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1ju0dy1 · 2 years

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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side B (Final)

Read Previous Part Here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

This is the translation of the last part (from page 48 to 63) of Side B of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

I HIGHLY recommend you to read Side A first before moving on to this one more context, better understanding, and easier comparison between the two sides. You can find the link to the tag with all Side A translations I have done in my pinned post.

Please also carefully read the notes below before progressing. - This post contains spoilers. If you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don’t speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.

· This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoilers tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don’t take many screenshots.

· Don’t retranslate it. Don’t repost this anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

I’m sorry if that’s too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don’t want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

...

I killed that wealthy man, simply because it was a mission. I didn’t know why I was killing him, nor what kind of person he was. I just aimed for his head and pulled the trigger. That was it.

It seemed that the client who ordered the assassination was targeting that painting. I did not find out about it until much later. My job was only to kill the man. Carrying the painting out and cleaning up the aftermath was another professional’s job. They did their job. I did my job. And on my way back after the mission, I casually had my eye on a novel on the desk, so I took it and left the house.

It always starts with the little things.

That novel triggered a lot of things, and I eventually stopped killing. I have not killed a single person since then.

One day about two years after that day, I suddenly came up with an idea that I should go back and return that novel. There was no big reason for it. It was not out of sense of morality or guilt. It was simply because I thought if I did that, I would be able to face that novel directly. I already had another copy of the book that I bought by myself.

In the mansion that was once owed by the wealthy man lived a son of his. He was seventeen years old. I later heard that he was not his real son, but a boy who had lost his parents in an underworld conflict, that the man took in. An orphan.

I must have been out of my mind at that time. To think I would go and meet that son of his. I could have just sneaked into the house, put the book there and left, and it would have been as easy as bending a finger for me. But anyway, I ended up standing in front of the son and introducing myself. As “the person who killed your father.”

There was no word that could describe how angry the son was. He had all the rights to be angry. His family was killed by the underworld, twice. He was hitting me, throwing stuff at me, and attacking me with all sorts of insults. I could easily dodge all of his attacks, but there was no way to avoid the insults.

When he became exhausted from all the rampage and finally sat down, I explained to him about the killing. After that, he demanded a compensation. For his father’s life, and for the rental fee of that book I took without permission.

Bring that painting back, he said.

There was no reason for me to accept that request. First, I didn’t know where the painting was then. It must have been bought by yet another wealthy person far across the sea. I could find some clues if I looked, but that would mean a long, tedious and unprofitable job on top of that.

If it had not been for the book, I would not have accepted it.

As it turned out, my guess was correct. It was a long, tedious and unprofitable job. To add to that, it was a dangerous job. I had to get into a private military company (PMC) of nearly one hundred and fifty armed soldiers and carry the painting out under a rain of bullets, without killing anyone. If I were asked to do it again, I would absolutely refuse. Most of the troubles in my life were brought upon me by myself.

Standing in front of the painting that I brought back, the son of the wealthy man just looked at it in silence. After about thirty minutes, he started talking, little by little. About the reason he wanted the painting back. And how that painting was the object of a bet.

His father wanted his son to become a businessman that would surpass himself. So, he made a promise that if the son could make ten million yen by the time he turned eighteen, he would give him that painting.

“Stupid parents”, he said. In the first place, it was a dirty painting that had been obtained through illegal means. Did he really think that the son would try that hard to get his hand on such a thing?

But the son did try very hard. He managed to earn almost 80% of that ten million by himself. He did not try that hard because he wanted the painting, he said.

There was one year left till the promised eighteen.

That young man asked me to keep that painting for him until then.

The painting had a setup. It had been written on, by a special type of paint that would become visible when exposed to ultraviolet rays. The text covered an aera of about a quarter of the painting. And it said,

“You are my pride.”

If all the art lovers over the world saw that, they would just faint in anger. This kind of graffiti just blew away the whole five million yen worth of the painting. The man caused troubles even after his death. But perhaps, that wealthy man did it exactly because it was trouble.

He probably wanted to say that he wouldn’t care even if the painting’s value was to be reduced to zero, because his son was worth all that much. Or maybe that was why he went through the trouble of buying that painting illegally. Of course, the truth stayed unknown until now.

Because I killed the father.

I kept the painting as requested. I put it in a storage box and stored it in a dark, cool and windy place.

It is under the floor of my house, near the foot of my bed.

It is a painting that no longer has any artistic value. There is no point in preserving it with care.However, it has value to that young man. The son whose father was killed. That painting is the memento of his father, the will of his father, and in a sense, his father himself.

I am still protecting it now.

It is not to atone for my sin. I am not that kind of an admirable person. It is just because a lot of things piled up, that I decided to do so.

“And once I have made up my mind, I am not going to change it, no matter who asks me to.” I say as I walk toward the cop. “Got it? Bandaged man?”

“What?”

Before the cop can react, I quickly snatch the gun from his hand. The cop, whose arms have been injured and cannot even stand up, do not have the strength to steal it back. I bring the gun close to my face and say.

“This is not a gun.” I say. “This is a listening device. You are listening to us over there, right? You have anticipated this and created a situation for me to tell where the painting is, and tried to eavesdrop through this gun.”

“This gun … listening device?” The cop was stunned. So he did not know either.

“I found it odd from the beginning. That this was an automatic gun.” I say as I observe the gun. “When they stormed into my house, they were carrying the revolvers used by the city police. This is a different kind. Perhaps, this automatic pistol was the one you used when you threatened this guy? One more thing, if you want to threaten me, basically, you will have to come to me directly. But all I can see here are injured people. So, this is what I came up with: you, in order to find out where the painting is without showing up here, have created a situation for this cop to threaten me. If that is the case, then there must be a listening device somewhere.”

Of course, the gun does not answer me. It is just there, cold, heavy and quiet. But just by being there, that gun is radiating its unique presence to the surroundings. I continue to talk to the gun.

“This is loaded. But I guess it is just a blank, right?” I point the gun at the ceiling and fire a single shot. It makes an explosive sound and a flash of light cut through the darkness. But that is it. There is no bullet hole on the ceiling.

“That was quite a performance. Did you calculate everything up to this point, and collapse in front of my house on purpose? If so, that was impressive. Now, I have told you everything about the painting. Break the siege as you promised. Or you can let everyone in here and we can have a fun killing party. I am fine either way.”

As I am speaking, I check the gun more closely. Originally, it is my tool of trade. I know the balance of the weight like I know my fingers. The grip is a little heavy. I press the button to release the magazine, it drops into my hand. In the area near the grip screw, the polymer plastic material on the side of the magazine has been removed and a black rectangle part was embedded in it. That is the listening device.

I hold up the magazine like a microphone, and talk into the device. “Within ten seconds, you will make three blasts. After that, you will disappear immediately. If you don’t, I will consider that our negotiation has failed and I will come get you from here.”

I throw away the device and count to ten inside my head. Between eight and nine, a series of shocks shake up the underground basement. Exactly three times. The blasts sound like thunders from afar, and then the sound suddenly stops as if it has been chopped off. All that is left is silence. A silence that makes my ears ache.

“It is over.” I take a breath and walk away. “I will call the cops once I get out. The real ones, you know. All of you will be arrested, but at least you will be treated a little better. Compared to the Mafia.”

“Wa… wait a minute.” The cop says with a hard voice. “You…. Why? You said yourself that you alone could get away with this. You even knew that the gun I pointed at you couldn’t be used? Could it be that… you… you saved me? For what?”

The answer to that question is simple. But I don’t want to answer him. What is the point of answering anyway? I feel empty. I am tired, wounded, betrayed by people, and betraying people.”

“I am thirsty.” I say to myself. “I’m going home.”

The guy says something but I don’t hear it. I keep walking out of that place.

***

The light from the gas lamp illuminates the profiles of people walking through the ticket gate.

The blue stars of the city, of which there are only a few, are scattered in the night sky like a film.

The station is surrounded by the night sky, the night scenery, and a group of people walking home in silence. There is no explosion, no gun shot, no bargaining for your life here. It is the plain scene of the closing of a day like every day, which starts mechanically and ends mechanically.

Dazai Osamu and Oda Sakunosuke are there at that same station. In different places.

Oda is exhausted. Covering his aching back, he walks among the crowd rushing out of that station.

Dazai stands in the darkness, away from the street lights of the station front, watching Oda as he becomes one with the night.

Oda walks along the station platform, out of the ticket gate, and stesp into the night of the city. After getting out of the underground bunker, he crossed the mountain and walked over to a nearby village. He negotiated with the farmers there for them to give him a ride. He then got on buses and trains one after another, back to the nearest station to his home. When he arrives, it has become completely dark.

Oda rubs his own shoulders, and walks home with an exhausted face as he cracks his neck. His clothes are wrinkled and covered in mud. Sometimes, people passing by Oda look at him as if they are looking at a strange, foreign creature. But no one calls out to him. People in the city just don’t do that.

Oda gets through the ticket gate and walks under the street lights, as he takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth. Then he starts searching for something in his jacket. He is looking for a fire.

“Here you go.”

Suddenly, a voice comes from behind him. Oda turns around. In front of his eyes, there is a light from a match. And a hand holding it.

Oda is caught by surprise for a second, but he immediately places the cigarette in his mouth on that. He closes his eyes, breathes in the smoke, and breathes it out into the dark night. Then he looks at the person.

“Hi. What a look you’ve got there. Are you okay?”

That is Dazai.

Dazai, who has half melted into the dark, is standing there silently, smiling a smile that does not look like one.

“Nothing.” Oda says so as he looks at the other person through the smoke. “I just tripped.”

“This matchbox is yours, isn’t? I saw you drop it at the ticket gate.”

Oda looks at the matchbox Dazai is holding. It is black on the sides, white on top, and has a logo of a bar in front. It is clearly the one that Oda always carry with him.

“Yes.” Oda says, looking at the matchbox.

Then he observes the man. He stays silent for a few seconds before asking with a blank expression.

“Have I met you anywhere?”

Dazai smiles a smile of no personality. “No. This is the first time we met.”

The bandages that have covered most of Dazai’s face the whole time are no longer there. He is wearing a flat cap to cover his eyes, and a black inverness coat to hide his shape and his wounds. As for the voice, Oda has not heard Dazai speak even once.

“Is that so?” Oda says as he takes the matchbox from Dazai and turns his back on him. “Thanks for the match. Good night then.”

Oda is just taking a few steps when Dazai calls out to him from behind.

“Looks like you got into quite a bit of trouble.”

Oda stops and slowly turns around. “What?”

“Just… You seem so worn out. Your face looks so bad… Also, that thing on your hand and clothes, I can’t see very well in the dark, but it’s not just dirt. There is blood too, right?”

Oda looks at his own hands. It is true that there is still some blood from when he tried to help the injured cop on his wrists.

“Well, there was a bit of a situation.” Oda says, checking the smell on his hands. “It is not my blood. But it’s true that I got into some trouble. I got something important taken from me. Something I have always protected.”

“If it has been taken”, Dazai smiles helplessly, “then at least you don’t have to worry about it being taken anymore.”

Oda looks at the other for a while. As if he is trying to look for an answer there.

“Probably.” Oda says. “I can’t forgive the guy who took it, though.”

Dazai slowly nods. Trying to hide his expression.

Oda watches his expression for a moment but he finally turns away. “Thanks for the match. That was a big help. Bye then.”

Dazai looks at the back walking away from him and speaks quickly. “If you ever get into trouble in the future…”

Oda turns around, “Huh?”

“You can turn to The Armed Detective Agency in Yokohama for help. They will take on even the troublesome stuff. And they will get the job done without fail. I was helped by them in the past, too.”

“I see.” Oda says after he gives it a moment of thought. “I’ll do so then. That is very kind of you. You are a good guy.”

Dazai’s expression becomes distorted.

He opens his mouth, and closes it again, as if he can no longer breathe.

If he tells him everything now, maybe things will go back to how they were. The two of them will go to the bar together and have a toast. Just like that night.

“Odasa…”

Just as Dazai is about to say that name, a train passes by. The express train passing through that station cuts through the silence of the night, right next to where Dazai and Oda is.

The darkness and the light alternatively hit the road, and the roar of the steel blows away the silence of the whole surrounding. Oda narrows his eyes.

The train is long, and the sound it makes sounds like an extended sorrow. Dazai looks down so that no one can see him, his face twisted in grief. It is as if that long roar is promising him six long years of heartlessness to come.

The train finally passes through.

Oda looks around, trying to get what the other was saying again.

There is nobody there anymore.

Oda blinks his eyes, feeling confused. He looks around. Then he shakes his head as if to shake off all the thoughts, and walks away with a resigned expression.

Only the cold and quiet night breeze is left blowing through the space where no one remains, trying to fill up the emptiness.

Nobody says a word. The painting is kept by the Port Mafia for a year, before it is returned to its owner, the son of the wealthy man.

The son keeps it for a few years, and later donates it to a museum anonymously.

That way, Dazai has achieved his goal. Getting Oda to tell him where the painting is without facing him, nor having his face remembered. And by doing that, Oda will never be targeted by a criminal organization again. That is Dazai’s goal.

He has another goal.

To make Oda despise the Port Mafia. So that he will not join the Port Mafia, thus avoiding his coming death.

That goal is accomplished. Oda becomes involved with not the Port Mafia but the Armed Detective Agency, and joins the Agency two years later.

And then two years after that, Oda meets Dazai again one more time.

At the bar counter, in the sad melody of a parting song.

That is where Oda points his gun at Dazai, and Dazai says the last goodbye.

The last goodbye of his life.

The Day I Picked Up Dazai – Side Beast <The END>

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1ju0dy1 · 2 years

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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side B (4)

Read Previous Part Here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

This is the translation from page 36 to page 48 of Side B of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

· Don’t retranslate it. Don’t repost this anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

...

I open my eyes to an indescribable discomfort.

I am in a temporary cell used to keep the prisoners in the war.

Originally, it must have been a simple nap room inside the bunker to protect yourself from air strikes and such. The room is about the size of a hotel room, with only a rusty bed frame fixed to the end. The entrance door has been replaced by an iron door with fresh welding marks, and there is a thick chain used for boat anchoring and a huge lock hanging from the doorknob. A number of black power lines are wrapped around the hooks lining up on the wall, leading to the murky cage lamp at the back of the room. That is the only light source. There is no air conditioning, so the air in the room is unclean.

And I am being locked up in the middle of that room. There is no sound, except for the melancholic buzzing from the lights. The gloomy time is passing by me, wearing a gloomy expression.

I finally realize where that feeling of discomfort comes from. It is too quiet. It has been almost two hours without me hearing anyone’s footsteps, or anyone’s voices. There is no sign left of the hostile and conciliatory atmosphere I felt when I first came here. I stand up and put my ears to the entrance door. Still no sign of anyone.

That is when I cannot help but noticing a fact. A fact that puts my mind in confusion. How am I supposed to interpret this situation?

The lock on the door has been broken.

I poke the chain. It makes a rattling noise and falls to the ground. Same goes with the lock that ties it to the front door. As I turn the knob and push it, the iron creaks as if it is protesting, before it slowly opens.

I indulge myself in thoughts for a while. Just because the door is open does not mean that I have to leave the room. I can also wait here. However, what am I supposed to wait for in that case? For the next chance to be hurt? Or perhaps, a chance to give the guys who have abducted and kept me here a speech, to appreciate their hard work?

In the end, I decide to go out. My two hands are still cuffed but it doesn’t hinder my movement at all.

The underground bunker is long and intricate, like the inside of an unknown underworld creature.

I find my way through the dimly lit corridor. Occasionally, black insects would scurry away near my hands. I can hear the sound of water dripping somewhere.

A wind is blowing inside the shelter. It is a cold and moist wind that smells depressing like someone’s breath.

I thought I was getting lost. But I am not. I have found a sign.

That is a huge arrow, drawn messily on the ground where the route parts. I walk up to it and try touching it with my hand. That is blood. Someone has drawn that arrow by blood, so big that no one can miss it. The blood hasn’t dried yet. It has not been there for that long.

Looking in that direction, I immediately understand the meaning of that arrow. Someone is lying over there.

I rush over to the person, thinking they might not be alive anymore.

He is lying on his side. I can tell his two hands have been messed up even before I am able to get close. His skin is peeling off, exposing the flesh beneath. The skin from the elbows to the wrists, on the backs and the palms of his hands are torn off as if they have been clamped by something. However, the other parts of his arms are almost intact. I wonder what kind of attack he has got to end up in this condition.

There are huge holes on both of his feet that pierce through his shoes. The holes go all the way to the soles, where it is still bleeding a little bit. I am shocked.

Dead bodies do not bleed. The fact that he is bleeding means that the man is still alive.

I flip him over. I remember that face. He is one of the cops who attacked my house, the younger one. And now he is collapsing here.

“Wake up. Who did this to you?”

As I tap his cheek, the young cop slightly opens his eyes.

His face is pale as if all the blood has drained off, but he finally manages to focus his gaze. That gaze catches me. It takes him a few more seconds to understand the meaning of what he is seeing.

“Stop it!”

The cop suddenly pushes me and retreats to roll. Taking short and fast breath, he desperately tries to run away on those limbs that are no longer acting on his will.

“Hey, wait!”

“Don’t come any closer! Please stop! I beg you!”

“Wait! Calm down! I am not going to hurt you” I approach and grab him by the shoulder.

I brush aside his raging, resisting arms, and stare into his eyes, “Who did this to you? This is your hideout, isn’t it? What happened to the others?”

The cop finally regains some of his sense. His eyes gradually come into focus and move quickly from side to side, trying to grasp the situation around him.

“Where… Where is that guy? Isn’t he your friend?”

“That guy?”

I follow the cop’s eyes and check around. But nobody is there.

This is a big storage room. It used to be a huge space for storing water and food for evacuation. Now it is just a huge empty space with nothing stored inside. The pillars that are too big for a single person to hold, are lining up like lifeless ancient soldiers.

“He… he said… that there is no escape.” The cop speaks in an exaggerated, flat voice, as if he is delirious due to a fever. “He also said, if I don’t want everyone here to be killed, I have to tell him where the painting is.”

“Everyone?”

I look around. There is no one here. “Where are the other guys?”

The cop shakes his head in fear. Then he points his finger to the back of the room.

I stand up and look. It is only darkness over there. At the end of the dim light is an exit connecting to a corridor, which is submerged in an even deeper darkness.

I walk to that direction. I have a premonition.

As I reach the end of that corridor, I light a match to sweep off the darkness. Before I can even see the floor, I already understand what is there.

A man is lying face down as if he is drowning in a pool of blood. His arms stretch out powerlessly, and he lies in the puddle of blood as if he is taking a nap on top of a cloud. Behind him, there is another one. This one is curving up in the shape of the number nine, folding his two arms in. I can smell more blood in the darkness beyond that.

I have a hunch.

Could it be… that everyone in this underground hideout has been taken down?

I approach a man near me and check his pulse. He is alive, even though it does not look much like that from the amount of blood loss. He is breathing faintly. I observe him. His whole body has been cut dozens of times by a sharp blade. However, the cuts are perpendicular to the blood vessels. When you cut it that way, it will reduce the bleeding relatively quickly. The bleeding areas were also carefully selected to avoid the arteries. It reminds me of an artwork created by a top painter. Delivering pain through thoroughly calculated moves, to prevent the person from dying. He didn’t stay alive. He was kept alive. A first-class work. By someone from the dark side of the world who possesses a different set of skills from mine.

These guys must have been prepared for violence and attacks. So, for them to be easily devoured like this, not to mention be tortured in such a way that they couldn’t die, what kind of attackers could that be? And what is their purpose?

The cop just now was threatened that everyone would be killed if he didn’t tell the whereabouts of the painting. In other words, the one who tortured him wants the information I have about the painting. It means he is my enemy.

Suddenly, I feel like someone who get lost in the freezing cold weather at the top of a mountain, with only his underwear on. Having nothing to cover for myself, nor a way to escape. Far beyond the pale darkness, a mysterious monster is waiting to tear me into pieces.

I quickly make my way back. I will ask the still conscious cop for directions and get out of here. That way, the torturer who is targeting me may leave here too, sparing these dying people.

However, before I can get back to the cop, the whole tunnel shakes.

A shock, followed by a rumble. I can’t stand straight, so I have to hold on to the wall. As far as my eyes can see, the concrete is shaking and starts falling off into pieces.

“It… started.” I hear a voice. That is from the young cop I just met. I turn to him.

The cop is shivering. Those eyes look like they know for sure the world is coming to an end. I help him stand up. He starts ranting like a sick man with a high fever, without looking at anywhere.

“They are coming. They are coming. We are all gonna be killed. He uses fear. He uses your imagination. No one can win against their own imagination. He is going to siege all the exits and burn us to death.”

“Hey. Get yourself together! Who is he? What is going to happen now?”

The cop looks at me. The light in his eyes is pale and white, the light of fear that has swollen from his depth, to the point that it is almost transmitted to me.

“He is from Port Mafia.”

Port Mafia.

I am not so ignorant that I don’t understand the meaning of those words.

They are like the night wind that flows through the darkest parts of this city. They will follow you wherever you go in the darkness and rip off your throat with those fangs. The Apostles of Death that no living things can resist. And they are coming this way.

Another sound of raid. The place shudders like the internal organs of a giant creature in convulsion, cracks running across the wall. Apparently, we don’t have as much time as I thought.

“So, it is like this.” I say to the cop. “Soon enough this place will be surrounded, and the Port Mafia will come and kill all of us. However, if I spit out the whereabouts of the painting, everyone will be saved.”

“I… I think so.” The cop replies with a pale face. “It’s not like that guy wants to take anyone’s life. To him, our lives are worth less than the weeds out there... I beg you. Please save me. I will leave this organization. No matter how much I can earn from crimes, I don’t want to be in the same world with that monster anymore. So, please help me. I don’t want to die just yet.”

I look at that young cop. He is frightened from the bottom of his heart. The fear has overshadowed his personality, transforming him from a full-grown man into a life form that only knows how to tremble.

Beyond the light of his eyes, I can see the guy. The guy who controls fear. The devil of Port Mafia. He is manipulating the cop by a thread of fear and speaking to me.

_Give me the painting._

“I refuse.” I start speaking. “First, I can’t stand the way he tries to subdue others with violence. Second, that painting is not mine. It belongs to someone else. It is not something I can freely use to trade for my life. Third, that painting does not hold that much of a value anymore. It is probably not even worth fifty thousand yen, let alone five hundred million. Even if I give them the painting, I don’t think those guys will let us go.”

“Still! If you don’t give them the painting, everyone will be killed now…”

“Forth.” I cut off the cop’s sentence. “They will not kill me. Even under this circumstance. Because I am the only one who knows where the painting is. Port Mafia may surround this area and kill everyone here. But they will have to keep me alive. Because that information exists only in my head. However, if I tell you where the painting is now, the secret will no longer be mine only, and my life’s value will drop. Then it will become a matter of luck whether Port Mafia will let me live or not.”

“You… what are you talking about?” the man’s voice almost becomes a scream. “Then what about me? What will happen to us?”

“You are criminals.” I speak in a suppressed tone. “Even if you are going to be shallowed up by a more sinister organization, it is just the law of nature.”

“You…!”

The cop, still lying down, quickly pulls out a hidden gun. He points it at me.

I take one step back and observe the gun. That is a black, 9mm automatic pistol. The muzzle is firmly pointed at me. As it is an automatic gun, there is no need to cock it. Even with an injured arm, he can probably fire one shot with no problem.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” I put my hands up and say. “If I die, the information will be lost. There is no point to threaten me with a gun.”

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s why you are saying things all high and mighty like that.” There is the color of obsessive desperation in his eyes. “You think that you are the only one to secure a safe place for yourself. I hate that. On the other hand, what about me? I am gonna die for sure. Whether you say anything or not. If it is going down that way, then I will shoot you right here to lighten up my mood a little before I die. How about that? Can you still say such privileged thing?”

In silence, I look down at the man, at the desperation, at the screaming and pleading of a human wishing to live. He will really shoot me. Without a doubt. It is absolutely as certain as how the dawn will come as long as you wait.

“Now, speak.”

“All right.” I hear myself saying. “If you are that determined, I have no choice but to speak. I don’t think anything will change if you know though… The wealthy man who owned that painting was killed seven years ago, by my hand. That was my last job.”

And then, I start telling my story, bit by bit.

...

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1ju0dy1 · 2 years

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“I refuse… to be what you want me to be.” ↳ dedicated to @roronoazooro~♡

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1ju0dy1 · 2 years

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Odasaku and Dazai's relationship and why everyone is wrong about them.

There is a lot of discourse around exactly what the nature of Oda and Dazai's relationship is. They're father/son, brothers, mentor/mentee, lovers, soulmates, just friends etc. but in this post I am going to talk about how everyone is wrong. As far as I know there is not a word or term in the English language that accurately encapsulates the fascinating unique phenomenon of them.

First it is important to be aware of how the first five years of anyone's life is critically important. During this time neural pathways grow and develop at a rate like no other time in life. The more a child's needs are met at that time the more solid a foundation they have for growing and learning in the future. Something that triggered my post natal anxiety fiercely was reading that there are neural pathways that can never exist for your child if they miss out on certain experiences in those years. Stress is literally toxic and will have an irreversible effect on development.

With that in mind I am confident that despite the state of his childhood, later on Odasaku actually had a solid first five years of his life. At his core he is kind, nurturing, understanding and peaceful. We see in Side A, B, Dark Era and Beast, that even when he thinks it's a bad idea he will default to those traits. He could not be those things inherently without having had a positive first five years.

Dazai I would say had a fairly stable first five years but probably less so than Odasaku. If it was a scale of 1-5 I’d put them like this:

The first five years are just a foundation though, at any age (but the more before 25 when the frontal cortex is still forming the better) the right kind of connection can fire new neural pathways. By the right kind of connection it means feeling as if you are being heard, being seen, being empathised with etc. Oda and Dazai were missing those things significantly before they met one another.

Oda’s lonliness and isolation came from literal solitude and always being able to read and predict things because of his ability. Dazai’s is manufactured from the distance created by always being the cleverest in the room allowing him to read everyone and thing. The differences aren’t important though because they produce the same effect. They are each in a position no-one else in the world can understand, no-one until they meet each other that is.

So when they meet and interact they start having experiences they’ve never had before, needs they probably didn’t even realise they had started being met. And this is why their relationship is so incredible and why I think it so much more than the labels people try to reduce it to. They literally rewired one another’s brains, they opened themselves up to things it was impossible for them to know or experience before. Now with the nature of humans when you experience something like that you want more of it because it feels good, and as those positive interactions reoccur and reaffirm more neural pathways open up.

Something I recently learned about is “mirror neurons” and these are the parts of the brain that cause us to mirror the world around us to fit in. It can be as small as yawning because we see someone else do it or as big as the effect of mob mentality. The need to be seen, understood and recognised is a strong one. Before meeting Dazai is reflecting the mentality of the mafia but when he meets Odasaku, who is trying to live in a way that mirrors the ideals Natsume inspired in him, these new neural pathways and experiences cause them to start mirroring one another. The change is more noticeable in Dazai because the way Odasaku behaves is so very different from how he has been before.

So when Odasaku dies Dazai loses that connection, that affirmation, and all the wonderful positive things that came with it. This makes it the most natural thing in the world that what he would want to do is find a way to keep mirroring and experiencing it. How could he possibly go back to the way things were before? Therefore Dazai’s desire to do work that helps people, is less just because it was Oda’s dying wish and more Dazai wanting to keep those feelings he experienced alongside Odasaku going. As Dazai does this more new neural pathways are being created whilst reinforcing the best ones he got from Odasaku.

I can see why people have such different takes on Odasaku and Dazai’s relationship. In a more conventional upbringing the needs they are missing are typically met across all those different kinds of relationships. Being at school, interacting with family, making friends with peers, having a typical job etc. So of course people can see all those types of relationships between them and I wonder if people’s preference for the type of relationship they have in any way reflects their own needs and where they are met. However I would still argue that although they might cover all those relationship dynamics they are not one exclusively and that is why they are actually none of them.

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1ju0dy1 · 2 years

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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side B (3)

Read Previous Part Here: Part 1 | Part 2

This is the translation from page 19 to page 35 of Side B of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

· Don’t retranslate it. Don’t repost this anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

...

That young former cop has no idea what has happened to him.

He was abducted while he was patrolling the underground bunker, but he only realized that he has been abducted much later, when he found himself in the dark, unable to move a muscle.

He is sitting. On a piece of concrete at the foot of a pile of debris, like a prisoner. He just woke up and cannot understand what condition he is in. However, even before his brain wakes up, he is clearly aware of one thing. Pain.

His body is in pain. A heavy, sharp pain is rushing through his whole body like an unpleasant signal, making his skin tingle. But he can’t tell where the pain is from. More than half of his brain is still buried in a muddy coma.

This is an abandoned section in the depth of the underground bunker.

About ten years ago, there was an explosion of an oxygen cylinder used for emergency rescue here, and it has been in half-collapsed state ever since.

There are gaps crawling like living creatures on the wall and the ceiling, and countless debris piling up. The debris comes in different sizes, from the size of a fist to the size of a car. And the steel wires used as foundation material are poking out from the gaps like wild plants.

He is sitting at the end of a dimly lit tunnel, in a narrow passage blocked by debris. On top of the debris that is just the height of a chair. Or rather, he has been sat there.

He cannot move on his own.

Because his hands and feet have been fixed. His two hands are sandwiched between large pieces of debris. From the elbows up, they are tightly pinned by the debris that looks like a mouth closing. The debris is not heavy enough to crush his arms right now, but it is not light enough for him pull his arms out by himself.

“This… is…”

His voice is cracking in despair.

Because he saw his feet.

Two big stakes are piercing through the insteps of his feet, into the floor.

They are old construction wooden stakes. They have the thickness of a thumb, old and rusty. They are piercing through his leather shoes, his skin, his flesh, his soles and finally into the floor. Fresh blood is still there, spreading in circle on the ground.

Someone has stitched his feet to the floor with those stakes. For what?

“You are feeling the pain.”

A cracked voice comes from the darkness.

The young cop turns to the voice with a frightened face.

“Pain is good. Pain is proof that you are alive. There are even better things. As the pain gets stronger, it can control us, change the way we think, and sometimes even blow away our personality. Do you know why that is a good thing, Toda Akihiko-kun?”

The voice is intimidating, assertive, and filled with raw danger like a bleeding wound. It is high-pitched as that of a young boy, but it lacks the human-like characteristics a young boy should have.

The man in the shadow. That is Dazai.

“It is because it continues to show us that our personality, our soul, is nothing but a convenient and unstable hypothesis based on primitive instincts such as pain and fear.”

Dazai smiles thinly. Most of his face is covered in bandages, so that smile can only be seen through his slightly narrowed eyes and his mouth, which is distorted and white like the shape of a shamshir.

“You are… the injured person… at the house…” The cop named Toda speaks in a wheezing tone, as a person with a faint consciousness would do. “How do you… know my name?”

“I know almost everything.” Dazai says in a gentle, soothing voice as he approaches Toda. “You are a member of the criminal organization “48”. You used to be a local police officer, but you joined the organization after being invited by a former senior at work. You live near the lower reaches of the Tsurumi river, under the overhead lines. Your parents and sister run a brewery in Shinshu. You do not put the money you earn here into a bank account, but hide it inside a safe at a dumping site. That is wise.”

“Wha..”

Dazai speaks with cold eyes, looking down at the pale cop.

“No need to worry. I am not interested in hurting you. Now tell me what you know about the “painting”, everything.”

“What… painting? Who the hell are you? How do you know my nam…”

“Wrong answer.”

Dazai interrupts the guy and kicks him the leg, as if he does not give a damn. That is a light movement, like rolling a pebble with your toes, but it makes the cop throw his head backward and scream.

“Gyaaaaaahhhh!”

The stakes piercing through his foot shake his bones and nerves when he is kicked, and send the pain throughout his whole body.

“Honestly speaking, I don’t really want to talk to you either. So, I have to ask you to refrain from unnecessary talk. Just talk about the “painting”. How do you know that Odasaku has it? How do you even know that the painting is valuable in the first place?”

“I…” the cop’s face becomes distorted. That is the face of someone whose pain is accumulating and running all over his body.

“I don’t … know.”

“Oh?” Dazai lifts his eyebrows. However, other than that, his expression is completely flat and calm.

“That’s the truth! I just joined so I know almost nothing! I only know that the guy named Oda is hiding a painting that’s worth hundred millions of yens!”

“Toda-kun.” Dazai walks up to the cop then places his hand on a piece of debris. “This is the hideout of your organization. It means that there are many of your “replacements” here. If you think that you can save yourself by convincing me that you know nothing, you have made a mistake. I won’t feel, nor care at all if the like of you dies.”

The cop can feel cold sweat squirting from his whole body. This young man is not lying. It shows in his eyes. That this young man is only seeing him as a fly in his kitchen.

“I saw you guys’ torture earlier. I am a little relieved.” Dazai’s smile is as thin as a piece of paper. “Cops might be experts in investigation, but not experts in torture. You can’t even make anyone tell you the time the clock on the wall says with that child’s fight-like torture. How about I tell you the right way to do it?”

Dazai says so as he picks up a piece of debris under his feet. It weights a few kilograms. One can pick it up without much trouble if they use both hands.

“What do you think I’m going to do with this?”

Dazai raises the debris. The cop stiffens. If that thing is swung down on his head, his skull will break. He wants to run away, but he can’t because both his arms and legs are locked.

Dazai stares coldly at his opponent for a moment, before his mouth finally twists into a sneer.

“Not this.” Dazai shakes his head.

“I am not going to hit you with this. I’m tired and my hands hurt. Pros do not use unnecessary force. The correct answer is this.”

Dazai puts the debris down. On top of the huge and flat piece on the cop’s arms. The cop frowns from the impact of the large mass.

“And that’s it. How is it? Are you disappointed? Torturing always starts with the softer stuff, you know. That way, it will give you more time to imagine. Because the greatest fear of a human being is the fear toward their own imagination.”

With that said, Dazai picks up another piece of debris and put it on the same plate.

“It is not a big deal with just one or two, right? But what if there are ten? What if there are twenty? Your arms are locked, while the weight is gradually added to the top. You are only feeling some pressure and pain now, but there will be a limit. Give it some time, and slowly, your bones will break, your hands will be crushed. I will just add it up little by little, so that you have a lot of time to imagine it.”

The blood slowly drains from the cop’s face. Complex thoughts are gone from his eyes. What’s left is only the most primitive and simple feelings.

“That!” Dazai pokes the guy’s forehead, entertained. “That is fear. The fear towards one’s own imagination. No-one can rob anyone of their imagination. Now, let us continue.”

One more piece is picked up and placed on top. The pressure starts from his elbows to the tips. Cold sweats slip down from the cop’s cheek.

It is clear to him what is about to happen. His arms will break. The bones bearing the weight of all the debris are mainly the forearm’s radius and ulna, the lunate, scaphoid and triquetral bones at the base of the hand. And the finger joints. You put a weight on these bones and they will start breaking in order, from the point where the force is most concentrated.

It is said that compared to the pain of a flesh wound, the pain from a broken bone is way more intense, unpleasant and unbearable to anybody.

Moreover, in a normal fracture, the bone will only break at one most pressured point. In this torture, however, once a bone has broken, the force will concentrate on a new point and have it broken anew. The fracture points will link to one another and ultimately, the bones will be shattered like they have been put through a wood crusher, and his arms will end up becoming a flat mattress mixed of flesh and blood.

And it will take a long, long time till he gets there.

“I beg you. Please stop it!”

The cop screams out, trying to escape. But it is hardly a meaningful movement. He barely lifts his hips. His hands are pinned down, his legs are locked by stakes. He can’t even change his position, let alone escape.

“Answer my question then.”

Dazai leans against the flat debris board, adding weight to it.

“Gyahhhh!!”

The cop’s arms start to crack under the newly added pressure from Dazai’s lounging.

“Tell me about the painting. I came here for that. It is so easy to destroy your organization. But I have to take care of that painting first. That is Phase one of the plan.”

“Phase one?”

The cop asks with a puzzled voice. He has no idea what his torturer is saying.

There is no-one who can understand it in this world yet.

“I know everything. About you, about your organization, about what happens next.” Dazai’s voice cracks as if he is subduing something inside. “I just want to know about the painting. Because Odasaku will die at this rate. I have to know the painting’s whereabout to change the future.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what you are talking about. I am just an underling here. I really don’t know anything.”

“Is that so?”

Another piece is loaded. The cop groans. Then, he gathers all the strength he has to pull his arms out. That’s the only way to survive.

His two arms tense up, his joints become pale and see-through. The cop holds his breath and exerts an unusual strength one normally can’t have. He manages to move his arm slightly outward.

But that is all he can do.

“It’s useless.” Dazai says with a voice that even exudes tenderness. “If you try with all you’ve got, you might be able to pull your arms out now. But you won’t. The concrete’s surface is rough. If you try too hard, your skin will come off somewhere. Plus, the further you pull, the smaller the contact surface will become and the more weight will be put on your skin. In other words, you will have to pull your arms all the way out, while feeing your skin being torn off and your exposed flesh being cut by the concrete. I wonder if you can continue the act of grinding your own body till the end?

Fear runs through the cop’s face. His arms loosen. With a ragged breath, he curves his body.

“See?” Dazai smiles. “Your will, your soul is screaming at you to pull your arms out. But your imagination gives birth to your fear, and that fear is stopping you from pulling them out. That’s why I told you. Our personality, our soul, is nothing but a convenient and unstable hypothesis based on primitive instincts such as pain and fear. Today, in this moment, your pain is your master and your king. So, you will speak. You will definitely speak.”

The cop’s body trembles in fear. This is the fear of pain, the fear of his imagination. But the most frightening of all is the young man in front of him, the king of the Pain land, the one who creates pains and controls pains.”

“You… who the hell are you? How can you do this?”

“I’m a pain expert.” Dazai puts his face closer to the cop’s as he says that, as if he is revealing a secret.

“That’s right. You want an excuse for yourself. Let me give you one then. I’m a Port Mafia’s executive.”

Upon hearing that, the cop bounces as if he is having a seizure. The color of regret surfaces to his eyes. The muscles from all over his body stiffen up. For a moment, he forgets everything about the debris on his arms, and the stakes on his feet.

“I get it. I will tell you. I will tell you everything. I didn’t know. I didn’t know that this is the kind of job that will piss off the Port Mafia!” The guy shakes his hair and screams. “I will pay whatever you want. I will sell out as many of my men as you want. So please help me. I beg you. Please save me!”

The cop has fallen, as easily as that. Dazai smiles thinly.

“How did you know about the painting?” Dazai asks.

“We heard from an art dealer.” The blood runs in the cop’s eyes, as he is trying his best to trace his memories. He finally realizes that every single word he says will decide his life and his dignity.

“That guy runs a small gallery on the Harbor Street, but he is also involved in forgery trades behind the scenes. People call him the Grey Merchant. That guy was arrested last month because he messed up. He sold a painting to a customer knowing it was a fake.”

“It looks like your throat has become a little smoother.” Dazai smiles, sitting down on a nearby piece of debris. “So?”

“Then the city police started looking through his other charges. They didn’t find any major crimes, but they suspected him of a pretty big incident. Fencing.

“Oh?” Dazai tilts his head. “Keep going.”

The cop speaks in a broken voice to endure the pain.

It was that dealer’s biggest job ever. He was secretly selling stolen goods from Europe. It was a big painting that has to be carried by two people, showing a farmer couple working diligently in a Medieval European landscape. It was painted by a member of a noble family in Europe in the 14th century, and was called the best work of its time.

That painting was stolen from an international art museum in France, by a group of skilled thieves. The culprits fled to Japan, where they contacted the art dealer to convert that painting into cash. The dealing of stolen goods – fencing - was familiar to that art dealer. However, the scale of the job that time was too large. It was a painting with a historical value. News of the theft had, of course, spread around the world, making it harder to find a buyer.

However, the dealer finally got that job done. The ultimate person who bought the painting was an extremely wealthy Japanese man. A man who made a fortune out of an aircraft importing business, a man who had a love for expensive arts. Or rather, he was in love with himself who owns expensive arts. That wealthy man hung the painting in the basement of his house. He had no intention of showing it to anyone. He was content with just showing it to himself.

That is why after he was arrested, the first thing the dealer thought about was the painting that he sold. The whereabout of that painting has become an international concern. If they found just a hint of it, the Europol would show up. If that happened, the severity of the investigation as well as the charges would be far greater than when the Yokohama City Police was in charge.

Therefore, the dealer came to criminal organization “48” to ask them to erase the evidences of the deal. That was one of the things “48” was good at. Through the help of their collaborators inside the police, they can steal evidences from the evidence storage room, or rewrite them with criminal records. The price varies depending on the severity of the crime to be erased, but “48”’s thorough understanding of the investigation process makes them very popular when it comes to this stuff, and they never run out of requests.

“48”’s movement was fast. They erased the travel records of the thieves and replaced the surveillance videos of the area near the warehouse used for fencing transactions. They had the knowledge they had gained through their career, and a thorough persistence on top of that. Even when they had switched from day to night, from law keepers to outlaws, no one could take that persistence away from them.

However, that was as far as they got. There were two problems.

The wealthy man who bought the painting had been killed.

And the painting had disappeared.

The man was killed in his own house. Together with his family. There was no lead to the killer. In fact, it was unknown how the killer broke in, how he killed him and by what kind of weapon.

The only thing known is that he was instantly killed by a shot in the head at close range. The rifling marks on the bullet didn’t match any records in file.

That was clearly done by a professional hitman.

And the painting was missing. So, there is only one possibility.

The killer knew the value of the painting and stole it.

“Impossible.” Dazai is stunned. “Are you saying that the hitman was Odasaku, and that he stole the painting?”

“How else could it be?” The cops says as he tries to suppress the pain. “The records show that when the murder scene was inspected, the painting had already been gone. Of course, he might have let go of it himself, right before he was killed, but if he wanted to transfer such a hard-to-sell painting like that, he would have used the same dealer for sure!”

Dazai stays completely still, his eyes looking at the middle of nowhere.

He rests himself on the debris without saying a word. Simply thinking in silence. His eyes are open without looking at anything, as if he has even forgot to breath.

“Got it.”

When Dazai finally opens his mouth after a long pause, that voice completely lacks emotions. No mockery, no cruelty, not even a carnivorous smile, nothing. A complete hollow.

Then he pulls out a gun.

He points the muzzle at the cop’s head.

“Wa.. wait! Why? I told you everything! I betrayed my organization and told you everything. There is nothing else, I swear!”

“You really don’t listen to others.” There is nothing left in Dazai’s voice, not even the ruthlessness. There is nothing in there. Not even a sign of someone holding a gun, nor talking to a human being.

“I told you. I won’t feel, nor care at all if the like of you dies. And there is one more thing I have not told you yet.”

Dazai bends his finger.

“I hate your organization.”

Gunshot.

…

817 notes · View notes

1ju0dy1 · 2 years

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Started watching this anime and I like the characters and their outfits a lot! :D Hastily drew this in a frenzy last night in order to get it sent to the printer ^^

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1ju0dy1 · 2 years

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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (Final)

This is the translation for the last 15 pages of Side A of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. If you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· Don’t retranslate it. Don’t repost this anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

SPOILERS AHEAD

No king can reign at the top of the world forever.

When we get outside, it is already the evening, when the sun that stands at the top of our world is setting and losing its glow. The sky is dyed in a color that looks like a spill of purple broth and the warm orange color is receding into the distance. The early stars color the sky with their silver twinkles, while the moon is hovering low in the sky like a scratch mark.

We walk through the town. A warm and worn-out atmosphere is slowly flowing through the gaps between the buildings. All the elegant people cautiously turn their heads to check on us as they pass us. After all, we are covered in wounds and mud from the basement, and on top of it we look worn-out like a straw. For those who just had a long day like us, we don’t have time to worry about the eyes of the passers-by.

“How tired.” I say.

“Yeah, so tired.” Dazai replies. “Where are we going now?”

I do not say anything. I take out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I haven’t smoked for a while, but too much has happened today.

As I am about to light the cigarette, I suddenly remember that Dazai is here. He is underage.

I change my mind and put the match back in.

“Don’t worry about it. Just smoke.” Dazai says.

I hold the cigarette between my lips and give it a little thought. My thoughts waver as the cigarette wavers. But in the end, I decide to do just as Dazai said.

I light the cigarette, inhale the smoke and blow it out. The smoke rising from the tip of the cigarette swings as it is caught in the twilight.

I get off the main street and step into a narrow alley. Dazai follows me.

That is a place where the setting sun cannot reach, and the sign of the night is crouching in a little earlier. A white light cuts through the alley. It is a store sign. I stop there and open the door in front of me.

“Here?”

Dazai asks. I silently urge him to go on.

It is quiet inside the store. As I am going down the narrow and steep staircases that remind me of those secret passages, I first hear music. A rusty jazz number. A very old song about the sorrow of parting with family. Thanks to the song, I feel like going back in time with each step down. Or perhaps, compared to world out there, this store actually exists a little bit in the past.

There is no guest inside, probably because it has just opened. Illuminated under a dim light, everything in the store seems to be submerged in the yellowish-brown color at the bottom of the sea. The bartender who is wiping the glass behind the counter looks and nods at me with his eyes.

“Is this, by any chance, the place you should go before you die”? Dazai asks, his voice sounds disappointed. “Isn’t it just a normal bar? I thought it would be a nicer place...”

“Right. There is nothing special here. Just a bar.” I honestly admit. “There is no secret. You have been tricked.”

Dazai stands still with a blank expression on his face, as if his heart has flown somewhere else. A long moment passes by before Dazai finally opens his mouth and let out a dumb voice.

“What?”

“Just think about it. How can a little guy like me know something that even the high and mighty Port Mafia does not know of? And didn’t you say you were thirsty? Master, I will have the usual.”

I sit down on a bar stool. The bartender quietly puts a glass of distilled liquor in front of me.

The liquid inside the glass reflects the light and glitters smoothly. The ices clink like some kind of signal.

“Why don’t you sit down?”

I say, looking at Dazai.

Dazai still stands inside the bar with a discontent face. But after looking at the seat, the bartender then me, he slowly sits down.

Dazai orders something, his drink is brought in front of him.

No-one says anything for a while.

“How should I put it, so in other words…” Dazai says, his eyes fixing on his glass. “Did you lie to stop the… suicidal me… from dying?”

“No. I am not that kind of an admirable person.” I take a sip and return the glass to the table. “There is someone who is younger than me yet he seems to know everything about life, so I teased him a little bit. Just that.”

Those words of mine sound true and deceptive at the same time. I am just as clueless about my heart as I am with other people’s.

Dazai spends some time looking at me, trying to see through the meaning of my words, before he eventually gives up and shakes his head. “I can’t really believe you but let’s leave it that way for now.”

“There is no need to be upset. There is still something in this world that you can believe for sure. And there are two.” I take out the deck of trump from my pocket. “One, you haven’t beaten me at poker yet. And two, a dead person will forever lose the chance to play poker with the living.”

Dazai stares at me for a moment, but eventually his face loosens up and he laughs, “I will get rid of that leeway soon enough.”

And then we start drinking and talking about trivial things as we play poker. Our current jobs. Our favorite stores. Our hobbies. The recently published books. There are the clinkings of the glasses and the bodies that lean over to tell secret stories. There is no end to the content of our conversation. For example, like this.

“By the way, why is someone as good as you doing such a safe and boring job like a postman?”

“Because there is not really anything else that I can do. It has been four years since I started doing this job. It is indeed boring, but since the other guys usually retire or die on duty after a month or two, I cannot quit because we are always short of staff.”

“Wha..?” Dazai rolls his eyes. “Did you just say die on duty?”

“Last week, our warehouse was bombed.” I say as I take a sip of my drink. “There was a bomb that targeted our company in one of the packages. I threw it outside just before it exploded. If I were one second late, all the packages would have been blown up, together with all the staff.

“Eh? What the hell is that?” Dazai’s voice is a mixture of shock and confusion. “Do postmen these days work in battlefields or what?”

“It might be pretty close to that. We are a courier that specializes in transporting dangerous packages in the dangerous areas of Yokohama. Yokohama concession, the water infested by pirates, special security zones for military research facilities. We deliver packages on time, to places that other ordinary mailing companies cannot access for various reasons. There were times we had to deliver some development parts while avoiding the attack of industrial spies, or delivered a real gun to a billionaire who has been abducted. My boss is really good at what he does, so together we are able to deliver almost anything. But we do not earn that much despite all the danger. I have not received my salary for four months now.”

“Hey, wait a minute! Why didn’t you tell me these stories when I was injured and bored and sleeping all the time?”

Dazai’s expression changes. That is the face of an angry kid.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t need your apology! Master, another!” Dazai slams the glass on to the table. “Now that it has come to this, I will have you tell me everything. About what you have delivered so far in that job. Everything! Because I am not leaving this bar until you tell me. We will start with the story of that billionaire who you brought a real gun to!”

“It can’t be helped then.”

I finish off my drink, moisten my throat with it and begin to talk. That is the signal for the night.

The music flows. The time flows. Down our throats, the drink from the glasses flows. Our words too, quietly come out, and flow away into nowhere.

“Ahhhhhahahhaha! There were two billionaires that were abducted? How could it be? Which one was the real one?”

The music flows. The time flows. It is getting deeper into the night, and the guests come and go like silver waves.

“Dazai, is that for real? That guy who went against the Port Mafia turned into a monster? He shot destructive rays of light from his mouth and tried to destroy Yokohama? Which part of this story is a lie?”

There is no end to the things we want to say. They keep coming out of our mouths, as if they have been stored somewhere at the back of our throats, waiting for their turns all this time. We talk to each other, listen to each other, and share with each other. The poker cards are dealt and so many games have been decided, but neither of us seems to pay much attention to poker game.

I recall the first time I met him, when Dazai was lying in front of my house, covered in blood. Everything happened just a few days ago. I recall a few days ago when we were so far apart. If I had left Dazai there and closed my door, what would have become of us?

“Okay, I have decided. You are Odasaku.” At one point, Dazai leans overs as if he has made up his mind. “You are too strange for a short name like Oda. And Oda Sakunosuke is just too long to call. You are Odasaku. From now on, whenever someone asks for your name, you have to say so.”

“Odasaku? That is a strange name. Sounds like a farmer. Do I have the right to change my name?”

“No.”

“No…?”

I take a sip then say, “It’s no help then.”

Dazai orders a can of crab. I ask for a Gimlet. I haven’t ordered one in a while, but for some reasons, I suddenly want to drink it.

And then we continue with our endless conversation.

About that time when I found a baby with a rattle after opening a “no shaking” box.

That time when I had to bet my life in a duel of “Acchi Muite Hoi” with a Middle East billionaire to get access to a smuggled jewelry distribution network. (TN: Acchi Muite Hoi is a children game in Japan. Two people are needed to play the game. After saying “Achchi Muite Hoi”, one person will look to one of the directions (up, down, right, left) randomly, and the other person will also point their finger randomly to one of the directions. If the 2nd person can point to the same direction that the first person turns their face to, they will win the game)

The time I ran from a troop of five hundred soldiers of an armed religious organization, to protect a glass of milk that I had to deliver.

The story of how he met his partner boy who is a gravity user.

Our words eventually lose their connection and become a bunch of disjointed words drifting between the two of us. Just like the way music sometimes has meaning in every single note, rather than a series of notes, every single one of our words seems to take on a meaning of its own… If I am to put it in a poetic way, we have turned into instruments, instruments that play words.

“Wow, it has been a long time since I last talked this much.” Dazai says as he is relaxing after speaking for a long while, as if he is tired.

“Good to know.” I say as I deal the card, for what time I don’t remember. “But we have been here a little too long. It’s almost closing time. You are going home after this, right?”

Dazai’s wounds have already crossed the most critical time. Just leave them like that and they will heal on their owns. My role here is over. So is our relationship.

Dazai nods and takes the cards from me. Then in a casual tone, he says those words.

“When are we meeting next?”

I stop what I am doing and look at Dazai.

Dazai must have known that it is not a normal thing to ask. That should be some sort of a magic word, more special than any line I have ever heard. But Dazai is just waiting for my answer with his light and innocent smile. As if it is just like inhaling and exhaling for him.

“I wonder.” I let my gaze wander while I search for the right words to say. “I don’t know. You seem to be very busy. But if you want to…”

“Hahaha, interesting. It is surprising to see you make that kind of face. Okay! Showdown!”

He says so, then turns all the cards over.

“Four Kings. I won.”

I look at the cards in my hand and in Dazai’s hand. It is indeed his win.

“All the games up till this point have been to figure out how your skill works.” Dazai smiles happily. “Generally, the future you can see is only within five to six seconds, so if I wait for seven seconds or more after the last bet to open and switch my cards at the same time, you will not be able to see that future.”

Dazai holds up the King of Clubs in his hand and shows it to me. With a flip of his hand, he turns the card and the moment he turns it back, it has become an Eight of Hearts. He flips his hand again and the card turns back to the King of Clubs. I can’t tell where the cards are coming from even when looking at it up close.

“Of course, you would be wary of the switch. So, I had to distract you by conversation.”

“So, the games and the flow of conversation till now, were both according to your plan, you mean?”

“Hehe. Saying important things as a camouflage to get what you want. That is the basis of the negotiation technique.”

I ask as I organize the cards, “Which is camouflage of which?”

Dazai expression turns blank for a second, as if he has been caught off guard. But it is only for a moment. He turns his head to the side to hide his expression and smiles. If I am not wrong, there is an embarrassed expression on his face. It is under the dark lighting of the bar, so I might have mistaken though.

““It is foolish to die without coming here”… you really told me some nice thing.” Dazai says, keeping his expression hidden.

I sort out the card one by one and say, “Sometimes, I say the right thing, too.”

It is time for the bar to close and the guests are starting to rush out. It is time to leave. The night has fallen outside. Silence is absorbing everything.

I look at the deck of cards.

Poker is my forte, but it doesn’t mean I will never lose. There is nothing absolute in this world. It is inherently impossible to control anything in this world. All we can do is to accept it and at the very least, enjoy it as we resist it.

In a corner of a bar, somewhere in the past, in a whirlpool of future uncertainty.

“Even if you flip a card a thousand times, and a thousand times it come out as you expected, there is no guarantee that it will come out right the 1001th time.” I say.

“Yeah. I’ve learned that this time too.” (TN: Dazai switches his pronoun from “boku” to “watashi” for the first time here. “Boku” is usually used by younger boys while “watashi” is more formal and neutral. It can be considered a sign of growth.)

“Watashi?”

“Does it sound strange?”

Dazai smiles, a smile that seems somewhat more mature from what it was just a moment ago.

I shake my head. So many things happened today.

“As to your question,” I say as I am standing up. “I can’t be sure if I can meet up next time. I am a pretty moody guy, you know it too. And I still have my own problems to deal with.”

Dazai nods, “You mean those ex-cops?”

“Those guys won’t give up. Even if they do, I don’t think they are gonna be the last. We should assume that the information about the “painting” has been leaked to others also. Even if I flee to the other side of the world, the information will eventually catch up to me.”

People in the underworld always have horizontal connections somewhere. I don’t know how the guys of “48” found out about my past, but they probably bought the information from another criminal organization. Even if they didn’t, there is still a chance that “48” will sell my information to another criminal organization. If that is the case, then I will have more than just them to take care of. There might come a day when it becomes too much for me to handle.

“Come on. You are still worried about that?” Dazai folds his arm. “Isn’t there already a simple solution for that?”

“There is?”

“If the other side of the world doesn’t work, you can run to a deeper place.” Dazai speaks in a light tone and shrugs. “A place so deep that no criminal organizations can reach. And it is not that far away from here. The place is right here in Yokohama.”

After saying so, he smiles, “If you die without going there, you are a fool.”

I ponder for a while and come up with one place.

It is true that if I go there, no criminal organization will be able to meddle with me anymore.

That is the darkest place of Yokohama. Covered in a black storm of violence, a shrine of the night. The people in there are tied by an iron rule. If one of their members is attacked by an outsider, they will turn into a row of fangs and bite the enemies.

“No-one can run away from his past.” Dazai smiles as he says. “But if you go there, it is a different story.”

“Are you saying that I should join it?”

“It is up to you.” Dazai smiles. “But I promise you. If you join, you will no longer be bothered by anything from your past. Because no past can touch that place.”

“Where is the place?”

Dazai smiles with pride. Then he opens his arms invitingly.

And he says them, those words that will change the future and decide its fate.

“The name? That organization is called…”

The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side A – THE END.

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1ju0dy1 · 2 years

Text

The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (6)

Read Previous Parts Here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

This is a mix of summary/translation from page 63 to page 80 of Side A of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. If you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· Don’t retranslate it. Don’t repost this anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

SPOILERS AHEAD

The underground bunker is long and intricate, like the inside of an unknown underworld creature.

Dazai and I put our hands on the damp wall and moves forward, the dim light being our only hint. Occasionally, black insects would scurry away near our hands. We can hear the sound of water dripping somewhere.

A wind is blowing inside the shelter. It is a cold and moist wind that smells depressing like someone’s breath. Dazai and I follow the direction of the wind.

“Even if we can get out of here,” Dazai says as he walks behind me. “It doesn’t mean that they will give up on the “painting” just like that. You will need some kind of measures, unless you are going to move every week. What do you think?”

“Nothing in particular. There is no need to move either.” I reply as I move forward. “I have been attacked quite a few times for things related to my past. But I have always managed to get out of it somehow. This time too, I will live until I die.”

“That is such a wise way to live.” Dazai sighs.

I understand what Dazai wants to say. But in my case, if my past is coming for me, there is a part of me that wants to give up and let it do what it wants. How should I call it? Guilt? Or atonement? I don’t know.

However, if it will involve people around me like this time, I can’t just keep philosophizing like that. As Dazai has said, it might be time to come up with some countermeasures.

“Dazai, if it were you, what would you do for a counterm…”

I turn around. Dazai is not there, at the spot I expected him to be.

He is far behind, crouching down, with his hand on the wall of the corridor.

“Sorry but … can you… just go ahead…” Dazai says with a shallow breath. “I will… take a break and… chase after you.”

His face is pale. His fingertips are trembling.

I rush back to Dazai and put my hand on his side to support him. His body is as cold as ice.

“What happened?”

“When I was kidnapped… while I was unconscious… they probably have… something…”

I return Dazai to the floor, and the moment I stand up to check his symptoms, I see the future.

A flash of light. Sound of wind.

Then Dazai’s chest bursts open, his ribs pop out, and on his chest blooms a huge flower of blood.

Instant death.

That is a bullet.

I grab Dazai’s neck and pull him vigorously. Dazai falls forward. A bullet shoots through the space where Dazai was just a second ago, landing on the wall behind us and making a damp sound.

I drag Dazai out of the corridor, hiding ourselves behind a concrete pillar. There are several bad things that can happen in life, but being targeted by an enemy with a gun from a far distance in a closed underground corridor is definitely one of them. Not to mention being unarmed, with an injured person who cannot move.

“I have underestimated you a little bit.”

From the other side of the corridor behind the pillars, comes a familiar voice. The ex-cop with gray hair. There is a strong dilatoriness of someone who has been used to making people wait in his movement. It is a kind of power that older cops always have.

“We gave your bandage friend some percutaneous poison when he passed out. His limbs will become numb and he won’t be able to scratch his own head for a while.”

The guy has a gun. A double-action revolver. Five bullets. A standard police pistol.

That gun is not pointing to anyone. The guy just plays with it in his hand as he speaks in a boastful voice.

“Raise your hands and come here. Or you can die protecting your friend. Up to you.”

I quickly check my surroundings. This is a big storage room. It used to be a huge space for storing water and food for evacuation. Now it is just a huge empty space with nothing stored inside. The pillars that are too big for a single person to hold, are lining up like lifeless ancient soldiers. There are a total of four entrances on every wall. And the corridors beyond them are submerged in darkness.

There are no tools that can be of any use, nor a safe route to escape.

“Do you want money that much?” I ask as I casually shift my standing position to cover for Dazai.

“I understand what you mean. Money, money, money. Every one of us is too tied up by money. We don’t think money is more important than life though. You think so too, right? That’s why, don’t throw away your life, just spit out where the painting is. There is no way a mere liaison at the bottom of the organization should give up his life for the money, right?”

As if those words are the intro for a piece of music, men with guns appear one after another. Four, then eight, then twelve of them. Some in suits, some in security uniforms, some in urban camouflaged clothes. They come in all different forms but share the same tired, worn-out and cold expression. Their weapons include automatic guns, rifles, and shotguns. On this side, we are unarmed. It is not a difference in strength that we can manage. Moreover, Dazai is injured. They probably have taken Dazai with me for this reason. In other words, they needed a hostage.

The guy smiles a graceful and cold smile at the overwhelming difference in force. “You might have heard already, but we all were once police officials. The police in this country are excellent. However, it is hard to say that we are always rewarded for that excellence. We live off a low wage that is completely out of proportion to the danger we face at work. And the nation pretends not to see this contradiction. However, we don’t want to become parts of the public who just complain to the press and politicians without doing nothing, like pigs. So, we take action. We will take what we deserve with our own hands. That is why, the “painting” that you know of is like a little blessing to those who maintain the country’s order. Isn’t that an honor?”

The ex-cop holds out his arms as if he is intoxicated by his own speech, as if he were the only messenger who just received a mission from God.

I don’t know why but from those words and expressions, I start to hate the guy. Up till this point, I haven’t felt any like or dislike towards him, even when he beat me, kidnapped me, or tortured me. This is a rare thing for me. Whether I dislike someone or not does not have much of an impact on this world though.

“Well well…” I hear a bored sigh, so I look back. That sigh is from Dazai. “It is a pain listening to small flies running their mouths. I want to get out of here as soon as possible. I am thirsty.”

There is a tinge of danger in the guy’s eyes. “You don’t seem to understand the situation here.”

All the men point their guns at Dazai.

“Oda Sakunosuke-kun, if you don’t want that boy to be killed, surrender obediently. We will have to have a long talk with you.”

I look at the guy, then at Dazai. “If I surrender, will you let Dazai go?”

The guy thinks for a moment before he finally nods. “Okay. That boy has no value to us to begin with. All we need is your head and your mouth.”

I slowly look at all of them and scratch the behind of my ears with my fingers. There is no meaning to that action. Then I hold up my hands and say, “Got it. I surrender.”

The man's lips quirks up as if he is trying to hide his joy.

Another ex-cop steps up and cuffs my hands.

“Tie him up properly this time, so that he can’t escape.”

I look at Dazai. Dazai looks back at me with a somewhat discontent face but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, Oda Sakunosuke-kun, come this way. Let us prepare some fine wine for you. It is going to be a long talk.”

He takes the chain of the handcuff and pulls me toward him. He then throws a glance at Dazai and tells his subordinate as if he does not give a damn. “Finish off that bandage brat”.

“You promised different.” I say.

“Promise?” the guy raises his eyebrows somewhat happily. “Oh, I indeed broke my promise. How about you then? We are the keepers of the law. Are you saying you have been obeying the rules without breaking a single one in your life?”

I recall about my past self and say, “I see.”

“It’s not the time to be convinced.” Dazai says with a flat voice.

“I know.” I say. “Dazai, I am just like you. I am thirsty too. Let’s get out of here quickly.”

“How are you going to get out of here?” A gun was pointed at my head. “With this difference in numbers, you are unarmed, with an injured hostage? You are just a worthless underling, yet you are getting quite full of yourself just because you used to be in that organization.”

“Hahahh! ‘Getting quite full of yourself just because you used to be in that organization’?” It is a laughter that strangely lacks depth. I look at Dazai. “It is not a good idea to swear at a mirror.”

Everyone glares at Dazai. Dazai does not seem to care about those glares at all. He slowly looks around and continues.

“How about I tell you why I went and collapsed in front of his house in the first place? Because I knew of a rumor. That no evils can come close to that house, be it burglars, smugglers, or mafia. No matter who it is, it is just around that house that they can’t cause any troubles. It is a “calm-zone”. It is as if they are afraid of something, or someone there.”

“Huh? What…”

“It seems that these guys don’t plan to let us out of here alive. So, I’ll leave the rest to you.”

As soon as he says those words, Dazai leans straight back, like a signboard losing its support. He falls parallel to the floor, making a loud noise.

Everyone looks at him in awe. He is completely on his back. In other words, he is in the position with the lowest chance of getting hit by a stray bullet.

That is the signal.

<This part is summarized: Oda grabs the guy who is holding the chain of his handcuff to make him lose his balance and throws him on the floor. He steals the gun and starts fighting the armed men. They keep shooting bullets at him but he manages to dodge and takes them down one by one. A guy who used to be in the Special Forces gives Oda a hard time, but he defeats the guy and manages to steal another gun from him.> Now that I have a gun on both of my hands, it is not time to fight anymore. From here on, it is time to dance. A bullet rushes in. I stand up, almost closing my eyes and fire from both hands. Two shots forward, two shots horizontally with both arms spread out, two shots backwards like a pair of wings. I then cross my arms in front of my chest and fire two more. Flashes of light illuminate the room, and capture the world with their shadows. Finally, I align my guns and fires two more shots forward.

A bunch of golden bullet shells fall onto the floor, producing a clear, brass-like tone. That is the signal for the finale.

I hold the guns and stand still, waiting for the next moves. For someone to yell and hold their weapons and roar into the room. But no-one is coming. No-one is getting up, no-one is fighting back.

The only one who is standing in the room is me.

Everyone is on the floor, groaning. They have all been shot in both arms, or legs, or shoulders, and are bleeding and suffering in agony. But no-one is dying.

“That is amazing.” The voice sounds really amazed. I turn to where it came from and see Dazai walking toward me. “No-one is dying. They are badly wounded being shot in arms and legs but they are not dying. Just what kind of magic did you use?”

“I shot them so that they wouldn’t die.” I answer honestly.

“Huh?” Dazai shrugs. “No no that is not what I mean. I mean why you did what you did… but whatever. I will ask you later. Really, there are so many things I want to hear from you. Let’s get out of here first.”

“Dazai.” I call out to him as he walks in front of me. “Count to two, then take one step to the left.”

Dazai turns to look at me and, after a brief pause, leans over then moves horizontally to the left.

A bullet passes through the place where Dazai was. It comes from the ground. Apparently one of the guys have got up and tried to shoot Dazai. It is the ex-cop who tortured me earlier. Come to think of it, he is the only one I did not shoot. I just knocked him down with a throw.

I want to fire back but I just run out of bullets now.

Before he can shoot a second time, I throw the gun. With a flick of my wrist, the gun flies horizontally towards the guy as if it is being sucked in. The two guns collide, and both are thrown away. The guy groans.

“Damn it!” He holds his hand as he screams. “What are you? What in the world are you?”

I have no reason to answer that question. Not to anyone in here. But after a little thought, I open my mouth.

“The legendary assassin organization. There was no such thing from the very beginning.”

“What?”

“You said you couldn’t find any member of the organization but me. Of course. From the beginning, the track records that you guys know of were not left by an organization.”

The look of comprehension and astonishment slowly spreads on the guy’s face.

“You… alone?” He goes limp after those words. Gradually, the fear starts to appear on his face. “You are saying that the organization that spread so much awe, so many urban legends, the organization so fearsome that even the government didn’t want to touch… was the work of… only you?”

I pick up a submachine gun at the back of the room and stand in front of the guy. This gun is made in the Middle East and can shoot up to ten bullets per second. It holds a ferocious destructive power that should be described as grinding off a body, rather than making holes on it.

“Do you have any last words?”

I point the gun at him.

The guy’s expression freezes.

I know very well what he is seeing. When you face a gun, you become unable to see anything but the blackness and the shine of that muzzle.

“You have messed up with the wrong person this time. In this world, those who make mistakes will have to pay for it. The same price that all the people you have killed so far had paid.

“Wait! Wait! Don’t shoot!” The man screams. He wants to run away, but he can’t seem to move his limbs properly due to the remaining effect of the faint.

“Why do I have to wait?”

“I… as an inspector, I worked hard for more than twenty years..!” the man says, his throat writhing as if he can’t breathe properly. “But the wage I earned in those twenty years is less than what I can earn now in half a year doing this criminal business. Why does such a thing happen? Why is justice not rewarded? It is true that I’m a criminal. But the real evils are those who created a system where justice is practiced, but not rewarded. The politicians of this country!”

There is a confined sadness of someone who really believes in what is said in those words. Out of all the voices that a human being can produce, that must be the most convincing of all.

However, there are also people who feel neither the poignancy nor the slightest itch in it.

“Ahahahah!!” A dry and flat laugh. It is Dazai. “You are really so predictable it surprises me. Even your final speech is exactly as expected.”

Dazai looks down at the opponent. Even people who look at the pebbles on the riverbank would show more interest than that.

“I get mad when people can’t exceed my expectation. Just go ahead and shoot this guy already. You… by the way, how should I call you?”

Dazai looks at me and asks. Now that I think about it, Dazai has never called me by my name.

“Call me whatever you want.” I say and pull the trigger as a matter of course.

The submachine gun spats out bullets, making a sound like a crusher crushing a rock. The 9mm reapers that can easily turn a human body into minced meat rush towards the guy in a swarm. The floor where they land explodes. Debris scatter everywhere. The guy let out a soundless scream. He cramps a couple of times before passing out.

“Wow. You really don’t kill him.” Dazai says in a light voice, looking down at the guy who just fainted without a single scratch. “Compared to this guy, you are much more interesting. As long as he is alive, he will keep coming after you. Don’t you have to kill him?”

“I do.” I nod, then throw the gun away and start walking off as I should. “Let’s go.” There is a short pause, but I can hear the sound of Dazai following me later.

Dazai has a point. I must be a fool.

However, this is not the first time I have heard that.

...

1K notes · View notes

1ju0dy1 · 2 years

Text

The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (5)

Read Previous Parts Here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

This is the translation from page 52 to page 62 of Side A of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. If you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· Don’t retranslate it. Don’t repost this anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

...

A series of pictures float in and out of my mind.

A coffee shop. A blue rain leaving water droplets on the glass of the store. A novel with only the first and the middle volume.

Regret. Blood patterns on the wall.

“There is no mercy in this world.”

That is the voice of the younger me.

That’s right. No-one can forgive themselves. I will not forgive myself either.

Last volume of the novel.

“Writing novels is writing people.”

The man with the mustache. There is a ring of truth in his voice. Or perhaps I just want to believe that.

To answer that question, I have set my foot on a long track.

One day in a room with a view of the ocean, I will walk to my desk and…

When I wake up, I can’t tell where I am right away.

There is a wall in front of me. A bare concrete wall. A dark and damp wall, with black marks of water dripping, staining the color of the material. I can see nothing else. Even if I turn my head around, all I can see is that wall. I cannot turn my body.

I am being tied to a chair.

“Before we start, let me tell you this.” There is a voice behind my back. I have heard this voice before. “I don’t like violence.”

I remember whose voice that is. That is the older cop who came to my house.

“I don’t like it when people use violence. I don’t like to use it either. So just think about this as business.”

Sound of something cutting through the wind.

An intense pain gouges into my back the very next moment. My skin tears off, my bones crack.

Something hard has struck my back. A baton, a gun grip, or probably a blackjack.

The attacker is still out of my sight. There is only pain that shoots through my nerves and pierces into my brain.

“It works, right?” the guy starts speaking. His voice is soft, as if he is lecturing a kid. “I went easy on you. I know very well how much pain one can tolerate, and at what point it will become unbearable. I have wielded this for decades.”

“There are still things you don’t know.” I say.

The man’s voice goes silent for a second, then he speaks in a hard voice. “What?”

“You don’t know how to torture.” I say. “If you are going to hurt your victim, you have to ask questions first. What’s the point of hurting them before you ask? You’re just tiring both of us out.”

I can sense a snort of laughter.

Following that is another blow, this time close to my neck. A flash bounces through my entire body. Starting from my neck, the pain feels as if every single nerve in my body is being pulled out. This one is stronger than the last.

“You are right, young man. This is not a textbook interrogation.” says the voice behind my back. “But there are times when everything should be done according to the textbook, and there are times when it should not. I know that much. This is just a preparation for you to open your mouth more smoothly later. So, rest assured.”

“Good to know.” I say, keeping my eyes on the wall. “So let’s get back to the main point… If it’s about those counterfeit notes, I know absolutely nothing.”

The notes that Dazai was carrying. The source of all this. The huge bomb that Dazai, the messenger of calamity, has brought in.

It is not a surprise that such perfect notes can get intelligent agencies of other countries involved.

However, the guy’s reaction after that betrays all of my expectations.

“… counterfeit notes?”

That voice with a question mark attached to it floats unreliably and fluffily in the air, before it unravels and disappears.

My instinct tells me that it is a voice of perplexity.

“You don’t know about the fake money?” I ask. “Isn’t that what you are after, the counterfeit money and Dazai?” “That friend of yours is called Dazai? Who is he?”

I am going to say Port Mafia, but I shallow the words back in my throat. I should not tell them about Dazai’s identity if the money is not what they are after.

“There seems to be some misunderstandings here. I should clear that up first. We are here for you.”

“What?”

��Where’s the painting?”

The guy asks in a hard, commanding tone. I quietly think about what he means, then I answer.

“What do you mean by “painting”?”

“You know what it is.”

His voice is assertive and solemn, the voice of someone pushing another off a cliff.

“You guys stole a painting from a house you visited on business a long time ago. We are looking for it.”

“I have not a single idea what you are talking about.” I say. “Are you sure you are not mistaking me for someone else?”

Before I can finish my sentence, another blow comes down. This time on my shoulder. I can feel my veins breaking. Every part of my body from my neck down to my fingertips become numb.

“I’m not. We don’t make mistakes like that.” The guy’s voice is preserving, as if he is suppressing the emotions with his will power. “You were a member of that organization. Those cold-blooded guys who take money and kill in return. I don’t know what kind of thing you did in there, but I guess you were probably just a treasurer or a liaison. Because you are only a postman with no presence now. However, that organization itself was a big shot. You can even call it a legend. Before it suddenly disbanded and vanished seven years ago, it was a synonym of “fear” in “that” side of the world. We searched for the organization and somehow ended up finding only you. The other members have completely disappeared, as if they never existed in the first place.”

“I don’t want to talk about that organization.” I say.

“You will, young man. You will soon, whether you want to or not.”

I can hear the plonk of the club behind my back as he plays with it in his hands. “That painting is worth 500 million yen. One billion if you are lucky. If you need it, we can even give you a share. You won’t be able to handle it anyway.”

“You are making a mistake.” I say quietly. “It’s true that I know about said organization. I was a member of it for a while. But I don’t know about that painting. Not a little bit.”

“If you don’t know anything about it, is it possible that other members have hidden the painting?”

“Very likely so.”

The man sighs. His voice after that sounds five years older. “It’s always like this. We walk around like hungry stray dogs, following the scent of food and sticking our noses to the ground. And when we think we have finally got there, the food has long been trucked off to another place. We again, twitch our noses and chase after the smell of the truck through the dry wilderness. Again and again.”

“I am sorry for that.” I say.

In fact, it is half true when I say that. After all, they have kidnapped Dazai, just because he happens to be with me. Dazai is not a person you should treat like an add-on for your mail-order stuff. Not in any sense. He is a Port Mafioso, and as I imagine, a very important one at that. It is too late to do anything, now that they have already kidnapped him. Even if they wash him clean, mend his clothes, and return him sparkling new respectfully with their heads low, Port Mafia will not forgive that. They will use an electric excavator to level flat the back of the heads of those who are kneeling on the ground begging for forgiveness.

Therefore, the doom for these kidnappers is already decided. The question now is whether Dazai and I will be doomed too.

I cannot talk about Port Mafia. That is no good. If they know that Dazai is a Port Mafioso, these guys will literally shrivel up. They will curse their own stupidity and try to cover it up with yet another stupidity. In other words, they will bury the two of us under deep concrete, and use the little time they have before being found out to escape to the other side of the world. There is no other way.

That is why I have to keep Dazai as my “mysterious friend”.

“Now that you have all the information you need to tell the story.” The man speaks in a chilly voice, “All you have to do is to chirp beautifully. If you need a little help there, I don’t mind giving it my best to assist.”

He sounds somewhat happy. I can hear him slamming the club into his own hand. At this rate, I will be the one who has his bones crushed. (TN: There is a play of words here. The cop is using the expression 粉骨砕身, to say that he will try his best, but the kanji translated directly to “crushed bones and smashed flesh”, so Oda is using the same wording to talk about his own situation right now.)

“What if I don’t talk?” I ask.

“You will regret it. Like a criminal who just receives a warrant, wishing that he would have sung honestly when he was asked to come voluntarily earlier.”

He is about to say something else, but his radio rings before he can.

“What’s up?” he picks up the radio. I cannot hear what they are saying, but I can sense the urgency in his tone. “Got it. I’ll be right there. Handcuff them.”

He hangs up, his footsteps getting farther away. After walking a few steps, the man says from a distance. “I will give you some time to think about it. No one is coming to help you. This is an evacuation bunker built during the old war. It’s time to make a choice. You can become rich, or become a corpse for the rats to feast on. I hope you make the right decision for everyone to be happy.”

***

Dazai returns to the cell when I have just finished checking the shape of the fingernails on my two cuffed hands for the fiftieth time.

“Hey, it’s been a while.” Dazai says with an indistinct smile that is not at the very least different from before he was kidnapped.

I look at Dazai and ask, “You were not tortured?”

“Torture? Ah! So that was torture?” Dazai says, somewhat cheerful. “I was tied up and surrounded by two guys. But they left before doing anything. They were dragged away by their friends. I just told them something useful, and they started crying and hitting each other, saying they didn’t want to die.”

“I see. What did you tell them?”

“I can tell you… But do you really want to know?” Dazai smiles like a sea monster from the underworld.

I give it a little thought and say, “I will pass.”

It is a temporary cell used to keep the prisoners in the war. Originally, it must have been a simple nap room inside the bunker to protect yourself from air strikes and such. The room is about the size of a hotel room, with only a rusty bed frame fixed to the end. The entrance door has been replaced by an iron door with fresh welding marks, and there is a thick chain used for boat anchoring and a huge lock hanging from the doorknob. A number of black power lines are wrapped around the hooks lining up on the wall, leading to the murky cage lamp at the back of the room. That is the only light source. There is no air conditioning, so the air in the room is unclean.

“What do you think they are?” I ask.

“A criminal organization.” Dazai speaks nonchalantly, jingling his own handcuffs.

“But they are different from big settings like Port Mafia. Just a small group that will vanish with just a blow. However, its origin is a little interesting. Have you ever heard about an organization called “48”?”

I shake my head after giving it some thoughts, “No.”

“This is actually my first time meeting them too. They are harder to spot than any other criminal organization. It is almost impossible. Even if a great purge is to happen and this Yokohama turns into a clean paradise, they will still survive and continue to commit crimes. It is because they are an organization made up entirely of former cops.”

I narrow my eyes.

“Officers from local stations, special forces members who were dishonorably discharged. Corrupted cops released from prison after their arrests. Police of external affairs who are on the list of distrusted agents. This is a small but robust labyrinth organization built by police personnel who, for various reasons, have fallen from the tower of public servants through utilizing the skills, connections, and knowledge from their former jobs. There are a lot of theories about the name “48” but the most popular one is that it’s because the police have to refer a case to the public prosecutor within forty eight hours of arrest.

“That means the cops who came to our house were fake, but they used to be real cops too?” I say while recalling my memory. “But how do you know?”

“You couldn’t tell? Their gestures somehow revealed their past history, and every word they say is mixed with the terms used when they were still in the police.”

I track my memory.

Now that he mentions it, the guy who tortured me said this before he left, “You will regret it. Like a criminal who just receives a warrant, wishing that he would have sung honestly when he was asked to come voluntarily earlier.” He used a police shorthand to refer to “voluntary accompaniment”, and “sing” is a term used by the police for “confess”. I guess they just use the words that they are familiar with when talking to their friends.

“What they are good at is blackmailing people using the connections from their former jobs, diverting seized goods to sell on black market, and leaking inside information about the police. They are the fallen ex-heroes. Although the scale of their activities is small, many of them have received real trainings, thus are formidable. There are many criminal organizations in Yokohama, but this “48” is hated by both the police and other organizations.”

“You sure know a lot.”

“Not really. Unfortunately, I don’t know what they are up to.” Dazai says as he leans against the wall. “They said they were looking for a painting. Do you have any idea?”

I look at Dazai, then I say. “No.”

Dazai looks at me. Those eyes are like the bottomless see at night. Dark, cruel, quiet, endlessly sucking people in and never letting go.

Those eyes are looking at every corner of my expression. I feel like my each and every single cell is being observed.

I wonder how long we stay silent like that. Suddenly, Dazai opens his mouth and speaks in a serious tone.

“You do have a hint, don’t you?”

I let my gaze wander through the air, then look at a scenery of the past that is not here. I want a cigarette so bad. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” I say, sitting down next to Dazai. “No matter what those guys say, that painting is no longer in anyone’s hand. It is in a place that it will never be moved from. That painting is not going anywhere, at least not during my lifetime.”

“Why?”

“Because I decided so.”

Dazai tries to say something, but he stops. Then he lets his gaze wander somewhere else, as if he is looking for an answer.

“Got it”, Dazai says, looking forward. “Then let’s end this conversation here and talk about what we are going to do next.”

I find it strange that Dazai retreated so meekly. If he can make me spill out the whereabout of the painting, Dazai can get out of here without a scratch. But Dazai’s eyes are quiet, inside them is a gentle indifference of someone who has already made up his mind. I cannot tell the reason though.

“So, what are we doing next?”

“Jailbreak.” I assert. “I have no reason to stay in this kind of place anymore.”

“That is a good idea.” Dazai says, holding up his two hands. “But how?”

We are both handcuffed. These handcuffs are not toys or replicas, they are the real things used by the cops. On top of it, there is a lock on the entrance too. I saw the guy who brought Dazai here just now locking the door. There is no mistaking it.

“I have something that can get us out of here.” I say. “But there is also one thing that I can’t do anything about. Reason.”

“Reason?”

”You don’t want to escape, do you?”

Dazai looks at me with a puzzled look on his face. Then he says, “Are you going to help me?”

“I thought I would, but you have no reasons to do so. No reasons to accompany me and get out of here.”

Dazai looks around. “You are right. I can still kill myself if I stay here. So never mind me. Just escape by yourse…”

“I will take you with me even if I have to put a rope on your neck.”

Dazai looks at me, surprised.

“You… Are you actually a pushy guy?”

“When it comes to things that I have decided to do.” I say, focusing my attention on the signs outside. There seems to be no one on the other side of the door.

“What makes you do this?”

“I don’t like these guys.”

I say decisively. Dazai makes a surprised face again. “48? Why? Because they used to be cops? Or because they are aiming for the painting?

“Things like that.” I answer briefly, ending the conversation. “Dazai, if I ask, will you come with me?”

“Well, I wonder. I’m not that kind of nice guy who listen to others’ requests that easily. Everyone has a hard time getting me to do anything. What can you offer?”

I have to admit, those words are out of my expectation.

“You think that I can give you what you want?”

“I don’t know.” Dazai smiles as if he has given up. “I really don’t know. I have never met anyone like you before. That’s why I’m asking you.”

I start thinking.

I have a hint of what Dazai is looking for. But I don’t have it on hand to give it to him.

However…

_The only thing I want now, is death._

_Why do we have to die?_

“Dazai”, I say. “As soon as we get out of here, let’s go to “that place”. Right away. It’s not that far away.”

Dazai’s eyes are wide open. “You say “that place”? That you-are-a-fool-if-you-don’t-go-before-you-die place?”

“Yes.”

Dazai blinks and looks at me. I look straight back into his eyes.

I am not sure why but it reminds me of something from a long time ago. From when I was a boy.

“Dazai… You are right. There is no good or bad in wanting to die. Because there seems to be many important things in this world, but in reality, there is nothing that important. Life and death don’t even matter at all. The place we are going to is probably not going to live up to your expectations. Maybe you will find only rocks, scraps of paper, and things of such value there.”

Dazai stares blankly at me, as if he cannot believe what is happening in front of his eyes.

I look at the palm of my hand. I touch it with my finger, feeling the sensation. I touch a few more places, as a mean to buy time, until I finally say the last words.

“But what if it is different?”

Silence.

I have never tried to get this close to anyone’s heart before. I don’t feel like I did it well. But strangely enough, I do not regret it that much. Even if I don’t say it here and now, I will probably say it to Dazai somewhere sometime in the future. I feel that.

Dazai does not say anything. He just sighs, and looks into a distance with his arms crossed behind his head, as if he is considering. The chain clanks. “I too, have been caught by a person who says pretty foolish things.” Then he turns to the side to hide his expression and glances at me sideways. “Secret place, right…? If you have asked that much, it’s not like I can’t go with you.”

I lift my eyebrows, “You are not being honest.”

“It’s not that! It’s not that I’m not honest or anything! It’s not like I… expect that much!”

I scratch my head. “Then let’s do it this way. If you die here, I will build a tomb for you. And your tombstone will read, “Here lies Dazai, the man who never beats Oda Sakunosuke at poker.”

Dazai looks at me dumbfounded. Then he opens his mouth wide and says. “Th.. that’s not good! Alright! It cannot be helped then. Let’s break out of this prison.”

Dazai stands up, holds up his hand and snaps his fingers.

The handcuffs, which are supposed to be tightly fastened, fall off smoothly like a magic trick.

“You took them off from the beginning, didn’t you?”

“A little bit, with the metal wire I found over there.”

“Will that work on the door lock too?”

“Of course.” Dazai says as if it is nothing. Then he suddenly realizes something and turns to me. “No way… when you said you had something that can get us out of here, you were talking about me with this?”

I shrug, “After nursing you for a few days, the chains that bound your legs to the bed was stealthily unlocked. It seems like they have been stacked up to deceive me though.”

“What? I have been found out? How boring.” Dazai pouts.

Dazai takes my handcuffs, sticks the tiny wire inside the keyhole and starts turning it. Immediately, there is a dry metallic sound as the internal mechanism disengages. The handcuffs drop to my feet.

“How long has it been, I wonder? To have somewhere I want to go.” Dazai smiles as he rubs his wrists. “I have a feeling that even if there is nothing at that place, it will be fine as it is. Come on, let’s get out of here quickly and get some good fresh air.”

….

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ICONIC

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Childhood Odazai Au:

‘Childhood Promises’

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Childhood Odazai Au:

‘Childhood Promises’

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The Day I Picked Up Dazai - Side A (4)

Read Previous Parts Here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

This part is a mix of translations and summaries. Direct translation will be indented in italicized. With this, I have covered the first 43 pages of Side A.

This is from Side A of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.

Please carefully read the notes below before progressing.

- This post contains spoilers. It is a mix of summaries and translations of one part of the novel. So if you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.

· Don’t retranslate it. Don’t repost this anywhere else out of Tumblr.

· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.

If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!

There is a knock at Oda’s door. That is the cops from the nearby station who come to ask him a few things because someone reported seeing a bloody man collapsing around there. Dazai signals Oda to keep silent.

Oda starts thinking about what he should do.

If he opens the door and tells the cops he knows nothing, they will just leave and that’s it. But he has another worry.

If Dazai has committed a crime (which he most certainly has), I will later be charged with harboring a criminal. Depending on the outcome, I might even be tried as an accomplice. If that happens, I will enjoy the rest of my life in a state-run accommodation with three meals a day.

The second option is to tell the cops about Dazai. In that case, Dazai will definitely be arrested (because everything about him is suspicious) and Oda will also be at a risk of being suspected as an accomplice. Oda looks at Dazai, who is “smiling a smile that is fifty times darker and denser than that of a kid thinking about what pranks to play.” Seeing that face, Oda comes up with another fear that if he sells Dazai to the cops now, he will face Port Mafia’s revenge later.

Conclusion. Pretending to be out is the only way.

They hide behind the bed and wait for the cops to leave. Suddenly, Dazai taps on Oda’s shoulder, reminding him of the kettle of water he is boiling for his coffee, which is going to blow a very loud whistle once it’s done. They are about eight metres from the kitchen. If Oda just walks there, the floor will creak and the cops will know that there is someone in the room.

I look at Dazai again. After a moment of hesitation, he starts to make a series of gestures. He points at the kitchen, then at me. He holds his palm up in front of him, then stands his other hand on top of it, fingers down. He draws all the fingers on that hand back, leaving only the index and the middle finger, and slowly move the two fingers forward, one after another. Then he puts his index finger on his lip. Then he gives me a thumbs-up, and smiles, and nods.

I nod back.

“What does it mean?” I ask.

“I know right!” Dazai whispers in a soft voice. “You didn’t get it? I said to tiptoe to the kitchen and turn off the fire! I can’t walk well in this condition…”

“Let’s do it.” I nod my head. “There is not much time till the water boils. We need to hurry up.”

“Hey, are you really in a hurry?” Dazai gives me a puzzled look. “I can’t tell because your face doesn’t change at all...”

Oda starts heading towards the kitchen. He uses his ability to figure out where he should put his feet not to make a sound. But then he sees the future when the kettle is whistling and gets so nervous, he decides that he needs a new kind of power, so he starts going on all four and crawls towards the kitchen.

Behind me, Dazai bursts into a small laugh as if he cannot stand my movements anymore. Dazai is right. If someone is able to photograph what I’m doing right now and put it on the public newspaper, I would move to another city on that same day.

Oda finally finds his way to the kettle. He just needs to reach the knob on the gas stove and turn it off. He should have enough time.

However, my expectation is betrayed once again. I have forgotten about the foreign matter that exists in this house. Dazai, of course. He is more unpredictable than any human I have ever met. For example, if two people are on a three-legged race to the goal, Dazai might just turn around and start running in the opposite direction at a random moment. Or, he can desperately climb a cliff to survive, then all of a sudden, say that he wants to fall off it and die. He is a guy that has strayed too far from the reasons of this world. Our dear Trickster.

Dazai suddenly comes up with the idea that if he jumps out of the door with a gun in his hand, there are chances he can be shot dead by the cops. Oda tells him there is no gun in the house, so he decides to get a knife instead. He rushes into the kitchen, even faster than Oda. The cops outside notice the sound and ask them to open the door.

Oda knows that he has to stop Dazai, if he doesn’t want things to get worse.

I have to stop that. I so want to cry and ask someone to help, but there is no one who can do it but me now.

He jumps up and sweeps Dazai’s legs, making him roll on the floor. He grabs Dazai’s neck, turns behind and gets into a chokehold, trying to choke him unconscious. Dazai, as a result, struggles happily while kicking his legs around. He hits the kitchen cabinet once, twice until Oda hears a sound of something coming off. Oda realizes that those desperate kicks are actually on purpose, and it makes the knife Dazai was trying to grab earlier fall off right to where Oda is. Oda can’t move because he is busy holding Dazai down, so he has to use his ability to predict the track of the knife and barely dodges it. The knife stabs vertically into the floor next to him. He tries to calm Dazai down.

"Be still.” I say, “Don’t struggle. It is not scary. It doesn’t hurt.”

I don’t even know what I’m saying myself.

“You liar! Mori-san said the same thing when he gave me shots.”

Dazai says so and keeps going wild. It means there are other people besides me who are having a hard time with Dazai. Who is this Mori-san again?

Dazai keeps kicking the kitchen stand and this time, it’s the kettle above Oda’s head that’s going to fall.

It is a situation that I have never experienced before. A kettle above my head, a knife next to my face, false money somewhere in my room, cops at my door. And I’m strangling a guy I just barely met.

Oda finally manages to choke Dazai unconscious. He goes “fufu ahaha” before he faints. Oda pulls out the knife next to him and throws it toward the falling kettle, successfully catching it by its handle and having it jammed into the wooden part of the kitchen cabinet. By that time, the cops also manage to kick the door open and step into the room.

Just like me, those cops seem to have never witnessed something like that in their lives. Their eyes are wide open, but it is understandable. In the house that they just stormed in, there is a man strangling an injured person on the floor. The boy seems to have passed out in pleasure. The knife stuck on the kitchen cabinet is holding the kettle as if it was an offering.

Silence.

The cops look down at me. It seems that they don’t know what to say at all. I never expected the first arrest in my life would be under this situation. I am not sure if that is the reason, but I end up saying something really stupid.

“Please take off your shoes.”

The two cops look at each other. An older cop and a younger one. They are wearing standard uniforms, with standard hats on.

“Okay.” The older one nods vaguely. “It looks like it’s going to be a weird job today.”

“I feel you.” I say.

Well, there have been a series of incomprehensible situations today, but the last one is the best of all.

The cops take out two gas masks and put them on their faces. Then they throw a gas grenade towards Dazai and Oda. Oda realizes that they are actually not cops. He tries to avoid the gas and kick them to the floor to escape. But he sees the future where they point the guns at Dazai and shoot him if he resists. So, he has no choice but to surrender.

I think, in my fading consciousness.

After all, I really should have kicked Dazai down the stairs when I found him in front of my door that morning. But regret is a part of life. Even if I have one more regret now, it’s not that much of a blow.

I pass out.

...

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