Translators Note: Sorry for the delayed upload. I was just too busy. Hope you understand. Thank you for your support.

Before seeking out “Six Paths Skeleton,” Dazai contacted an intermediary for another illusionist.

Strictly speaking, this intermediary was responsible for facilitating transactions between the two parties.

Indeed.

In a world as vast as ours, illusionists are not scarce, but Liu Dao Hai can be considered one of the most enigmatic among them. It’s precisely for this reason that the Supernatural Agents Department prioritized recommending Liu Dao Hai to Dazai, even attempting to leverage information from the 10th generation of the Vongola Family to entice this Italian illusionist who detested the mafia.

Currently, Japan lacks illusionists, and the government greatly covets the ability to create convincing illusions. Having an illusionist is similar to possessing a telepathic ability wielder with exceptional control.

It’s well known that the consequences of a telepathic ability wielder losing control can be catastrophic.

Yumeno is the prime example.

Despite his lethal capabilities, his abilities have been sealed by the organization, preventing him from destabilizing society.

Illusionists are far more stable compared to telepathic ability wielders. Thus, the Japanese government has set its sights on Liu’s uniqueness. As a product of human experimentation with no sense of belonging to Italy, he inevitably carries invaluable data from these experiments. Additionally, considering the limited interactions between the Japanese government and the Italian mafia, regardless of the internal strife within the Vongola family, once they secure Liu, it’s akin to feasting on a ripe piece of meat.

Dazai saw through the complexities of these matters with ease, his mind as agile and calculating as any seasoned fox. He specifically sought out an intermediary to achieve his goals through subtle maneuvers.

“Let’s hear your price.”

Currently, the most refined and affluent illusionist available was none other than Mammon, the top-tier illusionist of the independent assassination division of the Italian Vongola Family. The intermediary spoke coldly over the phone, “For one-time area-based illusion setup, starting at two million US dollars, prices vary based on the size of the area and specific requirements; for one-time illusion assassination, starting at five million US dollars, prices increase based on the number of targets and difficulty level; for one-time memory modification, starting at eight million US dollars…”

Dazai cut to the chase, “Why are they all one-time deals?”

The intermediary replied, “The execution of illusions is dependent on the illusionist themselves, and both parties can trust in a one-time transaction.”

“And…” The intermediary, hearing the youthful tone of the client, grew suspicious, “Sir, you’ve contacted me under the guise of the Japanese port mafia. May I ask what position you hold and on whose behalf you’re acting?”

Dazai asserted with feigned authority, “Mr. Mori is my nominal guardian.”

The intermediary immediately recognized the reference to Mr. Mori, but hesitated on the specifics. The port mafia was in a state of turmoil.

“Is the illusionist available for body restoration commissions?” Dazai didn’t beat around the bush, prompting a less enthusiastic response from the intermediary, “Mr. Mammon is a world-class illusionist, and naturally, body restoration is within his capabilities. Wealthy individuals with organ failures flock to him every year, but the prices are exorbitant. I do not recommend such a significant transaction for a first-time buyer.”

Dazai thought to himself: Are you underestimating the Japanese mafia, or underestimating Mr. Mori’s wallet?

Meanwhile, Mr. Mori was toiling away at the headquarters of the port mafia…

He really had no money left!

“How much?” Dazai’s indifference gave the intermediary some confidence.

“Sir, are you sure you want to engage in this kind of transaction? I must inform you, in the past, the cost of constructing a heart was calculated by the hour, with prices not less than one million US dollars…” After confirming his intentions several times, the intermediary took a deep breath and said, “Please wait, I cannot make such decisions on my own.”

“Hmm, are you the new client looking for me?”

A few minutes later, a new voice came through the microphone, speaking in a slightly strange Japanese accent. This made Daza shrink lightly, who had heard of “Arcobaleno (Rainbow Child)” after his encounter with the port mafia, slightly tense. Was the rumored curse that made people shrink real?

The person unexpectedly spoke in a childish and indifferent baby voice!

“Personal organ repair, does not include brain, eyes, ears, or sexual functions. No guarantee of continuous effectiveness of the illusion, only half of the treatment fee will be refunded if it fails.”

A series of exclusions brought Dazai back to reality.

He couldn’t help but look at Hyakki, who was also judged to endure the “curse,” and witnessed the black-haired youth, who had completed another “demon-slaying” act, sheathing his sword. Today’s yukata had turned into one with a black background and goldfish patterns, the belt tied around his waist, and the part of his chest wrapped in bandages exposed, adding a hint of murderous madness while remaining restrained.

In just a month, Hyakki had eradicated the few evil entities in Yokohama. All those invisible earthbound spirits and demons had vanished into thin air, leaving the air a bit cleaner.

The “things” drawn by Yokohama’s aura of death hadn’t managed to take root here yet, and were scared away by Hyakki, who roamed the city regularly, before they could settle in.

To Yokai, Hyakki appeared even uncanny than many powerful demons who had practiced for years!

He resembled a human yet wasn’t quite human.

Dazai refocused his thoughts and asked, “Mr. Mammon, it’s great that you speak Japanese. The brain is the most complex organ in the human body, so it’s understandable that you wouldn’t handle it. But why not the eyes and ears?”

Coincidentally contacting the intermediary while in Italy, Mammon, with leisure time on his hands, floated in mid-air, counting the money in his hand while speaking into his phone, “Involving organs related to the five senses, no illusionist would readily handle them. And those who dare to take on such tasks—” The sinister smile beneath the infant’s triangular mouth in his hood deepened, “I can guarantee you, they are all third-rate rubbish from who knows where.”

Illusions affect the human senses, so repairing them would be logically contradictory, wouldn’t it?

People lacking the five senses would, in a sense, be immune to the effects of illusions.

The five senses? Dazai pondered the taboo of illusionists and had a realization. Mammon’s statement implied that while they wouldn’t readily accept such requests, it didn’t mean they couldn’t do it. This was indeed the confidence of a top-tier illusionist.

“What about organs other than the five senses, such as hands, feet, or internal organs?”

“I accept.”

Mammon agreed without hesitation.

How much money could one earn from assassinating someone these days? Or was it more profitable to take on side jobs?

Mammon, who loved money like his life, seemed to see this spendthrift throwing wads of cash at him, with US dollars rushing towards him like a torrent. His tone rose a few notches, “Is it a daily, monthly, or yearly package?”

Dazai Osamu: “…”

So, was this some kind of subscription membership?

The matter ended without further ado, as Dazai used his emotional intelligence to appease Mammon, leaving room for further discussion, without letting on that he couldn’t produce a single US dollar from his pockets.

After hanging up the phone, Dazai deeply felt his own poverty.

“Why didn’t I realize money was so important before?”

No.

Money had always been important, but he had been complacent about material conditions without striving to improve them.

“Hyakki, let me auction you off once!” Dazai suggested creatively, “Someone like you must have collectors willing to pay a high price. I’ll sell you at a high price, then buy you back. Repeat this a few times, and we’ll have enough money to fix your hands, feet, and spine. Hey, hey? Why are you walking so fast—?”

Hyakki walked aimlessly in one direction, and before they knew it, they had reached Chinatown in the Naka Ward of Yokohama. With over two hundred restaurants here, rich in the distinctive characteristics of Chinese cuisine, it was considered one of Japan’s three major Chinatowns, along with Kobe’s Nankinmachi and Nagasaki’s Shinchi Chinatown.

“Aren’t you afraid of crowded places?” Dazai was tired from walking, and he had rolled up his black coat to his elbows to avoid overheating.

Resting his chin on Hyakki’s shoulder, he sighed and tiptoed to look ahead, “Wow, there are so many tourists from out of town. Are they all here for shopping and dining?”

[Silence]

Hyakki was equally overwhelmed by the crowd.

He instinctively followed the glow of the flames of life, seeing such a dense array of firelight for the first time.

A bonfire party???

Humans had illuminated a vast expanse of darkness with their vitality, the flames burning brightly, bursting with life, and greatly shaking the solitary Hyakki. There was a time when he, too, had been part of the crowd, feeling genuine joy only amidst the hustle and bustle of the city.

Speaking of eating, Dazai was also hungry and urged, “Let’s go over there.”

Hyakki stood frozen.

【Fire…】

【It’s too…】

Dazai took it upon himself to push the guy who wasn’t afraid of an empty stomach over there, as if playing with a doll. He pushed, and the other stepped, their movements out of sync, giving passersby the impression that the two boys were having a petty quarrel.

Only Dazai understood him and wanted to break through his isolation.

If they were friends…

His approach shouldn’t be wrong.

From choosing the restaurant to entering the private room for dining, Dazai tactfully avoided stimulating the waitstaff. It was fun to tease Hyakki, but what was it to show his true self to strangers? What right did ordinary people have to pity Hyakki?

“Is this a steamed dumpling?” Dazai picked up a steaming bun with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth. “Mm, no, there’s soup inside, it’s a soup dumpling.” Across from him, Hyakki lifted his mask slightly. Secluded in the private room, his stiff body relaxed.

He touched the chair beneath him and scooted forward a bit.

Dazai used another pair of chopsticks to place a slightly cooled Xiaolongbao in front of Hyakki’s teeth. Hyakki instinctively tried to bite into it, but Dazai tapped his teeth with the chopsticks.

“You can’t bite into it, the soup will spill out.”

Hyakki paused, then opened his mouth and ate the whole Xiaolongbao in one go, feeling a bit uncomfortable with being fed.

He was accustomed to being independent; his foster father had taught him to learn to live on his own as much as possible.

Dazai tapped his teeth again.