The author — once celebrated for several blockbuster novels yet mercilessly flayed by the traditional literary establishment — released a new book. This latest work abandoned his former style entirely. The protagonist, once a harem king and relentless conqueror, veered toward the opposite extreme!
A pure, heartfelt romance novel emerged!
Not only was the content fresh and innovative — centered on rebirth and the mending of regrets — but even the cover had transformed into something light and refreshing.
Childhood sweethearts growing old together, no longer overshadowed by the sudden arrival of a destined rival from the heavens.
Even the most loyal fans who bought his books on name alone stared in bewilderment, feeling the familiar thrill fade from their hands, the taste in their mouths turning unexpectedly mild. Editors at the publishing house debated the shift in hushed clusters — how had this renowned commercial writer abruptly changed course? Amid the gossip, the editor assigned to liaise with Asou Akiya revealed the truth without hesitation.
"He's fallen in love."
Because he had escaped singledom, sweetness seeped into every line. Because he had found his future, he no longer held himself back; even a theme like rebirth he now dared to explore with bold experimentation.
Spring melted into summer, then spanned across to autumn as leaves drifted down in golden showers, blanketing the past.
…
In October, Asou Akiya and Randou had been living together for half a year.
This half-year of ideal existence would be nearly impossible to replicate in ordinary reality. They had never once quarreled, achieving a genuine harmony that felt almost miraculous. Whether it was Asou Akiya's unconventional thinking or Randou's nature — one that floated free of societal rules — whenever their differences collided, each offered the other respect and understanding without fail.
Looking back, Asou Akiya realized with a quiet wonder just how extraordinarily fortunate he had been to find such a perfect partner.
They shared one profound similarity: both had endured upheavals unknown to ordinary lives. Petty annoyances held no power over them. As long as no one crossed their fundamental boundaries, daily trifles passed unnoticed.
What problem could possibly loom larger than transmigration or total amnesia?
If none did —
Then there was little worth fretting over.
Asou Akiya's restraint and boundless tolerance, paired with Randou's quiet reserve and keen insight, formed the foundation of their new household.
In one of the five towering buildings that made up Port Mafia headquarters, Asou Akiya had mastered the art of slacking off during work hours. He sneaked glances at his phone to exchange messages, behaving much like any other person lost in the throes of passionate romance. Even the risk of docked bonuses could not deter him from chatting with his boyfriend — a small rebellion to ease the ache of separation throughout the day.
[Randou, have you finished the sample copy the publisher sent?]
[Mm.]
The reply came in seconds.
A second message from Randou followed almost immediately: [It's very interesting. Did Akiya invent the future the protagonist experiences? Japan actually suffers a real estate bubble?]
This world, of course, knew no such catastrophe of inflated asset prices — the great war had not yet concluded.
Asou Akiya chuckled inwardly and typed back: [The novel is set in an entirely fictional world.]
Their conversation soon drifted to what they would have for dinner. Asou Akiya took charge of picking up ingredients on his way home, while Randou expressed a desire to try cooking for once — he could not always leave the preparation and cleanup to Akiya alone.
Asou Akiya felt a rush of quiet emotion he could scarcely name.
Cooking — actual cooking!
Whether the two-dimensional Verlaine would turn green with envy, he did not know, but the three-dimensional Verlaine would surely weep. A glance at the real-life Rimbaud's biography revealed a man utterly divorced from anything resembling domesticity or homemaking.
The two-dimensional world truly was superior — there, anything became possible.
[Randou, are you at home or out?]
[I'm at a café outside, drinking coffee and reading the novel Akiya wrote.]
[I envy you, Randou — I still can't leave work yet.]
In the very café Asou Akiya had once brought him to, the long-haired young man in winter attire sat by the window, turning the pages of a brand-new novel. His gaze drifted across the message that popped up on his phone screen, a smile softening his lips as he lifted his cup for a sip of hot coffee. With graceful fingers he typed a reply: [Shall I come see you?]
His presence commanded quiet attention — an aura of distinction that no amount of heavy, cold-weather layers could conceal. Amid the couples scattered throughout the café on their dates, eyes inevitably lingered on the solitary foreign youth at his lone table.
Yet in the next heartbeat, half of Randou's smile faded.
He read Akiya's familiar, gentle refusal of the visit — the reason, as always, being the confidential nature of his work. Relatives required vetting to enter the premises, and Randou's identity would never withstand scrutiny.
"I'm undocumented…"
The thought alone stirred restless irritation in Randou's chest.
The novel's words blurred before his eyes; he could no longer absorb them. He stared blankly at the Japanese characters until the book remained half-unfinished. Then a light tap landed on his shoulder, and his body stiffened as though a cat whose tail had been trodden upon.
Randou despised physical contact with strangers — an instinct as innate as an internal alarm that alerted him the moment anyone drew too near.
Only one person could ever breach that invisible barrier…
"Akiya!"
Joy lit Randou's face. The sun had not yet set, and here stood the man who should still be at work.
Asou Akiya enveloped him from behind in a warm embrace, resting his head against Randou's shoulder. "I'm exhausted — I rushed through everything at once just to finish early and come see you." The simple weight of that contact dissolved the day's sense of separation. A flicker of guilt rose in Randou's heart, though his words contradicted it. "You don't have to tire yourself like this, Akiya."
Asou Akiya released him and slid into the seat across the table. Parched, he reached without ceremony for Randou's coffee and drained what remained.
"If I didn't come, I'd worry someone might get the wrong idea."
"…No one did."
"You did — your coffee has gone cold, and you haven't touched it."
"…"
Under Randou's embarrassed silence, Asou Akiya clicked his tongue softly. He really had to stay attuned to his lover's moods — one careless moment and Randou would drift toward melancholy.
"Though a melancholic Randou is beautiful in his own way, I still prefer you happy." Asou Akiya ordered fresh coffee for them both, thanking the owner personally when he delivered it. Then, in the secluded privacy of their booth, he took Randou's hand, slipped off the glove, and laced their fingers together, warming those perpetually cool digits with his own.
Their couple rings gleamed side by side on intertwined fingers.
Asou Akiya promised quietly, "Give me just a little more time — I won't let you feel sad."
Randou glanced left and right, noting how Akiya paid no mind to the stares of others — even wearing his ring openly at work. A sense of reassurance and quiet sweetness settled over him. "It isn't that serious. I only want to understand you better."
Asou Akiya nodded in understanding. "All right."
Randou blinked, startled.
Asou Akiya continued with effortless ease. "I'll take you for a quick look around nearby — then you'll see."
Conceal the truth from Randou?
At first it had been to avoid overwhelming him; now that their bond had steadied, it was time for honest disclosure. To speak one great truth: he did not believe Randou would feel fear or dread. If anything, it might draw them closer, lending a spark of novelty to Randou's otherwise tranquil daily life.
No landmark in Yokohama loomed larger than the five towers of the Port Mafia — symbols of power and wealth. Asou Akiya did not lead Randou close to them; instead he guided him to a nearby shopping district from which they could view his workplace at a safe distance.
"Randou, I work in that building." Asou Akiya pointed toward the Port Mafia's lair, his tone carrying neither the pride most might feel nor the tension of one entangled in the underworld. He stripped away the blood-soaked struggles and spoke plainly. "It's the dominant port company in the area. I'm clerical staff handling translations — mostly contracts and documents — which is why it's inconvenient for you to visit during work hours."
Randou's eyesight proved exceptionally sharp — how sharp exactly, Asou Akiya could only guess — but he heard Randou laugh softly almost at once. "Akiya, how come you're not wearing sunglasses like the rest of them?"
Asou Akiya stared in open astonishment. "Your eyesight is incredible."
At such a distance, he could barely make out the black-suited figures below, while Randou had clearly discerned their sunglasses — their static visual acuity operated on entirely different levels.
Randou did not consider it particularly remarkable, but if Akiya declared it impressive, then impressive it would be.
"Wearing sunglasses is their preference, not mine," Asou Akiya teased. "I'm handsome enough without pretending — covering my face with shades would only diminish my looks."
The matters that needed clarification had been clarified.
As for the rest, Asou Akiya left them unspoken, allowing Randou to uncover them at his leisure when boredom struck. Until Randou's ability returned — if it ever did — he would neither press the issue nor suggest joining the Port Mafia.
He cherished this rare and precious interlude of peace.
Asou Akiya fetched a shopping cart, and together they wandered the aisles for groceries. "Randou, do you like cabbage?"
Randou pointed at a promotional flyer. "No — I want crêpes."
"My dear, this is the vegetable section," Asou Akiya instructed gently, imparting basic shopping wisdom. "Crêpes can be bought outside, or once you've mastered the recipe, we'll return for the proper ingredients and tools."
Randou veered toward the dairy aisle and added fresh milk to the cart.
With a sly glint he declared, "I know you like it."
Asou Akiya's expression faltered for a moment as he glanced up at Randou's height. When would he ever surpass one hundred eighty-five centimeters? In the world of literary strays, few prominent figures towered above that mark.
"Foreign height… it's downright cheating."
Worse still — rumor had it Verlaine stood even taller, perhaps a full one hundred ninety centimeters.
Dinner unfolded under Asou Akiya's careful guidance, with Randou following each step meticulously. When slicing the duck breast, he swiftly mastered an impressive knife technique. Asou Akiya breathed a quiet sigh of relief — he had dreaded the infamous kitchen disasters of the two-dimensional world: exploding stoves, dishes born of darkness. He wanted no part of them. Even true love could not compel him to praise such horrors with a straight face.
Asou Akiya tasted a bite. The French-style dish passed muster — far superior to most beginners' attempts.
"Not bad."
"Say more — I'll improve."
Randou, receiving his praise, seemed to discover a delightful new hobby and grew visibly enthusiastic.
Asou Akiya wrapped his arms around Randou's waist from behind in the kitchen, offering sincere advice. "Cooking tends to splatter oil and seasonings — you could take off your scarf and gloves."
Randou shrank back at once. "It's cold."
Seeing his reaction, Asou Akiya ceased worrying about the expensive clothes he had bought for him.
"Then forget it."
He pressed kisses to Randou's cheek, as though caressing pristine, beautiful snow. "Your body matters most."
Randou's face lit up at once, pure joy sparkling in those gray-green eyes. After exposure to phones and computers, he had learned of the conflicts that plagued many couples — yet none of them touched their lives.
Simply being together.
Even in a foreign land, loneliness felt distant.
This year's winter arrived unusually early, temperatures plunging sharply. Conflicts involving ability users at the national level persisted in realms beyond ordinary eyes, yet they no longer concerned Asou Akiya or Randou.
Their second visit to the former Yokohama Settlement site came at year's end. Asou Akiya dressed in winter layers similar to Randou's, holding the hand of his lover who began exhaling visible puffs of breath the moment they stepped outside — body trembling faintly from the cold — as they headed to the old grounds for another donation.
By this time, the rough outline of Rebola Street had taken shape: makeshift houses and low structures layered inward in concentric rings, illegally erected yet forming a distinctive square-within-square pattern.
"Akiya, you're very kind," Randou praised.
"It's mostly winter clothing, plus timber and steel for building shelters. After this batch, I won't donate again next year." Asou Akiya tapped the tip of Randou's nose lightly, refusing the good-guy label. "I'm hardly some saint — I have my own reasons for this. Do you think money just blows in on the wind for me?"
"Does donating bring any real benefit?" Randou asked, indifferent to Akiya's true motives. He tugged the brim of his hat lower to shield his face from the biting wind, lending his already striking European features an added edge of aloof severity when he did not smile.
Indeed, Randou had chosen to wear the black felt hat that had long languished in the wardrobe — the very one that, in the future, would pass to Nakahara Chuuya as a worn heirloom. With the passage of time, more of his old habits resurfaced. Asou Akiya had recently noticed a men's formal suit page saved in Randou's browser history — the hand of a certain extravagant French beauty was growing restless once more.
Fortunately, Randou remembered the state of Asou Akiya's savings. Akiya had told him plainly: "Spend freely, but if the balance dipped below a certain threshold, they would no longer afford Japan's rather expensive fruit."
Only then did Randou rein himself in.
Asou Akiya warned him to watch his step over the newly built stairs and answered lightly, "As long as it makes you comfortable — and ensures no one troubles you when we come here in the future — that's benefit enough for me."
Randou replied with lazy confidence. "I don't believe I would ever fear trouble."
Asou Akiya glanced sideways at him. "I don't want you to get hurt. If you were hurt… well, I'd be angry."
Randou tested the waters deliberately. "How angry?"
Asou Akiya caught the lack of fear in his tone and answered with a mischievous grin. "I'd drop ice cubes into your precious thermos, hide the charger for your hot-water bottle — oh, and the air-conditioning? Off for the entire winter. Think of the electricity we'd save."
"Scary enough for you, Randou?" Asou Akiya teased.
"…Terrifying… utterly," Randou replied with an exaggerated shiver, unwilling even to imagine the scene. "Why do the scarf, earmuffs, and gloves escape punishment?"
"Because I couldn't bear for you to actually freeze," Asou Akiya admitted with a wry smile. "I truly don't understand it — Japan isn't an especially frigid country. Why are you so deathly afraid of the cold?"
Randou mused aloud, "Perhaps all French people are like this?"
Asou Akiya: "…" You're not fooling anyone with that.
They reached their destination. Asou Akiya had no need to assist with distributing the supplies; he and Randou stood aside to watch. He had paid the charity workers handsomely — they would certainly earn their keep.
The orphans poured out in a rush, lining up to register their names and pose for commemorative photographs. The moment Asou Akiya caught sight of the orange-haired boy, he swiftly diverted Randou's attention, guiding him instead to count the donated supplies.
[Chuuya, I've brought your mother — whatever you do, don't let him notice you.]
Nakahara Chuuya paid little heed to Asou Akiya or Randou. Upon learning they were the donors, he glanced once and lowered his head, obediently joining the queue for supplies. When he heard that children under five received extra items, a flicker of awkward reluctance crossed his face. He had no desire to mingle with the older companions trying to pass for younger just to snag a toy.
Though his existence was scarcely more than a few months old — his seven years a mere fabrication — his pride ran deeper than that!
"Chuuya, here!" Someone who had pushed through the crowd returned. Shirase, silver-haired and grinning, shoved an extra toy into Chuuya's arms — a small stuffed lamb.
Nakahara Chuuya ran his fingers over the modest fabric of the lamb, touching a toy for the very first time in his brief life.
"Thank you."
"No need — next time help me carry stuff!"
Shirase had long ago noticed how extraordinarily strong Chuuya was, how red light sometimes flared around him. There's something uniquely special about him. Because of it, everyone in the Sheep treated Nakahara Chuuya with greater kindness.
Sheep were creatures that knew the strength of staying together — and so, too, was the Sheep organization.
"Randou, would you ever want to adopt a child someday?"
"No."
Randou answered with utter sincerity, no trace of coquettish pretense.
Asou Akiya nearly choked on the directness, then amended with a fond smile, "I'd love a child as adorable as you." Only he would dare call the tall, aristocratically elegant Randou "adorable."
Randou pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and held up a news article for him to see. "Surrogacy?"
Asou Akiya: "Uh."
Randou spoke in a muffled, somewhat sulky tone. "Don't even think about it — I don't like the idea."
Asou Akiya could only laugh through his exasperation. "Rest assured, I have no interest in surrogacy. The mere thought of another person's genes linking to mine — or to yours — makes me feel utterly nauseated."
Randou answered with blunt honesty. "I would hate for you to have a child with some other woman."
Asou Akiya teased him out of habit. "There's murder in your eyes." He reached to smooth the long strands of hair the wind had tousled, speaking words of life and death with intimate affection. "If you ever discovered such a thing, you would have my full permission to kill me."
Randou's smile broke through the biting winter chill, melting the frozen spring locked within his heart with the warmth of love.
His coldness stemmed from the emptiness inside and his struggle to adapt to Japan.
Now that inner void had thawed.
Asou Akiya thought to himself: In the original story, Randou must have searched alone for his past — no one to help him, no one to understand him. A top-tier spatial ability user, stranded in Japan, trapped within a mere "backwater" city-level mafia like the Port Mafia.
With these reflections, the way Asou Akiya looked at Randou shifted almost imperceptibly — a subtle sense of responsibility he himself scarcely recognized. He wanted to care for him with every ounce of devotion he possessed.
Before memories returned… more joy, less sorrow.
Randou raised a gloved hand to block Akiya's indulgent gaze. "Akiya, I'm not that fragile."
Asou Akiya's lashes fluttered as he blinked. "My Randou is the strongest there is." Randou felt a faint pang of regret for wearing gloves — otherwise he could have felt those lashes brush across his palm. Akiya always praised his beauty, unaware that in Randou's eyes he embodied the ideal of Asian handsomeness.
Randou declared with earnest seriousness, "I've noticed you're incredibly good at sweet talk — as though your lips were coated in butter."
Asou Akiya grinned impishly. "Is that bad?"
"You have no real experience in relationships, yet sweet words spill from your lips one after another — as though trying to make me swoon." Randou saw through Asou Akiya's pretense of worldly sophistication, while neatly finishing the tally of supplies on the list.
Asou Akiya let out an exaggerated "Wow," thick-skinned as ever. "You've seen right through me."
Randou replied with calm indifference. "Your words are impressive, but your actions leave much to be desired."
Asou Akiya flushed with embarrassment.
Clearly, his lack of initiative had exposed him as a master of theory alone.
No — that wasn't fair!
He was only thinking of Randou! He wanted Randou to have no regrets!
"Don't fool yourself," Randou said with evident amusement. "I know you're waiting for my memories to return — hoping I'll accept you wholeheartedly of my own will. Yet how can two people share a bed for half a year and do absolutely nothing?"
The entire conversation unfolded in French, spoken softly in a secluded corner to ensure no eavesdroppers.
"You really are an idiot."
"I have kissed you!"
"Is kissing enough?" Randou countered, incredulous. "Unbelievable. The internet articles must be true — Japanese men really do have remarkably low rates of sexual activity."
"Don't say that—!"
Asou Akiya grew flustered — truly flustered.
Randou leaned close to his ear and laughed softly. "Even kissing had to be taught by me — who, exactly, is the one with amnesia?"
Asou Akiya chose death in that moment, thinking with a helpless ache that it was simply the French being too passionate.
In his previous life he had read a statistic claiming that thirteen million one-night stands occurred in France every night, and the average woman had four sexual partners before the age of fifty. In matters of love, the French did not believe that going to bed necessarily had anything to do with love.
Therefore, he must absolutely not be misled by Randou's closeness.
What if it was only casual sex?
He had yearned for this man across so many years — what he wanted was not the body, but love.
Asou Akiya caught Randou's wandering hand and pulled it down, meeting his gaze directly. It was Randou who could not withstand the raw, protective sincerity burning in Akiya's eyes; a flush of shame and embarrassment rose to his cheeks.
For now, Randou could not yet return love of equal measure.
"I'm sorry, Akiya."
"Don't apologize — you've done nothing wrong. Wanting the amnesiac you to love me as I love you is my own selfish decision, made entirely on my side."
Asou Akiya knew himself to be rational and utterly shameless. He was despicable — using deception to claim a man who, under normal circumstances, would never have belonged to him.
Yet this selfish Asou Akiya, in the aftermath of a cataclysmic explosion, in the presence of one who could easily kill him in the future, clasped Randou's hand tightly and gazed at the faint blush coloring that beloved face.
This was a man who had never been skilled at lying — his lies would be seen through by a fifteen-year-old Dazai Osamu, and until his dying breath he would scorn to conceal anything from Nakahara Chuuya. He's a creature of pure, unyielding pride.
"Randou, I have caught you. Until the day I die… I will never let go."
"I am willing to wait."
"Because I want both your body and your soul! If I could only choose one, I would choose your soul!"
Flames of laughter and wild devotion burned bright in the depths of Asou Akiya's eyes.
Randou's gray-green eyes widened abruptly, as though he sought to etch the vow into his very soul.
In a fleeting illusion.
Asou Akiya seemed to glimpse, for a fleeting moment, the three-dimensional Arthur Rimbaud turning back to regard him — wild and unbound, mocking his lies with a challenging glint, demanding to know how long he could sustain such love.
Asou Akiya's answer came simply.
[No matter how flawed I am, I am still better than Verlaine — and when it comes to love, I am not flawed at all!]
In the film Total Eclipse, Rimbaud asked Verlaine a second time: "Do you love my body or my soul?" Verlaine replied, "Your body." And so Rimbaud walked away with absolute finality, never to meet again.
Without question, the correct answer lay plain before him — only a fool would choose wrongly!
One more curse for good measure.
Idiot Verlaine! You deserved to lose Rimbaud!
…
I have found it! What? Eternity. It is the sea mingled with the sun. My eternal soul, keep your vow despite solitary nights and the blaze of days.
— From A Season in Hell, Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud.
***
Author's note:
Highly recommend the film Total Eclipse.
This movie tells the story of Rimbaud and Verlaine — with Rimbaud played by Leonardo DiCaprio, no less.
I might write a crossover into that movie world someday — still undecided, will decide after rewatching it.
{The author will write a crossover into that — but that's far later in the chapters}
---
Today Akiya thanks Verlaine once again as usual! Thank you for providing such a perfect negative example!