After bidding farewell and leaving Bankoudou Hall, Asou Akiya spent that evening deep in thought.
It was time to write another new novel.
Randou brought Akiya, who was burning the midnight oil recording bursts of inspiration, a cup of hot water with ten goji berries sprinkled into it. He did not add angelica root, because Randou disliked the strong fragrance it released when steeped in hot water.
"Akiya, what are you thinking about?" Randou asked, having already taken a look at "Reader-sensei's" draft manuscript.
"A person who died comes back to life, having lost all of his memories," said Asou Akiya. He twirled his pen between his fingers. "He relentlessly pursues the brilliance of life, believing it can fill the emptiness within his soul. What he doesn't realize is that he is walking down a path of self-destruction. The only difficult part is figuring out how to make a story like that interesting instead of dull and depressing."
At first, Randou thought Akiya was subtly taking a jab at him, but after listening further, he realized the two were clearly different.
He was not someone who chased after the brilliance of life.
After all, he had Akiya.
Wrapping his arms around Akiya, who was seated in the chair, Randou said softly, "Does this amnesiac eventually die? It feels like you've been particularly fond of writing novels where the protagonist dies lately, Akiya."
Asou Akiya suddenly snapped out of his thoughts and said in frustration, "That's not what I want at all! I'm a feel-good wish-fulfillment novelist!"
Having finally broken free from his mental dead end, Asou Akiya turned to look at Randou. His emotional intelligence was fully operational once again.
"For your sake, I won't write a tragic novel like that either. I'll let the protagonist discover a new meaning in life."
The reason he wrote novels in the first place was to create a common language between himself and the literary giants, not to hand them knives made of heartbreak. What he wanted to awaken was the emotional sensitivity hidden within their souls.
Asou Akiya pushed aside the draft that had become increasingly oppressive and rewrote it from the beginning. This time, the story that emerged was lighthearted and humorous.
The amnesiac protagonist still sought the radiance of human nature, but he became a renowned fashion designer in Paris, gifted at observing the subtle expressions people revealed in fleeting moments. He traveled from country to country across the world and received countless confessions and declarations of love. Yet he never fell in love with anyone.
His life was vibrant and full of color.
But his heart remained hollow.
No matter what happened, nothing could truly move it.
Why was that?
Why was it that he could not feel the ordinary emotions of humanity—joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness?
Why was it that no matter how beautiful the poetry, no matter how extraordinary the artwork, no matter how breathtaking the fashion designs, none of them could stir even the slightest wave within his heart? He was like a stretch of white sand left behind after the tide had receded, the traces remaining upon it carrying a sense of hopelessness.
How was he supposed to find happiness?
Should he seek out bustling places? Lose himself among crowds? Throw himself toward the boundary between life and death?
"Search for it. Search throughout the entire world for the person who loves you most. Let their warmth melt you away. Let their burning love turn the winter of accumulated snow within your heart into the height of summer..."
"The moment you feel lonely after leaving their side, you have already been changed by them."
Asou Akiya poured his own feelings into the story he was writing and could not help but say aloud:
"Love is a miracle."
He had changed himself through love.
He had changed Randou through love.
Because of that, he believed in the power of love more than anyone else.
Because he had wagered everything upon it.
Because he longed for a miracle.
Randou read the story Akiya had rewritten for his sake. His fingers brushed lightly across the corner of the man's lips as he said,
"Most of this story takes place in Japan, France, and Italy. It begins in summer, and the protagonist loses his memories at seventeen. You've mentioned poetry in the novel—how can there not be any actual poetry?"
In a low voice, Randou began to recite a poem for the story Asou Akiya was writing.
"At seventeen years of age, one cares about nothing."
"A lovely evening. In the café, cups and glasses mingle together, while light and shadow shimmer amid the noise of conversation!"
"—Off we go for a stroll beneath the green linden trees."
"The linden blossoms are fragrant on a charming June night!"
"The air is gentle, and people close their eyes; voices drift upon the wind— the city is nearby—while the scent of grapevines mingles with the aroma of beer..."
His eyes slowly closed, as though he were recalling something from a distant memory. Then he softly repeated,
"At seventeen years of age, one cares about nothing..."
"...Off we go for a stroll beneath the green linden trees..."
A tightness gripped Asou Akiya's heart, yet he calmly and methodically wrote down the poem Randou had improvised on the spot. Accompanied by the soft scratch of pen against paper, the French verses were preserved in writing. Within them were France's linden forests, fine wine, drunken revelers, and the vibrant, carefree life of a seventeen-year-old.
With an arm draped around his shoulders, Randou murmured, "Aren't you going to ask me about it?"
Akiya's left hand rested on Randou's arm. The arm was not tightening around his throat. Instead, it was gentle and warm, which meant the danger had not arrived. As long as he was still alive, there was no need to ask too many questions.
"You remembered things from your time in France, Randou. That's wonderful."
"Mhm."
With a distant look in his eyes, Randou recalled, "I remembered some things from my childhood. They're fragmented and incomplete, not very clear. But the scent of beer and the fragrance of the linden groves are still vivid in my memory..."
Asou Akiya gazed at the grown man before him. "What a pity that I missed your seventeenth year."
Where had he been when Arthur Rimbaud was seventeen? At that time, he himself had only just turned eighteen in the Port Mafia. He had barely escaped the lowest ranks and joined the Translation Department. The possibility of traveling abroad had not even existed for him. Yet the man he loved had already been among the strong while still a youth. The friends he associated with were all Transcendents, and the breadth of his horizons was beyond comparison. Someone like that could never have fallen in love with an ordinary Asou Akiya from a small nation in the Far East.
—What I regret is your lofty detachment from the mundane world. I wasn't even qualified to find you.
Randou said, "You only missed my childhood and my youth—" He embraced the man whose love had turned his life into everlasting summer and continued, "You'll have my twenty-seven, my thirty-seven, and all the years after that. Those are things I've never given to anyone else. Look at that. Aren't I extraordinarily generous with you?"
Asou Akiya laughed at Randou's habit of spending future promises in advance. "Yes, you really are extraordinarily generous."
Having gradually regained some of the colors of his lost memories—and after thoroughly frightening Akiya in the process—Randou voiced a small request. "What is this novel going to be called? If you haven't decided yet, could you give it a name that's elegant and beautiful?"
"As you wish," Asou Akiya replied.
As a young man of the twenty-first century with an immense amount of novel-reading experience, he immediately put pen to paper.
[Tears of the Muse]
Synopsis: There is a hollow space within every human heart, and it can only be filled by tears born of love.
The Muses were the collective name for the nine goddesses of art and science in Greek mythology, the divine beings who presided over the truths and powers that artists longed to attain. Asou Akiya always described Randou's talent as being blessed by hands kissed by the Muses, and Randou was invariably delighted whenever he heard it. It was not difficult to imagine what significance this title held for him.
As expected, Randou was overjoyed. He felt that Akiya had shown him considerable respect by elevating the literary sophistication of the novel.
With a loud smack, he planted a kiss on Akiya's forehead.
"I'll translate it for you and have your work published in my country!"
"...So that's your real motive?"
"Of course. Aside from The Growth of a French Literary Master, none of the novels you've written are suitable for publication overseas. The wording is too straightforward and explicit, lacking refinement and elegance. I want the people of my country to read your work as well. When the time comes, I'll even help you reply to letters from your French readers."
Randou spoke as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Then, using his beauty as temptation, he lured Akiya further.
"Write it a little better. There's no need to rush. We can slowly revise the contents together. We can discuss every detail in bed. If you can't find inspiration, that's fine too. You can explore it little by little through me and discover the Tears of the Muse."
Asou Akiya coughed seriously and said, "Randou, I'll do my best to write it a little better."
The one week he had originally planned for the manuscript would have to become two weeks.
After all, the Muse was simply too beautiful.
Especially during a season like winter. He would have to use his own warmth to melt away the ice and snow surrounding his lover.
...
As the end of January approached, Natsume Soseki gradually handed over information regarding "Shibusawa Tatsuhiko" to Asou Akiya, urging him to make contact with the man as soon as possible.
As part of a teacher's mischievous sense of humor, Natsume Soseki never revealed that Shibusawa Tatsuhiko's ability posed no lethal threat to ordinary people. He wanted to see what kind of analytical ability Asou Akiya could display when courageously confronting an ability user. After all, there was no possibility that he would actually allow any harm to come to the young man.
By January 30th, the wind and snow in Yokohama had finally weakened somewhat.
The same was true in Tokyo.
Asou Akiya rode in a government-arranged unmarked vehicle. Within the sealed and isolated environment, he read through the final dossier concerning Shibusawa Tatsuhiko.
This report focused primarily on Shibusawa Tatsuhiko's upbringing and life experiences. His father was named Shibusawa Takeshi, and his mother was Shibusawa Setsuko. He had grown up in Nakazato Town in Tokyo's Kita Ward. Located at the northernmost edge of Tokyo's twenty-three wards, Kita Ward was essentially an area composed almost entirely of residential neighborhoods.
Compared to the first-rate magnate lifestyle enjoyed by the main Shibusawa family, Tatsuhiko's immediate household was much closer to that of an ordinary family. His father worked as a bank employee, while his mother was the eldest daughter of businessman and politician Isobe Yasutsugu. From the moment of his birth, Shibusawa Tatsuhiko had been raised in a household free from concerns about food, clothing, or financial hardship. Gifted with an exceptionally sharp mind, he repeatedly skipped grades during his studies. Before long, he grew bored with life at Tokyo Metropolitan Koishikawa High School and began interacting with people outside the academic world.
Before the age of fourteen, Shibusawa Tatsuhiko had never displayed any sign of an ability. Nearly everyone around him was a non-ability user. Even in Tokyo, rumors about ability users were little more than fairy tales to most people.
Abilities were generally a boundary that ordinary people could never reach.
Shibusawa Tatsuhiko, however, had never been an ordinary child. Possessing innate talents far beyond those of normal people and backed by abundant family resources, he used his intelligence to find an entry point into a hidden world—the local gangs of Tokyo.
After that, he suddenly awakened an ability, an event significant enough to alarm the influential figures of the Shibusawa main family.
Shibusawa Eiichi, who had met him during his childhood, personally came to visit him. After learning about his ability, he praised him as the Qilin of the Shibusawa family. Sparing no expense, he hired teachers from a wide range of disciplines and fields for the boy, hoping that Shibusawa Tatsuhiko would acquire vast amounts of knowledge and eventually join a government institution.
As a result, the power and resources of the Shibusawa main family accelerated Shibusawa Tatsuhiko's growth.
At the same time, however, they also caused him to grow bored far more quickly.
He was simply too intelligent.
So intelligent that he could master anything after a single lesson, understand everything after the slightest explanation, and see through the intentions of adults with ease.
Shibusawa Tatsuhiko gradually became impossible to predict. He stopped reporting regularly to the main family residence and no longer appeared frequently before Shibusawa Eiichi. It was as though the immense wealth of the Shibusawa family held no attraction whatsoever for him.
Such a life story made it difficult not to think of... another Dazai Osamu preparing to rebel and run away.
"Idiots are all foolish in the same way, and geniuses are all rebellious in the same way," Asou Akiya muttered as he closed the dossier and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Reading documents in a moving car was genuinely making him dizzy.
The person driving him did not utter a single word. Their presence was so faint that they seemed little more than a patch of empty air.
Asou Akiya asked, "Are we certain he's returned to Kita Ward?"
The driver nodded through the rearview mirror and replied in a voice devoid of any identifiable accent, "According to information from our informant, Shibusawa Tatsuhiko had a conflict with the main family and suddenly returned to his childhood home."
Asou Akiya tapped the folder against his fingers as he contemplated the complicated web of relationships that existed within large families.
Japan was a country where the influence of the zaibatsu* was terrifyingly powerful.
*{Note: zaibatsu (財閥) is a Japanese term translating to "wealthy clique". It refers to the massive, family-owned industrial and financial conglomerates that dominated the Japanese economy from the Meiji Restoration (1868) until the end of World War II}
There was no doubt that Shibusawa Eiichi was one of the giants.
As an investor in the financial industry, Akiya naturally paid attention to the nation's major financial conglomerates. What he had never expected, however, was that Shibusawa Tatsuhiko would be connected to the famous Shibusawa family.
So he was born a rich second-generation heir.
In his previous life, all Akiya knew was that Shibusawa Tatsuhiko had been a real-world literary figure and the main antagonist of the Bungo Stray Dogs theatrical film. Shibusawa Tatsuhiko had participated in the Dragon Head Conflict, tortured the protagonist Nakajima Atsushi, and traveled the world collecting the crystallized abilities of numerous ability users. Because of the overwhelming power of that ability, the Japanese government had worked tirelessly behind the scenes to absolve the "White Qilin" Shibusawa Tatsuhiko of his crimes.
As for the books written by the real-life Shibusawa Tatsuhiko?
Well, unfortunately, he had never read them.
They were rather obscure, after all.
In a world like his, the immensely wealthy Suzuki Financial Group from Detective Conan could only be considered quasi-first-rate and would still be overshadowed by a family like the Shibusawas. The reason was simple: the Suzuki family had relatively few members, its rise to prominence had occurred comparatively recently, and although it possessed enormous wealth, it had little access to the deeper truths of the world. The family had never cultivated any ability users within its ranks, making it incapable of competing with the truly entrenched great families of Japan.
"When we reach a convenience store, please stop for a moment and help me buy something."
"What would you like me to purchase?"
"A somewhat longer hair tie... hmm, about this long." Asou Akiya measured the approximate length with his hands before continuing, "Choose an expensive one if possible. Preferably the kind of thing girls would like. It should be blue."
Using gestures, he conveyed a rough estimate of what he wanted.
The driver followed his instructions. After arriving at a convenience store, he got out of the vehicle to make the purchase.
Kita Ward, one of Tokyo's twenty-three wards.
Shibusawa Tatsuhiko sat alone on a bench in a neighborhood park. Everything about him was white—his long white hair, his pale white skin, and his white clothing. Coupled with the cold, detached aura that surrounded him, he possessed an exceptionally distinctive presence.
No one dared approach him.
The eerie aura surrounding him was enough to frighten even ignorant young children.
It was winter, and everyone else had long since gone home to keep warm. He alone remained outside.
Although he had grown up in this neighborhood, he had never liked it. More accurately, he was the exact opposite of a sentimental person who cherished the past. Returning to his childhood home, Shibusawa Tatsuhiko's purpose was merely to present a convenient image to the Shibusawa main family—that he was temporarily upset, that his actions were under control, and that he had retreated to a safe place to rest.
Shibusawa Tatsuhiko understood very well that surviving in this world required connections and influence. The costs of betraying the Shibusawa family far outweighed the benefits. Until he became powerful enough, a certain degree of compromise was unavoidable.
Those people probably still believed he would obediently comply and quietly transform into a puppet whose future could be arranged at their whim.
The weariness in his eyes deepened.
Something churned within his crimson pupils, rising and sinking, never quite surfacing. At times, they reflected a sharp and cutting mockery. Ice, snow, and frost had already solidified within his heart. The snowfall there was heavier than the one outside, colder by several degrees. Gusts of snow blew relentlessly into the hollow within him, yet no amount of drifting snow could fill the void or satisfy the yearning buried deep inside.
It was all so boring.
How had this world become such an unbearably boring place?
When he first awakened his ability, he had been genuinely delighted. He had believed that other ability users would be his kindred spirits.
Yet the ability users he had encountered and observed...
Were nothing special.
When no one was around, Shibusawa Tatsuhiko occasionally found himself wondering whether he had been mistaken about humanity all along.
"Will there be anyone who exceeds my expectations?"
The government would surely make arrangements.
They would send someone to meet him under the pretext of evaluating the level of danger he posed.
For him, deception was as natural as breathing. He could disguise himself effortlessly. Even the most skilled psychologists would be unable to glimpse his true thoughts. As long as he chose not to reveal what he was thinking, no one could possibly detect that he felt not the slightest trace of empathy toward this city, this family, or this country.
In fact, even his empathy toward humanity itself was on the verge of disappearing.
Come on.
Let someone who can see through me come.
Prove that this world is unfathomable, dazzlingly diverse, and filled with the unexpected!
Being too intelligent, Shibusawa Tatsuhiko instinctively feared the future that awaited him after he lost his humanity and grew weary of everything. A life like that would be devoid of color.
At his feet, wisps of mist rolled and churned, brushing against his ankles and isolating him within a solitary space of his own.
At moments like this, the only thing capable of accompanying him was his ability, Draconia. An ability incapable of harming ordinary people, it was the key reason the government trusted him—and also one of the reasons he viewed ordinary people with such indifference.
A car pulled up beside the park.
Its target was him.
Shibusawa Tatsuhiko's gaze paused. Having already deduced the reason for its arrival, he turned his cold eyes toward the government's visitor.
The car door opened.
The first thing that entered his field of vision was a pair of tailored suit trousers and sharply pointed leather shoes. Every article of clothing on the newcomer's body was conspicuously high-end, completely inconsistent with the salary of an ordinary government employee. The man was carrying a black overcoat, and the moment he encountered the winter air outside, he decisively put it on. There seemed to be a book tucked away in one of its pockets.
The young man had short black hair, neatly trimmed but not excessively so, falling close to his earlobes. After stepping out of the car, he bid farewell to the driver with refined manners before walking toward him, seated on the park bench.
As the distance between them closed, Shibusawa Tatsuhiko saw that the man's eyes were long and narrow, like those of a phoenix, reflecting his own snow-white figure.
"Hello."
The newcomer stopped two meters away.
Shibusawa Tatsuhiko thought listlessly, At least this person knows his place. He didn't dare sit beside me.
Then, in the very next second, he heard the visitor—who looked nothing like a government official—speak.
"Due to certain circumstances, I had no choice but to come and meet you. You really are a cold and arrogant person."
"Fortunately, I've met plenty of people like you before."
In that brief moment when their gazes met, the other man seemed to see straight through his heart. His eyes were filled with clear rationality, as though they swept away the snow that had accumulated over countless years and summoned a blazing sun to burn against a heart frozen solid.
"Shibusawa Tatsuhiko, this world is not as lonely as you think it is."
...
To describe a genius as a frog trapped at the bottom of a well is an insult to genius itself.
What geniuses lack is not vision. Given enough time, they will grow, surpassing ordinary people by a vast margin.
What they lack are kindred spirits with whom they can huddle together against the cold.
Loneliness gnaws at the bones.
How tragic it would be to collapse halfway down a path of ice and snow, never living long enough to witness the flourishing future waiting ahead. Shibusawa Tatsuhiko should have been the person in Japan with the greatest potential to become a Transcendent.
If I had been born in the era of the Dragon Head Conflict, I would have gone to offer incense at your grave and burn these two messages for you.
[If you don't court disaster, disaster won't come looking for you!]
[Stay away from the Russians!]