017

Hiding behind the low stone wall that framed the estate, the three of you crouched low, cloaked by distance and debris.

One section of the mansion had been bitten clean through, as if some invisible beast had taken a massive chomp from the structure.

Flames licked at what was left behind, crackling hungrily as they spread, painting the smoke with golden and orange hues.

You watched it burn, transfixed.

Beautiful.

Fire was such an expressive thing. Wild. Hungry. Honest. You admired that about it.

"It's already started," Dazai said, breaking the quiet.

From your vantage point, you could see eight armed men stationed outside. They were tense, waiting. Expecting more.

"That sure was a flashy explosion. If I were in the middle of that," Dazai sighed wistfully, "I could've died quickly and easily."

"Yeah, yeah," Chuuya growled, elbowing him lightly. "I'll kill you as many times as you want when the mission's over. But for now, focus."

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, sharp with experience. "Looks like it’s an attack from an armed organization. There’s eight out here, but who knows how many more are inside?"

As if on cue, a window shattered. The body of a man was hurled violently through it, slamming into the ground with a sickening thud.

His limbs twisted unnaturally, a dark puddle blooming beneath him.

Dazai exhaled. "Ah... well, looks like their weapons aren’t enough against Randou-san’s ability."

At the mention of that name, your head tilted slightly.

Randou.

Cold, quiet, in every way that meant something to you. You remembered the first time you heard how perpetually freezing his body was.

It had sparked such an idea in you.

You’d teleported right in front of him. Gleeful, curious, with a sealed metal bucket full of molten lava, offering it like a get well soon gift.

"To warm you up," you'd chirped, and without hesitation, hurled it at him.

He didn’t dodge.

The metal should’ve scalded him. He wore gloves and thick layers, but even still, no one normal would’ve stood there.

But Randou?

He hugged the bucket.

And smiled.

"Thank you," he said simply. "That was thoughtful."

You blinked. Then smiled back. You liked him instantly.

Fascinating.

Back in the present, your amusement curled at the edge of your lips.

You liked thinking about the people in the mafia like that. Little puzzles. Hidden reactions waiting to be unwrapped.

Then— a shift.

The presence behind you wasn’t Dazai. Wasn’t Chuuya. Not mafia.

Unfamiliar.

You vanished in a blink, teleporting to the shadow of a tree near the house, concealed in the brush.

"L/N-san?" Dazai’s head turned, his voice curious.

Then—

"Seems like your friend had abandoned you."

A low voice. Threatening. Cold.A gun was pressed to the back of Dazai’s head.

"Turn around and put your hands where I can see them," the man commanded.

Both Dazai and Chuuya stood slowly, hands raised. Chuuya’s expression was tight, restrained fury simmering just under the surface.

From your vantage point, you could see everything clearly. You felt no rush to intervene.

Mori’s words echoed in your skull. “Observe. Intervene if necessary.”

This wasn’t necessary.

Dazai wouldn’t die to a fool with a gun. And Chuuya... Well, he was the king of gravity, wasn’t he?

You smiled to yourself. The game was unfolding.

And you were watching. Waiting for the time you have to take action. Though you highly doubt you need to.

The explosion was beautiful.

Not in the poetic, metaphoric way people with too much time and too little pain would say. But in the way something honest is beautiful. Unforgiving. Final.

The fire ate away at the mansion with a ferocity that reminded me of him.

He was the first one to vanish the moment danger crept behind us.

Not that I blamed him. He was never the type to waste time with theatrics when he could just disappear. Quite literally.

I felt the cold press of a gun against my head. The weight of someone else's cowardice.

“Turn around. Hands where I can see them.”

Ah. That voice. That fear. That threat.

So fragile. So temporary.

I could hear Chuuya's breath sharpening beside me, could practically feel his fingers twitching for violence.

I didn’t need to say anything. Chuuya was a fuse soaked in gasoline.

Because of him, my chance to gather information quietly fell apart.

I should’ve known better than to expect anything subtle from that gravity brained idiot.

He just had to use his ability, didn’t he?

Now instead of one pest to clean up, we had eight more crashing the party, all drawn in by all the noise.

So I sat back and watched with mild disinterest, lips twitching upward at the sheer irony.

He grinned like a wild dog as he mowed through them, one after another. No finesse. Just brute power.

Finally, the last man dropped to the ground, still breathing, barely.

"The enemy's been taken care of. Let's go," Chuuya said as he walked ahead.

I crouched next to the dying man, staring at him as he gasped for breath like a fish out of water.

"How unlucky. Does it hurt?" I asked, my voice soft, thoughtful.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But I could see it in his eyes.

"The ricocheted bullet pierced your throat," I said, examining the wound clinically.

"Even if we treated it now, it wouldn't be enough to save you."

Not that I would try.

"It’ll probably be about five minutes until you die. Those five minutes will be filled with hellish pain. I wouldn't be able to stand it."

I smiled, but there was no warmth behind it.

"What will you do? Would you like me to use this gun to end your pain?" I picked up the pistol he had aimed at Chuuya earlier.

"I'm doing work for the mafia. In other words, I'm your enemy. But you're showing me this precious thing called death. And for that, I want to thank you."

I leaned in closer. Close enough to see the blood misting his lips. "So, if you want me to do it, you should ask while you can still speak."

His mouth moved, weakly. “Ease... Shoot me... please...”

"Sure."

I stood up with a smile. Bang. A single bullet between the eyes. A clean shot.

But I didn’t stop.

I kept shooting. Once, twice, again. I laughed as I did it. Not because it was funny. Not because it made me feel good.

I laughed because I wanted to feel something. Anything.

"Stop it, you idiot!" Chuuya’s voice cut through my haze as he grabbed my wrist.

I looked up at him. Blank. Like a puppet with its strings momentarily severed.

"He's already dead. Don't shoot corpses just for the hell of it," Chuuya scolded, face twisted in disgust.

I blinked, then smiled slowly. "You're right. You're absolutely right."

I let the gun fall from my fingers, clattering against the stone. The sound echoed faintly.

"That would probably be the normal way to think."

And I turned, walking ahead.

"Haha. 'Normal'. Hahahaha."

What a joke.

I didn’t feel a thing. Not even as the bullets tore into a corpse. Not even as the life left the man’s eyes.

No joy. No guilt. No anger. Just... empty.

I clung to the idea of humanity even though I was sure I wasn't human in the first place.

What was the point? If even death didn’t stir my heart, then what would?

And then it hit me. A quiet whisper in my mind.

"Right... L/N-san."

I muttered his name under my breath, barely a sound. But it grounded me.

Him. Always him.

He was the only one who made things interesting. The only one who made me feel like I was almost alive.

Then—

"Hey, where the hell did your mentor go anyway? Don't tell me he ran away like a coward," Chuuya said, his usual bark breaking my thoughts.

I glanced at him. "No way. L/N-san can get rid of those men you killed himself."

That caught his attention.

"Oh?" Chuuya’s brow lifted, smirking like a kid sniffing out a challenge.

"I can more or less guess that Mori-san ordered him not to intervene," I added, keeping my voice casual.

We climbed the steps slowly.

"Alright, now you got me curious. What ability does he have?" Chuuya asked, eyes gleaming with that irritating spark of interest.

"Nothing someone like you should know," I said flatly.

"Hah? What does that mean, rude ass?!" he snapped, already raising his voice again.

I ignored him.

I let the bickering fall away like static noise. It didn’t matter. Chuuya didn’t matter.

Not really.

Only he did.

Only him.

He, who watched the world like it was a stage built for his performance alone.

He, who could tear down everything with a soft whisper and a twisted grin.

I would cling to him, like a man clings to a raft in a sea of nothing.

Because if he left—

If he disappeared—

If he stopped looking back at me with that maddening, all knowing glint in his eyes—

Then what the hell was left for me?

I smiled again, this time to myself.

I'd make sure he never leave.