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

“Not only that, the way it was described in the e-mail was oddly visually specific, don’t you think?”

I check the e-mail again. “The everlasting flames and blinding corona made it seem as if the sun itself had fallen out of the sky. The buildings fell one after another while innocent people’s skin melted as they struggled to escape. The ground liquefied, and vehicles were knocked into the buildings like spears.”

“This is just speculation on my part, but doesn’t it sound a bit like he’s describing what he saw?”

“What?”

“Miss Sasaki, is there any news footage showing any of the past bombings abroad?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Filming an explosion that large was probably the last thing on the victims’ minds as well.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you, but the e-mail vividly details what just happened minutes after the explosion. Maybe they set the bomb, ran away, and came back after the explosion in time to see all this?”

“In other words, the bomber who killed all those people in the past is the Azure Apostle?”

If that’s the case, then that would narrow down who the criminal might be. We’re looking at a bomb expert who was abroad during that incident and is currently in Japan. But…

“We still don’t have enough information to go by.”

“Why?”

“I suppose I will fill you in, since you decided to skip the meeting. The Public Security Intelligence Agency and military police–affiliated organizations already looked into domestic bomb-making experts, and they didn’t find any suspects. Nobody on the list of Japanese candidates possesses the refined technology needed for high-grade explosives that could kill or injure over one hundre

d people, nor are there any bomb manufacturer candidates they don’t already have their eye on. Having said that, it’s not like we could go around questioning every non-Japanese person we see.”

“Heh-heh.” Dazai smirks.

“What are you so obnoxiously giddy about?”

“While even the military police come to the famous detective agency for help from time to time, there’s still one directory nobody wants us to see: information held by foreign intelligence agencies. I’m sure they have records on past bombing suspects.”

“A foreign intelligence agency…?”

The most famous intelligence agencies that come to mind are the CIA and NSA in the United States and MI6 in the United Kingdom. They conduct covert operations all around the world for their home countries’ safety and prosperity. However…

“Foreign intelligence agencies aren’t just going to hand over confidential information to private Japanese enterprises. Do you even know anybody working for an intelligence agency in the first place?”

“Nope.”

“I figured.”

“But I know where to meet one.”

—I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

And that’s how our undercover mission at the embassy began. The plan Dazai came up with is simple: One of us makes a scene at the embassy, and if we’re lucky, one of the higher-ups will come over to bring things under control. Then we can talk with that high government official to negotiate. For a secret agent abroad, their home country’s embassy is not only a base but a place of peace and comfort as well. The embassy must have some sort of connection with their country’s secret agents.

While it’s a reckless, aggressive plan, Dazai’s idea sheds a glimmer of hope on a seemingly desperate mission. During our work together, I at times find his wits and critical-thinking skills nothing short of amazing. There is no telling what he’s capable of. I can’t help but feel that hidden behind his eccentric behavior lurks something chilling—a devilish wisdom of some kind.

I have a difficult time believing he’s just some wanderer with no real background. Whenever I try to ask him about his past, he avoids the question. While I refuse to press him for answers, I wonder if he has a dark past. Could he have been in an illegal—?

“Awww, c’mon, lady! Just grant my asylum already! Pretty pleeease? C’mon, don’t look away from me when I’m talkin’ to you! Look at me! Yeah, like that! Keep lookin’ at me like that!”

—No. He’s just an idiot.

“Um… Could you please write your name on the waiting list?” The receptionist timidly pulls out a sheet of paper.

“I’ve already filled out one of those!” Dazai yells. He’s lying, of course. “I even made sure to complete all the parts in fine print with my favorite fountain pen, and I’m still not gettin’ any service. Why d’you think I came here to talk to you, huh?”