As Dazai turned around in silence for a moment, he saw that Hyakki was walking farther away.

His throat felt constricted.

He couldn’t breathe… It was a suffocating sensation.

His thoughts momentarily blanked out, gradually returning to normal, as if the organs inside his body were calling for help, and the screams were all illusions. He was pulled back from the murky waters by reality.

—Ah, this is reality.

He heard himself sounding like a coward, with a hesitant and weak voice.

“…… Hya…… kki…….”

Turn around.

Who are you looking for?

Aren’t you looking for Dororo? Didn’t you say you liked me?

How could you… not see me…

In three days, he dismantled the Sheep organization, and in nine days, he destroyed the new members of the GSS organization’s mafia. The blood on the face of the still young boy faded away, and the gleam in his eyes extinguished. His soul was entangled in sin, and the deaths of hundreds of people destroyed that precious purity in his humanity.

Darkness, bloodshed.

His hands weren’t dirty, but his heart was, and it couldn’t be cleaned.

Suddenly, Dazai understood why the parallel-world Hyakki didn’t recognize him.

He laughed.

At his own stupidity and ridiculous perception.

Because of the killings committed by the villains and the mafia of Leibo Street, he had foolishly believed that not killing would solve everything. Also, because of Hyakki’s changed attitude towards Mori and Nakahara, he had a false sense of hope, thinking that no matter how he changed, he would still be recognized, and at worst, he could find a way to make Hyakki forgive him. Why could Nakahara, who had killed people, be treated with tolerance, but he couldn’t receive special treatment from Hyakki?

And what was the result? Despite proclaiming his love, Hyakki couldn’t recognize him. He hadn’t even had the chance to abandon him, yet he had been left behind by a broken and ignorant puppet.

What’s wrong to this world?

People are willing to prolong their painful lives, striving for something that doesn’t exist.

As the wind blew along the riverbank, the clean and crisp white-shirted youth took slow steps back in the opposite direction. His partially dry hair dried completely, and the new bandages were stained with blood seeping from his skin. Everything remained the same.

At the headquarters of the Port Mafia, Mori, busy as ever, looked at the young man in the black coat who had come alone.

He set down his pen and smiled at Dazai as if he were a student.

“Welcome back.”

Both knew exactly what had transpired.

The dense darkness swallowed up the faint glimmer of light on Dazai’s body. This inherently chaotic and wicked youth didn’t care about killing or saving people; he only pursued things that interested him.

“Dazai, I forgot to tell you something. I haven’t actually killed that many people.”

“…?”

“But Hyakki believes in cause and effect.”

There’s no good deed in not killing someone with your own hands; the law doesn’t allow for it. Instigating murder is tantamount to committing it; it’s just that the former is less likely to be caught than the latter.

Dazai remained silent, and Mori no longer forced him to abandon that emotion.

“What do you need from me, Dazai?”

“Give me a new address. I don’t want to go back to the clinic.”

Mori raised an eyebrow at his request and asked tentatively, “How about living in the Port Mafia?”

Dazai replied coldly, “Fine.”

Twenty minutes later.

Mori learned that his clinic had been sealed off and vandalized, and it wouldn’t be able to operate normally for a while.

Mori sighed, “Another way to generate income.”

When Dazai gets nasty, he really gets nasty. It’s better to let off steam than keep it bottled up inside.

Well, let’s continue eating instant noodles. Can the other world produce a leader even more impoverished than him?

…

After searching outside all day, Hyakki returned to the clinic in the evening.

The door, which used to open with a push, was tightly jammed. Hyakki was strong, and after several attempts, he managed to force it open. As he entered, he nearly slipped on an empty bottle placed on the floor.

Inside the clinic, various bottles and jars were haphazardly placed, a nightmare for anyone with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD). There were footprints on the medicine box, and all the fixed medical equipment had their power cords cut or key components removed, rendering them useless. Mori, who was busy with his dual role as the leader of the Port Mafia, couldn’t be bothered to come back and deal with it. Instead, he embezzled funds and ordered a batch of the latest foreign equipment.

“Dororo?”

Hyakki’s uncertain voice echoed in the empty clinic, his eyes lifelessly scanning the room.

He didn’t see any flames of sin or the pure white flame of life, indicating that the two hadn’t returned yet. This had happened a few times before; the father and daughter were often busy and occasionally stayed out overnight. For instance, “Dororo” hadn’t returned the previous night, and it was Dororo’s father who had accompanied him for dinner, ensuring he didn’t worry about her.

Unaware of the chaos in the clinic, Hyakki quickly surveyed the shadows of inanimate objects with his mind’s eye and walked toward his own ward, peacefully awaiting Dororo’s return for dinner.

He waited until the dead of night.

There were no more passersby outside, and those seeking medical attention turned back upon seeing the clinic’s sealed doors and windows.

Hyakki was hungry.

“Dororo” had insisted he eat cooked food, so to avoid displeasing her, he had resumed his old eating habits, trying to live like a normal person.

Finding some instant noodles, he realized he didn’t know where the hot water was or how to start a fire inside the clinic. The only option was to eat the noodles dry. Without complaining, he quickly chewed and swallowed the dry noodles and drank the remaining half-cup of water from earlier in the day.

Living alone, loneliness became a powerful presence once more.

“When will Dororo come back?” he thought.

Sitting in a chair, Hyakki checked the bandages on his right leg, making sure there were no external injuries. It had been two days since he last changed his bandages, and he longed for Dororo to help him change them.

The reason was simple—

Being accepted by someone he liked made him happy.

“Even if Dororo thinks I don’t notice, always poking at sensitive spots on my body, I can only pretend not to feel it. I’ll tell her not to do that once I regain my sense of touch.”

The tall, slender fourteen-year-old boy eagerly anticipated the future, savoring the bittersweet solitude.

Even the darkness became less unbearable.

However, Hyakki waited until dawn without seeing anyone. He opened the door and continued his daily search, no longer interested in dealing with the unclean life flames.

He only wanted to find Dororo.

Thus, he returned to the intricate, descending labyrinth of Leibo Street.

Hyakki’s mind’s eye could see every soul’s life flame, allowing him to discern who was evil and who was good. His experience taught him not to trust those who had killed; they had already crossed the line.

Around the clinic’s corner, Dazai leaned against the wall, standing in the shadows without a word. After a while, he muttered “boring” to himself and left.

Once.

Twice.

Should he give this puppet a third chance?

In Leibo Street, Nakahara Nakahara heard that Hyakki had arrived and rushed to find him. He was puzzled to see Hyakki alone in Leibo Street and asked, “Dazai should be fine now.”

Hyakki’s gray-brown eyes fixed on him, showing a cold excitement as he asked, “Dororo?”

“You mean Dazai, right? I don’t have his number.”

Nakahara awkwardly realized he didn’t have Dazai’s contact information. Whenever Dazai needed him, it was always a one-way contact. Afterward, he would find himself discarded once his usefulness was exhausted.

Not wanting Hyakki to wander aimlessly, Nakahara scratched his head and said, “Come with me. I’ll ask at the Port Mafia if he’s there.”

At the entrance to the Port Mafia headquarters, Nakahara pulled Hyakki along. The two minors contrasted sharply with the stern-looking gang members. Nakahara nervously asked the black-suited member at the door, “Is Dazai here?”

“He’s not.”

Following orders, the Port Mafia member turned them away.

Nakahara looked up at the five Port Mafia buildings, the reflections on the glass windows obscuring the figures inside, making it impossible to tell if Dazai was watching from above.

“He might be busy. Just wait a few days,” Nakahara consoled Hyakki, doubting that Dazai could have escaped. That bastard had even threatened him recently not to abduct Hyakki.

Hyakki’s expressionless face showed a rare human emotion as he furrowed his brows.

“Could Dororo be in the bandit’s nest?”

He began to contemplate charging inside.

Nakahara, seeing his intention, quickly stopped him, pulling him to a safer distance. “Don’t force your way into the Port Mafia headquarters. Even if you’re his friend, they’ll treat you as an enemy.”

“But how do I see her?” Hyakki’s face plainly expressed his thoughts.

“I’ll keep an eye out for him. As soon as I see him, I’ll drag him over to meet you!” Nakahara promised firmly.