Asou Akiya adapted with remarkable speed to the changes in his work, decisively severing his lingering softness and actively striving for higher ground.
He was assigned under a cadre whose name never appeared in the original story, entrusted with responsibilities that relied on intellect rather than brute force. In his daily duties, he was granted the authority to command several combat-oriented members. As a result, his status fell below that of the Black Lizard's Ten Captains, yet stood far above those who charged headlong into the front lines with nothing but muscle and courage. The petty amusements of the lower ranks—mediating lovers' quarrels, dismantling unexploded bombs, or sitting in air-conditioned offices translating documents for a living—were now completely beyond his reach.
Dressed head to toe in a black suit, Asou Akiya inevitably took on a cold, austere air while in working mode. Even though he had always adhered to the principle of acting boldly while keeping a low personal profile, he nevertheless began to inspire a sense of awe among the rank-and-file members.
For instance, Takekawa Izumi indirectly became his assistant and no longer dared to complain casually in his presence.
Akiya now possessed the qualifications to meet directly with cadres and was frequently brought along by the Boss himself to broaden his horizons. In front of him, others speaking carelessly was tantamount to wagering their own lives on the mercy of his conscience.
He was not an ability user, yet he inspired more confidence in the Boss than many ability users ever could.
"Akiya-kun, do you think you'll regret this?" the Port Mafia Boss asked with evident interest as he sat in his office. Perhaps every leader had their own way of judging subordinates; questions like this were, in that sense, inevitable.
"No," Asou Akiya replied without evasion, his tone frank and steady. "You give something, and you gain something in return."
School had taught him knowledge; society had taught him how to be a person.
The Boss recalled a passage recorded in the intelligence files and nodded in satisfaction. "The Port Mafia values talent. As long as you're good enough, you'll never lack a place to stand here."
Akiya listened attentively to the instruction, yet his thoughts drifted instead to Randou's life within the Port Mafia as depicted in the original work.
There was a faint ache in his heart.
It strengthened his resolve to let Randou awaken his ability naturally.
With Akiya standing in front, shielding him for as many years as possible, even a few more would be worth it. Life was something to be cherished step by step, and he hoped Randou would remain untouched by outside interference, rediscovering the name LesIlluminations through poetry born from his own heart.
At the same time, Randou seemed lost in a gentle haze. Resting his cheek against his hand, he sat deep in thought in the study. The room was adorned with warm, golden wallpaper, lined with large European-style solid-wood bookshelves, and enveloped in an atmosphere that was both cozy and elegant.
On the draft paper before him were fragments of incomplete poetry that Akiya had carefully written down for him.
["An endless farce!"]
["My naïveté brings me nothing but bitter tears; to survive, everyone must step onto the stage and perform in this absurd comedy."]
The poem, titled A Season in Hell, had neither a beginning nor an ending. With only these two sparse lines, it sketched the silhouette of a weeping soul—someone who seemed to live beneath layers upon layers of disguise, singing a lament for survival itself. It was as if the poem peeled back the surface of existence, revealing a figure crying quietly in the darkness, forced to play a role just to remain alive.
A faint resonance stirred in Randou's chest. An inexplicable sorrow from an unknown past crept upward, winding around his heart like fine threads, tightening little by little, leaving behind a dull ache whose origin he could not name.
"I want to help Akiya, to share some of his burden…" he murmured softly.
"But there's nothing I can do."
"What kind of person was I, in the past?"
"Bitter tears? Acting a role?"
"My compatriots in France… have they already forgotten me?"
Randou closed his eyes, trying to sense the emotions and the life experiences carried within the lines of the poem, hoping to grasp even a fragment of the feelings that had once belonged to him.
There was nothing.
He had lost his past.
If only he possessed the power Akiya spoke of—the power of an ability user—then he could protect Akiya, spare him from working himself to exhaustion day after day. Or perhaps he could gather an immense fortune, enough to bribe the Port Mafia, allowing Akiya to withdraw smoothly from that organization which had cast a shadow over his lover's heart and left him weighed down with unspoken gloom.
As the longing for power quietly took root within Randou's heart—
It seemed as though a faint breeze passed through the study, stirring the curtains. A hazy, golden glow of an ability flickered into existence, only to vanish just as quickly, like a mirage born of thought.
An ability is a power of the mind.
Believe in it, and it exists.
Doubt it, and it disappears.
Randou, who had forgotten the name Illuminations, opened his eyes and severed the thread of his wandering thoughts. He tidied the study a little, then decided to go out for a walk; staying cooped up in the study all day would turn him into a shut-in, just as Akiya liked to tease.
And so, Randou encountered one of Yokohama's local "specialties"—
An alleyway mugging.
In this supposedly simple, honest, and warmly hospitable city of Yokohama, two Japanese men closed in on him, knives in hand, their expressions vicious as they barked, "This is a robbery. Hand over your wallet!"
Randou: "..."
Akiya's jinxing mouth.
Do I really look that fragile and easy to bully?
Faced with danger, Randou's mind inexplicably drifted for a few seconds. When he snapped back to his senses, one of the assailants' arms had already been twisted and snapped barehanded, and two men lay on the ground wailing in agony. Randou himself was startled by what he had done; the usual melancholic calm shattered instantly, his face filled with disbelief, as though he were the one who had just witnessed something terrifying.
The two robbers were on the verge of tears. You'rethe terrifying one! You're the one who attacked us!
Still shaken, Randou abandoned them and hurried toward a more crowded area.
He wanted, so badly, to call Akiya at once—to complain in an aggrieved voice that he had been robbed. Yet reason caught him by the collar and dragged him back, because he had beaten the robbers instead, and that was a detail far too difficult to explain away.
Forget it.
Forget it.
He was still, in Akiya's heart, that delicate Frenchman who needed protecting.
Randou stopped in front of a bookstore in the bustling downtown district, slowing his breathing and calming his wildly pounding heart before stepping inside. He had already finished the novel he bought last time and planned to replenish his supply with a few new books.
Remembering that there was one book Akiya had been unable to find, Randou made a special point of asking the shop owner about it.
"Excuse me, do you have the latter volume of Light and Darkness by Natsume Sōseki?"
"No," the owner replied, delivering a disappointingly curt answer.
Randou was not particularly interested in Natsume Sōseki's other works; only Light and Darkness had caught his attention. In the end, it was because of Akiya's praise—and because Light and Darkness had only a first part, with no second part in sight. The narrative halted at "darkness," leaving readers trapped in endless speculation about the "light" that was supposed to follow.
Randou casually picked up another novel to serve as his afternoon reading and left the shop, completely unaware that, from a corner, a calico cat had silently added him to its list of followers: another person has read my work.
The calico cat—Natsume Sōseki himself—who had yet to publish the second part, expressed that he had been far too busy lately and would write it once this old man found the time.
Reality proved that, even in the world of Bungou Stray Dogs, Natsume Sōseki was a notoriously low-output "serial procrastinator." For those who had fallen deep into the pit of Light and Darkness and waited in vain for its continuation, it was the very definition of digging a pit and refusing to bury it.
Late that night at home, Randou brought the matter up to Akiya with visible frustration. Asou Akiya, however, took it in stride.
"What's the big deal?" he said lightly. "At least Mr. Natsume Sōseki actually picked up his pen and wrote something!"
The truly miserable ones were the readers from a previous lifetime.
Light and Darkness was the unfinished final work of the real-world Natsume Sōseki; it had never been completed at all, leaving readers across the entire world waiting in vain, ghosted without mercy.
"We'll definitely live long enough to see him finish it," Asou Akiya declared with unwavering confidence. "When that day comes, we'll buy a complete set and keep it as a collector's item."
Randou was left stunned. So waiting for the continuation of a novel required staking one's very life on it?
What terrifying persistence.
Randou had always thought Akiya wrote fiction purely out of personal interest, never realizing that his love for literature ran this deep.
If… if I could somehow gety hands on the latter part of the book for Akiya, Akiya would surely be overjoyed, wouldn't he?
A flicker of light passed through Randou's eyes. Literary salons and exchange gatherings flashed briefly through his mind, only for him to realize moments later that Natsume Sōseki rarely appeared in public. There were not even any photographs of him circulating online.
Randou deflated at once.
There was nowhere to urge the author for updates.
"What are you thinking about, Randou?" Asou Akiya asked, finding the shifting expressions on his lover's face unusually vivid.
"I want you to be able to read the novels you like," Randou said. When the topic turned to literature, his gaze drifted, and his voice gradually softened. "You look forward to my work so much, but hardly anyone buys my poetry collections. Maybe… maybe I should put poetry aside for now and try writing novels instead…"
Asou Akiya embraced his unease with gentle tolerance and replied calmly, "What I care about is what you like, Randou."
The black-haired young man threaded his fingers through his lover's long, beautifully curled hair, combing through it strand by strand.
"So after all," he added softly, "Randou really does mind that poetry is such a niche genre, doesn't he?"
"No…"
Randou answered, but his words ran contrary to his heart.
Asou Akiya went on, "I've already contacted a publishing house in Paris, France. We're planning to publish your work there."
Randou stiffened. Had it really reached his homeland so quickly?
Asou Akiya smiled warmly. "This time, the publisher is giving you full promotional support."
"Will it cost a lot of money?" Randou asked.
Asou Akiya shook his head, his gaze gentle and sincere. "I submitted it through proper channels and found an international publisher that truly appreciates your poetry. I would never use money to taint your work, Randou. If there is to be publicity, it should be something they propose of their own accord."
The knot of worry in Randou's heart unraveled at once, leaving him light and unburdened. Of course—Akiya understood him better than anyone.
"What about a pen name?" Randou asked, beginning to fret in a happy sort of way. "Randou is a Japanese name; if it's used in France, people might mistake me for Japanese. I want to go back to a French name—help me come up with one."
Asou Akiya's thoughts turned quietly. He murmured a name so softly it was almost inaudible, yet perfectly suited to Randou.
Even with Randou's keen hearing, he rarely missed words—yet this time he hadn't caught it. "What was that?"
Asou Akiya repeated, "Jean."
Randou immediately picked up his phone and searched the name. Upon discovering that it was one of the most common French names imaginable, he fell into speechless silence. The feeling was uncannily similar to having a foreign boyfriend help a Chinese girl choose an online username, only for him to confidently suggest "Cuihua."
Still, the meaning of "Jean" was undeniably beautiful, tinged with religious symbolism: God is merciful.
"I don't want this one," Randou said, a trace of sulky emotion surfacing despite himself.
"All right," Asou Akiya replied easily, but his gaze lingered on Randou's expression, observing it with deliberate care, making absolutely certain that not the faintest spark of recognition appeared on his face.
Only then did he silently exhale, a breath he had not realized he was holding, his heart giving a belated thump as he narrowly avoided stepping into a hidden trap.
Thank goodness I never said it out loud.
Back in the very beginning, he had once assumed that Randou's true name in the Bungou Stray Dogs world was Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud. In order not to stir or provoke Randou's lost memories, he had deliberately concealed that full name, letting the "hat" supply only the information of a surname. Yet the truth was simple and glaring: Randou was a modern man, entirely unsuited to carrying a nineteenth-century name.
"Jean" was a baptismal name, traditionally bestowed by a priest, and had already fallen out of fashion by the nineteenth century.
"Nicolas" was a name passed down through family lines—incidentally, the real-world Rimbaud's brother was also named Nicolas.
Strip away those two names, and what remained—Arthur Rimbaud—was the true name of Randou in this world. There was no such thing as a hidden full name here. If he had carelessly revealed a so-called "complete name" taken from the real world in order to win Randou's trust, that would have been a fundamental, commonsense mistake. Randou's name simply was not that complicated.
Unless, of course, he intended to lie outright and claim that he himself came from a parallel nineteenth century.
But that was impossible—he had never even been to France.
Asou Akiya smiled faintly as he scrolled through French names on his phone, calmly selecting alternatives, entirely unbothered by Randou's blunt criticism that his naming sense was mediocre. One lie required countless other lies to patch over it, each spawning endless aftereffects.
He was tired of lying.
Thanks for the concern, he thought with dry humor. My wife is expecting, my son is being quietly looked after by my own hand, and my love rival is wandering somewhere overseas.
Everything was in place.
A life both complete and content, lacking nothing at all.
Asou Akiya leaned in to kiss Randou on the cheek, only to receive a kiss in return from the French beauty. Randou was hardly the passive type; he wanted genuine, earnest intimacy, the kind that met you head-on, and day after day he generously supplied Asou Akiya with hands-on "experience points" in that regard.
Randou licked his lips thoughtfully. After finishing his perusal of the fifty most popular French names, he absentmindedly swiped again—and, without realizing it, landed on a list of English names.
His gaze froze in place.
Then it lit up, brilliant and unmistakable.
" Akiya, I remember it now—it's this one! My name has to be this!!!"
Asou Akiya followed the direction of his finger and replied in a tone that was nothing short of baffled, "Arthur… Pendragon?"
Wait a second—since when were you King Arthur?!
Did we just cross into the Fate universe by mistake?!
"Idiot, Akiya," Randou said fondly. "French and English have different pronunciations." He tapped the English spelling of Arthur and, in a voice so gentle it was almost reverent, pronounced the French reading of his name. "Arthur."
A name destined for greatness—one he had finally reclaimed.
In French, Arthur is rendered as Arthure, pronounced Artur, written the same way as its English counterpart, and ultimately derived from Hebrew.
Arthur Rimbaud.
A name that signifies nobility, courage, and one who is blessed.