"Uncle, there are only three days left!!!"
The boy's voice crackled through the phone, so bright with excitement it sounded like a graduating student on the verge of tearing up his textbooks in celebration.
What Ranpo had to pass was nothing more than a minor social studies test.
Yet in his life… this was the first time he had ever come so close to the "passing line" set by adults.
"Don't get happy too early," Asou Akiya said into the phone, his tone calm as he stepped out of the Port Mafia headquarters. Outside, the driver was already waiting with the car; beyond the half-lowered window was the smiling face of a low-ranking member. "Be careful you don't flip the car right at the finish line."
Without even realizing it, fewer and fewer people in Port Mafia headquarters still regarded him as a twenty-two-year-old young man.
Those who were his age and held equivalent positions were either ability users within the organization, or elites who were exceptionally outstanding in certain respects—skills like reading ten lines at a glance, or retaining everything seen in a brief moment without fail, abilities that were practically baseline requirements for newcomers to the intelligence division. If placed in the ordinary, three-dimensional world, it would be a waste for such talents to sink into the underworld; they would be more than capable of competing in memory championships instead.
In the blink of an eye, tomorrow would be Saturday, and the appointment with Natsume Souseki was drawing near.
He barely managed to rest two days a week, usually shifting his days off to Saturday and Sunday. But if a call came in from headquarters, it almost always meant returning to work for overtime. No wonder the lover at home had voiced objections, even proposing to come work at Port Mafia with him.
At the thought of Randou voluntarily leaping into the very nest of corporate drones, Asou Akiya felt a twinge of guilt in his conscience—and, at the same time, a faint, shameless thrill.
His spouse loved him.
If they were both at headquarters, they could see each other every single day.
"Uncle, no way! You're even thinking about your wife while talking to me?!" Edogawa Ranpo protested, choking on an overload of public displays of affection. Even at home, he had never been subjected to something this sickeningly sweet. "My little yellow duck, my pajamas—you still haven't bought them!"
It was at that moment that Asou Akiya clearly realized the difference between a wild Ranpo and the Ranpo of the Armed Detective Agency.
If it were the latter, he would definitely have already noticed that Akiya was plotting something.
How naïve!
Adults must always leave themselves a way out; they cannot allow themselves to be led around by the nose by children.
Asou Akiya saw Ranpo's efforts clearly, and the rational part of him felt torn—unwilling to let the boy be hurt, he could not help thinking: how wonderful it would be if he were not a member of the Port Mafia at all.
No—what truly mattered was that Ranpo had learned how to survive, but had never learned which words should be said, and which words should never be spoken.
"I'll buy it for you on Sunday," Akiya said. He intended to wait until after meeting Natsume Sōseki before making preparations.
"Okay!" Edogawa Ranpo shouted happily.
"..."
So easy to fool.
It had been a while since he had last seen the other party, and Asou Akiya was already on the verge of forgetting the pain as soon as the wound healed. Cats were adorable, but lethally so. Randou did not dislike the clever-minded Edogawa Ranpo, yet he had once remarked, "Can this cat keep its mouth shut?"
Asou Akiya felt utterly drained.
When he returned home, Randou was already waiting for him, proudly presenting a second poetry collection written for the soldiers of his homeland, as if claiming credit for an accomplishment.
Homeland, Without Regret, A Soldier's Ideal, Those Who Turn Their Backs on the Nation… Every one of these poems carried Randou's indignation at the darker problems of his country, his concern for its brighter ideals, and his support for the displaced André Gide. Over in France, the influence of the poetry collection had already begun to ferment; more and more people were starting to pay attention to the shadows lurking behind the end of the war.
In Asou Akiya's eyes, Randou—wielding a pen to attack French politicians—was irresistibly adorable.
Thanks for the invitation; currently abroad, not afraid of domestic malignant forces.
He found himself thinking that it was no wonder scholars failed at rebellion even after three years—this world's great men of letters had all abandoned their pens and taken up arms instead.
The most reliable way to realize one's ideals—
was still the fist.
Asou Akiya would never strike Randou with words like that. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lover's cheek. "Randou is the most amazing."
Randou caught the faint note of amusement in his voice and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Don't brush me off. I put real effort into this. Whether it succeeds or fails, for someone like me who has lost his memories, it's nothing more than another piece of accumulated social experience."
Asou Akiya raised both hands in surrender. "I didn't! I don't even need to read it to know the poems are excellent—it's just that I rarely read this kind of thing."
Randou scrutinized him for a moment, then flopped sulkily onto the sofa. "Damn it… honest words are the worst."
Asou Akiya opened the poetry collection, speaking as casually as if it were an afterthought. "I have an appointment tomorrow."
The languid Randou's gaze changed instantly.
Who?
Other than me, do you seriously have a second person you can go on a date with?!
"It's a gentleman of extraordinary talent and elegance," Asou Akiya continued smoothly. "He's brimming with wisdom and charm, and his name carries tremendous weight in Japan—"
Before he could finish piling on the adjectives, Randou launched a furious counterattack. The poetry collection slipped from Akiya's hands and fell onto the carpet. His limbs were pinned down, completely immobilized, as he yelped and hurried to finish, "It's Natsume Souseki!"
It took Randou a full two seconds to process who Natsume Souseki was. Even so, he still refused to let off the Akiya who had deliberately teased him.
"So what if it's Natsume Souseki? You praised him that hard—I'm jealous!"
"Randou, he's older than me!"
"How much older?"
"More than ten years!!!"
"That's still not safe."
"More than twenty years! I swear he's more than twenty years older than me!"
"..."
Randou fell silent for a while. To Asou Akiya's shock, the other man still hadn't loosened his grip on him.
"No way, Randou, you…" Asou Akiya trailed off halfway.
Randou choked on his words, finally relaxing his hold, then spoke with righteous indignation, "Someone who's twenty years older than you would be in their forties at least—and you Japanese don't even look your age!"
Asou Akiya freed his hand and pulled his lover into his arms, laughing helplessly as he did so. "My Randou will always be young and beautiful."
Randou replied flatly, "That kind of talk is far too slick."
Asou Akiya stroked his back gently. Randou, who forever maintained a passion for life, was the very thing he wanted to protect.
"Don't be afraid," he said softly. "I'll grow old together with you."
The most moving love words of Huaxia—no matter the world, no matter the era—would never go out of date.
Randou smiled tenderly.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, a powerful urge to confess welled up inside him. He wanted to tell Akiya: I cannot tolerate even the slightest possibility of you changing your heart; I want you to love me forever, just as you do now.
Considering how disturbingly obsessive that confession sounded, Randou kept a straight face and buried it deep within his heart.
On Saturday morning, Asou Akiya subconsciously reached for a black suit in the Port Mafia style, but his hand paused in front of the wardrobe and slowly withdrew as he fell into thought. He was a planner by nature; before doing anything, he liked to consider every possible detail to increase his chances of success. The person he was about to meet was Natsume Souseki, a man with extensive connections within the Japanese government—a towering figure utterly beyond the reach of ordinary people. His stance leaned toward the "white," yet his methods leaned toward the "black," and winning his favor would be no easy matter.
Randou walked over and chose a shirt and a long coat for him.
Cold sweat immediately slid down Asou Akiya's forehead. "Randou, this combination looks great, but it's hot!"
Randou reconsidered and put together a lighter, more casual outfit for him instead.
A classic white T-shirt paired with light coffee-colored trousers—after Asou Akiya changed, Randou stood behind him, resting his head against Akiya's shoulder. The two of them faced the full-length mirror. Randou's hands fastened Akiya's belt for him, his fingertips brushing past the zipper of the trousers. Asou Akiya's scalp tingled, a vivid premonition flashing through his mind that he might not make it out the door this morning at all.
Fortunately, Randou was a reasonable Frenchman, willing to believe what Akiya said.
"Come back early," Randou instructed. "And don't admire him too much."
"I will," Akiya replied.
Asou Akiya turned around to face him and teased, "Japan's literary circles are very clean, you know. If you're still worried, how about leaving a mark on me? That way, no one could possibly misunderstand."
Who would have thought Randou's face would light up instantly. "Really? I can? That's wonderful."
Five minutes later.
Asou Akiya stepped out of the house clutching his aching collarbone, his mind occupied by a single thought.
[Ah! I've been bitten by my cat!]
So adorable it was fatal.
With a Frenchman's sense of aesthetics as a guarantee, Asou Akiya's appearance finally matched his age. His face looked noticeably younger; wisps of hair fell from his temples along his ears, softening the oppressive aura of a young salaryman already struggling to support a household.
The place he had agreed to meet Natsume Souseki was a book café—a venue with a certain spending threshold, suitable for people with decent incomes who enjoyed quiet reading. This ensured that even on weekends, it wouldn't be overcrowded.
Half an hour ahead of schedule, Asou Akiya was already close to his destination.
As he walked, he casually took in his surroundings, utterly unhurried. His appearance was fresh and handsome, like a college student out for a leisurely stroll. There wasn't a single visible logo on him; aside from a belt that counted as a luxury item, nothing about his outfit allowed its value to be judged at a glance. In a way, it perfectly matched the kind of novels someone his age would write.
A peculiar author who had once been obsessed with melodramatic, dog-blooded harem power fantasies.
Fortunately, he had reformed. Otherwise, discussing his work later would probably be just a little bit awkward.
Asou Akiya noticed a calico cat sprawled across the counter of a nearby shop and was immediately drawn to it. The calico, aware of his gaze, pretended to stretch and deliberately lifted a hind leg to scratch itself. Without making a fuss, Akiya walked over, bought a packet of dried fish the cats loved, and began to tease the calico on the counter. "Want some?"
The cat was much slimmer than Akiya remembered calicos being. Hearing his voice, it lazily bit down on the dried fish.
Perfect!
A teacher-cat that accepted offerings, check.
Asou Akiya didn't care that his reputation as a hopeless cat-lover was only getting worse. Smiling as he fed the cat, he asked the shop owner, "Is this your cat?"
The owner rang him up and replied, "No. I'd love to keep it, but my wife won't allow it."
Asou Akiya sighed with feeling. "My place is a bit better than yours."
The owner said enviously, "This calico is so cute—and it's a male, too. No need to neuter him."
The calico cat: "..."
Asou Akiya—who had once nearly lost his life after keeping two cats outside—smiled and said, "Yes. If I could raise a whole litter of cats without them tearing the house apart, I'd be more than happy to take care of them."
He lingered there, wasting time with the calico, seized by the impulse to feed it until it was full.
Wanting to leave yet unwilling to expose its true identity, the calico cat thought:
[Young man, have you forgotten the time?!]
Asou Akiya wasn't wearing a wristwatch. He took out his phone to check the time, and on the screen was a French long-haired cat.
"Sorry," he said to the calico, "I'm almost at the time I agreed to meet someone."
He apologized to the cat, while the shop owner couldn't help thinking to himself: Another severely cat-obsessed customer.
After Asou Akiya left—
Seeing that there were still ten minutes to spare, the calico cat unhurriedly jumped down from the counter, deliberately keeping its distance from the owner who wanted to pet it. It padded outside with graceful feline steps, sniffed itself carefully, and confirmed that it hadn't picked up the smell of dried fish.
The moment Asou Akiya entered the book café, the warm aroma of coffee and the scent of books rushed toward him.
The sunlight was just right, time seemed to slow, and he felt as though he had stepped away from society's frantic pace.
He ordered two cups of coffee, picked up a book, and found a booth where few people sat. He didn't deliberately search for Natsume Souseki with his gaze, as if he already had a rough idea of what the man he was about to meet would be like.
This calm, self-contained ease was not something he had deliberately put on; he was genuinely savoring the quiet satisfaction that came with the anticipation of the meeting.
Because he had thought of Oda Sakunosuke.
Before long, Oda Sakunosuke would meet Natsume Souseki in a place much like this and obtain a turning point in his life. Without Chief Dazai's help, that turning point would have amounted to little more than twisting a bone into a fracture.
Because of his struggles at work, Asou Akiya hadn't written a book in quite some time. This "quite some time" was measured against his previous life as a fast-output power-fantasy author, not against writers of this life who slowly polished their prose. Suddenly, inspiration surged. He called over to the waiter, "Excuse me, I need a notebook and a pen."
When Natsume Souseki, having taken a brief rest, entered wearing a round hat and holding a T-shaped wooden cane, he recognized Asou Akiya at first glance among all the other patrons in the book café.
The other man was waiting for him—and at the same time, writing furiously, drafting a novel.
Once the black-haired young man relaxed, he naturally carried an almost mystical aura, as if the noise of the outside world were shut away from him. He looked like nothing more than an ordinary person among the masses, someone pursuing happiness in the flow of everyday life. The only thing that set him apart was this: it was as though he lived in an age of peace, filled with hope for the future. In his eyes, there were no shadows of a postwar world—only the most beautiful hours of a fresh morning.
[A fine outlook on life.]
Natsume Souseki felt a certain anxiety about Japan's future, yet he was relieved, even grateful, thinking that the more people like this there were, the better.
Natsume Souseki took his seat without a word and quietly observed him as he wrote.
Asou Akiya looked up and saw him, then simply pushed the draft across the table. "Mr. Natsume, would you be interested in taking a look?"
Natsume Souseki approved of him for exactly one second—he had recognized him.
And then—
Natsume Souseki: "..."
Am I seeing this wrong?
The title of this draft novel was "The Retired Killer Who Became the School Belle's Personal Bodyguard"?
Maintaining the spirit of literary discussion, Natsume Souseki said, "Don't you think this title is a bit… strange?"
"I think a novel's title needs to have character," Asou Akiya replied. Ever since shedding his former label as a harem-novel author, he felt no embarrassment whatsoever when writing pure, earnest romance. "Other than being a little long, I don't see any problem with it. Mr. Natsume, do you have a better suggestion?"
One was an author, the other a literary writer—their views were worlds apart.
Natsume Souseki pondered. "Since he is a former assassin who chooses to protect others and abandons the darkness, this person harbors kindness in his heart…" Even he felt a trace of vexation. The most suitable title in his mind was Light and Darkness, but that had already been published.
Asou Akiya added thoughtfully, "Zenzai*."
*{Note: Zenzai (善哉) meaning "Virtuous/Goodness"; "善哉" is a word used by the Buddha to praise his disciples, and is the Chinese translation of the Sanskrit word "sadhu," meaning "wonderful."}
In that instant, Natsume Souseki felt like a parched man gulping down a large bowl of ice water—utterly refreshed and satisfied. "Exactly!"
"Didn't you already think of it?" Natsume Souseki said. He felt that Akiya was deliberately teasing him, yet had no proof.
"This is precisely the difference between traditional literature and popular literature," Asou Akiya sighed, explaining his difficulties to the great writer with frankness. "When I write novels, I want myself to be happy and my readers to be happy as well. I don't want to dwell too deeply on the complexity and mutability of human nature. If I used a title like that, readers would complain that the content doesn't live up to the name."
Natsume Souseki asked, "You chose 'Reader' as your pen name—whose reader do you intend to be?"
Faced with a question that pierced straight to the heart, Asou Akiya smoothly shifted the topic along with him.
"The reader of all talented people in this world."
[Do you wish to read the hearts of the talented?]
Natsume Souseki carried out a deeper interpretation, uncertainty stirring within him. His fingers rubbed slowly against the shaft of his cane. Noticing the coffee cup placed before him, he picked it up, easing the atmosphere. "Is this cup of coffee for me?"
Asou Akiya nodded and said respectfully, "Mr. Natsume, I've been looking forward to today's conversation for several days now. I hope I didn't choose the wrong coffee. I added a bit more sugar than usual, but once it cools to a warm temperature, it has a flavor all its own."
Natsume Souseki wasn't particularly fond of sweets, yet he accepted the slightly sweet coffee. "Thank you."
Setting aside questions of seniority within the literary world, after meeting one another through books, the two gained impressions of each other that were no longer superficial. Natsume ouseki saw many interesting qualities in the younger man and understood that Asou Akiya was not a rigid or narrow-minded person. Still, he couldn't forget Edogawa Ranpo's high praise of Asou Akiya. Could this man really be the second "Clairvoyant"?
Similar—yet not quite the same.
Why would someone with such talent choose to remain within the Port Mafia, enduring others pointing fingers at him?
Wouldn't a special recruitment by the government be far more appealing?
"Asou-kun, do you know why I came here?" Natsume Souseki spoke, calling out his real name without hesitation.
"I've guessed part of it," Asou Akiya replied modestly.
"That's true. I shouldn't have underestimated you," Natsume Sōseki admitted his misjudgment outright. Instead of relief, it left Asou Akiya feeling unexpectedly honored—emotion swelling almost to excess. Is being part of the 'scriptwriting team' really this joyful?
"Your novels have always had interesting premises, and your worldbuilding is rigorous," Natsume Souseki commented lightly, before smoothly turning to his true purpose. "If only your protagonists weren't so obsessed with romance, they would be even better. As for why I'm here—Ranpo's father and I had some acquaintance. I can't stand by and watch his child walk into danger. You have occupational issues; you are not an ideal guardian candidate."
Asou Akiya took a sip of coffee. He had already rehearsed this exchange before coming. "Does Mr. Natsume have a suitable candidate in mind?"
Natsume Souseki frowned, thinking for a moment before answering, "There is one candidate, but at present, he is not suitable either. He is too solitary. His strength and background are sufficient to protect Ranpo-kun, but he cannot speak freely with Ranpo-kun the way you do."
The senior's wording was deliberate, with particular emphasis placed on "speak freely," revealing his reservations.
Asou Akiya rarely spoke so boldly. "Mr. Natsume, aren't you curious how I knew your purpose?"
Natsume Souseki replied calmly, "I made it quite obvious. If you couldn't see it, that would only mean your level is insufficient." His invitation to Asou Akiya had indeed been abrupt—they had no prior dealings, yet now they were discussing literature with a cool, objective tone. Anyone who thought too much would naturally stay on guard.
Asou Akiya had relied on his familiarity with the "script" to read this man's abnormality—a clever shortcut, but nothing to be proud of.
He thought about many things.
The other man's attitude was relatively friendly, and on the matter of Ranpo, his words left room to maneuver—as if he were deliberately giving him a chance.
Looked at narrowly, it was an opportunity to take Ranpo in.
Looked at broadly—
Was this a chance being offered to prove his own capability?!
Asou Akiya's heartbeat quickened, and he felt ashamed of his own nervousness. Under Natsume Souseki's gaze—one that seemed able to see straight through him—he had to restrain every movement, afraid that the tightening of his blood vessels, the pounding of his heart, might somehow be heard.
He could not afford to embarrass himself.
Two years ago, he had longed to become Natsume Souseki's disciple. Later, he gave up—not because of anything else, but purely out of excessive inferiority.
Was it love, now, that had finally given him confidence?
Asou Akiya was so tense it felt like facing a job interview, constantly doubting whether his preparation was sufficient, whether he had managed to grasp the examiner's preferences. He encouraged himself and smiled. "May I address you as Teacher Natsume?"
Natsume Souseki replied evenly, "In terms of novel writing, you may call me that."
Asou Akiya suddenly asked, "And in other respects?"
Natsume Souseki was nearly thrown off balance by the abrupt change of topic. Few people sought apprenticeship so directly. Still, Natsume Souseki was tolerant toward geniuses; that tolerance likely gave the other man the courage to speak so boldly. The middle-aged gentleman, exuding an English air, looked at him meaningfully, tapped his cane lightly against the floor, and said, "I am a very picky person."
Asou Akiya considered this, then spoke slowly and calmly. "I have three cards in my hand."
"The Joker, the Little Joker, and the Ace of Hearts."
Any one of these cards was a king among kings, a trump capable of overturning the situation overnight.
As for whom the Joker and the Little Joker referred to—that depended entirely on the cats settling their own quarrels.
But the Ace of Hearts—
That card referred both to himself and to Randou, symbolizing the sovereign of wisdom and love.
A spark slowly lit his eyes, growing brighter and brighter, while his heart leapt straight up into his throat.
"Mr. Natsume," he said, deliberately committing a small act of disrespect, "that calico cat in the shop just now was truly adorable. Were the dried fish tasty?"
"..."
When it came to digging up someone's old secrets, the transmigrator Akiya was even more skilled than Edogawa Ranpo.
Your calico coloring is far too distinctive!