welcome to the shitshow

“Man, that was hot. Why does curry have to be that hot? Does it have something against mankind? More people would eat it if it were less spicy. This is negligence in food culture.” I thought about it for a moment before answering. “If more people ate it, then nobody would eat anything else, thus completely destroying food cutter as we know it.” “Makes sense.” Dazai nodded, seemingly convinced.

I left the accounting firm thinking about Ango, the man slowly slipping into evil somewhere in town. Or perhaps we, the mafia, were the bad guys while Ango and Mimic were on the side off justice trying to bring us down. I started to believe that this hypothesis actually made even more sense than the others. Dazai, the boss, me, everyone in the mafia— maybe we all deserved to die burdened with sin, solitude, and remorse. For all I knew, that could’ve been proof of the righteousness of this world.

Dazai smiled. “Anyway I feel for you, Odasaku. Not only did you run into the enemy’s boss, but he made some serious advances towards you, too. At this rate you guys will be married by the weekend.” “That’s not what happened.” At least, I hoped not. “They’re just a group of weirdos who start wars for the sake of it.” “Oh? I think it’s kinda cute, going to such lengths to plan another persons death, I never would’ve thought of doing that.” There was more than a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Get out of here before I change my mind.” Ango tried to say something, but he swallowed his words. “I’m not sad. I knew from the very beginning,” Dazai said. His face was a blank mask now. “It didn’t matter wether you were with the Special Division for Unusual Powers. I always lose the things I don’t want to lose the most. That’s why I don’s feel anything anymore. The moment you get your hands on something worth going after, you lose it. That’s just how things are. There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.” I stared at Dazai. We had known eachother for a while, but this was the first time he’d ever opened up about himself. I could see a thorn the size of a harpoon wedged deeply into his life.

We have a saying in the Port Mafia: “the greatest misfortune for Dazai’s enemies is that they are Dazai’s enemies.”

“You’ve got some new injuries i see.” I pointed at Dazai’s freshly wrapped bandages while taking a quick sip of my drink. “Yup.” Dazai smirked as he looked himself over. His body was covered in scars, the price he paid for his success. In other words, the man was a mess. There was always a part of his body that was under repairs. Once again, it really made me conscious of how Dazai thrived in the center of violence and death. “What happed to your leg?” I asked while pointing, sure that the injury was from a horrific, gruesome face-off. “I was walking and reading a book called ‘how to not get hurt out of the blue’ and fell into a drainage ditch.” A surprisingly absurd reason. “What about your arm?” “I was speeding around a mountain path and drove off the cliff.” “What about the bandages around your head then?” “I was trying to kill myself on a block off tofu.” “You hurt yourself on a block of tofu?” He must have been in desperate need of some calcium. “I invented a method for hardening tofu you use salt to absorb the water and place a weight on it… all in your own kitchen, see. It got so hard that you could drive a nail through it. Thanks to that, i know more about making tofu than anyone in this organization.” A mafia executive who’s a stickler for tofu production… the five execs really were on a whole other level. “Was the tofu good?” I asked. “aggravatingly so.” Dazai grimaced with apparent disappointment. “I cut it into thin slices , then had it with some soy sauce. It tasted incredible.” “It was good, huh…?” I was impressed. No matter what he did, Dazai seemed to reach heights that normal people couldn’t. “Let me try some next time.”

“Business trip, huh? Lucky dog. I wanna go hang out in Tokyo too. Barkeep, more canned crab,” Dazai said, shaking the empty can. There were already three empty cans in front of him.

“Get me a coffee with lots of milk. Make sure to cool it off!” Dazai cheerfully yelled out as the man dashed away. “Oh, but no ice okay? If you can get me a decaf, that’d be even better. And double the sugar please!”

Dazai faced the attacker, then began to walk toward him as if he were taking a stroll through his garden. “Dazai, stop,” i begged in a hushed tone. “I hope you can see the excitement in my eyes, too.” Dazai continued to address the enemy who was holding him at gunpoint. “If you just squeeze your finger ever so slightly, you can give me precisely what i crave most. The only thing I’m afraid of is that you’ll miss.” His lips curled as he approached the man. The muzzle was now fewer than ten feet away. “You need to aim for the heart or the head. I recommend the head. You only get one chance, though. My colleagues here won’t be kind enough to give you another.” Dazai tapped the middle of his forehead right over his eyebrows a few times. “But i know you can do it. You’re a sniper aren’t you?”

Dazai’s expression as he placed a finger on his forehead and approached the enemy— that of a child about to burst into tears— remained burned into my eyes.

“A mafia member who refuses to kill, talented yet has no interest in advancing through the ranks, a man who’s raising five orphans— Sakunoske Oda.” Dazai smirked. “You’re a strange guy. You might be the strangest in the entire mafia.” Not as long as the had Dazai.