Chapter 97 Santa Claus is real.


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Chapter 97 Santa Claus is real.

“That’s true.”

Jouno Caiju thought about it for a while, and happily accepted Edogawa Ranpo's point of view, and even wanted to join in and curse the hound as trash.

"Oh, by the way, Kakuta is a fan of Mr. Fukuchi. How about getting an autograph for him next time?" Edogawa Ranpo, who was secretly eating Kakuta Mitsuyo's cake, said casually.

Mitsuyo Kakuta was stunned and wanted to say something, but finally remained silent and chose to obey.

"…Are you a fan of the captain?"

Tiaoye Caiju's expression remained unchanged, but her smile deepened a little:

"But I don't see him very often. He's been quite busy lately."

"Eh..." Ranpo let out a simple ending sound of support.

Tiaoye Caiju continued meaningfully:

"As a great hero, [time] is very scarce."

The green-eyed, black-haired detective was lying on the table, looking up at him, and the two of them maintained a brief, high-quality silence with great tension. Mitsuyo Kakuta, who had inexplicably become a crazy fan of Fukuchi Sakura, held her breath cautiously. Although she didn't know what was going on, silence was the right thing to do at this time.

Although the atmosphere was tense, someone's heartbeat suddenly quickened, very clearly. This reminded Tiao Ye Caiju of a previous meeting when he had nothing to do and was in a daze analyzing what everyone was thinking. One time he noticed that a person's heart was beating particularly fast, and not long after that person was thrown into jail because he was recruited by the mafia, haha.

Tiaoye Caiju tried to hold back, but couldn't help and turned her head to burst out laughing.

"Does the Armed Detective Agency not train its members at all?"

"Ranpo-sama wants to, too, but he's really busy lately!" Edogawa Ranpo complained in a drawn-out voice.

Because of the time confusion, several inexplicable cases have occurred, which is boring and annoying. He is so annoyed that even if he eats dessert, the president won't say anything.

Mu Jun is not here again. He is like a cat in a cat cafe. Although we know that the customers’ cat-stroking techniques may have been learned from petting other cats, it is still really fun! I feel a little lonely!

I've been there for a month. What kind of trouble did I run into?

"The Armed Detective Agency is not safe. Try harder, Kakuda-kun."

Tiaoye Caiju was silent for a while, then she thought of something and smiled strangely:

"Tsunoda-kun's special ability is very strong. If he works hard, he might become an ace."

This was quite new, because Mitsuyo Kadota often said that her supernatural powers were very weak, and her non-aggressive personality did not seem like a Yokohama native at all, and she was unremarkable in every aspect. Edogawa Ranpo had never thought much about his supernatural powers, but this time he thought about it carefully and found that it was really possible. He cheered up and chatted briefly about Mitsuyo Kadota's training plan, probably planning to go back and tell the president about it.

In the joyful atmosphere, the victim, Mitsuyo Kakuta, who was ignored by everyone, pointed at herself helplessly.

"Huh? Me? Ace?"

Is there really no one speaking up for him? He is really weak, he can only pretend!

**

On the mountain of bones, in the darkness that was clearly dark but clearly visible, the white-haired man closed his eyes.

Snow-white hair and a beautiful face given by God. He is tall but not too tall, and his muscles are evenly distributed in corners suitable for explosion, without any part being out of place.

He leaned quietly on a pile of bones, which were just a mess of white bones, but he made them look like some perfect fashion item. The limbs with clear bone structure are placed casually, and there is no need to force any poses to create a casual and relaxed posture.

The time here exists and does not exist, is still but not still. No matter what happened in the outside world, no matter what he did, to him, it was just a matter of a moment.

Sensing something, her white eyelashes trembled, and a pair of astonishingly beautiful pale blue eyes slowly appeared. There was no emotion in these eyes, they were just quietly and calm, almost cold, staring at the direction of the sky.

There is no sky in the clear sense within the prison gate, and he occasionally wonders whether the world's sky is just the top surface of a box.

However, in such an undefined place, a huge golden halo came into his eyes, occupying most of his vision. This golden circle is the only bright color here, covering the entire sky. The aperture is surrounded by grayish-white smoke, but not a single bit of its color is obscured. The golden color flowed like gold, as if some god had forced a hole in the box.

The lying young man slowly stood up and looked in the direction of the golden circle.

Within the prison gate, his six eyes are useless. However, with such a huge landscape, he should be able to detect some fluctuations even without the six eyes.

But no, there weren't any weird fluctuations.

There was something strange that was not cursed power. He had never seen it before, but it seemed oddly familiar to him.

Interesting.

Something is coming in.

The prison gate could only lock up one person, and he had no idea what the prison gate meant to be opened. It couldn't be that his lovely students were using an electric saw to saw the top of the prison gate and actually sawed it open.

I really wasn't worried about what would happen if I sawed him. He suddenly became so ferocious. As a teacher, I felt a little regretful despite being relieved.

Although he knew that this was not the case, Gojo Satoru, who was always unfocused and never neglected his work, had no problem taking a break. He jumped down from the Bone Mountain, and his quick thoughts had already jumped from the previous assumption to other directions.

He had never heard of this kind of spell, and the Prison Gate was definitely not a place that could be easily entered. The golden halo...it can't be the presence of a god. Are there really gods in this world?

His brain was thinking at an extremely fast speed, and his thoughts were running wildly on the highway. He was slowly thinking about all sorts of things, while looking around with his surprisingly cold eyes that were soaked in reason. He kept walking and randomly chose a direction to move forward.

The inside of the prison gate is an infinite loop, and no matter which way you go, you will end up in this place. Likewise, if something does come in, it wouldn't be hard to spot.

ah……

"——Found it. Behind..."

The young man grinned, and although his smile was bright and sunny, his eyes were cold, like a piece of snow on a glacier.

However, the moment he turned around, the smile suddenly froze on his face.

A kid who looked to be in his teens was holding an instrument that was about the same size as his head. The instrument seemed to have been eaten and was melting in his hands.

As if aware of his gaze, the white-haired kid in adult clothes raised his head, and his faint but soft golden pupils fell on him. He seemed a little surprised, but the surprise was fleeting. After a moment, the boy greeted calmly as if he met an acquaintance while walking downstairs.

“Yo.”

After a pause, the boy took out a piece of candy from his loose pocket.

"Want some candy?"

Wow...what is this, child labor hired by Santa Claus?

Are you late because you are a child laborer?

Will Christmas presents be distributed in the prison?

Really——

marvelous.

Gojo Satoru curled the corners of his mouth and revealed a weird smile.

He likes Santa Claus the best.

**

Believe in God, don't take it too seriously.

Just pray to God, just for show.

Beings closely related to God, whether God himself or God's messengers and believers, all have the same religious disease.

It can be said and told, but it cannot be heard or seen.

So, it is only natural that prayers go unanswered, right?

The gods disdain to listen and see, they only know how to speak.

Religious books were spread throughout the streets and alleys, and were regarded as the norm for everything from laughing to scolding to eating and drinking. I did 500 pages of reading comprehension, adding and subtracting □□ volumes. The gods’ parents, brothers, past lives, present lives, descendants and grandchildren take turns to appear on the stage. One god can be involved in hundreds of volumes of miscellaneous essays and secret talks, which dazzle people and make them question the world because of the huge worldview.

People try to find profound truths in God's every move to guide their behavior and explore the origin, and try to show their faith in a higher being by abiding by the rules.

I don't hate them. In fact, their religious structure is a model of an excellent army and is very valuable for reference.

Absolute loyalty from the bottom up, spontaneous organization and senseless sacrifice. Loyalty, stupidity, bravery, sacrifice.

Could there be a better soldier?

Is there any army that can have the cohesion of a religion?

Books are terrible.

The son of a soldier is not necessarily a soldier, but the son of a believer is likely to be a believer.

To complete the domestication process, all you need is to read books or tell stories passed down by word of mouth.

Words are dangerous. No weapon has killed more people than words, and no weapon is cheaper or easier to obtain than words.

Readers load the bullets given by the work and are pushed by the author to adjust the direction of the muzzle. Reading is essentially a tug-of-war. Readers must try their best to collect more bullets to protect themselves and try to prevent themselves from being manipulated to shoot at places they should not attack.

This applies to everything.

We read a lot of books later.

The books came from an abandoned archive that seemed to have been the site of a massacre. Countless staff members died behind makeshift fortresses. In order to protect knowledge, they did their best and never ran away or flinched.

However, the enemy only looted the machinery and property, and sneered at the precious civilization.

So it was not surprising that we found a chip thrown on the ground next to a corpse with a big hole in its skull.

The hollow skull of the guardian looked in the direction of the chip in a blank manner. Perhaps he was also so stubborn in his watch when he was alive, grateful that his enemies had no interest in his treasures, but also sad that his lost past had become meaningless in this crazy world.

The child said, "Thank you for your hard work."

We bought a wristband that doesn't have an internet connection and copied the chip twice. For the next year, this was our only entertainment.

The most vivid memory was a trip where we couldn’t sleep. We were both exhausted, and in order to stay awake, we read aloud as we moved forward.

He liked the lines in a play very much, so he would always recite the lines in a daze, but his mind was distracted and he could not recite them completely.

He said: "To be or not to be...to endure the slings and arrows of a cruel fate, or..."*

I gave him a hint: "Or stand up against the endless suffering in this world."*

He said: "Yes, yes, which one is brave? ... If he could settle his own life with just a knife..." *

It was funny because he almost fainted and couldn't recite the next sentence.

This book is very old and seems to be some kind of drama. It took a lot of effort to translate it. Even though I tried my best to make it easy to understand, he still found it difficult.

He mumbled incoherently for a long time until his voice became unclear. As if realizing that he could not hold on any longer, he continued shouting, even though his voice became like a cat's meow.

"…reason makes cowards of us…"*

He fell silent, as if he was on the verge of falling asleep, and then suddenly woke up. His eyes were open, but their look was empty.

"Did you see it?" I asked.

"What? Where are we?" He blinked his wet eyes blankly.

The red-haired boy had his long hair disheveled and looked very embarrassed. He could hardly see the road. Even when he opened his eyes, he only looked in my direction and followed me blindly.

"We've reached the oasis, can you see it?"

I looked towards the dense color not far away. It was a city called an oasis in the wasteland:

"There's an oasis right in front of us."

There was a sound behind him, and the red-haired boy let go of the breath he had been holding, and fainted in vain in front of the hope that was so close at hand.

Oasis is a city of theosophists.

The person who guided me was the woman I once helped.

She fulfilled her husband's last wish and devoured his love with big mouthfuls, causing her body and mind to collapse, and she suffered from bulimia in happiness.

There was famine all over the world, and we wondered where her food came from, until we saw these happy and peaceful people, one side walking up to the execution platform with a smile, one side sharpening knives to dismantle, and one side applauding and cheering in the audience.

Emotions are contagious. Right and wrong cannot be defined. They come from the scale in each person's heart. When individuals form a society, this is the scale defined by the group.

So everyone in the Oasis was laughing, and everyone had the same smile that came from the heart. These smiling faces, like pale masks, are hanging everywhere.

There are no rules here, there are rules everywhere.

Walking with a smile often gives people the illusion that not smiling is a sin, pain is a sin, fear of death is a sin, and thinking is a sin.

It only takes three days for this city to devour a person.

I often see the red-haired boy thinking in the corner. He stands at the window, with a virtual screen floating in front of him, frowning absentmindedly.

On the day I left there, I heard him suddenly say:

"Influencing other people's thoughts is not as difficult as I thought."

This was surprising. I looked at him for a moment. He paused and then re-spoken the words he had almost swallowed.

"I mean... if we correct people with the right thoughts, everything will be back on track, right?"

"Who will do this?" I asked.

"…I'll do it," he said.

His red eyes flashed with determination, and I knew he had made up his mind after days of confusion.

"I'll do it," he repeated.

This was our most silent journey, and in fact, it was my last memory of him.

After leaving the Oasis, we abandoned each other in Area 87. I continued my journey, while he only needed to wander a few areas to reach the center of the resistance.

I didn't hear from him again for a long time, until almost two years later, when I heard the story of the new commander of the resistance in a seaside town.

He has integrated the military and is moving on from the government.

The child of the world's best commander no longer hesitated or pitied. He was dressed in a pitch-black military uniform and set up several lines of defense with absolute calmness and composure. His blood-red eyes reflected the blood all over the sky, but he was indifferent to the blood. In the circulated video, it was his childish profile as he quietly lowered his head to wipe the blood off the barrel of the gun.

“The child said: Living in a crazy world, the only way to protect others is to become even crazier.

I think people who have such thoughts are the craziest, right? "

The calls for resistance are getting louder and louder, and it seems that this war determines the survival of the world. The young people are full of enthusiasm and are eager to try. I received their leaflets, and between the lines of the retro, pure-paper reactionary pamphlets, I detected traces of his presence.

An excellent conductor waves his baton, controls the minds of the ignorant people, and marches towards the utopia in his heart.

The travel brochures placed alongside the reactionary tracts were incredibly thick, and the thin notebooks were wrinkled from being filed in the heat or cold. When I turned to a new page, I realized that there was very little space left for writing.

Time is urging me to look back. Is the old writer still sitting in the dilapidated house, guarding paper, pen, tobacco and a low grave?

It suddenly occurred to me that many years had passed.

I should go back.

Back to the dilapidated houses, paper, pens, tobacco and low graves.

The travel notes have reached the end, and on that piece of paper, there is a hazy love written all over.

The hero and heroine in the book finally meet and greet their future to the ringing of the auditorium bell.

After going around in circles, everything returns to the starting point.

I want to go back.

Someone is waiting for me, I know it.

——Excerpt from the fifth volume of "Meaningless Literature".

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