Osamu Dazai and the Dark Era

by Kafka Asagiri

  My bullets missed one of the soldiers. I caught my fall by placing a hand on the glass-covered floor. Then I swiftly swept the enemy’s legs as he tried to fire his submachine gun. Despite being midfall, the soldier reached out and grabbed my coat collar. He was planning on dragging me down to the ground with him.

  This one moved nothing like the other soldiers. When I caught a glimpse of the badge on the lapel of his military fatigues, I realized he was most likely Mimic’s deputy commander—Gide’s right-hand man and chief of staff.

  I tried to aim the pistol in my left hand at his throat, but he quickly knocked it away with the tip of his submachine gun. We tangled, then rolled on the ground. I threw my left palm at his chin in an attempt to give him a concussion, but he evaded, then immediately grabbed my sleeve and twisted it behind my back, apparently going for a joint lock. My shoulder made a dull sound. If he kept that up, I was sure my shoulder would be irreversibly damaged.

  However, it’s a bad idea to attempt close combat against someone with the ability to see the future. I’d wanted him to do this from the start. Grabbing my pistol with my free hand, I bent forward and unloaded the clip into the floor. The empty shells bounced off the ground with noises like small bells. The deputy commander’s grip weakened, and he collapsed to the ground, a slug now buried in his throat. One of the bullets I’d just shot into the floor had ricocheted and pierced his neck. Gritting my teeth from the excruciating pain in my chest, I checked over my bulletproof vest. I’d been hit in the torso three times, each shot stopped by the Kevlar. After removing the vest, I tossed it to the ground. I’d most likely fractured a rib.

  “Guh…”

  I turned around to find the deputy commander still conscious, but the wound was fatal. It’d be about another ten minutes before he died.

  “Want me to finish you off?” I asked while aiming my pistol at his head.

  “……Yes…please…,” he replied in a feeble voice. His throat must’ve been full of blood.

  “Any last words?”

  “Thank you…for fighting me…”

  The deputy commander closed his eyes. The gunshot wound must’ve hurt, and yet, he was faintly smiling.

  “The commandant is up ahead… Please save him, too……from this hell…”

  I pulled the trigger. His skull burst, spewing blood and brain matter onto the floor. The deputy commander briefly twitched before going limp. I stood up and reloaded my guns. Then I began to walk.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Dazai strode confidently through the Mafia’s high-rise headquarters downtown at a quick clip, his heels practically scraping off the carpet underfoot. He got on the glass-paneled elevator alone, pressed the button to the top floor, then closed his eyes. When the elevator reached his destination, he opened his eyes again. His gaze was focused on only one thing—the office at the very end of the hallway.

  Dazai drew in his chin and began to walk. The large-built men in black suits guarding the door silently blocked Dazai’s path. Both were carrying automatic rifles.

  “Move,” Dazai ordered without even looking at the men’s faces. The colossal guards, twice Dazai’s size, froze. Then they took a big step back, seemingly intimidated. Without even waiting for the guards to react, Dazai opened the door to the office and barged in as if he owned the place. He then walked over to the large desk in the middle of the room and stopped in front of it. Seated before the desk was the Port Mafia’s boss, Ougai Mori.

  “Well, well, Dazai. It’s not often you come here yourself. Allow me to bring you some tea. I received some extremely expensive leaves from northern Europe. Pouring this tea on top of a steamed bun makes an exquisite—”

  “Boss.” Dazai cut him off. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

  Ougai didn’t answer his question, though. He just grinned mildly while staring at Dazai. Only after a few moments went by did he reply.

  “Of course, Dazai. It’s urgent, yes?”

  “It is.”

  “Very well. Whatever it is you wish to do, you have my approval.” Ougai gave a confident smirk. “I trust whatever plan the genius Dazai has. You have always contributed greatly to my and the Port Mafia’s endeavors. I expect you will do the same today as well.”

  Taken by surprise, Dazai fell silent. Even he felt as if he were walking on fine blades whenever he talked with Ougai. If he made just one little mistake, he could fall off the path. After pondering to himself for a moment, Dazai said, “I need permission to form a small team of executive-level skill users to attack Mimic headquarters and rescue Odasaku.”

  “Fantastic.” Ougai nodded. “At times, revealing your true intentions first can become the greatest tool of negotiation. Very well. You have my permission. However, I would like to know why.”

  Dazai stared back at the boss without breaking eye contact for even a moment. Ougai’s narrowed eyes harbored a tinge of cleverness, as if they could see into his heart. It was the same kind of light that was once in Dazai’s eyes when he looked upon his enemies or allies.

  “Odasaku is currently scouting the enemy headquarters alone,” Dazai said, keeping his emotions in check. “I sent an emergency response team of Mafia members to the area, but it isn’t nearly enough. At this rate, we are going to lose a valuable skill user.”

  “But he’s our lowest-ranking member.” Ougai curiously tilted his head. “Of course, he’s a dear ally of ours, but is he worth sending executive-level men to the front line to save?”

  “Yes,” Dazai confidently declared. “Of course he is.”

  Ougai fell silent. He looked at Dazai, who looked straight back at him. It was an eloquent silence. The two men understood the other’s state of mind and how they would counter.

  “…Dazai.” It was Ougai who put an end to the wordless debate. “Let me ask you this. I understand your plan, but in all likelihood, Oda doesn’t want help. What do you think about that?”

  Dazai tried to answer, but he could not find the words to say. Ougai pulled an envelope out of the file cabinet on his office desk, then stared at it while he spoke. “Dazai, do you know what it means to be the boss? It means you are simultaneously at the top of the organization and still a slave to it as a whole. No matter what the cost, you have to get yourself dirty to keep the Port Mafia going. In order to deplete the enemy, maximize your allies’ worth, and keep the organization alive and thriving, you must also willingly perform any logically conceivable atrocity. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  He placed the envelope on the desk. It was large and made of high-quality black paper with small gold inlays in the corners. Whatever was inside appeared to be extremely thin. Dazai’s eyes were inadvertently locked on the envelope. Suddenly, he caught his breath.

  “This envelope—”

  Something began to thrash and flicker in the back of Dazai’s mind. It gradually turned into physical shaking, causing his head to go numb.

  “I see.” Dazai managed to squeeze out just those two words, his face deathly pale. “So that’s what this is.”

  Then he turned on his heel and put his back to Ougai.

  “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Where are you going?” Ougai asked.

  “To Odasaku.”

  Without turning back, Dazai walked all the way to the door to the hallway. But as he reached for the decorated handle, he heard several noises coming from behind—something that sounded like metal parts locking together. Dazai’s hand suddenly froze. Then, realizing his failure, he closed his eyes. With a soft sigh, he turned around to find four armed Mafia grunts who had noiselessly appeared from the adjoining room. They aimed their guns at Dazai, but he wasn’t surprised. He simply surveyed the room before fixing his gaze on Ougai, who hadn’t budged from his spot mere moments ago. He was still smiling at Dazai.

  Just past the door ahead of the battlefield was a vast, high-ceilinged ballroom capable of fitting a hundred couples performing baroque dance. A decayed chandelier hung askew from the three-st
ory-high ceiling. Both sides of the ballroom were dressed in crimson curtains with gold embroideries, which were ripped and coming undone at the seams, creating a gloomy atmosphere that seemed to resent the prosperity of times past. At the front and end of the hall stood two oak doors each. When I walked to the center of the room, I heard a voice coming from behind.

  “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed…”

  I immediately drew my pistols and turned around while pointing them in the direction of the voice. He stood before me—the handsome ghost with silver hair and clothes. Pointing my guns at him, I finished his sentence.

  “…But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”

  The ghost squinted, then smiled.

  “John 12:24. You’re surprisingly well-read, Sakunosuke.”

  Gide stood alone before the oak doors. There were no traps. His men were gone. He didn’t even draw his gun.

  The sight of my pistol was aimed directly between his eyes. If I even squeezed the trigger a little, the bullet would shoot right at my target—right in the forehead of that faintly smiling man.

  “Thank you for your hard work,” he said.

  I pulled the trigger, but Gide moved his head to the side, avoiding the bullet.

  “I am sorry for what I did to the children.” His expression didn’t change as he began to approach me. “However, it appears it was worth it.”

  The muzzle of my gun followed Gide’s every step as he walked alongside the wall. I shot once more at his head. My skill told me he was going to swerve right, so I purposely fired slightly farther to that side. However, Gide swerved to the left instead.

  “Your eyes are the same as mine.” He continued to walk noiselessly, a slight grin spreading across his face. “Those are the eyes of a man who has strayed from the path of life just like my men and I.”

  Gide still didn’t reach for his gun. He didn’t even seem worried that I was shooting at him. A chill ran down my spine.

  “Welcome to our world, Sakunosuke.”

  Then, with no warning at all, he drew his guns and aimed them at me. I couldn’t react to the sudden movement, but not because I was surprised. It was because I felt as though he wouldn’t hit me even if he shot. With our guns pointing at each other, we stood in silence. The muzzles of our guns stared the other down.

  “You sure talk a lot.”

  “Then the talking shall end here.”

  I had a vision.

  Five seconds from then, Gide shot one bullet at my forehead and one at my heart. Which way should I swerve?

  To the side? …No, if I did that, then he would adjust his aim to the side.

  Down? …No, the outcome still wouldn’t change.

  I had three seconds left.

  That was when I noticed something.

  —Oh. Now it makes sense.

  One more second.

  Rapidly firing both pistols, I charged forward at my opponent.

  And just like that, all hell broke loose.

  Gunfire illuminated the area between us. As we rushed toward each other, we continued to fire. A few bullets grazed my earlobe and shredded the hem of my coat. Using the back of my hands, I pushed his guns to the side. Gide then brought his arms back to the middle as if he were forming a circle. The grau geist spit fire toward my chest. We were so close that I could grab his nose. When he shot his guns from each side of my face in a parallel fashion, there was no way for me to dodge both bullets at once.

  I made a split-second decision to turn my face to the left, avoiding the bullet on the right while using my pistol grip to block the other. A bolt of lightning shot down my arm through my palm, knocking the gun in my left hand away. On the other side of the gun, I saw Gide’s lips tightly curl upward. He had two guns while I now had only one. I was clearly at a disadvantage.

  —Depending on where my remaining gun’s aiming, that is.

  The gun in my right hand—the pistol I was still holding—was already pointed right at him. I pulled the trigger. Gide desperately tried to move out of the way, but we were too close. The bullet hit his left arm, spewing fresh blood behind him.

  “Gah…!”

  The gunshot caused him to slowly drop the pistol in that hand. Kicking off the ground, he leaped backward.

  “How does it feel being unable to predict the future?” I asked while aiming the gun in my right hand.

  “It is hard to believe that something so pleasant exists in this world,” Gide responded.

  Regardless of the future seen and the action taken based on said future, the opponent would overwrite it and adjust their reaction. There was only one simple, yet extreme way to solve this problem—just don’t rely on your skill.

  With only one pistol each, Gide and I faced off. Showing his teeth in a wide half-moon smile, he laughed. The expression on my face was probably no different.

  Dazai calmly stared at the guns pointed in his direction.

  “You still haven’t had any tea, Dazai,” Ougai said. “Come—have a seat.”

  Dazai didn’t even budge. A guard in a black suit slipped to his side, then pointed the automatic rifle’s muzzle right at his head.

  “Odasaku’s waiting for me.”

  “Sit.”

  Dazai glanced at the muzzle and returned to the middle of the room. Then he stood before Ougai and quietly stated, “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wondered who was orchestrating the conflict between the Mafia, Mimic, and the Special Forces. But I arrived at a conclusion the moment I realized Ango was from the Special Division for Unusual Powers: They’re the ones behind this. In the government’s eyes, the Mafia and Mimic are just two bothersome crime syndicates. Having these two groups take each other out would be the perfect scenario for the Division, which is why they orchestrated it all. But I was wrong.”

  Dazai briefly paused, then looked at Ougai.

  “The one who painted this picture was you. You wanted to use the threat that the Mimic posed to help during your negotiations with the Division. Then you used Ango as a pawn for that scheme.” Dazai halfway closed his eyes. “Boss, the reason you sent Ango to infiltrate Mimic wasn’t to get information on Mimic. You knew Ango was from the Division from the very beginning. Am I right?”

  Ougai neither confirmed nor denied the statement. “Oh?” he simply said in admiration.

  “Various nuances of the truth change when you think about it that way. Ango would give inside information on Mimic to the Mafia while also conveying information to the Special Division for Unusual Powers. Mimic is a group of ghosts in search of a battlefield. There is no way to negotiate or compromise with them. They pose far more danger than the Mafia, and if something isn’t done, then they’ll clash with government agencies before long. That’s what the Division thought, at least. So they came up with a plan to get Mimic to attack the Port Mafia. Ango was used to leak intel to Mimic and manipulate the situation. If Mimic took the bait, then the Mafia would have no choice but to fight back. The Division believed that and gave Ango the mission…just like you wanted.”

  “You give me far too much credit.” Ougai smirked. “The government agencies are like wolves before sheep compared with the Mafia. They cannot be manipulated that easily.”

  “That’s why you went through the trouble of creating such an elaborate scheme. That’s how much value that envelope has.” Dazai pointed at the high-end black envelope in Ougai’s hand. “You’re right. The Division is like a wolf before sheep. No matter how much power the Port Mafia has, it lives in fear of angering the Division and getting snuffed out. That’s why you offered to destroy Mimic in return for that document.”

  Ougai’s smile deepened. Dazai approached him, then pulled a certificate out of the black envelope. It was elegantly written with the government’s seal stamped on it.

  “This certification permits activities as a skill-user organization—a Skilled Business Permit.”

  Gunpowder exploded and shells flew to the ground as the deafe
ning roars of artillery fire filled the expansive hall. Gide’s gun was pointed right at me, so I knocked it away with my elbow. A bullet soared right by my face, brushing against my ear. I swung my arm in the air and aimed my pistol at Gide’s forehead. He swung his arm up from below, grabbing my elbow. Then he jerked my arm to the side, causing me to shoot and shatter the chandelier. Elbow and wrist against wrist and muzzle—we knocked the other’s gun slightly out of line, making each other barely miss with our shots. Bullets flew past our ears and chins. Countless gunfire created a wall of light between us as we stood close enough for hand-to-hand combat.

  We pulled the triggers on our guns simultaneously only to find nothing was firing. Both of us were out of ammo. With our right arms still locked in place, we began reloading our guns. An empty magazine hit the floor. While Gide grabbed another magazine at his waist, I slid one of mine out from my wristband. He began to slide his backup magazine into the gun, but I knocked his right arm to stop him. Then I threw a left hook with a magazine still in my hand. The metal tore his skin, creating a red line across his cheek. Despite being knocked off-balance, Gide finished reloading his gun. I slid behind with my back pressed up against him, then threw an elbow while preventing him from firing. He dropped to his knees to evade. By the time I completed the elbow strike, I had already reloaded my gun. We aimed our weapons at each other at the same time, grabbing the other’s right wrist with our left hands. The two of us froze in this strange position. My muzzle was before his eyes and his before mine. I was holding his gun with my left hand, but Gide was holding mine with his left hand as well: a muzzle in my left eye and a tenacious gray gaze in my right.

  “Sakunosuke… You are incredible. Why did it take you so long to appear before me?”

  “Sorry about that. I’ll make sure to give you all the time you need today.”