Chapter 42: The Double Black
After Chuuya Nakahara's funeral that day, Osamu Dazai found a new place to live on the outskirts of the city. Traces of Chuuya Nakahara's existence were gradually erased by an irresistible force, until finally, only Osamu Dazai remembered him in this world.
Just a few days ago, that person's posters were plastered on the streets of bustling areas. Now, if he were to randomly grab someone on the street and say the name of Nakahara Chuuya, asking if they knew him, most people would probably think he was crazy.
The house where they used to live together was taken back by a landlord who appeared out of nowhere (the original owner was Nakahara Chuuya), and Dazai Osamu had no interest in spending money to buy this place that had lost its meaning.
Nothing from the house was taken; all of Chuuya's belongings were gone. He had stayed at Chuuya's house for a long time under the pretense of having nowhere to live, and neither of them had mentioned it. But now he had moved out.
His new residence was barely marked on the city map, and was much more remote than the apartment he had stayed in when he first arrived in this world.
It was the top floor of an old apartment building, the stairs creaked, the walls were mottled, and the air was perpetually filled with the smell of dampness and dust. Its only advantage was its quietness; so quiet that when Dazai Osamu was alone in the room, he could clearly hear the dull thumping of his own heart in his chest.
This situation also reminded him of a distant past, when he was still someone he could only meet in his dreams, and back then only he knew of this person's existence.
Dazai disliked dwelling on the past; doing so often always carried a melancholic air. He disliked this feeling, but it was unavoidable when he was alone.
Occasionally, he would lie on the cold tatami mat, his iris-colored eyes staring blankly at the stains left by rainwater seepage on the ceiling, his thoughts drifting far away.
On a quiet night when even the cicadas were silent, Dazai Osamu was lost in a state of mental blankness when a series of gunshots shattered the surrounding stillness.
The person who made the noise made no attempt to conceal it, displaying the arrogance and indifference characteristic of the underworld. The first gunshot served as a signal, followed immediately by a second and a third, echoing through the empty streets only to be quickly swallowed by a deeper silence. The perpetrator seemed certain that the residents of this area had already learned to remain silent about anything unusual.
Dazai Osamu squinted, not even lifting his eyelids. He had no interest in the conflicts of this world, whether it was evil in the light or slaughter in the shadows. He just wanted to continue lying there, planning what to do next, making list after list in his mind, and then crossing them off one by one.
However, even though he didn't actively seek out the anomaly, it found him on its own. The top floor, which should have been a relatively safe location, became the endpoint of some desperate pursuit.
A series of rapid climbing sounds, accompanied by heavy breathing, were heard. Then, with a loud crash, the already flimsy window of his room was kicked open from the outside, shards of glass scattering like rain. A dark figure, accompanied by a strong stench of blood, tumbled in, landing heavily on the tatami mat with a muffled groan.
Almost the instant the intruder landed, Dazai Osamu's figure had already silently slid to the corner of the room, disappearing into the darkness cast by a tall, old wardrobe. He suppressed his breathing to a minimum, almost stopping it, his entire being blending into the surrounding gloom, as if he were part of the room's furnishings.
The intruder was clearly badly injured; the stench of blood quickly filled the confined space. He struggled to his feet, gripping a gun tightly and pointing it warily at the broken window.
However, his pursuers gave him no respite. Almost simultaneously, another figure leaped in through the broken window with the same agility but even greater composure. This person was also dressed in a dark trench coat, and their movements displayed the swiftness and efficiency of rigorous training.
The pursuers landed silently, their guns fixed steadily on the intruder. The two faced off amidst the chaos, their suppressed breaths and chilling threats mingling in the air.
"Hand over the stuff, and I'll make your death easier." The pursuer's voice was low and cold, devoid of any emotion.
“Ha… dream on… you… don’t even think about succeeding…” The wounded intruder’s voice was hoarse, filled with stubbornness born of despair.
They exchanged heated words in hushed tones, interspersed with snippets of conversation about "organization" and "cleansing out traitors." These words, like scattered puzzle pieces, quietly matched information that Dazai Osamu had been gathering through certain channels recently.
His iris-colored eyes moved slightly in the darkness, recording every detail of the scene before him: the two men's signature black trench coats, judging from the unnatural bulges under the fabric, must conceal more weapons; especially the newcomer, with his striking long silver hair, which gleamed coldly in the faint moonlight streaming through the window, his skills, aura, and the status revealed in his words all pointed to a high-ranking figure in a large dark organization.
That palpable killing intent was all too familiar to Dazai Osamu—it was the aura of someone who had been immersed in the underworld for many years and who regarded human life as worthless.
However, this murderous aura, enough to make ordinary people tremble, failed to stir even the slightest ripple in Dazai Osamu's heart. He even indifferently thought that if he had taken the initiative to show himself and intervene in this standoff, perhaps he could have achieved the complete peace he had always longed for. But this thought was immediately suppressed by a deeper sense of resistance.
Death was an extremely private matter for him, something that should be done quietly, without any connection to any other being in this strange world. In his subconscious, the only one who seemed qualified to be associated with his death was Nakahara Chuuya, whose very existence had been erased by this world.
Apart from that noisy guy who eventually died quietly, everything else in the world, including their dirty fights and pointless desires, made him feel a kind of physical nausea.
The standoff ended abruptly with the intruder forced to flee and the silver-haired pursuer close behind, leaving behind only a mess and a strong smell of blood, just as abruptly as his arrival. Throughout, no one noticed the presence of a cold-eyed third party in this small space.
Dazai Osamu slowly emerged from the shadows, stepping over the shards of glass. Moonlight streamed through the broken window, illuminating his expressionless face. He looked at the chaos before him, a small, twitching smile slowly spreading across his lips.
Tonight's incident wasn't entirely unexpected. Or rather, it was something he had come for all along.
In the days after Chuuya Nakahara left, Osamu Dazai no longer stayed indoors as much as before, isolating himself in a limited space. He began to go out frequently and with a clear purpose, and set a clear time limit for himself.
He had long since lost the only reason he could barely stay in this world. Once the deadline was over, he would leave regardless of whether the matter was completed or not.
Through online news and intelligence gathering from certain underground channels, Dazai Osamu quickly noticed an unusually concentrated area—Edogawa Conan.
This seemingly ordinary elementary school student frequently appears at the scenes of various high-profile cases, especially in reports related to the rising star, "Sleeping Kogoro."
He encountered the other party several times while out and about, and through observation, he discovered that as long as he stayed around the other party, the chances of encountering a case would greatly increase, just like the Grim Reaper.
Through further observation and reasoning, combined with old news circulating online about the mysterious disappearance of the famous high school detective Shinichi Kudo, Osamu Dazai can confirm that Conan Edogawa and Shinichi Kudo are the same person.
He merely raised an eyebrow at this phenomenon that defied the norms of the world, showing little surprise.
With his brilliant mind, Dazai Osamu quickly gained considerable fame in the underworld of this world. A mysterious information broker codenamed [D] quietly rose to prominence.
[D] is known for its precise and in-depth intelligence, and for its difficulty in tracing its source. From trade secrets to leverage over underground forces, anyone who can afford the price or provide an equivalent exchange of information can get what they want from [D].
This was naturally the work of Osamu Dazai, but he did more than that, which will not be elaborated here.
Through the channels of [D], Dazai Osamu was intentionally or unintentionally gathering fragments of information related to the dark organization surrounding Conan. He keenly sensed that directly passing on some of the intelligence he possessed—such as the codenames and habits of some organization members, and even the approximate locations of several suspected strongholds—to the young detective might disrupt some kind of balance. Or, to put it more directly, it might create some minor trouble for the entity that was trying to erase everything.
But as soon as this idea came to mind, it encountered invisible resistance.
For example, when he tries to anonymously send an encrypted message to the young detective online, his computer crashes and displays a blue screen without warning. Or when he stands on the street trying to send a message using a public network, the clear sky suddenly becomes overcast and a torrential downpour occurs, causing the signal to be interrupted.
Even the sticky notes used to record information would be blown out of the window by a gust of wind the moment he turned around, disappearing without a trace. These accidents weren't fatal, but they were certainly a nuisance.
Far from being discouraged, Dazai Osamu's arrogance only intensified. These obstacles proved his ideas were correct and further confirmed the importance of this matter—important enough that an unknown entity would need to obstruct it in various ways. This also meant that if he succeeded, it would become something sufficient to exact revenge on a certain being, a thought that alone was somewhat pleasurable.
Is it possible to peek into one's own mind...?
In the dimly lit room, Dazai Osamu stared intently into the corner at the spider diligently weaving its web, motionless like a puppet placed on a table.
The room remained in the mess left behind by the intruder the previous night, untouched. The broken windows were covered with thick curtains, blocking out light and preventing prying eyes. The room was dim, the broken light from the bulbs making it impossible to distinguish between day and night.
Since he couldn't accomplish this online, Dazai chose the most direct method—to visit in person.
This time, the accidents were even more dangerous. When he was walking on the street, out-of-control cars would suddenly veer onto the sidewalk without warning, narrowly missing his clothes and crashing into a lamppost. And when he was crossing an alley, he would suddenly encounter a robber wielding a sharp knife with a blank stare; the way he appeared and his motives seemed abrupt and far-fetched.
Even the billboards overhead would suddenly creak ominously as he passed by, teetering on the verge of collapse. These unexpected events, so deliberate and absurd, were exactly the same as what he had encountered when he tried to approach Nakahara Chuuya on stage, as if an invisible hand was clumsily and urgently trying to correct the deviating "plot".
Even amidst these unexpected events, Dazai Osamu remained composed. He meticulously calculated his route, using crowds and buildings to avoid direct physical dangers, while calmly observing the behavior patterns of these NPC-like humans. In the end, he discovered they were just a bunch of people with empty faces; some looked fierce, but could be easily knocked down with a single punch.
The low-IQ criminals and the various absurd accidents all demonstrate the deliberate nature of these events. The information he possesses is limited: only a portion of the data on key members of the organization connected to Conan, along with other information—the maximum amount of intelligence he can obtain within this timeframe.
But these unexpected events always caused him to miss the chance to meet Conan.
Finally, in what could only be described as a farcical robbery—the robber moved stiffly, like a programmed robot, brandishing a knife and taking him hostage—Dazai Osamu's gaze fell upon Edogawa Conan emerging from the convenience store on the street corner. The young detective, clearly drawn to the commotion, was frowning as he looked over.
The objective had been achieved. Dazai Osamu no longer wanted to get entangled in this shoddy performance. As the robber held a dagger to his side and threatened the sparse passersby, he delivered a swift and precise elbow strike to the robber's ribs, followed immediately by a chop to the robber's wrist holding the knife. The movements were clean and swift, displaying a practiced skill and decisiveness honed through countless trials. The robber groaned and collapsed to the ground.
The previously sparse and expressionless passersby suddenly erupted in exaggerated and synchronized gasps, as if a switch had been flipped. Dazai Osamu coldly swept over them and noticed that their faces had, for a fleeting moment, exhibited a bizarre similarity, their features blurred, like mass-produced dolls.
As Conan drew closer to the area, the figures of these passersby began to thin out, gradually disintegrating into tiny specks of light that silently vanished into the air. Meanwhile, the other real pedestrians on the street remained completely oblivious to this anomaly, continuing their hurried pace.
This scene reminded Dazai Osamu of the unusually heavy snowfall he had experienced with Nakahara Chuuya. The illogical phenomena, the manipulated "humans"—all pointed to one conclusion: the underlying rules of the world he inhabited seemed to be modifiable by some higher will. And he, perhaps because of his status as an outsider, or perhaps because of some latent resistance to "No Longer Human" (though he didn't know if supernatural abilities bound the soul), was able to remain conscious, becoming an unwelcome observer.
On that snowy winter night, perhaps Chuuya, who suddenly broke into his room, also encountered a similar situation, his consciousness and brain being controlled by an unknown entity. Like the group of people around him, he was controlled and could not perceive anything unusual.
That's disgusting.
Conan Edogawa was indeed drawn to the unusual activity in the distance. However, in his view, the street was calm and uneventful, with nothing noteworthy happening.
He didn't know why he suddenly felt curious about that place, even though nothing had happened. However, a strong sense of unease lingered in his heart.
He stopped, trying to analyze the source of this unease. Could it be his sixth sense detecting the presence of members of the organization? Or had his intuition discovered a lurking criminal?
He wanted to investigate further, but his brain kept telling him: "Everything is normal here, no need to pay attention." This disconnect between his perception and intuition left him feeling momentarily lost.
In the instant he was stunned, he suddenly felt a cold touch on his forehead.
Conan looked up abruptly and met a pair of iris-colored eyes looking down at him. It was a tall young man with half his body wrapped in bandages, pale-faced and with a gloomy air. Between the young man's outstretched left fingers was a small black USB flash drive, the source of the cold sensation he had felt earlier.
"This USB drive is specially for you, and you won't be disappointed by what's inside." The young man's voice was as calm as a stagnant pool, without any fluctuation.
As soon as he finished speaking, the young man released his grip. Conan almost instinctively opened his palm, and the USB drive landed precisely in his hand, carrying the coolness and weight characteristic of metal.
Conan's heart skipped a beat. He looked up at the unfamiliar young man, countless questions welling up in his throat: Who are you? Why are you giving me this? What's inside? Have we met before?
He didn't know what was happening, but he could sense that something was about to happen, and something was about to end.
He still had a lot of questions he wanted to ask the receding figure, but for some reason, his legs wouldn't obey him. He seemed to be frozen in place, only able to watch as the person turned and left decisively, gradually disappearing into the crowd.
Huh...? Why am I standing here?
Conan snapped out of his daze, as if waking from a dream. He blinked in confusion, finding himself standing blankly in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands clenched tightly as if holding something. He opened his hand, and a black USB drive he had never seen before lay quietly in his palm.
Why do I have a USB drive in my hand...? The material looks very good; it's obviously a tool with some special purpose.
Conan tapped his head with his little fist, pondering for a moment. He seemed to have forgotten something very important. What was it...? Why couldn't he remember anything?
I can't remember where the USB drive came from, or why I'm standing here. Did I just see someone familiar? But why can't I remember anything?
I can't remember anything.
He was left with a sense of emptiness, as if something important had been forcibly removed from his mind, but he couldn't understand where this feeling came from.
"Conan, we're here! Stop standing around, come here!"
Across the street, Ran Mouri's voice pierced through the noise of the crowd, pulling him back to reality from his chaotic thoughts. Conan shook his head, temporarily suppressing his doubts, and ran over, responding loudly.
"Forget it, since I can't remember anything, it probably isn't anything particularly important, right?" He tried to convince himself, but his hand holding the USB drive tightened unconsciously.
Back at the Mouri Detective Agency, Conan absentmindedly put down his shopping bag and then made an excuse to rush to Professor Agasa's house next door. He clutched the USB drive of unknown origin tightly in his hand, as if it held some crucial clue.
"You mean, this USB drive suddenly appeared in your hands, right?" Ai Haibara, wearing white lab gloves, carefully held the black USB drive up to the light, examining its material and interface closely, her brows furrowed slightly.
“Hmm.” Conan nodded, his expression serious. “Although I can’t remember how I got it, I have a very strong intuition that something in it is important.” He couldn’t even explain where this intuition came from.
Ai Haibara glanced at him, her tone as calm and cautious as ever: "You dare to plug things of unknown origin into the Doctor's computer? What if there's a Trojan virus or some kind of tracking program in it?"
Conan was taken aback. He had been so focused on the content that he had overlooked the safety risks, and he couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed: "Well... if we really get infected with a virus, I'll buy the professor a new computer!"
Amidst Professor Agasa's cheerful "It's alright, it's alright," the USB drive was finally connected to the computer. The progress bar moved slowly across the screen, and Conan and Ai Haibara stared intently at it, a silent tension filling the air.
When the folder list finally appeared, Ai Haibara's pupils contracted sharply. She practically snatched the mouse, quickly clicking on several files labeled with codes and chemical formulas, her eyes scanning the data and charts on the screen rapidly. Her breathing became noticeably rapid, and her face paled slightly.
"What's wrong? What did you find out?" Conan was startled by her strong reaction and quickly asked.
Ai Haibara turned her head sharply, her icy blue eyes filled with disbelief and deep apprehension: "Kudo... where... where did you get this?! It contains detailed, unpublished research data on APTX4869, and even information on several secret bases they established after I left the organization, which even I don't fully understand!"
Her voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly, "Although it will take time to verify their authenticity, if these things are all true..."
Conan's eyes sharpened instantly. He never expected that this small USB drive would contain such heavyweight information, which, if used properly, might be able to shake the foundation of that massive organization.
What surprised him even more was that the small USB drive did not contain any self-destruct program or other viruses; it was as if some kind person was deliberately helping him.
A strange sense of familiarity washed over him again. The person who gave him the USB drive… he must have seen him before, he must have…
But he still couldn't remember anything.
The following day, a brief report appeared in a corner of a local newspaper: [A car ignored warnings and drove onto a closed mountain road, ultimately crashing and killing everyone on board].
-----------------------
Author's note: This world is ending. [hugs]
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
