“So…let me get this straig
ht. At some pub, a tremendously important man like Chief Taneda just happens to sit next to a genius skill user, and they just happen to hit it off. Then this oddball happens to be sharp and gets a perfect score on his tests, but he also just happens to currently not have a job. Then, just like that, he successfully joins the prohibitively selective Armed Detective Agency without any trouble at all… Are you implying this is all a little too convenient?”
“Perhaps I am overthinking things, but the Armed Detective Agency has numerous connections with government agencies and military personnel. We also handle a large amount of classified information due to the nature of our work.”
It would make sense for a member of a criminal organization to infiltrate a detective agency due to their close ties to the police. There are plenty of advantages in joining a detective agency, given how easy some are to get into. But Dazai, a spy? And one good enough to outwit someone as distinguished as Chief Taneda? That Dazai?
“Kunikida, I want you to carry out his entrance exam.”
I nod. The agency’s “entrance exam” is a task assigned to detectives to give to prospective employees. It’s the real test, so to speak, and you will not be recognized as an actual employee if you don’t pass.
“I would like you to bring Dazai with you while you work and see if he can be trusted. If you ever feel he could be an emissary, intelligence operative, or spy of some sort, then you are to fire him without hesitation. However, if you sense any signs of wickedness in his heart…”
The president takes a black automatic pistol out from a bag behind him, then presents it to me.
“…”
I accept the gun without a word. It’s heavy.
“Shoot him.”
“Yes, sir.”
If Dazai is part of some sinister scheme, then it would be the agency’s duty to stop him before things got out of hand. The Armed Detective Agency’s licensed staff are granted police-like authority. We’re authorized to carry guns and knives under certain conditions, and we can even pull records from police organizations. But above all, it allows us to commit unethical acts if we wish to do so: meddle with said authorities’ investigations, falsify police information, and even wiretap or secretly film key facilities. At worst, one could even commit an act of terrorism and sabotage these major facilities, resulting in the deaths of hundreds—if not thousands of individuals.
The cold iron pistol sits motionless in my hand.
Rippling waves roll over the bay beneath a shower of moonlight as I walk through the crowd by the Port of Yokohama. The sound of the ocean struggles to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the evening, while the moon competes with the city lights. Dazai slowly bobs down the street behind me.
We’re finally able to start work after he wasted half a day with the whole mushroom fiasco.
“Hey, show me that skill of yours again. The Matchless Poet, was it?”
“No. One doesn’t so casually reveal his skill. Besides, I have to tear a page out of my notebook every time I use it. The artisan who makes these notebooks produces only a hundred of them a year, and they’re not cheap. Do you really think I’m going to waste a page just to entertain you?”
I check my watch before looking back at him.
“Anyway, Dazai, you need to walk a little faster. We’re going to be late.”
“What do you mean, late? I thought we didn’t set a specific time to meet up with the informant?”
“No, I told them over the phone that we’d be there around seven PM.”
“Well, it’s exactly seven now, and they’re only about five minutes from here, so we won’t be late.”
“That means we’re already late, you idiot! According to my watch, ‘around seven PM’ refers to the twenty seconds between 18:59:50 and 19:00:10!”
“You’re the only one with a watch like that, Kunikida…,” Dazai mumbles as he walks.
Incidentally, my watch uses specialized equipment to set itself to standard time every morning when I wake up, so the margin of error is always under one second.
“We would’ve been done with most of our work today if a certain someone hadn’t eaten a magic mushroom. Don’t you dare eat one of those again. And if you do, make sure it’s the fatal kind.”
“Ah, what a pleasurable experience that was.”
“You’re fine now, right? Still seeing pink elephants in the sky?”
“Elephants? Don’t be silly—elephants can’t fly. Those were purple elephant beetles I was seeing.”