Chapter 41. Double Black
The tranquil daily life contrasted sharply with the mafia memories etched into his very bones. Occasionally, under the overly warm afternoon sun, Dazai Osamu would have a strange illusion, as if the gunshots, blood, and smoke of Yokohama in his memories were merely hallucinations born from reading too many mystery novels. The existence of Nakahara Chuuya served as the most striking coordinate between this illusion and reality, the most direct manifestation of this contrast.
Those cobalt blue eyes, which once reflected the flames of explosions and the gruesome deaths of enemies, now reflected more of the warm yellow streetlights and the shimmering light from the spinning record player. The jawline, once taut like a bowstring, had softened considerably in his home life. Even the knuckles casually resting on the rim of his wine glass had lost their sharpness, no longer conveying the tension of someone ready to snap an enemy's neck.
The changes in Chuuya Nakahara became increasingly apparent as they spent more time together. Dazai could see the constant relaxation on Chuuya's face; his muscles and nerves no longer needed to be constantly tense, guarding against any potential enemy attack. The sharpness and ruthlessness in his eyes, honed by countless bullets, were gone, only occasionally revealing a trace that reminded Dazai that something hadn't truly disappeared, but had simply been deliberately hidden.
Such memories are constructed from fragmented images and rich imagination, with the previous Chuuya Nakahara providing some of the material to complete his imagination. Sometimes he would wonder what kind of interesting expression the Chuuya from the previous world would have if he saw himself in this world so peacefully selecting canned crab meat.
All of this was due to the remarkably peaceful life around them compared to the past. Sometimes, Dazai would indulge in a thought: if life continued like this, it might not be such a bad choice. Of course, the only person he was referring to who would live here forever was Nakahara Chuuya.
He's never suited for this kind of environment—at least not now. He doesn't belong here.
They lived together for a while, maintaining a relatively peaceful life, occasionally bickering with each other.
With no missions to perform, Dazai had plenty of free time, and he could always find some harmless things to pass the time, or rather, to pass the time with Nakahara Chuuya.
One day, Chuuya suddenly asked him why he hadn't been doing his favorite swimming plans lately. Dazai didn't answer at the time, but it was as if something had suddenly clicked in his head. He had been relatively well-behaved before, but after Chuuya's question came out, Dazai started his usual mischievous routine.
For example, when Chuuya entered, he was covered in confetti from a firework that suddenly appeared in his face. These confetti were covered with sticky slug images and coated with a special slime that took a lot of effort to remove. Another example is when Chuuya was looking for his hat and discovered that his favorite hat was missing. Dazai's figure also happened to disappear, and all communication was cut off. It's obvious that this whole thing is related to that bastard.
Finally, Chuuya found his beloved hat under a flowerpot at home. Just as he picked it up, the guy appeared at the door, soaking wet, claiming he'd gone out to check which river was best for swimming. When Chuuya questioned him about his disappearance, he simply replied that his wallet and phone had been washed away by the river, so it was understandable that he hadn't received any messages. Of course, the ending was predictable: the guy received a good beating from Chuuya's fists and sprawled on the sofa like a stranded salted fish, groaning and waiting for Chuuya to feed him canned crab meat with mixed feelings.
Dazai had already replied to Chuuya's invitation to the concert via email, and he wouldn't go back on his word. He's always been happy to see Chuuya shine in different fields, especially in this world where they've been forced to be "ordinary."
On the day of the performance, Osamu Dazai entered the venue as dusk fell. The heat in the room was almost tangible, and the fans' faces were filled with pure excitement and anticipation, creating a deafening roar. This atmosphere was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable for him, but he arrived as promised. Wearing a black mask, he silently walked along the VIP passage, and staff led him to a VIP seat in the front row. This seat was cleverly hidden in the shadows cast by the stage equipment on the side, and combined with his usual dark attire and the deepening darkness above, he almost blended into the background.
It's fair to say that if you don't look closely, you can hardly tell that there's anyone there.
As the stage lights suddenly illuminated and deafening music erupted from the speakers on both sides, Chuuya Nakahara slowly appeared on the rising platform, drawing everyone's attention. Wearing an earpiece and stage costume, he delivered a powerful and melodious song with a completely different tone from his usual speech, accompanied by vigorous dance moves, instantly captivating everyone's ears.
Dazai Osamu watched quietly for a while. The figure on the stage was dazzling and confident, as if born to stand under the spotlight. This overlapped with and separated from the boy in his memory who manipulated gravity in filth and darkness, creating a strange charm.
If five points is a perfect score… Dazai closed his eyes amidst the deafening noise that nearly lifted the roof off, leaning back in his chair. He'd give lead singer Chuuya Nakahara a 4.5. The deductions were the ear-splitting sound system and the echoes from the enclosed space, which felt like blunt instruments pounding on his fragile nerves. If it weren't for Chuuya Nakahara, he doubted he'd ever been to a place like this as an audience member.
However, stripped of all that noise, Chuuya's voice was clearer than he remembered, and it sounded different from how he usually spoke.
Aside from the music from the stage, the surroundings were filled with the shouts and cheers of fans, making the environment quite noisy. But even in this environment, Dazai closed his eyes, a strong drowsiness washed over him, and he slowly fell asleep.
He didn't sleep soundly. In his half-awake state, he seemed to hear a distant voice calling his name through layers of mist. The voice was both familiar and strange, carrying a sense of anxiety or excitement, as if it came from countless worlds beyond. He couldn't make out what the voice was saying, and when he tried to concentrate and capture the specific content of the voice, there was no sound at all.
He seemed to be dreaming, yet it also seemed not to. There were no formed dream images or fragments of memory in his mind, only a viscous sensation of being dragged down by something invisible, constantly sinking, still lingering on the soul of this body, as if suggesting that something he could not understand was happening.
When he struggled to wake from the muddy daze, the concert was nearing its end. He looked up and saw Chuuya Nakahara standing at the edge of the stage, facing him. Through the noise and light, for a moment, Dazai felt as if the other's gaze had pierced through the crowd and collided head-on with his; or perhaps it was just an illusion caused by the stage lights sweeping across him. That small figure was still singing and dancing energetically on stage, his sweat-drenched orange hair like leaping flames under the overhead light. To others, it might have been dazzling, but as Dazai watched, the corners of his lips involuntarily curled up slightly—this little guy's all-out effort looked just like a puppy whose tail had been stepped on but was still jumping around excitedly.
As the final notes of the concert faded, the crowd began to surge. Dazai Osamu rose from his seat and walked against the flow of departing people towards the backstage area. His VIP seats were close to the backstage entrance, which made things convenient for him.
However, the path to the backstage area was now fraught with obstacles. The flow of people suddenly became chaotic; some were eager to leave from backstage, while others tried to push their way to the front or rush towards the backstage exit. The scene was briefly disorderly, and despite the staff's efforts to maintain order, it was only a fragile semblance of order. Dazai Osamu quickly weaved along the edge of the wall, trying to use his size advantage to squeeze through, but every time he was close to his destination, an unseen unexpected obstacle would block his way with new chaos—either a group of fans suddenly gathering and excitedly discussing something would block his path, or a staff member pushing equipment slowly would block his way, and this direction was so narrow that he had to wait for the staff member to pass before he could continue.
As if by prior arrangement, the people formed a flowing wall of people in front of him, forcing him to squeeze forward with difficulty, greatly reducing his speed.
A sense of unease crept up Dazai's spine. His intuition, that beast-like intuition honed through countless brushes with death, suddenly began to sound a sharp alarm: something unexpected was about to happen.
Soon, in the next second, his premonition came true in the cruelest way.
Bang—!!!
A dull, massive crash drowned out all the noise as part of the metal truss at the top of the stage collapsed without warning, crashing down on the area below with a deathly aura!
At the center of the accident was Chuuya Nakahara, who had just returned to the stage and seemed about to speak to someone upstairs. In the final moment, Dazai clearly saw that Chuuya Nakahara's reaction was astonishingly fast. Almost reflexively, he used all his strength to shove a staff member standing frozen next to him to a relatively safe area, while he himself was completely swallowed by that heavy shadow.
Time seemed to stretch out infinitely at that moment, then suddenly compress. Immediately afterwards, the crowd that had been blocking the passage in front of Dazai dispersed like a receding tide. Most of them cried out and rushed to the stage to try to lift the heavy object to rescue the person, while some frantically called the police and ambulances.
All of this happened so quickly and so abruptly that Dazai Osamu stood there, his heart filled with a profound sense of absurdity. Death, his partner with whom he had danced, had descended upon the Gravity Manipulator, who could once easily overturn entire buildings, in such a childish manner.
He had considered how the other person might die, but it would never be now, and it would never be in this form.
He took a step, almost running to the very center of the accident. There he saw Chuuya Nakahara lying face down under a twisted metal frame. From his angle, only some scattered strands of orange hair, already covered in dust, could be seen. The rest of his hair was buried under the cold steel, with only a corner of the sequined costume he had worn on stage that day faintly visible through the gaps.
The fallen metal frame was massive and heavy; the force with which it struck someone was unimaginable. Crimson blood gushed from beneath the rubble, meandering along the cracks in the floorboards. Some of it quietly soaked into Dazai's shoes, while much more flowed relentlessly in all directions, reflecting a blinding light under the stage lights. Up close, Dazai could even see his own reflection on the surface of the blood.
Suppressed sobs and gasps filled the air. Many staff members wore expressions of fear and distress, some already wiping their eyes with their sleeves. Nakahara Chuuya was known in the industry for his polite and considerate manners, outstanding professional skills, and virtually no enemies. Few who had met him disliked him.
Death, so inexplicably, snatched his life away. The crowd deliberately blocking his way, the suddenly collapsing metal truss... everything silently suggested that this accident might not have been an accident at all, but a meticulously planned murder. Rather than attributing it to someone, Dazai was more inclined to believe it was some kind of deliberate coincidence.
He felt he couldn't immediately understand and accept it all. But the facts were starkly before him; that's how it had all happened.
The sound of sirens grew louder as police quickly brought the scene under control. Given the involvement of a prominent celebrity's death and its significant social impact, the police took the matter very seriously and even enlisted the assistance of the renowned detective Kogoro Mouri to solve the case.
Dazai Osamu silently watched as the police cordoned off the concert venue, maintaining order and collecting evidence. As one of the witnesses, he, like everyone else present, was asked to stay and cooperate with the investigation.
Among the arriving police, he immediately spotted Kogoro Mouri, who was scratching the back of his head and talking to Inspector Megure. Standing next to him was a pretty girl in a school uniform skirt, presumably his daughter, Ran Mouri. Beside Ran was a small figure wearing glasses, calmly scanning the scene with sharp eyes far beyond his years—it was Conan, whom he had met just recently.
Perhaps it was Dazai's gaze that was too focused and devoid of any warmth, or perhaps it was based on a detective's extraordinary intuition, but when Dazai's gaze lingered on Conan for more than five seconds, the young detective suddenly felt a chill. Following his intuition, he abruptly looked up, his gaze meeting precisely in Dazai's iris-colored eyes.
Dazai had removed his mask at some point, revealing a face that, even slightly gaunt, still couldn't hide his striking good looks. He was facing Conan, a slow, hollow smile spreading across his face. It was a mechanical expression, seemingly just a muscle contraction. But Conan felt a chill run down his spine. With his exceptional eyesight, he could clearly see Dazai's eyes—there was no emotion there. The surrounding lights only cast a hazy glow, making his eyes appear even more like two lifeless, pale blue glass beads.
Conan is aware of the complex relationship between Osamu Dazai and Chuuya Nakahara, and is acquainted with both of them. Since the news of Dazai's accident broke, he has lost contact with them until his brief meeting with Dazai a few days ago, when he vaguely sensed some unusual changes.
Unexpectedly... when I received news of Nakahara Chuuya again, it was already news of his death.
Their eyes met in a split second. Once Dazai was sure Conan had seen his expression, he casually looked away and smoothly put his mask back on, as if the eye contact had never happened.
Conan had no chance to respond further—Dazai Osamu had already turned and blended into the crowd, heading elsewhere. The young detective suppressed his doubts and decided to focus on the case itself. He would never consider Dazai Osamu a suspect; both professionally and personally, the possibility was extremely slim. The most important thing now was to solve the case as quickly as possible; the longer it dragged on, the more people's patience would wear thin, and the easier it would be for clues at the scene to be destroyed.
Dazai Osamu casually found an inconspicuous corner to lean against, like a shadow about to blend into the wall. Standing beside him were several shaken staff members, whispering in hushed tones, exchanging rumors they had heard, guessing the identity and motive of the murderer with their limited knowledge, their words filled with fear that the killer might be right next to them.
Dazai's ears keenly picked up these fragmented pieces of information, his brain working at high speed, matching these fragments with his observations and analyzing them. His gaze never stopped, calmly scanning the faces and movements of everyone at the scene. At the same time, he could see Conan, after questioning several staff members, cautiously approaching the center of the crime scene, carefully examining the body that was partially covered by a white sheet.
Ah… a corpse. Dazai Osamu's thoughts froze for a moment. Had he never imagined that, in his mind, the only way to refer to the deceased Chuuya was with the cold, hard word "corpse"?
He suddenly remembered a long, long time ago, when he suddenly learned of Oda Sakunosuke's death.
What was he thinking back then? The friends he used to drink with in Lupin, talking about writing and the future, eventually became a few cold lines of text in the intelligence department's logbook, one of the follow-up matters that needed to be dealt with. At that time, he also couldn't immediately connect the word "corpse" with the familiar name, but reality forced him to admit it.
He had personally created many corpses and collected the remains of others, some of which may have been done in dreams with his partner. The Port Mafia's missions could never avoid bloodshed and death, and as a gravity manipulator, Chuuya Nakahara's hands were stained with just as much crimson as Chuuya's.
In the end, the guy who could walk leisurely through a hail of bullets actually died so lightly and almost comically, by falling metal frames.
That's really lame, Chuuya.
Dazai thought almost coldly. If they were still in the original world where supernatural abilities were rampant, a metal frame of this size wouldn't even be worthy of tickling a gravity user, let alone killing them; it would only become a toy that guy could knead and deform at will. Unfortunately, this was a world without any supernatural abilities, an ordinary world so common it was despairing. He and Chuuya Nakahara were just ordinary mortals here.
What terrible luck, Chuuya. Why didn't such bad luck affect him, who was right next to him? Could it be that his years of bad luck suddenly turned around, causing the death that should have befallen him to be transferred to Chuuya, who was closest to him, through a distorted cause and effect?
No, this is not a good thing at all. It's terrible... Chuuya.
If they were to meet again in some future world, Dazai Osamu thought, he would use all his strength to loudly mock this guy for losing his life over a few mere metal frames; he was utterly pathetic.
However, despite contemplating these sharp, ironic thoughts, no joy or sarcasm stirred within him. His exposed iris-colored eyes remained like inorganic glass beads, reflecting the chaotic scene without a ripple. All his truly turbulent emotions were firmly sealed beneath this seemingly calm exterior.
As time went on, the scene remained cordoned off for a long time, but the case made no breakthrough, and the crowd began to become restless. Some people shouted that they were innocent and demanded to go home immediately; others complained impatiently about the wasted time, shouting that they didn't care about the murderer and who would compensate them for the wasted energy.
These commotions did not attract much attention from Dazai Osamu. His gaze continued to sweep over the people in work clothes. At the same time, relying on the fragmented information he had caught by ear, combined with his understanding of human nature, his brain quickly pieced together the clues, and soon he had a general outline of the cause of the incident.
It's nothing more than a tragedy of jealousy and psychological imbalance, common in the workplace. A staff member, perhaps feeling unappreciated or suffering a devastating blow in life, projects their own failures and resentment onto the dazzling Chuuya Nakahara. What began as envy evolves into twisted hatred, and finally, at a point of near collapse, driven by the delusion that "if I had everything he had, my life wouldn't be so bad," they commit this murder.
He had deduced the killer's identity, but there was no need to reveal it to the police. It would do him no good. And the deductions he had made were merely superficial to him. He needed much more than that.
The truth of the case was quickly revealed through the deductions of "Sleeping Kogoro Mouri." Dazai Osamu, observing coldly, had already discerned that the famous detective's "sleeping" state was not an act, but rather a genuine coma caused by some unknown reason. The momentary surprise before losing consciousness is difficult to fake, especially for someone like Kogoro Mouri, who loves to boast and sometimes readily identifies suspects due to insufficient evidence; such an act would be impossible to maintain for long.
Moreover, he also noticed Conan hiding in the corner, head down, calmly narrating his reasoning using a red bow-tie voice changer. This must be the truth behind the so-called Sleeping Kogoro. The principle wasn't hard to guess; it was just some technological tricks, and Dazai wasn't curious.
Kogoro's deduction was nearly identical to Dazai's own speculation. When the truth was halfway through, the real culprit—a young man responsible for adjusting stage equipment—was also subdued by the police. He stood in the center of the crowd, his face contorted with pain, and loudly confessed that he was driven by sudden malice and that he hadn't intentionally killed anyone.
However, as the police handcuffed him, he suddenly seemed possessed, abruptly raising his head, his eyes wide open, and roaring, "No! This is all God's will! I did these things under God's guidance! God doesn't make mistakes! God... God chose him, and He chose me too!"
Those around him assumed the murderer had lost his mind due to the shock of killing, and cast either contemptuous or pitying glances at him. Only Dazai Osamu seemed thoughtful when he heard the words "God's will."
Is this some kind of divine rambling? If there is a god in the unseen realm, he'd like to ask why his corpse, which should have long since settled into nothingness, is repeatedly pulled back from the edge of the Sanzu River. Disturbing the peace of the dead is hardly a commendable habit.
Dazai knew that his partner's soul might have already left this utterly boring world. Where does a soul's final destination lie? No one could answer him at that moment.
When will they meet again? Or will they ever meet again?
He realized that there might truly be something beyond reason, driving the course of events behind the scenes. The death of Chuuya Nakahara was a stark warning. While he was indeed planning something to break the current stalemate, he also deeply resented being forced to accelerate his actions in this way.
Chuuya Nakahara's abrupt death was like a novel ending abruptly just as it was about to reach its climax. Or perhaps, it was a deliberate exit notice arranged by some being to drive him out of this world.
This farcical death that unfolded at the concert lasted until midnight before finally coming to an end.
Chuuya Nakahara's body was taken to the morgue. In this world, he played the role of an orphan with no parents and no immediate family. Ultimately, it was Dazai Osamu, posing as a "friend," who went through a series of complicated procedures to claim the body and bring it back to the apartment they had shared for a time. He was even faster than Chuuya's manager—he knew this because he had registered when claiming the body (of course, not using his real name), and Chuuya's phone was also in his possession. When the manager called, he happened to answer, and the first thing the manager asked was a questioning, uncertain one: "Who are you? Did you take Chuuya Nakahara's body?"
Dazai knew that this manager was most likely unaware of the close contact he and Chuuya maintained (after all, he was living in Chuuya's house, essentially cohabiting with him) – he had previously seen messages from Chuuya's manager on his phone, the gist of which was: "Dazai seems to be under a blacklist right now. I know you two have a good relationship, but it's best not to contact each other for a while and avoid getting into trouble." – However, now that the person in question was dead, no matter what excuse he made up, Chuuya couldn't come out to refute or accuse him.
Dazai Osamu remained silent for a moment on the other end of the phone, seemingly gathering his emotions, before speaking in a deliberately adjusted tone, heavy with sorrow and a hint of eerie sweetness: "Hello, Chuuya promised me that we would have a romantic double suicide together. So, I'm taking him away now simply to help him fulfill our promise."
After saying that, before the other party could recover from the shock and absurdity of hearing his inexplicable words, Dazai abruptly hung up the phone, leaving the manager on the other end of the line in a state of confusion and bewilderment, staring at the busy tone.
Dazai carefully placed Chuuya Nakahara's body in his own room. During Dazai's stay there, he had entered this room countless times under various pretexts—sometimes for pranks, sometimes to borrow things, sometimes simply out of boredom. But never before had it been so special, so...silent.
The body had already undergone preliminary cleaning and preparation by professionals. It lay peacefully on the familiar bed, its eyes closed and its face serene. Apart from its overly pale and bloodless cheeks, it truly looked as if it had simply fallen into a deep sleep. It was as if, the next morning, it would still be rubbing its hair, complaining with a grumpy morning air that Dazai had stolen another sip of its wine.
Dazai Osamu leaned against the edge of the bed and slid down to sit on the floor. Originally… he had vaguely considered that perhaps one day he could die in this world with this guy. Although the thought of dying with a sticky, grumpy slug like Chuuya was strange, even instilling a primal fear, this disobedient little dwarf had actually died without his permission! It was utterly outrageous.
If Dazai Osamu had followed Chuuya in death, the next day's headlines might have been "Tokyo Man Commits Suicide After Being Unable to Bear the Death of His Beloved Dog (?)!" Perhaps those journalists, driven by sales targets, would romanticize his death—based on complex humanitarianism (or perhaps a sense of companionship)—as a double suicide. Just imagining that scene sends chills down my spine. It's too terrifying, absolutely not!
As his mind wandered into these rambling thoughts, he subconsciously groped around on the floor. His fingertips touched a drawer pull tab, which he opened. Inside lay a pack of unopened cigarettes and a delicate lighter. Dazai Osamu paused, momentarily stunned. It seemed like ages since he'd last smoked; the last time felt like a distant memory.
He unpacked the cigarette, took out a slender one, and lit it. The faint flame flickered in the dim light, then a wisp of bluish-white smoke rose.
He suddenly remembered the way Chuuya Nakahara smoked—that man habitually sat on a high stool or casually leaned against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke slowly escaping from between his lips and teeth, swirling around his exceptionally refined profile when calm, or his taut jawline when suppressing anger.
Behind the smoke, those blue eyes sometimes resembled a frozen lake in winter, and sometimes a stormy sea on a cloudy day.
No matter how vivid the image of the other person was in my memory, it formed the most stark contrast with the cold, still, and lifeless appearance before me.
Dazai Osamu silently puffed on his cigarette, letting the nicotine fill his lungs, yet feeling no solace whatsoever. Amidst the swirling smoke, his thoughts drifted far, far away, to another scene that seemed strangely familiar.
However, unlike then, when he couldn't see his friend one last time and all the farewells were too late, this time, Nakahara Chuuya, within his reach, completed this silent farewell in the most resolute way.
The day, full of ups and downs, finally came to a close in complete silence.
In the first few days, news of Chuuya Nakahara's death dominated headlines across all news media, and the internet was filled with mourning and regret from fans and casual observers. But soon, an extraordinary phenomenon began to occur. He was being forgotten by the world at an eerie speed.
No, this is not the kind of oblivion that fades from public view over time, but a more thorough erasure. It's as if an invisible hand is systematically wiping away all evidence of his existence.
No one mentions him anymore. The variety shows and interview videos he participated in have mysteriously disappeared, and the related websites have all turned into meaningless 404 pages.
His digital albums were removed from the platform, his physical records disappeared from the shelves, and even the photos that once circulated online became unreadable cracked images.
Finally, even the apartment they used to live in was visited one day by a man claiming to be the landlord, who told Dazai that he had rented the apartment alone. Now the lease was expiring, the landlord wanted to take it back and sell it, and he was given only four days to pack his bags and leave.
Before this complete and unusual oblivion swept in, Dazai Osamu single-handedly held an extremely simple funeral for Nakahara Chuuya.
He used Chuuya's phone account to send notifications to a small number of people who were relatively close to Chuuya, including Detective Conan.
Those who received the message were all very surprised. Some thought it was handled by an agent, while others guessed it was other friends. When they arrived at the scene with doubts, they were shocked to see that the person presiding over the funeral was none other than Osamu Dazai, who had not made a public appearance for a long time.
Those present were all familiar with Osamu Dazai's face. Whether it was the previously rampant "resurrection" rumors or the various true and false "ban" rumors that followed, traces still remain online. However, the person in question has never come forward to clarify, and instead deleted all his public accounts, making him seem even more shrouded in mystery.
Now, this person stood alive before them, his appearance slightly thinner but still possessing an unforgettable handsomeness, showing no signs of the great calamity he had suffered. Most unbelievably, he was so close to Chuuya Nakahara that he was able to arrange his funeral—something no one had anticipated.
Chuuya Nakahara's manager was also present. He looked at Osamu Dazai with a complex expression, already certain that this was the guy who had uttered those shocking "double suicide" remarks on the phone that day. But he was exhausted at the moment and had no desire to delve into these details; he just wanted to end the funeral as quickly as possible and leave. He still had many messes to clean up afterward.
Although everything about Chuuya Nakahara is irreversibly disappearing, this disappearance is imperceptible to ordinary people. Therefore, for those whose work overlaps with his, it merely becomes one of the reasons they work overtime.
The funeral was barely completed in a somber and strange atmosphere. Guests gradually dispersed, each bearing varying degrees of confusion, sorrow, and curiosity about Dazai Osamu.
Conan Edogawa stayed until the very end. He had too many questions about certain things, and only Dazai could answer them. So he hesitated for a moment, but before Dazai Osamu left, he quickly walked forward with his short legs, looked up, and was about to ask a question when Dazai's action interrupted him.
Dazai Osamu bowed before him, his movements still elegant, his face devoid of any superfluous expression. He extended a long, slender index finger and gently placed it in front of his beautifully shaped lips, making a shushing gesture.
Then, a small smile curved his lips, his eyes devoid of warmth, even carrying a hint of indifference. He leaned close to Conan's ear and whispered in a voice so low it was almost a dreamlike murmur, only the two of them could hear, "I'll tell you a secret, little detective."
"Neither Chuuya nor I actually belong to this world." His gaze seemed to pierce through Conan, looking towards some empty place. His voice was as soft as a sigh, yet it carried an undeniable meaning.
"And now, it's time to leave."
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Author's Note: September was so unlucky, I had no time to write. I'll try my best to finish it in October. This world is coming to an end [orange heart][orange heart] My efforts have burned out [hug]
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