Chapter 38 Fifteen Days of Part-Time Work

The cool night wind of Yokohama lashed my cheeks. I must have been running too fast, because the wind felt a little painful, like tiny knives.

Thanks to my status as a prisoner, I didn't have a single penny on me.

I can't think of any other way to get to the apartment faster than on foot.

Yokohama is one of the major cities in Japan, and even at night, its luxurious shopping streets are brightly lit, just like daytime.

I climbed through the window into the house; it was pitch black inside.

But after all, it's my apartment, and I've lived here for more than half a year. I have a deep impression of the layout, if not an intimate one. I walked to the door and turned on the power switch without much trouble.

The light diffused, instantly brightening the otherwise empty living room.

There was nothing on the sofa, and the bottles and jars on the coffee table were gone—it was obvious that Ms. Gojo tidied up after I left it unattended.

I went to the bedroom.

Then things got ridiculous.

bedroom.

His! Mom! There's no one here either! ??? ??? ??? ??? ??? ??? ???

Do burglars still rob homeowners these days?

I was completely stunned for a moment.

But I quickly calmed myself down, though no matter how calm I was, I couldn't figure out why I was gone.

I'm just thinking about what I should do in this situation.

Two seconds later, a name came to mind.

——Dazai Osamu.

Of the things Dazai Osamu said to me, I remember two sentences.

One of the sayings is that life never moves in the most suitable direction.

During my last conversation with Mr. Gojo, I acknowledged that it is indeed correct.

Now I must admit that another of his statements is also true.

He said, "Or perhaps, you should thank me for discovering your secret."

For now, I really have to thank that.

At least I suddenly have someone else to discuss things with, or even ask for help from.

Even though that person was Osamu Dazai.

[Use all your databases to find Dazai Osamu's address, or phone number, even if it's just for him.]

[Received, host.]

****

Dazai Osamu was awakened by a "knock knock knock" sound on the door.

He initially thought it was another call to urge him to go to work, but after reluctantly opening one eye and confirming that it was midnight rather than the afternoon, his initial guess was dispelled.

However, the "thump thump thump" sound continued, and no matter how much I covered it with pillows and blankets, it wouldn't stop.

After some struggle, the port mafia officer sat up.

Then he realized a strange fact.

—They weren't knocking on the door, they were knocking on the window.

"?"

For a fleeting moment, Dazai Osamu couldn't help but wonder if this scene, which resembled something out of a horror movie, was actually real.

The mafia's alertness made the boy reach for a gun, his mind racing as he thought.

Logically speaking, he hasn't offended anyone recently.

The knocking on the glass had stopped when the window lock was opened.

Then, with a "whoosh," the window was pulled open.

By the light from some unknown source outside, Dazai Osamu saw a hand reach in and about to pull up the curtains.

"If you don't want to get shot and have your brains splattered out, I suggest you move slowly."

The movement on the other end indeed stopped, and the next second, a voice came: "Mr. Dazai, it's me."

His tone carried a hint of helplessness, yet also a subtle familiarity.

Dazai Osamu looked somewhat bewildered. He blinked, genuinely not recognizing the voice, and asked sincerely, "Who are you?"

"...Edakawa or."

The curtains were drawn back, and the person leaped in, closing the window behind them.

Dazai Osamu turned on the light and saw a face that was both familiar and unfamiliar.

Familiar hair color and eyes, but a slightly unfamiliar face.

Anyone else would have been suspicious or asked more questions, but given his understanding of Edagawa or his multiple identities, Dazai Osamu was able to directly ignore the difficult-to-understand process and directly obtain and accept the result.

He immediately smiled and said, "It really is Mr. Huo."

Not a single doubt was raised.

In a fleeting instant, the light blue-haired boy's expression showed a very slight distortion. But it vanished quickly, so quickly that Dazai Osamu wondered if he was seeing things.

However, he didn't mention it; he was clearly more interested in Edakawa or his current appearance: "And what kind of identity do I not know about?"

As he spoke, he unabashedly placed the gun he had just picked up aside, and the boy's gaze inadvertently followed his bandaged right hand.

Dazai Osamu looked up and met a pair of beautiful, ocean-like eyes. He smiled, like a child waiting to hear a story: "If you're coming to see me looking like this, you must have run into some trouble, right?"

Finally, the other party spoke.

He said, "Hmm."

Dazai Osamu's eyes flickered with slight surprise.

Just a second before Erikawa opened his mouth, he thought Erikawa would have to play a few rounds of word games with him first.

After all, Edakawa is always like this.

Dazai Osamu believed that Edagawa was not a person who liked to be honest, and he disliked being honest even more when someone did not want to reveal his secrets.

Tsk.

To admit it so readily... that must have caused a lot of trouble, right?

Dazai Osamu was lost in thought.

Unfortunately, based on his current understanding of Edakawa, all he could know was that the trouble was related to his ever-changing identity; otherwise, Edakawa wouldn't have thought of asking anyone on the street.

Considering that the other party had skipped all the beating around the bush, he asked directly, "So, is there anything I can help you with?"

Until all doubts are resolved, he will always be curious about Edakawa.

He was used to the bone-chilling cold of the river in early spring in Yokohama, and to the dim lights and ambiguous music of Lupin Bar.

Edakawa may have been born from a small, unexpected event in the otherwise mundane life of the Port Mafia.

But Dazai Osamu never believed that he had any intention or purpose toward Edagawa, at least not at the moment.

As long as he poses no danger, regardless of his identity or origin, there is no need to target Edakawa or anyone else for the time being.

He was merely trying to shed the traits of Edakawa or that he possessed.

He was the first to find the gap.

****

I'm thinking about what to say.

To be more precise, it's about how to answer Dazai Osamu's question.

I have always avoided mentioning my special circumstances to outsiders—no, not just outsiders, but everyone.

I have never told anyone about the unknown stories of Edogawa.

Dazai Osamu is not someone you can completely trust. However, considering the current objective conditions, he is the most suitable person, and also the most convenient and simplest.

Moreover, I have a vague idea of ​​what he will do and what he won't do.

“Mr. Dazai, you should understand, right? This isn’t my real identity right now,” I said.

"Of course I know, or so you say."

I thought for a moment and asked, "Mr. Dazai, do you know anything about RPG games?"

RPG.

Role-playing games.

He nodded.

So I continued, "Then you can probably think of my current state as playing an RPG game."

As he spoke, he pointed to himself: "This is my virtual identity in an RPG game. As for its purpose... it's just to complete some tasks."

His iris-colored eyes narrowed slightly, leaving only a thin slit.

"Is this also the so-called 'Nine Articles'?"

"Yes."

"What is the mission?"

"Design a little dress that will satisfy Miss Alice."

He blinked in surprise: "That's it?"

I replied in a serious tone, "Yes."

Dazai Osamu probably didn't expect it to be just like that, and he had a look of being both amused and exasperated.

"Why is this happening, my lord?"

I pursed my lips. "I don't know. If you're really curious, you can think of it as a curse. But that's not important; that's not what I wanted to talk about."

When I refused to answer the question, I stared straight at him. My gaze remained fixed, because I believed I couldn't have made the wrong choice.

“Okay,” he said with a smile.

call.

I breathed a sigh of relief and then told Dazai Osamu about the extremely awkward situation I was facing—that I couldn't find my original self and had to ask him for help.

"?" The doubt on his handsome face visibly solidified into a question mark.

He then stroked his chin, pondering how to phrase it: "How should I put it... Mr. Orochi, your request sounds like you're playing me for a fool."

“But you know I didn’t, Mr. Dazai.” Standing before you at this moment, in this state, the request I make is no joke, no matter how unbelievable it may seem.

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Since Mr. Huo has said so, I will definitely keep an eye on it.”

With the matter that had been on my mind most resolved in a short period of time, I couldn't help but feel relaxed.

I don't like having trivial things to deal with; often, they make me feel uncomfortable, like having pebbles in my shoe.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Dazai." I said this very seriously.

"Or perhaps." Just as I was about to leave, he called out to me.

I asked, "?"

"Excuse me, what is this role-playing mission?"

When this comes up, I fall silent: "..."

I originally thought I would just have to listen to Fyodor's ramblings every day in the No. 7 underground prison, until now, when he and I both escaped from prison.

The specific tasks required for my identity have not been publicly stated, but based on Fyodor's declaration upon his release from prison, one can almost guess what they are.

—Eliminate all those with superpowers.

That's what Fyodor said.

"All I knew was that it would be a very troublesome thing."

He held up his finger: "If there's anything dangerous that involves the Yokohama or Port Mafia, I hope I can help out."

I paused, sensing that there was some message reflected in his words and eyes.

"I will, Mr. Dazai."