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Odasaku is dead. Dead, died to Morisan’s setup, to calculations for profit, his death insignificant like a single ripple in the ocean; though it reached long far into corners unknown to most.
Dazai Osamu never did return to the Port Mafia, heading instead towards the graveyard to bury his final friend.
A seaside cemetery was chosen as the gravesite, a fine location overlooking the ocean. A scenic view, a nice weather too – in a place like this, even underground, it’ll feel somewhat better, right. What should I write for the epitaph?
‘Here lies a fool – Oda Sakunosuke.’
‘A liar – who said before I reach a ninety-percent winrate in Poker he’ll always be up for the challenge, but did not follow through.’
‘Someone who accompanied a death-seeking man to the end, a totally foolish stupid idiot.’
Welp, he’s dead already, so he can’t complain about getting an elegy like this. Dazai thought. Eh. He gave up on that thought.
But in the end that grave only carried on it a simple name.
Oda Sakunosuke.
Dazai stood in still silence for a long time, a silence so long that the grave keeper had to quietly come and peek twice. Dazai knows why that man kept glancing at him uneasily, though he really can’t muster up the effort to deal with it right now; he’ll leave that headache for someone else.
‘…You might find a reason to live if you lived in a world of violence and bloodshed.’
‘You can’t find it.’
That man’s whispers echoed with such clarity. Dazai closed his eyes.
‘You must know that already. Whether you’re on the side who kills people or the side who saves people, nothing beyond what you would expect will appear. Nothing in this world can fill that lonely hole you have. You will wander the darkness for eternity.’
Yes. He knew that already. Already he had realized a few years ago – and now, in front of this grave, he still can’t find anything. That leaping thumping spark of hope when he was fifteen and facing off Rimbaud wore off, torn down by days and days of endless erosion, repetition. He finally sensed that even daily strolling right next to death will never let him experience what he seeks – that reason to live.
Though Dazai never did want to fully admit defeat, always clenching onto that floating driftwood of weak hope. Knowing it does not exist, he still longs for that one faithful day where perhaps he will find that answer, the answer that will have him happily exclaim with realization – ah, so I’m alive for this.
But at this point he could no longer lie to himself. The Reason never existed, does not exist, and will not exist. He is living in this world, simply meaningless, in a state where continued existence is without reason or logic. Now that he can no longer deceive himself, that ubiquitous loneliness latches and binds to his bones, his body. This world is empty, and he is empty too.
‘Odasaku… What should I do?’
He wants to ask that man.
It was the first time somebody knew him to that level, the first time, too, there was somebody whose words he wanted to believe.
Though – in that mansion, under the broken windows and setting sun, the young redhead’s lips moved to open, trembled slightly, but lost the power to project a voice. That pair of eyes quickly lost their light but there’s something in its midst, a strength Dazai could not understand.
He waited, listened, hoped, until the corpse he was hugging became drenched by blood, frozen and completely cold from the chill air of the night. Then he realized.
– Ah, those words, it’ll never come.
The air is refreshing, even just breathing it in makes one joyful; the sun’s just right, and in the distance there are some seagulls singing and spinning and twirling. The sea breeze gently strokes his hair, making him squint a little.
All is amazing.
Dazai Osamu’s hands reached into his coat pockets, feeling the outline of the Thing prepared especially for today’s occasion. He never liked to carry it himself, but right now it is a must.
“See ya later, Odasaku.”
He leaned down, stroked the cold gravestone, turned, and strode to the neighboring grave without hesitation. The two graves aren’t far apart, with a single glance both can be seen; though that second grave does not have an occupant yet – albeit it’s about to.
He sat down on the empty grave already with a name. He considered what to write on it many times too – he even discussed with his friends before on what weird bizarre things he should put. But the moment of decision came, his final answer being one that was extremely boring and mundane.
He pulled out the Thing. A brand-new pistol, a common, available to all major mafia members-pistol. An average pistol used everywhere, not like Odasaku’s old ones that received years of precious care – this is even the first time its safety is being pulled open, perhaps the last time too.
But at this moment he’s a good pistol. Dazai Osamu raised his arm and gave himself a small subtle smile.
“– BANG!”
Sakaguchi Ango received a call on his personal, Mafia-era number. This phone card should’ve been disposed of along with that entire experience, yet due to some personal sentiments he chose not to.
It's that phone ringing today.
Ango stared closely, intently, at the caller’s name displayed.
– Dazai Osamu.
He pursed his lips and answered.
However, the voice from the other side wasn’t the friend that already broke him off.
“Uh… Are you possibly Sakaguchi Ango-san?”
It was the distraught voice of a middle-aged man. An apprehensive trepidation struck his heart at that instant and froze him on the spot. Ango took a moment to collect himself.
“Yes, and you are…?”
“I’m the manager of Yamauchi-chou Seaside Cemetery. Sir, your friend Dazai Osamu just passed away from suicide here… Can you please come and take care of this?”
Piercing right through his ear canals and limbic system – it’s as if buzzing rung out from the end of the sky. He stumbled over, staggering to get up from his chair, but only felt a wave of nausea almost crushing him completely. He’s afraid to believe what he just heard, but he most certainly just did hear.
“…Dazai-kun?” A voice almost not like his. Ango even questioned who the speaker was when the words came out of his lips.
“Um, yes, right. He came to order two gravesites a few days ago, just buried a guy called Oda Sakunosuke for the first one, but the other’s empty, felt weird already there – who would’ve thought…” The man sighed.
Oda Sakunosuke. Ango closed his eyes. He feels like he lost his breath, or as if someone dug out a huge, hollow hole in his world. He cannot tell how he said that, or how he had the strength to say that.
“I’ll be there soon.”
Ango stood before Dazai’s gravestone. He just went to visit Oda Sakunosuke’s grave. He left a bottle of distilled wine. Now he stands in front of another friend.
Dazai’s grave is empty, with not even a name engraved. Ango forced a laugh out bitterly.
“Hey, you said you’ll draw yourself first, then you said to write ‘here lies the handsomest man alive’… But it’s this as a result instead in the end. So sly, Dazai-kun.”
By the time he arrived here, Dazai Osamu’s body already went cold, back leaning against the grave he prepared for himself. The pistol that served as a murder weapon fell right next to his legs, covered in the boy’s blood.
But he’s smiling, as if something amazing is happening.
A heavy weight of oppression, as stubborn hard rock, or perhaps as barnacles dug its roots into Ango’s soul. If he didn’t go to Mimic… If they never became friends – Ango couldn’t not think this way.
…Dazai must have resented him right when he died.
Ango picked up that bloodstained gun, and activated his Ability.
The world spun, and he stood in the past, an hour before now. Dazai Osamu played with the pistol with his head lowered, bangs casting shadows over his face, making his expression hard to tell at glance.
“You’re here right, Ango.” He said all of a sudden.
Ango’s heart drummed wildly. “Dazai-kun…” Knowing that person is just an illusion in a memory, he – still couldn’t resist calling out.
Dazai’s tone of voice was the same as usual, casual and familiar, as if they’re still in that bar, as if they never broke off, never went their separate ways. “Lemme guess… You’re probably wondering if maybe I hated you when I died.”
“–Yes, perhaps so. I was gonna dump a despairing vent on you, so you’ll live on to forever with pain and regret. But suddenly all that felt like it didn't matter either… Though that doesn’t mean I forgave you. What should I call this? ‘People are kind when they die’? Didn’t expect to have this mentality myself.”
“Alas, well… nevermind. Watching us both leave is enough agony for you already, no need for more on top of that. Thoughts of suiciding for so long over the years, at last, finally done. I can count it as a big success, right? Living is literally so boring, don’t really wanna bother putting up anymore.”
“So. I guess this is it.”
Dazai moved his gaze up, turned his profile, and to Ango’s direction gave a real, relaxed smile.
“How do I say it… I’m really, really pleased, like the day before going home… Ah! Right! As if I haven’t visited Lupin in years, and suddenly one day went back in to order a drink – that longing nostalgia and happiness. If I use this as a metaphor, even you can understand it, right, Ango?”
“…What’s that for, that talking style, as if everyone else’s an idiot.”
Choking up, Ango’s voice trembled like the nearby leaves being blown by the sea breeze.
“I’m gonna go meet Odasaku.” Dazai’s gaze turned towards the other side, where Oda Sakunosuke’s grave lied. “He might hit me or something – he wanted to do that for quite a while, and he didn’t think at all I knew that huh? I know he’s not gonna convince me to suicide, definitely, after all to him seeking death is a very foolish thing. But I don’t have anything I want to do except to die. Living will just make me empty and excruciated. So I’m going to ‘that side’.”
“Bet there’s a bar down there too, after all so many drunkards die every day, without alcohol they’ll most certainly make a huge mess. If we can still meet in that world, us three, let’s drink together again shall we?”
“…Well, I’ll be leaving now. Farewell forever, Ango.”
Dazai Osamu raised the gun in his hand, and aimed it at his temple. He laid backwards, vision cast into the skies. The tranquil cyan skylight colored his irises; his smile is of such tranquil and peace too. This is the first time Ango’s seen a smile like this on his friend.
Sakaguchi Ango closed his eyes.
“BANG!”
Farewell forever, Dazai-kun.