Chapter 1

Page 1/3

Fourteen Years Old (Part One)

Late night. Bar. Yokohama.

When these three words are combined, they rarely conjure up pleasant images—especially in a city still shrouded by the Port Mafia, where gunshots can still be heard echoing through the nighttime streets.

However, perhaps one exception is a certain bar named “Lupin.” The reason, most likely, is its emptiness: except for a bartender polishing glasses with slow deliberation, only a young man with reddish-brown hair sits alone at the counter, drinking. No other customers are present.

But this quiet lull is soon disrupted. Someone pushes open the bar’s door, and a voice, still boyish and cheerful enough to be called “youthful,” rings out.

“You’re early, Oda!” A boy in a black suit, one eye and half his face hidden under bandages, nearly bounces into the room. “Your job must be much easier and more fun than mine, huh? You even get off work earlier—”

“How nice! I wish I could swap jobs with you, Oda—”

Chattering merrily, he sits next to the red-haired youth and raises a bandaged hand toward the bartender. “Boss, give me a drink with detergent in it, please!”

“We don’t serve that here.”

The third person enters right behind him and takes a seat at an empty spot on the other side. This youth, wearing round glasses and with a beauty mark at the corner of his mouth, speaks in a tone as though he might drop dead any minute. “Every time we come here, you ask for something impossible like that. Dazai, when will you tire of this boring game? Boss, just my usual, please.”

A glass filled with golden liquor is quickly set before him.

He takes a large gulp and exhales deeply. “—Alive again.”

“How long has it been since you last clocked out, Ango?” Dazai peeks over from the other side of the counter, his single amethyst eye reflecting scattered light.

“Four days? Five? Doesn’t matter. If I never clock out, I never have to clock in…” Sakaguchi Ango mutters something so dreadful that even Dazai unconsciously inches his seat a bit farther away.

At last, Oda speaks.

“Dazai, Ango.” He sets down his glass, looking somewhat troubled. “There’s something important I’d like to ask you both.”

No matter what they were doing, both now turn their attention to him.

“What is it, Oda?” Dazai’s voice is light, but it doesn’t mean he’s not taking it seriously.

Whatever Oda asked, he’d likely be happy to help—this much is clear from his demeanor.

And so, the Port Mafia’s youngest executive in history, infamous in the underworld as the “Worrier,” hears a perplexed question from his friend.

“If someone wants to sign a contract and debut as a singer, what should they pay attention to and prepare for?”

“Huh?!” x2.

“Oda, are you thinking of debuting as a singer?” Ango pushes up his glasses, unable to help asking.

This was something completely unthinkable when attached to the name “Odasaku,” so absurd that Ango almost thought it must be some April Fool’s joke.

Even Ango is at a loss for words!

“No, not me,” Oda explains.

“It’s Uta.”

***

“Bang,” “snap,” “thud!”

—Those were the sounds coming from the bedroom next door.

A girl with beautiful, pale golden hair and crystal violet eyes, her features refined and lovely, set down her pen and sighed.

Soon, the chaotic noises ceased, replaced by children’s laughter and pleas for mercy: “We give up! We surrender! So ticklish, Oda! Ceasefire!”

Page 2/3

Uta stood up and opened the study door. The bedroom door next door was open, so she could clearly see the scene inside—a red-haired young man was tickling an eight-year-old boy under the arms, making him twist and laugh uncontrollably; the other four children, sitting or standing, gazed at them with sparkling eyes.

The sound of the door opening drew everyone’s attention, and they all turned to look at Uta standing in the doorway.

“Big Sister!” The youngest, a three-year-old girl, stumbled unsteadily across the room and threw herself into Uta’s arms.

Uta held her effortlessly, then looked up at Oda.

“You’re here, Oda,” she nodded. “I have something to discuss with you.”

Oda released the boy he’d been “punishing” and looked toward the blonde girl.

“I want to debut as a singer.”

At thirteen, the girl’s face still bore the innocence of childhood, yet her features were already refined, hinting at the beauty she’d possess when grown. Oda had to admit, if Uta really debuted as an idol, her looks alone would make her popular.

But Uta didn’t wish to be just any idol—she wanted to be a singer. That wasn’t a barrier easily crossed.

And because of his own past and profession, even though Oda knew little of the entertainment industry, he understood that it held darkness no less than the Port Mafia’s.

In short, for Oda, Uta’s desire to become a singer was as troubling as Kosuke’s dream of joining the Port Mafia when he grew up.

He rarely interfered with others’ decisions, not even the children he cared for. But when the path ahead seemed so dark, even Oda couldn’t simply agree.

“Why do you want to debut as a singer, Uta?” he asked sincerely.

The girl pursed her lips and frowned, shooting him a look of exasperation, as though disappointed in him.

“Let me ask you—haven’t you spent all your earnings on us?” Uta folded her arms, her gaze reminiscent of the interrogation room in the Port Mafia.

Oda tried to explain, “The Mafia pays well compared to other jobs, and my own needs are few—”

He didn’t get to finish before the girl cut him off.

“Wait, that’s entirely different.” Uta looked a little angry—though Oda couldn’t understand why. “That’s not a reason I can accept without guilt.”

The strong-willed girl said, “I have the ability. I should shoulder some of the burden.”

Oda thought he understood: “Is that why you want to be a singer?”

But not every singer makes money. Oda told her so.

Yet Uta merely lifted her chin with pride. “That may be true,” she said, “but I won’t be one of them.”

For a moment, a sharp gleam flashed in her eyes—a queen surveying her domain with casual indifference.

It was not arrogance or conceit. To Uta, she was merely stating a fact—a simple truth.

It was nearly a year ago that Uta arrived in this other world.

When it happened, it was silent, without warning. It was a day like any other, except for a thick fog that blanketed everything, cutting off her view.

Such weather wasn’t ideal for going out, but she suddenly craved ramen from her favorite shop.

She put on sunglasses and tucked her long, golden hair under a hat. After making sure she wouldn’t be recognized on the street, she grabbed her wallet, phone, and keys, and left.

But the further she walked, the stranger things became.

She’d been walking longer than usual, but there was still no sign of the ramen shop; worse, the city’s bustling streets were eerily empty.

When had things changed? Uta didn’t know. It seemed that the moment she noticed, everything was already different. Even her two Guardian Characters, Il and El, were nowhere to be found. She called for them, but there was no answer.

She grew nervous and uneasy but forced herself to stay calm and look for a way out. Fortunately, she was always strong and determined. She didn’t know how long she wandered in the fog, but finally, it began to dissipate.

—But that was not the end. In fact, it was the beginning of a much greater problem.

First, Uta realized she’d become younger.

Page 3/3

She had been fifteen, but now she seemed to be twelve again. And her surroundings were no longer the familiar streets and city. Everything was strange, dominated by five colossal, straight, black skyscrapers that reached into the clouds.

Even in all of Japan, Uta was certain she’d never heard of such buildings.

Lost and bewildered, she eventually encountered Oda, then a low-ranking Port Mafia member, moving and disposing of corpses. Despite a series of misunderstandings, Uta chose to trust him and left with him.

…Though she wasn’t sure why Oda thought she was an orphan who’d lost her parents on the streets, looking back, her own parents were hardly present in her life anyway.

In the days that followed, Uta gradually pieced together what had happened.

She didn’t know how or why, but she was no longer in her own world—she’d come to another, entirely different one.

This world was also modern Japan, but with many differences. Here, Guardian Characters didn’t exist; she never saw a single Heart’s Egg or Guardian Character with any child.

Now in this alternate Yokohama, a Mafia war had just ended, engulfing the whole city. Luckily, when Uta arrived, the war was winding down, and the man she met that day—Odasaku—decided to take her in. He later adopted five other orphans left parentless by the war.

Uta: …What kind of hopelessly good-hearted fool is this guy?

She was deeply shaken, but over time, she grew to accept Oda—and the impression of his “good-hearted foolishness” only deepened.

Now, nearly a year after the Dragon Head War, peace was gradually returning to Yokohama, and Uta felt she was finally adapting and integrating into life here.

As someone who was already fifteen at heart, had started working early, and considered herself an “adult,” Uta believed it was only right that she shoulder some responsibility for the family.

—One person’s earnings shouldn’t have to feed seven mouths, after all. Especially since there were six children; school fees alone would be a significant expense.

Fortunately, Uta had the ability and the means to earn money with relative ease.

She loved to sing. She was passionate about it. And singing could be both her career and a way to improve their lives.

There could be nothing more fortunate in the world.

Once he was sure she was genuinely determined, Oda didn’t react like many parents, suppressing a child’s aspirations simply because they differed from his own. Instead, he chose to support her.

“If this is a decision you’ve made after careful thought,” Oda said, “then I won’t object.”

“It’s just… there are so many things involved. I hope you’ll discuss them with me.”

He truly worried she might be deceived by a shady agency and sign a terrible, exploitative contract.

Uta understood his concerns and agreed without hesitation.

Yet even so, this decision still troubled Oda. That was why he brought it up with his friends tonight.

Both Dazai and Ango were far more knowledgeable in this area—he hoped for their advice.

“…So, that’s the situation.”

After briefly recounting everything, Oda took a few sips of his drink to soothe his throat, dry from speaking at length.

Dazai was already making a scene beside him. “Oh, come on, isn’t this super interesting? Oda never tells me anything about this!”

Compared to Dazai, Ango simply pushed up his glasses, exuding composure and reliability. “Signing a contract is no small matter. New artists, especially, often fall victim to unfair terms.”

“Oda, your concern is well-founded.”

Even Oda knew that much, having seen related news often enough. Even if he didn’t pay much attention, he’d heard about it—hence why he sought his friends’ advice.

In these matters, they were clearly more knowledgeable.

Dazai idly spun his glass. “If you’re looking for a reliable agency… I have a suggestion.”

Though a smile played on the boy’s lips, deep within those amethyst eyes was a darkness as unfathomable as a sunken abyss—one that could inspire both awe and fear.

His voice was like a siren’s song rising from the ocean’s depths, beguiling and dangerous.

“Oda, have you ever heard of the ‘Flag Society’?”