“Don’t. Stop. We might still be able to save you. No, we will save you. So don’t say such—”
“Listen.” Odasaku wrapped his blood-soaked hand around Dazai’s. “You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be able to find a reason to live…”
“Yeah, I said that. I did. But what difference does that—?”
“You won’t find it,” Odasaku said in almost a whisper. Dazai stared at him.
“You should know that. Whether you’re on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity.”
—“Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream.”
That was when Dazai first realized: Sakunosuke Oda understood him much more than he’d ever imagined—right up to his very heart, almost to the center of his mind. Dazai didn’t realize until then that someone had known him so well.
For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted from the bottom of his heart to know something. He asked the man before him:
“Odasaku… What should I do?”
“Be on the side that saves people,” Odasaku replied. “If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but…saving others is something just a bit more wonderful.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. I know better than anyone else.”
Dazai gazed into Odasaku’s eyes and saw a glow of conviction.
It was clear that those words were supported by some sort of strong basis. Whether it was past experience or someone’s advice—Odasaku was trying to show Dazai the path he himself had once tried to walk. Dazai knew that.
That was why he could bring himself to believe it.
“…Okay. I will.”
“‘People live to save themselves. It’s something they realize right before they die,’ huh…? He was…right…” The color in Odasaku’s face gradually disappeared until he was almost completely pale. He smiled. “I could really go for some of that curry…”
With trembling fingers, Odasaku reached for the cigarettes in his pocket before sluggishly placing one in his mouth. By the time he pulled out a match, his fingers were too weak to hold it anymore. Dazai took the match and lit the cigarette for him. Then Odasaku closed his eyes, smoking the cigarette as he smiled, filled to the brim with satisfaction.
The cigarette fell to the ground.
Dropping onto his knees by Odasaku’s side, Dazai looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes. His tightly shut lips faintly trembled. The smoke from the cigarette rose straight up to the top.
Nobody said a word.
EPILOGUE
The conflict came to an end, and the city returned to normal. On the surface, the city was no different from before. The economy was good, people woke up and went to sleep, and the bustling days and violent nights continued on. Society and its underbelly appeared unchanged.
A light propeller aircraft glided through the skies over the coastline. There were only a few people on board.
“We’ll be arriving at our destination for the next mission in about an hour,” a young man in a suit said from the passenger seat.
“All right.”
In the reclining chair by the window sat a man with round glasses. In his hands were a few pieces of paper that he was diligently staring at.
“…Agent Sakaguchi, is that a picture of the next target?” the young man in the suit asked.
Ango, the man with round glasses, stuffed the picture away in his jacket pocket in a fluster so that his colleague wouldn’t see.
“No, it’s nothing. Just a personal photo of mine.”