The dream of getting rich overnight is beautiful; the reality is painfully stark.
After calculating his assets, Asou Akiya slumped over his desk in the office, pressing his cheek against the cool surface, unwilling to speak. Either he would empty his wallet and go all in to purchase "Sunset Manor," only to have those in the know grow suspicious that the "Port Mafia analyst" had uncovered some hidden secret—or he would behave himself and buy a European-style villa within Yokohama city limits instead. The two options could not coexist. The latter carried zero risk.
"Virtue unworthy of its position," he muttered under his breath, describing his own predicament.
If he were the head of the Port Mafia, spending a vast sum on a leisure retreat would be perfectly reasonable. The problem was that he was nothing more than a minor underling. Since when did a small fry, stuffed and idle, go out and purchase a luxury estate in Nagano Prefecture?
At this rate, by the very next day, "Sunset Manor" would likely be inspected inside and out.
Tch. Money truly dazzles the eyes.
Asou Akiya forced himself to sit up straight. Compared to the money-making assignments, there were still hidden dangers lurking around him within the Port Mafia. If he did not resolve them, he would never be able to secure his position.
"Kouyou-kun, I'd like to find my 'missing' driver. Do you know where he is?"
"Give me a few minutes."
Ozaki Kouyou glanced at him, then rose and stepped out of the room.
Within the Port Mafia headquarters, Asou Akiya lacked connections and subordinates; he insisted on remaining a lone wolf. Ozaki Kouyou, however, was entirely different. She had grown up here and was intimately familiar with every faction and every face. To locate someone or to arrange a matter was, for her, merely a single sentence away—hardly even enough to count as calling in a favor.
When Asou Akiya received news of Tanaka's whereabouts, he propped his chin on his hand and adopted a thoughtful expression.
As if commenting on the weather, Ozaki Kouyou said, "He betrayed you, didn't he?"
"As everyone has their own helpless circumstances," Asou Akiya replied calmly, "at the very least, he did not betray the organization."
Ozaki Kouyou gave a cold snort.
Betray the organization? Anyone with the courage to do that was already dead.
Setting aside the matter of the driver, Asou Akiya shifted to a topic that genuinely interested him. "Kouyou-kun, the New Year is approaching. Does the Port Mafia leadership have any activities planned? For example, distributing travel tickets, hot spring vouchers, things like that?"
Ozaki Kouyou replied without a trace of expression, "No."
Asou Akiya decided to be a little mischievous, venting his resentment at being unable to buy his golden house.
"I'll go find the Boss!"
"???"
Inside the Port Mafia leader's office, Asou Akiya spoke in a gentle, lowered voice to the increasingly frail leader, proposing the idea of organizing New Year activities.
The Port Mafia Boss cast him a dark, sinister look. "Are you very rich?"
Asou Akiya answered shyly, "No money."
"No money, and you still dare to talk!" The Boss erupted, berating him fiercely and scolding him until he was metaphorically drenched in dog's blood, his emotions surging violently. "What is the point of proposing these money-burning activities? Does anyone dare to complain? Dare to resign? Tell me who they are—I guarantee I'll send them to Africa to dig mines so they can understand the true meaning of the New Year!"
Asou Akiya asked in confusion, "Other companies all provide New Year benefits."
The Boss retorted stubbornly, "The Port Mafia is an organization I founded, not some company in your eyes!"
Asou Akiya continued, "Boss, if you don't wish to spend too much money, but still want to create a festive atmosphere for the New Year, I have a suggestion that could enhance the Port Mafia's reputation in Yokohama. I wonder if the Boss would approve."
The Port Mafia Boss reluctantly granted him a sliver of face. "Speak!"
Standing before the cold desk of the leader, Asou Akiya revealed a gentle smile for the first time.
"The Port Mafia is part of the underworld, but we are not an anti-government organization. I believe everyone would be willing to add a little meaning to the New Year."
It was a measured glimpse of his "true" self.
"Let's hand out candy."
"This year… there are many unemployed people, and many orphans. Life has been hard for everyone. They need a bit of hope."
"A little sweetness is enough."
He bowed deeply to the elderly man, whose health was failing and whose temper had only grown worse with time.
The old man's anger stopped abruptly.
In the haze of his fading memories, he realized it had been a very long time since he had eaten candy. It seemed that long ago, when he had still been a child, certain yakuza groups would help ordinary citizens resolve their troubles, and afterward hand each child a piece of candy as encouragement.
That nearly forgotten sweetness stirred dully across his tongue, as if awakening from a dream. His gaze drifted toward the floor-to-ceiling window, toward the city of Yokohama beyond it. This city was his territory. It was his… In that case, giving out a little candy was not something unacceptable. If, in return, everyone would gratefully accept his rule, that would be even better.
"Go and do it," said the Port Mafia Boss, his eyes clouded, the faint trace of goodwill flickering like a dying flame before extinction.
The back of his hand, resting on the armrest, stood out with bulging veins and scattered age spots. Even the morning sun streaming in through the window could not dispel the twilight air that clung to him. He was old. He was on the verge of madness. And yet, on the eve of an approaching storm, he had fallen strangely quiet.
"Will the people of Yokohama… remember my prestige?" he asked.
"They will."
Asou Akiya's reply was like a soothing medicine easing pain.
In a person's memories of growing up, it is often scent and taste that leave the deepest impressions.
No matter how the future might bring crumbling towers and choking miasma, at this very moment the Port Mafia had safeguarded Yokohama. They had not allowed foreign armies to rampage freely across this land, stripping it entirely of order and restraint.
"Heh heh…" The Port Mafia Boss let out an aged laugh, devoid of mockery, understanding the meaning behind the young man's words.
This person—this person had come to him sincerely to ask for a New Year's gift?
How many people would dare to do such a thing?
How many did not deceive those above and below them, fawn and flatter for their own gain?
When it came to considering the interests of the organization, no one in the entire Port Mafia possessed a broader perspective than the "Analyst."
"Kneel," the Port Mafia Boss commanded, his expression turning cold in an instant.
"Yes."
Asou Akiya obeyed without hesitation. He lowered himself onto one knee, bowed his head, and presented a posture of utmost respect.
"Other than a lover, you're the first person who has dared to open his mouth and ask me to spend money," the Port Mafia Boss said. His eyesight was too poor to clearly make out Asou Akiya's face, yet he found satisfaction in the young man's gentle, compliant presence. He envied that vigorous vitality unique to youth—if it were him in his prime, he would not be so hindered in his movements. "Brat, don't disgrace the name of the Port Mafia. If you're going to celebrate the New Year, then do it beautifully. Consider it a reward for you all."
Asou Akiya replied calmly, "Boss is wise."
No matter how many things can be pierced through, flattery never fails—this was the foremost principle for working under any superior.
He was grateful to this scoundrel of a boss for giving him the opportunity to win people's hearts.
…
In the bookstore, the latest bestselling novel by "Reader" had once again sold out.
Modern young people were particularly susceptible to these narrative tropes. Even though the previous novel had ended by handing them a blade to the heart, they firmly believed that Lord "Reader" would repent and turn over a new leaf—would return to the comforting embrace of a satisfying, triumphant ending!
And so they once again swallowed a mouthful of "reality" instead, its flavor like plain tea—light, and faintly bitter.
The heroine's final choice strayed entirely from their expectations.
She had actually… still chosen her first love?!
In the teahouse that Oda Sakunosuke often frequented, he finished reading the novel and let out a long breath.
After successfully being released from prison, his first thought had been to eat a plate of freshly made curry rice. His second thought had been to buy a novel—one to feed the body, the other to nourish the spirit. At last, he had managed to fill the emptiness inside himself.
"This one was readable," Oda Sakunosuke evaluated in his usual straightforward manner.
Outside the teahouse, a clear, youthful voice rang out.
"Uncle Fukuzawa! Over here! This teahouse looks like an old, established place!"
"…Don't pull me."
Fukuzawa Yukichi was being tugged by the sleeve by a black-haired detective boy, dragged away from their original route past other teahouses and toward this one instead.
Oda Sakunosuke: "…"
He had every reason to suspect that having just been released from prison, he was about to run into trouble again.
The assassin's heart tightened.
Edogawa Ranpo strode into the teahouse in great sweeping steps, his eyes narrowing like a satisfied cat's, emerald irises gliding over every person inside.
"Found a seat! Let's sit over there!"
"Over there? Wait—that's the boy we saw last time."
Compared to Ranpo, who had thoroughly absorbed the art of thick-skinned cunning, Fukuzawa Yukichi possessed far more of a conscience. The moment he spotted the red-haired youth, his first instinct was to keep his distance and avoid becoming too deeply entangled with an independent assassin of that sort.
Ranpo paid no heed to such concerns. He walked straight over, planted both hands on the edge of the table, and beamed at Oda.
"Hello! Thanks for your help last time!"
"…No need to thank me. The person behind you already paid the fee."
"You mean Akiya? Mm-hmm, I figured as much. Aside from him, no one else could have located you and me in advance."
"…?"
The single stray lock of hair atop Oda Sakunosuke's head seemed to twitch.
"Don't look like you have no idea who I'm talking about. Look—the novel you're reading was written by him!" As if he could read minds, Edogawa Ranpo effortlessly discerned the thoughts flickering across Oda's otherwise expressionless face.
Oda Sakunosuke lifted the paperback novel upright and checked the author's name. "It's him?"
Ranpo nodded. "Yes. Are you interested in doing me a favor? I can pass a message along to the author for you!"
Oda Sakunosuke was about to shake his head in refusal.
Ranpo cut him off in advance, speaking briskly, "It's a super simple favor—easy, something you can finish in minutes. I have to complete my extracurricular assignment. The assignment is to find three people who can understand the novel I wrote!" In order to finish his homework, he was willing to resort to any means necessary. "I don't think there's any hope with other people. You might have a bit of hope!"
Oda Sakunosuke considered it for a moment.
Then he agreed.
Fukuzawa Yukichi suddenly looked at Oda with a gaze mixed with pity and sympathy.
Edogawa Ranpo fumbled hurriedly in his pocket and pulled out a stack of draft pages.
"Look!"
"..."
A lover of novels, Oda Sakunosuke was, on this day, confronted with the work of an unsuccessful aspiring novelist.
—His mind was forcibly stuffed full of paste.
Ranpo slapped pen and paper down onto the table. "Quick, write me a comment!"
Oda Sakunosuke's hand remained steady and composed as he wrote a single line of feedback for him.
[It is indeed a mystery novel.]
"Uncle Fukuzawa, look!" Ranpo exclaimed happily. "This guy really knows how to talk! Don't be fooled by that dumb expression on his face—unexpectedly, he's a healing-type youth!"
Fukuzawa Yukichi opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped himself.
The red-haired assassin said, "May I leave now?"
Edogawa Ranpo stepped directly in front of him, blocking his path, and cheerfully declared, "Of course not!"
This was a fish Akiya wanted to reel in!
The great detective's backup candidate number three!
"You helped me—do you want to find a new job? Come to me! I'll introduce you to one!"
"No. I want to stay alive."
"Eh?!!"
Edogawa Ranpo stared at the unmoved assassin in shock, wearing an expression that plainly said, How can you be so incapable of seeing reason?
What kind of future could there possibly be in killing people?
…
That very night, Oda Sakunosuke—having accepted an assassination job—was surrounded by the police.
Someone had tipped them off in advance, protecting the intended target. At the same time, that same someone had conveniently exposed the target's dark history, so that after everything was over, the terrified man ended up being charged as an economic criminal.
Double Kill!
Oda Sakunosuke found himself clapped in irons and sent back to prison once more.
Inside his cell, he sat in a room warmed by heating, contemplating life—
—and the degree of difficulty involved in eliminating that detective boy.
Dinner was, once again, the familiar set meal of rice mixed with white sugar.
It was sweet enough to bring tears to one's eyes.