After seeing off that cat who was so good at tearing families apart, Asou Akiya took Randou's hand and led him back, the latter looking faintly guilty as he followed along.
Along the way, the lights in each household gradually dimmed, one by one.
Inside a twenty-four-hour convenience store, the oden steamed gently. Asou Akiya bought a set meal and carried it over to the French beauty seated in the store's dining area. Randou's gray-green eyes shifted; he shot Akiya a sideways glance, then lifted his hands to cover his ears. Asou Akiya was instantly disarmed by how adorable he looked and turned back toward the shelves, intending to buy a pair of winter earmuffs—if the store even had any.
At ten o'clock at night, the residential areas of Yokohama, far from bars and karaoke joints, had settled into quiet. Outside, a few adult figures passed by now and then, seemingly drunk on their way home, tugging at girls as they walked and letting out vulgar, teasing laughter.
Randou had always despised that sort of person—people utterly devoid of decency, who had long since thrown away whatever backbone a man ought to have.
He lowered his head to look at the steaming oden on the table. The ingredients were simple—vegetables and meat—each piece small and neat. A thin layer of oil floated atop the clear broth. It was nothing like an exquisite French meal, yet it carried a warmth born of slow simmering over a low flame, the gentle, comforting aroma of everyday life, and it stirred his appetite.
He picked up a piece with his chopsticks and tasted it carefully. Well—no matter how vivid one's imagination, there were limits to beautifying reality. The flavor was light and mild.
"It's… fine."
For Akiya's sake, Randou raised his evaluation.
Suddenly, warmth bloomed around his ears. A pair of hands, warmer than his own body temperature, cupped them and gently kneaded. A tingling sensation shot straight through his brain like an electric current. Receiving such attentive care from his boyfriend, Randou could not help but recall what that boy had said earlier. His cheeks warmed slightly. It was the first time he had ever been called Akiya's "wife" in public. And what was that nonsense about "really great," anyway? Just how did Akiya usually introduce his existence to other people?
He was a man.
Logically speaking, shouldn't he have some sense of pride?
Randou silently scolded himself—then, true to a Frenchman's instinct to pursue pleasure, promptly surrendered to enjoying the benefits of having a Japanese boyfriend.
Only after warming his ears with his hands did Asou Akiya carefully fit the earmuffs over them.
—They were last year's model, unsold stock that had sat around in the convenience store.
Seated across from Randou, Akiya took a chair at the small dining table. He looked far less neat than when he had gone out earlier that day; it had been an overly intense day—sprinting at full speed, cycling all the way to Suribachi City—his self-rescue operation had been absurdly busy from start to finish.
"Randou," he asked, "do you want to join the Port Mafia?"
"…Mm."
Randou blew gently on the broth and ate the oden in small, careful bites, one finger hooking a lock of hair by his ear to keep it from falling into the bowl. His elegant bearing and composed manners made him look utterly out of place in a convenience store dining area.
"For newcomers, joining the Port Mafia requires both a recommendation and a guarantor," Asou Akiya said, loosening the bow at his collar. In his lover's presence, he relaxed. The store clerks and customers were some distance away; no one could overhear their conversation. "Foreigners are rarely taken in. That's partly a matter of trust, and partly because capable foreigners usually look down on local Yokohama organizations."
Randou paused mid-motion, then asked with mild surprise, "You're not going to stop me, Akiya?"
Asou Akiya peeled a boiled egg and placed it into Randou's bowl of oden. "In the past, I would have stopped you. Your mental state wasn't stable, Randou—you had nightmares at night, and writing poetry was better for your recovery…"
He continued calmly, "The Port Mafia is an underworld organization that operates on the edge of danger. The current situation is special: it has government backing, and on a daily basis it deals with criminals and warlords who slip into Yokohama City. Fundamentally speaking, any organization pursues profit. You can think of it as a company that favors violent means, and you probably already looked into that during the day."
"The stimulation of standing on the brink between life and death helps recover memories," he added softly. "I think you'd like that, Randou."
A strange light slowly surfaced in Asou Akiya's eyes, like a crystal ball beginning to turn, revealing facets of himself he rarely showed.
The black-haired young man's temperament subtly overturned his usual gentleness.
Through Chuuya, he had come to understand one thing: being too mild and harmless could have the opposite effect.
None of them were people content with an ordinary life.
Whoever dared to tear apart the wings with which they sought the sky would become their enemy.
Randou found himself irresistibly drawn to Akiya. In a moment of sudden clarity, he realized that he had grown weary of a life spent hiding in the rear, always sheltered, always avoiding the forefront. He wanted to step into Asou Akiya's world, to enter the circle that surrounded him. He wanted to chase whatever it was that called to him from the depths of fate itself. He wanted—he wanted, he wanted, he wanted more surprises, enough to keep his dulled mind perpetually poised between exhilaration and trembling.
Randou reached out. His gloved fingers brushed Akiya's cheek, and the man's soft features curved into a smile meant only for him.
In that instant, the profession of the Mafia gained a touch of romance.
Asou Akiya understood Randou. Thinking further, more deeply, he understood the nature of Arthur Rimbaud himself.
"Darling."
The black-haired young man looked as though he had received the finest reward. He half-lowered his eyes and leaned into Randou's hand.
"You'll stay with me for the rest of my life, won't you?"
Randou nodded.
He was loyal to his soul; once he fell in love with something, he would devote all his strength to claiming it, and he would never let go easily.
The black-haired young man opened his eyes again, turbulent emotions surging and gathering within them.
"I'll help you."
"But before that, please wait for me patiently for a little while. I don't want you to join from the bottom—"
You must possess an ability, and enter as a strong one, earning the Port Mafia's respect.
You will become powerful, and no one will ever dare to bully you again.
Randou stared at him for several long minutes, then suddenly let out a soft snort of laughter. He reached out and pinched Akiya's cheek between his fingers, deliberately shattering the other man's solemn air.
"Akiya, I only want to work together with you, that's all."
"I know."
"Akiya, you're awfully confident. Are you sure you know everything?" Randou asked lightly. "Can you guess what I'm thinking right now?"
"You're thinking…" Asou Akiya said, savoring the sweetness of love to its fullest, a sly glint surfacing in his brows and eyes. "You're thinking about me."
…
I will stay by your side until you awaken.
There will never again be anything so cruel in this world—never. How could I allow your heart to turn to ashes?
Die, Verlaine.
Die, this fate of the world that dares to trample on Rimbaud.
All of Asou Akiya's murderous intent and fury converged upon Randou's original ending, recorded in cold, merciless words:
[His remains were exposed in the wilderness for a week before being buried in a rural mass grave.]
…
Two months were drawing to a close.
Edogawa Ranpo's stint as a postal worker had been utter chaos, filled with curses and complaints, yet he had endured it all, as precariously as walking a tightrope.
As for how many methods the black-haired boy had used during that time to salvage the situation—that could be set aside for now.
One thing was certain.
He had definitely grown.
Asou Akiya threw himself into his work with more focus than ever before, spending vast sums to dig up the identity information of American investors, until at last he unearthed intelligence on Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald, who was far away in the United States. Whatever projects the man invested in, Akiya quietly followed suit, treating the future tycoon—several years younger than himself—as nothing more than a convenient money-making tool.
Nothing was more effortless than riding the wave, just as reincarnators always chose to invest in the future richest man.
Asou Akiya did not care about pride or face. Even if Fitzgerald were to notice something amiss in the future, he could always explain it away as a coincidence of shared vision, all while he himself held the overwhelming advantage of knowing how the future would unfold.
He tossed aside the fountain pen whose ink had run dry. Calluses had formed on his fingers, and the pressure of fulfilling his promise to Randou weighed ever more heavily on his mind. In the upcoming "incident," he intended to awaken Randou's ability. Just thinking about it was exhilarating. At seventeen, he had already envied that ability—"Illuminations"—yet had never been fortunate enough to witness it with his own eyes.
That sudden, lamp-blowing explosion did not count!
Forget it, forget it—"Illuminations" was not supposed to be that down-to-earth.
Asou Akiya's thoughts surged in secret excitement. He longed to see the legendary subspace that sliced through reality itself, the otherworldly realm said to be untouched by the laws of physics. What kind of spectacle would it be, exactly?
And besides—
He glanced at the computer screen, a faint expression of patiently waiting for the cat to wander into the trap spreading across his face, light flickering in his eyes.
An email had appeared in his writer's inbox.
Aside from his novel's publisher, no one ever contacted this private address of his.
[Editor: Do you have time to meet a senior author? Mr. Natsume Souseki has read your book and very much wants to have a conversation with you. The time is set for this weekend—you may choose the location. This is a true elder in your field!]
"So it's finally come."
Natsume Souseki had grown tired of waiting and had taken the initiative to invite him to a meeting.
If he delayed any longer, Edogawa Ranpo would end up in Asou Akiya's own bowl, perhaps even getting himself dyed the color of black sesame paste.
Asou Akiya replied to the email.
[Alright. I'm free on Saturday. Let's set the location in Yokohama City…]
Ah, so this meant he had finally caught the attention of a true heavyweight, didn't it? He wondered whether he might manage to grab hold of the thick, sturdy leg of a calico cat.
Lost in idle fantasies in his office, Asou Akiya revealed an unconsciously blissful smile typical of a devoted cat lover. Propping his chin on his hand, he mused, "Another precious cat, huh. If it were mine, I could pet it bald."
A male calico cat—Japan's very own lucky charm.