Chapter 94
Upon hearing the news of Tatsuhiko Shibusawa's "death," Fyodor set off and left Yokohama.
The fact that Dazai Osamu and his companions were able to defeat Shibusawa Tatsuhiko was not outside of Fyodor's predictions—it was a trial sent down by the gods, and they had only passed the first hurdle.
Gogol stayed with Oguri Mushitaro, who had come out of the Seventh Agency, and did not leave with Fyodor.
Or rather, it was Fyodor who refused Gogol's question about whether he needed to accompany him.
Fyodor did not believe that the presence of the Messiah sleeping in the Palace of Consciousness would extinguish Gogol's desire to kill him.
This magician, who never follows common sense, always reverses conventional logic in his choices of thought. He might be willing to help because of his promise, but he doesn't rule out the possibility that the other party might turn around and join Dazai and his group at any moment.
Therefore, after assigning Gogol another task, Fyodor embarked on his journey to France alone.
There, the second phase of the plan is about to begin.
…………
"Phew, long-haul flights are really tiring."
As the plane finally came to a stop and began playing the disembarkation announcement on a loop, a petite girl with typical Western European features stood up from her seat, clasped her hands together, and stretched out her arms in a carefree manner, without any concern for her image.
Her neatly trimmed, pure black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her thick, straight bangs covered most of her eyebrows and eyes. Add to that a pair of thick, round, black-framed glasses perched on her nose and a backpack weighing down her shoulders, and anyone who looked at her would subconsciously assume that she was a well-behaved and introverted international student.
Although she is indeed a little bit away from adulthood... and a little bit short... which makes her disguise as a student particularly successful... but it's really only a little bit away, she is a renowned PhD!
Ever since she successfully created Adam, a bionic robot with the ability to think and judge for itself, the old men on the committee have been so happy that their beards have almost fallen off. They see it as a demonstration of the country's powerful supernatural research capabilities, without mentioning at all how they had made things difficult for her research funding application.
Tch, in that case, they have no right to offer any opinion on where she wants to take Adam.
To evade Agatha Christie's plan to ambush her, she deliberately wore a black wig and disguised herself, hmph.
Adam is extremely useful in this regard—his life form scanning and database transient comparison functions can accurately locate Agatha's helpers from a distance, allowing her to successfully bypass the encirclement.
Of course, the message she left for Agatha was that she planned to take Adam to any country for a trip to relax, and that they would come back after a while, so he shouldn't worry about her or bother her.
As for whether Agatha will be angry... well, we'll see when she gets back.
Right now, saving Fedor's life is more important—no, saving Fedia's life is more important.
Because Dazai had told her about his dual personality, Mary Shelley used Fyodor and Fedya to refer to the personality that was currently doing bad things, and the other personality that was forced into a deep sleep and wanted to stop him.
"I need to get my checked luggage..."
Mary Shelley followed the flow of people across the narrow disembarkation bridge to find her checked luggage at the carousel for her corresponding flight.
Curled up in that enormous suitcase, Adam disguised himself as an ordinary, oversized, movable robot model.
Because he relies on a shell for power instead of the lithium batteries commonly used in electronic devices, he perfectly complies with the airline's baggage regulations, except for the extra charge for overweight luggage.
Once she gets Adam, she can go to the Armed Detective Agency and meet up with Dazai Osamu and the others...
As Mary Shelley was straining to lift her oversized, heavy suitcase off the carousel, a hand reached out from behind and patted her shoulder affectionately.
"Hello, Miss Shelley."
"Eeya!"
Mary Shelley was so startled by the accurate identification that she loosened her grip, and the suitcase she had managed to lift fell heavily back onto the conveyor belt with a loud thud.
"Wow, how heavy is this luggage you brought?"
Another unfamiliar voice rang out from behind her, also expressing surprise—and then, a slender figure in a short jacket passed by her and reached out to grasp the handle of the heavy suitcase.
He was a boy with orange-brown hair. He had one hand in the pocket of his dark green jacket and the other hand casually lifting his suitcase, as if he wasn't planning to put any effort into it.
No matter how you look at it, he doesn't seem like the kind of super-strong teenager who could lift a suitcase containing Adam... After all, Adam is really heavy.
But before Mary Shelley could warn him, she was stunned to see the once heavy suitcase become light and airy as the boy easily lifted it off the conveyor belt and placed it on the ground—the whole process was as if he had simply let go of a feather, without even making a sound as it hit the floor.
Mary Shelley: "…………!!"
She turned around abruptly and finally saw that the person who had patted her shoulder earlier was also a teenager.
Seeing that she finally turned her gaze towards her, his iris-colored eyes blinked at her. His hair, which hadn't been styled very carefully, was slightly messy at the ends, but it looked very soft, with a subtle fluffy texture that made people feel cute.
It could also be because his features are very delicate, even beautiful.
“I am Osamu Dazai.” The other person smiled. “You must be Miss Shelley? Your Japanese is excellent.”
"Phew... Just call me Mary."
Upon realizing that it wasn't Agatha Christie's subordinates who had followed her to Japan, Mary Shelley breathed a sigh of relief, removed her thick black wig, and revealed her natural light blonde hair.
“I neither told you my flight number nor gave you any photos,” Mary Shelley said with great curiosity. “How did you know I was the person you were looking for?”
"Because I have a great detective here."
Dazai Osamu turned slightly to the side, gesturing for Mary Shelley to look behind her.
There were several other people standing there—the most conspicuous of whom was a black-haired boy with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
He puffed out his cheeks, trying to convey both the dissatisfaction of "I'm still angry!" and the smugness of "I guess I still have to rely on my brain," resulting in a rather subtle mix of expressions.
"Quickly praise him!"
Just as Mary Shelley was about to turn her attention to the others, she heard Dazai Osamu speak in a low voice.
"Something happened a couple of days ago, and he's been throwing a tantrum ever since. I hope Miss Mary can say a few words of praise to him; it might be very effective."
Mary Shelley was startled. "Huh? Me? Cough, cough... well, it's really amazing that you could see through my identity in one go—"
She racked her brains trying to figure out how to compliment the black-haired boy who was still clearly angry. Since Dazai said he was a detective…
"Even if I participated in the detective competition held by Conan Doyle, I would definitely win first place, right?"
Ranpo's ears perked up. "A detective competition?"
"Yes, I've heard that top detectives from all over the world go there to compete and determine the winner."
Mary Shelley nodded. "I'm not really interested in detective competitions, so I've only heard a little about them. If you'd like to participate, I can try to get an invitation from Doyle."
"I want to participate! I want to participate!"
Ranpo immediately became happy, completely forgetting that he had originally planned to stay angry with the president for a few more days, the kind of anger that was impossible to appease.
"There's even such a competition! Hmph, you're right, the most amazing detective is definitely me, without a doubt!"
Dazai Osamu glanced at the president, who was clearly stunned, and then casually looked away.
"Wow, it actually works!"
Mary Shelley: "…………!"
What? They didn't have any expectations for her at all!
“By the way, I’m curious,” said Chuuya Nakahara, who was helping her carry the luggage using [gravity manipulation], standing next to her, “how are you going to stop Verlaine?”
After all, the blonde girl in front of him didn't look as tall as him, and she wasn't very old either. She even looked like a complete novice who had never experienced combat.
Fedia actually said she could stop Verlaine?
Chuuya Nakahara weighed the suitcase in his hand, wondering if it was because of the things inside...
"Well, well... actually I'm not sure if I can do it,"
Mary Shelley hesitated for a moment, still too embarrassed to explain the situation directly in front of so many people, "But I tried my best. Before coming to Japan, I even went back to my old home in the countryside and rummaged through boxes to find the manuscripts I had kept from back then..."
The manuscript? What does the manuscript have to do with stopping Verlaine?
Chuuya Nakahara blinked in confusion.
"It's alright, it's great that you're willing to come and help."
Dazai Osamu didn't press her for her vague answer, but instead smiled slyly, "Actually, we don't have any trump cards on our side either."
Otherwise, he wouldn't have dared to invite Mary Shelley over so easily.
According to Fedia, she was the one who truly knew the whole truth... Regardless of whether she succeeded in stopping Verlaine, the truth she spoke must have been extremely important to him.
It's understandable that the other party is unwilling to disclose anything at the moment.
Having successfully met Mary Shelley, Dazai Osamu and his group headed back to the detective agency.
Aside from the fact that Chuuya was supposed to help carry the suitcase to the apartment hotel they had booked for Mary Shelley, but was startled by Adam who popped out of it and almost mistook it for an enemy attack, everything went relatively smoothly.
Mary Shelley even declined the suggestion to send more people to protect her, proudly boasting that the autonomous, thinking android she created was absolutely capable—not long ago, a European criminal police agency even tried to recruit her as an investigator!
Although she managed to brush it off by saying that Adam still needed to undergo software upgrades.
But if Adam later tells her he wants to become a detective, she will respect her android's wish... After all, in the underlying code that builds the massive string of operating instructions, she and Fyodor wrote down the most fundamental principle.
Protect humanity.
"I wonder what that Shepherd guy's purpose was in nurturing Verlaine..."
After spending several aimless days in the hotel and shopping, Mary Shelley, muttering to herself, leaned against the windowsill with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the detective agency.
"Did he ever consider that he needed to take responsibility for the birth of Verlaine?" Mary Shelley muttered to herself in a deflated tone. "Probably not, otherwise how could Verlaine have become the King of Assassins?"
She didn't know the details of Pan's later whereabouts, only vaguely heard that there was a large anti-government organization in France that possessed a terrifying power, as if it could hold a black hole in its palm.
But the organization was quickly wiped out by the government, and that terrifying force disappeared for several years.
When he reappeared, he had become the "King of Assassins," feared by European authorities.
No matter how you look at it, this blank period of time simply cannot be imagined as a pleasant experience...
The more Mary Shelley thought about it, the more she felt she might be letting Feda down. She wanted to let out a very frustrated sigh.
But the next moment, looking in the direction of the detective agency, she realized she didn't have time to be negative anymore.
"Adam! Adam! Adam!"
She urgently called her family's bionic robot.
"Lord Shelley?"
Adam, wearing an apron and holding a frying pan, quickly responded to the call and appeared at the bedroom door.
"Hurry, take me to the detective agency,"
Mary Shelley's eyes remained fixed on the direction of the detective agency—where a massive cube with flowing, shimmering gold patterns was crashing against a torrent of dark gravity, creating a scene of earth-shattering grandeur, as if a catastrophe had struck.
"It's Verlaine!"
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