Ayanokouji’s Guide to Using Tools at Butei High - Chapter 4

The place I was heading to—Fuyuki City—is a coastal city. It is said that it got its name because the winters here are too long.

Fuyuki City is indeed located at a high latitude in Japan. However, coastal cities are generally influenced by ocean currents; the reason Fuyuki’s winters aren’t excessively harsh is not only due to warm currents but also because it is situated near an extinct volcano. With frequent crustal movements, there are hot spring vents beneath the city. Because of this, a local saying goes—”If you dig two holes at random, one might just be a hot spring.”

The Fuyuki Church I was bound for is located north of Fuyuki’s Shinto district, where the priest, Kotomine Risei, was waiting for me. He was an elderly man with a formidable physique, at least eighty years old, with a full head of silver hair and piercing, energetic eyes. Rather than a priest with eyes full of mercy and compassion in the traditional sense, he looked more like a stern and self-disciplined martial artist.

Because he was wearing black clerical clothing with a golden crucifix necklace hanging precisely in the center of his chest, I recognized who he was very quickly.

I spoke as I walked: “I am Ayanokouji Kiyotaka, here from Yokohama.”

“Mr. Ayanokouji, you are very welcome here.”

He extended his hand toward me, and I could feel a thick, heavy warmth from his palm. While I was analyzing his background based on his black vestments, Kotomine Risei continued:

“When I received the letter, I thought you would be of a more mature age, but you are younger than I imagined.”

I didn’t have much resonance with this sentiment, so after the words entered my left ear, they went straight out the right.

Kotomine Risei didn’t spend much time on small talk and got straight to the point: “Recently, due to the rampant serial killings in Fuyuki City, the number of funerals to be held is far beyond my expectations, and I am in urgent need of an assistant. You have participated in condolence ceremonies with other priests before, right?”

“Yes, I’ve basically learned them all,” I replied simply.

“Then recite the prayer for me once,” Kotomine Risei said.

I could slightly sense his urgent need for staff. Under normal circumstances, this kind of internship would provide plenty of time for observation, rather than demanding the candidate be fully capable like an employer right from the start.

“Through our Lord Jesus Christ, we have the sure hope of this resurrection and eternal life…” I repeated the contents of the prayer from my mind word for word, “…May the Lord lift up His countenance upon him and give him peace. Amen.”

Just as I finished, a yawn expressing boredom came from the pews in the center of the chapel. Kotomine Risei glanced toward the source of the sound; there sat a young man in a brown suit lying flat on his back across the bench—Edogawa Ranpo scratched his stomach casually under the old priest’s gaze.

“He is a colleague of mine from my part-time job. He isn’t familiar with Fuyuki City. I originally told him to wait outside the church…” I was attempting to explain.

“God loves all people, including non-believers.” Kotomine Risei spoke in a cold, serious tone like that of an enforcer: “As for those who do not believe in the Lord, they will understand one day; they will eventually answer for their current disrespectful attitude. Unbelievers will suffer eternally and will be cast into the lake of fire filled with sulfur after death. You do not need to be angry with him; God will watch him sink into the eternal fire of hell.”

I felt that the old priest was angry, but I pretended not to hear and said: “Is there anything else I need to be aware of?”

“During this internship, I won’t be able to take you along for many things. You will be responsible for handling the funeral sector. Starting tomorrow, you will report to the cemetery. You don’t need to come to the church.” The old priest withdrew his frigid gaze from Edogawa and repeated, “Just handle the matters at the cemetery. Do not go out at night without reason, and notify me in advance if you wish to come to the church.”

This was far removed from the church internship I had in mind.

Rather than giving me actual work to do, it felt more like a warning not to come near this church.

Roughly twenty minutes later, I left the church holding a file containing a timetable and a map. Edogawa Ranpo followed closely behind me as we walked out of the chapel.

“So boring.”

I glanced at him. Originally, he was supposed to be with Tanizaki, but heard that Tanizaki was going to coordinate with the police station, Ranpo didn’t want to go and followed me instead.

“A lot of the pews in that chapel had a thin layer of dust on them. It seems not many people come and go, yet he said they were so busy—doesn’t feel like an ordinary church. Also, there are clearly two people in the church. The other one hid when we showed up.”

Edogawa Ranpo rested his head on his arms and released a long stream of words. I couldn’t tell if this was more of a complaint or just an uncontrollable urge to narrate.

The two people he mentioned were because we saw entering footprints when we walked into the church, but found no exiting ones.

But I felt it was irrelevant.

Everyone has secrets—secrets they are unwilling to make public or let others know. Once prying eyes are involved, it inevitably creates heavy psychological pressure. Regarding the protection of secrets, the Prophet Muhammad once said, “He who eavesdrops on people’s talk when they are averse to it will have boiling lead poured into his ears on the Day of Resurrection.” Thus, Islam also strictly forbids people from overhearing others’ private conversations.

I never proactively discuss other people’s secrets; besides, it wasn’t something meant for discussion. I had entered the chapel before Edogawa Ranpo, so I also saw an afterimage on the person who hid in the confessional.

“This isn’t something for us to handle.”

It was as if Edogawa wanted to do something but was forcefully stopped. After I spoke, he looked somewhat displeased: “You’re really impolite. I’m warning you. When you run into terrible luck later, don’t come crying to me for help.”

My point was—

“At least don’t speak ill of others right at their doorstep.”

“What? Are you going to be like that old man and say I’m going to hell to have my tongue pulled out?” Edogawa Ranpo said aggressively.

I corrected him: “That’s the ‘Hell of Tongue-pulling’ from Buddhism. In Christianity, it’s the smooth-talkers whose tongues get cut off.”

Edogawa Ranpo stuck his tongue out at me and made a huge face. I subconsciously reached out my hand toward him. After noticing my movement, Edogawa Ranpo immediately widened his eyes and took a step back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Edogawa said angrily, “You were trying to pinch my face just now, weren’t you?! You have a terrible personality! I am the Great Detective Ranpo-sama; how dare you treat me like this?”

I put my hands back in my pockets and said: “How about I treat you to some cake?”

I knew what he liked.

“I don’t eat things from strangers! Blehh!” Edogawa stuck out his tongue and refused outright, “If you want to suck up to me, it depends on whether I’m willing or not.”

Taking for granted that the old methods would still work—it seems I miscalculated.