"Hey, is that like this?" I looked at this kid with black hair and speaking Japanese quite curiously. His facial features were that of a serious Slavic man, and his purple eyes seemed to contain something extraordinarily profound.

The sense of vicissitudes that does not suit his age reminds me of vast and tragic things such as frozen soil and snowfields.

"It's amazing. You understand another foreign language at this age." I boasted with my eyes bent, and the movements of my hands became a little more intense. The burly man under my hands suddenly let out another burst of ghostly wails. Repeating the tone just now,

It's more like begging for mercy than a threat.

"Haruhe, why are you still here?" Dazai Osamu put his hands in his jacket pockets. He had just put his cell phone away and put it in his pocket. "Just now Ayatsuji said that you were rushing to slaughter the little fat sheep that was taken advantage of by others. Stop it."

I can’t stop it.” As he said that, Dazai Osamu raised his hand and yawned.

The kite-colored eyes were slightly raised, and the tail of the eyes lightly slid past a certain white hamster that shouldn't be here.

"So let us come to you."

"You probably didn't let Ranpo come out to find me." I lowered my head and glanced at the guy who seemed to have lost much of his threat.

"No - yes, I'm having so much fun doing random things, how can I think of looking for you." Dazai Osamu sneered at my pretentiousness, and looked down at a low-level gangster who was only qualified to rip off customers on the street.

He walked up to me and faced Fiordo head-on without saying a word, then looked up at me and said, "Aren't you leaving yet?"

"Thank you for your help, little sir. If possible, can you send this friend on the ground to the police station? Thank you." I smiled at Fiordo, then took Osamu Dazai's hand and turned to leave.

"Don't hold hands, it's too childish." Dazai Cat meowed unhappily.

"Hey - but my sense of direction is so bad. What should I do if I get lost?" I stroked the awkward Dazai Osamu's head in a funny way. The soft curly hair felt good to the touch.

"Then I'll leave you here and see how you get back." Osamu Dazai said stubbornly.

Fiordo looked at the backs of the two people as they left, looking rather distressed at the guy on the ground who had no use value anymore.

"You haven't been deceived. You are extremely vigilant." Fiordo bit his nails subconsciously, saw my shadow completely disappearing at the corner of the street, and stepped on the fingers of the evil coachman.

The other party suddenly shouted heartbreakingly, "Please forgive me, I have done what you said."

"I didn't know that Japanese guy was so courageous." He usually rips off people and picks out the weak ones. He doesn't ask for much, and he basically gets tips.

As a result, I didn't expect that there would be a hard time today.

"It would be of some use if you had a gang behind you." Fiordo's eyes were indifferent, as if he was weighing the weight on the other side of the scale.

Rats in the sewers of Moscow will eat people, and the coachman's pupils shrank. As a low-level gangster, he is not qualified to contact the real mafia, but he also has his own way of survival as a low-level gangster.

"No, no, no, please give me another chance. I will definitely bring that person to you."

"Okay, you only have one chance." Fiordo blinked, but it was just a casual move. He didn't mind waiting for a while to see.

…

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Moscow is a city." Dazai Osamu clicked his tongue, as if he was dissatisfied with the poor public security here.

"Well, things like this happen everywhere." For example, black cars, robbing customers, etc. I held Dazai Osamu's hand and crossed the road.

"So it's the same no matter where you are. Is that what you want to say?" Osamu Dazai's eyes were gloomy, like the darkness in the darkest night.

"Cruelty and reality are found everywhere, but warmth and romance also go hand in hand. I remember I taught you this law of the unity of contradictions and opposites." We didn't go very far, so we arrived at check-in soon.

of hotels.

"Look at things dialectically."

Dazai Osamu said that he may be a liberal arts student, and the things he thinks of are all stored in his heart and are indescribable.

"Liberal arts students should also study politics and history." I smiled and ruffled his hair. "Analyze yourself internally and explore the world externally. Use your words and your heart."

"Oh, it's too scary. I'd better go study physics." Osamu Dazai didn't know what it was that was so scary. Whether it was analyzing his own mind or exploring the world with his mind, it was too scary.

"Haru and you are so slow to come back." Sitting in the gorgeously decorated hall, Edogawa leaned on the sofa and ate milky ice cream, waiting boredly for my return.

"Well, I was delayed a little bit on the way." After walking around, it was already 10:30 in the evening, and the sky finally turned completely dark, and it looked a bit like night.

I sat down, blew on the air conditioner, and tied up my loose hair with a hair tie.

"Where did Gojo-san take you?" Gojo Satoru was probably the most energetic one among us. He ran out as if having fun as soon as he got off the plane.

"Where else can we go? It's a well-known dessert shop. But I have to say, the ice cream here is quite delicious." Edogawa looked up at me with his emerald eyes.

"What about you? What happened to you?"

"Maybe he wants to touch my Siberian hamster." Hearing my description, Osamu Dazai burst out laughing.

"Siberian... hamster hahaha." Dazai Osamu laughed so much that he fell down on the sofa chair where I was sitting. I reached out and grabbed Dazai Osamu to prevent him from having an intimate contact with the carpet on the floor.

"Let's stop making trouble." I Tuanba Tuanba pressed Dazai Osamu into my arms, stretched out my fingers and lightly flicked the other person's forehead to make him quiet down a little.

"I came to Moscow to take you to escape the summer heat and experience the superb artistic taste of the Slavs. I admire their accomplishments in architecture, literature and painting." Of course, I also want to meet the living legend.

Our tour guide also said that it’s not impossible to visit if you want, but you have to pay extra and remember to stay a little further away to avoid being captured by the bodyguards.

Hahaha, that's very interesting.

"Isn't this completely selfish?" Dazai Osamu glanced at me sideways. If it weren't for the air conditioner, he would never talk to me.

"I heard that Russian gangs are very cruel, Haruwa, you should be careful." Osamu Dazai said with a smile, not hiding his gloating at all.

"It probably has nothing to do with me, I'm just an ordinary tourist." I immediately forgot about the guy who was knocked down by my little grappler.

"I am a tourist who boosts the local economy." I stretched out my hand to scratch the little fish that was lying on my shoulder because of the heat. The little fish patted my hand with its tail, saying that if someone dared to kidnap me, it could take it with him.

I'll leave right away.

When order fails, violence appears.

Traveling around Moscow, walking, taking photos, and eating local food. There was nothing special, except that none of us in our group knew how to drink. We met an overly hospitable restaurant owner. We hired a tour guide to help and we had a lot of fun with the owner opposite.

Vodka.

Well, it feels like I'm paying someone to buy them a drink.

"But, it's really powerful. If I drink like this, I'll probably get alcohol poisoning." And it's summer, even if I fall drunk and fall to the ground, I won't freeze to death if I sleep on the street.

I listened to the tour guide laughing and felt a little helpless, "Even if you are drunk, it's better not to sleep outside, as accidents may happen."

Use strong wine to resist the cold, use drunkenness and dreams to cope with the pain of waking up. Some people will always freeze to death after the false warmth passes, and some people will always wake up in pain.

"Hey, Haruwa-chan, you even bought the translated script of "Onegin"." Gojo Satoru looked at the pamphlet in my hand like a cat.

"Yes, because I thought the performer was very affectionate and devoted, but I couldn't understand it, which was a bit regretful. So I asked the tour guide if there was any translation for foreigners." I called the tour guide.

He is really awesome. You can ask him for help with anything. As long as the money is in place, everything will be easy.

We are now on Tverskaya Boulevard, a place that was supposed to be called the Pushkin Café in later generations, but is now called the Dros Library, or a restaurant, just called that. It mainly sells Russian aristocratic cuisine from the past few centuries.

However, the coffee here is really famous.

"Do you like Onegin's play very much?" I ordered a cup of coffee at the bar and looked melancholy. Just like the aristocratic young man suffering from depression in "Onegin", the brown-haired young man asked me what I thought with a sad look on his face.

, "People said it was the worst script ever written."

"The writing is choppy and there are large blank spaces."

It's a pity that I can't understand Russian, so I had to hire a translator, but Saiki Nanzi said that it would be better to let her come instead of having the translator come, and the reward was only a coffee jelly.

"But I think it's great. Even a person like me who doesn't understand language or opera can feel the charm of opera. I think besides the skill of the opera singer, it's also the soul that the script writer injects into the script.

.”

I suddenly wanted to ask the name of the tour guide I invited. Sorry, because Russian names are really too long. I only remember that his name started with Peter.

"Huh?! Why is this in your hand?!" The brown-haired young man looked at the short poem in my hand, and immediately blushed and snatched back the piece of paper on which the short poem was written.

"Oh, so you are Onegin?" I was stunned for a moment, and then I looked at Pushkin with joy.

"Ah, I'm right in saying that. I am a superfluous person like Onegin." Pushkin's eyes were dazzled by the bright eyes, and he scratched his hair and put the dedication that was originally written to his friend.

on the table.

Onegin was a depressed man who was dissatisfied with reality and could not find a way to resist. His ideological contradictions were also those of Pushkin himself.

I continued to look at the script in my hand. It was obvious that many plots had been deleted from the script, but even so, the opera on the stage was still fascinating. "What you wrote should not be a script, but something else."

"It turned out to be a long poem. I wrote it quite long, and it obviously didn't meet the requirements of the script, so I deleted it and sent it for submission." At this point, Pushkin seemed very frustrated. In his mouth, he submitted the poem just to confuse himself.

He needs to eat. He is almost out of food now.

Just...it feels like such a waste of natural resources! It's like a thunderbolt hitting my back, I have to do something!

"Well, I don't know if you will find me abrupt, but would you be interested in discussing with me the publication of the original poem?"

"Ah, if there are other works, I also hope to read and borrow them."

If it weren't for the fact that Russians are also not able to accept people who have just met shaking hands with you and looking forward to the future, excluding drinking and chatting, I really want to hold Pushkin's big hand and ask him to continue working in the literary world and write "

The Red and the Black is on par with Mr. Stendhal. He writes more than 100,000 words every year.

"A hundred thousand words is too much." Pushkin Xiaoxiao, who showed a bit of his gurgling nature even before he started writing, swore he was just complaining a little.

"I don't mind short stories either. As long as you continue writing, don't worry about publishing." Tsk, tsk, tsk, what kind of world is this, that such a talented person is buried?
Chapter completed!