15. The Strongest (VI)

After leaving the domain of the cursed spirits, the two stood on the beach, gazing at the sunlit sea.

Chūya Nakahara sighed, “At a glance, there really isn’t much difference.”

Osamu Dazai teased, “With so many tropical coconut trees, Nakahara, are you blind?”

Nakahara replied, “I’m talking about the sea!”

Dazai said, “Aren’t all seas pretty much the same?”

Nakahara sneered coldly, “Yeah, in your eyes, all seas are just places to jump into.”

Dazai added, “And also crabs.”

“There don’t seem to be any fish in the domain’s sea,” Nakahara pondered aloud. “Can life not be created within a domain?”

Dazai asked, “There are trees in Hanami’s domain. Do plants count as life?”

“Maybe,” Nakahara hesitated. He wasn’t even sure if they themselves could be considered alive.

Dazai queried, “Is there any difference for life that simply exists?”

“For them, maybe?” Nakahara answered, though indifferent; after all, he wasn’t a plant. “I don’t want to get into philosophy with you.”

Dazai curled his lip, “You’re clearly the biggest philosophical problem yourself, Nakahara.”

Nakahara rolled his eyes.

The two left the seaside and returned to the city.

Nakahara asked, “Is it just coincidence that we always run into them in remote places?”

Dazai replied, “Cursed spirits hate humans; if they were in crowds, they might go on a rampage.”

His gaze swept over the throng, but no one noticed them. This feeling of existing between two worlds, shunned by everyone, explained why cursed spirits loathed humans so much.

Nakahara wrinkled his nose, clearly disliking the thought. He changed the topic, “You said they know nothing. Don’t tell me there’s another ‘Demon’ to deal with in this world.”

Dazai said, “Not at that level. If it were me, I wouldn’t be so obvious.”

He and Dostoevsky were evenly matched; who could win depended on who had stronger allies. Dostoevsky couldn’t beat him because he had Nakahara as a trump card, which was why the demons tried to wrest Nakahara away—from Dazai.

A cold smirk curled at Dazai’s lips. Dostoevsky thought getting Nakahara would be easy!

In truth, it was extremely difficult. Nakahara’s cooperation with Dazai’s plan wasn’t because Dazai controlled him, but because Nakahara was willing to be controlled. When Nakahara was unwilling, it was always Dazai’s plans that bent to him.

They were partners. This trust was something Dazai earned at fifteen by wanting to survive, the very reason he had kept living until now.

Nakahara was forever the greatest enigma in Dazai’s life.

And the enigma himself was always oblivious.

Dazai looked resignedly at Nakahara, who asked in confusion, “But we just arrived in this world, didn’t we?”

Dazai replied nonchalantly, “It’s probably due to your identity.”

“Special grade cursed spirit?” Nakahara mused, wondering why his identity always caused trouble.

Dazai knew his thoughts perfectly and teased, “Isn’t that obsession with your kind familiar, Nakahara?”

Nakahara recalled the chaos Verlaine had caused and groaned, “Please don’t.”

Dazai gave him a light glance, with hidden meaning, “What are you worried about? This isn’t Yokohama.”

“Yeah, this is Aomori,” Nakahara answered casually.

Dazai said sarcastically, “Now that you’re a cursed spirit, Nakahara, there’s no need to worry about human safety.”

Nakahara asked indifferently, “Then why don’t you want to join the cursed spirits’ ‘dream’?”

“I hate trouble,” Dazai said coldly.

“I hate being schemed against,” Nakahara raised his brow at Dazai.

“Wow, I never saw that coming!” Dazai smirked, feigning surprise.

Nakahara twitched his fingers. “Are you asking for a beating again, Dazai?!”

“Violent slug!” Dazai leapt aside, dodging Nakahara’s leg sweep.

“Hmph!” Nakahara withdrew his leg. “What are you planning?”

“We don’t need to do anything,” Dazai said. “The jujutsu world is already deeply flawed.”

There were fewer sorcerers than ability users, but many more rules. He had dug out many ‘inside stories’ of the jujutsu world from cursed sorcerers’ mouths—though whether these tacit understandings could truly be called secrets was debatable.

Not all cursed sorcerers were willing participants; some were forced into it, hunted by the jujutsu world.

Their disdain for the jujutsu hierarchy was evident without questioning—just browsing the cursed sorcerers’ internal network revealed much.

Though Satoru Gojo’s rise to power protected many sorcerers and brought hope, the foolish upper echelons still held them back. The boiling volcano was only kept in check by Gojo’s suppression; it would only take one spark to ignite chaos in the jujutsu world.

Nakahara wasn’t interested in these matters; when Dazai was still with the port Mafia, that was his domain.

The two continued moving from place to place. Nakahara focused on refining his ‘technique,’ attempting to build his domain.

Meanwhile, Dazai treated cursed sorcerers as tools, gathering intelligence about the Panxing Sect.

Dazai complained, “Such a large organization, yet the jujutsu world can’t find a single base. Even ordinary people can find Suguru Geto, but sorcerers can’t.”

Dazai habitually searched for information within the ordinary world’s vast networks. Sorcerers and cursed sorcerers, despite their superiority complexes, still lived among ordinary people.

Sometimes they accepted remote tasks to exterminate cursed spirits. Payment was transferred directly to anonymous bank cards, which these cursed sorcerers always had.

The jujutsu world continuously received news of cursed sorcerers’ deaths, but since they were cursed sorcerers, no one cared.

The only one who once cared, Gojo, was now too busy to intervene.

Dazai and Nakahara lived at ease, occasionally ordering takeout to improve their meals. Dazai finally got to eat the crab he had long dreamed of—of course, not caught by Nakahara.

So when Dazai demanded Nakahara peel the crab for him, he did so with exceptional confidence.

Nakahara just wanted to throw the crab leg at Dazai’s smug face.

“Nakahara—remember your promise—” Dazai quavered in a sing-song voice.

Gritting his teeth, Nakahara broke the crab into pieces, “Shut your mouth and eat!”

“What’s the rush, Nakahara?” Dazai said leisurely, but his eyes were serious. “This isn’t like you.”

“What about you?” Nakahara stuffed a peeled crab leg into Dazai’s mouth. “Being proactive at work isn’t your style, Dazai.”

He looked at Dazai. “What are you worried about now?”