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“Is he really that talented?”
“When I first saw him over in the slums, I was horrified. His talents are extraordinary, and his skill is extremely destructive. Plus, he’s stubborn. If I’d left him to his own devices, he would’ve ended up a slave to his own powers until he destroyed himself.”
Dazai didn’t freely make people work under him, period; much less a boy on the verge of starvation in the slums. But Dazai seemed to have his own reasons for doing it.
“At any rate, back on topic, Mimic is who we currently have to watch out for. There’s been a call for a meeting among the five executives where we’ll discuss how to take them on using everything we’ve got. We’re on high alert.”
This presidium was an extremely powerful legislative conference that would decide the future course of the entire Mafia. As far as I could remember, the last time they had one was during the Dragon’s Head Conflict. I was once again face-to-face with just how much of a threat Mimic was.
“I still don’t know what those Special Forces are after,” Dazai continued. “But after seeing what they did to you, it looks like they won’t be baring their fangs and attacking us anytime soon. It’s Mimic
that’s the real threat. Just a little while ago, my men, including Akutagawa, were ambushed. It was like a beast devouring a venomous snake. The battle took place on the main road in front of the art museum—”
I got out of the bed as I listened. My fingers were still slightly numb, but not enough to bother me during battle.
“Odasaku, don’t tell me you plan on going,” he said as if reprimanding me.
“The Mafia’s striking back with everything we’ve got, right?” I replied, sliding my arms through the sleeves of my overcoat that was hanging on the wall.
“I thought you had no interest in fighting,” Dazai replied with a smile.
“I don’t,” I insisted as I equipped my gun harness. “But sometimes small things pick at my heart…like the two people I owe a debt to.”
After finishing getting ready, I walked across the room. Dazai watched me in silence. As I reached the door, he tossed me something that jingled when I caught it. I opened my hand to find a car key. Then Dazai added, “Don’t worry about any debts. Nobody ever even remembers doing favors.”
“I’m not good at forgetting,” I turned around and replied. “Dazai, you’ve already helped me several times with this case. Your men are under attack, right? They need your help.”
“Y’know, it really hurts me that you consider something as small as this a debt.” He gave a feeble smirk. “So who’s the other guy you owe?”
I didn’t answer him; I just opened the door and left. Dazai saw me off without pushing any further. Despite not even exchanging a word, we were thinking the same thing.
Two forces were engaged in a shoot-out in front of the chalky-white shrine: the Mimic soldiers in tattered gray clothes and the Mafia members in black suits and sunglasses. Both were firing the same foreign automatic rifles. Bullets flew across the town square, chipping away at the shrine’s pale-colored pillars like an ice sculpture.
They were battling on the art museum’s front yard. The rectangular building with its alabaster facade rose high into the sky. Square cobble paving stretched endlessly across the yard, evoking a digital, pixelated kind of feel. White columns spaced closely together acted as shields for the gunfire as they came crumbling down one after another.
There were four Mafia members and nine Mimic. Mimic was dominating in quality, quantity, and experience as they backed the Mafia into a corner.
They split up into two groups to pour cross fire through a pincer movement. One of the Mafia men yelled orders while returning fire as they retreated into the art museum. The Mimic soldiers, on the other hand, did not say a word. They simply advanced, chasing their prey in silence. As the first Mimic soldier stepped into the building, something caught his eye, and he quickly looked up.
That, however, ended up being the last move he ever made.
“Do you not enjoy art?”
The soldier’s head flew to one side, then bounced off the wall before rolling back to its owner’s feet. It took a moment before fresh blood spurted out from the clean cut severing the soldier’s neck. A dark shadow drifted down to the ground, its black overcoat elegantly billowing in the breeze. Realizing something was wrong, the following Mimic soldier drew his gun.
“How boorish. The artwork here is the manifestation of the human spirit. Show some respect.”
The shadowy figure twisted his body, gently pivoting his black overcoat. It split into three parts, each transforming into a massless blade before launching forward.
First, the rifle was split in two. Its contents then spilled out, showing a perfectly smooth slice all the way through.
Next, the fingers holding the rifle noiselessly dropped to the ground one by one. Finally, the Mimic soldier’s torso slowly slid forward as his lower half leaned backward before they hit the ground.
The remaining soldiers, who had fortunately been out of range of the dark blades’ slaughter, simultaneously aimed their muzzles at the black overcoat and pulled the trigger.
“Guns are the instruments of fools.”
The shadowy figure in a black overcoat, Ryuunosuke Akutagawa, took another step forward. A split second later, the twelve bullets clashed with what appeared to be silent blades of solidified darkness. Most of the bullets were reflected before even reaching Akutagawa, while the remaining ones crashed into an invisible wall, stopping mere inches away from him. Akutagawa cut through space, creating a shield. He twisted his body, and the murderous shadowy blades sprung forward as if to answer his calls.
