Daisuke Jigen's Melancholy Bet: Seven Days Chasing Fujiko Mine - In the crumbling night, only your voice

In the early hours of Tuesday morning, while the city still lay asleep, Daisuke Jigen walked alone across the cobblestones of the old town. The engraving on the knife Lupin had handed him last night still smoldered faintly in the back of his mind. His former partner—the man who had once betrayed him and shot through his left hand—was now connected to Levenzaan. And Fujiko, knowing that, might well have steered this job his way. Lupin's warning echoed deep in his ears. *"Either cut off your feelings for Fujiko, or see this through to the end. One or the other."* He took out a cigarette and held it between his lips. The flame of his lighter flickered small in the morning-damp air. He drew the smoke in deep, then let it out. He stepped into a narrow alley in the Centro Vecchio. Old stone buildings pressed in from both sides; the sky was visible only as a thin ribbon. At this hour there were no passersby—only his own footsteps, echoing strangely loud. Before long, he stood in front of a secondhand bookshop. The sign read *Pagina Persa*—The Lost Page. Pietro Cavaliere. That venomous spider had been feeding their every move to the enemy. The matchbox he'd found back then was the proof. If this man had been under contract with Levenzaan from the start, then their current location, the safe house—everything—had been an open book. Jigen laid his hand on the doorknob. It was unlocked. As if they'd known he was coming. With a creak of hinges, the heavy wooden door swung open. The shop smelled of old paper, dust, and a faint trace of ink. In the dim interior, only a single lamp burned toward the back. Beneath that light, a man was seated. Pietro Cavaliere. His silver hair, streaked with white, was slicked back; his wrinkled hands turned the pages of an old book. His face showed not the slightest alarm at the intrusion—if anything, it wore a thin smile, as if welcoming a guest. "Oh my, you're early, Master Jigen." Pietro raised his head and fixed his narrowed, fox-like brown eyes on him. Jigen approached without a word and stopped across the table from him. His right hand was already resting on the holster beneath his coat. "Don't play dumb." With his left hand, he pulled the matchbox from the inside pocket of his jacket and slid it across the table. *Pagina Persa.* A custom order stamped with the shop's name. Not something sold to the public. "A Levenzaan scout was carrying this. Explain." Pietro slowly picked up the matchbox and stroked it as if it were something precious. Then, like a man reunited with an old friend, he narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Ah, yes. I gave that to them. After all, they are very good customers." Something dark and thick surged up inside Jigen. "You bastard… you've been feeding information to Wolff from the very beginning." He drew his gun and leveled it across the desk at Pietro's forehead. The cold muzzle of the S&W M19 glinted dully in the lamplight. But Pietro didn't flinch. If anything, the smile on his face deepened—as if he had been waiting for this very moment. "Yes, that's quite right." His voice was impossibly calm. "Your contact points, the location of that coastal safe house—I passed it all to Wolff from the start. By now, Levenzaan should be on their way to Casa Bianca." Jigen's heart froze in an instant. Fujiko— "Don't screw with me!!" His finger curled around the trigger. A few more millimeters of pressure, and this spider's head would be blown apart. Yet Pietro's smile didn't waver. If anything, he tilted his head with what looked like genuine puzzlement. "Why so angry? This is business. Whether you fail or Verde Noir wins, I collect a fee from either side. That's all there is to it." His voice carried not a shred of malice. It was the innocent tone of someone explaining the obvious. A chill crawled down Jigen's spine. More than anger, it was a cold dread. Could a human being sell out others so serenely? To this man, betrayal and human life were nothing more than figures in a ledger. "The Bible says, 'Love thy neighbor.' I do love my neighbors. I simply love my enemies just as much. All according to God's will. Isn't that right?" Slowly, Jigen lowered the gun. No. Shooting this man wouldn't solve anything. Right now, he had to get back to Casa Bianca—every second counted. "…Remember this." "Oh, certainly. I await your next visit with all my heart, Master Jigen." Pietro's elegant voice pursued him as he turned his back. Jigen burst out of the bookshop and ran full-speed across the pre-dawn cobblestones. His heart pounded, hammering in his chest. (*Please—let me make it in time—*) Fujiko's face, Riri's face—they surfaced behind his eyes and vanished. The sky was beginning to pale over the coastal road. Jigen abandoned the borrowed car just short of the abandoned villa and approached Casa Bianca with his gun at the ready. Then his breath caught. The villa was already surrounded. Men in black combat gear—eight of them, Verde Noir's armed unit. Submachine guns in hand, they had the building sealed off on all four sides. A man who looked to be the leader was barking orders into a radio. There was no time left. From the cover of the bushes, Jigen fired the first shot. The dry report shattered the silence. One man in front of him went down, shot through the shoulder. "Enemy attack——!!" Shouts rose, and every muzzle swung toward him at once. He leaped. Bullets scythed through the space where his head had been a moment before. He fired a second shot the instant he landed, taking out another man's leg and stopping him cold. But he was outnumbered. "Flank him! Get around behind!" Barking orders. Pounding footsteps. Killing intent closing in from three sides. That was when a dry gunshot rang out from the rooftop. *Pashun.* The suppressed report of a sniper rifle. One of the men closing from the left flank collapsed, his knee shattered. Riri. She'd taken position on the roof and begun providing covering fire. But— "Dammit, they've got a sniper! Squad B, take the rooftop!!" Before Jigen could even shout, gunfire came from another direction. An enemy sniper had gotten there first. At the edge of the roof, Riri's small frame staggered. Shielding her right arm, she was desperately returning fire with her rifle braced one-handed. But blood—a dark stain was spreading, seeping around her abdomen. "Riri!!" His shout was swallowed by the gunfire. Her body lost its balance. As if in slow motion, her dull-blonde hair fanned out against the dawn sky, and her slender body slipped off the rooftop. *Thud—* The dull sound of a body hitting the ground. All the air left Jigen's lungs. "Riri——!!" A scream that barely formed as sound tore at his throat. Bullets stitched into the ground right in front of him as he tried to rush to her, kicking up dust. Dammit—he couldn't move. That was when it happened. The front door of Casa Bianca creaked quietly open. It was Mine Fujiko who appeared. Her usual calculating smile was nowhere to be seen. She wore a simple white shirt and jeans. Her waist-length black hair swayed softly in the morning breeze. Slowly, she raised both hands. "Don't move!" Every gun barrel turned toward her at once. Still, Fujiko didn't stop walking. She strode forward, poised, until she stood before the unit leader. "Fu—Fujiko…!" At his voice, she flicked her gaze toward him for just an instant. Those large brown eyes wavered, as if trying to tell him something. (*An honest emotion I'd never seen in her before.*) No calculation. No lies. No bargaining. Just a decision made for the sole purpose of letting him escape. "I'm the woman you're after, aren't I." Her voice was astonishingly composed. "These two have nothing to do with this. Taking me alone should be enough, shouldn't it?" She held out both her wrists. Offering herself up—inviting them to take her. The leader approached slowly and snapped handcuffs around her slender wrists. The cold metallic *click* rang out. Fujiko looked at Jigen one last time. "Run, Jigen." That was all. Just those few words. But her voice was tinged with a color he'd never imagined possible from the Fujiko he knew. Something hot and sharp pierced his chest. (*She—for my sake—*) It wasn't calculation. For the first time, that ever-scheming Fujiko had acted without weighing profit and loss. "Move out!" The unit sprang into motion. Soldiers seized Fujiko by both arms and marched her toward a black van. All Jigen could do was clench his teeth and glare at the ground. The van door slammed shut. The engine growled. Fading into the distance. (*Dammit—dammit!!*) After the armed unit departed, silence descended. The abandoned villa, left behind. The smell of gunpowder. Riri. He ran to her side. Her small body lay on the cold ground. Her dull-blonde hair was matted with dirt and blood; the burn scar on her left temple looked agonizing. Worse than anything, the dark red stain spreading across her abdomen—blood flowing from between her fingers, beginning to pool on the ground. "Riri—hey…!" No answer. She seemed barely conscious. Her blue eyes stared vacantly at the void; her trembling lips were trying to form words. He tore off his jacket and pressed it against the wound in her stomach. The fabric was instantly soaked with lukewarm blood, dyeing his fingers red. "Hold on. You can't die here." He lifted her into his arms. A sharp pain shot through his right shoulder. The wound Wolff had given him still hadn't healed. Blood seeped through, and heat gathered around his shoulder joint. But that didn't matter now. He had to run. Somewhere safe— Before he knew it, he had taken refuge in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the old Caglione district. One of the disused port facilities, with broken crates and rusted steel beams scattered all around. He laid Riri carefully on the ground and pressed down on her wound again. The bleeding wouldn't stop. The life was draining from her face; her lips had turned pale and bloodless. He sat down with his back against the wall. He tried to put a cigarette in his mouth, but his fingertips were trembling too much to work the lighter. His blood-slicked fingers slipped, and only the empty *click-click-click* echoed in the space. (*I couldn't protect anything.*) He'd let Riri end up like this. He'd let Fujiko be taken away. All he'd been able to do was watch. The warehouse was dim; the smell of damp dust clung to his lungs. He stared at the ring finger of his left hand. A plain silver ring. Beneath it, an old scar he wanted to look away from. Memories surged up like a torrent. A rainy night, years ago. The only partner he'd ever trusted had gotten tangled up in an underworld deal involving the Moon Shadow's Tear—and had used him. Then, to destroy the evidence, he'd shot through this left hand. That night, lying in a pool of blood, watching a retreating back grow smaller. (*Never trust anyone again.*) That was the vow he'd made. And yet— Fujiko, Lupin, Pietro—they'd all lied to him. Had Fujiko steered this job his way knowing he was connected to his former partner? What did Lupin know? Who was telling the truth, and who was lying? He didn't know. He didn't know anymore. The old wound in his right shoulder throbbed and ached. Blood oozed, sticking his clothes to his skin. Something inside him exploded. "—It's over." A strangled voice leaked from his own mouth. "How can I… trust anyone…!!" Before he knew it, he was slamming his fist against the wall. A dull *thud*. The skin of his knuckles split; blood welled up. He realized, for the first time, that he was shouting. "I can't… take it anymore…!! Trusting someone, getting betrayed, again and…!!" A broken voice—one he'd never heard from himself—echoed through the abandoned warehouse. He was afraid to trust people. If he didn't trust, he wouldn't lose. And yet,

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Episode 5

Name: Daisuke Jigen's Melancholy Bet: Seven Days Chasing Fujiko Mine
Author: Novelia

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