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Bungo Stray Dogs (Vol 2)

Regaining consciousness after nearly losing his life to Akutagawa, Atsushi is paralyzed by the thought of bringing more death and destruction down on the heads of his companions at the Armed Detective Agency and vows to run away. But before he can make good on his resolution, the Mafia sends Ryuurou Hirotsu of the merciless Black Lizard squad to storm their offices! Between the bomb-tossing Motojirou Kajii and the demure, kimono-wearing Kyouka Izumi, will the Mafia's literary giants close the book on Atsushi and the Armed Detective Agency for good?!

Antharax · แฟนตาซี

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2 Chs

Chapter 1

The Port Mafia has three rules. In order of importance, they are "Always obey the Leader's commands", "Do not betray the organization", and "Attacks received must be returned doubly".

Which is why when I receive a summoning call from the leader that morning while brewing coffee, the bread in my mouth dropped to the ground.

The request from the phone is emotionless, "Sakunosuke Oda, the leader is looking for you." In that moment, three words came to my mind: "used up", "useless goods", and "personnel adjustments". Holding the receiver, my fingertips go numb from the cold.

Hanging up the phone, I swiftly stuff the bread into my mouth. I cut the Canadian bacon and American fried eggs into three equal portions and hastily swallow them into my belly. I pour the freshly brewed coffee into a mug, add sugar and evaporated milk.

While hurriedly changing into a shirt, I finish the very hot coffee in one gulp. The scalding hot water burns my brain, and I momentarily forget any foolish ideas of fleeing Yokohama towards an unknown land. Shave my beard, put on trousers. Fastened leather straps upon my shoulders. Secured 9mm pistols into both left and right holsters. Slipped on a jacket and headed out of the door.

I drive at full speed towards the firm. I don't have any strong recollection of what happened on the way. I only remember speeding over the highway limit twice or thrice.

I make it to the office alive. Walking into the main lobby, I greet my colleagues on guard and squeeze into the elevator heading for the top floor. Be it the European-decorated luxury hotel lobby or the swift moving elevator, everything is spotless with no trace of fingerprints.

The mafia's headquarters sits in the heart of Yokohoma's city center. There are four other similarly sized office buildings. Looking out from the glass elevator, the entire city is within view. Skyscrapers taller than oneself sink until they become nothing before my eyes. The elevator continues to ascend.

Watching the office buildings beneath my feet bathed in the golden morning light, I wonder why the leader summoned for me.

Thinking about calmly, if it was just to "handle" a lower ranked staff, there wouldn't be a need to call me to his office on the topmost floor. If he wanted to silence his subordinate permanently, he only needed to call me to a landfill, kill me, and hand it over to cleaners to handle the rest. This way, it saves money and effort. Compared to the previous leaders of the Port Mafia, the current leader is more logical, especially when it comes to protecting the environment.

If that is the case, why would the leader call for me, a nameless pawn?

The elevator doors open suddenly, interrupting my train of thought. Walking out of the elevator, the wide corridors are lined with carpets that can muffle the sound of footsteps and walls sturdy enough to withstand rocket propelled grenades. Cove lights illuminate the entire corridor, immersing it in a soft, pure whiteness, making it such that people cannot discern the light's presence.

Upon reporting my name to the suited guard standing outside the office, he raises his finger and points to the door behind him.

Standing before the double glass doors,I lower my head and inspect my outfit, touching my cleanly shaven jaw. Clearing my throat, as though delivering a sermon in a church of God, I declare, "Leader. It's Oda, I'm coming in."

"Come, Elise, how about you wear this dress? Just for a bit, for a little while! Just for a second!"

…Suspicious words come from within the office.

I wait three seconds, adjust my breathing, pretending as though I heard nothing. "Leader. It's Oda, I'm coming in."

"Aaa, good, just like that, take off your clothes. Don't drop them on the ground, that's an expensive dress.

…I hear some unsettling words. Hesitating for a moment, I decide that I should play an ignorant subordinate who chose to open the door at the wrong time.

"Pardon me."

I push open the twin doors and the spacious offfice opens before my eyes, as well as two people chasing one another. One is a middle aged man dressed in white, the other, a girl around ten years of age. The girl is half naked, whereas this middle aged male is the leader of the Port Mafia.

"No, no way!"

"Please, Elise-chan, try it on, alright? I picked this one out super carefully. Look at the beautiful deep red floral pattern! They're like a beautiful bouquet, they'd definitely suit you!"

"It's not pretty dresses I hate but Rintarou's desperation!"

"This doesn't come by often, okay? Look, I've caught you now!"

"Leader."

Hearing my voice, the two people turn their heads, smiles from before frozen on their faces, unmoving.

"As per your instruction, I am here to receive orders. Do you have something important for me?"

The leader's smile doesn't fade, intently staring at me. It is the gaze of a person begging for help. Begging me for help will only make things difficult for me, though.

"May I ask if you have something important, leader?"

"Ah… that…"

The leader's gaze flicks from the tables, lights on the ceiling, paintings, candlesticks, and finally comes back to rest on the young girl beside him, "What's the matter?"

"I don't know."

The girl named "Elise" glares at the leader like she's seen trash on the streets, opening a door to the adjacent room and walking in, leaving me at my original position to await my next orders.

The leader surveys the surroundings again before he moves behind the desk in the center of the office and presses a button. Glass windows displaying a endless view of Yokohoma is hidden instantly, turning into a grey wall. The interior of the room darkens considerably. Just as the leader takes a seat in the leather office chair, two guards appear from nowhere, wordlessly standing behind the boss. The lamp on the mahogany table illuminates the leader's face - his narrow eyes, slightly knitted eyebrows, elbows on the table, arms crossed. He speaks with a low but penetrating voice.

"—Now then…"

"Yes."

"Oda-kun, I didn't call you over for anything else." The leader's sharp gaze cuts through the darkness.

"Yes."

"…Oda-kun." The leader pauses, before continuing, "Has anyone ever told you to 'ridicule others more'?"*

How does the leader know about this? "It happens often." My gaze falls on the two suited guards behind the leader, searching for a reason. My colleagues stand staunchly, expressionless, deliberately avoiding my confused gaze.

"Regardless, you have just entered and saw nothing. Understood?"

"Understood." I nod. Indeed, I just entered, and saw nothing. "I entered not too long ago. Leader, you stopped your dress-up chasing game with a young girl to talk business with me, for which I am eternally grateful. What important business do you have for me?"

The leader pinches between his eyebrows, deep in thought. As though having thought something through, he nods, "Executive Dazai once told me, "Odasaku is a man who says what he means. Although hard to get along with at the beginning, but once you get used to him, he has the power to heal." …I'm starting to understand what he meant."

This is the first time I've heard such a comment. Although, it is Dazai - he must be talking nonsense. I'm already over 20, how can I heal others?

The leader clears his throat, as though snuffing out the happy atmosphere. "Now then, back to business proper."

He picks up a silver cigar box on the table, looking it over, then extracting a cigar from within to toy with. He doesn't light it.

"I'd like you to look for someone."

"Look for someone?" I let these words linger in my mind for a long time. I'm lucky he doesn't want me to die on the spot, however, it is still too early to be relieved. "Please let me ascertain a few matters. Leader, you summoned me here to personally make this request, which means the person to be found is no ordinary man. Will it be enough to entrust success of such a task to an ordinary member like me?"

"That's a very good question," the leader smiles slightly. "Someone of your rank would normally be on the frontlines of battle to be a human shield or tasked with the job of charging into a military police station armed with a bomb. However, from the remarks I've heard of you, I thought I should let you take this job."

Upon finishing, he places the cigar back into the cigar box, pulling back his bangs.

"Because the one who has gone missing is intelligence agent Sakaguchi Ango."

If there was someone who could look into my heart, they would be lucky to see the image of a majestic, erupting volcano. Countless question marks burst forth from the volcano's mouth, filling the air.

In reality, I curl my fingers a little.

"How calm. If you were panicked beyond belief, I'd have been worried that you wouldn't be suitable to look for the missing person… Not bad. Let me explain. Ango has been uncontactable since last night. There have been no signs that he returned home. It's not clear if he disappeared of his own accord or was abducted by someone."

That means Ango disappeared last night after he bade us farewell at the bar. He wasn't acting suspiciously at the bar, at least.

At that time, Ango had definitely said he wanted to go home.

If he had been lying, Dazai or I would have noticed. We probably would have noticed.

"As you know, Ango is the mafia's intelligence agent," the leader sighs worriedly. His worry for a missing subordinate's safety is written plainly across his face. At least, that is how I see it. "His head is filled with various highly classified information about the mafia, such as our bill management, our annual corporation expenses, namelists of our corporate managers, contacts of our regular good smugglers. Selling this information to other organisations would indeed amount to a grand sum. He could completely expose our Achilles heel and make us suffer. Even if we ignore these possibilities, Ango is my most important and esteemed subordinates. If anything happens to him, I definitely wish to help him – can you understand my feelings?"

There are probably too many differences between the head of an entire organization and a mere operative like me to understand. "Of course," I agree anyway.

The leader picks up the quill on the table, turning it in his fingers. "There have been rumours that you're good at such troublesome cases. In a mafia full of people who only know how to shoot guns and use violence to threaten people, someone like you is hard to come by. I have faith in you."

The leader's misconceptions about me begin to surface. I am no professional at finding people, just a rookie. Although one can say that cases of this sort do end up falling upon me, but that is simply because I am a mafioso who cannot "shoot guns and use violence to threaten people".

Oda Sakunosuke

Assist the aforementioned without asking further questions so that he may complete his investigation calmly and with composure.*

Ogai

"With this, investigating in the mafia should be easier. Take it."

I accept the paper. This piece of paper is known as "Silver Oracle", the so-called "transfer of authority". The words of its bearer are equivalent to that of the leader. Other than the five executives, anyone who sees this paper is free to be ordered. To defy it is to betray the mafia and to accept due punishment.

The article only spoken of in rumours rests in my hands. Somehow, it feels unreal and hard to believe.

"With this, even if the other party is an executive, you can arrogantly boss them around," the leader says with a laugh, "Speaking of which, you and Executive Dazai are secretly friends, hmm? A friendship that disregards one's rank… Regardless, he is an outstanding man. If you have any difficulties, you should look for him."

"I have no plan to do so," I reply. This is the truth.

"Really? The title of "Youngest Executive in History" isn't something earned by bluffing. Even though he is a troublesome heretic in the eyes of his colleagues, his abilities are outstanding. For all you know, in four or five years, he may be able to kill me and sit on this chair." A wicked grin appears on the leader's face.

My expression does not shift, but my heart threatens to leap out of shock. I stare at the leader, but I cannot read any meaning from his smiling expression. Was that a joke?

"I look forward to good news."

As the leader places his quill back on its stand, I bow and turn towards the doors.

My throat feels oddly parched.

Facing the endless bout of happenings, something doesn't feel right in my mind. But if I were asked what this feeling is, it only becomes harder to explain, like an old mole growing on one's back.

"Oda-kun."

As I prepared to leave, the leader calls from behind.

"The two pistols under your arms are a nice model."

I look down at the two pistols stowed in the leather gun holsters under my jacket.

"They're already antiques, but I'm used to them. I'm honoured to hear your praise."

"The next question is just my own curiosity, I can't help but to ask, there's a rumour that you've never used that gun to kill anyone before?"

I nod, "It's true." There is no point lying.

"And the reason for that?"

Before I answer this question, I need a few seconds to adjust my breathing.

"Are you asking this question as the leader of the organisation?" I ask.

"No, it's just my personal need to know."

"In that case, please allow me to not answer."

Although it was just for a moment, the leader's eyes widened, looking somewhat taken aback. After which, he crossed his arms and smiled at me, like a teacher looking at a student with poor grades, unable to do anything about it.

"Is that so. Well, run along now. I look forward to your good news."

At the same time, Dazai is by the harbour.

Walking from the Port of Yokohama along the coast for ten minutes, one will arrive in a warehouse district surrounded by people. Small vessels with the numbers on their hulls faded, stolen cars from all around the world, and large machines used for manufacturing large-scale explosives are parked here. Without special permission, the police, let alone ordinary citizens, cannot enter as they please. This patch of land is managed by various illegal organisations, with the Port Mafia at the top.

This morning, three bodies have been washed up upon the shore.

"Go handle the reports quickly. Don't let the news slip into the police's hands. Contact the cleaning squad to clear the bodies."

At the scene of the bodies, several men in black work silently. They are all members of the Port Mafia. Even the members who are street rats listen to their orders and truck along with expressionless faces.

There are two reasons for this. The first being that the bodies washed up are their colleagues, members of the Port Mafia. The second is considering the time and severity of the situation, one of the five executives will come by to inspect.

"Go investigate if the deceased had any family members. If there are…" The mafioso directing work at the scene pauses, "Leave the explaining to me."

The one directing the scene is a senior mafioso. With a head of white hair, cigar poised between his lips, black coat and suit, he gives off an air of an elderly gentleman. One of the mafia's veterans – Hirotsu Ryurou.

Hirotsu draws out a golden pocketwatch and checks the time, "The executive will be arriving soon. Before that, tidy everything up."

"Good morning everyone~!"

Just as Hirotsu issues the instruction, a cheerful greeting comes from amongst the crowd. Everyone at the scene looks over nervously.

The young man no older than a teen appears. His head of unkempt hair, neck, and arms are all covered in bandages. He walks over with a spring in his step. This person is one of the five executives of the Port Mafia, Dazai Osamu.

Hirotsu quickly extinguishes his cigar and tosses it into the cigar box in his breast pocket. All the people in suits raise a hand to their chest, the highest form of respect.

"Hold on, I'm currently on the hardest part—Shit, I've been overtaken! Take this! Tch, you actually managed to dodge!"

Dazai plays his handheld video game as he walks. His entire person is intently focused on the screen, and his gait is unsteady. If there was a small step in front, he would fall face first.

"Aaah, really! There's no way to win this! This sharp bend is especially hard to manoeuvre – every time I pass through here— Aah! I've been passed again!"

"Dazai-san." Hirotsu greets apprehensively in place of the subordinates, who are at a loss for words, "Apologies for the trouble taken to come out here. The victims are the security guards of our weapons store. As for the details—"

"Now that you mention it, it's been a long time since someone has been brave enough to pry with our weapons store! How were they killed?" Dazai asks, completely focused on his game.

"All three took 10 to 20 shots of 9mm bullets and died on the spot. The firearms in the store were stolen. Specifically, we lost 40 automatic pistols, 8 shotguns, 2 sniper rifles, 80 hand grenades, and 18 kilograms of explosives. The electronic lock at the entrance were opened with the right passwords. As for how the information was leaked, we're still investiga—"

"I'll go take a look. I'm leaving this to you."

"Eh?"

Dazai shoves the handheld game into Hirotsu's hands, leaving him stunned.

"The trick is using the speed boost when you turn towards the finish line. Now then, where's the body?"

"Yes… that, they're all placed over there. M-May I ask, how do you press the button—"

Hirotsu raises the handheld video game in confusion while Dazai walks towards the bodies, spring in his step.

The three bodies are placed in a row. All three are in sunglasses suited, built and healthy men – well, until yesterday. Their skin has swelled from floating in the sea for a few hours, but the corpses are not as horrifying a sight as they would be if they had died by drowning. When they were tossed into the sea, the blood from their wounds had already poured out of their unconscious bodies, sinking into the depths of the sea.

"Hmm—" Dazai looks over the corpses indifferently.

"They didn't even take the weapons from the holsters, how pointless. Also… the bullets went right through the body. Judging from the number of bullets, it should have been a submachine gun fired at close range. To have come into such close proximity without being detected, the enemy's hand isn't half bad. I'm starting to get excited. What about the camera footage?" Dazai turns to ask Hirotsu. Instead, the other man is disappointedly staring at the game, head lowered. The videogame screen displays a mangled car body.

"It's too shameful…" Hirotsu mutters.

Dazai looks at him in surprise, as though having forgotten that he had handed the game to him.

"Hirotsu-san," Dazai narrows his eyes.

"That… if you can give me one more chance, I definitely can…" Hirotsu tries to explain, gripping the handheld game.

"It's best to get rid of subordinates who are causing problems because of drugs," Dazai suddenly says, providing no context.

"Drugs?" The colour drains from Hirotsu's face. "No, no one touches that stuff. The subordinates as well… my subordinates are exemplary as well…"

"The gun holstered at your waist," Dazai points to Hirotsu.

Hirotsu quickly moves to cover the gun out of reflex.

"Hirotsu-san doesn't have the habit of carrying a gun, huh. Moreover, you're a very cautious person when it comes to weapons, you wouldn't randomly stick it on your belt. Which means that this is neither yours nor goods. Considering the condition that it's been kept in, this should be your subordinate's. Am I right?"

Hirotsu doesn't reply. Dazai continues, "Hirotsu-san, as a commander of a hundred, you have at least 20 or so subordinates under you. Was this gun borrowed from your subordinate. Unlikely. At this early hour, there aren't cases that require the use of guns. This gun was confiscated. The evidence would be the white powder and blood stains left on the handle. But there are no traces of these on Hirotsu-san's clothes. But there are heavy eyebags under your eyes. From this, we can infer that your subordinates were involved in some drug disputes. Last night, you caught them and confiscated their weapons because you didn't know what they'd done."

"That is—" Hirotsu's voice goes hoarse as he tries to explain, but Dazai interrupts him.

"Hirotsu-san, your subordinates violated the mafia's regulations. The drug industry may reap great benefits, but it'll only attract trouble. The Special Ability Department, narcotics bureau, and the military police's anti-organization surveillance committee will be lying in wait for us to make a blunder, using this excuse to report us to the government. It's not enough to just confiscate their weapons."

"But…"

"Hirotsu-san. Although I don't quite understand your reasons, executives are put up there for a reason. Once you become an executive, even if you don't like it, you'll have subordinates beneath you. Using these useless idiots to succeed isn't my thing. I dispose any good-for-nothings. You should take care of them."

"…Extremely sorry," Hirotsu chokes out the words.

In the world of the mafia, "take care of" is synonymous with a death sentence. If one does not obey the orders of executives and higher ups, they will find themselves to be viewed as traitors and meet a similar fate.

Hirotsu does not respond after he admits his mistake. Dazai's gaze is icy cold. Time passes in frigid silence.

"…I'm scaring you! I'm just joking!" Dazai suddenly bursts out merrily.

Hirotsu looks at him in confusion.

"It's precisely because Hirotsu-san wouldn't easily get rid of his subordinates that so many people follow him. I'm leaving this to you. I'll keep it from the leader," he laughs as he walks over, patting Hirotsu's shoulder.

Hirotsu nods his head, stunned. Unconsciously, he brings his hand to touch his throat which has gone stiff.

As the youngest executive in mafia history, Dazai is a living legend. The truth cannot slip past Dazai's eyes. This applies to both outside and within the mafia.

Another important point: No one can tell what Dazai fancies or detests, what he will approve of or denounce. Not even Hirotsu, a veteran of the mafia for over ten years.

Right now, it would not come as a surprise if Dazai chose to "take care" of Hirotsu.

"Now, back to business. Do we have footage of the attacker?"

Upon Hirotsu's instruction, a black-suited subordinate produces five freshly developed photos from the security cameras. Dazai receives them and flips through them.

The pictures reveal several men breaking in and moving the Port Mafia's arms and explosives out of the store. Their heads are wrapped in old cloth bags, dressed in filthy tarps as outerwear. On the surface, they look no different from vagabonds, but—

"They're soldiers," Dazai laughs lightly as he looks through the photos, "And from the looks of it, they've received training."

Dazai views the photos from different angles, focused on the poorly dressed humans in the darkness.

"Upon first glance, anyone would think that they're vagabonds. But to avoid any gaps in their defense, these guys advance in a diamond formation. Hirotsu-san, can you see this gun model?"

Dazai points to a gun holstered on one of the attacker's waist.

"This is a very old model. It should be even older than me. Judging from its grey body and thin muzzle, it's an old European pistol known as "Grey Spectre".

"I saw this gun yesterday," Dazai narrows his eyes. "These weapon storage thieves raided us before. Which means this was a feint. This is starting to get fun. These guys are more interesting than I thought."

Holding the photos, Dazai turns his back to the people and begins to walk. He rests his thumb on his lip, pacing in circles, muttering under his breath to himself.

"Does this mean that the information we received about those illegal goods were deliberately leaked? We focused all our forces on one point and weakened the weapons store's security. Then they stole – stole a large quantity of firearms. Why? To sell? No! If that were the case, it doesn't have to be weapons. I see, this is—"

Dazai remains deep in thought, thinking to himself. The subordinates around him can only silently wait for him.

"…"

Hirotsu's subordinates stand around, watching the much younger executive thinking.

"I feel…"

After a long period of silence, Dazai says:

"…a little thirsty."

"I'll get someone to buy you a drink," Hirotsu gestures to the subordinates, issuing an order. One member runs off in a frenzy.

"I want a very cold coffee, with more milk," Dazai calls towards the frenzied man in black, "Ah, but don't put ice inside. If they have decaf, get that. Double the sugar!"

Watching the sweating man in black repeating the details of his order, Dazai suddenly says, "Hirotsu-san. The weapons store the enemy raided this time is no ordinary store. This is one of the three important stores containing the Port Mafia's emergency weapons. Security is extremely tight. If any unauthorised personnel approach the store, they will sound the security alarm. Not only did the enemy easily disable our security system, they also keyed in the correct security number. Only authorised executives and higher ups know this code. The question is: how did the enemy get a hold of such an important code?"

Hirotsu's expression hardens. There are ways to get the answer – interrogating a member to get them to spill, using an ability to obtain the code, or obtaining it through a traitor amongst the mafia's ranks.

Regardless which is the truth, the end result would be the worst

"This strip of land will become a battlefield," Dazai raises his head towards the skyscrapers of the city center, laughing slightly, "I can even imagine the columns of flames rising over there and the sky burnt to a crisp."

"Is there no way to get hold of information about the enemy?" Hirotsu asks emotionlessly.

"My subordinates were planning to get the prisoners to talk. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. At a moment's opportunity, they swallowed poison hidden in their teeth and committed suicide. The only words we got was the name of the enemy."

Dazai's gaze towards Hirotsu turns dark instantly, as though representative of the gravity of his next words. If it were any ordinary person being stared at, they would be seized by nightmares for the next few days. Dazai's eyes foretell the impending blood and violence about to come.

"Mimic."

I start on the task entrusted to me by the leader to determine Ango's whereabouts. However, I have no leads before me. Searching for the mafia's intelligence agent is completely different from searching for a missing housecat. (I have, in fact, found a missing cat, so I am quite certain on this.) When a cat goes missing, one only needs to lie in wait around feeding places in the vicinity. However, I have no way of determining where Ango eats.

Without any leads, I make two conjectures.

There are two possible reasons for Ango's disappearance. The first is out of his own will; the other is being abducted by someone. If it's the former, there's nothing I can do about it. Ango isn't the kind of youth to rebel against his parents. If he had the intention to disappear, he could have easily prepared the funds. With so much money, he could abscond to the other end of the world to live amongst nomadic tribes. I strike this possibility off the list.

The other possibility is that Ango was taken by force. Based on what the leader's guess, enemy organisations are eyeing the information inside Ango's head, so this is the most likely possibility.

If that is the case, I secretly hope Ango could leave behind some clues, like the trail of bread crumbs in a fairy tale.

I decide to check around Ango's house first.

Now that I think about it, I know nothing of Ango's private life. We have always maintained a certain distance between the three of us. Be it Dazai or Ango, our personal lives are not mentioned often.

The three of us are like lonesome thieves who took refuge in the same abandoned temple on a rainy night. We know nothing about one another, yet we can still talk on and on.

I distinctly remember Ango mentioning that he travels often, hopping across various hotels. Because his life is constantly at risk, he only accepts hotels protected by the Port Mafia. There are many scattered across the prefecture. These hotels place great importance on the privacy of their guests, and they are usually accompanied by armed guards. Ordinary persons must go through rigorous selection before being allowed to stay.

I try calling a few of these hotels to ask around. Upon hearing that I am a member of the company, his tone changes into an inviting one, cooperatively answering my questions. If we were meeting face to face, he would be on the ground, clambering onto my knees.

After three calls, I finally got hold of Ango's address.

The concrete 18-floor hotel sits not too far away from the main road, surrounded by similar buildings and a few parks. Even though it's daytime, the surroundings are extremely quiet, solemn even. This solemnness is characteristic of the Port Mafia's land, a familiar, calming solemnness. The sort of place Ango would like.

I obtain the key from the manager and head towards the room Ango has rented. According to the manager, six months ago, Ango paid the rent in full and started living here. Due to the nature of his job, he very rarely returns; only returning every few days to stay for the night when he does, and leaves the next day. The manager notes that no one else has ever entered or left the room.

The room is a clean single suite.

The room is spotless. There is barely any furniture in the reception area. The bookshelf is filled with books about various cultures and old fiction novels. The ventilation hole is hidden neatly on the ceiling and unnoticeable without further inspection. The ventilation fan turns noiselessly. A black wooden stool sits quietly in the corner of the room.

The bedroom has a small desk and a single bed with sheets pressed with no wrinkles. Under the reading light by the pillow's side is an open book – a memoir of a genius mathematician and his artistic mathematical theories.

The room is full of Ango's personality: clean, packed with knowledge, inorganic. It's hard to imagine how he lives in this house.

I stand in the middle of the room and carefully survey the surroundings.

Something doesn't feel right. Something very minute. Something inconspicuous, that people don't normally pay attention to.

"Sakaguchi Ango, Port Mafia's intelligence agent," I try getting into his frame of thinking by reciting his title. "A secretive, knowledgeable man. No one knows your true identity."

Of course, there is no response. I walk towards the window.

The facing windows are inlaid with four panels of glass with a view of Yokohama's streets. Right below is a park, with sprawling buildings further ahead. At night, the view is like the starry sky reflected in a lake.

I turn my back towards the window, surveying the room again. Suddenly, I realise what's been throwing me off.

I am a mafioso who doesn't kill. Perhaps it is because of this, I often end up doing silly, troublesome jobs. But during the process of such jobs, my intuition has become more acute. The small detail is as thin and brittle and could break at any moment's notice. But as long as I can grab hold and pull it over, I can uncover the truth which no one would have thought of.

The wooden stool in the corner of the room is highly unnatural. It doesn't look like part of the hotel's furniture. Now that I think about it, there are no tables in this room for the stool.

I walk closer to inspect the stool. It is an ordinary mass produced stool. I flip it over – if there is an important clue on the underside. Unfortunately, there isn't.

I put it back down in its original position, kneeling down to inspect it further. I realise that there are some scuff marks on the seat's surface. It doesn't look like it's been used for a very long time. Upon closer inspection, I realise there is some wear and tear and white marks that look like shoeprints.

I survey the entire house again.

—The vent on the ceiling.

I pick up the stool, moving directly below the vent. Standing on the stool, my hand just reaches the ceiling. The vent is fitted with a plastic grill, making it hard to see what's inside.

After some effort, I manage to remove the grill. The ventilator inside turns quietly in the ventilation duct. I reach my hand in to probe about the vent.

After searching for a long while, my fingers brush against something. I try to pull it out. There is a dragging sound, and a small safe appears.

I come down from the stool holding the small safe in my arms, dusting it off.

This is a small, white coloured safe that can be easily carried around with two hands. It's been locked, but a key or a professional locksmith's tools would probably be able to open this.

I violently shake it in front of my chest. Something light inside makes a clattering noise.

At this moment, I see an image.

The white safe in my hands are splattered with a dark red.

The walls in front of me, the floor, are all covered in red. Something has burst and splashed all over the floor.

It's blood. My blood.

I look down towards my chest and blood spurts out.

It entered from my back and went right through my chest.

I turn to look behind to see that the window has been shattered.

From the window, I can see one of the rooms in a building in the far distance. There's something - the riflescope of a sniper rifle gleams from the sun's reflection.

I reach for the gun under my arm, but it is struck by a fast bullet. Blood spurts from my arm, and my body spins half a circle.

A metallic taste forms in my throat and I hit the ground. Darkness engulfs my vision.

The image ends.

I retain the same stance, holding the safe, standing as I am.

The safe is still white, and the window panes are not shattered.

I wrap the safe in my arms and lie flat on the carpets.

Almost simultaneously, I hear the sound of glass shattering. A small black hole appears on the wall facing me, then another.

I roll myself away from the window. Moving to a spot where I won't be seen from the opposite building, I draw my weapon from its holster, back pressed against the wall, and raise the pistol.

With great difficulty, I reach for the mirror on the table. I almost drop it due to my sweaty palms. Gripping it firmly again, I adjust its angle to observe the situation outside of the window.

Spotting the room in my vision from the mirror, I can see shadows moving inside, but I cannot make out their features. The shadow is packing something. In a blink of an eye, they disappear from view.

I lower my gun and realise I have been holding my breath.

It's a sniper.

What is in this apartment? And what has Ango gotten himself into? I'd just been shot dead by a sniper. Considering I didn't see the spark when they fired, nor did I hear the sound of the bullet, and the fact that the enemy quickly fled upon realising they'd failed to eliminate the target. They must be a professional.

Just not too long ago, I died after being shot in the heart by a bullet.

That is, if I didn't have an ability.

I rushed out as quickly as if I'd slid down the banister of the stairs.

The sniper shouldn't have gotten too far. I have to find out his true identity.

Pushing aside some innocent hotel guests and rushing out of the building, I run towards the building the sniper was in, fishing out the phone in my breast pocket.

An excellent sniper can accurately hit their target's heart from a kilometre away. Judging the distance between the two buildings, it's not as far. I am familiar with the building the sniper was positioned in. I know every building and street in this city, even the small alleys unmarked on maps. I naturally narrow down a few of the enemy's possible escape routes.

As I sprint towards the building, I punch numbers into the phone to call Dazai.

"Is this Dazai?"

"Ah, how rare it is for Odasaku to call me! Something must have happened! Hohoho, please hold on as I use my prodigious mind to make a guess. Ah! Odasaku must have thought of a very interesting joke and couldn't wait to share it with me, so he called—"

"I've been attacked by a sniper," I say quickly.

Dazai's inhales sharply and he cuts off his words.

"In Ango's house. I'm chasing the attacker now. The point of fire was from the building opposite Kosho Road. To flee from there, you have to pass either Kokuyou Temple, or the port's unloading bay, or head out from the street behind the boat shop—"

"You want me to cut off his escape route, right?"

I was dazed for a moment. The only reason I called Dazai is because I couldn't think of anyone to go to for help on such short notice. He is one of the five executives, second only to the leader in the mafia. Under normal circumstances, it would take a month to request for an audience and get a glimpse of him. To call someone of his status and issue an order is like asking the prime minister to walk my dog.

"Dazai, I have the 'Silver Oracle' on hand right now. If you don't mind—"

"There's no need, this sort of thing doesn't matter anyway. You're in danger, right?" Dazai says clearly, "I'll call for men to seal the roads. I'll be right there. Don't pursue them too closely, Odasaku."

I thank him and hang up the phone.

All I can do from here is to focus all my energy on my legs and run as fast as I can.

What kind of person will the sniper be?

Snipers are generally very cautious people with high tolerance. They follow plans religiously. After locking on the target and choosing a suitable sniping location, they wait Until the moment the enemy steps into their viewfinder's field of vision, they will stay in the same position for days, sustaining themselves on rations. If they run out, they'll go on empty stomachs and wait.

That is to say, snipers appear there fully believing that their target will appear there.

Looking at it logically, the sniper watching Ango's room was waiting for Ango himself. It is natural to believe that they were waiting for the unknowing Ango to come home and assassinate him. Perhaps that was the original plan.

But if that was the case, there's a slight problem – why did the sniper change his plans and shoot at me?

My decision to go to Ango's house a few hours ago was only because I had no leads.

The sniper opened fire when I found that white safe. If he wanted to shoot, he would have done so the moment I entered the room.

It's possible that the sniper didn't have a clear target. He could have been aiming for anyone who entered the room. Or perhaps he was instructed to shoot whoever found that safe. One thing I can say for certain is that Ango seems to have gotten himself into something dangerous.

While I run, I think about Ango's cold, unreadable, bespectacled face.

No matter how hard I breathe, it is not enough to replenish the oxygen supply in my body. As my vision starts to turn white, I arrive at one of the possible escape routes. This is a dark, narrow backalley, littered with the remains of crows' lunches.

On the way here, I cut through the gardens of two families and leapt over garages of three private estates. If the enemy isn't familiar with the area, I should be able to catch a glimpse of their back by now.

As I was thinking this, a blade-wielding figure grabs hold of me from a gap between two buildings.

The enemy moves skilfully with his blade. I shift my head to the side, dodging the strike. The blade brushes past my ear, leaving a sharp and icy cold sensation.

I deliver a kick to the enemy's entangled body. The counterforce throws me onto the litter strewn ground. At least I've succeeded in putting distance between us.

I raise my head and catch a glimpse of my attacker.

He is a foreigner dressed in dirty grey rags of unknown nationality. He looks like a vagrant, but the black filth on his face have marks left behind by fingers. It must have been purposefully applied. He sways a little as he walks, raising his blade in his left hand. He has both arms raised, right arm braced in front of his face as protections. This is a stance that allows for one to switch between blocking and attacking at close combat range with minimal movements. The enemy emanates a strong aura of murderous intent like a well-trained guard dog.

I can infer a few things from the man's features. Firstly, he knows that I am from the Port Mafia, but has no intention of backing off or giving me any opportunity to do so because of this. I am willing to bet that he is the same person as the sniper I spotted in the mirror. There is no doubt that he plans to kill me here.

The man steps forward, waving the blade gripped in his left fist. If I take his fist head on, my face will be smashed. If I run or dodge, his blade will cut my flesh. Pressing against the wall behind me, I use my weight to leap in another direction, putting distance between me and the other man. I whip out my pistol from its holster while I turn and fire a shot immediately.

The bullet hits the space just before his toe. The enemy stops in his tracks.

Not even 0.1 seconds have passed between the moment I drew my gun to the moment I fired. If the man is well-versed in battle, he would know that I was not aiming blindly, but rather, had aimed to shoot at that spot.

I raise my gun, aiming between the enemy's eyes, hinting to him that I can shoot at any moment's notice.

Despite having ample time to understand this, the man still lunges towards me.

He brandishes his blade again.

I leap backwards to dodge his blade. I fire a warning shot towards the sky to intimidate the enemy. The sound of the gunshot echoes in the narrow back alley. To the enemy, it is no more surprising than a spring breeze. It's as though this man's sense of fear is squared away and sealed in a box in some corner of his mind.

The opponent reaches out towards me – but he's not aiming for me. I realise this and pull the white safe under my left arm back. The enemy grabs at the empty space. He immediately resumes his stance, keeping me in check with his blade to maintain distance.

The opponent's target is this safe.

For this, he pretended to flee and lay in wait here.

If such was the case, maybe the best strategy would be to flee with it. I have no clue of the enemy's identity or the value of the safe's content. The enemy's knife skills are exemplary, and isn't fazed by gunshots. On top of that, I—

The enemy moves to strike with his blade. I fire a shot towards the wall, hoping to scare him. But the enemy reads the spot I'm aiming at and fearlessly charges towards me.

I suddenly feel the presence of another person behind me. I lunge my body forward.

The shot lights up the backalley and the sound of metal being discharged rings forth. A bullet flies past my ear. I didn't fire that bullet.

My entire body turns stiff. I couldn't turn my gaze towards my back, but I understood immediately.

There is another enemy behind me.

In a typical sniping operation, there is usually an "observer" paired with the sniper. The observer operates with the sniper, and is in charge of adjusting and directing. He monitors the situation and eliminates any nearby enemies.

The moment the enemy began to retaliate, I should have guessed that there were two enemies.

The shot fired by this second person was not from a sniper rifle, but an old handgun. I grab a trash bag and fling it in the air as a temporary smokescreen, firing wildly, hoping to use the ricocheting bullets to form a cover.

There is no time to ascertain if my actions had been effective. The blade-wielding man is already approaching me.

The dagger and pistol clash, causing sparks. The trigger guard is cut off by the knife, and a mournful sound fills the air.

I sweep my leg at the opponent's ankle. The enemy loses his balance, one hand contacting the ground.

I reflexively toss the safe aside and whip out another gun. I am a dual-wielding shooter, so I always carry two guns with me.

Without being aware of it, I aim my gun just before the enemy's nose. From this distance, I cannot miss.

If I shoot right now, the opponent will have no time to think and will die instantly. He won't even have time to feel pain. His brain will turn to mush and become one with the filth on the wall. His life will disappear instantly, like magic.

I do not shoot. I back away, maintaining a distance. I rise to my feet and keep my gun and my enemies within sight.

"Odasaku! Get down!"

At this moment, I hear Dazai's voice.

Before hearing his voice, I already knew that would come. I bend forward and throw my entire body to the ground. Flashes of light and the sound of explosions fill the narrow backalley.

Using my ability, I predicted this would happen. I lay on the ground, covering my ears, closing my eyes, waiting for the flashes to cease. The enemies are temporarily blinded by the flash bang, completely unable to dodge the next wave of attacks.

The sound of explosions rings throughout the narrow backalley.

Flashes of light. Explosions. The sharp sound of metal snapping, and the sound of the ground and walls cracking. A shower of 9mm bullets fly over my head.

Four men in black surge forth from the alley's opening. All of them raise their submachine guns to their waist, walking past me. They're Port Mafia.

In a small alley with nowhere to hide, not even a veteran can dodge the raining bullets. Under the barrage of gunfire, the two men in rags scream in pain.

I look over, only to see that the two men are covered in blood. The blood surrounds them like a thick fog, wetly dripping off the walls.

"What will I do with you, Odasaku? You could have killed them in a single breath if you wanted to."

Dazai appears with a spring in his step and looks like he could start whistling at any point. To Dazai, an alley filled with the sound of gunfire is no different from a clean shopping mall on a holiday.

Since Dazai has already offered his hand, I take it and rise to my feet. I survey the backalley.

"Did you kill them?" I glance at the fallen assassins.

"Mm hmm. Even if we caught them alive, there's no hope of getting information out of them. These guys love the taste of stuffing poison in their teeth."

I do not reply. My heart feels heavy, as though there is a heavy stone weighing it down. Dazai smiles gently and says, "I know, that's not what you meant, right? Odasaku, these guys are professionals. Even if it's you, Odasaku, it would have been hard for you not to kill them."

"You're right."

I nod. Dazai is often right, whereas I am often wrong.

"You're in a bad mood… I'm distorting your principles, I'm sorry." There is a small smile on Dazai's face. Dazai rarely says something like "sorry", so his words are surprisingly sincere.

"Ah, it's all thanks to your help. If you didn't come to save me, I would have died by now."

"Oda Sakunosuke, the Port Mafia wonder with the motto: 'Not to kill anyone no matter what'." Dazai shakes his head. "It's all because of your troublesome motto that you're the organisation's little runner boy, Odasaku. You're obviously blessed with great abilities—"

I shake my head solemnly.

"I've already heard such complaints tens of thousands of times when I was filled with disdain towards myself. The important thing at hand are these raiders," I gesture with my gaze towards the fallen attackers.

"You said you were attacked in Ango's residence?"

I succinctly explain what had happened in the hotel room. Dazai listens wordlessly.

"So that's how it is. That sniper rifle is probably stolen from our weapon's store," Dazai says after hearing my explanation, "Can you check if there's an old pistol model on their waist?"

I look towards the two fallen raiders. Although it's shielded from view by their tattered rags, but I can see the old pistol models holstered at their waists. It is a grey gun with a thin muzzle.

"This is a fairly old European pistol. It's shooting ability and accuracy are pretty rough, which makes it unsuitable to use in such a narrow alley for a gunfight." Dazai picks up a gun from the corpses, looking over it with interest. "This gun is probably just for show. It's probably used as an emblem of their identity."

It looks like Dazai has a better understanding of who these attackers are than me.

"Who are these men?" I ask Dazai.

"Mimic."

"Mimic?"

It's the first time I've ever heard such a name.

"We're not entirely clear on the details, but it seems that they are a criminal organisation based in Europe. At the moment, we don't know why they're in Japan, or why they're starting conflict with the Port Mafia."

It is not uncommon to see organisations at odds with the Port Mafia.

There are many organisations struggling with the mafia for dominance near Yokohama. Out of reach from the government's forces, Yokohama's underworld is rife with lawless criminals struggling for territory. The entire world seeks out this haven for avoiding taxes, money laundering, and trading mercenary labour. It is not surprising to see overseas criminal organisations trying to take advantage of this.

However, how many organisations are there in the world that can boast a professional sniper duo?

Dazai takes a look at my puzzled expression and seemingly understands.

"In any case, we're still investigating the details." Dazai shrugs his shoulders. "We should be able to find out something if we investigate into this sniping attempt at Ango's residence."

"They were trying to get hold of this safe," I raise the white safe. "This was found in Ango's room. However, there's no key to unlock it. If we could just figure out its contents, there may be a clue—"

"What, is that all?" A relaxed smile eases onto Dazai's face. "That's easy. Pass it over to me."

I hand the safe over to Dazai. Dazai shakes the safe and confirms that there is indeed something inside. He rummages through the trash and finds a paper clip. He bends the tip of the paper clip with his finger, and inserts it into the keyhole.

Dazai wriggles the paper clip. Within a second, the lock opens with a satisfying 'click' sound.

"There, it's open."

This guy is really good.

"Now then, what's in here?"