Osamu Dazai's Entrance Exam (Bungo Stray Dogs 1)

“After being driven into a corner, the Azure King set off a bomb, killing himself…along with the five detectives.”

“…And one of those police officers happened to be Rokuzo’s father, huh?”

“Rokuzo lost his mother at a young age. It was just him and his father after that, and he seemed to really look up to the man.” I clench my fist. “I was the one who contacted the police and told them we found the terrorist’s hideout.”

If only I had contacted someone higher up on the chain of command… If only the detective agency had stormed the hideout with them…

“I as good as killed him.”

“No, you didn’t. It was the higher-ups at the police station who gave the orders, and besides, the criminal’s the one who blew himself up.”

“That may be true, but I doubt the lad sees it that way. He wouldn’t have tried getting revenge by hacking into the detective agency’s database otherwise.”

I suspect Rokuzo resents us. I’ve never asked him face-to-face, but…

“Rokuzo’s father is gone, and nothing is going to change that. That’s why someb

ody needs to look out for him—keep him in line when he acts out. And I just happen to be in a position to do it. It’s a matter of convenience.”

“You’re a real romanticist, you know that?” Dazai’s snickering comes out sounding like a sigh. I’ve never considered myself to be a romanticist, nor do I really know what it means to be sentimental. However, my acquaintances do often describe me as such, though I can’t understand why. After all, this world is far from ideal.

A taxi stops in front of us while I ponder. The driver waves.

No two taxi drivers are the same. Some are upstanding people; some are sincere. Some know the side streets and shortcuts like the back of their hand, and some are expert motorists. You’ve also got your cheerful young taxi drivers, along with the more frugal ones who keep their eye on the meter at all times. There is no one answer to which is best, and everyone is rightfully entitled to their opinion. However, there is only one thing I hope for when I get inside a taxi.

“Well, long time no see, Detective Kunikida. We’re having such nice weather today, yes? It really is the perfect day for investigating. Your glasses really suit you; then again, they always do. When you’ve driven cabs for as long as I have, you start to notice who does and doesn’t look good in glasses. You can see if they’re refined, whether they come from good stock. And your glasses are very becoming! Yep, I guarantee it.”

“Please, could you shut up and just drive?”

Besides, how can you determine a person’s upbringing just from their glasses? Ridiculous… I am slightly curious, though.

“The best taxi drivers are the ones who don’t talk. Has nobody ever told you that before?”

“Never. In fact, the passengers never really tell me anything at all when I’m driving, since I’m talking the whole time.”

I know what they call a taxi driver like this: a chatterbox.

Dazai and I are taking the cab to our next destination for investigation. I look out the window to discover the absence of lights. Shadows from the sparsely distributed trees brush away the dim moonlight as they fade into the distance. Needless to say, it wasn’t a stroke of misfortune that we happened to get into this taxi. We specifically asked for this driver. Why?

To get information.

“Dazai, you know the missing-persons case I mentioned earlier?”

“You mean the one Rokuzo’s looking into?”

“Precisely. Eleven people are missing so far. And this driver saw two of them right before they disappeared.”

I point at the small-framed individual driving the vehicle.

“All I did was drive them from the port to their hotel, though. One was a woman on vacation, while the other was a man in Yokohama on business.”

“Are you sure these are the two people you saw?”

I pull out a few pictures from my pocket. They’re all photos of the victims, taken by the hotel’s security camera. There are three types: when they’re entering the building, when they’re filling out the paperwork at the counter, and from the next day when they’re leaving the hotel.

“Yes, that’s them all right. They were wearing those same clothes. I drove them to this hotel, too.”

“Great. So, Kunikida, can you finally fill me in on the case’s details?”