"Boss, I'd like to invest in a publishing house on behalf of the Port Mafia."
"The reason?"
"I believe there are many people in this world whose talents go unrecognized; perhaps they are better suited to writing novels."
"Rejected. Next investment proposal."
"Contracting cemeteries."
"Akiya-kun? Do you think the Port Mafia's cemeteries aren't good enough?"
"No… Boss, that's not what I mean. I've simply noticed that the price of burial plots has been steadily rising. The public has a clear demand for them, so we could acquire land in advance and selectively lease or sell it as cemetery values appreciate."
"Lease… and sell?"
"Yes. Burial plots can be sold on a yearly basis, with a discounted price offered for ten-year terms."
"Akiya-kun, you really do have a sharp head for business. Do you think I should reserve a plot for myself as well, to let it appreciate?"
"That was precisely my intention."
What should have been a blatantly absurd conversation, when placed inside the Port Mafia boss's office, inexplicably took on an added air of gloom and lethal gravity. Under the mocking gaze of the white-haired elder, Asou Akiya spoke with utter seriousness. Within the Port Mafia, the persona he had carefully cultivated for himself was that of a "high-IQ strategic talent," paired with a "wildly imaginative money-making genius."
He had deliberately investigated the Port Mafia's internal situation as well as the current market prices of external cemeteries—and in doing so, he had sensed a genuine business opportunity.
"Boss, the public cemetery back in our rural area is getting a bit outdated."
"..."
The Port Mafia's leader was left utterly at a loss for words.
Unwilling to listen to any more of his lofty opinions, yet still giving him face, the leader turned his attention to the proposal Akiya had submitted. It was a complete and meticulously structured business plan, clearly outlining how cemetery prices would inevitably rise with time, and how the Port Mafia was well suited to developing a one-stop cremation service. In the future, bodies would no longer need to be dumped into the sea to pollute the waters; instead, they could be disposed of internally and efficiently—straight into the incinerators.
"Akiya-kun, have you been under some kind of stimulation lately?" the Port Mafia's leader said slowly. "Everyone in the Port Mafia knows how highly I value you. The requirement to earn ten billion dollars is already extremely demanding, and for you, I've lowered it as far as it can go."
In the leader's mouth, the title of executive candidate—and the countless dangers that came with it—were spoken of as though they were nothing worth mentioning.
Yet to an ordinary person, this was a ceiling that meant instant death the moment they touched it.
Asou Akiya bowed in silence. At this moment, whether he admitted anything or denied it outright would only make the Port Mafia's leader more alert and suspicious.
The old man's face was growing more and more aged by the day.
Death.
That was a topic of no small consequence.
Having confirmed that the leader still retained a measure of trust in him, Asou Akiya wisely chose to take his leave.
The Port Mafia's leader stared at the word "cemetery" on the page and drifted into thought for a brief moment. Disdain flickered in his eyes as he forcibly suppressed the discomfort brought on by his weakening body. "In the end, he's just a non–ability user who needs more tempering. If he can't suppress ability users, what right does he have to sit in a executive candidate's seat? He should just obediently make money for the Port Mafia for the rest of his life."
Having said that, the leader nevertheless made a choice contrary to his own thoughts and pinched the bridge of his nose as he approved the investment plan.
As if to conceal something, he approved two projects at once.
It was absolutely not because he had seen the numbers involved. The Port Mafia's casualty rate had been rising year after year, and the organization truly did need a stable and secure cemetery. Coastal burial grounds were far too expensive and too vulnerable to attacks—better to reserve those for fleecing the wealthy.
Mm. A seaside cemetery did have a beautiful view. That one, then, could be set aside for Akiya-kun, who worried so much about his own final arrangements.
"Boss is all talk and no heart," Asou Akiya muttered to himself. "I knew it—why would a profit-driven mafia ever truly reject an idea? As long as the price is high enough, Boss will eventually be convinced by my investment plan." Half a day later, after receiving the notice that his proposal had been approved, he stood in his office with the window open, letting the wind blow against him as he gazed out toward Yokohama's coastline.
He traced an imaginary boundary in the air, marking out a piece of land, and laughed with a mischievous delight that stripped away his usual composure.
[Dazai Osamu.]
[Oda Sakunosuke's grave—I've taken care of it for you!]
Oh, right.
He'd almost forgotten to mention it.
This year's business climate had been bleak. The Lupin Bar, tucked away in a quiet corner, had nearly shut down for good. At the critical moment, it was his money that stepped in to support the bar's owner, helping him weather the crisis.
He had grasped a small part of this world's hidden currents and clenched them tightly in his hand, allowing the breeze to slip through his fingers.
He was not a mind manipulator, merely an analyst.
And what he analyzed was—
the world itself.
Asou Akiya proceeded openly and legitimately, using clean money to acquire the publishing house he had signed with. When he went in to negotiate, everyone in the company—from the president down to the lowest-ranking employee—was utterly dumbfounded.
"Mr. Reader, since you're so wealthy, why not just start your own publishing house?"
"Time waits for no one."
The very first thing Asou Akiya did after the acquisition was rename the publishing house, branding it with his own unmistakable mark.
—[Stewed Pigeon Publishing House.]
After that, he imposed strict requirements on them, demanding that they halt the release of all other publications and push his own work to print before the end of October. This move indirectly—but unmistakably—proved the real reason he had acquired the publishing house in the first place: I'm in a hurry!
October 21st was Edogawa Ranpo's birthday.
Asou Akiya and Randou prepared a grand snack feast for him, ensuring that on his birthday he could eat to his heart's content.
Afterward, Randou personally presented him with a box of digestive tablets.
Exceptionally health-conscious.
Halfway through the celebration, Edogawa Ranpo happily dashed out again, arms full of snacks, and ran all the way to Suribachi City. He tossed the snacks over to Nakahara Chuuya, then stretched out his hand to demand a birthday present. Once he got it, he immediately turned on his heel and sprinted back home to continue devouring the rest of his food.
Nakahara Chuuya laughed in spite of himself, then, seeing the eager looks on his companions' faces, said weakly,
"Go ahead and eat. I don't really like snacks anyway."
Damn it.
That childish show-off.
Fine—since it's your birthday today, I'll let it slide.
Back at home, Edogawa Ranpo sat atop the gift boxes, smiling with his eyes curved into crescents as he looked at the limited-edition Ramune soda in his hands, the glass marble inside clinking and rolling, shimmering with multicolored light. Inside the boxes were high-end items like clothes and shoes; when Randou made a move, he never did anything half-heartedly. While cultivating the boy's literary sensibilities, he was also steadily refining his aesthetic taste.
"I'm fourteen years old now!"
"Father, Mother, I found kind-hearted people—look, I managed to survive on my own!"
All of a sudden, something occurred to him. He rummaged through the gift boxes and pulled out a freshly printed book.
"I want to see exactly what it was that Akiya was so impatient to publish."
"There has to be a secret!"
...
After The School Belle's Retired Assassin Personal Bodyguard was published, the reception remained sharply polarized.
Those who liked it loved it; those who hated it absolutely despised it.
A title like this would be dismissed as outrageously melodramatic in later years, and its contents were just as over-the-top—an odd blend of melodrama and pretentious artistry—but in a world nearly a decade earlier, it was so avant-garde it was almost absurd, comparable to the shock value of some unnamed big shot's striking calico hair color.
Major bookstores placed the new release and its promotional banners in the most eye-catching spots.
"Assassin?"
Oda Sakunosuke, who loved reading, unconsciously paused on the word that made him bristle while browsing for books.
He was an assassin himself—a gold-medal professional who had never once failed a job.
After stepping closer, he finally saw the full title. It was unexpectedly bizarre. He hesitated, then read it aloud under his breath, "The School Belle's… Retired Assassin Personal Bodyguard? So this assassin goes to a school to work as someone's bodyguard?"
Because he had run out of things to read and couldn't get hold of the latter half of Light and Shadow, Oda Sakunosuke followed the crowd and picked up a copy of the novel, completely overlooking the Minors Prohibited notice printed on it. Only afterward did he notice the subtle, knowing looks other buyers were giving him, as though the book in his hands symbolized something distinctly "adult."
He lowered his head to check.
"So it's an R-18 title…"
The book suddenly felt a little too hot to hold.
Fortunately, Oda Sakunosuke was not someone who easily went back on his decisions. Novels with an assassin theme were rare to begin with, and this book's author was someone he often saw—a seasoned writer with several published works already to his name.
When he reached the checkout counter to pay, Oda Sakunosuke calmly produced a fake ID proving he was an adult in response to the cashier's suspicious gaze.
"Yes, I'm an adult."
The red-haired boy answered with a youthful face, his eyes hollow and faintly stiff.
At that time, he was thirteen—only five days away from turning fourteen.
On the other side of the city, buoyed by the author's guaranteed sales record and the bookstore's vigorous promotion, even Fukuzawa Yukichi, who made his living as a bodyguard in Yokohama, happened to glimpse the title while passing by. He frowned slightly and had no intention of going inside to buy it.
[A name like that—how vulgar.]
Relying shamelessly on its good looks（?）, a calico cat found a bookstore and settled in for a lazy nap. In the drowsy afternoon hours, it sprawled across the counter while the owner was ringing up customers. The novel lay open to a few pages, and the breeze slowly flipped it toward the latter chapters.
Those were passages Natsume Sōseki had never seen in his drafts.
The bodyguard died.
He died to protect the woman and child he loved.
Those hands that had once taken lives, in their determination not to kill again, exhausted everything he had to offer.
At the end of the novel, the author left a note—
[Only if he lives on and finds a place where happiness can finally come to rest may this novel be titled "Zenzai"; otherwise, abandoning evil for good becomes nothing more than a tragedy—congratulations to everyone on eating a knife!]
[Aside from that, this is a highly recommended dog-blood melodrama, you know.]
[——Reader.]
The calico cat: "..."
It pretended not to care and casually scratched at an itch, its thoughts drifting to the bodyguard and the assassin it had been keeping an eye on.
Thanks very much—this felt a little too pointed, somehow.