A 歌呗 estreou hoje?

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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,