Next week.
April 19th, Episode 2 airs.
Arthur Rimbaud's eyelids twitch wildly. Under the joint investigation of Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuya, the culprit behind the "Aragato Incident" is revealed to be none other than Ran, the character in the anime who is always rustling around and afraid of the cold—the same Ran who gives him an uneasy feeling.
And then, this episode ended.
Still no explanation of Rando's true identity or why he could see the true form of "Araba Tsu" eight years ago.
At the end, Nakayama Nakaya claimed to be the "Arakawa God," which was quite the boast.
Arthur Rimbaud rolled his eyes,
"Japanese people just love to brag."
"I'm not watching anymore!"
He said that, but he rescheduled his flight out of Japan to the week after next. Yeah, I'll stay in Japan for one more week! No more procrastinating!
26 April, Episode 3 arrives as scheduled.
Arthur Rimbaud transforms into a shut-in, staying in his hotel room without going out. He buys an expensive Japanese ice-cold watermelon, cuts it in half, and eats it with a spoon, enjoying a life of decadence while watching TV.
As the anime plot unfolds—
he successfully chokes on the watermelon.
Rando revealed that he was a French psychic spy who came to Japan eight years ago, with the mission to take away "the high-energy unknown life form" Nakayama Nakaya. Rando did not directly reveal his real name, but during the battle against the Double Blacks, he said that "Rando" was the incorrect spelling and pronunciation of his name. At the time, he had lost his memory after the explosion, so he let it go.
So... isn't the correct pronunciation... and this ability called "Colorful Collection"...
Historically, after I left, it seems that Verlaine helped me compile and publish "Colorful Collection"? So this name should be one of my representative works???
Arthur Rimbaud was stunned.
Later, Rando, the first Frenchman in "Bungo Stray Dogs," died.
"Ahhhhhhh!!!"
"They let him die like that—like cannon fodder!!!"
Arthur Rimbaud was filled with righteous indignation over the death of his French compatriot. When he saw Nakayama Nakaya join the Port Mafia and Mori Ogai give Nakayama Nakaya a hat with the French name "Rimbaud" written inside, Arthur Rimbaud froze.
The ominous premonition had come true.
The anime wouldn't let an unknown person become the enemy of the Double Black.
"He's Rimbaud?!"
"This version of me is too weak!"
Arthur Rimbaud suddenly stood up, imagining his own death, and angrily ate a watermelon, "My reputation is greater than Nakayama Nakaya's, why can Nakayama Nakaya kill me?"
What happened to the story being about supernatural abilities?
This anger subsided slightly when he saw Nakayama Nakaya paying respects at Arthur Lambe's grave. Nakayama Nakaya had a good nature; the desire to avoid death was a natural instinct for all living beings, and no one could force Nakayama Nakaya, who had taken human form, to sacrifice himself for Lambe's mission.
The next moment.
Arthur Rimbaud was filled with resentment.
Because this brat was sitting on Rantō's tombstone, calling him "old brother"!
"If I could see you, I'd beat you up."
Do you even know how to respect your elders?
Not to mention the age gap between you and Rando, you could clearly call him uncle. The time gap between our births is fifty-three years!
Artur Rimbaud no longer waited for the fourth episode next week and left Japan.
He had a business deal to negotiate.
Making money comes first!
On 1 August, Kadokawa Shoten in Japan released the sixth volume, "Dazai, Nakaya, Fifteen Years Old," which corresponds to the first three episodes of the third season of the anime.
Artur Rimbaud was not in Japan, so he was unaware of this.
Later, the original author of the sixth volume added additional content, revising the ending of the work. At twenty-nine years old, Artur Lanbo celebrated his birthday and decided to buy himself a birthday gift, finally purchasing the book overseas.
Living abroad, he eagerly awaited the international delivery, cursing the slow speed of the courier service, completely forgetting that deliveries were even slower at the end of the 19th century.
"The text version should clarify Ran's identity."
With this in mind, Arthur Rimbaud finished reading the novel.
He was furious.
His expression cracked.
Eight years ago, Rando had come to Japan with his partner Verlaine on a mission. During the mission, his partner betrayed him, leaving him severely injured and losing his memory. He was then recruited into the port mafia. After finally regaining his memory, Rando was determined to find his partner and complete the mission, only to suddenly remember that his partner was the betrayer.
In an instant, Rando felt a deep sense of despair.
What was even more ruthless was the additional content: a year after Rando's death, Paul Verlaine appeared at the Port Mafia headquarters, stole information about Rando, and laughed, thinking that it was good that his friend was dead, so he didn't have to kill him himself.
Paul Verlaine's mind was filled with his own kind—Zhongyuan Zhongya, an artificially created being from the Japanese government's military base.
Rampo?
Just a partner who died in Japan.
Is this partner's mind poisoned? Is the person who shared life and death with you not as good as your younger brother??
After learning the "causes and consequences" of Rando's incident and reading the additional content featuring Paul Verlaine, Artur Rimbaud's anger turned into a raging fire, and his eyes suddenly became fierce.
He kicked over the table, his toes throbbing in pain.
"Paul Verlaine… a Norse god? What part of you resembles a god? Go to hell!!!"
Daring to betray "me".
I've never suffered such a loss in my life!
...
Los Angeles, United States.
The Hollywood superstar who had hit it off with Arthur Rimbaud sat cross-legged in a high-end restaurant, ordering food, and asked in surprise, "You're so angry just from reading a Japanese light novel?"
Arthur Rimbaud said, "It's more than just anger. I haven't had an appetite for days."
Arthur Rimbaud didn't care if people laughed at him; he spoke confidently, "I share the same name as the poet Rimbaud. Maybe my parents thought I was his reincarnation, so I hate it when people slander him. They actually killed him off in Japan."
After hearing the entire plot, Leonardo laughed so hard he was bent over.
"You're too into it."
"Don't tell me you don't feel anything. You were once 'Rimbaud' too."
"You're talking about something that happened over twenty years ago."
Leonardo shrugged. At forty-four, he had entered middle age, with the marks of time on his face, particularly pronounced forehead wrinkles, but his face was still more handsome than most.
Arthur Rimbaud sat across from him. Leonardo looked at him as if he were looking in a mirror, seeing his younger self, the one who once dominated Hollywood with his extraordinary talent. No wonder his heart skipped a beat when he first saw Rimbaud, marveling at the wonders of the world.
"At that time, I was twenty years old and desperately wanted to prove myself like other actors, to win an award. The biographical film became my opportunity."
Leonardo recounted the past slowly.
Arthur Rimbaud listened, his fingers unconsciously curling. Those blue eyes, once hailed as the "wandering angel" in the late 19th century, were filled with a clear yet hazy substance.
"When I first read the script, I learned about Rimbaud. I played him at sixteen… no, seventeen." Leonardo recalled the past. "He was truly a unique individual, writing poetry that others couldn't write and doing things others dared not do. I was eager to portray such a special character."
"Many people praised my performance, saying I captured Rimbaud's innocence and coldness, but there were still many shortcomings... people just didn't bother to point them out."
Leonardo was well aware of the film's biggest flaw: a twenty-year-old actor forced to portray the thirty-seven-year-old, sickly, and weathered Rimbaud in the film's later stages.
He could portray a teenager on the fringes of society, but he couldn't portray the middle-aged Rimbaud, as their social experiences and physical appearances were too different. At the time, he wore fake beard, made up to look middle-aged, and tried to sound older, but his cheeks were still fair and youthful, giving him a distinctly teenage appearance. This makes Leonardo laugh every time he watches the film now.
Arthur Rimbaud suddenly remarked offhandedly, "You're suited for it now."
The person before him seemed like the future "him," with the hardships of life already etched into his eyes.
The middle-aged Hollywood superstar smiled, composed yet seeming to ponder something amusing, and suddenly said, "Do you want to remake *The Heart of Darkness*?" I'll direct it, you'll star in it, and I'd be happy to play the dying Rimbaud again."
Arthur Rimbaud laughed and scolded, "Get lost, you might be happy, but I'm not."
Arthur Rimbaud asked him maliciously, "You're not gay, so kissing 'Paul Verlaine' in the film must be disgusting, right?"
The other replied lazily, "I don't remember. If I had to say, men aren't as good as women. I love beautiful women, but at that time..." He tried to think, his brow furrowed, "I was thinking, I'm Rimbaud, so I wouldn't care about his appearance."
Arthur Rimbaud scolded, "He's a bald, drunk, pitiful man!"
The other person burst into laughter, "He's also a freeloader!"
Finally, their eyes met, and Leonardo said with a knowing look, "But he's a good poet. Have mercy on him. We should forgive his flaws beyond his talent. After all, only Oscar Wilde is shallow enough to judge by appearance."
Arthur Rimbaud chuckled. Talking to this man was interesting. In the past, he would have definitely become friends with him and vented about the outside world together.
No, now, they had miraculously become friends despite the age difference.
"Your little belly seems to have shrunk a lot." Arthur Rimbaud squeezed next to Leonardo and poked his middle-aged, overweight belly with his finger.
"I've lost over twenty pounds," Leonardo said excitedly.
"Poor thing, you're only eating fruits and vegetables," Arthur Rimbaud glanced at the feast on the table, noting that the other hadn't touched any high-calorie foods.
"Ah, for my girlfriend," Leonardo sighed, "My pizza, my chicken legs, my burgers! They've all left me!"
Leonardo reached out his claws toward Arthur Rimbaud.
"Even though I can't eat them, if you eat them for me, I'll be happy too. Hurry up and gain some weight, kid. You're too skinny. How can you be so much skinnier than I was at your age? I have to recommend the best pizza in all of Hollywood to you!"
"Ouch, don't pinch my waist, I'm ticklish—hahaha—"
As long as life doesn't weigh you down, everyone can live like a teenager and hold onto their lost youth. Arthur Rimbaud's laughter echoed as he leaned back on the sofa behind the dining table, showing no trace of the solemnity and quietness of someone who had been on the battlefield and worked as an arms dealer.
Leonardo teased, "How old are you? How come you don't even have a steady girlfriend? Should I recommend one for you?"
Arthur Rimbaud couldn't stand the tickling, his eyes sparkling with a sea-like glow, a natural beauty that couldn't be faked. It could be said that at the same age, Europeans and Americans would find it hard to maintain such peak good looks.
"I'm twenty-nine, just a year younger than you."
"Haven't you had enough fun yet?"
"Of course not. I want to keep playing for the rest of my life. I'll think about marriage when I'm tired of it."
"I thought you were a non-marriage advocate?"
"People change, just like you, just like me… I thought you'd keep getting fatter, but I never expected you'd secretly lose weight! Haha!"
Artur Lambeau's sarcasm and mockery drew a slap from the other person.
Artur Lambeau froze.
Leonardo looked at his palm and said pretentiously, "Nice touch. No wonder you're more than ten years younger than me. You can even create a butt wave when you slap someone's butt."
Artur Lambeau cursed and sat down across from him.
"You've exposed your ugly true nature. You're clearly jealous that I'm more handsome than you."
"Kid, when I was sweeping the globe, you were still breastfeeding."
"Who knows if you were breastfeeding?"
Artur Lambo sneered.
He was born in 8554, over a century earlier than the other man.
"I don't believe no one chases after you. Why do I see so little gossip about you?" Leonardo picked up the magazine beside him, flipping through several pages before finding a mention of Arthur Rimbaud. The other party was so low-key it was almost unbelievable. "These paparazzi have lost their touch. Back in the day, they'd hide in my room to take photos."
Arthur Rimbaud complained, "All the fans are after you. They're reminiscing about your past looks, wishing they could get something out of me."
He lit a cigarette in the private dining room, holding it between his fingers and exhaling a circular puff of smoke, his posture exuding seasoned confidence.
The cigarette rested between his healthy, rosy lips, and the man was undeniably sexy.
"I'll never be anyone's stand-in."
He was himself.
The one and only Arthur Rimbaud, forever drifting and travelling.
...