Despite the scheming mind hidden behind Mori Ougai's calm exterior, his attitude toward Natsume Souseki was one of unwavering respect. Not once did he consider concealing the circumstances surrounding his apprenticeship. The moment he finished laying everything bare before Asou Akiya, he immediately contacted Natsume Souseki to report the matter from afar.
The result was a thorough scolding.
"So you just told him?
Are you an idiot? What if he was bluffing you? Did his reputation really intimidate you that badly?
I can tell you this much—your plan to keep the conditions of your apprenticeship secret has already failed!"
Mori Ougai was left dumbfounded.
Once Natsume Souseki had vented his frustration, he spoke more calmly to the "diamond" he had personally chosen.
"I never told you that Akiya has no desire to become the Port Mafia's boss because I wanted to test you, your arrival was an opportunity to push things forward. However the two of you chose to compete, I was willing to let it happen as long as neither of you crossed the line.
But when the two of you met while equally lacking information, he already saw straight through your intentions."
Mori Ougai honestly admitted his mistake. "My analytical ability wasn't good enough, I lost to a better analyst."
Natsume Souseki stared at his phone, inwardly grumbling about his eldest disciple.
If I didn't already know what kind of person he is, I'd almost believe his powers of deduction surpassed Ranpo's.
Asou Akiya was intelligent and possessed sharp analytical skills, but not to an abnormal degree.
His true strength lay in his extraordinary ability to understand people and to interpret the events surrounding them.
"Ougai, the moment you joined the Port Mafia, I can guarantee that Akiya's first assumption was simply that you had ulterior motives—that there was something you wanted from the Port Mafia's boss. He would never have imagined that your goal was to elevate him to that position."
"The moment you 'confessed' your intentions, all you accomplished was exposing your own weakness."
Viewing the situation as a detached observer, Natsume Souseki gave his cold assessment of the two men.
"You're not as straightforward as he is, so don't pretend to be; he won't believe an act like that.
You already lost the upper hand the moment you stood in front of him."
Mori Ougai was in no good mood.
His dealings with Asou Akiya had gone remarkably smoothly—discounting the Yosano Akiko incident. They had never truly fallen into conflict either—again, discounting the Yosano Akiko incident.
And yet, in Asou Akiya's eyes, he was nothing more than a liar.
To Akiya, every word that came out of a liar's mouth was worthless. By reasoning in reverse, he had effortlessly uncovered the one objective Mori had tried to conceal.
That Mori intended to overthrow the current leadership and seize the position of Port Mafia boss himself!
Asou Akiya, you've offended a doctor!
Say goodbye to your aphrodisiacs!
And even if I do make more, next time I'll mix chili powder into them! I'll make you two damn lovebirds break up!
"Have you realized your mistake now?" Natsume Souseki asked. "The two of you are rivals within the Port Mafia, not friends. Revealing your true objective to Akiya was an incredibly foolish move."
The thought pained him.
Akiya had become vigilant.
Which meant his own plans as a teacher had mostly fallen apart as well.
Taking a deep breath, Mori Ougai apologized sincerely.
"My previous 'optimal solution' was to reach a friendly agreement with Asou Akiya so that we could stay out of each other's way. I underestimated him, and that miscalculation caused my plan to fail. It also ruined much of the effort you invested in this, Sensei..."
Natsume Souseki cut him off without hesitation.
"Don't flatter yourself. You haven't even completed your first assignment."
Mori shamelessly smiled.
"Then please guide me, Sensei. What should I do next?"
"Do I really need to spell it out?" Natsume Souseki replied.
He could see that the repeated setbacks had shaken Mori Ougai's confidence. Remembering how Yosano Akiko had been snatched away, he softened his tone slightly.
"You have two choices. Either you take the position of boss and send Akiya to the Special Division for Unusual Powers, or Akiya becomes the boss, and you resign from the Port Mafia to join the Special Division."
Mori Ougai answered with unwavering resolve,
"I understand."
I'll become the boss.
Then I'll either kick Asou Akiya out of the Port Mafia... or send him to the Special Division as an undercover agent who has to report to work every single day!
So that the man would never have time to flaunt his romance again!
And then he would live happily ever after in the Port Mafia with Elise by his side, ruling over the "Night"!
Perfect~
At that very moment, Mori Ougai's receding hairline had successfully held the line.
...
At Bankoudou Hall, Asou Akiya's remedial lessons had begun once again.
"You had a wonderful time on your trip, didn't you?" Natsume Souseki said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes as he pressed a piece of chalk firmly against the blackboard. "No ancient martial arts training, no need to rack your brain."
Asou Akiya hurriedly scribbled down his notes and replied pitifully, "I brought you a souvenir, Sensei."
Natsume Souseki glared at him, his mustache twitching.
"It wasn't good!"
Asou Akiya: "..."
"Next time, bring me sweets; I don't like savory snacks."
One taught while the other learned. The atmosphere during their lessons was unusually relaxed, lacking the rigid hierarchy and stern discipline of a normal school.
While taking notes, Asou Akiya casually asked, "Sensei, have you managed to retire yet?"
It wasn't the first time he had asked.
Natsume Souseki sighed helplessly.
"No. The higher-ups are still holding it up. Stop asking already. Once I finally retire, I'll head straight to your house and mooch meals off you!"
Asou Akiya wrote a line in his notebook and added a check mark after it.
[Waiting for Natsume-sensei to come freeload cat meals ✓]
A piece of chalk came flying toward him.
Unlike his son Chuuya, Asou Akiya didn't have the reflexes to dodge it. It struck him squarely on the forehead.
Natsume Souseki caught sight of his notebook at once.
"Don't write nonsense in your class notes!"
Rubbing his forehead, Asou Akiya obediently answered,
"Yes, Sensei."
Several hours later, the blackboard had been filled and erased so many times that faint traces of chalk still lingered beneath the fresh writing. Natsume Souseki picked up another piece of chalk and wrote the topic for the next lesson across the board.
[Day, Night, and Twilight!]
Asou Akiya struggled to keep his eyes open, forcing his heavy eyelids upward to look at the blackboard.
Sensei has definitely gone overtime today.
Every teacher's bad habit.jpg.
After finishing the heading, Natsume Souseki explained his vision in detail. It was, for the most part, the same concept Akiya already knew from the original story: Day, Night, and Twilight would form three balancing powers, working together to maintain stability in Yokohama's Settlement.
"Akiya, what do you think of the Tripartite Framework?"
It was Natsume Souseki's final wish before retirement.
An ideal born entirely from selflessness.
Everyone knew that ideals were beautiful, while reality was painfully unforgiving. Had Natsume Souseki not possessed immense prestige, extensive connections, and two outstanding disciples to champion his cause, his "Tripartite Framework" would have been no different from a flower reflected in a mirror or the moon reflected on water—nothing more than a retiring idealist's self-indulgent fantasy.
Asou Akiya didn't dare answer honestly.
If he did, the calico cat would claw him to death.
Choosing his words carefully, he cautiously replied,
"...It sounds... rather interesting?"
Natsume Souseki's expression darkened.
"Be serious."
Straightening his back like an elementary school student, Asou Akiya obediently raised his hand before answering.
"The government has very little influence in Yokohama, the Mafia acts however it pleases, and Twilight's side simply doesn't have enough power."
Natsume Souseki let out a weary sigh.
Yokohama's postwar situation was simply too unusual.
It had become a semi-autonomous district. Officially, it remained under the jurisdiction of the Japanese government, but in reality, the city had been carved apart by the interests of numerous foreign powers.
Not to mention anything else—just look at Suribachi City. Four years had passed since the military base explosion created that enormous crater, yet no one had even dared to propose filling it in.
The military powers of various nations treated Yokohama as land beyond the reach of the law, refusing to allow the Japanese government to interfere.
The Military Police were powerless, the city police were chronically understaffed, and the Coastal Defense Guard had no authority to operate on land.
"Akiya, you don't think highly of my plan."
"...No."
"Then can you help me fill in its shortcomings?"
"Sensei, the biggest flaw in the Tripartite Framework... is the government."
Under the warm lights of Bankoudou, Asou Akiya's dark eyes were as clear as polished mirrors.
"Outside of Italy, the United States, and a handful of lawless regions, there isn't a single country in the world where the Mafia can operate this brazenly. The Mafia is a product of society's evolution, and sooner or later, it will be swept into the ashes of history.
Your plan isn't difficult to realize in the short term. The real challenge is maintaining it over the long term.
What happens if the government eventually decides to eradicate the Mafia?
What if, because of personal ties or shared interests, the Port Mafia can't reveal its alliance, and one day finds itself forced to fight the Special Division for Unusual Powers and the Armed Detective Agency?
And what about the innocent people who die in those conflicts?
People's hearts change."
Many thoughts flashed through Asou Akiya's mind, but the clearest was still the scene from the original story where Akutagawa Ryuunosuke blew up a Yokohama police substation.
In an anime, it served to showcase the danger and individuality of the Port Mafia's ability users.
But to the ordinary civilians and police officers who lived in constant fear, they were simply outlaws beyond the reach of the law.
Natsume Souseki did not refute a single word.
Instead, he said wearily, "For the sake of peace."
A genuine sense of guilt suddenly welled up inside Asou Akiya.
If he were to kill the Port Mafia boss and seize control of the organization—becoming the ruler of Yokohama's "Night"—then, at the cost of sacrificing his own freedom and Randou's, he really could bring peace to Yokohama far sooner.
But he couldn't do it.
For Yokohama and for his teacher.
Was he really supposed to sacrifice the little time he and Randou had left together?
His love for this city had never run that deep.
Yet what was this faint ache in his heart?
It was probably the bonds that had quietly formed over time.
His family was here.
His teacher was here.
Perhaps...
There was no longer any need to preserve the original storyline exactly as it had been.
As long as he could ensure that that moment still came to pass.
Silently, Asou Akiya revised the calculations in his mind again and again. Every adjustment distorted his original plan until it was almost unrecognizable. In the end, he covered his face before looking up at Natsume-sensei—the very man he had originally intended to rely on for protection.
"Sensei, please give me some time to think it over. There's another matter I'd like to discuss with you."
"What is it?"
"If illegal immigrants from overseas were to enter the country, would the government handle it... or would the Mafia?"
"Be more specific."
"Uh..." Asou Akiya hesitated. "Please don't tell anyone about this, Sensei. Randou once published a collection of French poetry and a group of French mercenaries became fanatical admirers of his work. Back in France, they even kidnapped a bookstore owner over his poetry collection. Since Randou hasn't been writing much poetry lately... it seems they might come looking for him..."
As Asou Akiya awkwardly stumbled through his explanation, the corner of Natsume Souseki's eye twitched.
He slammed the tip of his gentleman's cane against the floor.
"Deal with it yourself—!"
In Yokohama, you handle your own messes. Kill them, bury them, whatever you want—but don't bother the government with your personal affairs!
From the front row beneath the lectern, Asou Akiya let out a tiny click of his tongue.
Tch.
The Japanese government in this Bungou Stray Dogs world is truly so irresponsible.
...
Night had fallen over France.
Inside the drawing room of a luxurious mansion near the Champs-Élysées in Paris, a salon was in full swing.
The concept of the "salon" had originated in Italy before spreading to France, where it became a tradition among the upper class—hosting gatherings of friends in one's home. Even today, it remained one of the French people's favorite ways to socialize.
This particular salon was hosted by Stéphane Mallarmé at his estate; It was far from the first one he had organized. Every guest in attendance was either a Transcendent or an exceptionally promising rising talent.
The caliber of people in his circle was so extraordinary that countless others dreamed of finding a way in.
It could truly be called the most prestigious salon in France.
As the host, Stéphane Mallarmé warmly entertained his colleagues before the conversation naturally drifted toward the latest happenings in France. Everyone spoke freely, secure in the knowledge that nothing discussed here would leave the room.
When someone unexpectedly brought up the Mimic organization—which had recently become "famous" abroad—Mallarmé blinked in surprise.
Has Gide gotten himself into trouble again?
Curious, he listened to the gossip. Once he learned what André Gide had done, he burst into laughter.
"Oh? I never expected them to be admirers of Monsieur Jean Nicolas's work as well."
The moment he caught hold of another colleague, Mallarmé launched into yet another enthusiastic speech about how wonderful Monsieur Jean Nicolas's poetry was.
The unfortunate listener, who had already endured this recommendation more than once, rolled his eyes.
"All right, all right, we know. You don't have to tell us the same thing three times. Jean Nicolas's poetry collection is even more popular overseas than it is in France."
Mallarmé sighed in admiration. "Ever since I read his poetry, I've wanted to write poetry myself."
The moment he said it, quite a few of the Transcendents nodded in agreement.
"Yes, I've had the same thought."
"So, when are you going to write?"
"I have no idea..."
"The beauty of poetry reaches straight into the soul. Still, it's enough just to think about it."
"Isn't reading poetry good enough? There's no need to write it ourselves..."
These literary giants of the real world, who had become the world's greatest ability users in this fictional one, all exuded an oddly arrogant yet thoroughly laid-back air. Not one of them had any real intention of putting their own souls into verse.
Mallarmé nodded sympathetically.
"Every time I think about writing poetry, it feels as though some invisible force stops me."
As the memory surfaced, he sighed mournfully and pressed a hand to his forehead.
"Without us, the literary world has truly declined."
One of the Transcendents took a satisfied sip of champagne before saying, "Not really. Doesn't French literature still have Balzac? He's carrying the entire French novel scene on his own."
Another nodded in agreement.
"That's right. England doesn't have anyone nearly that dedicated."
At the mention of their colleague who had practically worked himself to death, the expressions around the room became rather complicated.
Thanks to Balzac, they had all developed the utmost respect for writers... and every intention of keeping as far away from that profession as possible.
What a terrifying profession...
Among the central figures at the salon, one man had remained silent throughout the evening. Seated among the younger generation, he leisurely sipped his wine while leafing through the poetry collection in his hands.
At last, he spoke. "Mallarmé, why isn't Verlaine here?"
Mallarmé immediately turned toward the elder. Compared to himself, this senior belonged to an older generation, and his temperament was notoriously difficult to read.
"Monsieur Baudelaire," he replied respectfully, "it seems Verlaine has returned to his old residence on Rue Jacques in Paris. He doesn't intend to attend the salon."
Charles Pierre Baudelaire slowly raised his eyes.
His gaze was dark and razor-sharp, enough to pierce one's very soul.
"Bring him here."
"I want to see him. That man has been avoiding me for far too long."
Ever since Arthur Rimbaud's disappearance, Baudelaire had never been able to let it go.
After all, he had been Rimbaud's teacher.
Why is it that my student vanished without even leaving behind a body... while you returned alive and unharmed?
Just what did you do in Japan...
Paul Verlaine?
Mallarmé lowered his head, secretly taking a bit of pleasure in Verlaine's predicament.
You can avoid him for a while, but not forever.
Sooner or later, you'll have to give Arthur Rimbaud's teacher an explanation.
No matter how many secrets had been buried during the war, once the war was over, the day of reckoning would inevitably arrive.
Thinking of another man with his own "issues"—Goethe—Mallarmé couldn't help shaking his head. He silently spared a second of sympathy for Germany.
Every French Transcendent knew that among the Seven Traitors, France's traitor had been Jules Verne.
Germany's traitor, meanwhile, was very likely Goethe.
Otherwise, how could that ability organization have kidnapped the leaders of so many nations with such astonishing ease?
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe had been one of Germany's most famous anti-war advocates during the Great Ability War. A man of impeccable character and unquestionable integrity, he was widely honored as the "Conscience of Europe." Countless European ability users admired him, and within the circle of Transcendents, he stood on the same level as England's Shakespeare and France's Baudelaire!
And the more powerful a person was, the more capable they were of causing trouble!