Mori went on. “This isn’t good. It’s been one problem after another ever since I took over as leader this past year. I never expected leadership to be so difficult… Maybe I’m just not cut out for this. What do you think, Dazai? Are you even listening to me?” “Maybe, maybe not.” “So which is it?” The one to answer Ougai was a lanky boy seated on a nearby stool. He wore an oversized black overcoat, and a white bandage wrapped around his forehead was peeking out from under his messy dark hair. His name was Osamu Dazai, age fifteen. “Come on, Mori. Everything that comes out of your mouth is always so boring!” Dazai complained as he fiddled with a medicine bottle. “It’s starting to sound like you’re chanting a mantra. ‘We don’t have enough money. We don’t have enough intel. My men don’t trust me.’ You knew from the start that things would turn out this way.” “Well, maybe you’re right…” Mori scratched his head in vexation, then suddenly said, “By the way, Dazai, why are you mixing hypertension medicine with hypotension medicine?” “Huh? Because maybe something cool will happen, and I’ll be able to die in peace.” “That isn’t going to kill you!” Mori seized the bottle. “Sigh. How did you even open the medicine cabinet? It was locked.” “Give that back! I wanna die!” Dazai flailed his arms. “Life is so boring; I’d rather just die! But I want it to be quick and painless! Help me out, Mori!” “I’ll teach you how to properly mix drugs if you promise to be a good boy and stay out of trouble.” “Liar! You’re just saying that so you can use me! Do you have any idea how much you’ve put me through this past year?! And what did you teach me? Nothing! I’m gonna quit this organization and join one of our rivals!” “Now, now, learn to think before you talk. Your death won’t be quick and painless if you betray us.” Mori smiled darkly. “Sigh… I’m sooo bored. Why’s the world such a boring place?” Dazai began swinging his lanky legs back and forth. Dazai wasn’t one of Mori’s subordinates. He wasn’t even in the Mafia. He was neither Mori’s secret illegitimate child nor an orphan he’d adopted, and he certainly wasn’t a medical assistant. No single word or phrase could accurately describe their relationship. The closest approximation would be bound by a common destiny. “More importantly, Dazai…,” Mori said with a sigh. “You were the only one there when I inherited the previous boss’s position. In other words, you are the sole witness to his final will and testament. I can’t have you dying on me that easily.” That common destiny bound them together one year ago. Mori, the Port Mafia boss’s personal physician, and Dazai—who’d merely been brought in for care after a suicide attempt—conspired and carried out a secret plan: assassinating their leader. The man’s final words had been nothing more than a fabrication. “It didn’t work out like you planned, though,” Dazai said with remarkable clarity. “What do you mean?” “Choosing someone who’d attempted suicide to be your accomplice was an excellent idea. But here we are, an entire year later, and I’m still alive…and that’s why that deep-seated fear is still eating at you.” For a brief moment, Mori felt as if ice had been pressed against his organs. “…What are you talking about?” “You know what I’m talking about. You’re afraid someone will find out that you assassinated the previous boss.” Dazai’s expression was unchanging, which made reading his thoughts nigh impossible. His face was as still as the frozen surface of a lake. “What do you mean it ‘didn’t work out’?” Mori furrowed his brow as if he were scolding Dazai. “Nothing fell short of expectations. You and I successfully carried out the mission one year ago. It wasn’t without hardship, however, which is exactly why I never want to do something like that again.” “The mission isn’t over yet,” Dazai suggested with a cold gaze. “It only ends when everyone involved in the assassination and fabrication of the boss’s final testament has been silenced…permanently. Right?” Mori’s emotions hit him like a tidal wave. “…You…” Dazai’s gaze quietly penetrated Mori, as if his eyes could see inside the man’s body like some sort of medical device. “To that end, I was the perfect accomplice. Nobody would suspect a thing. Once you became the boss after I vouched for you…I could have simply killed myself for some unknown reason.” The pair spent the next few moments staring at each other in silence so heavy and noxious you might think it was a stare-down between the grim reaper and a demon. A single word rang in Mori’s head over and over like an alarm. Miscalculation. You misjudged the situation, he told himself. You failed to pick the optimal solution. You shouldn’t have chosen this child to help you. Dazai is unpredictable. He can be sharp but in a dark, twisted way. He’s observant. He’s cold and calculating with no equivalent even in the Mafia, where the most evil reside. “…I’m kidding. I was just making stuff up because I get a kick out of watching big shots like you squirm. It’s what I’ve been doing to keep myself entertained lately,” Dazai said before quickly returning to his usual laid-back, unfocused expression. Mori quietly observed him. Dazai showed flashes of brilliance one moment, but the next moment, they were gone. As soon as he seemed to have it all figured out, he’d confuse everyone by talking about his bizarre, meaningless fascination with suicide. It had never occurred to Mori before he became a leader, but something about Dazai brought a certain person to Mori’s mind. “You remind me of someone,” Mori said without a second thought. “Who?” Dazai asked, curious. But Mori didn’t answer the question. “At any rate, stop teasing your elders,” he said, smiling faintly. “Me? Permanently silence you? Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I would have done that long ago if I’d really wanted to. It’d be simpler than breathing. How many times have I stopped you from killing yourself this year alone? It’s quite taxing, you know. I even disarmed a bomb under your chair once like the protagonist in a movie.” He couldn’t let Dazai die. Because if he did…the previous boss’s supporters within the organization would most definitely turn on Mori and claim he was behind his predecessor’s death. He’d already stopped two assassination attempts that year, both of which had been planned by his predecessor’s supporters. Of course, the traitors were disposed of, but there was no telling how many in this anti-Mori faction remained within the Mafia. Hence why he had to keep Dazai alive. And Mori found another reason this past year to do just that. “Dazai, if you really want, I can prepare a drug so that you can end things comfortably,” Mori claimed, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a sheet of paper that he swiftly wrote something on. “Really?” “I need you to do a quick investigation for me in return, though,” he said as he kept writing. “It’s not a difficult task. Nothing dangerous. But you’re the only one I can go to for help.” “Sounds fishy.” Dazai eyed Mori reproachfully. “You know Suribachi City near the Yokohama Settlement, correct?” Mori asked, ignoring Dazai’s remark. “Lately, there have been rumors that a certain individual has been seen in that area. I’d like you to go there and check if the rumors are true. This is called a Silver Oracle. It’s a delegation of authority, you could say. Show this to anyone in the Port Mafia, and they will do whatever you ask. Use it wisely.” Dazai looked back and forth between Mori and the sheet of paper being offered to him, then asked, “Who is this certain individual you want me to look for?” “Guess.” Dazai sighed. “I don’t want to guess.” “Just guess.” Dazai stared darkly at Mori for a few moments, then slowly replied. “…There’s no way the most powerful man in the Port Mafia would give a second thought to some town gossip. That says a lot about just how important this rumor is. Plus, you’re giving me a Silver Oracle, which makes me think this individual isn’t what’s important. It’s the rumor itself. You have to know the truth, and you have to quash the rumor at the source; its spread alone is harmful. You asked me to investigate instead of a professional or one of your top subordinates, so there’s only one person this individual could be: the previous boss, right?” “Exactly.” Mori nodded heavily. “There are some people who must never rise from the grave. I personally confirmed his death, even gave him a most exceptional funeral.” Mori touched his fingertips, for he could still feel that moment. It was like cleaving a massive tree. He had cut open multiple people due to the nature of his work, but none had been as tough and thick as his predecessor. Not during any surgery he had ever performed. He’d slit the previous boss’s throat with a scalpel, then covered the murder up by claiming the leader’s illness had brought on convulsions and he needed a tracheotomy to open his airway. Dazai, then only fourteen years old, had witnessed all this firsthand. “Someone who must never rise from the grave, huh…?” Dazai muttered. After a few moments passed, he heaved a reluctant sigh and stood up. “Looks like I really am the only one you can go to for help,” he said before snatching the piece of paper from Mori. “You’re gonna get me that drug, then, okay? You better keep your word.” Mori smirked and replied, “This is your first job. Welcome to the Mafia.” Dazai began briskly walking to the door when he stopped all of a sudden. “By the way, who’s the person you said I reminded you of?” he asked. Mori smiled faintly. Then with a hint of melancholy in his expression, he gave his answer: “Me.” He’d needed an assistant—a secretary, a confidant, a right-hand man of the highest caliber. But as a doctor, a traitor, and a usurper, what he needed most of all was someone he could trust. He needed a subordinate with whom he could share everything, someone who could understand him as he alone stood at the organization’s apex, leading his subordinates. It was an error on Mori’s part to take in Dazai. But not all errors are bad. This stone he’d picked up—which he’d planned on disposing of eventually—turned out to be a giant diamond in the rough. Perhaps Mori was asking for too much as someone who followed such a bloody path. But this was Dazai, after all. So perhaps… “Dazai,” Mori began while still pondering that question. “I may not be able to comprehend your answer, but I nonetheless want to know: Why do you want to die?” Dazai seemed puzzled as he looked back at Mori, like he genuinely didn’t understand the question. Then, eyes full of youthful innocence, he responded: “Let me ask you something instead: Do you truly believe there’s value in living?” Suribachi looked just like it had sounded: a city built within a crater created by a massive explosion years prior. The original inhabitants perished in the mile-diameter blast along with any notion of who each section belonged to. All that remained was a wasteland in the shape of a Japanese mortar—a suribachi. It wasn’t long before people arrived and decided to build their own city. They were society’s outcasts, or perhaps society never even acknowledged their existence to begin with. Suribachi bordered the Yokohama Settlement, a designated conflict zone, and anyone could take up residence there regardless of legality. That drew people to create huts, build stairs, and even lay electrical wires. The site of the explosion soon became a haven for those scorned by prosperity and luxury. It was a gray city for gray people. And, of course, it was outside the authorities’ radar, which naturally made it prime real estate for illegal organizations such as the Mafia. Dazai was heading down a path in Suribachi. “Oh? So drinking metal-plating solutions is an extremely popular method of suicide abroad, huh…? Interesting.” He was reading a book as he walked, his expression the epitome of serious. Dazai had never looked at someone with such solemnity. “Hmm? What’s this? It’s only popular because it’s the easiest chemical for industrial painters to get their hands on, and it’s not a quick and easy death. Anyone who drinks the solution dies after spending hours in agony as their organs dissolve inside of them… Ack! I’m so glad I didn’t give that a try!” Dazai lifted his head and glanced at his Mafia escort behind him. “Hey, did you know that? Be careful next time you plan on killing yourself, uh…” “Hirotsu,” the escort answered, looking like a small dog backed into a corner. “I will…be sure to keep that in mind.” A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a gentlemanly appearance, Hirotsu was a mafioso Dazai had chosen for his knowledge of the area. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about having to be this boy’s escort and guide. Dazai was just a fifteen-year-old kid. He wasn’t even in the Mafia. And yet, he had a Silver Oracle. Everyone, long-standing Mafia members included, had to be careful around him. Not only that, Dazai was one of the two people who witnessed the former boss’s final moments, and now Mori had entrusted him with a top secret mission. There was clearly something more to all this. Hirotsu knew instinctively that he had to treat Dazai with respect. These were instincts only someone who’d survived many years in the Mafia possessed. The two of them had left that morning to ask around if anyone had seen the Port Mafia’s former boss. They went from the slums to the most popular tourist sites, following the rumors to their source. A boy and a middle-aged man made for a bizarre investigation team, but nonetheless, Dazai’s uncanny ability to weasel information out of people proved useful. He managed to get most of the sources to tell him what he wanted without them even realizing it. Even the more stubborn individuals changed their tune the moment Dazai gave them a peek of the wad of bills Mori had provided him for this very purpose. Once they obtained all the information they could get their hands on, Dazai and Hirotsu started making their way back to headquarters. “Dazai… Please do not walk too far ahead of me,” said Hirotsu. “I am your escort, but this is nonetheless a conflict zone. There’s no telling what could happen.” “‘Conflict’?” Hirotsu nodded and continued, “The Mafia is currently at war with three organizations: Takasekai, Gelhart Security Service, and a third group located here in Suribachi that shows no signs of letting up. They are an extremely eccentric group, nothing like any enemy we have ever faced… They have no official name, but simply go by ‘the Sheep.’ This week alone, they killed two of our squads. The unofficial leader is especially difficult to deal with. They say not even bullets work on him.” “Ohhh… No wonder I heard explosions and gunfire coming from over there. Doesn’t make much difference to me, though…,” Dazai grumbled in boredom. All of a sudden, there was a beep coming from his pocket—his phone. “It’s Mori.” Dazai placed the phone against his ear. “Hello? …Yeah, we’re done here. I learned a bunch of things… Huh? ‘How’? …Who do you think I am? Anyway, to get straight to the point…” Dazai sounded like he couldn’t care less. “The previous boss was here. He came back to life from the pits of hell, covered in black flames.” “What?” came Mori’s shaky reply. “There were a lot of witnesses. I guess the old man had a lot of regrets and couldn’t let go of this world?” Dazai’s lips curled into a cold-blooded smirk. “At any rate, I’ll give you a detailed report when I get back—” All of a sudden—without any warning—something hit Dazai squarely in the torso, sending him flying through the air like a flower petal caught in a gust of wind. He smashed through a zinc-coated steel roof, causing the wooden hut underneath to collapse, then rolled farther into Suribachi while demolishing a well’s fencing in the process. “The Sheep!” He heard Hirotsu’s shouts slowly fade into the distance. “Dazai!” Dazai bounced down the hill until he went right through a shed, kicking up a whirlwind of dust and plywood…and then he finally stopped. He found himself atop a simple stucco building. However, something was on top of him: the shadowy male figure who had hit him moments ago. “Ha-ha-ha! Now this is rich!” The figure roared with laughter. “A kid! The Port Mafia’s so hard up for lackeys that they’re hiring kids!” It was a small-framed boy around Dazai’s age dressed in a dark green biker jacket. He looked like a crow amid the dark of night. “That hurt, you know?” Dazai, collapsed on his back, said emotionlessly. “I hate pain.” “I’m gonna give ya a choice, kid,” the boy told him, hands still in his pockets. “Die now or die after givin’ me the information I want. What’s it gonna be?” “I like those two choices. Both very tempting offers,” Dazai replied unflinchingly, despite having been hit in the torso and knocked through several buildings. “Okay. Kill me now.” The boy in the biker jacket fell silent for a brief moment, then looked down at Dazai as if realizing he’d finally met a person of character. “Hmph. I thought you’d just cry and run away. You’re a surprisingly gutsy kid.” “You’re a kid, too.” “Yeah, everyone I fight always says that at first, but they immediately realize their mistake. I’m no ordinary brat like you.” The boy clenched his fist. “Now talk. Tell me everything about this Arahabaki you’re lookin’ into.” He then stepped on Dazai’s wounded hand, cracking the bones under the sole of his shoe. “…Oh. Arahabaki? I see… Arahabaki,” Dazai muttered. He stared at his hand being crushed as if it were someone else’s.