01000100 01100001 01110010 01101011 00100000 01100101 01110010 01100001

Prologue

As though having heard someone's calls, I head towards the bar.
It is already 11pm in the night. The gas lamps float along either side of the street, ghost-like. I hurriedly cross the streets to distance myself from them, entering through the bar's doors. Lungs filled with the smoke permeating the premises, I walked down the steps and spotted Dazai sitting at the counter, playing with a glass with his fingers. This guy spends half his time here. He orders a drink but doesn't touch it, just stares at it solemnly.
"Ah, Odasaku!" Dazai happily waves towards me.
I wave back in return and sit beside Dazai. The bartender doesn't ask a word, placing my usual glass of alcoholic beverage before me.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
". Thinking about some philosophical questions."
"What kind of questions?"
Dazai paused for a moment, then replied, "Success is harder than failure for many things in this world, right?"
"That's right," I replied.
"That means I shouldn't place suicide as my goal, but rather, attempted suicide! It may be harder to succeed at suicide, but to fail at attempted suicide should be easier! Am I right or not?"
I stared at my drink for a while.
"You have a point."
"Exactly! I found it! Let's test it out - boss, is there laundry detergent on the menu?"
"There isn't," the bartender replied lazily as he wiped glasses.
"What about carbonate laundry detergent?"
"There isn't."
"To think there isn't..."
"Then there's nothing we can do about it," I nodded.
I surveyed the shop's interior surroundings again.
The bar is in the basement, hence, there are no windows. As quiet as a bear cave, the bar is well stocked - the counter, seats, walls lined with rows and rows of empty bottles, taciturn regulars, the bartender in his red vest. Because so many things have been squeezed into this tight underground space, the walking space only allows for two people to squeeze past one another. The items in the shop have witnessed the passage of time, giving guests the feeling of being suspended in their time.
I took a sip of my drink and ask Dazai, "Seeing that you're pondering such philosophical things, could it be that you failed your mission?"
"You got that right. It's not just any failure, it's an utter failure!"
Dazai purses his lips.
"We were luring the enemy to fight. Everything started because we got hold of information about a bunch of foolish idiots planning to destroy and steal some shipments of illegal goods. The nerve, stealing our livelihood, these people must be tired of living. I was lying in wait eagerly, wondering what kind of brave soldiers would they be. If we had succeeded, I could have perished magnificently. Pity that it turned out to be ten or so unremarkable ruffians. The only thing worth noting was that they came with a machine gun on their truck and a bazooka. I was really disappointed. once we had them surrounded in our trap, those losers ran off crying. It's all their fault, I didn't manage to die. How boring."
I figured as much. I can't imagine this guy ever failing.
"What groups up were those guys from?"
"Those energetic guys in our squad caught a few trying to escape and are being held prisoner in the interrogation room. They should be spilling any moment now."
To be unafraid of being punished by the cruel Port Mafia, the other party are indeed brave soldiers. Dazai looks disappointed. But to have prepared a machine gun and a bazooka, they may perhaps be more than a bunch of fools.
Too bad the one they had to meet with was Dazai.
There is a saying in the Port Mafia: "The misfortune of Dazai's enemies is to have Dazai as their enemy." If Dazai so wished, he could have a picnic in the middle of a crossfire. This man was born to be a mafioso.
Underground organisation Port Mafia Executive - Dazai Osamu.
This man who looks more like a teen carries the title of "mafia executive". People who don't know any better may laugh it off as a joke.
However, if they were to see Dazai's records - records stained with blood and darkness - they wouldn't be able to laugh any more. Half of the Port Mafia's profits in the past two years can be attributed to Dazai. The millions these profits amount to and the number of lives lost as a result - as a trivial member, it is beyond my imagination.
Of course, glory cannot be attained without a price.
"Your wounds have increased." I take another sip of my drink, pointing to the new bandages on Dazai's body.
"It has indeed increased," he laughed, inspecting his own body.
Dazai's entire body is littered with the scars of that price.
Simply put, his whole body has wounds. Dazai's body seems to be perpetually bandaged up. It dawns upon me that Dazai breathes, exists in a place centred around violence and death.
"How did your leg get hurt?" I pointed to the bandages, thinking that it must be the result of some violent fight.
"I was reading a book titled 'How to Prevent Accidental Injuries' while walking when I accidentally fell into a ditch."
I wasn't expecting such an abnormal response.
"What about the wound on your hand?"
"I was speeding on a mountaintop when I fell into a precipice."
"Then, the bandage on your forehead is...?"
"I was trying out this suicide method of hitting one's head on the corner of tofu*."
"You injured yourself when you hit tofu?" If this was true, this dear friend of mine must have a serious lack of calcium.
"For the sake of making super sturdy tofu, I started to formulate a few methods. Using salt to reduce water content, putting a really heavy object inside... all in my own kitchen. The tofu I make is hard enough to use to hit nails in. I am now more knowledgeable than anyone when it comes to the tofu-making process."
When it comes to making tofu amongst the mafia executives, they are very particular about the process. As one of the five mafia executives, he's on a different level altogether.
"So how did that tofu taste?"
"The worst part," Dazai's face looks bitter and unwilling, "If you slice it and dip it in soy sauce, it's very delicious."
"To think it was delicious..." I could help but to hold him in admiration. As a person, it seems like no matter what Dazai does, he always produces outstanding results.
"Let me try some next time."
Odasaku-san... you should have ridiculed him just now."
A voice comes from the doorway. I turn my head. A scholarly young man is walking down the steps.
"Odasaku-san, you spoil Dazai. If you don't ridicule him every now and then, there'll be no end to it. Look, the entire bar has become a different space. Even the boss is trembling."
His name is Sakaguchi Ango. The new guest dons a suit and rounded glasses. Although he is dressed like a scholar, he is also one of our colleagues. Ango is the mafia's special intelligence agent.
"Ango! Long time no see. You look well," Dazai beams as he raises his hand in greeting.
"Do I look well? I just came back from a trip to Tokyo. To and fro in a day. My entire body feels like a crumpled piece of waste newspaper. I'm exhausted," Ango rotates his neck and takes the seat beside Dazai, placing the red satchel on his shoulder onto the table. "Boss, the usual."
As Ango sits, the owner pushes a glass of golden fluid towards him. It looks like he started preparing it when he heard Ango's footsteps. Bubbles rise in the glass, shimmering faintly.
"Travelling is so fun, I want to go play too. Boss, give me another can of crabmeat," Dazai says as he twirls the empty can. There are already three similar cans placed in front of him.
"Travel to play? There are very few people in the mafia who live to kill time like you, Dazai. I went to work."
"If it were up to me, Ango," Dazai pinches crabmeat from a new can with his fingers and remarks, "Everything in the world is a prop used to kill time in a journey towards death. So, what was the job?"
Ango's gaze lingers for a moment, before he replies, "I went fishing."
"Ehhh, that must have been tough. What did you fish?"
"Nothing. It was a wasted trip. They said there was top notch cargo shipped from Europe. I rushed over to see but it all turned out to be junk you'd find in a neighbourhood craft workshop."
"Fishing" is a code word used frequently in the mafia, referring to the acquisition of smuggled goods. In many scenarios, the acquired are overseas manufactured weapons and resale goods. Occasionally there are expensive stones or art pieces.
"However, this time, there was a nice antique watch, the work of a late Medieval era watch craftsman. It's a fake but done exquisitely - someone should be picking it up," Ango takes a small box out from its paper wrapping to show us. On top of the box are an umbrella and cigarettes, items used for travel.
"...What time did the exchange end?" Dazai asks suddenly, looking over Ango's possessions.
"8pm. I rushed over here without a moment to play," Ango laughs bitterly before he adds, "Do as much work as you are paid. This way, I won't lose my head."
"When did the famous 'He who knows all about the Port Mafia' Sakaguchi Ango become so soft?" Dazai teases.
As the mafia's intelligence agent, Ango acts as the messenger of classified information with other organisations. He doesn't belong to any particular faction. Abiding only the leader's orders, he handles where and when transactions take place, reports of alliances between other organisations, internal private communications, mediating betrayals of mafia members, various highly confidential reports; a secret agent. Practically all these precious reports that determine the mafia's development go through Ango to be handed over to the leader.
Of course, Ango has information on the mafia that is more precious than gold. To prevent the possibility of information being leaked by enemy interrogation, this responsibility must be given to someone who is unafraid of punishment and is mentally resilient.
"Compared to 'Youngest Executive in Mafia History', my achievements are nothing but a graduate's resume. Speaking of which, what did you two want to discuss today?"
"What do you say, Odasaku?"
I answer for Dazai, "No, I just incidentally bumped into Dazai here, nothing more." This is fairly regular occurrence.
"Is that so? I had a feeling I would meet you guys tonight, so I couldn't help but to come over." As though finding his words amusing, Dazai started to smile.
"Do you have some business to look for us?"
"Not really. Just thought that this is like any other night, is all," Dazai remarks, knocking at the glass with his nail.
I can understand what Dazai isn't saying out loud. Usually, we gather at this bar as though we are running away from something. Talking and sharing with one another about superficial topics into the deep night.
Somehow, the three of us frequently meet at this bar. Despite the fact that we are in the same organisation, Dazai is an executive, Ango is an intelligence agent, and I am a low ranked operative with no title. It wouldn't be surprising if we didn't even know each other's names, let alone drink together. But to be able to be like this, to discard our ranks and ages to listen to one another, is probably because there are too many differences between our areas of jurisdiction.
"Speaking of which," Dazai speaks, focusing on the empty space, "We've been drinking together like this for a while now, but we've never heard Odasaku complaining about work before."
"You're right. It's different from what Dazai or I do. What Odasaku-san's job entails is a little special."
"There's nothing special about it," I shake my head, "It's just simply not worth talking about. You'll find it boring."
"Trying to shuffle past it again," Dazai tilts his head rather unhappily, "Seriously, amongst the three of us, the one with the most interesting job is Odasaku. Hurry up and spill. What have you done this whole week?"
I took a moment to recollect, counting down on my fingers and replied, "I went to investigate a theft case concerning one of the mafia's mallsI. In the end, the culprit were a bunch of grade schoolers from a nearby school. One of the members said they'd lost a gun. When I searched their house, I found it in their rice cooker. The director of some company down under fell into some trouble* with their wife, so I ran to arbitrate that. On top of that, I had to handle a small bomb threat behind the mafia's building."
"Odasaku, I'm honestly begging you, do you want to swap jobs with me?" Dazai asked, his eyes lighting up.
"I don't think that's possible."
"To come into contact with a small bomb threat! Do you hear that, Ango? Why is it that Odasaku gets to take all the interesting jobs? It's absolutely unfair! Tomorrow, I'm going straight to the boss to tell him, if he doesn't let me handle bomb threats, I'm going to resign as an executive!"
If other executives were to hear this, they might faint over immediately with angered expressions. As though used to it, Ango casually echoed, "Makes sense."
I may be a part of the mafia, but the underworld jobs entrusted to me are the dirty work no one wants to do. The reason is simple. Because I have no spectacular rank nor achievements, and neither am I considered a part of any executive's squad. These silly jobs are easily pushed onto me.
Simply put, I'm the yorozuya** of the mafia.
I definitely don't do this job because I like it. A few days ago, while being angrily scolded by the director's wife and mistress, I seriously considered suicide by biting my tongue. The only reason I am in such a position and job is because I am incapable of anything else.
As to why that is the case-
"At the very least, bring me along next time! I'll do my best not to get in your way."
"I can't agree with that," Ango narrows his eyes at Dazai, "Let's not talk about investigations or finding lost property. Situations that involve handling interpersonal disputes - Dazai will only make things worse.
"Disputes that become worse because of me... how wonderful."
"You see?"
Unable to rebut Ango's reminder, I solemnly sipped my drink.
"Dazai, before interfering with other people's work, how about finding a new interest. Maybe something a little healthier than suicide."
"A new interest," Dazai's face of youth lights up, "But things like English chess and go are too simple, they're boring. What else is there?"
"Something sports-related?"
"I dislike things that'll wear me out."
"Intensive study?"
"Troublesome."
"Then cooking... no, forget I said that."
Ango cuts his speech halfway and hurriedly covers his mouth. He must have remembered the time Dazai invited us to taste his special "spirited chicken hotpot". Its taste was true to its name - it could boost one's spirits instantaneously, but we can't forget the next couple of days, where we completely lost all our energy. Later, we asked what he put in it, but he merely smiled, refusing to speak.
"Oh yes, I recently came up with a new chicken hotpot recipe, may I invite you two to taste it some day? It's name is "superhuman strength hotpot" - After eating it, you can run for hours without feeling tired, like you're in a dream..."
"Absolutely not!" Ango curtly rejected him.
"Won't feel tired, huh... It'd be best to eat some before work."
"...Odasaku-san, didn't I just say, if you don't ridicule him when you have to, there'll be no end to Dazai's nonsense."
So this is what Ango meant. The more you know.
"Boss, do you have a hammer?"*
"No."
"You don't..."
"Then there's nothing to do about it," Dazai replies with a laugh.
"Really... Work has just ended and my head's already starting to hurt." Ango groans.
It looks like his job is very tiring.
"You're overworked, Ango."
"Work is overworking me."
Ango glares back at me and Dazai and says, "It's as you say."
"It looks like I shouldn't be here working overtime for free. I'll be taking my leave."
"Eh? You're leaving already?" Dazai asks, disappointed.
Ango doesn't smile, "Frankly speaking, everytime I come here to drink with you two, I forget I am part of an underworld organisation, committing illegal activities. Thank you for the service, boss."
Ango picks up his baggage from the counter and stands.
"Do you use that bag to travel?" I ask, pointing to his briefcase. I wasn't actually thinking about much. I just couldn't find a better excuse for him to stay.
"Yes, but it's not for anything special. Cigarettes, an umbrella, and a few tools for self defense." Ango opens his brief for me to see. "There's also a camera for work."
"That's it, let's take a picture!" Dazai bursts out suddenly, "As a commemoration!"
"Commemorate what?" I ask.
"To commemorate the three of us gathering here today? Or Ango's return from his travels, successfully handling that bomb threat, whatever reason's fine!"
"Yes, executive, sir." Ango shrugs his shoulders, drawing out the black camera from his brief. It's a vintage film camera. It's already very old - the black paint is starting to peel at several parts.
"Take a handsome one."
Ango laughs bitterly, taking a photo of me and Dazai together. Dazai also requests for me to take a photo of the two of them sitting beside one another. "Shooting from this angle will make you look more handsome," Dazai says as he places his feet on the barstools, leaning back.
"Dazai, why the sudden urge to take photos?"
"I don't know. I just feel like if we don't take a picture now, there won't be another chance for us to leave behind evidence that we used to come here together," Dazai smiles.
Yet, these words were like a prophecy. That day would be the day we lost something unknown between us - It is something felt only after the loss passes through the emptiness in our hearts, left upon these photos.
In the end, there would never be a second chance for us to take photos in that bar.
...
Because not too long after, one of us bade farewell to this world forever.