"Suicide Note"

The supernatural power that enveloped most of Yokohama was lifted, and the flow of time returned to normal. Daybreak had just broken.

The ubiquitous barbecue ovens, ducks hanging from trees, greasy old shops and butchers all disappeared, leaving behind a land full of pits and bottomless pits. The dust had not yet settled, and the people who had regained their human form were motionless.

The duck's mournful cries finally came to an end.

"Very good."

Looking at the hazy outline of the sky, Nakajima Atsushi said sincerely. He looked at the calm and composed Izumi Kyoka and smiled from the bottom of his heart.

Although there were still many troubles to come, the unconscious armed police slowly fell to the ground under the special ability of Nakahara Chuuya, but the day had come, and the afterglow of the sun was so reassuring.

"Asshole Dazai."

Nakahara Chuuya jumped out from the bottom of the pit and uttered a curse. He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the environment return to normal.

Although he immediately understood the meaning of the gunshot, it did not prevent him from wanting to beat up Dazai Osamu. After all, at the moment when the gun was facing him, he was unable to move due to the shackles of his supernatural power.

Dazai Osamu used an extreme method to help him seize control of his body.

He pressed his hat down and searched for anyone other than Morigull in the chaos.

no.

Even Alice didn't know when she disappeared.

.

The chaos did not spread to the woods a few miles away, where it was dead silent. I didn't pay any attention to the butchers and weird billboards on both sides. I sat cross-legged in front of the stove, writing in the dim light.

From nearby, all you could hear was the rubbing of a pen on paper, making the sound of a small animal gnawing.

I am writing my suicide note.

After calming down a bit and thinking about what I had done today, I decided to challenge the speed of life and death. In addition to the buzzing sound of the grill in the stove, the only sound I could hear was the vibration of my heart pumping blood. It was as if there was a malfunctioning device in my body, working at a high load at the same time.

I was actually quite scared, but I don’t hate this kind of emotion, let’s not talk about the consequences. My heart was beating so hard that I could clearly feel my own existence. This was also a kind of happiness in misery.

I was so excited that my hands were shaking badly, but fortunately, I didn't need to write many words.

I heard a loud noise in the distance, but I didn't even raise my head and just quickened my hands.

I was there to add an ending to a horror novel.

If I don’t have time, I can call it a suicide note. If I have time, it will be another well-polished ghost story. Most importantly, it can buy me some time.

Although it seemed that I was fully prepared to run away if I couldn't win, I did take a serious attitude to absorb nutrients at the beginning.

Unlike "Two Dolls", I was not prepared to embody the book "Wild Duck Country", so I lost my sense of proportion in shaping Fujiwara's character.

I originally planned to play this story in single player mode, after all, turning the audience into ducks would lose the fun of interaction. Also, scenes that are too bizarre are not suitable to appear on screen, so I just imagined it in my mind.

Who knew that something unexpected would happen and that self-centered, cold and cruel character would eventually befall me.

Could it be the backlash of evil?

I knew someone was coming, but I just happened to stop writing.

"Suicide Note."

I said softly as daylight came up.

I will personally deliver my manuscript to the publisher without the help of anyone else.

I've had enough. Even if I die, I'll die knowingly.

Please explain to me what is wrong with my ghost story!

.

Unbelievably, the biggest winner was □□.

□□ is a company that has been officially listed. Although everyone knows what the mainland is like, it is undeniable that Zhongyuan Zhongye has indeed played a huge role, and it is impossible for the official not to make a statement.

However, Nakahara Chuuya later received a photo of an orange duck from an unknown person.

I know it's that bastard!

Nakahara Chuuya gritted his teeth, but the next second he received a call from the leader.

He walked past the rose-colored stained glass window and into the heavily guarded room. He took off his hat and meticulously displayed the highest courtesy to the leader.

"BOSS."

The room was airtightly decorated, and the European-style lamps on both sides failed to dispel the dimness, but instead added a sense of oppression.

On the right, there used to be a cute girl painting, but now she is not there.

"Ah, Chuuya-kun."

Mori Ou raised his head and turned his gaze from browsing the data towards him.

"There's a contract with the Armed Detective Agency here. I think it would be a good idea for you to go and take it."

"Armed Detective Agency cooperation?"

Nakahara Chuuya stood up and looked at the information displayed outside Mori Owl.

"It's to solve the 'residue'."

Mori Owl said.

Remnants refer specifically to the strange things in her horror stories that are manifested by supernatural powers and can still exist in the world after the story ends, such as corpses delivering manuscripts, balloons with human heads, and duck towns that appear at night.

When it comes to dealing with the remnants, Nakahara Chuuya has some experience.

"The scope of the remnants this time is relatively large, and they still retain the ability to transform people into ducks, which will be restored in just one night. Cleaning up the remnants is also a commission issued by the Special Ability Special Affairs Department. Then it will be your responsibility to protect Edogawa Ranpo and clean up the remnants of this incident."

"yes."

.

"Suicide Note".

After much consideration, I decided to make all of this public.

I will be responsible for what I say. Now and forever.

Listen to me: I am being watched by something.

I think that when someone is staring at you from behind, you won't feel anything. Whether it's one or two pairs, once we don't notice it, it doesn't exist. And because you happen to turn around and see someone behind you, you can only add the impression that "you can actually feel the danger" to yourself.

I don't believe in the so-called sixth sense, and I don't believe that eyes have temperature. When I face my diary, I feel almost comfortable. Do I think about the eyes behind me? One pair, two pairs, full of malice, laughing and malicious? Do you have them? Will you turn back for this?

I was comfortable, but something was staring at me, as evidenced by the ink stain that suddenly appeared on my shoulder.

Bang, bang ...…

Witness the ping-pong ball bouncing off my back.

The owner of my sight is attracting me to look back.

Do you hear me? Will you turn back? 】

Because "Wild Duck Country" was too adventurous, I also wrote a fresh novel at the same time.

After I finished writing it, I felt that this was the right path. Thinking about it carefully, I really had not seen any storms. The bloody scene in "Two Dolls" was well received by everyone. The suspenseful scene in "Kirsukiri Station" was even taken pictures by some people. It seemed that only one person was scared from beginning to end, and the parents still wanted me to be responsible.

"Fear is always based on the fact that you are helpless." The convenience store guy said something right. Although I don't know why he is so confident, I was still really impressed by him.

The highlight of this book is the "unknown". Even the name becomes vague and it is difficult to see the true face of the ghosts at a glance. The style is immediately improved!

Having said that, I still don't have much confidence...

I looked quietly at the editor in front of me as he was reviewing my manuscript.

I have already activated the power of this document, and I used it to leave the place that Fujiwara had designated as a duck factory.

Judging from the reactions of the people around me, I roughly understood my position: a ghost story that children can read, my supernatural powers are as fragile as paper, but I can easily escape.

But I also understand that range attacks are generally used to control the field, not the strength of the attack. But sorry, I didn't control it this time.

If you are not as skilled as others, there is no need to put on an ugly face.

At worst, I can just switch to drawing horror comics, write a script first, and then draw the actual scenes on paper. Wouldn't that be making full use of my special abilities?

As I was thinking about this and that, the editor in front of me suddenly raised his head.

He had been a little restless from the beginning, looking around frequently, but all his movements were subtle, as if he was afraid of being discovered looking around.

The moment he raised his head and met my eyes, he leaned back in fright, and the bench made a harsh sound as it scraped against the ground.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were looking at me. Anyway, anyway, I have read your book thoroughly, and it's really..."

He just kept repeating the word "really" as if he was racking his brains for the next word, but he never met my eyes.

I've said before that I'm a web writer. Even the editors communicate online, not to mention the readers. All my true reactions to the readers are accumulated here. So, my impression is that everyone is particularly stable.

Just like when a person types “red, prosperous, hot, confused, and dazed”, there may not be a smile on his face. Here, it seems that I can only see the dull expressions of the people, so the reactions of the people on the other side always make me feel a little strange.

But I know that compliments always come easily, and it is only when we refuse that it becomes difficult.

Is this the refusal he is going to say with his head down? He doesn't even want to look at me? No way, no way, is he really going to imitate the effects of his own abilities?

The editor on the other side, who was thinking about how to reject me, suddenly became excited and said some strange things.

"You will definitely create a new genre! Even the previous book "Mortuary" cannot be compared with you! Don't worry, even if... I will definitely not let your book fall into obscurity!"

?

It was so strange that I didn't even have a clue of how to understand it at the first moment.

My heart was pounding wildly, and my throat felt itchy and sore as if it was being gnawing at by ants. I couldn't make a sound.

"Mortuary?"

Finally I squeezed out these few words.