“Hey, is this the same kind gentleman as before?”

“May I ask whose calling?”

“There’s someone out here in the rain, refusing to come inside to shelter from the rain. The address has been sent to your phone.”

“Wait, aren’t you someone he knows…?”

“I don’t know him.”

Dazai repeated his earlier words, his indifferent voice blending into the heavy rain, making Sakunosuke unable to distinguish which one was the person standing in the rain.

“He doesn’t recognize me anymore.”

Hyakki, protected by his soul’s eye discerning good from evil, distanced himself. Meanwhile, the person named Dazai was just a coward, lacking the courage to approach again. The sharp blade would only make him taste pain; the puppet-like black-haired youth was silently forcing him to realize one thing— he wasn’t anyone’s possession. The virtuous would receive his kindness, while the wicked would face his expulsion.

Dazai didn’t regret manipulating the GSS organization, nor did he regret the deaths of so many people.

He just…

Once again felt his own impurity.

When Sakunosuke found an excuse to take leave and skipped his night job at the Port Mafia, he emerged in his raincoat, and though the rain had lessened somewhat, the weather forecast still predicted it would continue for the next night. He didn’t doubt the call, tightening his raincoat and hurrying to the address provided over the phone.

It was a clinic near Leibo Street, reportedly specialized in treating people without household registration.

Upon arrival, Sakunosuke didn’t hesitate, grabbing Hyakki’s right arm as he sat on the ground. Despite the seemingly blank expression, he said, “Come inside and take shelter from the rain.”

The high-ponytailed youth had successfully turned into a drenched rat, his face covered in water, looking pitiful beyond measure.

Even so, Hyakki hadn’t forgotten to gesture towards the book.

Sakunosuke wiped his hand on his dry clothes before taking hold of the protected red book. A note was posted on the door of the clinic, but it wasn’t locked. With a push, it swung open. Sakunosuke furrowed his brows slightly, cautiously calling out, “I hope I’m not intruding…” As he spoke, a surveillance camera connected to the ceiling powered on, seemingly approving his entry.

Inside the clinic, Sakunosuke found it not as cluttered as he had imagined. Various items, large and small, were neatly stacked along the walls, showing no signs of theft. Obviously, the owner of the clinic possessed some deterrent power.

Medicines, medical equipment—things ordinary people couldn’t acquire.

Sakunosuke removed his raincoat and placed it in a corner, then found a towel to wipe Hyakki’s hair and face, unaware that he had entered the “nest” of the leader of the Port Mafia.

When the towel wiped over his eyes without eliciting a blink, Sakunosuke paused.

Hyakki remained quiet and still.

Afterward, Sakunosuke acted as if he hadn’t noticed, his gaze towards Hyakki becoming even gentler, and he was extremely careful while wiping the other’s hands and feet. He didn’t care whether taking care of this person would bring him any reward, nor did he care about the person’s past. Just like the caller had addressed him on the phone, he was willing to be an ordinary kind-hearted gentleman.

The surveillance camera: “…”

From his deduction, Hyakki’s “guardian” or “friends” should not be poor.

Once this clinic is in operation, it will be quite profitable.

Hyakki didn’t know what he was doing. His “gaze,” always shifting towards the door, now focused on him. Slowly, he thought, “Has Dororo not returned? Could this person be someone Dororo sent to take care of me?”

He wasn’t foolish.

It was unlikely for strangers met on the road to meet again shortly after parting ways. People like him would naturally instill fear in others, making them reluctant to get too close. Those willing to help him wouldn’t repeatedly extend their kindness.

“Is Dororo unable to see me? Is he worried about me?”

Hyakki reached out to touch Sakunosuke, who was twisting the towel, prompting his concern: “Is something wrong?”

Hyakki opened his mouth: “Waiting… for Dororo.”

Sakunosuke, puzzled, said, “I don’t know who you’re referring to as Dororo. The person on the phone seemed angry, but I think he cares about you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have entrusted you to a stranger like me.”

Sakunosuke’s hand naturally reached Hyakki’s head to untie the hair tie. Nowadays, few Japanese men had long hair. His wet, long hair spread out, his pale skin, delicate like a girl’s, exuded a resilient and stubborn lone wolf aura.

A lone wolf…

Sakunosuke had seen a similar senior before, but that senior was no longer alone. He had an extremely clever detective assistant, and the “Silver Wolf’s” sword was no longer wielded for killing.

“I’ll wash your hair. It’s dirty.”

He heated up water and brought a basin.

Gently, he pressed Hyakki’s head down, soaking his hair in hot water. This action stirred up memories of when his foster father, Jukai, used to help him wash his hair.

“Is he a good person like Dad?”

In a world where everyone was gentle and kind like Jukai, it would be beautiful.

Hyakki closed his eyes.

At this moment, there was no need to doubt— the human soul doesn’t lie.

Sakunosuke, once a killer, later stopped killing and joined the Port Mafia through normal means. His greatest wish was to find a stable job, occasionally help others, do good deeds, and when inspired, write a novel to fulfill his dream of being a writer.

At the headquarters of the Port Mafia, the profile of this nineteen-year-old youth was laid out on the table. Dazai sneezed repeatedly, wrapping himself in a blanket, while watching the surveillance video from the clinic on his phone.

“He’s actually a killer?”

Dazai, thinking he had found a helpful citizen, ended up with someone from the Port Mafia.

He was surprised for a moment.

Since Hyakki’s judgment was based on causality, it didn’t make sense for the killer to escape unscathed. No… Hyakki’s attitude towards Rampo Edogawa last time was also subtly overlooked, as if he hadn’t seen the first killer. Well, the Son of a Rainbow was an exception and couldn’t be judged by normal standards, but this person was indeed a real top-class killer. After joining the Port Mafia, he hadn’t killed anyone again. Perhaps refraining from killing could whitewash his past?

The answer was right in front of him, he just needed to find someone to experiment on.

But…

Could he wait for so long?

Dazai lay on the table, watching the surveillance video, his cheeks flushed with a low-grade fever.

In the video, Hyakki had cleaned up somewhat, and the illusion that protected his appearance from being touched by others remained intact. He hadn’t scared off this stranger. He couldn’t see, hear, or speak complete sentences, but he was worth saving by many people. Dazai was just the least kind of them all.

“Hyakki…”

“Don’t bother. Dororo… You’re… Dororo… is figuring out a way…”

“Ugh, my head hurts.”

Knowing that dying would end the discomfort was a strange feeling.

Dazai had more than once thought he would die of “boredom,” but he underestimated the wonders of fate. A moment of idle curiosity had led him to encounter someone determined to chase after the light.

The companionship in loneliness was a strange thing. He didn’t need companionship originally, just observing Hyakki from the sidelines. But in the end, he became the one grabbed by Hyakki, slowly breaking down his distrust of people. Sometimes he wondered, if he died before pulling this person out of the darkness, would there be a second person to restore Hyakki’s completeness and health without demanding anything in return?

No.

The price of any illusion or prosthetic was extremely high.

Kind people couldn’t afford it, and evil people were unwilling to pay. Only he, who hovered between good and evil, could do it. Ultimately, just like ten years later… he would never dare to meet Hyakki again.

“Dazai?”

“Dazai… is sick… You won’t get better lying on the table…”

“Alice… go… fetch water…”

Dazai, burning with fever and barely conscious, heard the ramblings of a certain black doctor. His body was moved around, and he irritably covered his ears, muttering uncontrollably, “Kill me, it hurts so much…”

The doctor paused, and said with a hint of amusement, “Hyakki doesn’t want you anymore? If you don’t want him, I’ll send someone to take him over. Do you think he’ll obey my orders for ‘Dororo’?”

Dazai fell silent, barely conscious.

The next moment…

Mori ordered, “Alice, give him a sedative injection.”

Dazai immediately sprang up, playing dead successfully, and went to grab the IV bag to stick it into his vein.

Mori said, “Anyway, just rest for a while.”

He reached out to touch the child’s forehead, checking his temperature, and pressed him down onto the bed, covering him with a thin blanket. At fourteen years old, he was still within Mori’s range of kindness, not yet subjected to the exploitation of his labor so early on. After all, even the Grim Reaper wouldn’t mistreat a child lost in the haze of life and death.

“Let’s deal with everything when you wake up.”

Fragments of Dazai’s memory lingered on Mori’s receding hairline.

Hmm…   Mori is also going bald, huh…

…

In the early morning, Sakunosuke didn’t have the habit of staying in other people’s homes. After taking care of Hyakki, he was about to leave.

Hyakki grabbed his overcoat in a flash.

“[Where is Dororo?]”

…

Sakunosuke really didn’t know who Dororo was. Feeling helpless, he went to look at the black-haired youth sitting on the chair, and reluctantly made a phone call to the number provided.

“Hello, I’m the person you asked to take care of him.”

The person who answered the phone was someone else.

“Thank you, that child is really worrying. I’m sorry to have kept you looking after him for so long.”