Chapter 24: The Double Black

The soul's slumber does not involve dreams; it is merely a period of rest for consciousness. However, Dazai sometimes wonders if, after he loses control of his dormancy, if the world of dreams truly exists, he might suddenly enter that world, just like he is now.

Time, like fine sand in an hourglass, flows silently, taking away so much. Dazai Osamu's memories also began to blur, perhaps partly because he never consciously tried to recall them. Those scenes that were once as vivid as yesterday were gradually fading, leaving only blurred light and shadow and elusive fragments of memory.

Once again, Dazai Osamu followed a route that was both strange and familiar, and went to the Lupin Bar.

Night completely enveloped Yokohama. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a warm, yet somewhat worn, yellowish glow that barely illuminated the uneven sidewalk beneath their feet. Dazai, hands in his pockets, walked at a leisurely pace, as if measuring some invisible distance. Using the dim light, his gaze searched the street corner. Finally, he found his destination, turned the corner, and stopped beneath the familiar old sign bearing the word 'Lupin'.

The rusty metal handle reflected a faint light under the lamp. He stood in front of the door for a moment, an indescribable emotion quietly growing in his chest, mixed with timidity and a trace of excitement that was almost imperceptible.

What was he so excited about? He didn't know.

Tonight, he might meet the counterparts of his two friends, or he might not. But in any case, to him, they would just be strangers in similar skins.

A broken mirror can never be restored to its original state; no matter how skilled the repairman, it cannot mend the fact that it was once broken. He can no longer return to the distant past.

A torrent of thoughts washed over his already battered soul. He paused for a long time, then finally placed his hand on the heavy wooden door and pushed it open.

The familiar scent of aged liquor, tobacco, and wood wafted towards him. He walked confidently to his usual spot at the bar and sat down, offering no words but a slight nod to the bartender. A moment later, a glass of amber-colored whiskey was silently placed in front of him, a translucent ice ball resting at the bottom, reflecting the dim, warm light of the bar.

Guests began to enter from behind, their voices and footsteps growing louder as they approached. They each found a seat, speaking in hushed tones, undisturbed by his peace and quiet.

Dazai Osamu rested his chin on one hand, raised his glass with the other, and took a small sip. The spicy liquid slid down his throat, carrying a hint of warmth, and sank to the bottom. He put down the glass, his long, slender fingers idly poking at the ice ball in it, watching it slowly swirl and rise in the amber liquid, creating tiny ripples. The ice ball clinked against the glass, producing a soft, crisp sound.

Everyone has their own unique walking habits, and for those who know them well enough, the sound of their footsteps alone can reveal their identity. So, when the rhythmic clatter of leather boots on the floor clearly pierced through the whispers in the background of the bar and came from the stairs behind—

Dazai Osamu's body stiffened almost imperceptibly for a moment. He slowly turned his head.

"Ah, Odasaku."

Oda Sakunosuke was standing not far away, his reddish-brown eyes calmly looking at him. He waved as a greeting. He walked to the bar and chose a seat next to Dazai Osamu.

The bartender asked nothing, simply handing over his usual distilled spirit. Perhaps he had already begun mixing the drinks the moment he saw Oda Sakunosuke's clothes appear at the door.

"Long time no see, Oda Sakunosuke." Dazai Osamu propped his head up, turned to look at his long-lost friend beside him. It seemed like several months had passed since their last meeting. He had occasionally come here to drink and while away the time since then, but he hadn't been lucky enough to run into these two friends again.

Occasionally, the headquarters' mission assignments would bring them together, but each meeting was usually brief and rushed, so neither Oda Sakunosuke nor Sakaguchi Ango noticed anything amiss with Dazai.

Dazai's thoughts drifted to the distant past. It seemed that on a similarly dimly lit night, at the same bar, he had half-jokingly told his friends: if he were ever possessed by some wandering ghost, remember to stay away from him.

I never imagined that I would become the ghost who has taken over someone else's body.

Where is Dazai Osamu in this world right now? Perhaps he's in that enclosed space, poring over documents written in a mysterious language, trying to find a way to resolve his predicament. But it doesn't matter anymore. In this brief night, unexpectedly granted by fate, before he's replaced, he decides to indulge himself for a moment.

He didn't think it was self-deception, but rather... a small consolation for the deceased.

With a thousand thoughts swirling in his mind, his fingertips unconsciously traced the cool rim of the glass.

"What were you doing just now?" Oda Sakunosuke picked up his wine glass, took a small sip, and his calm voice broke the silence.

“Thinking,” Dazai Osamu withdrew his finger, his gaze drifting to the glass in front of him, “thinking about some…unrealistic philosophical questions.”

"What is it?" Oda Sakunosuke pressed, his tone as serious as ever.

“From the moment a person is born, they embark on a predetermined path to death, possessing a fate whose ending is predetermined from the beginning.” Dazai Osamu’s voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself. “But it seems that a tiny, unplanned accident can cause two souls whose paths originally overlapped to go down completely different destinies… That must be it?” He turned his head, his iris-colored eyes looking at Odasaku.

He appeared calm, and Oda Sakunosuke knew he didn't need an answer.

“Yes.” Oda Sakunosuke’s answer was concise and certain.

“To verify this interesting idea,” Dazai Osamu suddenly said, a look of mischief and curiosity suddenly appearing on his face. As if recalling something, he smiled and continued in a cheerful voice, “I tried a new way of suicide! And I even gave it a special name, the ‘chocolate effect’.”

"Did they turn chocolate into other foods?" Oda Sakunosuke pondered his words seriously.

"Almost there!" Dazai Osamu's tone became cheerful, with a boastful pride. "In order to give chocolate the irrational food properties, I also developed a unique production method! First, melt it with boiling water, then add a carefully prepared special medicine... After a series of complex reactions, we finally obtained a treasure that allows you to see the other side in one bite! If you eat it, you can glimpse a strange creature that does not belong to this world, maybe even a messenger from the Sanzu River."

He gestured vividly, his eyes shining with an astonishing intensity.

"Chocolate must be delicious." Oda Sakunosuke had a thoughtful expression on his face, as if he was seriously imagining the taste of chocolate.

“Although I’m very reluctant to admit it,” Dazai Osamu immediately put on a distressed and unwilling expression, as if he were forced to admit some shameful fact, “I secretly tasted it with a spoon… and surprisingly, it was delicious!” He shrugged, his tone incredulous.

Upon hearing this, Oda Sakunosuke showed a wistful expression: "Is it that delicious? Make it for me to try next time."

Dazai Osamu's smile froze almost imperceptibly for a moment, before he could utter the word "Alright"—

“Mr. Odasaku, there are so many flaws in what Dazai-kun just said.” A tired but calm voice came from the stairwell.

Ango Sakaguchi adjusted his signature round-framed glasses, his sharp gaze sweeping over the two men at the bar. He walked steadily down the stairs, exuding the lingering weariness of an intelligence agent, and naturally sat down in the other empty seat next to Osamu Dazai.

With his arrival, the usual small talk between the three of them unfolded as if it were a routine matter.

Dazai Osamu complained that the two of them had a leisurely job, like a vacation, which was immediately refuted by Ango, who accused him of being the number one idler in the □□.

Upon hearing this, Dazai Osamu merely smiled, though the smile did not reach his eyes; he concealed it well.

He knew the true identity of the Sakaguchi Ango before him. In this world, the other party's identity as a 'triple spy' most likely remained unchanged. But he made no move—no probing, no revelation, like an audience member who already knew the ending, simply watching the plot unfold according to its predetermined course. Perhaps, however, in this script, he could become the screenwriter.

He and Dazai Osamu had already reached a silent consensus in that mysterious space: to remain still. Let the undercurrents continue to surge beneath the calm surface until they develop into the anticipated course.

At this moment, being able to sit together peacefully like this, listening to familiar voices chatting about trivial matters, is a stolen luxury. He thought that he just wanted to spend this precious time in peace like this.

Chatting is one of the best ways to kill time, and time slips away in the midst of conversation. Conversations about trivial tasks, Ango's endless mountain of documents, Oda Sakunosuke's adopted children, and the cat that always loves to jump onto the roof are woven into an addictive web.

Just as this tranquil warmth was about to reach a delicate saturation point, Dazai Osamu's voice suddenly rang out: "That's right! Why don't we take a group photo?"

He continued in a deliberately cheerful tone, "As a memento!"

"What kind of commemoration?" Ango pushed up his glasses, the lenses reflecting the light.

“To commemorate our gathering here tonight,” Dazai Osamu’s smile was unrealistically bright, “or to celebrate Ango completing his work, Oda Sakunosuke successfully rescuing the cat… anything is fine. We have to leave something behind to prove that this night existed, don’t we?”

None of the three of them had brought any camera equipment, so the bartender eventually rummaged through the back of the bar and pulled out an old, worn-out film camera. The bartender was clearly not used to this, and his movements were somewhat clumsy. Under Dazai Osamu's guidance, he awkwardly took a few photos of them: individual portraits, couple portraits… the last one showing the three of them sitting side-by-side at the bar.

Dazai Osamu sat in the middle, his face bearing his usual flawless smile, almost dazzlingly bright. Oda sat to his left, a faint yet genuinely gentle curve at the corners of his lips. Ango sat to his right, his face displaying a slightly helpless yet indulgent expression, his glasses slipping slightly off his nose.

Three pairs of eyes were all fixed on that small camera lens.

"Click".

The old mechanical shutter made a dull sound, eternally preserving this moment on the film.

“Dazai,” Ango said, his smile fading as his probing gaze fell on Dazai Osamu’s face through his glasses. “Why did you suddenly decide to take pictures?” His intuition told him that Dazai was acting strangely tonight.

Dazai Osamu's bright smile faded slightly, but still maintained a gentle curve. He picked up the glass of whiskey, which was already half-melted, the amber liquid shimmering with a hazy glow under the light.

After staring at it for a while, he tilted his head back and drank the rest of the wine in his glass in one gulp, the icy liquid sliding down his throat.

The lingering flashes of light from the camera danced in his iris-colored eyes, like embers about to be extinguished.

"It's a rare gathering, and I feel it would be a shame not to record it. That's all," he said with a smile.

A note from the author:

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Repaired