For an ordinary person without the name of a literary giant to their credit, attempting to awaken an ability had odds comparable to winning the lottery.
Asou Akiya wanting Randou to awaken an ability, however, was far simpler—
All it required was a single trigger.
[Danger.]
...
At Port Mafia headquarters, the number of people who harbored hostility toward him suddenly increased.
At eight o'clock in the morning, Asou Akiya stepped out of the car and arrived at work on time, walking straight into the main hall on the first floor of headquarters. He headed toward the elevators. Around him, members of the Mafia of all stripes cast their gazes his way, granting him the attention usually reserved for upper management. Yet within their eyes, the respect that ought to have been there was conspicuously lacking. A money-making prodigy and an ability user were, after all, two entirely different things.
It was not as though the Port Mafia lacked high-ranking members without abilities. Several department heads, for example, held their positions through exceptional management skills or unassailable technical expertise. They were content with being the head of a single division and never considered climbing higher, because in terms of capability, they were already firmly seated where they belonged.
Asou Akiya was different.
If one could make money to an extraordinary degree, then financial power could rival an ability itself.
That was extremely, extremely difficult… though, perhaps, just a little easier than winning the lottery.
The boss had promised him a quasi-executive position. It was for profit, yes, but also to force out every ounce of Akiya's money-making potential. If Asou Akiya could meet the boss's demands, a non-combat-oriented quasi-executive seat would be within easy reach.
Asou Akiya pressed the button for his floor and stood alone inside the elevator; no one else stepped in.
As the elevator ascended, he lifted his gaze to the surveillance camera inside, his expression calm, his thoughts turning to another layer of the boss's intentions.
[If the boss truly trusts me, rather than finding me an eyesore…]
[Then this is tempering.]
Asou Akiya, the overly dazzling fake diamond, had been singled out by the boss, chosen to be polished and ground down.
Should he feel fortunate?
At the very least, the thing grinding against him was not a real diamond!
That would shatter him!
Asou Akiya buried himself in work, drafting a one-year plan for the Port Mafia, relying entirely on short-term profit strategies. Before his position was fully secured, he had no intention of leaving the Port Mafia with investments that stretched too far into the future. After all, making money for others while his life was constantly under threat—how could that ever compare to making money for himself?
Money, power, beauty—these were the goals men strove for.
In the past, he had never had the chance to even touch power. Now, he refused to think about anything else and focused solely on completing the assessment before him.
He was determined to cling tightly to Natsume-sensei's thick thigh!
"For my wife!" Asou Akiya was bursting with motivation. "For our family's standing! Even if Randou joins the Port Mafia next year, I absolutely cannot fall to the point of being supported by my wife."
As the end of the workday approached, Hirotsu Ryuurou—dressed head to toe in British style—stood waiting for the elevator down, idly flicking a lighter in his hand. The flame flared up, then vanished, again and again. He had already made plans with the Black Lizard to go drinking after work, yet when he saw the worn edges of the lighter, he could not help but think of the person who had given it to him—Asou Akiya.
A very decent young man: steady in temperament, lacking no ability, yet strangely unconventional in other respects.
Hirotsu had noticed that ever since Asou Akiya's promotion, he was always alone whenever seen at headquarters—arriving in haste, leaving in haste. After departing from the translation department, he was familiar with people in related departments, yet not a single one of them could truly be called a friend. His gaze would occasionally linger on the cityscape beyond the Port Mafia, finding quiet amusement there, rarely paying attention to his colleagues.
What, exactly, was he looking at?
And what, exactly, was he happy about?
No one knew.
Humans are creatures that cling together in groups. Those who can detach themselves from the collective are lonely—and just as often, dangerous.
The trouble Asou Akiya was about to face was no small matter.
Out of this sense of goodwill and mentorship, Hirotsu Ryuurou deliberately waited in front of the elevator for a while. Sure enough, Asou Akiya—who clocked out with punctual regularity every day—soon appeared in the elevator ahead. The black-haired young man was fiddling with his phone; when the elevator stopped and he looked up, he immediately spotted Hirotsu Ryuurou, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and greeted him at once. "Mr. Hirotsu!"
Hirotsu Ryuurou stepped into the elevator. "Akiya-kun."
What was said inside the elevator was known to no outsiders. Even the personnel responsible for monitoring the headquarters' surveillance would never deliberately pry into a conversation between two high-ranking Port Mafia members. After Hirotsu Ryuurou left, Asou Akiya's expression turned hesitant. Rarely doing so, he used his phone to call a former colleague. "Senior Takekawa, are you free tonight? Want to grab a drink?"
Hirotsu Ryuurou had told him not to confine his social interactions solely to work. When time allowed, he should try reaching out to other people instead—the earlier and more grassroots the connections one made, the more likely they were to bring unexpected surprises.
The Port Mafia was like a great tree rooted in the darkness of night, each of its roots drawing nourishment from a different source.
Unless someone had utterly failed as a person, it was impossible for every single root to refuse to support Asou Akiya.
At an izakaya that was always packed with customers, yet filled with men in black suits during after-work hours, Asou Akiya was greeted with enthusiasm the moment he stepped inside. Many colleagues he had known in the past stood up, smiling and waving as they called out to him.
"Asou-kun!"
"I told you Asou-kun would come—he's someone who really values his promises."
"Come drink with us, Senior Asou!"
"Asou, over here! I saved you a seat. You got promoted, so you're definitely treating us today!"
Takekawa Izumi slapped an empty chair, speaking freely now that the weight of work had been set aside.
This was the atmosphere among clerical staff—nothing so tense or razor-sharp, never having to worry that a careless remark might earn you a beating. They did not build friendships on brute force; they were far closer to ordinary company employees.
"Thank you." Asou Akiya strode over, feeling a slight sense of unfamiliarity. Having been away from the middle and lower ranks for some time, he rediscovered the old sensation of being dragged out for drinks after work, and to his surprise, it brought with it a strange kind of lightness.
As the drinking went on, Asou Akiya inevitably became the target of flattery and relentless toasts.
After all, his life looked so enviably complete.
Naturally, Asou Akiya did not explain the dangers looming over him. He accepted every drink offered, swallowing what he could. Before long, a faint, tipsy flush appeared on his cheeks, yet his eyes remained clear—outside, he would always maintain this level of reason and vigilance.
"It hasn't been easy for you, kid, climbing all the way up to the top and ending up like this," Takekawa Izumi said, waggling his eyebrows at Asou Akiya. He was the textbook definition of middle-aged: married for many years, having spent a full decade in the translation department, and able to read Asou Akiya's condition at a glance. Takagawa knew he himself could never manage it—drinking while staying rational? Living like that would be exhausting; sooner or later, his nerves would snap.
"Just drink. Don't think too much. Even if you get wasted, someone will send you home."
"...Someone would worry," Asou Akiya replied, offering a shy smile he had not used in ages.
"You mean your girlfriend?" Takekawa Izumi asked, puzzled. He pointed across the table at a young man about Asou Akiya's age. His name was Sasaki Hashio, an utterly ordinary surname. "Look at him. He started dating later than you did, and he even found a girl from the Port Mafia's logistics department. They're getting married this summer!"
Sasaki Hashio hurriedly waved his hands. "I wouldn't dare compare myself to Senior Asou. My family's been pressuring me to get married."
Takekawa Izumi laughed and scolded him. "As if you don't show off enough already."
Turning back, Takekawa Izumi asked, "I hear French people aren't very reliable. Are you sure you can keep her? If you really like her, it's better to tie her down early. With a job like yours, it's hard to find a partner you can settle down with."
Asou Akiya answered frankly, without putting on airs. "We'll get married sooner or later."
Takekawa Izumi snorted. "You've been saying that for years. Two whole years have passed—yet we've neither met her nor drunk your wedding wine. You'd better be careful you're not being played."
Asou Akiya lowered his gaze and replied gently, "I won't let her run away."
Takekawa Izumi felt that long-unfamiliar chill crawl up his spine once again.
He shuddered.
No wonder the people who made it into the Port Mafia's upper ranks were all anything but simple—every last one of them had an unsettling way of loving.
"Tsk, you kid—" He swallowed the rest of the sentence, changing the subject instead. "You did the right thing coming out tonight. When we drink, we always end up talking about you."
Asou Akiya took the initiative to pour wine for the older senior who had once guided him, smiling as he asked, "What about me is worth talking about?"
Takekawa Izumi laughed so hard he was nearly beside himself. "You climbed up from the bottom!"
Asou Akiya looked puzzled.
Seeing his confusion, Takekawa Izumi spelled it out for him. "Don't underestimate yourself. The Port Mafia recruits so many newcomers every year, growing stronger by the day, but how many people actually manage to crawl their way up from the bottom? The very first round of physical combat and firearms tests weeds out a huge number of them. You were terrible at both—your only real advantage was entering early, having enough time to climb. But for most people—by which I mean old-timers like me who don't want to gamble with our lives—this position is already the ceiling."
Asou Akiya processed this with a reader's logic. "So what you're saying is, if Senior Takekawa were willing to take risks, you'd definitely be in a higher position than you are now."
Takekawa Izumi stiffened in embarrassment. "Don't talk nonsense! I've got a wife, and I'll have a kid soon. I'll be perfectly satisfied if I just make it to retirement!"
Hearing that he already had a wife and a child on the way, Asou Akiya muttered, "And you still envy me."
Takekawa Izumi found himself oddly pleased by that remark. Comparing oneself to others only ever bred resentment—but hearing words of envy come from a younger man who was clearly more accomplished than himself was, in its own way, a rather flattering form of praise.
"Asou, let me give you a bit of confidence," Takekawa Izumi said. "Others might not see it clearly, but the middle and lower ranks of the Port Mafia absolutely treat you as a goal to aim for—not a target of jealousy… well, all right, don't look at me like that. I'll admit there's a little envy. That's human nature; it can't be avoided. But the higher you climb, the more hope you give to the younger ones."
"This society, you see—"
Takekawa Izumi had drunk too much, and words he had suppressed for a long time began to spill out, only to be hastily interrupted by several people around the table.
Asou Akiya sat beside him, quietly listening to his senior's words.
"People who are born with abilities have everything from the start—money, social status, all of it. People like us, who aren't suited to the combat factions, spend our days sitting in offices, or at best shielding ourselves from stray bullets. That's how our lives end up."
"Asou… it's just too unfair."
"You have to put in far more effort, much more than the ability users, just to even get a chance."
"Our Port Mafia boss is wise and farsighted…"
Takekawa Izumi had his own hard-earned survival instincts. Even drunk, his body remembered them. No matter how far he crossed the line with his words, he never forgot the most important thing at the end—throw in a bit of gratitude toward the organization's boss, and you'd be fine.
Something stirred in Asou Akiya's heart. So it wasn't only me, a transmigrator, who felt the suffocating weight beneath society's surface…
He handed the swaying Takekawa Izumi over to someone on the other side to support him, then quickly swept his gaze across the faces of more than a dozen people at the table. Most of those gathered to drink together were young; their eyes held agreement. Those who did not agree were the middle-aged men who had long since lost their fire, heads lowered as they drank in silence, their edges worn smooth by reality.
So that was it…
So that was how it was… Everyone carried ambition in their hearts, just like me.
But they simply had no chance to let it out.
Asou Akiya raised his glass, and under the blazing, noisy atmosphere of the izakaya, the words slipped from his mouth without restraint. "Let me toast everyone."
Everyone looked up at him. In their eyes, the haze of alcohol seemed to ignite a spark of light—like fireflies glowing with all the strength they had left.
"To our ordinariness, and to our unwillingness to accept it."
The world of Bungou Stray Dogs.
A place where cats fought each other just as readily as it was a place where feral dogs tore into prey and struggled to survive.
Asou Akiya was smiling.
Even if he were given another chance, he would still choose to go mad for his own sake once more.