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At the end of the connecting corridor was a spacious lounge facing the courtyard. It had a large fireplace with medieval-style decor, a red velvet armchair, and a war flag encased in a golden picture frame.
This mansion used to be the residence of foreign aristocrats. When I researched the place beforehand, I learned that the owner of this vast estate returned to his homeland after his assets had been confiscated with the spread of the war. Ever since then, the mansion’s ownership remained up in the air as it patiently waited for an occupant who was never to return.
I stopped. I knew there was a remote directional mine up ahead, and if I went any farther, I’d get caught in the blast. My only option was to shoot through the wall to destroy it. I aimed my gun. The moment I did so, I realized my failure—there was another directional mine right behind me as well. Whoever was watching this place from afar must’ve decided that they’d blow up the mine behind me the moment I noticed the one to my front.
My skill allowed me to see the future, but when things happened because I’d changed my course of action, I only started seeing the future from the moment I made the change. Therefore, if there was a trap that would be triggered one second after I aimed my gun at the mine ahead, then I would only be able to see that future one second before it was triggered. This was one of those cases.
I lunged forward, and immediately the high-performance explosive behind me detonated. Shrapnel and the expanding fireball tore through my coat. When the blast slammed me against the floor, I immediately covere
d my head and stayed low. In a flash, the directional mine ahead blasted down the door, and the impact battered my body. It was a surprise attack that used my skill against me, coupled with a pincer attack from directional mines on both sides. This enemy knew the ins and outs of my “precognition,” both the capabilities and weaknesses alike.
I had a vision.
Soldiers came in droves, rappelling through the large windows lined up on my left side. However, I was still crawling on the ground, in no position to fight back.
I had only around four seconds before they’d arrive. It was sink or swim. I took my chances and fought to pick up my pistols. I felt a dull pain in my right side; one of the pellets from the explosion had buried itself in my flesh near my hip bone, which wasn’t protected by my bulletproof vest. Blood stained my shirt. I saw ropes dangle from outside the window, followed by descending soldiers’ shoes. I picked up my guns with a groan. Each window was smashed through as eight soldiers came swinging into the building.
There was no time to take cover. As the glass shattered in the air, I felt as if I could see the sparkle of each fragment. First, I shot one bullet out of each gun, piercing the first two soldiers in the throat and head, respectively. Thereupon, the other soldiers landed inside. My coat fluttered in the air as I flipped over and lowered my posture before shooting two more bullets, finishing off the two closest soldiers. The remaining enemies aimed their guns at me. The fragments of glass finally hit the ground, creating countless bouncing gems of light.
Then the gunfight commenced—a shoot-out close enough to hold a boxing match. Gunfire filled the room, and my surroundings flashed bright white. Granular apostles of death soared through the sparkling world. I could see it. Leaning forward almost perpendicular to the ground, I avoided the close-range gunfire. Then I crossed my arms and fired two shots. I bent backward until my chest was facing the ceiling and shot two shots at the enemies on both sides. An impact to the chest sent me flying backward. A bullet hit my bulletproof vest, knocking the wind out of me as if I’d been hit with a cannonball.
My bullets missed one of the soldiers. I caught my fall by placing a hand on the glass-covered floor. Then I swiftly swept the enemy’s legs as he tried to fire his submachine gun. Despite being midfall, the soldier reached out and grabbed my coat collar. He was planning on dragging me down to the ground with him.
This one moved nothing like the other soldiers. When I caught a glimpse of the badge on the lapel of his military fatigues, I realized he was most likely Mimic’s deputy commander—Gide’s right-hand man and chief of staff.
I tried to aim the pistol in my left hand at his throat, but he quickly knocked it away with the tip of his submachine gun. We tangled, then rolled on the ground. I threw my left palm at his chin in an attempt to give him a concussion, but he evaded, then immediately grabbed my sleeve and twisted it behind my back, apparently going for a joint lock. My shoulder made a dull sound. If he kept that up, I was sure my shoulder would be irreversibly damaged.
However, it’s a bad idea to attempt close combat against someone with the ability to see the future. I’d wanted him to do this from the start. Grabbing my pistol with my free hand, I bent forward and unloaded the clip into the floor. The empty shells bounced off the ground with noises like small bells. The deputy commander’s grip weakened, and he collapsed to the ground, a slug now buried in his throat. One of the bullets I’d just shot into the floor had ricocheted and pierced his neck. Gritting my teeth from the excruciating pain in my chest, I checked over my bulletproof vest. I’d been hit in the torso three times, each shot stopped by the Kevlar. After removing the vest, I tossed it to the ground. I’d most likely fractured a rib.
“Guh…”
I turned around to find the deputy commander still conscious, but the wound was fatal. It’d be about another ten minutes before he died.
“Want me to finish you off?” I asked while aiming my pistol at his head.
“……Yes…please…,” he replied in a feeble voice. His throat must’ve been full of blood.
“Any last words?”
“Thank you…for fighting me…”
The deputy commander closed his eyes. The gunshot wound must’ve hurt, and yet, he was faintly smiling.
“The commandant is up ahead… Please save him, too……from this hell…”
I pulled the trigger. His skull burst, spewing blood and brain matter onto the floor. The deputy commander briefly twitched before going limp. I stood up and reloaded my guns. Then I began to walk.
“Yeah, I know.”
Dazai strode confidently through the Mafia’s high-rise headquarters downtown at a quick clip, his heels practically scraping off the carpet underfoot. He got on the glass-paneled elevator alone, pressed the button to the top floor, then closed his eyes. When the elevator reached his destination, he opened his eyes again. His gaze was focused on only one thing—the office at the very end of the hallway.
Dazai drew in his chin and began to walk. The large-built men in black suits guarding the door silently blocked Dazai’s path. Both were carrying automatic rifles.
“Move,” Dazai ordered without even looking at the men’s faces. The colossal guards, twice Dazai’s size, froze. Then they took a big step back, seemingly intimidated. Without even waiting for the guards to react, Dazai opened the door to the office and barged in as if he owned the place. He then walked over to the large desk in the middle of the room and stopped in front of it. Seated before the desk was the Port Mafia’s boss, Ougai Mori.
“Well, well, Dazai. It’s not often you come here yourself. Allow me to bring you some tea. I received some extremely expensive leaves from northern Europe. Pouring this tea on top of a steamed bun makes an exquisite—”
“Boss.” Dazai cut him off. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”
