Dazai

My interest in Saint Joanne and her so-called Church of Equalizers was piqued the very moment the first murmurings of this peculiar figure graced the pages of the English-speaking press — chiefly, of course, the internet. At first, I was inclined to dismiss the whole affair as yet another fabrication, one of the countless tall tales the common folk spun about the gifted, but I resolved to keep an eye on the situation just in case. And the more I observed, the less I liked what I saw.

At the time Joanne's name first crossed my path, there were precisely 167 registered ability users in the United Kingdom. A mere six months later, that number had dwindled to 99. Naturally, my knowledge was limited to public records — I harbored no illusions that these figures reflected reality with any degree of accuracy — but even a cursory glance at such distressing statistics was enough to draw some rather troubling conclusions.

Prudently, I kept these musings to myself. Alas, fortune was not so kind, for one fateful day, our resident genius, the incomparable Ranpo, decided to broach the subject of the Equalizers at an Agency meeting. Evidently, he too had taken an interest in their activities, scouring the press and connecting the dots just as I had.

"Why do they call themselves the Equalizers?" one of the younger members inquired — either Tanizaki or Miyazawa; I confess, I wasn't paying enough attention to distinguish.

"They peddle the rhetoric that the gifted are no worse than ordinary folk," Ranpo explained, "that they are, in essence, equals. And so, they offer the gifted a chance to ‘purify’ themselves."

"But who decided that we are worse, to begin with? We are not worse at all, are we?" the boy protested.

(From the mouths of babes shall come the truth. A classic case of a false premise — a staple of demagoguery.)

"In short," Ranpo continued, "Joanne’s ideology posits that by relinquishing their abilities, the gifted would not only cease to pose a threat to society but also attain a semblance of normalcy — perhaps even happiness."

"It’s obvious why ordinary people would be drawn to such a doctrine," Kunikida observed. "But what compels ability users to embrace it?"

Fukuzawa, ever the sage, declared, "An ideology such as this would never lead astray a mind as steadfast as yours or mine, Kunikida-kun, but it may well unsettle the young and impressionable. From what I gather, the sect primarily recruits adolescents and young adults. Even the name of Joanne’s ability — Cursed Child — suggests that Joanne prefers to work with the young and insecure."

(Just like you, you sanctimonious old man; just like Mori, just like me, just like everyone else in this wretched world... Not that I would ever say that out loud.)

Kunikida shook his head doubtfully. "This woman preaches the eradication of abilities, yet she possesses one herself. There’s something absurd about that."

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have bothered interjecting, but this time, I simply couldn't resist.

"And not just her, I suspect," I mused. "A movement like this must be able to defend itself. I would wager there are other ability users among them — not merely ordinary folk and those who’ve been ‘cleansed.’ The rhetoric of the Equalizers may center around humanity at large, but in reality, they likely have little to do with it. At its core, this is a war between people like us."

"Yes," Fukuzawa agreed. "A battle of gods and monsters."

Ranpo, ever the showman, delivered his grand conclusion:

"As I see it, this isn’t true nullification of abilities — it’s some manner of hypnosis. But one way or another, these Equalizers pose a serious threat to all ability users."

"You deduced this with your Super Deduction?" Kunikida asked, with the sort of reverence only the naive could muster. Ah, Kunikida, forever hopeless.

"No, this was just regular deduction," Ranpo replied with a smug grin. "You see, England’s ability users are far better organized than ours. They are registered, governed by law, and overseen by a specialized institution known as the Witenagemot. A movement like the Equalizers cannot have gone unnoticed — surely someone, be it the government or another faction, would have intervened. And yet, they continue to operate unchallenged. No records of conflicts, no retaliations, nothing. Apart from the press, the world seems content to ignore them. The logical conclusion? Joanne has a means of making her adversaries look the other way. A simple bribe wouldn’t suffice — not at the highest levels of power—so I considered the possibility of hypnosis.

"Now, one could argue that the Equalizers possess two distinct abilities — hypnosis and nullification. But, following Occam’s razor, why multiply entities unnecessarily? Hypnosis alone would be sufficient. After all, if one is utterly convinced that they have lost their ability, then for all intents and purposes, they have."

Magnificent. A chilling thought crept into my mind: had Ranpo at last resigned himself to the truth that he was no ability user at all? Otherwise, why else would he suddenly deign to explain his reasoning in terms even the unenlightened could follow?

Regardless, I had reached these same conclusions some time ago.

"In the end, the difference is purely semantic," Fukuzawa remarked sensibly. "If hypnosis is powerful enough to convince a person beyond a shadow of a doubt that they have been stripped of their ability, then for all practical purposes, they have been. And hypnosis is far worse — it does not merely take one's power, it reshapes the very fabric of their mind."

He was right. It was all utterly wretched.

"Gentlemen, I believe you’re overstating the danger," I said with a lighthearted grin. "After all, we are safely in Japan, not England. This sect is no threat to us, and should we decide to meddle, we risk making an exceedingly powerful enemy."

What I thought, however, was quite the opposite: we needed to act. And swiftly.

In any war, there are only two true paths to victory. The first — seize the initiative from the outset and never relinquish it. The second — feign weakness, lull the enemy into complacency, and strike only when the moment is ripe. Either way, surprise is paramount. And the longer we waited, the more our opponent would learn about us. If Saint Joanne had any wits about her, she was, at this very moment, gathering every scrap of intelligence on ability users across the world, identifying potential threats. And once she realized that I — above all others — was someone to be wary of, our element of surprise would be lost.

"...Though perhaps," I added with a theatrical sigh, "it wouldn’t be so bad if the Equalizers were to put an end to my wretched existence..."

"Dazai, joking about suicide past the age of thirteen is appallingly tasteless."

Ah, Kunikida, so reliably tedious. Chuuya had a similar attitude toward my gallows humor, though, naturally, his sentiments were conveyed in a far cruder dialect of street brawls and broken bottles. But what did any of them understand? If one cannot jest about death, what else remains to joke about? The world offers precious little in the way of mirth — most things are dull, or terrifying, or tragic, or wretched, or hideous...

"And you, Kunikida-ku~n, were clearly born to be a particularly insufferable schoolteacher," I sang out in mock cheer.

"You—!"

We fell into our usual squabbling, and the previous topic was deftly swept aside — precisely as I had intended.

I had a plan. But this was not the time to share it.

Fortunately, I had my dear, wonderful Atsushi — an angel incarnate, a Saint George among dragons, a Peter with the keys to paradise. Loyal as a hound, he would bring me even a rose from the Beast’s castle, should I ask.

And ask I did.

I painted the situation in the grimmest of shades, hinted — far from subtly — that a fighter of his caliber might well succeed in putting an end to the Equalizers. I also requested that he keep this mission strictly confidential within the Agency.

“Only within the Agency?” Atsushi asked after a thoughtful pause.

Feigning mild perplexity, I replied in a tone of playful incredulity, as if the very notion amused me:

“Where else? Surely, you’re not planning to run to the Mafia and pour your heart out to Mori, are you, Atsushi?”

He looked flustered, then chuckled nervously.

“No, definitely not Mori...”

Of course, I knew exactly whom he intended to confide in. Atsushi and Akutagawa had grown rather close of late, and in this particular case, that suited my purposes splendidly. I wouldn’t have bothered asking Akutagawa for anything myself — my former protégé regarded me as though I were afflicted with leprosy, and whenever fate forced us into proximity, he would glare at me with such comically indignant fury that one could almost hear the gnashing of teeth. But one thing was certain: wherever Atsushi went, Akutagawa would follow, driven by that peculiar brand of obsessive concern he harbored for him.

Both boys were formidable in battle. I had taken to calling them, in private jest, the "New Double Black" — not, of course, that they had yet attained the seamless synchrony of Chuuya and myself. They still needed time to grow accustomed to each other’s movements, their rhythm not yet honed to perfection. But even so, together, they made a force to be reckoned with. It was not outside the realm of possibility that they might, by some stroke of luck, eliminate the sect outright — a rather dull outcome, perhaps, but undeniably the most favorable one. Not that I was counting on it. No, I fully expected them to return empty-handed — and that is when things would become truly interesting.

Why was I so certain they would return at all? Ah, but that was the simplest equation of all. What, realistically, could Joanne do to Atsushi and Akutagawa? Two possibilities: kill them or send them back, stripped of their abilities and thoroughly reconditioned. Naturally, she would recognize that two volatile young men arriving in England unbidden were unlikely to be acting on their own initiative. Someone had sent them — someone powerful. And to that someone, she would wish to send a message.

Killing them? A fine choice, but a bit too pedestrian. Stripping them of their abilities, however — now that had a far more dramatic appeal. The perfect calling card: I have no idea who you are, but you sent me your best warriors, and they were nothing but playthings in my hands. Here, take them back. Sign here. And don’t come knocking again.

If I were in her place, that’s precisely what I would have done.

Now, it might seem absurd to sacrifice two such powerful pieces right at the outset. And you would be absolutely right. That is precisely why I did it — because no one would expect it. Atsushi and Akutagawa were a baited hook, but not some flimsy little lure easily dismissed. No, they were substantial enough to wound my fish, to ensure she took the threat seriously rather than brushing it aside as she might have done had I sent lesser pawns. I needed her attention. I needed her invested. And I knew that once she took the bait, she would send someone to follow the trail back to Japan. Faced with such serious opponents as Atsushi and Akutagawa, Saint Joanne would rightly decide that the person who sent them cannot be underestimated. She will send her strongest henchmen to find and eliminate him. Which meant, I would immediately understand what the balance of the chessboard is.

While the boys were in London, I maintained contact with Atsushi, though his reports were disappointingly dull. A few details about the sect, but nothing of great significance — getting close to Joanne herself proved as difficult as I had anticipated. Then, quite abruptly, the line went dead. And that was when I knew.

The fish had taken the hook.

I met them at Narita Airport myself, the very image of a doting mother hen — though, naturally, they had no inkling of my presence. I already knew their flight details; passenger lists may be confidential, but I made a habit of checking Atsushi’s emails and had found their return tickets — obscenely overpriced, clearly purchased in haste, and most likely not even by him.

I observed their fellow passengers with keen interest. Roughly half the plane consisted of foreigners, but it didn’t take me long to pick out the ones trailing my boys. Four of them — one man, three women. A rather colorful group, though hardly discreet. Not that they needed to be; Atsushi and Akutagawa had returned from their English misadventure in such a wretched state that they wouldn’t have noticed their own shadows, let alone a team of pursuers walking two steps behind them.

The English were watching Atsushi and Akutagawa.

And I? I was watching the English.

Everything was proceeding splendidly. I had planned to send the boys some subtle signal, lest their reckless instincts lead them charging straight to me — neither of them, bless their hearts, was particularly renowned for their strategic restraint. But, miracle of miracles, they went exactly where they needed to, without so much as a hint from me.

And right on their heels, their pursuers followed.

To Chuuya.