Because the nighttime experience had been so good, Asou Akiya placed another order, purchasing enough medicine to last for the next six months.
Since it concerned the sexual happiness of both himself and Randou, he paid with remarkable generosity. One could say he was fighting to uphold the pride of Japanese men—whether Mori Ougai was willing or not, he would keep throwing money at him until the other party agreed.
Mori Ougai's mood was complicated.
"…Is the efficacy really that good?"
Looking at the volume of the order placed under his name, the single man felt an inexplicable urge stirring inside him, as if he wanted to try it for himself.
No!
Mori Rintarou, you must not fall into depravity!
The officials of this country may be beyond saving, but you are a man of ideals and ambition!
Damn it—has he been single in the army for too long? He was actually starting to feel pent-up frustration. Back when he studied at Tokyo Imperial University, how dazzling he had been: upperclasswomen and underclasswomen alike showed him favor. Unfortunately, he had been too young then and missed those pleasant opportunities.
On February 17, Mori Ougai's wallet had grown pleasantly heavy, and he happily bought a cream cake.
Inside the small clinic after closing hours, he held the little cake toward his own "princess," gazing at her with tenderness. Dressed in a Western-style dress, Elise spun in a circle, placed her hands behind her back, rose onto her toes, and blew out the candle.
"Rintarou! Happy birthday!"
Today was Mori Ougai's twenty-eighth birthday.
The one large and one small figure amused themselves together, as though having each other was enough.
Perhaps, deep in Mori Ougai's subconscious, he already understood that the only thing he could truly trust was the ability he himself had created. A man who believed in the "optimal solution" would not regret his choices. Having fallen once in life, he would rise again and make those who mocked him pay. Because of the Immortal Regiment plan, the soldiers who underwent continuous ability-based treatment had become unable to bear the burden and committed mass suicide; politically, he was stained by this scandal and could no longer remain in the military.
He needed to take a different path. As for what that path would be, he had yet to decide.
Therefore, he needed more hidden cards in his hand.
Only by holding a trump card would he earn the right to choose his own future.
His effort to "befriend" Asou Akiya had been entirely deliberate on Mori Ougai's part. He believed the other man could see through it. One more friend meant one more path forward, and Mori Ougai felt certain that someday in the future he would have need of the Port Mafia.
"Only those with ability will look at another capable person in a different light."
Mori Ougai removed his gloves and pulled the candle out of the cake.
Elise could not wait to eat the small cake and said, "Rintarou, you're talking to yourself again!"
Mori Ougai paused for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. "Ah, sorry. I've made Elise feel annoyed."
Elise looked at him and slowly broke into a malicious smile.
"But it's fine."
"Elise likes the decadent Rintarou best of all. The more pitiful you are, the more lovable you seem. Go on, sink as deeply as you like into the mire. No one will like you. No one will love you. You are that kind of person."
Having reached out to all his connections yet still losing his political future, Mori Ougai had fallen to the lowest point of his life. He was in such misery that even his own special ability was mocking him.
Mori Ougai whimpered, "Elise, even if you say that, I still can't bring myself to hate you—"
With gentle care, he wiped the cream from the golden-haired little girl's cheek.
"Scold me."
"Scold me awake, and then we'll go gather intelligence and properly acquaint ourselves with the dark side of this city."
"I am not utterly without anything."
At the very least—
At this very moment, he had Elise… oh, and the money he had earned through being forced to take on business.
One day later, Mori Ougai's small clinic resumed operations, and he began listening to interesting pieces of information from the wounded who came through his doors.
The people he usually treated were those unable to go to regular hospitals—individuals whose identities and backgrounds were problematic. Most of them were mid- to lower-ranking members of minor underworld groups. Members of the Port Mafia would not come here for treatment unless their injuries were of an unspeakable nature; they had their own hospital and welfare system. It was even said that arrangements for their funerals were handled with meticulous care. The "Port Mafia analyst" had invested in a full-service cremation chain, earning widespread praise (?).
"The Port Mafia's bereavement compensation isn't the highest, but they have a complete medical security system of their own. I've heard they even spent a huge sum to enclose a piece of land along the scenic Yokohama coastline to establish a high-end cemetery."
"Yeah, I've heard that too. Instead of building houses, they went off to build a graveyard."
"Isn't doing something like that awfully inauspicious?"
"You're thinking about it the wrong way. The moment word spread that a luxury cemetery was being built, the housing prices nearby started rising as well. They say mafia corpses carry a certain baleful aura that can suppress petty criminals. Once that kind of rumor got out… tsk tsk, it's downright incredible."
"Hearing you say that makes me want to buy a burial plot in advance."
"In your dreams!"
"Hahaha—yeah, right, we can't afford it! A sea-view cemetery—there's no way the price would be low."
"I'm not planning that far ahead. No wife, no kids—being alone is easy."
Several wounded men sat on their hospital beds, chatting with their brothers-in-arms.
Mori Ougai listened with great interest. He was not excluded from their conversations; seated on his chair, he read through diagnostic reports while listening to the coarse language he had never previously encountered. Suddenly, he heard a man with his arm in a cast sigh.
"Things have gotten chaotic for no apparent reason lately. The Port Mafia's external attacks have gone crazy. If they want to seize territory, they don't have to go this far. All that goodwill they built up handing out so much candy during the New Year has been completely squandered in one go."
"Shh—I heard their leader is flying into a rage," another man said, lowering his voice. "They say he wants to make an example of the other organizations. I'm guessing someone must have provoked that iron-blooded Port Mafia boss."
They began whispering among themselves, their voices dropping even lower.
The Port Mafia's leader was a major figure in Yokohama!
Locally, he wielded more influence than the Mayor of Yokohama or even the Chief of Police; he was the true head of the dragon, the undisputed kingpin.
Mori Ougai tilted his head slightly and thought to himself, What a speculation from small-time figures; taking a bit of hearsay and presenting it as if it were solid fact. How could a mafia leader possibly be as simple as he appears?
Rather than flying into a rage and losing his reason, was it not more likely that the Port Mafia's leader was plotting something in secret?
Beyond that, the Analyst deeply trusted by the Port Mafia's leader certainly knew the inside story and showed no urgency, which suggested that the situation was not especially dire; otherwise, he would not have been indulging himself in leisure so recently.
Mori-style conspiracy theory.jpg
Based on his own judgment, Mori Ougai dismissed this shallow intelligence.
Speculation from the outside world about the Port Mafia's seizure of territory continued without end. Many believed the Port Mafia's leader was acting rashly and harbored other ambitions, causing several organizations—whose power ranked just below that of the Port Mafia—to refrain from making any reckless moves. Everyone was watching cautiously. Even an aging lion still possessed the domineering aura to overpower the beasts of the field. The spies they had planted within the Port Mafia received orders to monitor changes among the upper ranks and to keep close watch on the travel schedule of that "Port Mafia Analyst."
There was no doubt that these smokescreens had been released by Asou Akiya. Their purpose was to confuse outside observers, leading them to believe that the Port Mafia had a new grand objective, thereby buying his own side time to carry out a series of improvised maneuvers.
The situation inside the Port Mafia was far more serious than outsiders imagined.
As winter passed, the Port Mafia leader's physical condition took a sharp turn for the worse. Ordinary people might cultivate their health and temper while ill, but this autocratic leader grew more irritable the weaker he became; his eyes could not tolerate even a grain of sand.
He found fault with everyone and constantly dredged up old grievances.
Not only were the three executives unable to endure it—each of them nearly at their wits' end—but the entire upper echelon of the Port Mafia had been put through the wringer. Even Asou Akiya, who had only recently enjoyed a stretch of comfortable days, found himself unlucky; he was conscripted by the leader for forced service.
Overtime.
Overtime.
Still more overtime—no going home allowed!
Lying in his sickbed, seething with hostility, the Port Mafia leader said coldly, "Kouyou is very useful, isn't she?"
Asou Akiya had been summoned for questioning and pinched his nose in resignation as he answered the ill-tempered leader, "Yes, Kouyou-kun moves with clean efficiency, far from what one would expect of a girl her age."
The Port Mafia leader, his face pale with illness, snapped in anger, "Is that what I asked?!"
Asou Akiya stared blankly, as if to say, Then what exactly were you asking?
The Port Mafia leader met his puzzled gaze for a moment, his anger subsiding slightly. "Has anyone else approached her?"
Asou Akiya replied respectfully, "Everyone who has been in contact with Kouyou-kun is a Port Mafia member. There are no suspicious individuals."
The Port Mafia leader asked, "Do you like little Kouyou?"
Asou Akiya felt a sharp, phantom ache in a very personal place.
Why had the leader suddenly started playing matchmaker? Shouldn't an old man be more enthusiastic about joining the FFF instead?
"Boss, I have a lover. Randou is in the Port Mafia's combat unit."
"Heh, I know about him… You've concealed it well. No one else knows the two of you are involved. That Frenchman was willing to join the Port Mafia for your sake, starting from an ordinary combatant and working his way up."
The Port Mafia leader's voice was hoarse, and each breath carried a sharp, rasping hiss; one could easily imagine that his internal organs were in poor condition as well. He no longer mentioned Randou and instead raised another sensitive issue.
"Executive Nishida, Executive Yagishita, Executive Ousa—what is your assessment of these three, as the 'Analyst'?"
Without batting an eye, Asou Akiya offered flattery. "The three executives are outstanding talents, far beyond the likes of me."
The Port Mafia leader sneered. "I, on the other hand, think you don't hold a single one of them in high regard."
Asou Akiya's expression stiffened slightly.
The leader's words were sharp, yet what he revealed was even stranger—much like his recently volatile temperament. "Akiya-kun, any man will have ambition. Deliberately concealing it only makes you look ridiculous. I gave you an opportunity. The fact that you have not yet become a candidate executive is your incompetence! It is not my failure to recognize talent!"
Asou Akiya reminded him, "Boss, less than a year has passed."
"Useless!"
Asou Akiya was scolded to the point of near emotional shutdown. How could there be such a venom-tongued superior?
"I am giving you a second opportunity now." After falling ill, the Port Mafia leader had grown extremely restless. He longed to recover immediately, yet reason still told him that what mattered most now was to maintain his grip on power and eliminate dissent. If a lion fell gravely ill, even a stray dog would dare to come forward and take a bite.
Asou Akiya showed no joy whatsoever; his eyes were lifeless. "Boss, please instruct me."
The Port Mafia leader said, "Help me move the documents into my bedroom. Not a single file that requires handling is to fall into anyone else's hands. You will temporarily serve as my secretary and set aside your money-making activities."
Asou Akiya: "?!"
The Port Mafia leader slowly pushed himself upright, a cold and cruel smile spreading across his face. "My body has not deteriorated to the point where I cannot move, contrary to the rumors you have been spreading. I would very much like to see which of them will be the first to lose patience and make a move."
Asou Akiya looked at the old man's sickly complexion and the near-hysterical light in his eyes, and a bead of cold sweat slid down his forehead.
You are overestimating your own body.
If you keep acting like this… what will you do if it turns real?
"Boss—" The words reached Asou Akiya's lips, yet out of long habit he chose flattery instead. "How wise."
The Port Mafia leader's gaze pierced into him. "You will serve as my secretary, and little Kouyou will serve as my guard. Every order I give must be transmitted directly to every corner of headquarters. Anyone who disobeys—dies!"
And thus—
Asou Akiya became even busier.
For several days, Randou waited without Akiya returning home. Every text message he received consisted of "working overtime" accompanied by various emoticons.
Unable to endure it any longer, Randou found a pretext to visit him at headquarters.
The office was empty?
Randou was surprised. After making further inquiries, he learned that Akiya had gone to serve as the Port Mafia leader's personal secretary. Because the matters he was handling involved confidential information, it was inconvenient for him to disclose details over the phone or through messages.
He fell silent for several seconds, then asked the intelligence department member who had kindly informed him of the situation,
"May I ask how old the Port Mafia leader is?"
"Boss is over eighty, I believe."
Intervening had formed a one-sided impression of Randou.
Through the mediation of Ozaki Kouyou, he no longer harbored hostility toward Asou Akiya, believing him to be a responsible and dependable man, and he had also heard that Akiya had been in a long-term relationship with a lover.
He did not know that Randou was Asou Akiya's lover; he only knew that Asou Akiya was Randou's "guide" within the Port Mafia, that their relationship was close, and that such closeness was nothing unusual. Hazama Kan'ichi did not connect Randou to the identity of that lover. When he happened to run into him, he spoke in a friendly manner, "Recently, Mr. Asou has been rather busy and it is inconvenient for him to interact with other Port Mafia members. If Randou-kun wishes to see him, perhaps you could wait until mealtime… ah, I forgot, he may be dining alone."
The Port Mafia leader's sudden and excessive favor toward Asou Akiya had indirectly cut him off from his usual social interactions.
Asou Akiya had become the leader's second blade.
This blade was overly refined and scholarly; it could be seen as a pen that killed, a tongue that killed, or a mind that understood murderous stratagems. The Port Mafia leader would make full use of him.
After hearing the Port Mafia leader's age, Randou's emotions settled. Ah, that was beyond the danger zone.
"Thank you."
Having said that, Randou left headquarters alone, aloof as ever.
Hazama Kan'ichi watched the distinctive ability user depart and thought of Kouyou, worry rising within him. If only Kouyou were an ordinary ability user; serving as a combatant would be far better than being raised as a puppet.
"Sigh, being an ability user isn't easy either."
Hazama Kan'ichi threw himself back into work, transporting intelligence—information that was usually stored within his own brain.
Returning to his combat squad, Randou sent a message to Edogawa Ranpo, informing him that he had transferred the meal expenses to his card and telling him to take care of his meals outside; recently, he alone had not been in the mood to cook.
Edogawa Ranpo's reply came with first-rate speed.
[Okay!]
Seeing that response, Randou narrowed his eyes. Had the other party just radiated a certain inappropriate level of happiness?
The little black cat raised at home was far too mischievous.
Randou then sent a message to another little orange cat. [Your homework?]
After waiting for a moment, the little orange cat immediately typed out a long text message and submitted his poetry assignment.
Randou gave it a grade: [Fail.]
In the slums of Suribachi City, Nakahara Chuuya wore a crestfallen expression. Compared to writing a short essay of several hundred words, Mr. Randou's standards for poetry were simply too high; in such a short time, he could not possibly reach the level that met the other man's expectations.
Soon after, however, Nakahara Chuuya saw the detailed guidance Mr. Randou had sent him.
A bright light blossomed in his azure eyes.
"Yes!"
His goal was to publish his own collection of poetry faster and earlier than that common-sense-deficient Ranpo!
Only in this matter could he defeat Ranpo with his intellect!
Having taken over Akiya's role in caring for the two children, Randou found himself with little else to do. The combat squad's missions mostly consumed physical strength and served to exercise his muscles; they did not instill much of a sense of crisis in him. As for killing—once one grew accustomed to it, there was nothing particularly frightening about it. He had learned to wash his hands after every act of killing, and it was remarkably easy to regain inner calm.
He did not believe in an illusory God, yet he believed in what Akiya had told him: that running water would wash away the sins clinging to him.
But such things as sin… could not contaminate a heart protected by love.
He turned off the faucet.
Randou was once again an elegant and composed Frenchman, his fingers clean, like those of a pianist; no one could tell from his outward appearance that he was a mafia member who had joined not long ago.
And this version of him, was the one Akiya liked best.
With casual indifference, Randou thought, "That leader who keeps Akiya from getting off work is truly detestable."
Next time, he would find an opportunity to ask Akiya—
Should he kill him?
Randou, who possessed "Illuminations," was just that willful—endowed with power and the ability to manipulate others.
Inside the Asou family residence, "Kimura Seimei" diligently cleaned the house whenever the others were absent, throwing himself onto the floor to scrub it, completing his daily housekeeping tasks without fail.
After tidying the bedroom shared by Asou Akiya and Randou, he habitually glanced at the trash can in the corner by the bed.
No condoms.
Recently, the two of them had not been intimate.
"What is this supposed to mean? Am I expected to wash this kind of thing too?" "Kimura Seimei" pulled open the drawer and checked the items inside. After confirming that some of the tools might have been used individually, he resigned himself to washing them with a specialized detergent.
"Why do you treat me as if I'm not an outsider at all?"
"I am the murderer of your lover's parents, not some convenient tool for you to save time on housework!"
No matter how much he complained, not a single one of his assigned tasks went undone.
A qualified tool ought to learn gratitude.
He laughed and laughed until he broke down into soundless sobs, the logic of his personality once again clashing with the fabricated mission directives embedded within him.
Life is a pile of dog shit; even in death, you still have to swallow it.
I wish the two of you devils break up soon!