Outcome.

In front of the lifeless fish…

In the end, it was Dazai who treated, buying some convenience store food and bringing it back to share with him.

Considering the man had no tongue, Dazai gave Hyakki the cheapest rice ball, while he himself sat on a dry rock, munching on a microwaved crab meat rice ball.

After filling his stomach, Dazai rummaged through his pants pocket, only to find two 500-yen coins.

How pitiful. If he didn’t want to starve, he had to find a sponsor.

“You look even poorer than me,” Dazai looked Hyakki from head to toe, confirming he was a pauper. “If I sold you, maybe the Port Mafia would give me some money, enough to buy instant noodles.” He wiggled his fingers in front of Hyakki’s lifeless eyes, certain that he was truly blind and deaf, easy to sell.

With a mischievous grin, Dazai said, “Shake your head if you disagree, keep still if you agree.”

Great, the man agreed!

Hyakki sat there like a breathing doll, unperturbed by Dazai’s poking and prodding. Dazai persistently probed his “anomalies,” pinching his arm one moment and plucking a black hair the next, blowing it away into the river.

As long as he doesn’t take off the mask, this young man is a valuable commodity.

By the riverbank reflecting the distant city lights, Dazai Osamu, though still in high spirits, shivered involuntarily from the cold wind blowing across the riverbank. He couldn’t help but gaze at the desolate and quiet river surface.

“How about we take a dip before the spring blossoms?” he turned to ask Hyakki.

In Hyakki’s eyes, the flickering white flames seemed to wilt slightly as if affected by the wind.

This… seemed like a sign of illness.

Suddenly, Hyakki stood up and, utilizing his wilderness skills, began to stack stones by the damp riverbank, gathering dry leaves and branches to ignite a fire in front of Dazai Osamu.

The firelight illuminated Dazai Osamu’s face, dispelling some of the spring chill.

Dazai Osamu poked the fire with a stick. “Instead of making a fire by the river, wouldn’t it be better to find a warm place to stay?”

With that, he smirked. “Forgot you can’t speak or hear my voice.”

With his characteristic initiative, Dazai Osamu disregarded the other’s opinion, grabbing Hyakki’s wrist again and making a comment on the bandages similar to his own: “Not tied properly. Next time, use bandages that are more standard.”

“Let’s go!”

Stamping out the fire, Dazai Osamu smoothly led Hyakki away, thinking to himself: This person is too easy to manipulate.

Hyakki watched as the revitalized flames of life flickered quietly, feeling secretly satisfied.

That night, Hyakki didn’t stay outdoors or in a corner but was taken by Dazai Osamu to a nearby deserted house. Dazai Osamu effortlessly picked the lock, drew the curtains, and filled the bathtub with water, strongly urging the newly acquainted person to wash thoroughly inside and out!

“How many days has it been since you last bathed!”

With a bang, the door to the bathroom was closed, leaving Hyakki standing inside in a daze.

After a while, he figured out what was meant.

It was a bath.

Behind the door of the bathroom, Dazai Osamu heard the sound of water inside and breathed a sigh of relief. “Not so stupid after all.”

No, foolish people simply cannot survive on their own.

Leaning against the door, the teenager with messy brown hair felt itchy inside, both for not having seen the other’s complete face and for the overly eerie image. He was actually curious whether there were a pair of eyeballs inside. If so, was this person accustomed to having their vision obstructed by the mask, or were they in a state of blindness?

Dazai Osamu murmured, “I have a feeling that seeing it would give me nightmares.”

Isn’t it amazing?

A person who is both deaf and blind and mute is not uncommon, but having such high combat power is unheard of.

He pinched the air to confirm the previous sensation, and it was good; there was indeed something wrong with the other’s limbs. He believed that if the other were to take off the mask, change into other clothes, and walk in front of the mafia, he wouldn’t be recognized, provided those mafia members didn’t just shoot him out of fear.

Dazai Osamu chuckled and went to fetch a nightgown for the other.

Completely disregarding whether Hyakki wanted it or not, Dazai Osamu pretended to knock on the door, turned the knob, and went in to neatly place the easiest-to-wear robe on Hyakki’s head, who was sitting expressionless in the bathtub.

“Here.”

For a moment, it resembled a scene of Japanese bathing.

Dazai Osamu quickly scanned the limbs of Hyakki soaking in the warm water and his pupils suddenly contracted.

There were severed arms at the shoulder!

Below the waist, at the root of the thighs, there were two more incisions!

“You—!”

How did he survive this?

…

After washing the dirty clothes, Hyakki stepped out of the bathroom. The lady’s belted robe looked seamless on him. His chest, adorned with white cloth strips, was exposed, and his hair, previously tied up, was let down, with black strands cascading over his shoulders. He looked like a young man with external injuries, fresh enough to make people forget all about his imperfections.

Dazai Osamu sat on the sofa, suppressing a yawn, glanced at him, and Hyakki instinctively sat beside him.

Dazai Osamu immediately asked Hyakki, “How did you know I was here?”

Without waiting for Hyakki’s answer, Dazai Osamu walked behind the sofa. Without making any sound, Dazai Osamu saw Hyakki’s head turn towards him, even more sensitively than a person with eyes.

Dazai Osamu grabbed the fruit knife from the coffee table and stabbed towards Hyakki’s neck, stopping at his throat.

“No reaction?”

He said in a peculiar tone.

Facing Hyakki’s calmness, Dazai Osamu did consider actually stabbing him to see his reaction. However, he couldn’t bring himself to kill someone he was interested in just out of spite, at least not for now.

“Alright, I got it,” Dazai Osamu tossed aside the fruit knife.

As if retaliating against his calmness, he pinched Hyakki’s ears and then released them, realizing he wouldn’t find anyone with a better temper than Hyakki.

“You can sense danger… and sense my presence,” he added.

“In terms of life, you specifically eat raw food because you can see signs of life in fish.”

In a few words, he deduced Hyakki’s ability.

Dazai Osamu lay behind the sofa, relaxed, holding onto the sofa cushion. The hawk-colored eyes, not bound by bandages, were inquisitive about Hyakki’s background. What made him even more relaxed was that he didn’t have to pretend. He could do whatever he wanted because this person couldn’t see anything anyway.

A thought occurred to Dazai Osamu, and he went to fetch the cactus owned by the homeowner.

“Hey, what do you see in this?” he asked.

[…]

Hyakki saw the plant’s life force, a pale glow, almost overshadowed by the other person’s life flame.

Adhering to his taciturn demeanor, he remained motionless.

But Dazai Osamu grabbed Hyakki’s damp hair with one hand, eagerly awaiting his response.

Hyakki was puzzled.

Realizing that this person might be Dororo, lively and cheerful in character, and probably struggling to communicate with him, he couldn’t continue to play the silent man.

Taking the initiative, Hyakki took the cactus and placed it on the table, much to Dazai Osamu’s surprise.

Dazai Osamu drawled, “So you can still see.”

Not an extraordinary ability.

It’s innate… no, it’s a kind of ability honed by postnatal experiences and innate talent.

“Tired, not playing anymore.” Dazai Osamu acted petulantly, tossing Hyakki onto the sofa. He didn’t care about the other’s name or whether he would harm himself. Dazai just slipped away to the guest room to sleep.

In the living room, Hyakki plucked the spines from the cactus one by one, eventually consuming it.

You sent

“Is this the food Dororo gave me?”

A handsome misunderstanding.

During the day, Dazai followed Hyakki to the vicinity of the Leibo Street. Hyakki sought out evil spirits, giving a beating to those with murky life flames, but he rarely killed. It didn’t take long for Dazai to find out, in his own way, about Hyakki’s recent reputation in this slum area.

“The swordsman with crippled hands.”

“The outsider who beats up villains.”

“The one who was chased by the Sheep King half a month ago.”

Dazai rested his chin on his hands, sitting on the stairs, watching him beat people. Compared to his own wandering situation in Yokohama, the other had indeed spent an eventful half-month, quickly being accepted by the exclusive Leibo Street.

It sounded unbelievable. Leibo Street was not welcoming to outsiders.

“Indeed, is he that unfortunate?”

People who had given up on the outside world and been abandoned by it hid in Leibo Street. They engaged in all sorts of dirty work like theft, robbery, murder, human trafficking, and arms smuggling, directly bordering Yokohama’s dark underworld. When he first learned about this place, he avoided it because of the unreasonable ruffians here.

“Are you done?” Seeing the black-haired youth swiftly running over, Dazai pointed behind him in confusion. “There are still several left to beat up, right? If I’m not mistaken, they are habitual robbers…”

Before he could finish speaking,

“My hairstyle!” Dazai exclaimed as he was hoisted up by Hyakki and carried away. Hyakki’s running speed was first-rate, not bothering to ask for permission, displaying a wild beast’s instinct sensing danger.

Dazai struggled to raise his head and look back—

A burst of red light was rushing towards them from afar, full of killing intent!

“Enemies?”

In the end, Hyakki’s foresight prevailed, always managing to evade when Nakahara approached.

Nakahara, who had rushed over upon receiving the information, kicked a wall in frustration. The wall immediately cracked, and he seethed with anger, “If you have the guts, don’t run, you bastard!”

The groaning villains on the ground shut their mouths, trying to escape the ferocious attacks of the Sheep King.

Looking down, Chuya chuckled.

“Am I scary?”

The orange-haired youth smiled ferociously, and a chilling light emanated from his blue eyes beneath the hood.

The orange-haired youth grinned ferociously, his blue eyes flashing with a cold light beneath the hood.

“Anyone he beats up must be a real scumbag. I find his beatings too lenient. Still able to crawl away? In my territory, we don’t need trash like you!”

Another round of beatings ensued.

After venting his anger, Nakahara clapped his hands and left.

Meanwhile, Hyakki, who had narrowly escaped, set down the person on his shoulder. Dazai rubbed his stomach, not bothering to ask what happened. His interest quickly shifted as he pointed to the rundown bookstore in the Slums.

“Let’s go take a look there!”

In the second-hand bookstore, Dazai successfully found many banned books not available elsewhere.

Hyakki sat at the store entrance, waiting for him like a guardian deity, startling the smoking old shopkeeper. The shopkeeper extinguished his cigarette and glanced at Hyakki’s arms before turning back to Dazai, who was browsing inside.

“Aren’t you going to run?” the shopkeeper said to Hyakki, then chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Well, you’re quite strong. Unlike us, who tremble in fear at the mere mention of the Port Mafia’s pursuit.”

Dazai leaned in, smiling, “What are you talking about? The Port Mafia?”

The shopkeeper hushed him in a whisper, “Lower your voice.”

Suppressing the urge to smoke, the shopkeeper mentioned the wanted poster for a teenager with swords installed in his arms, pursued by the Port Mafia. It wasn’t out of kindness but rather a hope that this matter wouldn’t implicate the Slums.

“If you’re his friend, I suggest you advise him to leave the Slums as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I see…”

Dazai feigned enlightenment, his expression as fake as it could be, but the shopkeeper, unfamiliar with him, couldn’t tell.

Then, he flashed a smile that made the shopkeeper break out in a cold sweat.

“If you say so, it means the Slums are not easily infiltrated even by the Port Mafia. Otherwise, they could simply come in and arrest people without causing unnecessary chaos. I’ve heard the most famous person in the Slums is called the King of Sheep. The Port Mafia must have suffered losses at his hands and fear him. Once they engage in a battle here, the bookshop on the edge of the Slums might get caught in the crossfire.”

No longer bothering with the bookstore owner, Dazai shoved something into Hyakki’s clothes and waved goodbye. “We’re leaving now. Consider this book a gift from you!”

The shopkeeper’s face contorted with unwillingness and helplessness. Just hurry and go, you two nuisances.

Hyakki reached to touch the book in his arms but was promptly pulled away by Dazai.

As they walked, Dazai chuckled, “Thanks to your reputation in the Slums, you’ve managed to evade the King of Sheep’s pursuit. The Port Mafia will see you in a new light.”

As they neared the edge of the Slums, Dazai stepped on the border line, turning to Hyakki.

“The choice is yours.”

Dazai let go of his hand, standing on the side outside the border.

“Come with me, and I’ll help you escape the pursuit.”

“Or stay in the Slums and join the Sheep. The King of Sheep is the leader of the Slums’ youth self-defense organization. Seeing your physical condition, his hostility towards you isn’t as severe as imagined. Every time he comes to find you, he’s alone, probably looking for a fight rather than seeking revenge.”

With the second option, Dazai spoke a bunch of words, but Hyakki stepped over the border line, breaking the choice.

Hyakki exhausted all his will to live, always believing in his sixth sense.

The other party stopped.

That meant waiting for him to come over.

As he approached the flames of life, the other party didn’t continue to hold him. Hyakki tilted his head to “look” at him. The pure white flames burned vigorously, as if wanting to burn themselves out.

“No, I can’t.”

Hyakki vaguely recalled Dororo seemed to have some special background, not like himself, a wanderer.

He took the initiative to hold the hand of the person who had come to him yesterday with his cold right hand.

“I want to live well.”

Hyakki’s will was pure, striving to live, which made Dazai, whose mind was extremely sensitive, suddenly suffocate.

The desire to live so strongly… was too heavy for him.

What meaning does life have?

Dazai opened his mouth, then turned his head as if giving up, calmly gazing at the person who couldn’t see him.

“Let’s go…”

After walking a few steps, Dazai pulled him to a sandy area to the side.

“First, tell me your name. I’ll figure out a way to give you a fake identity.”

Hyakki and he shared a moment of understanding.

The boy, reincarnated and having forgotten his past name, squatted down and meticulously wrote his current name in the sand.

“Hyakki”.

Born destined to be sacrificed to a demon by his father, he was spared by the benevolent protection of the Guanyin Bodhisattva statue.

That was Hyakki’s simple past.

Dazai remembered this name and remarked, “Hyakki? Sounds quite ominous…”

In Japan, ghosts are taboo.

Throughout history, tales of ghosts and monsters abounded. It was rumored that ghosts feared masculine energy and avoided humans with ominous auras. Dazai speculated, “But someone like you probably even ghosts would be scared.”

If the heavens won’t forsake you, “how could ghosts kill you?”

Before members of the Port Mafia appeared, Dazai hurriedly fled with the easily deceived Hyakki.

“No need for further explanation! We can’t let them catch us!”

This time, it was Hyakki being dragged along by Dazai as they sprinted. Hyakki didn’t break a sweat in the effortless run, clearly surpassing Dazai in physical fitness. Seeing Dazai constantly holding onto his left hand, Hyakki couldn’t help but shift it upward, attracting Dazai’s sideways glance.

Hmm, it’s easy to be pulled off.