Bungo Stray Dogs - Volume 7 Chapter 1 Part 2

Chapter 1 Part 2

“Me.”
He’d needed an assistant—a secretary, a confidant, a right-hand man of the highest caliber. But as a doctor, a traitor, and a usurper, what he needed most of all was someone he could trust. He needed a subordinate with whom he could share everything, someone who could understand him as he alone stood at the organization’s apex, leading his subordinates.
It was an error on Mori’s part to take in Dazai. But not all errors are bad. This stone he’d picked up—which he’d planned on disposing of eventually
—turned out to be a giant diamond in the rough.
Perhaps Mori was asking for too much as someone who followed such a bloody path. But this was Dazai, after all. So perhaps…
“Dazai,” Mori began while still pondering that question. “I may not be able to comprehend your answer, but I nonetheless want to know: Why do you want to die?”
Dazai seemed puzzled as he looked back at Mori, like he genuinely didn’t understand the question. Then, eyes full of youthful innocence, he responded:
“Let me ask you something instead: Do you truly believe there’s value in living?”

Suribachi looked just like it had sounded: a city built within a crater created by a massive explosion years prior. The original inhabitants perished in the mile-diameter blast along with any notion of who each section belonged to. All that remained was a wasteland in the shape of a Japanese mortar—a suribachi.
It wasn’t long before people arrived and decided to build their own city. They were society’s outcasts, or perhaps society never even acknowledged their existence to begin with. Suribachi bordered the Yokohama Settlement, a designated conflict zone, and anyone could take up residence there regardless of legality. That drew people to create huts, build stairs, and even lay electrical wires. The site of the explosion soon became a haven for those scorned by prosperity and luxury. It was a gray city for gray people. And, of course, it was outside the authorities’ radar, which naturally made it prime real estate for illegal organizations such as the Mafia.
Dazai was heading down a path in Suribachi.
“Oh? So drinking metal-plating solutions is an extremely popular method of suicide abroad, huh…? Interesting.”
He was reading a book as he walked, his expression the epitome of serious. Dazai had never looked at someone with such solemnity.
“Hmm? What’s this? It’s only popular because it’s the easiest chemical for industrial painters to get their hands on, and it’s not a quick and easy death. Anyone who drinks the solution dies after spending hours in agony as their organs dissolve inside of them… Ack! I’m so glad I didn’t give that a try!”
Dazai lifted his head and glanced at his Mafia escort behind him. “Hey, did you know that? Be careful next time you plan on killing yourself, uh…” “Hirotsu,” the escort answered, looking like a small dog backed into a
corner. “I will…be sure to keep that in mind.”
A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a gentlemanly appearance, Hirotsu was a mafioso Dazai had chosen for his knowledge of the area. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about having to be this boy’s escort and guide.
Dazai was just a fifteen-year-old kid. He wasn’t even in the Mafia. And yet, he had a Silver Oracle. Everyone, long-standing Mafia members included, had to be careful around him. Not only that, Dazai was one of the two people who witnessed the former boss’s final moments, and now Mori had entrusted him with a top secret mission. There was clearly something more to all this.
Hirotsu knew instinctively that he had to treat Dazai with respect. These were instincts only someone who’d survived many years in the Mafia possessed.
The two of them had left that morning to ask around if anyone had seen the Port Mafia’s former boss. They went from the slums to the most popular tourist sites, following the rumors to their source. A boy and a middle-aged man made for a bizarre investigation team, but nonetheless, Dazai’s uncanny ability to weasel information out of people proved useful. He managed to get most of the sources to tell him what he wanted without them even realizing it. Even the more stubborn individuals changed their tune the moment Dazai gave them a peek of the wad of bills Mori had provided him for this very purpose. Once they obtained all the information they could get their hands on, Dazai and Hirotsu started making their way back to headquarters.
“Dazai… Please do not walk too far ahead of me,” said Hirotsu. “I am your escort, but this is nonetheless a conflict zone. There’s no telling what could happen.”
“‘Conflict’?”
Hirotsu nodded and continued, “The Mafia is currently at war with three organizations: Takasekai, Gelhart Security Service, and a third group located here in Suribachi that shows no signs of letting up. They are an extremely eccentric group, nothing like any enemy we have ever faced… They have no official name, but simply go by ‘the Sheep.’ This week alone, they killed two of our squads. The unofficial leader is especially difficult to deal with. They say not even bullets work on him.”
“Ohhh… No wonder I heard explosions and gunfire coming from over there. Doesn’t make much difference to me, though…,” Dazai grumbled in boredom. All of a sudden, there was a beep coming from his pocket—his phone.

“It’s Mori.” Dazai placed the phone against his ear. “Hello? …Yeah, we’re done here. I learned a bunch of things… Huh? ‘How’? …Who do you think I am? Anyway, to get straight to the point…” Dazai sounded like he couldn’t care less. “The previous boss was here. He came back to life from the pits of hell, covered in black flames.”
“What?” came Mori’s shaky reply.
“There were a lot of witnesses. I guess the old man had a lot of regrets and couldn’t let go of this world?” Dazai’s lips curled into a cold-blooded smirk. “At any rate, I’ll give you a detailed report when I get back—”
All of a sudden—without any warning—something hit Dazai squarely in the torso, sending him flying through the air like a flower petal caught in a gust of wind. He smashed through a zinc-coated steel roof, causing the wooden hut underneath to collapse, then rolled farther into Suribachi while demolishing a well’s fencing in the process.
“The Sheep!” He heard Hirotsu’s shouts slowly fade into the distance. “Dazai!”
Dazai bounced down the hill until he went right through a shed, kicking up a whirlwind of dust and plywood…and then he finally stopped. He found himself atop a simple stucco building. However, something was on top of him: the shadowy male figure who had hit him moments ago.
“Ha-ha-ha! Now this is rich!” The figure roared with laughter. “A kid!
The Port Mafia’s so hard up for lackeys that they’re hiring kids!”
It was a small-framed boy around Dazai’s age dressed in a dark green biker jacket. He looked like a crow amid the dark of night.
“That hurt, you know?” Dazai, collapsed on his back, said emotionlessly. “I hate pain.”
“I’m gonna give ya a choice, kid,” the boy told him, hands still in his pockets. “Die now or die after givin’ me the information I want. What’s it gonna be?”
“I like those two choices. Both very tempting offers,” Dazai replied unflinchingly, despite having been hit in the torso and knocked through several buildings. “Okay. Kill me now.”
The boy in the biker jacket fell silent for a brief moment, then looked down at Dazai as if realizing he’d finally met a person of character.
“Hmph. I thought you’d just cry and run away. You’re a surprisingly gutsy kid.”

“You’re a kid, too.”
“Yeah, everyone I fight always says that at first, but they immediately realize their mistake. I’m no ordinary brat like you.” The boy clenched his fist. “Now talk. Tell me everything about this Arahabaki you’re lookin’ into.”
He then stepped on Dazai’s wounded hand, cracking the bones under the sole of his shoe.
“…Oh. Arahabaki? I see… Arahabaki,” Dazai muttered. He stared at his hand being crushed as if it were someone else’s.
“So you do know, huh?”
“Nope. First I’ve ever heard of it,” Dazai replied flatly.
The boy grinned, then swiftly kicked Dazai. The ball of his foot struck Dazai’s bones with an agonizing creak. Dazai moaned in pain.
“All right, then,” the boy said. “Wanna go for the record? Longest someone’s ever lasted without talkin’ is nine kicks.”
Dazai’s face twisted in agony as he answered, “You’ll let me go…if I talk?”
“Yeah. I don’t pick on weaklings.”
Dazai fell into silent thought for a few moments. He then quietly stared at the boy above him with a serious expression and replied, “Okay… I’ll talk.”
His voice heavy and tense, he said:
“You ought to drink more milk. You’re really short.”
The boy kicked Dazai in the stomach once more, sending him rolling off the roof until he crashed into the fence below.
“I didn’t ask, ya little shit!” the boy shouted. “I’m fifteen. I’m still growing!”
“Heh… Then I’ll put a little curse on you. I, being fifteen as well, will continue to grow while you’ll stay the same height.”
“You’re really startin’ to piss me off!”
The boy had already made his way over to Dazai’s side and kicked him in the face. Dazai’s neck audibly creaked.
“That…hurt…you know?” Dazai groaned with a slight chuckle. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth; he must’ve cut the inside of his lip. “But thanks to you, I remembered something… The Sheep is one of Yokohama’s most influential support groups, and all its members are kids and teens. I heard it got its start after a bunch of kids created a self-defense force to fight back against gangs, looting, and human trafficking. They’re strictly defensive and nonviolent—and yet, hardly a soul dares to oppose them. The reason is simple. Anyone who steps on their turf pays for it dearly. And the one who makes them pay is none other than the Sheep’s leader himself. Now it makes sense. You’re the Sheep King—Chuuya Nakahara, gravity manipulator.”
“I’m not a king,” the boy, Chuuya Nakahara, spat. “I just happen to have something no one else does: power. I’m simply fulfilling the responsibility I have.”
Chuuya paused, then looked down at Dazai and added, “You sure know a lot about the Sheep.”
“I got invited to join a while back. Obviously, I refused.”
“Ya made the right choice. I woulda killed you within the first five minutes.”
“I’d have assassinated you before that.”
Dazai met Chuuya’s glare. Chuuya then took a few steps back.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m still gonna kick ya to death in the next five minutes, regardless, so nothing changes. As if a little punk like you has any useful info anyway. I’m gonna send your head in a box to those Mafia sons of bitches. Consider it a declaration of war.”
“You won’t get that far.” Dazai didn’t move an inch. He simply stared quietly back at Chuuya. “Don’t you hear those footsteps?”
“Footsteps? What footsteps?”
All of a sudden, Chuuya was surrounded by angry shouting. “Don’t move!”
Numerous Mafia soldiers had their weapons aimed at him: rifles, pistols, submachine guns, machine pistols, and shotguns.
“Ha-ha.” Chuuya looked around. “Interesting. You’re a lot more popular than I thought. Wasn’t expectin’ anyone to come for your dumbass.”
“Give it up, boy,” Hirotsu demanded quietly from the back of the crowd. “You are far too young to find out what your organs look like.”
“Your threats don’t scare me, old man. Guns don’t work on me. I’m gonna kick all your asses and go home without a scratch just like I always do.”