“Yeah, somehow.”
Ango crawled, pulling himself out of the rubble before looking back at the building. I did the same before turning around as well. The second floor up was essentially destroyed, leaving only the charred framework. Even the flooring of the room where Ango was being held prisoner had been blown away. Mimic really went all out on the explosives. They destroyed any evidence we would’ve used to go after them as well.
“How much does our boss know about this?” I asked Ango while trying to catch my breath.
“Almost everything,” he replied. “He’s the only one in the Mafia who knows I infiltrated Mimic. That’s how sensitive this mission is. More people knowing would increase the chances of a leak. This is a fundamental principle when handling secret information.”
“I’ve been had.” I got up, then took a seat on some rubble. “So that’s why the boss ordered me to find you while keeping the truth a secret.”
It was insurance in case Ango’s undercover work went south. He needed a pawn who would save him—someone who knew nothing, wouldn’t deceive anyone, and wouldn’t get suspicious no matter what happened.
“Bombs and close brushes with death aren’t really my thing.”
Ango shook his head, making his bitterness clear.
“At any rate, Mimic was as quick as an arrow to react. They didn’t even give me a chance to take measures to protect myself. Ugh. I can see rainbow-colored stars when I close my eyes. What in the world is this?”
“You get used to it.”
“I have to inform the boss of what happened.” Ango got to his feet. “Mimic’s commander is a dangerous man. He’s coolheaded, has the qualities of a leader, and seeks conflict. He plans on completely annihilating the Mafia, and his men would slit their own throats for him. I even saw someone do it.”
“What’s this leader’s name?” I asked.
“André Gide. He’s a powerful skill user himself. He should be avoided at all costs, especially by you, Odasaku. Whatever you do, do not fight him… By the way, you were the one who found the pistol in the safe in my room, were you not?”
I replied that I was.
“That gun is a symbol. There’s a special design on the hammer that proves you’re a member of Mimic. It took me a year to receive one.”
As Ango stood in the midst of the debris with wobbly legs, he quickly turned his gaze to the thickets in the mountains…as if he was trying to look for something there.
“It’s too late to stop the war between Mimic and the Mafia. Fighting is all they think about. Moreover, it doesn’t matter to them who they fight. They’d dance the jitterbug with the hound of Hades if it would take them to their next battlefield. If we don’t do something soon, the city will— Ngh!”
The skin around Ango’s temple tore, and a trail of blood slowly trickled down his cheek. I handed him a handkerchief, which he thanked me for before using it to apply pressure to the wound.
“Just who are they?”
“They’re an army…although I’m sure you already figured that out yourself. They’re remnants of an army faction defeated during the previous interorganizational war. These men don’t know how to live outside of a battlefield. They’re known as grau geists—men with no master. Even now, they’re obsessed with warfare—” Ango suddenly turned his gaze to the dirt path. “What’s that?”
I followed his eyes. A blue temari handball, the type kids use to play games, rolled down the gravel slope. Did it get blown over there during the explosion? The ball rolled to my feet, and I picked it up. It was a deep azure. The strings were coming loose, since it was rather old, but there was something about the beautiful geometric pattern that drew me in. I rolled it around in my hand, and when I put my palms together, it fit perfectly between them. I looked at the back side, but there was nothing particularly unique—
The earth suddenly shook. All of a sudden, my gaze met the ground in front of me. The next second, I realized I was falling, and I collapsed face-first, despite placing both my hands out to catch myself. My vision blurred. I felt sick. When I looked at my hands, they were covered in a sticky blue liquid; that ball had been coated in it. The parts of my hand covered in the liquid tingled uncomfortably. Major alarm bells rang wildly in my head.
The vision ended there.
I stood among the debris. The worst thing about the vision ending was that I was already holding the handball. I immediately threw it away, but it was too late. I started to feel dizzy just like a moment ago. I rubbed my palms on my coat to wipe off the blue slime, but it had already been absorbed into my skin and infiltrated my body. My skill, Flawless, allowed me to see a few seconds—more than five but less than six—into the future in my head. That was how I was able to avoid surprise attacks like sniper fire and explosions.
However, if I were to realize I was in danger after falling into the trap…there was no way for me to avoid it even if I did have a vision just like the moment before. I had been holding the handball for over six seconds. It was too late. Whoever did this knew about my skill inside and out. There weren’t many people who did. Nervously sweating, I tried to warn Ango, but I couldn’t talk. A dark shadow appeared noiselessly behind him; it was four—no, five people dressed in field tunics as dark as the night with gas masks hiding their faces. They weren’t Mimic. None of them were carrying old-fashioned gray pistols, but rather state-of-the-art precision-guided rifles. They were with the Special Forces. One of the men in black tapped Ango on the shoulder. Ango turned around and nodded as if to say he understood.
“Odasaku, I apologize for the trouble I caused you.”
Ango walked over and placed the handkerchief I had just given him in my hand. I couldn’t brace myself, never mind hold the handkerchief. Ango took a white silk glove out of his pocket, then pulled it over his right hand before picking up the blue handball.
“You are free to speak of everything that happened here. Everything I told you about Mimic was true. I just wish I could have had a drink with you and Dazai one last time at the usual place and time…”
A Special Forces soldier tapped Ango on the arm, seemingly giving him a signal. After responding with his gaze, Ango looked down at me and smiled as if he had given up.
“Take care of yourself.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ango turn his back to me before leaving with the Special Forces. I wasn’t even able to move my neck or eyes at that point. The world in front of me was slowly swallowed by darkness. My tongue numb, I called out to Ango as he left, but even I didn’t know what I was saying. An indescribable feeling of loneliness was the only thing filling my heart…as if I were floating at the end of the universe.
Even that was swallowed by darkness.
My consciousness faded to black.
CHAPTER III
It had been raining that day. I was sitting. Time slowly, indistinctly passed by, and all sound was drowned out by the vague noise of falling rain. The world itself felt like an apparition. The rain poured down before my eyes at a slant, drenching the scenery and turning everything blue. Fog mixed with ocean mist intertwined with the downpour. The wet landscape and I sat face-to-face, though separated by glass.
I was fourteen years old at the time. I’d been at a café reading a book—an old book. The cover’s corners were worn down, and a part of it was torn. The print was old, with some letters faded here and there. I’d found this book after a hit and brought it back with me, since the owner wouldn’t be needing it anymore. I turned the pages.
I was a much simpler person at age fourteen. I’d been working as a freelance hit man doing contract assassinations, and not once did I ever fail. The wealthy original owner of this book along with his family were mere stains on the wall at that point. I could no longer remember why I brought this book back with me. Something about it—something slight—had just stuck in the back of my mind. I didn’t have a habit of reading books at that stage in my life, but this one was different. It was an old novel. The story took p
lace in a certain town, and it was about a myriad of characters. All the characters, though, were weak and pitiful—even the smallest things caused them panic. But mysteriously enough, it was a very engaging story.
After work, I always went to the same café and sat in the same seat to read this novel. It had become a daily routine, which was why I’d read that book so many times. I was reading it that day, too.
“You’re always reading that same book, boy. Is it really that interesting?”
I looked up in the direction of the sudden voice.
Standing before me, straight as a ramrod, was a lanky middle-aged man with a cane and a short mustache that accentuated his faint smile. I’d seen him a few times at this café before. When I told him it was a good book, he looked at me curiously.
“You’re a strange lad. There are plenty of stories out in this world that are much more interesting than that novel.”
I stared at the man without saying a word. To tell the truth, I didn’t even know how to explain to someone why I read this book so often.
“Where’s the last volume?”
I looked at the stack on the table where the first two books lay. There was one major drawback about this novel: I had found only the first two volumes. Therefore, I had no idea how the story concluded. I went to every possible used bookstore I could come by, but I still couldn’t find the final volume. I told the man I didn’t own it.
“Now it makes sense. You’re a lucky kid. The last volume to that series is the worst of the worst. It’s so bad that you’ll want to wash out your brain once you’ve finished it. Be happy with just the first two volumes. It’s for your own good.”
I told him I couldn’t do that.
“Then you write what happens next,” the man with the mustache said. “That’s the only way to preserve its perfection.”
I was dumbfounded. I’d never even thought about writing something myself.
“Writing novels is writing people,” the man said. “It’s about how they live and how they die. From what I can see, you’re perfectly qualified.”
I couldn’t say a word. I didn’t feel I had the qualifications he claimed; that day, I had just gotten back from murdering yet another person for work.
But there was something oddly persuasive about what that man said. It was as if brilliant radiance from light-years away glittered in his eyes, and there was a certain firmness to his voice that seemed powerful enough to shake the earth itself. I’d never seen such a person before.
When I’d asked him his name, he had told me, but I’d long since forgotten it.
A few days later, I went back to the café at the same time to find a book lying in my usual seat. Stuck to the cover was a piece of paper that read, “Don’t blame me if you regret it.”
It was the last volume.
I spent the entire day reading that book.
As for what I thought of it—
I opened my eyes to find myself in bed. Both my hands were wrapped in bandages.
When I sat up, the pain in my back from my close encounter with the explosion returned. I let out a moan.
I was in a hospital room. It was clean, ordinary, and as silent as a morgue. Standing firm with his feet apart by the door was a man in a black suit and sunglasses. The moment our eyes met, he silently left, apparently to go get someone.
“Hey, Odasaku. You’re awake now, right? How are you feeling?”
Dazai walked into the room with a cheerful smirk.
“I feel like I’ve been hit with the next fifty years’ worth of hangovers,” I replied, then looked around the room. “Did you find Ango?”
“No, my men only found you lying on the ground. They didn’t see any sign of the enemy, not even so much as a shadow. Akutagawa was really frustrated that he couldn’t ‘execute the traitor.’ …Anyway, Ango really was there, huh?”
I explained everything that happened at the abandoned building, telling him every little detail as it had really occurred.
“Ango’s captivity, the explosion, André Gide, and the Special Forces dressed in black…”
Dazai placed a thumb against his lips, then shifted into a thinking position. He didn’t even move an inch for a full minute after that. Only his eyes wavered, following something only he could see. I waited in silence.
“Things can be mainly classified into two phenomena here.” Dazai finally spoke up. “One is the criminal syndicate Mimic’s attack. The other is Ango and the Special Forces’ secret maneuvers.”
“Are the Special Forces and Mimic different organizations?”
“They are. To be a little more specific, this huge dispute is due to three forces coming together: the Mafia, Mimic, and the Special Forces. But we can ignore the last one for now. It’s Mimic we need to watch out for. While you were sleeping, six shops on Mafia turf were blown up…all at the same time. The casualties are increasing by the minute.”
Along with smuggling and trading stolen goods, the Mafia protected shops and companies in exchange for compensation. If those businesses were attacked, then the Mafia instantly lost its supporters’ trust along with some of its economic infrastructure. I suddenly thought of Pops at the restaurant. That place was one of the few I managed.
“But the smaller stores are being saved for later, it seems.”
Dazai must have read my mind.
“Mimic is like nothing we’ve faced so far. They’re terribly quick, their attacks are devastating, and they show up without even making a sound. Even if we wanted to attack their headquarters, they appear out of nowhere and disappear into thin air. There’s no way to take them by surprise. It’s as if we’re fighting against ghosts—against real grau geists.”
I thought back to the sniper and the abandoned building where Ango had been held captive. There really was something ghostlike about their existence.
A ghost squad—departed souls that wished to devour even the corrupt Mafia’s spirit.
“We still can’t determine a definite pattern of attack, but what we do know is that they’re serious about leveling the Mafia’s turf. Not even the tormented souls of hell would do something so mad. Akutagawa and other militant factions have formed ranks and are fighting back, but…we still don’t even know the enemy leader’s skill. We’re at a disadvantage.”
“That skill user Akutagawa was one of your subordinates, right?” I said, tracing my memory. “I heard he had a rather aggressive skill…but even he’s no match for them?”
“Akutagawa—he’s like a sword without a sheath.” Dazai grinned from ear to ear. “He’ll surely become the Mafia’s strongest skill user in the not-so-distant future, but for now he needs someone who can teach him how to put that sword away.”
I was surprised. I had never heard Dazai openly speak so highly of one of his men like that before.
“Is he really that talented?”
“When I first saw him over in the slums, I was horrified. His talents are extraordinary, and his skill is extremely destructive. Plus, he’s stubborn. If I’d left him to his own devices, he would’ve ended up a slave to his own powers until he destroyed himself.”
Dazai didn’t freely make people work under him, period; much less a boy on the verge of starvation in the slums. But Dazai seemed to have his own reasons for doing it.
“At any rate, back on topic, Mimic is who we currently have to watch out for. There’s been a call for a meeting among the five executives where we’ll discuss how to take them on using everything we’ve got. We’re on high alert.”
This presidium was an extremely powerful legislative conference that would decide the future course of the entire Mafia. As far as I could remember, the last time they had one was during the Dragon’s Head Conflict. I was once again face-to-face with just how much of a threat Mimic was.
“I still don’t know what those Special Forces are after,” Dazai continued. “But after seeing what they did to you, it looks like they won’t be baring their fangs and attacking us anytime soon. It’s Mimic
that’s the real threat. Just a little while ago, my men, including Akutagawa, were ambushed. It was like a beast devouring a venomous snake. The battle took place on the main road in front of the art museum—”
I got out of the bed as I listened. My fingers were still slightly numb, but not enough to bother me during battle.
“Odasaku, don’t tell me you plan on going,” he said as if reprimanding me.
“The Mafia’s striking back with everything we’ve got, right?” I replied, sliding my arms through the sleeves of my overcoat that was hanging on the wall.
“I thought you had no interest in fighting,” Dazai replied with a smile.
“I don’t,” I insisted as I equipped my gun harness. “But sometimes small things pick at my heart…like the two people I owe a debt to.”
After finishing getting ready, I walked across the room. Dazai watched me in silence. As I reached the door, he tossed me something that jingled when I caught it. I opened my hand to find a car key. Then Dazai added, “Don’t worry about any debts. Nobody ever even remembers doing favors.”
“I’m not good at forgetting,” I turned around and replied. “Dazai, you’ve already helped me several times with this case. Your men are under attack, right? They need your help.”
“Y’know, it really hurts me that you consider something as small as this a debt.” He gave a feeble smirk. “So who’s the other guy you owe?”
I didn’t answer him; I just opened the door and left. Dazai saw me off without pushing any further. Despite not even exchanging a word, we were thinking the same thing.
Two forces were engaged in a shoot-out in front of the chalky-white shrine: the Mimic soldiers in tattered gray clothes and the Mafia members in black suits and sunglasses. Both were firing the same foreign automatic rifles. Bullets flew across the town square, chipping away at the shrine’s pale-colored pillars like an ice sculpture.
They were battling on the art museum’s front yard. The rectangular building with its alabaster facade rose high into the sky. Square cobble paving stretched endlessly across the yard, evoking a digital, pixelated kind of feel. White columns spaced closely together acted as shields for the gunfire as they came crumbling down one after another.
Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era Page 9