Chapter 70
“…”
Ye Yihe opened his mouth, but the answer he wanted to say remained on his lips.
I wanted to agree with Fyodor's question, but I also felt I couldn't give an affirmation so easily. My heartbeat felt like it was suspended in mid-air, neither rising nor falling.
He should have been 200% wary of Fyodor, but the truth was... the truth was, Fyodor was unaware of the secret that he needed to earn resurrection points to revive. From Fyodor's perspective, the last trip to Norway shouldn't have presented any points of contention that could have led to conflict between them.
However, he became wary of Fyodor, and whether it was contacting Tatsuhiko Shibusawa or ruling the port mafia, he always had to oppose Fyodor.
Even so, Fyodor did not express any dissatisfaction, and even treated everything he was doing with what could be described as indulgent.
Theoretically speaking, he is the one who should feel guilty towards Fyodor.
But at this moment, Fyodor was negotiating with the government on his behalf and had Gogol help him. He not only avoided contact with Tatsuhiko Shibusawa, but also asked him this question with a quiet, gentle smile after destroying the Holy Staff.
Did I help him?
"Of course," Ye Yihe replied quietly.
Even though he was lured into failing to resolve the incident, the fact that he didn't develop any feelings of rejection or dislike towards Fyodor is enough to prove a lot.
Or, given Fyodor's exceptionally brilliant mind, everything he did was aimed at maximizing his own interests, a means of winning people over—but Yeikh had to admit it was very effective.
Besides, he had never seen Fyodor use similar methods on anyone else.
Not only did he never use it, but based on the voice recordings, Fyodor would have mostly used verbal persuasion to target the target's inner weaknesses, or it would simply have been a transaction.
Whether or not they share the same ideals is completely unimportant to Fyodor; all he needs is for the other party to be able to tilt the situation in the direction he desires.
He was the only one who received special treatment.
—Ye Yihe knew this all too well.
That's why his emotional instincts kept getting hooked, and he could only rely on reason to constantly remind himself not to be bewitched by this cunning little mouse and forget that the important thing was to make a comeback.
But the other person seemed to have figured out his favorite spot, and kept poking and prodding it with their fingertip, while a subtle smile that was both dangerous and sweet played on their lips.
"Poke, poke," Ye Yihe muttered to himself, calmly peeling away the inexplicable emotion that he couldn't explain but that kept swirling in his mind.
Even if this seemingly obedient little mouse raises his favorability to a high level, he will never act according to the other party's ideas; that would be truly being led by the nose.
"I am you, we share one body."
In the end, Ye Yihe replied calmly, "I think there's no real difference between helping me and helping yourself."
Denying or affirming is a trap; only this answer can get you out of the problem.
In a daze, it seemed as if even the flickering candlelight in the palace of consciousness paused for a moment, just as Fyodor had not expected Ye Yihe's answer, and a slight, unexpected surprise appeared in his eyes.
For Fyodor, his other half was an uncontrollable entity.
Unlike Fukuchi Sakura, Ivan, and even Pushkin, the other party was never tempted by power and money, and it was extremely difficult to sway his will through emotions.
Moreover, from the very beginning of his birth, the things his other half did were naturally contrary to his plans, yet they always brought him even more thrilling surprises.
He certainly shouldn't keep something like this, out of control and capable of easily ruining his plans.
Fyodor pressed his knuckles against his teeth and bit down, and a dull pain was easily transmitted to his brain via the nerves.
In the past, this was a mental stimulant that was constantly added on top of suppressed consciousness, a compulsive behavior that was difficult to break.
Since that incident on Leibo Street, he has been able to experience a more vivid emotion from this dull pain time and time again, like a fire suddenly rising on an endless ice field, like a handful of inextinguishable flames in his hand.
That joy accompanied his soul, and was like a mirror reflecting his true nature at all times.
But so what?
Fyodor's eyes narrowed slightly again.
The candlelight floating inside the palace dimmed slightly, causing the originally cold, wine-red color to gradually darken, like the pitch-black night in the sky, until it mingled into a rich crimson.
This is his will, another side sculpted by his ideals, a truly unblemished and pure existence untouched by the world.
Even if forgiveness is never shown, it will still make sinners bow their heads...
Offering divine revelation to His Messiah.
…………
The next day, news of the complete eradication of the "Holy Heaven Staff" by the police spread like wildfire through various print and television media.
Because the operation was so well-executed, the authorities were generous in giving interviews, providing detailed accounts of the events and the process.
Dazai Osamu and his group's actions were naturally attributed to the police having planned it in advance, specifically inviting a professional magician to expose the fraud in person.
He even followed Dazai's plan, specifically mentioning in the interview the senator's support for the operation and his firm determination to prevent the resurgence of cult organizations, thus garnering a significant number of votes for the senator.
Aside from the Holy Staff, which was imprisoned, no one was unhappy with this outcome.
"Wait a minute, there are also those politicians who lost that political donation."
Dazai Osamu, biting an ice cream scoop, nestled on the sofa, watching the interview and chuckling softly. "They must be furious by now. Ah, just imagining it makes me happy."
"…………" Sitting next to him, Chuuya Nakahara was speechless at the guy's gloating. He glanced at him sideways and said, "You really enjoy seeing the other person so angry they're about to explode, yet helpless in the face of defeat."
Not to mention that he created this situation entirely on his own, without even having to exert much effort.
“If Chuuya wants to try it out, that’s fine too,” Dazai Osamu said, turning his head to look at him and winking. He spoke to him in a very tolerant tone.
"Whether it's a wet puppy caught in the rain at night, or a puppy with a droopy tail that's been lost by its owner, I can meet your needs."
"Who said I wanted it, you bastard!" Chuuya Nakahara was so scared by the trick that he slammed his fist on the armrest and stood up on the sofa, cracking his knuckles. "If you want to be beaten up, just say so. Whether it's a broken jaw or broken limbs, I can satisfy you!"
"And besides, I'm not a dog!"
I kicked him out of the window, sending him flying into the flowerbed across the street!
"Chuuya always says that,"
Dazai Osamu scooped up another large spoonful of ice cream and stuffed it into his mouth. Taking advantage of Odasaku and Ye Yihe's absence, he secretly enjoyed the wonderful experience of being frozen from his fingertips to his heart in the off-season, like a corpse that had lost its body temperature.
"In the end, we didn't actually lay a hand on each other. Hehe, you're so cute when you're being hypocritical. Come on, good boy, let's shake hands."
The following line, "Good boy, let's shake hands," was spoken entirely in a tone used when teasing a dog.
Chuuya Nakahara's response was to grab Dazai Osamu by the collar and lift him up like a reluctant cat, grinding his teeth and speaking in a sinister tone.
"Come shake my hand and let me see, how about I shake your bone?"
Dazai Osamu, like a non-Newtonian liquid cat that had lost the ability to support its body, hung limply on Chuuya's pulling force—or rather, even though his expression was very innocent, it was still a silent provocation of "What can you do to me?"
"Oh my god, that's scary!"
The vein on Chuuya Nakahara's forehead throbbed immediately.
The entire [Sheep] organization combined couldn't provoke him as much as this bandaged bastard in front of him!
Yet he had to admit that the other person was clever, and when he wasn't playing pranks, he seemed perfectly normal. The occasional glimpses of weariness and gloom about the world made it hard for him to truly hate this bastard.
After holding back his anger for a while with deep breaths, Chuuya Nakahara, having smoothed his own fur, loosened his collar and watched as the other man, seemingly a boneless cat, slid back onto the sofa and lay down, even giving him a lazy smile—the ice cream was held steadily, without slipping out of his hand at all.
...Phew, calm down, I can't let this guy lead me by the nose anymore.
Just then, Ye Yihe, who had returned with the groceries, opened the door and looked back and forth at Chuuya, who was standing on the sofa taking deep breaths, and Dazai, whose figure was blocked by the back of the sofa and whose head was only partially visible from the armrest—he felt confused.
"What happened?"
"...Nothing," Chuuya snorted, "It's just that Dazai is sneaking ice cream again."
Ye Yihe's eyes narrowed immediately. "Oh?"
This guy not only has the same unconventional food pairing preferences as Fyodor, but he also shares the same disregard for his own health!
Because he was so engrossed in teasing Chuuya that he didn't finish his ice cream beforehand, Dazai was caught eating it first: "…………"
"You're so brave! You have a sensitive stomach, yet you still dare to eat ice cream on a cold day."
Ye Yihe, who held the reins of the kitchen, spoke softly.
"With such a good appetite, you'll definitely be able to drink three bowls of hot porridge tonight."
Dazai: "Wait, let me put aside the fact that I was indeed eating ice cream... but, aren't three bowls of porridge a bit too much?"
I'll be so full I won't be able to sleep at night!
"How could that be? It's just porridge, it won't fill you up." Ye Yihe replied with a smile, "Like ice cream, it's mostly water."
"If you can eat this much ice cream, you must be able to handle porridge, right? How about we make pork liver porridge?"
"I don't want to eat pig liver, that weird-tasting stuff!"
Upon hearing even more devastating news, Dazai's eyes widened. "Even my breath will smell like pig liver! It'll be like my whole body has been pickled in the smell of pig liver—it's terrifying!"
This is a food he immediately blacklisted after trying it, and he will never eat it again!
"That……"
Ye Yihe, who had put the ingredients down on the table, walked over.
"Hand over the ice cream."
A completely dejected Dazai handed the half-eaten tub of ice cream to Ye Yihe, looking rather dejected. "Ugh, it was so sour..."
"Failed?" Ye Yihe repeated in confusion, "Failed?"
“That’s right, it’s called ‘subai’.” Dazai sighed softly. “It’s the Tsugaru dialect of Aomori Prefecture.”
Ye Yihe suddenly realized, "Oh, I see."
Dazai, whose spoken language is usually standard, suddenly blurted out such an unconventional word, which was childlike and strangely cute.
Ye Yihe glanced at the tub of ice cream he had received; he had probably only eaten less than a third of it, so it could be considered that he had stopped it in time.
"Very good, I can drink one less bowl of porridge." Ye Yihe expressed his satisfaction.
Neither of them is easy to deal with. On one side, they're keeping an eye on Fyodor's nail-biting and refusal to eat, while on the other side, they're keeping an eye on Dazai's suicide and indiscriminate eating.
Eating ice cream out of season is the least of his worries. For example, the reason he stole a bottle of smelling salts from Dr. Mori was because he heard that inhaling a large amount of smelling salts at once could be life-threatening, and he wanted to try it to see if he could commit suicide successfully...
After hearing this reason, Ye Yihe immediately threw the bottle of smelling salts into the trash can.
In addition, there are poisonous mushrooms, pufferfish, jellyfish, and even ginkgo nuts, all embodying the spirit of "eat as much as you can, even if it doesn't kill you."
People like Chuuya and Pushkin had difficulty controlling Dazai's voluntary suicide attempts, which resulted in Ye Yihe and Oda Sakunosuke taking turns supervising him.
Chuuya, who had been watching Dazai's humiliation from the sidelines, immediately went from being angry to amused, feeling extremely pleased.
He sat cross-legged again on the other half of the empty space on the sofa, picked up the remote control and switched the signal input source. "I've finished watching the news, let's play some games."
Hmph, he's in particularly good form today, he'll definitely beat Dazai's character to a pulp!
"What news?" Ye Yihe asked curiously.
"It's just news that the authorities keep bragging about; it's meaningless."
Suddenly deprived of his source of joy, Dazai Osamu rolled over, tilting his head listlessly. "I was just checking to see if their internal conflicts had erupted."
He could barely lift his index finger, his face half-buried in the soft armrest, making his voice muffled. From Ye Yihe's perspective, the other person's body lying on the sofa was thin and frail, and when he curled up his legs, he didn't take up much space.
And you still dare to eat only a tiny bit of rice at each meal, and then you keep thinking about eating poisonous things? Dream on.
Fyodor was much more obedient than Dazai in this respect, eating whatever he was told to eat and as much as he was told to eat, without wasting food or making outrageous demands.
"After all, for every member of parliament who comes forward to take responsibility for this matter, there are also government officials who harbor resentment towards him because their interests have been harmed."
Dazai shook his raised index finger, as if drawing a circle in the air.
“I’m waiting for them to show up, then I’ll cut them all off—that way I can prevent them from secretly tripping me up later.”
“After all, criminal organizations that operate openly are more or less colluding with the regime. They provide money, and the regime provides convenience.” His voice was also languid, sounding like he was about to fall asleep. “If you only pull out the carrot without filling in the hole, you might accidentally fall into it one day.”
“Indeed.” Ye Yihe nodded. “Even if the Special Abilities Division can handle high-risk superhumans, they have no way to deal with their superiors, or their superiors’ superiors.”
This is a byproduct of political maneuvering: even if politicians know what the right thing to do is, they won't do it—in this invisible world of mutual slaughter, power reigns supreme, not morality.
"How boring. Is this all those adults think about?" Chuuya clicked his tongue and handed Dazai a game controller. "No wonder something like the Rippachi Street exists."
If the government were willing to take some responsibility, it wouldn't have allowed that deep pit to be filled with all sorts of fugitive criminals, antisocial villains, illegal organizations, and impoverished people.
"Chaos is good for them, you simple-minded little Chuuya puppy."
Dazai Osamu took the controller and let out a soft chuckle, even his tone when calling out to Chuuya became more intimate—or perhaps it was just to annoy the other person.
"Being designated as a concession gave them a perfectly legitimate excuse for being unable to manage it, which made it much easier for them to campaign for votes and amass wealth later on."
Who are you calling a puppy?
Chuuya, who had been sulking, immediately snapped, "Don't force me to kill you twelve times in a row in the game!"
"Ha, you really dare to say that," Dazai finally propped himself up and sat up on the sofa with a fairly proper posture. "Be careful you don't get killed twelve times over, Chuuya."
The stirring battle theme music came from the television.
Ye Yihe thought to himself, "They're really the same age. The atmosphere here is so harmonious, and they're always having fun."
While he was cooking, the time was pushed back a bit, and Pushkin, Ivan, and Gogol also returned.
Exhausted, Pushkin would, as was his custom, collapse onto the tatami mat in the entryway, so tired he could only gasp for breath.
Previously, only Ivan was in charge, but now, Gogol has joined in the fun!
With his hands behind his back, Ivan gracefully passed by Pushkin in a standard and reserved aristocratic manner, heading to the kitchen to assist his master.
Gogol squatted down beside Pushkin to encourage him, "Come on, my brother Pushkin! Cheer up! You won't fall!"
It was almost as if they were holding a megaphone and blasting it in his ear.
Pushkin turned his head and gave him a strained, disapproving look.
"How dare you say that here!" He even switched back to Russian in anger, "Which bastard used his teleportation ability to send me back to the halfway point when I was almost at the finish line?!"
"Oh dear, who is it?"
Gogol, who was singled out for criticism, pointed to his lips with his index finger, looking confused and innocent. "I had absolutely no idea—oh dear, Gogol is facing a major problem in his magic career! What a failure!"
"..." Pushkin, who had been watching him act cute with a cold eye, finally lost his temper and roared, "I'm talking about you!!"
"But, but, Ivan didn't object, did he—"
"That guy wouldn't object at all; he actually thinks I'm too fat! Prejudice, utter prejudice!" Pushkin pounded the ground. "I can't be as skinny as a reed!"
He's completely transformed now, you know. He's so handsome that he'd be praised as a heartthrob even if he walked down the street!
Do these two even have any colleagues who like them?! They're both vying to double the targets the boss gives them!!
Pushkin was almost in tears, looking up at the sky.
If he had known this would happen, he shouldn't have gotten fat in the first place. That way, he wouldn't have caught the boss's eye, wouldn't have been singled out for weight loss, and wouldn't have been constantly monitored by those two heartless fellow countrymen, Ivan and Gogol...
It's all because of that first hamburger I ate back then!
Ye Yihe cleared his throat in the kitchen, barely suppressing a laugh, "Go... Kolya,"—he almost forgot to call Gogol by his nickname, "How long do you plan to stay here? Is the magic tour alright?"
“Oh, my dear Fedya,”
Upon hearing Yeikh call him, Gogol immediately abandoned Pushkin, who was reflecting on how he ate his 215th hamburger years ago, and happily skipped over to Yeikh.
The audience watching his magic show and the enemies he killed would be terrified if they saw this scene of him spinning around like a puppy.
"My magic tour is over," Gogol said, clearly in high spirits. "From now on, it's time to be part of the 'House of the Dead' crew—oh dear, I'm even wearing a magician's tuxedo!"
Gogol covered his mouth with both hands, looking as panicked as if he had just realized that his clothes had not changed.
"Oh no, oh no, I'll repeat myself: it's about the time the magician and the members of the 'House of the Dead' are engaged in, in order to achieve—the goal I'm truly pursuing right now."
When he got to the last few words, Gogol's soaring voice suddenly dropped, and he spoke them in a very normal tone, calmly and evenly.
In just a few words, Gogol's emotions fluctuated wildly, and the wide range of his tone made Ye Yihe pause for a moment before speaking.
What is the objective?
Could it be that he's going to create a world that eliminates superhumans, like Fyodor... or something like that?
He wasn't sure if what Fyodor said was true or false; it was possible that Fyodor was just making things up for him.
“Keep it a secret,” Gogol winked at Yeikh, his braid with a red pom-pom swaying behind his head. “It would be rude to let the magician reveal the secret so easily—we have to wait until the audience has left.”
—His voice suddenly lowered as he raised his index finger and gently pressed it to his lips. "At that time, I can secretly tell you to just one person, my dear Fedia."
Ye Yihe nodded silently, "Ah, okay."
This type is really hard to deal with; you get the feeling that if you can't keep up with their leaps in thought, you've already lost...
“Speaking of which,” Gogol, his smile returning, stretched again, as if warming up for something big, “who’s the next target? When to make our move? How about tonight?”
"Ah-ah, the next target, of course, is the local veteran mafia organization, the Takase-kai,"
—Dazai, who was finishing a match with Chuuya, turned around, put one hand on the back of the sofa, and gave Gogol a mischievous smile.
"But I won't include you in the game."
"!!!"
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