Chapter 11. Double Black
Three minus one equals zero.
This cold equation was deeply etched into Dazai Osamu's soul. Only when they were separated by death did he realize that they hadn't even had time to leave behind a single photograph, a photograph that could prove those brief but real moments when they raised their glasses under the dim lights of Lupin, discussing novels and the future amidst the smoke of battle.
He had vaguely thought about it before. Perhaps it was late at night after a mission, or perhaps it was when Oda Sakunosuke mentioned that the children wanted to take pictures. But he always easily dismissed it with thoughts like "maybe next time" or "there will always be another opportunity."
At that time, he still had a ridiculous sense of timidity in his subconscious, feeling that he had not yet mustered enough courage to take a photo, so he did not make a special effort to prepare.
However, this opportunity has now been completely lost.
Oda Sakunosuke's unfinished novel remains forever frozen in its prologue, and Sakaguchi Ango's name becomes the highest-ranking wanted poster for traitors within the Port Mafia. Only he remains within the Port Mafia, as always.
He had mentally rehearsed this ending before. With his intellect, he had already considered countless possibilities. But even he hadn't anticipated that this parting would come so hastily, so unexpectedly, without even a chance to say goodbye.
Now, Dazai Osamu can only find solace in memories. However, the time they actually spent together was so short. Sporadic meetings at bars and a few words exchanged between missions occupied only a small fraction of their time in the long and bloody days.
With his exceptional memory, those scenes, conversations, even the shape of the cigarette burning between Oda Sakunosuke's fingers, were as clear as if they were yesterday. But he knew better than anyone how fragile memory was. Without photographs or videos, relying solely on repeatedly tracing those vivid faces and unique voices in his mind, they would inevitably be washed away and faded by time until they disappeared completely, leaving only an empty name and a vague feeling.
However, he will always remember that person's existence until he dies.
The Port Mafia continued to operate under Mori Ougai's will, and tasks were assigned to him as always. However, Dazai Osamu now had enough authority to casually delegate most of the tedious and dirty work to his subordinates, and the few tricky problems that required his personal attention could be solved with just a little time.
Perhaps Mr. Mori had a rare moment of concern for the wear and tear on his tools, or perhaps he simply felt that this trapped beast, having lost its way, needed some time to lick its wounds before it went completely mad. In any case, he unexpectedly gained a few days to catch his breath.
He stood behind the cold glass curtain wall on the top floor of the □□ building, overlooking Yokohama. The streets were bustling with people and traffic. Unfamiliar faces followed similar yet different paths: meeting, brushing past, disappearing.
People die every moment, in dark alleys, in hospital beds; babies are born every moment, bringing new cries and hope. The world does not change its operating rules because of the passing of any one person.
I seem to have... completely lost any reason to stay in this decaying, boring, and disgusting world.
That's what he thought.
Without him, Mr. Mori can naturally find a new pawn. The fact that he would choose to expel him suggests that he may already have a specific candidate in mind.
And that precognitive dream that once intrigued him, as if he had glimpsed another path, had not been conceived by him for a very, very long time.
All of this seems to be silently proclaiming the same ending: it's time to end it all. Everything should come to a close.
Since that's the case... why not be willful just this once and do the only thing he desires and the only thing he can control?
Thinking this, Dazai Osamu took a deep drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled. The nicotine made him more alert, but now he just wanted to sleep.
After all, in dreams... anything can happen, right? Oda Sakunosuke can still write his novels, Ango might still be that tired but real intelligence agent, and... he might even see that irritable yet reliable ochre-haired partner again.
He now has enough time to rest, but he is too tired, so tired that even dreaming seems like a luxury. He needs a more thorough, more permanent sleep.
He didn't know how long he had stayed up that night, his body and mind reaching their limits of exhaustion. He slid down to the floor against the cold wall, his head tilted slightly, his consciousness finally fading. But the constantly moving eyes under his eyelids and the slightly furrowed brows indicated that he hadn't slept soundly.
Several months later, he dreamed of Nakahara Chuuya again.
The dream began abruptly, like a sudden scene change in a movie. The moment he opened his eyes, he found himself walking side-by-side with Chuuya Nakahara on an unknown, dimly lit street. It was a vivid dream to him. He was acutely aware that he was dreaming, yet he allowed his consciousness to wallow in it. After years of exploring his own dreams, he could now delay waking up to some extent, even when his mind was fully aware that it was a dream.
He could hear Chuuya Nakahara's voice; he seemed to be complaining about some details of a mission. But none of that mattered.
He didn't have much time left, and this might be his last dream. So all he wanted to do at that moment was—
"Chuuya, I want to tell you a secret."
He interrupted Chuuya Nakahara, his voice light and airy, without the usual infuriatingly sarcastic tone.
Chuuya Nakahara stopped what he was saying, turned his head, and asked casually, "What do you want to tell me?"
He assumed it was just another one of the guy's random pranks or a silly riddle.
“If, and I mean if, I never existed in your world, yet you can see me. Do you know why?” His tone sounded almost serious.
Chuuya Nakahara paused, clearly not expecting this question. He frowned, thinking about Dazai's words for a moment, a bunch of ghost stories and vengeful spirits flashing through his mind, and he couldn't help but shudder, goosebumps instantly creeping up his arms. "...Why?" he asked subconsciously, then immediately felt it was absurd, "Are you a ghost?" After saying the last word, he himself thought the idea was incredibly stupid.
He didn't receive a reply.
A silence spread between the two of them, but it only lasted for a short while.
Chuuya looked to the side in confusion, and saw a small smile on Dazai Osamu's face. The smile lingered on his lips, but deep within his iris-colored eyes lay an empty, lifeless grayness.
“It was a dream.” Dazai Osamu’s voice was soft, tinged with weariness. “I knew even an idiot wouldn’t be able to figure it out.”
Chuuya opened his mouth, wanting to say how could he possibly have come up with such a subjective answer, and his habitual "Damn mackerel!" almost spilled out. But looking at Dazai's empty smile and those lifeless eyes, all his words of rebuttal stuck in his throat. Something unfamiliar and heavy weighed on his heart, making him ultimately just purse his lips and say nothing.
"you……"
The unfinished words gradually faded from his ears; Dazai Osamu couldn't hear them clearly, nor did he bother to listen.
He emerged from the dream and opened his eyes.
Daylight broke.
A note from the author:
----------------------
I heard that you need to write 70,000 words to get into the paid section, and I feel like I'll be almost done writing once I reach 70,000 words.
In short, I will try my best to finish this book and avoid ending it abruptly or stopping updates. [hugs]
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
