Randou returned to the proper path, no longer entertaining thoughts of joining Asou Akiya in the underworld.
No money, no identity, no connections, no martial prowess — or so he believed.
He began to learn how to become a poet.
Over time, the results proved striking. Asou Akiya carefully gathered the practice pieces Randou produced and organized them, planning one day to publish a collection that would add its own brick to the edifice of this world's poetry.
Asou Akiya encountered no trouble at work; everything proceeded smoothly. He never suffered injury, nor did he ever carry the burdens of his job home, sparing Randou further worry. With his profession now openly acknowledged, Asou Akiya no longer concealed the firearm issued by the Port Mafia, often bringing it home and leaving it in plain sight — an extra layer of protection for Randou when he was alone.
What? Randou didn't know how to use a gun?
Asou Akiya refused to believe it for a single moment. Randou would likely master it with one touch — why offer lessons and force him to pretend ignorance?
Dealing with a Randou riddled with inconsistencies proved exhausting for Asou Akiya's own performance.
Poet.
This became the spiritual pillar Asou Akiya gently erected for Randou.
Later, Asou Akiya secured a part-time job for Randou as a French translator, reducing the chances that Randou's abundant energy would lead him to probe deeper into the Port Mafia.
"Randou, when you have free time, don't let your mind wander — earn a little pocket money for yourself."
"All right."
Randou accepted the position with serene composure.
Everything had been arranged for him by Akiya. Life unfolded with effortless ease — he could step out whenever he wished, work when the mood struck, and otherwise faced no restraints at all. At times a stray thought would surface: Why torment myself searching for a past? Staying in Japan, staying at Akiya's side — it isn't such a bad life at all.
But even with that thought, Randou could never entirely erase the deep-seated bitterness and disappointment that lingered at the core of his heart.
Not a single compatriot from France had come searching for him.
Had his every friend and relative perished?
In his growing disillusionment, Randou found Asou Akiya more pleasing to the eye with each passing day — he's gentle, attentive, infinitely better than those phantom kin who might as well have been made of air. Akiya cared for him with meticulous devotion; were he a woman, Randou mused, they could probably march straight to the registry office and marry on the spot.
Channeling that stubborn resolve, Randou immersed himself in studying the poems of his past self, dissecting them line by line. Akiya had told him their connection began through poetry — a bridge of verses. If he could rebuild that bridge, might he not also reclaim the love he had forgotten? Might he fall anew for the patient man waiting so faithfully for him…
On a weekend afternoon, bright and buoyant after attending an opera.
Randou could barely contain his exhilaration. He leaned back in his chair and called out loudly to Asou Akiya as he emerged from the bedroom — like a god of love bathed in sunlight, limbs relaxed and open, sharing his joy with the mortal lover below. "Akiya, I've completed 'Ophelia'! I must have seen Shakespeare's opera in the past — Ophelia is the woman in Hamlet who dies for love!"
This world possessed Shakespeare's operas as well, though their number was lamentably sparse… exceedingly sparse… The three-dimensional playwright had, in all likelihood, pursued an entirely different career in this two-dimensional realm, dabbling in opera only as a hobby.
A silent three-second mourning for this world's literature.
"Of course you have," Asou Akiya replied, settling beside him on the wicker chair to examine the draft. The passages Randou could not recall had been filled with his own inspired lines, weaving together into verses of equal, wondrous strangeness.
It was nothing short of miraculous.
The two-dimensional Randou had completed the poetry of the three-dimensional Rimbaud.
The extraordinary nature of an alternate-world counterpart proved that Randou could storm battlefields, conquer kitchens, and still compose poetry!
Asou Akiya showered him with effusive praise. "Randou, you are the hope of French poetry!"
Randou, for once, responded with genuine modesty and a touch of uncertainty. "Is what I wrote truly that good?"
Asou Akiya laughed with deliberate exaggeration, wiping away the tears of mirth that gathered at the corners of his eyes as he spoke in an oddly wistful tone. "That's only because you haven't seen the state of contemporary poetry — not just in France, but across the entire world. The art is withering everywhere."
"But let's not dwell on that," he continued, eagerness lighting his voice. "I can't wait to read it aloud." He turned the draft to the first page and recited the poem in French with reverent care. Hearing Akiya give voice to his own words, Randou watched him intently. Those gray-green eyes shimmered with brilliance, cloaked in a childlike, pure illusion — a new, captivating light blooming in their depths.
Once again, through Randou's gaze, Asou Akiya glimpsed the skies of France. A country capable of nurturing such a soul… it must be beautiful beyond measure.
When the recitation ended, Asou Akiya lingered in the translucent, ethereal realm of "Ophelia," wondering who in the world could claim greater fortune than he — the man privileged to witness, firsthand, a "prodigal" French literary giant finding his way home.
Randou murmured quietly, "I miss France."
Asou Akiya snapped back to awareness, answering with the calm foresight he had long prepared. "My dear, wait until your memories return before going back — I don't want you hurt by those closest to you."
"Mm." Randou's gaze drifted, unfocused. Akiya was right.
He knew with near certainty that he had not been any ordinary poet — more likely an anonymous stowaway. After all, he existed as a ghost in every system, able to remain in Japan only because Akiya had taken him in.
Asou Akiya secretly wiped away a bead of cold sweat, thinking to himself: Rest easy — in this world there are no ordinary literary giants. That you still possess inspiration to write poetry is already cause for boundless gratitude.
Randou asked with evident worry.
"Akiya, if it turns out I've hidden some unsavory parts of my past, would you forgive me?"
"Actually, I have a few of my own…"
"Mm???"
Randou's expression sharpened with instant wariness.
Asou Akiya hurried to explain. "Well — I'm in the mafia, after all! I've done bad things!"
Randou spoke softly. "That doesn't matter — I don't mind."
In the depths of his heart, Asou Akiya muttered under his breath: [If I deceived you about something like this, could you truly forgive me?]
Randou remained lost in his own troubles, treating Akiya as a confidant for his burdens. "I don't know when my memories will return. Writing poetry hasn't stirred any recollections… and visiting the explosion site filled me with dread — an indescribable fear wrapped around my heart. Black flames… Akiya, if I could choose, I would never set foot there again. It feels as though stepping closer would consume me utterly in raging fire…"
Asou Akiya listened in silence as Randou poured out his innermost fears, a faint crease forming between his brows as he pieced together the source.
[The psychological shadow cast by Arahabaki?]
[Chuuya, the scene of your birth terrified your mother.]
He drew the emotionally fragile Randou into a protective embrace.
He had not rescued the innocent child Nakahara Chuuya, but instead saved the uncertain, unpredictable Arthur Rimbaud. He harbored no regrets — his heart had chosen for him. His presence could alter the tragic course of Arthur Rimbaud's life.
"I will protect you."
He pressed a reverent kiss to the dark strands at Randou's temple, concealing the sigh that lingered in his eyes.
It's all empty words, he knew.
But even if he were given another chance, he knew he could never stand against a natural calamity. At best, he could only rush to the scene the instant the explosion ended.
Yet Randou, hearing the promise, broke free from the grip of fear and accepted the falsehood as truth.
"Akiya, I believe you."
Asou Akiya shook his head inwardly. Believe him? To win the heart of a powerful being through nothing but lies — what right did such a man have to deserve the Randou who would one day regain his memories? He had spent three years plotting for this single opportunity, three months fabricating the story of a lover, only to find — now that he had succeeded — that he possessed no means to shield him from harm.
To utter a harsh truth, in every possible measure — looks, standing, influence, strength, intellect — he paled hopelessly beside the Paul Verlaine sketched in just a handful of pages from the original story.
Pitiful.
That villain's very concept was overwhelmingly dominant.
A spark of frenzy gleamed and faded in the black-haired young man's eyes — the brutal recognition of his own hopeless weakness, his combat prowess a laughable five slags out of five. The only thing he possessed was the frantic edge of a common soul risking all, the wild valor of a traverser wagering everything on a single throw.
He stated it without embellishment.
"I will not allow you to die before I do."
This was the greatest shield that traverser Asou Akiya could raise, drawing on every ounce of his existence!
Let Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu fantasize about joining forces to end Randou — impossible! Let Paul Verlaine dream of stealing Randou's hat — out of the question! No one except he himself would ever be allowed to torment the memory-lost Randou!
Randou froze, captivated by the fierce blaze of rage and unbreakable resolve shining in Asou Akiya's eyes. His own widened, lips falling open in astonished, almost childlike wonder as he discovered a facet of Asou Akiya utterly removed from the unassuming man he thought he knew.
The noisy, tangled world hushed into stillness, and Randou understood with an intensity he had never known.
[This man is shielding me.]
The feeling was wholly unfamiliar.
The whole world could turn its back on him, yet Akiya never would. When the Yokohama Settlement erupted in catastrophe, all others ran in panic — only this man had charged headlong into deadly peril to find him!
Confronted by the "inferno" spawned from that explosion, had Akiya truly known no fear?
No. His Love had merely proven stronger than his dread.
Randou stared at Akiya in quiet wonder, captivated by the unwavering intensity directed toward him. With a delicate fingertip he lightly touched the space between Akiya's brows — and only then did Asou Akiya notice he had forgotten to soften the stern, solemn mask his face had worn.
In a voice as gentle and melodic as a French lullaby, Randou asked.
"Tell me — why did you fall in love with me?"
"I was captivated by your brilliance. I longed for you to rest in my arms, to belong to me completely."
Asou Akiya voiced desires bolder than any he had dared before.
"Perfect." Randou found the confession utterly gratifying. On the same day he finished "Ophelia," he stepped fully into his new identity as a poet, shedding every remnant of restraint and the lingering ghosts of his former life. What reservations could possibly remain? To Randou, Asou Akiya represented a coin falling into a beggar's empty bowl.
—You gave me hope; So I would do anything for you.
"Come — make love to me."
"I surrender both my body and my soul to you."
Randou's expression shifted into irresistible provocation — one no man could withstand. He leaned in closer, his cool, melancholic beauty wielding the same delicate tenderness of a fingertip's caress, kindling a desire that rose above mere gender. Arms slid around Akiya's neck, brows lifted in bold challenge as he released a torrent of passion and the untamed, mesmerizing charm of the one who commands the wind.
In that instant, his black hair ought to have turned golden — radiant enough to blind. His eyes ought to have sparkled like genuine gems, their inner luminescence eclipsing the subdued gray-green veil.
He appeared to spring directly from the written page — Rimbaud incarnate, embodying every secret dream Asou Akiya had ever cherished.
"Guess — am I in love with you at this moment, or not?"
There it was!
The question had come again!
Asou Akiya laughed until he could scarcely breathe — his once dull and colorless existence had burst into vivid brilliance solely because of Randou's presence. He was recklessly bold, Randou utterly lawless — they were perfectly matched lovers, destined to fit together!
He swept the Randou he had yearned for across countless years into his arms, letting out a triumphant whoop as he dashed toward the bedroom.
No guessing, no more guessing.
I stake my life on it — I will take it as truth that you love me.