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Chapter 4

The feelings of man will reflect the weather, but the weather ignores the feelings of man. That day, sunshine beats down on Yokohama. It is a warm day.

I walk along the streets of Yokohama with a gloomy expression. Because my two hands are full of things, my expression must definitely look gloomier than usual. It's not because I'm in a bad mood, but simply a problem of balance. At the moment, my hands are filled with snacks and toys. It requires some practice to be able to carry goods with a gleeful expression.

These items are consolation gifts, tributes for the kids who are undoubtedly feeling gloomy living a life of refuge. The kids must definitely feel bored at the shelter Dazai had prepared. I feel uneasy wondering if this level of bribery will be able to make them pick up their smiles again. To kids, what adults deem as ample is never enough.

A young man riding a bicycle whistles into the distance. Children are chasing after something important that only they can see, running ahead of their mother. The war between criminal organisations and whatnot feels like it is happening in some other part of the earth.

I think about Mimic as I walk, those lonely soldiers who live to die.

Gide said: "I will make you understand me." Those words are a curse that will draw me into the fight, but at the same time, they are the painful cries of a child. The only people that can understand him are his subordinates or his enemies, and he hopes that I will become the latter.

I do not know if killing one another is the right thing. If this goes on any further, the war will continue without an end until either the mafia or Mimic is exterminated. Is some form of peace impossible? Is understanding them and drawing a boundary line at a suitable place something that cannot be achieved?

There is also the matter of the children. When the kids are independent and do not require support, I plan to leave the mafia. I do not know when I will have to wait until, but one day, that day - when the kids grow up and become office workers, engineers, or sports players - should come. I heard that the oldest kid's dream is to become a mafioso like me. This matter gives me a headache, but there should be a way to convince him otherwise. When that time comes, I can finally toss aside my guns, sit before a table by a window with an ocean view and start to write novels.

I pause before arriving at the office. The place Dazai has prepared for the kids is a customs clearance company for imports backed by the mafia. It is situated in a two storey building by the sea, baptised by the seabreeze, carrying signs of rusting. There is a spacious common carpark beside the building. A greenish-yellow bus is idly parked there.

I heard that Dazai has borrowed the entire place and chased the workers to other offices. He is a man who does things to the extreme. But that is also because Dazai judged that the kids might be attacked.

Carrying the goods, I walk up the office stairs. At the same time, I mentally run a list of which toy to give to which child.

I walk down the corridor, opening the door of the meeting room the kids are supposed to be in.

There isn't a single person in the room.

Tables have been overturned, there is a hole in the wall, and there are marks from something heavy being dragged across the floor. Crayons scattered on the floor have been flattened by large footprints. I hear the sound of something heavy falling to the floor, only to realise it is the sound of the goods I had been carrying in my hands dropping by my feet.

I subconsciously start to run. Dashing out of the meeting room, running downstairs at the risk of tumbling down the stairs and out of the building.

The greenish-yellow bus parked in the carpark starts to drive off.