Ayanokouji’s Guide to Using Tools at Butei High - Chapter 1

The set clock emits a sound from afar that can shake the entire night sky, which is permeated with nothingness and silence.

As if to listen more clearly to the source of that dangerous warning alarm, I stop the movements of my hands and focus my gaze toward the direction of the sound coming through my earpiece. Even though my field of vision is already obstructed by the massive, towering clusters of buildings in Fuyuki City’s Shinto district, I still clearly know exactly how the hands of the clock at the source are overlapping at this moment, and how, like fellow travelers with different paces, they are gradually pulling away from each other.

Right now should be the changing of the day: 0 hours, 0 minutes, 0 seconds.

I am all too familiar with this time—so familiar that even with my eyes closed, I can feel time transforming into a tactile element pulsing against my blood vessels. It is as strange as a vibration caused by the resonance of low-frequency sounds that countless people cannot hear, making it impossible to cast aside the palpitations welling up in my heart.

“According to the rules of magi, any ordinary person who witnesses magecraft must be dealt with. I will use the swiftest spear to let you leave this world with the least amount of pain. Rest easy…”

It was a low yet clear voice. This was enough to indicate that the voice belonged to a handsome young man—one with an excellent vocal range, who carried himself with dignity and possessed the pride and self-respect of a warrior. That final sentence, “Rest easy,” carried a power that could comfort one’s soul.

It would have been even better if the ultimate goal of those words wasn’t to send me to my end.

I did not look back, because looking back would distract my attention.

The opponent’s spear whipped up a whistling wind that caused the vegetation to bend on its own.

I am unable to keep my back muscles relaxed in the face of such chilling killing intent; even if I maintain a calm and composed posture now, controlling every neural response is clearly still not easy for me. After all, this is an instinct preserved from ancient times to the present—an internal bodily function that automatically produces alertness and resistance toward external danger.

Then, amidst the dark night, I saw a light that only appears when a miracle occurs.

It’s here.

Location—Yokohama City.

It is currently 5:30 AM.

This is not a warm morning.

It is late winter, and it is still dark outside the window, which can cause one to fall into a state of confusion regarding the concept of time. The cold air of the morning makes one reluctant to leave the blankets. I already lack a certain level of self-control—or rather, that harsh, soldier-like self-discipline that follows every iron rule. After pressing down on the irritating phone alarm, I shrink back into the covers and close my eyes again.

Five minutes later, the alarm continues to ring.

With a mood of slight irritability and gloom, I turn off the phone alarm again and slowly crawl out from under the covers. The things I need to do for the entire day roll through my mind like a scroll, listing themselves one by one as I move.

I have to go to work today.

That is the key point.

How to slack off at work is probably a question that every person who adheres to Neo-Cynicism thinks about. In other words, it can also be said to be a problem of how to indulge one’s own passive attitude toward work—one cannot be too hardworking, yet one cannot be lazy either.

In the mirror, my hair is a bit messy. The slightly soft lines of my youth have faded, and my gaze is as dry and tasteless as ever. However, it is much better than a cold stare. I know more or less what kind of eyes people hate. At the very least, this look will only make others think I am a person lacking ambition, rather than someone intentionally looking for trouble.

I am not the type of person who enjoys looking in the mirror. After a quick glance at the bathroom mirror, I immediately withdraw my gaze.

After finishing my morning routine, I eat a simple breakfast. Miso soup and soy milk bread go quite well together. I suspect this is due to the harmony between fermented foods. However, after thinking this, I feel it is a very boring and rambling thought that someone would surely laugh at. Yet, since no one can hear me say it, I feel at ease mocking myself.

As I leave, I carefully close the door.

The apartment walls are very thin; I must close the door quietly, otherwise it will invite the neighbors’ dissatisfaction. If they complain to the landlord, it will be a big hassle for me. After all, I have no strength to deal with the landlord’s explosive, cannon-like condemnations.

This year I successfully reached the age of nineteen, having finished high school one year ago. Once late winter ends and the new semester begins, I will be a sophomore at the local university. I have two years left until graduation, and my major is Theoretical Physics. When I first started my freshman year, a senior put his arm around my shoulder and wailed, “Little junior, get ready to live with bachelors for the next four years.”

Without a doubt, that was a sound of despair that could only seep out from Les Misérables. Then, his voice rose as he told me some good news: actually, the building next door is the Foreign Language Department, where 80% of the students are female. But I estimated it wasn’t that simple; if it were truly useful intelligence, why would he tell me, a student he just met?

This isn’t me over-analyzing human hearts.

Unlike Eastern thinking, Western theories of human nature are based on individualism and liberalism. Christianity and Judaism are also founded on the theory that human nature is fundamentally evil. Therefore, being suspicious of a stranger is a behavior I believe at least 3.5 billion people would share.

He then invited me to a mixer.

“Though your personality is a bit gloomy, you have a face that girls like. In this world where the mixer is the stage, you’re already in the top tier. I’ll take good care of you.”

I wasn’t moved at all.

Because in our College of Engineering, especially in this boring major with no job prospects, our group is already at the bottom tier among the participating groups. At this critical moment of being squeezed out of the mixer circle, I became the weight that slightly preserved their existence.

In other words, they just needed me; there was nothing worth being moved by.

However, this did allow me to get some necessary help during the early stages of university. Additionally, I met people from other colleges at the mixer, such as Tanizaki Junichiro. My new job was introduced by him. He said he works as an errand boy at a company with a very good boss, and they are currently short-handed; if I had time during the winter break, I could check it out.

I don’t know if he forgot about it or intentionally didn’t say anything, but it wasn’t until last night that his text message finally arrived.

“Tomorrow at nine, come to this cafe called ‘Uzumaki’~”

I replied with “~”. This was something I learned back when I was still naive; it’s quite a convenient way to respond. Actually, many people use emojis to respond now, but to be honest, I’m not very comfortable with those. I feel like an old man out of touch with the times, always observing trendy things but never trying them.

Tanizaki replied with a thumbs-up emoji.

I am very familiar with the Uzumaki Cafe.

The brick-style retro Western building it’s located in has five floors in total. The cafe is on the ground floor; the boss is very good at brewing coffee and introduces ‘Coffee Jelly’ limited-edition desserts in the summer. The second floor was rented by a lawyer and is now a law office. The third floor is currently for rent. The fourth floor is a detective agency. The fifth floor has no specified use and no rental news; it’s likely used for storage. Next door to them is a pottery shop called Shimomura, which makes decent pottery. The pottery master also opened a hobby class specifically for bored housewives, enthusiasts, and parent-child activities; business is quite good.

Because I was very familiar with the location Tanizaki mentioned, I didn’t need to take time off specifically to scout the place.

I have to deliver newspapers in the morning; this is a part-time job I’ve kept since starting school. I have an interest in riding my electric scooter and wandering around. After finishing the deliveries, I went to Uzumaki at 8:45 AM. The boss recognized me because the daily newspapers for the cafe were delivered by me.

When I entered the shop, the boss asked if I was there to eat something.

I said I had a job interview scheduled here and had already eaten breakfast.

However, the boss still poured me a cup of Breve. That is a half-latte, made with half cream and half milk. I feel it is about time I tell him that I have actually graduated from the milky-sweet taste and can also drink espresso or Americano.

However, before I could speak, the shop door’s bell chimed. After my gaze met the figures of the newcomers, I held my tongue.

Two people came in: one was Tanizaki Junichiro, who was familiar with me, and the other was Edogawa Ranpo, whom I was familiar with.

“I heard that Kunikida-san and I were looking for a temporary worker, so our Ranpo-san followed along. You don’t mind, right?” Tanizaki Junichiro sat next to me, and as he spoke, he lowered his voice to a whisper, “He’s mainly here to freeload food and drinks; you don’t need to be too nervous.”

I feel that I have never been nervous toward this black-haired youth whose attention was completely captured by my cup of Breve.

He stared at my coffee cup for a long time, then looked up at me and said: “I remember you. You’re the one who delivered flowers to me before.”

“Delivered flowers?” Tanizaki Junichiro clearly didn’t know that I had some history with this Mr. Edogawa Ranpo.

So I explained that I had once worked at a flower shop and delivered flowers to him.

“Oh, so a deliveryman.”

Tanizaki Junichiro had a sudden realization.

But Edogawa Ranpo ignored him, simply looking into my eyes as if trying to find the true purpose of my visit to this cafe. After a moment of thought, he spoke: “You don’t even want to work at the detective agency, do you?”

“Yes,” I responded very bluntly.

I have reasons not to go to the detective agency, but I came anyway.

Seeing that I answered briefly, Edogawa put on a bored expression and asked: “What is your name?”

“Ayanokouji.” As I spoke, I thought about the phrasing I used to introduce myself at past mixers, but I gave up and continued in a steady voice, “Ayanokouji Kiyotaka.”

Edogawa Ranpo’s rambling voice continued: “Alright, this Ayanokouji—if you don’t want to work at the detective agency, then what are you doing here?”

As if to think better, I picked up the coffee cup to replenish the sugar my body needed. However, I simply sipped my answer into my mouth, letting it slide down my throat, diverging from the path of the warm, sweet coffee liquid to run back to where my heart resides—

“I just stopped by to see you.”