Soon after, the Szuts training camp welcomed a new batch of recruits.
Artur Rimbaud successfully passed the competitive preliminary screening, while others who were even more physically fit than him were rejected. He was quick-witted, spoke fluent French, and was charming and articulate. Those who signed up as mercenaries came from all walks of life, yet he could get along with anyone.
The training camp assigned code names to the new recruits.
There was no choice; whoever drew a code name got it, no frills.
Hellish training began.
The intensity of the morning and evening training, coupled with the strict demands for obedience, made it unbearable for the talkative Arthur Rimbaud. Every day, there were those who withdrew from the training camp due to injuries, but Arthur Rimbaud gradually learned to endure, curb his personality, and vowed not to let others look down on him, officially becoming a member of the French Foreign Legion.
A year later, he regained his own name.
Another year passed, and he survived the first two tough years, heading to Africa as promised to carry out missions and earn higher pay.
Every time he wanted to give up, he would think of the biography of "Arthur Rimbaud."
Those lives… he swore he would experience them too!
In the third year, Arthur Rimbaud panicked and wanted to flee. The living conditions in the war-torn region were unbearable, with a high mortality rate, and he did not want to lose his life on the battlefield.
Unfortunately, he did not get far before the corps captured him and brought him back.
He received a terrible lesson.
His French army officer went to great lengths to hone this talent, yet also protected Arthur Rimbaud, sparing him from the humiliations of military life. Arthur Rimbaud, tears in his eyes, cursed his opponents daily in various languages, participated in the most dangerous battles, and saw his fair, delicate skin ruined, becoming rough and tanned like wheat.
By the fourth year, Arthur Rimbaud had become a seasoned veteran in the foreign mercenary regiment.
He indulged in drinking, gambling, and womanising.
He never touched another man again and rejected same-sex love.
During this time, he only spoke flirtatiously to women, offering insightful critiques of foreign women's virtues and flaws, and even slept with African indigenous women.
He justified it by saying, "If the historical 'Rimbaud' slept with them, I want to sleep with them too!"
It seemed as though he would be at a disadvantage if he didn't do so.
In the fifth year, his service ended.
The brutal mercenary life came to an end. Arthur Rimbaud emerged unscathed from among countless teammates, standing in his white military uniform under the French flag to swear allegiance, obtain French citizenship, and secure permanent residency.
Teammates who missed this opportunity would have to work another two years to join the French nationality.
Arthur Rimbaud, with his spiky haircut, bright eyes, and no longer youthful face, now lean and angular, looked like a man who had fought in battle.
He stood once again on the soil of Paris, France, and examined himself.
"I'm free!!!"
Forget about renewing his contract with the legion—he was done with it!
After collecting his hard-earned pay, his pockets bulging, he visited the cemetery and then fled his French hometown again, as if a hundred angry bulls were chasing him, leaving his superiors who had hoped he would join the regular army furious.
Setting off again from France, he continued to write a new chapter in his life. Leveraging the connections he had made among mercenaries, he sold coffee beans while keeping an eye on arms deals.
His footsteps spanned Europe, Africa, and Asia.
He didn't push himself too hard, taking breaks between jobs and spending heavily on health checks and recuperation, prioritising "staying alive" above all else.
He worked as a sailor at sea, no longer mocked as a youngster; he worked as a photojournalist, capturing the most precious images in the most chaotic places. He treated his own biography as a life compass, determined to outperform others, travel the farthest, earn the most money, and witness the most diverse landscapes.
Arthur Rimbaud shone brightly in the field he chose.
Some say he is the reincarnation of "Rimbaud," having chosen the same name.
Others say he is a madman, a ruthless capitalist, willing to consider any deal that is profitable and interesting, without caring about the consequences.
Arthur Rimbaud dined with Hollywood's Leonardo DiCaprio and visited the grave of Oscar Wilde in England, where he was surprised by the red lipstick marks on the tombstone. He then borrowed a lipstick from a woman who admired Wilde, casually smeared it on his lips, and with a "smack," crossed a century of time to send Wilde a kiss.
"I misjudged you."
"You are indeed an interesting man."
"Hahaha, how should I put it—you're even worse off than Verlaine!"
Arthur Rimbaud left nonchalantly.
He went to a British bookstore and bought Oscar Wilde's works. Even when he caught a glimpse of a French poetry collection out of the corner of his eye, it no longer looked like a pile of shit to him.
In the café, Arthur Rimbaud leaned against the window, reading *The Picture of Dorian Gray*. Seeing the description of the handsome young man in the book, he couldn't help but touch his own cheek, his expression falling: "I was handsome back then too."
The proof was that Oscar Wilde had once asked him out!
Looking at historical photos of Bosie, he didn't think he was any worse than Bosie, and Paul Verlaine had been obsessed with him for the rest of his life.
"Hmph."
Arthur Rimbaud found the coffee a bit bitter.
Alright, he needed to take care of his appearance. He couldn't let himself go—Leonardo, who was older than him and addicted to pizza, was a cautionary tale!
"I don't like pizza." Arthur Rimbaud resolutely gave up on ordering.
Eight years passed in the blink of an eye.
Time had come full circle to the spring of 2019, the season of cherry blossom viewing.
Arthur Lambeau had lightened his skin tone, so it wasn't too dark, and his limbs were slender and long. He had his hair styled by a hairdresser and presented himself in the best possible light when he visited Saeko Hosokawa. The full-time housewife in her thirties had changed dramatically, with a thicker waist, thicker arms, a rounder face, and a gentle and leisurely expression. She no longer had to worry about work every day.
Saeko Hosokawa gave Arthur Rimbaud a set of hardcover light novels.
Arthur Rimbaud generously gave Saeko Hosokawa a VIP card for a beauty salon, earning praise from the lady: "Mr. Rimbaud truly understands women!"
As he was leaving, Saeko Hosokawa said, "Make sure to finish reading the novels."
Arthur Rimbaud agreed.
Returning to the hotel he had booked in Tokyo, Arthur Rimbaud took a shower, stepped out of the bathroom completely naked, his body bearing scars from his days as a mercenary. He leaned back on the sofa, his buttocks firm and rounded, carelessly wetting the sofa.
He had pure golden-blonde hair, which had remained that colour even after adulthood, a rarity.
As a result, many people assumed he had dyed his hair.
Arthur Rimbaud ignored all the "slanderous" remarks about himself. Proving whether his hair was blonde or not was simple, but why should he take off his pants to show them?
Arthur Rimbaud developed a slight interest in the novel recommended by Aiko Hosokawa.
He slowly read the title on the cover in Japanese.
"Bungo Stray Dogs?"
...
It took a few days, but Arthur Rimbaud enjoyed cherry blossom viewing in Japan and finished reading the first volume, "Dazai Osamu and the Membership Test," the second volume, "Dazai Osamu and the Dark Age," the third volume, "The Secret History of the Detective Agency's Establishment," the fourth volume, "55 Minutes," and the fifth volume, "Literary Dogs: BEAST," which was released on April 1st...
These novels all tell the stories of Japanese literary giants who abandoned their pens to take up arms, with highly creative plots and a fascinating world of supernatural battles.
Only a few questions remained in Arthur Rimbaud's mind.
Who was Dazai Osamu?
Who was Nakahara Chūya?
Who was Mori Ōgai?
Fukuzawa Yukichi, oh... I recognise that name; he's the one on Japanese banknotes. Are these obscure Japanese writers really that powerful? Can they compete with European writers?!
He didn't know, but when he looked it up, Arthur Rimbaud was shocked to find that someone was hailed as "Japan's Rimbaud." Did someone actually learn from his terrible past? Fortunately, upon closer inspection, he found that Nakahara Nakahara in Japan didn't learn from him in terms of finding men, but was only influenced by him in terms of poetic style, giving him a "psychic" aura.
After finishing the novel, Arthur Rimbaud thought the rest of the day would be boring, but then Aiko Hosokawa messaged him, inviting him to watch an anime together.
Arthur Rimbaud firmly refused: "That's too childish."
In his mind, that was something for children to watch.
What he should be watching were international news, financial newspapers, *Playboy*, *Victoria's Secret*, and other things befitting the taste of an adult man.
Hosokawa Aiko reluctantly gave up and could only watch anime with her son, exploring the world of literary geniuses with supernatural abilities.
Arthur Rimbaud put down his phone and immediately opened his computer to search for related information. He discovered that the novel he had read covered the first two seasons of the anime, and that the third season of *Literary Masters and Dogs* was set to premiere in late April!
Arthur Rimbaud sighed, "Why did they release the anime first and then the novel?"
This process was too tantalising.
Having been spoiled by modern films, Arthur Rimbaud reluctantly looked forward to it and sat in front of the TV on 12 April, waiting for the third season to air.
"What's this? It's a little boy and an old man."
Arhtur Rimbaud saw Mori Ōgai complaining about being penniless in the anime and muttered a complaint.
Fifteen years old.
What was he doing at that age?
Arthur Rimbaud recalled that he hadn't been as reckless as the other guy, running off to join the underworld at such a young age, living with a mafia boss, and not caring about his family's tears.
The animation's plot was undoubtedly fresh and interesting, enriching the novel's content.
Arthur Rimbaud stopped yawning, blinked his blue eyes, and watched Dazai Osamu's every move on the television. He stood up, walked to the bar, and poured himself a glass of red wine.
His golden hair cascaded down his adult man's back, like a flickering Hawaiian sun, exuding an unconventional heat. His appearance was no less impressive than that of a two-dimensional character, standing nearly 1.9 metres tall, lean where he should be, and muscular and powerful where he needed to be, like a leopard lurking in the jungle.
The animation was playing.
Fifteen-year-old Dazai Osamu was investigating the "resurrection" of the former leader of the Port Mafia when he encountered another fifteen-year-old, Nakayama Nakaya. An accident occurred along the way, and Nakayama Nakaya fell into the hands of the Port Mafia. At that moment, the orange-haired youth sat in a chair in front of the leader, unable to move, restrained by a psychic.
"Who is this black-haired man?"
Arthur Rimbaud instinctively glanced at the man who had not appeared in the novel.
With a different appearance from the Japanese, this character resembled a European, with more pronounced features and a tall, slender build.
["I'm freezing to death."]
The black-haired man with long curly hair spoke, releasing golden energy from his hands to remotely suppress Nakayama Nakaya's limbs.
He was wrapped in numerous layers of warm clothing, as if he lived in a winter world.
Sweat dripped down drop by drop.
It was unclear whether it was sweat from heat or cold.
Arthur Rimbaud was captivated by the man and laughed, "I didn't expect there to be someone who fears the cold more than I do. I just don't like going out in winter."
This man must be freezing all year round?
His name is also strange—
Rantou?
A candidate for the Port Mafia's leadership?
Upon hearing Mori Ōgai's reference to this cold-sensitive man, Arthur Rimbaud was startled, quickly set down his wine glass, and searched his phone to see if there was a writer named Rantou in Japan.
Answer: No!
Arthur Rimbaud frowned and hesitated, "An original character?" He felt uneasy because all the named characters in Bungo Stray Dogs were real-life writers, and this character had already appeared in the first episode of the third season.
The episode ended quickly.
There was no further mention of Rantou's existence.
However, he would have to wait an entire week for the next episode to air.
Arthur Rimbaud: Annoying!
He flopped onto the sofa, burying his face in the cushion. No one knew whether he was annoyed by the weekly release schedule of the anime or the man's black hair and green eyes.
[That eye colour... it's definitely not mine!]
...