Bungo Stray Dogs Vol. 8: Storm Bringer Read online

  “I get that you’re in a bad mood,” Piano Man added. “It’s because you’re gonna lose to Dazai at this rate. You have to become an executive before him. After all, the only reason you joined the Mafia was because you want access to a document that only executives can see, and that document’s the only way for you to find out who you really are.”

  Chuuya’s expression transformed. “How did you know that?”

  “But the way things are going, it’s gonna take you another five years to become an exec.”

  Chuuya’s brow furrowed deeply as he ground his teeth. “Don’t you dare say another word.”

  “Sorry, but I will.” Piano Man shot Chuuya a chilly smirk. “The boss told me almost everything.”

  “What?” Chuuya frowned with disgust.

  “Right after I invited you to join the Young Bloods, the boss gave me orders to keep an eye on you. Told me to check if you got any new info or if you tried to sneak a peek at the Mafia’s classified files.”

  “He asked you…to monitor me?”

  Piano Man nodded. “Of course he did. If you didn’t need to see the documents anymore, then you might’ve turned against him. You used to be enemies with the Mafia, after all. Obviously, he told me why you’re after those documents, too. I was astonished, to say the least.”

  “Stop,” Chuuya growled in a suppressed voice.

  “Arahabaki. Prototype A2-5-8, an artificial skill created by the military. That’s you. You’re not even sure you’re human. You’re worried you might be nothing more than an artificial personality—and that’s because you don’t dream.”

  Chuuya let out a voiceless growl.

  It all happened in the blink of an eye. Chuuya had grabbed Piano Man’s arm with his right hand like a snake snatching its prey, then crushed the automatic winder. He immediately picked up a fragment of the cue stick with his left hand and pointed it straight at Piano Man’s throat.

  The other four men were just as quick to react. Lippmann whipped out a submachine gun from within his coat and pointed it at Chuuya. Albatross’s kukri machete was already touching Chuuya’s wrist. Doc pulled out a syringe and had it pressed against Chuuya’s temple. Iceman had picked up a broken champagne glass and was about to aim it at Chuuya’s eye.

  Everyone was still. Nobody lifted a finger. They even stopped breathing momentarily. It was like looking at a photograph; the only thing still moving was the dust glittering in the morning sunlight. Any one of the six could have taken a life with just the slightest movement—and yet nobody stirred.

  “Do it,” Chuuya demanded. His voice was like a bowstring pulled taut. “I don’t care which of you goes first. Just do it.”

  “Can’t we do this later? At least, wait until the party’s over,” Piano Man said calmly.

  “What?”

  “I told you we were giving you a one-year anniversary gift or two, right?” He then took something out of his pocket. “Here.”

  Chuuya cautiously lowered his gaze…and froze.

  “……………………Huh?”

  With that utterance, he completely shut down. He didn’t seem to be breathing; it even looked like his heart had stopped. Chuuya’s grip loosened, and the broken piece of cue stick fell to the floor with a hollow clack. He unsteadily took what was being handed to him, apparently no longer focused on his surroundings.

  It was a photograph.

  “Weren’t expecting something so valuable, huh? I went through hell to get it for you.”

  Chuuya drew his face closer to the photo as if he were in a trance. He couldn’t even hear Piano Man’s voice anymore. The others smirked uncomfortably as they put away their weapons, but Chuuya didn’t notice that, either.

  “If anyone ever asks you that question again, just show ’em this picture.”

  It was a photo of Chuuya when he was five years old.

  It was taken at a beach somewhere; the ocean was visible in the background. Chuuya was wearing a linen yukata and holding hands with a young man while walking toward the photographer. The young man was smiling and faintly squinting from the sun’s bright rays. The young Chuuya was staring vacantly at whoever was taking the photo. From the look on his five-year-old face, he had no idea what was going on.

  “The picture was taken at an old farming village out west,” explained Piano Man. “It’s a ghost town now, though. Nobody lives there anymore. But Doc struck gold after looking into some medical files being kept at another nearby village.” He paused. “Doc.”

  “Heh-heh… People may lie, but dental records don’t.”

  Doc came over with some files and a sickly smile.

  “Medical professionals are obligated to keep medical records for a few years…and that obligation became our little ray of hope… Heh-heh…”

  Puzzled, Chuuya looked back and forth between Doc and the files.

  “Don’t act like you got those files all on your own, Doc!” Albatross whined as he held out another set of documents. “You never woulda gotten your hands on ’em if it wasn’t for me. Medical corporations usually end up being the ones that store medical records if a clinic goes under, and there’s tons upon tons of them! And guess who found the files we were looking for? Me! I threatened and begged every record keeper who seemed like they might’ve had these documents until I finally got ’em myself!”

  “Of course, even the greatest explorer never reaches his destination without taking that first step,” Lippmann said with a gentle smile. He held out a different stack of documents. “I asked a lady I knew for a favor and received access to some of the government’s military files. Naturally, they immediately destroyed the most confidential files involving the research once the war ended, but I did discover that one military unit put out a call for body donations out west for use in human experimentation. That was our first clue. In other words, I contributed the most out of everyone here.”

  As the situation slowly dawned on him, Chuuya timidly looked over at the final person in the group: Iceman.

  “…I didn’t do anything special,” Iceman added before taking out the last set of documents. “I found records of your parents’ siblings, their family tree, where you went to school along with your grades and school photos. I found your birth records, too. Piano Man told me not to let the boss know we were looking into this, so I couldn’t go to an information broker. I had to sneak into eight different buildings myself to get these.”

  “E-eight different buildings?”

  Chuuya blinked in surprise while accepting the documents. Iceman nodded, then faintly smiled for the first time that day.

  Very few people knew Iceman as a person, but he was actually quite soft-spoken and kind when he wasn’t on the job. He was simply a good-natured man who enjoyed coffee and listening to records in his spare time. Not many knew he had this side to him, but all five of the men here did. Chuuya looked at each of them in turn; they were all smiling.

  Piano Man, Albatross, Doc, Lippmann, and Iceman: the Port Mafia’s cream of the crop.

  “Why, though?” Chuuya looked at the photo. “You’re disobeying the boss by doing this.”

  Keeping Chuuya’s history a secret was how the Port Mafia boss was keeping him shackled to the organization. He wouldn’t be able to betray them as long as this info was under wraps. Piano Man, however, simply shrugged.

  “The boss gave me orders to keep an eye on you in case you learned the secret. He never told me to keep that secret from you, though.”

  Chuuya stared hard at Piano Man in an attempt to understand what he really meant by that remark.

  “Why?” A flash of uneasiness briefly colored Chuuya’s expression. “Why would you go through all this?”

  “‘Why?’” Piano Man looked puzzled, as if the question didn’t make any sense. “I already told you why. Because we’re celebrating your one-year anniversary today.”

  “But…”

  “It’s nothing particularly serious,” said Lippmann. Baffled by Chuuya’s reaction, he eyed the r
est of the group. “If we had to come up with a reason, though…”

  The look on his face said this was the most natural conclusion:

  “It’s because you’re our friend. Were things different with the Sheep?”

  They had been. That was what Chuuya’s flustered expression was saying. Everyone in the Sheep depended on him. The contrary was unthinkable.

  “How about you think about it like this, Chuuya.”

  Lippmann spread his arms, his gaze softening.

  “This isn’t a present. This is a flag. Ever since the days of ancient Rome, there has only been one reason to raise a flag: to tell people, ‘We are here, and we are the chosen ones.’ If any one of the six of us is ever in trouble, you remember that flag and gather under it. We’re counting on you.”

  He then slightly tilted his head to the side.

  “Heh-heh… What a wonderful speech,” said Doc. “That’s Lippmann for you… I have to wonder how many women have been fooled by that silver tongue of yours…” He almost seemed to be mumbling to himself.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lippmann replied with an unbothered smirk. “Oh, right. This peer support group actually has an official name: the Flags. That’s where I got the metaphor from. Piano Man, the group’s founder, is the only one who remembers and uses the name, though.”

  “The ‘Flags’?” Albatross appeared dubious. “Pretty sure this is the first I’m hearing about this.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you forgot. I told you this on your first day in the group. Right, guys?”

  Piano Man looked at the others, but nobody even blinked.

  “Hold up. Did you seriously all forget? It took me three whole months to come up with the name.”

  Everyone averted their gaze. Only Chuuya was quietly focused on the photo in his hand as if all the answers were right there. As if the existence of the photo itself was the answer, not the people in it.

  “Happy one-year Mafia anniversary, Chuuya!” the group cheered.

  For the briefest moment, Chuuya wore a childlike expression as if he didn’t know what to do or how to respond. He looked at his comrades, then through the files, then at himself in the photo once more.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Piano Man’s voice pulled Chuuya back to reality.

  “Rrgh…!”

  He tried to look angry. He opened his mouth and attempted to yell something, but not a single thought came to mind. Everyone stared at Chuuya in puzzlement. He then swiftly turned around and shouted at the entrance:

  “Now I get it!” His voice was unnecessarily loud. “You thought you could pull a fast one on me, showin’ me this so I’d get all weepy and apologize! That’s what’s goin’ on, isn’t it?!”

  “Hmm? No, actually, we—”

  “Well, it ain’t gonna work on me. Got it? That won’t work on me!”

  Chuuya began storming toward the entrance and kept his head down.

  “I’m goin’ home! And ya better not follow me! I don’t wanna see any of your damn faces!”

  After Piano Man glanced at the others with a perplexed expression, he said to Chuuya, “Oh well. I guess if you’re leaving, you’re leaving. We were actually gonna have a billiards tournament after this, but…I guess we’ll just have to play without you.”

  “Even without the guest of honor?” Lippmann raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s out of our hands. We have all this nice booze we can’t let go to waste, so let’s cut loose and forget about work while we can. Whoever wins first place gets a prize!”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Hey, Chuuya! Don’t mind us—and have a safe trip home!” Albatross waved at the entrance.

  “Whatever!” barked Chuuya before kicking the front door open and leaving the pool hall. “Hmph.”

  After the five comrades exchanged glances, they turned their gaze to the door. Nobody said a word. Ten, then twenty seconds of silence went by. Still, nobody spoke up. Nobody even moved a muscle.

  Thirty seconds went by. Right when they were about to reach the forty-second mark, the door to the pool hall opened just a crack.

  “Screw you guys. Just tell me the rules, damn it. I’m takin’ all those stupid prizes back home with me!”

  Chuuya was standing there looking equally frustrated and angry.

  “Now we’re talking,” Piano Man said with a smile.

  After that, the pool hall was full of its usual hustle and bustle: billiard balls clacking, the shuffling of footsteps, cheering, trash-talking, groaning, clinking glasses, billiard balls dropping into the pockets, and youthful laughter. The same mundane scene you’d see anywhere else in the world.

  If everyone in the room pitched in, they could afford numerous plots of land in this town, but you’d never know that just by observing them. These young men were simply chatting like usual.

  “Say, who ended up in last place the last time again?”

  “You won’t be talking a big game for long.”

  “We need more booze.”

  “Ha-ha-ha! Yeah, the drunker you get, the more your aim sucks! You’re goin’ down!”

  “True, the alcohol is making it hard to keep my hands stable. I’m probably gonna sink only three times as many balls as you.”

  “Oh, it’s on!”

  The pool hall was full of life. Someone started playing music on the jukebox. Old woodwind music could be heard in the background as the group played pool, drank champagne, and joked around. It was a scene from any corner of any old town; something that was universally wished for but wasn’t hard to achieve. That very something could disappear in the blink of an eye, just like bubbles in a champagne glass. This was one of those moments.

  “Heh… This shot’s gonna win me this whole thing.”

  “By the way, I saw you walking down by the harbor with a blond woman in tow. Is that your new girlfriend?”

  “H-huh? …Ack!”

  “Yikes, this isn’t looking good.”

  “Wow. Do you guys really wanna lose to me that badly?”

  “Ack! Could the balls literally be in a worse spot?! Don’t make things easier for Chuuya! He’s already got a big enough ego as it is!”

  “I have an ego?!”

  “Just don’t let him win! Whoever’s next, you better not mess up!”

  The stick connected with the cue ball perfectly. The follow shot’s spin twirled the white ball into a striped ball, knocking it into another numbered ball after that. The resulting combination shot hit one ball after another, each knocking themselves in a different direction. The colorful, energized balls wove complex geometrical patterns across the pool table.

  “Whoa!”

  Somebody gasped. The combo shot’s chain reaction, which was too intricate for the human eye to follow, continued until the final target—the yellow-and-white nine ball—began rolling toward one of the middle pockets.

  The nine ball moved slowly as if it were taking in a deep breath…and fell into the pocket. A split second of silence followed, and then everyone erupted into cheers and applause.

  “Incredible!”

  “What was that?! You made that shot like a pro!”

  “That was art.”

  “Sorry, Chuuya. Looks like your championship run ends here.”

  “A new king takes the throne!”

  “Who made that shot anyway?”

  Something bizarre had just happened. Startled, everyone started looking around to see who’d made that shot.

  “Huh?”

  Up until a few minutes ago, there were six people in the room…but now there were seven.

  “No need to clap,” said the seventh man.

  He wore a blue jacket and had long arms and legs; his dark-brown eyes perfectly complemented his black hair. His handsome face was very serious, almost to a fault as he held the cue stick like a ceremonial staff.

  “I do not need any prize, either. My sole intention is to interact with the six of you and form a conne
ction. The investigation manual stated that was the best way to get information out of humans. And it appears we have bonded over our billiards game as planned, so I will now be focusing on the mission.”

  The young man’s voice was flat and sonorous, his gaze seriousness itself. That moment marked the end of the peaceful tournament.

  A kukri soared toward the young man’s neck with a fiery roar.

  “Oh my.”

  He tilted his head, effortlessly dodging the blade while it sliced the ends of his hair.

  Albatross had thrown the kukri. Undeterred, he maintained his calm expression and sank low to the ground. Iceman then emerged behind the newcomer with a cue stick. He twisted his body like a spring before shooting forward like a bullet from a sniper rifle. The young man in blue easily evaded, so Iceman followed up with a barrage of thrusts with his cue stick. The tip of the stick grazed his opponent’s skin, scorched the hair on his head, and pierced the downy hair on his ears, yet none of the attacks were a direct hit. He’d avoided them by a mere whisker.

  “I’m impressed,” said Iceman.

  “Ha-ha-ha! This is fun!” Albatross cheered. “You must really have a death wish, coming in here without even knocking! Lemme grant that wish for ya!”

  “Despite participating in a friendly game of billiards, it appears my targets of investigation are becoming increasingly aggressive. Your actions are illogical. Why are you doing this?”

  The young wolves did not have an answer for him. Right as the newcomer was thrown off-balance from dodging the cue stick, Piano Man slipped behind him and started pulling a fine, glittering radial wire from his watch.

  “You can finish making excuses once you’re down on the floor.”

  The wire, which would be nearly invisible if it weren’t for the faint light reflecting off it, slowly fell and wrapped around the young man’s neck. Piano Man flicked his wrist, causing the wire to rapidly constrict by the winding device in his sleeve. Chuuya had destroyed just one of the winders in his sleeves, but Piano Man had devices up both. And once they started winding, the wires transformed into guillotines that not even superhuman strength could stop.