Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 3 Chapter 4 Part 2

Chapter 4 Part 2

“Uh? Excuse you.” The handsome young man lifted up his head from the script and frowned. “What do you want? It’s almost showtime, and I’m reading over my script.”
There was no one else in the room. Perched on the edge of his seat, the young man angrily threw the script to the side.
“The show is about to begin. Do you have any idea how it feels to be an actor right before a performance?”
Fukuzawa didn’t respond.
“We dive into another world—become other people. And we practice nearly a year for this moment. If you get in my way, you’re dead.” The performer then threw back his glass of water that was sitting on the table. “I’m thirsty. Fetch me some water, will you?” The young man signaled to the large container of water with his chin as he held out his empty glass to Fukuzawa. He drank the glass of water that Fukuzawa quietly poured for him, then said, “I’m concentrating.”
After a close look, the young man appeared to be somewhat pale.
Slightly dark bags hung under his nervous-looking eyes as well.
“I respect your work,” said Fukuzawa while he stared at his pale expression, “but there’s a chance you performers could die tonight. Is there any part during the play when you’re alone?”
The star, Murakami, took in a deep breath to say something, but he immediately exhaled as if he had given up.
“…I’ll be alone in the wings a few times. There will be some stagehands backstage, so I won’t be by myself when I go to the dressing room. I’ll also be alone right before curtain call. Anyway, we’re all doing our best to be careful, so I’ll make sure I’m with someone at all times… Oh, but we’ll be pretty vulnerable in one particular place, especially me. I’ll be alone for ten, twenty minutes at a time.”
“And where is that?”
“On the stage.” The corner of Murakami’s lips curled into a grin. “I am the star of the show, after all.”
Fukuzawa groaned. He wouldn’t be able to guard the performers onstage with them, and it wasn’t as if he could order them to perform in the shadows because they might be attacked. However, the stage was going to have everyone’s eyes and ears. It would be nearly impossible for someone to assassinate a performer onstage and escape with that many people watching. The most dangerous time was surely when the actors were going to be alone.
“Heh. The leading actor, huh?” Ranpo, who was standing by Fukuzawa’s side, suddenly spoke up.
“What’d you say? …Oh, it’s just some kid,” said Murakami with a scowl. “Don’t tell me you’re that bodyguard’s helper or something.”
“Hey, what’s the play going to be about?” asked Ranpo, completely ignoring Murakami.
“What kind of question is that? If you’re one of the guards, then you should have gotten a script from the troupe. Read it yourself.”
“And die of boredom? I couldn’t even make it past the first page. Come on, just tell me.”
“Die of boredom”…?
Fukuzawa quietly covered his face. Bringing Ranpo with him was a mistake. He’d thought that leaving Ranpo in the lobby was a disaster waiting to happen, but this wasn’t any better. He said all the wrong things. Surely the actor was going to blow his lid and stop talking to them entirely… At least, that was what Fukuzawa thought.
“It’s boring, huh? Well, if a brat like you says so, then it’s gotta be,” answered Murakami with a solemn expression. “The viewers are the ones who decide whether a play is boring. It’d be easy to strangle you until you agreed to read the entire script, but that’s a job for a thug, not an actor. Hey, brat. What would make the play interesting to you?”
“To me? Hmm…” Ranpo tilted his head to the side. “It’d be pretty neat if one of the actors got killed during the performance just like the death threat said.”
A chill ran down Fukuzawa’s spine.
“Ha! An appropriately bratty answer.” But Murakami cheerfully smirked. “If that’s what the people want, then maybe giving it to them wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”
“Hold on,” Fukuzawa interrupted, knitting his brows. He found the comment to be in bad taste.
“Obviously, I don’t plan on dying.” Murakami faced Fukuzawa. “But as someone in show business, you think about these things. ‘Would you take a life in order to achieve the ultimate performance?’ …I would. Without a doubt. The only reason I haven’t is because nobody has come up to me and offered to teach me the secret of acting in return for someone’s life…yet. So my hat’s off to whoever made that death threat if they planned all of this only to surprise the viewers.”
Murakami wasn’t looking at Fukuzawa, nor was he looking at Ranpo. He was lost in his head—looking at himself and the spectators he could influence. Fukuzawa frowned. The spirit of a performer was an admirable thing, but this was troubling. Murder was being viewed as just something that happened; human life was nothing more than a bargaining chip. Why were the owner and this young man not taking this death threat seriously? Fukuzawa didn’t even think they should have been holding this performance in the first place. Surely rescheduling the show to save a life would be a no-brainer. And yet, the show was to go on. There were probably a lot of people who thought like Murakami.
“Well, people should be filling the seats right about now.” He stood out of his chair. “I ought to get going. We’re both professionals here, yes? And a professional protects their client and makes sure nobody gets harmed. I’m counting on you.”
There was no way to reply to a statement like that other than simply “Very well.”