Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 6 Chapter 1 Part 3

Chapter 1 Part 3

“If I had to…? Hmm…”
Akutagawa’s gaze wandered as his mind went to work.
“I enjoy…tea, figs, and red bean soup… I dislike—If I had to choose, I suppose it’d be fava beans, mandarin oranges, and…stray dogs.”
“Oh? Stray dogs, huh?” Tanizaki’s face lit up with a smile.
So he hates dogs? Guess he isn’t totally unusual, after all.
“I know what you mean. There are some massive stray dogs around here, and they’ll just bark at you for absolutely no reason. Scares even the adults.”
“I see,” replied Akutagawa while sipping on his drink. “A stray dog once almost chewed my arm off in the slums while I was asleep. I immediately woke up and was able to escape, but…I haven’t liked dogs since then.”
His reasoning was far more horrific than anyone imagined.
“O-oh, you don’t say…” Tanizaki shuddered as his eyes goggled in astonishment. He didn’t know what else to say, so he simply added, “That must’ve been rough.”
“No. It was nothing out of the ordinary in the slum where I grew up. One of the people I lived with was even killed and devoured by a stray dog… Of course, I made sure to slaughter each and every one in the neighborhood as payback after that.”
“O-oh…you don’t say.”
The newcomer had been through a lot, apparently. Tanizaki struggled to find something to talk about, and every time he did, he regretted it. It wasn’t long before he turned into a robot that automatically replied to everything with “You don’t say.”
“Allow me to ask something as well,” Akutagawa suddenly said. “What did you all used to do? Where did you work before joining the agency?”
“Oh my. That’s a wonderful question.” Naomi clapped her hands together and beamed. “That’s the first thing most people ask. We actually have a game where we try to guess what someone used to do before joining the agency. Right, Jun?”
“Y-yeah… We make all the new hires do it. Still…the man who found you is a tough nut to crack. Nobody’s been able to guess correctly so far, so the prize pool from everyone’s bets is now at seven hundred thousand yen.

You should give it a try, too.”
Just then, the waitress appeared with a tray.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Here’s your roasted green tea and—”
But the waitress wasn’t able to finish her sentence…because she had stepped on the hem of Akutagawa’s coat. She instinctively tried to lift her foot back up, but that mistake would cost her. As she pulled her foot back, her heel got caught on the fabric. She let out a small yelp as she tried to right herself, but her foot got tangled in her kimono, causing her to stumble backward until she slammed both of her hands onto a nearby table to catch herself. The tea that was on the tray flew through the air—and right over Akutagawa’s head.
“…!”
The detectives reflexively leaped out of their seats, but it was too late. The burning liquid was spilling right onto Akutagawa’s head. Naomi briefly shrieked; Kunikida and Tanizaki froze. Kunikida’s hand was on the pistol at his waist. If he hadn’t hesitated for another second, he would have been pointing the gun right at Akutagawa.
“Watch where you’re walking,” warned Akutagawa dispassionately. “You could have burned someone.”
Akutagawa had silently expanded his coat and blocked the hot liquid mere moments before it would have burned his head. He’d reacted with almost godlike speed. Tanizaki looked at Kunikida, who then peered down at the hand he’d placed on his gun almost unconsciously. Neither of them had been trying to help the waitress, nor tend to Akutagawa’s wound. Their only goal in that moment was to kill Akutagawa—because for a split second, they sensed the murderous fury surge through him like a flash of light. Theirs was an instinctive reaction in order to protect themselves from harm. Both Tanizaki and Kunikida instinctively predicted that Akutagawa was going to behead the waitress.
Akutagawa had passed the entrance exam, but he hadn’t passed the real test. There were still some conditions Akutagawa had to meet before he could become a detective. He saved the hostage from the bomber extremely quickly, but speed wasn’t a requirement to join the agency. A detective must possess the self-discipline and steadfast morals needed to protect the people
—an honorable spirit that does not waver in even the most extreme situations. That was the policy of the president of the agency, Fukuzawa.

The entrance exam had another rule as well: The examinee must not know they are being tested.
Akutagawa saved the hostage so quickly that he still hadn’t gotten the chance to demonstrate how his mind worked. Therefore, he would only serve as a temporary member of the agency for now, and the real entrance examination would take place at a later date, when his fate would be decided. In other words, both Tanizaki and Kunikida were in the middle of a mission. Their objective was to gauge whether Akutagawa was truly fit to join the agency, and if he proved to be wicked, they were to immediately dispose of him before anyone got hurt.
Kunikida took a nervous breath, then peeled his fingers off his pistol. The newcomer was a mystery to him. He couldn’t read him, nor tell how he was feeling. All he could see was his piercing gaze and powerful skill. But at his core, was Akutagawa good or evil?
Both Kunikida and Tanizaki wondered: Why was someone like Akutagawa joining the agency? What was that man thinking when he recommended Akutagawa?
Just then, the door to the café opened, and a tall man walked inside. He had his back to the light, casting a shadow over his face.
“Oh,” squeaked Tanizaki after turning around to see who came in. “Glad you could make it. What took you so long?”
“You’re late,” commented Kunikida after looking over at the new arrival. “The newcomer you invited caused a scene while you were out doing who knows what. Hurry up and take care of it.”
The tall man scratched his head and muttered, “Yeah, sorry about that.”
The ceiling lights gradually illuminated the man’s face as he walked farther into the café. That man was—

Nighttime rendered the seaside warehouse district the darkest place in the world. Neither streetlights nor moonlight reached this pitch-black abyss so dark you couldn’t even see your own hand in front of you.
Just then, several screams rang out. “Somebody, help!”
“Ahhh! Stay back!”
“Help me! Please…! Anybody!”
Their simultaneous cries were reminiscent of a battle hymn, with the sounds of something breaking, shattering, and a sticky substance splattering across the floor serving as the musical accompaniment.
And yet, none of these noises could disturb the silence outside of the warehouse district. Every single sound was absorbed by the dense, heavy darkness like a sponge.
They were in a spacious warehouse used for storing imported goods. Inside were countless wooden boxes stacked on shelves all the way to the ceiling. The pitch-black sky of the new moon loomed cruelly over the skylight on the building’s high ceiling.
“Stop! Stay back! Stay back! No…! I don’t wanna die! No, no, no!
Don’t do this! I—”
One by one, the screams vanished into the abyss as gunfire created sporadic bursts of light. The flickering clearly illuminated the individuals’ faces with each shot. They were mercenaries—a fully armed platoon of over twenty seasoned soldiers who were frantically trying to escape the darkness.
“Don’t shoot! You’ll hit one of our men!” shouted a soldier. “Bullets don’t work on him! Switch to armor-piercing shells! Use your tactical flashlights to locate the target!”
“I can’t! The enemy will find me if I turn on my flashlight!”
“The enemy can already see us! If we don’t find them soon, we’re all gonna—”
Those were the last words he ever spoke. His voice suddenly stopped and was replaced by the sound of his throat being slit. The air whistled out of his lungs in a silent scream. Another scream echoed from behind the group, causing them all to turn around.
It was a white beast.
The creature, practically the size of a small car, was on top of one of the soldiers. It sank its enormous jaws into the soldier’s throat.
“He’s here! Fire! Fire!!”
Everyone fired their gun at the beast in unison, but it twisted its head, snapping the victim’s neck in half before nimbly leaping back into the darkness, leaving the soldier’s body behind to be pelted by countless bullets. The firing soon stopped, and darkness returned. It was as if the beast had vanished into thin air.
“It… It wasn’t just a rumor…!” yelled one soldier on the verge of tears. “He’s real—the beast of calamity…the Port Mafia’s White Reaper really does exist…”
The sounds of cracking and shrieking reverberated in sequence from every direction. The mercenaries couldn’t even make a defensive formation because they had no idea where the enemy was. They couldn’t even choose a direction to retreat in. All they could hear over their two-way radios was screaming and shouting. This was no longer a battle but a slaughter, nothing more than the natural outcome of mere humans trying to fight against darkness itself.
“Fall back! Regroup!” the leader desperately shouted into his handheld transceiver. “There won’t be anyone to stop the Port Mafia’s invasion if we lose here! Your superiors, your friends—everyone is gonna be sent home in a body bag with our heads removed if we don’t stop that thing!” He continued yelling orders as he pulled the pin out of a flash-bang grenade.
“When I give the signal, the Odd Squad will fall back to the entrance while the Even Squad provides covering fire!”
After the leader threw the grenade, it exploded in midair, releasing a blinding flash produced by magnesium reacting to oxygen. The room immediately lit up as if it were high noon.
“Now! Fire!”
The leader’s frantic shout echoed throughout the storehouse until it was swallowed by the abyss. Not a single gunshot could be heard.
“The hell is going on? Even Squad, I said…” His frustrated voice gradually withered as he came to a certain realization. “Don’t tell me…”
Something quietly emerged from the darkness before him. Its white forelimbs didn’t even make a sound. Its eyes burned gold as a soldier’s forearm dangled from its bloodied jaw. This was a giant, carnivorous beast with white fur.
That was when the leader realized there would be no gunfire, for there wasn’t a single living soldier left in the warehouse.
“Is everyone…? Is everyone dead…?” “That’s right,” replied the white beast.
Startled, the leader aimed the muzzle of his gun at the beast, but what the attached tactical flashlight illuminated was no beast but a boy. He had white hair, and his bangs were cut with a slant, which complemented his innocent features. He wore a black overcoat that went all the way up to his throat, almost completely covering his entire body as it fluttered in the faint breeze.
“So it was true…,” babbled the leader in shock. “The White Tiger—the Port Mafia’s White Reaper—really is just a boy.”
The youth gently nodded. “This is the end,” he declared softly. “You plotted to assassinate Port Mafia’s boss. I’m impressed you were able to keep it a secret from us until the actual day of the assassination. You’re a real professional.”
There was no animosity in his eyes, nor was there any sadistic pleasure from slaughtering others. An overpowering silence and darkness enveloped the boy—both a blessing and a curse in equal measure.
“But while you and your men are professional assassins, our boss is also a professional…when it comes to people attempting to assassinate him. Highly trained killers sneak into our base almost every day in an attempt to take his life, but not one has ever been successful. Most don’t even make it past the lobby on the first floor…just like your group.”
“…You little shit…”
The leader noticed his fingers were trembling. The hands of a seasoned soldier, who had fought in countless battles against numerous armies and yet never broke into a cold sweat in his life, were shaking before a mere teenager.
This teenage boy, however, didn’t look human. He was death itself, here to respectfully see the man off to his grave.
In which case…
“I’ve been waiting for you, Reaper.”
The leader then pulled a wireless device around the size of his fist out of his pocket.
“We may have no chance of winning now, but that doesn’t mean we have to lose.”
The Port Mafia teenager narrowed his eyes.
“Do you know what this is? It’s a detonator.” The leader pressed the button on the device with his thumb. “Did you really think we just randomly chose this warehouse as our war zone? This building is where we store our explosives, and this is the detonator to every bomb in here.”
The teenager’s eyes flickered a dark golden hue, and his pupils stretched into slits like a cat’s.
“What—?”
“That’s far enough, kid.”
The platoon leader raised the device into the air, showing his thumb already pressing the button.
“You see this? They call this a dead man’s switch. The bombs don’t detonate the moment you push the switch. They detonate when you take your finger off it. In other words, if you kill me, then my finger’s coming off this button, and I’m turning you into dust with me.”
If the teenager were to kill the leader, then everyone would die in the blast or when the building came crumbling down. If he were to run, the leader would detonate the bombs, and everyone would still die. Even trying to steal the detonator would result in pulling the man’s finger off the button, and once again, everyone would die.
“I’m a soldier, and I plan on dying that way.”
The platoon leader grabbed his gun with his free hand while the other was still pressing down the button on the detonator.
“I am going to fight and die on the battlefield alongside my comrades.
But it won’t be that bad, seeing as I get to take you along with me.”
“I see you’re not afraid of dying. I’m jealous,” admitted the teenager with hint of sorrow—or perhaps some kind of similar emotion—in his voice. “Because I’m afraid to die. I’m afraid to get hurt. I’m afraid to get shot and bleed. That’s why I became the Reaper…because if I merge with death itself, then death will never be able to find me.”
“You’re ‘afraid to die’? Are you saying that’s why you killed my men?” The leader squinted. “I guess that means releasing this button can instill fear in you, huh? Couldn’t ask for a better reward.”
He briefly smirked with a slight twitch of his lip, then let go of the button.
“…”
Nothing happened. The platoon leader looked at his thumb…but it was still pushing down the button. He pulled his hand away to peel it off the button, but his thumb and the detonator remained floating in the air.
“N-no…”

A white blade had quietly slid through the base of his thumb, cutting it clean off. He reflexively tried to shoot his gun with his other hand, but his finger was already missing. His index finger, which was touching the trigger, was now lying on the floor.
“Can I kill him?” asked a young voice.
A shadowy figure that melted into the darkness even more fluidly than the tiger had was gently clutching the leader’s thumb and detonator.
“There’s no need, Kyouka,” the boy replied softly.
A white hand and white dagger emerged from the darkness behind the platoon leader with its sharp point aimed precisely at his throat. Hiding in the darkness, the dagger’s wielder was a teenage girl wearing a kimono. She had long, jet-black hair and chillingly pale, almost porcelain skin.
“But he tried to kill you,” complained the girl called Kyouka, her voice as quiet as snow gently falling upon the ground.
“I know. But the boss gave orders to let one go. He wants one of them alive so they can go tell their superiors how easily their platoon was slaughtered.”
“But…,” the girl said in a childish tone. She shifted her dagger slightly and faintly pressed it into the leader’s throat, drawing blood.
“It’s fine. He’ll never again be able to hold a gun without those fingers, so we don’t have to worry about him ever coming back for revenge.”
The girl tilted her head to the side somewhat, and her pitch-black hair lightly brushed against her cheek. Her complexion was so translucent that it was as if she were about to vanish into thin air.
“Well, if he isn’t a threat to you…,” said the girl, hardly even moving her lips as she slipped her dagger back into her pocket. She then backed away from the platoon leader with a flowing motion reminiscent of plankton in the ocean depths.
“Thanks.”
The girl’s expression remained unchanged, but her eyes gave the impression that she was smiling.
“Th-this can’t…be happening…,” the leader painfully moaned as he applied pressure onto the nubs where his fingers used to be. “The assassin girl…Kyouka Izumi…? The ‘Thirty-Five-Man Killer’…? Impossible… Why is she with Port Mafia’s White Reaper? I thought she betrayed the Mafia and disappeared…!”

“She did betray the Mafia once,” answered the boy.
“But I came back.” Kyouka gently nestled against the boy. “Everything I did…was for him.”
They were both still. It was as if the warehouse grew even more still each time the two pale figures spoke amid the shadows.
“You said you planned on dying like a soldier, and I respect that. Therefore, if you wish to fight a battle you have no chance of winning, then you’re free to do so,” the boy suggested in almost a whisper. “So if you do decide to fight me, I’ll have no choice but to do everything in my power to kill you so that I can avoid death.”
The platoon leader glared at both skill users with bloodshot eyes, but he eventually dropped his shoulders.
The light sound of metal sliding across the floor spoke for the platoon leader. He had thrown his gun down.
“Thank you very much.”
After bowing, the boy began walking toward the exit, and Kyouka followed him. They walked right past the soldier without even glancing in his direction as they slowly approached the door. The platoon leader then turned around and stared at their backs. They walked away as if there was no longer anybody behind them.
“Hey, kid… What’s your name?” asked the platoon leader. He wasn’t expecting an answer, but he got one, surprisingly.
“Atsushi Nakajima.”
The young man’s clear voice reverberated throughout the room.
Atsushi Nakajima…
The soldier could feel it in his gut: That name and what happened tonight was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. He would be overcome with fear every time he saw darkness or a wild animal. He might never again sleep soundly through the night as the smell of blood and fear would surely haunt him in his nightmares. His life as a soldier ended here. He would never be able to recover from this.