Chapter Text
Dance with me the gallowdance
As long as we're not hanging
As long as we still can, my love
We both know the string is always ready
«Gallowdance» — Lebanon Hanover.
"...According to preliminary reports, thirteen people were killed in the incident, and three others were injured and taken to the hospital in critical condition. Law enforcement agencies have cordoned off the area and are conducting the necessary investigative measures. The causes and circumstances of the incident have not yet been established. Police urge anyone who witnessed the event or possesses any information that could assist in the investigation to contact law enforcement..."
The monotonous voice of the news anchor drifted from the speakers of the TV mounted on the wall, entirely devoid of emotion despite the gravity of the words he spoke. And the other people, far too preoccupied with their own lives, didn’t seem to care either.
The cafe was a typical small establishment with an interior that hadn’t changed since it first opened decades ago. The faded walls were adorned with old photographs of Yokohama, some depicting a city that looked nothing like the one that existed just outside its doors today. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and delicious pastries wafted through the air, mingled with the quiet hum of low conversation from the few patrons, while a soft, unobtrusive background track played somewhere in the distance.
On this rather overcast evening, the place wasn't very crowded, especially since the weekend had drawn to a close and the workweek had begun; furthermore, the cafe itself was located at the entrance of a small stroll park that wasn't particularly popular.
One of those who had decided to unwind here, regardless of all the reasons mentioned above, was a young guy sitting at a table in splendid isolation. At first glance, he looked like a typical student, given that he was dressed in a standard black three-piece suit—the kind usually worn for interviews or exams, if you didn’t account for the long black coat and sneakers, but those were mere details. The main thing that inevitably made him stand out from the crowd was the bandages wrapped around his neck, as well as the one covering his right eye.
Resting his chin on his left hand, Dazai looked thoroughly bored, blowing his messy, chestnut-colored hair out of his eyes while tapping his foot against the floor. The corners of his lips were slightly upturned, hinting at a fleeting smile as he took a sip of his favorite tea. He caught a glimpse of the TV screen, which happened to be aimed right in his direction. The man on the screen continued to detail the crime while reporters and cameramen broadcasted live from the scene, showing a police-cordoned, well-known hotel located in the busiest district of the city... It was hardly surprising that something had happened there again.
The situation, bloodthirsty though it was, was ordinary enough for these parts, yet certain details caught Dazai's attention, and consequently, that of "Maruboshi"—the organization to which he belonged. The list of victims, briefly read aloud at the beginning of the broadcast, had sparked mixed reactions among his associates. And while to others they were merely unfortunate souls caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, the guy knew perfectly well who they truly were. A couple of them were his lower-ranking colleagues, one being the commander of a reconnaissance unit; a few others belonged to an allied organization—individuals who held considerable weight in the criminal underworld. Three were from the government, two were police officers, and the rest were civilians, seemingly businessmen...
A rather interesting lineup—suspicious, even—but that wasn't the reason he had been assigned to the case. The unit commander, as mentioned earlier, was one of the few victims who had managed to survive. Granted, he was left with a rather nasty, deep gash on his side, just below the liver, though fortunately for him, it missed all vital organs. An astonishing turn of events, given his extensive track record, physical training, and most importantly, the fact that he was an Enhancer—possessing an ability that allowed him to pass freely through walls like a ghost. This meant that whatever caught those inside off guard was powerful enough to pin down and kill a dozen people in the blink of an eye. And according to the account of the commander himself—whose name Dazai hadn't even bothered to memorize—it was highly intriguing indeed.
The loss of so many high-profile figures in a single evening would certainly cause an uproar throughout Yokohama, if not all of Japan... Yet he knew the police would never solve this case, far too busy protecting their own interests to care about the truth. The details of the investigation were classified, the killer remained at large, and the names of the victims from tonight's "rapid, painless termination" were altered—leaving them as nothing more than a distant memory of a tragedy, a stone gravestone among hundreds of others...
A quiet vibration on the table jolted the young man out of his thoughts, breaking his gaze away from the TV. His phone screen lit up briefly, showing that the time had barely passed six in the evening, along with an incoming message from an unknown number. To be precise, it was a geolocation—a pinpoint just half a kilometer away...
The contact was unlabeled, but that didn't particularly matter.
Slipping the phone into his pocket, the guy stood up from the table, ignoring the half-full mug of cooling tea, and headed toward the glass doors leading outside. A chilly sea breeze immediately struck his face, blowing his hair into his eyes and forcing him to wrap his coat tighter around himself. The contrast between the cozy cafe with a cup of hot tea and a bleak late January evening was palpable, especially for someone as sensitive to the temperature as Dazai; thus, he allowed himself a weary sigh and quickened his pace.
The sun was nowhere to be seen, the sky blanketed by dark clouds that threatened impending rain—even though it had only just stopped—obscuring Yokohama's usually breathtaking harbor sunsets... Especially from this vantage point, where almost the entire marina seemed visible: the port with its drifting ships and boats, the high-rises slightly further down the shoreline belonging to "Maruboshi," and, most prominent of all, the city's landmark—a massive Ferris wheel standing at the very edge of the water. Granted, it didn't look nearly as impressive right now, as its shimmering lights were invisible by day, and tourists were virtually nonexistent at this time of year.
The city’s residents weren't particularly eager to head outside either. During his entire short walk, the only people to pass him were an elderly man walking a squeaky little dog—which made Dazai wrinkle his nose in distaste—and a pair of schoolboys passionately discussing a video game he vaguely recognized. Somewhere in the distance, out on the plaza, music was playing where people were doing morning exercises... or whatever health routine that was supposed to be.
The guy walked along paths lined with flower beds that looked a tad neglected due to the dead flowers that had yet to be cleared away. The area was dense with trees, shrubs, and sculptures; the park even featured a small artificial pond with a fountain. Nearby, on the slope of a hill, the silhouette of a small, two-story wooden building emerged, its intricate tiled roof evoking the architecture of ancient Japan.
It was a Shinto shrine[1]. It was hard to tell when it had been built—the guy was no expert on antiquities, and frankly, he didn't care—but one thing was for certain: the place was barely maintained these days... The building didn't look particularly impressive and sat deep within the park, tucked away in what could be described as a secluded corner. The surrounding trees were bare, their branches reaching toward the darkening sky like skeletal fingers; the pathways were poorly paved, and in some spots, piles of rotted grass sat left behind. It was much quieter here; people clearly had no interest in this place... Which led to another conclusion: they would definitely be away from prying eyes here. No one ever stumbled upon this spot by accident. At least, not if people remained as law-abiding as always and didn't ignore the "No Trespassing!" sign, just like Dazai had.
The shrine itself didn't look overly impressive—just ordinary traditional Japanese architecture: simple, wooden, but still decent-looking... Well, as decent-looking as an abandoned building could get. The temizu[2] purification fountains were shut off, and most of the shrine's artifacts had been removed. Only the torii[3] gate stood out against the backdrop of general gray melancholy, freshly painted in a striking vivid red.
The wooden steps leading to the temple creaked under the guy's weight as he ascended directly toward the inner shrine. The air smelled of damp wood and stale incense—a scent that seemed to catch in his throat like a ghost, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Of course, he had been to places like this before, but he was never a fan of religion. He had absolutely no interest in the divine; in his view, the entire concept of karma, sin, and the afterlife was engineered solely to control the weak and maintain the status quo. The idea of eternal punishment for disobedience and the promise of heavenly rewards for compliance were effective means of mass control, precisely because no one could ever verify their validity. Yet, people needed faith—they needed to believe that there was something greater than themselves, that in the grand scheme of things, every individual had a set destiny from which they couldn't escape.
Dazai, on the other hand, preferred to rely on logic, reason, and his own experience to navigate life's challenges, having seen far too many people turn to religion in moments of despair, confusion, or weakness, searching for answers and comfort that no one could give them but themselves... Yet this didn't mean he was a staunch atheist; after all, they lived in a world where certain individuals possessed supernatural abilities. These ranged from harmless night vision or the knack for walking on ceilings to devastating powers capable of wiping humanity off the face of the earth in a matter of seconds. From a certain perspective, they, too, could be considered gods... Although many would call that blasphemy.
And while all these thoughts whirled through his mind, the guy climbed the stairs and pushed the heavy wooden doors. They let out a faint creak that echoed across the room, announcing his arrival to anyone inside.Inside the haiden[4] worship hall, the air felt stagnant, infused with a faint, barely perceptible scent of old wood and dried herbs. Organized chaos reigned here: low scaffolding stretched along the walls, and the ceiling, adorned with a painting of a dragon, was partially covered in plastic sheeting that rustled dully at the slightest draft. The old, blood-red lacquered pillars were half-stripped down to the light, "live" wood, waiting to be hidden beneath a fresh coat of paint once more. Massively thick wooden planks lined the floor instead of the usual tatami mats, and in the corner sat a few low tables that still held offerings.
It had to be admitted that a certain atmosphere reigned in these parts—quiet, peaceful, and slightly mysterious. In this silence, the temple didn't seem abandoned; it looked like a patient on an operating table, frozen in anticipation while human hands worked to restore its former glory. But until that time arrived, events were beginning to unfold here that the Kami would hardly approve of.
In the center of the room, dimly lit through paper shoji[5] screens, stood a man, visibly tense. He was dressed in a black suit and tie, but unlike Dazai, he was older, probably in his mid-thirty-fives. He had short, slicked-back black hair, a neat appearance, and sharp facial features... Not so much handsome as memorable.
The stranger's expression remained indifferent as his gaze locked onto Dazai, yet his body visibly relaxed, as if he were glad his guest wasn't someone else.
"You're finally here, Dazai-san[6]," the man muttered quietly under his breath, bowing deeply before stepping closer, tentatively looking around.
"Yes, yes, I'm here, I'm here," Dazai confirmed with a sigh, raising his hand dismissively to cut the man's monologue short. Despite the fact that the person before him was significantly older and held a rather high position in the criminal underworld, the guy felt absolutely no respect for him. "I'm a very busy person, and I have a date with some crabs on my plate soon, so hurry up."
The tone of his voice remained utterly bored, like a schoolboy forced to stay after class. Yet at the same time, it carried an underlying strength—a subtle, barely noticeable dominance despite the seeming absurdity and lack of seriousness in his words.
"My apologies, I will explain myself," Hiroki offered politely, trying to smooth over the awkwardness of meeting such an important figure. After all, the guy standing before him was no ordinary human—at twenty-two years old, Dazai had become the youngest representative director in the history of Maruboshi, making him one of the most influential people in the city. And his rapid career advancement didn't stop there. It was already a known fact that in the future, he would replace Mori-sama[7] as the leader of the entire organization. He was cunning, ruthless, and never hesitated to sacrifice any person if it served his goals. This was precisely why everyone treated him with caution, and not without reason. Even among powerful figures, he stood out as someone capable of both incredible kindness and incredible cruelty... and everyone, of course, hoped for the former.
"As I mentioned before, she is here. I locked her in the back room. In exchange, I demand protection from Maruboshi until the investigation is concluded and she is executed." Hiroki swallowed hard, nervously adjusting his tie, while Dazai stopped just a step away from him, studying him intently with his single eye. The air between them seemed to freeze, turning heavy and suffocating, making the man desperately want to pull back and break eye contact—yet he couldn’t afford to show weakness.
He wasn't naive enough to think that a powerful organization would help him for free, but he didn't have many options left. He was cornered, leaving a deal with the devil as his only way out... And after a few seconds of oppressive silence, Dazai suddenly let out a dry laugh, making Hiroki jump slightly in fright.
"Alright. Protection," the guy repeated slowly, scanning the room once more before suddenly flashing him a sly smile. "And what if I refuse? What will you do then? Go look for protection from the government? Or maybe the military? They have plenty of weapons; they can protect you much better than we can."
"Please, you know perfectly well they won't help me," Hiroki shook his head, trying to hide the frustration in his voice as he clenched his fists. "This isn't some petty theft. A high-ranking official was killed today. The government won't stop until they find and punish the culprit, and if they find out I helped her escape..."
"Alright, alright. Whatever you say," Dazai interrupted him again, raising his hands above his head with a groan and stretching until his shoulders let out a faint pop. Feeling a pleasant warmth spread through his entire body, he spoke once more, his voice almost sleepy. "You know, you're very lucky I'm in a good mood today. I hope you understand that you owe me now... Now, go with God. You're in a shrine, after all."
Hiroki didn't need to be told twice. With another deep bow and mumbled words of gratitude, he abruptly rushed toward the exit, not daring to ask the questions that tormented him, terrified of turning favor into fury in the blink of an eye.
Dazai watched him leave with a thoughtful expression, and soon, the only sound echoing through the haiden was the slamming of the door behind him. He hadn't been surprised when Hiroki-kun[8] contacted him almost immediately after Maruboshi took on the case. Lately, the man had grown increasingly insolent, poking his nose into business that was absolutely none of his concern. He had managed to thoroughly annoy Dazai, mostly because he caused far more trouble than he brought in profit. And considering the nature of his business—which filled Dazai with nothing but disgust—he would certainly not escape jigo-jitoku[9] in the very near future.
But to avoid drowning in these annoying thoughts, the guy let out a sigh, feeling an even more irritating dust tickle his nose, nearly forcing a sneeze. He rubbed his nostrils with the back of his hand, trying to suppress the urge, and then shifted his attention to a modest, almost invisible door in the far corner of the room—the very place where the culprit behind his early awakening was supposed to be.
It creaked faintly as Dazai pushed it open, revealing a small, dimly lit room that smelled of dampness and dust. The space was tiny—barely larger than a closet—with a single narrow window high up on the wall, letting in a thin sliver of gray light. It was packed with clutter that took up most of the space, serving as a storage room for construction materials, but the girl was nowhere to be seen...
The guy hummed, stepping inside the room, wondering if that cunning fox had deceived him—which, of course, would have been highly reckless and incredibly stupid on his part... However, his train of thought was cut short by a quiet creak of floorboards behind him. The sound forced the guy to dodge sharply to the left, ducking away from an object flying straight at his head.
A blurry black object sliced through the air just a couple of centimeters from Dazai's shoulder. Having missed, the attacker—who had clearly overextended the swing—tumbled forward clumsily, unable to stay on her feet. She would have likely slammed face-first into the wall or the floor if the guy hadn't extended a helping hand.
The body, which turned out to belong to the very girl he was looking for, was light, almost weightless. The guy caught it with ease, sharply pinning it against the wall in front of him and pulling her to her feet.
"Sorry if I interrupted you repenting for your sins, but that's no reason to ruin my good hair day, you know?" the guy said in a fairly calm tone, laced with a hint of sarcasm. He tilted his head slightly to get a better look at his would-be executioner... Granted, not without some resistance—startled, or perhaps in pain, the girl let out a gasp and tried to break free from his grip, but she quickly stopped her futile attempts upon realizing it was useless, and that very second, he let go of her arm.
The first thing that caught his eye was her loose, black hair, which had lost all its appeal and hid her face behind tangled, unkempt strands. She was roughly his age, maybe younger, slightly shorter than him, and she stared at him with eyes of a beautiful light blue, almost deep sapphire hue... And when he let go of her, instead of trying to escape, she only pressed herself tighter against the wall behind her, letting the object she had tried to throw at Dazai slip from her hands. It split in two with a faint chime... It was a small porcelain figurine of a cat—a Maneki-neko—now broken down the middle, staring right at him with its large, solemn eyes, its paw still raised in a welcoming gesture... Apparently, it hadn't been of the finest quality.
Well, a rather peculiar choice of weapon for a half-ruined temple literally overflowing with heavy clutter...
"You're... not Hiroki-sama," the stranger's quiet, slightly raspy voice finally broke through the silence, seemingly devoid of fear despite the near-bloodshed just seconds prior. "Where is he?"
"Ran away, wagging his tail," the guy chuckled, reaching out to gently brush aside a strand of hair that hid the girl's face, revealing a bruised cheek where a faint handprint was visible. "So, you were hoping to bash his head in with that thing, then?"
The girl didn't flinch at his touch, but she held her breath slightly as Dazai examined the reddened area with a trace of curiosity. The bruise on her cheek was fresh—fresh enough to still throb with pain, judging by the way her jaw clenched when he brushed against her hair.
She didn't answer right away, wrapping her slender arms around her shoulders and turning her head away to stare blankly at the wall. Her skin was white, almost translucent; her lips, dry and chapped, were tightly pressed together yet trembling from the cold and tension, while a faint, unhealthy flush appeared on her cheeks, only serving to emphasize her paleness.
"What do you want?" the girl spoke up, looking at him with a mixture of distrust and caution, trying unsuccessfully to maintain her dignity. She began to cough, turning away and sniffing, her body continuing to shudder visibly. The thin fabric of her plain black dress offered absolutely no protection against the cold, and her almost skeletal thinness made her look incredibly fragile... Yet what struck him most was the fact that she was barefoot.
Dazai, of course, knew that removing one's shoes upon entering a temple was a mandatory ritual of purification—meant to keep the "impurities" outside and show submission before the deities—but he seriously doubted that was the case here. His gaze swept down to her feet, noting the dirty soles and toes slightly swollen from the cold, which strongly suggested she had been walking like this for much longer than the last five minutes...
"What do I want?" the guy repeated her question with a thoughtful look, then smiled slightly, as if he had just remembered something incredibly amusing. "A painless suicide. And probably not to go bald, considering how much everyone seems to love hitting me over the head... But let's start with a simple introduction. What's your name?"
The girl suddenly hesitated, struggling to find the right words... She looked at the broken cat figurine on the floor, then at the dust-covered floorboards, and finally at Dazai. It was obvious that the simplest question—one even a three-year-old could answer—had completely thrown her off balance. There was only one correct answer, yet the silence stretched on... In this state, she truly resembled a child, which, in fact, she still was. "Hanni... Are you here to kill me?"
The girl couldn't help but ask, yet almost immediately regretted opening her mouth at all. She still didn't raise her head, remaining motionless and staring somewhere down at the floor, though it became noticeable how her body tensed in anticipation of the answer to such a vital, yet strange question on her part... After all, she was the one who had lunged at him just a couple of seconds ago, intending to at least bash his head in... But who was he to deny his would-be killer an answer?
"Hanni," Dazai repeated her name, not bothering to ask for a last name, rolling it over his tongue and making a strange grimace, as if he didn't like the taste. "And why on earth would I kill you? Because you killed sixteen people today?"
The guy asked in an inappropriately cheerful tone, pausing for a moment to let his words sink into her mind. There was no immediate answer, but that was hardly surprising; he understood perfectly well that the girl was panicking, even though she was trying hard to hide it. His words reached her with a certain sluggishness, a clear testament to her current state... But he was already used to this, so he continued without letting her utter a word. "Or maybe because you're an Enhancer?"
The moment those words escaped Dazai's lips, Hanni flinched as if from a physical blow—his words had a far greater effect on her than any attempted assault. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since that horrific incident involving her alleged participation, and it was highly unlikely that an ordinary girl, never before entangled in anything of the sort, would recover so easily from the realization of the blood spilled by her own hand. It could break many people, yet to the guy's surprise, he didn't have to dodge her blows a second time. She didn't move, she didn't speak a word, she didn't even seem to breathe.
And suddenly, the girl collapsed onto the floor. The planks she had to prop herself up with were soaked in moisture and dirt, their paint cracked with age, leaving unpleasant stains and splinters on her palms. She was in no hurry to stand, nor to raise her gaze to him; she simply remained motionless, staring at her hands as if they could give her the answers to all her questions.
Now, finally, it all made sense to her... First that stupid hotel, Hiroki-sama, so much blood, the headache, and the flight... But now she didn't understand why she was even being asked about it, given that the reason for his arrival was clear to them both. The guy had spoken it himself—everyone believed she was the killer of those people, people who, in her opinion, might have even deserved to die, but... Why hadn't this agile stranger handed her over to the police yet, or done something worse? Why hadn't she herself made at least one more attempt to escape, even though she clearly realized this man could be her end? Perhaps Hanni already understood that she couldn't run away from him, or maybe she was just tired of constantly running. After all, she hadn't slept or eaten anything in quite a while, and her limbs refused to obey because of the biting cold, and all because of...
"I..." the girl began softly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, and suddenly raised her head... And what Dazai saw in her eyes made him freeze for a split second. The guy was not an empath in the traditional sense of the word—he couldn't or wouldn't sympathize, and he never cared about another person's fate unless his work and plans depended on it. Nonetheless, he read people’s emotions with ease, which allowed him to be a master manipulator and maintain his position right beside the boss. And he didn't like what he saw in her eyes.
Fear. But even more so—despair and a barely perceptible spark of something bright, which was entirely out of place here. She looked like a drowning person staring up from the abyss at a rescue team, knowing that no one would throw a rope. It was the look of someone who had run out of options and was now clutching at straws in the hope that someone would save her from the precipice. She didn't know who he was, what he wanted from her, or what consequences awaited her, but only one thing was clear—he was the only person she had encountered in the last few hours, and she clung to him like a final lifeboat in a raging sea... Very strange behavior for a psychopath who had supposedly killed thirteen, if not sixteen people.
Moreover, Hanni stared at him almost without blinking, without breathing, as if afraid to miss something, though her gaze didn’t wander—on the contrary, she looked right into his eyes. The guy felt a strange sensation, as if goosebumps had run down his spine, but he quickly brushed it aside. Was she trying to evoke pity with her appearance? Or, on the contrary, provoke him so she could slip out of the room at any moment?
"I... I didn't kill them," the words escaped her lips on their own. Her voice trembled, yet there wasn't a hint of tears or hysteria in it. She wasn't crying; she just sat there and looked at him, waiting for a reaction, even though her words sounded unconvincing even to herself... She was afraid, terribly afraid of what might happen next—before her stood a strange guy who looked odd and acted weird... And all she could do was hope, because the truth was on her side.
"Oh, really?" a skeptical smirk slipped across Dazai's lips, and he tilted his head sideways—casual, as if they had met at a tea party rather than during an attempted assault and a brief interrogation. He squatted down beside her, bringing their faces to nearly the same level, allowing him a better look at the girl. He watched as she instinctively balled herself up in wariness, once again wrapping her ice-cold arms around her shoulders. "Then who did?"
He asked, ignoring the fact that she seemed to be in no condition to answer. He was genuinely curious to hear what she would say, though his eyes held neither sympathy nor pity for her predicament—only a cold intrigue that could easily be mistaken for indifference. He needed to know the motive to decipher the plot. The girl didn't strike him as a monster, yet Hiroki-kun hadn't lied. He possessed far more substantial evidence.
"I don't know... I don't remember," Hanni said in a near whisper, looking down once more at the broken cat figurine by her feet, as if calculating whether she could reach for a shard faster than he could grab her and do whatever it was he intended to do...
Dazai, for his part, simply waited. Not because he was particularly intrigued, but simply because he had nowhere to rush... Except, perhaps, for dinner.
Looking at her, he couldn't help but think that this girl was definitely not of this world... And it wasn't because of her gift, which he had felt the moment he touched her hand. No, it was much simpler than that—she was just too different from anyone he had ever met in his life. It was something in her eyes; they held so much pain and fear that she was trying to hide beneath a mask of indifference and apathy, but to no avail. The guy had seen plenty of bloodthirsty killers and criminals, but Hanni wasn't one of them. The girl looked genuinely lost and terrified, as if she didn't understand what had happened herself. He had seen people like her before and knew that they all broke sooner or later. And she seemed to be right on the edge already... yet something had still driven her to flee and hide in dark alleys...
Dazai searched her gaze for even the slightest hint of a lie, for any clue that would give her away. Yet the expression on her face was so genuine, so consumed by despair, that he couldn't help but believe her... as strange as that might sound. He was used to everyone around him lying; he had grown up in a world where the truth was a rare and precious commodity, and where everyone tried to deceive one another for their own gain. His job at "Maruboshi" was precisely to root out people like that.
Yet at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that Hanni was holding something back. Her story felt incomplete, as though she were afraid to tell him something vital. The mention of memory loss was a convenient excuse, but looking at her current state, it was highly plausible... And if this turned out to be true, then Hiroki-kun had been rather bold—or more likely, utterly reckless—to lead them and the police down a false trail...
Alright, he had something to work with, which was a good start, but it wasn't enough. Dazai still didn't know the details of what had actually happened that night, who was involved, and, most importantly, why anyone would frame this girl. Hanni was definitely no fighter given her build, and it was highly unlikely that she had powerful enemies in the criminal underworld who would want her dead. So what was the catch?
The guy stood up, dusting off his pants, and extended a hand to the girl who was still sitting on the floor, looking up at him in confusion. It was almost dark now, and the first drops of rain had begun to fall. They needed to get out of here before the weather completely took a turn for the worse.
"How convenient to 'not remember'... I'm Dazai. And since we're acquainted now, Hanni-chan, how about a deal? I won't hand you over to the police, and you help me with the investigation. What do you say?" Dazai asked with a friendly smile, looking at the girl expectantly. Had he really just offered her a deal? After she had tried to kill him?
...Why not?
After all, he had nothing to lose by taking her with him; in fact, he actually stood to gain. Hiroki would be gotten rid of sooner or later, and he still needed some kind of witness—even if that witness was a potential killer. Perhaps to her, this sounded like the prelude to a far more cruel trap, but the alternative... The alternative meant the cold embrace of the police, an inevitable execution for her as an Enhancer, or a life sentence for something she couldn't even fully remember.
If she really had been framed, then they shared a common enemy—and as the saying goes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
But as of right now, thirteen people were dead, three more were on the verge of death, and someone had to answer for it immediately. If only to maintain Maruboshi's status as a powerful organization. Therefore, Hanni had no say in the matter; she simply had to choose the lesser of two evils—to come with him willingly, or by force.
But in response, a long silence hung between them, broken only by the rustling of the plastic sheeting protecting the construction materials from the weather. Then, slowly, hesitantly—as if trying to reach for something potentially venomous—the girl placed her dirty, cold hand into his, which turned out to be unexpectedly warm.
"Alright..." the girl finally whispered, and the word was not so much an agreement as a capitulation. Though she likely didn't fully comprehend what she was doing, she agreed to help him with the investigation without even considering whether he could be trusted. But who else could she trust? She had no one, she knew that... and he knew it too.
Dazai effortlessly lifted her to her feet, as if she weighed absolutely nothing—which was partially true. And then, he felt the thin, almost imperceptible trace of her ability. A barely noticeable tingling sensation rushed down his arm and vanished just as quickly. It was not the kind of power that could potentially kill sixteen people in a single night, yet it was enough to intrigue him.
Now he had to understand exactly who he was dealing with—a mindless and compliant tool, a terrified rat backed into a corner, or a dangerous enemy masquerading as a victim.
We shall see… which card will she play?
The rain poured down, but by that time, the temple was already empty. Inside, silence reigned, broken only by the rare sound of droplets leaking through the cracks in the rotted roof... And the black, broken Maneki-neko figurine remained on the floor, entirely forgotten by everyone, still holding its right, half-shattered paw raised.
___
[1] Shinto shrine — a sacred place in the traditional Japanese religion of Shinto, where Kami (spirits or deities) are enshrined. Unlike Western churches, a shrine is viewed not as a congregation hall for believers, but as a temporary or permanent home for the deity itself.↩
[2] Temizu (temizuya) — a water purification pavilion where visitors wash their hands and mouths before entering a Shinto shrine to cleanse themselves of the everyday world.↩
[3] Torii — traditional Japanese gates that symbolically mark the transition from the mundane to the sacred world of the gods.↩
[4] The haiden — is the main worship hall in a Shinto shrine complex, located in front of the main sanctuary, where rituals and prayers are traditionally conducted.↩
[5] Shoji — traditional Japanese sliding doors or room dividers made of translucent paper over a wooden frame, which softly diffuse daylight.↩
[6] The suffix "-san" (さん) — is the most common, neutral-polite honorific in the Japanese language, equivalent to the English "Mr.", "Ms.", or "Mrs.". It is attached to a person's last or first name to show respect in everyday communication.↩
[7] The suffix "-sama" (様) — is the highest honorific in the Japanese language, used to express deep reverence toward superiors, deities, or lords. Unlike regular honorifics, it is typically attached to a person's title or last name rather than their first name.↩
[8] The suffix "-kun" (君) — is a Japanese honorific typically used for males who are of equal or lower status, or younger than the speaker. In this context, Dazai uses it with a hint of condescension.↩
[9] Jigo-jitoku (自業自得) — a Japanese idiom meaning "one's own act, one's own profit" or "reaping what you sow." It is equivalent to the phrases "you get what you deserve" or "it's your own fault."