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There's only one summer in a person's life and the rest are just comparisons to it.
Dazai had just stepped onto the platform when the train left.
It was summer, the first summer since Dazai joined the Detective Agency. The train platform was built with overhead shade, but the sunlight still fell directly onto the platform, rendering the shade useless. It was hot, and his trench coat did not help. The only refreshing elements were the bright blue sky stretched above him, and the scent of fresh leaves and flowers in their blooming prime.
A pity that he missed the train. The next one would be in—
His cellphone rang, cutting his thought to a stop. “Hello, hello, oya, Ranpo-san? Oh? Yes, yes of course, I’ll be right there,” Dazai answered.
It seemed that Edogawa Ranpo, the master detective of the agency, had decided to tag along with Dazai on this trip. But that would be giving Dazai himself too much credit. The older detective would have instead phrased it something like this: Edogawa Ranpo-san, the master detective of the agency, had honorably decided to appoint Dazai as a guide on this trip—or so Dazai had exaggerated it.
“Hmph, took you long enough.” The older detective walked straight over to a bench once Dazai found him lost within the train station.
Ranpo wore a light vertical striped muted blue short-sleeved shirt with small, different flowers embroidered onto it. Dazai guessed that they were the handiwork of Yosano and Nanami; two tiny daisies, one on each collar; tulips, lavender, dandelions, and chrysanthemums stitched along the buttoned placket. They were all slightly crooked and flawed here and there due to human error, but Dazai supposed that it added to the authenticity value of the originally simple shirt.
Yet, errors inevitably made were cherished and welcomed. That was something Dazai didn’t understand.
Ranpo paired his oversized shirt with a similarly oversized pair of tanned shorts, white sneakers, and, of course, the greatly treasured glasses resting in the shirt’s breast pocket. Anyone who didn’t know Ranpo's age would surely mistake the detective for a high schooler enjoying summer break.
“I look so shabby next to Ranpo-san,” Dazai commented lightheartedly, crossing his hands behind him as he stood next to Ranpo, who was sitting.
Fanning himself, Ranpo scanned Dazai’s outfit. It was the usual outfit, no more, no less. “It’s because you’re an idiot.”
“So I am,” Dazai agreed. A layer of bandages, a striped dressing shirt, a black vest, and a trench coat. Dazai hid himself under layers upon layers, not allowing anything out, not letting anything in.
Ranpo-san wasn’t wrong.
-
Across and facing each other, both of them managed to get window seats on the train. It was a rather random summer afternoon, with no particular holiday, so there weren’t many people on the same train, which also meant there was none of the sticky, stinky, moist body odor promised by a train full of people.
Ranpo requested a ramune, three tangerines, and a bag of chips from the train attendant’s serving cart. Dazai paid for it without a word, making a mental note to report the cost as a company expense once they returned. “Is Ranpo-san visiting a case?”
There were a few seconds of chips crunching before a reply: “I guess you can say it’s something like that,” followed by another round of chips crunching.
“I’m sure Ranpo-san will solve it wonderfully as always,” Dazai linked his fingers together, leaning his chin on them as he watched his senior feast on the ramune and chips.
“They’ve been solved,” Ranpo corrected. “Not necessarily by me, but if it were me, no doubt it would’ve taken way less time than how long those detectives and police took,” he grinned proudly. “I’m merely revisiting them.”
“They must be awfully interesting cases for Ranpo-san to personally revisit.”
A quickly finished bag of chips, a half finished blueberry flavored ramune, and three untouched tangerines stacked as a pyramid laid on the table between them. Ranpo’s gaze directly met with Dazai’s. “They are,” he said.
Ranpo wiped his chip-crumb fingers on a napkin, then reached for a tangerine. He took his time peeling it, starting from the bottom of the tangerine where it was softest, and tore the outer skin of the fruit apart like flower petals, revealing the protected fruit within. As the skin was broken apart, it released a slightly bitter, yet fresh, and sparklingly sweet scent.
It evoked the scent of a distant summer. Back when his hands were drenched in blood. Back when he had something “normal.” Back when another man in glasses was peeling the tangerine, and a man with reddish hair was exchanging trivial small talk. They weren’t on a train; all there was were three tangerines, and three of them on a picnic blanket in a park during a summer afternoon.
“Eurghhh,” Ranpo's face twisted into a pucker after trying a single slice of the peeled fruit, “these are so sour.” He pushed all three tangerines—one peeled, two not—toward Dazai. “You can have them.”
Dazai accepted, “Don’t mind if I do~”
Sour, just as Ranpo said. Dazai ate another one, then another—
Ranpo raised an eyebrow at him, a sweet-toother’s judgment printed on his face. “Developing a taste for sourness? Hmm, no. That’s not it, is it?”
Dazai shook his head, witty eyes curving up. “Ranpo-san peeled a tangerine for me. It’s a great honor from the greatest detective himself, how can I leave it to waste?”
Leaning his head on his hand, a satisfied expression replaced the judgment on Ranpo’s face. “Pleasing words as always, Dazai.” The ever-knowing detective graciously dropped the topic.
“Ranpo-san deserves nothing less,” he nodded back.
The tangerine Ranpo peeled had 11 segments. There were 7 segments left in Dazai’s hand; round, plump, and small in comparison to Dazai’s palm. If Dazai were to think back to back then, how many pieces did that first tangerine have? A sketchy record replayed in his mind, like blowing the dust off of something he had long left alone.
Thirteen.
“There are thirteen pieces, isn’t it an unlucky number? Oooh, by eating this would we also be cursed with Ango’s bad luck? Ango watch out ahahaha—”
It had thirteen segments. Unfairly split between the three of them, with Oda eating the most of it, followed by Ango, and finally Dazai, who couldn’t stand the sweet and acidic flavor and ate no more than two pieces. Ironically, it seemed that they matched up with the severity of the “curse of bad luck” with how many of the thirteen piece tangerine they shared.
Or so Dazai had entertained the irony of it, at least.
7, 6, 5,
Clink, clink. It filled the quiet between the two of them. The marble in Ranpo’s ramune chimed as the detective gently shook the half-filled bottle around in boredom. He was saving the rest of the drink for later, Dazai noted.
4, 3, 2,
Dazai pocketed the remaining two unpeeled tangerines in his coat.
1,
The tangerine was sour, tart, tangy—anything but sweet—but it wasn’t unpleasant. Like remembering a memory, Dazai couldn’t tell if he liked it or not despite every tasting and retasting.
0.
Thirteen pieces of a tangerine marked the one, the first, the only, and the last summer Dazai had.
-
There are not many summers in a person's life, so few that no one knows whether the next summer will come or not.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching Osaka Station, the heart of Japan's Kansai region. Please ensure that you have all your belongings with you as you prepare to disembark. Thank you for traveling with us, and we hope you enjoy your stay in Osaka.”
Dazai stepped off the train with both hands in his pocket. “So where are we heading, Ranpo-san?”
“You wanted to come here, but didn’t look up where to go beforehand.” Ranpo stepped out behind Dazai. The two of them were empty-handed, a distinctive contrast from the rest of the passengers with bags and luggage.
“In my defense! I was just going for a stroll in a change of place. You see, I read in a book that a little trip does wonders!”
Ranpo opened a strawberry-flavored lollipop. “Yeah, on a workday, during work hours, and without applying for PTO or a day off.”
“It is all for the improvement of my efficiency at the agency!” Dazai placed a hand on his chest, dramatically and shamelessly claiming his excuse-statement. “Surely, this counts within my responsibilities as a part of the agency! Kunikida will come to understand it!”
Ranpo didn’t pay any attention to his excuse. Instead, he handed Dazai a folded-up piece of a post-it note. “Here, since you don’t have any plans of where to go or anything specific, I asked the President for places to visit in Osaka.”
“Ranpo-san foresaw this?” Dazai’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “As expected from the master detective himself!” He unfolded the note, and printed in Fukuzawa’s neat handwriting were:
Osaka
Shitennoji
Kuromon Market
Stay safe.
A shrine temple and a food market, an interesting combination of places to visit. But, it did make sense given Fukuzawa’s contribution in the suggestion, Ranpo’s general love for food, and the fact that the two places are among the famous tourist attractions unique to Osaka.
“Of course, I did,” the praised detective wore a proud grin and reached up to adjust his hat before realizing that he wasn’t wearing any. Awkwardly, he chose to fix his hair instead. “Now, hurry up and lead the way.”
“Yes, yes, Ranpo-san.”
-
Shitennoji is a beautiful and vast temple. Between the gardens, prayer halls, shrines, the five-story pagoda, and other buildings on the temple grounds, the place was bustling with people—tourists and locals alike. The trees were lush with vibrant leaves, accompanied by cherry blossoms and flowers, showering all the visitors in a colorful cascade. The saturated colors of nature, under the blessing of the sun, contrasted yet complemented the aged vermilion paint of the temple buildings, highlighting the hint of orange within the paint.
Ranpo appeared to be enjoying himself, watching the turtles in the gardens and snapping a few pictures here and there.
“Maybe we should get a pet turtle at the agency too,” the detective mused, crouching down to watch another turtle slowly climbing back into the garden pond. Snap, snap, he took more pictures of the little shelled creatures.
“With the amount of raids that the agency gets, the turtles shall experience quite an eventful life,” Dazai humorously added from behind.
“Hm,” Ranpo stood back up. “Maybe not then.”
“The Four Heavenly Kings are protectors of Buddhism who guard against evil forces from the four directions,” announced the tour guide through their mic, with a group of tourists trailing behind. “They include Jikokuten of the east, Zochoten of the south, Komokuten of the west, and Tamonten of the north. At the same time, Tamonten is sometimes worshipped independently under the name of Bishamonten.”
Men, women, and children, clutching brochures and with wide-eyed wonder, glanced all around, trying to take everything in with their eyes and memories. This might be their first time, their second, or third, or last. No one knows for sure.
Dazai and Ranpo stepped aside to let the group pass.
“Hey Dazai,” Ranpo spoke up once the group was out of earshot, “have you ever prayed?” and made his way to the chozuya*.
Surprised by the sudden question, Dazai lagged behind for a moment before following Ranpo to the water basin.
A slight bow. Hold the dipper with right, pour water over left. Hold dipper with left, pour water over right. Switch hands again, cup left, pour water into it. Rinse mouth, cover mouth, spit it out. Re-rinse left hand. Pour out the remaining water. Dip the dipper in water one last time, and then finally, put it back in place.
A quite rigorous process of purification. Dazai wondered if it had actually worked as the water ran down his hands. Had it spiritually washed away the sins on his hands or rinsed away the dirt and blades from his mouth? The water was cool, chilling even. Did it feel the same for Ranpo? Or perhaps it was Dazai’s own placebo of guilt. Or was it that Dazai’s doings, his spirit and soul, were simply too stubborn, clinging to him like a first skin buried to become a second.
Entering the praying hall, there were people of all ages and genders before shrines, heads bowed, hands together in prayer. Some wore mala* bracelets around their wrists, others had prayer beads wrapped around their hands. People in suits, people in casual clothes, people in kimonos, people in yukatas—people, people, people.
He and Ranpo resided themselves to the sides.
“Why do you think people pray for?” Ranpo probed, throwing out questions that he knew Dazai wouldn’t be able to offer answers to.
“I think that would differ greatly from person to person, Ranpo-san,” Dazai replied swiftly, lightly, not missing a beat between them.
Ranpo crossed his arms. “Ironic, isn’t it? That man in the open yellow shirt with a white tee underneath, that’s a gang leader. That woman, in the blue top and white skirt, is part of a human trafficking scheme,” he paused, then turned to Dazai, adding with a smile, “And here, an ex-mafia.”
The detective returned his gaze to the rows of people praying. “People pray for good health, for wealth, for love. At the end of the day, people pray for their desires. To a certain extent, for people like them and for people like us, we are the same; redemption is for the greater greed. We lay out our sins, ask for forgiveness, ask for peace of mind, only to have our desires lead us to reset the cycle again and again.”
As if he were not included in Ranpo’s words, or affected in the slightest, Dazai exclaimed, wasting no time to spew praise and applause. “Another spectacular display of Ranpo-san’s ability! Ahhhh, Ranpo-san’s knowledge is impressive as always.”
“But of course, people will believe in whoever, whatever benefits them the most after all. What I said was a rather pessimistic and cold perspective. I don’t particularly believe in anything myself.” Ranpo shrugged, then stepped forward, toward the rows of people praying, not looking back as he did. “But I can’t deny that I am curious if you do,” he said. His words, like himself, soon drowned out by the sea of voices and the smell of burning incense in the hall.
Curious about what Dazai believed, huh. ‘Have you ever prayed?’ The question from before rang again in Dazai’s mind. The curves of Dazai’s customary smile flattened a little. He fished out one of the two tangerines in his pockets and navigated towards the shrine and altar. There, Dazai placed the tangerine among the countless other offerings given. He then moved back into the rows of people praying. He too clasped his hands together before his head, and with a final, scrutinizing look at the shrine before him, he closed his eyes and bowed.
His first prayer in the past, and his second of the current, all done for the same three people. Dazai didn’t know back then what would be his last, that that summer would be the last he held to the name Dazai Osamu. Dazai didn’t know then, or now, that he would be the one to pray. He didn’t know if anyone would listen even if he did. He still doesn’t.
Life is too short to know. Life is too long to know.
-
There are many summers in a person's life, so many that Dazai still doesn't know how to cherish them.
“Ranpo-san? Where are you?” Dazai let out a huge sigh of relief when the call finally went through.
When he was done, he couldn’t find Ranpo anywhere in the temple. Not within the prayer hall, not in the gardens, not anywhere that Dazai had checked, and the day was starting to get dark. So the conclusion was hopelessly solid: he had lost Ranpo.
“Ah, Dazai, calm down. I handed you the note of places to go. You were taking too long so I came to the Kuromon market first.” Not a hint of panic in Ranpo’s response. “You should hurry, the food here is awesome!”
“The Kuromon market?” Dazai took out the folded-up piece of paper in his pocket. “Are you sure it’s the right place? Ranpo-san, if anything happens to you, everyone at the agency will skin me alive! I still haven’t found someone to die with yet; I can’t die like that!”
“A nice old lady guided me here,” Ranpo replied between bites—into something crunchy, “Anyway, I’ll see you here.”
It didn’t take very long for Dazai to get to Kuromon market. But finding Ranpo in the crowded market streets filled with food stalls was another challenge. By the time he found Ranpo, the detective had two tanghulu in hand—and was actively eating one of them—a box of takoyaki in a bag around his wrist, a bag of foiled barbecue, a bag of donuts, a box of sushi, four slices of different flavored cake, three puddings, and any other items that he bought wrapped in bags—all of which ended up in Dazai’s arm once Ranpo spotted him.
“Ranpo-san~” he whined, struggling to hold all of the bags of food while following the detective at the same time.
Finished with the first tanghulu in hand, Ranpo ignored his whining and instead started to munch on the second tanghulu he obtained. “Have you ever been to a night market, Dazai? This is your chance to buy some souvenirs back for that friend of yours that you came here for—and for the agency, of course, Kunikida might let you off easier if you bring something back for everyone.”
Dazai blinked, then blinked again before a helpless smile broke out on his face. “Ranpo-san…”
“What?” Ranpo cocked his head to the side at Dazai’s expression. “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.” He moved in closer, hands searching in one of the bags that he pushed onto Dazai to carry. “Here, you can have this then,” he pulled out a pudding, only to realize that Dazai didn’t have any extra hands to hold the pudding. Ranpo frowned.
Dazai’s chuckled. “I’ll eat it later.”
Ranpo stayed silent for a few seconds, as though in thought. Next thing Dazai knew, Ranpo was tugging him along away from the crowds by his wrist. The shorter detective led the two of them around, turning in circles here and there (Dazai didn’t have the heart to mention that with how determined Ranpo looked), to finally a place with fewer people compared to the main streets of the market.
They found seats under a bus stop. Just as Dazai set down all the bags in his hands, Ranpo dropped the pudding right into them. “You are such a hassle,” he said, then plopped down on the seat right next to Dazai.
It wasn’t a sentence that expected a response out of Dazai. They sat there, quiet except for the sounds of eating. Dazai scooped little bits of pudding into his mouth. Ranpo opened one of the cakes he bought. Small bites, tiny bites.
Quiet.
Street lamps’ light flared out in a soft triangular shape. There was only one next to the bus stop they were at, and it did little to illuminate their vision.
“Have you seen enough?” Ranpo finally asked. “Would you like to see more?”
“Ranpo-san knew all along, right?” Dazai sighed in defeat, a sense of resignation in his words.
Licking off the residual cream on his fork, the detective nodded with a hum. “Of course, I am the best detective after all.”
“Yet, you still came along,” Dazai shook his head, a hint of…something different in his gaze. “Isn’t it boring?”
It was the first time that Ranpo had ever seen it, and he held Dazai’s gaze with his own even if those pretty brown eyes were looking away at the pudding instead. It was different, in a good way. In a way that made Ranpo suppose that he could take this new member of the agency under his wings even if the future would be filled with some hassles. That was to say, any hassle would be nothing to the world’s best detective to begin with. Certainly, if the agency was a place that could bring out that something within Dazai more often, then whether or not Dazai would be more suitable elsewhere would no longer be a valid question for anyone to ask.
Was it valid for anyone but Dazai to ask in the first place? Ranpo should send Tanizaki to cut off the Port Mafia’s signals for a day or three.
“It is my responsibility,” Ranpo said, making it halfway through his cake. “You are one of us now.”
Dazai stopped digging little scoops of pudding. He too, had made it halfway through his pudding. “Haaah, it appears so,” he said, making criss-cross lines in the pudding. As one of you guys.
Suddenly, Dazai felt Ranpo’s hand rummaging through his coat’s pocket. The detective picked out a lighter, then from his own pocket, a candle. Dazai watched in puzzlement as Ranpo unboxed another cake: a plain vanilla cake with a tiny crab drawn with icing on the top.
“Ranpo-san?” Confusion and hesitance uncharacteristically found their way onto Dazai’s face.
“This is your first summer with us,” Ranpo said, focused on fixing up the candle on the cake, not sparing Dazai a glance. “It’s also June 18th. We were looking forward to your birthday celebration tomorrow.”
“I—”
“You don’t have to. You aren’t obligated either, but it is an excellent excuse of a day to indulge in cakes and treats without the President disapproving of me. So, I had hoped you would,” he finished. The candle was “held” in the crab’s claw. “I hope we will soon.”
He handed the cake towards Dazai and smiled. “On behalf of the Armed Detective Agency, happy early birthday Dazai. You still have a long way to go before catching up with me, but I look forward to what you will bring us.”
The candlelight barely illuminated anything, yet Dazai could see Ranpo’s face remarkably clearly. Wordlessly, he accepted the cake with a plastic smile.
“I can stay until whenever,” Ranpo said. “Or I can leave, but you have to say it.”
“If it’s Ranpo-san, how can I ever deny the honor to—”
“Stop it.” The detective began packing all the food he had bought. “Your fakery doesn’t help anyone, and it is a honestly a bit of an insult towards me at this point.” But there were no traces of any negative emotions on Ranpo’s face as he stood up with all the plastic bags in hand and around his arm. “And, it looks super ugly.”
Cake in hand, Dazai sat silently and alone at the bus stop as Ranpo walked off. Humidity stilled the air around him. He set aside the cake and instead picked up the pudding he hadn’t finished and ate it. The pudding tasted like the scent of the candles burning.
There was nothing specific that Dazai wanted to see in Osaka. He never celebrated his own birthday with a celebration in mind. He didn’t know what he could offer to the agency. Between who he was, who he is, and what he knew, some being like Dazai didn’t seem to fit into what the agency is. He never saved anyone then, and despite saving people now…
A slight breeze blew out the candle. There was no wish made. Happy 21st birthday to himself. He hoped that the agency didn’t prepare anything for his birthday; he hoped that Ranpo told them not to.
On the day before his birthday, Dazai chose to chase after what he still could, after a man long gone. Would he laugh at him for it? Would he simply sit beside him, understanding it all?
Dazai bit into a forkful of the mini birthday cake. Too sweet. How could Ranpo eat so much of these without getting tired of them? He set the fork down, only to notice something that Ranpo seemed to have left behind on the seat.
A Kuze Kannon* omamori*.
-
“I went to visit your birth prefecture,” Dazai murmured, brushing fallen leaves off the gravestone. “I don’t know exactly where you were born, of course, so I went to Osaka city. It's a wonderful place. I planned to go alone, but a senior at my new job tagged along. He’s a nice person, they all are.” He settled beside the gravestone, idly playing with a Kuze Kannon omamori in his hand.
Sunlight filtered through the tree's leaves, casting warm beams onto Dazai. “I’ve turned 21. Only two years younger than you now, yet still nothing like you. I don’t think I’ve changed much since then.” But he has since felt young for the past, to which he realized that Oda was too, and only for the past. The Dazai now could still be gone by tomorrow, by next hour, or by next minute.
“But I guess that’s all for today. People are waiting for me,” Dazai said, his voice light and cheery.
In the distance stood Ranpo. When Dazai reached him, Ranpo rushed to clarify first: “I told everyone not to hold a party or anything of the sort for you, but they insisted it's your first birthday as a part of the agency, so they really couldn’t be stopped. And! They’ve already prepared so many different and fresh treats that it would be a waste, so who am I—”
“Ranpo-san, what are we waiting for then? Since everyone is so generous and all, let’s go!”
Not expecting that response, Ranpo was taken aback for just a second before a wild grin took over. “Yeah!!”
“By the way, I’m curious. Why was Ranpo-san the one that came to get me? Typically it should be Kenji-kun or Kunikida.”
“They said because I wasn’t helping them set up that I should go. Plus, they don’t know where you are, and between them finding out before you told them anything, I figured I might as well come either way.”
“Ranpo-san is such a kind person to me! How can I ever—”
”I’ll be kinder if you take care of my snack expenses for the next month. Also, it’s supposed to be a surprise party so be surprised. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but really, anyone could have seen through it.”
“Worry not! I am a great actor!”
-
At 21 years old, Dazai had experienced 21 summers. If he subtracted that number from the summers he remembered, Dazai Osamu would hardly exist. He’s still learning—about people, about being alive, about living.
A single tangerine remained behind before the visited gravestone.
*Chozuya: a fountain or stone basin filled with water where visitors purify themselves before prayer.
*Mala: a type of prayer beads/spiritual uses
(https://www.webmd.com/balance/what-are-mala-beads)
*Kuze Kannon: a deity and is believed to have the power to save people from suffering
*Omamori: Japanese amulets commonly sold at Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples
(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Omamori#:~:text=Omamori (御守%2Fお守り),forms of luck and protection.)