046

The hallways of the port mafia headquarters hadn’t changed.

Not in scent, not in shade, not in the way the lights buzzed faintly overhead, nor in the way the shadows seemed to cling like memories to the old stone walls. Familiar. Comfortable. Claustrophobic.

For Ren, it was suffocating.

Every step echoed far too loudly. His grip on the luggage handles tightened as he trailed a step behind you, his gaze flickering from the portraits lining the corridor to the passing subordinates who bowed with fearful precision.

And you—L/N Y/N—walked as though gravity answered to you alone.

Not a hair out of place. Not a heartbeat wasted.

Well, maybe except your foreign country's clothes.

When you reached the double doors at the end of the hall, they creaked open as if sensing your presence before the guards even touched them.

“After you, sir,” one of them said, bowing lower than necessary.

You didn’t acknowledge him.

Instead, you turned your head just slightly. “Ren.”

“Y-Yes?” he squeaked, stepping forward.

“Try not to embarrass me. Mori-san dislikes stuttering.”

Ren gulped audibly. “Of course, sir.”

The office was large, sparsely lit, but warm in color—thick wooden shelves lined with old medical journals, faded scrolls, and jars containing things Ren didn’t dare identify.

The scent was a mix of faint perfume, sterile alcohol, and something older... something ancient.

And seated at the desk like a noble waiting for his chessboard to reassemble itself was Mori Ogai.

His smile was gentle. His eyes were not.

“L/N-kun,” Mori greeted, his voice soft, cultured, deceptively harmless. “Welcome home.”

You gave a light, sweeping bow—elegant, like a noble returning from war. “Mori-san. You’re looking healthy, despite the humidity.”

“I manage. The air feels... different, now that you’re back.”

“I imagine so. Even the ghosts seem louder.” Your lips curved. “Or maybe I just missed them.”

Ren, standing just behind you, blinked in disbelief.

That was the Boss? The one whispered about like some boogeyman?

He looked... normal. Civilized, even. Like a friendly neighborhood doctor in a very expensive suit.

Until the way he looked at you changed—just slightly—and Ren understood.

This wasn’t a man.

Neither were you.

You weren’t mentor and subordinate. Not predator and prey.

You were the same breed.

Two monsters in polite skin, sipping tea while deciding the fate of empires.

Ren’s excitement drained like a burst balloon.

“I heard you made quite the mess overseas,” Mori said pleasantly, lacing his fingers atop his desk.

“A Russian official reportedly walked into a volcano. A British handler committed suicide. And let’s not even discuss the Vatican incident.”

“I was thorough.”

“You were bored.”

You tilted your head. “That too.”

Ren looked between the two of you, waiting for the reprimand. But none came.

No scolding, no warning, no concern.

Just... amusement. Like a proud parent discussing a child’s clever graffiti.

Mori sighed through his nose. “I missed that attitude.”

“Liar,” you replied, stepping forward to pluck a fruit knife from his desk.

You twirled it between your fingers lazily. “You sent me away because you were afraid.”

Ren snapped his head towards you, panic and confusion on his face. He don't feel like he's suppose to know this.

The smile never left Mori’s face. “Naturally. I’m not foolish enough to keep an unsupervised bomb in my house.”

Ren's head snapped to Mori this time, shocked and in disbelief. He definitely wasn't suppose to know that.

“Yet here I am again.” You leaned forward, placing the knife back down. “Ticking as always.”

There was a pause. Long. Heavy.

Then Mori chuckled.

“That you are.”

Ren's expression morphed into pure deadpan disbelief.

That’s it? he thought, bewildered.

That’s the conversation?! Not ‘what happened’, not ‘why did you return with seventeen sealed dossiers and a psychic on your tail’—but small talk and threats disguised as pleasantries?!

He shifted awkwardly, mouth opening. “Um, e-excuse me, Boss, I—”

You shot him a glance. He froze.

Mori, ever gracious, turned his smile toward the newcomer. “Ah, your assistant. You never let me meet him.”

“He wasn’t ready,” you replied, casually.

Ren stiffened. “I’ve b-been under L/N-san's command for four years.”

“Exactly.” You turned back to Mori. “I’d rather not ruin your tea over his emotional fragility.”

Mori's eyes twinkled in amusement. “Ah. A soft one, then.”

Ren nearly dropped your luggage.

“I’m not—!”

“No need to defend yourself,” Mori said mildly.

“Surviving L/N-kun for that long and still managing to keep your sanity intact is an accomplishment. You have my respect.”

Ren wasn’t sure if he was being praised or insulted.

You turned, stepping beside Ren. “He’s grown. Still annoyingly mortal. But serviceable.”

Mori nodded. “Should I have someone give him a medical examination?”

“No need. I’ve kept tabs on every variable.” You reached forward and tugged gently at Ren’s chin, forcing his face up.

“Still no anemia. Sleeps enough to avoid hallucinations. Only cried four times last year.”

“Th-That was five, actually,” Ren mumbled.

You blinked. “You cry when I’m asleep?”

He looked away, ears red. “...Sometimes.”

Mori waved a hand. “You’ve trained him well. Very... pet like.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “He’s almost fond of me now.”

“I am not fond of you, sir,” Ren protested weakly.

“Hmm.” You let go of his chin and returned your attention to Mori.

“I believe I’ve earned an explanation, though. You knew I would return eventually. Yet you didn’t tell Dazai.”

Mori’s smile didn’t falter. “Of course not. I wanted to see what he would do.”

You laughed— soft and dark. “You never change.”

“No. But you do.”

Another silence. This time, not cold.

A mutual understanding.

A bond tied in calculation and deeper than blood.

Ren slowly sat down on the couch to the side, shoulders slumping. His brain couldn’t keep up.

He’d been terrified of Mori— had imagined meeting the man would be a once in a lifetime, awe inspiring, terrifying event. But now that he had…

He understood.

This wasn’t a boss and subordinate.

This was predator and predator, circling each other in polite ritual, respecting each other’s teeth.

He was just the rabbit in the room.

As you turned to leave, Mori called out softly. “One last thing.”

You glanced over your shoulder.

“He’s been waiting by the window for hours.”

You didn’t need to ask who.

“I know.”

Ren followed you silently down the hallway again, heart pounding.

“Sir,” he said softly.

You hummed.

“Are you... excited to see him?”

Your smile was unreadable. “No.”

“Oh.”

You reached for the elevator button.

“I’m curious.”

Ren swallowed. And the doors slid shut behind you.

And above, in a hallway where the shadows never fully lifted, Dazai Osamu stood still, eyes on the elevator numbers ticking upward.

A smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Finally,” he murmured.

The pieces were back on the board.

The game was about to begin again.