Chapter 95
Before Verlaine arrived at the detective agency, it was Ivan who first noticed something amiss by observing the pebbles scattered around the area.
Originally used only for brute force, this superpower has become increasingly versatile after being developed by Ye Yihe and Dazai Osamu.
For example, these inconspicuous pebbles falling to the ground, while unable to extend Ivan's vision or hearing, can be used to filter out targets that need to be locked through impact feedback.
To paraphrase Osamu Dazai, if Verlaine came to visit through normal channels, it meant there was still some conversation to be had, and it didn't matter if Ivan didn't notice; they didn't need to prepare for battle immediately.
However, if Verlaine were to fall suddenly with high-density gravity, they could prepare in advance regardless of whether the subsequent attitude was friendly or not.
"A high-speed impact of extraordinary magnitude has occurred to the west, about one kilometer from the detective agency," Ivan casually remarked. "It's suspected to be Verlaine."
“They found this place very accurately.” Dazai Osamu frowned. “Fyodor has already made contact with him.”
"Why do you say that?" Chuuya Nakahara asked curiously.
“He’s after you, you idiot Chuuya.” Dazai Osamu sighed. “So, who gave him this information?”
He hadn't made the connection before, but after Fedia explained Verlaine and Chuuya together last time, he paid special attention and asked Chief Taneda to find a lot of relevant information from within the organization.
In the end, well... given the way Chuuya's ability manifests, it's fortunate that he hasn't caused any major scandals all this time, otherwise Verlaine would have already followed the clues and come knocking on his door.
"He came to kill me?" Chuuya Nakahara clicked his tongue, slammed his hand on the table, and stood up. "That guy's nothing special. I haven't done anything for a while, so I'm going out now..."
"Wait a minute." Dazai Osamu raised his hand to stop him. "Although I don't want to interrupt your enthusiastic performance, the one who's going to challenge Verlaine isn't Chuuya, you know."
Chuuya Nakahara stopped moving. "Huh?"
“Mr. Rando.” Dazai Osamu turned around and called out to Rimbaud, who was also on guard in the office, “I’m counting on you.”
Rimbaud nodded. "Mm." After a moment of silence, he continued, "Thank you to the Detective Agency and Dazai-kun for taking care of me during this time."
"It might not be appropriate for me to say that."
Dazai Osamu narrowed his eyes slightly, but a gentle smile curved his lips. "But, Mr. Rando is a full member of the Detective Agency, isn't he? He can't just leave without permission just because Ranpo and the president aren't here."
Leaving Ranpo, who has no fighting ability, at the detective agency was too dangerous. From the moment they were certain that Verlaine would come, the president took Ranpo to a safer place—a safe haven called "Wankado".
Yosano Akiko volunteered to stay and take charge of the treatment, and she is currently in the medical room next door.
Pushkin wasn't at the detective agency, so Dazai Osamu had him disguise himself and wander around the area pretending to be a passerby, waiting for an opportunity to act.
If they were to actually fight Verlaine, their goal would simply be to injure him—Pushkin would stay in the shadows and use his viral abilities to apply a weakening buff to the enemy.
In other words, currently only Rimbaud, Chuuya, Dazai, Akiko, and Ivan are in the detective agency.
At that moment, when Ivan informed Verlaine that he had arrived, Rimbaud got up to head to the warning point.
After hearing the intriguing name, he made no attempt to conceal his subsequent unusual behavior. As astute as Dazai Ranpo was, he probably already guessed his true identity.
"Shouldn't you have Chuuya come with you?" Dazai Osamu asked.
"Hmm, no need for it."
His long, jet-black hair, falling between his shoulders and brows, was slightly curled, with a gentle curve that carried a hint of melancholy; but when he looked up, his light gold eyes were firm, resolute and calm, with a subtle sharpness.
He was never Lan Tang, a low-level member of the Port Mafia, but rather Arthur Rimbaud, a top-tier supernatural intelligence agent from France.
He is above all other superhumans, a true transcendent being.
"No one knows Paul's abilities better than I do. After all,"
As Rimbaud, having fully recovered his memories, said this, he went to the west-facing window and opened the two tightly closed windows.
The familiar aura of supernatural power drew ever closer; it was the reunion with a long-lost friend and relative, now feared by the European Bureau of Supernatural Abilities as the "King of Assassination."
"It was I who rescued him from the Creator and taught his partner during those years of living together day and night."
—A golden cube in the subspace suddenly appeared.
Immediately afterward, Rimbaud's figure disappeared through the window.
Half a beat later, the violent shockwave from the sudden impact finally rolled in with a muffled sound, causing the window frame to tremble slightly and the papers fluttering in the wind.
Under Chuuya's astonished gaze, Dazai Osamu let out a soft sigh.
"Fortunately, our enemy is not Mr. Rimbaud."
—And not far from the detective agency, the gravitational waves and afterglow that had obscured their view gradually dissipated, and the two who had unleashed terrifying attack power in an instant finally met.
"It really was you, Rimbaud."
The hem of Verlaine's pale suit jacket slowly fell, and Verlaine's voice was deep and clear, "You didn't die in that explosion. It should be so."
"Long time no see, Paul."
Rimbaud nodded slightly. Even though it wasn't winter, he was still wearing a thick winter coat, a warm scarf, and rabbit fur earmuffs—he looked exactly the same as Verlaine had seen him before.
"I'm sorry I haven't thought of you for so long. I lost my memory after that explosion, and only recently did I remember."
"Yes, that's right. If you hadn't lost your memory, how could you have let Chuuya and me stay out here all this time?"
Those pale iris-colored eyes lit up briefly before gradually cooling, like a flame extinguished by rain. Verlaine said expressionlessly.
"After all, you are an excellent intelligence agent who is loyal to your country, while I betrayed you, causing you to be stranded in this island nation for several years."
—As Verlaine's words gradually deepened, the gravitational ripples emanating from his body caused the space to begin to distort, like layers of petals blooming.
"Now, you will continue with that mission, just as he said."
Rimbaud merely furrowed his brow at Verlaine's extremely wary remarks.
“You don’t have that hat right now, Paul.”
In this newly created ruin, he calmly pointed out the key point: "Without the ability to open the door, you are even less likely to defeat me."
"and……"
Rimbaud wanted to ask Verlaine why he still harbored such hostility towards him, and whether that "he" was Fyodor; but a bullet suddenly shot at him came hurtling down like a meteor, amplified by gravity, like a grenade, silencing Rimbaud from speaking.
This is a declaration of war.
boom!
The subspace cube that unfolded according to Rimbaud's will instantly transformed into a vast dimensional world, enveloping Verlaine and him, as if they had traveled to another void—where the crimson sky replaced the sun, the laws of physics became formulas that could be modified, and space surged and roared like an invisible wave.
Only the black-haired youth stood silently in the air, becoming the master of this void.
This is Rimbaud's true supernatural ability, [Illustrated Book].
“Since you’re unwilling to listen to me, I’ll subdue you first before we continue talking,” Rimbaud said.
"Just like before."
Those who oppose Rimbaud share a consensus: they must never give him the opportunity to explore the subspace.
Once inside this space controlled by him, unless there are superpowers like causality, mental energy, or time manipulation that can transcend space to counter his abilities, almost all attacks will be ineffective against him.
Especially physical attacks.
Even more, Rimbaud could manipulate a superhuman corpse in the subspace and make it attack—but after the failed attempt to absorb Arahato and the resulting massive explosion, there was no object to manipulate in the subspace where he had not absorbed any new superhumans.
But for Verlaine, who had lost his hat and was unable to open the door, simply unfolding the subspace was enough.
This space itself was transformed into a shockwave, into a raging torrent, into a massive surge of potential energy, pressing down on Verlaine like a dark shadow looming overhead.
While Rimbaud's subspace was not yet deployed and Verlaine's initial attack failed, he was also unable to use [Gravity Manipulation] to deflect the invisible non-mass attack. He could only instead increase the density of his own body to withstand the attack and wait for an opportunity to counterattack.
Instead of fleeing with the crowd, Pushkin, who was hiding behind a telephone pole, peeked out and stared in disbelief at the enormous, golden cube before him, feeling utterly useless.
What... what use is his special ability? Dazai is being far too cautious!
Fortunately, he never angered Rimbaud...
Rimbaud's supernatural abilities have always been extremely effective against Verlaine, from the very beginning.
That is why the French government initially arranged for him to mentor Verlaine, guiding him into the world of espionage to serve the country.
Verlaine coughed up blood, feeling excruciating pain in his back, chest, and limbs.
Unable to stand due to the ever-increasing force of the shockwave, he finally collapsed to his knees, his hands bracing against the ruins of the ground, gasping for breath and coughing slowly a few times.
Her beautiful, neatly styled light blonde hair had become messy, dusty, and dull, much like her blood-stained, mud-covered, moon-white suit.
Only those pale, iris-like eyes remained defiant, concealing even more dark emotions. She raised her head and stared intently at him from below.
To prevent Verlaine from finding an opportunity to break free and launch a counterattack, Rimbaud cautiously continued to shrink the subspace, but never released it—until it transformed into countless small cubes surrounding the opponent, and then separated into several smaller cubes that bound his hands, before finally stopping.
“Your abilities have declined, Paul.”
Rimbaud, standing in front of him, spoke, his clothes still intact.
"Without gathering sufficient intelligence, and without being able to discern the enemy's intentions, this is the consequence of launching an attack rashly."
"Say it as you like."
Enduring the excruciating pain coursing through his body, Verlaine's voice, restrained and suppressed by the subspace, became much hoarse. "Anyway, I betrayed you long ago. What does it matter how bad the consequences are? Even if I want to take that child back from you, I still can't avoid this battle."
"...Take the child back?" Rimbaud frowned. "Are you referring to Nakaya? I have no intention of taking him back to France."
At this point, Rimbaud paused for a moment, seemingly finding it difficult to express his own thoughts of soon leaving his homeland. "Actually, I won't take you back to France either."
Hearing such outrageous remarks from Rimbaud, which would have been considered utterly rebellious by Rimbaud's standards, Verlaine was completely stunned, staring blankly at him.
"you……?"
It seems that it's better to finish the game first and let Paul vent his emotions before it's easier to communicate with him...
Rimbaud thought to himself, but asked him aloud, "Before you came to Yokohama, did you meet a Russian named Fyodor?"
“…Yes,” Verlaine replied hesitantly.
"I don't know how he said it to Paul, but I think you might prefer to hear another story."
Rimbaud turned aside to clear the view—not far away, Mary Shelley, who was peeking out from behind a telephone pole with Pushkin to observe the battle situation, suddenly realized that the two men were looking at her.
"Hey, is it my turn?"
She pointed to herself, and after seeing Rimbaud nod affirmatively in her direction, she slipped out from behind the stubborn but barely obstructing telephone pole, and walked awkwardly to Verlaine, looking exceptionally shy.
Verlaine looked at her in confusion, not understanding why Rimbaud had sent this unfamiliar girl over.
"Cough, cough."
Mary Shelley first cleared her throat—presumably as a relaxation gesture—then took out a stack of yellowed, curled draft papers from her handbag and spread them out in a row on the ground in front of Verlaine.
Then, she looked longingly at Verlaine.
It was covered with all sorts of formulas, numbers, and strange scribbles. Even if Verlaine stared at it for another half hour, he still wouldn't be able to understand its meaning.
Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, Verlaine frankly admitted, "...I don't understand."
“Pan came to me before he created you.”
Mary Shelley described it in a serious academic tone: "At that time, all I knew was that he wanted to make self-contradictory singularities artificially controllable, so I gave him formula suggestions on adjusting several key parameters."
"Later, I couldn't agree with his method of applying this technology to cloned human subjects, so we had a big argument and never saw each other again."
Verlaine listened quietly to Mary Shelley's story, his iris eyes slowly widening in disbelief.
"These are the manuscripts I left behind... including these parameters,"
Mary Shelley pointed to several of the large and complex expansion formulas and the calculated results, saying, "These are essential conditions for successfully creating artificial singularities."
Faced with these faded numbers representing his birth, Verlaine pursed his lips and didn't utter a single word.
"—It's an artificial singularity,"
Mary Shelley looked up at Verlaine intently and emphasized it again.
"I didn't create you."
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