Something different.
A new factor that Ranpo hadn’t even thought of.
“Tell me this.” Fukuzawa persevered. “Have you ever thought the people around you were stupid? That they were a bunch of fools who didn’t understand a thing?”
“…”
Ranpo sent Fukuzawa a skeptical glance, and a few moments went by before he answered.
“…I have.”
“That’s it. Believe in that feeling. You have a gift, but everyone else is a fool, including me. The reason why you’re all alone is because of your talents. Utilize them. There’s nothing you can’t do.”
“Don’t think you can control me with a few compliments.” Ranpo slightly averted his gaze. “My mother told me to never look down on others. Besides, why would only I be special? There are so many people in the city, so why would I be the only special one?”
“That’s because…”
I’m almost there. I can’t allow myself to mess up now.
The time for decision was near. Fukuzawa wasn’t an eloquent speaker. He wasn’t someone who could manipulate others with his words. There was only one card left up his sleeve that he could play.
Sincerity.
“You were right,” admitted Fukuzawa. “I used to carry a sword at my waist. From an early age, I trained at a government-run school of martial arts. I was one of the five greatest swordsmen in the government, known as Goken. I truly thought my sword was for the peace and welfare of the nation… And I killed for that belief.”
Fukuzawa stared off into the distance. Ranpo carefully observed his expressions.
“Assassinations were extremely simple. I had an overwhelming advantage, and not even once had I ever struggled in battle. It started to frighten me when I noticed I was looking forward to my next mission. I no longer knew if I was killing for the country or killing for the enjoyment of it. That was when I decided to permanently lay down my sword.”
Fukuzawa remained calm as he spoke.
Why am I telling him this? Why am I telling this kid something I’ve never told anyone before?
But the words continuously crawled out of the depths of his heart and poured out of his mouth.
“Power must be kept in check. Power that cannot be controlled must be discarded. If you refuse to acknowledge your gift, you are no different from the bloodthirsty man I used to be. You must recognize your talents, especially now that your parents are gone.”
Fukuzawa yearned to speak more eloquently. He didn’t need the ability to fire up an entire crowd, or even the sort of inane flattery that could rouse the populace. All he wanted was to be able to tell a little white lie so that this kid could see the simple truth.
“I get what you’re saying, but…” Ranpo scowled hard at Fukuzawa while remaining seated. “But—then tell me. What am I? What were my parents telling me? Make me understand why I’m here—why I’m like this. If you can do that, then I’ll believe you.”
Ranpo was no longer sulking. Instead, he was honestly looking for an answer—something he’d never done before. And Fukuzawa was the only one who could give it to him.
“The intermission is about to end. Please return to your seats.”
The announcement played over the intercom. The few people around started to walk away and head back to their seats, and Ranpo was already looking toward the small crowd.
Fukuzawa didn’t have much time. If he let this chance go by, Ranpo would probably never seek answers again.
“That’s because…”
Fukuzawa paused midsentence.
Anything. Anything would do. He just needed to say something.
He had already used the ace up his sleeve: sincerity. He wasn’t good at persuading others or speaking eloquently, either. He was even worse at lying. Just then…Fukuzawa suddenly caught sight of the script rolled up in Ranpo’s hand. The troupe had given it to him, but he hadn’t made it past the first paragraph before getting bored. As if by reflex, Fukuzawa said:
“Because you’re a skill user.”