COS Dazai Osamu’s I Got Into the Conan Crew

"...Haruhiko Oba...dead?" Alves stood outside the mansion under construction and maintenance with a complicated expression.

In his hand, he held a completed painting.

"The funeral of the director of Elland has already been held, don't you know?" The construction worker looked at the sloppy painter and said.

Of course he didn't know.

He was still drunk on the Avisus cruise ship known as the Sea Nation.

When he finally finished the painting and thought about sending it to his creditor to pay off the debt first, he realized that Haruhiko Oba was already dead.

But…

His painting has not yet been handed over to the owner of the painting.

"Can I go in and take a look?" asked the sloppy-looking artist.

"Who are you?" The worker looked at him suspiciously.

"I am..." The painter carried the painting tools on his back.

"Mr. Haruhiko's friend." He walked into the mansion with ease.

"Mr. Haruhiko... Do you still have such a friend?" The worker looked at the back of the painter who had gone away, and his tone was puzzled.

Then shook his head.

How could he know the idea of ​​such a big man...

Although…

Even a big man is dead.

…

The painter Alves passed by the flowers quietly.

The white roses are still in full bloom.

This castle-like building Alves has visited many times.

Sometimes late at night, sometimes during the day.

Sometimes sober, sometimes drunk.

The owner of the castle never refused his visit.

Alves remembered the scene of his first visit.

In the dim candlelight of the castle, a gentle and elegant man came slowly in a wheelchair, holding a fragile and delicate boy.

"I need you to paint me and Shuji."

"Record the precious memories of my time with Shuzhi."

Every year since then, Alves has painted more than two paintings for them.

Haruhiko Oba is a gentle man who makes people think he looks like a god.

Only God can forgive everything so calmly.

And that kid...

The appearance of nothing in his eyes is like the other side of God.

Whenever I paint the two of them, there is always a steady stream of inspiration.

It even made him forget everything and paint without eating or drinking.

He walked across the sofa in the hall.

I thought of the figure who once sat there drinking tea.

Walk up the stairs.

He remembered the boy who stood on the stairs in his pajamas that night, and looked down at him.

The paintings hanging on the walls have been taken down.

Alves can clearly recall which picture was originally placed in which position.

I can even remember what Haruhiko Oba said happily to the young master who was a child at the time when he got the first painting.

"This is the first documentary painting about us."

"There will be many more to come."

"If possible, I really want someone to record every moment I spend with Shuji..."

The gentle and elegant man who seemed to care about nothing said this with a pity.

Come to think of it now...

I am afraid that Haruhiko Oba was already prepared to be separated from the child he raised one day.

But…

Has Haruhiko Oba really thought about how he would leave?

Hole in the wall.

Fragments.

as well as…

Bloodstains that have not yet been wiped away.

Alves had already thought about the accident that happened that day.

Haruhiko Oba left.

What about the children he raised?

The little boy at that time...

Have you ever watched a loved one die?

Silently weeping beside the dead body of a loved one?

He should feel pity.

Alves thought.

But what fills his heart at the moment is only the endless desire to create.

Draw it, draw it, draw it—

Draw all the pictures you imagine in your mind—

There seemed to be countless people screaming in his ears.

He picked up the painting tools in a trance.

…

"boom-"

"Clang-crack-"

He fell to the ground, knocking over the tools at his feet.

He was twitching and sweating, but he stared at the chandelier with a dazed look, showing a satisfied smile.

This is his masterpiece.

only.

He closed his eyes.

…

"Hello, you are an international courier, please sign for it." The courier boy in blue and white overalls knocked on the door with a smile on his face.

"Express? Midorikawa—" the blond man who opened the door shouted into the house.

"Wang—"

The courier brother vaguely heard a dog barking.

A man with black hair and blue eyes came out.

"Is it your courier?" the blond man asked.

"No, I didn't buy anything..." Lu Chuanwu frowned.

"Did I send it wrong?" Amuro asked the courier brother.

"Impossible." The courier brother looked insulted.

"The address is here, I checked it three times." The courier said seriously.

"Who is the recipient?" Amuro asked, rubbing his forehead.

"Let me see..." The courier brother held the courier.

"Oba Haruhiko... close..." He lowered his head and said word by word.

"It's a courier from Mr. Haruhiko Oba." Then he raised his head and said excitedly.

"Oba Haruhiko... Who is it?" Amuro looked at Midorikawa with a blank expression.

"We... there is no one named Haruhiko Oba." Green Chuan smiled without a good temper, and said to the courier brother.

"But... the address is here..." The courier brother also felt embarrassed.

"Oba Haruhiko's courier?" The black-haired boy in a black nightgown opened the door.

"Who is the sender?" he asked as he came to the door.

"Yes...alves...it's Mr. Alves von Saxon." The courier brother confirmed it carefully.

"Mr. Alves..." The black-haired boy was thoughtful.

"I see."

"It's not wrong." He simply and neatly signed for the courier.

"Yes, I wish you a happy life." The delivery boy bowed ninety degrees and left.

"Who is Alves?" Amuro looked curiously at the huge box.

"A painter." The black-haired boy sat cross-legged on the ground and opened the courier.

"A painter who paints for me and my uncle." He replied casually.

"What is Haruhiko Oba...?" Midorikawa asked.

"Huh? Didn't I say it? It's my uncle." Tsushima Shuji asked in a puzzled tone.

"I remember what I said."

"Your memory..." A look of emotion.

"I remember." Lu Chuan smiled.

"Isn't he..." Is he dead?

Amuro touched his chin.

"Who said that you can't send things to dead people?" Tsushima Shuji looked like you were making such a fuss.

He has opened the courier.

Exposed wrapped in layers.

picture frame.

as well as…

painting.

The shattered chandelier was left with only a few scattered bulbs lit.

Dilapidated building.

Debris all over the place, blood droplets, collapsed walls.

Lying corpses, overturned wheelchairs.

And the man who was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, his eyes closed peacefully.

Except for the blood on his chest indicating his death.

and also…

Kneeling next to his corpse, with his head lowered, the black-haired boy couldn't see the expression on his face.

The wounds and bloodstains on the body are clearly drawn.

That was Shuji Tsushima.

Toru Amuro and Midorikawa recognized the boy in the painting at a glance.

They only knew that Haruhiko Oba was dead.

I don't know how Oba Haruhiko died.

I don't know why Kaa was wearing a white suit and sitting in a wheelchair on the day he came back.

Now…

There seems to be an answer.

The dead man in the painting, UU Reading www.uukanshu.com is also wearing a white suit.

That painter, as if he just painted the pictures he had seen, vividly.

"This painter..." Amuro frowned.

People who can see this scene with their own eyes.

It must have something to do with Haruhiko Oba's death.

and…

"These bloodstains... don't look like they were drawn with paint." Toru Amuro reached out and touched the bloodstains in the painting.

than paint...

This color is more like real blood.

"After all... it's not real enough to use a fake one."

"He is now..." Tsushima Shuji put away the painting.

"I'm afraid it's in the hospital." I don't know what I thought, and I smiled inexplicably.

"Hospital?" Toru Amuro and Midorikawa were silently surprised.

Kao is so sure...

Could it be that he did it?

"After all... such a picture was drawn."

This is not what he can see...

Now that you have seen it, or even painted it, you have to pay some price.

…

At the same time, the man lying in the hospital looked blank, as if he was still immersed in the thrill of painting with a brush, and his hands wrapped in gauze kept shaking.

"It's a godsend..."

"is God…"

"God-given inspiration..."

he murmured.

You can only experience it when you draw Haruhiko Oba and Shuji Tsushima.

It seems to be instilled with endless painting inspiration.

I can't wait for the desire to draw and paint all the time.

even if...

Give your life for this.